Ransom
The Herbert Varians went back to their summer home, and Minna, left alone
with her companion and her secretary, began what she called her campaign
to find Betty.
Some people thought Mrs Varian a little affected mentally by her awful
griefs, but those who knew her best read in her determination and
persistence a steady aim and felt a slight hope of her success.
“Anything in the world I can do, dear,” Claire Blackwood said to her,
“command me. I’ll go to the city for you or do errands or anything I
can.”
“No,” said Minna, “there’s nothing you can do. Nothing anybody can do.
I’m only afraid that if I get no encouragement in my efforts, I will lose
my mind,—and that’s what I’m trying to guard against. I follow my nurse’s
directions as to exercise, diet and all that, but I feel as if I could
only keep my brain from flying to pieces by hanging onto my hope of
eventually finding my child.”
“And you will,” Claire said, earnestly, though she voiced a belief that
she was far from feeling, “Oh, Mrs Varian, you will!”
“You see,” Minna went on, “I’ve a new theory now. I think that maybe
Betty killed her father accidentally——”
“That is a new idea.”
“Yes; I know it’s almost incredible,—but what idea isn’t? Say Mr Varian
went suddenly insane,—and I can’t think of any other way,—and attacked
Betty with a revolver. Say, trying to protect herself, it went off and
killed him,—perhaps the weapon was in his hands, perhaps in hers,—and
then, the child, in an agony of fear or remorse, ran away,—I don’t know
how she got away,—but, don’t you see, Mrs Blackwood, she must have left
the premises somehow,—or——”
“Or they would have found her by this time,—yes, of course.”
“Now, I’ve offered ten thousand dollars reward for any information that
will lead to finding Betty,—dead or alive. Mr Granniss thinks it will
bring no results, but I can’t help hoping. And if it doesn’t,—what can I
do?”
“You’re going to employ a detective, aren’t you? These local authorities
are not capable of managing a case like this.”
“Yes; Mr Granniss advises a Mr Wise,—but I can’t see what any detective
can do. There’s nothing to detect, as I can see.”
“That’s just it. We can’t see,—but the trained detective can.”
“Here is your mail, Mrs Varian,” said Granniss, coming into the room,
“will you run it over?”
Minna glanced at the letters, mostly notes of sympathy, or letters of
advice from would-be helpful friends, but there was one that caused her
to exclaim in amazement.
“Oh, Rodney,” she cried, “will you look at this!”
So great was her agitation that Claire Blackwood went in search of the
nurse, for she feared some emotional outburst beyond her power to
control.
The disturbing letter was a plain looking affair, on ordinary letter
paper, and it read:
“Mrs Varian.
We have your daughter safe. We are holding her for ransom. Your reward
does not tempt us at all but if you are ready to pay one hundred
thousand dollars, you may have your child back. If not, you will never
see her again. There must be no dickering, no fooling, and, above all,
no police interference. I will not go into details now, but if you want
to take up with this offer put a personal in any of the large Boston
papers, saying, “I agree,” and all directions will be sent to you as to
how to proceed. But if you tell the police or allow any detective to
know anything about this deal, it is all off. Don’t think you can fool
us, we have eyes in the back of our heads and any insincerity or breach
of faith on your part will result in sad results to your daughter. To
carry this thing through you must trust and obey us implicitly and any
lapse will mean far deeper trouble than you are in now.”
The letter was not signed, nor was it dated. The postmark was Boston, and
it had been mailed the day before.
“It’s a fake,” Granniss declared, at once.
“I don’t think so,” said Claire Blackwood, “it sounds real to me——”
“I don’t care whether it’s real or not,” Minna interrupted, excitedly. “I
mean I don’t care whether anybody believes it’s real or not. I’m going to
answer it at once, and I’m going to agree to everything they say, and I’m
not going to tell the police or a detective or anybody,—and I’m going to
get Betty back.”
Her face was radiant with joy, her eyes shone and she was smiling for the
first time since that awful day of the double tragedy.
“Now, look here, Mrs Varian,” began Granniss, who was convinced the whole
letter was a mere attempt to get money under false pretenses, “you
mustn’t throw away a hundred thousand dollars in that fashion!”
“Why not? It is a lot of money, but I have the sum and it means getting
Betty back! What is any sum of money,—even my whole fortune, against
that?”
