III
A CHARMING WOMAN
Stopping only long enough to send a telegram to my partner in New York,(for which purpose I had to walk along the tracks to the main station) Ireturned by the short cut to Homewood. My purpose in doing this wastwofold. I should have a chance of seeing if the men were still at workin the river, and I should also have the added opportunity of quietlyrevisiting the bungalow, on the floor of which I had noted somechalk-marks, which I felt called for a closer examination than I hadgiven them. As I came in view of the dock, I saw that the men were stillbusy, but at a point farther out in the river, as if all hope had beenabandoned of their discovering anything more inshore. But thechalk-marks in the bungalow were almost forgotten by me in the interestI experienced in a certain adventure which befell me on my way there.
I had just reached the opening in the hedge communicating with Mrs.Carew's grounds, when I heard steps on the walk inside and a woman'srich voice saying:
"There, that will do. You must play on the other side of the house,Harry. And Dinah, see that he does so, and that he does not cross thehall again till I come back. The sight of so merry a child might killMrs. Ocumpaugh if she happened to look this way."
Moved by the tone, which was one in a thousand, I involuntarily peeredthrough the outlet I was passing, in the hope of catching a glimpse ofits owner, and thus was favored with the sight of a face which instantlyfixed itself in my memory as one of the most enchanting I had everencountered. Not from its beauty, yet it may have been beautiful; norfrom its youth, for the woman before me was not youthful, but from theextraordinary eloquence of its expression caught at a rare moment whenthe heart, which gave it life, was full. She was standing half-way downthe path, throwing kisses to a little boy who was leaning toward herfrom an upper window. The child was laughing with glee, and it was thislaugh she was trying to check; but her countenance, as she made theeffort, was almost as merry as his, and yet was filled with such solemnjoy--such ecstasy of motherhood I should be inclined to call it, if Ihad not been conscious that this must be Mrs. Carew and the child herlittle nephew--that in my admiration for this exhibition of purefeeling, I forgot to move on as she advanced into the hedge-row, and sowe came face to face. The result was as extraordinary to me as all therest. Instantly all the gay abandonment left her features, and sheshowed me a grave, almost troubled, countenance, more in keeping withher severe dress, which was as nearly like mourning as it could be andnot be made of crape.
It was such a sudden change and of so complete a character, that I wasthrown off my guard for a moment and probably betrayed the curiosity Iundoubtedly felt; for she paused as she reached me, and, surveying mevery quietly but very scrutinizingly too, raised again that marvelousvoice of hers and pointedly observed:
"This is a private path, sir. Only the friends of Mrs. Ocumpaugh or ofmyself pass here."
This was a speech calculated to restore my self-possession. With a bowwhich evidently surprised her, I answered with just enough respect totemper my apparent presumption:
"I am here in the interests of Mrs. Ocumpaugh, to assist her in findingher child. Moments are precious; so I ventured to approach by theshorter way."
"Pardon me!" The words did not come instantly, but after somehesitation, during which she kept her eyes on my face in a way to rob meof all thought save that she possessed a very strong magnetic quality,to which it were well for a man like myself to yield. "You will be myfriend, too, if you succeed in restoring Gwendolen." Then quickly, asshe crossed to the Ocumpaugh grounds: "You do not look like a member ofthe police. Are you here at Mrs. Ocumpaugh's bidding, and has she atlast given up all expectation of finding her child in the river?"
I, too, thought a minute before answering, then I put on my most candidexpression, for was not this woman on her way to Mrs. Ocumpaugh, andwould she not be likely to repeat what she heard me say?
"I do not know how Mrs. Ocumpaugh feels at present. But I know what herdearest wish is--to see her child again alive and well. That wish Ishall do my best to gratify. It is true that I am not a policedetective, but I have an agency of my own, well-known to both Mrs. andMr. Ocumpaugh. All its resources will be devoted to this business and Ihope to succeed, madam. If, as I suspect, you are on your way to Mrs.Ocumpaugh, please tell her that Robert Trevitt, of Trevitt and Jupp,hopes to succeed."
"I _will_," she emphasized. Then stepping back to me in all the grace ofher thrilling personality, she eagerly added: "If there is anyinformation I can give, do not be afraid to ask me. I love children, andwould give anything in the world to see Mrs. Ocumpaugh as happy withGwendolen again as I am with my little nephew. Are you quite sure thatthere is any possibility of this? I was told that the child's shoe hasbeen found in the river; but almost immediately following thisinformation came the report that there was something odd about thisshoe, and that Mrs. Ocumpaugh had gone into hysterics. Do _you_ knowwhat they meant by that? I was just going over to see."
I did know what they meant, but I preferred to seem ignorant.
"I have not seen Mrs. Ocumpaugh," I evasively rejoined. "But _I_ don'tlook for the child to be drawn from the water."
"Nor I," she repeated, with a hoarse catch in her breath. "It isthirty-six hours since we lost her. Time enough for the current to havecarried her sweet little body far away from here."
I surveyed the lady before me in amazement.
"Then _you_ think she strayed down to the water?"
"Yes; it would madden me to believe otherwise; loving her so well, andher parents so well, I dare not think of a worse fate."
Taking advantage of her amiability and the unexpected opportunity itoffered for a leading question, I hereupon ventured to say: "You werenot at home, I hear, when she vanished from the bungalow."
"No; that is, if it happened before three o'clock. I arrived from thestation just as the clock was striking the hour, and having my littlenephew with me, I was too much occupied in reconciling him to his newhome, to hear or see anything outside. Most unfortunate!" she mourned,"most unfortunate! I shall never cease reproaching myself. A tragedy atmy door"--here she glanced across the shrubbery at the bungalow--"and Ioccupied with my own affairs!"
