THE DISAPPEARANCE OF ROSABEL VICK
Early the next morning, the telephone in township assessor Jordan's
house rang. Annie Jordan was "setting" the breakfast table. She
waited for the call to be repeated; she was not sure whether the
bell had rung thrice or four times. Their call was "Party J, ring
four." Four sharp rings came promptly. She looked at the kitchen
clock. It lacked five minutes of seven.
"Gee," she grumbled, "I didn't know anybody had to get up as early
as I do." Taking down the receiver she uttered a sweet "hello,"
because, as she said, "You never know who's at the other end, and
it's just as likely to be HIM as not."
"Is that you, Annie? This is Mrs. Vick. May I speak to Rosabel?"
"Why, Rosabel isn't here, Mrs. Vick."
"What?"
"Rosabel isn't here."
There was a short silence. Then: "Are you joking with me, Annie?
If she isn't up yet, please tell her to--"
"Honest to goodness, Mrs. Vick, she's not here. I haven't seen her
since day before yesterday."
"She said she was going over to spend the night with you. She left
home about four yesterday. Oh, my goodness, I--I--is there any one
else she might have,--I'm sure she said you, though, Annie. Can
you think of any one else? She took her nightdress--and things."
"She always comes here, Mrs. Vick," said Annie, and felt a little
chill creeping over her. "Still she may have gone to Mrs. Urline's.
She and Hattie are good friends. Shall I call up and ask? I'll ring
you up in a couple of minutes."
That was the beginning. Within the hour the whole of Windomville
was talking about the strange disappearance of the pretty daughter
of Amos Vick, across the river. Old Jim House, the handy-man at
Dowd's Tavern, inserted his shaggy head through the dining-room
door and informed the editor of the Sun in a far from ceremonious
manner that he had an "item" for the paper.
"I'll be out as soon as I've finished breakfast," said Mr. Pollock.
"Well, you can't say I didn't tell ye," said Jim, and withdrew his
head. "No wonder there ain't ever anything worth readin' in that
pickerune paper of his, Maggie," he growled to Margaret Slattery.
"If ever I DO subscribe for a paper, it's goin' to be one that's
got some git up and go about it. Some Injinapolis er Cincinnaty
paper, b'gosh. There's Link Pollock settin' in there eatin' pancakes
while a girl is bein' missed from one end of the township to the
other. Bill Foss has--"
"What girl?" demanded Margaret.
"That girl of Amos Vick's. They ain't seen hide er hair of her
sence yesterday afternoon. Amos is over to the drug store, nearly
crazy with suspicion. I got it all figgered out. One of two things
has happened. She's either run off to get married er else she's
been waylaid and--er--execrated by some tramp. Like as not the
very feller that peeped in at Alix Crown's winder the other night.
'Twouldn't surprise me a particle if she was found some'eres er
other with her head beat in or somethin'! And Link Pollock jest
sits in there stuffin' pan--"
Margaret Slattery having disappeared abruptly into the dining-room,
Jim grunted and edged over to the kitchen range, where Miss Jennie
Dowd was busily engaged.
"I ain't got nothin' personal ag'in Link Pollock, Jennie," he said,
sniffing the browning batter with pleasurable longing, "but if you
was to ask me I'd say his wife is twice the man he is, and a little
over. The minute that woman is a widder I'm goin' to subscribe for
the paper, 'cause I know she'll--What say, Jennie?"
"Bring me another scuttle of coal,--and, for goodness' sake, don't
smoke that pipe in my kitchen."
"What's the matter with this here pipe?" demanded Mr. House in some
surprise.
"Never mind. I'm busy."
"Yes,--cookin' pancakes for that--all right, ALL RIGHT, I'll get
your coal fer ye. I ought to be out helpin' Amos Vick to investigate
fer his daughter, that's where I ought to be. First thing you know,
he'll be offerin' twenty-five er fifty dollars fer her and--say,
it seems to me you ought to be more interested in that pore lost
girl than makin' pancakes fer Link Pollock." He prepared to sit
down. "There's a lot of people in this here town payin' him two
dollars a year fer to git the news, and all he does is to--All
right, I wasn't goin' to set down anyways. I was jest movin' this
cheer out o' the way a little, so's Maggie--Yes, and with coal as
high as it is now and a lot of pore people starvin' and freezin'
to death, it exaggerates me considerable to see you wastin'--Well,
is he still eatin', Maggie?"
