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The Great Detective Story.
MADELINE PAYNE, THE DETECTIVE'S DAUGHTER.
by
LAWRENCE L. LYNCH,
(Of the Secret Service.)
Author of "Shadowed by Three," "The Diamond Coterie,"
"Out of a Labyrinth," etc., etc.
[Illustration: "Yes," she cried, wildly, "I know; you need not say
it"--page 219.]
Chicago:
Alex. T. Loyd & Co.
1888.
Copyright, 1883,
Donnelley, Loyd & Co.,
Chicago.
Copyright, 1883,
Alex. T. Loyd & Co.,
Chicago.
Copyright, 1884,
Alex. T. Loyd & Co.,
Chicago.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. MAN PROPOSES 9
II. THE OLD TREE'S REVELATIONS 16
III. THE STORY OF A CRIME 25
IV. THE DIE IS CAST 44
V. A SHREWD SCHEME 54
VI. A WARNING 64
VII. A STRUGGLE FOR MORE THAN LIFE 75
VIII. THREADS OF THE FABRIC 98
IX. GONE! 104
X. BONNIE, BEWITCHING CLAIRE 113
XI. A GLEAM OF LIGHT 121
XII. A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD 130
XIII. MISS ARTHUR'S FRENCH MAID 137
XIV. WHEELS WITHIN WHEEL 143
XV. CORA AND THE FRENCH MAID MEASURE SWORDS 155
XVI. FACE TO FACE 167
XVII. GATHERING CLUES 184
XVIII. THE HAND OF FRIENDSHIP WIELDS THE SURGEON'S
KNIFE 191
XIX. A DUAL RENUNCIATION 203
XX. STRUGGLING AGAINST FATE 215
XXI. HAGAR AND CORA 229
XXII. TO BE, TO DO, TO SUFFER 239
XXIII. SETTING SOME SNARES 244
XXIV. A VERITABLE GHOST 251
XXV. SOME DAYS OF WAITING 257
XXVI. NOT A BAD DAY'S WORK 265
XXVII. CLAIRE TURNS CIRCE 272
XXVIII. THE CURTAIN RISES ON THE MIMIC STAGE 279
XXIX. A STARTLING EPISODE 291
XXX. WAITING 299
XXXI. MR. PERCY SHAKES HIMSELF 303
XXXII. A SILKEN BELT 310
XXXIII. CROSS PURPOSES 316
XXXIV. A SLIGHT COMPLICATION 322
XXXV. "THOU SHALT NOT SERVE TWO MASTERS" SET AT
NAUGHT 332
XXXVI. MR. LORD'S LETTER 337
XXXVII. "I HAVE COME BACK TO MY OWN!" 341
XXXVIII. CORA UNDER ORDERS 356
XXXIX. MYSTIFIED PEOPLE 367
XL. DAVLIN'S "POINTS." 378
XLI. THE DAYS PASS BY 385
XLII. A STRUGGLE FOR FREEDOM 389
XLIII. THE DOCTOR'S WOOING 397
XLIV. A FRESH COMPLICATION 403
XLV. MRS. RALSTON'S STORY 409
XLVI. CORA "STIRS UP THE ANIMALS." 416
XLVII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END 423
XLVIII. THE SWORD OF FATE 427
XLIX. AS THE FOOL DIETH 442
L. "AND THEN COMES REST." 447
[Illustration: "Lucian Davlin was among the arrivals, and at the end
of the depot platform stood the dainty phaeton of Mrs. John
Arthur."--page 229.]
MADELINE PAYNE,
THE DETECTIVE'S DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER I.
MAN PROPOSES.
"H'm! And you scarcely remember your mother, I suppose?"
"No, Lucian; I was such a mere babe when she died, I have often
wondered what it would be like to have a mother. Auntie Hagar was
always very kind to me, however; so kind, in fact, that my
step-father, fearing, he said, that I would grow up self-willed and
disobedient, sent her away, and procured the services of the ugly old
woman you saw in the garden. Poor Auntie Hagar," sighed the girl, "she
was sorely grieved at our parting and, that she might be near me,
bought the little cottage in the field yonder."
"Oh!" ejaculated the man, more as if he felt that he was expected to
say something, than as if really interested in the subject under
discussion. "Ah--er--was--a--was the old lady a property holder, then?
