MARGARET HEFFERMAN'S FAILURE
The disappearance of Ramon Hamilton, coming so soon after the sudden
death of his prospective father-in-law, caused a profound sensation.
In the small hours of the night, before the press had been apprised of
the event and when every probable or possible place where the young
lawyer might be had been communicated with in vain, Henry Blaine set
the perfect machinery of his forces at work to trace him.
It was dawn before he could spare a precious moment to go to Anita
Lawton. On his arrival he found her pacing the floor, wringing her
slim hands in anguish.
"He is dead." She spoke with the dull hopelessness of utter
conviction. "I shall never see him again. I feel it! I know it!"
"My dear child!" Blaine put his hands upon her shoulders in fatherly
compassion. "You must put all such morbid fancies from your mind. He
is not dead and we shall find him. It may be all a mistake--perhaps
some important matter concerning a client made it necessary for him to
leave the city over night."
She shook her head despairingly.
"No, Mr. Blaine. You know as well as I that Ramon is just starting in
his profession. He has no clients of any prominence, and my father's
influence was really all that his rising reputation was being built
upon. Besides, nothing but a serious accident or--or death would keep
him from me!"
"If he had met with any accident his identity would have been
discovered and we would be notified, unless, as in the case when he
was run down by that motor-car, he did not wish them to let you know
for fear of worrying you."
Blaine watched the young girl narrowly as he spoke. Was she aware of
the two additional attempts only the day before on the life of the man
she loved?
"He merely followed a dear, unselfish impulse because he knew that in
a few hours at most he would be with me; but now it is morning! The
dawn of a new day, and no word from him! Those terrible people who
tried to kill him that other time to keep him from coming to me in my
trouble have made away with him. I am sure of it now."
The detective breathed more freely. Evidently Ramon Hamilton had had
the good sense to keep from her his recent danger.
"You can be sure of nothing, Miss Lawton, save the fact that Mr.
Hamilton is _not_ dead," Henry Blaine said earnestly. "You do not
realize, perhaps, the one salient fact that criminal experts who deal
with cases of disappearance have long since recognized--the most
difficult of all things to conceal or do away with in a large city is
a dead body."
Anita shivered and clasped her hands convulsively, but she did not
speak, and after a scarcely perceptible pause, the detective went on:
"You must not let your mind dwell on the possibilities; it will only
entail useless, needless suffering on your part. My experiences have
been many and varied in just such cases as this, and in not one in
fifty does serious harm come to the subject of the investigation. In
fact, in this instance, I think it quite probable that Mr. Hamilton
has left the city of his own accord, and in your interests."
"In my interests?" Anita repeated, roused from her lethargy of sorrow
by his words, as he had intended that she should be. "Left the city?
But why?"
"When he called upon me yesterday morning I told him of a commission
which I wished him to execute for me in connection with your
investigation. I gave him some preliminary instructions and he was to
return to me in the afternoon for a letter of introduction and to
learn some minor details of the matter involved. He did not appear at
the hour of our appointment and I concluded that he had taken the
affair into his own hands and had gone immediately upon leaving my
office to fulfill his mission."
"Oh, perhaps he did!" The young girl started from her chair, her dull,
tearless eyes suddenly bright with hope. "That would be like Ramon; he
is so impulsive, so anxious to help me in every way! Where did you
send him, Mr. Blaine? Can't we telephone, or wire and find out if he
really has gone to this place? Please, please do! I cannot endure this
agony of uncertainty, of suspense, much longer!"
"Unfortunately, we cannot do that!" Blaine responded, gravely. "To
attempt to communicate with him where I have sent him would be to show
our hand irretrievably to the men we are fighting and undo much of the
work which has been accomplished. He may communicate with you or
possibly with me, if he finds that he can contrive to accomplish it
safely."
"Safely? Then if he has gone to this place, wherever it is, he is in
danger?" Anita faltered, tremblingly.
"By no means. The only danger is that his identity and purpose may be
disclosed and our plans jeopardized," the detective reassured her
smoothly. "I know it is hard to wait for news, but one must school
oneself to patience under circumstances such as this. It may be
several days before you hear from Mr. Hamilton and you must try not to
distress yourself with idle fears in the meantime."
