Maris with suddenly trembling limbs stepped out.
"Your brother Merrick has been in an accident, and he wants you. Doc MacPherson sent word that you were to come with me quick. He may not live but a few minutes. Hurry!"
The man put out a strong hand and seized her wrist as she hurried to the cab.
"Get right in!" he said roughly, pushing her aside as she suddenly drew back and hesitated. "He might die before you get there, and he wants to see you quick!"
Maris was pushed off her balance and thrown into the backseat of the taxi, and before she could get her balance again, the man had jumped in and slammed the door shut. She tried to speak, to protest, to ask a question, but the throb of the engine covered her voice, and the cab had started on its way. There was a strange acrid smell about, and suddenly a revolting wet cloth was stuffed into her mouth, dripping down her throat in spite of her best efforts not to swallow the liquid. The pungent odor poured over her, filling her nostrils and driving away her senses, till her struggles grew less and less.
"No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper--" The words floated through her mind like a call as she drifted out of the world she knew. "No weapon. . . . This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord--!" Oh, God! You are here!
The light went out and she was away into a strange dark world where there was no longer anything she could do.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The little boys had lost their ball as darkness came down, over in the corner of the Maitland lot where the rhododendrons grew, close by the street. The boys had gone to bed, and Lane Maitland was out in the corner hunting among the rhododendrons for the ball. It was foolish, of course, to look for it when it was getting so dark. Better to wait till morning. But the boys had been distressed lest a neighbor's dog might find it and carry it off, so he had promised to hunt for it at once.
But he couldn't find it, of course. How could a dirty ball show up in the leaves among the rhododendrons? He was just about to go over and get a flashlight from his car, which was still standing in the driveway not far away, when he heard a car stop in front of the Mayberry house. He paused to look out through the shrubbery and see who it was. Could that be Tilford Thorpe? On Maris's wedding night?
Then he saw a man slink out from the car. No, that shabby sedan was not Tilford Thorpe's shining car. And that thickset, slouchy man with a stealthy gait was not Tilford. But who could it be? Perhaps he had the wrong house. Should he go and enlighten him? No, perhaps it was someone to see Sally. He waited a moment and in the silence of the evening heard the buzzer of the bell next door sound softly. If his ears had not been attuned already to everything that went on in that house, he might not have recognized it, it had been muffled so effectively.
The Mayberry front door was standing wide, with only the screen door closed, but the man was not standing in the patch of light on the doorstep; he was in the shadow at the side of the door, where Lane could not see him. He could barely discern an indistinct shadow among the other shadows.
Then he heard someone come to the door. A low muttering from the man. "Maris. . ." He heard that. Too bad the way everybody bothered Maris, making her come down to the door for every little message. Well, perhaps he would run over himself and speak to her after the man was gone. He could just slip through the hedge and catch her before she went upstairs again. There were some verses he wanted to call her attention to. She might like to have them tonight. So he stood still where he was among the shrubbery.
The street was a quiet one. And there was little traffic at this time of night. The air was not stirring much, even the leaves were quiet, and across the space between his standing place and the Mayberry front door the man's words, though guarded, came in detached fragments. Then he saw Maris come out the door and stand in the shadow near the stranger, who edged along nearer to the street, while Maris followed. They were standing more nearly opposite to his position now, and he could hear that low mutter better. He distinctly heard the word accident and caught Merrick's name. And was that MacPherson he mentioned? Did the man say "doctor"? Ah! That word was dying. His heart missed a beat, and he stood in consternation. Surely, surely he was mistaken.
And then to his horror he saw the burly fellow grasp Maris's wrist and draw her toward the sedan, and before he could stir or even cry out, he saw Maris thrust into the car and heard the door shut.
"Maris!" he called. "Maris, I'll take you!" But the car was already off down the street. Desperately Lane turned and dashed across the lawn to the driveway where his car stood. He had left it there when he came in in the afternoon, thinking perhaps Maris would like to take a short drive in the evening.
He swung into the seat and started his engine almost in one motion. Could he catch the car? Where were they going? Was Merrick really desperately hurt? Or had he not heard aright and just jumped to conclusions? It was so easy to misunderstand someone at a distance. Who was that man who had come after Maris? One of the other bus drivers? Or just a passerby? Had Dr. MacPherson really sent him? Or was Maris simply on some errand, while he was getting all wrought up over nothing from the few indefinite words he caught?
These questions danced around him as he drove, and taunted him. He couldn't be that sure that he was even following the right car now. It was far ahead, and in the darkness he could only see a wink of light. The car that had stood in the street but a minute before might have turned down the pike, though he was almost certain that it had gone straight across. If only he could get a little nearer, enough to recognize it.
Lane stepped on his accelerator, making his car shoot forward in great leaps. It was fortunate that there happened to be little traffic on this road just now. He was going sixty, seventy, seventy-five! But the car ahead was speeding, too. Would he make it before they reached the highway, where he would be sure to lose them? Blindly he shot ahead, straining his eyes, his hair blowing in the breeze.
