LARCHER PUTS THIS AND THAT TOGETHER
Two or three days after this, Turl dropped in to see Larcher,
incidentally to leave some sketches, mainly for the pleasanter passing of
an hour in a gray afternoon. Upon the announcement of another visitor,
whose name was not given, Turl took his departure. At the foot of the
stairs, he met the other visitor, a man, whom the servant had just
directed to Larcher's room. The hallway was rather dark as the incomer
and outgoer passed each other; but, the servant at that instant lighting
the gas, Turl glanced around for a better look, and encountered the
other's glance at the same time turned after himself. Each halted, Turl
for a scarce perceptible instant, the other for a moment longer. Then
Turl passed out, the servant having run to open the door; and the new
visitor went on up the stairs.
The new visitor found Larcher waiting in expectation of being either
bored or startled, as a man usually is by callers who come anonymously.
But when a tall, somewhat bent, white-bearded old man with baggy black
clothes appeared in the doorway, Larcher jumped up smiling.
“Why, Mr. Bud! This _is_ a pleasant surprise!”
Mr. Bud, from a somewhat timid and embarrassed state, was warmed into
heartiness by Larcher's welcome, and easily induced to doff his overcoat
and be comfortable before the fire. “I thought, as you'd gev me your
address, you wouldn't object--” Mr. Bud began with a beaming countenance;
but suddenly stopped short and looked thoughtful. “Say--I met a young man
down-stairs, goin' out.”
“Mr. Turl probably. He just left me. A neat-looking, smooth-faced young
man, smartly dressed.”
“That's him. What name did you say?”
“Turl.”
“Never heard the name. But I've seen that young fellow somewhere. It's
funny: as I looked round at 'im just now, it seemed to me all at wunst as
if I'd met that same young man in that same place a long time ago. But
I've never been in this house before, so it couldn't 'a' been in that
same place.”
“We often have that feeling--of precisely the same thing having happened
a long time ago. Dickens mentions it in 'David Copperfield.' There's a
scientific theory--”
“Yes, I know, but this wasn't exactly that. It was, an' it wasn't. I'm
dead sure I did reely meet that chap in some such place. An' a funny
thing is, somehow or other you was concerned in the other meeting like
you are in this.”
“Well, that's interesting,” said Larcher, recalling how Turl had once
seemed to be haunting his footsteps.
“I've got it!” cried Mr. Bud, triumphantly. “D'yuh mind that night you
came and told me about Davenport's disappearance?--and we went up an'
searched my room fur a trace?”
“And found the note-book cover that showed he had been there? Yes.”
“Well, you remember, as we went into the hallway we met a man comin' out,
an' I turned round an' looked at 'im? That was the man I met just now
down-stairs.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure's I'm settin' here. I see his face that first time by the light o'
the street-lamp, an' just now by the gaslight in the hall. An' both times
him and me turned round to look at each other. I noticed then what a
good-humored face he had, an' how he walked with his shoulders back. Oh,
that's the same man all right enough. What yuh say his name was?”
“Turl--T-u-r-l. Have you ever seen him at any other time?”
“Never. I kep' my eye peeled fur 'im too, after I found there was no new
lodger in the house. An' the funny part was, none o' the other roomers
knew anything about 'im. No such man had visited any o' them that
evening. So what the dickens _was_ he doin' there?”
“It's curious. I haven't known Mr. Turl very long, but there have been
some strange things in my observation of him, too. And it's always seemed
to me that I'd heard his name before. He's a clever fellow--here are some
comic sketches he brought me this afternoon.” Larcher got the drawings
from his table, and handed them to Mr. Bud. “I don't know how good these
are; I haven't examined them yet.”
The farmer grinned at the fun of the first picture, then read aloud the
name, “F. Turl.”
“Oh, has he signed this lot?” asked Larcher. “I told him he ought to.
