The Trap
In a small but powerful motor boat Wise went on his voyage of
exploration. The man who managed the craft was a stolid, silent person
who obeyed Wise’s orders without comment.
But when the detective directed that he go round the base of the
headland, and skirt close to the rocks he grumbled at the danger.
“Be careful of the danger,” Wise said, “steer clear of hidden reefs, but
go close to the overhanging cliff, there where I’m pointing.”
Skirting the cliff, at last Wise discovered what he was looking for, a
small cave, worn in the rock by the sea. The floor of this cave rose
sharply and it was with difficulty that Wise managed to scramble from the
boat to a secure footing on the slippery wet rocks.
“Look out there,” said the imperturbable boatman, “you’ll get caught in
there when the tide comes up. I never noticed that hole in the wall
before, it must be out o’ sight ’ceptin’ at low tide.”
“Stay where you are and wait for me,” Wise directed, “if I’m not out here
again in half an hour, go on home. But I’ll probably be back in less than
that.”
“You will, if you’re back at all! The tide will turn in fifteen minutes
and in half an hour it’ll be all you can do to get out!”
Disappearing, Wise began his climb up the floor of the cave, and at a
point just above high water there was a fissure in the cliff which
admitted air and some light. At this point the cave ran back for some
distance, though still on a rising level. During the winter storms the
ocean evidently had worn this tunnel in the rock.
Wise at once realized that this nature-made tunnel ran on for some
distance until it ended in the old well.
Using his flashlight when necessary, he made his way, until he reached
the pile of stones which he himself had pushed out from the well and
found to his satisfaction that he had indeed come to the well, and that
his solution of the mystery of a secret passage into Headland House was
accomplished.
But what a solution! The difficulty and danger of entrance or exit by
means of that rock tunnel and that old well could scarce be exaggerated!
Moreover, all such entrances or exits must be made at the lowest ebb of
the tide. But the cave was roomy, not uncomfortable, and the tunnel,
though cramped in places, was fairly navigable.
There was plenty of room in the cave quite above reach of the highest
tide, and the whole matter was clear and simple now that he saw it all,
but he marveled at the energy and enterprise that could conceive, plan
and carry out the various attacks.
Whoever the criminal, or the master criminal, might be, he had come up
through that tunnel and well on the several occasions of the kidnapping
of Betty, the murder of Martha, the abduction of North,—yes,—and Wise
remembered the letter that had been mysteriously left on the hall
table,—also the night the library had been entered,—clearly, the man came
and went at will!
A master mind, Wise concluded, he had to deal with, and he set his own
best energies to work on his problems.
The way between Headland House and the outer world was not easy of
negotiation, but it was a way, and it was passable to a determined human
being.
Wise was back inside the prescribed half hour, and the uninterested
boatman took him back to the Harbor without question or comment as to his
enterprise.
That afternoon, Wise called Minna and Doctor Varian into the library and
closed the door.
Zizi was also present, her black eyes shining with anticipation, for she
knew from Wise’s manner and expression that he was making progress, and
was about to disclose his discoveries.
“I have learned a great deal,” the detective began, “but not all. At
least, I have found the so-called secret passage, which we all felt sure
must exist.”
He described the cave and the tunnel as he had found them, and the outlet
into the old well, so carefully piled with loose stones that it would
escape the observance of almost any searcher.
He told briefly but graphically of his exit from the well for a distance,
and of his later entrance from the cave and his procedure to the well.
Zizi nodded her bird-like little head, with an air of complete
understanding, Doctor Varian was absorbedly interested and profoundly
amazed, while Minna looked helplessly ignorant of just what Wise was
talking about.
“I can’t understand it,” she said, piteously, “but never mind that, I
don’t care, if you say it’s all so. Now, where is Betty?”
“That we don’t know yet,” Wise said, gently, “but we are on the way at
last to find out. As I reconstruct the crime, now, that day that Betty
returned for her camera, she must have done so under one of two
conditions. Either her errand was genuine, in which case, she surprised
the criminal here at some nefarious work,—or, which I think far more
probable, she came back pretending it was for her camera, but really
because of some message or communication which she had received
purporting some good to her, but really a ruse of the criminal, who was
here for the purpose of abducting the girl.”
“For ransom?” asked Doctor Varian.