"He's beat it upstairs to change his carpet slippers," announced
Margaret Slattery excitedly. "You needn't make any more, Miss
Jennie. They're all beatin' it,--all except Mr. Thane, and he says
he don't want any more. He says he ain't feelin' well and thinks
he'll go up to his room and lay down for a while."
"Well, seein's you don't need that coal, Jennie, I guess I'll mosey
along and see if I c'n be any help to Amos. This jest goes to show
what an ijit I'd ha' been to let my pipe go out."
Courtney Thane hung over the little stove in his room, shivering
as with a chill. About ten o'clock some one knocked at his door.
He started up from the chair, his gaze fixed on the door. With an
effort he pulled himself together and inquired who was there.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Thane?" asked Miss Molly
Dowd, outside.
"Nothing, thank you." After a moment's indecision, he crossed over
and opened the door. "It's awfully good of you, Miss Molly. There's
nothing really the matter with me. I was awake most of the night
with a pain in my back,--something like lumbago, I suppose. I was
afraid at first it was my old pleurisy coming back for another
visit, but it seems to be lower down. I feel much better, thank
you. The fresh air will do me good. I think I'll go out and see
if I can be of any assistance to poor Vick. Have they had any news
of Rosabel?"
"I think not. They have telephoned to the city to ask the police
to watch out for her, especially at the trains. She's been terribly
depressed, they say, since her brother went to the Navy training
school up near Chicago. Amos thinks she may have taken it into her
head to go up there somewhere to be near him."
"It is possible. She was devoted to her brother. I hope nothing
worse has happened to her. She is a sweet, lovable girl, and they
worshipped her."
Later on, as he was standing in front of the postoffice, smoking
a cigarette, Vick came up in Alix Crown's automobile.
The former had been to the city to consult with the police. He
inquired anxiously if any word had been received from the men who
had volunteered to search in the woods and along the river bank
for the girl. Receiving a reply in the negative from several of
the hangers-on, he turned to give an order to the chauffeur. As he
did so, his gaze fell upon Courtney, who was on the outer edge of
the little group surrounding the car.
After a moment of indecision, the young man pushed his way forward,
an expression of deep concern in his eyes.
"Morning, Courtney," greeted the older man, extending his hand.
"I'm glad to see you. I suppose you've heard about Rosabel?"
Thane shook hands with Rosabel's father.
"I wouldn't be worried if I were you, Mr. Vick. She'll turn up all
right. I feel sure of it. If there is anything in the world I can
do, I wish you would say so, Mr. Vick. Anything, sir. There is
nothing I wouldn't do for you and Mrs. Vick and Rosabel. I adore
that child. Why, I get positively sick all over when I let myself
think that--but, it's impossible! I feel it in my bones she'll come
home sometime today."
Vick pressed the young man's hand.
"I wish I could be sure of that,--God, I wish I could be sure,"
he said, with a little catch in his gruff voice. "I don't see what
got into her to run away like this. She ain't been very chipper
since Cale went away, you know. Sort of sick and down in the mouth.
Her mother's heard her crying a good bit lately up in her room. I
promised her only a couple of days ago to take her up to Chicago
for a spell, so's she could see Cale every once in a while. So it
can't be she's gone off on her own hook to see him, knowin' that
either me or her mother was planning to go up with her next week.
Thank you, Courtney, for offering to help us. If there's anything,
I'll let you know. We've been telegraphin' and telephonin' everywhere
to see if we can get track of her, and we've been to all her friends'
homes to ask if they've seen her. I wish, if you feel like it, you'd
go over and see Mrs. Vick. Maybe you can cheer her up, encourage
her or something. She's terribly worried. I--I think it would break
her heart if anything happened to--to--" His lips twisted as with
pain. He bent over and picked a burr from his trousers' leg.
"Buck up, old fellow," said Courtney, a ringing note of confidence
in his voice. He laid his hand on Vick's arm. "Tell me all about
it. When did she leave the house, and where did she say she was
going?"
