Читать книгу: «Dangerous Ground: or, The Rival Detectives», страница 17
And now it is Mamma’s turn. She bounds up, confronting her Prodigal, with wrath blazing in her wicked eyes.
Papa turns away and groans dismally: “Oh, Lord, they’re goin’ to quarrel!”
“Look here, Franz Francoise,” begins Mamma, in a shrill half whisper, “ye don’t want ter go too fur! I ain’t a-goin’ ter put all the power inter yer hands. If this business ain’t worth somethin’ to me, it shan’t be to you. I kin soon satisfy ye on one pint: the gal ain’t my gal, but she came honest into my hands. I’m willin’ ter tell ye all about the gal, an’ her fortune, but ye kin let out the young-un business. That’s my affair, and I’ll attend to it in my own way. Now, then, if I’ll tell ye about the gal, prove that there’s money in it, and git her consent, will ye marry her an’ – ”
“Whack up with ye afterwards?” drawls Franz, all trace of anger having disappeared from his face and manner. “Old woman, I’ll put it in my pipe an’ smoke it. Ye kin consider this confab ended.”
Turning upon his heel he goes back to the couch, drops down upon it with a yawn, and composes himself to sleep.
CHAPTER XLIV.
MR. FOLLINGSBEE’S VICTORY
When Alan Warburton reached the residence of Mr. Follingsbee, he found that legal gentleman sitting alone in his cosy library, very much, so Alan thought, as if expecting him. And the first words that the lawyer uttered confirmed this opinion.
Rising quickly, Mr. Follingsbee came forward to meet his guest, saying briskly:
“Ah, Warburton, good evening. I’ve been expecting you; sit down, sit down.”
As Alan placed his hat upon the table beside him, and took the seat indicated, he said, with a well-bred stare of surprise:
“You expected me, Mr. Follingsbee? Then possibly you know my errand?”
“Well, yes; in part, at least.” The lawyer took up a folded note, and passed it across the table to his visitor, saying: “It was left in my care about two hours ago.”
Alan glanced up at him quickly, and then turned his attention to the perusal of the note. It ran thus:
Alan Warburton:
The time has come, or will soon come, when Mrs. W – will find it necessary to confide her troubles to Mr. Follingsbee. The time is also near when you will have to fight Van Vernet face to face. You will do well to trust your case to Mr. Follingsbee, relying upon him in every particular. You will have to meet strategy with strategy, if you would outwit Vernet.
A Friend.
Alan perused this slowly, noting that the handwriting was identical with that of the scrap left by the “organ-grinder,” and then he refolded it, saying:
“I am the bearer of a missive for you, Mr. Follingsbee; but first, let me ask if I may know who sent me this message?”
“It was left in my hands,” replied the lawyer, smiling slightly, “by – by a person with ragged garments, and a dirty face. He appeared to be a deaf mute, and looked like – ”
“Like an organ-grinder minus his organ?” finished Alan.
“Just so.”
“I trust that this will explain itself,” said Alan, drawing forth from an inner pocket Leslie’s letter, and giving it into the lawyer’s hand. “Read it, Mr. Follingsbee. This day has been steeped in mystery; let us clear away such clouds as we can.”
“From Leslie!” Mr. Follingsbee said, elevating his eyebrows. “This is an unexpected part of the programme.”
“Indeed? And yet this, – ” and Alan tapped the note he had just received, with one long, white forefinger, – “this foretells it.”
“Ah!” Only this monosyllable; then Mr. Follingsbee broke the seal of Leslie’s letter and began its perusal, his face growing graver and more troubled as he read.
It was a long letter, and he read it slowly, turning back a page sometimes to re-read a certain passage. Finally he laid the letter upon his knee, and sat quite still, with his hands working together nervously and his brow wrinkled in thought. At last he lifted his eyes toward Alan.
“Do you know what this letter contains?” he asked slowly.
“I know that my sister-in-law has left her home,” Alan replied gravely; “nothing more.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nothing; really. She left three letters: one for Mrs. French, another for Miss French, and the third for yourself.”
“And you… She left you some message?”
“Not a word, verbal or written.”
“Strange,” mused the lawyer, taking up his letter and again glancing through its pages. “I can’t understand it. Mr. Warburton – pardon the question – was there any difference, any misunderstanding, between you and Leslie?”
