But it is far easier to form such a resolution and to make such a promise
as that which Gerald Burton had made to Nancy Dampier than it is to
carry it out.
The officials of the Prefecture of Police grew well accustomed to the sight
of the tall, good-looking young American coming and going in their midst,
and they all showed a sympathetic interest in his quest. But though the
police officials were lavish in kindly words, and in permits and passes
which he found an open sesame to the various places where it was just
conceivable that John Dampier, after having met with some kind of accident,
might have been carried, they were apparently quite unable to elucidate the
growing mystery of the English artist's disappearance.
Early on the Friday morning Gerald Burton telephoned to Nancy Dampier's
friend and lawyer the fact that they were still entirely without any clue
to the whereabouts of the missing man. And, true to his word, Mr. Stephens
arrived in Paris that same evening.
He found his poor young client awaiting him in the company of the new
friends to whom she owed so deep a debt of gratitude, and this lessened, to
a certain extent, the awkwardness of their meeting. Even so, the shrewd,
kindly Englishman felt much shocked and distressed by the change which had
taken place in Nancy.
Just a month ago he had seen her standing, most radiant as well as
prettiest of brides, by her proud husband's side. Perhaps because she had
had so lonely a girlhood there had been no tears at Nancy Tremain's
wedding, and when he had put her in the carriage which was to be the first
little stage of her honeymoon, she had whispered, "Mr. Stephens? I feel as
if I was going home." And the lawyer had known all that the dear, to her
till then unfamiliar, word--had meant to her.
And now, here she was with strangers, wan, strained and unutterably
weary-looking; as she stood, her hand clasped in his, looking, with dumb
anguish, up into his face, Mr. Stephens felt a thrill of intense anger
against John Dampier. For the present, at any rate, he refused to entertain
the theory of crime or accident. But he kept his thoughts entirely
to himself.
The irruption of any human being into a small and, for any reason, closely
welded together set of people produces much the same effect as does the
addition of a new product to a chemical mixture. And the arrival of the
English lawyer affected not only Nancy herself but, in varying ways,
Senator Burton and his son.
A very few moments spent in the Englishman's company brought to the
American Senator an immense measure of relief. For one thing, he was
sincerely glad to know that the poor young stranger's business was about to
pass into capable and evidently most trustworthy hands: also a rapid
interchange of words the first time they were left alone together put an
end, and that for ever, to Senator Burton's uneasy suspicions--suspicions
which had persisted to the end--as to Mrs. Dampier's account of herself.
Whatever else was obscure in this strange story, it was now clear that
Nancy had told nothing but the truth concerning her short, simple past
life. And looking back the Senator found it difficult, as a man so often
finds it difficult when he becomes wise after an event, to justify, even to
himself, his former attitude of distrust.
As to Gerald Burton, he felt a little jealousy of the lawyer. Till the
coming of Mr. Stephens it was to him that Mrs. Dampier had instinctively
turned in her distress and suspense; now she naturally consulted, and
deferred to the advice of, the older man and older friend.
But Mr. Stephens was not able to do more than had already been done. He
listened to what all those about him had to say concerning John Dampier's
disappearance, and he carefully went over the ground already covered by
Senator Burton and his son. He, too, saw the British Consul; he, too, was
granted a short but cordial interview with the Prefect of Police; but not
even to the Senator did he advance any personal theory as to what could
account for the extraordinary occurrence.
Members of the legal profession are the same all the world over. If they
are wise men and good lawyers, they keep their own counsel.
Perhaps because he himself had a son who was Gerald's age, the English
solicitor took, from the first, a very special interest in the young
American architect. Soon they were on excellent terms with one
another--indeed, it was with Gerald Burton that he found he had most to do.
The young man naturally accompanied him to all those places where the
presence of a first-rate interpreter was likely to be useful, and Gerald
Burton also pursued a number of independent enquiries on his own account.
But nothing was of any avail; they were baffled at every turn, and soon
this search for a vanished man became, to one of the two now so strenuously
engaged in it, the most sinister and disturbing of the many problems with
which he had had to deal as a trusted family lawyer.
The screen of memory bears many blurred and hazy impressions on its
surface, but now and again some special dramatic happening remains fixed
there in a series of sharply-etched pictures in which every line has its
retrospective meaning and value.
Such was to be the case with Mr. Stephens and the curious days he spent in
Paris seeking for John Dampier. He was there a whole week, and every
succeeding day was packed with anxious, exciting interviews and
expeditions, each of which it was hoped might yield some sort of clue. But
what remained indelibly fixed on the English lawyer's screen of memory were
three or four at the time apparently insignificant conversations which in
no case could have done much to solve the problem he had set himself
to solve.