“Yes, for ransom. Now, he would naturally attack her in the hall. Perhaps
she threw herself on the sofa, clung to it, and was carried off, still
holding that yellow pillow, either unconsciously, or he may have used it
to stifle her cries. There were two men involved, of that I am sure. For,
when they had partly accomplished their purpose, Mr Varian appeared at
the door and one of the men had to intercept his entrance.
“I rather fancy the killing of Mr Varian was unintentional,—or possibly,
self-defence, for these ruffians did not want to kill their blackmail
victim. They may have parleyed with the father to pay them to release the
girl, and when he showed fight, as he would, they did also, and as a
result, Mr Varian met his death.
“However, that is mere surmise. What we know is, that Betty was carried
through the kitchen where the pillow fell,—still holding one of her
hair-pins, probably caught during the struggle,—and she was carried down
the cellar stairs. During this trip her string of beads broke, and were
scattered about. As we never found but a few, and those were under
furniture or cupboards, I gather the villains picked up all they could
see, lest they should be found as evidence.”
“Which they were!” said Zizi.
“Which they were,” Wise assented. “Then, they carried that girl whether
conscious or chloroformed I can’t say, down to the cellar, down the old
well, through the tunnel to the cave. There they could wait any number of
hours until the tide served, and take her away in a boat without
attracting the notice of anybody.”
“Most likely at night,” Zizi put in.
“Most likely. Anyway, Mrs Varian, that’s my finding. It’s all very
dreadful, but horrifying as it is, it opens the way to better things. To
go on, there can be no doubt that this same villain, and a clever one he
is, returned here at night for plunder and on other errands.
“He came and left the letter found so mysteriously on the hall table. He
came to rob the library safe, thinking the ransom money was in it. And he
was spied upon and discovered by the maid, Martha, so that he ruthlessly
strangled the poor thing to death, rather than face exposure.”
“And then he abducted North!” Doctor Varian cried; “and it’s easy to see
why! North had doubtless also spied on him, and somehow he forced North
to go away with him,—perhaps at pistol’s point.”
“Now our question is,——”
“Two questions!” Zizi cried; “first, who is the criminal,—and second
where is he keeping Betty all this time?”
“Yes, and we know a great deal to start on.” Wise spoke thoughtfully. “We
know, almost to a certainty, that it is the man whom we call Stephen,
because he wrote threatening letters signed ‘Step.’ We know he is
diabolically clever, absolutely fearless, and willing to commit any crime
or series of crimes to gain his end, which is merely the large sum of
money he has demanded from Mrs Varian, and which he had previously
demanded from Mr Varian, as blackmail.”
“Why should he blackmail my husband?” Minna asked, tearfully, and Wise
said, “There is not always a sound reason for blackmail, Mrs Varian.
Sometimes it is an unjust accusation or a mistaken suspicion. Any way, as
you have often declared, Mr Frederick Varian was a noble and upright man,
and his integrity could not be questioned.”
“Now, then,” said Doctor Varian, “to find this master hand at crime. I am
astounded at your revelations, Mr Wise, and I confess myself utterly in
the dark as to our next step.”
“An animal that attacks in the open,” Wise returned, “may be shot or
snared. But a wicked, crafty animal may only be caught by a trap. I
propose to set a trap to catch our foe. It is a wicked trap, but he is a
wicked man. It will harm him physically, but he deserves to be harmed
physically. It is a sly, underhand method, but so are his own. Therefore,
I conclude that a trap is justified in his case.”
“You mean a real, literal mantrap?” asked the doctor.
“I mean just that. I have already procured it and I propose to set it
tonight. This is Thursday. As matters stand now, our ‘Stephen’ is
assuming or at least hoping that Mrs Varian means to accede to his last
request and throw the money over the cliff tomorrow, Friday night. Now, I
feel pretty positive that Stephen is not so confident of getting that
money safely as he pretends he is. He must be more or less fearful of
detection. I’m sure that he will return to this house tonight, by his
usual mode of entrance, and will try to steal the money. Then he will
disappear and he may or may not give up Betty.”
“You think he’ll come here? Tonight?” Doctor Varian was astonished.
“I do.”
“Then we’ll be ready for him! I fancy between us, Mr Wise, we can account
for him and his accomplice.”
