Madeline Payne, the Detective's Daughter

"No, sir. I think she must have gone away from town at that time, for I did not see her again, until – " here Henry seemed to catch at some new thought.

"Until when?" asked Doctor Vaughan, with some eagerness.

"The day before the young lady came," said Henry, in a low tone, and moving a step nearer the doctor. "Madame Cora came dashing up in a close carriage, and she wore a heavy veil. I noticed that because she was rather fond of displaying her face and hair, and I hardly ever saw her wear anything that would hide them. She came up-stairs and ordered me to send a telegram, which she had already written, to my master. I sent it, and she stayed there all day. She sent me out for her meals, and I served them in the large room. She spent the most of the time in walking up and down – that was her way when she was worried or angry – and looking out between the curtains. My master answered the telegram, but when the midnight train came in, a man who went down in the country with him, a sort of tool and hanger-on of his, came to me while I was waiting below, and told me to tell Mistress Cora that the train was a few minutes late."

"Stop a moment. This man, who was Davlin's companion, – what was his name?"

"I never heard him called anything but 'The Professor.'"

"The Professor! And how did he look?" making another entry in the note-book.

"He was a middle-aged man, sir, not so tall as master, rather square in the shoulders, and stout built. He wore no beard, and was always smoking a pipe."

"Very good," writing rapidly. "Now, then, let us return to the lady."

"Well, sir, she was very impatient until my master came, and then they had a long talk. I heard him speak of the old man Verage again, and she seemed a little afraid, or annoyed, I don't know which. Then he seemed to be telling her of some new scheme, and there was a great deal of planning and some chaffing about her going into the country. Just at daybreak they sent me for a carriage, and she went away in it, closely veiled as before. He told her he would join her without fail. I have not seen her since. That same morning he brought the beautiful young lady to his rooms, and," smiling so as to show all his white teeth, "I think you know all the rest, sir."

Clarence nodded and then appeared lost in thought. Finally, he lifted his head from the hand that had supported it, and said:

"Since your master has returned to town, how does he employ his time?"

"Very much as usual."

"And that is in – "

"Gaming."

"Is it true, Henry, that the room below your master's apartments is fitted up for private gambling?"

Henry stirred uneasily, and looked his answer.

Doctor Vaughan smiled. "I see how it is," he said. "Well, then, this man, the Professor, do you see much of him of late?"

"A great deal, sir; he is very often with my master at his rooms, but they never go out together. They have had a great deal of privacy lately; something new is afoot."

"The man is a sort of decoy-duck, I fancy?"

"Yes; what the gamblers call a capper, or roper-in."

"Well, Henry, I think I won't detain you longer now. Take this," putting into his hand a twenty-dollar bill, "and keep your eyes and ears open. If your master leaves town, observe if the Professor disappears at the same time."

Henry expressed his gratitude and his entire willingness to keep an eye upon the doings of Mr. Davlin and the Professor, and bowed himself out, muttering as he went: "They will make it lively for my fine master before very long, and I think I am on the side that will win."

Meantime, Clarence Vaughan, quick in thought and action, was hurrying on his gloves preparatory to a sally forth on a new mission. Henry had given him a hint that might turn out of much value, for among the patients then on the young doctor's visiting list, was one Verage, old, ugly, and fabulously rich.

First of all, Clarence Vaughan called at the Agency which had been decided upon as the best one to entrust with the investigation relative to Mr. Edward Percy. He gave his man no clue to the present whereabouts of his subject, but set him back ten years or more, sending him to visit the scenes of school episode, and bidding him trace the life of the man, with the aid of such clues as he thought best to give, up to that time. Next, he visited another Agency, and placed a man upon the track of Lucian Davlin.

Then he called a carriage and drove straight to the residence of old Samuel Verage. It was early in the day for a professional visit or for a visit of any kind. Nevertheless, Doctor Vaughan was admitted without delay, to the presence of the master of the house.

Old Samuel Verage sat in his large, softly-cushioned armchair, in a gorgeously beflowered dressing gown.

