CHAPTER XIII
Pursuit
My work at Elizabeth was done. Whatever mystery this house contained,whatever the secrets of the Kingdons and the Lawrences, my business wasnot with them. I had only to return to New York and place this messagein Burr Curtiss's hands. I would counsel him to wait until MarciaLawrence chose to reveal herself--I was sure it would not be long. A fewdays' respite would be wise for both of them; they would be calmer, moreself-controlled, better able to meet bravely and sensibly what must bethe one crisis of their lives. But a great load was lifted from me. Mrs.Lawrence had assured me that the marriage was not impossible; lovingeach other as they did, I knew that nothing short of the impossiblecould stand between them. So they would win through, at last.
Cheered by this thought, I left the house and made my way to the hotel.
"When's the next train to New York?" I asked.
"There's one on the Pennsylvania, sir, in ten minutes," said the clerk."'Bus just leaving."
I ran out and got aboard, and a moment later we were bumping over theuneven pavement. I took a final look up the shady street; it was thelast time I should see it. What was going on, I wondered, in that bighouse among the trees? Had Miss Kingdon answered the imperative summonssent her? Had there already been an explanation, a revelation of themystery? Had she confessed that it was indeed she who revealed thesecret? Was Mrs. Lawrence right in thinking the letter from New York hadno connection with it?
The 'bus stopped abruptly, and I clambered down to the platform and gotmy ticket. It was still some minutes till train time, and while Iwaited, a train on the Jersey Central tracks stood puffing a moment, andthen started on for Philadelphia. The little station was built in thetriangle where the two lines crossed; trains were passing almost everyminute, and I reflected how easy it would be for a person not familiarwith the place to get confused and to take the wrong train.
There came a growing rumble, a shrieking of brakes. A moment more and wewere off.
I glanced at my watch. It was nearly twelve o'clock. I should be at theoffice in, say, forty-five minutes. I would wire Curtiss at once, andthe rest would be in his hands. My connection with the case would end.And yet, it was not without a certain regret that I would relinquishit--for I had not solved the mystery; that was, if anything, moreimpenetrable than when I had first approached it. Godfrey's specioustheory--which I had myself at first believed--I put aside, for, evenfrom the broken sentences which had fallen from Mrs. Lawrence's lips, Icould see that it was not the right one. If Marcia Lawrence had fled inorder to protect the memory of the dead, there could be no question of aliving husband. But though I rejected that explanation, it was evidentthat, with the data at hand, I could form no adequate one to replace it.
I went over in my mind every phase of the affair from first to last; Iendeavoured to sift out the significant incidents, and to reject theimmaterial; I tried to weld them into a compact mass, but they would notbe welded. There was nothing to connect them, no common thread uponwhich they could be strung; all that I had in my possession was a bundleof facts which seemed to be flatly self-contradictory.
I remembered Mrs. Lawrence's astonishment when I had mentioned theexistence of the letter. What had she said? "I thought it was thatwoman!" Which woman? Evidently the elder Kingdon, since she had at oncesent for her. That had been my suspicion--that it was she or her sisterwho had betrayed the secret. Yet the letter would seem to prove that itwas some one else. And it struck me as significant that at no time hadMrs. Lawrence appeared to suspect the maid.
Was there really any connection, I wondered, between that old tragedy inMrs. Lawrence's life and this in the life of her daughter? I reviewedagain the story Dr. Schuyler had told me. How the lives of the Endicottsand the Kingdons and the Lawrences had intertwined! I got out mynotebook and sketched a rough table showing their relationship, whichlooked somewhat as here shown.
