Two Heads are Better than One
I understood in a flash what had happened, and sprang up the stair to
the upper deck, determined to have it out with our enemy, once for
all. I searched it over thoroughly, looking in and under the boats and
behind funnels and ventilators, but could discover no sign of anyone.
When I got back to the promenade, a little crowd had gathered,
attracted by the noise of the falling spar, which a dozen members of
the crew were busy hoisting back into place.
"I do not see how those lashings could have worked loose," said the
officer in charge. "We lashed that extra spar there just before we
sailed, and I know it was well fastened."
I took a look at the lashings. They had not been cut, as I expected to
find them, but had been untied. Martigny had doubtless worked at them
while we sat there talking--he was too clever an artist in crime to do
anything so clumsy as to cut the ropes.
"Well, luckily, there's no damage done," observed Mr. Royce, with
affected lightness, "though it was a close shave. If Miss Kemball
hadn't called to us, the spar would have struck us squarely."
Mrs. Kemball closed her eyes with a giddy little gesture, at the
vision the words called up, and the officer frowned in chagrin and
perplexity. Just then the captain came up, and the two stepped aside
for a consultation in voices so low that only an excited word of
French was now and then audible. I turned to Miss Kemball, who was
leaning against the rail with white face and eyes large with terror.
"But it was not an accident, Mr. Lester!" she whispered. "I saw a man
leaning over the spar--a mere shadowy figure--but I know I could not
be mistaken."
I nodded. "I don't doubt it in the least. But don't tell your mother.
It will only alarm her needlessly. We'll talk it over in the morning."
She said good-night, and led her mother away toward their stateroom. I
went at once in search of the ship's doctor, and met him at the foot
of the saloon staircase.
"How is Martigny, doctor?" I asked.
"Worse, I fear," he answered hurriedly. "He has just sent for me."
"Which room has he?"
"He's in 375; an outside room on the upper deck," and he ran on up the
stair.
I went forward to the smoking room, and looked over the colored plan
of the ship posted there. A moment's inspection of it showed me how
easily Martigny had eluded pursuit--he had only to walk twenty feet,
open a door, and get into bed again. But, evidently, even that small
exertion had been too much for him, and I turned away with the grim
thought that perhaps our enemy would kill himself yet.
When I sat down, next morning, beside Miss Kemball, she closed her
book, and turned to me with a very determined air.
"Of course, Mr. Lester," she began, "if you think any harm can come
from telling me, I don't want you to say a word; but I really think
I'm entitled to an explanation."
"So do I," I agreed. "You've proved yourself a better guard than I.
I'd forgotten all about Martigny--I was thinking, well, of something
very different--I had no thought of danger."
"Nor had I," she said quickly. "But I chanced to look up and see that
dark figure bending over them, and I cried out, really, before I had
time to think--involuntarily."
"It was just that which saved them. If you'd stopped to think, it
would have been too late."
"Yes--but, oh, I could think afterwards! I'd only to close my eyes,
last night, to see him there yet, peering down at us, waiting his
opportunity. And then, of course, I puzzled more or less, over the
whole thing."
"You shan't puzzle any more," I said, and looked about to make certain
that there was no one near. Then, beginning with the death of Hiram
Holladay, I laid the case before her, step by step. She listened with
clasped hands and intent face, not speaking till I had finished. Then
she leaned back in her chair with a long sigh.
"Why, it's horrible!" she breathed. "Horrible and dreadfully puzzling.
You haven't told me your explanation yet, Mr. Lester."
"I haven't any explanation," I said helplessly. "I've built up half a
dozen theories, but they've all been knocked to pieces, one after the
other. I don't know what to think, unless Miss Holladay is a victim of
hypnotism or dementia of some kind, and that seems absurd."
"Sometimes she's nice and at other times she's horrid. It recalls
'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,' doesn't it?"
"Yes, it does; only, as I say, such an explanation seems absurd."
She sat for a moment with eyes inwardly intent.
"There's one theory which might explain it--part of it. Perhaps it
wasn't Miss Holladay at all who returned from Washington Square with
the new maid. Perhaps it was the other woman, and the barred windows
were really to keep Miss Holladay a prisoner. Think of her there, in
that place, with Martigny for her jailer!"
"But she wasn't there!" I protested. "We saw her when we gave her the
money. Royce and I saw her--so did Mr. Graham."
"Yes--in a darkened room, with a bandage about her forehead; so hoarse
she could scarcely speak. No wonder Mr. Royce hardly knew her!"
I stopped a moment to consider.
