MONA MAKES A SURPRISING DISCOVERY.
It was now the third week in April, and the season was unusually early.
The grass had become quite green, the trees were putting forth their
leaves, and the weather was very warm for the time of the year.
On the morning after the high-tea and the announcement of the engagement,
Mrs. Montague sought Mona and informed her that a party of friends had
arranged for a pleasure trip through the South and down the Mississippi,
and asked her if she would accompany her, since Louis had business to
attend to, and could not act as her escort.
Mona did not exactly like to go, but there was really no good reason why
she should refuse; the rush of sewing was nearly over, and if she were
left behind, she would have to be idle the greater portion of the time;
besides, she had worked very steadily, and she knew that she needed rest
and relaxation.
She inquired how long Mrs. Montague intended to be gone, and the lady
replied that she expected to return within two weeks.
"Of course you can please yourself about the matter, Ruth," she remarked.
"I suppose I could take Mary, but she is not companionable--she would not
appreciate the journey, and I really wish you would go. I should regard
it as quite a favor," the woman concluded, appealingly.
If Mona had been more observing, she might have seen that she was being
closely watched, and that her answer was anxiously awaited. Mona
considered the subject a few moments before replying. Her greatest
objection was leaving Ray for so long--two weeks would seem almost
interminable without seeing him.
But, on the other hand, perhaps while in such close companionship with
Mrs. Montague as there would have to be on such a journey, something
might be dropped about her former life which would enlighten her
regarding what she was so eager to ascertain. It would be a delightful
trip, too, and Mona knew that she should enjoy seeing the country, as she
had never been South.
"When do you start?" she inquired, before committing herself.
"I want to get off in the evening express," Mrs. Montague returned,
watching every expression of the young girl's face.
"In _this_ evening's express?" asked Mona, in surprise.
"Yes. It is short notice, I know," the woman said, smiling; "but I,
myself, only knew of the plan yesterday, and, as you know, I was too busy
to make any arrangements for it. Will you go, Ruth? We have nothing to do
but to pack our trunks."
"I suppose there is no reason why I should not," the young girl returned,
musingly, while she told herself that she could send a note to Ray,
informing him of her intention. She was not quite sure that he would
approve of it, and she wished that she could have known of it the
previous day, so that she could have consulted him.
"That is nice of you," Mrs. Montague quickly responded, and assuming that
her remark was intended as an assent to the trip; "and now we must at
once go about our preparations. How long will it take you to pack?"
"Not long," Mona answered; "I have only my dresses to fold, and my toilet
articles to gather up. I have not really unpacked since I came here," she
said, smiling; "for I have needed so few things."
"Well, then, get yourself ready; then you may come to help me," Mrs.
Montague said, as she arose to go to her own room, and breathing a sigh
of relief that this vital point had been gained with so little trouble.
Mona was as expeditious as possible, but, somehow, now that she had given
her consent to go, her heart grew unaccountably heavy, and she began to
feel a deep aversion to leaving New York.
She wrote a hasty note to Ray, telling him of the intended journey, and
how she regretted not being able to consult him, but could not, under the
circumstances. She also wrote, as she did not know the route they were to
take, she could not tell him where to address her, but would write to him
again when she learned where they were to be.
Then she packed what she thought she would need to take with her, after
which she went to assist Mrs. Montague. She found that she had been very
expeditious, for she had one trunk already packed and locked, ready to be
strapped, and was busily engaged filling another.
Their arrangements were all made and they were ready to start by the time
dinner was served, and this meal Mrs. Montague insisted they should eat
together, as they must leave immediately afterward.
She was very chatty and agreeable, treating Mona more as an equal than
she had ever done before. She seemed in excellent spirits, and talked so
gayly and enthusiastically about the trip that the young girl really
began to anticipate it with considerable pleasure.
Mary and the cook were to have a holiday during their absence; the house
was to be closed, and the coachman alone would remain about the premises
to look after the horses and see that nothing happened to the place.
At seven o'clock they left the house, and an hour later were seated in a
luxurious Wagner, and rolling rapidly Southward.
They arrived in St. Louis on the morning of the second day, and drove
directly to the Southern Hotel, where Mrs. Montague said they would
remain for a day or two, to rest, and where the friends who were going
down the Mississippi to New Orleans with them would join them.