He was glowering over the dainty dishes which had lately contained a bountiful breakfast. Evidently he fancied that the doctor had called in anticipation of a serious morning attack, or to choke off his too greedy appetite, for he chuckled maliciously as Clarence entered the room, and greeted him with,

"Oh! You thought you were ahead of me this time, didn't you? I say, now, did you think I would be worse this morning?"

Clarence surveyed his patient with considerable amusement.

"You won't suffer from a hearty breakfast. It is the supper that you must look out for. But my call this morning was, in part, to inquire about a lady."

"About a lady! Of course, of course; go ahead; who is she?"

"That's precisely what I want to know. The fact is, my business is rather peculiar, and delicate."

The old man rubbed his hands gleefully. "Good! very good! A mystery about a woman! Come out with it; don't be backward."

"Very well; the woman that I want to inquire about has been known as Cora Weston."

Old Verage fairly bounced out of his seat as he yelled: "Cora Weston! Where is she? What do you know about her?"

"Not quite enough, or I should not have ventured to inquire of you," said Clarence, calmly.

Old Verage tumbled into his chair again. "Then you don't know where she is?" sharply.

"What could you do if I put her in your power?"

"Lock her up in jail, if I wanted to," fiercely.

Little by little Clarence Vaughan extracted from the old man the details of the plausible scheme by which Davlin and Cora had succeeded in transferring a very considerable amount of cash from his pockets to their own. He felt elated at the result of this interview. It placed a weapon in his hands that might be wielded with telling effect when time served.

"Well, you may be able to get even with her yet," he said, rising to go, after Verage had concluded his tirade; "many thanks for giving me some information. I may be able to return the compliment soon."

"But hold on!" cried Verage, as if seized by a new thought; "I say, now, what is all this questioning about?"

"Some of her sharp practice has come to my knowledge, and she has made a little trouble for one of my friends. I want to know all that I can about her, for it may be necessary to put a stop to her career."

With a renewed expression of his thanks for the information given, Clarence bowed himself out of the old man's presence, with a sense of relief at inhaling the fresh, pure air of the outer world. Then he turned his steps homeward, assured that it had been a good day's work well done.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CLAIRE TURNS CIRCE

There was more to tell than to learn, when Clarence called, a day or two later, at the villa.

The expert who had been dogging the steps of Lucian Davlin, had made his report, it is true. But that report was a very unsatisfactory affair:

A man, whom Clarence readily identified with the Professor, was an almost constant visitor at the rooms of the Man of Luck, but they, that is, the Professor and Davlin, were never seen on the street together, nor, indeed, anywhere else. In short, Lucian Davlin had been closely shadowed, but with no success to speak of. He came and went just as such a man usually does. And no person that might be made to answer for a doctor, had been visited by him or had visited him unless, and this began to appear possible, the Professor himself was the man.

After a long and serious discussion of the pros and cons of the case, Olive and Clarence decided they would instruct the detective to transfer his attentions to the Professor, only keeping a general surveillance over Davlin. They began to fear that they were watching the wrong man.

Those were pleasant days to Doctor Vaughan; the days when he rode down to the pretty villa to consult with Olive and to look at Claire.

And those were pleasant days to Claire as well. Once, and that not long before, she had taken but little interest in Clarence Vaughan. She had thought of him very much as had Madeline that first night of their meeting, when she looked at him sitting near her in a railway carriage, and regarded him as just a "somewhat odd young man with a good face." Now, Madeline thought him not only the noblest but the handsomest of men. And Claire was beginning to agree with her.

But on one thing she was determined. Doctor Vaughan must learn to look upon her only as a friend, and he must learn to love Madeline. So Claire and Clarence vied with each other in chanting the praises of Madeline Payne, and learned to know each other better because of her.

One day when he called, Claire chanced to be alone. Somehow she found it hard to be quite at her ease when there was no Olive at hand, behind whom to screen her personality from the eyes that might overlook that sisterly barrier, but could not overleap it. If his eyes had said less, or if she could have compelled her lips to say more! But her usually active tongue seemed to lack for words and she found herself talking in a reckless and somewhat incoherent manner upon all sorts of topics, which she dragged forward in order to keep in check the words which the look in his eyes heralded so plainly.