The first of these was a short conversation, in the middle of that busy
week, with Nancy Dampier.
After the first interview in which she had told him her version of what had
happened the night of her own and her husband's arrival in Paris, he had
had very little talk with her, and at no time had he expressed any opinion
as to what could have happened to John Dampier. But at last he felt it his
duty to try and probe a little more than he had felt it at first possible
to do into the question of a possible motive or motives.
"I'm afraid," he began, "that there's very little more to do than has been
already done. I mean, of course, for the present. And in your place, Nancy,
I should come back to England, and wait there for any news that may
reach you."
As she shook her head very decidedly, he went on gravely:--"I know it is
open to you to remain in Paris; but, my dear, I cannot believe that your
husband is in Paris. If he were, we must by now, with the help of the
French police--the most expert in the world, remember--have come across
traces of him, and that whether he be dead or alive."
But Nancy did not take the meaning he had hoped to convey by that last
word. On the contrary:--
"Do you think," she asked, and though her lips quivered she spoke very
quietly, "that Jack is dead, Mr. Stephens? I know that Senator Burton's son
has come to believe that he is."
"No," said the English lawyer very seriously, "no, Nancy, I do not believe
that your husband is dead. It is clear that had he been killed or injured
that first morning in the Paris streets we should know it by now. The
police assert, and I have no reason to doubt them, that they have made
every kind of enquiry. No, they, like me, believe that your husband has
left Paris."
"Left Paris?" repeated Nancy in a bewildered tone.
"Yes, my dear. As to his motive in doing so--I suppose--forgive me for
asking you such a question--I suppose that you and he were on quite
comfortable and--well, happy terms together?"
Nancy looked at him amazed--and a look of great pain and indignation
flashed into her face.
"Why of course we were!" she faltered. "Absolutely--ideally happy! You
didn't know Jack, Mr. Stephens; you were always prejudiced against him.
Why, he's never said--I won't say an unkind word, but a cold or indifferent
word since our first meeting. We never even had what is called"--again her
lips quivered--'"a lovers' quarrel.'"
"Forgive me," he said earnestly. "I had to ask you. The question as to what
kind of relations you and he were on when you arrived in Paris has been
raised by almost every human being whom I have seen in the last few days."
"How horrible! How horrible!" murmured Nancy, hiding her face in her hands.
Then she raised her head, and looked straight at the lawyer:--"Tell anyone
that asks you that," she exclaimed, "that no woman was ever made happier by
a man than my Jack made me. We were too happy. He said so that last
evening--he said," she ended her sentence with a sob, "that his happiness
made him afraid--"
"Did he?" questioned Mr. Stephens thoughtfully. "That was an odd thing for
him to say, Nancy."
But she took no notice of the remark. Instead she, in her turn, asked a
question:--"Do the police think that Jack may have left me of his own
free will?"
Mr. Stephens looked extremely uncomfortable. "Well, some of them have
thought that it is a possibility which should be kept in view."
"But you do not think so?" She looked at him searchingly.
The lawyer's courage failed him.
"No, of course not," he said hastily, and poor little Nancy believed him.
"And now," he went on quickly, relieved indeed to escape from a painful and
difficult subject, "I, myself, must go home on Saturday. Cannot I persuade
you to come back to England with me? My wife would be delighted if you
would come to us--and for as long as you like."
She hesitated--"No, Mr. Stephens, you are very, very kind, but I would
rather remain on in Paris for a while. Miss Burton has asked me to stay
with them till they leave for America. Once they are gone, if I still have
no news, I will do what you wish. I will come back to England."
The second episode, if episode it can be called, which was to remain
vividly present in the memory of the lawyer, took place on the fifth day of
his stay in Paris.
He and Gerald had exhausted what seemed every possible line of enquiry,
when the latter put in plain words what, in deference to his father's wish,
he had hitherto tried to conceal from Mr. Stephens--his suspicions of
the Poulains.
"I haven't said so to you before," he began abruptly, "but I feel quite
sure that this Mr. John Dampier is dead."
He spoke the serious words in low, impressive tones, and the words, the
positive assertion, queerly disturbed Nancy's lawyer, and that though he
did not in the least share in his companion's view. But still he felt
disturbed, perhaps unreasonably so considering how very little he still
knew of the speaker. He was indeed almost as disturbed as he would have
been had it been his own son who had suddenly put forward a wrong and
indeed an untenable proposition.
