Persons Unknown
CHAPTER V
THE WRONG SIDE OF THE LIGHT: WHERE CHRISTINA WAS
At nine o'clock on the morning of Friday, the day when Christinadisappeared, there stood at the little interior station of Waybrook,awaiting the train from New York, a touring-car which had very recentlybeen painted black. In the body of this car an observing person mighthave descried a couple of indentations which, were he of a sensationalturn of mind, would have suggested to him the marks of bullets. Thistouring-car was, at that time of day, the only vehicle in waiting, andwhen the train rushed on again from its brief pause, only one person hadalighted from it.
This was a tall woman, heavily veiled, wearing a long dark ulster,considerably too large for her, and a rather shabby black hat. Thiswoman walked directly up to the touring-car and flung herself into itwithout a word. When the chauffeur turned and said to her, in surprise,"You all alone?" she responded, "Yes. And in twice the hurry on thataccount!" The curt command of the words did not conceal the quality of avoice which all the newspapers in New York were that morning praising;and the face from which she then lifted her veil, although furrowed withanger and ravaged with grief, was the unforgettable face of ChristinaHope. She sat for the five miles which led to her destination with hereyes closed and her hands wrung tight together in her lap.
The touring-car stopped at the gate of an old yellow house, verycarefully kept, its bright windows screened by curtains rather elegantlypretty; and a flagged path leading up to its brass-knockered door. Oneither side of the flagged path stretched a garden, a little sobered byits autumn coloring, but still abounding in the country flowers which toBryce Herrick's admiration had kept Christina's house so sweet.
The door was opened by a small, square, hard-featured, close-mouthed oldwoman, very neatly dressed, with gray hair and a white apron. In otherwords, by the occasional cashier at the Italian table d'hote. Thiswoman, as the chauffeur had done, looked over Christina's shoulder inexpectation and then said, grudgingly, "Oh, it's you!"
"As you see," said Christina, pressing inside. "But I shan't trouble youlong. I should like some coffee, if you please. I've had no breakfast."The woman stood still, staring at Christina's ill-fitting clothes andsunken eyes, and the girl added, with the same peremptory coldness whichhad marked her manner from the beginning, "I must ask you to be quick. Ihave only come to relieve you of our guest."
"You have!" said the old woman. "Who says so?"
"I think you heard me say so," Christina responded, from the foot of thestairs.
The old woman hurried after her. "Yes, I daresay. But by whose orders?"
Christina turned round. "Who owns this place?" she demanded.
"Well, you do."
"Who pays for every mouthful that is eaten here and for everything thatis brought into this house? Who makes your living for you?"
"You do, I suppose."
"Well, then, I suppose, by my orders. Where is she?"
"She's in your room, the same as ever."
"Locked in, of course?"
"Of course."
"The key, please."
The old woman hesitated, then she took the key out of her pocket. And atthat moment Christina noticed something. There came from the floor abovethe sound of a voice speaking rapidly, incessantly, and indistinctlylike a child talking to itself. An expression of amused and contemptuousmalice broke upon the old woman's face and she handed over the key withgreater readiness. "Much good may it do you!" said she, turning towardthe kitchen.
Christina snatched it and fled upstairs. "Bring the coffee up here,please," she called over her shoulder.
For all her haste she paused at the top of the stair, and, with her handover her heart, listened to the babbling voice. Then she turned to theright and knocked on a closed door. The voice ran on, heedlessly."Nancy!" Christina called. "Nancy! It's I, Chris! Dear Nancy, I've cometo take you home."
She was answered only by the endless repetition of some phrase, andunlocking the door, she went in.
She stepped into a charming, simple, sunny room, comfortably appointed,the windows open toward the road and their thin, flowery curtainsstirring in the low, sultry wind. But on the inside of these curtainsthe windows were completely screened with poultry wire, and, over thedoor, the transom was wired, too. In the bed a young, slight girl halflay, half sat; her dark red curls had been gathered into a heavy braidand her blue eyes were blank with fever; she rocked her head from sideto side upon the pillow with an indescribable weariness, and withoutbreath, without change, with a monotonous and yet agitated inflection,she repeated over and over again the same phrases: "No, no, no, no! Idon't believe it! Oh, Will, Will, Will, I don't believe it! You did ityourself! You did it yourself! You did it yourself! Ask Nancy Cornish!"And then, always with a little listening pause, "I'll promiseanything!"
