FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
The first thing Billie saw next morning when she opened her eyes on a
beautiful but heated world, was Nancy seated by the window reading a
book, and at a second glance, she recognized it as her own prayer book.
If it had been Mary or Elinor who had risen at dawn to read the prayer
book, Billie would not have been in the least surprised, for one was
deeply religious, and the other also, though she never talked much about
it.
Nancy, however, little frivolous butterfly, was not given to reading her
testament or prayer book either, except at very infrequent intervals,
certainly never early in the morning when other people were asleep.
Billie wondered and wondered what more could have happened to turn
Nancy's thought into this unusual channel.
"She must be unhappy," she decided, "or she never would have got up at
this time of day," and there was a kind of sad humor in the thought
which Billie did not appreciate at the moment.
When Nancy heard Billie stir, she closed the book hastily and crept back
to bed and Billie pretended not to be awake. She was sure Nancy would
rather not have been caught at this act of unusual devotion, and she
disliked the idea of being an eavesdropper, as it were, to Nancy's
innermost thoughts. Nevertheless, when some time later, Nancy had dressed
and gone out of the room, Billie could not resist the temptation to open
the prayer book at the purple ribbon; it had been placed at "Prayers for
Fair Weather," which begins:
"Almighty and most merciful Father, we humbly beseech thee of thy great
goodness to restrain those immoderate rains wherewith for our sins thou
hast afflicted us."
Billie could scarcely keep from smiling when she followed Nancy into the
dining-room.
"It's about the queerest state of affairs that ever existed," she
thought, casting a covert glance at her unhappy friend who was munching
dry toast.
Mr. Campbell came in late. He looked flustered and disturbed about
something.
"What is the matter with this household?" Billie's thoughts continued.
"One would think an earthquake had shaken us out of our senses. Even Papa
is out of sorts. I don't think I ever saw him quite this way before. As
for me, I can't seem to pull out of the general depression. It's just
closing in on us and drawing us down. Papa," she exclaimed out loud, "I
believe we need a trip. When are you going to take us to the mountains?
Nancy is terribly run down, and Cousin Helen is feeling the heat, and
Elinor and Mary and I are going to be run down, too, if you don't hustle
us off somewhere."
"Very soon now, daughter. Just one more piece of business to transact
and--er--a question to settle, and I'll pack you all off to a cool, dry
place."
"It will be the very opposite to this one, then," announced Billie. "Hot
and damp are the words to use about Tokyo, and they do say the long rains
are coming on--" she stopped short and looked at Nancy.
Everybody was looking at Nancy, in fact.
Mary and Elinor were wondering why Nancy looked so conscious. Miss
Campbell was thinking how pale the girl looked, and Mr. Campbell was
thinking of something quite different, but very important, concerning
Nancy Brown.
Billie tried to cover the uncomfortable silence by adding with a forced
cordiality:
"Nancy-Bell needs the change more than any of us."
"Very well, if agreeable to your Royal Highness, I will let you know
tonight when we shall break up camp and march for the hills."
"Good," cried Billie. "The Court is prepared to move on a moment's
notice."
Mr. Campbell beckoned to his daughter to follow him to his library after
breakfast. Billie had already had a foreboding that something was the
matter, and she was sure of it as soon as she had entered the room and
closed the door.
Her father was standing at his desk frowning as he looked thoughtfully
into space, and Mr. Campbell never frowned unless he had something to
frown about.
"What's the matter, Papa?"
"Where are the others?"
"Gone to their rooms, I suppose, or in the garden. I didn't notice."
He drew an easy chair up by the open window and Billie took her seat on
the arm and rested her cheek against his.
"Papa, is there any trouble brewing in this house?" she asked presently.
Mr. Campbell blew out a long column of smoke from his morning cigar.
"What makes you think so, sweetheart?" he asked.