“Does not the letter itself explain?”
“That is what puzzles me. The letter tells her own story – a story that I knew before, in part at least; a sad story, proving to me that the girl has been made to suffer bitterly; but it does not, from first to last, mention your name.”
Alan sat silent for a moment. Then he turned his face toward the lawyer, as if acting upon some resolve.
“Yesterday,” he began quietly, “I held an interview with my sister-in-law. It was not an amicable interview; we have been on unfriendly terms since – since the night of the masquerade.”
“Since the masquerade?”
“During that interview,” continued Alan, “Mrs. Warburton gave me the brief outline of what seemed to me a very improbable story.”
“Ah!” There was a new shade in the lawyer’s voice.
“And I am wondering,” Alan goes on, “if your letter contains that same story.”
“Possibly,” said Mr. Follingsbee dryly.
“This note which you have given me, and which bears no signature, seems to indicate as much. Are you acquainted with its contents, sir?”
“I am not.” There is a growing crispness in the lawyer’s tone, which Alan is not slow to note.
“Then oblige me by reading it.”
Mr. Follingsbee took the note and read it slowly.
“Don’t you think,” he said, looking up from its perusal, “that we had better begin by understanding each other?”
“I do.”
“Very good: this note was left with me by – by such a man as I described to you.”
“By a man in disguise?”
“Just so. This – this man in disguise, came to me in your behalf.”
“In my behalf!” exclaimed Alan, in amazement.
“In your behalf. He told me you were in danger, and that the man you had most cause to fear was a certain detective: Van Vernet.”
Alan Warburton stirred uneasily in his chair, and the old haughty look came slowly into his face.
“He said,” went on the lawyer slowly, “that because of your pride, and your obstinacy, you were involving not only yourself but others, in a net that might, if your present course continued, ruin you utterly, and bring upon your cherished family honor a disagreeable blot, if not absolute disgrace. He did not give me an idea of the nature of the difference between yourself and this Vernet, but he laid out a very pretty plan by which to baffle him. And he said, as he went away: ‘If Alan Warburton, under all his pride and obstinate clinging to a wrong idea, possesses the sound judgment that I believe him to have – and it’s a pity he has not made better use of it, – he will confide in you, and act upon your advice, if not upon mine. Let him do this and we will baffle Vernet, and his precious secret will not be dragged to the light. Let him continue in his present course, and Van Vernet will have his hand upon him within a week; the affair of this afternoon should convince him of this.’”
During this remarkable speech, Alan’s face had taken on a variety of expressions. At the closing sentence he gave a quick start, and then sat perfectly still, with his profile toward his companion. After a time he turned his face toward the lawyer; and that personage, looking anxiously for a reply or comment, could read upon the handsome countenance only calm resolve and perfect self-control.
“Mr. Follingsbee,” he began gravely, “do you understand this allusion to the events of the afternoon?”
“I do not.”
“And yet you have confidence in this disguised stranger?”
“Have I alluded to him as a stranger, sir?”
Alan passed his hand across his brow, and said slowly:
“He is not a stranger to you and, evidently, he knows me remarkably well; I might say too well.”
“Ahem! You would be likely to recall your words, if you did.”
“Mr. Follingsbee, who is this man?”
“I am not at liberty to speak his name.”
“What is he, then?”
“First of all, a gentleman; a man whose championship does you honor, for it proves that he believes in you, in spite of this Van Vernet.”
“Was it not a strange freak for this gentleman, disguised just as he afterward came to you, to enter my study window, and conceal himself in my cabinet?”
Mr. Follingsbee looked up with lively interest. “Did he do that?” he asked quickly.
“He did that.”
“Well,” said Mr. Follingsbee slowly, “I should say that it was quite like him. He did not talk of his own exploits when he came to me; I fancy his time was limited.”
“Probably; now, Mr. Follingsbee, I think I see things, some things, in a clearer light. This organ-grinder of mine, this gentleman of yours, this anonymous friend, is a detective!”
“Umph!” mutters the lawyer, half to himself, “we are beginning to use our wits.” Then in a louder tone: “Ah, so we are no longer lawyer and witness?”
“No,” with a quiet smile; “we are two lawyers. Let us remain such.”
