Chapter IV: Miss Charlotte Becomes a Factor

That Joe's errand had carried him to the Westbrook home in search of the Captain, and thence to the cottage, could signify only a matter of the utmost emergency; so Converse watched his approach with some curiosity, wondering why his friend, Mr. Follett, should be in such haste to find him. He thought of the advertisement seeking information concerning the unknown woman.

The negro approached and handed him a much-soiled envelope; and this is what he read:

Slade was here this A.M. Claims to have seen and recognized woman in Nettleton Bldg. at time of De S. murder. Holds out for more money, so be careful. He is up to some game; but I think he really knows.

It was indeed from Abram, and had been hurriedly penned at No. 18 Ash Lane.

After the message was delivered, and while it was being read, Charlotte noted that it had the effect of producing a peculiar change in the countenance of the reader: his mouth puckered, as if for a whistle, though none was emitted; while his right eyebrow lifted in a manner that left a queer, quizzical expression on his weather-beaten visage.

He pocketed the missive without comment; scratched a word of acknowledgment on the envelope, which he handed to Joe--temporarily an ebon-hued Mercury--with an injunction to return at once to Mr. Follett.

For a time he sat in a silence that was pensive, even though his inflexible frame and countenance were not. How strange that the message should come to hand just at this juncture!--at the moment when he was obliged to admit the absence of a witness that had seen the woman. And that witness Slade! Was Joyce Westbrook the woman? There was that in the bare fact of Slade's being the person who was possessed of this knowledge which made the Captain feel that the coil was tightening irresistibly about the girl, for he was beginning to acquire his own idea as to what "Slade's Blessing" might signify; an idea utterly different from the more universal one. But he would say nothing further to harrow this much troubled lady beside him. After a while he turned to Charlotte with some abruptness.

"Now then, Miss Fairchild, you pretty well understand the status of both the cases. The main thing is, now, do you"--he emphasized the pronoun--"appreciate the seriousness of Miss Westbrook's position? If you do not, if this hour spent with you is barren of results, I shall be obliged openly to take her into custody, put Mr. Mountjoy in possession of the case, and let the law take its course. If I do not, some one else will. I dislike being so blunt, but these issues must be met squarely."

"I cannot be further shocked, Mr. Converse. I will do all that lies in my humble power. If Joyce was in the Nettleton Building that afternoon, it had been far better for Mobley to have announced it at once, whatever the result might have been."

Her hearer considerately refrained from again mentioning the possible reason for silence. Instead he said:

"You are now prepared to hear the main object of my call. The early part of last night I spent in going carefully over all that I have set before you, but more particularly as it concerns your brother's disappearance. It has become plain that, whatever our attempts to locate him may have failed in, they have at least proved one thing--that he never left the city. Who should know better where he is than his sister?"

"Believe me, Mr. Converse," she began quickly; but he held up a restraining hand.

"Wait," said he. "Let me finish. This is when I resolved to bully and frighten you--to get the information from you willy-nilly,--and behold to what that resolution has come! Now, I am not going to embarrass you at this time by asking you where Mr. Clay is, or even if you know where he is; but I do expect that by to-morrow night," he gave her a look full of meaning, and repeated, "that by to-morrow night, Miss Fairchild, some result will come from this interview; either that I shall hear from your brother, Doctor Westbrook, Miss Joyce, or all of them."

"What I started to say when you interrupted me is, that I do not know where Clay is. There is where I have been kept in ignorance."

"The reason being," he added, "that something very like this interview was foreseen--not because you couldn't be trusted--no, no: it was to spare you from ever being obliged to refuse divulging your knowledge. Knowing of his whereabouts, you could never have met an examination, such as you might have been subjected to, with a plea of ignorance."

"I can only act as you have suggested," she returned; "and I will make my arrangements accordingly as soon as I possibly can. While Clay is absent it is very inconvenient communicating with the city."

"I shall be glad to convey any message you wish to send."

"Thank you. It is Doctor Westbrook that I wish to see. I sent him word this morning regarding mamma's illness; but I expect now that he will not come--soon."

"Well, Miss Fairchild," the Captain arose briskly, "I have accomplished my errand, and if nothing else ever comes of it, I shall always retain a delightful remembrance of these flowers. I shall call here again Thursday morning early--that is, if I have to come to you for results. That will be day after to-morrow, and I shall make no open move until after I have seen you. Now write your note, and I will see that the Doctor gets it. I shall wait in the garden."

When, after a few minutes, she reappeared and handed him the envelope, he said, as if the matter had just occurred to him:

"By the way, Miss Fairchild, when I first mentioned last night's affair a while back, you spoke of William Slade: why?"

Immediately she became grave and thoughtful.

"Because," after an appreciable pause, "he called here last night to see my mother, and his visit had to do with General Westbrook." She stopped in sudden alarm at an abrupt change in the Captain's manner. "What is it?" she asked.

The response was a string of ejaculations.

"Slade!--Here!--General Westbrook!" he cried in utter astonishment.

Charlotte was startled at this surprising manifestation of interest.

"It is very remarkable," she presently resumed, "and I cannot in the least understand what it means. That it was extraordinarily serious, mamma's condition this morning testifies to. Does the circumstance tell you anything?"