“Too dangerous, Doctor. He would kill us both before we knew it. No, I’m
going to set my trap. If he comes he deserves to be trapped. If he
doesn’t come, there is certainly no harm done.”
“Where shall we hide the money?” asked Minna, nervously.
“It doesn’t matter,” and Wise’s face set sternly. “He will never get as
far as the money.”
Hating his job, but fully alive to the justice and necessity of it, Wise
set his trap that night.
It was a real trap, and was set up in the kitchen in such a position that
it faced the cellar door. It consisted of a short-barreled shotgun which
was mounted on an improvised gun carriage, made of a strong packing box.
This contrivance was fastened carefully to the kitchen wall about twelve
feet in front of the cellar door, and when the door should be opened, the
trap would be sprung and the shotgun discharged.
A steel spring fastened to the trigger, and a strong cord running to a
pulley in the ceiling, thence to another, and finally to a pulley in the
floor, and on to the door knob completed the deadly mechanism.
The tension of the spring was so carefully adjusted that an intruder
might open the door a foot or more before the strain was carried to the
trigger. This insured a sure aim and a clear shot.
Wise tested his trap thoroughly, and finally, with a grim nod of his
head, declared it was all right.
He had sent the servants and the women-folks to bed, before beginning his
work, and now he and Doctor Varian seated themselves in the library to
await developments.
“As I said,” Wise remarked, “‘Stephen’ may not come at all, he may send
an accomplice. Yet this I expect the most surely,—he will come himself.”
“Have you no idea of his identity, Mr Wise?” the doctor asked.
“Yes; I have an idea,—and if he does not come tonight, I will tell you
who I think he is. But we will wait and see.”
They waited, now silent and now indulging in a few low toned bits of
conversation, when at two o’clock in the morning the report of the gun
brought them to their feet and they raced to the kitchen.
The roaring detonation was still in their ears as they strode through the
hall, and the smell of powder greeted them at the kitchen door.
The cellar door was open, and on the floor near it lay a man breathing
with difficulty.
Doctor Varian dropped on his knees beside him, and his professional
instinct was at once in full working order, even as his astonished voice
exclaimed:
“Lawrence North!”
“As I expected,” Wise said, “and well he deserves his fate. Will he live,
Doctor?”
“Only a few moments,” was the preoccupied reply. “I can do nothing for
him. He received the full charge in the abdomen.”
“Tell your story, North,” Wise said, briefly; “don’t waste time in
useless groaning.”
North glared at the detective.
“You fiend!” he gasped, gurgling in rage and agony.
“You’re the fiend!” Varian said; “hush your vituperation and tell us
where Betty is.”
A smile of low cunning came over North’s villainous face. He used his
small remaining strength to say: “That you’ll never know. You’ve spiked
your own guns. Nobody knows but me,—and I won’t tell!”
Alarmed, Wise tried another tone.
“This won’t do, North,” he said; “whatever your crime, you can’t refuse
that last act of expiation. Tell where she is, and die the better for
it.”
“No,” gasped the dying man. “Bad I’ve lived and bad I’ll die. You’ll
never find Betty Varian. There are standing orders to do away with her if
anything happens to me, and,”—he tried to smile,—“something has
happened!”
“It sure has,” Wise said, and looked at him with real pity, for the man
was suffering tortures. “But, I command you, North, by the blood you have
shed, by the two human lives you have taken, by the heart of the wife and
mother that you have broken,—I charge you, give up your secret while you
have strength to do so!”
For a moment, North seemed to hesitate.
A little stimulant administered by the doctor gave him a trifle more
strength, but then his face changed,—he turned reminiscent.
“Good work,” he said, it seemed, exultingly. “When I first found the cave
a year ago, I began to plan how I could get the Varians to take this
house. They little thought I brought it about through the real estate
people——”
“Never mind all that,” Wise urged him, “where’s Betty?”
“Betty? ah, yes,—Betty——” His mind seemed to wander again and Varian gave
him a few drops more stimulant.
“Get it out of him,” he said to the detective, “this will lose all
efficacy in another few moments. He is going.”
“Going, am I?” and North was momentarily alert. “All right, Doc, I’ll go
and my secret will go with me.”
“Where is Betty?” Wise leaned over the miserable wretch, as if he would
drag the secret from him by sheer will power.
But the other’s will power matched his own.