The following morning Mrs. Montague dressed herself with great care, and
told Mona that she was going out to make some calls, adding that she
might amuse herself as she chose, for there was nothing to be done,
and she might get lonely to remain alone in the hotel.
The young girl resolved to improve the opportunity and look about the
city a little on her own account.
She donned her hat and jacket, and running down to the street, hailed the
first car that came along, with the intention of riding as far as it
would take her.
She changed her purpose, however, as the car was about passing a street
leading down to the great bridge across the Mississippi.
She had heard and read a great deal about the grand structure, and she
determined to walk across and see how it would compare with the wonderful
Brooklyn Bridge.
She was feeling very well, the morning was bright, and she enjoyed her
walk immensely. By the time she returned her cheeks were like wild roses,
and her whole face glowing from exercise.
She was a little weary, however, and glad to get seated again in a car
going back toward her hotel.
The car had proceeded only about half a block, however, when it stopped
again, and two people, a man and a woman, stepped aboard, and seated
themselves next to her.
They seemed to be absorbed in earnest conversation, and did not appear to
notice any one about them.
The woman was an elderly person, rather fine looking, with a good figure,
and an erect, graceful bearing. Her hair was almost white, and there were
deep wrinkles in her forehead, at the corners of her eyes, and about her
mouth, although they were somewhat concealed, or softened, by the thickly
spotted black lace veil which she wore; but on the whole she was an
agreeable looking person, and her manner was full of energy and vitality.
Her companion was a rather rough-appearing personage and dressed like a
Western farmer or miner, rather coarsely handsome, and with an easy,
off-hand manner that was quite attractive, and he might have been thirty
or thirty-five years of age.
"What a dark skin--what black hair and beard, with blue eyes!" was Mona's
mental comment, as she observed this peculiarity about him. He also had
very white teeth, which contrasted strikingly with the intense blackness
of his mustache and beard.
He appeared to be quite disturbed about something, and talked to his
companion rapidly and excitedly, but in low tones.
"You were very imprudent to try to dispose of so many at one place," Mona
overheard his companion say, in reply to some observation which he had
previously made, and then a great shock went tingling through all her
nerves as her glance fell upon the dress which the woman wore.
It was a fine, heavy ladies' cloth, of a delicate shade of gray--just the
color, Mona was confident, of that tiny piece of goods which Ray had
shown her at Hazeldean, and which had been torn from the dress of the
woman who had trapped him into Doctor Wesselhoff's residence, and stolen
his diamonds.
She was very much excited for a few moments, and her heart beat with
rapid throbs.
Could it be possible that this woman had been concerned in that robbery?
That woman had had red hair, and according to Ray's description, was much
younger; but she might possibly be the other one, who had made
arrangements with the physician for Ray's treatment. At all events,
Mona was impressed that she had found the dress in which the fascinating
Mrs. Vanderbeck had figured so conspicuously.
Her face flushed, her fingers tingled with the rapid coursing of her
blood, and she felt as if she could hardly wait until the woman should
rise, so that she might look for a place that had been mended in the
skirt of her dress.
She resolved that she would ride as long as they remained in the car, and
when they left it, she would follow them to ascertain their stopping
place.
She could not catch anything more that they said, although she strained
her ears to do so.
Those few words which she had overheard had also aroused her
suspicions--"you were very imprudent to try to dispose of so many in
one place," the woman had said, and Mona believed she had referred to
diamonds; her vivid imagination pictured these people as belonging to
the gang of robbers who had been concerned in the Palmer robbery, and
now that the excitement attending it had somewhat subsided, they had
doubtless come to St. Louis to dispose of their booty; while it was the
strangest thing in the world, she thought, that she should have happened
to run across them in the way she had.
They were drawing very near the Southern Hotel, where Mona and Mrs.
Montague were stopping; but the excited girl resolved that she would not
get out--she would ride hours rather than lose sight of these two
strangers, and the chance to ascertain if that gray cloth dress was
mended--"on the back of the skirt, near the right side, among the heavy
folds." Ray had told her that was where the tear was.
But what if she should find it there? What should she do about the
matter? were questions which arose at this point to trouble her. What
could she, a weak girl, do to cause the arrest of the thieves? how was
she to prove them guilty?