"I can feel it. It's in the air--it's all about us. It's like a sort of
plague. Nancy's got it, and now you are getting it, and I have a feeling
I shall catch it, too."
"Has Nancy got it?"
"She got it first and she's giving it to all the rest of us. Oh, Papa,
it's the very first time anything like this has ever happened on any of
our trips. It's making me quite wretched."
"But what is it, little girl?"
"I don't know, at least, not exactly."
"Not exactly? Then you do know something?"
Billie did not wish to tell her father about the letter Nancy had
written. She felt that her father might not take such a charitable view
of it as she had, and she had a feeling she must protect poor Nancy,
wounded as she had been by her strange behavior.
"Then you do know something?" repeated Mr. Campbell.
"Oh, just the littlest something, but I don't want to tell you, Papa."
Mr. Campbell settled himself into the depths of his chair and drew his
arm around his daughter's waist.
"That's right, little daughter. I'd rather you'd be loyal than anything
else in the world," he said, stroking her hand. "But I'm going to tell
you a little bit of something. I want to ask your advice. I don't know
what to do. You must help your old father decide."
"Fire away, Papa."
"Yesterday a very strange thing happened in this house while we were
away--a very serious thing, I may say, and one which gives me
considerable uneasiness. Last night I came into the library to work, just
after dinner. I opened the safe and found that some one had been
rummaging among the papers in there."
"Oh, Papa," ejaculated Billie anxiously, knowing the value of those
documents.
"They were all there, but they had been disturbed. There had been an
attempt made to trace off some of the drawings. The specifications and
descriptions had been tampered with, too. I never dreamed such a thing
could be managed in the daytime with the house full of servants. The two
watchmen would prevent even a possibility of it at night. Whoever did it
must have laid his plans well, or else--"
Mr. Campbell paused and looked at his daughter very hard.
"Nancy has been greatly troubled about something lately, hasn't she,
little daughter?"
"Yes, Papa, she has, but it's nothing serious," said Billie stoutly.
"Just the heat and that absurd business about Yoritomo. You know she did
really make eyes at him a good deal."
"Where was she yesterday?"
"In her room, I suppose?"
"Billie, I called several of the servants in last night and questioned
them about this business here," he pointed to the safe in the corner. "I
called them in separately and each one made the same statement. Nancy
spent most of the day in this room."
Billie started.
"I can't believe it. I won't believe it," she cried, rising to her feet
in her excitement.
"They told a pretty straight story and they had no reason, as far as I
can see, for telling any other kind."
"But what does Nancy know about opening a safe, Papa? It's absurd. And
besides what would she want with plans for government improvements or
whatever they are?"
"I'm just as much in the dark as you are, Billie. I'm only telling you
what O'Haru and Onoye and Komatsu told me. She went into the library
twice during the day; once for a little while in the morning, and after
lunch when the servants were in the back of the house, Onoye saw her come
out of the garden in a pouring rain. She marched straight to this room
and locked the door behind her and here she remained until not long
before we returned."
"Papa, I'll never go back on Nancy," cried Billie. "I'll never believe
she did it--even--well, even if she were to tell me so herself! I know
her as well as I know myself. I know all her ins and outs, you might say.
She's simply incapable of doing a dishonest thing. Besides, what earthly
use could she have with those papers?"
"Do you think she could be doing it for some one else?" asked Mr.
Campbell.
"No," burst out Billie, almost angrily. "Why, Papa, I'm ashamed of you,"
Mr. Campbell drew his daughter to him and kissed her.
"You are a good friend, Billie, and I'm going to give your friend the
benefit of every doubt in her favor. I'm going to assume that she is
innocent and that there is some big mistake somewhere. But I want you to
help me because it will be necessary to get at the bottom of the business
immediately. Now, Yoritomo Ito is one great big fanatic. I discovered
that the other day when he called here in his foolish garb and demanded
the hand of Miss Nancy. He was very angry over being turned down and just
a bit threatening in his manner. Of course he resents outside people
being called in for the work I am doing. He resents my presence in his
country, in fact."