Christina shrank back against the door-jamb as if she were going tofall.
"Whatever does this mean? How came she like this? Oh, God!" shebreathed, "what shall I do? What can I do?"
"Oh, Will, Will, Will!" said the other voice. "No, no, no, I don'tbelieve it!"
"Ah, me!" Christina breathed. "Nor I! If only I hadn't been there, andseen!"
"You did it yourself! You did it yourself! You did it yourself! AskNancy Cornish!"
Christina sank on her knees beside the bed, in an agony of terror andtenderness, and for the first time since she had seen the lock of hair,her tears poured forth. But she took the girl's hand and held it; andshe tried to master those feverish eyes with the eyes of her owndespair. "Nancy!" she said, "Nancy! It's Christina. Nancy dear, it'sChris. Oh, try to know me. Look at me. Listen to me. You must know me.You shall. Nancy, stop it! Stop it and look at me!--Oh, God!" Christinaprayed. "Help me! Help me!" She caught the sick girl in her arms andcovered the young little face with tears and kisses.
And as she held Nancy on her breast she became aware of a thin ribbonround the girl's neck, with a key to it. She picked up this strangeornament, and immediately Nancy's fingers came creeping in search of itand she cried out. Christina dropped it and rose to her feet. "Why!" shesaid aloud. "It's the key to my desk!" The desk stood against the walland she tried it. It was locked. Nancy lay almost quiet clutching thekey. Christina stood there, puzzled.
In a drawer of the dressing-table there was a key much the same in shapeand size. Christina took it out, drew the ribbon from Nancy's neck, and,steeling her heart, plucked open Nancy's hand. The girl set up a shrillcry but was instantly quieted by the substitute key; the old womancould be heard rattling with a tray at the foot of the stairs.
Christina sprang to the desk and opened it; it was in order and almostempty, containing no object that Christina did not know. She pulled openone after the other of the three little drawers. And thus she came, withan amazed start, upon a bulky envelope bearing an address which was thelast she could have expected. The envelope was addressed to theDistrict-Attorney of New York.
Christina appropriated it without pause or scruple, slipped it into herlittle handbag and restored Nancy's property almost with one swiftmovement. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in an attitude oflistless dejection when the housekeeper entered with the tray.
"Well," said the old woman, "why don't you take her? Mebbe everythingain't just as you expected. What'd she yell out like that for?"
"I touched that ribbon round her neck. What has she got clutched in herhand?"
"Oh, just some old trash! Better leave it be. She yells blue murder ifyou try to take it away from her."
These two truthful ladies looked down together on the turning head andchattering lips and the eyes burning with fever. "Ain't it a sight?"said the old woman. "It's wonderful what frettin' 'll do. She ain't beenlike this but since Wednesday. She kep' up surprisin' until then. Guessher not hearin' anything from you set her off. She counted on that. I'dknow why she sh'd be so terrible set on gettin' away from here. She'sbeen well treated. When there's been anybody here fit to keep an eye onher, she ain't even been locked up. Nicola fastened do
wn the window inthe closet where you had the sink put in--y' know, under the stairs?--incase she sh'd take to carryin' on. But mercy me, we found out soonenough that wa'n't the idea. She's had the best in the house.--Well,you 'bout scalded yerself."
"I'm in a hurry," said Christina, setting down the empty coffee-cup."Where are some loose clothes for her?"
"Land sakes!" said the old woman. "You want to kill her!"
Christina went to a closet and found some skirts and a cloak.
"Please go down," she said, "and tell Nicola to put the hood up and letdown the rain curtains."
The old woman's suspicion and resentment had never been allayed, but shekept them choked under. "Well," said she, "I s'pose it's all right. Iguess she's goin' t' die anyhow. An' I guess it's 'bout the best thingshe can do. I dunno what on earth we're goin' t' do with her if shedon't. I ain't goin' to stand for any o' them Dago actions. But I dunnoas I can always put a veto on 'em!--Well, I don't see as you got anycall to make such a face as that--seems to me that Denny fellow got along way ahead o' anything any o' our boys done, if they are Dagoes!"
"Take my message to Nicola, please," Christina said, "and don't standthere talking. Hurry!"
The old woman got as far as the door. "I s'pose you know's well asanybody why she's here!" she said, intently studying Christina's face.She went out and downstairs muttering. "But I'd jus' like to know whyyou're takin' a hand in it! The idea! I guess that Denny feller--" Thefront door closed after her; Christina looked out of the window and sawher speaking with Nicola.