"But it is not certain--we have no assurance that he really did go
upon that mission." The light of hope died in her eyes as she spoke,
and a little sob rose in her throat. "Oh, Mr. Blaine, promise me that
you will leave no stone unturned to find him!"
"My dear child, you must trust in me and have faith in my long years
of experience. I have already, as a precautionary measure, started a
thorough investigation into Mr. Hamilton's movements yesterday, and in
the event that he has not gone on the errand I spoke of, it can only
be a question of hours before he will be located. You did not see him
yesterday?"
"No. He promised to lunch with me, but he never came nor did he
telephone or send me any word. Surely, if he had meant to leave town
he would have let me know!"
"Not necessarily, Miss Lawton." Blaine's voice deepened persuasively.
"He was very much excited when he left my office, interested heart and
soul in the mission I had entrusted to him. Remember, too, that it was
all for you, for your sake alone."
"And I may not know where he has gone?" Anita asked, wistfully.
"I think, perhaps, that is why Mr. Hamilton did not communicate with
you before leaving town," the detective replied, significantly. "He
agreed with me that it would be best for you not to know, in your own
interests, where he was going. You must try to believe that I am
doing all in my power to help you, and that my judgment is in such
matters better than yours."
"I do, Mr. Blaine. Indeed I do trust you absolutely; you must believe
that." She reached out an impulsive hand toward him, and his own
closed over it paternally for a moment. Then he gently released it.
Anita sighed and sank back resignedly in her chair. There was a
moment's pause before she added:
"It is hard to be quiescent when one is so hedged in on all sides by
falsehood and deceit and the very air breathes conspiracy and
intrigue. I have no tangible reason to fear for my own life, of
course, but sometimes I cannot help wondering why it has not been
imperiled. Surely it would be easier for my father's enemies to do
away with me altogether than to have conceived and carried out such an
elaborate scheme to rob me and defame my father's memory. But I will
try not to entertain such thoughts. I am nervous and overwrought, but
I will regain my self-control. In the meantime, I shall do my best to
be patient and wait for Ramon's return."
Henry Blaine felt a glow of pardonable elation, but his usually
expressive face did not betray by a single flicker of an eyelash
that he had gained his point. He knew that Ramon Hamilton had never
started on that mission to Long Bay, but if the young girl's
health and reason were to be spared, her anxiety must be allayed.
Courageous and self-controlled as she had been through all the grief
and added trouble which besieged her on every hand, the keen
insight of the detective warned him that she was nearing the
breaking-point. If she fully realized the blow which threatened
her in the sudden disappearance of her lover, together with the
sinister events which had immediately preceded it, she would be
crushed to the earth.
"You must try to rest." Blaine rose and motioned toward the window
through which the cold rays of the wintry sun were stealing and
putting the orange glow of the electric lights to shame. "See. It is
morning and you have had no sleep."
"But you must not go just yet, Mr. Blaine! I cannot rest until I know
who that man was whose voice I heard over your telephone this morning.
What did he mean? He said that his wife committed suicide; that he
himself had been ruined! And all through my father and you! It cannot
be true, of course; but I must know to what he referred!"
"I will tell you. It is best that you should know the truth. Your
father was absolutely innocent in the matter, but his enemies and
yours might find it expedient to spread fake reports which would only
add to your sorrow. You know, you must remember since your earliest
childhood, how every one came to your father with their perplexities
and troubles and how benevolently they were received, how wisely
advised, how generously aided. Not only bankers and financiers in the
throes of a panic, but men and women in all walks of life came to him
for counsel and relief."
"I know. I know!" Anita whispered with bowed head, the quick tears of
tender memory starting in her eyes.
"Such a one who came to him for advice in her distress was the wife of
Herbert Armstrong. She was a good woman, but through sheer ignorance
of evil she had committed a slight indiscretion, nothing more than the
best of women might be led into at any time. We need not go into
details. It is enough to tell you that certain unscrupulous persons
had her in their power and were blackmailing her. She fell their
victim through the terror of being misunderstood, and when she could
no longer accede to their demands she came to your father, her
husband's friend, for advice. Herbert Armstrong was insanely jealous
of his wife, and in your father's efforts to help her he unfortunately
incurred the unjust suspicions of the man. Armstrong brought suit for
divorce, intending to name Mr. Lawton as corespondent."
