CHAPTER XI
An Old Acquaintance
I arose betimes in the morning, despite the fact that I had been up mostof the night, for I was determined to gain entrance to the Kingdoncottage and force an interview with Marcia Lawrence before I went to myappointment with her mother. Day had taken from my dream nothing of itsvividness, but my nerves were normal again, and I could approach thetask with a coolness which had not been possible the night before. ThatMarcia Lawrence had taken refuge with the Kingdons, I did not for aninstant doubt; it was my business to prove it--to gain entrance to herpresence and persuade her to grant Burr Curtiss a final interview.
There was another mystery about the cottage which piqued and puzzled me.What was the meaning of that light in the cellar? What work had beengoing forward there, hour after hour? Whose was that shrill and violentvoice which had threatened me through the door? And how had it beenpossible for the other inmates of the house to sleep on undisturbedthrough all that commotion? If Miss Lawrence were really there, wouldshe not have heard me?
I descended to the dining-room, revolving this problem in my mind, sointent upon it that I brushed into a man at the door. I turned toapologise and saw his face light up at sight of me.
"Why, hello, Lester," he cried, holding out his hand. "This is luck!"
"Hello, Godfrey," I answered, returning his clasp with interest. "Gladto see you."
"Not half so glad as I am to see you. Come over here to this side-tablewhere we can talk in peace. Quite like the Studio, isn't it?"
I laughed responsively at the memory of that night when Jim Godfrey, ofthe _Record_, for purposes of his own, had kidnapped me and entertainedme with a superb dinner at the famous Sixth Avenue resort. I had met himoccasionally since, and had found him always the same genial, generous,astute fellow he had proved himself then. Trained on the detectiveforce, he had been for some years the _Record's_ star reporter, and wasemployed only on what the newspapers love to call _causes celebres_. Ofcourse, I knew instantly what "_cause_" it was had brought him toElizabeth.
"Here on business?" he asked, as we sat down.
"Yes. And you?"
"Oh, I came down last night to write up this Lawrence-Curtiss affair.You've heard about it?"
He was looking at me keenly.
"Yes," I answered steadily, determined to keep him from guessing myconnection with it; "I read about it in the papers last night. Queeraffair, wasn't it?"
"Mighty queer. You haven't happened to form a theory about it, haveyou?"
I laughed outright. He had come to me for a theory once before, and herehe was at his old trick.
"I haven't enough data to form a theory," I said.
"Well, maybe I can furnish you with more. I did some pretty lively worklast night, and covered all the details I could think of."
"I haven't seen this morning's _Record_," I said. "Of course it's allthere."
"Not quite all. I don't want to give the other fellows too much rope.They're all tied up in a knot, now, and I want them to stay that way."
"The 'other fellows,' I suppose, are your esteemed contemporaries?"
"In plain English, my hated rivals. But I don't mind telling you. Youtreated me square in the Holladay case. The boys told me afterwards howyou refused to give me away."
"All right; fire ahead," I said, and cut my steak.
"Well," he began, "I saw at once, after I'd looked over the field andfound out that it was impossible to see either Curtiss or Mrs. Lawrence,that the persons who could probably tell me most about the insideworkings of this affair were the servants in the Lawrence house.Evidently there must have been trouble of some sort there; and itprobably would not escape the servants' notice. So I went after them."
I nodded, but kept my eyes on my plate. Here was luck, indeed!
"There are five of them," he went on; "an outside man, who takes care ofthe grounds and horses; a cook, two house-girls, and a maid. The outsideman is the husband of the cook; they and the house-girls stay at theplace, and the maid lives with her sister in a cottage just off thegrounds."
"And could they tell you anything?" I asked.
"Neither the man, the cook, nor the house-girls could tell me a thing.They'd all been busy preparing for the wedding, and didn't know anythingwas wrong until the maid, whose name is Lucy Kingdon, told them MissLawrence had disappeared. The house-girls had been passing back andforth all the time, and had caught a glimpse of Miss Lawrence now andthen, but had noticed absolutely nothing unusual, had seen no strangerabout the place, nor heard any outcry. One of them passed Miss Lawrencein the hall as she was talking with the decorator, and says that she wasradiant with happiness.
