A TRIP TO EUROPE.
While Alan Warburton, closeted with Mr. Follingsbee, was slowly lowering
the crest of the Warburton pride, and reluctantly submitting himself to
the mysterious guidance of an unseen hand,--Winnie French, sitting
beside her mother, was perusing Leslie's note.
It was brief and pathetic, beseeching Mrs. French to go at once to
Warburton Place; to dwell there as its mistress; to look upon it as her
home, and Winnie's, until such time as Leslie should return, or Mr.
Follingsbee should indicate to her a change of plan. Would Mrs. French
forgive this appearance of mystery, and believe and trust in her still?
Would she keep her home open for Alan, and a welcome ever ready for the
lost Daisy, who must surely return some day? Everything could be
arranged with Mr. Follingsbee; and Leslie's love and gratitude would be
always hers.
This note was somewhat incoherent, for it was the last written by
Leslie, and her nerves had been taxed, perhaps, in the writing of the
longer epistle to Mr. Follingsbee.
Brief and fragmentary as it was, it furnished to Winnie and her mother
food for much wonderment, long discussion, and sincere sorrow.
"Oh, Mamma!" cried Winnie, choking back a sob, "some terrible trouble
has come upon Leslie; and Alan Warburton is at the bottom of it!"
"My child!"
"I tell you he _is_!" vehemently. "And only yesterday Leslie would have
told me all, but for him."
"Winnie, compose yourself; try and be calm," said Mrs. French
soothingly.
"I _can't_ compose myself! I _won't_ be calm! I _want_ to be so angry
when Alan Warburton returns for me, that I can fairly scorch him with my
contempt! I want to _annihilate_ him!" And Winnie flung herself upon her
mother's breast, and burst into a fit of hysterical sobbing.
Sorely puzzled, and very anxious, Mrs. French soothed her daughter with
gentle, motherly words, and gradually drew from her an account of the
events of the past two days, as they were known to Winnie.
"And so, between his interruption and your refusal to listen to him
afterward, you are quite in the dark as to this strange misunderstanding
between Leslie and Mr. Warburton?" said Mrs. French musingly.
"Misunderstanding! You give it a mild name, Mamma. Would a mere
misunderstanding with any one, bring such a look to Leslie's face as I
saw there when I left her alone with him? Would it leave her in a
deathly faint at its close? Would it drive her from her home, secretly,
like a fugitive? Would it cause Alan Warburton to address such words to
me as those he uttered in his study? Because of a simple
misunderstanding, would he implore me to judge between them? Mamma,
there is more than a _misunderstanding_ at the bottom of all this
mystery. Somewhere, there is a monstrous _wrong_!"
But discuss the mystery as they would, there seemed no satisfactory, no
rational explanation. The evening wore on, and the ringing of the
door-bell suddenly apprised them of the lateness of the hour.
"It's Alan!" exclaimed Winnie, starting nervously. "Mamma, we can't, we
won't, go with him."
But it was not Alan. It was a servant, bearing a message from Mr.
Follingsbee. A matter of importance had suddenly called Mr. Warburton
away. Mr. Follingsbee would wait upon the ladies in the morning.
It was very unsatisfactory, but it was all. And Winnie and her mother,
after exhausting for a second time their stock of conjectures, were
constrained to lay their puzzled heads upon their pillows, and to await
in restlessness and sleepless anxiety the coming of morning and Mr.
Follingsbee.
It comes at last, the morning, as morning in this world or another
surely will come to all weary, restless watchers. And just as it is
approaching that point of time when we cease to say "this morning," and
supply its place with "to-day," Mr. Follingsbee comes also.
He comes looking demure, unhurried, without anxiety; just as he always
does look whenever he has occasion to withhold more than he chooses to
tell.
"I hope you have not been anxious, ladies," he says, serenely, as he
deposits his hat upon a table and extends a hand to each in turn.
But Winnie's impatience can no longer be held in check. "Oh, Mr.
Follingsbee!" she cries, seizing his hand in both her own, "where is
Leslie?"
Mr. Follingsbee smiles reassuringly, places a chair for Mrs. French with
old-time gallantry, leads Winnie to a sofa, and seating himself beside
her, says his say.
To begin with, the ladies must not expect a revelation; not yet. It will
come, of course; but Mrs. Warburton, for reasons that seemed to her
good, and that he therefore accepted, desired to keep her movements,
for a time, a secret. There had been a slight misunderstanding between
Mrs. Warburton and her brother-in-law; but, fortunately, that was now,
in a measure at least, adjusted. It was, in part, this misunderstanding,
and in part, some facts which Mrs. Warburton thought she had discovered
concerning the unaccountable absence of Daisy Warburton, that had caused
her to adopt her present seemingly strange course. It was owing to these
same causes that Mr. Warburton had suddenly determined to absent himself
from the city--in fact from the country. Mr. Warburton had taken passage
in the Steamer _Clytie_, for Europe. This movement might seem abrupt,
even out of place at this particular time, but it was not an
unwarrantable action; indeed, it was a thing of necessity.
