Dorothy Dixon and the Double Cousin

“But my dear child – ” protested Mr. Jordan. “I’ve never seen you behave like this – ”

“No! And up to now,” she stormed, her eyes flashing, “you’ve never given me cause. In the first place I’m no longer a child – you forget that – and then – what kind of a life did you give me as a child? You are my father and you say that you love me, but can you expect deep affection from a daughter whom you ship to boarding school at five? You wouldn’t even let me visit friends during the holidays. For years at a time you never took the trouble to come and see me. How can you expect love and obedience after years of neglect?” She drew a sobbing breath, then went on: “For a while we traveled – you were nice to me – I enjoyed it. We settled down here. I forgave what you’d done to my childhood. I tried to make this flat a home for you, even though I was kept like a cloistered nun and you allowed me no friends. But this is going too far.”

“And what, may I ask, are you going to do about it?” inquired Lawson with a disagreeable smile.

“What can a defenseless girl without friends do to stop two big bullies? I shall go with you, Mr. Lawson, because I can’t help myself. But don’t expect me to like being used as a slave, even though I may be of some comfort to that long-suffering wife of yours. Oh, that makes you angry, does it? Well, let me tell you, that you are not half as angry as I am. You can practice your strong-arm methods on defenseless women and get away with it – some day you’ll try it on a man – and by the time he gets through thrashing you there won’t be enough left for the boneyard.” She flashed a smile of contempt on the furious man, and turned to Mr. Jordan who was speaking again.

“What has come over you, Janet?” he was saying. “I’ve never heard you speak so rudely to anyone before. You’ve always been such a quiet little mouse – ”

“And you’ve taken advantage of it,” she interrupted. “What you forget is that even a mouse will turn and fight when it’s cornered. If you really loved me – if you had a spark of manhood in your selfish body, you’d thrash this man to within an inch of his life and throw him into the street. Get out of here – both of you!” she cried hysterically. “And please – no more silly arguments – I don’t want to be forced to say before outsiders what a contemptible person my father is proving himself to be.”

This last tirade seemed to stun Mr. Jordan. From the almost agonized expression on his face, she saw that at last conscience was at work. The man was utterly miserable. He could not hide it.

“Will you – will you be ready to leave in half an hour, Janet?” His voice was a mere whisper and shook with suppressed feeling.

“Yes, I’ll be ready. Go now, please – both of you!” She turned her back on them and walking over to the window, she threw up the shade and the sash. As she stood there staring into the night, she heard them leave the room.

This time the door shut without being locked. Dorothy streaked across the floor and pressed her ear to the keyhole. Just outside the men were talking.

“You’re a fool, Lawson, if you still think that Janet wasn’t asleep during the meeting,” she heard her uncle say. “Tonight proves it. And let me tell you this. From now on, my business and my home shall be kept separate and distinct. Never again will I allow myself to be placed in a position to be dressed down by my own daughter. There was no comeback either. Every word she said was gospel truth. It’s a terrible thing when a daughter makes her father realize what a low, cowardly creature he is at heart. Well, how about it? Aren’t you now convinced of her innocence?”

“I am.” Lawson clipped off the words, and as he went on speaking, there was insolence as well as a hint of nervousness in his tone. “But when it comes to giving me a thrashing, Number 5 – well, I shouldn’t try it if I were you – not if you value your – er – health!”

“Stop talking like a fool!” retorted Janet’s father. “Is the girl to be sent to Ridgefield or not?”

“Now you’re talking rot, yourself,” snapped Lawson. “You know quite as well as I do that Laura won’t take our word for it. She told me this morning that any clever woman or girl for that matter, could twist a man around her finger without half trying. Laura wants to study your daughter herself – and that’s all there is to it.”

“I hope Mrs. Lawson has a pleasant time of it.” Mr. Jordan said sarcastically. “But I’m afraid my hope will not be granted.”

“Laura,” answered that lady’s husband, “can be rather disagreeable herself when she’s roused. Let us hope for Janet’s sake, that she doesn’t try her tantrums on my wife. By the way, what are you doing now?”

“Getting away just as fast as I can, thank you. No more scenes for me, tonight. I wouldn’t meet Janet on her way out of here for a million dollars!”