Let's see what his signature looks like.” He glanced at the corner of the
sketch; suddenly he exclaimed: “By George, I've seen that name!--and
written just like that!”
“Like as not you've had letters from him, or somethin'.”
“Never. I'm positive this is the first of his writing I've seen since
I've known him. Where the deuce?” He shut his eyes, and made a strong
effort of memory. Suddenly he opened his eyes again, and stared hard at
the signature. “Yes, sir! _Francis_ Turl--that was the name. And who do
you think showed me a note signed by that name in this very
handwriting?”
“Give it up.”
“Murray Davenport.”
“Yuh don't say.”
“Yes, I do. Murray Davenport, the last night I ever saw him. He asked me
to judge the writer's character from the penmanship. It was a note about
a meeting between the two. Now I wonder--was that an old note, and had
the meeting occurred already? or was the meeting yet to come? You see,
the next day Davenport disappeared.”
“H'm! An' subsequently this young man is seen comin' out o' the hallway
Davenport was seen goin' into.”
“But it was several weeks subsequently. Still, it's odd enough. If there
was a meeting _after_ Davenport's disappearance, why mightn't it have
been in your room? Why mightn't Davenport have appointed it to occur
there? Perhaps, when we first met Turl that night, he had gone back there
in search of Davenport--or for some other purpose connected with him.”
“H'm! What has this Mr. Turl to say about Davenport's disappearance?”
“Nothing. And that's odd, too. He must have been acquainted with
Davenport, or he wouldn't have written to him about a meeting. And yet
he's left us under the impression that he didn't know him.--And then
his following me about!--Before I made his acquaintance, I noticed him
several times apparently on my track. And when I _did_ make his
acquaintance, it was in the rooms of the lady Davenport had been in
love with. Turl had recently come to the same house to live, and her
father had taken him up. His going there to live looks like another
queer thing.”
“There seems to be a hull bunch o' queer things about this Mr. Turl. I
guess he's wuth studyin'.”
“I should think so. Let's put these queer things together in
chronological order. He writes a note to Murray Davenport about a meeting
to occur between them; some weeks later he is seen coming from the place
Murray Davenport was last seen going into; within a few days of that, he
shadows the movements of Murray Davenport's friend Larcher; within a few
more days he takes a room in the house where Murray Davenport's
sweetheart lives, and makes her acquaintance; and finally, when
Davenport is mentioned, lets it be assumed that he didn't know the man.”
“And incidentally, whenever he meets Murray Davenport's other friend, Mr.
Bud, he turns around for a better look at him. H'm! Well, what yuh make
out o' all that?”
“To begin with, that there was certainly something between Turl and
Davenport which Turl doesn't want Davenport's friends to know. What do
_you_ make out of it?”
“That's all, so fur. Whatever there was between 'em, as it brought Turl
to the place where Davenport disappeared from knowledge, we ain't takin'
too big chances to suppose it had somethin' to do with the disappearance.
This Turl ought to be studied; an' it's up to you to do the studyin', as
you c'n do it quiet an' unsuspected. There ain't no necessity o' draggin'
in the police ur anybody, at this stage o' the game.”
“You're quite right, all through. I'll sound him as well as I can. It'll
be an unpleasant job, for he's a gentleman and I like him. But of course,
where there's so much about a man that calls for explanation, he's a fair
object of suspicion. And Murray Davenport's case has first claim on me.”
“If I were you, I'd compare notes with the young lady. Maybe, for all
you know, she's observed a thing or two since she's met this man. Her
interest in Davenport must 'a' been as great as yours. She'd have sharp
eyes fur anything bearin' on his case. This Turl went to her house to
live, you say. I should guess that her house would be a good place to
study him in. She might find out considerable.”
“That's true,” said Larcher, somewhat slowly, for he wondered what Edna
would say about placing Turl in a suspicious light in Florence's view.
