MISSING--CARTE BLANCHE.
It had been decided between Miss Jenrys and myself that the little
brunette should not be altogether ignored, at least for a time; and I
had taken it upon myself to provide the letter which was to put off
until a more convenient season the proposed survey of the White City
by night.
After some thought I had written the following, and posted it
according to directions, in care of a certain café on Fifty-seventh
Street:
'DEAR MISS B----,
'I find that I can hardly evade the duties one owes to
courteous friends, and must for a few evenings devote myself
to these. It is very likely that some of the friends of my
chaperon will visit the Fair, perhaps this week, in which
case she will perhaps be able to dispense with me for one
evening; therefore please inform me if you should, as you
suggested, change your address, so that I may drop you a
note when the right time comes.
'Yours, etc.,
'J. E. J.'
This letter was submitted to Miss Jenrys, and then posted, but not
until the superintendent had secured for me the services of a
half-grown boy who had won a reputation as a keen and tenacious
'shadow.' Him I set to await the coming of our brunette; and, lest he
should mistake or miss her, I waited in attendance with him until she
came, which was at an early hour and in haste.
I had also placed a man upon Stony Island Avenue, armed with minute
descriptions of Smug, Greenback Bob, Delbras, and the brunette, and
with instructions to watch the cafés and houses upon a line with the
Fair-grounds, and especially within a certain radius within which we
knew parties of their peculiar sort were received 'and no questions
asked.'
As for Brainerd and myself, we had laid out a new system, and upon it
we founded a strong hope for ultimate success; though we recognised
more and more the fact that we had to cope with men who were more than
ordinarily keen, clever, and skilled in the fine art of dodging and
baffling pursuit. In fact, I was now thoroughly convinced that they
were living and working upon the supposition that they were constantly
watched and pursued, and that they governed their movements and
shifted their abode accordingly.
There was one thing which weighed upon my mind--I had almost said
conscience--and troubled me uncomfortably, and that was the attitude I
was permitting the disguised brunette to maintain toward Miss Jenrys.
Since she had entered so earnestly into the work of ferreting out the
motive for the brunette's persistent attentions, she had manifested
such a willingness to aid me by allowing that personage to continue
the acquaintance already begun, that, while I appreciated it as an
earnest of her trust in me, it was, nevertheless, embarrassing.
I was not yet ready to tell her that I believed the brunette to be a
man in masquerade--I must be able to prove my charge first; and yet I
had determined that they should not meet again if I could stand
between them.
It was to speak an additional word of caution, and to tell the two
ladies that two stalwart and trusty chair-pushers were engaged for
their evening sight-seeing, that I set out one morning to make my
first call upon them at their apartment on Washington Avenue. It had
been decided that, even in such a throng as that of the White City, it
would not be wise to meet within the grounds too often, or too openly.
We were sure of more or less surveillance from one source; and I was
quite ready to believe that from more than one direction interested
eyes were watching the coming and going of Miss Jenrys, if not of
myself.
Already I had tested the cooking and service of a variety of the
restaurants, cafés, and _tables d'hôte_ within the gates, and I had
also found that outside, and especially within easy reach from the
northern or Fifty-seventh Street gate, were to be found a number of
most cleanly and inviting little places, more or less pretentious, and
under various names, but all ready, willing, and able to serve one a
breakfast, dinner, or luncheon such as would tempt even chronic
grumblers to smile, feast, and come again.
I had breakfasted that morning at one of these comforting places, and
upon leaving it had crossed the street to purchase a cigar from the
stand on the corner, and having lighted it had kept on upon the same
side.
I had meant to recross at the next corner, for half-way between two
streets, stationed beneath some trees upon a vacant lot, was a
bootblack's open-air establishment which I had a mind to patronize. As
I neared the scene, however, and glanced across, I saw that both of
the bootblack's chairs were occupied, and upon a second glance I noted
that one of the occupants was my recent acquaintance, Monsieur Voisin,
Miss Jenrys' friend.
He was busy with a newspaper, or seemed to be, and glancing down at my
feet to make sure they were not too shabby for a morning call, I kept
straight on and turned down Washington Avenue upon its farther or
western side.