“But it doesn’t surely mean getting her back. If I thought it did I’d
feel just as you do about it——”
“Oh, it does,—it does!” Minna cried, her face still transfigured with
happiness. “I know it,—I feel it—something in my heart tells me that it
is true,—and, you see, it explains everything. These people kidnapped
Betty,—abducted her, and now they’re holding her for ransom,—and they’ll
get it,—and I’ll get Betty! They don’t want her, you see, but they do
want the money. And they’ll get it!”
“I agree with Mrs Varian,” Claire said, quite convinced by Minna’s
confidence in the good faith of the letter writer.
“But it’s too absurd!” insisted Rodney. “You know,—Mrs Varian, you must
know, that I want to find Betty quite as much as you do,—no, I won’t
qualify that statement. I love her as much as you can. But I don’t
believe for one minute that that letter is genuine. I mean, I don’t
believe the man who wrote it has Betty, or ever saw her! Why, think a
minute. Of all the theories regarding Betty’s disappearance, abduction is
the least believable. How could any one abduct Betty that day,—how could
the kidnapper get into this house, and out again,—with Betty,—when so
many people were about, watching?”
“I don’t know how it was done,” Minna said, doggedly, “but it’s a chance,
and I’m going to take it. You can’t stop me, Rodney. You’ve no authority
to say what I shall do with my own money. I’ve a right to try this
thing——”
“But, oh,” said Claire, “suppose it should be a fake! Not only you’d lose
all that money,—but think of your disappointment!”
“The disappointment would be no worse than things are at present.”
“Oh, yes, it would. If you follow up that letter and pay all that sum,
and then get nothing in return, it would just about kill you.”
“It would just about kill me not to take the chance,” returned Minna.
“Now, I suppose I still have the right to order my own movements. I shall
at once send the personal to the Boston paper,—I’ll put it in several, so
he’ll be sure to see it,—and then, I’ll await his further advice. Will
you send the messages, Rodney, or must I do it myself?”
“Of course, I am at your orders, Mrs Varian.” Rod gave her his winning
smile, “But, at least, let’s think it over a bit.”
“No; send the word at once. We can talk it over afterward.”
There seemed to be no way out, so Granniss went off to do her bidding.
Even then, he had half a mind to pretend to send the word but really to
withhold it. On reflection, he concluded he had no right to do this. But
he remembered that Minna had not bound him to secrecy, though, of course,
it was implied.
So with the letters to the Boston papers went also one to Pennington Wise
begging him to come at once to investigate the remarkable case of Betty
Varian, and telling him frankly of the strange letter just received.
That same afternoon a telegram came for Mrs Varian.
Granniss opened it, as was his custom, and its contents so surprised him
that he nearly succumbed to the temptation to keep it from Mrs Varian.
But, he reconsidered, he had no right to presume on his position as
confidential secretary, so with grave fears of its effects he handed it
to her.
“Dear Mother,” it ran; “I am all right, and if you do just as you
agree, I will soon be with you again. Please obey implicitly.
“Betty.”
“From her!” Minna cried, and fainted.
Nurse Fletcher soon revived her, but she was in a shaken, nervous state,
and could stand no contradiction or disapproval.
“Now you see, Rodney,” she cried triumphantly, “it is all right! Here is
word from Betty herself—oh, my darling!” and she fell to kissing the
yellow paper, as if it were the face of her child.
“But, Mrs Varian,” Granniss hesitated to correct her but felt he must,
“that may not be from Betty, you know. Anybody could send a telegram
signed with Betty’s name.”
“Rodney!” Minna’s eyes blazed with anger, “why do you try every way to
make me miserable? Why dash every cup of joy from my lips? You seem to
hope that we never find Betty! I can’t understand your attitude, but
unless you are more helpful,—yes, and more hopeful,—I don’t think we can
get along together.”
But Granniss knew that he must stand by this distracted woman. Another
secretary might have more leniency and less judgment, which would be a
bad thing for Minna’s interests. No, even at risk of letting her be
imprudent, he must stand by her, and protect her all he could against her
own wrong decisions.
“Oh, yes, we’ll get along all right, Mrs Varian,” he said, trying to
treat the matter lightly. “You can’t get rid of me so easily,—and, too,
you know that I want to believe all this quite as much as you do. But you
must admit that a telegram is not like a letter. It might be faked.”
“Well, this isn’t,” said Minna, contentedly, still caressing the paper
missive.
“Let’s consider it,” said Rod. “It doesn’t sound to me like Betty’s
diction. Would she use the word ‘implicitly’?”
“Why not?” Minna stared at him. “And, too, she wrote it under compulsion,
most likely. Oh, my darling child,—at the mercy of those ruffians! Yet, I
make no doubt they’re good to her. Why should they harm my baby? They
only want the ransom money, and that they shall have. I’m glad it’s a
large sum, it makes me more sure I’ll get Betty.”