But his fear of Edna's displeasure, though it might overcloud, could not
prohibit his performance of a task he thought ought to be done. He
resolved, therefore, to consult with Florence as soon as possible after
first taking care, for his own future peace, to confide in Edna.
“Between you an' the young lady,” Mr. Bud went on, “you may discover
enough to make Mr. Turl see his way clear to tellin' what he knows about
Davenport. Him an' Davenport may 'a' been in some scheme together. They
may 'a' been friends, or they may 'a' been foes. He may be in Davenport's
confidence at the present moment; or he may 'a' had a hand in gettin' rid
o' Davenport. Or then again, whatever was between 'em mayn't 'a' had
anything to do with the disappearance; an' Turl mayn't want to own up to
knowin' Davenport, for fear o' bein' connected with the disappearance.
The thing is, to get 'im with his back to the wall an' make 'im deliver
up what he knows.”
Mr. Bud's call turned out to have been merely social in its motive.
Larcher took him to dinner at a smart restaurant, which the old man
declared he would never have had the nerve to enter by himself; and
finally set him on his way smoking a cigar, which he said made him feel
like a Fi'th Avenoo millionaire. Larcher instantly boarded an up-town
car, with the better hope of finding Edna at home because the weather had
turned blowy and snowy to a degree which threatened a howling blizzard.
His hope was justified. With an adroitness that somewhat surprised
himself, he put his facts before the young lady in such a non-committal
way as to make her think herself the first to point the finger of
suspicion at Turl. Important with her discovery, she promptly ignored her
former partisanship of that gentleman, and was for taking Florence
straightway into confidence. Larcher for once did not deplore the
instantaneous completeness with which the feminine mind can shift about.
Edna despatched a note bidding Florence come to luncheon the next day;
she would send a cab for her, to make sure.
The next day, in the midst of a whirl of snow that made it nearly
impossible to see across the street, Florence appeared.
“What is it, dear?” were almost her first words. “Why do you look
so serious?”
“I've found out something. I mus'n't tell you till after luncheon. Tom
will be here, and I'll have him speak for himself. It's a very
delicate matter.”
Florence had sufficient self-control to bide in patience, holding her
wonder in check. Edna's portentous manner throughout luncheon was enough
to keep expectation at the highest. Even Aunt Clara noticed it, and had
to be put off with evasive reasons. Subsequently Edna set the elderly
lady to writing letters in a cubicle that went by the name of library, so
the young people should have the drawing-room to themselves. Readers who
have lived in New York flats need not be reminded, of the skill the
inmates must sometimes employ to get rid of one another for awhile.
Larcher arrived in a wind-worn, snow-beaten condition, and had to stand
before the fire a minute before he got the shivers out of his body or the
blizzard out of his talk. Then he yielded to the offered embrace of an
armchair facing the grate, between the two young ladies.
Edna at once assumed the role of examining counsel. “Now tell Florence
all about it, from the beginning.”
“Have you told her whom it concerns?” he asked Edna.
“I haven't told her a word.”
“Well, then, I think she'd better know first”--he turned to
Florence--“that it concerns somebody we met through her--through you,
Miss Kenby. But we think the importance of the matter justifies--”
“Oh, that's all right,” broke in Edna. “He's nothing to Florence. We're
perfectly free to speak of him as we like.--It's about Mr. Turl, dear.”
“Mr. Turl?” There was something eager in Florence's surprise, a more than
expected readiness to hear.
“Why,” said Larcher, struck by her expression, “have _you_ noticed
anything about his conduct--anything odd?”
“I'm not sure. I'll hear you first. One or two things have made me
think.”
“Things in connection with somebody we know?” queried Larcher.
“Yes.”
“With--Murray Davenport?”
“Yes--tell me what you know.” Florence's eyes were poignantly intent.
Larcher made rapid work of his story, in impatience for hers. His
relation deeply impressed her. As soon as he had done, she began, in
suppressed excitement:
“With all those circumstances--there can be no doubt he knows something.