"But the maid?" I asked, anxious to hear what he had got from her.
"Ah, she was different. She's been with the family a long time. Sheseems to be a kind of privileged character--a trusted confidante; thoughwhy any one should wish to trust her is beyond me--she's not anattractive woman, rather the reverse."
"And what did she tell you?"
"She didn't tell me anything," answered Godfrey, with some heat. "Shebeat about the bush and finally got angry. But I'm sure of one thing,and that is that she knows where Miss Lawrence is. Indeed," he added,"I'm pretty certain that Miss Lawrence passed the night in the Kingdoncottage."
"Why?" I asked, with lively interest at this confirmation of my ownbelief.
"I don't know--just a sort of intuition. And then--they wouldn't let mein to see."
"Oh--you tried to get in, did you?"
"I certainly did--tried my level best, but couldn't make it. ThoseKingdon sisters are a pair of Tartars. Both of them were there. Theelder one was a beauty when she was young, I fancy, but she's seen sometrying times since, to judge from her face. She's got mighty handsomeeyes, even yet--and my! how they can flash. Well, they sent me to theright-about as soon as they learned my errand. I tried all my wiles," headded, with a little rueful smile, "and in vain."
"But intuition's hardly enough to go on," I suggested.
"Of course there's more than that. It's the only house she could havereached without being seen. There's a path leads to it through a grovewhich screens it from the street. If she'd gone in any other direction,she'd have had to venture out into the open, where somebody would havebeen sure to see her. Remember, she was in her wedding-dress, and therewere probably a good many people standing around watching the house, asthey always do at these fashionable weddings."
Perhaps something in my face betrayed me; at any rate, he looked at mewith a sudden intent interest.
"See here, Lester," he said, "I believe you're in on this thingyourself."
"Not for publication."
"Agreed. Now let's have it."
"Well," I explained, "I'm working for Curtiss. I'm trying to find MissLawrence. He thinks he's entitled to an explanation."
Godfrey nodded quickly.
"Any man would think so," he said. "How are you going about it?"
"I'm going to take advantage of the hint you just gave me."
"And go to the Kingdon house?"
"Yes. I believe Miss Lawrence is there, myself. I thought so last nightwhen I came to it after following that path through the grove."
"So you'd discovered it, too! Well, I wish you luck. Of course, we maybe all wrong. I don't believe there are any other pointers I can giveyou," he added, "or I'd be glad to. I suppose you saw Mrs. Lawrence?"
"Oh yes."
"How was she affected?"
"Not so deeply as you'd expect," I said.
He gazed at me with narrowed eyes.
"Has it occurred to you, Lester," he said, at last, "that Miss Lawrencemay not have gone away of her own accord at all; that there may be aplot against her; that she was forced to go, or perhaps even shut up insome room in the Lawrence house?"
"Yes; I'd thought of it. I even put it to Mrs. Lawrence."
"And what did she say?"
"She laughed at me. She said her daughter was a strong girl, whowouldn't let herself
be abducted without a struggle, and that a singlescream would have alarmed the house."
"But suppose she'd been drugged," suggested Godfrey. "Then she wouldhave neither screamed nor struggled."
"Last night," I said, "I was half-inclined to believe that something ofthe sort had happened. I'd forgotten one fact which absolutely disprovesit. She left a note behind her--or, at least, wrote it and sent it backafter she ran away."
"Ah--she did?"
"Yes--a note saying the marriage was impossible, though her love wasunaltered, and that Curtiss wasn't to attempt to find her."
Godfrey sat suddenly upright with grim countenance.
"Then there's only one explanation of it," he said. "There's only onething could make a girl drop everything and run away like that--only onething in the world. She's already married, and her first husband'sturned up."
"I'd thought of that, too; but her mother swears her daughter never hada love affair previous to this one."
"Of course she'd say so. Has any other possible explanation occurred toyou?"
"No," I answered frankly. "And I've tried mighty hard to find another."