When she was almost at her wit's end, and tempted to flee ingloriously in search of Olive, that lady entered and Claire felt as if saved from lunacy. But she could not quite shake off the consciousness that had awakened in her, and soon framed an excuse for leaving the room. Once having escaped, she did not return, nor did Olive see her again until she came down to dinner, and Doctor Vaughan had gone.

While lingering over that meal, Olive said, after they had talked of Madeline through three courses, "I think, by-the-by, that Doctor Vaughan expected to see you again before he went."

If I were writing of impossible heroines, I might say that Claire looked conscious; but real women who are not all chalk and water, do not display their feelings so readily to their mothers and sisters. So Claire Keith looked up with the countenance of an astonished kitten.

"To see me? What for?"

"How should I know, if you don't?" smiling slightly.

"And how should I know?" carelessly.

"Well, perhaps I was mistaken. But why have you kept your room all this afternoon?"

"I have been packing. Please pass the marmalade."

"Packing!" mechanically reaching out the required dainty.

"Yes, packing. You don't think I came to spend the winter, do you?"

"But this is so sudden."

"Now, just listen, you unreasonable being!" assuming an air of grave admonition. "Don't you know that I have overstayed my time by almost a month?"

"Yes, but – "

"Well, don't you know that if I tell you beforehand that I am going, you always contrive excuses and hatch plots, to keep me at least three weeks longer?"

"I plead guilty," laughed Olive.

"Well, you see I have staid out my days of grace already. And knowing your failing, and feeling sure that I could not humor it, I have just taken advantage of you, and packed my trunks."

"And you won't stay just one more little week?"

Claire laughed gleefully. "What did I say? It is your old cry. Now, dear, be reasonable. Mamma wants me, and the boys want me. You have plenty of occupation just now. It will take you one-third of the time to keep me informed of all that happens."

"Well," sighed Olive, "of course you must go sometime; but you don't mean to go to-morrow?"

"I do, though."

"What will Doctor Vaughan say?"

"Whatever Doctor Vaughan pleases. I can't lose a day to say good-by to him, can I?"

"But why didn't you tell him good-by to-day?"

Claire looked up in some surprise. "Upon my word, I never thought of it."

And she told the truth. She had thought only of how she could avoid another meeting.

Olive looked puzzled. "And I supposed that you liked Doctor Vaughan," she said, after a moment's pause.

"Why, and so I do; I was very careless. Olive, dear, pray make my adieus to him, and all the necessary excuses. I do like the doctor, and don't want him to think me rude."

And Olive accepted the commission, and was deceived by it. For she, absorbed in her own fears and hopes, was not aware of the drama of love and cross purposes that was being enacted under her very eyes.

When Clarence called, on the next day but one, he found, to his surprise and sorrow, that the bright face of the girl he loved so well was to smile upon him no more, at least for a time. Making his call an unusually brief one, he rode back to the city in a very grave and thoughtful mood. Or, rather, the gravity and thoughtfulness usual in him was tinged with sadness.

On the same day, almost at the same hour, Claire Keith stood in her mother's drawing-room, answering the thousand and one questions that are invariably poured into the ears of a returned traveler.

By and by, drawing back the satin curtain, that shaded the windows of the drawing-room, Claire gazed out upon the familiar street which seemed smiling her a welcome in the Autumn sunshine. Finally she uttered an exclamation of surprise, and turned to Mrs. Keith.

"Merci! Mamma! what has happened to the people across the way? Why, I can't catch even one glimpse of red and yellow damask, not one flutter of gold fringe; have the parvenus been taking lessons in good taste? Positively, every blind is closed, and there isn't a liveried being to be seen."

Mrs. Keith laughed softly. "I don't know what has happened to the parvenus, my dear, but whether good or bad it has taken them away, liveries and all. The house has a new tenant, who is not so amusing, perhaps, but is certainly more mysterious. So, after all, the exchange may not have been a gain to the neighborhood."

Claire peeped out again. "A mysterious tenant, you say, mamma? That must be an improvement. What is the Mystery like?"

