  When Granniss stepped off the train at Headland Harbor, there were but few other passengers who alighted at the same time. But one of these, a mild young man, came nearer Rodney and said, quietly: “Mr Granniss, may I speak to you a moment?” “Certainly,” Rod answered, after a quick glance at him. “I am a messenger from Mr Wise. I have with me the money for Mrs Varian. Shall I give it to you here, or go up to the house with you and carry it? No one seems to be observing us; take it if you like.” Rodney stared at him. Wise, then, had sent his messenger with the money along on the same train. By this means he had outwitted the man in the upper berth, who, without question, knew of Granniss’ errand, and who had thus been foiled in his attempt to rob him. “Good for you!” Granniss exclaimed, heartily. “I think it will be all right for me to take it now,—here is the Varian car. But would you prefer to go up to the house?” “No; I’d rather not. I’m sure the way is clear now. I saw that performance in the train last night. But don’t talk any more about it. Just take the box, and I’ll go right back on the next train. Mr Wise will arrive tomorrow.” Marveling at the detective’s way of managing, Granniss took the unimportant looking parcel the young man offered, and with a brief good-by, got into the Varian car. The car could go only to the lodge gate, and from there Rodney trudged up the steep path to the house, half afraid that some bandit would even yet appear to rob him of the treasure. But nothing untoward happened, and he reached Headland House in safety. It was nearly noon when he arrived, and Lawrence North, still there, was as eager as Minna to hear the results of Granniss’ errands in New York. But not until after luncheon, when the three were alone in the library, did he tell the whole story. He then gave a frank account of the detective’s asking to take charge of the package of money, and of the lucky stroke it was that he did so. “But I never imagined,” Rodney said, “that he would send it along by a messenger on the same train!” “Clever work!” said North. “Now, Mrs Varian, have you a really good safe?” “Yes, I have. My husband had it sent up here with our trunks. It looks like a wardrobe trunk, but it is a modern and secure safe.” The safe was in a closet in the library, and as the men examined it, they agreed that it was a good safe and proof against even a most skilful burglar. “Unless he carries it off,” suggested North. “It’s not very large.” “But it’s very heavy,” Minna said, “and besides, it’s clamped to the floor.” They put the parcel of money in the safe, tucked it well back behind less important matters, and Minna herself closed the door. “I’ll use the same combination Fred used,” she said, “nobody on earth knows it but myself.” “Keep it to yourself, Mrs Varian,” North counseled her, “a secret shared is no secret.” “I’m not afraid to trust you two,” Minna returned, “but I won’t tell any one else.” “You’ve had no further communication from the kidnappers?” asked Granniss. “I have,” she said, “a letter came in this morning’s mail. I don’t know what to do about it. It’s so strange,—and yet,—I feel a positive conviction that I ought to do as they tell me.” “Whatever they ask, I beg of you not to decide until Mr Wise gets here,” Rodney said, earnestly. “Since I have seen him, I know he will help us, and I feel sure that he would disapprove of your going ahead with this until he can advise you.” “What do they ask you to do?” North inquired; “that is, if you care to tell us.” “Oh, I’m glad to tell you, and see what you think. I know it might be a better plan to wait for Mr Wise’s arrival, but that may scare off these people and lose me my one and only chance to meet their demands,—and—get my Betty!” “Where’s the letter?” asked Granniss, looking very serious. Minna handed him a paper, and the two men read it at the same time. “This is your one and only chance to get back your daughter. Unless you obey these directions exactly and secretly you have no chance at all. At midnight, tonight, take the packet of money, if you have it, and drop it over the cliff into the sea. First you must place it in a light pasteboard box that is too large for it. This will insure its floating until we can pick it up. Now if you have told any one of this and if there is any boat on the sea at that time, we will not carry out our plans, the money will be lost and your daughter will be killed. So, take your choice of acting in good faith or losing your child forever. We are desperately in earnest and this is your one and only chance. If you fear to go to the cliff’s edge alone, you may take a companion but only one who is in your