PLANNING AN ELOPEMENT
There was some sort of telepathy or some subconscious impulse that made
Anita Austin open her bedroom door in response to a light tap, although
she had resolved to talk to nobody just then.
But when she saw Gordon Lockwood she was glad she had, and, without
waiting for an invitation he stepped inside the room and closed the door.
He looked at her with a face full of compassion and love, but he spoke as
one who must attend to an important business.
“Anita,” he said, speaking very low, “the crisis has come. They have
learned of the check Doctor Waring gave you that night, and it is the
last straw. Stone is already, I think, convinced of your guilt, and that
young chap, McGuire, will get at the bottom of everything, I’m sure.”
“Check? What do you mean?” Miss Mystery said, with a blank look on her
face.
“Don’t equivocate with me, dear.” Lockwood laid his hand gently on hers.
“There’s no time now to tell you of my love, as I want to tell it. Now,
we can only assume that it is all told, that we are engaged, and that we
are to be married at once. We are going to elope, Anita.”
“Elope!” she stared at him, but her eyes grew soft and her pale cheeks
flushed. “What _do_ you mean?”
“It isn’t a pretty word,” Gordon smiled, “but it’s the only thing to do,
you see. If you stay here, you’ll be arrested. If you go, I go with you.
So—we both go, and that makes it an elopement.”
“But, Gordon—”
“But, Anita—answer me just one question—do you love me?”
“Yes,” with an adorable upward glance and smile.
“More than you loved Doctor Waring?”
Their eyes met. Lockwood’s usually inscrutable face was desperately
eager, and his deep eyes showed smouldering passion. He held her by the
shoulders, he looked steadily at her, awaiting her answer.
“Yes,” she said, at last, her lovely lips quivering.
“That’s all I want to know!” he whispered, triumphantly, as he kissed the
scarlet lips, and drew the slender form into his embrace.
“You must know more—” she began, “and—and I can’t tell you. Oh, Gordon—”
She hid her face on his broad shoulder, and he gently stroked her hair,
as he said:
“Don’t tell me anything now, dearest. Don’t ever tell me, unless you
choose. And, anyway, I know it all. I know you had never known the Doctor
before, and I’ll tell you how I know. I found in his scrap basket a note
to you—”
“A note to me!” Fresh terror showed in the dark eyes.
“Yes—don’t mind. No one else ever saw it. I burned it. But it said,
‘Darling Anita. Since you came into my life, life is worth living’—or
something like that—”
“When—when did he write that?”
“Sometime on that fatal Sunday. I suppose after he met you in the
afternoon, and before you came that evening. Remember, Sweetheart, if
ever you want to tell me all about that late visit to him, do so. But, if
not, I never shall ask or expect you to. But that’s all in the future—our
dear future, which we shall spend together—together, Anita! Are you
glad?”
“Oh, so glad!” and the soft arms crept round his neck and Miss Mystery
gave him a kiss that thrilled his very soul. “Will you take care of me,
Gordon?”
“Take care of you, my little love! Take care of you, is it? Just give me
the chance!”
“You seem to have a pretty big chance, right now,” a smiling face reached
up to his. “But—” she seemed suddenly to recollect something, “about a
check—he didn’t give me a check—”
Lockwood laid a hand over her mouth.
“Hush, dearest. Don’t tell me things that aren’t—aren’t so. I saw the
stub—a check for ten thousand dollars—made out to Anita Austin, and dated
that very Sunday. Now, hush—” as she began to speak, “we’ve no time to
talk these things over. I tell you the police are on your track. They
will come here, they will arrest you—try to get that in your head. I am
going to save you—first, for your own sweet sake, and also for my own.”
“But, Gordon, wait a minute. Do you believe I killed John Waring?”
Lockwood looked at her.
