WATCHFUL WAITING
“CAN I see Dr. Potter?” inquired Duncan, handing his visiting-card to
Mrs. Walbridge’s butler.
“Mr. Fordyce, sir?” interrogatively, and Duncan nodded assent. “The
Doctor is waiting for you, sir. Please step this way”--but before they
reached the drawing-room, Paul Potter appeared in the hall.
“Very glad to see you, Duncan,” he said warmly. “Nobody’s home but
myself, so come into the Judge’s den; we can talk undisturbed there.”
“I was detained in reaching here. I wanted particularly to see you
alone. I had to drop Janet at home first; she went out with me to try
my new roadster,” explained Duncan, following Potter into the cozy room
which Judge Walbridge used as his sanctum sanctorum. “Mother wishes to
know if you will dine informally with us tonight; only a few friends
are coming in.”
“I shall be delighted to. It happens that Judge and Mrs. Walbridge are
dining out, an engagement they made before I came, so I shall not upset
any of their plans,” replied Potter. “Come over here to the light and
let me get a good look at you,” indicating a seat by the window. “Um, a
clear bill of health”--inspecting him carefully.
“Only older than when you saw me last,” smiled Duncan, “and wiser.”
“Perhaps,” dryly, noting the unusual lines about Duncan’s eyes and
mouth. “And does wisdom bring happiness?”
“Don’t know,” with unusual abruptness. “It’s good to see you again,
Paul; where have you been since I left you in South America?”
“Knocking about the world. The wanderlust is ruining me, Duncan; I
cannot make up my mind to seriously sit down in San Francisco and
resume my practice.”
“As you are called in consultation by other physicians in every State
of the Union, I’m not worrying about your financial condition,”
retorted Duncan, examining the famous alienist carefully in his turn.
“I’m much more concerned over your health--how are you these days?”
“Splendid, never felt better.” Six years before Paul Potter had
suffered a severe nervous breakdown from overwork, and he had
accompanied Duncan on a trip to China, where the latter went to attend
to some business for his father, who was one of the largest importers
from that country. Potter was some fifteen years Duncan’s senior, but
they were congenial in their tastes, and after a year’s sojourn in
China had, on their return, traveled together in other countries. “Are
you still as confirmed a bachelor as ever, Duncan? Or is there a ‘not
impossible she’ in the background?”
“Still a bachelor,” admitted Duncan. “I am doubly glad to have you in
Washington now on my mother’s account.”
“I was just going to ask for her,” and Potter’s manner became serious.
“How is she?”
“In many respects much better, but she is far from strong.”
“I am sorry indeed to hear that,” in quick sympathy. “Is she still
troubled with mysophobia?”
“To a limited degree.” Duncan accepted the cigar offered him, and
settled back in his chair. “Mother no longer insists on washing her own
knives and forks, and takes her meals with us if no company is present;
but she still has her dread of soiled money.”
“That also may wear off in time,” said the physician reflectively. “Is
her general health good?”
“Except for valvular weakness of the heart. Poor little mother!” Duncan
paused and cleared his throat. “Curious she should have developed such
a morbid fear of contact with dirt.”
“You must remember the human mind is a wonderful piece of mechanism, so
delicately adjusted that the slightest jar throws it out of gear. That
frightful railroad accident, in which your mother was half killed, was
chiefly responsible for her mental condition afterwards. I am delighted
to hear that she is improving.”
“Mother insists on leading the life of a hermit, hardly sees anyone
outside the family. Do you think it is good for her to be so much
alone?”
“It is not good for anyone to shun their fellowmen,” responded Potter
decidedly. “Keep your mother interested in present-day matters. I
should think your pretty sister could manage that.”
“Mother turned Janet over to an official chaperon.”
“Hard on your sister,” commented Potter sympathetically. “And not wise
for your mother; having shifted her responsibilities, she’ll feel at
liberty to indulge her morbid tendencies.”
“Exactly.” Duncan puffed nervously at his cigar. “Mother did not pick
out the usual type of chaperon for Janet, so your sympathies for my
sister are wasted.”
“Good. Janet has changed very little; as I remember she was a pretty
schoolgirl, now she is an exquisitely pretty débutante.”
“She has inherited her good looks from mother. What do you think of
Miss Langdon? She was with me when I met you last night,” he added, to
complete the identification.