Mrs. Keith smiled indulgently on her daughter.

"There is not much to tell, my love. I don't know whether the lady who has taken the house is young or old, handsome or ugly, married or single. She lives the life of a recluse; has never been seen, at least by any of us, to walk out. But she drives sometimes in a close carriage, and always with a thick veil hiding her face. She is tall, dresses richly, but always in black, although the fabric is not that usually worn as mourning. She moves from the door to her carriage with a languid gait, as if she might be an invalid. No one goes there, and I understand she is not at home to callers, although, of course, I have not made the experiment myself. There, my dear, I think that is about all."

"She seems to be a woman of wealth?"

"Evidently; her horses are very fine animals, and her carriage a costly one. Her servants wear a neat, plain livery, and apparently her house is elegantly furnished."

"And mamma," said Robbie, who had been standing quietly at her side, "you forget the flowers."

"True, Robbie. Every day, Claire, the florist leaves a basket of white flowers at her door."

"I like that," asserted Claire. "She must have refinement."

"She certainly has that air."

"Well," said Claire, laughing lightly, "I shall make a study of the woman across the way."

With that the subject dropped for the time. But as the days went on, and she settled herself once more into the home routine, Claire found that not the least among the things she chose to consider interesting was the mysterious neighbor across the way.

And now, having put considerable distance between herself and Edward Percy, she wrote him a few cool lines of dismissal.

And here again the individuality of the girl was very manifest. Many a woman would have written a scathing letter, telling the man how thoroughly unmasked he stood in her sight, letting him know that she was acquainted with all his past and his present, and bidding him make the most of the infatuation of the last victim to his empty pockets, the ancient Miss Arthur.

What Claire did was like Claire; and perhaps, after all, she best comprehended the nature she dealt with. Certainly no tirade of accusing scorn could have so wounded the self-love of the selfish, conscienceless man as did her cool farewell missive.

Edward Percy was in a very complaisant mood when Claire's letter reached him. True, he had received no reply to his two last effusions; but knowing that Claire must be soon returning to her home, if she had not already gone, he assured himself that it was owing to this that he had received no letter as yet. He never doubted her attachment to himself. That was not in his nature.

Opening a rather heavy packet, as he sat in his cosy sitting-room, out dropped two letters; two letters full of poetry and fine sentiment, that his own flexible hand had penned and addressed to Miss Claire Keith. His letters, and returned with the seals unbroken. He could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses. His handsome, treacherous, light-blue eyes darkened and widened with astonishment and anger.

He never moved in a hurry, never spoke in a hurry, never thought in a hurry. And slowly it dawned upon his mind to investigate further and find some clue that would make this unheard-of thing appear less incomprehensible. Accordingly he took up the envelope that had contained his rejected letters, and drew from them a brief note:

Baltimore, Saturday, 6th.

It will scarcely surprise Mr. Percy to learn that Miss Keith desires now to end an acquaintance that has been, doubtless, amusing "intellectually" and "socially" to both.

Of course, a gentleman so worldly-wise as himself can never have been misled by the semblance of attachment, that has seemed necessary in order to make such an acquaintance as ours at all interesting. A flirtation based upon a "sympathy of intellect," must of necessity end sooner or later, and has, no doubt, been as harmless to him as to Claire Keith.

Yes, without doubt Claire knew how to hurt this man most. He was not permitted to know that she felt the keen humiliation, which a proud nature must suffer when it discovers that it has trusted an unworthy object. Instead, he was to feel himself the injured one; the one humiliated. He, the deceiver, must own himself deceived. When he believed himself loved, he was laughed at. His own words were flung in his teeth in an insolent mockery. "A sympathy of intellect;" yes, he had used these words so often. He had obeyed the beckoning of a Circe, and now she held out to him his swine's reward of husks.

Edward Percy had been dissatisfied with others, with circumstances, and surroundings, many a time and oft; but to-day, for the very first time, he felt dissatisfied with himself.