The detective was regarding her in a most peculiar manner. His expression seemed to say that nothing in the whole gamut of possible disclosures touching upon the two mysteries could take him more unawares than this simple statement of Charlotte's; but she had by no means told him all, and his face at once became impassive again.

"Please finish," said he, quite calmly; "I don't know--yet."

She obeyed, narrating at length her experience of the preceding night. He listened with attentive silence until the burning of the papers was mentioned. The look of the gray eyes brought something like consternation to Charlotte.

"Miss Fairchild!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, I knew it was very, very wrong," she cried, sorely troubled at his obvious dismay; "but what could I do? Mamma was not herself; she wanted me to swear that I would not even look at them--to burn them instantly. She was so excited--'

"Never mind--never mind," he broke in with a reassurance he did not in the least feel; "don't distress yourself. I see--I will take it for granted that you could not have done otherwise than you did; that your excellent common sense bade you pause--"

"Indeed, indeed, that is true," fervently.

"You had no alternative, and I will not blame you; but--" and his mouth closed grimly.

"'It is unfortunate, nevertheless,' you would say. Is the loss irreparable?"

"How can I tell now? But you must appreciate the importance of those papers in the light of what occurred after Slade's call.... By the way, what time did he depart?"

"About half-past nine or ten o'clock.... And to think, had I disobeyed mamma, I might have averted--" She shuddered and did not finish.

The Captain made no response. The subject afforded too wide a field for speculation to indulge idly in probabilities. The papers being irretrievably gone, the salient facts upon which his mind fastened were, that Slade had some knowledge that the General's life was threatened, and for some reason--another mystery in a veritable network of mysteries--he had imparted the intelligence to Mrs. Fairchild. But why?--why, of all persons, to her? Mr. Slade had at last assumed a position that was susceptible of scrutiny.

After a number of questions, to which Charlotte could return no satisfactory replies, Converse said:

"If it is possible, I must see your mother as soon as she is able to bear the strain of an unpleasant interview. Try to prepare her against my next coming, Miss Fairchild."

Charlotte promised to do her best.

The talk was broken in upon by an abrupt change in her countenance. All at once she became beautiful; a warm tide of color mounted to her cheeks; her head became regally erect; and she shot a look down the pergola of locusts and elms that lined the roadway, such as an eagle might flash from one mountain-peak to her mate upon another. Instinctively Mr. Converse turned and descried in the distance an approaching horse and buggy. So the Doctor was obeying her first summons, after all. The Captain handed the note back to Charlotte, and at once took his departure.

When the Doctor drove up to the gate, Mr. Converse, moving with long, rapid strides, was well on his way across the common to the car, and feeling (if his unemotional nature would admit the charge) more than a little depressed.

Before Doctor Westbrook arrived at the porch steps, he noted the look of tenderness with which he was being regarded, and halted abruptly.

"You have heard, then?" said he.

"Yes," Charlotte softly replied, holding forth both her hands.

With pleased eagerness he took them into his own and gazed hungrily into the beautiful eyes. Her demonstrations were unusual, and he found therein more relief from his grief and anxiety than could have been contained in any spoken homily. But he drank from those liquid pools of truth and steadfastness as one who drinks for the last time.

For a moment they stood so; then--

"Your note said that your mother was suffering," he remarked, walking toward the open door. But Charlotte checked his movement.

"Wait, Mobley. I was not very exact. Mamma sustained a severe shock last night; but she has been sleeping all the morning.... Before you go in I wish to ask you a question."

He evinced some surprise at her constraint.

"Mobley, have you any reason to believe that a particular person was instrumental in the death of Alberto de Sanchez?"

Amazement grew in his countenance.

"Have I any reason--" he repeated, blankly. "I don't understand; who has been talking to you?" But light suddenly broke, and he concluded: "So that was that confounded detective fellow who just left here."

"Mobley, you are unjust." It was quite plain to her why he should think with irritation of Mr. Converse. "Although a stranger, he has treated me fairer than you have: he has given me his confidence."

The Doctor's eyes, yielding a sudden light of apprehension, became glued to Charlotte's; but he remained silent.

"I know you have been terribly troubled," she went on, evenly; "but have you been afraid of me, Mobley?"

"My God, Charlotte, no! I have simply wanted to spare you. There has been no reason why you should be drawn into this damnable mess, nor is there any more reason now. That man will have to answer to me for this."

"No, no, he will not, Mobley. I believe he has told the truth. I think that Joyce--oh, poor, darling girl, how my heart bleeds for her!--I think that innocent dear is the victim of the most diabolical set of circumstances I ever heard of. They will inevitably ruin her if she is not freed from them; and if it lies within our power to do so--do you hear me, Mobley?--if it lies within our power to do so, we must find a way."

"Dear, dear girl," he groaned. "If I had told him this morn--"

But she calmly interrupted him.

"You must drive down to Mrs. Florian's and bring her here in your buggy; I am going home with you. Your entire course in this matter has been wrong,"--firmly. "Joyce is innocent, of course, and the truth can't hurt."

"But you don't know," he still persisted.

"No; that is very true," she returned, looking steadily at him; "but I will shortly.... Come--let us go in now." And together they entered the house.

At once the condition of the sorely stricken mother drove everything else temporarily from their minds. John Converse nor any other person would ever again hear a sound issue from those moveless lips.

So another door was closed.