"HE KNOWS THE WORD"
The next moment the doubt natural to the occasion asserted itself.
"How do you know all this? You state the impossible. Explain yourself."
Gerridge was only too willing to do so.
"I have just come from Mr. Fulton's house," said he. "Inquiries there
elicited the facts which have so startled you. Neither Mr. Fulton nor his
wife meant to deceive you. They knew nothing, suspected nothing of what
took place, and you have no cause to blame them. It was all a plot
between the two women."
"But how--why--"
"You see, I had a fact to go upon. You had noticed that your so-called
bride's gloves did not fit her; the boy below, that her shoes were so
tight she hobbled. That set me thinking. A woman of Mrs. Ransom's
experience and judgment would not be apt to make a mistake in two such
important particulars; which, taken with the veil and the promise she
exacted from you not to address or touch her during your short ride to
the hotel, led me to point my inquiries so that I soon found out that
your wife had had the assistance of another woman in getting ready for
her journey and that this woman was her own maid who had been with her
for a long time, and had always given evidence of an especial attachment
for her. Asking about this girl's height and general appearance (for the
possibility of a substitution was already in my mind), I found that she
was of slight figure and good carriage, and that her age was not far
removed from that of her young mistress. This made the substitution I
have mentioned feasible, and when I was told that she was seen taking her
hat and bonnet into the bride's room, and, though not expected to leave
till the next morning, had slid away from the house by the basement door
at the same moment her mistress appeared on the front steps, my
suspicions became so confirmed that I asked how this girl looked, in the
hope that you would be able to recognize her, through the description,
as the woman you had seen sitting in Reception-room No. 3. But to my
surprise, Mrs. Fulton had what was better than any description, the
girl's picture. This has simplified matters very much. By it you have
been able to identify the woman who attempted to mislead you in the
reception-room, and I the person who rode here with you from Mr. Fulton's
house. Wasn't she dressed in brown? Didn't you notice a similarity in her
appearance to that of the very lady you were then seeking?"
"I did not observe. Her face was all I saw. She was looking directly at
me as I stepped into the room."
"I see. She had taken off her veil and trusted to your attention being
caught by her strange features,--as it was. But that dress was brown;
I'm sure of it. She was the very woman. Otherwise the mystery is
impenetrable. A deep plot, Mr. Ransom; one that should prove to you that
Mrs. Ransom's motive in leaving you was of a very serious character. Do
you wish that motive probed to the bottom? I cannot do it without
publicity. Are you willing to incur that publicity?"
"I must." Mr. Ransom had risen in great excitement. "Nothing can hide the
fact that my bride left me on our wedding-day. It only remains now to
show that she did it under an influence which robbed her of her own will;
an influence from which she shrank even while succumbing to it. I can
show her no greater kindness, and I am not afraid of the result. I have
perfect confidence in her integrity"--he hesitated, then added with
strong conviction--"and in her love."
The detective hid his surprise. He could not understand this confidence.
But then he knew nothing of the memories which lay back of it. Not to him
could this grievously humiliated and disappointed man reveal the secrets
of a courtship which had fixed his heart on this one woman, and aroused
in him such trust that even this uncalled-for outrage to his pride and
affection had not been able to shake it. Such secrets are sacred; but the
reflection of his trust was strong on his face as he repeated:
"Perfect confidence, Mr. Gerridge. Whatever may have drawn Mrs. Ransom
from my side, it was not lack of affection, or any doubt of my sincerity
or undivided attachment to herself."
The detective may not have been entirely convinced on the first point,
but he was discretion itself, and responded quite cheerfully with an
emphatic:
"Very well. You still want me to find her. I will do my best, sir; but
first, cannot you help me with a suggestion or two?"
"I?"
"There must be some clew to so sudden a freak on the part of a young and
beautiful woman, who, I have taken pains to learn, has not only a clean
record but a reputation for good sense. The Fultons cannot supply it.
She has lived a seemingly open and happy life in their house, and the
mystery is as great to them as to you. But _you_, as her lover and now
her husband, must have been favored with confidences not given to others.
Cannot you recall one likely to put us on the right track? Some fact
prior to the events of to-day, I mean; some fact connected with her past
life; before she went to live with the Fultons?"
"No. Yet let me think; let me think." Mr. Ransom dropped his face into
his hands and sat for a moment silent. When he looked up again, the
detective perceived that the affair was hopeless so far as he was
concerned. "No," he repeated, this time with unmistakable emphasis,
"she has always appeared buoyant and untrammeled. But then I have only
known her six months."
"Tell me her history so far as you know it. What do you know of her life
previous to your meeting her?"
