A FRIENDLY FOE
It required two days and a night to go by rail from Beverly to Dorfield
and as Mary Louise had passed a sleepless night at the school she
decided to purchase a berth on the sleeper. That made a big hole in her
surplus of eight dollars and she also found her meals in the dining car
quite expensive, so that by the time she left the train at Dorfield her
finances would be reduced to the sum of a dollar and twenty cents.
That would not have disturbed her, knowing that thereafter she would be
with Gran'pa Jim, except for one circumstance. The little man with the
fat nose, who had taken the train at Beverly, was still on board. All
the other passengers who had been on the train at that time had one by
one left it and been replaced by others, for the route lay through
several large cities where many alighted and others came aboard. Only
the little man from Beverly remained, quiet and unobtrusive but somehow
haunting the girl's presence in an embarrassing manner.
He seldom looked at her but was found staring from the window whenever
she turned her eyes toward him. At first she scarcely noticed the man,
but the longer he remained aboard the train the more she speculated as
to where he might be going. Whenever she entered the dining car he took
a notion to eat at that time, but found a seat as far removed from her
as possible. She imagined she had escaped him when she went to the
sleeper, but next morning as she passed out he was standing in the
vestibule and a few moments later he was in the diner where she was
breakfasting.
It was now that the girl first conceived the idea that he might be
following her for a purpose, dogging her footsteps to discover at what
station she left the train. And, when she asked herself why the
stranger should be so greatly concerned with her movements, she
remembered that she was going to Gran'pa Jim and that at one time an
officer had endeavored to discover, through her, her grandfather's
whereabouts.
"If this little man," she mused, glancing at his blank, inexpressive
features, "happens to be a detective, and knows who I am, he may think
I will lead him directly to Colonel Weatherby, whom he may then arrest.
Gran'pa Jim is innocent, of course, but I know he doesn't wish to be
arrested, because he left Beverly suddenly to avoid it. And," she added
with a sudden feinting of the heart, "if this suspicion is true I am
actually falling into the trap and leading an officer to my
grandfather's retreat."
This reflection rendered the girl very uneasy and caused her to watch
the fat-nosed man guardedly all through that tedious day. She
constantly hoped he would leave the train at some station and thus
prove her fears to be groundless, but always he remained in his seat,
patiently eyeing the landscape through his window.
Late in the afternoon another suspicious circumstance aroused her
alarm. The conductor of the train, as he passed through the car, paused
at the rear end and gazed thoughtfully at the little man huddled in the
rear seat, who seemed unconscious of his regard. After watching him a
while the conductor suddenly turned his head and looked directly at
Mary Louise, with a curious expression, as if connecting his two
passengers. Then he went on through the train, but the girl's heart was
beating high and the little man, while seeming to eye the fleeting
landscape through the window, wriggled somewhat uneasily in his seat.
Mary Louise now decided he was a detective. She suspected that he had
been sent to Beverly, after the other man left, to watch her movements,
with the idea that sooner or later she would rejoin her grandfather.
Perhaps, had any letter come for her from her mother or Gran'pa Jim,
this officer would have seized it and obtained from it the address of
the man he was seeking. That would account for their failure to write
her; perhaps they were aware of the plot and therefore dared not send
her a letter.
And now she began wondering what she should do when she got to
Dorfield, if the little man also left the train at that station. Such
an act on his part would prove that her suspicions were correct, in
which case she would lead him straight to her grandfather, whom she
would thus deliver into the power of his merciless enemies.
No; that would not do, at all. If the man followed her from the train
at Dorfield she dared not go to Peter Conant's house. Where, then,
COULD she go? Had she possessed sufficient money it might be best to
ride past Dorfield and pay her fare to another station; but her funds
were practically exhausted. Dorfield was a much bigger town than
Beverly; it was quite a large city, indeed; perhaps she could escape
the supervision of the detective, in some way, and by outwitting him
find herself free to seek the Conant's home. She would try this and
circumstances must decide her plan of action. Always there was the
chance that she misjudged the little man.
As the conductor called the station the train halted and the girl
passed the rear seat, where the man had his bare head half out the open
window, and descended from the car to the platform. A few others also
alighted, to hurry away to the omnibuses or street car or walk to their
destinations.
Mary Louise stood quite still upon the platform until the train drew
out after its brief stop. It was nearly six o'clock in the evening and
fast growing dark, yet she distinctly observed the fat-nosed man, who
had alighted on the opposite side of the track and was now sauntering
diagonally across the rails to the depot, his hands thrust deep in his
pockets and his eyes turned away from Mary Louise as if the girl
occupied no part of his thoughts.
But she knew better than that. Her suspicions were now fully confirmed
and she sought to evade the detective in just the way any inexperienced
girl might have done. Turning in the opposite direction she hastily
crossed the street, putting a big building between herself and the
depot, and then hurried along a cross-street. She looked back now and
then and found she had not been followed; so, to insure escape, she
turned another corner, giving a fearful glance over her shoulder as she
did so.
This street was not so well lighted as the others had been and she had
no idea where it led to. She knew Dorfield pretty well, having once
resided there for three years, but in her agitated haste she had now
lost all sense of direction. Feeling, however, that she was now safe
from pursuit, she walked on more slowly, trying to discover her
whereabouts, and presently passed a dimly-lighted bakery before which a
man stood looking abstractedly into the window at the cakes and pies,
his back toward her.