And two things I can add. He spoke once as if he had seen me in the
past;--I mean before the disappearance. What makes that strange is, I
don't remember having ever met him before. And stranger still, the other
thing I noticed: he seemed so sure Murray would never come back”--her
voice quivered, but she resumed in a moment: “He _must_ know something
about the disappearance. What could he have had to do with Murray?”
Larcher gave his own conjectures, or those of Mr. Bud--without credit to
that gentleman, however. As a last possibility, he suggested that Turl
might still be in Davenport's confidence. “For all we know,” said
Larcher, “it may be their plan for Davenport to communicate with us
through Turl. Or he may have undertaken to keep Davenport informed about
our welfare. In some way or other he may be acting for Davenport,
secretly, of course.”
Florence slowly shook her head. “I don't think so,” she said.
“Why not?” asked Edna, quickly, with a searching look. “Has he been
making love to you?”
Florence blushed. “I can hardly put it as positively as that,” she
answered, reluctantly.
“He might have undertaken to act for Davenport, and still have fallen in
love,” suggested Larcher.
“Yes, I daresay, Tom, you know the treachery men are capable of,” put in
Edna. “But if he did that--if he was in Davenport's confidence, and yet
spoke of love, or showed it--he was false to Davenport. And so in any
case he's got to give an account of himself.”
“How are we to make him do it?” asked Larcher.
Edna, by a glance, passed the question on to Florence.
“We must go cautiously,” Florence said, gazing into the fire. “We don't
know what occurred between him and Murray. He may have been for Murray;
or he may have been against him. They may have acted together in bringing
about his--departure from New York. Or Turl may have caused it for his
own purposes. We must draw the truth from him--we must have him where
he can't elude us.”
Larcher was surprised at her intensity of resolution, her implacability
toward Turl on the supposition of his having borne an adverse part toward
Davenport. It was plain she would allow consideration for no one to stand
in her way, where light on Davenport's fate was promised.
“You mean that we should force matters?--not wait and watch for other
circumstances to come out?” queried Larcher.
“I mean that we'll force matters. We'll take him by surprise with what
we already know, and demand the full truth. We'll use every advantage
against him--first make sure to have him alone with us three, and then
suddenly exhibit our knowledge and follow it up with questions. We'll
startle the secret from him. I'll threaten, if necessary--I'll put the
worst possible construction on the facts we possess, and drive him to
tell all in self-defence.” Florence was scarlet with suppressed energy
of purpose.
“The thing, then, is to arrange for having him alone with us,” said
Larcher, yielding at once to her initiative.
“As soon as possible,” replied Florence, falling into thought.
“We might send for him to call here,” suggested Edna, who found the
situation as exciting as a play. “But then Aunt Clara would be in the
way. I couldn't send her out in such weather. Tom, we'd better come to
your rooms, and you invite him there.”
Larcher was not enamored of that idea. A man does not like to invite
another to the particular kind of surprise-party intended on this
occasion. His share in the entertainment would be disagreeable enough at
best, without any questionable use of the forms of hospitality. Before he
could be pressed for an answer, Florence came to his relief.
“Listen! Father is to play whist this evening with some people up-stairs
who always keep him late. So we three shall have my rooms to
ourselves--and Mr. Turl. I'll see to it that he comes. I'll go home now,
and give orders requesting him to call. But you two must be there when he
arrives. Come to dinner--or come back with me now. You will stay all
night, Edna.”
After some discussion, it was settled that Edna should accompany
Florence home at once, and Larcher join them immediately after dinner.
This arranged, Larcher left the girls to make their excuses to Aunt
Clara and go down-town in a cab. He had some work of his own for the
afternoon. As Edna pressed his hand at parting, she whispered,
nervously: “It's quite thrilling, isn't it?” He faced the blizzard again
with a feeling that the anticipatory thrill of the coming evening's
business was anything but pleasant.