“With all my heart,” cries Mr. Follingsbee, extending his hand; “let us remain such.”
Alan takes the proffered hand, and begins again.
“This champion of mine, then, is a detective; you admit that?”
“Well – yes.”
“In espousing my cause, he is making active war upon Van Vernet?”
“So it appears.”
“Then it is safe to say that aside from the interest he has seen fit to take in – in my family and family affairs, he has some personal issue with Mr. Vernet.”
“Possibly.”
“Then, – how fast we progress – our detective friend must be a remarkably clever fellow, or our chances are very slender. Mr. Vernet is called one of the ablest detectives on the city force.”
“True.”
“Mr. Follingsbee, have you faith in the ability of this champion-detective to cope with such a man as Vernet?”
“Well,” says the elder gentleman slowly, “if you play your part, I’ll vouch for my friend. He is at least a match for Vernet.”
“Then I think it would not be a difficult matter to identify him.”
“Don’t waste your time,” interrupts Mr. Follingsbee quickly; “I have told you all that I am at liberty to tell.”
“As you please; but before I begin my story, I must be sure that it is the story. Yesterday, as I told you, I had an interview with my sister-in-law.”
“Yes.”
“I had observed some things that puzzled me, and – does that letter of Leslie’s contain any statements concerning her early life?” He breaks off abruptly.
“It does; many statements.”
“Do you know anything of her early history?”
“Yes.”
“Is she the daughter of Thomas Uliman?”
“His adopted daughter; yes.”
“And are her parents living?”
“Two people who claim to be her parents are in this city. I may as well say to you now, Mr. Warburton, that Leslie never knew herself to be an adopted child until shortly before her marriage; that she discovered it by accident, and came straight to me with the news, which I had known all along. Then she told the truth to your brother, and knowing the height, depth, and absurdity of the Warburton pride, offered to release him from his engagement. He refused this release and bade her never mention the subject again.”
He paused a moment, and seeing that Alan was regarding him with steadfast earnestness, resumed:
“I supposed that the end of the affair, and from that day to this have never heard a word on the subject from Leslie, or from any one, until you brought me this letter. And now, as I have gone thus far into the matter, let me tell you what I have learned from this letter – not as Leslie has written it, but briefly as possible. Shortly before her marriage, two people, asserting themselves to be the two who gave Leslie to the Ulimans, came and claimed her as their child. They were so repulsive, clamorous, and so evidently greedy for money, that Leslie could not, would not, credit their story. Here she made her first mistake. She bribed these old wretches with a good slice of her little fortune, instead of turning them and their claim over to me. They promised to go away, of course, and never trouble her again, and also of course, they did not keep their word. As soon as she was married to your brother, they became bolder; and she was more than ever in their power. She dared not confide in her husband; first, because of his pride, which was only a little less than yours, and next, because she feared the effect of such a revelation upon a constitution so frail, and a mind so sensitive. It was too late, she thought, to come to me; and so it went on. They drained her private purse to the last dollar; they compelled her to come at their summons at any time, and she had to creep from her home like a guilty thing to carry hush-money to these wretches. And so things continued until, in order to satisfy their greed, she must begin to fee them with her husband’s money. Think of that, sir,” casting an ironical glance at his vis-a-vis; “feeing those common clods with the Warburton gold.”
But Alan never noted this home-thrust. He sat quite still, with a troubled look upon his face; seeing which, Mr. Follingsbee continued:
“This she firmly resolved that she would never do; and then came that masquerade.”
“Ah!” Alan starts as he involuntarily utters the ejaculation, but controls himself instantly, and says: “Go on, please.”
“That night they sent her a note,” continues Mr. Follingsbee. “It came when she was in the midst of her guests; and it was so urgent in its demands that she grew desperate, threw off her festive garments, and went, alone, in the night, to the hovel where these old impostors lived. She went to defy them, and she found herself entrapped.”
“Entrapped?”
“Yes; while she talked, she was seized by two persons who crept upon her from behind. She does not understand their actual object; they seemed trying to secure the jewels which she had forgotten to remove from her ears. Just here she is not very definite; I will read the passage to you.”
He takes up the letter, searches out the lines referred to, and reads:
I can scarcely describe the rest. It is sufficient that a brave man rescued me – at what a fearful cost to himself, I only learned afterward. I escaped from the hovel, and reached my home. You know the rest: how Daisy vanished, and all the sorrow since. And now I tell you that I believe these two have stolen Daisy.
