  “For the love of Mike, Zizi, what are you doing here?” exclaimed Pennington Wise, nearly struck dumb with astonishment at sight of the girl. “I ask you that!” she returned, looking at him with equal amazement. “Well, anyway, I’m glad to see you;” he smiled at her with real pleasure. “I’ve had a long, horrid and most unsatisfactory quest for the elusive L. N. and I haven’t found him yet.” “Any hope of it?” “Nothing but. I mean no expectation or certainty,—but always hope. Now, what’s your lay? Why,—Zizi, tell me why you’re here, or I’ll fly off the handle!” “Well, wait till we can sit down somewhere and talk comfortably. I haven’t had a room assigned to me yet.” “But tell me this: you’re here on the Varian case?” “Yes, of course. Are you?” “I am. Oh, girl, there must be something doing when we’re here from different starting points and for different reasons!” “I’m here because of some revelations of Mrs Varian,” Zizi said and Wise stared at her. “Mrs Varian!” he exclaimed. “I say, Ziz, go to your room, get your bag unpacked and your things put away as quick as you can, won’t you? And then let’s confab.” Zizi darted away, she arranged to have a bedroom and sitting-room that she could call her own for a few days, and in less than half an hour, she was receiving Wise in her tiny but pleasant domain. “Now,” he said, “tell me your story.” “It isn’t much of a story,” Zizi admitted,—“but I came here because this is where Betty Varian was born.” “Up here? In Greenvale, Vermont?” “Yes,—in a little hospital here.” “And what has that fact to do with Betty’s disappearance?” “Oh, Penny, I don’t know! But I hope,—I believe it has something!” “Well, my child, I’m up here to investigate the early life of Mrs Lawrence North.” “Then we are most certainly brought to the same place by totally different clues,—if they are clues, and one or both of them must prove successful! Who was she, Penny?” “As near as I can find out, she was a widow when North married her. Her name was then Mrs Curtis. Her maiden name I don’t know.” “Well, what’s the procedure?” The procedure, as Wise mapped it out, was to go to the hospital first and see what could be learned concerning Mrs Varian’s stay there twenty years ago. They had no difficulty in getting an interview with the superintendent of the institution, but as Wise had feared, he was not the man who had been in charge a score of years previous. In fact, there had been several changes since, and the present incumbent, one Doctor Hasbrook, showed but slight interest in his callers’ questions. “The hospital is only twenty-two years old,” Hasbrook said, “so the patient you’re looking up must have been here soon after it was opened.” “You have the records, I suppose?” asked Wise. “Yes,—if you care to hunt them over, they are at your disposal.” As a result of this permission, Wise and Zizi spent several hours looking over the old and not very carefully kept records of the earliest years of the little country hospital. “The worst of it is,” said Zizi, “I don’t exactly know what we’re hoping to find, do you?” “I have a dim idea, Zizi, and it’s getting clearer,” Wise replied, speaking as from a deep absorption. “Here’s something.” “What?” “It’s a list of births for a year,—the year Betty Varian was born and,—oh, Zizi! the very same night that Mrs Varian’s baby was born, a Mrs Curtis also bore a child!” “Well?” “Oh, don’t sit there and babble ‘What?’ and ‘Well?’ Can’t you see?” “No, I can’t.” “Well, wait a bit,—now, let me see,—yes, Miss Morton,—h’m,—Miss Black,——” “Pennington Wise, if you’ve lost your mind, I’ll take you to a modern sanitarium,—I don’t want to go off and leave you here in this little one-horse hospital!” “Hush up, Zizi, don’t chatter! Miss Morton,—h’m——” Zizi kept silent in utter exasperation. She knew Wise well enough to be sure he was on the trail of a real discovery, but her impatience could scarcely stand his mutterings and his air of suppressed excitement. However, there was nothing to do but wait for his further elucidation and when at last he closed the books and looked up at her, his face was fairly transfigured with joyous expectancy. “Come on, girl,” he cried, “come on.” He rose, and, as Zizi followed, they went back to the superintendent’s office. “Can you tell us, Doctor Hasbrook,” Wise asked, “where we can find two nurses who were here twenty years ago? One was named Black and one Morton.” This was a matter of definite record, and Hasbrook soon informed them that Nurse Black had died some years ago but that Nurse Morton had married and was still living in Greenvale. “Thank Heaven,” murmured Wise as he took the address of Mrs Briggs, who had been Nurse Morton. To her house they then went, Zizi now quite content to trudge along by the detective’s side, without asking further questions. She knew she would learn all in due time. The pretty little cottage which was the home of Mrs Briggs they found and went through the wooden picket gate and up to the front door. “Something tells me she won’t be glad to see us,” Wise whispered, and then they were admitted by a middle-aged woman who answered Wise’s courteous question by stating that she was Mrs Briggs. She looked amiable enough, Zizi thought, and she asked her callers to be seated in her homely but comfortable sitting-room. “I am here,” Wise began, watching her face for any expression of alarm, “to ask you a few questions about some cases you attended when you were a nurse in the Greenvale Hospital.” “Yes, sir,” was the non-committal response, but Zizi’s quick eye noticed the woman’s fingers