“Don’t ask me that, Anita. And, truly, I don’t know whether I believe it
or not. I know you have told falsehoods, I know you were there that
night, I know of his letter to you, of the check and of the ruby pin and
the money. But I—no, I do not know that you killed him. There are many
other theories possible—there’s Nogi—but, my darling, it all makes no
difference. I love you, I want you, whatever the circumstances or
conditions of your life, or your deeds. I love you so, that I want you
even if you are a criminal—for in that case, I want to protect and save
you. Now, don’t tell me you did or didn’t kill the man, for—” he gave her
a whimsical smile, “I couldn’t believe you in either case! I’ve not much
opinion of your veracity, and, too, it’s too big a matter to talk about
now. Of course I don’t believe you killed him! You, my little love! And
yet, the evidence is so overpowering that I—believe you did kill him!
There, how’s that for a platform? Now, let all those things be, and get
ready to go away with me. I tell you we’re going to elope and mighty
quickly too. The difficulty is, to get away unseen. But it must be done.
Pack a small handbag—a very small one. I’ll plan our way out—and if we
can make a getaway under the noses of Stone and his boy, we’ll soon be
all right. I’ve a friend who will motor us to a nearby town, where a dear
old minister, who has known and loved me from boyhood, will marry us.”
“Doesn’t he know about—about me?”
“My little girl, leave all the details of this thing to me. Don’t bother
your lovely head about it. It will be all right—trust me—if we can
escape.”
“Is it right for me to go? Oughtn’t I stay and—what do they call it? give
myself up?”
“Anita, if I didn’t love you so, I’d scold you, hard! Now, you obey your
future lord and master, and get ready for a hurry-up wedding, I’m sorry
that you can’t have bridesmaids and choir boys—but, you’ll pardon me, I
know, if I remind you that that isn’t my fault.”
Miss Mystery looked up and broke into laughter. Truly, she was a mystery!
Her gayety was as spontaneous and merry as if she had never heard of
crime or tragedy.
Lockwood gazed at her curiously, and then nodded his handsome head, as he
said, “You’ll do, Anita! You’re a little bit of all right.”
But in a moment her mood changed.
“Gordon, we can’t,” she said, slowly. “We never can get away from this
house—let alone the detectives. Miss Bascom is on continual watch and
Mrs. Adams—”
“I know, dear. That’s it. I thought if you could manage that part, I’d
see to evading the Stone faction. Can’t you think up a plan?”
“Love will find a way,” she whispered, and unable to resist the inviting
smile, Gordon again caught her in his arms, and held her close in an
ecstasy of possession.
“You are so sweet,” he murmured, with an air of saying something
important. “Oh, my Little Girl, how I love you! The moment I first saw
you—”
“When was that?”
“That night at—at the Doctor’s lectures. I sat behind you, I changed my
seat to do so—and I counted the buttons on your dear little gray
frock—that was one way I discovered your presence in the study that
night.” He spoke gravely now. “And there was another way. I heard you
talking. Yes, I heard your blessed voice—remember, I loved you then—and I
heard Waring talking to you. I could make out no word—I didn’t try—but
now I wish I had—for it might help you.”
“I wish you had, Gordon,” she returned, solemnly, “it would have helped
me.”
“But you can tell me, dear, tell me all the conversation. Surely you
trust me now.”
“I trust you—but—oh, as you say, there’s no time. It’s a long story—a
dreadful story—I don’t want to tell you—”
“Then you shan’t. I’ve promised you that, you know. Not until you want to
tell me, will I ask for a word of it.”
“Now, here’s another thing,” and Anita blushed, deeply, “if we go away—as
you say—what about—about money?”
Lockwood stared at her. “I have money,” he said; “why do you ask that?”
“But—but the awful detective people—said you—you were terribly in debt.”
“Brave little girl, to say that. I know you hated to. Well, my darling,
those precious bills that those precious detectives dug up in my desk,
are old bills that were owed by my father—his name was the same as mine—”
“The same as yours! How queer!”
“Oh, not a unique instance. Anyway, those bills I am paying off as I can.
I’m not legally responsible for them, but I want to clear my dad’s name,
and all that. Now, all that can wait—while I take unto me a wife, and
arrange for her comfort and convenience. But, is there—now remember, I’m
not prying—is there any one whose permission you must ask to marry me?”
