_The_
THIRTEENTH LETTER
THE
THIRTEENTH LETTER
By NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN
AUTHOR OF
"The Cat's Paw," "The Meredith Mystery," "The Red
Seal," "The Unseen Ear," etc.
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with D. Appleton & Company
Printed in U. S. A.
COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Copyright, 1923, 1924, by The Constructive Publishing Corporation
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO
HARRIET BROWNSON HUSSEY
The _Thirteenth Letter_ is affectionately
inscribed in memory of many happy
hours together
The author desires to express to
ALAIN CAMPBELL WHITE
of LITCHFIELD, CONNECTICUT,
her sincere appreciation of his
cleverly devised stamp code utilized
in _The Thirteenth Letter_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE EVENTS OF A NIGHT 1
II. CAUGHT IN THE WEB 13
III. COMPLICATIONS 23
IV. THE BLACK CREST 38
V. SHERIFF TRENHOLM ASKS
QUESTIONS 55
VI. THE THIRD HAND 68
VII. CURIOUS QUESTIONS AND EVASIVE
ANSWERS 81
VIII. BLACKMAIL 95
IX. THE DENIAL 106
X. SKIRMISHING 119
XI. THE FOLDED NOTE 132
XII. THE HUMAN EYE 146
XIII. THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 160
XIV. THE WILL OF HATE 175
XV. THREE BEEHIVES 188
XVI. THE THIRTEENTH LETTER 205
XVII. CHERCHEZ LA FEMME 221
XVIII. THE DEATH CLUTCH 234
XIX. WHICH? 252
XX. THE RULING PASSION 271
_The_ THIRTEENTH LETTER
CHAPTER I
THE EVENTS OF A NIGHT
THE white-capped nurse dropped the curtains in place so that they
completely shut out the night and equally prevented any ray of
artificial light penetrating the outer darkness. Her eyes, blinded by
her steadfast gaze into the whirling snow storm, were slow in adjusting
themselves to the lamp lighted room and for some minutes she saw as in
a blur the spare form of the physician standing by her patient's bed.
Doctor Roberts turned at her approach and removed his finger from about
the man's wrist. He met her glance with a negative shake of his head as
he replaced his watch.
"Abbott!" he called softly, bending over the patient: "Rouse yourself
and take some nourishment. You will never get your strength back if you
don't eat."
Slowly, languidly Abbott's dark eyes opened and regarded the two
figures by his bedside. They lingered in some curiosity on the trim
figure of the trained nurse and then passed on to the physician.
"I'll eat later," he mumbled. "Leave me alone, now,"--and the heavy
lids closed again over the eyes under which dark circles of pain
testified to hours of suffering.
"Very well." Doctor Roberts spoke more crisply. "Miss Ward will be
here to look after you. You must do what she says. I'll see you in the
morning. Good night."
His remark met with no response, and picking up his bag Roberts started
from the room. At the door he paused and motioned to Miss Ward to
follow him. Stopping long enough to arrange Abbott's pillow in a more
comfortable position, the nurse went into the hall, only to find that
Doctor Roberts was halfway down the staircase. With a doubtful look
behind her, Miss Ward ran lightly down into the lower hall which,
lighted only by oil lamps, was long and rambling and used as a living
room. Doctor Roberts walked over to a table and put down his bag.
"I am glad that you are here, Miss Ward," he began, courteously.
"I feared the storm would detain you. You have not nursed for me
before?"--with an inquisitive glance at the pretty woman before him.
"No, Doctor." Miss Ward's tapering fingers pressed out a crease in her
starched gown. "This is my first case since my arrival in Washington."
"Oh! You are a graduate nurse?"
"Yes. I trained in New York." Her hazel eyes met his steadily. "They
told me at the hospital of the urgency of this case and I took a taxi
out here."
"Quite right. Add all your expenses to your bill," directed Roberts.
"Paul Abbott has ample means. He should be in a hospital."
"But his condition, doctor."
Roberts nodded. "That is out of the question," he agreed, "_now_.
Had his caretaker sent for me in time I would have had Mr. Abbott
moved from this God-forsaken location to the city. As it is"--he
pulled himself up short--"we must do the best we can ten miles from
civilization." His smile vanished as quickly as it had come. "I am no
lover of the country in the dead of winter. What time did you get here?"
"An hour ago. Have you any orders, doctor?"
"You can give him a dose of this through the night"--taking out a small
phial and handing it to her--"the directions are on the bottle. It is
essential that Mr. Abbott have sleep; if necessary, give him this by
hypodermic." And he handed her two pellets.