And Claire had revenged her wrongs twofold.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE CURTAIN RISES ON THE MIMIC STAGE

Always, in life, little events pave the way for great catastrophes. The mine burns slowly until the explosive point is reached, and then —

Fate was taking a leisurely gait, seemingly, and moving affairs at Oakley with a deliberation that was almost hesitating. Nevertheless, things were moving, and in the wake of little events, great ones could already be discerned by the plotters and counter-plotters, who waited and watched.

Céline Leroque was in better spirits than usual, in these days. Indeed, considering how exceedingly probable it seemed that she would be turned adrift at any hour by her present mistress, Céline was very cheerful.

And Miss Arthur had cause to complain. Beyond a doubt her French maid was becoming careless, very careless. Sometimes Miss Arthur was inclined to think that her scant locks of well-dyed hair were pulled quite unnecessarily, while her head was under Céline's hands. But this she endured like a Spartan, only exclaiming when the torture became unbearable. And when she finally ventured a protest, disastrous was the outcome.

With many an apology, Céline fingered the curls and braids, inquiring with every touch of the hand or adjustment of a hair-pin: "Does that hurt, mademoiselle?"

Being assured, when the hair-dressing was done, that she had accomplished the task without inflicting so much as a single twinge of pain, she held open the door for her mistress, cooing her satisfaction and beaming with delight.

But alas for the poor spinster! Before she had been half an hour in the society of her beloved fiancé, her unfortunate habit of tossing and wriggling her head brought Céline's gingerly architecture to grief. A sudden twist tumbled down full half of the glossy "crown of glory" from Miss Arthur's head to Mr. Percy's feet, and – we draw a veil over the confusion of the unhappy spinster.

The lady having retired to her dressing-room to relieve her feelings and repair damages, a scene was enacted in which the lady did the histrionics and the maid apologized and giggled alternately, until the one had exhausted her anthem of wrath and the other her accompaniment of penitence and giggles.

Then a truce was patched up, which lasted for several days.

Céline had advanced to the verge of disrespect, when speaking of Mr. Percy, on more than one occasion. Several times she had said that he "had a familiar look," and she fancied she had seen him somewhere. But she had always checked herself on the very border-land of impertinence, and never had been able to tell if she really had before seen the gentleman or no.

But she had put the spinster on the defensive, and had also excited her curiosity.

During this time Mrs. John Arthur was slowly dropping into her rôle of invalid. First, she gave up her habitual walks about the grounds and on the terrace. Then, her drives became too fatiguing. Next, she found herself too languid to appear at breakfast, and that meal was served in her room. She was not ill, she protested; only a trifle indisposed. Let no one be at all concerned for her; she should be as well as usual in a few days. And Céline, who was very sympathetic, and was the first to suggest that a physician be consulted, was laughingly assured that if madame were sick, she, Céline, should be her head nurse.

Mrs. Arthur had been absent from the family breakfast table for two days, when Miss Arthur met with a fresh grievance at the hands of Céline.

Céline had been unusually garrulous, and had been regaling her mistress with descriptions of the great people, and the magnificent toilets she had seen, while with some of her former miladis. Suddenly she dropped the subject of a grand ball which had transpired in Baltimore, where her mistress was the guest of the honorable somebody, to exclaim:

"It has just come to me, mademoiselle, where I must have seen Monsieur Percy. It was in Baltimore, and they said – " Here she became much confused, and pretended to be fully occupied with the folds of her mistress's dress.

Miss Arthur looked down upon her sharply, and asked, "What did they say?"

Céline stammered: "Oh, it was only gossip, mademoiselle; nothing worth repeating, I assure you."

The curiosity and jealousy of the spinster were fully aroused. "Don't attempt any subterfuges, Céline," she said, in her loftiest tone. "I desire to know what was said of my – Mr. Percy."

The girl arose to her feet, and with much apparent reluctance, replied:

"They said, mademoiselle – of course, it was only gossip – that he was very much of a fortune-hunter, and that he was engaged to some woman much older than himself, who was immensely rich."

Miss Arthur sat down and looked hard at her maid. "How do you know that Mr. Percy is that man?"

"Oh! I don't know, my lady – mademoiselle. I only said that I thought I have seen him in Baltimore; the Mr. Percy they used to talk of there, must have been another."