“No, I’m twenty-one—that’s of age in any state.”
“Why, you aged person! I deemed you about eighteen.”
“Do you mind?”
“No; you goosie! But—your mother, now?”
“Oh—my mother. She doesn’t care what I do.”
“And your father? Forgive me, but I have to ask.”
“My father is dead.”
“Then come along. Let’s begin to get ready to go.”
“Wait a minute—Gordon—to get married—must I—must I tell my real name?”
His eyes clouded a trifle.
“Yes, dear heart,” he said, very gently, “yes, you must.”
“Then I can’t get married, Gordon.”
Miss Mystery sat down and folded her little hands in her lap, her whole
attitude that of utter despair.
“But, Sweetheart, no one need know except the minister and witnesses—”
“And you?”
“Yes—and I—”
“Oh, I can’t marry you, anyway. I can’t marry anybody. I can’t tell who I
am! Oh, let them take me away, and let them arrest me and I hope they’ll
convict me—and—”
“Hush, my precious girl, hush.” Lockwood took her in his arms, and let
her stifle her sobs on his breast. He was bewildered. What was the truth
about this strange child? For in her abandonment of grief, Anita seemed a
very child, a tortured irresponsible soul, whose only haven was in the
arms now around her.
“You will go with me, anyway, Anita,” he said, with an air of authority.
“I must take care of you. We will go, as I planned. The minister I told
you of, is a great and good man, he will advise you—”
“Oh, no, I don’t want to talk to a minister!”
“Yes, you do. And his wife is a dear good woman. They will take you into
their hearts and home—and then we can all decide what to do. At any rate,
you must get away from here. Come, now, pack your bag—and would you
mind—Anita—if I ask you not to take the—the money and the ruby pin—”
“But he gave them to me! I tell you, Gordon, John Waring gave me those of
his own free will—”
“Because of his affection for you?”
“Yes; for no other reason! I will keep the pin, anyway—I will!”
“Anita, have you any idea how you puzzle me? how you torture me? Well,
take what you like. Will you get ready now, and I will let you know as
soon as I can, how and when we can start.”
A loud rap was followed by an immediate opening of the door, and Mrs.
Adams came into the room.
She stared at Lockwood, but made no comment on his presence there.
“Miss Austin,” she began, “I do not wish you to stay in my house any
longer. I have kept you until now, because my husband was so sorry for
you, and refused to turn you out. Nor am I turning you out, but—I wish
you would leave us alone, Mr. Lockwood.”
Gordon started to speak, but Anita interrupted him.
“Go, please,” she said, quietly, and Lockwood obeyed.
“I cannot blame you, Mrs. Adams,” Miss Mystery said; “I daresay you have
to consider your other boarders, and I thank you for your kindness and
forbearance you have shown me so far.”
The tears were in the big dark eyes, and even as they moved Mrs. Adams to
sympathy, she also wondered if they were real. “A girl who would redden
her lips would be capable of any deceit and duplicity,” Esther Adams
reasoned.
But she went on, calmly.
“I come now, Miss Austin, to tell you that Mr. Trask is down stairs and
wants to see you. He wants you to go to his house to stay. The Peytons
are there, of course, and he offers you the shelter of his roof and
protection until this dreadful matter is settled up.”
“Mr. Trask!” Anita looked her amazement.
“Yes; now don’t be silly. You very well know he is mad about you, and he
hopes to get you freed and then marry you.”
“Oh, he does!” It was the old, scornful Miss Mystery who spoke. “Well,
will you please tell him from me—”
“Now, don’t you be too hoity-toity, miss! You’re mighty lucky to have a
home offered you—”
“Yes, that’s quite true. Well, Mrs. Adams, will you go down, then and say
I’ll be down in a moment or two. Give me time to freshen my appearance a
bit.”
“Yes, with paints and powders and cosmetics!” Esther Adams grumbled to
herself, as she went down the stairs.
As a matter of fact she quite misjudged the girl. Very rarely did Anita
resort to artificial aid of that sort, but when she so desired, she used
it as she would any other personal adornment.
