  Pennington Wise himself assisted in the locking up of the house that night, for he was determined if any more burglars came, he would know how they got in. The money that Minna had in her possession he took charge of, saying he would be responsible for its safety. Long the detective lay awake in his pleasant bedroom that overlooked the sea. He could hear the great waves tossing and breaking at the foot of the cliff and he couldn’t free his mind from a queer obsession to the effect that those waves held the secret of the mysteries of Headland House. “It’s too absurd,” he thought to himself in the darkness, “but I do feel that the whole matter is dependent in some way or other on the cliff and the sea.” Had he been asked to elucidate this more definitely he could not have done so. It was only a hunch,—but Wise’s hunches were often worthy of consideration, and he determined to go out on the sea in somebody’s boat when the morning came, and see if he could find any inspiration. When the morning came it brought a fresh surprise. The household assembled promptly for an eight o’clock breakfast. Minna Varian, pale and fragile looking, clad in a simple black house dress, was a strong contrast to the young and glowing vitality of Zizi, whose slim little black frock was touched here and there with henna, and whose vivid and expressive face needed no aid of cosmetics to be a bright, colorful picture in itself. Wise was very grave and silent,—he was in a mood which Zizi knew was that of utter bafflement. It was not often the detective felt this conviction of helplessness, but it had occurred before, and Zizi noted it with some alarm. It meant desperate and wearing effort on Wise’s part, deep thinking and dogged persistence in forming and proving theories, that more likely than not would prove false. It meant a strain of brain and nerves that might result in a physical breakdown,—for the detective had been working hard of late, and this impenetrable mystery seemed the last straw. Granniss was the most serene of the quartette. He was young and hopeful. He was innocent of any crime or knowledge of it, and he cared naught for the half-voiced suspicions of the local police. In fact, they had practically given up the case as far beyond their ken, and now that Wise was in charge, the sheriff wanted nothing to say in the matter, except when Wise desired to consult him. And Granniss was confident that Wise would find Betty. He had no real reason for his belief in the detective’s magic, but he had unbounded faith, and he was a born optimist. He felt sure that, if Betty had been killed, the fact would have become known by this time,—and if she were still alive, surely she would be found. He had come to believe in the kidnappers, and though he couldn’t understand how the deed had been done, he cared more to get Betty back than to learn what had happened to her. Also, he was kept busy in attending to the daily influx of business letters and financial matters connected with the Varian estate. Doctor Varian had promised to come up to Headland House again as soon as he could, but he was a busy man and hadn’t yet made time for the visit. As breakfast was about to be served, Kelly brought a letter to Minna saying simply, “This was on the hall table when I came downstairs this morning, madam.” A glance showed Minna that it was from the same source as the other “ransom” letter, and she handed it unopened to Wise. Staring hard at the envelope, he slit it open, and read the contents aloud.
And enclosed was a small slip of paper on which was written,
“Is that your daughter’s writing?” Wise asked, as he passed the little note to Minna. “Yes,” she whispered, trembling so violently and turning so white, that Zizi flew to her side, and induced her to take a sip of coffee. “Brace up, now, dear,” Zizi said, “you’ll need all your strength and all your pluck. And cheer up, too. If that’s from Betty, she’s alive, and if she’s alive, we’ll get her! Bank on that!” Zizi’s strong young voice and encouraging smile did as much as the coffee to invigorate and cheer the distracted mother, and Rod Granniss, said, “Sure! that’s Betty’s own writing,—no forgery about that! Now, Mr Wise, what next?” “Next, is to find out how that note got into this house,” said Pennington Wise. “I locked up myself last night,—I listened but I heard no intruder’s footstep, and I know no outside door or window was opened. It was,—it must have been an inside job. Kelly!” “Yes, sir.” “Where were you all night?” “In my bed, sir. On the third floor of the house.” “Oh, pouf! I know it wasn’t you, Kelly, you could no more have engineered this letter than you could fly to the moon! And Hannah, I suppose was in her