  When Wise and Zizi returned to Headland House, they found Doctor Varian there on one of his brief visits. Deciding that it was the best course to pursue the detective took the physician entirely into his confidence. The two were closeted in the library, and Wise related his discoveries regarding the Vermont hospital. “It is astounding! Incredible!” exclaimed Varian, “but if true, and it must be true, it explains a great many things. As a doctor, I can understand these things, and looking back, I see that Betty never had any traits of either parent. Not always are children like their parents but I’ve never seen a case where there was not some sign of heredity, some likeness to father or mother in looks or character. “But Betty showed none such. She was a dear girl, and we all loved her,—but she was not in any way like Fred or Minna. To be sure, I never thought about this definitely, for I had no reason to think of such a thing as you’re telling me. But, recollecting Betty, for I’ve known her all her life, I can see where she is of a totally different stamp from my brother or his wife. My, what a case!” “Do you blame Mr Varian?” “Not a bit! He did it out of the kindest of motives. He was not only a devoted husband but a willing slave to his wife, even in cases where she was unreasonable or over-exacting. He petted and humored her in every imaginable way, and when the third baby was expected, the poor man was nearly frantic lest it should not live and Minna could not bear the disappointment. And so, when, as it seems by a mere chance he had an opportunity to provide her with a strong, healthy, beautiful child,—I, for one, am not surprised that he did so, nor do I greatly blame him. As you represent it, the poor mother was willing and glad to consent to the arrangement. An adoption would have been perfectly legitimate and proper. Fred only chose the substitution plan to save Minna from trouble and worry. I know Fred so well, he was impulsive and he stopped at nothing to please or comfort his wife. So, I can easily see how he decided, on the impulse of the moment, to do this thing, and if, as you say, Minna took to the child at once, and loved it as her own, of course he felt that the plan must be kept up, the deception must be maintained.” “It accounts, I dare say, for the slight friction that so frequently arose between Betty and her father,—for we may as well continue to call him her father.” “It does. I suppose when the child exhibited traits that annoyed or displeased Fred, he resented it and he couldn’t help showing it. He had a strong clannish feeling about the Varians and he was sensitive to many slight faults in Betty that Minna never gave any heed to.” “It’s an interesting study in the relative values of heredity and environment.” “Yes, it is; and it proves my own theory which is that their influences average about fifty-fifty. Many times heredity is stronger than environment, and often it’s the other way, but oftenest of all, as in this case, the one offsets the other. I know nothing of Betty’s real ancestry, but it must have been fairly good, or Fred never would have taken her at all.” “And it was, of course, his clannish loyalty to his family name that would not let him leave the pearls to Betty.” “Yes, they have always been left to a Varian and Fred couldn’t leave them to one who was really an outsider.” “It also explains Mr Varian’s objections to Betty’s marriage.” “Oh, it does! Poor man, what he must have suffered. He was a high-strung nature, impulsive and even impetuous, but of a sound, impeccable honesty that wouldn’t brook a shadow of wrong to any one.” “I suppose what he had done troubled him more or less all his life.” “I suppose so. Not his conscience,—I can see how he looked on his deed as right,—but he was bothered by circumstances,—and it was a difficult situation that he had created. The more I realize it, the sorrier I feel for my poor brother. To make his will was a perplexity! His lawyer has told me that when he left the pearls away from Betty, he said, ‘I must do it! I have to do it!’ in a voice that was fairly agonized. The lawyer couldn’t understand what he meant, but assumed it was some cloud on Betty’s birth. I daresay Fred was not bothered about his money, for he knew if he died first, Minna would provide for Betty. But the pearls he had to arrange for. Oh, well, Mr Wise, now then, viewed in the light of these revelations, where do we stand? Who killed my brother? Who killed the maid, Martha? Who kidnapped Betty and Mr North?” “Those are not easy questions, Doctor Varian,” Wise responded, with a grave face, “but of this I am confident,—one name will answer them all.” “You know the name?” “I am not quite sure enough yet to say that I do,—but I have a strong suspicion. I think it is the man who wrote the blackmailing letters to Mr Varian.” “The man we call Stephen? It well may be. They referred to a robbed woman. Now, my brother never robbed anybody in the commonly accepted sense of that term, but it may mean the mother of Betty. Could the doctor in the Greenvale Hospital, that attended the two women that night, be trying to make money out of the matter?” “They tell me he died some years