MYSTERIES BORN IN THE NIGHT
When the car, driven by Thompson, drew near to the derrick which had
been to Morton the suggestion of an unholy impulse, he slowed the big
Packard and leaned ahead, far over the wheel, for his keen eyes had
already discerned something beside the road which had not been there
when he had passed earlier in the evening. He stopped the car, and
that fact awoke Duncan to a recollection of his surroundings.
"What is it, Thompson?" he asked. "Why have you stopped?"
Thompson was peering anxiously toward the jumbled mass of broken stone
ahead of him, and there was an instant of silence before he replied.
Then--
"There has been a wreck here, sir," he told his employer.
Instantly, Duncan thought of Patricia. He forgot Morton. He was out of
the car even before Thompson could slide from under the
steering-wheel, and started ahead at a run, toward the remnants of
the wreck which he could now see quite plainly.
The roadster, in making its last leap, had literally climbed the rocky
place, and then, turning end for end twice, had finally alighted upon
a heap of stone, from which it could be seen from the roadway. It was
now a mass of iron, a twisted chaos of castings and machinery,
recognizable only as something that had once been an automobile; but
the experienced eyes of Thompson, trained to the quick and perfect
recognition of all cars that he had ever seen, identified the mass of
wreckage as soon as he got near enough to see it clearly. One
comprehensive glance sufficed for him. He straightened up after that
quick search for identification marks, which was his first instinct,
and said, quietly:
"It is Mr. Morton's roadster, sir."
"My God!" cried Duncan, with a catch in his breath. The truth of the
matter seemed to rush upon him on the instant, although he afterward
refused to recognize it as truth. But, as Thompson made the statement,
Duncan saw again the despairing face of Richard Morton which had still
had in it a hidden determination to do something that Duncan had not
even tried to guess at the time. "Was this what he intended to do?"
Duncan asked himself, silently.
"Yes, sir; it is Mr. Morton's roadster," Thompson repeated, with
entire conviction. "He must have been hitting up a great gait, when he
struck, too. I never saw such a wreck; never, sir. He must be
somewhere about, sir."
"True. Look for him, Thompson; look everywhere."
He started forward himself, leaping over the stones, and plunging into
every place where the body of a man might have fallen, after being
hurled from the wrecked car. They searched distances beyond where it
was possible that the body of a man might have been thrown, but they
did not find Morton.
"It is possible that he escaped," said Duncan, at last, pausing and
wiping perspiration from his brow. "He might have alighted on his feet,
and--"
"No, sir. Pardon me. It is not possible. No man could go through such
a wreck as that one, and in such a place, and escape alive. Besides,
sir--look here."
The man struck a match, and held the blaze of it toward a pile of
sharp stones. Duncan bent forward, peered at the spot indicated by
Thompson, and drew back again with a sharp exclamation of horror.
There was blood on the stones; quite a lot of it, partly dried. And
near it, half-hidden among the jagged stones, were Morton's watch and
fob. The fob was instantly recognizable for it was totally unlike any
other that Duncan had ever seen, formed of nuggets in the rough,
linked together with steel rings, instead of with gold, or silver. The
watch was smashed almost as badly as the automobile. Duncan took it in
his hand, held it so for a moment, and at last, with a shudder,
dropped it into one of his pockets.
"What does it mean, Thompson? Where is he?" he asked.
"I think it is likely, sir, that someone passed the spot, either at
the time of the accident or directly after it happened. Of course,
sir, the body would not have been left here under any circumstances."
"The body? You think he must be dead?"
"There can be no doubt of it, sir," said Thompson, with conviction.
"Shall we go on, sir? Nothing more can be done here."
They returned to their own car, and the journey toward the city was
resumed. Not another word was spoken until they were in the city
streets, and then the only direction that Duncan gave his chauffeur
was that he be taken directly to his rooms, where, as soon as he
entered, he seized upon the telephone. One after another, he called up
every hospital in the city, and it was not until he found his search
to be entirely unavailing that it occurred to him Morton would have
been taken to some place nearer the scene of the accident. Then, he
bethought himself to communicate with police headquarters.
"I will give," he said, "a thousand dollars for positive information
about the fate of Richard Morton, provided the same is brought to me
before daylight, and that my request be kept a secret. This is not a
bribe, but a spur to great effort. You have facilities for making such
inquiries. Find Morton for me, before morning, if you can, no matter
where he is. Keep it from the newspapers, too. Then, come to me for
the check." He explained fully the locality of the accident--and then
he waited.
