MRS. BALLOU'S PISTOL PRACTICE.
Half an hour after my arrival in the city, I was seated in the private
office of our Chief, with Mrs. Ballou opposite me.
I had telegraphed from a way station, so that no time might be lost. I
found the Chief and the lady awaiting me; and, at the first, he had
signified his wish that I should listen to her story, and then give him
my version of it.
"She seems ill at ease with me," he said, "and frankly told me that she
preferred to make her statement to you. Go ahead, Bathurst; above all we
must retain her confidence."
Mrs. Ballou looked careworn, and seemed more nervous than I had supposed
it in her nature to be.
She looked relieved at sight of me, and, as soon as we were alone,
plunged at once into her story, as if anxious to get it over, and hear
what I might have to say.
This is what she told me in her own plain, concise, and very sensible
language, interrupted now and then by my brief questions, and her
occasional moments of silence, while I transferred something to my
note-book.
"I presume you have wanted to know what I did with that letter I took,"
she began, smiling a little, probably in recollection of her adroit
theft. "I will tell you why I took it. When you first showed it to me,
the printed letters had a sort of familiar look, but I could not think
where I had seen them. During the night it seemed to come to me, and I
got up and went into the parlor." Here she hesitated for a moment, and
then went on hurriedly: "Grace--my girl, you know--has a large autograph
album; she brought it home when she came from the seminary, and
everybody she meets that can scratch with a pen, must write in it. I
found this precious album, and in it I found--this."
She took from her pocket-book a folded paper and put it in my hand. It
was a leaf torn from an album, and it contained a sentimental couplet,
_printed_ in large, bold letters.
I looked at the bit of paper, and then muttering an excuse, went
hurriedly to the outer office. In a moment I was back; holding in my
hand the printed letter of warning, which I had confided to the care of
my Chief.
I sat down opposite Mrs. Ballou with the two documents before me, and
scrutinized them carefully.
They were the same. The letter of warning was penciled, and bore
evidence of having been hastily done; the album lines were in ink
carefully executed and elaborately finished, but the lettering was the
same. Making allowances for the shading, the flourishes, and the extra
precision of the one, and looking simply at the formation of the
letters, the height, width, curves, and spacing of both, and the
resemblance was too strong to pass for a mere coincidence.
I studied the two papers thoughtfully for a few moments, then looked at
Mrs. Ballou.
"You should have told me of this at once," I began; but she threw up her
hand impatiently.
"Wait," she said, with almost her ordinary brusqueness, seeming to lose
her nervousness as she became absorbed in the task of convincing me that
she thoroughly understood _herself_. "There was no time to compare the
writing that night. I had not decided what to do, and I was not sure
then that they were the same. I left the album, just as I found it, and
went out and harnessed the horses. While I was helping you with your
coat, I managed to get the letter."
"You were certainly very adroit," I said. "Even now I can recall no
suspicious movements of yours."
"I made none," she retorted. "I saw where you put the letter, and it was
easy to get it while helping you."
She paused a moment, then went on:
"When I went home, after driving you to the station, everybody was
asleep. I knew they would be; I always have to wake them all, from Fred
to the hired girl. I waked them as usual that morning, told them that I
had discharged you for impertinence, and for abusing the horses, and
that settled the matter. In the afternoon the girls went over to
Morton's; it's only a mile across the fields, and a clear path. I made
up my mind that I'd have them safe back again before dark, and I know
where I could get a good man to take your place; he was high-priced, but
I knew he was to be trusted, and I had made up my mind to keep a close
eye on the girls, and to send some one with them wherever they went.
After they were gone, I took the album to my room, locked Fred out, and
compared the letter with the album verse. I thought the writing was the
same."
She hesitated a moment, brushed her handkerchief across her lips, and
then went on.
"I didn't know what to do, nor what to think--my first thought was to
send for you, then I became frightened. I did not know what you might
trace out, with this clue, and I did not know how it might affect my
daughter. Grace is lively, fond of all kinds of gayety, especially of
dancing. She is always surrounded with beaux, always has half a dozen
intimate girl friends on hand, and is constantly on the go. There are so
many young people about Groveland that picnics, neighborhood dances,
croquet parties, buggy rides, etc., are plenty; and then, Grace often
has visitors from Amora."
