Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume], December 22, 1906, Image 2

About Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916

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Chapter 1.—"The plainest girl in
the room that night" attracts the at
tention of Anson Durand, and ha pro
eposes marriage at a dancing party at
the Ramsdell home. Mrs. Fairbrotlier
'is murdered In the "alcove" and her
'costly diamond Is stolen. Chapter 2.
-—The murdered woman's gloves, and
diamond rolled within them, are
found in the hand bag carried by Miss
Van Arsdale. Suspicion is fastened
if upon Durand, whom &he had promised
J" that night to wed. Chapter 3.—Police
Inspector has interview with Miss Van
Aredale and Mr. Durand before th«y
are allowed to leave the Ramsd&li
^home. The man under suspicion In
#8 lets upon his Innocence. Chapter 4.
—Durand makes explanation of his
(^presence In the alcove, Mrs. Pair
brother giving him the gloves, his re
turn to the alcove by a rear passage,
"his discovery of the dead woman, his
'escape and the splash of blood on his
'shirt bosom, from above him. Chap
ter 5.—Examination of diamond by
*JGrey, the Englishman.—Says it is an
limitation.—Guest® startled by a long,
•'unearthly shriek while Grey holds
,'«tone. Discovery of note of warn
ing given to Mrs. Fairbrother before
|her death. Chapter 6.—Miss Van Ars
dele looks for clue to murderer. In
auest delayed awaiting Mr. Fairbroth
er's return. He is ill at his mining
camp, the Placide. Chapter 7.—Re
ports of correspondent at the Placide.
Journey to mining camp. Effort to in
terview Fair-brother. In conscious mo
'/mentis he asserts the diamond was
real one. Chapter. §.—Coroner'i
.^verdict does not accuse Durand, but
he is Arrested by the police. Chapter
i'S.—Miss Van Arsdale has Interviev
J,with Inspector Dalzell and tells hinr
:bf
to}
Mpi/M
5 «v
Mr. Grey's disinterested attitude
toward pleasures of the evening be
•fore the arrival of Mrs. Pairbrother
,'and of his stady gaze at the diamond
^thereafter. She calls attention to the
"unsolved mystery of the two broken
.vfcoffee cups and says she saw Mr
..Grey lift two cups from a tray arvl
'start toward the alcove. Chapter 10.
•—Miss Van Aredale continues inter
view with the Inspector, astonishing
him with her knowledge concerning
/Mr. Grey. She gives him the informa
tion that Mr. Grey Is a collector of
''jewels, that being the first aim of his
life. She tells him that the nurse at
tendant upon Mr. Grey's daughter Is
Hher friend and from her she learned
that the sick girl wrote a noite that
."flight but was too weak to make a
complete sentence. Chapter 11.—Mifes
'Van Arsdale completes arrangements
to succeed iher friend as nurse to Miss
,::,Grey, where she Is to find out more
concerning the case. Chapter 12.—
The new nurse takes up her duties
and is warned by Mr. Grey not to let
her patient see any of the papers. Ills
explanation -being- that he was present
fat the house where the crime was
committed. Miss Van Arsdale has in
her possession the stllletto which she
is to leave where Mr. Grey's eyes will
fall upon it. Before she has reached
•the point she receives word from the
inspector that lit is not necessary.—
(Chapter IB.—On the follo^ng day
•Miss Van Arsdiale receives, a message
The Woman in the Alcove
BY
ANNA CATHERINE GREEN
Copyright, 1906, The Bobbs Merill Company.
SYNOPSIS.
from her uncle that he wa,n'ts "too see that. There seemed to be so little
Sr1
her. He ta.kej her into a carriage and
tbev go to the office of the inspector,
..Jw'.iere she hears Of a new cle'w. A
waiter who was employed 'by the
,ea+erer at the Ramsdeill home the
night of the (par'ty disappears. Upon
looking isp his reference l't is found'
the reromTnenfeitlon came from 'Sears,
*who was employed in the 'Fainbrother
home. Search repeals that Sears de
parted with Mr. Pairbrdther. Investi
gation shows that be left Mr. Fair
brother at
ESI
Moro, having time to
reach New York by the date of the
-^rourcter! Chapter 14.—While Miss
A'an Arsdale 1s In conference witti the
inppeictor a df^ectlve arrives. She re
tires to an. adjoining roam and' the
iScor Is left ajar. Detective tells of
going to Falrforother house at mid*
nlF'ht to get a photograph of the sus
•f-ect and a specimen of his handwrit
ing. Although house is supposed to
'foe unoccupied some one enters who
"the detective is convinced/ is Sears,
-j.The other .party succeeds in traipipflng
itho detective and making his escape
before the officer can.
