_Crossroads._
The rain was falling in torrents, hard driven before the gusty March
wind, and turning the gutters into miniature foam-crested freshets when
Betty struggled up the steps of the Egyptological Museum, with the
completed translation beneath her arm.
The attendant who took possession of her dripping umbrella stared
curiously at her unveiled face and his gaze followed her as she
ascended to the upper floor, but Betty was oblivious to the interest
her presence created. Her thoughts were travelling ahead of her
down the corridor to the office numbered nine, and the friendly,
laughing-eyed young man who awaited her there.
The hour of her previous visit was the one bright spot in the gloom and
mystery which had surrounded her since she made her entrance into Mrs.
Atterbury's service, and his protective concern when she had rushed
blindly into his arms at that unexpected meeting almost at the gates of
her new home, lingered comfortingly in her memory.
As she entered, Herbert Ross rose from behind his desk with extended
hand and a beaming smile of welcome.
"You are punctual, Miss Shaw, in spite of the rain. How is the work
coming on?"
"It is finished." Betty laid the roll of manuscript upon the desk
before him. "I hope that it will prove satisfactory, Mr. Ross."
"You found it difficult?" He spread the papers out, glancing over them
rapidly as he spoke.
"No. I have translated almost literally as you can see--But I forgot
that you were not an Egyptologist yourself."
"Nevertheless, I am sure this will be an admirable addition to our
collection of translated papyri. What sonorous, mouthfilling phrases
the old chaps used in those days!" He quoted from her page: "'Hail ye
living ones upon earth, ye who pass on the Nile, scribes all, readers
and priests of the ka all, this the great Pharaoh and royal Xerxes,
triumphant.'--I will place this at once in the hands of the keeper of
antiquities."
He pressed a button in the wall beside him, then abruptly swung his
chair around until he faced her. His eyes had narrowed slightly and
there was no longer a hint of a smile about his firm lips.
"Miss Shaw, you told me when you were last here that your time was not
wholly your own. Does that mean that you are employed at indeterminate
hours? I ask this in reference to future work, of course."
Betty nodded, and moistened her lips nervously.
"I did most of this translating at night."
"Ah! You are free, then, in the evenings? What is the nature of your
work, if I may ask? Are you a teacher?"
A knock upon the door saved her from an immediate reply. A uniformed
attendant entered and to him Herbert Ross entrusted the manuscript with
instructions to take it to Professor Carmody. When the door had closed
once more he turned to her inquiringly, and noted a swift pallor which
seemed to have blotted all the wind-blown color from her face.
"You teach?" he repeated.
Betty shook her head. She dared not risk his asking where she taught if
she took refuge in that evasion. The truth, or at least as much of it
as was possible under the circumstances, would be safest.
"I am a--a visiting secretary."
"Indeed. That explains your presence on the North Drive the other day
when you literally ran into me." His lips relaxed. "You told me you
were late for an appointment, I remember. You are not living at present
at the address which you gave me, Miss Shaw."
It was neither question nor accusation, but a mere statement of fact
casually uttered, and yet a bomb-shell could not more effectively have
stunned the girl. Could her former landlady have betrayed her? Her head
whirled and it seemed another voice than hers which replied quietly:
"No. I am staying temporarily at the home of my employer, but I have my
mail sent to my permanent address."
"I see. You are not a native of the city, then? Your home is not here?"
What did this continued catechism portend? In so far as the translating
provided an excuse for this insistent young man's questions she would
reply, but her personal affairs and former life were surely no concern
of a museum director.
"No, my home is not here." She paused deliberately. "Perhaps, if this
translation proves satisfactory and you have other work for me, Mr.
Ross, you will mail it. I will arrange to have it forwarded--"
She got no farther for the door was suddenly flung wide and a
shrivelled grey little man precipitated himself into the room. With
bent shoulders and head thrust forward, he peered eagerly at the
younger man through thick tortoise-shell glasses and demanded in a high
voice crackling with nervous excitement:
"Ross, who is she? The young woman you said had undertaken this
translation for you? I must see her--"
"She is here." The young man rose. "Miss Shaw, allow me to present
Professor Carmody."
The girl bowed distantly, but the little professor advanced to her with
outstretched hands.
"My dear young lady, I want to congratulate--" He stopped abruptly,
amazement and a dawning recognition in his eyes. "It can't be--is it
possible----?"
"You find my translation satisfactory then, Professor Carmody?" Betty
darted a swift glance at him, and then turned her head sharply as
if to gaze from the window. This move presented her profile to the
nearsighted eyes bent upon her, and brought the birthmark out with
cruel distinctness upon her cheek.