“A beautiful girl; I’m not surprised you walked over the rest of us
mortals when dancing with her.”
Duncan fidgeted in his chair. “I’m hard hit in that quarter,” he
admitted slowly.
“She’s lucky,” commented Potter tersely. “Are congratulations in
order?” He regretted the question as he saw Duncan wince.
“Unfortunately for me, no.” Duncan had turned a shade paler under
the strain of the emotion he was striving to suppress. “I would
never have mentioned this topic had it not been for extraordinary
circumstances”--he stopped and looked carefully about the room. Seeing
the hall door was closed, and there was apparently no danger of being
overheard, he continued, “Will you please treat what I am about to say
as confidential?”
“Of course, my dear fellow,” deeply interested, Potter laid down his
cigar and moved his chair nearer.
“Miss Langdon has been with Janet as, you might say, resident
chaperon....”
“Isn’t she very young for such a responsible position?”
“Mother did not think so. Miss Langdon is really more of a companion
for Janet; knows the right people to introduce to her----”
“I see, a ‘guide, philosopher, and friend,’ idea....”
“Yes,” slowly. “Miss Langdon has been with Janet since the first week
in November. During that time she has conducted herself as a woman of
refinement and good breeding would; she has done everything possible
to see that Janet has a good time. Mother swears by her--says she
cannot get on without her,” he paused, considering his words with care.
“My intercourse with Miss Langdon has been of the most conventional
character; in her eyes I am simply Janet’s elder brother....”
“Well, where is the fly in the ointment?” inquired Potter. “Other
suitors?”
“As many as she wants,” quietly. “It is not they who are troubling me.”
“No?” in a tone of some unbelief. “Well, what then?”
Duncan spoke with an apparent effort. “Some extraordinary robberies
have taken place recently....” A low whistle escaped Potter.
“In your house and since Miss Langdon’s arrival?” he asked.
“Yes; and--and--in another house before she came to us....”
“I see--the trail of the serpent....”
“Don’t make comments until I have finished,” retorted Duncan, ruffled
by Potter’s manner.
“I beg your pardon,” good-naturedly. “Go ahead.”
But it was some moments before Duncan complied with the request.
“I have come to you with my problem,” he began finally, “because I have
an idea it may be in your province.”
“Ah. Under what heading?”
“Kleptomania.”
Potter elevated his eyebrows. “It is a recognized mental derangement,”
he conceded.
“Curable?”
“Doubtful.” Potter forebore to look at Duncan; instinctively he knew
the hope his friend was pinning on him and his advice. “Has Miss
Langdon ever had scarlet fever?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“A severe attack sometimes leaves the brain in a weakened condition and
a convalescent patient might become afflicted with an uncontrollable
propensity to pilfer shining objects. If such an impulse is not checked
at the outset by medical treatment it may gradually develop in a
monomania for thieving,” answered Potter. “Do you believe Miss Langdon
is a kleptomaniac?”
“I do--it is the only grounds on which I can explain her conduct.”
“Suppose you give me some of the details of the robberies for which you
think Miss Langdon is responsible,” suggested the physician.
Quickly and tersely Duncan described the loss of his father’s forty
dollars, which had first aroused his suspicions of Marjorie’s honesty;
then related all that Admiral Lawrence had confided to him about the
stolen codicil. “And to cap the climax,” he concluded, “comes the theft
of Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s pearl necklace at the ball last night.”
After he ceased speaking, Potter, who had listened to his account with
absorbed attention, rose and slowly paced the room in deep thought.
“Have you any direct proof that Miss Langdon is implicated in the loss
of the necklace?” he asked, resuming his seat.
“No, none; only an intolerable fear----” Duncan’s voice shook.
“I understand.” Potter tugged at the lobe of his right ear until it
crimsoned. “Is Miss Langdon poor?”
“Naturally,” dryly. “Otherwise she would hardly be earning her own
living.”
“Very poor,” insistently.
“I don’t know about that,” answered Duncan doubtfully. “She dresses
extremely well....”
“That signifies nothing; the clothes may have been given her by wealthy
friends. Has Miss Langdon any relatives dependent upon her?”
“Yes, a great-aunt; a lovely old Quakeress. Why do you ask?”
“A woman will steal for another when she would not steal for
herself....”
“Sentiment would not influence a kleptomaniac.”