(CHAPTER XIV—Continued.)
!, "Happily, I had some premonition
,i Of my danger, and threw myself into a
position which held me till the dizzy
'minute passed. Then I went calmly
'on with my work, and in another half
hour had reached the window, which,
•'fortunately for me, not only opened
Inward, but was off the latch. It was
•with a sense of inexpressible relief
that I clambered through this window
"•and for a brief moment breather in
the pungent odor of cedar. But it
could have been only fOr a moment
4 It was three o'clock in the afternoon
before I found' myself again in the outei
air. The only way I can account for
the lapse of time Is that the strain to
which both foody and nerve had been
subjected was too much for even my
gf' .J't jhordT body and that I fell to the floor
|of the oedar closet and from a faint
fwent into a sileep that lasted until
two. I can easily account for the last
hour because it took me that long to
out the th'ok paneling from the door
of the closet. However, I am here
now, sir, and In very much the same
condition In which I felt that house.
I thought my first duty was to tell you
that I had seen Hiram Sears in that
bouse last night and put you on his
track."
I -drew a long breath,—I think the
Insriector did. I had been almost rigid
from excitement, and I don't believe
he was quite free from It either. But
his voice was oatener than I expected
when he finally said:
"I'll remember this. It was a good
night's work." Then the inspector
put to him some questions, which
seemed to fix the fact that Sears had
left the house before Sweetwater did,
after which he bade him send certain
men to him and then go and fix him
self up.
I believe he had forgotten me. I had
almost forgotten myself.
CHAPTER XV.
Sears or Wellgood,
Not till the Inspector had given sev
eral orders was I again summoned In
to his presence. He smiled as our
eyes met, but did not allude, any more
than I did, to what had just passed.
Nevertheless, we understood each
other.
When I was again seated, he took
up the conversation where we had left
it.
"The description I was Just about to
read to you," he went on "will you
listen to It now?"
"Gladly," said I "It Is Wellgood's
I believe."
He did not answer save by a curious
glance from under his brows, but,
taking the paper again from his desk,
went on reading:
"A man of fifty-five looking like one
of sixty. Medium height, insignificant
features, head bald save for a ring of
scanty dark hair. No beard, a heavy
nose, long mouth and sleepy half-shut
eyes capable of shooting strange
glances. Nothing distinctive In face
or figure save the depth of his
wrinkles and a scarcely observable
stoop in his right shoulder. Do you
see Wellgood in that?" he suddenly
asked.
"I have only the faintest recollec
tion of his appearance," was my doubt
ful reply. "But the impression I get
from this description Is not exactly
the one I received of that waiter In
the momentary glimpse I got of him."
"So others have told me before," he
remarked, looking very disappointed.
"The description is of Rears given me
by a man who knew him well, and if
we could fit the description of the one
to that of the other, we should have
it easy. But the few persona who have
seen Wellgood differ greatly in their
remembrance of his features, and
even of his coloring. It Is astonishing
how superficially most people see a
man, even when they are thrown into
dally contact with him. Mr. Jones
says the man's eye's are gray, his hair
a wig and dark, his nose pudgy, and
his face without much expression. His
land-lady, that his eyes are blue, his
hair, whether wig or not, a dusty
auburn, and his look quick and pierc
ing,-—a look which always made her
afraid. His nose she don't remem
ber. Both agree, or rather all agree,
that he wore no beard—Sears did, but
a beard can be easily taken off—and
all of them declare that they would
know him instantly If they saw him.
And so the matter stands. Even you
can g^ve me no definite description,—
one, I mean, as satisfactory or unsatis
factory as this of Sears."
I shook my head. Like the others,
I felt that I should know him if I saw
him, but I could go no further than
that was distinctive about the man.
The inspector, hoping, perhaps, that
all this would serve to rouse my mem
ory, shrugged his shoulders and put
the best face he could on the matter.
"Well, well," said he, "we shall have
to be patient. A day may make all
the difference possible in our out
look. If we can lay hands on either of
these men—"
He seemed to realize he had said a
word too much, for he instantly
changed the subject by asking If I had
succeeded in getting a sample of Miss
Grey's writing. I was forced' to say
no that everything had been very
carefully put away. "But I do not
know what moment I may come upon
It," I added. "I do not forget its im
portance in this investigation."
•"Very good. Those lines handed up
to Mrs. Fairtirother from the walk
outside are the second most valuable
clue we possess."
