CHAPTER XI
I Unmask My Enemy
Tired Nature asserted herself and took the full twelve hours. But Ifelt like another man when I left the house next morning, and I waseager to grapple anew with the mystery. I found two reports awaitingme at the office: Mr. Royce had passed a good night and was better;the clerks who had spent the afternoon before in visiting the stableshad as yet discovered nothing, and were continuing their search.
I looked up a time-card of the Long Island Railroad, and found thatMiss Holladay's coachman could not reach the city until 9.30. So I puton my hat again, sought a secluded table at Wallack's, and over acigar and stein of bock, drew up a resume of the case--to clear theatmosphere, as it were. It ran something like this:
March 13, Thursday--Holladay found murdered; daughter drives to Washington Square.
March 14, Friday--Coroner's inquest; Miss Holladay released; mysterious note received.
March 16, Sunday--Holladay buried.
March 18, Tuesday--Will opened and probated.
March 28, Friday--Miss Holladay returns from drive, bringing new maid with her and discharges old one.
March 29, Saturday--Gives orders to open summer house.
April 1, Tuesday--Asks for $100,000.
April 2, Wednesday--Gets it.
April 3, Thursday--Leaves home, ostensibly for Belair, in company with new maid.
April 14, Monday--Butler reports her disappearance; Royce taken ill; I begin my search.
There I stopped. The last entry brought me up to date--there wasnothing more to add. But it seemed impossible that all thedevelopments of this mystery should have taken only a month. Foryears, as it seemed to me, I had thought of nothing else.
I looked over the schedule again carefully. There was only one openingthat I could see where it was possible to begin work with the hope ofaccomplishing anything. That was in the very first entry. MissHolladay had driven to Washington Square; she had, I felt certain,visited her sister; I must discover the lodging of this woman. PerhapsI should also discover Frances Holladay there. In any event, I shouldhave a new point to work from.
The police had been over the ground, I knew; they had exhausted everyresource in the effort to locate Mr. Holladay's mysterious visitor,and had found not a trace of her. But that fact did not discourage me;for I hoped to start my search with information which the police hadnot possessed. Brooks, the coachman, should be able to tell me----
Recalled suddenly to remembrance of him, I looked at my watch and sawthat it was past his hour. I was pleased to find him awaiting me whenI opened the office door three minutes later. I had only a fewquestions to ask him.
"When your mistress left the carriage the day you drove her toWashington Square, did you notice which street she took after she leftthe square?"
"Yes, sir; she went on down West Broadway."
"On which side?"
"Th' left-hand side, sir; th' east side."
"She must have crossed the street to get to that side."
"Yes, sir; she did. I noticed pertic'lar, for I thought it funny sheshouldn't 've let me drive her on down th' street to wherever she wasgoin'. It's a dirty place along there, sir."
"Yes, I know. When you drove her out on the 28th--the day she broughtback the maid--where did she go?"
"To Washington Square again, sir."
"And left you waiting for her?"
"Yes, sir; just th' same."
"And went down the same street?"
"Yes, sir; crossed to th' east side just th' same as th' time before."
"How long was she gone?"
"Over an hour, sir; an hour an' a half, I should say."
"Did you notice anything unusual in her appearance when she cameback?"
"No, sir; she was wearin' a heavy veil. She had th' other woman withher, an' she just said 'Home!' in a kind o' hoarse voice, as I helpedthem into th' carriage."
That was all that he could tell me, and yet I felt that it would helpme greatly. In the first place, it narrowed my investigations to thedistrict lying to the east of West Broadway, and I knew that theFrench quarter extended only a block or two in that direction. Andagain, it gave me a point to insist on in my inquiries--I knew thedate upon which the mysterious woman had left her lodging. Or, atleast, I knew that it must be one of two dates. The lodging had beenvacated, then, either on the twenty-eighth of March or the third ofApril. As a last resource, I had the photograph. I was ready to beginmy search, and dismissed Brooks, warning him to say nothing to anyoneabout the mystery.
As I passed out the door to the pavement, I happened to glance acrossthe way, and there, in the crowd of brokers which always lines thestreet, I perceived Martigny. He was listening intently to one of thebrokers, who was talking earnestly in his ear--telling him how to makehis fortune, I suppose--and did not see me. For an instant, I wastempted to cross to him, and get him out of danger. Then I smiled atthe absurdity of the thought. It would take a clever man to fleeceMartigny, and I recalled his strong face, his masterful air--he was nofool, no lamb ready for the shears. He was perfectly able to look outfor himself--to wield the shears with power and effect, if need be.
