CHAPTER XL.
AN ARMISTICE.
If Van Vernet had been thwarted, in a measure, Richard Stanhope had beenno less baffled.
Each had succeeded partially, and each had beaten a too hasty andaltogether unsatisfactory retreat.
Van Vernet had planned well. By keeping himself informed as to thedoings at police headquarters, he had been aware of all the effortsthere being made in the search for the missing child. He found it quiteeasy to possess himself of a sheet and envelope bearing the officialstamp; and by writing his spurious letter in a most unreadable scrawl,and ending with a signature positively undecipherable, he had guardedhimself against dangerous consequences should a charge of forgery, byany mischance, be preferred against him. The disguise was a mere bit ofchild's play to Van Vernet, and the rest "went by itself".
His object in thus entering the Warburton house was, first, to see AlanWarburton; study his face and hear his voice; to satisfy himself, as faras possible, as to the feud, or seeming feud, between Alan and hisbrother's wife--for since the day on which he had discovered, and he hadtaken pains since to confirm this discovery, that the six-foot maskerwho had personated Archibald Warburton was not Archibald Warburton, buthis brother Alan, Van Vernet had harbored many vague suspicionsconcerning the family and its mysteries. He had also hoped to seeLeslie, and to surprise from one or both of them some word, or look, ortone, that would furnish him with a clue, if ever so slight.
Well, he had surprised several things, so he assured himself, but he hadnot seen Leslie. And the _denouement_ of his visit had rendered itimpossible for him ever to reenter that house, in the character of Mr.Augustus Grip.
True, he had learned something. He had heard Winnie's words: "Leslie isnot a child; and you must have said bitterly cruel words before you lefther in a dead faint on that library floor last night." And he hadcoupled these with those other words uttered by Winnie as sheconfronted Alan, with that farewell note in her hand: "Read that; seewhat your cruelty has done."
Was this girl a plotter, too? If he could have seen that note! And thenthe organ-grinder--. On the whole, he was not even half satisfied withthe result of his expedition, especially when he remembered thatorgan-grinder, and how he had let his temper escape its leash and rageitself into that cold white heat, his most intense expression of wrath,in which he had openly defied Alan Warburton, and flung his own colorsboldly forth.
Another thing puzzled Vernet exceedingly. He had discovered RichardStanhope at the Warburton masquerade, and had bestowed upon him thecharacter of lover. Was he there in that character? Was he, in any way,mixed up with their family secrets? Where had he spent the remainder ofthat eventful night? Since the morning when Stanhope had reported to hisChief, after his night of adventure beginning with the masquerade,Vernet had heard no word from that Chief concerning Stanhope'sunaccountable conduct, or the abandoned Raid.
The whole affair was to Vernet, vague, unsatisfactory, mysterious. Butthe more unsatisfactory, the more mysterious it became, the moredoggedly determined became he.
He had not forgotten, nor was he neglecting, the Arthur Pearson murder.He was pursuing that investigation after a manner quite satisfactory--tohimself at least.
There are in most cities, and connected with many detective forces, andmore individual members of forces, a class of men, mongrels, we mightsay,--a cross between the lawyer and the detective but actually neither,and sometimes fitted for both. They are called, by those initiated,"private enquirers," "trackers," "bloodhounds."
These gentry are often employed by lawyers, as well as by detectives andthe police. They trace out titles, run down witnesses, hunt uppedigrees, unearth long-forgotten family secrets. They are searchers ofrecords, burrowers into the past. Their work is slow, laborious,pains-taking, tedious. But it is not dangerous; the unsafe tracks areleft to the detective proper.
Into the careful hands of some of these gentry, Van Vernet had entrustedcertain threads from the woof of the "Arthur Pearson murder case," asthey styled it. And these tireless searchers were burrowing away whileVernet was busying himself with other matters, waiting for the time whenthe "tracker" should find his occupation gone, and the detective'sefforts be called in play.
Vernet had not been aware of the close proximity of his sometime friendand present rival. He had felt sure, from the first, that the pretendedmute was other than he seemed; that he was a spy and marplot. ButRichard Stanhope's disguise was perfect, and Vernet had not scrutinizedhim closely, being in such haste to dispose of him, and expecting toinvestigate his case later. Then, too, Richard Stanhope was absent; hehad not been seen, or heard of, at the Agency for many days.
As for Stanhope, he had not been slow to recognize Van Vernet, and if hehad not succeeded in all that he had hoped to accomplish, he had atleast discovered Vernet's exact position. And he had left a slip ofpaper where, he felt very sure, it would fall into the right hands. Forthe rest, he came and went like a comet, and was seen no more for manyweeks.
Meanwhile, quiet had been restored in Alan Warburton's study, and Alanhimself now sat with a crumpled bit of paper in his hand.
This bit of paper had been given him by Millie, who, acting uponWinnie's advice, had made to Alan a very meek confession of the part shehad unwittingly played in the drama just enacted.
"Of course, sir, he came in when I went to call Miss Winnie," she hadsaid contritely. "But oh, he did look so sorrowful, and then that curlof hair! I was so sure it was something about Miss Daisy."
Alan had listened gravely, had glanced at the bit of paper, and thendismissed her with a kind word and a smile, and without a reprimand.
When this unexpected escape had been joyfully reported to Winnie French,that stony-hearted damsel elevated her nose and said:
"Umph! so the man has a grain of something besides pride in himsomewhere. Well, I'm glad to hear it."