Most discharged servants go up and down on the earth, seeking what
they may devour--in another situation."
"That is the strangest part of the affair, Lucian; she had money.
Where it came from, I never could guess, nor would she ever give me
any information on the subject. It was a legacy--that was all I was to
know, it seemed.
"I remember," she continued, musingly, "how very much astonished I was
to receive, from my step-father, a lecture on this head. He took the
ground that my childish curiosity was unpardonably rude, and angrily
forbade me to ask further questions. And I am sure that since that one
instance of wonderful regard for the feelings of Aunt Hagar, he has
not deigned to consider the comfort and happiness of any, save and
always himself."
As the girl's voice took on a tone of scornful sarcasm; as her cheeks
flushed and her eyes flashed while memory recalled the many instances
of unfeeling cruelty and neglect, that had brought tears to her
childish eyes and pain to her lonely heart--the eyes of Lucian Davlin
became bright with admiration, and something more; something that
might have caused her honest eyes to wonder and question, if she had
but intercepted the glance. But her thoughts had taken a backward
turn. Without looking up, perceiving by his silence that he had no
desire to interrupt her, she proceeded, half addressing herself:
"I used to ask him about my mother, and was always informed that he
'didn't care to converse of dead folks.' Finally, he assured me that
he was 'tired of seeing my sickly, ugly face,' and that, as I would
have to look after myself when he was dead and gone, I must be
educated. Therefore, I was sent to the dreary Convent school at M----.
And there I studied hard, looking forward to the time when, having
learned all they could teach me, I might breathe again outside the
four stone walls; for, by my step-papa's commands, I was not permitted
to roam outside the sisters' domains until my studies should reach an
end. Then they brought me back, and my polite step-papa called me an
'educated idiot;' and my good old Hagar cried over me; and I made
friends with the birds, and the trees. Ever since, always avoiding my
worthy ancestor-in-law, I have been wondering what it would be like to
be happy among true friends, in a bright spot somewhere, far away from
this place, where I never have been happy for a day at a time, even as
a child."
"Never, little girl?" The eyes were very reproachful, and the man's
hand was held out entreatingly. "Never, darling?"
She looked up in his face shyly, yet trustfully, and then putting her
hand in his, said: "Never, until I knew you, Lucian; and always since,
I think, except--"
She hesitated, and the color fled out of her face.
"Except when I think that the day draws near when you will leave me.
And when the great world has swallowed you up, you will forget the
'little girl' you found in the woods, perhaps."
A smile flitted across the face of the listener, and he turned away
for a moment to conceal the lurking devil gleaming out of his eyes.
Then, flinging away his half finished cigar, he took both her hands in
his, and looking down into her clear eyes, said:
"Then don't let me go away from you, beauty. Don't stay here to make
dismal meditations among the gloomy trees. Don't pass all the weary
Winter with Curmudgeon, who will marry you to an old bag of gold. Come
with me; come to the city and be happy. You shall see all the glories
and beauties of the gay, bright world. You shall put dull care far
behind you. You shall be my little Queen of Hearts, to love and care
for always. Sweetheart, will you come?"
He was folding her close now, and she nestled in his arms with perfect
trustfulness, with untold happiness shining in her bright eyes. She
was in no haste to answer his eager question, and he smiled again; and
once more the lurking devil laughed out of his eyes. But he held her
tenderly to him, in silence for a time, and then lifted the blushing
face to meet his own.
"Look up, Aileen, my own! Is it to be as I wish? Will you leave this
place with me to-morrow night?"
The girl drew back with a start of surprise. "You--you surely are not
going to-morrow, Lucian," and the gentle voice trembled.
"I must, little one--have just received a letter calling me back to
the city. Your sweet face has already kept me here too long. But I
shall take it back with me, shall I not, love; and never lose it
more?"
The girl was silent. She loved him only too well, and yet this
peremptory wooing and sudden departure struck upon her naturally
sensitive nerves as something harsh and unpleasant. She would not
leave behind much love, would be missed by few friends, and yet--to
leave her home once was to leave it forever, and it was home, after
all. She looked at the man before her, and a something, her good angel
perhaps, seemed, almost against herself, to move her to rebel.