I turned west toward Broadway, still, I suppose, thinking of himsubconsciously: for a few moments later, some irresistible impulsecaused me to glance around. And there he was, walking after me, on theopposite side of the street! Then, in a flash, I understood. He wasfollowing me!
It is difficult to describe the shock that ran through me, that leftme numbed and helpless. For an instant, I stumbled on, half-dazed;then, gradually, my self-control came back, and with it a certainfierce joy, a hot exultation. Here, at last, was something definite,tangible, a clew ready to my hand, if only I were clever enough tofollow it up; a ray of light in the darkness! I could feel my cheeksburning, and my heart leaping at the thought!
But what had been his part in the affair? For a moment, I gropedblindly in the dark, but only for a moment. Whatever his share in thetragedy, he had plainly been left behind to watch us; to make surethat we did not follow the fugitives; to warn them in case of danger.I understood, now, his solicitude for Miss Holladay--"in her I takesuch an interest!" It was important that he should know the moment wediscovered her absence. And he had known; he knew that I was even atthis moment commencing the search for her. My cheeks reddened at thethought of my indiscreetness; yet he was a man to command confidence.Who would have suspected him? And an old proverb which he had repeatedone evening, flashed through my mind:
"Folle est la brebis qui au loup se confesse."
"Silly is the sheep who to the wolf herself confesses," I hadtranslated it, with that painful literalness characteristic of thebeginner. Well, I had been the sheep, and silly enough, Heaven knows!
I had reached Broadway, and at the corner I paused to look at adisplay of men's furnishings in a window. Far down the street, on theother side, almost lost in the hurrying crowd, Martigny was buying apaper of a newsboy. He shook it out and looked quickly up and down itscolumns, like a man who is searching for some special item of news.Perhaps he _was_ a speculator; perhaps, after all, I was deceivingmyself in imagining that he was following me. I had no proof of it; itwas the most natural thing in the world that he should be in this partof the town. I must test the theory before accepting it. It was time Igrew wary of theories.
I entered the store, and spent ten minutes looking at some neckties.When I came out again, Martigny was just getting down from abootblack's chair across the street. His back was toward me, and Iwatched him get out his little purse and drop a dime into thebootblack's hand. I went on up Broadway, loitering sometimes,sometimes walking straight ahead; always, away behind me, lost in thecrowd, was my pursuer. It could no longer be doubted. He was reallyfollowing me, though he did it so adroitly, with such consummatecunning, that I should never have seen him, never have suspected him,but for that fortunate intuition at the start.
A hundred plans flashed th
rough my brain. I had this advantage: hecould not know that I suspected him. If I could only overmaster him incunning, wrest his secret from him--and then, as I remembered thestrong face, the piercing eyes, the perfect self-control, I realizedhow little possible it was that I could accomplish this. He was mysuperior in diplomacy and deceit; he would not pause, now, at anymeans to assure the success of his plot.
Yes, I could doubt no longer that there was a plot, whose depths Ihad not before even suspected; and I drew back from the thought with alittle shiver. What was the plot? What intricate, dreadful crime wasthis which he was planning? The murder of the father, then, had beenonly the first step. The abduction of Frances Holladay was the second.What would the third be? How could we prevent his taking it? Supposewe should be unsuccessful? And, candidly, what chance of success couldwe have, fighting in the dark against this accomplished scoundrel? Hehad the threads all in his fingers, he controlled the situation; wewere struggling blindly, snarled in a net of mystery from which thereseemed no escaping. My imagination clothed him with superhumanattributes. For a moment a wild desire possessed me to turn upon him,to confront him, to accuse him, to confound him with the verycertainty of my knowledge, to surprise his secret, to trample himdown!
But the frenzy passed. No, he must not discover that I suspected him;I must not yield up that advantage. I might yet surprise him, misleadhim, set a trap for him, get him to say more than he wished to say.That battle of wits would come later on--this very night, perhaps--butfor the moment, I could do nothing better than carry out my firstplan. Yet, he must not suspect the direction of my search--I mustthrow him off the track. Why, this was, for all the world, just likethe penny-dreadfuls of my boyhood--and I smiled at the thought that Ihad become an actor in a drama fitted for a red-and-yellow cover!