faith and confidence. If you breathe a word to the police we shall know of it, and we will call off all our arrangements. It is up to you.” There was no signature. The paper and typing were like those of the previous letter from the same source, and the tenor of the letter seemed to be an ultimatum. “Don’t think of it for a minute,” urged Granniss. “You are simply throwing away a large sum of money and you cannot possibly get any return. If the thing were genuine, if it were from real kidnappers who really had Betty, they would have given you a sign, a proof that they have her. They would have enclosed a scrap of her handwriting or some such thing. That telegram is of course a fake! This letter proves it!” North looked dubious. “You may be right, Granniss,” he said, “perhaps you are. But,—I can’t help thinking there may be some way to foil these people. Suppose Mrs Varian throws a faked packet over the cliff——” “No,” Granniss declared, “that would do no good.” “Wait a minute,” North went on; “then we could have a swift motor boat hidden in the shadows, and follow the boat that picks it up,—for I have no doubt that they will come for the money in a motor boat.” “Of course they’ll do that,” Rod agreed, “but it will be a boat more powerful than any we have around here——” “Anyway,” broke in Minna, “I won’t play them false. I shall either follow their instructions in good faith, or not do it at all. I’m sure if I try to fool them, they’ll take it out on Betty.” She began to cry, and North said, hastily: “Don’t let me influence you, Mrs Varian. You must do just as you please in the matter. If you feel that the mere chance of getting Betty by such means is sufficient to justify your equal chance of losing all that money,—you must follow your own wishes.” Minna Varian sat for several moments in deep thought. Then she said, quietly: “I’ve made up my mind. I shall not do this thing tonight. I am more influenced by Rodney’s remark about the telegram than anything else. As he says, if these people really had Betty, they would send a note in her writing and not a telegram.” “That’s the way to look at it, Mrs Varian,” cried Granniss, much pleased at her logical decision. “The telegram was a mistake on their part. To begin with, if Betty is closely confined, which she must be, if there’s any truth at all in this matter, how could she get out to send a telegram? And if they sent it for her,—why not a note?” “That’s all true,” said North, thoughtfully; “and when Mr Wise gets here, he can doubtless discern the real truth of it all. The money will be all right in the safe over night, and tomorrow the detective can look after it. Then you’re decided, Mrs Varian?” “I’m decided for the present,——” she smiled a little; “but I don’t say I won’t change my mind. It’s a terrible temptation to do as they bid me, even if it proves a false hope.” North went away, and poor Minna spent the rest of that day in alternate decisions for and against the directions of the kidnappers. Granniss tried his best to dissuade her from what he deemed a foolish deed. “To begin with,” he argued, “I can’t believe in kidnappers. How could they have abducted Betty, in broad daylight, with half a dozen people looking for her to come out of the house?” “I don’t know,” said poor Minna, dejectedly, “but oh, Rodney, it doesn’t mean anything to ask such questions as that! For how could any other thing happen? I mean, how do you explain Betty’s disappearance without being kidnapped, any more easily than by such means? How explain Fred’s death? How explain anything? Now, the only chance,—as the letter says,—is this plan of theirs. Shall I try it?” “Look at it this way, Mrs Varian,” Granniss said at last. “Suppose you throw that money over the cliff. It’s by no means certain that they will retrieve it safely.” “But that’s their business. It’s full moon now, and at twelve o’clock the sea will be bright as day. There’ll be no spying boat around at that hour, and they will watch the box fall, get it quickly, and go away. Then they will send Betty back!” Minna’s face always lighted up with a happy radiance when she spoke of the return of Betty. “But think a minute. Suppose by some chance they don’t get the money,—suppose there is some stray boat out at that hour. Suppose the parcel gets caught on the way down——” “It can’t if I drop it right down from the overhang. And I’d have you to protect and watch over my own safety,—oh, Rodney, I must do it!” And so, despite Granniss’ dissuasion, in defiance of her own misgivings as to the genuineness of the anonymous bargainers, the poor distracted mother made up her mind to take the slim chance of recovering her lost child by the