They were coming to the highway now. The traffic was thick. The other car was slowing down. The distance between them was less. He could almost read the license plate. He had made note of that while it stood beside the curb. There! It was dashing through traffic! It was gone! Straight across! He was held up by the stoplight, but the instant it changed he dashed across, and on the other side he saw again a speck in the distance. A single car. The road was so shadowed with trees just here that it was hard to discern. If it had not been for the little blinking taillight he would not have been sure whether a car was still there. And sometimes even that light disappeared as if it had been turned off for a minute.
They were coming into the wide country. He knew the general direction. There were no towns for some distance now, and there were wide stretches of fields. Was he going on a fool's errand, following some farmer's car perhaps, much like the sedan he had seen at the Mayberry's curb? Or was this really the car he had started out to follow? Perhaps he was wasting valuable time and ought to go back and report to the police. But just the thought that Maris might be in that car in trouble, and that if he abandoned it and went back now he would be losing the last possible clue, kept him rushing on through the night. Thank God there were telephones. If he got too far away from the city and found he was following the wrong scent, he could at least telephone to the police and get action at once. So he kept on. He glanced at his gas. He had plenty. He was glad he had filled it up just before dinner when he and the boys were out for a drive.
On and on they went, turning now and then an obscure corner into a narrow dirt road, just a country road between fields. But he was still so far behind that he could not read the license plate of the sedan. What could they be going way out here for? It was miles from Merrick's bus line. He couldn't be in an accident way out here! There must be something crooked about this. Or else he had not heard aright. Perhaps Maris herself was in some kind of danger! Oh, Father in heaven, his heart cried out, help her! Let me save her.
And now as they turned into a narrow lane he grew cautious. If there were crooks ahea
d, kidnappers perhaps, and they felt they were being followed, there was no telling what they would do to throw him off their trail. So he turned out his lights. There was no danger here of meeting other traffic. They hadn't met a car for miles.
And then suddenly the car ahead turned sharply off the road into a field and went lurching and bumping across the rough ground, slowing down now because it was impossible to speed in such going.
Abruptly Lane stopped his car at the side of the narrow road. He was just emerging from a dense wood, which ran on each side, and he was well hidden. But the sky was luminous overhead, for the stars were thick and there was the brightness of the soon-approaching moon. The landscape ahead of him stretched far to the horizon, with just at that point no intervening towns or woods to hide the vision. He could discern the lurching car easily now. It showed clearly against the light of the sky. And then suddenly he saw what made his heart stand still with fear. There was a small airplane standing out there in the field, and the car was going straight toward it!
Even as he looked the lights of the plane winked on, and there was the subdued sound of its motor warming up. The car he was following signaled with its headlights. This was all prearranged, that was obvious. He was convinced now that Maris was in that car. He remembered how as he had watched it at the curb it seemed as if she had been forcibly pulled into the car.
What were they going to do with her? Kidnap her? But why would they kidnap the daughter of a plain businessman who was known to have little money?
Ah! But it was known that she was to marry the scion of a millionaire! Perhaps that was it! He ought to have stopped to telephone the police before he came off on this wild chase alone, but how could he? There would have been no clue at all then. Nothing for them to follow even if they knew. It would just be one more kidnapping case with a hopeless wait for contacts from gangsters, and maybe an unknown grave at the end. No, he must do this thing alone! It was almost hopeless, but he must try. He must somehow rescue Maris himself, or at least find out whether she was surely in that car. In a moment more it would be too late perhaps. That plane was revving up. He could not follow it into the sky, that was certain.
If only he had a revolver in his car he might try shooting the air out of those tires and stopping the car before it reached the plane. But he had no gun, and likely it would not be wise to try if he had. Criminals would have more guns than he had and be a thousand times more skilled in their use.
If he started his car again, they would know they were being watched and followed and would soon put him out of the running. Perhaps it would be better to try reaching the place on foot. Certainly the other car was making slow progress over the rough ground.
Silently he got out of the car and started into the field, trying to keep as much as possible against the background of the woods so that his moving form would not be visible to the enemy. But he had gone only a few steps before a low, sharp whistle reached his ears. They must have sighted him and were signaling one another.
The sedan rushed along over the bumps heedlessly now and quickly covered the remaining space between it and the plane. He could see a figure detach itself from the plane and run toward the car. Maitland started on a run toward them. The back door of the sedan had swung open, and the driver reached in and lifted something, someone perhaps, wrapped in a long dark cloth.
"Maris! Maris!" Maitland's voice rang out, but there came no answering voice, only muttered curses from the men. Another man came from the plane and took one end of the burden, while the thickset one ran back and started his car, lurching wildly away over the field.
"Maris! Maris!" cried Maitland in great gasps as he ran, but the inert burden the men carried gave forth no sound, and an instant later a shot rang out and a bullet sputtered by his feet, startling him so that he stumbled and fell, which perhaps saved his life, for the next bullet was aimed a little higher.
But as he dropped he saw the men against the sky lifting their burden into the plane, and almost at once it moved off, circling the far end of the field, and then rose through the night.
Lane Maitland was on his feet again instantly, but the plane was a mere bird against the night. It carried no light to pick it out among the stars. His heart was heavy with fear.