grasp tightly the corner of her apron, which she rolled and twisted nervously. “One case, especially, was that of a Mrs Varian. You remember it?” “No,—I do not,” Mrs Briggs replied, but it was after a moment’s hesitation, and she spoke, in a low, uncertain voice. “Oh, yes, you do,” and Wise looked at her sternly. “Mrs Frederick Varian,—a lovely lady, who gave birth to a girl child, and you were her attendant.” “No; I don’t remember any Mrs Varian.” The voice was steadier now but the speaker kept her eyes averted from the detective’s face. “Your memory is defective,” he said, quietly. “Do you, then, remember a Mrs Curtis?” This shot went home, and Mrs Briggs cried out excitedly, “What do you mean? Who are you?” “You haven’t been asked anything about these people for twenty years, have you?” Wise went on. “You didn’t think you ever would be asked about them, did you? Your memory is all right,—now what have you to say——” “I have nothing to say. I remember a Mrs Curtis, but she was not my patient.” “No; Mrs Varian was your patient. But Mrs Curtis figured in the Varian case pretty largely, I should say!” Mrs Briggs broke down. “I didn’t do any harm,” she said. “I only did what I was told. I obeyed the others who were in greater authority than I was.” She buried her face in her apron and sobbed. “That’s right, Mrs Briggs,” Wise said kindly; “tell the truth, and I promise you it will be far better for you in the long run, than to make up any falsehoods.” “Tell me what happened,” the woman said, eagerly, as she wiped her eyes. “Oh, sir, tell me? Did Mrs—Mrs Varian’s little girl live to grow up?” “Mrs Varian’s little girl!” Wise repeated with a strange intonation and a shrewd shake of his head. “Yes, Mrs Varian’s little girl,” the woman insisted obstinately. “They took the child away when it was four weeks old, Mrs Varian was quite well and happy then.” “Of course she was,—but, were you happy?” “Why not?” The words were defiant, but Mrs Briggs’ face showed an involuntary fear. “Come now, Mrs Briggs, tell me the whole story and you will get off scot free. Keep back the truth or any portion of the truth, and you will find yourself in most serious trouble. Which do you choose?” “Where are the Varians? Where is Mr Varian?” “Mr Varian is dead. You have me to reckon with instead of him. Oh, I begin to see! Was it Mr Varian’s scheme?” “Yes, it was. I told you I had no choice in the matter.” “Because he paid you well. Now, are you going to tell me, or must I drag the story from you, piece-meal?” “I’ll—I’ll tell.” “Tell it all, then. Begin at the beginning.” “The beginning was merely that the Varians were spending the summer here in a little cottage over on the next street to this. Mrs Varian was expecting a confinement but hoped to get back to the city before it took place. However, she was not well, and Mr Varian brought her to the hospital for consultation and treatment. I was her nurse, and I came to know her well, and—to love her. She was a dear lady, and as her first babies had died in infancy she was greatly worried and anxious lest this new baby should be sickly or, worse, should be born dead. “Mr Varian was the most devoted husband I ever saw. He put up with all his wife’s whims and tantrums,—and she was full of them,—and he indulged and petted her all the time. He was quite as anxious as she for a healthy child, and when they discovered that she must remain here for her confinement, he sent to town for all sorts of things to make her comfortable and happy. “Well,—the baby was born,—and it was born dead. Mrs Varian did not know it, and when I told Mr Varian, he was so disappointed I thought he would go off his head. “Now there was another case in the hospital that was a very sad matter. It was Mrs Curtis. She, poor woman, was confined that same night, and her baby was born, fine and healthy. But she didn’t want the child. She was so poor she scarce could keep soul and body together. She had three little children already and her husband had died by accident only a month before. How to care for a new little one, she didn’t know. “It was Nurse Black who thought of the plan of substituting the lovely Curtis child for the dead Varian baby, and we proposed it to Mr Varian. To our surprise he fairly jumped at it. He begged us to ascertain if Mrs Curtis would agree, saying he would pay her well. Now, Mrs Curtis was only too grateful to be assured of a good home and care for her child, and willingly gave it over to the Varians. But Mrs Varian never knew. “That was Mr Varian’s idea, and it was an honest and true desire to please his wife and to provide her with a healthy child such as she herself could never bear. “I think Mr Varian was decided at the last by the piteous cries of Mrs Varian for her baby. When he heard her, he said quickly, ‘Take the Curtis child to her,—and see if she accepts it?’” “And did she?” asked Zizi, her eyes shining at the dramatic story. “Oh, she did! She cried out in joy that it was her baby and a beautiful, healthy child, and she was so pleased and happy and contented that she dropped off into a fine, natural sleep and began to get well at once. When she wakened she asked for the child, and so it went on until there was no question what to do. The whole matter was considered settled——” “Who knew of the fraud?” asked Wise. “No one in the world but Mrs Curtis, Mr Varian and we two nurses. Mr Varian paid the poor mother ten thousand dollars, and he gave us a thousand dollars apiece. The authorities of the hospital never knew. They assumed the dead child was Mrs Curtis’ and the living child was Mrs Varian’s.” “And the doctors?” “There was but one. I forgot him. Yes, he knew, but he was a greedy scamp, and Mr Varian easily bought him over. He died soon after, anyway.” “So that now,—what living people know of this thing?” “Why—you say Mr Varian is dead?” “Yes.” “And Mrs Varian never learned the truth?” “No,” Zizi answered, emphatically, “she never did.” “And Nurse Black is dead, and the doctor is dead,—why, then nobody knows it—oh, yes, Mrs Curtis, of course.” “She, too, is dead,” Wise said. “Then nobody knows it but we three here. Unless of course, Mr Varian or Mrs Curtis told.” “Mr Varian never did,” Wise said,—“as to Mrs Curtis I can’t say.” “Oh, she’d never tell,” Mrs Briggs declared. “She was honest in the whole matter. She said she didn’t know how she’d support her three children, let alone a fourth. And, she was glad and thankful to have it brought up among rich and kind people. She never would have let it go unless she had been sure of their kindness and care, but we told her what fine people the Varians were and she was satisfied.” “Were there adoption papers taken out?” Mrs Briggs stared at Wise’s question. “Why, no; it wasn’t an adoption, it was a substitution. How could there be an adoption? Mrs Varian thought it her own child,—the authorities of the hospital thought the living child was Mrs Varian’s. The matter was kept a perfect secret.” “And I think it was all right,” Zizi defended. “So long as Mr Varian knew, so long as Mrs Curtis was satisfied, I don’t see where any harm was done to anybody.” “I don’t either, miss,” said Mrs Briggs eagerly. “I’m gratified to hear you say that, and I hope, sir, you feel the same way about it.” “Why, I scarcely know what to say,” Wise returned. “It depends on whether you view the whole thing from a judicial——” “Or from a viewpoint of common sense and kind-heartedness!” Zizi said. “I think it was fine,—and I’m only sorry for poor Mr Varian who had to bear the weight of his secret all alone through life.” “Oh, Zizi, that would explain the pearls!” Wise cried. “Of course it does! He had to leave them to a Varian,—and Betty wasn’t a Varian,—oh, Penny, what a situation! That poor man!” “And it explains a lot of other things,” Wise said, thoughtfully. “Well, Mrs Briggs, we’ll be going now. As to this matter, I think I can say, if you’ll continue to keep it secret, we will do the same, at least for the present. Did you never tell anybody? Not even your husband?” “I never did. It was the only secret I ever kept from my husband, he’s dead now this seven year, poor man,—but I felt I couldn’t tell him. It wasn’t my secret. When I took Mr Varian’s money, I promised never to tell about the child. And I kept my word. Until now,” she added, and Wise said, “You had to tell now, Mrs Briggs, if you hadn’t told willingly and frankly, I could have brought the law to bear on your decision.” “That’s what I thought, sir. Please tell me of the child? Is she now a fine girl?” Wise realized that up in this far away hamlet the news of Betty Varian’s disappearance had not become known, so he merely said, “I’ve never seen her, but I’m told she is a fine and lovely girl. Her mother is a charming woman.” “I’m glad you say so, sir, for though I was sorry for her, she was a terror for peevishness and fretting. Yet, after she got the little girl she seemed transformed, she was that happy and content.” Back to the inn went Pennington Wise and Zizi. “The most astonishing revelation I ever heard,” was Wise’s comment, as he closed the door of Zizi’s sitting room and sat down to talk it over. “Where do you come out?” “At all sorts of unexpected places. Now, Zizi, have you realized yet that Lawrence North married that Mrs Curtis?” “You’re sure?” “Practically; he married a widow named Curtis, who formerly lived in Greenvale, Vermont. I’ve not struck any other. And besides, it connects North with this whole Varian case and I’m sure he is mixed up in it.” “But how?” “That’s the question. But here’s a more immediate question, Zizi. Are we to tell Mrs Varian what we have learned from the nurse up here?” “How can we help telling her?” “But, think, Zizi. Have we a right to divulge Frederick Varian’s secret? After he spent his life keeping it quiet, shall we be justified in blurting it out——” “Oh, Penny, that’s why Mr Varian and Betty were at odds! She wasn’t his child——” “She didn’t know that——” “No; but he did, and it made him irritable and impatient. Oh, don’t you see? He was everlastingly thinking that her traits were not Varian traits nor traits of her mother’s family,—and he couldn’t help thinking of the child’s real mother,—and oh, I can see how altogether he was upset over and over again when Betty would do or say something that he didn’t approve of.” “Yes, that’s so,—but Zizi, here’s a more important revelation. The reason Frederick Varian was so opposed to Betty’s marrying was because he found himself in such an equivocal position! He couldn’t let her marry a decent man without telling him the story of her birth,—yet, he couldn’t tell it! He couldn’t tell the young man without telling his wife,—and to tell Mrs Varian,—at this late date,—oh, well, no wonder the poor father,—who was no father,—was nearly distracted. No wonder he was crusty and snappish at Betty,—yet of course the poor girl was in no way to blame!” “Wouldn’t you think Mrs Varian would have suspected?” “No; why should she? And, too, her husband took good care that she shouldn’t. It’s a truly marvelous situation!” |
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