A VISIT TO THE INDIGENT
The guests had either retired to their rooms, or were wandering about
the spacious grounds; at least none were in evidence when West emerged
on to the side terrace, where Miss Natalie and Percival Coolidge
waited. The car was an electric runabout, the single broad seat ample
for the three, and West found himself next to the girl who took charge.
Few words were exchanged until they turned into the main high-way,
headed toward the city. Even then conversation scarcely touched on the
special object of their trip. Indeed, Coolidge seemed inclined to avoid
the subject entirely, turning the conversation into other channels
whenever the matter was broached. This was so persistently done as to
arouse West's notice, but Natalie appeared indifferent, interested only
in her guidance of the car. It was not a long ride, the point sought
being a short submerged street in the southwestern section of the
city. To West this district was entirely unknown, even the street names
being unfamiliar, but he learned through the conversation of the others
that they were in the neighbourhood of some of the Coolidge factories,
many of the surrounding houses being the homes of employees. Percival
called his attention to a few of these, more substantial than the
others, as evidence of the wages paid in their establishments, and also
expatiated to some extent upon the benevolent oversight shown their
workmen. The girl, however, remained quiet, her attention concentrated
upon the street.
Indeed it needed to be if they were to escape accident, for the streets
traversed were, on this Sunday morning, evidently filled from curb to
curb with children engaged in all manner of games, with their elders
massed on the steps in front of the houses, watching them apathetically.
The runabout felt its way cautiously forward through the jostling throng
of screaming youngsters, and finally turned into Arch Street, only two
blocks in length, with low, two storied, wooden cottages on either side.
Percival, plainly nervous at the surroundings, indicated the place
sought in the middle of the first block, and Natalie ran the car up
against the curb.
"Is this the place?" she asked doubtfully, eyeing the rather
disreputable cottage, which seemed deserted. "I have never been
here before. What a mass of kids! Do they always play like that in
the street?"
Coolidge unfastened the door, and stepped out.
"Yes, it's all right," he answered sharply. "You might wait here, West;
we'll only be gone a few minutes. Come along, Natalie,"
The girl hesitated, evidently not altogether satisfied.
"Is it necessary that I go in?" she asked.
"That was why I asked you to come," impatiently. "Because you understand
these matters, and, being a woman, can judge better what steps should be
taken. Come; it will only require a few moments--West won't mind."
"Certainly not," the younger man said heartily, "I shall be very
comfortable; don't bother about me."
He had a distinct impression that Coolidge did not desire his company any
further, yet this suspicion aroused no resentment. This was a matter with
which he was in no way concerned, and the only interest he felt was
strictly impersonal. His eyes followed the two as they advanced up the
board walk to the front door of the cottage, and he felt a measure of
surprise at seeing Coolidge calmly open the door without knocking. Both
disappeared amidst the darkness within, and he dismissed the whole affair
from his mind almost instantly. Sinking comfortably back in the seat, his
gaze centred on the maze of children playing in the street. Their antics
amused him for some time, but, at last, he began wondering at the delay
of those within, and his mind drifted to the peculiar conditions with
which he was confronted. Over and over again he reviewed the facts told
him, and compared these with his own observations. That something was
wrong was beyond doubt; he could no longer question this, but no
satisfactory clue to the mystery had yet presented itself. If some
conspiracy was on foot against Natalie, what could be its object? and who
were directly involved? There was apparently no way to settle this,
except to wait patiently for some move on the part of the others. Any
attempt at guessing would only lead him astray. Seemingly, Percival
Coolidge was the only person who could be directly interested should
misfortune occur to his niece; he was the guardian of her inheritance,
and responsible for what remained of her father's estate. Undoubtedly he
also was the next heir at law. His interest in the matter was therefore
easily figured out. Yet there was nothing to prove that the fellow was a
villain at heart, or had any reason to attempt desperate methods. The
mere fact that some other woman amused herself in pretending to be
Natalie proved nothing criminally wrong. It might be a mere lark, with no
vicious object in view. Indeed, but for the deep interest West already
