CHAPTER XXXI
THE FRET OF WAITING
Tuttle had performed his services fairly well. He reported that youngRobinson had returned to town and had lost no time in dismissing him,with a promise to pay for services rendered by the end of the week.Theodore had seemed content with the bald report which Tuttle had madeconcerning Garrison's almost total absence from his office, and hadrather appeared to be satisfied to let the case develop for the present.
Tuttle knew nothing of the note on Garrison's desk from Theodore, andwas therefore unaware how his news affected his chief, who wondered yetagain what might be impending.
Concerning Fairfax there was news that was equally disquieting. He hadbeen here once, apparently quite sane again. He had talked with Tuttlefreely of a big surprise he had in store for the man who had hidden hiswife, and then he had gone to his lodgings, near at hand, departingalmost immediately with a suit-case in his hand and proceeding to thestation, where he had taken a train on a ticket purchased forBranchville.
Tuttle, uninstructed as to following in a circumstance like this, hadthere dropped the trail.
"What seemed to be the nature of the big surprise he had in mind?"inquired Garrison. "Could you gather anything at all?"
"Nothing more than that. He appeared to be brooding over some sort ofrevenge he had in his mind, or something he meant to do, but he wascareful to keep it to himself."
"He said nothing at all of leaving New York?"
"Not a word."
"You are positive he bought a ticket for Branchville?"
"Oh, sure," said Tuttle.
Garrison reflected for a moment. "I rather wish you had followed.However, he may return. Keep your eye on the place where he wasrooming. Have you noticed anyone else around the officehere--reporters, for instance?"
"No. The story's a sort of a dead one with the papers. Young Robinsonwas gone, and you kept out of sight, and nothing came up to prove anything."
"You must have been talking to some newspaper man yourself," wasGarrison's comment. He looked at Tuttle keenly.
"I did, yes, sir. One of them saw me here two or three times andfinally asked me what paper I represented. I told him the _Cable_."
Garrison paced up and down the floor somewhat restlessly.
"I think of nothing further except for you to keep an eye on theRobinsons," he said. "Wait a minute. I want you to go to theNinety-third Street house with a note I'll give you to the housekeeper,and examine the closet, in the back room, first flight up, to see if anequipment telephone is still in place there, concealed beneath a lot ofclothing."
He sat down, wrote the note, and gave it to Tuttle, who departed withinstructions to return with his report as soon as possible.
The office oppressed Garrison. It seemed to confine him. He proddedhimself with a hundred vague notions that there ought to be somethinghe could do, some way to get at things more rapidly. He wondered howfar he would find it possible to go with Foster Durgin, and what thefellow would say or do, if confronted with the cold-blooded factsalready collated.
Up and down and up and down he paced, impatient of every minute thatsped away bringing nothing to the door. Would Barnes arrive in time,or at all? Would Durgin fail to come? Did Dorothy know of hispresence in the city?
Everything always swung back to Dorothy. What would she do concerningFairfax? What would Fairfax himself attempt to do, so far baffled, buta factor with a hold upon her name and, perhaps, upon her fortune? Andif the thing should all be cleared at last, and come to its end, as allthings must, what would be the outcome for himself and Dorothy?
She had told him at the start that when her business ends had beencompletely served she would wish him to dismiss himself,--from her lifeand her memory forever. He smiled at the utter futility of such abehest. It had gone beyond his power to forget like this, though acentury of time should elapse.
For an hour he paced his cage impatiently, and nothing happened. Adozen times he went to the door, opened it and looked out in thehall--to no avail. The moment for young Durgin to arrive was at hand.It was almost time for young Barnes to appear.
Tuttle should have made his trip by this. The postman should havebrought that photograph from Israel Snow, of Rockdale. Dorothy mightat least 'phone.
It was maddening to wait and feel so impotent! His mind reverted tovarious phases of the case, but lingered most upon the secondwill--that might mean so much to Dorothy. Where had it gone? Had itbeen stolen--or hidden? Some way he felt it was hidden. For somereason, wholly illogical, he thought of Hardy lying dead with thosegrease-like stains upon his knuckles. What did they mean?
Working out a line of thought about the will, he was halted abruptly bya shadow on the glass of his door. He sat down quickly at his desk andassumed an air of calmness he was far from feeling. At the knock whichcame he called to the visitor to enter.
The visitor entered. It was Wicks.
"Oh, how do you do?" said Garrison, rising from his chair. "Come in.Come in, Mr. Wicks."