THE WOMAN SHULTZE
The hours which followed Peter's abrupt and unexpected departure from
Fennimore Park passed long and heavily for Donald Morris. He waited
for nearly twenty-four hours, hoping to get a wire, and all the while,
though he was physically better for the change, his mind chafed at his
distance from the scene of action.
Soon after Peter had gone Morris had motored up the hill to Mrs.
Rutherford's cottage, only to be told that she was suffering from a bad
headache and had gone to bed. In the morning he had called her up on
the telephone, to inquire as to her health, and to ask if he might see
her, but found, to his great surprise, that she had gone to town on the
morning train.
Disappointed and anxious, he felt that he could stand it no longer. The
momentary collapse, of which his sister had taken advantage to get him
away from town for a time, was practically over. He felt considerably
better, but the uncertainty and inaction, combined with Peter's odd
behaviour and Mrs. Rutherford's sudden return to New York, made him
feel that he must follow them. He had no means of knowing that Clancy
was no longer there. He hoped to see him not later than that evening,
for he had determined to take the noon train from Tollenville.
"I'll be just as comfortable at home as I am here, Helena," he said,
when she remonstrated with him. "I'm taking Hobbs back with me and
he'll look out for me as well as you could. Don't worry, dear, I'll be
much better off at home."
He kissed her, gently, and went out to the car which was already
waiting to take him to the train.
On the evening of the day, then, when Peter arrived at Cordenham, but
at a somewhat later hour, Donald Morris reached New York. Late as it
was, his first action on arriving was to call Peter's office on the
telephone, and he was lucky enough to find O'Malley still there.
The old man told him briefly of Peter's sudden departure from the city,
and added:
"He was in a devil of a rush, and I don't, myself, know what he's up
to, Mr. Morris. But he did give me some information which I think would
interest you. I've got to go out just now, but I'll be back here by
eight o'clock. Lot of work I must make up--and if you could find it
convenient to come over after dinner--or I'll come to your house----"
"No, no. I'll come to you," said Morris, hastily. "I can, perfectly
well, and I think I'd rather be there than anywhere else. Clancy
probably thinks I'm still at Fennimore Park, and you'll be likely to
get any news there is before I would. I'll come over a little after
eight. It's good of you to take the time----"
"Not at all, not at all," said O'Malley, cordially. "Wish I had some
real good news for you--not that this isn't good, as far as it goes----"
Donald therefore made ready to leave his sister's house in Gramercy
Park a little before eight that evening. Somewhat encouraged by
O'Malley's cheerful tone, and the fact that news, good news as far as
it went, awaited him, he had dined with more appetite than he had known
for several days. As the hands of the tall clock in the hall marked the
hour of seven-forty-five, having noted from his window that the taxi he
had summoned to take him to O'Malley's office was already drawn up at
the curb, he descended the stairs from his room, expecting to leave the
house at once.
He had seen the cabman run up the steps, and after a short colloquy
with someone at the door, return to his cab. He was surprised,
therefore, as he passed his sister's apartments on the second floor, to
hear the sound of voices in the hall below. Since he had dismissed his
valet for the night, he knew that, besides himself, there was no one
in the house except an old coloured woman who had been in the family
for two generations, and who always took charge of the house when the
family were away for the summer.
Fearing that it might be a casual friend who would detain him, Donald
waited, out of sight, in the upper hall, until he could determine
who the unexpected caller might be. As he paused to listen, he heard
Susan's soft old voice:
"I don' think you can see Mistah Morris to-night," it said. "He jus'
goin' out."
"But I must see him." It was a woman's voice, sharp, thin, and nasal.
"He'll want to see me when he knows who I come from. You tell him, and
tell him quick, that there's a lady here waiting to see him that can
tell him something he wants, most particular, to know. Tell him that I
seen the piece in the paper Monday and that I know where the lady is.
You tell him that, and----"
"It's all right, Susan," cried Donald, running swiftly down the stairs.
"I'll see her. Just go out and tell the cabman to wait, please." As
Susan quietly disappeared, he spoke quickly, breathlessly, to the other
woman. "Come in here," he said, leading the way into a small, formal
reception room at the right of the hall, and switching on the lights as
he entered.
The woman followed obediently. She was a large, stout, middle-aged
person, dressed elaborately in a cheap imitation of the latest mode.