“Betty,” he said,—“oh, yes, Betty. Really, my wife’s daughter, you
know,—my step-daughter,—I had a right to her, didn’t I——”
“‘Step’!” Wise cried, “Step, that you signed to those letters was short
for Stepfather!”
“Yes, of course; my wife didn’t mean to tell me that story,—didn’t know
she did,—she babbled in her sleep, and I got it out of her by various
hints and allusions. Mrs Varian never knew, so I bled the old man. My, he
was in a blue funk whenever I attacked him about it!”
“Where is she now?” Wise hinted.
“No, sir, you don’t get it out of me. You caught me,—damn you! now I’ll
make you wish you hadn’t!” and Lawrence North died without another word.
Baffled, and spent with his exhausting efforts, Wise left the dead man in
the doctor’s care and returned to the library.
He found Zizi there. She had listened from the hall and had overheard
much that went on, but she couldn’t bring herself to go where the wounded
man lay.
“Oh, Penny,” she sobbed, “he didn’t tell! Maybe if I had gone in I could
have got it out of him! But I c-couldn’t look at him——”
“Never mind, dear, that’s all right. He wouldn’t have told you, either.
The man is the worst criminal I have ever known. He has no drop of
humanity in his veins. As to remorse or regret, he never knew their
meaning! Now, what shall we do? Is Mrs Varian awake?”
“Yes; in mild hysterics. Fletcher is with her.”
“Doctor Varian must go to her, and after that doubtless you can soothe
her better than any one else. I’ll get Potter and Dunn up here,—and I
fervently hope it’s for the last time!”
“Penny, your work was wonderful! You were right, a thing like that had to
be trapped,—not caught openly. You’re a wonder!”
“Yet it all failed, when I failed to learn where Betty is. I shall find
her,—but I fear,—oh, Zizi, I fear that the evil that man has done will
live after him,—and I fear for the fate of Betty Varian.”
Zizi tried to cheer him, but her heart too was heavy with vague fears,
and she left him to his routine work of calling the police and once again
bringing them up to Headland House on a gruesome errand.
These things done, Wise went at once to North’s bungalow in Headland
Harbor. He had small hope of finding Joe Mills there, and as he had
foreseen, that worthy had decamped. Nor did they ever see him again.
“I suppose,” Wise said afterward, “he was in the cellar when North was
killed; but I never thought of him then, nor could I have caught him as
he doubtless fled away in the darkness to safety.”
“Then it was a put up job, that scene of struggle and confusion in
North’s bedroom that day he disappeared?” Bill Dunn asked of Wise.
“Yes; I felt it was, but I couldn’t see how he got away. You see, at that
time, North began to feel that my suspicions were beginning to turn in
his direction, and he thought by pretending to be abducted himself, he
would argue a bold and wicked kidnapper again at work. At any rate, he
wanted to get away, and stay away the better to carry on his dreadful
purposes, and he chose that really clever way of departing. The touch of
leaving his watch behind was truly artistic,—unless he forgot it. Well,
now to find Betty Varian.”
“Just a minute, Mr Wise. How’d you come to think of looking for that cave
arrangement?”
“After I began to suspect North, I watched him very closely. I had in my
mind some sort of rock passage, and when I took him out in a boat, or Joe
Mills, either, when we went close to that part of the rocks where the
cave is, I noted their evident efforts _not_ to look toward a certain
spot. It was almost amusing to see how their eyes strayed that way, and
were quickly averted. They almost told me just where to look!”
“Wonderful work!” Dunn exclaimed, heartily. “No,” Wise returned, “only a
bit of psychology. Now to find Betty.”
But though the detective doubtless would have recovered the missing girl,
he had not the opportunity, for love had found a way.
By the hardest sort of work and with indefatigable perseverance, Granniss
had gone from one to another of the various officials, mechanicians and
even workmen of the moving picture company he was on the trail of and
after maddening delays caused by their lack of method, their careless
records and their uncertain memories, he finally found out where the
picture of a crowd, in which Betty had appeared, was taken.
And then by further and unwearying search, he found an old but strongly
built and well guarded house where he had reason to think Betty was
imprisoned.
Finding this, he didn’t wait for proofs of his belief, but telegraphed
for Pennington Wise and Sheriff Potter to come there at once and gain
entrance.
