THE
OFFICIAL CHAPERON
By Natalie Sumner Lincoln
The Official Chaperon
C. O. D.
The Man Inside
The Lost Despatch
The Trevor Case
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, NEW YORK
THE OFFICIAL
CHAPERON
BY
NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN
AUTHOR of “C. O. D.,” “THE TREVOR CASE,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1915
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
[Illustration: Marjorie Langdon]
TO MY BROTHER
GEORGE GOULD LINCOLN
“_We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wandered mony a weary foot
Sin auld lang syne._”
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AN ILL WIND 1
II. MISSING 7
III. QUESTIONS AND QUERIES 18
IV. TEMPTING FATE 28
V. GIVE AND TAKE 37
VI. AT FORT MYER 47
VII. TREASURE TROVE 61
VIII. THE ONLY WOMAN 76
IX. GAY DECEIVERS 89
X. IN THE COLD, GRAY DAWN 104
XI. GREAT EXPECTATIONS 115
XII. A TANGLED WEB 129
XIII. DUNCAN’S DILEMMA 143
XIV. THE PHILANDERER 159
XV. IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING 169
XVI. A TUG OF WAR 177
XVII. OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN 191
XVIII. LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY 204
XIX. FALSE WITNESS 222
XX. WATCHFUL WAITING 240
XXI. THE STORM CENTER 255
XXII. “TOUJOURS SANS TACHE” 272
XXIII. THE HEARING EAR 282
XXIV. THE KINGDOM OF THE BLIND 294
XXV. PHANTOMS OF THE NIGHT 304
XXVI. UNCOVERED 317
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Marjorie Langdon _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
“She was about to call her by name, when Janet quietly
took up a diamond sunburst” 100
“Barnard again inspected Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper. ‘She
looks like an Indian begum’” 214
THE OFFICIAL CHAPERON
CHAPTER I
AN ILL WIND
“WASHINGTON, Washington; all off for Washington!” The porter’s
stentorian call echoed through the Pullman sleeper. “This way out.”
A second more and the aisle was filled with sleepy passengers who
strove to push past each other with the impatient rudeness which
characterizes the average American traveler. The last to leave the car
was a tall man, whose leisurely movements left him a prey to a hovering
porter, and he surrendered his suit-case to the obsequious darky, after
first inquiring the way to the baggage room.
“Go ahead and engage a taxi for me,” he directed, following his guide
across the imposing concourse and into the waiting-room.
“Yessir.” The porter touched his cap respectfully; at one glance he had
appraised the traveler’s well-groomed appearance, and his palm itched
for the anticipated tip. “But you’d better hurry, suh; I kain’t hol’ a
cab long, suh, an’ dey’s mighty scarce at dis time ob de mawnin,’ suh.”
“All right.” The traveler quickened his steps, corralled a half awake
baggage clerk, gave his instructions, and sought the southern entrance
of the station without further waste of time.
“Heah’s yo’ cab, suh,” called the porter. The information was somewhat
superfluous, for only one taxi stood at the curb, the rest having been
requisitioned by other passengers. “Thank yo’, suh,” added the porter,
as his lingers closed over a half dollar; his intuition had not been
wrong. “Where to, suh?”
His question remained unanswered, for the traveler shouldered him
aside, and gave his directions to the chauffeur in so low a tone that
they were not overheard, then entered the cab and settled himself
comfortably on the roomy seat. Half dozing he took no notice of the
taxi’s progress up Massachusetts Avenue to Sheridan Circle, and was
only aroused from his nap by the abrupt stopping of the vehicle before
a white marble residence of imposing size. He started to leave the
taxi, then drew back.
“Lord!” he grumbled, inspecting the drawn blinds and closed vestibule
door. “I forgot I’m still south of Mason and Dixon’s line; everybody’s
asleep.”
“Want to be driven around a bit, sir?” questioned the chauffeur.
“I do not,” dryly, glancing askance at the register. He pulled out his
watch and scanned the dial. “Six-fifteen. Any Turkish Baths near here?”
“The Riggs’ Bath is the best, sir; get you there in a few minutes.”