bed, too. I’ve no wish to question the servants,—they had nothing to do with it.” “It was the kidnappers, then?” Zizi asked, softly. “It was the kidnappers,” Wise said. “They,—or he,—came into this house by some secret way, which we have got to find. They, or their agent, came in night before last to steal that money from the safe. Foiled in that attempt, they have returned to their ransom scheme, hoping to get the money that way. They are desperate, and,—I don’t know, Mrs Varian but that we’d better——” “Oh, Penny,” Zizi cried, “don’t throw away all that money——” “What is that sum,—any sum,—in comparison with getting my child?” cried Minna, so excited as to be with difficulty warding off a hysterical attack. “But you wouldn’t get her,” Zizi asserted, positively. “First, they’d never get the money,—thrown down in the darkness like that,—it’s too uncertain. And, if they did, they wouldn’t return Betty,—I know they wouldn’t.” “Never mind that now, Zizi,” Wise spoke from deep preoccupation. “We have till Friday night to decide about it. Today is only Wednesday. What I hope to get at from this note is the identity of the kidnapper. I am sure it is the same man as the one who wrote that blackmail letter.” “This is typewritten,” Granniss said, studying the letter. “And not signed in any way. I’ve heard, though, that typewriting is as easily distinguished or recognized as penwriting.” “That’s true in a sense,” Wise told him. “I mean, if you suspect a certain person or machine, you can check up the peculiarities of the script, and prove the typing. But in this case, the letter was doubtless written on some public machine,—say in a hotel or business office, and even if found, would give no clue to the writer. We have to do with the cleverest mind I have ever been up against. That is positive. Now the reason I connect the kidnapper and the blackmailer is twofold. First, if this man’s blackmailing scheme proved unsuccessful, he may have struck at his victim in this more desperate way. And, second, there is a resemblance in the diction of the notes from the kidnappers and the note of blackmail intent, signed ‘Step’.” “What do you suppose ‘Step’ means?” Granniss asked. “Short for Stephen, I daresay,” replied Wise. “There’s no other name that begins,—oh, yes, there is Stepney,—but it doesn’t matter. ‘Step’ is our man,—of that I’m sure. But how to find such an elusive individual is a puzzling problem.” “Then you believe there’s a secret passage?” Granniss said. “There simply has to be. It may be a hidden one,—or it may be a false doorway or window frame, but there is most certainly a way for that villain to get in and out of this house at will. Now that way must be found, and at once or I give up my profession and make no further claim to detective ability!” “We’ll find it, Penny,” Zizi promised him. “Find it, if you have to tear down the whole house,” Minna exclaimed, excitedly. She was nervously caressing the note from Betty, and was ready to further any project that was suggested. “You don’t own the house?” Wise asked. “No; but I’ll buy it. It’s in the market, and the price is not so very high. Then you can tear it down, if you wish, and I can sell the ground afterward.” “Good business deal!” Granniss said. “I’d like nothing better than to drive a pick into these old walls.” “But there’s no place to drive, with any expectation of success,” Wise demurred. “Where’s your friend North? Isn’t he an architect? Can you get him up here?” “Surely,” Rod said, “I’ll telephone him, if you say so. I’m sure he’ll be glad to come. He isn’t a professional architect, but he knows more about building plans than many a firm of contractors does.” “Call him, then, please, when you’ve finished your breakfast,” Wise directed, and returned to his study of the letter. “I can’t understand it at all,” he groaned to Zizi, after breakfast was over. Minna had gone to her room, and Rodney was reading the mail. Wise and Zizi were in the hall, sitting on the sofa with the yellow pillows. “This figures in it,” Zizi said, patting the yellow pillow that had held the little hairpin. “As how?” “Find that secret entrance first,” she said, drawing her pretty brows together. “That will explain ’most everything. And, Penny, it isn’t a secret passage, as they call it. It’s just a concealed entrance.” “And through the cellar,—for you know, there was cellar dust on the library floor,—near the safe.” “That only proved the man had been down cellar,—hiding probably until the time was ripe. I’ve scoured that cellar myself.” “So have I, Zizi, and there’s not a loose stone in its walls or a trap in its floor,—of that I’m certain.” “I’m sure of that, too; and Penny, I even went down the well.” “You did! You little