THE EXPECTED LETTER
Fenn Whiting was not unversed in feminine ways. And, especially did he
count himself familiar with the ways of Elsie Powell. And though the
average woman would make a threat of killing herself as a melodramatic
bluff, not so Elsie. Whiting knew, for a certainty, if she had made up
her mind to such a desperate step, she would assuredly take it. No
interference or hindrance could prevent her. She might be foiled in
several attempts but she would succeed finally, if she had set her face
that way. And she had. Further conversation only revealed the depth and
steadfastness of her purpose. She was willing to die for her mother and
sister but not to live for them.
"But, Elsie, darling," Whiting urged, "I can't marry you that way. You
must choose some one else, then. Could you live with Allison?"
"No! I couldn't live with any man except Kimball Webb. And I never will!
But my people have hounded me about that money, until I can't stand it
another minute. I must marry before my birthday, in order that they may
get it,--but I don't have to live on _after_ that!" The big brown eyes
were wide with despair, and the suffering, hunted look on Elsie's face
went to Whiting's heart.
"Marry me, dearest," he said, softly; "I'll engage that you sha'n't kill
yourself afterward. Why, sweetheart, I'll make life a continuous round
of pleasure for you; you shall have your own way in
everything--everything! I'll be your humble slave, and you may command
me--"
"Hush, Fenn. I've told you the course I shall take. Now, I think I may
as well marry you as any one else. Then I'll be legally entitled to the
money. I've made a will, which I must sign after I'm married,--and
then--"
"Don't, Elsie! You're talking rubbish! Girls don't kill themselves so
easily, with friends around to prevent."
"Never mind about that," Elsie smiled mysteriously, "the way is already
provided. And I shall make no horrible scene, I shall merely go away
from this horrid, horrid world!"
"But I shall transform the horrid world into a world of light and
flowers and love! Give me a chance, Elsie, let me prove my words--"
"Don't discuss it, Fenn," Elsie was imperious, "you know nothing of my
heart,--you couldn't even appreciate my feelings if you knew them. But I
do like you, and you are a friend. Marry me, then, and the rest is in my
hands."
"No; Elsie. I refuse to marry you under such conditions. What man
would?"
"That's the trouble,--no man would! That's why I've decided on you, as
my only hope. Marry me, Fenn, to save the money for my people. I'll
leave you a goodly share, too--"
"Elsie!" Whiting's look made her flush.
"Well," she defended herself, "that's only fair, if you're my husband."
"But I won't be,--I can't be,--the way you've arranged things!"
"Yes, you can, and you will! Don't desert me, Fenn, it's the only thing
you can do for me. I'd marry some one else, and not tell my plans,--but
I don't think it fair to any man."
"I should say not!"
"But you,--you have always been a friend of Kim's and I want you to be
friend enough of mine to go through the ceremony with me, and for me.
Why, Fenn, there's no way for me to get that money without
marrying,--and no way else, to secure the happiness of my people."
"If only Gerty would marry Joe,--"
"That would fix it all right,--but in the first place, Gert wouldn't
marry anybody just yet,--it's too soon,--and, oh, Fenn, it's an awful
thing to tell, but I sounded Joe,--and he--he doesn't want to marry
Gerty."
"Of course he doesn't! He's insanely in love with you!"
"I know it,--and he's too nice a boy for me to marry him and then--and
then carry out my plan."
"So'm I, for that matter!" Whiting tried to speak jocularly.
"I know you are,--any man would be. But, you're my only hope. I've
thought this thing out to the bitter end. Whoever took Kimball away has
killed him. That I am sure of."
"Oh, no, Elsie, I don't believe that."
"I know it. He isn't in this world. And so, I want to go where he is,--I
don't care where that may be."
Elsie's gaze was a little wild, her voice a trifle hysterical, but she
was in complete control of her speech.
"Well, let's wait a bit, anyway. There's nearly three weeks yet before
the birthday, and in that time you may hear something from Kim."
"No, I won't. And I'd rather get it over with. Marry me at once,--won't
you, Fenn?"
"Well, for a young woman whom I've begged and coaxed to marry me, it's
turning the tables to have you urging me to marry you!"
"All the same,--will you?"
"Not this week. Do wait a few days, and consider matters a little more
fully. I promise to tell nobody of this plan of yours, so you can revise
it when you wish. But, oh, Elsie,--my little girl,--if you'll marry me
and stay right here on earth with me,--I'll engage to make earth a
heaven for you!"