He did not occupy his bed that night, and he could not have explained
why he did not do so. He kept telling himself that Richard Morton was
nothing whatever to him; that it did not matter what had happened to
the fellow; that Morton deserved death for what he had done--and a lot
of other things of the same character. But all the while he paced the
floor, and waited for information; or, he seated himself in a corner
of the room and smoked like a furnace chimney. Just as daylight was
breaking, while gazing through his window toward the eastward, he
started, and asked himself, guiltily:
"Am I hoping all the time that he is dead? Have I offered that
thousand dollars only for assurance of his death?"
Fortunately, he was not compelled to reply to the self-accusing
question, for there came a summons at his door, and an officer from
headquarters entered to announce that, although diligent search and
inquiry had been made in every conceivable quarter, not a word of
information regarding Richard Morton could be obtained. Duncan
listened in silence to the report, and, when it was finished, said:
"Very well; continue the search. Find the man, or find out what became
of him. I will defray all the expenses, and will pay the reward I
offered, too. But I must have the information at once, and everything
relative to this affair must be kept from the newspapers."
The officer had just gone when a ring at Duncan's telephone took him
quickly to it--and the voice of Jack Gardner at the other end of the
wire alarmed him unduly, considering that there was no known reason to
feel alarm. Gardner, upon being assured that he was talking directly
with his friend, said:
"You'll have to pardon me, old chap, for calling you out of bed at
this ungodly hour, but I just had to do it."
"You needn't worry, Jack. I haven't been in bed. What's up?" Duncan
replied.
"Why; you see there is a mystery developed, just now. If you haven't
been in bed, I have. I was called out of it by this confounded
telephone--twice. The first call was to tell me that some sort of an
accident had happened to Dick Morton. I couldn't gather what it was,
and didn't really take much stock in it, so far as that goes. Then,
the second call came. I was mad by that time, and didn't have very
much to say to the chap at the other end of the wire--till Sally put
me up to calling you."
"What was the second call about?" asked Duncan, gritting his teeth and
almost fearing to hear what it might have been.
"Why, my Thomas car--the one that took Patricia away, you know--has
been found somewhere in the streets of New York, deserted, apparently.
I can't understand it. They identified the car by the number, you
know. When I told Sally what had been said to me, she immediately had
a spasm of fear lest the accident reported to have happened to Morton
might have been Patricia, instead. I thought I'd ask you about it;
that's all."
"Wait a minute, Jack. Just let me think, a minute; then I'll answer
you."
Duncan put the receiver down on the table, and crossed the room. He
found it difficult to grasp the situation. Until that moment, it had
not occurred to him that Patricia might have been the one to find
Morton, or Morton's body, at the scene of the wreck. He had forgotten
that she must have passed that way within half an hour from the time
of the piling of the steamer upon the mass of sharp stones. Presently,
he returned to the telephone, and told his friend all that he knew
about the circumstances, and all that he had done since Thompson and
he came away from the scene of the wreck.
"But I don't see what your Thomas car has got to do with it," he
concluded. "Your man Patrick was driving it, wasn't he? I know he was.
He used to be with Langdon, you know. He isn't a chauffeur, but he's a
lot more competent to be one than half the men who are. I say, Jack,
have Sally call up Patricia, right away. You--"
He heard a click over the wire which told him that connection was cut
off; and after that he paced the floor again, wishing and hoping for
the ringing of his telephone-bell.
"We are coming to the city at once," Gardner told him, when at last it
did ring, and Duncan had taken down the receiver. "What the devil is
the matter with everything, anyhow? You had better hump yourself,
Duncan, and get busy. I don't believe that Morton was hurt half so
badly as you and Thompson seemed to think. Anyhow, the only way I can
see through it all is that Patricia was the one who found him. But,
even so--"
"Hold on a minute, Jack. You are getting too swift for me. What did
Sally find out when she telephoned to Patricia?"
"Oh! Didn't I tell you that? Patricia hasn't been home, at all. They
thought, at Langdon's, that she was here. She certainly hasn't shown
up there. And you say that Dick has disappeared, after leaving his
gore spread all over the place where his car was smashed. And, then,
my car is found somewhere down there, abandoned. I can't make it out,
at all. Sally is sure that something dreadful has happened. We're
starting now. Sally won't wait another minute. I'll see you as soon as
I get into town."
