Читать книгу A Matter Of Millions - Anna Katharine Green - Страница 12

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Mr. Gryce’s intuitions were seldom at fault. He had said to Mr. Byrd that the unknown would not be found with the heiress who had fled from Miss Hadden’s school, and behold! within the course of the next day, came word from Miss Hadden herself that Miss Rogers had returned to the school with the crestfallen air of one who had suffered a great disappointment.

The inspector at once notified Mr. Gryce, and advised him to visit Miss Rogers and see if he could not obtain from her such particulars of her late escape as would assist them in determining upon the identity of the gentleman who had instigated it.

The elderly detective, who was both by nature and appearance eminently adapted for this work, at once departed for Miss Hadden’s school, where, after a short interview with its mistress, he was admitted to a small apartment, where he was requested to await the appearance of Miss Rogers. The delay was short. In a few minutes, a young lady entered in whom he had no difficulty in recognizing the somewhat pretty and decidedly willful girl in whose erratic adventures he at present took so strong an interest.

“Miss Rogers, I believe,” said he, with an air at once respectful and encouraging.

“Oh, who are you?” she asked, changing in a moment from the half-pettish, half-coquettish creature he had seen enter into a woman both startled and frightened.

“I am your friend, to begin with,” was his reassuring reply; “and next, I am an old man who has seen much of life and who has a world of compassion for those who have as yet all its experiences before them.”

She had not sat down, and was standing before him in an attitude that betokened more readiness for flight than desire to listen. “But you are a stranger,” she declared; “I do not even know your name. Why do you speak to me of compassion? I was not aware—” Her voice broke; she was too young and inexperienced to be a good actress.

“I speak of compassion,” said he, “because of all griefs we mortals are called upon to endure, that of losing confidence in our friends is at once the deepest and the keenest. I know that you have suffered such a loss. No, do not go. I have something of too much importance to say to you to depart without hearing it.”

He looked so benevolent and smiled so reassuringly that she immediately took courage. Flinging caution to the winds, she gasped out in sudden excitement:

“Have you brought me a message from him? Does he regret—” She paused. Ignorant as she was of life, she felt that she was on the point of compromising herself. “You do not answer,” she pettishly exclaimed. “I have made a mistake; let me go.”

She was not a beautiful girl, attractive as many considered her who saw nothing but her dazzling complexion and the abundant masses of her light brown hair. But she was a spoiled one, and at this moment bore herself so haughtily that she looked almost unmanageable to the shrewd old detective.

But he was no novice in interviews of this kind. Smiling quietly, he remarked, with his accustomed air of benevolence:

“I do not answer because I dread your displeasure. I have no message from the gentleman to whom you allude, but I have one for him. If he calls upon you, as he may, please ask him how many ladies of the name of Rogers he has made himself agreeable to, lately; and if he does not recoil at that, ask him how many more he hopes to bring into the police courts before he is summoned there himself.”

“What do you mean?” sprang from the lips of the startled girl he was addressing. He had frightened her and he had aroused her interest. That was what he sought, and he secretly smiled over his success. “I do not understand you. Police courts? Oh, who are you? Not a police officer, I hope.”

“You might make a worse guess, Miss Rogers. I am a detective grown old in the service. But that need not alarm you, for my experiences have not made me either hard or pitiless. The gentleman you refer to is a rogue. That is why I am here and why I beg you to listen while I make clear to you the narrowness of your escape from a man without honor or respectability.”

“Oh! Oh!” came in hurried pants from her white lips. Her face had lost its disdain, and the eyes she fixed upon his were wide open and pleading, There was no evil in them, only the shame of a proud nature caught in an act of folly. “What are you telling me,” she cried. “A rogue? I think you must be mistaken. I know a gentleman when I see him, and though I am only seventeen, I am not so childish as to be entirely deceived in those I meet. We are talking about different men or you are the victim of some mistake.”

“We can easily determine that,” said he. “What is the name of the gentleman of whom you are speaking?”

“I would rather not mention names.”