"Remember, that would explain something which admits of no other
reasonable explanation," went on my companion; "the barred windows and
the behavior of the prisoner."
"It would explain that, certainly," I admitted, though, at first
thought, the theory did not appeal to me. "You believe, then that Miss
Holladay was forcibly abducted?"
"Undoubtedly. If her mind was going to give way at all, it would have
done so at once, and not two weeks after the tragedy."
"But if she had brooded over it," I objected.
"She wasn't brooding--at least, she had ceased to brood. You have Mr.
Royce's word and the butler's word that she was getting better,
brighter, quite like her old self again. Why should she relapse?"
"I don't know," I said helplessly. "The more I reason about it, the
more unreasonable it all seems. Besides, that affair last night has
upset me so that I can't think clearly. I feel that I was
careless--that I wasn't doing my duty."
"I shouldn't worry about it; though, of course," she added a little
severely, "you've realized by this time that you alone are to blame
for Martigny's presence on the boat."
"But I had to go to the Jourdains'," I protested, "and I couldn't help
their going to him--to have asked them not to go would have made them
suspect me at once."
"Oh, yes; but, at least, you needn't have sent them. They might not
have gone at all--certainly they wouldn't have gone so promptly--if
you hadn't sent them."
"Sent them?" I repeated, and stared at her in amazement, doubting if I
had heard aright.
"Yes, sent them," she said again, emphatically. "Why do you suppose
they went to the hospital so early the next morning?"
"I supposed they had become suspicious of me."
"Nonsense! What possible reason could they have for becoming
suspicious of you. On the contrary, it was because they were _not_
suspicious of you, because they wished to please you, to air your room
for you; because, in a word, you asked them to go--they went after the
key to those padlocks on the window-shutters. Of course, Martigny had
it."
For a moment, I was too nonplused to speak; I could only stare at her.
Then I found my tongue.
"Well, I _was_ a fool, wasn't I?" I demanded bitterly. "To think that
I shouldn't have foreseen that! I was so worked up over my discovery
that night that I couldn't think of anything else. Of course, when
they asked for the key, the whole story came out."
"I shouldn't blame myself too severely," laughed Miss Kemball, as she
looked at my rueful countenance. "I myself think it's rather fortunate
that he's on the boat."
"Fortunate? You don't mean that!"
"Precisely that. Suppose the Jourdains hadn't gone to him; he'd have
left the hospital anyway in two or three days--he isn't the man to lie
inactive when he knew you were searching for the fugitives. He'd have
returned, then, to his apartment next to yours; your landlady would
have told him that you had sailed for Europe, and he had only to
examine this boat's passenger-list to discover your name. So you see
there wasn't so much lost, after all."
"But, at any rate," I pointed out, "he would still have been in
America. He couldn't have caught us. We'd have had a good start of
him."
"He couldn't have caught you, but a cablegram would have passed you in
mid-ocean, warning his confederates. If they have time to conceal
their prisoner, you'll never find her--your only hope is in catching
them unprepared. And there's another reason--since he's on the boat,
you've another opportunity--why not go and have a talk with him--that
battle of wits you were looking forward to?"
"I'd thought of that," I said; "but I'm afraid I couldn't play the
part."
"The part?"
"Of seeming not to suspect him, of being quite frank and open with
him, of appearing to tell him all my plans. I'm afraid he'd see
through me in the first moment and catch me tripping. It's too great a
risk."
"The advantage would be on your side," she pointed out; "you could
tell him so many things which he already knows, and which he has no
reason to suspect you know he knows--it sounds terribly involved,
doesn't it? But you understand?"
"Oh, yes; I understand."
"And then, it would be the natural thing for you to look him up as
soon as you learned he was ill. To avoid him will be to confess that
you suspect him."
"But his name isn't on the passenger list. If I hadn't happened to see
him as he came on board, I'd probably not have known it at all."
"Perhaps he saw you at the same time."
"Then the fat's in the fire," I said. "If he knows I know he's on
board, then he also knows that I suspect him; if he doesn't know, why,
there's no reason for him to think that I'll find it out, unless he
appears in the cabin; which doesn't seem probable."
She sat silent for a moment, looking out across the water.
"Perhaps you're right," she said at last; "there's no use taking any
unnecessary risks. The thing appealed to me--I think I should enjoy a
half-hour's talk with him, matching my wits against his."
"But yours are brighter than mine," I pointed out. "You've proved it
pretty effectually in the last few minutes."
"No I haven't; I've simply shown you that you overlooked one little
thing. And I think you're right about the danger of going to Martigny.