She had Nancy partly dressed, and now wrapped her in the cloak. "What amI to ask you, my poor Nancy? Do you know what he never would tellme--how that door came to be bolted?" The girl's babble kept onundiminished. "God forgive me!" Christina cried, "if I do wrong!" With astrong effort, she lifted the girl in her arms.
And then she was struck still by a sudden sound. It was the sound of theautomobile racing down the road.
She laid Nancy down and ran to the window; she flew downstairs andopened the front door. The rear of the car in which she had arrived,speeding in an opposite direction, was still visible in its own dust.Had Nicola gone to borrow rain curtains or some tool? Puzzled, Christinacalled to the old woman. "Mrs. Pascoe!" Getting no answer she went intothe dining-room and from thence to the kitchen; they were empty. Herglance scoured the weedy homeliness of the backyard. She went to theshed, to the barn; they were deserted. A strange silence had fallen uponthe place. In the hot lowering sunshine the girl stood still, and forthe first time the cold fingers of suspicion began to creep along herpulse.
She had been very sure of her position, and she felt, as yet, nothingthat could be called fear. But the defiance of her authority was amplyevident. She knew now that she had been a fool to come here alone, todepend entirely on her personal force. But her mouth set itself in asmile like light on steel. Did they know what they were doing when theypushed her to the wall like this? Perhaps, in some way, they counted onthe time it would take her to leave Nancy behind her and go forhelp--the nearest house was half a mile away. Leave Nancy behind her!For reply Christina sped into the hall, and caught up the New Yorktelephone book. She ran her finger down a column until, having come tothe number 3100 Spring, she picked up the receiver. Something said, inher little steely smile, that with the utterance of that number shewould throw a world away. The number was that of Police Headquarters.
The exchange was a long time answering. Christina shook the receiverhook vigorously. Still silence. As she gave an impatient movementsomething brushed, swinging, against her wrist. It was a loose end ofdark green cord from the receiver in her hand. The wire had been cut.
Christina remained there quite quiet, while that cold hand of thesuspicion that was now certainty seemed to stop her heart. Sheremembered that, in the world of help she was cut off from, not a livinghuman being knew where she was. Well, she was a strong girl. She said toherself, "It is better Nancy should die on the road in my arms than thatI should leave her here!" She ran up to Nancy's room. When she had firstdescended to the road, some one must have mounted the back stairs.Nancy's door was locked.
With a firm step Christina entered the kitchen and opened thetable-drawer. They had thought of that, too. Everything with which alock might be pried open had been swept up and away. Christina lifted adining-room chair and carried it upstairs.
She brought it down with all the force she had upon the lock. Failing inthis, she held the chair in front of her and charged the door with it.But whereas in anything requiring swiftness, elasticity, endurance even,Christina was as strong as wire, she had absolutely no weight. Afterhalf a dozen of these batteries every one of which seemed to strikethrough her own heart on Nancy's fever, she decided that whether or noshe might shatter the door in time, time was the last thing she had towaste. And she could run half a mile like an arrow. She had all alongretained her hold on the little bag which held her purse and she thankedheaven for the money in it. She had her hand on the front door when shewas arrested by the sound of voices and approaching footsteps; Mrs.Pascoe's, Nicola's and the heavier step of an older man.
From her earlier confidence Christina had now jumped to an extreme ofaccusation in which any violence seemed probable. Mad to get away forhelp, it seemed better to delay for a moment or two than to be caught.She slipped back across the hall and hid herself in the little closetunder the stairs. She was scarcely secure there when the front dooropened, and Christina hardly dared to breathe lest the click of her owndoor closing should have betrayed her presence. To her highly wroughtnerves the utter darkness, the airless pressure of her sanctuary wereterrible, and she found and held the knob that at the first stillnessshe might slip out. She could hear calling and running about; she couldhear them talking in Nancy's room. After a while, the men went out andthen she heard Mrs. Pascoe come downstairs and the dining-room doorclose after her. The time had come. Christina, all her life subject tofainting-fits, felt that she scarcely could have borne, for a momentlonger, that black airlessness. With infinite softness, she turned theknob. And then, indeed, her heart stood still. Mrs. Pascoe had omittedto mention one improvement with which, in preparation for Nancy'soccupancy, the outside of the closet-door had been fortified. Thisimprovement was a Yale lock.