Granniss was in despair. He felt the awful responsibility of Mrs Varian’s
wild determination, but he couldn’t see anything to do about it.
To report to Doctor Varian was not his duty, and though he thought it was
his duty to tell the story to the police, Minna had exacted his promise
not to do so, and he had given it. After all, it was her money,—if she
chose to give it up so easily, it was not his affair. And, too, he
couldn’t help a lurking hope that it might be all true and might result
in Betty’s restoration to her sorrowing mother,—and, to himself. For he
knew, now that the opposing influence of her father was removed, if Betty
should ever be found, she would some day be his wife. He trusted in her
faith and loyalty to himself as he believed in his own to her.
And yet, he couldn’t approve of Minna’s wholesale compliance with the
exorbitant demands of people who might be and probably were mere
swindlers. He was thinking these things over when Mrs Varian came to him.
“I want you to go right down to New York,” she told him, “and get me a
hundred thousand dollars in cash. Now, don’t raise objections, for I
should only combat them, and it takes my strength so to argue with you.
My husband’s fortune is mine. There is no one to dictate to me how I
shall use it. I want,—I insist upon this sum in cash, or some sort of
bonds or securities that may be cashed by anybody, without
identification. Oh, you know what I mean,—I want the money in such shape
that these kidnappers will take it willingly. Of course, they won’t
accept checks or notes. Go on, now, Rodney, get off at once, and get back
as soon as you can. And I want some man to stay in this house while
you’re away. I’m not exactly timid, but I’ve never stayed nights in a
house without a man in it,—beside the butler, I mean,—and I’m sure you
can invite some friend who would be willing to come. Perhaps Mr Landon.
He’s so nice, and I’d try to make it pleasant for him in any way I could.
There are plenty of books, and with good cigars, he might be contented.”
“Oh, he’d be contented, all right; but Landon’s gone off on a little
trip. He won’t be back for several days. How’d you like to have North?
Probably he’d come.”
“Very well,—if he’s perfectly willing. I’d hate to bore him. You’ll be
back,—when?”
“I’ll have to be away two nights,—if North can’t come, there’s young
Clark,—he’s a good sort.”
“I hate to ask it of any of them, but I hate worse to stay alone. I’d get
nervous and I shouldn’t sleep at all.”
“That’s all right, Mrs Varian, I know how you feel about it, and I’ll get
somebody.”
Granniss was as good as his word, and, finding that Lawrence North was
glad to do anything in his power to help Mrs Varian, it was arranged that
he should visit at Headland House until Rodney could get back from New
York.
“But promise me,” Granniss said, “that if you get further letters from
the kidnappers you won’t do anything definite until I return.”
“I can’t,” said Minna, thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t promise, anyway, but, as
you must see for yourself, I can’t do anything till I get that money.”
“I suppose not,” Granniss agreed, and went off. During a sociable and
chatty evening, Minna told North about the letter from the abductors.
“Oh Mrs Varian,” he exclaimed, “you don’t believe it, do you? I only
wonder you haven’t had several. It’s a common way of crooks to attempt to
get money.”
“But this rings so true,” Minna defended herself, and showed him the
letter.
North studied it.
“It sounds plausible enough,” he said, “but how is it possible? How could
anyone have kidnapped the girl?”
“Now, look here, Mr North, don’t say over and over again, ‘how could he?’
You know somebody or something is responsible for Betty’s disappearance
as well as for Mr Varian’s death. Don’t think for a minute that my
anxiety about my daughter in any way obliterates or lessens my grief at
my husband’s death. But, as you must see, nothing can bring Mr Varian
back. While,—something may bring Betty back! Can you wonder, then, that I
catch at any straw,—believe in any hope,—take up with any suggestion on
the mere chance of getting my child back? If they had asked for my whole
fortune, I should pay it—on the chance!”
“Yes,” North spoke slowly,—“I see how you feel about it,—but you ought to
have some proof that they really have your Betty.”
“I’ve thought about that,” Minna shuddered, “but, I’ve read of these
cases, and—when they send a proof—sometimes, it’s a—a finger—you know——”
“Oh, now, now, don’t be morbid! I don’t mean anything of that sort. But
if they would give you a bit of her hair, or a scrap of her own
handwriting——”
“But how can I demand that? How can I ask for it?”