"Yesterday afternoon. She said she was going to spend the night at
the Jordans'. She kissed her mother good-bye,--just as she always
does,--and we ain't seen or heard anything of her since. Nobody in
Windomville saw her. Bill Foss is afraid she may have been waylaid
by hoboes down along the river road. If--if THAT happened there'll
be something worse than lynchin' if I ever lay hands on--"
Thane broke in with an oath.
"By God, I'll do the job for you if I get hold of him first, Vick.
I could set fire to a devil like that and see him burned alive
without moving a muscle."
"I can't let myself believe she's met with any such horrible fate
as that, Courtney. I simply can't bear to think of my pretty little
Rosie in the hands of--"
"Don't think about it, Vick. I believe she will turn up safe and
sound and--By the way, has it occurred to you that she may have
eloped? Was she in love with anybody? Was she interested in any
young fellow that you didn't approve of?"
"She never spoke of being in love with anybody. She never even gave
us an inklin' of such a thing. She would have told her mother. Why,
good heavens, Courtney, she wasn't much more'n a little girl! She
was eighteen her last birthday, and we never thought of her as
anything but a child just out of short dresses. Did she ever speak
to you about being gone on any of these young fellows that come
to see her? She liked you tremendous, Courtney,--and I didn't know
but what maybe she might have mentioned something to you about it
when you were off on those long walks together. Some of the times
when you used to take a lunch basket and go off--"
"Not a word," broke in Courtney. "Why, she was just like a kid,
laughing and singing and begging me to tell her stories about the
war, and life in New York, and all that sort of thing. She used to
read to me, bless her heart,--read by the hour while I smoked,--or
went to sleep. If she was in love with anybody she certainly never
took me into her confidence."
"I--I guess there's nothing in that theory," said Amos Vick,
shaking his head. "She didn't run away with anybody. That's out of
the question. I'm working on the theory that she sort of went out
of her head or something and wandered away. You read about cases
like that in the papers. I forget what they call the disease, but
there's--"
"Aphasia," supplied Courtney absently. His gaze was fixed on a
graceful, familiar figure down the street.
Alix Crown had just dismounted from her horse in front of the
library. She stood, straight and slim, on the sidewalk awaiting
the approach of Editor Pollock, who was hurrying up from Assessor
Jordan's house where he had been "interviewing" Annie.
A warm glow shot through Courtney's veins. He had held that
adorable, boyish figure tight in his arms! Nothing could rob him
of that rapturous thought,--nothing could deprive him of those
victorious moments. Amos Vick's voice recalled him.
"I'll have to be on the move, Courtney. Here comes Bill Foss. He's
been telephonin' to Litchtown, down the river. I do wish you'd go
over and see Lucinda. She'll be mighty grateful to you."
"Don't fail to call on me, Mr. Vick, if there's anything I can do,"
called out Courtney after the moving machine.
He did not take his eyes from Alix until she disappeared through
the library door. The horse, a very fine animal, was wet with sweat.
He could see, even at that distance, the "lather" on her flanks.
"Any news?" he inquired of Pollock, as that worthy came up panting.
"Nope. Alix Crown is just back from Jim Bagley's. Some one said
a hired man of his had seen a woman walking across the pasture
yesterday just before dark--out near the old Windom place,--but it
couldn't have been Rosie Vick because she had no way to get across
the river except by the ferry, and she didn't come that way, Joe
Burk swears. Alix saw this hired man and he says it was almost dark
and he couldn't be sure whether it was a man or a woman."
A greyish pallor spread over Courtney's face. He turned away
abruptly and hurried down the street. He remembered the "skiff"
that belonged to young Cale, salvaged some years before on the
abatement of a February flood. On more than one occasion he had
taken Rosabel out on the river in this clumsy old boat, twice at
least to the base of Quill's Window where she had refused to land
because of the dread she had for the gruesome place.
Cale kept his boat down among the willows, chained to a pole he had
driven deep in the bed of the river. It was one of his treasures.
He had fished from it up and down the stream; he had gone forth in
it at daybreak for wild ducks and geese.