With a flush, the undoubted result of her own earnestness, she turned asif to go. But I could not let her depart without another question:
"Excuse me, Mrs. Carew, but you gave me permission to seem importunate.With the exception of her nurse, you were the one person nearest thebungalow at the time. Didn't you hear a carriage drive through yourgrounds at about the hour the alarm was first started? I know you havebeen asked this before, but not by me; and it is a very important factto have settled; very important for those who wish to discover thischild at once."
For reply she gave me a look of very honest amazement.
"Of course I did," she replied. "I came in a carriage myself from thestation and naturally heard it drive away."
At her look, at her word, the thread which I had seized with suchavidity seemed to slip from my fingers. Had little Miss Graham's theoryno better foundation than this? and were the wheels she heard onlythose of Mrs. Carew's departing carriage? I resolved to press the mattereven if I ran the risk of displeasing her.
"Mrs. Carew--for it must be Mrs. Carew I am addressing--did your littlenephew cry when you first brought him to the house?"
"I think he did," she admitted slowly; "I think he did."
I must have given evidence of the sudden discouragement this brought me,for her lips parted and her whole frame trembled with suddenearnestness.
"Did you think--did any one think--that those cries came from Gwendolen?That she was carried out through my grounds? Could any one have thoughtthat?"
"I have been told that the nursery-governess did."
"Little Miss Graham? Poor girl! she is but defending herself fromdespair. She is ready to believe everything but that the child is dead."
Was it so? Was I following the false light of a will-o'-the-wisp? No,no; the strange coincidence of the threat
made on the bridge with thedisappearance of the child on the day named, was at least real. Thethread had not altogether escaped from my hands. It was less tangible,but it was still there.
"You may be right," I acquiesced, for I saw that her theories wereentirely opposed to those of Miss Graham. "But we must try everything,_everything_."
I was about to ask whether she had ever seen in the adjoining grounds,or on the roads about, an old man with long hair and a remarkable scarrunning down between his eyebrows, when a young girl in the cap andapron of a maid-servant came running through the shrubbery from theOcumpaugh house, and, seeing Mrs. Carew, panted out:
"Oh, do come over to the house, Mrs. Carew. Mrs. Ocumpaugh has been toldthat the two shoes which have been found, one on the bank and the otherin the river, are not mates, and it has quite distracted her. She hasgone to her room and will let no one else in. We can hear her moaningand crying, but we can do nothing. Perhaps she will see you. She calledfor you, I know, before she shut her door."
"I will go." Mrs. Carew had turned quite pale, and from standing uprightin the road, had moved so as to gain support from one of the hedges.
I expected to see her turn and go as soon as her trembling fit was over,but she did not, though she waved the girl away as if she intended tofollow her. Had I not learned to distrust my own impression of people'smotives from their manners and conduct, I should have said that she waswaiting for me to precede her.
"Two shoes and not mates!" she finally exclaimed. "What does she mean?"
"Simply that another shoe has been drawn up from the river-bottom whichdoes not mate the one picked up near the bungalow. Both are for the leftfoot."
"Ah!" gasped this sympathetic woman. "And what inference can we drawfrom that?"
I should not have answered her; but the command in her eyes or thethrilling effect of her manner compelled me, and I spoke the truth atonce, just as I might have done to Mrs. Ocumpaugh, or, better still, toMr. Ocumpaugh, if either had insisted.
"But one," said I. "There is a conspiracy on the part of one or morepersons to delude Mrs. Ocumpaugh into believing the child dead. Theyblundered over it, but they came very near succeeding."
"Who blundered, and what is the meaning of the conspiracy you hint at?Tell me. Tell me what such men as you think."
Her plastic features had again shown a change. She was all anxiety now;cheeks burning, eyes blazing--a very beautiful woman.
"We think that the case looks serious. We think from the very mystery itdisplays, that there is a keen intelligence back of this crime. I cannot go any further than that. The affair is as yet too obscure."
"You amaze me!" she faltered, making an effort to collect her thoughts."I have always thought, just as Mrs. Ocumpaugh has, that the child hadsomehow found her way to the water and was drowned. But if all this istrue we shall have to face a worse evil. A conspiracy against such atender little being as that! A conspiracy, and for what? Not to extortmoney, or why these blundering efforts to make the child appear dead?"
She was the same sympathetic woman, agitated by real feeling as before,yet at this moment--I do not understand now just why--I became aware ofan inner movement of caution against too great a display of candor on myown part.
"Madam, it is all a mystery at present. I am sure that the police willtell you the same. But another day may bring developments."
"Let us hope so!" was her ardent reply, accompanied by a gesture, thefreedom of which suited her style and person as it would not have donethose of a less impressionable woman. And, seeing that I had nointention of leaving the spot where I stood, she moved at last fromwhere she held herself upright against the hedge, and entered theOcumpaugh grounds. "Will you call in to see me to-morrow?" she asked,pausing to look back at a turn in the path. "I shall not sleep to-nightfor thinking of those possible developments."
"Since you permit me," I returned; "that is, if I am still here. Affairsmay call me away at any moment."
"Yes, and so with me. Affairs may call me away also. I was to sail onSaturday for Liverpool. Only Mrs. Ocumpaugh's distress detains me. Ifthe situation lightens, if we hear any good news to-night, or even earlyto-morrow, I shall continue my preparations, which will take me againto New York."
"I will call if you are at home."
She gave me a slight nod and vanished.
Why did I stand a good three minutes where she had left me, thinking,but not getting anything from my thoughts, save that I was glad that Ihad not been betrayed into speaking of the old man Miss Graham had meton the bridge? Yet it might have been well, after all, if I had done so,if only to discover whether Mrs. Ocumpaugh had confided this occurrenceto her most intimate friend.