He was not looking at her; he never looked at any one; but for all that, his eyes had a peculiar expression, for which the pen-wiper he was honoring with his gaze may have been responsible. But I doubt it.

“No names?” he replied. “Very well, we will try to get at the truth in some other way, then.”

And taking a paper from his pocket, he opened it deliberately, then, laying it on his knee, put on a pair of glasses and observed:

“I am going to read to you a description, not of the gentleman in whom you have such confidence, but of another, equally nameless, who has been seen flitting around a young lady of the same name as yourself, living, but a short time ago, in Fifty-sixth street.”

And lifting the paper, he read aloud these words: “According to the description given by such persons as have observed this gentleman, he is tall, well-formed, affable in manner and pleasing in address. His complexion is medium, his hair and mustache dark, and his eyes gray. He is what would be called by all persons a gentleman, and by most a handsome man. He is above all a strong character, bearing evidence in look and carriage of great force of disposition and a determined will.”

The detective paused, folded the paper, and laid it on a table near by. Miss Rogers was blushing

“That, as I have informed you,” continued the other, “is what persons say of the man who paid court to, or at least, showed his interest in the young lady I have mentioned, by hovering about her steps and following her to church and other public places. She has since died, so I cannot get her description of him but must rely upon that of her friends. Did you ever see any one like him?”

The abashed girl bowed her head. She was trembling in every limb but she did not choose to speak, and he did not urge her to do so.

“You will pardon me,” he now pursued, “if I trouble you with a second description. This is of a gentleman who lately began the persecution of a young girl also bearing your name, but without the worldly advantages belonging to yourself or to the last-mentioned lady. She was a working-girl, but pretty, good, and, to all appearances, happy, till she came across this gentleman. He is said by those who have seen him, to be tall, handsome, prepossessing-looking, of age about thirty, complexion medium, hair dark, a large mustache and gray eyes. Did you ever see such a man as he?”

“Don’t ask me. You startle and surprise me beyond all endurance. What does it all mean, and what is there in the name of Rogers that only persons of that name should receive this man’s attention?”

“It is not only the name of Rogers,” remarked the detective, kindly. “Each one of these girls was a Jenny also.”

“A Jenny? You frighten me, sir; or rather you awaken my suspicions as to your veracity. Is it truth you have been telling me? Have you not been amusing me with fairy-tales. I cannot believe—”

“Miss Rogers, you were sent into my presence by Miss Hadden. Had she possessed any doubt of my integrity, she would never have risked the displeasure of your guardian by encouraging this interview. You may trust me; all that I have told you is true.”

“Then I have indeed been inveigled into a doubtful proceeding by a most despicable rogue. The description you have given of the man who followed the young lady who has since died, and who had begun to follow another—”

“Who has since died.”

“Sir?”

“The poor working-girl has suffered the same fate as that of the young lady of Thirty-sixth street,” declared Mr. Gryce. “Neither was killed, yet both have perished; one from a malignant fever, the other from over-excitement preying on an enfeebled frame.”

“Oh, where is my guardian? I wish to go home. I am afraid of this horrible New York. It is full of deceit and shame and misery.”

The detective saw she was on the verge of hysterics, and waited respectfully for her self-possession to return.

“I am sure,” he observed at last, “that your guardian will be one of the first to urge your return, if he can be convinced that you are in any danger. If you will tell me just what has passed between you and this man—”

“Oh, very little; so very little that I am overwhelmed at the indiscretion which led me to leave the school just to see a person whose personal appearance and pretended admiration had attracted me. I do not understand now how I could have allowed myself to listen to him. I am horrified at myself, and I hate him so that—”

“That you are only anxious to see him punished. Is not that so, Miss Rogers?”

“Anxious? I would give hundreds of dollars—”

“Give me something less; give me your confidence. I will respect it, and only use such facts as will lead to his detection.”

“Ah, that is what you want from me. Well, I am only too happy, only—”

She paused, clasping her hands in sudden confusion and dismay.