felt in the girl herself, he would have dismissed this angle of the
problem entirely from consideration. It seemed far too melodramatic and
improbable to be taken seriously, although, from mere curiosity, he
purposed to round up this masquerader, and satisfy himself as to why she
was thus publicly impersonating the girl. Yet this appeared a matter of
minor importance, his real task being to learn the condition of the
Steven Coolidge estate, and whether or not, Percival had administered it
justly. Once satisfied upon that point, he would know better what further
steps to take. His whole mind had unconsciously centred upon a distrust
of the man. He believed him to be a sneaking scoundrel, at present
engaged in seeking some means for gaining possession of the trust funds
left in his care. And yet, West had to confess to himself that this
belief was largely founded upon prejudice--confidence in Natalie, and a
personal dislike of the man himself. He possessed no proof of the
fellow's perfidy, nor had he even determined in his own mind the means to
be employed for learning the truth. He had nothing to build upon but the
statement of the girl, which was extremely vague in detail, and largely
mere suspicion. The more thoroughly he analyzed the situation the more
complicated it became, and the less confident he felt regarding an early
solution. If Coolidge was engaged in some criminal scheme the man was
certainly shrewd enough to carefully cover his trail. It was no sudden
temptation to which he had yielded, but a deeply laid plan, formed,
perhaps, as long ago as his brother's death, and now just coming to a
head. Even the books of the estate might have been so carefully
manipulated as to leave no clue. Besides West possessed no authority by
which to examine the books, or even question the bankers in whose hands
the funds were supposed to be. The only immediate hope of striking a
trail apparently lay in his discovery of the strange woman who was
impersonating Natalie Coolidge, and learning her object in carrying on
such a masquerade. Of course, even that might lead nowhere in particular,
as she might be merely amusing herself, and have no connection with
Percival whatever; yet such an investigation offered a chance not to be
neglected.
His glance took in the surroundings, but with no conception that they
would have any direct bearing upon the mystery he was endeavouring to
solve. It was a block of irregular houses, a tenement on the corner, a
dirty looking brick, the other houses of wood, mostly two stories in
height, rather disreputable in appearance, but the one before which the
machine waited, was a frame cottage, well back from the street, and
rather respectable in appearance, although it must have been some years
since last painted. Its original white was dingy, and the tightly
closed blinds gave an appearance of desertion. The door was shut. The
chimney indicated no sign of smoke, the front yard gave every evidence
of long neglect.
An urchin, chasing a ball, plunged recklessly beneath the auto, emerging
with the sphere in his grimy fist. West stopped him with a question.
"Who lives in there?"
"I do' know."
"You don't know? Live 'round here, don't you?"
"Sure; but these folks just come in. They ain't got no kids. G'wn; what
yer asking me fer? Here ye are, Micky!"
"Wait a minute. Here's a dime for you. You say these people just
moved in?"
"Yep."
"When?"
"Couple days maybe. Shucks, mister, I do' know. Hooligans moved out 'bout
a week ago, an' then, a while after that, these guys moved in. I ain't
seen nobody round, but a sorter middlin' ol' woman. Maybe Micky knows who
they be--he lives in that next house. Hey, Micky; here's a guy wants to
ask you som'thin'!"
But Micky refused to be interested, beyond a derisive wiggling of his
fingers at his nose, and West, having abstracted all the information
possible, made no further effort. The knowledge thus obtained as to the
present occupants of the cottage did not exactly coincide with the story
Coolidge had told. He had spoken of a widow with three children in
destitute circumstances following the father's death. The boy asserted
there were no children in the family. And they had just moved in, within
a very few days, during which time the neighbourhood had only glimpsed a
"middling old" woman. It was strange at least, adding distinctly to the
puzzle of the whole affair. West grew nervous, wondering why the two
should remain so long within, out of sight and hearing. If this was
merely a charitable visit, it surely did not need require such a length
of time. He had been waiting now for three-quarters of an hour. He opened
the door of the car, and stepped out upon the curb, almost tempted to
investigate the cause of delay. As he stood there undecided, the two
emerged from the cottage, and descended the steps together. Through the
opened door he caught no glimpse of any one within, yet some unseen hand
closed it quickly behind them.