I had bought a paper along with my cigar, and as I ran up the steps of
the pretty modern cottage where the two ladies had established
themselves I threw away the one and put the other in my pocket,
wondering as I did so if Monsieur Voisin was also on his way to this
place, and smiling a little, because I had at least the advantage of
being first.
It was so early that the ladies had not yet returned from breakfast,
which they took at a café "aroond the corner joost," so the servant
informed me. But I was expected, and I was asked to wait in their
little reception-room, where a sunshade and a pair of dainty gloves
upon a chair, and a shawl of soft gray precisely folded and lying upon
a small table, not to mention the books, papers, and little feminine
knicknacks, gave to the room a look of occupancy and ownership.
I had just unfolded my paper, and was glancing over the headlines upon
the first page, when the two ladies entered, and I dropped my paper
while rising to salute them.
In anticipation of or to forestall a possible call from Monsieur
Voisin, I made haste to get through with the little business in hand,
and obtained from Miss Jenrys, without question or demur, her promise
not to hold communication with the brunette, at least by letter, and
to avoid if possible a meeting until I should be able to enlighten her
more fully.
'I do not want to lose sight of her,' I said, in scant explanation,
'and it seems that we can best keep our hold through her pursuit of
you; but I would rather lose sight of her altogether and begin it all
over again than let one line in your handwriting go into such
hands'--I avoided those false pronouns 'her' and 'she' when I
could--'and hope and trust you may be spared another interview.
Please take this upon trust, Miss Jenrys, and you too, Miss Ross, and
believe that I will not keep you in the dark one moment longer than is
needful.'
They assured me of their willingness to wait, even in the face of what
Miss Jenrys laughingly described as a devouring curiosity; and then,
while she turned the talk upon the Fair and some of its wonders, Miss
Ross, murmuring a word of polite excuse, took up my paper from the
place where it had fallen from my hands.
'Thee will allow me--I have not seen our morning paper.'
'Oh, Aunt Ann, I had entirely forgotten it!' cried her niece
contritely.
'It is not important, child,' replied the smiling Quakeress. 'There is
very little in it now except the Fair, and that we can better read at
first hand.'
Nevertheless, she began to turn the pages and to scan here and there
through her dainty gold-framed spectacles, while Miss Jenrys began to
interrogate me concerning the mysteries of Midway Plaisance.
'We hear such very contradictory stories, and I do not want to miss
any feature of the foreign show worth seeing,' she said, with an arch
little nod and smile across to her aunt, 'nor does Aunt Ann; and I
don't quite feel like bearding all those Midway lions unguarded,
unguided, and--unadvised.'
I was not slow to offer my own individual services, in such an earnest
manner that, after a little hesitation and the assurance that it would
not only not conflict with my 'business engagements,' but would afford
an especial pleasure, inasmuch as I had not yet 'done' the Plaisance
in any thorough manner, she finally accepted my proffered services for
her aunt and herself, adding at last:
'To be perfectly honest, Mr. Masters, I know Aunt Ann will never enter
that alarming, fascinating Ferris Wheel without an escort whom she can
trust should we lose our heads and want to jump out one hundred feet
above terra firma; and I am quite sure I shall want to jump. I always
am tempted to jump from any great height. Do you believe in these
sensations? I have heard people say that they could hardly restrain
themselves from jumping into the water whenever they ride in a boat or
cross a bridge.'
'I have heard of such cases,' I replied. And so we talked on,
discussing this singular and seldom met with, but still existing fact,
of single insane freaks in the otherwise perfectly sane, when the
gentle Quakeress, uttering a little shocked exclamation and suddenly
lowering her paper, turned toward us.
'Pardon me! but, June, child, what did you tell me was the name of the
young man to whom thy friend Hilda O'Neil is betrothed?'
'Trent, auntie--Gerald Trent.'
'Of Boston?'
'Of Boston; yes. Why, Aunt Ann?'
'I--I fear, then, that there is sorrow in store for thy young friend.
Gerald Trent is missing.'
'Missing?'
The Quakeress held the paper toward me, I being nearest her, and
pointing with a finger to some headlines half-way down the page, said:
'Perhaps thee would better read it.'