There were many gaudy rings on her ungloved hands, and in her ears
were earrings of such size and weight as to make one fear for her
equilibrium should she lose one of them. Her face, which must once
have been handsome in a common way, was slack-skinned and puffy, and
covered heavily with powder and rouge. As she walked, her fluttering,
scanty garments exhaled a heavy perfume.
Donald was too much excited to be seriously affected by her
unprepossessing appearance.
"Please sit down," he said, quickly, "and tell me what you have to say."
She sank luxuriously into a soft-cushioned chair, and with a keen,
observant eye took in her surroundings and the appearance of the man
who remained standing before her.
"You're Mr. Morris--Mr. Donald Morris?" she asked, looking sharply up
at him. "Yes. Well, then, I'll tell you--and if there's anything in
it----"
"There'll be something in it for you," Donald hastily assured her, "if
you can give me the information I'm looking for."
"How much?" asked the woman, tersely. Her eyes were little points of
avaricious light.
Donald recoiled a little, and hesitated. The woman, keenly observant,
hastened to retrieve her mistake.
"Not that I care for myself," she said, softening her nasal voice.
"It's the poor thing I'm thinking of. She needs care and attention
that I can't afford to give her, but if some of her friends would come
across I could do for her as any one would wish to, the poor, beautiful
young thing."
"Of whom are you speaking?" asked Donald, rendered somewhat cautious,
in spite of his keen desire to hear more.
"Why, you know, of course, Mr. Morris. Who would I be speaking of to
you like this? It's Miss Mary Blake I'm talking about, though I wasn't
sure, myself, at first, and never would have known at all, if it hadn't
been for that piece in the paper."
"Mary! Miss Blake?" cried Donald, starting forward. "Do you mean to
tell me you really know where she is?"
"I certainly do, Mr. Morris," said the woman, confidently. "Why, she's
been in my house for about a month now. She come the first of June, or
a day or two before."
"Mary!" muttered Donald to himself. "Here, all this time we've been
looking--hunting the country over----" Aloud he said, eagerly: "And
she's there now?"
"She is that, Mr. Morris. I come straight from her."
"Did she send you to me?" The question was anxious, but filled with
wondering hope.
"Well," said the woman, slightly evasive, "you can't exactly say she
sent me. Not exactly. But she'll be all right when she sees you--I'm
sure of that."
"All right?" asked Donald, quickly. "What do you mean by 'all right'?
Is she ill? Is anything the matter----"
"Now, now, don't get excited, Mr. Morris," she interrupted,
soothingly. "She's all right. She's well and comfortable. Just a little
queer, maybe, but nothing to speak of, and when she sees you----"
"But I don't understand----" Morris began, anxiously.
"No, probably you don't, and I'd better tell you the whole story," said
the woman, easily. "I'd better spill the whole dope, and then you'll
see just how the land lays."
Donald sank into a chair near by and the woman, leaning forward, spoke
confidentially:
"My name's Shultze, Mrs. Gertrude Shultze, though all my friends call
me 'Trudie'," she said, in what she evidently considered a society
manner. "I keep a very classy boarding house for ladies and gentlemen
at 111 West Forty ---- Street. Well, that's me. Now, about the first
of June, a young lady comes to my house, a very beautiful young lady,
I think you'll agree, Mr. Morris. She's very quiet, respectable, and
ladylike"--Donald shuddered--"keeps herself to herself, and at first
she paid right along, as a real lady should. I thought, from the
start-off, that her manner was a bit strange, but I didn't really begin
to notice nothing till just a week or so ago. I hadn't seen much of
her, to tell you the truth, Mr. Morris, for the simple reason that
she paid to have her meals sent up until a short time ago, and after
that, she only took the room, and had her meals out, I suppose, though
I never seen her go out that I can remember, but, of course, I'm that
busy what with all the gentlemen taking up my time and that----"
Donald was frowning heavily. His interruption was rather brusque:
"What name did this young lady give when she came to your house,
Mrs.--Mrs. Shultze?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you? She gave the name of Curwood."
Donald caught his breath. "Curwood?" he asked, sharply, and,
remembering the name Clancy had discovered at Hobart Falls, he repeated
it again--"Curwood."