"Oh, God," he cried aloud. "You know where she is! Save her! She is Your child!"
He stumbled blindly back to his car. The other car had disappeared.
He managed to get his car turned around, though it was a difficult task in that narrow lane. Then he drove wildly back to town again, trying to think just what he ought to do, trying to order the circumstances in his mind.
Of course, there was a possibility that he was all wrong in his first premise. In the darkness he might have mistaken Sally or one of the nurses for Maris, and Maris might be even at that moment safe in her bed sleeping.
Although to his sharpened senses this seemed a most remote possibility, he decided that he'd better telephone from the nearest station to the Mayberry house and find out before he made any other moves. He had to keep his head and remember that if he had made a mistake it might mean unpleasant publicity and endless embarrassment to the people he loved best in the world.
But if she was not at home, where was she?
Was she in that little tramp plane, winging somewhere through the night? And where? And dead or alive?
Of course, the police would have to know at once if she was gone. But he would have to contact some of the family first. They might have some answer to it all.
Was Merrick really hurt, dying perhaps somewhere? Was it conceivable that the call to come to him might have been genuine?
In that case he would have to tell Mr. Mayberry, and how he shrank from bringing more anxiety to that already harassed spirit!
Then next came the thought, who could have done this thing? Just gangsters, for a ransom? Had a ransom note been found yet?
And if not gangsters for ransom, was there any other possibility? Was it conceivable that a quiet girl like that had enemies? Was someone else perhaps in love with her? What was this Tilford Thorpe like anyway? He wished he knew. Of course, Merrick's ideas of him must be taken with a grain of salt, for Merrick all too evidently hated him.
Of course, Tilford Thorpe would have been the natural person to be informed first, of all that had happened, if he were still engaged to Maris. But Maris had distinctly said that the engagement was broken. Tilford Thorpe then must be out of the picture, except as he might possibly figure in the gangsters' minds as they laid their plans for ransom.
Just then there loomed the clear red and white lights of a service station off to the left on a paved road, and he went straight to them and demanded a telephone.
There was only one attendant just then, and he was busy outside waiting on a car. He motioned toward the telephone, and Lane hurried into the little office, thankful to have it to himself for the moment.
His voice trembled as he called the familiar number, and he stood their dreading to hear the answer, wondering what the next two or three minutes would reveal. Then he heard the receiver click at the other end and Merrick's voice, "Yes? Hello!"
"Oh, are you home?" he said shakily, weak with relief.
"Sure, I'm home! Where would I be? What's the idea?"
"Well, of course," said Maitland, "but something strange has happened. Is Maris there?" His voice was quivering with anxiety.
"Maris? No. We thought she'd gone out riding with you. The nurse said she heard a car at the door and Maris went out."
Lane Maitland suppressed a groan.
"Oh, then it's true! Listen, Merrick. I'm afraid she's been kidnapped. I was out in the yard, and a sedan drew up. A man went to your door. I thought I heard him say you'd had an accident and were dying. He said you wanted Maris right away. He said Dr. MacPherson had sent him for her. He took hold of her arm and pushed her in the car and shut the door. I called out, but the car started right away. My car was there in the drive, so I followed. They went out
Lundy's Road, turned into the country, and ended up at a small plane in a field. I was too far away to see much, but I'm sure I saw them carrying someone, rolled in dark cloth, to the plane. It started almost immediately. I called again, but the only answer I got was a shot that whizzed by. Merrick, is there anyone who would want to kidnap her, or is it just plain gangsters? We must get busy at once. I have the license number, but that's not much. The plane went north. Should the police know, or what? I'm at a filling station. Sixty-fourth and the pike. Can you give me any suggestion, or shall I come straight home?"
"Good night!" said Merrick solemnly. "Are you kidding me, Lane? Haven't you got Maris there?"
"No!" said Lane sadly. "It's all true. Don't waste time. Do you think we ought to tell Thorpe before we report it to the police?"
"No!" said Merrick sharply. "Not that guy. He's no business with our troubles. Not anymore. She told us this morning she'd broken the engagement. He hasn't been around for several days. But say! Wait! You don't think maybe----! Lane, I don't know but he'd be that mean. I wouldn't put it past him. Maybe he kidnapped her himself!"
"You don't think any man is as low as that, Merrick! Not any man who loved her!"
"Well, he'd do anything to get his own way. I have an idea he wanted Maris to go on with the wedding in spite of Mother's illness. I know several things they don't know I heard. He's a skunk if there ever was one."
"Well, don't waste time. This was the wedding day, wasn't it? Would he take her off and hide her? Or what do you think?"
"I don't know. Maybe take her on board the ship. Carry her off to Europe! I wouldn't be surprised. They were to sail tonight."
"What ship? What time?" asked Lane sharply.
"The Emperor. Midnight. They had a bridal suite or something of the sort. But how could we find out until it was too late, and what could we do if it was so?"
Merrick's voice was full of despair.
"There are always things to do. I'll phone to the ship. You phone to that bird's father and see if you can find out a thing or two. Tell him what's happened. He's likely a decent man, even if his son isn't. Better try that before we go calling the police and getting things in the paper."