A PUZZLE TO SOLVE.
The reply given by the girl was as complete a surprise as anything the
detective had listened to.
Only a minute before he had been told that it was not known whether
this daughter was in existence, and now she was here claiming
relationship.
While Nick did not say anything aloud, he did so mentally. And what he
said was:
“The presence of this girl is another of the threads of this mystery!”
Meanwhile he was not losing a word of what passed between the butler
and the girl.
The former gasped:
“His daughter, you said?”
“Yes.”
“He had no daughter!”
“In that you are mistaken.”
“I am sure he had not.”
“I fancy he knew best, and I have a letter here from him to prove the
relationship.”
“Will you let me see it?”
“No. Why should I? Please inform Mr. Field of my arrival; he is the one
to determine whether I am or am not his daughter.”
“Don’t you know that----”
“Know what?”
“That Mr. Field is dead?”
“Dead!”
They could hear the rustle of a dress, as though the girl had shrunk
back at the announcement.
“Yes, dead.”
“It cannot be.”
“It is true, nevertheless.”
“When did he die?”
“Last night.”
The girl was silent a moment, and then she was heard to exclaim:
“Oh! my poor father--lost as soon as found!”
Mentally, the detective said:
“She is playing her part most beautifully!”
The girl was in the act of leaving when the detective descended the
stairs, saying:
“Please wait a minute, I would like a few words with this lady.”
Barnes would have gone down with him but Nick Carter waved him back.
The detective saw before him a beautiful young girl, not more than
sixteen, dressed very plainly, but neatly, and looking every inch the
lady.
So far as appearance went it was in her favor, but the detective had
learned in a hard school not to trust in the slightest degree to
appearances, and from the fact of this girl’s coming here to claim
relationship on the morning following the murder of Mr. Field, he set
her down as being one of the conspirators against that gentleman, and
would continue so to look upon her until the contrary was proved.
Bowing to her very politely and thoroughly masking his real feelings,
he said:
“Will you please step into the parlor, miss?”
Inclining her head she moved in the direction of the room indicated.
The detective followed her in.
When they were seated he purposely remained silent for some time. Were
she guilty in the way he thought, the chances were greatly in favor of
this silence embarrassing her and making her uneasy to a degree that
would show.
In the course of a few minutes she did begin to show restiveness, but
it was not of the kind to indicate any guilty knowledge, such as the
detective was determined she would give evidence of.
She appeared to wait with all the patience possible until she became
convinced that he would not open the conversation; and then she did so
herself. She said:
“I believe you asked me to step into this room?”
“I did.”
“Will you please explain the nature of your business?”
“Do not be in a hurry. I heard you say to the butler that you were a
daughter of Mr. Field?”
“I did say so.”
“On what do you base the claim?”
“A letter received from him.”
“You did not know of it before?”
“I did not.”
“Will you let me see this letter?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because, if Mr. Field is dead, the matter is settled so far as I am
concerned. Even though his letter tells me I am his daughter, I shall
not try to prove it so, now that he is not here.”
“Why not?”
“I do not choose to go into court and stand the fire of a lot of brutal
ruffians who masquerade under the title of lawyers.”
Mentally, the detective said:
“That answer goes a good way toward proving her not innocent, since it
shows that she has some familiarity with the interior of a courtroom.”
Aloud, he said:
“But, if you are his daughter, you have rights to maintain which you
should not desert under any circumstances.”
“I am the best judge of that. I understand that Mr. Field was very
wealthy, but if I choose to sacrifice that wealth it is my own concern.”
Nick was eying her keenly.
He did not know what to make of her.
It certainly did look suspicious to the last degree that she should put
in an appearance with the claim of being the murdered man’s daughter on
the morning following his death. But if she did not intend, and did not
take advantage of the claim and endeavor to get the fortune, what was
he to think?
The impulse of his heart was that the girl did not have any guilty
knowledge of the singular crime, but he would not listen to its
promptings when they were opposed to his reason.
He finally said to himself:
“Does she not speak this way for a purpose? Let me see. If she was
really concerned in the affair would she not come here this morning so
early to put in her claim? Of course. Pretending surprise at hearing of
Mr. Field’s death, would it not be a good card for her to play to say,
that under the circumstances she would not make any effort to prove her
claim? Of course, again, for she would be aware that as the gentleman
had no other heirs, one must be found, or let the property go to the
State; at which juncture she would come forward again and step into
possession with little if any opposition. According to this showing her
purpose here this morning is only to show herself and put in a claim
in due season, that she may have witnesses afterward.”
And thus concluding, his lips set themselves tightly together. Come
what might, he no longer had any sympathy for the girl who was, and
would continue in his eyes to be, an impostor endeavoring to profit by
the crime committed against Mr. Field.
To further plans of his own, he thought it best to try to make the girl
look upon him as a friend, and he kindly said:
“My dear, you are very young and perhaps not so well qualified to judge
what is for your best interests as one who has upon him the weight of
a greater number of years. If I can give you any advice you are at
liberty to call upon me for it.”
“I thank you, but I do not believe that I am in need of advice. I have
for so long been compelled to depend upon myself that I have grown
accustomed to thinking and acting on my own judgment.”