"Of course I'm aware now that it wasn't her real name," the woman went
on, knowingly. "As soon as I seen her photo in the paper, it set me
thinking. I couldn't get it out of me head, and the more I thought, the
surer I was. But this child don't go off half-cocked, believe me! So,
thinks I to myself, I know a place where they sells pictures of actors
and actresses, and I slipped over to Broadway this very afternoon, and
I buys three of Mary Blake, all different views. I studies 'em, you
may be sure, and when I goes up to see if she can come across with the
bit of money she's owing me, I give her the once-over--and there ain't
no doubt left in my mind. There couldn't be. It's Miss Mary Blake, all
right, all right"--confidently. "You can put all your money on that
horse, Mr. Morris."
Donald Morris shut his teeth together. He could not bear to think
what this month had been to Mary, shut up in the sort of house this
woman would have. Why had she hidden there? What reason could there
have been? As to her identity, he had no doubt. The woman, Shultze,
was sharp and keen enough--and there was the name--Curwood. It was an
unusual name, and Clancy was sure that his information was correct. No.
There could be no doubt.
It was horrible to his sensitive nature to be obliged to make use of
this woman, but he saw no other way. Something she had said----
"I think you told me you noticed something strange in the lady's
manner, Mrs. Shultze." His voice was abrupt though he strove to speak
in his usual tone. "Just what did you mean by that?"
"Why," the woman hesitated slightly, though Donald was under the
impression that she was not trying to be evasive, "I don't quite know
how to put it, Mr. Morris, but between friends, it seemed to me that
Miss Blake--or Miss Curwood, as she calls herself--has kind of--lost
her memory."
"Just how do you mean?" asked Donald, groaning inwardly. If the woman
was right, if Mary's mind were affected----
"She doesn't even seem to remember who I am," answered Mrs. Shultze,
quickly. "And when I asked who her friends were, and if some of
'em mightn't stake her for awhile, she looked at me, kind of
blank-like, and she says, putting her hand to her head, like this,
'Friends--friends? I don't believe I have a friend in the world.' And
you know, Mr. Morris, that's all nonsense. Of course a young lady like
her's bound to have all the friends she wants. And then, when I found
out who she was, why, 'twas only natural I should come to the gentleman
the paper mentioned, thinking that any one that knew the poor thing
would be glad to help her. But, if you don't see your way to that," her
raised eyebrows and lifted chin were slightly aggressive, "why, the
paper give the name of her manager, Mr. Frederick Jones, and I can go
to him. I don't believe he's no tightwad, and I guess----"
Donald Morris leaped to his feet. His subsequent actions were almost
automatic, so poignant were his emotions.
"Wait one moment, Mrs. Shultze," he said, hurriedly. "I'll go with you
at once. Just wait one moment."
He dashed through the hall and into a big library at the back of the
house. Seating himself at a telephone desk, he called O'Malley. When
the connection was made:
"I can't come to your office to-night, Captain O'Malley." He spoke
rapidly, and the old man at the other end of the wire caught the
excitement in his tone.
"Why, what's up, Mr. Morris?" he asked, quickly.
"I know where Miss Blake is, O'Malley," Donald cried. "She's staying
with a woman who's here in the house now. I'm going to her at once.
I----"
"Don't you want me to go with you, Mr. Morris? I can as well as not,
and I'll keep in the background if you say so. Don't you think it would
be advisable? Where is she?"
"The address is 111 West Forty ---- Street...." O'Malley whistled under
his breath, but Donald did not hear him. "I don't quite know----" He
hesitated.
"Pick me up at the northwest corner of Broadway and Thirty-ninth
Street," said O'Malley, crisply. "I'll be there before you are and it
won't cause any delay. If you don't need me, I'll just stay in the cab."
"All right, O'Malley. I think I'll be glad to have you along," Donald
agreed, and with a caution born of his estimate of Mrs. Gertrude
Shultze, he added, swiftly, "Don't mention your--your profession before
the person you'll find in the cab with me. I'll say you're a friend of
Miss Blake's."
"I'm on," said O'Malley, briefly, and Morris hung up the receiver.
He went swiftly back to the reception room.
"I'm ready, Mrs. Shultze," he said.
The woman gave him a long, calculating glance, and followed to the
waiting cab.