I took the paper and read aloud these lines:
'"ANOTHER WORLD'S FAIR MYSTERY.--GERALD TRENT AMONG THE
MISSING.
'"_Another Young Man swallowed up by the Maelstrom._
'"Yesterday we chronicled the disappearance of Harvey Parker
who was traced by his friends to this city, where he had
arrived to visit the Exposition for a week or more. He is
known to have arrived at the Rock Island Depot and to have
set out for the Van Buren Street Viaduct _en route_ for the
Fair. This was on Monday last, five days ago, since which
time, as was stated in our yesterday's issue, he has not been
seen or heard from by his friends or by the police, who are
searching for him.
'"Nearly two weeks ago, Gerald Trent, only son of Abner
Trent, one of Boston's millionaire merchants, came to this
city to see the Exposition and to secure accommodations for
his family, who were to come later. He stopped at an up-town
hotel for some days, visited the Fair, and secured apartments
for his friends, which were to have been vacated for their
use in a few days.
'"He had written to his family, telling them to await his
telegram, which they would receive in three or four days.
When this time had expired and no telegram came, they waited
another day, and then sent him a message of inquiry. This
being unanswered, they made inquiry at his up-town hotel, and
then began a search, which ended in the conviction that young
Trent had met with misfortune, if not foul play. On Monday
last he left the hotel, saying to one of the inmates of the
house that he should have possession of a fine suite of
rooms, within three blocks of the north entrance, which
presumably means Fifty-seventh Street, within three days, and
that he meant to send for his friends that day by telegraph.
No message was received at his home, as has been said, and
nothing has been heard of him since that day.
'"Young Trent wore, rather unwisely, a couple of valuable
diamonds, one in a solitaire ring, the other in a scarf-pin;
he also carried a fine watch, and was well supplied with
money. The police are working hard upon the case. The list of
the missing seems to be increasing."'
* * * * *
I put the paper down and looked across at Miss Jenrys. I had
recognised the name Hilda O'Neil as that of her Boston correspondent
whose letter I had found in the little black bag, and by association
the name of Gerald Trent also. Miss Jenrys was looking pale and
startled.
'Oh!' she exclaimed. 'That is what Hilda's telegram meant.'
'You have had a telegram from Boston?' I ventured.
'Yes. You perhaps remember the letter in my bag?'
I nodded.
'In that letter Hilda--Miss O'Neil--spoke of Mr. Trent's delay, and of
her anxiety. I did not reply to her letter at first, expecting to hear
from or see her, for she had my address. It was only a freak my
telling her to write me through the World's Fair post-office; but when
she did not come--on the day before I met you, in fact--I wrote just a
few lines of inquiry. In reply to this I received a telegram last
evening. I will get it.' She crossed the room and opened a little
traveller's writing-case, coming back with a yellow envelope in her
hand. 'There it is,' she said, holding it out to me.
I took it and read the words:
'Have you seen Gerald? Hilda.'
'Did you reply to this?' I asked, as I gave it back to her.
'At once--just the one word, "No."'
'Do you know this young man?' I asked.
'I have never even seen him, but I know that he bears a splendid
reputation for manliness, sobriety, and studiousness. He was something
of a bookworm at college, I believe, and has developed a taste for
literature. You see, I have heard much of him. Oh, I am sure something
has happened to him, some misfortune! You see, she had asked him to
call upon me, and he would never have left Hilda--not to mention his
parents and sister--five days in suspense if able to communicate with
them.'
'If he is the person you describe him, surely not.'
She gazed at me a moment, as if about to reproach me for the doubt my
words implied, and dropped her eyes. Then she answered quietly:
'The simple fact that John O'Neil, Hilda's father, has accepted him as
his daughter's _fiancé_ is sufficient for me. Mr. O'Neil is an astute
lawyer and a shrewd judge of character; he has known the Trents for
many years, and he already looks upon Gerald Trent as a son.'
'And Mr. O'Neil--where is he?'
'Abroad at present; it is to be regretted now.'