ago.” “But these letters are not all recent. And, too, he might have divulged the secret before he died, and whoever he told used it as a threat against my brother.” “It’s hardly a blackmailing proposition.” “Oh, yes, it is. Say the doctor,—or the doctor’s confidant threatened Fred with exposure of the secret of Betty’s birth, I know my brother well enough to be certain that he would pay large sums before he would bring on Minna and Betty the shock and publicity, even though there was no actual disgrace.” “Well, then, granting a blackmailer, he’s the one to look for, but on the other hand, why should he kill Mr Varian, when he was his hope of financial plunder? Why should he kidnap Betty? And, above all, why should he kill Martha and abduct Lawrence North?” “The only one of those very pertinent questions that I can answer is the one about Betty. Whoever kidnapped her, did it for ransom. That is evidenced by the letters to Minna.” “If they are genuine.” “Oh, they are,—I’m sure. She had another while you were away.” “She did! To what purport?” “Further and more desperate insistence of the ransom,—and quickly.” “The regular procedure! If it is a fake they would do the same thing.” “Yes,—and they would also, if it is a real issue.” Wise went at once to find Minna and see the new letter. It was indeed imperative, saying, in part: “Now we have Betty safe, but this is your last chance to get her back. We are too smart for your wise detective and we are in dead earnest. Also Betty will be dead in earnest unless you do exactly as we herein direct. Also, this is our last letter. If you decide against us, we settle Betty’s account and call the whole deal off. Our instructions are the same as before. On Friday night, at midnight, go to the edge of the cliff and throw the package of money over. Tie to it some float and we will do the rest. That is, if you act in sincerity. If you are false-minded in the least detail, we will know it. We are wiser than Wise. So take your choice and,—have a care! No one will be more faithful than we, if you act in good faith. Also, no one can be worse than we can be, if you betray us!” The somewhat lengthy letter was written on the same typewriter as had been used for the others, and Wise studied it. “There’s nothing to be deduced from the materials,” he said. “They’re too smart to use traceable paper or typing. But there are other indications, and, I think, Mrs Varian, at last I see a ray of hope, and I trust it will soon be a bright gleam and then full sunshine!” “Good!” Zizi cried, clapping her hands. “When Penny talks poetry, he’s in high good humor,—and when he’s in high good humor, it’s ’cause he’s on the right track,—and when he’s on the right track,—he gets there!” Then they told Wise about the strange communication from the girl who knew lip-reading, and the detective was even more highly elated. “Great!” he exclaimed. “Perfectly remarkable! Where’s Granniss?” “Gone to Boston to see a moving picture concern. He may have to go on to New York. He hopes to be back by Saturday at latest.” It was Minna who answered, and her face was jubilant at the hope renewed in her heart by Wise’s own hopefulness. But she determined in her secret thoughts to throw the money over the cliff on Friday night, whether the detective agreed to that plan or not. What, she argued to Mrs Fletcher, whom she took into her confidence on this matter, was any amount of money compared to the mere chance of getting back her child? She urged and bribed Fletcher until she consented to help Minna get out of the house on Friday night without Wise’s knowledge. It was now Tuesday, and after much questioning of every one in the house as to what had taken place in his absence, the detective shut himself alone in the library, and surrounded by his own written notes, and with many of Mr Varian’s letters and financial papers, he thought and brooded over it all for some hours. At last he opened the door and called Zizi. “Well, my child,” he said, closing the door behind her, “I’ve got a line on things.” “I do hope, Penny, you’ll watch out for Mrs Varian. She’s going to throw the money over the cliff on Friday night without your knowledge or consent.” “She can’t do that.” “She can’t without your knowledge, I admit. But, she can without your consent. Her money is her own and you’ve no real authority that will let you dictate to her how to use it.” “True, oh, Queen!” “Oh, Penny, when you smile like that, I know something’s up! What is it?” “My luck, I hope. Ziz, do you remember you said you had a green smear on your frock like the one on Martha’s hand?” “Yes; why?” “Is it there yet, or did you clean it off?” “It’s there yet, I haven’t worn the dress since.” “Get it, will you?” Zizi went, and returned with the little frock, a mere wisp of light, thin material, and handed it to Pennington Wise. He inspected the green streak, which was visible though not conspicuous, and then he sniffed at it with such absorption that Zizi laughed outright. “Pen,” she said, “in detective stories they always represent the great detective as sniffing like a hound on a scent. You’re literally doing it.” “Not astonishing that I should, little one, when you realize that