BETRAYED BY A PICTURE.
Little Daisy Warburton was missing. The blow that had prostrated Leslie
at its first announcement, struck Archibald Warburton with still heavier
force. It was impossible to keep the truth from him, and when it became
known, his feeble frame would not support the shock. At day-dawn, he lay
in a death-like lethargy. At night, he was raving with delirium. And on
the second day, the physicians said:
"There is no hope. His life is only a thing of days."
Leslie and Alan were faithful at his bedside,--she, the tenderest of
nurses; he, the most sleepless of watchers. But they avoided an
interchange of word or glance. To all appearance, they had lost sight of
themselves in the presence of these new calamities--Archibald's hopeless
condition, and the loss of little Daisy.
No time had been wasted in prosecuting the search for the missing child.
When all had been done that could be done,--when monstrous rewards had
been offered, when the police were scouring the city, and private
detectives were making careful investigations,--Leslie and Alan took
their places at the bedside of the stricken father, and waited, the
heart of each heavy with a burden of unspoken fear and a new, terrible
suspicion.
[Illustration: "Leslie! Alan!" she cried, coming toward them with a sob
in her throat, "we have lost little Daisy!"--page 155.]
So two long, dreary days passed away, with no tidings from the lost and
no hope for the dying.
During these two days, Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope were not idle.
The struggle between them had commenced on the night of the masquerade,
and now there would be no turning back until the one became victor, the
other vanquished.
Having fully convinced himself that Vernet had deliberately ignored all
their past friendship, and taken up the cudgel against him, for reward
and honor, Stanhope resolved at least to vindicate himself; while
Vernet, dominated by his ambition, had for his watchword, "success!
success!"
Fully convinced that behind that which was visible at the Francoise
hovel, lay a mystery, Vernet resolved upon fathoming that mystery, and
he set to work with rare vigor.
Having first aroused the interest of the authorities in the case, Vernet
caused three rewards to be offered. One for the apprehension of the
murderer of the man who had been identified as one Josef Siebel,
professional rag-picker, and of Jewish extraction, having a sister who
ran a thieving "old clo'" business, and a brother who kept a
disreputable pawn shop.
The second and third rewards were for the arrest of, or information
concerning, the fellow calling himself "Silly Charlie," and the parties
who had occupied the hovel up to the night of the murder.
These last "rewards" were accompanied by such descriptions of Papa and
Mamma Francoise as Vernet could obtain at second-hand, and by more
accurate descriptions of the Sailor, and Silly Charlie.
Rightly judging that sooner or later Papa Francoise, or some of his
confederates, would attempt to remove the concealed booty from the
deserted hovel,--which, upon being searched, furnished conclusive proof
that buying rags at a bargain was not Papa's sole occupation,--Van
Vernet set a constant watch upon the house, hoping thus to discover the
new hiding-place of the two Francoise's. Having accomplished thus much,
he next turned his attention to his affairs with the aristocrat of
Warburton Place.
This matter he now looked upon as of secondary importance, and on the
second day of Archibald Warburton's illness he turned his steps toward
the mansion, intent upon bringing his "simple bit of shadowing" to a
summary termination.
He had gathered no new information concerning Mrs. Warburton and her
mysterious movements, nevertheless he knew how to utilize scant items,
and the time had come when he proposed to make Richard Stanhope's
presence at the masquerade play a more conspicuous part in the
investigation which he was supposed to be vigorously conducting.
The silence and gloom that hung over the mansion was too marked to pass
unnoticed by so keen an observer.
Wondering as to the cause, Vernet pulled the bell, and boldly handed his
professional card to the serious-faced footman who opened the door.
In obedience to instructions, the servant glanced at the card, and
reading thereon the name and profession of the applicant, promptly
admitted him, naturally supposing him to be connected with the search
for little Daisy.
"Tell your master," said Vernet, as he was ushered into the library,
"tell your master that I must see him at once. My business is urgent,
and my time limited."
The servant turned upon him a look of surprise.
"Do you mean Mr. Archibald Warburton, sir?"
"Yes."
"Then it will be impossible. Mr. Warburton has been dangerously sick
since yesterday. The shock--Mr. Alan receives all who have business."
Mentally wondering what the servant could mean, for in the intensity of
his interest in his new search, he had not informed himself as to the
late happenings that usually attract the attention of all connected with
the police, and was not aware of the disappearance of Archibald
Warburton's little daughter, Vernet said briefly, and as if he perfectly
understood it all:
"Nevertheless, you may deliver my message."
Somewhat overawed by the presence of this representative of justice, the
servant went as bidden, and in another moment stood before Alan
Warburton, presenting the card of the detective and delivering his
message.
Alan Warburton started at sight of the name upon the card, and
involuntarily turned his gaze toward the mirror. The face reflected
there was not the face we saw unmasked, for a moment, at the masquerade.
The brown moustache and glossy beard, the abundant waving hair, were
gone. To the wonder and disapproval of all in the house, Alan had
appeared among them, on the morning following the masquerade, with
smooth-shaven face and close-cropped hair, looking like a boy-graduate
rather than the distinguished man of the world he had appeared on the
previous day.
Van Vernet had seen his bearded face but once, and there was little
cause to fear a recognition; nevertheless, recalling Stanhope's warning,
Alan chose the better part of valor, and said calmly:
"Tell the person that Mr. Warburton is so ill that his life is despaired
of, and that he is quite incapable of transacting business. He cannot
see him at present."
Wondering somewhat at this cavalier message, the servant retraced his
steps, and Alan returned to the sick-room, murmuring as he went:
"It seems the only way. I dare not trust my voice in conversation with
that man. For our honor's sake, my dying brother must be my
representative still."
And then, as his eye rested upon Leslie, sitting by the bedside pale and
weary, a thrill of aversion swept over him as he thought:
"But for her, and her wretched intrigue, I should have no cause to
deceive, and no man's scrutiny to fear."
Alas for us who have secrets to keep; we should be "as wise as
serpents," and as farseeing as veritable seers.
While Alan Warburton, above stairs, was congratulating himself,
believing that he had neglected nothing of prudence or precaution, Van
Vernet, below stairs, was grasping a clue by which Alan Warburton might
yet be undone.
Reentering the library, the servant found Vernet, his cheeks flushed,
his eyes ablaze with excitement, standing before an easel which upheld a
life-sized portrait--a new portrait, recently finished and just sent
home, and as like the original, as he had appeared on yesterday, as a
picture could be like life.
When the servant had delivered his message, and without paying the
slightest heed to its purport, Vernet demanded, almost fiercely:
"Who is the original of that portrait?"
"That, sir," said the servant, "is Mr. Alan Warburton."