"Where is Amora?" I interrupted.
"It is about twenty-five miles from Groveland. Grace went to school at
Amora."
I made an entry in my note-book, and then asked:
"Is there a seminary in Amora?"
"Yes."
"How long since your daughter left Amora, Mrs. Ballou?"
"She was there during the Winter term."
"Yes. Did Nellie Ewing ever attend school at Amora?"
"Yes."
"When?"
Mrs. Ballou moved uneasily.
"Nellie and Grace were room-mates last Winter," she replied.
"And Mamie Rutger? Was she there, too?"
"She began the Winter term, but was expelled."
"Expelled! For what?"
"For sauciness and disobedience. Mamie was a spoiled child, and not fond
of study."
I wrote rapidly in my note-book, and mentally anathematized myself, and
my employers in the Ewing-Rutger case. Why had I not learned before that
Nellie Ewing and Mamie Rutger were together at Amora? Why had their two
fathers neglected to give me so important a piece of information?
Evidently they had not thought of this fact in connection with the
disappearance of the two girls, or the fact that Mamie was expelled from
the school may have kept Farmer Rutger silent.
I closed my note-book and asked:
"Did any other young people from Groveland attend the Amora school? Try
and be accurate, Mrs. Ballou."
"Not last Winter," she replied; "at least, no other girls. Johnny La
Porte was there."
"Who is Johnny La Porte?"
"His father is one of our wealthiest farmers. Johnny is an only son. He
is a good-looking boy, and a great favorite among the young people."
"Do you know his age?"
"Not precisely; he is not more than twenty or twenty-one."
"Where is Johnny La Porte at present?"
"At home, on his father's farm."
"Now, Mrs. Ballou, tell me who is Miss Amy Holmes?"
She started and flushed.
"Another school friend," she replied, in a tone which said plainly, "the
bottom is reached at last."
Evidently she expected some comment, but I only said:
"One more, Mrs. Ballou, why have you held back this bit of paper until
now?"
"I am coming to that," she retorted, "when you have done with your
questions."
"I have finished. Proceed now."
Once more she began:
"I was worried and anxious about the papers, but, on second thought, I
determined to know something more before I saw or wrote you. I did not
think it best to ask Grace any questions; she is an odd child, and very
quick to suspect anything unusual, and it would be an unusual thing for
me to seem interested in the autographs. It was two days before I found
out who wrote the lines in the album. I complained of headache that day,
and Grace took my share of the work herself. Amy was in the parlor
reading a novel. I went in and talked with her a while, then I began to
turn over the leaves of the album. When I came to the printed lines, I
praised their smoothness, and then I carelessly asked Amy if she knew
what the initials A. B. stood for. She looked up at me quickly, glanced
at the album, hesitated a moment as if thinking, and then said: 'Oh,
that's Professor Bartlett's printing, I think, his first name is _Asa_.
He is an admirable penman.'
"I don't think Amy remembered the lines, or she would not have said
that. I don't think Professor Bartlett would begin an album verse: 'I
drink to the eyes of my schoolmate, Grace.' I knew that Amy had told a
falsehood, and I watched her. She took the first opportunity, when she
thought I did not see her, to whisper something to Grace. I saw that
Grace looked annoyed, but Amy laughed, and the two seemed to agree upon
something.
"I thought I would come to the city the next day, but in the morning my
boy was very sick; he was sick for more than two weeks, and I had no
time to think of anything else. Amy helped Grace, and was so kind and
useful that I almost forgave her for telling me a fib. I had sent your
letter back during Fred's illness, and, when he began to mend, I thought
the matter over and over. I knew it would be useless to question Grace,
and I did not know what harm or scandal I might bring upon my own
daughter by bringing the matter to your notice. I tried to convince
myself that the similarity of the printing was accidental, and, as I had
not the letter to compare with the album, it was easier to believe so. I
concluded to wait, but became very watchful.