I did not ask him what the first was.
I knew. It was the stllletto.
"Strange that no one has testified
to that handwriting," I remarked.
He looked at me in surprise.
"Fifty persons have sent in samples
of writing which they think like it,"
he observed. "Often of persons who
never heard of the Falrbrothers. We
have been bothered greatly with the
business. You know little of the
difficulties the police labor under."
"I know too much," I sighed.
He smiled and patted me on the
hand.
"Go back to your patient," he £tld.
"Forget every other duty but that of
your calling until you get some
definite word from me. I shall not
keep you in suspense one minute
longer than is absolutely necessary."
He had risen. I rose too. But I
was not satisfied. I could not leave
the room with my ideas (I might say
with my convictions) In such a tur
moil.
"Inspector," said I, "you will think
me very obstinate, but all you have
told me about Sears, all I have heard
about him, in fact,"—this I empha
sized,—"does not convince me of the
entire folly of my own suspicions. In
deed!, I am afraid that, if anything,
they'are strengthened. This steward,
who is a doubtful character, I ack
nowledge, may have had his reasons
for wishing Mrs. Fairbrother's death,
may even have had a hand in the
matter qut what evidence have you
hat he, himself, entered the
.ruck the blow or stole the
to show
alcove.
diamond
some su
ened In
WM i%-
I have listened eagerly for
:h evidence, but I have list
ain." -.••
"I know," he murmured, "I know.
But it will come at least I think so."
ThiB should have reassured me, no
doubt, and sent me away quiet and
happy. But something—the tenacity
of a deep conviction, possibly—kept
me lingering before the inspector and
finally gave me the courage to say:
"I know I ought not to speak an
other word that I am putting myself
at a disadvantage in doing so but
I can not help it, Inspector I can not
help It when I see you laying such
stress upon the few indirect clues con
necting the suspicious Sears with this
crime, and ignoring the direct clues
we have against one whom we need
not name."
Had I gone too far? Had my pre
sumption transgressed all bounds and
would he show a very natural anger?
No, he smiled instead, an enigmatical
smile, no doubt, which I found it diffi
cult to understand, .but yet a smile.
"You mean," he suggested, "that
Sears' possible connection with th
crime can not eliminate Mr. Grey's
very positive one nor oan the fact
that Wellgood's (hand came in contact
with Mr. Grey's, at or near the time
of tiie exchange of the false stone
with the real, make it any less evident
who was the guilty author of this ex
change?"
The inspector's hand was on the
door-knob, buit he dropped it at this
and surveying me very quietly said:
"I thought that a few days spent at
the bedside of Miss Grey in the so
ciety of so renowned and cultured a
gentleman as her father would dis
abuse you of these damaging suspic
ions."
"I don't wonder that you thought
so," I fourrst out. "You would thlnlt
so all the more, If you knew how kind
he can be and what solicitude he
shows for all about him. But I can
not get over the facts. They all
point, it seems to me, straight in one
direction."
"All? You heard what was said in
tills room—I saw it in your eye—how
the man, who surprised tho steward ir
his own room last night, heard hlir
talking of love and death in connec
tion with Mrs. Pairbrother. 'To kiss
what I hate! It is almost as bad as
to kill what I love'—he said something
like that."
"Yes, I heard that. But did he mean
that he had- been her actual slayer?
Could you convict him on those
words?"
"Well, we shall find out. Then, as
to Wellgood's part in the little busi
ness, you choose to consider that it
took place at' the time the stone fell
from Mr. Grey's hand. What proof
have you that the substitution you be
lieve in was not make by him? He
could easily have done it while cross
lng the room to Mr. Grey's side."
"Inspector!" Then hotly, as the ab
surdity of the suggestion struck me
with full force: "He do this!• A wait
er, or as you think, Mr. Fairbrother's
steward, to be provided with so hard
to-come-by an article as this counter
part of a great stone? Isn't that al
most as Incredible a supposition as
any I have myself presumed to ad
vance?"
"Possdfoly, but the affair Is full of
Incredibilities, the greatest of which,
to my mind, is the persistence with
which you, a kind-hearted enough lit
tle woman, persevere in ascribing the
deepest guilt to one you profess to ad
mire and certainly would be glad to
find innocent of any complicity with a
great crime."
I felt that I must justify myself.
"Mr. Durand has had no such con
sideration shown him," said I.
"I know, my child, I know but the
cases differ. Wouldn't it be well for
you to see this and be satisfied with
the turn which things have taken,
without continuing to insist upon in
volving Mr. Grey In your suspicions?"