Professor Carmody halted, stammering, and the look of expectancy died
from his weazened face.
"I beg your pardon. I fancied for a moment that I had met you before. I
intruded just now, Miss--Miss--"
"Betty Shaw." The girl prompted him steadily.
"Miss Shaw, I wanted to tell you that your work is admirable! The
translation is masterly and I doubt if even my friend Professor Mallory
himself could have improved upon it. You have kept to the text with
extraordinary fidelity, and retained the spirit as well as the letter
to a marked degree!"
"Thank you." In spite of herself Betty flushed at the fervent praise,
but she kept her face averted. "The work was intensely interesting,
but I feared I had forgotten a great deal."
"Miss Shaw studied with an associate of Professor Mallory," Ross
remarked.
"Really. I should have believed her to have been a pupil of the great
man himself." Professor Carmody's eyes still glistened with enthusiasm.
"I shall be happy to show you several original papyri of profound
interest, if you will call some morning, my dear Miss Shaw. In this
intensely modern age, it is a genuine pleasure to encounter a young
person who appreciates the wisdom and greatness of the past."
He bowed and had turned to the door when Herbert Ross stopped him with
a reminder.
"You, er--you have the check, Professor?"
"Bless me, of course!" The little man fumbled in his pocket for a
moment, then drew out a narrow slip of paper which he laid upon the
desk. "There are one or two inscriptions from tombs of the eleventh
dynasty, I believe, which have been awaiting translation. You will find
them in that drawer, there. Good afternoon, Miss Shaw."
When the sound of his quick, nervous footsteps had died away down the
corridor, Ross handed the check to Betty. It was made out for fifty
dollars and signed by the secretary of the Egyptological Society.
Murmuring a conventional expression of thanks, the girl placed it in
her handbag and rose.
"Would you care to undertake some more translation immediately?" the
young man asked, opening the drawer tentatively.
"I should, very much," Betty responded, her eyes alight with eagerness.
"In that case, it will be necessary for me to have your present
address, Miss Shaw." There was no mistaking the businesslike finality
in his tone, and Betty hesitated. If she refused, she would not only
forfeit the translating which was a fascinating study, but she might
never again see this young man, her only link with the world beyond
Mrs. Atterbury's forbidding gates. On the other hand, her reticence
would undoubtedly arouse his curiosity and suspicion and if he were
sufficiently interested, he might institute awkward inquiries and
precipitate the very crisis she sought to avoid. Would frankness be her
wisest course? She hesitated only a moment.
"Mr. Ross, I gave you the address of my boarding house because I have
undertaken this translation unknown to my present employer. I work at
it only in my leisure hours, but I do not think she would approve of my
doing anything which lay outside of her own immediate interests. She is
Mrs. Atterbury, of Three Hundred and Thirty-five North Drive. However,
I should like all communications sent to the first address I gave you."
Herbert Ross drew his hand quickly across his forehead and there was
an odd, repressed note in his voice.
"I quite understand. You will remain for some little time in your
present position? I believe you said it was temporary."
"I--I cannot tell." Betty's tone was very low and her eyes wandered
restlessly to the door. "I shall have finished this translation, at any
rate, before I leave."
"Very well." He arose and held out his hand to her. "Bring it to me,
please, when it is completed. The terms will be the same as before. I
wish you the best of luck with it, Miss Shaw."
When she had gone he dropped back into his chair and sat for some
minutes lost in a profound reverie which, judging by his frown, was not
a happy one. At length he struck the desk an emphatic blow with his
fist as if to register some vital decisions and springing to his feet,
he started precipitately for the sanctum of Professor Carmody.
"My dear Ross!" The grey little man glanced up in mild deprecation
from a heap of yellowed parchments as the other burst in upon him. "I
trust my abrupt intrusion on your conference did not complicate matters
for you. I had completely forgotten, in my enthusiasm over the young
woman's remarkable work, that she was a subject for your own especial
study."
"On the contrary, Professor, your entrance was fortunate; it lent
verisimilitude to the little farce I have been playing with your
valuable assistance. But I want to ask you a question upon which much
depends. For whom did you mistake Miss Shaw, when you first saw her?"
Professor Carmody pondered for a space.
"I do not know," he responded at length, thoughtfully. "I cannot recall
her name, but I was forcibly reminded of a young girl whom I had met
in Cairo some two years ago, who was studying under Professor Mallory.