"Let's go back a bit. The discovery--whatever it was--was made at thelast moment."
"Yes--at the moment she left the decorator and started upstairs to gether veil."
"Was it made accidentally?"
"I don't know."
"But I do. It was _not_ accidentally--it was by design. Things don'thappen accidentally, just in the nick of time."
"No," I agreed, "they don't."
"It was his revenge," continued Godfrey, with growing excitement. "Hewanted to get even, and he waited till the last moment. It was certainlyartistic."
"If he really wanted to crush her," I suggested, my lips trembling withthe horror of the thought, "he'd have waited a little longer."
Godfrey stared at me with glittering eyes.
"You're right," he agreed, after a moment. "He didn't want to get even,then; he wanted her back. So he sent a letter----"
"It wasn't a letter. Perhaps it was a telegram."
"No, it wasn't a telegram--I looked that up. Are you sure it wasn't aletter?"
"Yes. The morning mail was delivered shortly after nine. She was happyas usual until the moment of her disappearance, two hours later. If itwasn't a letter or a telegram, he must have come in person."
Godfrey sat for a moment with intent face.
"I hardly think so," he said, at last. "Some one would have noticed astranger, and I made special inquiries on that point, though it was alover I was looking for, not a husband. I rather imagined that there wasanother man in the case, and that, at the last moment, she decided tomarry him and ran away to do it."
"No," I said decidedly, "she was in love with Curtiss--passionately inlove with him."
"Well, lover or husband, I don't believe he came in person. I think itmuch more probable that the warning came from inside the house."
"From the maid," I suggested.
"Precisely," he nodded. "From the maid."
Then, suddenly, I recalled the sweet face, the clear gaze----
"It's a pretty theory, Godfrey," I said; "but I don't believe it. Haveyou ever seen Miss Lawrence?"
"No--not even her photograph. I tried to get one and failed," he added,with rueful countenance.
"She's a beautiful woman--she's more than that--she's a good woman.There's something Madonna-like about her."
"Most of the famous Madonnas," he said, smiling, "however virginal inappearance, were anything but Madonna-like in behaviour--Andrea delSarto's, for instance."
With a little shiver, I remembered Mr. Royce's phrase--it was to the delSarto Madonna he had compared her! Could I be wrong in my estimate ofher, after all?
"There's no other theory will explain her flight," he repeated."Presuming, of course, that she was sane."
"She was very sane," I said, in a low voice. "She was a self-controlled,well-balanced woman."
"And that she still loves Curtiss."
"I'm sure she does."
"Then you'll find I'm right. But come," he added, rising, "I've got somework to do. I'll try to meet you as you come away from the Kingdoncottage. I'm curious to know what luck you'll have."
He left me at the hotel door and hurried away toward the business partof the town, while I turned in the opposite direction. Godfrey'sconfidence in his theory weighed upon me heavily. He was right in sayingthat it seemed the only tenable one, and yet, with the memory of MissLawrence's pure face before me, I could not believe it. I could notbelieve that those clear eyes sheltered such a secret. I could notbelieve that anything shameful had ever touched her. She had keptherself unspotted from the world. And I would prove it!
As I reached the Kingdon house and turned in at the gate, I rememberedwith a smile the resolution I had made the night before to buy arevolver. It seemed absurd enough in the light of the clear day--that Ishould arm myself against two women!
There was a flower-bed on either side the walk, well-kept and in a riotof bloom, and along the hedges and about the house were others.Evidently the women who lived here not only loved flowers, but had ampletime to tend them. As I approached the house, I saw that the blinds weredrawn, and there seemed no sign of life about the place, but the doorwas opened almost instantly in answer to my knock.
The woman who opened it, I knew at once for the elder Miss Kingdon, andmy eyes were caught and my attention held by the bold, virile beauty ofher face--a beauty which had, in a way, burnt itself out by its veryfierceness. She resembled her sister, and yet there was something higherand finer about her. She gave me the impression of one who had passedthrough a fiery furnace--and not unscathed! I wondered, as Godfrey had,at the dark splendour of her eyes; I could fancy how they would burn andsparkle once she was roused to anger.