“Very well,” and with a resigned sigh, the traveler leaned back and
studied his surroundings with interest as the taxi passed down the
quiet thoroughfares. On approaching the business section of the city
there were more signs of life, and in crossing a street the taxi was
held up by a number of heavy drays.
In the pause that followed the traveler casually inspected the side of
a red brick basement house whose entrance fronted on the other street.
The windows of what appeared to be a library on the second floor were
open, letting in the balmy air which accompanies Indian Summer in the
Capital City, and the traveler saw a colored servant dusting the room.
His feather duster, wielded with unusual vigor, struck against some
papers lying on a desk by the window, and the topmost sheet sailed
out. The wind carried it to the gutter where a small stream of water
from the recently flushed street swept it along to the sewer opening,
where it poised for a moment on the brink, then disappeared into the
dark depths beneath. The servant, leaning half out of the window,
breathlessly watched the paper’s progress with eyes and mouth wide
open, and his ludicrously agonized expression drew a faint chuckle from
the traveler as his taxi started down the street.
Some time later the traveler, refreshed by his bath, lay back in the
luxuriously furnished dormitory of the Riggs’ Turkish Bath and puffed
contentedly at his cigar. He paid no attention to three be-sheeted men
who were talking together as they lounged at one end of the room.
“Who was the pretty girl you were dancing with yesterday afternoon at
the Shoreham, Jimmie?” questioned the eldest of the three men.
“Janet Fordyce.” Jimmie Painter’s voice was of the carrying kind, and
as the name reached his ears the traveler sat bolt upright, but the
men, engrossed in their conversation, failed to observe his attention.
“A winner, isn’t she, Logan?” continued Jimmie complacently.
“Yes, trust you to pick ’em,” grumbled Logan, “and to cultivate them
afterwards, too. Who is she?”
“Daughter of Calderon Fordyce, the Western importer of----”
“Opium--tainted money,” jeered his companion.
“What difference? Its buying qualities make it refined gold.”
“You weren’t the only one bowled over by the Fordyce girl,” remarked
the youngest member of the group. “She made quite an impression on
Chichester Barnard.”
“Nothing doing there, Cooper!” exclaimed Jimmie Painter skeptically.
“Chichester’s not the kind to be attracted by a débutante; besides,
he’s too gone on Marjorie Langdon.”
“Not so gone he doesn’t keep his weather eye out,” retorted Joe
Calhoun-Cooper. “As far as Miss Langdon’s concerned it’s attention
without intention. She’s as poor as Job’s turkey.”
“I hear she’s crazy about Chichester,” volunteered Logan. “By Jove! if
I was first favorite, I’d marry Miss Langdon and risk poverty.”
“Too Utopian,” commented Joe. “Better choose a golden ‘Bud’--they are
the only kind worth plucking in Washington.”
“I agree with you,” put in Jimmie Painter. “Do you suppose old Calderon
Fordyce will come across with the money bags when his daughter marries?”
“I’m told he’s rolling in wealth,” acknowledged Joe. “But for all that,
you’d better go slow, Jimmie; there’s some kink in the family.”
“What do you mean?”
“An intimate friend said----” Joe never finished the sentence, for an
iron hand jerked him to his feet and swung him about face.
“I have been an unwilling listener to your conversation,” said the
traveler slowly, addressing the astounded men, and not loosening
his hold on Joe. “You can congratulate yourselves that you live in
Washington; such discussion of women would not be tolerated elsewhere.
I give you fair warning, each and all of you, if you mention Miss
Fordyce’s name in future conversations I will break every bone in your
bodies.”
It was no idle threat; the sheet had slipped from the traveler’s broad
shoulders, disclosing the brawn and build of an athlete.
“You understand me,” he added, his level glance seeking Joe’s, and his
vice-like grip tightened until the bones cracked.
“Yes, d-mn you!” muttered Joe, through clenched teeth. “Let go.”
“Who the ---- are you?” gasped Jimmie, hastily retreating beyond the
traveler’s reach.
“Miss Fordyce’s brother--Duncan Fordyce,” was the calm reply, and Joe,
released suddenly, collapsed on his couch.