When Miss Shaw turned her head I realized my mistake at once, for the
girl I speak of had no blemish upon her face. It is rather odd, as
the translation bears unmistakable earmarks of Professor Mallory's
tutelage, but the association of ideas is undoubtedly responsible for
my misapprehension."
"Undoubtedly," echoed Ross. "Nevertheless, if you can recall the name
of the young woman in Cairo, by any chance, I shall be grateful."
It was Professor Carmody's turn to halt his visitor at the door.
"This Miss Shaw to whom you just presented me--I trust that, er, she is
not under your professional interest as a suspect? A young person of
such a high order of intelligence, of intellectuality----"
"By no means, Professor. She is merely an unimportant witness in a
civil case; rather curious, but with no criminal features. I'll look in
on you tomorrow. Try to remember the other girl's name for me; the one
in Cairo."
Twenty minutes later, when the young detective was ushered into the
presence of Madame Dumois, even that astute lady could read nothing in
his grave non-committal face.
"You have found her?" The aged voice quivered with the tension of her
control, but there was no hint of a tenderer emotion. "The young person
you suspected, is she the original of the photograph I showed you?"
Ross shook his head.
"I have been unable to determine." His voice was very low. "She has
succeeded in eluding me, Madame Dumois. I am sorry to be obliged to
confess it, but I was too confident. Either I have underestimated
her intelligence and inadvertently put her on the defensive, or
circumstances have combined to effect her disappearance a second time.
She has slipped from my grasp."
The old lady uttered an exclamation of bitter disappointment and anger.
"Why did you not take me to her at once?" she demanded. "A fig for your
conscientious scruples, sir! Had she not proved to be the young woman I
am looking for, what harm could it have done?"
"None, save precipitate the notoriety you wish to avoid, Madame
Dumois." He leaned toward her with a ring of passionate earnestness in
his tones. "Why will you not be frank with me? What is your interest
in this girl? What do you mean to do with her when you have found her?"
"I repeat, that is solely my affair." She fixed him with a shrewd
glance. "I might answer your question by another, young man. What
interest have you in my motive for instituting this search? You have
found someone whom you believe to be the one I wish to see, yet you
claim to be unable to produce her. What has my object to do with your
chances of locating her once more?"
His interrogator's keen directness took the young detective by
surprise, but he countered swiftly.
"Everything, my dear Madame! If I were assured that her disappearance
was a purely voluntary one, resulting from inclination alone, rather
than any sinister or criminal cause, I could prosecute my search along
far different lines than those I am compelled to adopt, as long as I am
working in the dark."
"You have not entirely lost track of your suspect, then?" The old lady
leaned forward in her chair. "You will be able to find her again?"
"I firmly believe that I shall, but it may require some little time,"
he responded cautiously.
Madame Dumois straightened herself with an air of conscious triumph.
"In that case, Mr. Ross, our original compact holds, unless you
voluntarily relinquish it. Find her with the information I have
already given you, or drop the case. That is positively my last word
in the matter. I decline to take you or anyone into my confidence.
What I have to say to that young woman shall be said to her alone, and
what disposition I shall make of her will be strictly according to her
deserts. If I did not believe you to be above suspicion, upon my soul,
I should accuse you of knowing more than you will admit and actually
trying to shield her!"
"My dear lady!" He raised protesting hands. "I shall not refer you to
my chief, or call upon my record to witness my utter singlemindedness
in this, as in every other case I have handled. It is one of the
generally accepted prejudices against those engaged in my profession
that we are devoid of any finer feeling and insensible to injustice,
but I had believed myself immune from such a suspicion, especially in
the eyes of a person of your rare discernment."
"I haven't accused you of bribery, young man!" There was a softer,
almost contrite note in her dry tones. "But a baby stare has forced
many a hasty conclusion. However, we won't quarrel about it. I can
assure you of one thing; in placing that young woman in my hands you'll
be saving her from far worse ones. Whether she has dabbled in crime or
not, the quicker she is located the better for her."
"I shall do my best," Ross said earnestly. "Be assured that I have
no interest in this but to serve you. My questions may have seemed
impertinent, but they were not prompted by idle curiosity, you know. I
shall not intrude again until I have something definite to report."
He bowed over her hand and her withered fingers tightened about his in
a cordial clasp.
"I hope it will be soon, Mr. Ross," she added in impulsive candor.
"Call whenever you wish and I shall be at home. I won't promise you any
further information, but I am a lonely old woman and I find our little
tilts highly diverting. If you have not yet succeeded in my quest you
have at least brought me a new interest in life, and I positively look
forward to your visits."