They moved further along the hall and Dorothy went slowly back to the window. Across the narrow court, two flights up, the shaded windows of Howard Bright’s flat shone a dull golden yellow in the black wall. For several minutes she stood watching the windows, her thoughts upon what she had done and what she had just heard.

Suddenly, shadows appeared on one of the yellow rectangles. The shade was raised and framed in the window were Janet and Howard. Just behind them stood a stranger who wore the round, conventional collar of a clergyman. The young couple were smiling happily. Both waved, and Janet held up her left hand.

Dorothy knew the significance of that gesture, and threw them a kiss. Then she saw the shade roll down, and she turned away.

“And so they were married and lived happily ever after.” She sighed. “Uncle Sanborn kept his promise, like the fine old sport he is.”

She stuffed the last of Janet’s belongings into the trunk, slammed it shut and locked it.

“Now for the dirty work – and Laura Lawson.” She smiled grimly and went to the closet for Janet’s hat and coat.

Chapter VIII

“WALK INTO MY PARLOR”

The sedan, with Martin Lawson driving and Dorothy beside him, purred smoothly through the dank, cold night. Now that they were past the realm of traffic lights, it lopped off the miles between them and Ridgefield with the regularity of an electric saw cutting planks from a log.

During the entire journey, now nearly over, Dorothy had spoken no word to the man beside her. She wanted him to believe that she was still furiously angry. As a matter of fact, she had felt antagonistic toward him from the first moment she laid eyes upon him; his smug overgrooming, the highly polished fingernails, the small waxed moustache and too immaculate clothing, all repelled her. She knew at once what it had taken Janet some time to realize: Martin Lawson might be and probably was a very clever man; he was, on the other hand, a man to be wary of. His manner was just a little too complacent, too smooth. Notwithstanding the forewarning she had received regarding his character, Dorothy knew instinctively that he was not genuine and not a trustworthy person in any respect. She detested him thoroughly.

He was a careful driver, she gave him credit for that. They found little traffic to impede their progress along the Boston Post Road, once the long tentacles of the great city were left behind. But the black swath of highway leading out and on from their moisture-coated headlights glistened wetly in their reflection. After they turned into the hills behind Stamford, heading for the Connecticut Ridge Country, the road for a mile or more at a stretch was covered with wet leaves. They crawled along at a snail’s pace to prevent skidding and a crash into the New England stone fences that rambled along the roadside dividing woodland from the rolling meadows.

Just beyond New Canaan, they drove past Dorothy’s home and Bill Bolton’s, for the properties faced each other across the ridge road. Before they reached Vista it was raining dismally, and Lawson had the windshield wiper going. Dorothy was thankful that the sixty-mile journey from New York was nearly over. At last they reached the outskirts of Ridgefield, and the car swung into a driveway between high pillars of native stonework. In the glow from the electric globes on the gate posts, the blue stone driveway curved and twisted like a huge snake, winding through landscaped lawns and gardens as formal and precise as a public park.

It was raining harder now, and Dorothy could see nothing beyond the path of their headlights. Although she had never been in the grounds before, she had driven past the Winn place numbers of times. Finally, she made out the bulk of a great stone house. Martin Lawson stopped the car beneath a porte-cochere. They had arrived.

Massive doors of wrought iron and glass swung open. A butler and two footmen in livery ran down the steps. The butler, a tall, important-looking individual, snapped open the car door.

“Good evening, Mr. Lawson,” he said. “Good evening, Miss.”

The voice with its high-pitched Oxford drawl still smacked of Whitechapel. Dorothy, who had travelled in England, was sure that under stress, the cockney in this personage would come out. She knew he was careful of his aitches.

“Good evening, Tunbridge,” Lawson returned briskly, and Dorothy smiled pleasantly. “Is Mrs. Lawson still up?”

“Madam is awaiting you in the library, sir.” Tunbridge helped Dorothy to alight and handed Janet’s overnight bag to a footman. “Jones,” he said to the other flunky, as Lawson stepped out of the car, “drive round to the service entrance. Miss Jordan’s box is in the back of the car. See that it is taken up to the Pink Bedroom and have Hanley garage the motor-car.”

“Very good, sir,” returned the man, and he got into the automobile.