"I don't like him, Papa," broke in Billie, "and--you didn't know that he
has been married and divorced?"
Mr. Campbell looked surprised.
"No, indeed, I did not know it. He has colossal nerve, I must say. But
divorce is pretty common over here. Most anybody can get one who wants
to."
"And, Papa," went on Billie, "I believe that our little maid, Onoye, was
his wife, and when her father lost his money, Yoritomo got a divorce, and
she and her mother were so poor they had to go to work."
Mr. Campbell was even more shocked at this disclosure.
"And, Papa, I believe she would do most any favor for Yoritomo in order
to get to see her little boy who lives with Mme. Ito. Onoye and her
mother are mad about him, and--and--" went on Billie, slowly working out
the complication in her mind--"they were the ones who laid the blame on
Nancy, weren't they?"
"I didn't know I had a detective for a daughter," said Mr. Campbell,
smiling.
"I'm just putting two and two together," said Billie. "You see it works
out like a jigsaw puzzle."
"So I see," said Mr. Campbell gravely. "There is only one bright spot in
the whole business," he added, with something very like a chuckle. "For
once in my life I've out-tricked a trickster and I've really enjoyed
doing it. Buxton informed me the very night you shot somebody here--"
"There you are," interrupted Billie. "That was Onoye, remember."
"Yes, there is no doubt about that. Well, Buxton informed me that they
were after my papers and the safe would be the place they would look for
them. So that very night I substituted some old drawings and put the
important ones in another place. Now a Japanese, when he's after
something, is as crafty and shrewd as a fox. That's why I'm patting
myself on my back for having outwitted one."
"Where do you keep the real papers, Papa?"
"Down where the pistol is under some stationery in the back of the desk
drawer, and in the big vase in the corner."
Billie went straight to the desk and opened the drawer. She drew out the
pistol as she had done that dark night, removed several layers of
envelopes and paper, and came at last to a layer of drawings.
"Are these the ones?" she asked, placing them on the desk and then
shoving the drawer back with her knee. Something stuck and she pulled it
all the way out in her effort to discover what the trouble was. In the
very back, caught between the drawer and the framework was a
handkerchief. It was small and sheer and in one corner was an embroidered
butterfly.
Mr. Campbell jumped up in much excitement.
"By Jove," he exclaimed, "did you find that among my papers?"
Billie nodded her head sadly. "It's Nancy's, too," she said.
Mr. Campbell began looking over the papers.
"She may have dropped her handkerchief," he said, "but I don't think she
got down to these. They are exactly as I left them. I suppose she
rummaged around with her handkerchief in her lap and it fell in and was
shoved back when I took out my papers later."
The papers in a leather portfolio in the vase were safe, also.
For some time the father and daughter sat together, turning over the
events of the morning in their minds.
"Papa," said Billie, after a while, "let's send Cousin Helen and Nancy
and Elinor to the mountains, because they need the trip more than the
rest of us, and suppose you and Mary Price and I stay here and ferret out
the whole thing. Of course the person who did it, and I know Nancy had
nothing to do with it," she added almost fiercely, "but the real person
will be coming back for the rest of the drawings, and that will be our
chance. A detective in the house would give the alarm, but Mary and I
might turn watchmen without arousing any suspicion, especially if some of
the servants are mixed in it."
Mr. Campbell ended by taking his daughter's advice.
The very next morning Miss Campbell and two of the Motor Maids were
packed off to Myanoshita, a summer resort in the mountains, with
Komatsu to look after them, while the other two Motor Maids remained with
Mr. Campbell.
"We'll follow you by the end of the week," he said. "I hope you don't
begrudge a lonely man his daughter for that short time, Cousin."
"I hope you won't keep her in this awful heat any longer than you can
help," was his cousin's reply. For Miss Campbell had grown to regard
Billie as her especial property.