"Oh, how could he!" Anita cried, indignantly. "The man must have
been mad! My father was the soul of honor. Every one--the whole
world--knows that! Besides, his heart was buried, all that he did
not give to me, deep, deep in the sea where Mother and my little
brother and sister are lying! He never even looked at another
woman, save perhaps in kindness, to help and comfort those who
were in trouble. But when did you come into the case, Mr. Blaine?
That man whose voice I heard to-day must have been Herbert Armstrong
himself, of course. Why did he say that you, as well as my father,
were responsible for his tragedy?"
"Because when Mr. Lawton became aware of Armstrong's ungovernable
jealousy and the terrible length to which he meant to go in his effort
to revenge himself, he--your father--came to me to establish Mrs.
Armstrong's innocence, and his, in the eyes of the world. Armstrong's
case, although totally wrong from every standpoint, was a very strong
one, but fortunately I was able to verify the truth and was fully
prepared to prove it. Just on the eve of the date set for the trial,
however, a tragedy occurred which brought the affair to an abrupt and
pathetic end."
"A tragedy? Mrs. Armstrong's suicide, you mean?" asked Anita, in
hushed tones. "How awful!"
"She was deeply in love with her husband. His unjust accusations and
the public shame he was so undeservedly bringing upon her broke her
heart. I assured her that she would be vindicated, that Armstrong
would be on his knees to her at the trial's end. Your father tried to
infuse her with courage, to gird her for the coming struggle to defend
her own good name, but it was all of no use. She was too broken in
spirit. Life held nothing more for her. On the night before the case
was to have been called, she shot herself."
"Poor thing!" Anita murmured, with a sob running through her soft
voice. "Poor, persecuted woman. Why did she not wait! Knowing her own
innocence and loving her husband as she did, she could have forgiven
him for his cruel suspicion when it was all over! But surely Herbert
Armstrong knows the truth now. How can he blame you and my father for
the wreck which he made of his own life?"
"Because his mind has become unhinged. He was always excitable and
erratic, and his weeks of jealous wrath, culminating in the shock of
the sudden tragedy, and the realization that he had brought it all on
himself, were too much for him. He was a broker and one of the most
prominent financiers in the city, but with the divorce fiasco and the
death of Mrs. Armstrong, he began to brood. He shunned the friends who
were left to him, neglected his business and ultimately failed.
Sinking lower and lower in the scale of things, he finally disappeared
from Illington. You can understand now why I thought it best when you
told me of the conversation you had overheard in the library here a
few hours before your father's death, and of the mention of Herbert
Armstrong's name, to trace him and find out if it was he who had come
in the heart of the night and attempted to blackmail Mr. Lawton."
"I understand. That was why you wanted me to hear his voice yesterday
and see if I recognized it. But it was not at all like that of the man
in the library on the night of my father's death. And do you know, Mr.
Blaine"--she leaned forward and spoke in still lower tones--"when I
recall that voice, it seems to me, sometimes, that I have heard it
before. There was a certain timbre in it which was oddly familiar. It
is as if some one I knew had spoken, but in tones disguised by rage
and passion. I shall recognize that voice when I hear it again, if it
holds that same note; and when I do--"
Blaine darted a swift glance at her from under narrowed brows. "But
why attribute so much importance to it?" he asked. "To be sure, it may
have some bearing upon our investigation, although at present I can
see no connecting link. You feel, perhaps, that the violent emotions
superinduced by that secret interview, added to your father's
heart-trouble, indirectly caused his death?"
Anita again sank back in her chair.
"I don't know, Mr. Blaine. I cannot explain it, even to myself, but I
feel instinctively that that interview was of greater significance
than any one has considered, as yet."
"That we must leave to the future." The detective took her hand, and
this time Anita rose and walked slowly with him toward the door.
"There are matters of greater moment to be investigated now. Remember
my advice. Try to be patient. Yours is the hardest task of all, to sit
idly by and wait for events to shape themselves, or for me to shape
them, but it must be. If you can calm your nerves and obtain a few
hours' sleep you will feel your own brave self again when I report to
you, as I shall do, later to-day."