"Nobody could do that but Kimball," and Elsie's eyes filled with tears.
True to his promise, Whiting told no one of Elsie's gruesome plan. For,
he decided, to tell her mother or sister would only stir up trouble in
their household. And he hoped Elsie would change her mind. It was a
forlorn hope, for the girl was so positive in her decisions and was
rarely if ever known to change one. He thought of telling it all to
Coley Coe, but decided against it, for he could see no use in passing
the hateful secret on to anybody.
Any other woman he would have expected to weaken when the time came for
the tragic deed. But he knew Elsie's determination well enough to
believe that she had the means already at hand,--poison, probably,--and
that if prevented several times, would finally manage to turn the trick.
The more Whiting thought it over, the more he was convinced he would
marry her. If he didn't, she would pick up somebody else and marry him
without telling her plan,--for she could never secure a bridegroom who
was in her confidence. Then, he argued, he would stand a better chance
of persuading her to give up her tragic course, than if he were not her
husband. He thought he could watch her so closely that she would have no
chance for a time, at least, and then if he couldn't persuade her to
live for him and with him, he could offer her the privilege of divorcing
him,--and the money, the great object in Elsie's dilemma, would be all
right.
So Whiting determined that if nothing transpired to change the situation
he would soon urge Elsie to announce their engagement, and trust to Fate
that all might yet turn out well.
Elsie, after her talk with Whiting felt better than she had done since
her sorrow came to her. She was filled with an exaltation that buoyed
her spirit up, and she went around as one in a trance.
It may be that her strange experiences had affected her brain a little
but except for a slight absent-mindedness she showed no eccentric
impulses.
And then, in her morning's mail she received a letter.
A letter that she had sub-consciously looked for,--a letter she had
vaguely expected,--a letter from the people who had stolen Kimball Webb!
Realizing its purport, she went off to her own room to read it by
herself.
Written in a strong, bold hand, on decent, inconspicuous paper, it read:
_Miss Elsie Powell:_
We have Kimball Webb hidden and in confinement. Where he is neither
you nor your smarty-cat young detective can ever discover. We make no
secret of the fact that we abducted him for ransom. How we secured his
person, though a clever performance, will never be known by any
one,--not even himself. The whole point of this message is, do you
want him back enough to pay us fifty thousand dollars,--and no
questions asked? If so, follow our directions implicitly,--if not, the
incident may be considered closed and neither you nor any one else
will ever see the gentleman in question again. We are no bunglers, we
have covered our tracks, and have no fear of being caught. If you want
to pay the money and if you are willing to agree not to refer this
matter to anybody, not to speak of it to your people or to the police,
you may hang a white towel,--or a handkerchief out of a window of your
own room any time tomorrow afternoon. This will be taken to mean that
you agree to our terms. If you play any tricks, Mr. Webb will vanish
at once from this world of ours. We enclose a bit of a note from him
that you may have faith in the reality of our story.
The letter was not signed, but the enclosure was. It was from Kimball
himself,--there was no mistaking his small, scholarly writing, and even
before reading it, Elsie pressed it to her lips in a frenzy of joy. Then
she read:
Elsie, darling! do as the note says. It is the only way. I love you!
Kim.
It was no forgery, every word, every letter was the work of the hand of
Kimball Webb. Elsie knew his writing too well to be deceived. And there
were peculiar little quirks and twirls that made it impossible for the
note to be a forgery.
It was the real thing! And, noting the date on the letter, Elsie
suddenly bethought her that today was the day to hang out her flag of
truce! Her white handkerchief,--no, a small towel would be more
visible,--must be displayed that very afternoon.
Quivering with excitement, she got out the towel, and was of half a mind
to hang it out at once, but desisted, as she wished to follow
instructions implicitly.
How to get all that money troubled her not a whit. She hadn't a tenth of
it at her command, but get it she would, if she had to break a bank! And
then she began to think. A wild suggestion of breaking a bank meant
nothing,--she couldn't do it, with all the will in the world. And how
could she get it from Mr. Thorne unless she told her story? And if she
did that,--the writer of the note would find it out,--already she
pictured him in her mind as omniscient,--and the whole deal would be
off!
But, even with no plan for getting the money, she obeyed the written
instructions. She told no one of the letter. That afternoon she hung out
a small towel, and it hung undisturbed until sundown.
Then next morning she received the second letter.
This one was as explicit as the first.
_Miss Powell:_
Glad to see you're amenable to reason. Now, you may have plenty of
ways to raise the cash, but if not, use the enclosed card. You may go
to that address without fear of any unpleasantness or publicity.
