A NEW SIDE.
Ida met with an experience unusual to her on her trip to Philadelphia.
While riding on the cars she perceived that a man and woman,
fellow-passengers, were eying her with no little curiosity.
What had attracted their attention she was at a loss to know, and for a
time it irritated her.
But, turning to the window, she, by interesting herself in a magazine,
tried to forget it.
And, becoming interested in her story, she did forget it, and was only
started from her interest by seeing a man seat himself in the chair next
to her.
For a time she paid no attention to this person, except to observe that
he was a man apparently of thirty-five, wearing a closely-clipped brown
beard and brown mustache, his hair cut very short.
Her book slipping from her lap gave this man the opportunity for which
evidently he had been looking.
Picking it up, he returned it to Ida, receiving her thanks for his
courtesy, and then attempted to enter into conversation with her.
However, making no reply to his remarks, when he persisted she swung her
chair about so that she presented her back to the man.
She was aware that the man was angry, but she gave little heed to that,
merely turning to satisfy herself that the man was not the one who, with
the lady, had a little time before annoyed her by their close
watchfulness of her.
She had not sat in this position but a little time, when the lady before
mentioned arose from her seat, and crossing the car, sat down in the
empty seat which Ida was now facing.
“Pardon me,” said the lady; “I take this seat and speak to you for two
reasons. One is rather a kindly one, and the other wholly selfish and
curious.
“I perceive that you are being annoyed by the man on the other side of
you. I saw that by sitting beside you and talking with you I could put
an end to his annoyances.”
This the lady said in a low tone that could not be heard by the man at
the back of Ida.
When Ida had thanked her for the interference the lady went on, but now
in a much louder voice.
“My selfish and curious reason is one not so helpful, but I hope you
won’t think it impertinent.
“My husband has recognized you as the celebrated Ida, the aid of the
famous Nick Carter, of whose exploits I have frequently read.
“I have long admired you, wondering how a woman could do such brave
things as I have known you to do. So I wanted to know and talk with
you.”
Though much annoyed at thus having her identity revealed in a public
place, Ida could not refrain from meeting the lady pleasantly, for in
the lady’s speech and manner there was, after all, much that was
complimentary.
Yet it was an uncommon experience for Ida. She knew that Nick, Chick and
Patsy were subject to such happenings, and were often compelled to
resort to disguises to prevent accidental recognitions.
She did not care to be so conspicuous as recognition made her, but a
moment’s thought told her that, after all, no great harm was done, since
her mission to Philadelphia could hardly be called a secret one; that
is, secrecy was not required in doing her work.
But, what gave her the most annoyance was that she was conscious that
the man on the other side of her had heard the lady, had started into
unusual interest, showing a little agitation and had swung his chair
around so as to bring his ears nearer to the two.
However, he soon got up, going to the other end of the car.
After this the lady and Ida chatted pleasantly until the train drew into
the great station in Philadelphia, when the lady rejoined her husband,
and Ida left the car.
The first thing that Ida did on reaching the street was at once to set
out for the house in which the family of Blanche Constant and Ethel
Romney lived.
As she passed the City Hall she saw, standing on the lower step of the
main entrance, looking at her intently, the man who had attempted to get
her into conversation on the cars.
Making no sign, and thinking that it was an accident, Ida hurried along,
keeping a sharp lookout behind her. It seemed to her that the man was
following her at a distance.
And when she reached the street, where she was to take the street car,
she thought that she saw the man concealing himself in a neighboring
doorway.
Of this she could not be certain, but, when mounting the car, which was
a good deal crowded, she had the uncomfortable feeling that the man was
on the same car.
“All this may be accidental,” said Ida to herself, “but I don’t think it
is.”
Arriving at her destination she left the car hastily, and, reaching the
curbstone, turned to watch the people descending from it.
The man who had seemed to follow her was not among those who got off at
the corner, but, as she watched the car roll up the street, a man
dropped off about midway of the block above, and Ida thought it was the
man in question.
This man hurriedly walked up the block in the same direction the car was
going, and disappeared around the same corner.
Ida now looked at her memoranda, and found that the house occupied by
the family of the murdered girl was in the street on the corner of which
she was standing. It was not her intention to visit this house, but she
had intended to inspect it from the outside.