“Very well. I do not wish to press my advice upon you and will say no
more. Still, I think that you would be doing yourself a service to show
the letter you say you received from Mr. Field.”
“Why so?”
“There are a number of reasons.”
“Name one.”
“Mr. Field having been murdered, the singular circumstance of your
appearing here to claim relationship the next morning, may tend to
throw suspicion on yourself as having had a part in it or having guilty
knowledge of it.”
The girl’s face paled slightly.
In a voice that was a trifle unsteady, she said:
“That is absurd.”
“That may be, but facts are facts, and appearances are sometimes so
strong that men have been hung on them.”
“I know nothing of his murder.”
“I do not suppose for a minute that you do; still, others may think
differently.”
“Grant that they do, it does not concern me. They could not prove that
I knew anything about the murder.”
“You cannot be so sure of that. Why, if you only knew it, I could offer
evidence, based on this interview, that would be most damaging.”
“How so?”
“I might for one thing say that you displayed very little emotion on
learning of Mr. Field’s death. It is natural to expect that a daughter
would show some emotion on learning of a father’s death.”
“Yes, under ordinary circumstances. But it occurs to me that it would
be very unnatural for me to grieve much over the death of a person of
whom I have no recollection, and who stands confessed as having treated
my mother with cruelty and injustice.”
The detective thought:
“She evidently knows something of the truth in regard to the parting
between Mr. Field and his wife.”
Aloud, he said:
“You speak of your mother. Where is she now?”
“Alas! I do not know.”
“Do not know?”
“No.”
“Is she alive?”
“I cannot tell that. Yet I think she must be.”
“And in this city?”
“Yes.”
“When did you see her last?”
“Ten years ago.”
“What were the circumstances of your last seeing her?”
“She had been taken suddenly ill and was taken to a hospital.”
“Did you ever go there to see her?”
“Only once.”
“You saw her?”
“No.”
“How was that?”
“I was denied admission.”
“Did she die there?”
“No.”
“How did you learn this?”
“I paid a second visit to the place after a long lapse of time, and was
told she had become well and been discharged.”
“She did not seek you out after being discharged?”
“She must have sought me, although she failed to find me, as I had for
some time been away from the tenement in which we lived at the time she
was taken ill.”
“You have never seen her, then, since the day she was taken to the
hospital?”
“I have not.”
“Nor heard of her?”
“No.”
“Did she ever tell you anything about the fact of her marriage and
parting from her husband?”
“No. The only thing that she ever said to me was one day when we were
in Central Park and a handsome carriage went past. She said to me: ‘If
you were enjoying your rights, my dear, you would be riding in that
very carriage.’”
“She said nothing further?”
“She did not.”
“Did you question her?”
“I did, but she answered to the effect, that some day when I was old
enough to appreciate the circumstances, she would tell me the story.”
The girl had answered every question without hesitation, and if she
were lying, then she had concocted a clever story to cover every point
and had committed it thoroughly to memory.
He now began to ask her some other questions, putting them to her in
the most wily manner, and taking care to leave pitfalls for her to
stumble into.
But she did not trip once.
And he afterward said to himself:
“Either this girl is innocent, or else she is the smartest woman I ever
came across in all my life.”
If she was deceiving him she was doing it with an assumption of
truthfulness that was artistic in the highest degree.
He could not but acknowledge that he had made nothing of her, and was
about to give up the task of trying to do so when there was the sound
of a step at the door.
Looking up he saw that it was Barnes.
He had barely noted the fact when he observed something else.
This was that both the girl and Barnes gave a start of recognition.
“Ha! They knew each other!” he exclaimed. “Now, then, what does this
mean? Can it be that he has any part in this game?”
It may seem to the reader a little singular that the detective should
even for a moment doubt a man whom he was supposed to know as well as
Barnes.
But the detective’s experience had been such to make him suspicious of
anyone, no matter whom, if the finger of dumb evidence pointed him out.
He was a firm believer in evidence of this character, although he did
not permit the belief to lead him into injustice.
Coming forward with a smile, Barnes said:
“How are you this morning, Miss Doane?”
At the same time he offered his hand.
Rising to meet him, she gracefully accepted the hand he proffered, and
replied:
“I am very well, thank you. I had not expected to see you here.”
“Nor I you.”
Seating herself again, she said:
“Were you a friend of Mr. Field’s?”
“I was.”
“I am informed that last night he was murdered.”
“Such is the truth as near as we can judge.”
Barnes then uttered a low cry of surprise. It had just occurred to him
that this was the girl who had claimed to be Mr. Field’s daughter.
The detective guessed what was in his mind, and he was silent while he
watched these two closely.
After a brief space, Barnes said:
“It was you who rang a short while ago?”
“It was.”
“I was at the head of the stairs and heard what you said to the butler.
You received a letter from Mr. Field?”
“I did.”
“Saying that you were his daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Will you not let me see that letter?”
“For what reason?”
“It may have a bearing, that we do not now see, on this case.”
The girl hesitated.
Barnes urged her:
“Surely, Miss Doane, you can have no doubt of my friendship?”
“None.”
