ELSIE MAKES INQUIRIES
Elsie Powell's nature was generous. She gave of herself to all with whom
she came in contact, and gave freely and willingly; time, thought, and
sympathy as well as more material gifts. Her disposition was so free
from selfishness that not always did she sufficiently guard her own
interests.
But when need arose, she promptly rose to the occasion.
And the morning after the day which was to have been her wedding-day,
she awoke with a saddened heart but a mind alert and ready to plan and
execute action of some sort that should bring about the end of her
troubles. She wasted little time in grieving,--indeed her mental
attitude was that of dumfounded amazement rather than grief.
Lying in her pretty room, partly dismantled by reason of her anticipated
flight from it, she sized up the situation to herself.
"If I go to pieces," she mused, "it will do no good, and will be small
comfort to me. Therefore, I will brace up, put my wits to work and do my
part toward solving the mystery. And I'll do more than any fool
detective. I never had much opinion of their cleverness, anyhow. To
begin with, they'd never dare suspect Henrietta Webb, and if they did,
she'd pull the wool over their eyes. But she can't bamboozle me, and I'm
going to start out by assuming that in some mysterious way she has
hidden Kim and means to keep him hidden until I marry somebody
else,--which, of course, she thinks I'll do, in order to get my
inheritance. But I shan't! How would I feel, married to John Doe, and
then have Kimball come home and look at me reproachfully! Not much. If I
don't marry Kimball Webb, I marry nobody at all,--and that settles
that!"
Her decision arrived at, Elsie hopped out of bed, and dressed and went
to breakfast quite as usual.
"Why, Elsie," exclaimed Gerty; "you needn't get up! I'll look after
everything,--I suppose there will be reporters and, later on, callers in
shoals--"
"Yes, Gert, you may attend to those; I'm going on the warpath!"
"Meaning?"
"I'm going to solve the mystery of Kim's getaway,--though it's no
mystery to me! But I'm going to get him back. That's all about _that_!"
"How are you going to set out?"
"Dunno. First, I'm going over to the Webb house, and see what they've
got to say. I didn't get any satisfaction out of them yesterday, but I'm
going to make them surrender. They owe me one Kimball, and I'm going to
collect!"
"I don't think you ought to go out today, Elsie."
"Rubbish! You talk as if Kim were dead! I'm not a widow, to stay in
seclusion. No, ma'am; I've thought it all out and I've made up my mind."
Gerty protested no more. She knew from experience, when Elsie's mind was
made up, nothing could shake it.
At the Webb house, Elsie found her prospective relatives-in-law closeted
with a detective. He was a City Official, from the Bureau of Missing
Persons, and he was deeply interested in the case.
Often missing persons were merely placed on record, and little was done
by way of effort to discover their whereabouts. But in the case of
Kimball Webb a big story was anticipated. Moreover, the absolute
insolubility of the puzzle of how he managed his flight,--or how it was
managed for him, gave an added interest.
Elsie's arrival, also, thrilled the detective, and he turned eagerly to
question her.
However, he found himself the questioned one instead of the inquirer.
"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Hanley," Elsie smiled at him; "tell me, won't
you, just how you're going to set to work on the case? For I mean to
help you, and I want to do so intelligently."
She glanced at the two Webbs for a nod of sanction but she received no
such encouragement.
Indeed, Henrietta gave a scornful sniff, and Mrs. Webb remarked:
"Don't be forward, Elsie. You can't help, and it would look very queer
if you tried."
"It'll be queer if I don't try," Elsie returned, but with a smile that
freed her words from rudeness. "I'm most certainly going to work on the
case, and if Mr. Hanley doesn't want my help, I'll work on my own
lines."
Hanley looked at her with growing respect. Here, he decided, was no
silly society girl, but a young woman of brain and, perhaps, initiative.
"You know nothing that will throw any light on Mr. Webb's absence?" he
asked, gazing intently at her.
"No, indeed; if I had I should have told it without being asked. I'm
here to learn, to seek, to solve,--not to inform."
"Yes,--oh, certainly." The detective was a little flustered.
Miss Webb had been haughty, even condescending,--but Hanley knew that
sort. Elsie's attitude was a new one to him, and he had to adjust
himself.
"Well, Mr. Hanley," the sweet voice went on, "which is it to be? Do we
work together, or, each for himself?"
"Together, miss, by all means. I'll be only too glad of any help you can
give me."
Hanley had decided; it would certainly be better for him to be in with
the one most nearly affected, and he considered that Elsie was.