“What a scandal!” she exclaimed, “How can I bear the shame of it and all the talk? And the police courts—you spoke of them—Oh, do not tell me I shall have to go there, I should die of confusion and horror. My guardian—”

“Do not think of that. If you can be saved from publicity, you shall. At present, we want nothing more than a short account of what has occurred between you and this mysterious person in the short interval of time during which you were absent from the school. Did you succeed in meeting him? Was he at the place appointed? For I take it for granted he had entreated the honor of an interview.”

“Yes, yes; but I am glad he failed to come. I went to Jersey City; I, who had never been in the streets before without a companion. He had written me a note—but you shall see it. I cannot keep this matter any longer to myself and you look so good, if you are a detective, that I cannot help but trust you. Besides, perhaps, when you see what tempted me, you will not think so harshly of my folly. I did not mean any great wrong; but was carried away by what seemed so like the romantic adventures of some of my favorite heroines. But then, in books, the lovers are always gentlemen, while mine—but here is the letter. Look for yourself, sir. It came by mail, the day before yesterday. Ah! how long ago it seems now.”

She fumbled in her pocket and brought out a note. The detective’s eyes glowed; he was attaining the object of his wishes with less difficulty than he had anticipated.

“All that had passed between this person and me, before I received this letter, was an interchanged glance or so. I had passed him in the street several times, and each time he had looked at me in what I thought was an unmistakable way; so I was not surprised at these words, monstrous as they seem to me now.”

The detective, meanwhile, had read the effusion which had occasioned so much mischief. It ran thus:

“Dear And Beautiful Miss Rogers:—May an unfortunate, who is not permitted to enter within the charmed walls which at present hold you prisoner, utter one word against the tyranny of the fate which restricts him?

“I have seen you and I cannot be still. I have learned your name and it has become the lode-star of my life. Will you accept an homage that must be secret, and believe in the devotion of one who, if he may not approach you, here swears that he will approach no other woman while you remain unmarried.

“But must I live in darkness and never break the silence which has hitherto been maintained between us? Is there no hope for me, whose only thought is to make you the protecting angel of my life? May I not hope for one word, one look uninfluenced by the presence of others? If fate can be so kind and your heart so responsive to a noble passion, then remember that for three days I shall spend the hour between twelve and one in the depot at Jersey City. If you choose to pass through the place, you may be certain that one pair of eyes will follow you with a devotion little short of that which a saint casts upon his guardian angel.

“I have no fear that you will hesitate as to who has penned these lines. Have not our eyes told the mutual tale of love?”

“Isn’t it dreadful?” cried the now thoroughly disillusioned heiress. “But when I received it, it seemed to me so beautiful and romantic that I was in ecstasies. I never for a minute doubted the writer, and as he had always looked so gentlemanly, I had not one fear of his proving himself other than the hero I have worshiped in my dreams. I decided to make the journey he suggested—it seemed a journey to me—and though to do it I should have to risk Miss Hadden’s displeasure, I thought the satisfaction I should receive would make me ample amends for any unpleasantness which might follow.

How I managed to obtain permission to go out, and how I contrived to elude the companion given me, will not interest you. I did go, and alone, but I did not find the satisfaction I was in search of. I got lost, went over the wrong ferry, had to inquire my way of policemen, and when, worn out and bedraggled with dust and stifled with heat, I finally walked into the depot at Jersey City, it was to find by its dreadful staring clock, that I was a whole half hour later than the time he had set for leaving. Oh, it was a dreadful experience! and at first I was so discouraged that I sat down and cried; but afterward, I plucked up heart and began to think it was all my own fault, and that if I had not made so many foolish mistakes, I should have been in time to see him, and save him, perhaps, from a disappointment as cruel as my own. But I was late, and undoubtedly would be late if I tried the experiment again. The distance was too great, besides, I did not believe I could get another opportunity of slipping away, or if I did, that I should succeed in eluding my companion. If I wanted to keep my appointment I must stay in the vicinity, and to stay in the vicinity meant a whole night spent in a strange hotel. For a young girl who had never slept alone in her whole life, you will think it took courage to decide on such a step. But I was crazy, carried away by an idea.