"This is Miss Kingdon?" I asked.
She bowed.
"I'm going to ask a favour, Miss Kingdon," I said, "the favour of a fewmoments' conversation."
"Are you a reporter?" she demanded, without seeking to soften theharshness of the question, and in an instant I knew that it was she whohad threatened me through the door the night before, for the voice wasthe same and yet not the same. Then it had been edged and broken by akind of frenzy; now it was almost domineering in its cool insolence.What was it had so shaken her? Fear at my knock at that hour of thenight? Yet she seemed anything but a woman easily alarmed.
"No, I'm not a reporter," I answered, smiling as well as I could to hidethe tumult of my thoughts. "My name is Lester, and I'm acting for Mr.Curtiss. I hope you'll grant my request."
She looked at me more closely, and her lips curved derisively.
"I've heard of you," she said.
"From your sister, no doubt. I had the pleasure of meeting her yesterdayafternoon."
I could not wholly keep the irony out of my tone.
"I guess you didn't find out much from her," she retorted.
"Not half as much as she knew. I hope you'll be more frank with me."
She hesitated a moment longer, then stood aside.
"Very well; come in," she said, and as I entered, she pointed the wayinto a room at the right.
It was a large, pleasant room, well furnished and in excellent taste. Onmy first glance around, my eyes were caught and held by a portrait whichoccupied the place of honour on the wall opposite the front windows. Itwas a woman's head, life-size, evidently done from life, crude enough inexecution, but of a woman so brilliantly beautiful that her face seemedto glow through the canvas, to rise superior to the lack of skill withwhich the artist had depicted her. There was something familiar aboutit, too--at least, I fancied so--and then I shook the thought awayimpatiently.
"Well?" asked a voice, and I turned to see that Miss Kingdon was waitingfor me to speak. "Sit down," she added abruptly, and herself sat downopposite me, and gazed at me with fierce eyes that never wavered.
"Mr. Curtiss is naturally anxious," I began, "to find Miss Lawrence andto hear from her own
lips the reason for her flight. He even thinks hehas a certain right to know that reason. I'm trying to find where MissLawrence is."
"And why do you come here?" she asked with compressed lips.
"Because," I answered boldly, "I believe that Miss Lawrence came herewhen she left her home. She went first into the library, where she satfor a while until she decided what to do; then she opened the librarywindow, descended from the balcony, and ran here along the path whichleads through the trees to that gate out yonder. You received her andrefused to allow any one to see her."
"I refused to allow the reporters to see her!" she cried. "Surely, youwould have done as much!"
"Yes," I said, repressing as well as I could the sudden burst of triumphwhich glowed within me. "Yes--perhaps I should. But you'll not refuseme?"
She smiled grimly.
"That was cleverly done, Mr. Lester," she said. "Fortunately it's nolonger a question of my consent or refusal."
"Miss Lawrence isn't here?"
"No; Miss Lawrence left here late last night."
"And went----"
"Ah, that I shall not tell."
I looked at her again and saw that by arguing I should be simply wastingmy time. I saw something else, too--this woman also knew the reason forMarcia Lawrence's flight.
But she was looking at me with a sudden white intensity.
"It was you," she said hoarsely, "who knocked at the door in the middleof the night."
"Yes," I admitted, fascinated by her burning gaze, "it was I."
"Why did you do that?"
"I don't exactly know," I answered lamely, not daring to tell the truth."I was passing the house and saw a light----"
"Where?" she demanded, her face contracting in a quick spasm.
"In the window yonder," and I heard her deep breath of relief. "Ithought perhaps it was Miss Lawrence."
"It was I," she said, and I saw she was visibly forcing herself to goon. "I had been putting away some fruit in the cellar. Your knock atthat hour startled me."
"Quite naturally," I assented. "I wonder at myself now for knocking."
"How did you happen to be passing the house at that time?" she askedsuddenly.
"I'd been awakened by a bad dream and found I couldn't go to sleepagain, so decided to walk a little. I walked in this direction, Isuppose, because I was thinking about Miss Lawrence."