Despite his night of ceaseless work, Henry Blaine, clear-eyed and
alert of brain, was seated at his desk at the stroke of nine when
Suraci was ushered in--the young detective who had trailed Walter
Pennold from Brooklyn to the quiet backwater where Jimmy Brunell had
sought in vain for disassociation from his past shadowy environment.
"It has become necessary, through an incident which occurred
yesterday, for me to change my plans," Blaine announced. "I had
intended to put you on the trail of a young crook, a relative of
Pennold, but I find I must send you instead to Long Bay to look up a
hotel register for me and obtain some writing paper with the engraved
letter-head from that hotel. You can get a train in an hour, if you
look sharp. Try to get back to-night or to-morrow morning at the
latest. Find out anything you can regarding the visit there two years
ago last August of Pennington Lawton and his daughter and of other
guests who arrived during their stay. Here are your instructions."
Twenty minutes' low-voiced conversation ensued, and Suraci took his
departure. He was followed almost immediately by Guy Morrow.
"What is the dope, sir?" the latter asked eagerly, as he entered.
"There's an extra out about the Hamilton disappearance. Do you think
Paddington's had a hand in that?"
"I want you to tail him," Blaine replied, non-committally. "Find out
anything you can of his movements for the past few weeks, but don't
lose sight of him for a minute until to-morrow morning. He's supposed
to be working up the evidence now for the Snedecker divorce, so it
won't be difficult for you to locate him. You know what he looks
like."
"Yes, sir. I know the man himself--if you call such a little rat a
man. We had a run-in once, and it isn't likely I'd forget him."
"Then be careful to keep out of his sight. He may be a rat, but he's
as keen-eyed as a ferret. I'd rather put some one on him whom he
didn't know, but we'll have to chance it. I wouldn't trust this to
anyone but you, Guy."
The young operative flushed with pride at this tribute from his chief,
and after a few more instructions he went upon his way with alacrity.
Once more alone, Henry Blaine sat for a long time lost in thought. An
idea had come to him, engendered by a few vague words uttered by Anita
Lawton in the early hours of that morning: an idea so startling, so
tremendous in its import, that even he scarcely dared give it
credence. To put it to the test, to prove or disprove it, would be
irretrievably to show his hand in the game, and that would be suicidal
to his investigation should his swift suspicion chance to be
groundless.
The sharp ring of the telephone put an end to his cogitations. He put
the receiver to his ear with a preoccupied frown, but at the first
words which came to him over the wire his expression changed to one of
keenest concentration.
"Am I speaking to the gentleman who talked with me at the working
girls' club?" a clear, fresh young voice asked. "This is Margaret
Hefferman, Mr. Rockamore's stenographer--that is, I was until ten
minutes ago, but I have been discharged."
"Discharged!" Blaine's voice was eager and crisp as he reiterated her
last word. "On what pretext?"
"It was not exactly a pretext," the girl replied. "The office boy
accused me of taking shorthand notes of a private conversation between
my employer and a visitor, and I could not convince Mr. Rockamore of
my innocence. I--I must have been clumsy, I'm afraid."
"You have the notes with you?"
"Yes."
"The visitor's name was Paddington?"
"Yes, sir."
Blaine considered for a moment; then, his decision made, he spoke
rapidly in a clear undertone.
"You know the department store of Mead & Rathbun? Meet me there in the
ladies' writing-room in half an hour. Where are you now?"
"In a booth in the drug-store just around the corner from the building
where Mr. Rockamore's offices are located."
"Very good. Take as round-about a route as you can to reach Mead &
Rathbun's, and see if you are followed. If you are and you find it
impossible to shake off your shadow, do not try to meet me, but go
directly to the club and I will communicate with you there later."
"Oh, I don't think I've been followed, but I'll be very careful. If
everything is all right, I will meet you at the place you named in
half an hour. Good-by."
Henry Blaine paced the floor for a time in undisguised perturbation.
