THE ACTRESS CONFIDES.
Nick was led through a couple of sumptuously furnished rooms into the
great Swedish actress’ presence.
Helga Lund was a magnificently proportioned woman, well above medium
height, and about thirty years of age.
She wore a loose, filmy negligee of silk and lace, and its pale blue was
singularly becoming to her fair skin and golden hair. Two thick, heavy
ropes of the latter hung down far below her waist.
She was not merely pretty, but something infinitely better--she had the
rugged statuesque beauty of a goddess in face and form.
She was pacing the floor like a caged lioness when Nick entered. Her
head was thrown back and her hands were clasped across her forehead,
allowing the full sleeves to fall away from her perfectly formed,
milk-white arms.
“Miss Lund, this is Mr. Carter, of whom I spoke,” Doctor Lightfoot said
gently. “He believes he can help you. I shall leave you with him, but I
will be within call.”
He withdrew softly and closed the door. They were alone.
The actress turned for the first time, and a pang shot through the
tender-hearted detective as he saw the tortured expression of her face.
She nodded absent-mindedly, but did not speak.
“Miss Lund,” the detective began, “I trust you will believe that I would
not have intruded at this time if I hadn’t believed that I might
possibly possess the key to last night’s unfortunate occurrence, and
that----”
“You--the key? Impossible, sir!” the actress interrupted, in the precise
but rather labored English which she had acquired in a surprisingly
short time in anticipation of her American tour.
“We shall soon be able to tell,” Nick replied. “If I am wrong, I assure
you that I shall not trouble you any further. If I am right, however, I
hope to be able to help you. In an case, you may take it for granted
that I am not trying to pry into your affairs. I have seen you on the
stage more than once, both here and abroad. It is needless to say that I
have the greatest admiration for your genius. Beyond that I know nothing
about you, except what I have read.”
“Then, will you explain--briefly? You see that I am in no condition to
talk.”
“I see that talking, of the right kind, would be the best thing for you,
if the floodgates could be opened, Miss Lund,” Nick answered
sympathetically. “I shall do better than explain; with your permission,
I shall ask you a question.”
“What is it?”
“Simply this: Are you acquainted with a New York surgeon who goes by the
name of Doctor Grantley--Hiram A. Grantley?”
The actress, who had remained standing, started slightly at the
detective’s words. Her bosom rose and fell tumultuously, and her
clenched hands were raised to it, as Ida Jones had described them.
A look of mingled amazement and fright overspread her face.
Nick did not wait for her to reply, nor did he tell her that it was
unnecessary. Nevertheless, he had already received his answer and it
gave him the greatest satisfaction.
He was on the right track.
“Before you reply, let me say this,” he went on quickly, in order to
convince her that she had nothing to fear from him: “Grantley is one of
the worst criminals living, and it is solely because our laws are still
inadequate in certain ways that he is alive to-day. As it is, he is a
fugitive, an escaped prisoner, with a long term still to serve. He
escaped last night, but he will undoubtedly be caught soon, despite his
undeniable cleverness, and returned to the cell which awaits him. Now
you may answer, if you please.”
He was, of course, unaware of the extent of Helga Lund’s knowledge of
Grantley. It might not be news to her, but he wished--in view of the
actress’ evident fear of Grantley--to prove to her that he himself could
not possibly be there in the surgeon’s interest.
His purpose seemed to have been gained. Unless he was greatly mistaken,
a distinct relief mingled with the surprise which was stamped on Helga’s
face.
“He is a--criminal, you say?” she breathed eagerly, leaning forward,
forgetful that she had not admitted any knowledge of Grantley at all.
“You do not know what has happened to Doctor Grantley here in the last
year?”
“No,” was the reply. “I have never been in America before, and I have
never even acted in England. I do not read the papers in English.”
“You met Grantley abroad, then, some years ago, perhaps?”
The actress realized that she had committed herself. She delayed for
some time before she replied, and when she did, it was with a graceful
gesture of surrender.
“I will tell you all there is to tell, Mr. Carter,” she said, “if you
will give me your word as a gentleman that the facts will not be
communicated to the newspapers until I give you permission. Will you? I
think I have guessed your profession, but I am sure I have correctly
gauged your honor.”