Although, to be sure, the Webbs had called him in, and he was
responsible to them. Nor did it require an abnormally acute mind to
discern that the Webbs and Miss Powell were not entirely at one.
This impression of his was deepened when Miss Webb said, severely, "I
must beg of you, Elsie, not to disgrace us by any public effort in this
distressing matter. We are already sufficiently embarrassed at the
unfortunate publicity it has gained, and I want to keep further
disclosures entirely to ourselves."
"Can't be done, Miss Webb," said Hanley; "the thing is out,--why, ma'am,
it had to come out! And now, you can no more stop the press notice of it
than you could dam the Hudson! Better take that part of it calmly, for
the papers will be full of it for nine days, at least. Now, ma'am, I'd
like to see Mr. Webb's room."
Dejectedly, Henrietta Webb led the way. Elsie followed, as a matter of
course, and soon Hanley was silently but carefully scrutinizing the
furniture, walls and floor of the room in question.
"No exit but the door,--so far as appears on the surface," he remarked,
at last. "You don't know of any secret entrance, I suppose!"
"Certainly not," said Henrietta, positively. "Those things occur in old
country houses,--not in city homes."
"Well, we must think of everything," Hanley said, and he proceeded to
tap walls, and partitions in a knowing manner.
"Nope, nothing of that sort," he concluded, after exhaustive
experimenting.
"You're sure?" asked Elsie, her eyes shining with eagerness. "I had
thought there might be something like that."
"No, ma'am," declared Hanley; "I know a lot about building, and I can
tell for sure and certain, there's no entrance through these walls of
any sort. Why, look at the wall paper,--intact all round. And, not only
that, but I can tell by tapping, there's no chance of a secret door or
panel."
"Mr. Whiting is an architect, and he said the same," observed Miss Webb,
coldly, as if to disparage Hanley's would-be superior knowledge.
"There, you see!" said Hanley, taking the snub in good part. "If a smart
architect and a smart detective agree there's no secret passage or
entrance or exit, you may depend on it there isn't any."
"What about the chimney?" asked Elsie. "I've thought this all out, you
see."
"Quite right, miss." But Hanley's investigation of the chimney that he
made by looking up inside the big, old-fashioned fireplace, showed him
at once the impossibility of any one entering or leaving the room by
that means.
"A monkey couldn't negotiate that," he stated, "let alone a man."
The bathroom gave no hint of help. The little window had been found
closed and fastened, and save for the entrance door there was no other
break in the walls.
In a word, Hanley expressed his positive assurance that nobody could by
any chance enter or leave Kimball Webb's room, except by the door that
opened from the hall.
"The windows are out of the question," he asserted. "To begin with,
they're third story windows, with a sheer drop to the street.
"Next, they were opened only at the tops for a few inches, and fastened
in that position. Nobody could get through one of those narrow
apertures."
This was so evident, there was no use dwelling on it.
"Then," said Elsie, slowly, "the problem comes down to this; how did Mr.
Webb get out through the door, and leave it fastened behind him,--not
only locked with a key, but bolted with a strong, firm bolt?"
"That's the problem," and the detective looked at her in admiration.
He had never seen a young woman,--a mere girl, who could so succinctly
state a case.
"But, granting that," urged Henrietta Webb, "where is he now? The front
street door was fastened with heavy bolts, all of which were intact in
the morning. The rear door, the same."
"Then," said Elsie, turning on her quickly, "he must be in this house
still!"
Henrietta Webb turned pale. "What nonsense!" she cried. "In that case,
Elsie, are you smart enough to find him?" and with a suppressed
exclamation, half shriek and half gasp, she ran from the room, and they
heard her go downstairs to her mother's room.
"Good!" cried Elsie. "I'm glad she's gone! Excuse me, Mr. Hanley, but
though she is his sister, I am Mr. Webb's _fiancée_, and I have really
more reason to want to find him than anybody else on earth. And I'm
going to find him, too! But, first, can _you_ form any theory? Can you
make any suggestion?"
"I can't. I've never seen a case that ran so hopelessly up against a
blank wall. There's foul play, somewhere,--that is, unless--you don't
think--"
Elsie read his thoughts.
"No, I _don't_ think Mr. Webb went away of his own volition. I know he
did not! And quite aside from his love for me, and his wish to marry me
yesterday, if those things hadn't been so, Mr. Webb is too much of a
gentleman, too kind-hearted a man, to go away and leave his mother and
sister, to say nothing of myself, in this fearful predicament."