A smile took off the edge of this re
buke, yet I felt it keenly and only
the confidence I had in his fairness as
a man and public official enabled me
to say:
"But I am talking quite confiden
tially. And you have been so good to
me, so willing to listen to all I had to
say, that I can not help.'but speak my
whole mind. It is my only safety
valve. Remember how I have to sit
In the presence of this man with my
thoughts all choked up. It Is killing
me. But I think I should go back con.
tent if you will listen to one more sug
irestion I have to make. It is my
last."
"Say it. I am nothing If not in
dulgent."
He had spoken the woTd. Indulgent
that was it. He let m-p speak, prob
ably had let me speak from the first,
from pure kindness. He did not be
lieve one little bit in my good sense
or logic. But I was not to be de
terred. I would empty my mind of
the ugly thing that lay there. I would
leave there no miserable dregs of
doubt to ferment and work their evil
way with me in the dead watches of
the night, which I had yet to face. So
I took him at his word.
"I only want to ask this. In case
Sears Is innocent of the crime, who
wrote the warning and where did the
assassin get the stiletto with the Grey
arms chased into Its handle? And the
diamond? Still the diamond! You
hint that he stole that, too. That
with some idea of Its proving useful to
him on this gala occasion, he had pro
vided himself with an imitation stone,
setting and all,—he who has never
shown, so far as we have heard, any
Interest in Mrs. Fairbrother's dia
mond, only In Mrs. Fairbrotlier her
self. If Wellgood is Sears awl Sears
the medium 'by which the falsi stone
was exchanged for the real, ,flien he
made this exchange in Mr. Glrey's in
terests and not his own. Bui I don't
believe he had anything to do with it.
I think everything rjoes to sb that
the exchange was made by A r. Grey
himself."
"A second Daniel," mutterei the In.
spector lightly. "Go on, lit:le law
yer!" But for all fhis attempt at
banter on his part, I imagined that I
saw the beginning of a very natural
anxiety to close the conversation. I
therefore hastened with what I had
yet to say, cutting my words short and
almost stammering In my eagerness
"Remember the perfectioij
imitation stone, a copv so
it extends to the setting. T.
ST
•ens OTTTBiWA COOTI BR.,
of that
act that
shows
utrU*
vifflS6f%iiS
plan—forgive me If I repeat myself—
preparation, a knowledge of stones, a
particular knowledge of this one. Mr.
Fairbrother's. steward may have had
the knowledge, but he would have
been a fool to have used his knowl
edge to secure for himself a valuable
he could never have found a purchaser
for in any market. But a fancier—
one who has his pleasure in the mere
possession of a unique and invaluable
gem—ah! that is different! lie might
risk a crime—history tells us of sev
eral."
Here I paused to take breath, which
gave the inspector chance to say:
"In other words, this is what you
think. The Englishman, desirous of
covering up his tracks, conceived the
idea of having this imitation on hand,
in case it might be of use in the dar
ing and disgraceful undertaking you
ascribe to him. Recognizinjg his own
inability to do this himself, he dele
gated the task to one who In some
way, he had been led to think, cher
ished a secret grudge against its pres
ent possessor—a man who had had
some opportunity for seeing the stone,
and studying the setting. The copy
thus procured, Mr. Grey went to the
ball, and, relying on his own seeming
ly unassailable position, attacked Mrs.
Fairbrother in the alcove and would
have carried oft the diamond, if he
had found it where he had seen it
earlier blazing on her breast. But It
'was not there. The warning received
bjr her—a warning you ascribe to his
daughter, a fact which is yet to be
proved—toad led her to rid herself of
the pewel in the way Mr. Durand des
cribes, and he found himself burdened
with a dastardly crime and with noth
ing to show for it. Later, however, to
his Intense surprise and possible sat
isfaction, he saw that diamond In my
hands, and, recognizing an opportun
ity, as he thought, of yet securing it,
he asked to see it, held it for an in
stant, and then, making use of an al
most incredible expedient for distract
ing attention dropped, not the real
stone but the false one, retaining the
real one in his hand. This, In plain
English, as I take it, is your present
Idea of the situation."
Astonished at the clearness with
which he read my mind, I answered:
"Yes, Inspector, that is what was in
my mind."
"Good! then it is just as well that It
Is out. Your mind Is now free and
you con give it entirely to your du
ties." Then, as he laid his hand on
the door-knob, he added: "In study
ing so intently your own' point of
view, you seem to have forgotten that
the last thing which Mr. Grey would
be likely to do, under those circum
stances, would be to call attention to
the falsity of the gem upon whose sim
ilarity to the real stone he was de
pending. Not even his confidence in
his own position, as an honored and
highly-esteemed guest, would lead him
to do that."