“I promise you that no word will find its way, prematurely, into print
through me,” Nick declared readily. “I am a detective, as you seem to
have surmised, Miss Lund. I called on you, primarily, to get a clew to
the whereabouts of Doctor Grantley, but, as I told you, I am confident
that it will have a beneficial effect on you to relieve your mind and to
be assured, in return, that Grantley is a marked and hunted man, and
that every effort will be made to prevent him from molesting you any
further.”
“Thank you, Mr. Carter,” the actress responded, throwing herself down on
a couch and tucking her feet under her.
The act suggested that her mental tension was already lessened to a
considerable degree.
“There is very little to tell,” she went on, after a slight pause, “and
I should certainly have confided in my physicians if I had seen any use
in doing so. It is nothing I need be ashamed of, I assure you. I did
meet Doctor Grantley--to my sorrow--five years ago, in Paris. He was
touring Europe at the time, and I was playing in the French capital. He
was introduced to me as a distinguished American surgeon, and at first I
found him decidedly interesting, despite--or, perhaps, because of--his
eccentricities. Almost at once, however, he began to pay violent court
to me. He was much older than I, and I could not think of him as a
husband without a shudder. With all his brilliancy, there was something
sinister and cruel about him, even then. I tried to dismiss him as
gently as I knew how, but he would not admit defeat. He persisted in his
odious attentions, and one day he seized me in his arms and was covering
my face and neck with his detestable kisses, when a good friend, a young
Englishman, was announced. My friend was big and powerful, a trained
athlete. I was burning with shame and rage. I turned Doctor Grantley
over to his tender mercies and left the room. Doctor Grantley was very
strong, but he was no match for the Englishman. I am afraid he was
maltreated rather severely. At any rate, he was thrown out of the hotel,
and I did not see him again until last night. He wrote me a threatening
letter, however, to the effect that he would have his revenge some day
and ruin my career.
“I was greatly frightened at first, but, as time passed and nothing
happened, I forgot him. Last night, those terrible, compelling eyes of
his drew mine irresistibly. I simply had to look toward him, and when I
did so, my heart seemed to turn to a lump of ice. I forgot my
lines--everything. I knew what he meant to do, but I could not resist
him. He was my master, and he was killing my art, my mastery. I was a
child, a witless fool, in his hands. My brain was in chaos. I tried to
rally my forces, to go on with my part, but it was impossible. I did
manage to speak, but I do not know what I said, and no one will tell me.
Doubtless, I babbled or raved, and the words were not mine. They were
words of delirium, or, worse still, words which his powerful brain of
evil put into my mouth.”
Helga Lund halted abruptly and threw out her hands again in an
expressive gesture.
“That is all, Mr. Carter,” she added. “It was not my guilty conscience
which made me afraid of him, you see. As for his whereabouts, I can tell
you nothing. I did not know that he had been in trouble, although I am
not surprised. I had neither heard nor seen anything of him since he
wrote me, five years ago. Consequently, I fear I can be of no assistance
to you in locating him--unless he should make another attempt of some
sort on me, and Heaven forbid that!”
“I have learned that he was here last night,” said Nick, “and that is
all I hoped for. That will give us a point of departure. I assure you
that I greatly appreciate your confidence, and that I shall not violate
it. With your permission, I shall tell your physicians just enough, in
general terms, to give them a better understanding of your trouble. It
will be best, for the present, to let the public believe that you are
the victim of a temporary nervous breakdown, but I should strongly
advise you to allow the facts to become known as soon as Grantley is
captured. It will be good advertising, as we say over here, and, at the
same time, it will stop gossip and dispel the mystery. It will also
serve to reassure your many admirers, because it will give, for the
first time, an adequate explanation, and prove that the cause of your
mental disturbance has been removed.”
The actress agreed to this, and Nick Carter took leave of her, after
promising to apprehend Grantley as soon as possible and to keep her
informed of the progress of his search.
Before he left the hotel he had a short talk with Doctor Lightfoot,
which gave promise of a more intelligent handling of the case, aside
from the benefit which Helga Lund had already derived from her frank
talk with the sympathetic detective.
The man hunt could now begin in New York City, instead of at Ossining,
and, since the preliminaries could be safely intrusted to his
assistants, Nick decided to comply with Warden Kennedy’s urgent request
and run up to the prison to see what he could make of the keeper’s
condition.