Yes, Thane remembered the "skiff." Strange that no one else had
thought of it. Strange that even Amos Vick was satisfied she could
not have crossed the river except by the ferry. He wondered whether
it was tied up in its accustomed place over yonder, or was it now
on this side of the river? He felt a strange chill in his blood.
He was nearing the library when Alix came out. If she saw him she
gave no sign. She crossed the sidewalk threw the bridle rein over
the horse's neck, and swung herself gracefully into the saddle.
Without so much as a glance over her shoulder, she rode off at a
brisk canter in the direction of the ferry. He knew she was on her
way to see Mrs. Vick.
The R. F. D. postman making his rounds, came to Amos Vick's shortly
after noon that day. He volunteered a bit of information. Rosabel
had given him a letter when he stopped the day before. It was
addressed to Caleb Vick. She asked him how long he thought it would
take the letter to reach its destination. When he told her that
it might be delivered to Cale early the next day, she thanked him
and returned to the house.
He thought at the time that she looked "kind of white around the
gills."
II
Jim Bagley and his new "hired man," pursuing a suggestion made
by the latter, went to the top of Quill's Window for a bird's-eye
view of the river and the surrounding country. The sharp eyes of
the Pinkerton man descried the rowboat under the willows along the
opposite bank of the stream.
Half an hour later, Bagley and several companions came upon the
boat. On one of the seats lay Rosabel Vick's heavy coat and the
black fur collar she was known to have worn when she left home.
Under the seat in the stern was a small paper bundle. It contained
a nightgown, a pair of black stockings, and several toilet articles.
Across the river, several hundred yards above Quill's Window, a small
gravelly "sand-bar" reached out into the stream. Here the practised
eyes of Gilfillan found unmistakable indications of a recent landing.
The prow of the boat, driven well out upon the bar, had left its
mark. Also, there were two deep cuts in the sand where an oar had
been used in pushing off. It was impossible to make out footprints
in the loose, shifting gravel.
Mr. Gilfillan pondered deeply.
"That boat crossed over here yesterday," he reflected. "It's pretty
clear that it belongs over on that side. If the Vick girl came over
in it, there's no use looking for her on this side of the river.
That boat couldn't have got back to the other side unless somebody
rowed it over. If it was a woman I saw walking across the pasture
in the direction of the river, it must have been this girl. Now--one
of two things happened--in case it was the Vick girl. Either she
was up near that old house before I got there, or she saw me when
she was approaching, and turned back. In either case, she had an
object in hanging around that house. Now we come to the object.
Was she going there to meet some one? If so, it would naturally be
a man.
"Now let's get this thing straight. Thane crossed the pasture from
this direction. That's positive,--because I followed him. It is a
dead certainty he did not meet the Vick girl. I would have witnessed
any such meeting. The fact that he lived at her father's house for
several weeks may have something to do with the case,--but that's
guesswork. What we want is facts. This much is certain. I did not
see Miss Crown go into that house,--but I did see her come out.
I never was so paralysed in my life. It is clear, therefore, that
she was in there before either I or Thane came upon the scene. Now
the question is, was she there to meet Thane? I doubt it. Things
begin to look a little clearer to me. Suppose, for instance, he
went out to that big hill to meet some one else,--presumably the
Vick girl, and that they had planned to go to that old deserted
house. He was late. So, thinking she had gone on, he hustled across
the field and received the surprise of his life. Now, we'll say
the Vick girl was over there waiting for him when Miss Crown came
to the house,--a thing they couldn't have foreseen in view of
the fact that she shunned the place. Our hero comes up and enters
the house as if he owned it. The other girl hangs around outside
till it gets dark enough for her to risk making a getaway without
attracting my attention,--in case she saw me. She beats it back to
the river, and then, being afraid that I saw and recognized her, she
concludes to beat it to somebody's house over in the next county,
so's she'll have an alibi if I go to Miss Crown with the story.
Now, that's one way to look at it. The other angle is that she was
jealous and trailed Thane to his rendezvous, as my old friend Nick
Carter would say. In that case,--By thunder!" He gave vent to a
soft whistle.