"Not if he were a well-known con
noisseur," I faltered, "with, the pride
of one who has handled the best
gems? He would know that the de
ception would be soon discovered and
that it would not do for him to fail
to recogniz? it fpr what it was, when
the make-believe was in his hands."
"Forced, my dear child, forced
and as chimerical as all the rest. It
can not stand putting into words. I
will go. further,—you are a good girl
and can bear to hear the truth from
me. I don't believe in your theory: I
can't.. I have not been able to from
the first, nor have any of my men
but if your ideas are true and Mr.
Grey is Involved in this matter, you
will find that there has been more of
a hitch about that diamond than you,
in your simplicity, believe. If Mr.
Grey were in actual possession of this
valuable, he would show less care
than you say he does. So would he If
It were in Wellgood's hands with his
consent and a good prospect of its
coming to him in the near future. But
if it is in Wellgood's hands without
his consent, or any near prospect of
his regaining It, then we can easily
understand his present apprehensions
and the growing uneasiness he be
trays."
"True." I murmured.
"If, then," the inspector pursued,
'giving me a parting glance not with
out something really serious underly
ing its humor, "we should find, in fol
lowing up our present clue, that Mr.
Grey has had dealings with this Well
good or this Sears or IE you, with
your advantages for learning the fact,
should discover that he shows any ex
traordinary interest in either of them,
the matter will take on a different
aspect. But we have not got that far
yet. At present our task is to find
one or. the other of these men. If we
ae lucky, we shall discover that the
waiter and the steward are Identical,
in spite of their seemingly different
appearance. A rogue ,such as' this
Sears has shown himself to be, would
be an adept at disguise."
"You are right," I acknowledged.
"He has certainly the heart of a crim
inal. If he had no hand in Mrs. Fair
brother's murder, he came near hav
ing one in that of your detective.
You know what I mean. I could not
help hearing, Inspector."
He smiled, looked me steadfastly In
the face for a moment, and then
•bowed me out.
The inspector told me afterward
that, in spite of the cavalier manntr
with which he had treated my sugges
tions, he spent a very serious half
hour, head to head with the district
attorney. The result was the follow
in? order to Sweetwater, the detec
tive.
"You are to go to. the St. Regis
make yourself solid there, and grad
ually, as you can manage It, work
yourself into a position for knowing
all that goes on In Room If the
gentleman (m.ind you, the gentleman
we care nothing about the women)
should go out, you are to follow him If
It takes you to We want to
know his secret but he must never
know our Interest in it and you are to
be as silent In this matter as if pos
sessed of, neither ear nor tongue. I
will add memory, for If you find this
secret to be one in which we have no
lawful Interest, you are to forget it
absolutely and for ever. You will un
derstand why when you consult the
St. Regis register."
But they expected nothing from it
absolutely nothing.
CHAPTER XVI,
SkA
ff-%
WK 77 a*
Doubt.
I prayed, uncle that we might be
driven home by the way of Eighty
s'lxth Street. I wanted to look at the
Fairbrother house. I had seen it many
times, but I felt that I should see It
with n&w eyes after the story I had
just hoard In the inspector's office.
That -an adventure of this nature
could take place in a New York house
taxed my credulity. I might have be
lieved it of Paris, wicked, mysterious
Paris, the home of intrigue and every
redoubtable crime, but of our own
homely, commonplace metropolis—the
house must be seen for me to be con
vinced of the fact related.
Many of you know the building. It
is usually spoken of with a shrug, the
sole reason for which seems to be
that there is no other just like it in
the city. I myself have always con
sidered it imposing and majestic but
to the average man it is too sugges
tive of Old-World feudal life to be
pleasing. On this afternoon—a dull,
depressing one—It looked undeniably
heavy as we approached it, but inter
esting In a very new way to me, be
cause of the great turret at one angle,
the scene of that midnight descent of
two men, each in deadly fear of the
other, yet quailing not in their pur
pose,—the one of flight, the other of
pursuit.
There was no railing in front of the
house. It may have seemed an un
necessary safeguard to the audacious
owner. Consequently, the small door
in the turret opened directly upon the
street, making entrance and exit easy
enough for any one who hod the key.
But the shaft and the amall room at
•the bottom—where were they? Nat
urally in the center of the great mass,
the room being without windows.