Mr. Follingsbee said much more than this, and ended his discourse thus:
"And now, ladies, I solicit, on behalf of my clients, your friendship,
your aid, and your confidence. While I am not at liberty to explain
matters fully, I promise you that you will not regret having given your
confidence blindly. I, who know whereof I speak, assure you of this.
Alan Warburton, while at this moment he is an innocent man, is menaced
by serious danger. Leslie has gone on a Quixotic mission. The trouble
will soon end, I trust, and we shall all rejoice together. In the
meantime--" He paused abruptly and turned an enquiring gaze upon Mrs.
French.
"In the meantime, sir," said that lady, with quiet decision, "you desire
our passive coöperation. You have it."
"Oh, Mamma!" cried Winnie exultantly, "I was sure you would say that. I
was sure you would not desert poor Leslie!"
"It will be an equal favor to Mr. Warburton," interposed the lawyer,
with the shadow of a twinkle in his grey eye.
To which Winnie responded only by her heightened color, and a half
perceptible shrug.
And so Mrs. French and Winnie were escorted by Mr. Follingsbee to the
bereaved and deserted mansion: were fully instructed in the small part
they were to play; and were left there in possession,--knowing only that
Leslie and Alan were both in danger, and menaced by enemies, that their
absence was necessary to their safety, and might also result in the
restoration of little Daisy.
In the face of this mystery their faith remained unshaken. They accepted
Mr. Follingsbee's assurances, and also the part allotted to them, the
part which so commonly falls to women, of inactive waiting.
* * * * *
Meantime, Van Vernet, in a state of exceeding self-content, was
perfecting his latest plan.
He had failed in overtaking and identifying the troublesome
Organ-grinder, who, he was more than ever convinced, was a spy, though
in what interest, or in whose behalf, he could not even guess. But he
had failed in nothing else. His ruse had been most successful. He had
been admitted to the sanctum of Alan Warburton; had seen his face, heard
his voice, noted his movements. And his last doubt was removed; rather,
the last shade of uncertainty, for he could scarcely be said to have
been in doubt at any time.
Alan Warburton, and not Archibald, had been his patron on the night of
the masquerade. It was Alan Warburton who, in the guise of a Sailor, had
killed Josef Siebel on that selfsame night. There was much that was
still a mystery, but that could now be sifted out.
Why had Alan Warburton secured his services to shadow his sister-in-law?
He could not answer this question; but it was now plain to him that he
had been summarily dismissed from the case, on the following morning,
because Alan Warburton, having recognized him in the hovel, had feared
to meet him again.
Why had he sought the Francoise abode on that especial night? And why
had he killed Josef Siebel? These were problems to the solution of which
he could now turn his attention--after he had secured his prisoner.
He had consumed some time in his hot chase after the Organ-grinder, and
then he had hastened to set a fresh guard upon the Warburton house. And
this guard had just reported.
No one had left, no one had arrived, until this morning, when two
ladies, escorted by an elderly gentleman, had driven to the door. The
ladies had remained; the gentleman had departed almost immediately.
Vernet was more than satisfied. He sent a messenger to summon to his aid
his favorite assistants, made some other necessary preparations, and sat
down to scan the morning paper while he waited.
His quick eye noted everything of a personal nature, births, deaths,
marriages, arrivals, departures, social items. Suddenly he flung the
paper from him and bounded to his feet, uttering a passionate
imprecation.
Then he snatched up the paper, and, as if for once he doubted his own
eyes, reperused the startling paragraph. Yes, it was there; it was no
optical illusion.
Alan Warburton, and his sister-in-law, Mrs. Archibald Warburton had
taken passage for Liverpool, on board the _Clytie_. And the _Clytie_ was
to sail that morning!
In one moment, Vernet was in the street. In five, he was driving
furiously through the city. In half an hour, he had reached his
destination.
Too late! The _Clytie_ had cleared the harbor, and was already a mere
speck in the distance.
"So," he muttered, turning sullenly away, "he thinks he has outwitted
me. God bless the Atlantic cable! When my aristocratic friend arrives in
Liverpool, he shall receive an ovation--from Scotland Yards!"
While Vernet thus comforted himself, Mr. Follingsbee, seated in a cosy
upper room of his own dwelling, addressed himself to a gentleman very
closely resembling Mr. Alan Warburton.
"So here we are," he said, with a chuckle. "The _Clytie_ has sailed
before now; you are on your way to Europe. Mr. Vernet will head you off,
of course. In the meantime, we gain all that we wanted, _time_."