Unknown | |-------------------------| Hiram Jarvis-Wife (name unknown) Mrs. Kingdon-Kingdon Endicott-Wife (name unknown) | | |--------------------| |--------------------| Henry Lawrence-Mary Ruth Endicott Harriet Kingdon Lucy Kingdon Jarvis-Boyd Endicott | Marcia Lawrence
As I gazed down at this, two names seemed to stand out more vividly thanall the rest. I closed my eyes and called before me the faces of twobeautiful women. I had never seen either of them in the life--of one, Ihad only a photograph; of the other I had seen only a crude portrait inthe parlour of the Kingdon cottage--but they had somehow assumed for mepersonalities distinct and vivid. Marcia Lawrence and Ruth Endicott--thetragedy of fate linked them together. Beautiful, young, accomplished,reared amid gentle surroundings, both had tasted the bitterness of life.From the very house whence Marcia Lawrence fled, Ruth Endicott hadstarted on her hopeless search for health.
The train slowed up for Jersey City, and in a moment was rolling underthe great shed. Twenty minutes later, I opened our office door. Mr.Royce had gone out for lunch--which reminded me that I had missed mineagain--but he came in almost immediately.
"Well?" he cried, as he crossed the threshold, and came forward withexpectant face.
"You'd better wire Curtiss to come back," I said.
"You've news for him?"
I nodded.
"I knew you'd have!" he said exultantly, and drew a pad of telegraphforms toward him and wrote a rapid message. "Curtiss is staying at alittle place on Jamaica Bay. He was afraid to go any farther away, Isuppose. He ought to be here in an hour," he added, and called a boy andgave him the message.
Then he swung around to me again.
"Now let's have the story," he prompted. "I know there's a story."
"Yes," I said; "there's a story. I was just----"
The door burst open with a crash, and in came Burr Curtiss himself.
"I couldn't stay away any longer!" he cried. "I was eating my heart out.Have you any news?"
"Sit down, Curtiss, and pull yourself together," interposed our junior,catching him by the arm. "This won't do. I just wired you to come on.You must have met the boy."
"I believe I did knock over a youngster just outside the door."
"Well, there's no damage done, I guess. Since you're here, Lester can goright ahead with the story."
"But one thing first," interrupted our client. "Did you find out whereshe went, Mr. Lester?"
"No," I answered. "But I have a message from her."
"Thank God!" he murmured, and sank back in his chair. I guessed what hisfear had been--that Marcia Lawrence was no longer among the living.
Looking at him closely, I was shocked at the change a single day hadwrought in him. His eyes were bloodshot from want of sleep, his facepale and drawn, his hair and beard unkempt. In a word, he had ceased tobe the handsome, well-groomed man the world knew as Burr Curtiss.
I related my doings briefly, including only the essential points. Then Iplaced the message in his hands. He read it, his face quivering.
"But this tells us nothing," he said hoarsely, looking up at me withpiteous eyes.
"Except that she was in New York this morning--and wants to fight herbattle out by herself."
Curtiss was on his feet, his face livid.
"But she sha'n't fight it out by herself!" he cried. "Do you think I'msuch a coward as that--to stand back, not offering to help?"
"Perhaps you can't help," I interposed.
"Don't talk nonsense!" he retorted. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Lester, butI'm overwrought--I can't choose my words. But it _is_ nonsense. I loveher--of course I can help. Don't you see, it's not herself she'sthinking of--she's trying to spare _me_."
I nodded. Perhaps it was for his sake that Marcia Lawrence had takenthat wild step. That would be like a woman.
"You may be right," I said. "I'd never thought of that solution, butMrs. Lawrence's last word
s to me would seem to point that way. She saidthat the matter would rest in your hands--that it would be for you tochoose, after you'd heard the story."
"I don't want to hear the story!" Curtiss cried. "Good God! What do Icare for the story! I've made my choice, once and forever! I want her!Of course it was to spare me she ran away! She'd never think ofherself!"
I might have retorted that it had been a rather questionable form ofmercy; that she could scarcely have inflicted on him any suffering moreacute than that which he had undergone. But I forbore; instead, I tookthe telegram again and studied it.
"If you really wish to find her," I said, "perhaps this will give us aclue."
"I do wish to find her."
"This form will tell us which station this message was sent from, Ithink. Wait here a minute," and I crossed the hall to the brokerageoffices of Sims & Wesson. "May I speak to your operator?" I asked of thejunior partner.