Remember, if you give us the money as we direct, you will have your
lover in time for you to secure your inheritance by marriage with him.
Here are the directions. You will not hear from us again. Have the
money in cash, with no bill larger than one hundred dollars. Go to
Altman's tomorrow morning, and when you come out, take a taxicab that
will be waiting. You will know which one when you see a driver with a
yellow plaid cap. We are relying on you not to have anybody with you,
or in watching,--if you do, we shall know it, and the whole deal is
off. You will not hear from us again. If you attempt
anything,--anything at all but the most perfect good faith and honesty
in your course, you will be more than sorry. In a word, you will then
bring about the sudden death of the man you love. There is no more to
be said on that score. Get into the taxi and when it stops, near
another taxi, make a quick change. Have the money with you in a small
compact parcel. The second taxi will take you along a certain road.
When it meets a certain car, it will slow down and you will hand the
parcel to the man who leans out of that car for it. That is all.
Good-bye.
Elsie read and re-read the missive.
She was uncertain what to do. Her impulse was to lay the whole matter
before Whiting or Coleman Coe, and follow their advice.
But suppose they should say,--as so many people do,--make no bargains
with the kidnappers. Treat any such communications with silent
contempt,--or, arrange for police protection, even if it is forbidden.
The more she thought it over, the more she was inclined to manage the
whole affair alone. She could do it,--and she was not afraid. It was all
to be done in broad daylight, there was no danger if she herself acted
in good faith. And if she brought any one else into it, there was grave
danger, not only to herself but to Kimball.
She looked curiously at the card that had come in the letter.
It was an address on Broadway, and was evidently,--even to her
inexperienced mind,--the office of a loan broker.
From him she could get the necessary money on the assurance of her
nearby wedding and consequent inheritance. Arrangements had, of course,
been made by the perpetrators of the crime against Kimball Webb. They
must be a clever and powerful set,--they were so unafraid of anything or
anybody. The thought of her restored lover and their wedding at last, so
thrilled Elsie, that she began preparations at once.
She could scarcely control her impatience to get to the broker's office.
Once there, she found indeed, that all had been arranged.
The affable Hebrew, who presided over the establishment, was
confidentially minded, and was quite ready to advance the large sum
required in return for Elsie's signed promise to pay,--with exorbitant
interest, the day after her marriage.
For Elsie Powell and her affairs were well known to newspaper readers
and the affable Jew felt no qualms of doubt as to his future
reimbursement and his usury.
The parcel, made up neatly and inconspicuously, was handed to Elsie and
her signed document carefully put away in a big safe.
The transaction meant little to Elsie, herself, so wrapped up was her
whole soul in her coming adventure.
She would get Kimball back! That was all she knew or cared about!
She went to Altman's, her precious package in her handbag, which she
carried with seeming carelessness, but with a watchful eye.
She had a strange feeling of security because of the character and
appearance of the notes she had received. Had they been illiterate
scrawls she would have hesitated to go ahead as she had done, but the
educated and socially correct tone of the letters gave her the
impression of brains and character, however big a villain the writer
might be.
With a beating heart, but with a steady step she came out of Altman's
shop and seemed to glance casually about for a cab.
Seeing a driver with a yellow plaid cap, she beckoned him and got into
his cab.
No word was spoken as she settled herself on the seat, and watched the
man start the car.
He, too, was nonchalant of manner, and drove away toward Madison Avenue.
From there they followed a devious course, turning often, returning on
their own tracks, wheeling suddenly, performing various eccentric
detours, all, doubtless in an endeavour to detect a follower, if any.
Elsie sat quietly, unmoved by these strange motions, and full of buoyant
hope that all would be well, since she had not betrayed her trust.
After a time the taxicab stopped at a curb, another cab drew up at its
side, and Elsie stepped from one to the other.
The second cab had also a taciturn, grave-faced driver. Though he said
no word, gave no look of intelligence, Elsie felt a sense of safety with
him, from his very silence. She was free from all fear, and looked
forward eagerly to the consummation of her errand.
This time it was a long drive. On they went, northward from the city and
into a pleasant, wooded locality. Swiftly the car flew and after an
hour's journey they were on a smooth road, with groves of trees on
either side. But it was a travelled road, and its well-kept asphalt
proclaimed its nearness to civilization.
Elsie kept her eyes open and her mind clear. She grew impatient for the
end of her trip, but she preserved her poise and her balance.
