SONIA CONSULTS LIVINGSTONE.
Edith's visit, so futile, so unlike her, had been prompted by the
hatefulness of her nature. The expedition to California had failed, her
effort to prove her instincts true had come to nothing, and Arthur
Dillon had at last put his foot down and extinguished her and Sonia
together. Free to snarl and spit if they chose, the two cats could never
plot seriously against him more. Curran triumphed in the end. Tracking
Arthur Dillon through California had all the features of a chase through
the clouds after a bird. The scene changed with every step, and the
ground just gone over faded like a dream.
They found Dillons, a few named Arthur, some coincidences, several
mysteries, and nothing beyond. The police still had the photographs sent
out by Anne Dillon, and a record that the man sought for had been found
and returned to his mother. The town where the search ended had only a
ruined tavern and one inhabitant, who vaguely remembered the close of
the incident. Edith surrendered the search in a violent temper, and all
but scratched out the eyes of her devoted slave. To Sonia the detective
put the net result very sensibly.
"Arthur Dillon did not live in California under his own name," said he,
"and things have so changed there in five years that his tracks have
been wiped out as if by rain. All that has been done so far proves this
man to be just what he appears. We never had a worse case, and never
took up a more foolish pursuit. We have proved just one sure thing: that
if this man be Horace, then he can't be found. He is too clever to be
caught, until he is willing to reveal himself. If you pursue him to the
point which might result in his capture, there'll be murder or worse
waiting for you at that point. It might be better for you two not to
find him."
This suggestion, clever and terrifying, Sonia could not understand as
clearly as Curran. She thought the soft nature of Horace quite
manageable, and if murder were to be done her knife should do it. Oh, to
seize his throat with her beautiful hands, to press and squeeze and dig
until the blood gorged his face, and to see him die by inches, gasping!
He had lied like a coward! Nothing easier to destroy than such a wretch!
"Don't give up, Sonia," was Edith's comment on the wise words of Curran.
"Get a good lawyer, and by some trick drag Dillon and his mother and the
priest to court, put them on oath as to who the man is; they won't
perjure themselves, I'll wager."
"That is my thought," said Sonia tenderly nursing the idea. "There seems
to be nothing more to do. I have thought the matter over very carefully.
We are at the end. If this fails I mean to abandon the matter. But for
his money I would have let him go as far as he wanted, and I would let
this man pass too but for the hope of getting at his money. It is the
only way to punish Horace, as he punished me. I feel like you, that the
mystery is with this Arthur Dillon. Since I saw you last, he has filled
my dreams, and always in the dreams he has been so like Horace that I
now see more of a likeness in Arthur Dillon. I have a relative in the
city, a very successful lawyer, Quincy Livingstone. I shall consult him.
Perhaps it would be well for you to accompany me, Edith. You explain
this case so well."
"No, she'll keep out of it, by your leave," the detective answered for
her. "Dillon has had patience with this woman, but he will resent
interference so annoying."
Edith made a face at him.
"As if I could be bossed by either you or Arthur. Sonia, you have the
right stuff in you, clear grit. This trick will land your man."
"You'll find an alligator who will eat the legs off you both before you
can run away," said Curran.
"Do you know what I think, Dick Curran?" she snapped at him. "That you
have been playing the traitor to us, telling Arthur Dillon all we've
been doing. Oh, if I could prove that, you wretch!"
"You have a high opinion of his softness, if you think he would throw
away money to learn what any schoolboy might learn by himself. How much
did you, with all your cleverness, get out of him in the last five
years?"
He laughed joyfully at her wicked face.
"Let me tell you this," he added. "You have been teasing that boy as a
monkey might a lion. Now you will set on him the man that he likes least
in this world, Livingstone. What a pretty mouthful you will be when he
makes up his mind that you've done enough."
Nevertheless the two women called on Livingstone. The great man, no
longer great, no longer in the eye of the world, out of politics because
the charmed circle had closed, and no more named for high places because
his record had made him impossible, had returned to the practice of law.
Eminent by his ability, his achievement, and his blood, but only a
private citizen, the shadow of his failure lay heavy on his life and
showed clearly in his handsome face. That noble position which he had
missed, so dear to heart and imagination, haunted his moments of leisure
and mocked his dreams. He had borne the disappointment bravely, had
lightly called it the luck of politics. Now that the past lay in clear
perspective, he recognized his own madness.