“The mantel of kleptomania, like charity, covers a multitude of
sins,” retorted Potter. “Let me explain,” he added, as Duncan’s color
rose. “Kleptomaniacs are usually found among the wealthy class; their
pleasure is derived from the _act_ of stealing, not in the thing
stolen. For instance, a man, possessing a handsome gold watch-chain,
will steal a dozen chains, but once the desire to steal is gratified,
he never cares to sell or wear the stolen chains; he may even return
them to their rightful owners. Now, back of every robbery you cite
against Miss Langdon, lies personal gain--the acquisition of forty
dollars....”
“A small sum for which to ruin oneself,” protested Duncan, fighting
stubbornly against his own doubts as well as Potter’s arguments.
“The size of the sum is only relative, according to the need for the
money. In your eyes forty dollars seems trivial; but perhaps Miss
Langdon may have considered the money worth the risk she took.”
“She could have gone to mother,” burst in Duncan.
“Miss Langdon may have feared a refusal. Suppose we take up the lost
codicil....”
“Marjorie Langdon did not benefit by its disappearance.”
“No, but a friend stands to do so--a man with whom, according to
Admiral Lawrence, Miss Langdon was infatuated. The inheritance of one
hundred thousand dollars would permit them to marry....”
“Supposing she really is in love with him?”
“Have you reason to doubt it?”
Duncan did not answer immediately. “I cannot believe Marjorie is the
type of girl to commit theft, or to center her affections on a man who
is not worthy of her.”
“Do you know anything against him?”
“N--no; but Mrs. Lawrence found it necessary to disinherit Barnard.”
“Did the Admiral give you the reason for his wife’s act?”
“She said she was angry at some investments made for her by Barnard
which had turned out disastrously.”
“A lack of business sense is nothing against a man’s moral character.”
“That’s true,” acknowledged Duncan. “I admit I’m prejudiced against
Barnard.”
“Do you see much of him?”
“Quite a good deal; he comes frequently to the house, ostensibly to see
Janet, but I suspect in reality to be near Marjorie Langdon.”
“You don’t think he’s playing off the two girls against each other?”
“He had better not,” Duncan’s teeth came together with a snap. “No,
Janet’s whole thoughts seem to be turned to Captain Nichols; she
accepts Barnard’s attentions, that is all.”
“And how does Miss Langdon look on Barnard’s attentions to Janet?”
“Her manner gives me no inkling of what she thinks.”
“She must be a good actress,” commented Potter. “No woman, who
commits a criminal act for a lover, will stand tamely by and see
that lover devote himself to another woman unless she has marvelous
self-control....”
“Or no real affection for the supposed lover,” put in Duncan. “At
dinner tonight you can study them for yourself; both Miss Langdon and
Chichester Barnard will be there.”
“Good.” Potter rose and placed his hand affectionately on Duncan’s
shoulder. “I judge more by what you have left unsaid, Duncan, of how
you feel about the girl. I would to heaven I could help you!”
“Thanks,” Duncan’s tone was a trifle husky. “I’m afraid there’s nothing
anyone can do for me. I must ‘dree my weird.’ But,” his clenched
fist came down with a resounding whack on the broad ledge of his
Morris-chair arm. “I firmly believe that if Marjorie did steal the
codicil, the money, and the pearl necklace, she did it unknowingly, in
response to a craze to steal which she could not govern.”
“Perhaps you are right. It may be, Duncan, if Miss Langdon submits to a
medical examination....”
“I’ll ask mother to seat you next to Miss Langdon at dinner,” Duncan
stood up. “Perhaps then you can decide what is best to be done. Come
over early, Paul, I want you to see mother before the other guests
arrive.”
“I will.” Potter accompanied Duncan to the closed door and before
opening it, added earnestly, “I have not meant to be unfeeling, Duncan,
in my efforts to differentiate between stealing as a criminal act, and
stealing as an insane impulse.”
“That’s all right, Paul,” hastily. “I came to you for advice, and I
know you will help me if you can. Please remember me to Judge and Mrs.
Walbridge,” and speaking on other subjects, the two friends made their
way to the front door, and Duncan started homeward.
As Duncan motored slowly up Massachusetts Avenue he recognized a
familiar figure coming toward him, and making a wide turning, faced
his car in the direction Marjorie was going and quickly caught up with
her. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she had no idea of his
presence until he called her by name. As his voice reached her, she
started so violently that her hand-bag slipped from her fingers to the
pavement, but before she could stoop to pick it up he was by her side.