"Here's the car, miss," the taxi driver said suddenly, and she saw a red
roadster approaching swiftly.
Both cars slowed down and then stopped.
From the red car a man leaned out. He had a small mask on that concealed
most of his features, but Elsie caught a gleam of many gold filled teeth
in his lower jaw. Into his outstretched hand, conveniently near, Elsie
placed the packet, from her hand-bag. She felt a shock of disappointment
that she did not receive Kimball in return, right then and there, but
she had no time to speak. In a flash, the driver on the cab she was in,
sprang from his seat, jumped into the red car, and like a streak the
roadster disappeared.
Alone, in a driverless taxicab, Elsie sat, unable for a moment to
realize what had happened.
Slowly it dawned upon her that she had been tricked,--swindled,--but no,
she couldn't believe that! She felt sure that the men had only carried
out their plans for safety. That they feared pursuit and had made off
with the money and would restore Kimball in their own good time, she had
no doubt. The thing was, now, how was she to get home?
She wasn't greatly alarmed, for the well-kept road gave hope of frequent
travellers, and somebody would take her back to New York.
And, after a time, somebody did. She let several cars pass before she
asked help, and though curious looks were cast at her, no one intruded
upon her. But when she saw a car come by, with a good chauffeur, and a
benignant looking lady in the tonneau, she asked for a ride to New York.
The benignant looking lady was not all that could be hoped for in the
way of cordiality, but when Elsie explained that the taxicab had refused
to go and the chauffeur had gone for help and that she was in great
haste to get to the city the lady agreed to take her. Remarking,
however, that for a girl who wanted to get to New York in haste, her cab
was turned astonishingly in the opposite direction!
But Elsie's smile and winning manner soon overcame the other's asperity,
and they were affably chatting long before they reached the city.
Naturally enough, the kind lady asked the name of her passenger, but
Elsie, knowing the necessity for caution, gave an assumed name and
address and made up a story of her life that was as plausible as it was
false.
But she dared take no chances on breaking her pledge of inviolate
secrecy, lest she lose her chance of getting Kimball back, and after all
she had gone through, that would be unbearable.
She asked to be set down at the Grand Central Station, as she was going
back to her home,--avowedly in Boston,--that night.
Warmly friendly by this time, the benignant lady set her down as
requested, after exacting a promise to hear from her by letter.
Alone again, Elsie flew for a taxicab and went straight home. She
glanced at the mail, arrived since her departure, but was not surprised
to find no letter in the writing of her new correspondent. He had said
he would not write again, and she did not think he would.
She had nothing to do now, but wait. She had conscientiously fulfilled
her part of the bargain, and she had utter faith that the abductors of
Kimball would do the same. They had their money--what more did they
want?
She waited all that evening, dully patient, quietly serene of manner,
but with a heart that beat wildly when the door bell or telephone
sounded.
Occasionally, she telephoned to the Webb house, hardly thinking Kimball
would go there before coming to her, but unable to resist general
inquiry.
At bedtime, she had heard nothing from him, and resolved to go to bed
and to sleep in happy hopes of a blessed meeting tomorrow.
She could not sleep,--slumber does not come for the willing of it and as
she tossed in wide awake suspense, her thoughts took a new turn.
Suppose,--just suppose she had been tricked! Suppose the notes had not
come from the men who stole Kimball,--ah, they must have done so! She
had Kim's note to prove it! Nothing ever could make her believe that
note a forgery. She knew his dear writing too well--she knew every
stroke of his pen, every peculiarity of his really unusual handwriting,
and she felt in every letter of that note that he himself had penned it.
There was no chance that he had not. Therefore, the letters from the
kidnappers were in good faith. They proved the fact that Kimball had
been abducted,--and held for ransom. Well, now they had the ransom, and
Kim would be returned. Of course he would! She would not think
otherwise, or she would die! She knew he would come tomorrow,--and in
that knowledge she at last fell asleep.
She awoke with a start. Throwing on her night light, she found it was
three o'clock in the morning. She felt a strange numbness of mind, a
peculiar feeling as if the end of the world had come. Striving to
determine what it all meant, she realized that she had lost hope,--that
she was now persuaded that she had been tricked. The notes were from the
kidnappers but they had no intention of returning her lover!
Something, she could not tell what, brought the conviction to her soul
that she had done very wrong in following their bidding blindly in
giving them the money on such uncertainty. She remembered clearly the
smile of the man in the red car,--the smile that had disclosed those
gold-filled teeth, and she knew she had been duped, deceived and
swindled!