'IT'S A SNARE.'
My first act upon reaching the telegraph-office was to send a message,
at Miss Jenrys' request and in her name, to Hilda O'Neil.
'Word it as you think best,' Miss Jenrys had said, and accordingly I
had sent this message:
'MISS HILDA O'NEIL,
'Yours received. Will do my best for you. Have courage.
'J.J.'
This, while indefinite, was at least not discouraging. To Mr. Trent I
wired at some length, as follows:
'Has money package been sent? Answer. If sent, order it held
until further notice. Send at once original letter. It may
prove a clue. Letter follows.
'MASTERS.'
This done, I wrote at once to Mr. Trent, setting forth my belief that
the letter was only a scheme to extort money, repeating my message
with explanatory detail, and outlining a plan of action which would
await his approval by telegraph, and then be put into immediate
execution. This I posted with a special delivery stamp, and finding my
head growing large and exceedingly painful, I went to my own quarters,
compelled for a time to give up to the combined pain and fatigue which
seemed suddenly to overcome me. But in spite of the pain in my head I
could not withdraw my thoughts from this singular letter; and after
tossing restlessly for an hour I got up, and having treated my aching
skull to a gentle rubbing with my friend the druggist's soothing
lotion, I sallied forth and wandered about the Exposition grounds
until the time for luncheon and my meeting with Dave came together.
* * * * *
Dave was anxious to hear the outcome of my visit to Miss Jenrys, and
we made haste with our luncheon and were soon back in our room, when I
told him the little I had to tell and put into his hand Miss O'Neil's
letter, bidding him read the page containing what she declared to be
an 'exact copy' of the anonymous letter.
Dave read the singular document, as I had done before him, once and
again; and then, placing it upon his knee, he sat looking at the floor
and biting his under lip, a way he had when puzzled or in doubt.
Finally he looked up. 'What do you think of this?' he asked.
'It's a snare. Don't you think so?'
'Yes; but do you swallow this story of the gang?'
'Old man, supposing young Trent to be alive and in duress somewhere,
do you imagine that one man, or even two, could keep him day and
night?'
'U-m-m--no.'
'Well, I said to Miss Jenrys an absurd thing. I said the letter might
have been suggested by seeing those reward notices; but those notices
did not give Mr. Trent's full name, and street, and number. No, sir,
that letter was written by someone who has seen the contents of Gerald
Trent's pockets, and who knows where he is, dead or alive.'
'But you don't think he means business?'
'No. And neither do you. If Trent is in the hands of the gang, no one
out of the lot will be permitted to open the doors to him. Besides, do
you think that a party of men who have the daring and the ability to
keep a prisoner three weeks safely hidden will release him for a
paltry ten thousand, knowing his father to be a multi-millionaire?'
'U-m-m--just so. And how do they keep him?'
'Well, to me that letter is very suggestive. It hints at a possible
situation. It's hard to imagine how a young man, in possession of his
strength and senses, could be held a prisoner here in Chicago. But let
us say he is ill. Suppose, for instance, he was attacked, those
diamonds he is said to have worn being the bait; he is injured; they
search him and find him a valuable person to have and to hold. If he
is ill they can keep him without much trouble. Or, the letter hints at
insanity; suppose he was lured somewhere and drugged--kept drugged. An
easy way to bring about insanity, eh?'
'Carl!' exclaimed Dave, with one of his sudden, decisive gestures,
'Carl, old man, I believe you've struck the trail! What's your next
move?'
'My first move,' I corrected, 'will depend upon Mr. Trent. I can do
nothing until I hear from him.'
'And then?' urged Dave.
'I can see no better way to begin than to try and break up the gang.'
'Before you find it?' he laughed.
'Before I look for it.'
'Good Injuns! How?'
'By making that anonymous letter public--putting it in print.'
'Jim-me-net-ti!'
* * * * *
In spite of the diligence of the watchers they could not regain the
lost trail of the little brunette, nor, indeed, of the others; and
after discussing and discarding many traps and plans, Dave ventured a
suggestion.
'If that brunette has not given up her pursuit of Miss Jenrys,' he
said, 'why not try to reach her that way? Ask her to make an
appointment. Miss Jenrys will consent.'
I could think of nothing better, but I did not act upon the suggestion
until evening, when I went, this time in company with Lossing, to call
upon the two ladies and give an account of my day's doings.
With the perfection of tact Lossing joined Miss Ross in the rear room,
and left Miss Jenrys and myself to discuss our plans. I told her the
little I had done in the Trent affair, and of my plans, contingent
upon Mr. Trent's approval.