He did not delay to say good-bye, but hung up the receiver at his end.
Duncan did not await the arrival of Gardner. He summoned his valet,
and gave him strict directions about the reception of any news
concerning the mysteries of the night. Then, he hurried to Stephen
Langdon's home where he was admitted at once to the old banker's
sleeping apartment.
"What in heaven's name is the matter now, Rod?" the financier
demanded, testily. "It is bad enough to have you and Patricia at
sword's points, but to rout out an old fellow like me from his bed at
this hour, is rubbing it in."
"I suppose you haven't heard that Patricia did not come home last
night, have you?" Duncan said, by way of reply.
"No, I haven't. I should have been surprised, if I had heard it. She
wasn't expected to come home. She went to the Gardners."
"Well, sir, there is a lot that you ought to know, before you step out
of this room, to face all sorts of statements and inquiries. That is
why I am here. I thought I was the best one to tell you."
"To tell me what?"
"It will be something of a shock, sir. Brace yourself for it. I don't
think that a soul in the world except me, guesses at the truth."
"Guesses at what truth? What the devil is the matter with you? What
are you trying to tell me? Out with it, whatever it is!"
"Patricia has run away with Richard Morton. He was hurt last night.
She was in love with him, and--"
"Stop! Stop where you are, Rod. You're crazy. You're stark, staring,
raving crazy! Why in heaven's name should Patricia want to run away
with Morton? It is true that I have always wanted her to marry you,
but, if she wanted _him_, she knows mighty well she could have him. I
wouldn't put out a finger to stop her from marrying anybody of her
choice, so long as the man was morally and mentally fit. Sit down over
there; take a drink. You look as if you needed one. Don't utter a word
for five minutes, and then begin at the beginning and tell me all
about it."
But Duncan would listen to neither request. He began at once and told
of the occurrences of the night, from the moment when Patricia had
arrived at Cedarcrest alone, till the receipt of the telephonic
messages from Gardner; and he concluded by saying:
"There is no mystery in the affair, at all, as I regard it. Patricia
left the house, at Cedarcrest, half an hour after Morton left it. She
found the wrecked car, near the derrick, as Thompson and I found it,
later on. But she found Morton, too. Patrick was with her, and Patrick
is devoted to Patricia. He wouldn't consider the fact that he is, or
was, in Jack's employ, if it came to a question of obedience to her
wishes; he would serve her. You see, Patricia found out that she loved
Morton, when he got his calling-down; only, I suppose, even then, she
wasn't quite sure. But, when the time came for him to go away
entirely, she had no more doubts about it! She didn't remain long at
Cedarcrest, after that; she followed him. She knew that Patrick was
there, and that he would go with her. Well, they found the wreck of
Morton's car, along the road; then, they found Morton. Probably, he
wasn't much hurt; chaps like him don't mind the loss of a little
blood. Patricia and the man helped him into the car. It was just the
proper scene, with all the best kind of setting for a mutual
confession of their love, and--there you are."
"Go on, Roderick. Finish all you have to say, before I begin. What
next?"
"Why--oh, what's the use? There isn't any more to say. Morton
probably asked her to go away with him, and she went. That's all. I
thought you ought to know it."
"You don't know it yourself, do you?"
"No--not positively, of course."
"You have just guessed it."
"I suppose that's true, too."
"I wonder if your guessing has gone far enough to enlighten me on two
important points."
"What do you mean?"
"I'd like to know why Morton would want her to run away with him at
all, and why she should think of consenting to such a thing, if he
did. Patricia isn't one of the run-away kind. I should think you would
know that. And they didn't have to run."
"Why, Morton had just been virtually kicked out of Jack Gardner's
house. He was--"
"Well? Well? Couldn't Stephen Langdon's daughter kick him into it
again? Or into any other house on God's green earth, for that matter,
if she tried to do so? Do you suppose he'd have to pay any attention
to a little, petty ostracism, on the part of such puppets of society
as gathered out there, if he became the husband of Patricia Langdon?
Don't be an ass, Roderick! You are just plain jealous, and I don't
know that I blame you--for that."
"I'm not jealous."
"Then, you're a fool, and that's a heap worse."