A STRANGE LEAVE-TAKING.
The detective strode on in silence for some distance before he replied,
and then he said, very slowly:
“I have seen very little of your sister, Reginald, but what I have seen
of her, and what I know of her character, assures me that she would
never even consider the taking of a step of the kind you mention without
good and sufficient reason. Furthermore, I feel sufficient personal
interest in her to make it my duty to find her and ask her for her side
of the story, so now, if you will come into the house and follow me to
my room I will ask you to tell me all you know about the affair up to
the present moment. You may tell me first what was the quarrel about?”
“You.”
“Eh? What is that?”
“We quarreled about you.”
“About me! Hmmph! I should like you to tell me the particulars of that
quarrel, if you please.”
“The whole thing did not really amount to a row of pins.”
“Nevertheless, I should like to see the point of each pin.”
“Your name has been mentioned very often between us, ever since the
death of Orizaba.”
“Well?”
“I could see, when you were there at that time, that--er--well, that you
admired Mercedes very much indeed.”
“You were entirely correct in that decision.”
“I could also see that she was especially drawn toward you; in short,
that she admired you almost as much as you did her.”
“I am very much pleased to hear you say that. I did not suppose that she
had had time to remember my existence.”
“It is a funny thing, Carter, that you can be so mighty shrewd about
seeing things in one light, and still not be able to see a deuced thing
in another--that is, from another and different point of view.”
“That is a very ordinary human failing, Danton. But, go on.”
“Mercedes has always held rather extraordinary ideas about love and
marriage; about men, women and things socially, much to the annoyance
of mother and to the amusement of my father. I think, Carter, that you
almost came up to her idea of the ideal man.”
“Nonsense, Danton!”
Nick could feel that tingling around the heart region again.
“I am speaking seriously. Please remember that I am talking of my
sister.”
“I do, my boy; but get down to the quarrel.”
“I’m getting down to it. All this is a preamble which must be told in
order that you may understand all of it--and in understanding it, I want
you to be particular not to misunderstand anything I may say.”
“You are rather obscure just now.”
“Not intentionally. In order to explain so that you will understand, I
must confess to you that I made her believe that I thought she was more
than half in love with--you.”
“In other words, you bantered her upon what you knew to be untrue; you
merely teased her because you had discovered a theme which did tease.”
“Exactly.”
“Well?”
“It was all raillery, you know. Just making fun.”
“Yes.”
“And, in doing so, in order to tease her the more, I did not hesitate to
make fun of you.”
“Naturally.”
“In short--you know I want to be entirely frank with you. That is one of
my few virtues, frankness, is it not? In short, at the time when we
quarreled, I permitted myself to speak slightly of you. Quite so, in
fact.”
“Suppose you tell me what you said.”
“I say, Carter, that’s mean, you know, to make me tell what I said.”
“You have already explained why you said the things you did say.”
“I know, but they will sound differently now, repeated in cold blood.”
“Tell me what you said about me to your sister. I want to know all about
the quarrel.”
“Well, if I do, you will have to promise me first that you will forgive,
beforehand, all that I shall say.”
“Certainly, Danton. I understand perfectly that you were only teasing
your sister, and I know something about the lengths to which brothers
will go on occasions of that kind, as well as some of the liberties they
will take, not alone with their sister themselves, but also with any
other person who happens to be under discussion. Believe me, I will
take all that you said in an utterly impersonal manner.”
“Well, I accused her of being in love with you, of course.”
“Yes. And then?”
“I told her that you were a widower, but----”
“Go on.”
“Confound it, I can’t! I simply explained in my own way, which won’t
bear repeating now, that you had worshiped your first wife, and that you
would wear sackcloth and ashes the rest of your days--please forgive me,
old man!--and that there was no hope that another could ever take her
place in your heart.”
“What next?” asked Nick curtly.
“Why, then I made fun of your profession. I asked her how she would like
to be known as Mrs. Detective Carter, and all that, don’t you know--and
I kept at it until I got her thoroughly angry.”
“Well?”
“She told me that if I were half the man that Nick Carter is people
would have a lot more respect for me, which I admitted, and that if she
loved a man it would make no difference to her whether he was a
detective, or what he was, so long as he was a good and honorable man,
who did his duty to his neighbor and to himself, and all that. Really,
she read me quite a lecture, until I’m blowed if she didn’t get me mad,
too.”
“She told you a few facts, I suppose.”
“Facts! Good Heaven! You ought to have heard her. I felt like a kitten
in the grasp of a bull terrier before she got through with me.”
“And then----”
“Well, among other things she told me that I belonged to a class that
was ruining posterity, whatever that may mean, inasmuch as posterity
isn’t here to be ruined; that I had never earned a cent of money in my
life, and that all on earth I was good for was to spend the money which
my father provided--and a whole lot more of that sort until I left her
in a rage. That is all; but you can see that the quarrel was not
serious.”
“That was Saturday afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“And you did not see her again?”
“No. I came into the city in the evening, and I did not go out home
until late. Then, in the morning, Sunday, I slept late, breakfasted
alone, and came into town again. She went away Sunday.”
“And you say she left no written message?”
“No.”
“But she left a verbal one with one of the maids?”
“Yes.”
“What was that message--just as it was repeated to you?”
“Simply that she was going away, and that she would write.”
“Nothing more?”
“Not a thing.”
“She took one maid with her?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“Eh?”
“What else did she take with her?”
“Pretty nearly everything she owned, I should say.”
“Do you mean that she took all of her trunks?”
“Yes; all of her own and some of mother’s as well.”
“How many in all?”
“Good gracious, Carter, you don’t suppose I have kept tabs on the number
of trunks those two women own, do you? I only know what the maid told me
about it.”
“Well, what did she tell you?”
“She said that it seemed strange that my sister had taken the new maid,
who was not entirely accustomed to her ways, and left her behind, who
knew all about her, particularly when she was intending to be gone for a
long time--but that she thought it stranger still that her mistress had
said nothing to her about her intention of going.”
“Ah! The maid who was left behind did not know that your sister intended
to go that day, then?”
“No.”
“Where was she when Mercedes started away?”
“Where was she when the many trunks were being made ready for the
journey?”
“She had been sent into the city on an errand. The trunks had left the
house when she returned and she was only just in time to see my sister
depart.”
“What was it she said to you about the trunks?”
“Merely that she thought it strange that her mistress had taken so many
trunks and so many things with her.”
“In short, Danton, the maid told you those things simply to give you an
opportunity to question her.”
“By Jove, Carter, I believe now that she did that very thing. She wanted
me to question her.”
“Which proves that she knew many things which she believed you should
know, but which her position forbade her from volunteering to tell.”
“Yes. I see it now. But it is better as it is, for I would have garbled
the whole thing. Now, you will question her, and so get at the core of
the thing.”
“I hope so, Danton--I hope so.”