Here he breaks off abruptly. “The rest is a mixture of business affairs and hurried directions how to dispose of her property should she be long absent, or should she never return, etc. At the close she says, that on the night of her adventure at the hovel, and during the affray, a man was killed; and that either herself or her brave rescuer, she is informed, is likely to be arrested for that crime; and in case of the arrest of either, the other will be compelled to testify for or against.”
“And her motive for now quitting her home so suddenly?”
“Of that she says very little; merely that she is leaving, and that she hopes I will continue my confidence in her.”
“Which you do?”
“Which I do.”
For many moments Alan Warburton sat with his head bowed, and his face pale and troubled, saying nothing. Then he roused himself, and turned towards his companion.
“Mr. Follingsbee,” he said, very gravely, “if this story – a part of which you have told me, the rest being contained in that letter – is true; if Leslie Warburton has been a martyr throughout this affair, then I am a most contemptible scoundrel!”
“You!” ejaculated the old gentleman testily; “you a scoundrel! Good heavens, has everybody gone into high dramatics? What have you done?”
“I have accused Leslie of receiving a lover in her own house; of going from her home to meet him; I have heaped upon her insult after insult; I have driven her from her home by my cruel accusations!”
A moment Mr. Follingsbee sat looking as if about to pour forth a volume of wrath, upon the head of his self-accusing visitor; then he said, as if controlling himself by an effort:
“You had better tell the whole story, young man, having begun it.”
And Alan did tell the whole story; honestly, frankly and without sparing himself. He began at the beginning, telling how, at the first, Leslie’s youth, beauty and vivacity, together with a certain disparity of years between herself and husband, had caused him to doubt her affection for his brother, and to suspect a mercenary marriage; how he had discovered her sending away notes by stealth; how his suspicions had grown and strengthened until, on the night of the masquerade, he had set Van Vernet to watch her movements; and how Vernet had discovered, or claimed to discover, a lover in the person of a certain Goddess of Liberty.
At this point in his narrative, Alan was surprised to note certain unmistakable signs of levity in the face and manner of Mr. Follingsbee; and presently that gentleman broke in:
“Wait; just wait. Let’s clear up that point, once and for all. That ‘Goddess’ was introduced into your house by me, and for a purpose which, to me, seemed good. Until that night he had never seen Leslie Warburton.”
“He! then it was a man?”
“It was; and Van Vernet, as I have since learned, knew him and laid a trap for him. Their feud dates from that night.”
“Ah, then our detective and the ‘Goddess of Liberty’ – ”
“Are the same. Now resume, please.”
Going back to his story, Alan tells how he had followed Leslie; how he had rushed in, in answer to her cry for aid; how he had rescued her, and had himself been rescued in turn by a pretended idiot. He told of his return home; his interview with Leslie after the masquerade, and their last interview; ending with the scene with Vernet and the organ-grinder.
“That fellow is the mischief!” said Mr. Follingsbee, rubbing his palms softly together. “He’s the very mischief!”
“By which I infer that my ‘Organ-grinder,’ my ‘Idiot,’ and the ‘Goddess of Liberty,’ are one and the same?”
“Precisely; I haven’t a doubt of it.”
“And that the three are identical with this ‘gentleman detective,’ who, in making war upon Van Vernet, has espoused my cause, or rather that of my sister-in-law.”
“Just so.”
Alan leans back in his chair, and clutches his two hands upon its either arm, fixing his eyes on vacancy. Seeming to forget the presence of his vis-a-vis, he loses himself in a maze of thoughts. Evidently they are not pleasant thoughts, for his face expresses much of perplexity, doubt and disgust, finally settling into a look of stern resolve.
He is silent so long that Mr. Follingsbee grows impatient, and by and by this uneasiness manifests itself in a series of restless movements. At last Alan turns his face toward the lawyer, and then that gentleman bursts out:
“Well, are you going to sit there all night? What shall you do next?”
Alan Warburton rises from his chair and faces his questioner. “First,” he says slowly, “I am going to find Leslie, and bring her back.”
“Oh!”