Instantly Mary Louise felt her heart sink. She did not need to see the
man's face to recognize the detective. Nor did he stir as she passed
him by and proceeded up the street. But how did he happen to be there?
Had she accidentally stumbled upon him, or had he purposely placed
himself in her path to assure her that escape from him was impossible?
As she reached the next corner a street car came rushing along, halted
a brief moment and proceeded on its way. In that moment Mary Louise had
stepped aboard and as she entered the closed section and sank into a
seat she breathed a sigh of relief. The man at the bakery window had
not followed her. The car made one or two more stops, turned a corner
and stopped again. This time the little man with the fat nose
deliberately swung himself to the rear platform, paid his fare and
remained there. He didn't look at Mary Louise at all, but she looked at
him and her expression was one of mingled horror and fear.
A mile farther on the car reached the end of its line and the conductor
reversed the trolley-pole and prepared for the return journey. Mary
Louise kept her seat. The detective watched the motorman and conductor
with an assumption of stupid interest and retained his place on the
platform.
On the way back to the business section of Dorfield, Mary Louise
considered what to do next. She was very young and inexperienced; she
was also, at this moment, very weary and despondent. It was clearly
evident that she could not escape this man, whose persistence impressed
her with the imminent danger that threatened her grandfather if she
went to the home of the Conants--the one thing she positively must not
do. Since her arrival was wholly unexpected by her friends, with whom
she could not communicate, she now found herself a forlorn wanderer,
without money or shelter.
When the car stopped at Main Street she got off and walked slowly along
the brilliantly lighted thoroughfare, feeling more safe among the
moving throngs of people. Presently she came to a well-remembered
corner where the principal hotel stood on one side and the First
National Bank on the other. She now knew where she was and could find
the direct route to the Conants, had she dared go there. To gain time
for thought the girl stepped into the doorway of the bank, which was
closed for the day, thus avoiding being jostled by pedestrians. She set
down her suit case, leaned against the door-frame and tried to
determine her wisest course of action.
She was hungry, tired, frightened, and the combination of sensations
made her turn faint. With a white face and despair in her heart she
leaned heavily back and closed her eyes.
"Pardon me," said a soft voice, and with a nervous start she opened her
eyes to find the little fat-nosed man confronting her. He had removed
his hat and was looking straight into her face--for the first time, she
imagined--and now she noticed that his gray eyes were not at all
unkindly.
"What do you want?" she asked sharply, with an involuntary shudder.
"I wish to advise you, Miss Burrows," he replied. "I believe you know
who I am and it is folly for us to pursue this game of hide-and-seek
any longer. You are tired and worn out with your long ride and the
anxiety I have caused you."
"You are dogging me!" she exclaimed indignantly.
"I am keeping you in sight, according to orders."
"You are a detective!" she asked, a little disarmed by his frankness.
"John O'Gorman by name, Miss. At home I have a little girl much like
you, but I doubt if my Josie--even though I have trained her--would
prove more shrewd than you have done under such trying circumstances.
Even in the train you recognized my profession--and I am thought to be
rather clever at disguising my motives."
"Yes?"
"And you know quite well that because you have come to Dorfield to join
your grandfather, whom you call Colonel Weatherby, I have followed you
in an attempt to discover, through you, the man for whom our government
has searched many years."
"Oh, indeed!"
"Therefore you are determined not to go to your destination and you are
at your wits' end to know what to do. Let me advise you, for the sake
of my own little Josie."
The abrupt proposal bewildered her.
"You are my enemy!"
"Don't think that, Miss," he said gently. "I am an officer of the law,
engaged in doing my duty. I am not your enemy and bear you no ill-will."
"You are trying to arrest my grandfather."
"In the course of duty. But he is quite safe from me for to-night,
while you are almost exhausted through your efforts to protect him. Go
into the hotel across the way and register and get some supper and a
room. To-morrow you will be able to think more clearly and may then
make up your mind what to do."
She hesitated. The voice seemed earnest and sincere, the eyes
considerate and pitying, and the advice appealed to her as good; but--
"Just for to-night, put yourself in my care," he said. "I'm ashamed to
have annoyed you to such an extent and to have interfered with your
plans; but I could not help it. You have succeeded in balking the
DETECTIVE, but the MAN admires you for it. I noticed, the last time you
took out your purse in the dining-car, that your money is nearly gone.
If you will permit me to lend you enough for your hotel expenses--"
"No."
"Well, it may not be necessary. Your friends will supply you with money
whenever our little--comedy, shall we say?--is played to the end. In
the meantime I'll speak to the landlord. Now, Miss Burrows, run across
to the hotel and register."
She gazed at him uncertainly a moment and the little man smiled
reassuringly. Somehow, she felt inclined to trust him.
"Thank you," she said and took her suit case into the hotel office.
The clerk looked at her rather curiously as she registered, but
assigned her a room and told her that dinner was still being served.
She followed the bellboy to her room, where she brushed her gown,
bathed her hands and face and rearranged her hair. Then she went to the
dining room and, although the journey and worry had left her sick and
nervous, she ate some dinner and felt stronger and better after it.