It was, therefore, useless to look for,
it, and yet my eye ran along the
peaks and pinnacles of the roof,
searching for the skylight in which it
undoubtedly ended. At last I espied
it, and, my curiosity satisfied on this
score, I let my eyes run over the side
and face of the building for an open
window or a lifted shade. But all
were tightly closed and gave no more
sign of life than did the boardedi-up
door. But I was not deceived by this.
As we drove away, I thought how on
the morrow there would be a regular
procession passing through this street
to see just the little I had* seen today.
The detective's adventure as like to
make the house notorious. For sev
eral minutes after I had left its
neighborhood .my imagination pic
tured room after room shut up from
the light of day, but bearing within
them the impalpable aura of those
two shadows flitting through them like
the ghosts of ghosts, as the detective
had tellingly put it
The heart has it strange surprise.
Through my whole ride and the in
dulgence In these thoughts I was con
scious of a great inner revulsion
against all I had intimated and even
honestly felt while talking with the in
spector. Perhaps this is what this
wise old official expected. He had let
me talk, and the Inevitable reaction
followed. I could now see only Mr.
Grey's goodness and claims to respect,
and began to hate myself that I had
not been immediately impressed by
the inspector's views, and shown my
self more willing to drop every sus
picion against the august personage I
had presumed to associate with crime.
What had given me the strength to
persist? Loyalty to my lover? His
innocence had not been involved. In
deed., every word uttered in the in
spector's office had gone to prove that
he no longer occupied a leading place
in police calculations: that their eyes
were turned elsewhere, and that I had
only to be patient to see Mr. Durand
quite cleared in their minds.
But was this really so? Was he as
safe as that? What if this new clue
failed? What if they failed to find
Sears or lay hands on the doubtful
Wellgood? Would Mr. Durand be re
leased without a trial? Should we
hear nothing more of the strange and
to many the suspicious circumstances
which linked him to this crime? It
would be expecting too much from
either police or official discrimination.
A W4
No Mr. Durand would never be
completely exonerated till the true cul
prit was found and all explanations
made. I had therefore been simply
fighting his battles when I pointed out
what I thought to be the weak place
in their present theory, and, sore as I
felt In contemplation of my seemingly
heartless action, I was not the unim
pressionable, addle-pated nonentity I
must have seemed to the inspector.
Yet my comfort was small and the
effort it took to face Mr. Grey and my
young patient was much greater than
I had anticipated. I blushed as I ap
proached to take my place at Miss
Grey's bedside, and, had her father
been as suspicious of me at that mo
ment as I was of him, I am sure that
I should have fared badly in his
thoughts.
But he was not on the watch for my
emotions. He was simply relieved to
see me back. I noticed this immed
iately, also that something had oc
curred during my absence which ab
sorbed his thought and filled him with
anxiety.
A Western Union envelope lay al
his feet.-rproof that he had Just re
ceived a telegram. This, under or
dinary circumstances, would not have
occasioned me a second thought, such
a man being naturally the recipient of
all sorts of communications from all
parts of the world but at this crisis,
with the worm of a half-stifled doubt
still gnawing at my heart, everything
that occurred to him took on import
ance and roused questions.
When he had left the room, Miss
Grey nestled up to me with the seem
ingly Ingenuous remark:
"Poor papa! something disturbs
him. He will not tell me what. I sup
pose he thinks I am not strong enough
to share his troubles. But I shall be
soon. Don't you see I am gaining
every day?"
"Indeed I do," was my hearty re
sponse. In face of such a sweet con
fidence and open affection doubt van
ished and I was able to give all my
thoughts to her.
"I wish papa felt as sure of this as
you do," she said. "For some reason
he does not seem to take any comfort
from my improvement. When Doctor
Freligh says, "Well, well! we are get
ting on finely today,' I notice that he
dioes not look less anxious, nor does
he even meet these encouraging words
with a smile. Haven't you noticed it?
He looks as care-worn and troubled
about me now as he did the first day I
was taken sick. Why should he? Is
it because he has lost so many chil
dren he can not believe in his good
fortune at having the most insig
nificant of all left to him?"
'1 do rot know your father very
well," I protested "and can not Judge
what is going on in his mind. But he
must see that you are quite a different
girl from what you were a week ago,
and that, if nothing unforeseen hap
pens, your recovery will only be a
matter of a week or two longer."