I took up the paper and re-read the account of young Trent's
disappearance; and Miss Jenrys dropped her head upon her hand, and
seemed to be studying the case. After a moment of silence, Miss Ross,
who had been a listener from the beginning, leaned toward her niece
and said, in her gentlest tone:
'June, my child, ought we not to try and do something? What does thee
think? Should we wait, and perhaps lose valuable time, while the
Trents are on their way?'
Miss Jenrys lifted her head suddenly.
'Auntie,' she exclaimed, 'you are worth a dozen of me! You are right!
We must do something. Mr. Masters, what would you do first if you were
to begin at once upon the case?'
'Get, from the chief of police if necessary, the name of the up-town
hotel where young Trent was last seen.'
'And then?' she urged, in a prompt, imperious manner quite new in my
acquaintance with her.
'Obtain a description of him from some of the people there, and learn
all that can be learned about him.'
'And what next?' she urged still.
'Next, I would seek among the houses within two or three blocks from
the north entrance for the rooms which he engaged, and which are
perhaps still held for him.'
'Mr. Masters, can you do this for me?' She was sitting erect before
me, the very incarnation of repressed activity, and I knew, as well as
if she had said it, that she would never permit my refusal to weaken
the determination just taking shape in her mind to do for Hilda O'Neil
what she could not have done for herself, and to do it boldly,
promptly, openly. She saw my hesitation, and went on hurriedly:
'I know how busy you must be, how much I am asking, but you have
undertaken to follow up that brunette and find out the reason for her
interest in me, and surely this is far, far more important--a man's
life, the happiness of a family, my friend's happiness at stake,
perhaps; for I am sure that no common cause, nothing but danger,
illness, or death, could keep Gerald Trent from communicating with his
parents and his promised wife. Drop the brunette and all connected
with her, Mr. Masters, and give such time as you would have given to
my affairs, and more if possible, to this search, I beg of you. At
least, promise me that you will conduct the search, and employ as many
helpers as you need. I'll give you carte-blanche. Deal with me as you
would with a man, and if I can aid in any other way than with my
purse, let me do it.'
As she paused, with her eyes eagerly fixed upon my face, the sweet
Quakeress leaned toward me, and put out her white slender hand in
earnest appeal.
'"Thy brother's keeper;" remember that a deed of mercy is beyond and
above all works of vengeance. What is the capture of a criminal, of
many of them, compared to the rescue, the saving, perchance, of an
honest man's life? I beg of thee, consent, help us!'
There may be men who could have resisted that appeal. I could not, and
did not. I did not throw my other responsibilities to the winds; I
simply did not think of them at the moment, when I took the soft hand
of the elder woman in my own, and, looking across at the younger,
said:
'I will do my best, Miss Jenrys, and, that not one moment may be lost,
tell me, can you describe young Trent?'
'Not very well, I fear.'
'And his picture? Your friend must have that?'
'Of course,' half smiling.
'Telegraph her to forward it to you at once. And has your friend at
any time mentioned the hotel where young Trent would stop? Most of our
Eastern visitors have a favourite stopping-place.'
'I know.' She had made a movement toward her desk, but paused and
turned toward me. 'I think it is safe to say that the two families
would share the same house. They did in visiting the summer resorts,
always; and I know where Mr. O'Neil and Mr. Trent went when they
attended the great convention in this city.' She named the place, and
I promptly arose.
'I will go there at once; but you may as well give me the Trents'
address, and permit me the use of your name. If I am wrong I will
telegraph from up-town for the name of his hotel.'
As I turned my face cityward that morning I was not only fully
committed to the search for missing Gerald Trent, but I was determined
to convert my friend and partner to the same undertaking.
And having now found time for sober, second thought, I had also
determined not to relinquish my search for the little brunette and her
secret, nor for Messrs. Bob Delbras and company. Had I not
carte-blanche?
As I left the house, intent upon my new errand, I was not surprised to
see approaching it, almost at the door, in fact, Monsieur Voisin. We
exchanged greetings at the entrance, and I had walked some distance
before it occurred to me to wonder how it came about that Monsieur
Voisin, whom I had last seen at the bootblack's stand, two blocks
north and east, happened to be approaching Miss Jenrys' residence from
the south.