"What stimulation do you wish me to use in case of sudden collapse?"
Miss Ward asked as Roberts picked up his bag and walked toward the
front door.
"Strychnine, twentieth of a grain," brusquely, as the hall clock chimed
ten, but his hurried exit was checked by a further question.
"Has Mr. Abbott any family to be notified in case his condition becomes
dangerous?" asked Miss Ward.
"No immediate relations." Doctor Roberts was manifestly impatient
to be off. "There's a girl--Betty Carter--but I'm not sure that the
engagement isn't broken. Good night." The high wind drove the snow,
which had drifted up on the broad veranda, in whirling gusts through
the front door and half blinded Roberts as he held it partly open. With
a muttered oath he dashed outside to his automobile, parked under the
shelter of the _porte cochère_.
Miss Ward heard the whir of the starting motor, the grinding of weed
chains and the shifting of gears before she closed the outer vestibule
door. It was with a sense of reluctance that she turned back into the
silent house. The storm and her surroundings oppressed her.
The old homestead, turned from a large-sized, roomy farmhouse into a
hunting lodge, with its wide entrance hall converted into a living
room from which ran numerous twisting passages, was a gloomy place in
winter. Through darkened doorways Miss Ward obtained a vague impression
of larger rooms beyond which she judged to be library, dining room, and
possibly a sunparlor.
Paul Mason Abbott, Senior, had prospered in his real estate business,
and had acquired, in one of his deals, the country property, twenty
miles from Washington, the National Capital, which, with a substantial
fortune, he had bequeathed to his only son, Paul. The latter's career
as a promising young architect had been interrupted by the World War.
Paul had borne his share of the fighting, returning to his home with
health shattered and a morbid desire to live alone.
He had closed his bachelor apartment in Washington in the early spring
and spent the following months motoring about the country. Just before
Christmas he had appeared unexpectedly at Abbott's Lodge and announced
that he would reside there indefinitely. Corbin, the caretaker, had
given him but a taciturn welcome, and neither he nor his wife had done
more than provide Abbott with three meals a day and such heat as was
absolutely necessary to warm the house.
Miriam Ward felt that even Corbin's presence, disagreeable as she had
found the caretaker in her one interview with him upon her arrival,
was preferable to the grotesque shadows made by the furniture as she
hurried across the living room and up the staircase to her patient.
Paul Abbott paid no attention to her as she moved about making her
preparations for a long night's vigil.
Abbott's bedroom stretched across one wing of the house. Miss Ward was
conscious of a touch of envy as she subconsciously took note of the
lovely old pieces of mahogany with which the room was furnished--the
highboy with its highly polished brass handles, the fine old bureau
with its quaint mirror hanging above it; the antique desk in one corner
and last, but not least, the carved four-post bedstead with its canopy
and its long curtains. The handsome rugs on the floor deadened her
footsteps as she moved about, and it was with a sense of shock that she
heard the grandfather clock in the hall chime the hour of midnight. The
sudden sound in the utter stillness aroused Paul Abbott as he seemed
about to drop off to sleep and he lifted his head. Instantly Miss Ward
was by his side, but he pushed away the glass of milk she offered him.
"Has she come?" he asked eagerly.
"She? Who?"
"Betty."
Miss Ward shook her head. Then observing his feverish condition more
closely, she hastened to say soothingly: "She will probably be here as
soon as the storm lets up."
Abbott looked at her appealingly. Thrusting his fingers inside the
pocket of his pajamas he drew out a crumpled piece of paper.
"Betty wrote that she would be here to-night," he protested. "And you
must let her in--you must--"
"Surely." Miss Ward again offered the rejected glass of milk. "Drink
this," she coaxed, and obedient to the stronger will Abbott took a few
swallows and then pushed the glass away. His head slipped back upon the
pillow and Miss Ward deftly arranged the curtain of the four-poster so
that it sheltered his eyes from the light of the wood fire burning on
the hearth at the opposite end of the bedroom.
An hour later she was about to replenish the wood for the third time
when a distant peal of a door bell caused her to drop the kindling with
unexpected suddenness in the center of the hot ashes. As the sparks
flew upward, she heard Abbott call out and turned toward the bed.
"It's Betty!" he exclaimed, with a feeble wave of his hand.
"Go--go--let her in."
"I will, but don't excite yourself," she cautioned. "Lie down on your
pillows, Mr. Abbott, and keep yourself covered," drawing the eiderdown
quilt over his shoulders as she spoke.