"That's right! No decent man could do such a sneak! Well, then as it's
perfectly clear you suspect Miss Webb of being complicated,--why do
you?"
"I don't want to say anything against Miss Webb. I've nothing to say
against anybody. But,--oughtn't a detective to suspect everybody? Or at
least, to investigate the possibilities of every suspect?"
"Yes'm; that's right. Never mind why. I'll bear in mind that Miss Webb's
part in the matter must be inquired into. Any more hints?"
"Oh, that isn't a hint. What sort of a detective are you, asking for
hints? Why don't you get busy? Hunt for clues, or something definite
like that!"
"Clues? Why, it isn't a murder!"
"You don't know,--it may be! And, anyway, there are clues to other
crimes than murder."
"But it isn't a crime. Leastways,--"
"Leastways, you're absolutely useless! Go away, I'll hunt for clues
myself. And, first of all, where are those white marks that were on the
floor yesterday?"
"White marks? What sort of marks?"
"Just some white daubs. They showed clearly on this plain green carpet,
and now they're gone."
"Anything else been disturbed?"
"No, except that the whole room seems to have been cleaned, the bed
made, and the chiffonier tidied."
"Oh, well, they told me about that. The condition of the room only went
to prove that Mr. Webb had retired as usual on Wednesday night, and then
he went away either in his evening clothes and carried his night clothes
with him; or he went wearing his night things and carrying his dress
suit."
"Either of which suppositions is absolutely ridiculous! As he had been
to bed, why dress again in his dinner clothes, and why take his pajamas
with him? Or, if he went away in his night clothes,--why in the world
wouldn't he carry a morning suit with him,--and not full dress?"
"Right you are,--it all don't get us anywhere!"
"But it ought to! The very fact that the conditions are
ridiculous,--inexplicable,--ought to make it easier to get up a theory.
If he had gone away in a business suit and carried his night things in a
bag, it would be easily believed he had suddenly been called on some
important matter. But to go off with evening clothes and no other suit
is so ridiculous, that it ought to point to some inevitable
conclusion,--even if not a definite one!"
"My! You sure are a thinker, Miss Powell! But,--let's hear that
indefinite conclusion you'd draw from the facts!"
"I haven't drawn it yet,--but I shall,--and, I want you to help me."
Elsie's appealing smile brought a hearty "Sure I will, miss!" and after
some further futile looking about, they both went downstairs.
Elsie waylaid the chambermaid, and stepped aside to speak with her.
"Did you do up Mr. Webb's room yesterday?" she asked, with an
ingratiating glance.
"Yes, miss," replied the girl, a bit frightened.
"That's all right; only, tell me, did you notice those white marks on
the carpet?"
"I did, ma'am,--and I tried hard to get it all off? Did I leave any sign
of it?"
"No; I wish you had! But never mind. What do you think made those
marks?"
"I couldn't say, ma'am. They was like chalk, now, and mighty hard to get
off they was."
"You remember just how they looked,--and where they were?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am."
"Very well, then, that's all. Don't mention the matter to anybody,
please."
"No, ma'am, I won't."
Elsie went on down to the drawing room, and there found Mrs. Webb making
the detective's hair stand on end, as she detailed to him her
experiences with spirits and her reasons for belief that her son had
been taken away from his home by supernatural means.
Hanley listened, more with a horrified interest in her talk than with
any belief in its bearing on the present case, and Elsie almost laughed
outright as she heard Mrs. Webb solemnly avowing that she had seen, at
_séances_, live people wafted through a solid wooden door.
"Oh, come, now," she said, as she entered the room. "Dear Mrs. Webb,
don't ask us to believe such things!"
"Believe or not, as you choose," said Mrs. Webb, haughtily; "your
scepticism only exposes your ignorance. Why, innumerable such cases are
on record; to students of spiritism the passing of matter through matter
is one of the proved facts of psychical research."
"And you think that Kim passed through that locked wooden door? Through
the panels,--and left no trace of his passing?"
"I do,--indeed I do, Elsie! For, my dear child, what other explanation
is there?"
Mrs. Webb's triumphant air impressed her hearers, even though it amused
them. The trusting soul believed so implicitly in her creed that one
must respect her sincerity, at least.
"Who lives next door?" asked Hanley, suddenly.
"Which side?" asked Mrs. Webb. "On the left, is the home of Owen Thorne,
the banker; and on the other side, the Marsden St. Johns live. They're
at Lakewood just now; they're always there in the spring. But they don't
own the house they live in. It's Mr. Whiting's. Part of the estate his
father left him."
"Are the Thorne family at home?"