"One night Fred brought in the mail; there was a letter for Amy; she
opened it and began to read, then she uttered a quick word, and looked
much pleased. I saw an anxious look on my girl's face and caught a
glance that passed between them. By-and-by they both went up-stairs, and
in a few minutes I followed, and listened at the door of their room.
"Amy was reading her letter to Grace. I could tell that by the hum of
her voice, but I could not catch a word, until Grace exclaimed, sharply,
'What! the 17th?' 'Yes, the 17th, hush,' Amy answered, and then went on
with her reading. I could not catch a single word more, so I went back
down-stairs. It was then about the ninth of the month, and I thought it
might be as well to keep my eyes open on the 17th, though it might have
meant last month, or any other month, for all I could guess. After that
Amy seemed in better spirits than usual, and Grace was gay and nervous
by turns. On the 17th the girls stayed in their room, as usual--that was
four days ago."
She paused a moment, during which my eyes never left her face; she
sighed heavily, and resumed:
"I felt fidgety all day, as if something was going to happen. I expected
to see the girls preparing for company, or to go somewhere, but they did
no such thing. When evening came, they went to their room earlier than
usual, but I sat up later than I often do. It was almost eleven o'clock
when I went up-stairs, and then I could not sleep. I stopped and
listened again at the door of the girls' room, but could hear nothing.
They might both have been asleep.
"It was very warm, and I threw open my shutters, and sat down by the
window, thinking that I was not sleepy, and, of course, I fell asleep.
All at once something awoke me. I started and listened; in a moment I
heard it again; it was the snort of a horse. There was no moon, and the
shrubbery and trees made the front yard, from the gate to the house,
very dark. As I heard no wheels nor hoofs, of course I knew that the
horse was standing still, and the sound came from the front. I sat quite
still and listened hard. By-and-by I heard something else. This time it
was a faint rustling among the bushes below--it was not enough to have
aroused even a light sleeper, but I was wide awake, and all ears.
'Somebody is creeping through my rose bushes,' I said to myself, then
tip-toed to my bureau, got out the pistol you gave me, and slipped out,
and down-stairs, as still as a mouse.
"The girls slept in a room over the parlor, and their windows faced west
and south; mine faced north and west, so you see I had no view, from my
bed-room, of the south windows of their room. The croquet ground was on
the south side of the house, and there was a bit of vacant lawn in front
of the parlor, also. The windows below were all closed and so I could
not hear the rustling any more.
"I sat down by one of the parlor windows and peeped out. Presently I saw
something come out from among the bushes; it was a man; and he came into
the open space _carrying a ladder_. Then I knew what the rustling meant.
He had taken the ladder from the big harvest-apple tree in front, where
the girls had put it that afternoon, and was bringing it toward the
house.
"The man stopped opposite the south windows of the girls' room, and
began to raise the ladder. Then I knew what to do. I slipped the pistol
into my pocket, went out through the dining-room, unbolted the back door
as quietly as I could, crept softly to the south corner of the house,
and peeped around. The ladder was already up, and somebody was climbing
out of the window, while the man steadied the ladder. It was one of the
girls, but I could not tell which, so I waited. When she stood upon the
ground not ten feet away from me, I knew by her height that it was
Grace, and Amy had started down before Grace was off the ladder. Just
then the man stepped back, so that I had a fair chance at him. I took
aim as well as I could, and fired.
[Illustration: "Just then the man stepped back, so that I had a fair
chance at him. I took aim as well as I could, and fired."--page 177.]
"The man yelled. Grace screamed and tumbled over on the grass, just as I
expected her to. Amy Holmes jumped from the ladder, ran to the man, and
said, "quick! come!" I fired again, and Grace raised herself suddenly
with such a moan that I thought in my haste I had hit her.
"I threw down the pistol, ran and picked her up as if she were a baby,
and took her around to the back door. By the time I found out that she
was not hurt, and had got back to the ladder, the man and Amy were gone,
and I heard a buggy going down the road at a furious rate."
She paused and sighed deeply, looked at me for a moment, and then, as I
made no effort to break the silence, she resumed:
"It's not a pleasant story for a mother to tell concerning her own
daughter, but when I think of Nellie Ewing I know that it might
accidentally have been worse.
