XXIV
FLIGHT
In leaving the building Mr. Gryce almost ran into the arms of Perry. Inhis anxiety to be within call, the young detective had seated himself onthe steps outside and now stood ready for any emergency.
Mr. Gryce's spirits rose as he saw him there. The great door leading tothe elevator opened not twenty feet to the left of him. Perhaps Perry hadseen the woman and could tell which way she ran. Questions followed,rapid and to the purpose. Perry had seen a woman flash by. But she seemedto be in company with a man. He had not been able to see either clearly.
"Which way were they heading?" asked Mr. Gryce.
Perry told him.
It would look as though they were making for the station. Alarmed at theidea, Mr. Gryce stepped down into the road and endeavored to pierce thedarkness in that direction. All he could see were the station lights.Everything else was in shadow. The night hung over all, and had it notbeen for the grinding of machinery in their rear, the silence would havebeen just as marked.
"Perry, is the way rough between here and the station--I mean, rough forme?"
"Not very, if you keep in the road."
"Run ahead, then, and learn how soon the next train is due--any train,going north or going south--I don't care which. If it is soon, lookfor a middle-aged woman in a striped dress, and if you can't preventher getting on, without a fracas, follow her yourself and never quither--telegraphing me at the first opportunity. Run."
Perry gave a leap and was soon swallowed up in the darkness which wasintense as soon as he had passed beyond the glare from the factory. Mr.Gryce followed after, moving as quickly as he dared. It was not far tothe station platform, but in his anxiety it seemed a mile; nor did hebreathe with ease till he saw a flying shadow come between him and thestation lights and knew that Perry had reached the platform.
It was just at the hour when the fewest trains pass, and Mr. Gryce washimself across the tracks and on the platform before a far-off whistlewarned him that one was approaching. Looking hastily around, he saw Perryhurrying up behind him.
"No one," said he. "No such person around."
They waited. The train came in, stopped, took on two unimportantpassengers and rushed away north.
"I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to stay here, Perry. It would be soeasy for her to board one of these night trains and buy a ticket from theconductor."
But as he spoke he paused, and gripping Perry's arm, turned his ear tolisten.
"A boat," said he. "A small boat leaving shore."
It was so. They could hear the dip of the oars distinctly in the quietwhich had followed the departure of the train. No other sound but thatwas in the air, and it struck cold upon one old heart.
"It is she! I'm sure of it," muttered Gryce.
"The man across the river has warned her--sent a boat for her, perhaps.Run down to the point and see if there is anyone there who saw her go."
Perry slid into the night, and Mr. Gryce stood listening. The quiet dipof the oars was growing fainter every instant. The boat was rapidlywithdrawing, carrying with it all hope of securing off-hand thisdesirable witness.
To be sure, there was nothing very serious in this. He had only totelephone across the river to have the woman detained till he could reachher himself in the early morning. Yet he felt unaccountably disturbed andanxious. For all his many experiences and a record which should have madehim immune from the ordinary disappointments of life, he had never, or soit seemed to him, felt more thoroughly depressed or weary of the workwhich had given him occupation for more years than he liked to number,than in the few minutes of solitary waiting, with his face toward theriver and the sense of some impending doom settling slowly over his agedheart.
But he was still too much the successful detective to allow hisdisheartenment to be seen by his admiring subordinate. As the latterapproached, the old man's countenance brightened, and nothing couldhave been more deceptive than the calmness he displayed when the fellowreported that he had just been talking to a man who had recognized theboat and the oarsman. It was the same boat and the same oarsman that hadbrought them over earlier in the day. He had made an extra trip at thismost unusual hour, for the express purpose of taking this woman back.
"I suppose there is no possibility of your drumming up anyone to row usover in time to catch them?"
"None in the least. I have inquired."
"Then follow me into the station. I have a few messages to send."
Among these messages was a peremptory one to Sweetwater.
Morning! and an early crossing to the other side. Here a surprise awaitedthem. They found, on inquiry, that the man responsible for Madame'sflitting was not, as they had supposed, the hotel proprietor, but Philhimself, the good-natured, easily-imposed-upon ferryman, on whosesympathies she had worked during their first short passage from one shoreto the other. Perhaps a little money had helped to deepen thisimpression; one never knows.