"Why must I go like a runaway, Lucian? I can't bear to bid you go, and
yet, if you must, why not leave me for a little time? My father will
never consent, I well know, but let me tell him, and then go openly,
after he has had time to become familiar with the idea."
"After he has had time to lock you up! Recollect, you are not of age,
Aileen. After he has had time to force you into a marriage with your
broken-backed old lover. After he has had time to poison your mind
against me----"
"Lucian! as if he could do _that_; _he_, indeed!" The girl laughed
scornfully.
[Illustration: "She nestled in his arms with perfect
trustfulness."--page 11.]
It is not difficult to guess how this affair would have terminated.
The man was handsome and persuasive; the girl trustful, loving, and,
save for him, so she thought, almost friendless.
But an unexpected event interrupted the eloquence flowing from the
lips of Lucian Davlin, and set the mind of the girl free to think one
moment, unbiased by the mesmeric power of his mind, eye, and touch.
They were standing in a little grove, near which ran the footpath
leading into the village of Bellair. Suddenly, as if he had dropped
from one of the wide spreading trees, a very fat boy, with a shining
face and a general air of "knowingness," appeared before them.
"I beg pardin, sir," proclaimed he, "but as you told me if a
tellergram come for you, to fetch it here, so I did."
And staring at Madeline the while, he produced a yellow envelope from
some interior region, and presented it to Lucian Davlin, who tore open
the cover, and took in the purport of the message at one glance. His
face wore a variety of expressions: Annoyance, satisfaction, surprise,
all found place as he read. He stood in a thoughtful attitude for a
brief time, and then, as if he had settled the matter in his own mind,
said:
"All right, Mike. Go back now, and tell Bowers to prepare to leave
to-night. I'll come down and send the required answer immediately.
Here, take this."
Tossing him a piece of money, Lucian turned to Madeline, over whose
face a look of sorrowful wonder was creeping.
"'Man proposes,' my dear! Well, I am 'disposed of' for a time. It is
only one night sooner, and, after all, what matter? Will you decide
for me at once, Maidie? Nay, I see you hesitate still, and time just
now is precious. Think till to-night, then; think of the lonely days
here without me; think of me, alone in the big world, wishing and
longing for _you_. I could not even write you in safety. Think fast,
little woman; and when evening comes, meet me here with your answer.
If it must be separation for a time, dear, tell me when I shall come
back for you."
The girl drew a breath of relief. He would come back--that would be
better. But seeing his anxiety to be gone, she only said: "Very well,
Lucian, I will be here."
"Then, good-by till evening."
A swift kiss, and a strong hand clasp, and he strode away.
Trampling down the wayside daisies and tender Spring grasses;
insensible to the beauties of earth and sky; smiling still that same
queer, meaning smile, he took the path leading back to the village.
Reaching the site, where the woody path terminated in the highway, he
turned. Yes, she was looking after him; she would be, he knew. He
kissed his hand, lifted his hat with a courtly gesture, and passed out
of her sight.
"Gad!" he ejaculated, half aloud, "she is a little beauty; and half
inclined to rebel, too. She won't go with me to-night, I think; but a
few weeks of this solitude without me, and my Lady Bird will
capitulate. The old Turk, her step-father, won't raise much of a hue
and cry at her flight, I fancy. Wonder what is the secret of his
antipathy to Miss Payne."
He paced on, wrinkling his brow in thought a moment, and then
whistling softly as his fancies shaped themselves to his liking.
Suddenly he stopped, turned, and looked sharply about him.
"I'll do it!" he exclaimed. "Strange if I can't extract from a broken
down old woman any items of family history that might serve my
purpose. I'll call on the nurse--what's her name--to-night."
He glanced across the meadow to where stood the cottage of Nurse
Hagar, and, as if satisfied with himself and his brilliant last idea,
resumed his walk. Presently his pace slackened again, and he looked at
the crumpled paper which he still retained in his hand, saying:
"It's queer what sent Cora to the city for this flying visit. I must
keep my Madeline out of her way. If they should meet--whew!"
Evidently, direful things might ensue from a meeting between Madeline
Payne and this unknown Cora, for after a prolonged whistle, a brief
moment of silence, and then a short laugh, Davlin said:
"I should wear a wig, at least," and he laughed again. "I wonder, by
Jove! I wonder if old Arthur's money bags are heavy enough to make a
card for Cora. Well, I'll find that out, too."