"Certainly," he said, and waved me to the little room where theinstruments were clicking merrily away.
"Can you tell me what these characters mean?" I asked, placing themessage before the operator and pointing to the row of figures andletters at the top of it--"61CWDDSA8PD."
"The sixty-one," he said, "means that this was the sixty-first messagereceived at Elizabeth this morning; 'CW' means that the message wasfiled at the Christopher Street office--corner Christopher and West;'DD' and 'SA' are the initials of the operators who sent and receivedthe message; '8PD' means that there are eight words in the message andthat it was prepaid. It's the regular form used on all Western Unionmessages."
"Thank you," I said, and hurried back across the hall elated, for I hadlearned more than I had dared to hope.
"Well?" asked Curtiss, looking up with anxious face.
"The message was filed at the Christopher Street office," I said,"Christopher and West streets----"
"West Street?" echoed Mr. Royce. "What on earth was she doing there?"
"She could have been doing only one thing," I pointed out exultantly."When a woman goes down to the docks, it must be----"
"To take a boat!"
"Just so! And when she goes to that particular portion of the docks, itmust be to take a trans-Atlantic liner."
Curtiss stared at me for a moment as though not understanding; then herose heavily to his feet.
"Well, I can follow her even there," he said, and started for the door.
But Mr. Royce had him by the arm.
"My dear Curtiss!" he protested. "Think what a wild-goose chase you'restarting on!"
"Better than sitting idle here," retorted Curtiss doggedly; and I couldnot but agree with him.
"Perhaps we can narrow the search down a little," I said. "Suppose wedrive around to the West Street office."
"Just what I was about to do," said Curtiss, and led the way to theelevator.
During that drive across town, we found little to say. Curtiss was deepin his own thoughts, and I saw from the way Mr. Royce looked at him, howanxious he was concerning him. But at last we reached our destination.
"Can you give me any description of the person who sent this message?" Iasked, and spread out the telegram before the man at the desk. "Perhapsyou'll let us see the original."
He glanced at the message and then at us.
"No question of a mistake, I hope?" he said. "The message reads straightenough."
"No," I answered; "rather a question of preventing a mistake. I hope youwon't refuse us."
He glanced us over again and seemed to understand.
"It's a little irregular," he said; "but I guess I can do it."
He opened a drawer, and ran through a sheaf of papers.
"Here it is," he said, and laid a sheet before us. "You see the messagewas correctly sent."
"Yes," I agreed; but it was not at the message I was looking; it was atthe sheet upon which it was written--a sheet which had embossed at thetop the words "S. S. _Umbria_."
"Who sent the message?" I asked.
"It was brought in by a messenger from the Cunard line pier."
"What time did the _Umbria_ sail?"
"She was to have sailed at twelve o'clock, but was delayed by a littleaccident of some sort. Perhaps she's still at her pier."
I thanked fortune that I had told our cabman to wait; I think Curtisswould have been crazed by any delay. As it was, we rushed from theoffice and crowded in.
"The Cunard pier!" cried Mr. Royce, "and in a hurry!" and he waved abill under the cabman's nose.
Not until we were under way did Curtiss speak.
"Did you see?" he asked, in a voice which shook convulsively. "Themessage was in Marcia's writing."
"Yes," I said. "I recognised it."
"We must catch the boat. Why don't that fellow whip up?"
"He's going as fast as he can," said Mr. Royce. "Sit still, Curtiss,"and he threw an arm about him.
What a ride that was over the cobble-stones! Half a dozen times Ithought a collision inevitable, but we had fallen into skilful hands,and were safely piloted through openings in the crowd of vehicles whereit seemed a hand-barrow could not hope to go.
"Here we are!" cried cabby, and we tumbled out. He had done his best toearn his tip, and got it.
The pier was crowded, but we forced our way along it with scant regardfor the feelings of other people. Had the ship sailed--were we intime----
"She's gone," said Mr. Royce, as we gained the front of the crowd. "Seethere."