Tunbridge ushered them up the broad stone steps. Dorothy caught a last glimpse of a leafless, dripping hedge across the drive, and the giant skeleton arms of a tree that seemed to menace earth and sky; then she entered the house, wondering what the next act of this strange drama would bring forth.

She found herself in an enormous hall, furnished with objects such as she had never seen outside a museum. Elaborately carved oak, suits of armor, stone urns, portraits, a wide stone staircase mounting upward to surrounding galleries, stained glass windows, tigers’ and lions’ heads, antlers of tremendous size, strange and beautiful weapons, all ranged in confusion before her eyes and suggested a baronial castle rather than the home of an American scientist, in the Connecticut hills.

Tunbridge led to a door on the right, where he knocked, then opened, as a muffled “Come in” was heard.

“Miss Jordan and Mr. Lawson, Madam,” announced the butler, and he stood aside to let them pass.

Dorothy walked into a room whose walls seemed built of books. The furniture was richly attractive and looked luxuriously comfortable. A fire blazed in a fine chimney and a table near it was set with a glitter of splendid silver and hot water plates below shining metal covers.

A tall, superbly beautiful woman, with dark eyes and coal-black hair that grew in a widow’s peak on her brow, rose from a chair on the wide hearth and came toward them. Her clear, white skin, and a broad streak of silver across the black hair gave her a strangely ethereal appearance, as though she might have been a being from another planet. The hand she held out to Dorothy was exquisitely formed, the fingers long and tapering.

“How do you do, Janet,” she said pleasantly. “Welcome to Winncote. You are later than we expected. The Doctor has gone to bed, but he left his greetings.”

“Thank you,” Dorothy returned formally and shook hands. “You are very kind, Mrs. Lawson.”

Laura Lawson gave her a smile, but the girl saw that it was a smile of the lips alone, her dark eyes remained somber. “Did you have a breakdown?” she asked her husband, taking notice of him for the first time.

“Slippery roads – it was impossible to do much more than crawl, Laura.” He lifted a dish cover on the table and inspected its contents. “Glad you thought to order supper – I’m famished.”

“So am I,” admitted his wife and her words seemed to carry a double meaning. “It’s long after three. Come over here by the fire and get warm, Janet. Now Tunbridge – if you’ll please serve us?”

Tunbridge seated them at the supper table and uncovered the dishes.

“Just a light meal,” announced the hostess, “scrambled eggs, toast and cocoa, but it will warm you up and help you last until breakfast.”

“It looks delicious!” said Dorothy, who discovered at the sight of food that she was starving. In fact all three were hungry, and for some little time conversation was dropped while the soft-footed Tunbridge waited upon them.

“We will have a chat tomorrow, Janet,” Mrs. Lawson said presently. “Tonight you are tired and so am I. We take breakfast in our rooms. Ring for it when you’re ready, but don’t hurry about getting up, I’ll see you down here about eleven-thirty. Have you had enough to eat and drink, my dear?”

“Plenty, thank you, Mrs. Lawson.” Dorothy thought it would be just as well if she played the demure mouse until she had a chance to size up her employer.

“Then I think we’ll go upstairs, Janet, and I’ll show you your room.” She looked at her husband. “You’ll be coming up soon, Martin?”

“Just as soon as I finish this pipe, and get a bit warmer.”

“I think,” said Mrs. Lawson, “that both you and Janet had better take a hot lemonade before you go to bed. I don’t want to have you both laid up with colds tomorrow.” She smiled solicitously at the girl.

“I hate the filthy stuff,” protested her husband.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she answered coldly and turned to the butler. “Tunbridge, have hot lemonades sent to Miss Jordan and Mr. Lawson in about twenty minutes, if you please.”

“Very good, madam.”

Laura Lawson slipped her arm through Dorothy’s. “Don’t be long, Martin.”

“I won’t. Good night, Janet.”

“Good night, Mr. Lawson.”

Mrs. Lawson seemed lost in thought as they slowly mounted the stone stairs. Suddenly she began chattily: “Men are such stupid creatures, Janet. So stupid about taking medicine or anything else that may be good for them. Martin and that hot lemonade is a case in point. I hope that you haven’t any foolish ideas like that?”

“Oh, no, indeed. I’m rather fond of it.”