Our first duty is to Miss Holladay; we must rescue her before he can
warn his confederates to place her out of our reach."
The unstudied way in which she said "our" filled me with an
unreasoning happiness.
"But why should they bother with a prisoner at all? They didn't shrink
from striking down her father?"
"And they may not shrink from striking her down, at a favorable
moment," she answered calmly. "It will be easier in France than in New
York--they perhaps have the necessary preparations already made--they
may be only hesitating--a warning from Martigny may turn the scale."
My hands were trembling at the thought of it. If we should really be
too late!
"But I don't believe they'll go to such extremes, Mr. Lester,"
continued my companion. "I believe you're going to find her and solve
the mystery. My theory doesn't solve it, you know; it only makes it
deeper. The mystery, after all, is--who are these people?--why did
they kill Mr. Holladay?--why have they abducted his daughter?--what is
their plot?"
"Yes," I assented; and again I had a moment of confused perplexity, as
of a man staring down into a black abyss.
"But after you find her," she asked, "what will you do with her?"
"Do with her? Why, take her home, of course."
"But she'll very probably be broken down, perhaps even on the verge of
hysteria. Such an experience would upset any woman, I don't care how
robust she may have been. She'll need rest and care. You must bring
her to us at Paris, Mr. Lester."
I saw the wisdom of her words, and said so.
"That's very kind of you," I added. "I am sure Mr. Royce will
agree--but we have first to find her, Miss Kemball."
I was glad for my own sake, too; the parting of to-morrow would not,
then, be a final one. I should see her again. I tried to say something
of this, but my tongue faltered and refused to shape the words.
She left me, presently, and for an hour or more I sat there and
looked, in every aspect, at the theory she had suggested. Certainly,
there was nothing to disprove it; and yet, as she had said, it merely
served to deepen the mystery. Who were these people, I asked myself
again, who dared to play so bold and desperate a game? The
illegitimate daughter might, of course, impersonate Miss Holladay; but
who was the elder woman? Her mother? Then the liaison must have taken
place in France--her accent was not to be mistaken; but in France Mr.
Holladay had been always with his wife. Besides, the younger woman
spoke English perfectly. True, she had said only a few words--the
hoarseness might have been affected to conceal a difference in
voice--but how explain the elder woman's resemblance to Hiram
Holladay's daughter? Could they both be illegitimate? But that was
nonsense, for Mrs. Holladay had taken her into her life, had loved
her----
And Martigny? Who was he? What was his connection with these women?
That the crime had been carefully planned I could not doubt; and it
had been carried out with surprising skill. There had been no nervous
halting at the supreme moments, no hesitation nor drawing back;
instead, a coolness of execution almost fiendish, arguing a hardened
and practiced hand.
Doubtless it was Martigny who had arranged the plot, who had managed
its development. And with what boldness! He had not feared to be
present at the inquest; nor even to approach me and discuss the case
with me. I tried to recall the details of our talk, impatient that I
had paid so little heed to it. He had asked, I remembered, what would
happen to Frances Holladay if she were found guilty. He had been
anxious, then, to save her. He had--yes, I saw it now!--he had
written the note which did save her; he had run the risk of discovery
to get her free!
But why?
If I only had a clew; one thread to follow! One ray of light would be
enough! Then I could see my way out of this hopeless tangle; I should
know how to strike. But to stumble blindly onward in the dark--that
might do more harm than good.
Yes, and there was another thing for me to guard against. What was to
prevent him, the moment he stepped ashore, wiring to his confederates,
warning them, telling them to flee? Or he might wait, watching us,
until he saw that they were really in danger. In either event, they
must easily escape; Miss Kemball had been right when she pointed out
that our only hope was in catching them unprepared. If I could throw
him off, deceive him, convince him that there was no danger!
The impulse was too strong to be resisted. In a moment I was on my
feet--but, no--to surprise him would be to make him suspect! I called
a steward.
"Take this card up to Monsieur Martigny," I said, "in 375, and ask if
he is well enough to see me."
As he hurried away, a sudden doubt seized me; horrified at my
hardihood, I opened my mouth to call him back. But I did not call:
instead, I sank back into my chair and stared out across the water.
Had I done well? Was it wise to tempt Providence? Would I prove a
match for my enemy? The next half hour would tell. Perhaps he would
not see me; he could plead illness; he might be really too ill.
"Monsieur Martigny," said the steward's voice at my elbow, "answers
that he will be most pleased to see Monsieur Lester at once."