Another, and more imperative peal of the bell caused her to hasten
across the bedroom and into the hall. She peered ahead expectantly as
she went down the staircase, hoping for a glimpse of the caretaker,
Corbin. Evidently the bell had not disturbed his slumbers, for she
could distinguish no one approaching in the semi-darkness. Unfamiliar
as she was with her surroundings it took Miss Ward several minutes to
let down the night latch and turn the old-fashioned key in the lock of
the vestibule door. As she swung the latter open she was pushed back
and two figures stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind
them. The first, a tall slender girl, her handsome fur coat covered
with snow, stopped halfway to the staircase and addressed Miss Ward.
"Where is Mr. Abbott?" she demanded. "And why have you kept us waiting
so long?"
"I presume the caretaker is still asleep," replied the nurse.
"Otherwise the door would have been opened more promptly. Mr. Abbott is
ill in bed. Very ill," she added, meeting the girl's imperious glance
with a steady gaze. "This is no hour for visitors for a sick man."
"Oh, the hour!" The girl turned disdainfully away. "I must see Mr.
Abbott; it is imperative. You are the nurse?" with a questioning glance
at her white uniform.
"Yes, and as such in charge of the sick room," crisply. "I cannot
permit--"
"Just a moment," broke in the girl's companion, who, until that
instant, had busied himself with closing both the vestibule and inner
front door. As he stepped closer and unbuttoned his heavy overcoat Miss
Ward caught a glimpse of his clerical dress. "This is Miss Elizabeth
Carter, Mr. Abbott's fiancée, and I am Dr. Nash of Washington. Miss
Carter received word that Mr. Abbott is alarmingly ill--"
"With small hope for his recovery." The words escaped Betty Carter
through quivering lips, and looking closely at her, Miss Ward
discovered her eyelashes wet with tears. "Don't keep us standing here
when time is so precious," and turning she ran up the staircase,
followed by the clergyman and Miss Ward.
An odd sound far down the corridor caused the nurse to hesitate before
accompanying the others into the sick room, and for several seconds she
stood poised outside the door, her head bent in a listening attitude.
The sound, whatever it was, and Miss Ward could have sworn it was a
faint whimper, was not repeated. She was thankful to turn from the
contemplation of the dark, winding corridor to the companionship of her
patient and his two belated visitors.
Dr. Nash had paused by the solitary lamp, but his efforts to induce it
to burn more brightly resulted in extinguishing it entirely, leaving
the bedroom illuminated by the firelight only. He turned at Miss Ward's
approach and addressed her in a low voice.
"Get the lamp from downstairs," he whispered. "This one is burned out."
Betty Carter, paying no attention to the others, halted by the bedside
just as Miss Ward started for the door.
"I've come, Paul," Miss Ward heard her say as she darted out of the
room. "I am here to keep my word. Dr. Nash is with me."
Miss Ward's mystification lent wings to her feet, but when she made the
turn of the last landing of the staircase her foot slipped on some snow
left on the hardwood by the clergyman's rubbers, and she went headlong
to the floor. Considerably shaken by her fall, it was some moments
before she could pull herself together and get to her feet. Taking up
the lamp with a hand not quite steady, she walked upstairs. As she
entered the bedroom she saw Betty Carter standing apparently just where
she had left her and Doctor Nash closing his prayerbook.
"... I pronounce you man and wife." The solemn words rang their meaning
into Miss Ward's ears as she took in the significance of the scene.
"Come, Betty, we have no time to linger," and stepping forward, Doctor
Nash laid his hand on the girl's arm.
With a gesture as if awakening from a dream, Betty Carter raised her
head and faced Miss Ward. The nurse almost cried out as she met the
full gaze of her tragic eyes.
"Surely you are not going?" she exclaimed. "Now--after--?"
"Yes." Betty's beauty was of an unusual type and Miss Ward's heart gave
a sympathetic throb as she came under the magnetism of her personality.
"We--I will be back," and before Miss Ward could gasp out a question,
she hurried swiftly from the room, the clergyman at her heels.
Her mind in a daze, Miss Ward stood in the doorway of the bedroom
holding the lighted lamp so that they might see their way to the
staircase, but her half-formed intention of carrying the lamp to the
head of the stairs altered when she saw that the clergyman was provided
with a powerful pocket searchlight. She stood where she was until she
heard the front door close with a distinct slam, then went thoughtfully
into the bedroom.
Placing the lamp on a small table by the side of the bed, she drew back
the curtain of the four-poster and looked down at the sick man. He lay
partly on one side, his eyes closed, and one hand tightly clenching the
eiderdown quilt. For one long minute Miss Ward regarded him, her senses
reeling.
The man lying in the bed was not her patient.