He had fought with destiny like a fool, had stood in the path of a
people to whom God had given the chance which the rulers of the earth
denied them; and this people, through a youth carrying the sling of
David, had ruined him. He had no feeling against Birmingham, nor against
Arthur Dillon. The torrent, not the men, had destroyed him. Yet he had
learned nothing. With a fair chance he would have built another dam the
next morning. He was out of the race forever. In the English mission he
had touched the highest mark of his success. He mourned in quiet. Life
had still enough for him, but oh! the keenness of his regret.
Sonia's story he had heard before, at the beginning of the search, as a
member of the Endicott family. The details had never reached him. The
cause of Horace Endicott's flight he had forgotten. Edith in her present
costume remained unknown, nor did she enlighten him. Her thought as she
studied him was of Dillon's luck in his enterprises. Behold three of his
victims. Sonia repeated for the lawyer the story of her husband's
disappearance, and of the efforts to find him.
"At last I think that I have found him," was her conclusion, "in the
person of a man known in this city as Arthur Dillon."
Livingstone started slightly. However, there must be many Arthur
Dillons, the Irish being so numerous, and tasteless in the matter of
names. When she described her particular Arthur his astonishment became
boundless at the absurdity of the supposition.
"You have fair evidence I suppose that he is Horace Endicott, madam?"
"I am sorry to tell you that I have none, because the statement makes
one feel so foolish. On the contrary the search of a clever detective
... he's really clever, isn't he, Edith?... shows that Dillon is just
what he appears to be, the son of Mrs. Anne Dillon. The whole town
believes he is her son. The people who knew him since he was born
declare him to be the very image of his father. Still, I think that he
is Horace Endicott. Why I think so, ... Edith, my dear, it is your turn
now. Do explain to the lawyer."
Livingstone wondered as the dancer spoke where that beautiful voice and
fluent English had become familiar. Sister Claire had passed from his
mind with all the minor episodes of his political intrigues. He could
not find her place in his memory. Her story won him against his
judgment. The case, well put, found strength in the contention that the
last move had not been made, since the three most important characters
in the play had not been put to the question.
His mind ran over the chief incidents in that remarkable fight which
Arthur Dillon had waged in behalf of his people: the interview before
the election of Birmingham, ... the intrigues in London, the dexterous
maneuvers which had wrecked the campaign against the Irish, had silenced
McMeeter, stunned the Bishop, banished Fritters, ruined Sister Claire,
tumbled him from his lofty position, and cut off his shining future. How
frightful the thought that this wide ruin might have been wrought by an
Endicott, one of his own blood!
"A woman's instincts are admirable," he said, politely and gravely, "and
they have led you admirably in this case. But in face of three facts,
the failure of the detective, the declaration of Mr. Dillon, and your
failure to recognize your husband after five years, it would be absurd
to persist in the belief that this young man is your husband. Moreover
there are intrinsic difficulties, which would tell even if you had made
out a good case for the theory. No Endicott would take up intimate
connection with the Irish. He would not know enough about them, he could
not endure them; his essence would make the scheme, even if it were
presented to him by others, impossible. One has only to think of two or
three main difficulties to feel and see the utter absurdity of the whole
thing."
"No doubt," replied Sonia sweetly. "Yet I am determined not to miss this
last opportunity to find my husband. If it fails I shall get my divorce,
and ... bother with the matter no more."
Edith smiled faintly at the suggestive pause, and murmured the intended
phrase, "marry Quincy Lenox."
"Very well," said the lawyer. "You have only to begin divorce
proceedings here, issue a summons for the real Horace Endicott, and
serve the papers on Mr. Arthur Dillon. You must be prepared for many
events however. The whole business will be ventilated in the journals.
The disappearance will come up again, and be described in the light of
this new sensation. Mr. Dillon is eminent among his people, and well
known in this city. It will be a year's wonder to have him sued in a
divorce case, to have it made known that he is supposed to be Horace
Endicott."
"That is unavoidable," Edith prompted, seeing a sudden shrinking on the
part of Sonia. "Do not forget, sir, that all Mrs. Endicott wants is the
sworn declaration of Arthur Dillon that he is not Horace Endicott, of
his mother that he is her son, of Father O'Donnell that he knows nothing
of Horace Endicott since his disappearance."
"You would not like the case to come to trial?" said the lawyer to
Sonia.
"I must get my divorce," she answered coolly, "whether this is the right
man or no."