But this was not all. The woman was gone. She had fled the town on footbefore they were able to locate Phil, who had not made shore at his usualplace but at some point up the river about which they knew nothing. Whenhe finally showed up, it was almost daybreak.
"Where is he now?"
"At home, or ought to be."
"Show me the house."
In ten minutes the two were face to face.
The result was not altogether satisfactory to the detective. Though heused all his skill in his manipulation of this kind-hearted ferryman, hegot very little from him but the plain fact that the woman insisted upontaking to the road when she heard that the train-service had stopped;that he could not persuade her to wait till daylight or to listen for amoment to what he had to say of the danger and terrors awaiting her inthe darkness, and the awful loneliness of the hills. She didn't fearnature even at its worst, and she knew these hills better than many whohad lived among them for years. She was bound to go, and she went.
This was six hours ago. Asked to explain the interest he had shown inher, it soon became evident that he was in complete ignorance of heridentity. He had simply, on their first trip over, seen that she wasmiddle-aged, suffering and much too good and kind to be followed up byenemies and wicked police officials. True, he had rowed them over in herpursuit in the early part of the day, but that was because he had notknown their business. When on returning he had learned it, he made uphis mind to help her out with a warning even if it kept him up all night.He had not expected to bring her back with him, but she had insisted uponhis doing so, saying that she had friends in the mountains who would lookafter her. He saw that she was dreadfully in earnest, for she had notstopped to get her hat and would not have had so much as an extra stitchwith her if she had not taken the precaution to hide a bag of thingssomewhere in the bushes near the factory, in anticipation of some suchemergency. And he couldn't resist her. She made him think of a sister ofhis who had had a dreadful time of it in the world and was now well outof it, thank God!
When the ferryman heard that a reward of hundreds of dollars was waitingfor the man who succeeded in bringing her before the police officials inNew York, he betrayed some chagrin, but even this did not last. He wassoon declaring with heartfelt earnestness that he didn't care anythingabout that. It was peace of mind he wanted, and not money.
When Mr. Gryce left him, it was with an even slower step than usual.Peace of mind! How about his own peace of mind? Was he trailing thispoor unfortunate from pillar to post, for the reward it would bring him?No. With his advancing years money had lost much of its attraction. Nor,if he knew himself, was he particularly affected by the glory whichattends success. Duty, and duty only, drove him on--to elucidate hisproblem and merit the confidence put in him by his superiors. Ifsuffering followed, that was not his fault; his business was to go ahead.
It was in this frame of mind that he prepared himself for the automobiletrip he saw before him.
There was no question in Mr. Gryce's mind now, as to this woman'sdestination or whither he should b
e obliged to go in order to find her.As he now saw into her mind, she had left New York with the intention ofhiding herself in the remote village to which she had ordered her mailsent under the name of Elvira Brown, whom she evidently knew; buthearing, either on the car or in the hotel, where she was detained, theplea which was being made for workers in the factory on the east side ofthe river, she had modified her plans to the extent already known, onlyto return to her original intention as soon as the attempt to provide forherself in this independent way had proved a failure.
He would proceed then in her wake, conscious of the fresh disappointmentwhich awaited her in the loss, through Miss Brown's sudden death, of theasylum she counted upon. Could he have gone on foot like herself, hemight have been tempted to do so, for a trail is best followed slowly andwith ear and eye very close to the ground. But as this was beyond hisstrength, he must wait till an automobile could be procured, and possiblytill Sweetwater should arrive--for Perry was no man for this job. Therewere no automobiles in this small town, and it might be necessary to sendup or down the river some distance before one could be found capable ofcarrying them over the precipitous road they would be obliged to take inorder to avoid the washout which had driven them to this extremity.
But all would come right in time; and with Sweetwater at his elbow, thejourney would be made and the woman caught, soon enough for him no doubt,hard as he felt it to wait. Why so hard, he might have found it difficultto say, since hitherto he had found it easy enough when the goal seemedsure and it was only with time he had to reckon!