“That’s fine. Now promise me you’ll get into bed and drink it just as hot as possible. There’s nothing better to ward off a cold, and you’ll sleep like a top into the bargain. Well, here’s your room, my dear. It’s late, so I won’t come in, but I think you’ll find all you need to make you comfortable. If you want anything, ring. Good night, Janet. Sleep well.”

“I’m sure I will, Mrs. Lawson. Good night.”

The older woman passed along the gallery and Dorothy entered her bedroom. It was a good-sized room, attractively furnished with everywhere evidence of a woman’s taste. Pink-shaded electric candles gleamed from the walls papered in cream and scattered with tiny pink rosebuds. The small grey-painted bed displayed pink pillow cases, sheets and blankets. A dainty writing desk in one corner of the room was also painted grey as was the chaise longue and the chairs, where the upholstery carried out the note of pink. A soft grey rug, pink-bordered, covered the floor, and Dorothy’s feet sank into its thick, warm pile as she investigated her new quarters. She saw that the room was nearly square, and opposite the door a rounded alcove sheltered a bow window, hung with pink taffeta, and the window seat below it was cushioned in pink.

In a corner against the wall stood Janet’s wardrobe trunk, and near it was a door that led into a spacious closet. Dorothy hung her coat on a padded hanger, and then looked into the rose and onyx tiled bath.

As she re-entered the bedroom she stopped short in surprise. A small piece of white paper protruded from beneath the door to the gallery. Quickly she stooped, snatched the paper and opened the door. The gallery was empty. Crossing to the balustrade she looked down upon the great entrance hall. That also was deserted and nobody was to be seen on the staircase.

She turned back, closed and locked her door. Then she spread out the paper she had crumpled in her hand. Printed on one side in pencil she read the words:

“BE ON YOUR GUARD. DO NOT DRINK THE LEMONADE. DESTROY THIS AT ONCE.”

“Now I wonder…” Dorothy muttered softly, “who sent me this note?”

Chapter IX

IN THE NIGHT

Dorothy turned over the piece of paper to find as she expected that the other side was blank. No signature. Nothing but the double warning, and the admonition to destroy the missive and to do so at once. Evidently the writer either believed or knew for certain that she would shortly be disturbed. There was no fireplace in the bedroom. Even though she tore the note into bits, some of the scraps might be found and pieced together should she throw them out the window; and her room might be searched at any time. How could she make way with it? For a moment or two Dorothy was at a loss. Mechanically her fingers tore the paper into fine shreds.

Then she smiled. “I guess we’ll let the plumbing take care of you,” she said, gazing down on the little pile of paper on her palm, and she disappeared into the bathroom.

When she returned, Dorothy opened Janet’s over-night bag, took out a pair of green silk pajamas, bedroom slippers and toilet accessories, among which was a new toothbrush in a case. This, and the underwear she had on were the only belongings of her own that she had retained.

From Janet’s purse, she extracted the trunk key. After some rummaging in that large travelling wardrobe, she found a quilted bathrobe of pale pink satin on a hanger toward the back. It was too late to unpack entirely, and she was about to close and relock the trunk, when she decided to leave it open. The Janet Jordan she was portraying had never waked up at the famous meeting of last week. That Janet would feel outraged at her imprisonment, her father’s seeming callousness and would naturally be furious at being packed up here willy-nilly: but she would have no cause to be suspicious of these people in this big stone house. If she had locked the trunk – Dorothy realized she had almost made a mistake, although a minor one – and in her present position mistakes were dangerous affairs.

Although it was very late and the day had been a strenuous one Dorothy did not feel tired. While she undressed, she went over in her mind the new vistas opened up by this mysterious note she had just destroyed. As she dissected it word by word from memory, she was astonished to find that the scrap of paper carried much interesting information between the lines.

Undoubtedly, Ashton Sanborn had planted a member of his organization in the house, but how that had been possible, she could not imagine. First of all, there was the warning to be on her guard. That Mrs. Lawson was indicated she had no doubt. Her hostess, while seeming most charming and courteous, had nevertheless suggested the hot lemonade which the note told her not to drink. It was quite likely that her unknown adviser had reason to think that the lemonade would be drugged. And then these people could hardly mean to poison her so soon after her arrival. For their whole idea in bringing her to Winncote, as she understood it, was to make sure whether the real Janet had heard their secrets or not. No – they merely wanted her to sleep soundly. But why?