rascal. They told me Dunn went down and examined that.” “Well, I had to go, too. It wasn’t difficult,—the stone sides are easy to climb up and down. Not very slippery, either. But dirty! My, I ruined one of my pet dresses. Yet there was no hole in the old well sides. No missing stone or anything suspicious. And that settles the cellar!” “I don’t think the entrance is through the cellar. I incline more to the idea of a false door frame,—you know, the frame and all on hinges. Then, locking would not affect the opening of the whole affair.” “That’s all right,—but, which door?” “There are only two. I’ve examined them both. It may be a window.” “Get friend North to confab with you. You’re clever enough, Penny, but you’re not a real architect. Mr North may have some suggestions to make, that with your ingenuity may work it out.” Lawrence North arrived and with him came Claire Blackwood. The latter was urged to the visit largely by curiosity to learn how things were going, and also by a desire to renew her expressions of sympathy and hope to Mrs Varian. Zizi managed to get a few words alone with Claire. “Tell me about this Eleanor,” the girl said. “I feel sure a lot hinges on that peculiar matter of the pearls. Is Eleanor a scheming sort?” “Oh, no!” exclaimed Mrs Blackwood. “She is a dear girl,—very young, and of a simple, charming nature. She was devoted to her cousin, and had no thought of the family pearls ever being hers. Don’t for a moment think of Eleanor Varian as capable of the slightest thought of disloyalty, much less of envy or covetousness.” “Well, I just wanted to know,” said Zizi, with her winning, confidential smile. “What about her parents? Could her mother have influenced Mr Frederick Varian’s mind against his own daughter?” “No, indeed! Nor Doctor Varian either! Why, they’re the best and finest kind of people, all of them. Whatever the explanation of those pearls being left away from Betty, it was not due to any maneuvering on the part of Eleanor or her parents! Of that you may be sure!” Meantime, Lawrence North and the detective were discussing architecture. They were in the library and the plans of the house were spread out before them. “I’m interested,” North said, looking eagerly at the plans, “for I’m always fond of plans. And, too, I want to prove my contention that there’s no space unaccounted for. At first, I thought there might be a bit of spare room between this wall and this,—you see. But that jamb is merely the back of a small cupboard in the hall. Can you find any hint of false building?” “No; I can’t,” Wise admitted, and then he unfolded his theory of a double door frame,—or, rather a hinged door frame or window frame. “That,” said North, “must be looked for in the house, not on the plans. But I doubt it. Any such thing would be apt to show the joints after years of disuse. You see, this house hasn’t been lived in before for a long time.” “Then I’ll have to give up the notion of a double door,” and Wise sighed. “Now, here’s another matter. I want to go out in a boat,—a good motor boat, and have a look round the sea and the cliff and observe for myself the possibilities of an expert climber entering the grounds from that side. Will you take me in your boat? I’m told you have a fine one?” “Of course I will,” was the ready response. “When do you want to go?” “As soon as you can make it convenient. I want to work rapidly, as things are coming to a focus, and I don’t dare delay.” North stared at him, as if wondering how a trip in his boat would advance the work definitely, but the detective had no intention of telling him about the kidnapper’s letter and, too, Wise wanted to view the whole headland from the ocean. The result was that the two started off at once, and going first to North’s bungalow to get his keys, and also his man who helped run the boat, inside of an hour Pennington Wise found himself out on the ocean with North, and Joe Mills, who, though taciturn and even grumpy, was a good navigator. “Remarkable cliff!” Wise exclaimed, amazed at its effect from below. “It’s all of that!” North said; “most wonderful cliff on the whole Maine coast, they say. Notice the overhang, and then tell me if any one could climb it!” “No human being could!” Wise declared. “And I can think of no animal,—unless a spider. Go clear round to the other side, will you?” North gave orders and Mills drove them round the great headland, and on all sides it was as massive and forbidding as the first view. “High tide, isn’t it?” asked Wise, as they went on beyond the headland, and then turned back again. “Yes,” said North, glancing at the rocky base. “Almost top notch.” “Rise high?” “Very. Twenty feet at least.” “I thought so. Marvelous