"Yes, so far as I know. They were there yesterday. Why?"
"I only wondered if any of the neighbors saw Mr. Webb leave this house
during the night."
"Maybe he hasn't left it," put in Elsie.
"He must have done so. He couldn't be concealed here against his will
all this time, and you won't allow that he's willingly absent."
"Of course I won't!"
"Then he must have left this house between the hours of two A. M. and,
say, seven,--or, when did you call him, Mrs. Webb?"
"About eight, or soon after."
"Very well, say he got away,--somehow,--between two and eight,--there's
a possibility that a watching or wakeful neighbor might have seen him
go."
"Oh, I see," and Mrs. Webb nodded. "Well, make inquiries. As I said, the
St. Johns are away, and their house is closed; but ask the Thornes if
you like. It's quite possible they saw something!"
The weird look came again into her eyes, and Elsie at once surmised that
Kimball's mother had a mental vision of her son, wafted by supernatural
means through his own bedroom door, down two flights of stairs, and
through the closed and locked street door, out,--away, nobody knew
where, and the interested neighbors looking on!
Then Henry Harbison was announced, and with a sigh of relief Elsie
turned to talk to him.
Harbison was to have been an usher at the wedding, and he called to see
if he could be of any assistance to the family of the missing
bridegroom.
After sympathetic greetings and inquiries, the young man took an active
part in the discussion of the mystery.
"It's the strangest thing I ever heard of!" he declared; "but I bet I
can put you wise to a possible solution, anyway."
"Good!" cried Hanley; "I confess it baffles me. I'm about to give up my
part in it and ask the Chief to turn it over to a cleverer man."
"Don't!" begged Elsie; "you and I are working together, you know, Mr.
Hanley,--and I like your methods."
Hanley stared. What had she seen of his methods, as yet, he wondered.
"Well, here's my theory," began Harbison. "I was at Kimball's bachelor
dinner, you know, night before last, at the Club. Also, Wallace Courtney
was there. Now, you know, Mrs. Webb, your son is writing a play,--a
mighty clever one, too, founded on a satirical view of New England
aristocratic tendencies."
Mrs. Webb flushed almost angrily.
"I do know it,--and I regret it exceedingly. I strongly advised Kimball
against such ridiculing of his native town and of his own family
traditions and standards, but he only laughed, and said nothing was too
sacred to use for material for a play. Yes, Mr. Harbison, I know all
about that play. It's nearly finished, too."
"That's the point. As you may or may not know, Wallace Courtney is a
playwright, also, and by the merest chance, he is writing a satirical
play on the very same subject. Now, he didn't know about Kim's play,
until the night of the dinner. It was mentioned, and Courtney asked Kim
what it was about,--that is, how he had treated the matter. Well, sir,
do you know they've chosen almost identical plots! Why, whichever of
those plays first reaches the public, the other will be stamped as a
plagiarism. Courtney was terribly put out. He tried to conceal his
wrath, but it kept cropping out--"
"Why, Kimball wasn't to blame!" cried Elsie.
"Not a bit. But Courtney was so upset at the coincidence, and the
peculiar situation. Well, he worried around until he found out that
Kim's play was nearing completion,--and then he went to pieces for fair.
'You shan't put it on!' he cried, excitedly. 'I'll move Heaven and earth
to prevent you! Why, it wipes out my every chance!' Oh, he said a lot
more in that strain, and Kimball added fuel to the fire by treating it
lightly. 'Go ahead with your play, Wally,' he told him; 'I'm going on my
honeymoon, and I'll be gone a fortnight or more. You'll have time to get
ahead of me.' Of course that wouldn't give Courtney time enough, nor any
where near it,--and he sulked all the evening. We all guyed him on his
ill nature, but that only made things worse. Now, here's my suggestion.
Pretty slim, I admit,--but take it for what it's worth. Might Courtney
somehow or other have kidnapped Kimmy, intending to keep him away until
he can get his own play finished and on the road to production?"
"Motive all right," said the detective, smiling, "but how about the
method?"
"That's where I get off," and Harbison laughed. "You see, while the
whole affair is pretty awful in a social way, and has made a fearful
mess of the wedding, and all that, I can't look on it as a tragedy."
"Who does?" exclaimed Elsie. "Of course, there's no tragedy,--if you
mean any harm to Kimball, personally,--but I do call it a tragedy all
the same!"
"It is," Hanley agreed; "but, of course, the angle I get is the mystery
side of it. How did Mr. Webb get out of his door, and lock it behind
him? That's what I want to know!"