"Oh, how I love to hear you say
that! To be well again! To read
letters!" she murmured, "and to
write them!" And I saw the delicate
hand falter up to pinch the precious
packet awaiting that happy hour. I
did not like to discuss her father with
her, so took this opportunity to turrn
the conversation aside into safer chan
nels. But we had not proceeded far
before Mr. Grey returned and, taking
his stand at the foot of the bed, re
marked, after a moment's gloomy con
templation of his daughter's face:
"You are better today, the doctor
says,—I have just been telephoning to
him. But do you feel well enough.''for
me to leave you for a few days? There
is a man I must see—must go to, if
you haive no dread of being left alone
with your good nurse and the doctor's
constant attendance."
Miss Grey looked startled. Doubt
less she found it difficult to under
stand what man in this strange coun
try could interest' her father enough
to Induce him to leave her while he
wa® yet laboring under such solici
tude. But a smile speedily took the
place of her look of surprised inquiry
and she affectionately exclaimed:
"Oh, I haven't the least dread in the
world, not now. See, I can hold up
my arms. Go, papa, go It will give
me a chance to surprise you with my
good looks when you come back."
He turned abruptly away. He was
suffering from an emotion deeper than
he cared to acknowledge. But he
gained control over himself speedily
and, coming back, announced with
forced decision:
"I shall have to go tonight. I have
no choice. Promise me that you will
not go back in my absence that you
will strive to get well that you will
put all your mind Into striving to get
well."
"Indeed, I will," she answered, a lit
tle frightened by the feeling he
showed.. "Don't worry so much. I
have more than one reason for living,
papa."
He shook his head and went immed
iately to make his preparations for
departure. His daughter gave one
sob, then caught me by the hand.
"You look dumfounded," she said.
"But nevermind, we shall get on very
well together. I have the most per
fect confidence in you."
Was it my duty to let the inspector
know that Mr. Grey anticipated ab
senting himself from the. city for a
few days? I decided that I would
only be Impressing my own doubts up.
on him after a rebuke which should
have allayed them.
Yet, when Mr. Grey came to take
his departure I wished that the in
spector might have been a witness to
his emotion, if only to give me one of
his very excellent explanations. The
parting was more like that of one who
sees no immediate promise of return
than of a traveler who intends to limit
his stay to a few days. He looked her
in the eyes and kissed her a dozen
times, each, time with an air of heart
break which was good neither for her
nor for himself, and when he finally
tore himself away It was to look back
at her from the door with an expres
sion I was glad she did not see, or it
would certainly have interfered with
the promise she had made to concen
trate all her energies on getting well.
What was at the root of his extreme
grief at leaving her? Did he fear the
person he was going to meet, or were
his plans such as Involved a much
longer stay than he had mentioned?
Did he even mean to return at all?
Ah, that was the question! Did he
intend to return, or had I been the un
conscious witness of a flight?
CHAPTER XVII.
Sweetwater In a New Role.
A few days later three men were
closeted in the district attorney's
office. Two of them were officials—
the district attorney himself," and our
old friend, the inspector. The third
was the detective, Swe.etwater, chosen
by them to keep watch on Mr. Grey.
Sweetwater had just come to town,
—this as evident from the gripsack
he had set down In a corner on enter
ing, also from a certain tousled ap
pearance which bespoke hasty rising
and but few facilities for proper at
tention to his person. These details
counted little, however, in the aston
ishment created by his manner. For
a hardy chap he looked strangely
nervous and indisposed, so much so
that, after the first short greeting, the
Inspector asked him what was up, and
if he had had another Fairbrother
house experience.
He replied with a decided no that
it was not this adventure which had
upset him, but the news he had to
bring.
Here he glanced at every door and
window and then, leaning forward
over the table at which the two offic
ials sat, he 'brought his head as nearly
to them as possible and whispered
five words.
They produced a most unhappy sen
sation. Both the men, hardened as
they were by duties, which soon sap
the sensibilities, started and turned as
pale a sthe speaker himself. Then the
district attorney, with one glance at
the inspector, rose and locked the
door.
It was a prelude to this tale which I
give, not as it came from his mouth,
but as it was afterward related to me.
•99r
The language ,i fear, 1b mostly my'
own.
The detective bad just been witli
Mr. Grey to the coast of Maine. Why
there, will presently appear. His taski
had been to follow this gentleman,!
and follow him he did.
Mr .Grey was a very stately man,!
difficult of approach, and was ab-l
sorbed, besides, by some overwhelm-!
lng care. But this fellow was one in'
a thousand and somehow, during the
trip, he managed to do him some little
service, which drew the attention of
the great man to ihmself. This done
he so improved his opportunity that
the two were soon on the best ol
trems, and he learned that the Eng*
llshman was without a valet, and, be«
lng unaccustomed' to move about with,
out one, felt the awkwardness of his
position very much. This gave Sweet,
water his cue, and when he found that
the services of such a man were want«
ed only during the present trip and!
for the handling of affairs quite apart
from .personal tendance upon the gen
tleman himself, he showed such an
honest desire to fill the place, and!
made out to give such a good' account
of himself, that he found himself en
gaged for the work before reaching)
This was a great stroke of luck, ha
thought, but he little knew how big
a stroke or into what a series of ad*
ventures it was going to lead him.