To which Millie had replied, warmly:
"Why, Miss Winnie! Think how he fought to protect that poor organ man,who had come to rob him, maybe, though I can't think it. _That_ wassplendid in him, anyhow."
And this had reminded Winnie that she was not indulging in a soliloquy.So, having charged Millie to say nothing about the events of theafternoon, she dismissed her, and sat sadly down to peruse Leslie'sfarewell note once more.
DEAREST WINNIE.
I am going away to-night; I must go. Yesterday I was about to tell you my story; if you had heard it then, you would understand now why I go. Since yesterday, I have decided to keep my burden still strapped to my own shoulders.
In fact, to make you my confidante now would look to others, perhaps to you, like an attempt to justify my acts. One favor I ask, Winnie; when I return, if I do return, let me find you here. Continue to call my house, for it is my house, your home. I have asked your mother to share it with you, and to be in every sense of the word its mistress, until Daisy is found, or I return. Mr. Follingsbee will regulate all business matters. Trust me still, and don't desert me. Winnie, for time or for eternity, farewell.
LESLIE
Filled with wonder and sorrow, Winnie sat musing over this strange note,when she received a message from Alan: would she come to him in thelibrary; it was a matter of importance.
Rightly guessing that he wished to talk of Leslie, Winnie arose and wentslowly down to the library, a gleam of resentment shining through thetears that would fill her eyes.
Not long before she had refused to talk or to listen. But now she mustknow why Leslie had gone. She was anxious to face Alan Warburton.
His manner, as he came forward to receive her, had undergone a change,and his first words were so startlingly like those last words ofLeslie's, that Winnie's tongue failed to furnish the prompt sarcasmusually ready to meet whatever he might choose to utter.
He was standing by a large chair as she entered the library, and movingthis a trifle forward, he said simply, and with just such a g
ravelycourteous tone as he might use in addressing a stranger:
"Be seated, Miss French."
Winnie sank into the proffered chair, and he draws back a few paces, andstanding thus before her, began:
"Not long since I asked you to listen to me, and then to decide betweenanother and myself. I do not repeat this request, for I cannot standbefore you and accuse a woman who is not here to speak in her owndefence. Although I did not read that note you proffered me, I havesatisfied myself that Mrs. Warburton has gone."
"Yes," sighed Winnie.
"She planned her flight, if flight it can be called, very skilfully.Everything in her apartments indicates deliberate preparation. She tookno baggage; no one knows how or when she quitted the house. But she lefttwo letters--two besides that written to you. One is addressed to Mr.Follingsbee; the other is for your mother."
"Yes," sighed Winnie once more.
"These letters," continued Alan, "must be delivered at once, and theyshould not be entrusted to the hands of servants. And now, Miss French,that letter, your letter, which you proffered me in a moment ofexcitement, I will not ask to see. But tell me, does it give you anyidea of her destination? Does it contain anything that I may know?"
A leaden weight seemed fastened upon Winnie's facile tongue. Somethingin her throat threatened to choke her. She put her hand in her pocket,slowly drew out Leslie's letter, and silently proffered it to Alan.
"Do you wish me to read it?"
She nodded, and lifted her hand to brush two big tears from her cheekswith a petulant motion.
A moment he stood looking at her intently, an expression of tendernesscreeping into his face. Then he drew back a pace, and his lips settledagain into firm lines as he began the perusal of Leslie's letter.
Having read the missive slowly through for the second time, Alanrefolded it and gravely returned it to Winnie.
"Thank you," he said, in a subdued tone. "I am quite well aware, MissFrench, that no word of mine can influence you in the slightest degree.Were this not so, I would beg most earnestly that you would comply, inevery respect, with the wishes Mrs. Warburton has expressed."
While he perused the letter, Winnie had somewhat recovered herself, andshe now looked up quickly.
"In every respect? Mr. Warburton, that note says--'trust me; do notdesert me.'"
"And I say the same. To-day Leslie Warburton needs a true friend asmuch--as much as ever woman did."
He was about to say, "as much as I do," but pride stepped in and stoppedthe words ere they could pass his lips.
There was silence for a moment, and then he said:
"We must find Leslie if possible, of course, but not until we have seenher lawyer and consulted him. It is growing late, but time is precious.Will you let me take you to your mother's at once? You can give herLeslie's letter, and consult together. Meantime, I will drive to seeFollingsbee, and call for you on my return. Of course your mother willaccompany you; at least I trust so. And, Miss French, let me assure you,here and now, that should you continue to honor this house with yourpresence, you will not be further annoyed by my importunities. To-night,for the first time, I fully realize that I have no right to ask anywoman to share a fate that is, to say the least, under a cloud; or totake upon herself a name that may be at any moment dishonored before theworld. Shall I order the carriage? Will you go, Miss French?"
There was something masterful in his stern self-command his ability tothink and act with such promptitude and forethought, and it had itseffect upon Winnie.
"I will go," she said, rising and turning toward the door.
"Thank you," he said, then hastened to open it.
When she had passed out, he returned to his old position, and once moreglanced down at the piece of paper which all the while he had retainedin his hand. It was the note flung at Millie's feet by the fleeingorgan-grinder, and it contained these words:
If Alan Warburton will call on Mr. Follingsbee as soon as possible, he will find there a communication from a friend. It is important that he should receive this at once.
No name, no date, no signature, but it explains why Millie escapedwithout a reprimand.