"I AM YOUR SHADOW."
It is not a pleasing task to Alan Warburton, but, spurred on by Vernet,
and acting according to his suggestions, it is undertaken and
accomplished. Within twenty minutes, two gay, fun-loving young fellows,
one habited in the garb of a Celestial, the other dressed as a
Troubador, are hastening from room to room in search of the mysterious
Goddess of Liberty.
"Who was the Mask that posted us about this mysterious lady?" queries
the Celestial, as he lifts a _portierie_ for his comrade to pass.
"If I am not mistaken, it was Warburton."
"Isn't that a queer move for His Dignity?"
"Well, I don't know. Presuming the fair Mystery to be an intruder, he
may think it the easiest way of putting her to rout. At any rate there's
a little spice in it."
And there is spice in it. Before the evening closes, the festive
Celestial is willing to vote this meeting with a veiled mystery an
occasion full of flavor, and worthy to be remembered.
Leaving the pair in full chase after the luckless, petticoat-encumbered
Stanhope, we follow Van Vernet, who, having set this trap for the feet
of his unconscious comrade, is about to play his next card.
Gliding among the maskers, he makes his way to a side entrance, and
passing the liveried servant on guard at the door with a careless jest,
he leaves the house, and hastens where, a few rods distant, a solitary
figure is standing.
"How long have you been here, Harvey?" he asks hurriedly, but with
noticeable affability.
"About half an hour."
"Good; now listen, for you are to begin your business. Throw on that
domino and follow me; the servants have seen me in conversation with the
master of the house and they will not require your credentials. Keep
near me, and follow me to the dressing-rooms; by-and-by we will exchange
costumes there, after which, you will personate me."
"But,--"
"There will be no trouble; just mingle with the throng, saying nothing
to anyone. No one will address you who could doubt your identity; I
will arrange all that. You comprehend?"
"I think so. You are wanted, or you want to be, in two places at once.
This being the least important, you place me here as figure-head, while
you fill the bill at the other place."
"You have grasped the situation, Harvey. Let us go in, and be sure you
do justice, in my stead, to the banquet--and the Warburton champagne."
Van Vernet had planned well. Knowing the importance of the Raid in hand
for that night, he had determined to be present and share with Stanhope
the honors of the occasion, while he seemed to be devoting all his
energies to the solution of the mystery that was evidently troubling his
wealthy patron, the master of Warburton Place.
Vernet was a man of many resources, and trying, indeed, must be the
situation which his fertile brain could not master.
Having successfully introduced his double into the house, he made his
way, once more, to the side of his patron, and, drawing him away from
the vicinity of possible listeners, said:
"Mr. Warburton, if you have anything further to say to me, please make
use of the present moment. After this it will be best for us to hold no
further conversation to-night."
Alan Warburton turned his eyes toward the detective with a cold,
scrutinizing stare.
"Why such caution?"
"Because it seems to me necessary; and, if I may be permitted to
suggest, you may make some slight discoveries by keeping an eye, more or
less, upon Mrs. Warburton."
With these words Van Vernet turns upon his heel, and strides away with
the air of a man who can do all that he essays.
"He is cool to the verge of impudence!" mutters Alan, as he gazes after
the receding figure in the British uniform. "But I will act upon his
advice; I _will_ watch Mrs. Warburton."
It is some moments before he catches sight of her glimmering robes, and
then he sees them receding, gliding swiftly, and, as he thinks, with a
nervous, hurried movement unusual to his stately sister-in-law.
She is going through the drawing-room, away from the dancers, and he
hastens after, wondering a little as to her destination.
From a flower-adorned recess, a fairy form springs out, interrupting the
lady in the glimmering robes.
"Mamma!" cries little Daisy, "oh Mamma, I have found Mother
Goose--_real, live_ Mother Goose!"
And she points with childish delight to a quaintly dressed personation
of that old woman of nursery fame, who sits within the alcove, leaning
upon her oaken staff, and peering out from beneath the broad frill of
her cap, her gaze eagerly following the movements of the animated child.
"Oh Mamma!" continues the little one, "can't I stay with Mother Goose?
Millie says I must go to bed."
At another time Leslie Warburton would have listened more attentively,
have answered more thoughtfully, and have noted more closely the manner
of guest that was thus absorbing the attention of the little one. Now
she only says hurriedly:
"Yes, yes, Daisy; you may stay a little longer,--only," with a hasty
glance toward the alcove, "you must not trouble the lady too much."
"The lady wants me, mamma."
"Then go, dear."
And Leslie gathers up her glimmering train and hastens on without once
glancing backward.
Pausing a few paces behind her, Alan Warburton has noted each word that
has passed between the lady and the child. And now, as the little one
bounds back to Mother Goose, who receives her with evident pleasure, he
moves on, still following Leslie.
She glides past the dancers, through the drawing rooms, across the music
room, and then, giving a hasty glance at the few who linger there, she
pulls aside a silken curtain, and looks into the library. The lights are
toned to the softness of moonlight; there is silence there, and
solitude.
With a long, weary sigh, Leslie enters the library and lets the curtain
fall behind her.
Alan Warburton pauses, hesitates for a moment, and then, seeing that the
little group of maskers near him seem wholly absorbed in their own
merriment, he moves boldly forward, parts the curtain a little way, and
peers within.
He sees a woman wearing the garments of Sunlight and the face of
despair. She has torn off her mask, and it lies on the floor at her
feet. In her hand is a crumpled scrap of paper, and, as she holds it
nearer the light and reads what is written thereon, a low moan escapes
her lips.
"Again!" she murmurs; "how can I obey them?--and yet I _must_ go." Then,
suddenly, a light of fierce resolve flames in her eyes. "I _will_ go,"
she says, speaking aloud in her self-forgetfulness; "I will go,--but it
shall be _for the last time_!"
She thrusts the crumpled bit of paper into her bosom, goes to the window
and looks out. Then she crosses to a door opposite the curtained
entrance, opens it softly, and glides away.
In another moment, Alan Warburton is in the library. Tearing off the
black and scarlet domino he flings it into a corner, and, glancing down
at his nautical costume mutters:
"Sailors of this description are not uncommon. Wherever she goes, I can
follow her--in this."
Ten minutes later, while Leslie Warburton's guests are dancing and
making merry, Leslie Warburton, with sombre garments replacing the robes
of Sunlight, glides stealthily out from her stately home, and creeps
like a hunted creature through the darkness and away!
But not alone. Silently, with the tread of an Indian, a man follows
after; a man in the garments of a sailor, who pulls a glazed cap low
down across his eyes, and mutters as he goes:
"So, Madam Intrigue, Van Vernet advised me well. Glide on, plotter; from
this moment until I shall have unmasked you, _I am your shadow_!"