He turned and faced Gerald Burton squarely.
"I cannot agree with you," he spoke with considerable energy, "and I am
sorry you have got such a notion in your mind. I am quite sure that John
Dampier is alive. He may be in confinement somewhere, held to
ransom--things of that sort have happened in Paris before now. But be that
as it may, it is my firm conviction that we shall have news of him within a
comparatively short time. Of course I cannot help seeing what you suspect,
namely, that there has been foul play on the part of the Poulains. But no
other human being holds this theory but yourself. Your father--you must
forgive me for saying so--has known these people a great deal longer than
you have, and he tells me he would stake everything on their substantial
integrity. And the police speak very highly of them too. Besides, in this
world one must look for a motive--indeed, one must always look for a
motive. But in this case no one that we know--I repeat, Mr. Burton, no one
that we know of--had any motive for injuring Mr. Dampier."
Gerald Burton looked up quickly:--"You mean by that there may be someone
whom we do not know of who may have had a motive for spiriting him away?"
Mr. Stephens nodded curtly. He had not meant to say even so much as that.
"I want you to tell me," went on the young American earnestly, "exactly
what sort of a man this John Dampier is--or was?"
The lawyer took off his spectacles; he began rubbing the glasses carefully.
"Well," he said at last, "that isn't a question I find it easy to answer. I
made a certain number of enquiries about him when he became engaged to Miss
Tremain, and I am bound to tell you, Mr. Burton, that the answers, as far
as they went, were quite satisfactory. The gentleman in whose house the two
met--I mean poor Nancy and Dampier--had, and has, an extremely high
opinion of him."
"Mrs. Dampier once spoke to me as if she thought you did not like her
husband?" Gerald Burton looked straight before him as he said the words he
felt ashamed of uttering. And yet--and yet he did so want to know the truth
as to John Dampier!
Mr. Stephens looked mildly surprised. "I don't think I ever gave her any
reason to suppose such a thing," he said hesitatingly. "Mr. Dampier was
eager, as all men in love are eager, to hasten on the marriage. You see,
Mr. Burton"--he paused, and Gerald looked up quickly:--
"Yes, Mr. Stephens?"
"Well, to put it plainly, John Dampier was madly in love"--the speaker
thought his companion winced, and, rather sorry than glad at the success of
his little ruse, he hurried on:--"that being so he naturally wished to be
married at once. But an English marriage settlement--especially when the
lady has the money, which was the case with Miss Tremain--cannot be drawn
up in a few days. Nancy herself was willing to assent to everything he
wished; in fact I had to point out to her that it is impossible to get
engaged on Monday and married on Tuesday! I suppose she thought that
because I very properly objected to some such scheme of theirs, I disliked
John Dampier. This was a most unreasonable conclusion, Mr. Burton!"
Gerald Burton felt disappointed. He did not believe that the English lawyer
was answering truly. He did not stay to reflect that Mr. Stephens was not
bound to answer indiscreet questions, and that when a young man asks an
older man whether or no he dislikes someone, and that someone is a client,
the question is certainly indiscreet.
In a small way the painful mystery was further complicated by the attitude
of Mère Bideau. Bribes and threats were alike unavailing to make the old
Breton woman open her mouth. She was full of suspicion; she refused to
answer the simplest questions put to her by either Mr. Stephens or
Gerald Burton.
And the lawyer felt a moment of sharp impatience, as business men are so
often apt to feel in their dealings with women, when, in answer to his
remark that Mère Bideau would be brought to her knees when she found her
supplies cut off, Nancy, with tears running down her cheeks, cried out in
protest:--"Oh, Mr. Stephens, don't say that! I would far rather go on
paying the old woman for ever than that she should be brought, as you say,
to her knees. She was such a good servant to Jack: he is--he was--so
fond of her."
But Mère Bideau's attitude greatly disconcerted and annoyed the Englishman.
He wondered if the old woman knew more than she would admit; he even
suspected her of knowing the whereabouts of her master; the more
impenetrable became the mystery, the less Mr. Stephens believed Dampier
to be dead.
And then, finally, on the last day of his stay in Paris something happened
which, to the lawyer's mind, confirmed his view that John Dampier, having
vanished of his own free will, was living and well--though he hoped not
happy--away from the great city which had been searched, or so the police
assured the Englishman, with a thoroughness which had never been surpassed
if indeed it had ever been equalled.