"Let me tell you what may happen after the summons, or notice, is served
on Mr. Dillon," said the lawyer. "The serving can be done so quietly
that for some time no others but those concerned need know about it. I
shall assume that Mr. Dillon is not Horace Endicott. In that case he can
ignore the summons, which is not for him, but for another man. He need
never appear. If you insisted on his appearance, you would have to offer
some evidence that he is really Horace Endicott. This you cannot do. He
could make affidavit that he is not the man. By that time the matter
would be public property, and he could strike back at you for the
scandal, the annoyance, and the damage done to his good name."
"What I want is to have his declaration under oath that he is not
Horace. If he is Horace he will never swear to anything but the truth."
For the first time Sonia showed emotion, tears dropped from her lovely
eyes, and the lawyer wondered what folly had lost to her husband so
sweet a creature. Evidently she admired one of Horace's good qualities.
"You can get the declaration in that way. To please you, he might at my
request make affidavit without publicity and scenes at court."
"I would prefer the court," said Sonia firmly.
"She's afeared the lawyer suspects her virtue," Edith said to herself.
"Let me now assume that Arthur Dillon is really Horace Endicott,"
continued Livingstone. "He must be a consummate actor to play his part
so well and so long. He can play the part in this matter also, by
ignoring the summons, and declaring simply that he is not the man. In
that case he leaves himself open to punishment, for if he should
thereafter be proved to be Horace Endicott, the court could punish him
for contempt. Or, he can answer the summons by his lawyer, denying the
fact, and stating his readiness to swear that he is not any other than
Arthur Dillon. You would then have to prove that he is Horace Endicott,
which you cannot do."
"All I want is the declaration under oath," Sonia repeated.
"And you are ready for any ill consequences, the resentment and suit of
Mr. Dillon, for instance? Understand, my dear lady, that suit for
divorce is not a trifling matter for Mr. Dillon, if he is not Endicott."
"Particularly as he is about to marry a very handsome woman," Edith
interjected, heedless of the withering glance from Sonia.
"Ah, indeed!"
"Then I think some way ought to be planned to get Anne Dillon and the
priest into court," Edith suggested. "Under oath they might give us some
hint of the way to find Horace Endicott. The priest knows something
about him."
"I shall be satisfied if Arthur Dillon swears that he is not Horace,"
Sonia said, "and then I shall get my divorce and wash my hands of the
tiresome case. It has cost me too much money and worry."
"Was there any reason alleged for the remarkable disappearance of the
young man? I knew his father and mother very well, and admired them. I
saw the boy in his schooldays, never afterwards. You have a child, I
understand."
Edith lowered her eyes and looked out of the window on the busy street.
"It is for my child's sake that I have kept up the search," Sonia
answered with maternal tenderness. "Insanity is supposed to be the
cause. Horace acted strangely for three months before his disappearance,
he grew quite thin, and was absent most of the time. As it was summer,
which I spent at the shore with friends, I hardly noticed his condition.
It was only when he had gone, without warning, taking considerable money
with him, that I recalled his queer behavior. Since then not a scrap of
information, not a trace, nor a hint of him, has ever come back to me.
The detectives did their best until this moment. All has failed."
"Very sad," Livingstone said, touched by the hopeless tone. "Well, as
you wish it then, I shall bring suit for divorce and alimony against
Horace Endicott, and have the papers served on Arthur Dillon. He can
ignore them or make his reply. In either case he must be brought to make
affidavit that he is not the man you look for."
"And the others? The priest and Mrs. Dillon?" asked Edith.
"They are of no consequence," was Sonia's opinion.
After settling unimportant details the two women departed. Livingstone
found the problem which they had brought to his notice fascinating. He
had always marked Arthur Dillon among his associates, as an able and
peculiar young man, he had been attracted by him, and had listened to
his speeches with more consideration than most young men deserved. His
amazing success in dealing with a Livingstone, his audacity and nerve
in attacking the policy which he brought to nothing, were more wonderful
to the lawyer than to the friends of Dillon, who had not seen the task
in its entirety.
And this peculiar fellow was thought to be an Endicott, of his own
family, of the English blood, more Irish than the Irish, bitterer
towards him than the priests had been. The very impossibility of the
thing made it charming. What course of thought, what set of
circumstances, could turn the Puritan mind in the Celtic direction? Was
there such genius in man to convert one personality into another so
neatly that the process remained undiscoverable, not to be detected by
the closest observation? He shook off the fascination. These two women
believed it, but he knew that no Endicott could ever be converted.