“You just wait for their next instruction. If they are sincere in this
offer, if they really have Miss Betty and are really ready to negotiate,
they must tell you what to do next. And, Mrs Varian, I advise you to do
it. It may be a wrong principle, but your case is exceptional,—and, since
you’ve showed me this letter, I can’t help feeling it’s the real thing.
For one thing, you can see it’s written by at least a fairly well
educated man. I mean, not by the common, ignorant class. Moreover, the
very audacity of demanding such enormous ransom, indicates to my mind
that the writer can perform his part of the bargain. A mere crook,
writing a fake letter, would never dream of asking such a sum. How are
you going to manage the payment?”
“If you mean the method of handing it over, I don’t know. I shall do as
I’m directed. If you mean how shall I obtain the cash, I’ve asked Mr
Granniss to bring it up from New York for me.”
“Is he going to travel home with that sum on his person!”
“Yes, he said he had no fear in that direction.”
“Oh, no; since no one knows of it, he runs little risk.”
Meantime, Rodney Granniss, in New York, was putting through his errands
in record time.
He attended to the money matter, and by the aid of some influential
friends of the Varian family, he obtained the desired sum in cash and
unregistered bonds.
Then he went to see Pennington Wise.
That astute detective declared himself too busy to accept any new
commission. But after Granniss had personally told the astonishing
details of the case, Wise was unable to resist the temptation to
undertake its investigation.
“The way you put it, Mr Granniss,” he said, “it sounds like an impossible
condition. I can’t see any explanation at all, but, as we know, there
_must_ be one. The obvious solution is a secret passage, but since you
tell me there is none, I feel I must go up there and see for myself what
could have happened.”
“Then you’ll come?”
“Yes,—I’ll drop all else, and go straight off. We won’t travel together,
though. You go ahead, right now, and I’ll follow soon. And, by the
way,—you’re carrying that money with you?”
“Yes.”
“Let me take it. It’s far safer so.”
Rod Granniss opened his eyes wide. Was this strange man asking him to
transfer his trusted errand to him?
Wise laughed. “I can’t say I blame you for not wanting to hand it over.
But, this I do tell you,—it will be safe with me,—and it may not be with
you.”
“Why, nobody knows I have it!”
“Even so. I strongly advise your letting me take it,—but you must do as
you choose.”
“You’ll get it safely up to Mrs Varian?” Granniss said, reluctantly
producing the rather bulky parcel.
“Yes, I will,—and if I don’t,—I’ll make the loss good.”
He looked meaningly at the younger man, and, flushing a little, Rodney
said, “That’s right,—Mr Wise. I couldn’t make it good if I lost it. Take
it.”
And with no further security than the detective’s word, Granniss handed
over the money.
He went to his train in a most perturbed spirit. Had he done right or
not? It all depended on the fidelity of the detective. To be sure,
Granniss had every confidence in him, but the sum of money was so large
that it might well prove a temptation to hitherto impeccable honesty.
He boarded his train, still uncertain of the wisdom of his course, and
more uncertain as to what Mrs Varian would say.
But, he reasoned, if they were to employ the services of one of the best
and best known detectives in the country, it was surely right to obey his
first bit of advice.
This thought comforted Granniss somewhat, and he was further comforted by
an event which took place that night, and which proved the wisdom of the
detective’s advice.
Granniss was asleep in his lower berth when the merest feeling of a
cautious movement above awakened him.
He could hear no sound, but through half-dosed eyes, he saw the occupant
of the berth above crawl silently down and stealthily reach for Rodney’s
clothes, which were folded at the foot of the berth.
Interested rather than afraid, Granniss watched the performance, keeping
his own eyes nearly closed. It was too dark for him to see the marauder,
who worked entirely by feeling, and who swiftly examined the clothing of
his victim and then turned his attention to his bag.
Still Granniss made no sign, for he preferred to see the chagrin of the
robber rather than to interrupt him at his work.
The bag yielded nothing of interest, and then the upper berth man came
along and slipped his hand under Granniss’ pillow.
Deftly done as it was, Rodney shot out his own hand and grabbed the wrist
of the other. But it was twisted away from him, and in an instant the man
was back in his own berth.
Rod thought it over, and concluded to raise no outcry. In the morning he
would see who his visitor was, and then take such steps as he thought
best. He fell asleep, and when he awoke the sun was up and his would-be
robber had disappeared.
Chagrined at his own stupidity in over-sleeping, but rejoiced at the
safety of Mrs Varian’s money, Granniss went on with his journey home.
But, when he found on the floor of the car a handkerchief that had been
under his pillow, he realized that a still further search for treasure
had been made beneath his sleeping head.