At that moment the man signaled the conductor to stop the car, and Mona's
heart leaped into her throat, for they were exactly opposite her own
hotel.
The couple arose to leave the car, and Mona slowly followed them.
As the woman was about to step to the ground she gathered up her skirts
with her right hand, to prevent them from sweeping the steps of the car,
and Mona looked with eager eyes, but she could detect no mended rent.
She kept a little behind them as they crossed the sidewalk and made
straight for the entrance of the hotel, when, as they were mounting the
steps, the woman suddenly tripped and almost fell.
In the act, her skirts were drawn closely about her, and Mona distinctly
saw a place, where the plaits or folds were laid deeply over one another,
that had been mended, and not nicely, either, but hastily sewed together
on the wrong side. It would hardly have been noticed, however, unless one
had been looking for it as Mona was, because it lay so deeply in among
the folds.
The couple entered the hotel, and both gave Mona a quick, sharp glance as
she followed; but she quietly passed them with averted eyes, and went
into a reception-room on the left of the hall.
"Go and register, Jake, and I will wait here for you," Mona heard the
woman say, and the man immediately disappeared within the clerk's office
opposite, while his companion walked slowly back and forth in the hall.
Presently the man rejoined her, remarking:
"It's all right; they had a room next yours which they could give me.
Come," and both passed directly up stairs.
Mona waited a few minutes, to be sure they were well out of the way, then
she quietly slipped across the hall to the office.
"Will you allow me to look at the register?" she asked of the gentlemanly
clerk.
"Certainly," and with a bow and smile he placed it conveniently for her.
She thanked him, and glanced eagerly at the last name written on the
page.
"J.R. Walton, Sydney, Australia," she read, in a coarse, irregular hand,
as if the person writing it had been unaccustomed to the use of the pen.
Running her eye up the page, Mona also read, as if the name had been
signed earlier in the day:
"Mrs. J.M. Walton, Brownsville, Mo."
"It would appear," mused Mona, as she left the office, "as if they are
mother and son--that he had just returned from far Australia, and she had
come here to meet him. But--I don't believe it! Walton--Walton! Where
have I heard that name before?"
She could not place it, but she was so sure that these people were in
some way connected with the Palmer robbery, she was determined to make
an effort to establish the fact, and immediately leaving the hotel again,
she sought the nearest telegraph office, and sent the following message
to Ray:
"Send immediately piece of the ladies' cloth torn from dress."
This done she retraced her steps, and went directly up to her own room.
She found that Mrs. Montague had returned from making her calls, and was
dressing for dinner.
She seemed a little disturbed about something, and finally it came out
that the trip down the Mississippi would have to be delayed for a day or
two longer than she had anticipated, as one of her friends was not quite
well enough to start immediately.
Mona was very glad to learn this, for she was sure that she should hear
from Ray and receive the piece of dress goods; her only fear was that
the Waltons might not remain at the hotel long enough for her to find an
opportunity to fit the piece into the rent, to ascertain if it belonged
there.
The earnestly desired letter reached her the next evening. Ray had been
very expeditious. Receiving Mona's dispatch just before the southward
mail closed, he had hastily inclosed the piece of cloth, with a few
words, in an envelope, and so there was no delay.
She was certain, as she examined it, that it was exactly the same color
as the dress she had seen the day before, and reasonably sure regarding
the texture; but the great question now to be answered was: Would it fit
the rent?
"Now I must find the dress, if possible, when the woman is wearing
something else," Mona mused, with a troubled face, and beginning to think
she had undertaken a matter too difficult to be carried out. "Perhaps
she has no other dress here; how, then, am I going to prove my suspicion
true, or otherwise?"
She knew that she could go to the authorities, tell her story, and have
the woman and dress forcibly examined; but she could not bear to do
anything that would make herself conspicuous, and it would be very
disagreeable to carry the affair so far and then find she had made a
lamentable mistake.
"If Ray were only here he would know what to do," she murmured, "but he
isn't, and I must do the best I can without him. I must find out where
the woman rooms. I must examine that dress!"
Fortune favored her in an unexpected way the very next morning.
The chambermaid who had charge of the floor on which their rooms were
located, came, as usual, to put them in order, but with a badly swollen
face, around which she had bound a handkerchief.
"Are you sick?" Mona asked, in a tone of sympathy, for the girl's heavy
eyes and languid manner appealed very strongly to her kind heart.