Rod’s inexperience led him to adopt this course, but it proved a good
one, for his telegram reached Wise the day after North’s death, and he
hurried off, Potter with him.
The house was in Vermont, and while Potter made the necessary
arrangements with the local authorities, Wise went on to meet Granniss.
“There’s the house,” and Wise saw the rather pleasant-looking old
mansion. “I’m dead sure Betty’s in there, but I can’t get entrance,
though I’ve tried every possible way.”
But the arrival of the police soon effected an entrance, and armed with
the knowledge of North’s death as well as more material implements, they
all went in.
Pretty Betty, as pretty as ever, though pale and thin from worry and
fear, ran straight into Granniss’ arms and nestled there in such absolute
relief and content, that the other men present turned away from the scene
with a choke in their throats.
If Granniss hadn’t found her!
The news of North’s death brought the jailers to terms at once. They were
a man and wife, big, strong people, who were carrying out North’s orders
“to be kind and proper to the girl, but not to let her get away.”
The moving picture incident had occurred just as Wise had surmised. On
her daily walks for exercise, Betty was sometimes allowed to get into a
crowd at the studio near by, and frequently she had tried her clever plan
of silent talk. But only once had that plan succeeded.
Yet once was enough, and Granniss said, “Look here, you people, clear up
all the red tape, won’t you? Betty and I want to go home!”
“Run along,” said Wise, kindly. “There’s a train in an hour. Skip,—and
God bless you!”
Their arrival at Headland House, heralded by a telegram to Zizi, had no
unduly exciting effects on Minna Varian.
Doctor Varian watched her, but as he saw the radiant joy with which she
clasped Betty in her arms, he had no fear of the shock of joy proving too
much for her.
“Oh, Mother,” Betty cried, “don’t let’s talk about it now. I’ll tell you
anything you want to know some other time. Now, just let me revel in
being here!”
Nor did any one bother the poor child save to ask a few important
questions.
These brought the information that Betty had been decoyed back to the
house that day, by a false message purporting to be from Granniss, asking
her to return after the rest left the house, and call him up on the
telephone. This Betty tried to do, using her camera as an excuse.
But she never reached the telephone. Once in the house, she was grasped
and the assailants, there were two, attempted to chloroform her. But
chloroforming is not such a speedy matter as many believe and she was
still struggling against the fumes when her father appeared.
North held Betty while the other man, who was Joe Mills, fought Frederick
Varian, and, in the struggle, shot him.
This angered North so, that he lost his head. He almost killed Mills in
his rage and fury, and seizing Betty, made for the secret passage.
On the way, her string of beads broke, the pillow which they used to help
make her unconscious was dropped on the kitchen floor, and then she was
carried down the well, through the tunnel and cave and away in a swift
motor boat.
But in a half conscious state, all these things were like a dream to her.
“A dream which must not be recalled,” said Granniss, with an air of
authority that sat well upon him.
“My blessing,” Minna said, fondling the girl. “Never mind about anything,
now that I have you back. I miss your father more than words can say, but
with you restored, I can know happiness again. Let us both try to
forget.”
Later, a council was held as to whether to tell Minna the true story of
Betty’s birth.
The two young people had to be told, and Doctor Varian was appealed to
for a decision regarding Minna.
“I don’t know,” he said, uncertainly. “You see it explains the pearls,——”
“I’ll tell you,” Granniss said. “Don’t let’s tell Mother Varian now.
Betty and I will be married very soon, and after that we can see about
it. Or, if she has to know at the time of the wedding, we’ll tell her
then. But let her rejoice in her new found child as her own child as long
as she can. Surely she deserves it.”
“And _you_ don’t care?” Betty asked, looking at him, wistfully.
“My darling! I don’t care whether you’re the daughter of a princess or
pauperess,—you’ll soon be my wife, and Granniss is all the name you’ll
ever want or need!”
“Bless your sweet hearts,” said Zizi, her black eyes showing a tender
gleam for the girl she had so long known of, and only now known.
“And bless your sweetheart, when you choose one!” Betty said, her happy
heart so full of joy that her old gayety already began to return.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Provided an original cover image, for free and unrestricted use with
this Distributed Proofreaders-Canada eBook.
--Silently corrected obvious typographical errors; left non-standard
spellings and dialect unchanged.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Vanishing of Betty Varian, by Carolyn Wells