desperate method offered her. But an unforeseen difficulty prevented her. Shortly before midnight the sky clouded over and became entirely black. A terrific thunderstorm followed, and when that was over the whole heavens remained darkened and a drizzling rain kept up. “It’s out of the question,” Granniss said, as the clock struck twelve. “It’s still raining, it’s pitch dark, nobody could see a parcel dropped over the cliffs, and you might lose your own life in the process. But, let this comfort you, if these people are really the kidnappers, they will give you another chance. They won’t lose their chance of a fortune for a rainstorm, and they’ll communicate with you again.” “That’s probably true, Rod,” and Minna gave a sigh of relief as she gazed out of the window at the rain. “And so, let’s go to rest and try to hope for a future opportunity.” Mrs Fletcher was waiting to put her patient to bed, and was much displeased at her late hour of retiring. So, little was said by either of the women, and at last with a curt good night, the nurse went away to her own room, and Minna closed the door between. But she could not sleep, she was restless and nervous. At last she began to worry over the safety of the money in the safe. She imagined the thwarted kidnappers, disappointed at the collapse of their plans, coming up to the house to rob her of the money they had reason to suppose she had in her possession. To her anxious and worried mind, it seemed the money would be safer up in her own room than down in the library safe. On a sudden impulse she determined to go down stairs and get it. She donned dressing gown and slippers and stealthily, not to awake Fletcher, she crept down the stairs. Into the library she went and, opening the closet door, began to work the combination that unlocked the safe. Absorbed in her occupation, she did not hear a slight noise behind her. But suddenly a voice said; softly, “Oh, it’s you, ma’am! I thought it was a robber!” Minna turned quickly to see Martha, the waitress, staring at her. As she already had the safe door open and was about to take out the parcel she was after, she was annoyed at any interruption. “Martha!” she exclaimed, though in a low whisper, “what are you doing here? Go back to bed!” “Yes, ma’am. I thought I heard robbers, ma’am.” “No; it’s only I. I have to see about some important papers, and I can’t sleep, so I’m attending to it now. Go back to your room at once, Martha.” “Yes, ma’am,” and the girl obeyed. Drawing a sigh of relief, Minna took her precious parcel, shut the safe, and went softly back to her own room. She put the package beneath her mattress, locked her bedroom door, and soon fell asleep, worn out with weariness and exhaustion. “Great doin’s,” grumbled the cook, as Martha, who shared her room, returned to it, “where you been?” “Hush up,” said Martha. “I heard a noise and I thought it was burglars.” “And you went downstairs!” exclaimed Hannah. “Why, what foolishness! They might ’a’ shot you!” “There wasn’t any,” Martha explained. “It was Mrs Varian, poking about in her safe.” “The pore leddy,” said Hannah, sympathetically; “she can’t sleep at all, at all. The nurse tells me she lies awake nearly all night and only gets forty winks in the morning after sun-up.” “Well, she was a bit upset at my coming in,” said Martha. “I wouldn’t ’a’ gone, only I thought it was my duty.” “Oh, you and your duty!” growled the cook. “I’m thinkin’ your duty is to keep quiet and let me get a bit of sleep myself. I can’t do without it as you and the missus can!” Hannah grunted as she turned over and promptly went to sleep again, while Martha, who was both imaginative and curious of mind, lay awake, wondering what fearful things had happened or would happen to this strange house. The girl was of a fearless nature, but deeply interested in the mysterious, and had more than once made investigations herself in an effort to find some secret passage such as the family were continually discussing. But she had found nothing, and now, still unable to sleep, she occupied her mind in trying to form some new theory of the tragedies of Headland House. Hannah awakened in the morning by reason of the alarm sounding from her bedroom clock. “My goodness,” she growled, to herself, “seems like I’d only just dropped to sleep. Well,—I’ve got to get up. Hey, Martha, come along, my girl.” But no response came from the other bed, and Hannah stepped across the room to give the girl an arousing shake. “Why, heaven bless us, she ain’t here!” exclaimed the startled cook. “Now, don’t that beat all! Not content with rampoosin’ round the house in the night, she must be up and off early in the mornin’! She