"I have a toothache, miss," the girl said, with a heavy sigh. "I never
slept a wink last night, it pained me so."
"I am very sorry, and of course you cannot feel much like work to-day, if
you had no sleep," Mona said, pityingly.
"Indeed I don't--I can hardly hold my head up; but the work's got to be
done all the same," was the weary reply.
"Cannot you get some one to substitute for you while you have your tooth
taken out and get a little rest?" Mona kindly inquired.
"No, miss; the girls are all busy--they have their own work to do, and
I shall have to bear it as best I can."
"Then let me help you," Mona said, a sudden thought setting all her
pulses bounding.
Perhaps she might come across that dress!
"You, miss!" the girl cried, in unfeigned astonishment. "A young lady
like you help to make beds in a hotel where you are a guest!"
Mona laughed.
"I have often made beds, and--I am not regarded as a 'young lady' just
now; I am only a kind of waiting-maid to the lady with whom I am
traveling," she explained, thinking she might the more easily gain
her point if the girl was led to think the difference in their positions
was not as great as she had imagined. "Come now," she added, "I am going
to help you, for I know you are not able to do all this work yourself,"
and she immediately began to assist in putting her own chamber to rights.
They went from room to room, Mona chatting pleasantly and trying to take
the girl's mind from her pain; but she saw that it was almost more than
she could do to keep about her work.
Finally she made her sit down and let her work alone.
"How many rooms are there yet to be cared for?" she asked, as she began
to spread up the bed where they were.
"Only four more, miss--just what are left in this hall," said the girl,
as her head fell wearily back against the high rocker which Mona had
insisted upon her taking.
Mona went on with the work she had volunteered to perform, and when she
returned to look at the girl again, she found that she was sleeping
heavily.
"Exhausted nature has asserted itself, and I will let her rest," the
young girl murmured; "there can be no possible harm in my doing this work
for her, although I suppose it would not be thought just the thing for
a stranger to have access to all these rooms."
She put everything there as it should be, then she went out, softly
closing the door after her, that no one might see the girl sleeping.
She proceeded to do the four remaining apartments without finding what
she sought until she came to the very last one.
As she entered it she picked up a card that had been dropped upon the
floor, and a joyful thrill ran through her as she read the name, "Mrs.
J.M. Walton."
She knew, then, that she had found the room occupied by the woman who had
worn the gray dress.
Would she find the garment?
A trunk stood in one corner of the room, and her eyes rested covetously
upon this. Then she went to the wardrobe and swung the door open.
Joy! the robe she sought was hanging on a peg within!
With trembling hands she sought for the rent which she had seen the day
but one before.
She found it, and with fluctuating color and a rapidly beating heart, she
took hold of the knot of the silk, which had been used to mend it, and
deliberately pulled it out, when the ragged edges fell apart, revealing
a triangular-shaped rent.
Mona drew her purse from her pocket, found the precious piece of cloth
that Ray had sent to her, and laid it over the hole in the skirt.
It fitted perfectly into the tear, and she knew that the dress which the
beautiful Mrs. Vanderbeck had worn, when she stole the Palmer diamonds,
was found.
But the woman!
Mona was puzzled, for surely the woman whom she had seen wearing the
dress was much older than the one whom Ray had described to her. She was
wrinkled and gray; and then--the name! But stay! All at once light broke
in upon her. Walton had been the name of the person who had so cleverly
deceived Dr. Wesselhoff. She had been old and wrinkled, and now, without
doubt, she had come to St. Louis to dispose of her share of the stolen
diamonds, and had worn the other woman's dress, thinking, perhaps, it
would be safe to do so, and would not be recognized under such different
circumstances.
"But what shall I do?" seemed now to be the burden of her thought. At
first she felt impelled to telegraph Ray to come and attend to the
matter; then she feared the man and woman would both disappear before
he could arrive, and she felt that some immediate action should be taken.
"I believe my best way will be to go directly to a detective, and tell
him my story; he will know what ought to be done, and I can leave the
matter in his hands," was her final conclusion.
She sped to her own room, secured a needleful of silk, then hastened back
to Mrs. Walton's room and sewed the rent in the dress together once more,
taking care not to fray the edges, lest the piece she had should not fit
when it was examined again.