“She’s coming down,” Mrs. Adams announced, as she returned to Trask and
they waited.
But when the minutes grew to a quarter of an hour, and then nearly to a
half, Mrs. Adams again climbed the stairs to hasten proceedings.
This time she found the room empty.
The absence, too, of brushes and combs, the disappearance of a small
suitcase, and the fact that her hat and coat were gone all pointed
unmistakably to the assumption that the girl had fled.
“Well!” Mrs. Adams reported, “she’s lit out, bag and baggage.”
“Gone!” exclaimed Trask in dismay.
“Well, she isn’t in her room. Her trunk is locked and strapped and her
suitcase is missing. Her hat and coat’s gone, too, so you can make your
own guess.”
But Maurice Trask didn’t stay there to make his guess.
He went back home as fast as he could and told Fleming Stone the news.
“Run away, has she?” said Stone. “I rather looked for that.”
“You did! And took no steps to prevent it! You’re a nice detective, you
are. Well, if you’re so smart, where’d she go?”
“Where’s Lockwood?” was Stone’s laconic response.
“Lockwood!” exclaimed Trask. “Wherever he is, he hasn’t run off with
Anita Austin! If he has—by Jove, I’ll break every bone in his body!”
“You’ll have to catch him first,” smiled the detective.
“I’ll catch him! I’ll set you to do it. And, looky here, if she’s gone
off with that man, you can go ahead and catch her, catch them both, and
then go ahead and prove her guilty.”
“Is she?”
“Is she? You bet she is! And I know it.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ll tell you. I know her eyebrows!”
“So do I know her eyebrows. But they don’t tell me she’s a murderer.”
“Well, they tell me that! It’s this way. Her eyebrows, are not only heavy
and dark, but they almost meet over the bridge of her nose.”
“Darling nose!” put in Fibsy, who was interested in Anita but not in
Trask’s deductions.
“Does your knowledge of physiognomy tell you that those meeting eyebrows
are a sign of a criminal?” asked Stone.
“Nothing of that sort. But they are the Truesdell brows.”
“The Truesdell brows?” Stone raised his own. “Sounds like a proprietary
article. Not artificial, are they?”
“Now, see here, Mr. Stone, I’m in no mood to be guyed. Those eyebrows are
frequently seen in the Truesdell family. My grandfather’s brother married
a Truesdell.”
“Your grandfather’s brother married a Truesdell. And your own grandfather
didn’t?”
“No; I haven’t those brows.”
“Well, you’re not entitled to them, having no Truesdell blood in your
veins.”
“But that girl has.”
“Indeed! Interesting, is it not?”
“Aw, come off that line o’ talk, F. S.,” said Fibsy, knitting his brows,
which were not Truesdellian. “I’m seein’ a chink o’ light. The brother of
your grandfather, now, Mr. Trask, he was named—?”
“Waring, of course. Henry Waring. My grandfather was James Waring.”
“And this Henry Waring—he was the father of Doctor John Waring?”
As Fibsy said this, Stone sat upright, and gazed hard at Trask.
“Yes, John Waring’s father was Henry, and my grandfather was Henry’s
brother James. That’s how I’m related. And being the only one, that’s why
I’m the heir here. But, don’t you see, Doctor Waring’s mother was a
Truesdell—”
“And Miss Austin is a relative of hers—a connection of the Truesdell
family somehow—” exclaimed the now excited Fibsy, “and she found out
about it, and came here and—”
“Yes,” Trask said, “and tried to get some money from John Waring on the
ground of relationship.”
“What relation could she be?”
“Maybe a niece of Doctor Waring—or a cousin. Maybe the same relation to
Doctor Waring’s mother that I am to his father. Then, that would explain
his giving her money and the pin—and maybe she burnt the will! and then
she—”
“But it complicates everything,” said Stone, who was thinking quickly.
“However, if Miss Austin is connected with the Truesdell family it gives
us a way to look to learn her history.”
“Well, learn it,” said Trask, abruptly. “I’m not afraid of losing my
inheritance for I’m in the direct Waring line and she can’t be.”