"Thank you." He smiled boyishly. "I will avail myself of your
invitation gladly, Madame Dumois, but remember I mean to succeed, even
if I must work blindfold."
The smile did not linger as he made his way down the path to the Drive.
The old lady's shrewd instinct had divined his procrastination and
unerringly probed its cause, and his chief, too, would be clamoring for
a report. Why should he hesitate? The girl was within reach of his hand
and his duty was clear. Scar or no scar, he could not blind himself to
the conviction that in Betty Shaw his search was ended. What was it
that, stronger than his will, deeper-rooted than his loyalty still held
him back from the step which sooner or later would be inevitable?
As the toils closed tighter about the girl and the clouds which
encompassed her grew darker and more sinister, her face shone clearer
before his mental vision and her steady eyes seemed to meet his in
sorrowful questioning.
He was a detective, but he was also a man; must he in willful ignorance
of the consequences, deliver her to the tender mercies of Madame
Dumois? She had trusted him, she had replied in simple faith to the
decoy advertisement and placed herself in his hands. Madame Dumois had
also given him her confidence, relying upon his professional honor.
Which would be the greater betrayal?
Detective McCormick was in the best of humors, and shook hands heartily
with his young operative.
"My boy, that was the finest bit of sheer luck that has come our way in
many a long day!" he exclaimed. "Your running into Ide hanging around
the gates of that place out on the North Drive has given the whole
investigation a new turn, and I shouldn't wonder if the results would
be sensational."
"I wouldn't be too sanguine, sir." Ross spoke with curious repression.
"It was dusk, as I told you, and I only had a momentary glimpse as I
flashed past in a taxi. I may have been mistaken."
"You didn't think so the other day." The Chief turned in his swivel
chair and stared up at him. "You were sure enough then of the
identification, and I think myself that you were right. I've had the
place covered ever since, and there's something queer doing there, as
sure as shooting!"
"Doesn't seem likely." Ross shook his head. "People of the social
standing of those who live on the North Drive couldn't be mixed up in
any game of Ide's. What did you mean 'queer,' sir? Who's on the job?"
"Clark. The house is owned by a woman named Atterbury; lived there for
years and seems to rate A1 in the neighborhood, but she's laying mighty
low, too low for a person who is on the level. She's comparatively
young and a good looker, but she lives like a hermit, and there's a
young girl in the household, a girl with a scar on her face, who will
bear watching."
"I think it's a mistake, sir, it must be." Ross spoke with all the
assurance he could command. "There's nothing wrong with the Atterbury
woman, and as for the girl--"
"As for her, what?" demanded his chief, as he paused. "What do you know
about them?"
"Nothing, except in a general way," he hedged lamely. "But if she's the
Mrs. Atterbury I imagine, Clark is barking up the wrong tree and he'll
only make a fool of himself if you let him push this matter. Ide--if it
was really Ide whom I saw--may have been passing by. That is a blind
trail, Chief."
"Look here, Ross, what's got into you?" McCormick blustered. "You were
as keen on the scent as Clark is now and all of a sudden you back down.
The fellow was Ide, all right; I've never known you to make a mistake
yet in spotting a man, and I tell you this Atterbury woman, whoever she
is, has an ace in the hole, somewhere. What's the dope?"
"Simply that she is too well known, too prominent. You couldn't touch
her, sir. It's out of the question."
"Is it?" McCormick swore a vigorous oath. "Nobody ever flew so high yet
that I couldn't bring 'em down when I had the goods on them. And I'll
get it, Ross, don't make any mistake about that! This is the first time
you've laid down on anything, but Clark will stick like a burr and even
if Ide is out of it, there's some other little game being pulled off up
there, you mark my words. We'll get to the bottom of it before I call
Clark off it. But what's the good word in your own case?"
"Nothing doing." Ross raised his eyes with an effort to those of his
chief. "I've been stalling Madame Dumois and trying to kid her into
giving me enough data to work on, but you know how it was with you. She
is fighting so shy of possible notoriety that she won't loosen, but I
haven't given up hope. I found one clue that looked promising, but I
was on the wrong track. It wasn't the right girl."
"Well, keep after the old lady." McCormick resumed the cigar butt he
had relinquished at the other's appearance. "You can get around her in
time if anyone can. Let me know when something turns up."
"Very well, sir." Ross accepted the hint and departed, but long after
the door had closed behind him, McCormick sat gazing reflectively
before him with a startled half-incredulous query in his eyes.