"I commanded Grace to tell me the whole truth. She cried, and declared
that she was under oath not to tell. After a little she grew calmer, and
then told me that she meant no harm. Amy had a lover who was not a
favorite with her guardian, who lives somewhere South. Amy was about to
run away and be married, and Grace was to accompany her as a witness.
They both expected to be safely back before daylight. Of course I did
not believe this, and I told her so. Her actions after that made me wish
that I had not disputed her story. I have used every argument, and I am
convinced that nothing more can be got out of Grace. She is terribly
frightened and nervous, but she is stubborn as death. Whatever the truth
is, she is afraid to tell it."
"And Miss Holmes; what more of her?"
"Nothing more; she went away in the buggy with the others."
"The others?"
"Yes; I am sure there were two, for I found the place where the buggy
stood waiting. It was not at the gate, but further south. There was a
ditch between the wheel marks and the fence, and nothing to tie to. Some
one must have been holding the horses."
"And this is all you know about the business?"
"Yes, everything."
"Where is your daughter now?"
"At home, under lock and key, with a trusty hired man to stand guard
over her and the house until I get back, and with Freddy and the hired
girl for company."
"Does she know why you came to the city?"
"Not she. I told her I was coming to make arrangements for putting
her to school at a convent, and I intend to do it, too."
Making no comment on this bit of maternal discipline, I again had
recourse to my note-book.
"You are fixed in your desire not to have your daughter further
interviewed?" I asked, presently.
"I am," she replied. "I don't think it would do any good, and she is not
fit to endure any more excitement. I expect to find her sick in bed when
I get home."
"Do you think your shot injured the man?"
"I _know_ it did," emphatically. "I aimed at his legs, intending to hit
them, and I did it. He never gave such a screech as that from sheer
fright; there was _pain_ in it. Amy must have helped him to the
carriage."
"Is this escapade known among your neighbors?"
"No. I hushed it up at home, giving my girl and hired man a different
story to believe. I could not get away by the morning train from Sharon,
and so started the next evening. I left them all at home with Grace, and
drove alone to Sharon, leaving my horse at the stable there."
"You certainly acted very wisely, although I regret the delay. Miss
Holmes and her two cavaliers have now nearly four days the start of us.
Did you notice the size of the man at the ladder?"
"Yes; he was not a large man, if anything a trifle below the medium
height."
"You think, then, that Miss Holmes made a willful effort to deceive
you, when she told you that the album verse was written by Professor
Bartlett? By-the-by, _is_ there a Professor Asa Bartlett at Amora?"
"Yes, he is the Principal. If you could see him, you would never accuse
him of having written a silly verse like that. I am sure Amy meant to
deceive me, and I am sure that she posted Grace about it, in case I
should ask her."
"But you did not ask her?"
"No. One does not care to make one's own child tell an unnecessary lie.
Grace would have stood by Amy, no doubt."
It was growing late in the afternoon. There was much to do, much to
think over, and no time to lose. I was not yet prepared to give Mrs.
Ballou the benefit of my opinion, as regarded her daughter's escapade,
so I arranged for a meeting in the evening, promising to have my plans
decided upon and ready to lay before her at that time.
She wished, if possible, to return home on the following day, and I told
her that I thought it not only possible, but advisable that she should
do so.
Then I called a carriage, saw her safely ensconced therein, _en route_
for her hotel, and returned to my Chief.
I had now two interests. I much desired to arrive at the bottom of the
Groveland mystery, and thought, with the information now in hand, that
this was quite possible; and I also desired to remain at my post among
the Traftonites. I at once decided upon my course. I would tell my Chief
Mrs. Ballou's story, and then I would give him a brief history of our
sojourn in Trafton and its motive. After that, we would decide how to
act.
There was no pause for rest or food, or thought, until I had given my
Chief a history of Mrs. Ballou's vigil and excellent pistol exploit, and
followed this up by the story of my Trafton experience.
His first comment, after he had listened for an hour most attentively,
brought from my lips a sigh of relief; it was just what I longed to
hear.
"Well, you need have no fear so far as this office is concerned.
'Squire Brookhouse has not called for its services."