“You look incredulous; very well. Still, I intend, from this moment, to take an active part in this mysterious complication which has woven itself about me.”
“Have you forgotten Vernet?”
“Not at all; yet it is my duty to make active search for Leslie. Be the consequences to myself what they may, I can remain passive no longer.”
“Alan, you are talking nonsense. Do you suppose Vernet will let you slip now? Don’t you realize that if you are to be found twenty-four hours from this moment, you will be under arrest.”
“Nevertheless – ”
“Nevertheless, you will persist in being a fool! Sit down there, young man, and tell me, haven’t you been playing that role long enough?”
A hot flush rises to Alan’s brow, and an angry light leaps for a moment to his eyes; but he resumes his seat in silence, and turns an expectant gaze upon Mr. Follingsbee.
“Now, Warburton,” resumes the little lawyer in a more kindly tone, “listen to reason. I had a long talk with our unknown friend to-day; not so long as I could have wished, but enough to convince me that he knows what he is about, and that if you follow his advice, he will pull you through. Twice he has saved you from the clutches of this Vernet; leave all to him, and he will rescue you again, and finally.”
“He has, then, mapped out my course for me?” queries Alan haughtily.
“He has, if it suits you to put it so. Good heavens! man, it needed somebody to plan for you. You have done nothing but blunder, blunder, blunder. And your stupid mistakes have recoiled upon others. I tell you, sir – ” bringing his fist down upon the table with noisy emphasis – “that unless you accept the advice and assistance of this man, whom you seem to dislike without cause, you are lost, ruined, at least in your own estimation. Confound your Warburton pride! It has brought you into a pretty scrape; and all your Warburton wit won’t extricate you from it. Confound you! I’m sick of you, sir! If it were not for Leslie, and little Daisy, Van Vernet might have you, and the Warburton honor might go to the dogs, for all my interference!”
The mention of little Daisy had its effect upon Alan. As his companion waxed wrathful, his own mind became calmer; for a moment he seemed to see himself through Mr. Follingsbee’s spectacles. And then he said:
“I accept your rebuke, for I may have deserved it; certainly I have sufficient reason to feel humble. My unknown champion took pains to inform me that he did not serve me for my own sake; and now you proffer me the same assurance. I have blundered fearfully, but I fail to see what influence my conduct could have upon poor Daisy’s fate.”
“Oh, you do!” Mr. Follingsbee is not quite mollified. “Then you don’t see that Leslie was sorely in need of a friend in whom she could confide – just such a friend as she might have found in you, had you been, or tried to be, a brother to her, instead of a suspicious, egotistical enemy. She could not take her troubles to Archibald, but she might have trusted you – she would have trusted you, had your conduct been what it should.”
“I had not thought of that.” Alan becomes more humble as his accuser continues to ply the lash. “What you say may be true. Be sure, sir, if we ever find Daisy and Leslie, I shall try to make amends.”
“Umph! Then you had better begin now, by taking good advice when it is offered.”
“What do you advise, then?”
“I? nothing, except at second hand. It is this champion of yours who advises.”
“Then what is his advice?”
“He says that you must quit the country at once.”
“Impossible!”
“Nothing of the sort. The Clytie sails for Liverpool to-morrow. You and Leslie have taken passage – ”
“Taken passage! Leslie!”
“Just so; everything has been arranged by – ” He pauses, then says: “The ‘Organ-grinder.’”
“I repeat, it is impossible. Do you think I will leave the country while little Daisy’s fate remains – ”
“Oh, stop! stop! stop! Man, are you determined to be an idiot? Will you hold your tongue and listen?”
“I will listen, yes; but – ”
“But – bosh! Listen, then, and don’t interrupt.”
He lowers his voice, not from fear of an eavesdropper but because, having gained this point, his impatience begins to subside. And Alan listens, while for more than an hour the little lawyer talks and gesticulates, smiles and frowns. He listens intently, with growing interest, until at last Mr. Follingsbee leans back in his chair, seeming to relax every muscle in so doing, and says:
“Well, what do you think of it?”
Then Alan Warburton rises and extends his hand impulsively.
“I thank you with all my heart, sir, and I will be guided by you, and by our unknown friend. From this moment, I am at your disposal.”
“Umph!” grunts the lawyer, as he grasps the proffered hand, “I thought your senses would come back.”