thinks she’s able to help them as has the detective work in charge! That Martha!” Hannah proceeded to make her toilet and then descended the back stairs to the kitchen. But on reaching the kitchen she gave voice to such a scream as could be heard by all the servants in the house, and even penetrated to the rooms occupied by Minna and her nurse. “Whatever is the matter?” cried Fletcher, running out to the hall in her night clothes. “Matter enough,” Hannah called back. “Will you get Mr Granniss, and tell him to come quick!” Stunned by the cook’s voice and manner, the nurse hurriedly knocked at Rodney’s door, and he responded at once. He was partly dressed, and finishing a hasty toilet, he ran down stairs. He found Hannah, and Kelly, the butler, gazing at a huddled heap on the kitchen floor, which he saw at once, was the dead body of Martha, the waitress. “What does it mean?” he asked, in an awed voice. “Who did it?” “Who, indeed, sir?” Hannah said, whimpering like a child. “Oh, Mr Granniss, sir, do get Mrs Varian to go away from this accursed house! Nobody is safe here! I’m leaving as soon’s I can pack up. Kelly, here, is going, too,—and I hope the missus will go this very day. It’s curst indeed, is this place! Oh, Martha, me little girl,—who could ’a’ done this to ye?” Going nearer, Rodney looked at the body, touched it and felt for the girl’s heart. There was no heartbeat and the cold flesh proved her death took place some hours since. “What do you know about it?” he asked the cook. “Not a thing, sir. Martha was down stairs late last night, and she came up again, saying Mrs Varian was down in the library.” “Mrs Varian down stairs! At what time was this?” “’Long about one o’clock, sir. Then me and Martha both went to sleep,—leastways, I did, and that’s all I knew till morning. Then I went to call the girl to get up, and her bed was empty. I came down—and here I saw—this!” Throwing her apron over her face, Hannah rocked back and forth in her chair. Rodney forced himself to think,—to give orders. “Hannah,” he said, “I’m sorry, but we mustn’t touch Martha,—and you’ll have to get breakfast,—just the same.” “I can’t, sir—I can’t get the breakfast, with that poor dead girl,—why, I loved that young one like she was my own.” “But, Hannah, remember your duty to Mrs Varian. Now, we’ll lay a coverlet over Martha, and you and Kelly between you must prepare the coffee, and such things as Mrs Varian wants. Be brave now, for there’s enough sorrow for Mrs Varian to bear. You and Kelly must do whatever you can to help.” Then Rodney looked hastily at all the doors and windows, finding them all securely fastened, as they always were at night. “Thank goodness, Wise is coming today,” he thought, as he went to telephone for Sheriff Potter again. Potter summoned, he turned his mind to the question of how best to tell the news to Minna, and concluded to tell Nurse Fletcher first. She came down then, greatly excited, to learn what had happened. Granniss told her, and then said, “Now Mrs Fletcher, I beg of you, don’t threaten to leave. Mrs Varian needs you now more than ever, and as Mr Wise, the great detective, is coming today, I’m sure you need not be afraid to stay on.” “Very well,” Fletcher returned, primly, “I know my duty, and I propose to do it. I will stay with Mrs Varian until she can get some one else,—or until I can get some one else for her,—but not an hour longer. How did the maid die?” “I don’t know, exactly,” Rodney looked puzzled. “I didn’t think it best to touch the body, except to convince myself that she is really dead. Now, will you tell Mrs Varian, or shall I?” “I’ll tell her,—but I’d like you to stand by.” So, taking Minna’s breakfast tray, quite as usual, the nurse went back to her patient. “You needn’t tell me,” was the greeting she received. “I overheard enough to know what has happened. It’s awful,—but I suppose it’s only the beginning of a further string of tragedies.” The utter hopelessness of the white face alarmed Granniss more than a hysterical outburst would have done. “Now, Mrs Varian,” he said, consolingly, “it is an awful occurrence, but in comparison with your nearer sorrows, it means little to you. Try not to think about it; leave it to us and trust me to do all that is necessary or possible.” Potter arrived then, and Granniss went down to receive him. “Another!” the sheriff exclaimed. “What devil’s work is going on here, any way?” He went to the kitchen and knelt beside the dead girl. “Strangled,” he said, briefly, after an examination. “Choked to death by a strong pair of man’s hands. Mr Granniss, I accuse you of the murder of this girl!” |
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