His move in placing inexperienced girls from Anita Lawton's club in
responsible positions, instead of using his own trained operatives,
had been based not upon impulse but on mature reflection. The girls
were unknown, whereas his operatives would assuredly have been
recognized, sooner or later, especially in the offices of Carlis and
Rockamore. Moreover, the ruse adopted to obtain positions for Miss
Lawton's protegees had appeared on the surface to be a flawlessly
legitimate one. He had counted upon their loyalty and zeal to outweigh
their possible incompetence and lack of discretion, but the stolid
German girl had apparently been so clumsy at her task as to bring
failure upon his plan.
"So much for amateurs!" he murmured to himself, disgustedly. "The
other three will be discharged as soon as excuses for their dismissal
can be manufactured now. My only hope from any of them is that French
governess. If she will only land Paddington I don't care what
suspicions the other three arouse."
Margaret Hefferman's placid face was a little pale when she greeted
him in the ladies' room of the department store a short time later.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Blaine!" she exclaimed, but in carefully lowered
tones. "I could have cut my right hand off before I would hurt Miss
Lawton after all she has done for me, and already the first thing she
asks, I must fail to do!"
"You are sure you were not followed?" asked the detective, disregarding
her lamentations with purposeful brusqueness, for the tears stood in
her soft, bovine eyes, and he feared an emotional outburst which would
draw down upon them the attention of the whole room.
"Oh, no! I made sure of that. I rode uptown and half-way down again to
be certain, and then changed to the east-side line."
"Very well." He drew her to a secluded window-seat where, themselves
almost unseen, they could obtain an unobstructed view of the entrance
door and of their immediate neighbors.
"Now tell me all about it, Miss Hefferman."
"It was that office boy, Billy," she began. "Such sharp eyes and soft
walk, like a cat! Always he is yawning and sleepy--who would think he
was a spy?"
Her tone was filled with such contempt that involuntarily the
detective's mobile lips twitched. The girl had evidently quite lost
sight of the fact that she herself had occupied the very position in
the pseudo employ of Bertrand Rockamore which she derided in his
office boy.
He did not attempt to guide her in her narrative of the morning's
events, observing that she was too much agitated to give him a
coherent account. Instead, he waited patiently for her to vent her
indignation and tell him in her own way the substance of what had
occurred.
"I had no thought of being watched, else I should have been more
careful," she went on, resentfully. "This morning, only, he was
late--that Billy--and I did not report him. I was busy, too, for there
was more correspondence than usual to attend to, and Mr. Rockamore was
irritable and short-tempered. In the midst of his dictation Mr.
Paddington came, and I was bundled out of the room with the letters
and my shorthand book. They talked together behind the closed door for
several minutes and I had no opportunity to hear a word, but presently
Mr. Rockamore called Billy and sent him out on an errand. Billy left
the door of the inner office open just a little and that was my
chance. I seated myself at a desk close beside it and took down in
shorthand every word which reached my ears. I was so much occupied
with the notes that I did not hear Billy's footsteps until he stopped
just behind me and whistled right in my ear. I jumped and he laughed
at me and went in to Mr. Rockamore. When he came out he shut the door
tight behind him and grinned as if he knew just what I had been up to.
I did not dare open the door again, and so I heard no more of the
conversation, but I have enough, Mr. Blaine, to interest you, I
think."
She fumbled with her bag, but the detective laid a detaining hand on
her arm.
"Never mind the notes now. Go on with your story. What happened after
the interview was over?"
"That boy Billy went to Mr. Rockamore and told him. Already I have
said he was irritable this morning. He had seemed nervous and excited,
as if he were angry or worried about something, but when he sent for
me to discharge me he was white-hot with rage. Never have I been so
insulted or abused, but that would be nothing if only I had not failed
Miss Lawton. For her sake I tried to lie, to deny, but it was of no
use. My people were good Lutherans, but that does not help one in a
business career; it is much more a nuisance. He could read in my face
that I was guilty, and he demanded my shorthand note-book. I had to
give it to him; there was nothing else to be done."
"But I understood that you had the notes with you," Blaine commented,
then paused as a faint smile broke over her face and a demure dimple
appeared in either cheek.
"I gave to him a note-book," she explained naively. "He was quite
pleased, I think, to get possession of it. No one can read my
shorthand but me, anyway, so one book did him as much good as another.