“Are you on your way to a luncheon?” he asked, straightening up and
placing the bag in her extended hand. “Great heavens! What is the
matter?” getting a full look at her tragic face. “Has anything happened
to your aunt?”
“No. Oh, no,” she replied hurriedly. “You startled me, coming up so
quietly.”
Duncan took her hand in his with an air of quiet authority. “Tell me,
what is really the matter?”
Marjorie steeled herself against the tender solicitude in his voice and
gesture. What use to tell him of the scene in his father’s library?
He also would take Janet’s word against hers. He would believe her
a thief. In the silent watches of the past anxious nights, she had
awakened to the realization that she had come to love Duncan with an
adoration which passes understanding. It was her precious secret; he
must never guess it. Her past affection for Chichester Barnard had been
the shadow instead of the substance. Her endurance was almost at the
breaking point; she could not face the loss of Duncan’s friendship, at
least not then; nor see admiration change to contempt, and liking sink
to loathing. With a muttered prayer for strength, she raised her eyes
to Duncan’s.
“If you must know the truth,” she said, “I’m suffering from a
toothache--not a bit romantic, is it?”
“Perhaps not,” sympathetically. “But I know from experience there’s no
pain like it. If you are on your way to the dentist, can’t I take you
there?”
“He couldn’t see me until four o’clock this afternoon,” lying with
trembling lips. “I am going to Aunt Yvonett’s to rest quietly until
then.”
“Let me drive you there,” pointing persuasively toward his roadster.
Marjorie could think of no adequate excuse; after all it would be the
quickest and easiest way to reach the shelter of her aunt’s house.
“If it isn’t taking you out of your way----?”
“Of course it isn’t,” heartily. “Mind that step,” and in a second
more he was seated beside her, and the powerful car moved off down
Massachusetts Avenue. “How do you like my new model?” patting the side
of the motor. “I had an old one in San Francisco.”
“The car moves very smoothly,” with well simulated interest. “Is she
speedy?”
“Is she? You should have seen me trying her out on the Conduit Road
this morning; I brought Janet home in record time.”
“Worse luck,” she groaned, below her breath.
“What did you say?” But she pretended not to hear, and he continued, “I
want to ask you to be very nice to a friend of mine tonight who will
sit next you at dinner.”
She moved restlessly. “Who is the man?”
“Dr. Paul Potter. I introduced him to you last night. Haven’t you heard
of him before?”
“I believe your sister said he attended your mother when she was ill.”
“He was called in consultation. I thought you might have heard of
Potter, he’s a famous brain specialist. We traveled together in the
East; he’s deeply interested in that land of mysticism and occultism.
You’ll find him an interesting talker.”
“Probably I will.” Marjorie’s fingers twitched spasmodically over her
hand-bag. Her frayed nerves were giving way. “Would you mind stopping
at the Portland Drug Store? I think I can get some--some iodine.”
“Does your tooth pain you very much?” asked Duncan, turning the car
into wide Vermont Avenue and stopping before the drug store which
occupied the ground floor of one end of the large triangular apartment
house. “Can’t I run in and get it for you?”
“No, no, sit still.” Her imperative tone stopped him as he was about to
arise. “The druggist can perhaps advise me what to do, I had better ask
him myself--I--I shan’t be long.”
“I’ll wait, never fear,” laughed Duncan, settling back in his seat. He
watched with grave solicitude the tall, graceful girl walk up the long
approach through the parking and enter the drug store.
The minutes passed and Duncan finally waxed impatient. Glancing at his
watch, he found he had been waiting nearly twenty minutes. A thought
occurred to him; suppose Marjorie had fainted from pain and exhaustion?
She had looked on the point of a breakdown when she left him. With a
bound he was out of the car and into the drug store. One glance around
the shop showed him the place was empty except for a clerk.
“Where’s the young lady who came in here a short time ago to buy some
iodine?” he demanded.
“Hasn’t any one bought iodine,” protested the clerk. “Do you mean the
young lady who came in about twenty minutes ago and walked through the
store and out into Fourteenth Street?” pointing to the door opposite
the one Duncan was holding partly open as he gazed in consternation and
bewilderment at the clerk.