There she was, headed squarely down the stream, just gathering speed.There was a flutter of hand-kerchiefs from her deck, we could see thepeople crowding against the rail in their eagerness to wave a lastgood-bye----
Curtiss, who had been staring at her stupidly, suddenly flushed andpulled himself erect.
"There she is!" he cried. "See--standing alone by that forward boat."
I stared with all my eyes. There was indeed a figure there--a woman cladin black--but the face was the merest blur.
"You think so?" I asked incredulously.
"I know so!" and he swung sharp round, his face alight with eagerness."Come--there must be some way to catch her--a tug----"
He accosted the first blue-coated official he could find, but thatworthy shook his head. No tug could catch the _Umbria_ now; besides,there was none at hand to make the trial. By the time one could besecured, the ship would be far down the bay, settling into her speed.What was the trouble--a lady on board?
"Well, the best you can do is to meet her at Liverpool when she lands,"he said.
"Meet her?" echoed Curtiss. "But how?"
"Take the _Oceanic_. She'll sail in half an hour from Pier 48, justbelow here. She'll reach Liverpool ahead of the _Umbria_--perhaps a dayahead."
I saw Curtiss's lips tighten with sudden resolution.
"Thank you," he said. "I'll do it."
There was nothing to be said. He was past arguing with, even had we feltlike arguing--which I, for one, did not.
"I'll cable," he promised, as we stood in the shadow of the big liner,"and let you know if I find her."
"Have you money enough?" asked Mr. Royce. "Don't hesitate to say so, ifyou haven't."
Curtiss laughed bitterly.
"Oh, I've enough!" he said. "Quite a roll, in fact. I'd expected tospend it on a honeymoon!"
"You'll have the honeymoon yet," said Mr. Royce, with a certainty Ithought a little forced. "What will you do for clothes?"
"I can make out some way till I get to the other side--the steward canhelp me."
Mr. Royce was again looking at him anxiously.
"I don't like it," he said, "your running off this way. You'll killyourself."
"Oh, I'll be all right," Curtiss assured him. "A sea-voyage is just whatwould have been prescribed for me," and he attempted a smile.
"But you've got the worst stateroom on board," and indeed the _Oceanic_had been so crowded that he was fortunate to get that.
"No matter," said Curtiss. "I'd have gone if there'd been no place butthe steer
age."
"There's one thing," I said. "Have you an enemy in New York who mighttry to do you an injury? That would explain the letter, you know."
Curtiss thought for a moment with knitted brows. Then he shook his head.
"No," he said decidedly, "I have no enemy--certainly none who'd descendto stabbing me in the back. Besides, what could even the mostunscrupulous enemy have written? How could he have hurt me? I can'tunderstand it," he added wearily.
"Neither can I," I agreed. "It's beyond reasoning about."
"An enemy might have written a lie," suggested Mr. Royce.
"But Marcia wouldn't have believed it," retorted Curtiss. "I knowher--she would have cast it from her. She trusted me. No; whatever thesecret, it was one whose truth she could not doubt."
And I agreed with him.
We shook hands with him, at last; and when the great White Star shipswung out into the stream, he waved us a final good-bye from the deck.
"So he's gone," I said, as we rolled back down town again.
"Yes--and the question is whether he was wise to go--whether it can doany good."
"I think he's wise," I said. "It's a real passion--as you yourselfpointed out to me."
"A real passion--yes," agreed our junior. "And yet--do you know, Lester,at the bottom of it all, I suspect some hideous, unbelievable thing. Itturns me cold sometimes--trying to imagine what the secret is. It's asort of dim, vague, threatening monster."
"Yes; I've felt that way about it. I can't grasp it, and yet I feel thatit's there, just below the surface of things, ready to jump out and rendus. Well, Curtiss will find out."
"I hope so, if only for his sake. He'll go mad if he doesn't--and sowill we, if we talk about it any more. I want you to look over thosepapers in the Consolidated suit. It comes up this afternoon, youknow--and, by Jove! we'll have to hurry, or we'll be late for thehearing."