As she gave this reply her head drooped and a flush came into her face.
“Then let me see it.”
“I will do so.”
Saying this, she took a letter from her pocket and handed it to him.
Thanking her for her confidence in him, Barnes took the letter and
opened it.
When he read it the detective came forward, and quietly said:
“Well, what do you make of it?”
The reply was:
“It is exactly like every communication made by Mr. Field--clear,
concise and businesslike, going directly to the point.”
“Did Mr. Field write it?”
“He did.”
“You recognize the writing?”
“I do.”
“Would you swear to it?”
“I would willingly do so.”
“You have had some knowledge of his writing?”
“I have. I have received many communications from him, know his writing
well and am sure that he wrote this.”
“What does the letter say?”
“You can read it for yourself.”
Barnes handed him the letter.
It read:
“MY DEAR CHILD: A few hours ago I learned of your
existence, and in seeking to make reparation for the wrong done
you years ago do not waste any time in cold formality, but at
once sit down to make my confession, ask your forgiveness, and
offer you the home that should have been yours these many years
past.
“That your mother is not with you I know, but whether because
she is dead is knowledge not in my possession. If she has told
you the history of her past, then you will understand and be
able to read between the lines of the few words that I shall
transmit to paper; if she has not told you of it, then I will
do so fully when we meet. I would come to you personally, only
I feel that I have so deeply wronged you that I have not the
right to come into your presence until you shall know all the
circumstances and accord me that privilege.
“In a fit of jealous rage, without foundation in reason, I drove
your mother from me, and she took you with her. I wronged her
cruelly, I confess, and I would not blame either you or her
if I am denied forgiveness, and yet I cannot but feel that I
am entitled to it, for if ever man repented an action I have
repented that one, and have for years been searching for you
both that I might be able to repair in part the harm I brought
on you.
“If you feel that you can forgive me, come to me at my house and
permit me to devote the remainder of my life to you.
“Your distressed father,
“HILTON FIELD.”
When the detective had read it through, he said:
“Have you any other letter written by Mr. Field?”
“I have.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“Will you let me see it?”
“Certainly.”
Barnes felt in his pocket and presently produced a letter that had
been written him to make inquiry in regard to some matter that he had
been attending to for Mr. Field.
Nick Carter scrutinized this closely.
“You know positively that Mr. Field wrote this?”
“I do.”
“Was Mr. Field a methodical man?”
“He was.”
“Where did he usually do his writing?”
“In his library upstairs.”
“At the desk there?”
“Yes.”
“I should imagine that he was very particular in regard to the kind of
a pen he used.”
Barnes turned on the detective a look of astonishment.
“Heavens! to hear you speak one would think you had known the man. If
I had not seen this day some very remarkable things done and proved
by you, I should certainly believe that you were helped by some
supernatural agency.”
Nick smiled, and said:
“All of which I may take as verifying what I said about his being a
very particular man about his pens.”
“You may so take it. Nothing would make him so cranky as to find that
anybody had made use of his pens.”
“He used a quill pen, I take it?”
“He did.”
“Did you ever know of his using a steel one?”
“No. He would not have one around.”
“You don’t think, then, that a search would show one in his desk?”
“I would be willing to stake my life on it. I am so sure in the matter
because one night not long since I wanted to do a little writing at his
direction, and asked him if he had a steel pen, as I could not make
out very well with his quills.”
“He said he did not have any?”
“Precisely. He said further that he had not had one in his possession
in over ten years.”
The detective then quietly said:
“That puts me in possession of a good point.”
“How so?”
“I am not prepared to say just now. As to this young lady, you appear
to know her?”
“I do.”
“You know where she lives so that she may be found in case she is
wanted at any time?”
“I do.”
“That is well.”
Barnes hesitated a minute, and then said:
“Might it not be as well for you also to know her future address?”
“It would do no harm.”
“Then it will be here!”
The detective turned quietly, and softly ejaculated:
“Ah!”
“Certainly. In the face of such evidence as this letter of Mr.
Field’s she must remain here. I will attend to it and see that she is
introduced to the servants as their new mistress.”
“Well, as you please about that,” returned Nick, “it is none of my
business.”
The girl interposed:
“Mr. Barnes, I do not wish to remain here. The money is nothing to
me; I have so long taken care of myself that I should be positively
unhappy, I believe, if I should make the attempt of playing lady.”
“But you have a duty in the matter. You must remain here and occupy
the position to which you are entitled.”
“I will think of it.”
“Think of it? Good heavens, does it require a minute’s reflection to
settle the matter in your mind?”
“It does.”
“I will not listen to your going away from here now.”
The girl said:
“Mr. Barnes, I would take your advice in preference to that of anybody
else, but I cannot fail to see that, no matter how strong the evidence,
in the absence of a living recognition by Mr. Field, I should be
thought to be an impostor.”
“Nonsense! That letter is as good proof as human being could ask for.”
And then, turning to the detective, he asked:
“Doesn’t that letter settle the matter?”
For reply, the detective simply said:
“Yes.”
Mentally, he added:
“Yes, it does settle the matter, although not in the way that Barnes
thinks it does. I must make some excuse for retaining possession of
this forged letter.”