He tried to make me tell him why I had done that--why I had taken down
the words of a private conference of his with a visitor. I could not
think what I should say, so I kept silent. For an hour he bullied and
questioned me, but he could find out nothing and so at last he let me
go. If now I could get my hands on that Billy--"
"Never mind him," Blaine interrupted. "Rockamore didn't threaten you,
did he?"
"He said he would fix it so that I obtained no more positions in
Illington," the girl responded, sullenly. "He will tell Miss Lawton
that I am deceitful and treacherous and I should no longer be welcome
at the club! He said--but I will not take up your so valuable time by
repeating his stupid threats. Miss Lawton will understand. Shall not I
read the notes to you? I have had no opportunity to transcribe them
and indeed they are safer as they are."
"Yes. Read them by all means, Miss Hefferman, if you have nothing more
to tell me. I do not think we are being overheard by anyone, but
remember to keep your voice lowered."
"I will, Mr. Blaine."
The girl produced the note-book from her bag and swept a practised eye
down its cryptic pages.
"Here it is. These are the first words I heard through the opened
door. They were spoken by Mr. Rockamore, and the other, Paddington,
replied. This is what I heard:
"'I don't know what the devil you're driving at, I tell you.'
"'Oh, don't you, Rockamore? Want me to explain? I'll go into details
if you like.'
"'I'm hanged if I'm interested. My share in our little business deal
with you was concluded some time ago. There's an end of that. You're a
clever enough man to know the people you're doing business with,
Paddington. You can't put anything over on us.'
"'I'm not trying to. The deal you spoke of is over and done with and
I guess nobody'll squeal. We're all tarred with the same brush. But
this is something quite different. We were pretty good pals,
Rockamore, so naturally, when I heard something about you which might
take a lot of explaining to smooth over, if it got about, I kept my
mouth shut. I think a good turn deserves another, at least among
friends, and when I got in a hole I remembered what I did for you, and
I thought you'd be glad of a chance to give me a leg up.'
"'In other words you come here with a vague threat and try to
blackmail me. That's it, isn't it?'
"'_Blackmail_ is not a very pleasant term, Rockamore, and yet it is
something which even you might attempt. Get me? Of course the others
would be glad to help me out, but I thought I'd come to you first,
since I--well, I know you better.'
"'How much do you want?'
"'Only ten thousand. I've got a tip on the market and if I can raise
the coin before the stock soars and buy on margin, I'll make a fine
little _coup_. Want to come in on it, Rockamore?'
"'Go to the devil! Here's your check--you can get it certified at the
bank. Now get out and don't bother me again or you'll find out I'm not
the weak-minded fool you take me for. Stick to the small fry,
Paddington. They're your game, but don't fish for salmon with a
trout-fly.'
"'Thanks, old man. I always knew I could call on you in an emergency.
I only hope my tip is a straight one and I don't go short on the
market. If I do--'
"'Don't come to me! I tell you, Paddington, you can't play me for a
sucker. That's the last cent you'll ever get out of me. It suits me
now to pay for your silence because, as you very well know, I don't
care to inform my colleagues or have them informed that I acted
independently of them; but I've paid all that your knowledge is worth,
and more.'
"'It might have been worth even more to others than to you or your
colleagues. For instance--'
"Then Billy came up behind me and whistled," concluded Miss Hefferman,
as she closed her note-book. "Shall I transcribe this for you, Mr.
Blaine? We have a typewriter at the club."
"No, I will take the note-book with me as it is and lock it in my safe
at the office. Please hold yourself in readiness to come down and
transcribe it whenever it may be necessary for me to send for you. You
have done splendidly, Miss Hefferman. You must not feel badly over
having been discovered and dismissed. You have rendered Miss Lawton a
valuable service for which she will be the first to thank you.
Telephone me if anyone attempts to approach you about this affair, or
if anything unusual should occur."
Scarcely an hour later, when Henry Blaine placed the receiver at his
ear in response to the insistent summons of the 'phone, her voice came
to him again over the wire.
"Mr. Blaine, I am at the club, but I thought you should know that
after all, I was--what is that you say--shadowed this morning. Just a
little way from Mead & Rathbun's my hand-bag was cut from my arm. It
was lucky, _hein_, that you took the note-book with you? As for me, I
go out no more for any positions. I go back soon as ever I can, by
Germany."