"It was a very simple one. She had a country bringing up, having been
born in a small village in Connecticut. She was one of three children and
the only one who has survived; her sister, who was her twin, died when
she was a small child, and a brother some five years ago. Her fortune was
willed her, as I have already told you, by a great-uncle. It is entirely
in her own hands. Left an orphan early, she lived first with her brother;
then when he died, with one relative after another, till lastly she
settled down with the Fultons. I know of no secret in her life, no
entanglement, not even of any prior engagements. Yet that man with the
twisted jaw was not unknown to her, and if he is a relative, as she said,
you should have no difficulty in locating him."
"I have a man on his track," Gerridge replied. "And one on the girl's
too; I mean, of course, Bela Burton's. They will report here up to twelve
o'clock to-night. It is now half-past eleven. We should hear from one or
the other soon."
"And my wife?"
"A description of the clothing she wore has gone out. We may hear from
it. But I doubt if we do to-night unless she has rejoined her maid or the
man with a scar. Somehow I think she will join the girl. But it's hard to
tell yet."
Mr. Ransom could hardly control his impatience. "And I must sit helpless
here!" he exclaimed. "I who have so much at stake!"
The detective evidently thought the occasion called for whatever comfort
it was in his power to bestow.
"Yes," said he. "For it is here she will seek you if she takes a notion
to return. But woman is an uncertain quantity," he dryly added.
At that moment the telephone bell rang. Mr. Ransom leaped to answer;
but the call was only an anxious one from the Fultons, who wanted to
know what news. He answered as best he could, and was recrossing
disconsolately to his chair when voices rose in the hall, and a man was
ushered in, whom Gerridge immediately introduced as Mr. Sims.
A runner--and with news! Mr. Ransom, summoning up his courage, waited for
the inevitable question and reply. They came quickly enough.
"What have you got? Have you found the man?"
"Yes. And the lady's been to see him; that is, if the description of her
togs was correct."
"He means Mrs. Ransom," explained Gerridge. Then, as he marked his
client's struggle for composure, he quietly asked, "A lady in a dark
green suit with yellowish furs and a blue veil over her hat?"
"That's the ticket!"
"The clothes worn by the woman who went out of the basement door, Mr.
Ransom."
The latter turned sharply aside. The shame of the thing was becoming
intolerable.
"And this woman wearing those yellow furs and the blue veil visited the
man of the broken jaw?" inquired Gerridge.
"Yes, sir."
"When?"
"About six this afternoon."
"And where?"
"At the hotel St. Denis where I have since tracked him."
"How long did she stay?"
"About an hour."
"In the parlor or--"
"In the parlor. They had a great deal to say. More than one noticed them,
but no one heard anything. They talked very low but they meant business."
"Where is this man now?"
"At the same place. He has engaged a room there."
"The man with the twisted jaw?"
"Yes."
"Under what name?"
"Hugh Porter."
"Ah, it was Hazen only five hours ago," muttered Ransom. "Porter, did you
say? I'll have a talk with this Porter at once."
"I think not to-night," put in the detective, with the mingled authority
and deference natural to one of his kind. "To-morrow, perhaps, but
to-night it would only provoke scandal."
This was certainly true, but Mr. Ransom was not an easy man to dominate.
"I must see him before I sleep," he insisted. "A single word may solve
this mystery. He has the word. I'd be a fool to let the night go by--Ah!
what's that?"
The telephone bell had rung again. A message from the office this time. A
note had just been handed in for Mr. Ransom; should they send it up?
Gerridge was at the 'phone.
"Instantly," he shouted down, "and be sure you hold the messenger. It may
be from your lady," he remarked to Mr. Ransom. "Stranger things than that
have happened."
Mr. Ransom reeled to the door, opened it and stood waiting. The two
detectives exchanged glances. What might not that note contain!
Mr. Ransom opened it in the hall. When he came back into the room, his
hand was shaking and his face looked drawn and pale. But he showed no
further disposition to go out. Instead, he sank into a chair, with a
motion of dismissal to the two detectives.
"Question the boy who brought this," said he. "It is from Mrs. Ransom;
written, as you see, at the St. Denis. She bids me farewell for a time,
but does not favor me with any explanations. She cannot do differently,
she says, and asks me to trust her and wait. Not very encouraging to
sleep on; but it's something. She has not entirely forsaken me."
Gerridge with a shrug turned sharply towards the door. "I take it that
you wouldn't object to knowing all the messenger can tell you?"
"No, no. Question him. Find out whether she gave this to him with her own
hand."
Gerridge obeyed this injunction, but was told in reply that the note had
been given him to deliver by a clerk in the hotel lobby. He could tell
nothing about the lady.
This was unsatisfactory enough; but the man who had influenced her to
this step had been placed under surveillance. To-morrow they would
question him; the mystery was not without a promise of solution. So
Gerridge felt; but not Mr. Ransom; for at the end of the lines whose
purport he had just communicated to the detective were these few,
significant words:
"Make no move to find me. If you love me well enough to wait in silence
for developments, happiness may yet be ours."