My plan was soon made. I crossed Broadway and turned into Cortlandt,sauntering along it until the Elevated loomed just ahead; I heard theroar of an approaching train, and stopped to purchase some fruit atthe corner stand. My pursuer was some distance behind, closelyinspecting the bric-a-brac in a peddler's cart. The train rumbledinto the station, and, starting as though I had just perceived it, Ibounded up the stair, slammed my ticket into the chopper, and divedacross the platform. The guard at the rear of the train held the gateopen for me an instant, and then clanged it shut. We were off with ajerk; as I looked back, I saw Martigny rush out upon the platform. Hestood staring after me for an instant; then, with a sudden grasping athis breast, staggered and seemed to fall. A crowd closed about him,the train whisked around a corner, and I could see no more.
But, at any rate, I was well free of him, and I got off at BleeckerStreet, walked on to the Square, and began my search. My plan was verysimple. Beginning on the east side of West Broadway, it was myintention to stop at every house and inquire whether lodgers werekept. My experience at the first place was a pretty fair sample of allthe rest.
A frowsy-headed woman answered my knock.
"You have rooms to let?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, monsieur," she answered, with an expansive grin. "Step zisvay."
We mounted a dirty stair, and she threw open a door with a flourishmeant to be impressive.
"Zese are ze rooms, monsieur; zey are ver' fine."
I looked around them with simulated interest, smothering my disgust aswell as I could.
"How long have they been vacant?" I asked.
"Since only two days, monsieur; as you see, zey are ver' fine rooms."
That settled it. If they had been vacant only two days, I had nofurther interest in them, and with some excuse I made my way out, gladto escape from that fetid atmosphere of garlic and onions. So I wentfrom house to house; stumbling over dirty children; climbing grimystairs, catching glimpses of crowded sweat-shops; peering into allsorts of holes called rooms by courtesy; inhaling a hundred stenchesin as many minutes; gaining an insight that sickened me into thesqualid life of the quarter. Sometimes I began to hope that at last Iwas on the right track; but further inquiry would prove my mistake. Sothe morning passed, and the afternoon. I had covered two blocks to nopurpose, and at last I turned eastward to Broadway, and took a cardowntown to the office. My assistants had reported again--they had metwith no better success than I. Mr. Graham noticed my dejectedappearance, and spoke a word of comfort.
"I think you're on the right track, Lester," he said. "But you can'thope to do much by yourself--it's too big a job. Wouldn't it be betterto employ half a dozen private detectives, and put them under yoursupervision? You could save yourself this nerve-trying work, and atthe same time get over the ground much more rapidly. Besides,experienced men may be able to suggest something that you'veoverlooked."
I had thought of that--I had wondered if I were making the bestpossible use of my opportunities--and the suggestion tempted me. Butsomething rose within me--pride, ambition, stubbornness, what youwill--and I shook my head, determined to hang on. Besides, I had stillbefore me that battle of wits with Martigny, and I was resolved tomake the most of it.
"Let me keep on by myself a day or two longer, sir," I said. "Ibelieve I'll succeed yet. If I don't there will still be time to callin outside help. I fancy I've made a beginning, and I want to see whatcomes of it."
He shook me kindly by the hand.
"I like your grit," he said approvingly, "and I've every confidence inyou--it wasn't lack of confidence that prompted the suggestion. Onlydon't overdo the thing, and break down as Royce has. He's better, bythe way, but the doctor says that he must take a long vacation--athorough rest."
"I'm glad he's better. I'll be careful," I assented, and left theoffice.
While I waited for a car I bought a copy of the last edition of the_Sun_--from force of habit, more than anything; then, settling myselfin a seat--still from force of habit--I turned to the financial columnand looked it over. There was nothing of special interest there, and Iturned back to the general news, glancing carelessly from item toitem. Suddenly one caught my eye which brought me up with a shock. Theitem read:
Shortly after ten o'clock this morning, a man ran up the steps of the Cortlandt Street station of the Sixth Avenue Elevated, in the effort to catch an uptown train just pulling out, and dropped over on the platform with heart disease. An ambulance was called from the Hudson Street Hospital and the man taken there. At noon, it was said he would recover. He was still too weak to talk, but among other things, a card of the Cafe Jourdain, 54 West Houston Street, was found in his pocket-book. An inquiry there developed the fact that his name is Pierre Bethune, that he is recently from France, and has no relatives in this country.
In a moment I was out of the car and running westward to the Elevated.I felt that I held in my hand the address I needed.