She was looking at me keenly, but saw that I spoke the truth and againgave a quick sigh of relief.
"Miss Lawrence was not here then?" I questioned, deciding to become theinquisitor in my turn.
"Oh, no; she had left several hours earlier. I was alone in thehouse--which rendered your knock all the more disquieting. My sisterremained with Mrs. Lawrence last night," and she rose to indicate thatmy audience was at an end.
I rose somewhat reluctantly. I felt that she could tell me so much more,if she would. It was provoking to be so near success, and yet not tosucceed.
"I'm sorry," I said, "that you refuse to tell me where Miss Lawrence hasgone. I don't believe you're acting wisely--nor is she in running away.She should be brave enough to stay and face Mr. Curtiss. He has aright----"
"There are others who have rights," she cried, her self-control suddenlydeserting her. "There are others who have waived their rights, and torntheir hearts, and withered in silence----"
She stopped abruptly, and I saw the tremor which swept through her asshe controlled herself.
"That is all," she said more calmly, but with working face. "Yourparrot-like talk of Mr. Curtiss's rights provoked me," and she movedtoward the door.
I paused for a last glance at the portrait, and again I was struck byits likeness to some one I knew.
"That is a most remarkable picture," I said. "The person who painted itseems to have been clumsy enough, and yet there is something vital andbewitching about it."
There was a signature scrawled in one corner, and I bent closer todecipher it.
"It was painted by a cousin of mine," said Miss Kingdon indifferently.
And suddenly the scrawl became intelligible.
"'Ruth Endicott,'" I read, with a quick glow of interest.
"What do you know of her?" she demanded, looking at me sharply.
"Nothing," I answered, as indifferently as I could. "Only, I should beinterested to know how she developed. She seems to have had greattalent."
"That was the last picture she ever painted," said Miss Kingdon shortly;then her eyes flamed suddenly and her face darkened, as she steppedclose to the portrait and stared at it. "She was beautiful--beautiful!"she murmured hoarsely, and I knew that Ruth Endicott's last painting hadbeen a portrait of herself.
And yet it was scarcely a portrait, either, for the features were barelyindicated. But, gazing at it, one saw a woman there--a woman real andvital--and knew instinctively that she was beautiful. It was what Isuppose would be called an impressionistic picture, but it differed frommost impressionistic pictures in showing imagination in the artistinstead of demanding it from the observer.
But why should that pictured face seem so familiar? Not in lineament,but in poise and expression it recalled some one vividly. There was nodoubting the resemblance, but grope in my memory as I might, I could notplace it.
"When you are quite ready," said Miss Kingdon, in a voice quivering withimpatience, "I shall be glad to show you out."
I turned to find her glaring at me almost like a beast at bay. With animperious gesture, which checked on my lips any questions I would haveasked, she led the way out into the hall.
"You are at liberty to search the house," she said coldly, interceptingthe glance I shot about me, "if you doubt my statement that MissLawrence is no longer here."
The thought flashed through my mind that I would welcome a chance totake a look into the cellar, and inspect the fruit which it had takenhours to arrange, but I did not dare suggest it.
"No," I protested; "I believe you," and in another moment I was in thestreet.
Godfrey was awaiting me.
"Well?" he asked.
"Not there," I said.
"But she was there?"
"Yes; it was there she took refuge--you were right about that; but sheleft late last night. I don't know how or where. Miss Kingdon refused totell me."
He pondered this an instant with half-closed eyes.
"I don't think she can slip through our fingers," he said, at last."Every one about here knows her."
"If she took the train," I suggested, "the agent may remember."
"Yes," he agreed. "And by the way," he added suddenly, "it _was_ aletter which caused all this trouble."
"A letter?"
"Yes; a special-delivery letter. It was delivered at 11.15 o'clockyesterday morning. The boy mounted the steps and was going to ring thebell, when Miss Lawrence herself, who was just starting up the stairs,saw him and came to the door, which was open, and took the letter. Itwas addressed to her and she signed for it."
"Where was it from?" I asked.
"It was from New York, and across the front, in a bold hand, waswritten, 'Important--read at once.'"