"In that case, she may have jumped into the river and--No, that
doesn't hang together. She wouldn't have gone to the trouble to row
back to the other side. Wait a second! Now, let me think. Here's
an idea. We'll suppose somebody waylaid her over there on the other
side of the river, put the quietus on her and chucked her into
the water. Then he rowed across here and started for the turnpike.
Seeing me and also Thane, he turns back. It's a man I see in the
darkness instead of a woman. He goes back to the boat, rows over
to the other side again and--Holy Mackerel! Here's a new one. That
girl's body may be lying up there in the underbrush at this instant.
Dumped there by the murderer, who turned back after seeing me--I'll
take a look!"
For an hour Gilfillan searched through the underbrush along the
bank. Finally he gave it up and started toward the village. He found
the town in a state of great excitement. Everybody was hurrying
down to the river. Overtaking an old man, he inquired if there was
any news of the missing girl.
"They say she's been drownded," chattered the ancient. "My daughter
says they found her things in a boat, but no sign of her. Did you
ever see the beat? They's been more goin' on in this here town in
the last week than--"
Gilfillan hurried on. He caught Charlie Webster as he was leaving
the warehouse.
"I want to see Miss Crown as soon as possible, Webster," he said.
"Do you suppose she will go up in the air if I mention the fact
that I know she was with Thane yesterday up in that old house? It's
a rather ticklish thing to spring on her if she--"
"It's all right," interrupted Charlie. "I talked with her about
it last night. She had no idea he was coming there. He told her he
saw her from across the pasture and hustled over. She was surprised
almost out of her skin when he popped in on her. She tells me she
ordered him out of the house."
The detective was thoughtful. "I wonder if it has occurred to Miss
Crown that Thane might have mistaken her for some one else at that
distance."
"Not so's you'd notice it," declared Charlie. "He knew it was Alix
all right. She isn't in any doubt on that score."
"It begins to take shape," mused Gilfillan. "He didn't wait for
her, that's all."
"What say?"
"I was just thinking," replied the other. "Where is Thane at the
present moment, Webster?"
"He just went off in an automobile with Dick Hurdle and a couple
of fellows to stretch one of Joe Hart's big fish nets across the
river down at the Narrows, five or six miles below here."
"Would you mind inviting me up to your room at the Tavern for a
little while, Webster?"
"Well, I was going down to the ferry. There are half a dozen skiffs
down--"
"See here, Webster, as I understand it, my real job is to find out
all I can about this chap Thane. I am really working for you, not
for Miss Crown, although she is putting up the money. I am just
as thoroughly convinced as you are that Thane staged that masked
robber business himself. It's an old gag, especially with lovers--and
occasionally with husbands."
Charlie grinned sheepishly, a guilty flush staining his rubicund
face.
"I guess I might as well confess that I was guilty of something of
the sort when I was about seventeen," he said. "That's how I came
to figger out that maybe he was up to the same kind of heroism."
"Nearly every kid has done the same thing. It's boy nature."
"I reckon that's right. I fixed it for a boy friend of mine to
jump out of a dark place one night when I was walkin' home from a
church sociable with my girl. He had false whiskers on. I helped
him glue them on,--and he had an awful time getting 'em off. Course
when he jumped out and growled 'hands up,' I just sailed into him
and the fur flew for a few seconds. Then he run like a whitehead.
It didn't work out very well, however. That kid's sister got onto
the trick and told my girl about it, and--well, I almost had to
leave town. But it ain't a game for a grown-up man to play, and
that's what I think this feller Thane has been pulling."
"What you want to find out, before it's too late, is whether Thane
is all that he professes to be," said the other. "Well, I'm simply
sitting tight on the job, stalling along until I hear from our
people in New York. They have cabled England to find out whether
he was connected with the British air forces. Now, what I want to
do is to get into that fellow's room for ten or fifteen minutes.
Can you fix it?"
"It--it wouldn't be legal," protested Charlie. "You've got to get
out a search warrant."
"My dear fellow, I'm not planning to steal anything," exclaimed
Gilfillan. "I merely want to get into his room by mistake. That
happens frequently,--you know."
Charlie was finally persuaded. He cast an apprehensive glance
down the road leading to the ferry, searched the Main Street for
observers, and then led the way over to the practically deserted
Tavern.