Dorothy pondered on this for several minutes. There could be only one reason, she decided. Somebody was planning to enter her bedroom tonight, and wished to do so without her knowledge. What their purpose might be she could not guess and she did not bother about it. To a girl of a nervous temperament, such as Janet Jordan, the knowledge that such a visit was planned and success arranged for by means of a drug, would have been torture. But Dorothy, who could feel “Flash” in his holster just above her knee was merely worried for fear that lemonade or no lemonade she would fall asleep. The arrival here had been uneventful enough after what had happened at the Jordans’ apartment. At least, to all outward appearances it had been smooth sailing. She was beginning to realize that nothing with these people was what it seemed to be. She had climbed her Vesuvius and was standing at the crater’s edge. Already the first rumblings of the eruption had been heard.

Her position, though seemingly secure, was nothing of the kind. The sooner Ashton Sanborn gave her the orders he had promised, and she could carry them out and get away from this place, the better for Dorothy Dixon. And yet she could not help a feeling of exhilaration.

There came a gentle knock on her door. Wearing her quilted wrapper and slippers she turned the key and opened to – the imposing Tunbridge. He bore a small tray on which stood a steaming tumbler, a bowl of sugar, two spoons and a napkin. “Your hot lemonade, Miss Jordan,” he announced in his pompous voice and rather as though he were offering her a priceless gift. “Mrs. Lawson’s instructions are to drink it after you get in bed, Miss. May I mention also that it is very hot?”

Dorothy took the tray. “Thank you, Tunbridge, I’ll be careful. Good night!”

“Good night, Miss.”

The butler departed in the direction of the stairway, and Dorothy closed the door and locked it again.

She set the tray on a chair beside her bed and put two spoonfuls of sugar into the tall glass. It was too hot for anyone to drink yet, so she went into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Five minutes later she switched off all the lights except the one on the head board. Then she got into bed, picked up the glass and stirred her lemonade, making sure that the spoon tinkled against the glass. If anyone was listening outside her door they would naturally think she was drinking the stuff.

After waiting a moment or two longer, she set the glass down on the tray with a thump that might have been heard on the gallery. But the glass remained in her hand. Off went her light now, and still holding the lemonade she got quickly and quietly out of bed. A silent trip to the bathroom in the dark and she emptied the lemonade into her washbowl. Then she came back and placed the empty glass on the tray. She hurried over to the bow window, opened a sash, turned off the heat in the radiator and crawled into bed again.

The bed was to the left of the door as one entered the room. By lying on her right side Dorothy held the entire room within her view. After the soft glare from the shaded electric lights, it seemed inky black, but soon her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. In the wall just beyond the foot of the bed was the closed door of her closet. The trunk stood beyond that in the corner. The alcove and window seat took up a large section of the farther wall and in the corner, diagonally across from where she lay was a dark spot – the writing desk. Opposite her bed was the half open door to the bathroom. The dressing table, the door to the hall but a few feet from her head – mentally she had completed her tour of the room.

Then for a long while, or so it seemed to the excited girl, she lay there waiting. Of course her door was locked, but the affair of the Winged Cartwheels a few months before had taught Dorothy that keys may be turned from the outside with a pair of small pincers. Her mind now set itself on the key in the door. In vain she listened for the warning click that would come when it turned in the lock. Now that she was lying in bed she began to discover how tired she was. It became harder and harder to stay awake.

She knew that she must have dozed, for without warning a light appeared, a golden circle on the center of the rug. Instantly she was wide awake and her hand beneath the blankets drew her throwing knife from its sheath. Through half-closed eyelids she made out a dark figure holding a flash light pointed toward the floor.

Then the glowing circle moved to the empty glass beside her bed, and Dorothy closed her eyes. For a moment it rested upon her face and she heard a low chuckle. Dorothy knew that voice. Her visitor was Laura Lawson.

The light swept away from her face. Mrs. Lawson touched the wall switch by the door and the bedroom sprang into light. The drug in the lemonade must have been a strong one, for it was evident that the intruder had no fear of her awakening. Without wasting another glance on Dorothy, Laura Lawson went to the wardrobe trunk and commenced a detailed inspection of its contents.