tides up in this locality. Well, there’s nothing more to be discovered by gazing at these rocks and water: let’s go home.” On the trip homeward, the detective proved himself so entertaining that North went back to Headland House with him. Again they poured over the plans of the house, and Wise announced his determination of using a pick on one room in the third story that he surmised might be a trifle shorter than its adjacent walls implied. “But it measures up,” North insisted. “Not quite,” Wise declared. “There may be a two foot space in there, which would be enough for a secret passage.” “You’re a persistent one!” North laughed. “All right, Mr Wise, go ahead with your investigation. May I help? I can wield a pick with the best of them!” The detective glanced at the lithe, sinewy form, that seemed to be all muscle and no superfluous flesh, and said, admiringly, “I believe you! But I think Kelly or the chauffeur can do the really hard work.” “No, let me do it,” North offered. “I’d really enjoy it.” So, half amused at his own decision, Wise agreed, and the two went in search of the necessary tools. But the result of their labor was absolutely nothing, beyond an incredible amount of dust and dirt, of lath and plaster, and two very much disheveled men. “Now you must stay to dinner, Mr North,” the detective urged him. “You can put yourself to right enough for our informal meal, and it is too late for you to get to your home by dinner time.” So North stayed, and at dinner they all discussed freely the whole affair. Mrs Varian did not appear at the table, the nurse thinking it was better for her to have no more excitement that day. So Zizi calmly appropriated the chair at the head of the table, and acted the part of hostess prettily and capably. Wise changed his mind about confiding to Lawrence North the matter of the ransom letters, and concluded that in the absence of Mrs Varian the subject might be discussed. “At any rate,” the detective summed up, “we’re in the possession of positive knowledge. We know that Betty was kidnapped,——” “Oh, come now,” North said, thoughtfully, “those letters may be faked,—it seems to me they must be,—by some clever villain who expects to get all that money under false promises. I don’t believe for a minute there is a kidnapper—why would anyone kidnap Betty Varian?” “For the usual kidnapper’s reason,—ransom,” Wise replied. “Well, how did the kidnapper get in?” “Oh, Mr North!” Wise threw up his hands. “This from you! I made up my mind that if one more person said to me, ‘How did the kidnapper get in?’ I’d have him arrested! I don’t know how he got in,—but I’m going to find out!” “I think I won’t assist in the work personally the next time you try,” Lawrence said. “I scarcely could get myself presentable for dinner! But, seriously, Mr Wise, you asked me up here to consult with you. Now, I’m sure we must agree, that there is a way in and out of this house that we don’t know of. And that explains the entrance of the person who killed that poor girl in the kitchen.” “And explains the disappearance of Miss Varian, and the scattering of her beads.” “Beads?” said Lawrence North, interrogatively. “Yes; there were several beads found in the kitchen that have been identified as hers.” “Then the way in must be connected with the kitchen,” North remarked. “Perhaps, but not necessarily.” “It’s a dark night, Mr North,” Rodney Granniss said, hospitably. “Won’t you spend the night here? We can give you a room.” After a polite demurrer, North accepted the invitation. The evening was spent in further and repeated discussion of the known facts and the surmised possibilities of the mystery, and then, both the detective and Granniss went about locking up the house against further marauders, and they all retired. And the next morning they found that Lawrence North had disappeared! His room showed signs of a struggle. A chair was overturned, a rug awry and deep scratches on the shining floor proved a scuffle of some sort. “Another kidnapping case!” Granniss exclaimed. “Must have been a husky chap that got the better of North! Could there have been two against him? He’s a powerful fighter!” “Search the house,” said Wise, briefly, “and keep everybody out of North’s bedroom. I’ll lock it and take the key myself. Now look for him. Is he given to practical joking?” But no amount of searching disclosed Lawrence North, or any sign of him, dead or alive. And the locked doors and windows were undisturbed. “He certainly didn’t leave of his own accord,” said Granniss; “he couldn’t have locked the doors behind him.” “He was carried off,” cried Minna, “just as Betty was! Oh, who of us is safe now?” |
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