Half an hour later Mr. Gilfillan re-entered Charlie's room.
"Remember I don't know where you've been or what you were up to,"
warned the fat man firmly. "I'm not a party to this nefarious--"
"Righto!" said the detective cheerily. "Your skirts are clear. They
are immaculate. Let's beat it."
"Well, what did you find out?" inquired Charlie, when they were in
the street once more. He was bursting with curiosity.
"In as much as you don't know where I was or what I've been doing,
it will not compromise you if I say that I found a thirty-eight
calibre revolver with three empty shells in the cylinder. I also
found a theatrical make-up box, with grease paints, gauze, and
all that. Also currency amounting to about three hundred dollars.
Nothing incriminating, nothing actually crooked. Simply circumstantial
as relating to recent events in your midst, Mr. Webster."
"Makes it look mighty certain that he was the feller with the mask,
don't it? Only three shots were fired, you know. I've been thinking
a lot about what you said awhile ago. You don't think that he had
anything to do with--with putting the Vick girl out of the way?
You spoke about him being mistaken in the woman."
"He had nothing to do with it, Webster. I told you I saw a figure
in the pasture after he had gone into the house. If it was the Vick
girl, she was certainly alive then. He went straight home after
leaving that house. He didn't go out of the Tavern again last
night, that's positive. Now, what I want to find out is this: was
the girl in love with him? Was there anything between them? If
she's at the bottom of the river down there, it's a plain case of
suicide, my friend, and people do not take their own lives unless
there's a mighty good reason. With a young girl it's usually a
case of unrequited love,--or worse. According to that letter Miss
Miller had from New York, Thane is not above betraying a girl. Of
course, if the Vick girl is dead and left nothing behind to implicate
Thane, it will be out of the question to charge him with being even
indirectly responsible for her death."
"The main thing," said Charlie, who had turned a shade paler during
this matter-of-fact, cold-blooded analysis, "is to keep Alix Crown
from falling into his clutches. He's a bad egg, that feller is,
and he's made up his mind to win her by fair means or foul."
"Well, if she falls for him after reading that lawyer's letter and
when she hears what I believe to be the truth about that heroic
episode the other night,--why, she ought to get what's coming to
her, that's all I have to say," said Mr. Gilfillan flatly. "I've
discovered one thing, Mr. Webster. If a woman makes up her mind
to marry a man, hell-fire and brimstone can't stop her. The older
I get and the more I see of women, the more I am convinced that
vice is its own reward. I guess we'd better stroll down to the
river and see what's doing."
"I've been thinking," said Charlie as they walked along, "that if
Thane wasn't in the British Army and wasn't in our army, then he
must be a slacker and wanted by the government for--"
"Nothing doing on that line. You forget he was crippled long before
the war. He couldn't get by a medical board. They'd turn him down
in a second. If he was in this country at the time of the draft,
he would have had no trouble getting an exemption. What I can't
understand is why he, a New Yorker, should be hiding out here in the
jungles of Indiana. There's something queer about that, my friend."
"Kind of fishy," said Charlie darkly. Then upon reflection, he
added with considerable vehemence: "Damn him!"
Already half a dozen rowboats were out in the stream, with men
peering over the sides into the deep, slow-moving water. Burk's
Ferry did a thriving business. It plied back and forth from one
"road-cut" to the other, crowded with foot passengers, all of whom
studied the water intently. Men, women and children tramped close
to the edge of both banks. People spoke in subdued voices; an
atmosphere of the deepest solemnity hung over the scene.
The sky itself was overcast; a raw wind moaned through the trees,
sighing a requiem. The drab, silent river went placidly, mockingly
on its way down to the sea, telling no tales: if Rosabel Vick was
rolling, gliding along the bottom, gently urged by the current,
the grim waters covered well the secret.
The word went from lip to lip that motor-boats were on the way
down from the city, with police officers and grappling-hooks and
men experienced in the gruesome business of "dragging." The boss
of the railway construction gang at Hawkins, where the new bridge
was being built, had started for Windomville with a quantity of
dynamite to be exploded on the bottom of the river in the hope and
expectation of bringing the body to the surface.