It was clear that the houses of that neighborhood were not occupied by
the wealthier residents of Philadelphia, but it was also clear that it
was a thrifty neighborhood, and that the people living there were at
least in comfortable circumstances.
Most of the people whose names Nick had put down on the list he had
given her lived thereabouts.
One, however, was a detective friend of Nick’s, who, Nick said, would
give Ida such assistance as she might need were she to require it.
Ida, however, had determined that she would not call upon this detective
unless she were compelled to, by failing to secure what she was after in
applying to the other people.
Having observed the house, Ida passed on, intending to call on a woman
living on the block below, whose name had been given her by Nick.
As she reached the next corner, to her surprise, as well as to the
surprise of the other, she came face to face with the man who had
annoyed her previously, and who had just turned the corner.
In his surprise and embarrassment the man lifted his hat and went on.
Ida continued her way, a good deal troubled by the encounter.
Her call on the lady in question resulted in a success that she could
not have hoped for.
In fact, she secured information which was complete, and was only
confirmed, not added to, by those whom she subsequently visited.
And in this information were revelations of which Nick had not dreamed.
From this woman, who was familiar with the history of the family, Ida
learned that Blanche and Ethel were twin daughters of an old actor and
actress; that the father had died when the girls were about twelve years
of age, and that the mother, after continuing on the stage for some two
years thereafter, had married again and left the stage.
The man she had married was a superior mechanic, who had invested his
savings in the purchase of a saloon, which quickly became a sporting
haunt; he was a widower, with a son aged about eighteen years at the
time of his father’s marriage.
When his father engaged in the liquor business he had taken the son into
the store, who, under the influences, grew to be rather sporty in his
tastes and practices.
As the two girls developed they did not get along well with their
stepfather, and Blanche, the more spirited of the two, left her home
when eighteen to become an actress.
Ethel, however, who had neither a taste nor an aptitude for the stage,
remained at home, enduring an unpleasant life.
After Blanche had made what was considered to be a wealthy marriage, the
conditions at the Romney home were utterly changed.
George Macrane, the stepbrother, under the suggestion of Donald, his
father, became a suitor for the hand of Ethel.
There seemed to be an idea on the part of the father and son that a good
deal of money must come from Blanche to Ethel, and that the husband of
Ethel must benefit by it.
Ethel, from the first, had resisted these efforts, and was compelled to
fight the battle almost alone.
Her mother was evidently a weak woman, completely under the rule of her
husband, and joined her husband and his son in their effort to force
upon the girl the unwelcome suit.
The girl Ethel had shown more spirit in this resistance than she had
displayed in all her life before. It became persecution, for her life
was made miserable during the four years that it lasted.
All sorts of annoyances were put upon her. She was not permitted to go
out, or to receive company, and, if she talked with any one, especially
a man, a great row was made with her.
As the time went on these persecutions were increased.
Finally the girl Ethel, in her distress, had carried her troubles to the
lady talking to Ida.
This lady had advised Ethel to tell all her troubles to her sister
Blanche, something which Ethel had not done, because of the urgency of
her mother not to trouble Blanche with the family affairs.
At length the matter had become so bad that Ethel had permitted Blanche
to know how unpleasant was her life at home, with the result that
Blanche had insisted that Ethel should come to live with her.
The decision to do so had been met by a terrible row at home, and was
only accomplished by Blanche coming over to Philadelphia and actually
carrying Ethel off in spite of the opposition of the stepfather and son,
which became so much of a quarrel that the elder Macrane, losing his
temper, attempted to strike Blanche, and was only prevented by the
interference of the mother and son.
Blanche had carried Ethel off, but not until both father and son had
threatened that it would not end with that.
Further inquiry on the part of Ida showed that the elder Macrane was a
man of almost ungovernable passion, while the son was in much better
control of himself, but was sullen, determined and vindictive.
Ida left this lady intending to confirm this story by further inquiries,
and, indeed, did so in parts by three subsequent calls.
She said to herself, that at the present rate of progress she was
making, she would be able to return so as to arrive in New York by
midnight at least.
It was now just growing dark when she set out for the next name on the
list.