Once oh the platform of the small
station at which Mr. Grey had bidden
him to stop, he noticed two things:
the utter helplessness of the man las
all practical matters ,and his extreme,
anxiety to see all that was going on
about him without being himself seen.
There was method in this curiosity,
too much method. Women did not
interest him in the least. They could
pass and repass without arousing his
attention, but the moment a man
stepped his way, he shrank from him
only to betray the greatest curiosity!
concerning him the moment he left tt
safe to turn and observe him. All of
which convinced Sweetwater that the,
Englishman's errand was in connec
tion with a man whom he equally
dreaded and desired to meet.
Of this he was made absolutely ceiy
tain a little later. As they were leav«
ing the depot with the rest of the ars
rivals, Mr. Grey said:
1
"I want you to get me a room at aj
very quiet hotel. This done, you are
to hunt up the man whose name you
will find written in this paper, ana
when you have found him, make up
your mind how it will be possible fol*
me to get a good lobk at him without!
his getting any sort of a look at me.
Do this and you will earn a week'®
salary in one day." 1
Sweetwater, with his head In alM
and his heart on fire—for mattera.
were looking very promising indeed—»|
took the paper and put it in his pock^
et then he began to hunt for a hotel.,
Not till he had found what he wished.i
and Installed the Englishman in hiaf|
room, did he I venture to open the!
precious memorandum and read the
name he had been speculating over for
an hour. It was not the one he had
anticipated, but it came near to it. Ifcl
was that of James Wellgood.
Satisfied now that he had a- ticklishjj
matter to handle, he prepared for ltj
with his usual enthusiasm and circum«(
spection.
Sauntering out into the street, ha'
strolled first toward the post-office.,
The train on which he had just coma,
had been a mall-train, and he calcu
lated that he would find half the* towai
there.
His calculation was a correct one«
The store was crowded with people.
Taking his place in the line drawn up
before the post-office window,. ho
awaited his turn, and when It camel
shouted out the name which was hls
one talisman—James Wellgood.
1
The man behind the boxes was used'
to the name arid reached out a hand
toward a box unusually well stacked,
but stopped half-way there and gavai
Sweetwater a sharp look.
'"Who are you?" he asked,
"A stranger," that young man put ltff
volubly, "looking for James Wellgood.
I thought,, perhaps^ you could tell me
where to find him. I see that his let-'
ters pass through this office."
"You're taking up another man's)
time," complained the postmaster. Hei
probably allitded to the man whose
elbow Sweetwater felt boring into his
back. "Ask Dick over there he knows
him."
The detective was glad enough to
escape and ask Dick. But he was bet
ter pleased yet when Dick—a fellow
with a squint whose hand was always
in the sugar—told him that Mr. Well
good ould probably be In for his mail
in a few moments. "That is his buggy
standing before the drug-store on the
opposite side of the way."
So! he had netted Jones' quondam
waiter at the first cast! "Lucky!" was
what he said to himself, "still lucky.!".
Sauntering to the door, he watched
for the owner of that buggy. He iiad
learned, as such fellows do, that there
was a secret hue and cry after this"
very man by the New York police
that he was supposed by some to be
Sears himself. In this-way he would'
soon be looking upon the very man
whose steps he had followed through'
the Fairbrother house a few nighta
before, and through whose resolute ac
tion he had very nearly run the risk of
a lingering death from starvation.
"A dangerous customer," thought
he. "I wonder if my instinct will go
so far as to make me recognize his
presence. I shouldn't wonder. It has
served me almost as well as that
many times before."
It appeared to serve him now, for
when the man finally showed himself
on the cross-walk separating the two
buildings he experienced a sudden in
decision not unlike that of dread, and
there being nothing in the man's ap
pearance to warrant apprehension, he
took it for the instinctive recognition
it undoubtedly was.
He therefore watched him narrowly
and succeeded in getting one glance
from his eye. It was enough. The man
was commonplace,—commonplace In
feature, dress and manner, but his eye
gave him away. There was nothing
commonplace in that. It was an eye
to beware of.
i.
"r*,* f*i*AiWVu\/u
ITo Be Continued.)