'He will approve, I am sure of it,' she said with decision. 'He has
taken every precaution, and has made himself familiar with your record
through the Boston chief of police. He has every reason, so he writes
me, to have faith in you and in your judgment. I think you know that.'
I thanked her for the assurance that my plans would be favourably
received, and then told her of my wish to use her name in trying to
draw out the brunette.
'I see no other way,' I concluded; 'and having once written her over
your initials she may respond. Of course the reply must come to you at
the office in the Government Building.'
'But you will receive it. I can give you my card, can I not?'
'Then you do not object?'
'How can I? Did I not promise you my help? Oh, I am quite enlisted
now; although after such a _faux pas_ as I made last night I cannot
boast of my finesse. I quite excited Monsieur Voisin by my exclamatory
entrance.'
'And how?' I asked quietly, but inwardly eager.
'You remember how he questioned me about the "missing person?" Well,
he called this afternoon. Aunt Ann and I had just returned from the
Liberal Arts Building, where we had spent three long hours, and though
his call was brief he did not forget to ask again about that "missing
person." He was almost inquisitive.'
'And you?' I asked, inwardly anxious.
'He learned nothing more from me, rest assured. His curiosity seems
quite unlike him.'
'Possibly,' I hazarded, 'he has some inkling of my true inwardness,
and thinks I have made you my confidant. Do you think it possible?'
'Possible, perhaps, but not the fact,' she replied, with a little
laugh. 'My dear aunt has, in some way, given him the impression that
you are a friend or protégé of hers. I am quite certain that he
believes this, for he had the audacity to ask me to-day how long my
aunt's acquaintance with you had been; and when I assured him that you
and she were "quite old friends," he asked, with rather a queer
intonation, if auntie knew what your occupation was, and when I
murmured something about journalism, he smiled rather knowingly.'
'A clear case,' I said, smiling. 'He guesses, at least, at my
business, and perhaps fancies me deceiving your dear aunt. We will let
him continue in that error, if possible.'
I went home that evening pondering the question, Did Monsieur Voisin
know me for what I was, and, if so, how? Of one thing I was certain.
Since our first meeting he had always affected a most friendly
interest in me; and that he was secretly studying me, I felt quite
assured.
Another thing furnished me with some food for thought: Not long before
we took our leave, and while Miss Jenrys and Lossing were deep in the
discussion of the latest Spanish novel, Miss Ross said to me, quite
abruptly, and apropos of nothing:
'Did June tell you that Monsieur Voisin was here to-day?'
I nodded, and she went on:
'You know my feeling where he is concerned; at least, I think you do.
He is growing really aggressive, and June is blind to it; she is
preoccupied. But I see all where she is concerned, and he will make
her trouble. He is infatuated and bitterly jealous, and he is a man
who knows no law but his own will. Do I not read him aright?'
* * * * *
The next morning I sent a note, written in the same dainty hand as the
first, and signed with the initials J. J., to the little brunette,
sending it as before to the café where she had lodged, and twenty-four
hours later the telegram from Boston came.
In addition to my own letter, I had sent in the same envelope a copy
of Miss O'Neil's, or as much of it as would help Mr. Trent to
understand all that had been done by the young ladies in his absence.
His telegram read:
'Thanks for all. Carry out plan. Have ordered return of
money. Letter follows.
'TRENT.'
Two days later came Mr. Trent's letter, and with it the original
composition of Mr. E. Roe, 'On the Square.'
As Miss O'Neil had said, it was written in a small, clear, angular
hand, which had the look of a genuine autograph, without attempt at
disguise.
In this I quite agreed with her, and I stowed the letter carefully
away for future use. Mr. Trent in his letter assured me that he could
not make E. Roe's letter ring true, and that he had finally convinced
his daughter and Miss O'Neil that they had made a mistake. 'Go on in
your own way,' he concluded; 'and I hope before long to be with you.
My wife has recovered from her delirium--very weak, but quite sane
except upon one point--she believes our son to be ill in a hospital in
Chicago, and the doctor has bidden us humour her in this
hallucination, as it may save her life. He looks now for a gradual
recovery, and when she is a little stronger I shall come to you;
already she has planned for the journey, and assured me that our boy
needs me most. It is sad, inexpressibly so, but it is better, at least
for her. When I can join you in your work, and your waiting, I shall,
I am sure, feel more hopeful, and I trust less impatient of delay.'