I did not give the man my right name—the hotel-man, I mean—and I did not go down to the table. I stayed in my room all the time, and had my meals brought to me, and was dreadfully nervous and afraid; but all that was nothing after it was over. I did not care for that; all that I did care for was the fact that, though I sat in the depot punctually from twelve to one, no one approached me, nor did I see any one that could in any way suggest the person who had haunted my steps and written me this note.”

“Humph! And that was yesterday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see. You suffered a cruel mortification, for which you can now congratulate yourself?”

“O! yes, sir.”

“I am glad you had the courage to return.”

“Where else could I go?”

“And that is the whole story? You had no other experience, and have not heard from the man again?”

“No, no. How should I, if he is the wooer of a dozen other girls? He has amused himself, and it is over; but my scorn and hatred are not over; and if ever I have the opportunity to face him, I will load him with such reproaches as will make even his wicked heart tremble.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Gryce had given the note which he held both close and careful scrutiny. It was well written, but in a stiff and formal hand, which struck him like an attempt to disguise the natural writing.

“I should like to keep this,” he suggested. “It may prove of inestimable value in determining the identity of the writer.”

“There is something else,” she murmured, “which may prove of more use to you, though I did not mean to tell you, and may regret having done so. There was a card inclosed in this note, which, if it was not meant as a guarantee of good faith, certainly looked like it.” And, with an added blush, she dipped again into her pocket and drew out a small slip of pasteboard, which she handed to the detective, “That is his name,” said she.

The detective put on his glasses again, gave the card one look, and started perceptibly, notwithstanding the self-possession acquired by long years of detective service.

“Was this card in the letter I hold?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This card? This, with the name you here see upon it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It is another man’s card, surreptitiously inclosed in the note,” he decided. “It is not that of the person who has followed you.”

“I think you are mistaken. I have reason for knowing that there is no deception about this.”

“What reason? Tell me, my dear young lady, for this is very important.”

“Well, it is the last secret I have. One day, when I was out walking, we passed this man standing on the corner of a street. He was smoking, and held his cigarette-case in his hand. As we approached, he grew embarrassed, and attempted to thrust the case into his pocket, but he failed to do so, and it fell upon the pavement. He did not notice it and moved off; and when I came to where he was standing, I picked it up. I have kept it, and can show it to you. There is a monogram on one side of it, and the letters are the same as the initials of this name.”

“Get it; let me see it, if you please,” cried the detective, looking both troubled and incredulous.

She left the room at once. When she returned, she found the detective standing before the electric button in the wall, lost in a reverie so deep that she had to touch him on the arm to attract his attention. “Here is the case,” she said, timidly.

Turning, he took it in his hand, looked at it closely and grew more abstracted.

“You see the initials are the same,” she ventured, and was going to say more, but he suddenly woke to her presence, and putting his fingers on his lip, remarked:

“Better not speak the name, my dear young lady. You remember that you said, yourself, awhile ago, ‘no names!’ ” And smiling in his fatherly way, he put the case in his pocket, together with the note he had already confiscated, and making her a low bow, remarked kindly:

“That is all I have to ask of you to-day. Accept my thanks and believe that in all I do I will act with due consideration for your welfare.”

She felt herself dismissed and went. Though haughty in her manner toward her inferiors, she felt subdued by this man and showed it. When the door had closed upon her, Mr. Gryce stood shaking his head for a moment, then quickly crossing the floor, he threw open a door communicating with the adjoining room. Miss Hadden stood before him.

“You heard?” he asked.

She bowed silently.

“That is all, then,” continued he. “You see she is more ignorant than vicious, and more foolish than either. I do not think she will ever attempt another escapade.”

And, bowing low, he left the lady; and in a few instants later, the house.

On the stoop, he paused for a moment. Taking the cigarette-case from his pocket, he gave it another long and troubled look.

“Well,” he cried, as he thrust it back again in his pocket, “I am seventy odd, and have seen more strange things than I am days old, and yet I am capable of feeling a surprise,”

And he hastened with all speed to the Police Headquarters.