this green smear is a beacon to light our way.” “What is it?” Zizi’s big Hack eyes grew serious at Wise’s tone. “The way out; the exit; the solution of the mystery of the secret passage.” “Oh, Penny, tell me! You’ll be the death of me if you keep the truth from me! I’m crazy with suspense!” But Zizi’s curiosity could not be gratified just then, for Fletcher came to say that Minna desired the girl’s company. Minna Varian had come to depend much on Zizi’s charm and entertainment, and often sent for her when feeling especially blue or nervous. Zizi had been waiting for an opportunity, and now as the nurse left her alone with Mrs Varian, she gradually and deftly led the talk around to Betty as a baby. “Tell me what you thought when you first saw your little daughter,” Zizi said, in her pretty, coaxing way. “How old was she?” “About an hour or so, I think,” Minna said, reminiscently. “And my first thought was, ‘Oh, thank God for a healthy, beautiful baby!’ She was so lovely,—and so strong and perfect! I had hoped she would be all right, but I never looked for such a marvel as came to me!” “And Mr Varian was as pleased as you were!” Zizi said, gently. “Oh, yes,—but,” Minna’s face clouded a little, “I don’t know how to express it,—but he never seemed to love Betty as he did our first children. He admired her,—nobody could help it,—but he had a queer little air of restraint about her. It lasted all through life. I can’t understand it,—unless he was jealous——” “Jealous?” “Yes, of my love and adoration of the child. Silly idea, I know, but I’ve racked my brain and I can’t think of any other explanation.” “That doesn’t explain the Varian pearls——” “No; nothing can explain that! Oh, nothing explains anything! Zizi, you’ve no idea what I suffer! I wonder I keep my mind! Just think of a woman who never had to decide a question for herself, if she didn’t want to,—who never had a care or responsibility that she didn’t assume of her own accord,—who had a husband to care for her, a daughter to love her——” The poor woman broke down completely, and Zizi had her hands full to ward off the violent hysterics that attacked her at times. Meantime, Pennington Wise, convinced of the origin of the green smear on Zizi’s frock, was starting forth to prove his conviction. Armed only with a powerful flashlight and a good-sized hammer, he went out to the kitchen and through that to the cellar. There, he went straight to the old well, and testing the rope as he did so, he let the bucket down as far as it would go. Then, with monkey-like agility he began to clamber down,—partly supported by clinging to the rope, partly by getting firm footholds on the old stones that lined the well. Scarcely had he started, when he experimentally drew his hand across the stones, and by his flashlight perceived a green smear, the counterpart of that on Zizi’s frock. Also, the counterpart of that on Martha’s hand. Yet, the dead girl could scarcely have been in the well! So,—her assailant must have been. However, he went on investigating. He noted carefully the walls as he descended, and it was not until he almost reached the bottom of the dried-up old well, that he noticed anything strange. All of the wall was very rough and uneven but here was what appeared to be a distinct hole, roughly filled in with loose stones. Standing now on the bottom of the well, slippery with moisture but no water above his shoe soles, he used his hammer to dislodge these stones, working carefully and slowly, but with a certainty of success. “Fool that I was,” he chattered to himself, “not to come down here the very first thing! To trust to Zizi was all right,—the kid couldn’t notice this place,—but I had no business to trust that half-baked sheriff or his man!” His work soon disclosed the fact that the loose stones apparently closed the mouth of a deep hole. When all that were loose had been either pulled out or pushed in, he found there was an aperture large enough to permit a man’s body to pass through, and without hesitation, he scrambled through it. His flashlight showed him that almost from the start the hole widened until it became a fair-sized tunnel. Crawling along this for a hundred yards or so, he heard the splash of water, and soon he no longer needed his flashlight, as daylight streamed in through a narrow fissure in the rock. It was fortunate for Wise that it did, for just ahead the tunnel descended sharply, and at the bottom, what was evidently the surf was surging in from the ocean. It was quite dark below, and being unable to progress further, Wise backed out of the tunnel, it wasn’t wide enough to turn around in, and reaching the well again, he ascended to the surface. He went to his room, looked with satisfaction on the numerous smears of green and brown that disfigured his suit,—which he had taken care should be an old one. No one knew what he had done, nor did any one know his destination when, half an hour later, he set off for the village. He went to the inn and inquired where he could get the best motor boat that could be hired. A suitable one was found and its owner agreed to take Wise on an exploring expedition at the next low tide. This would not be until the following morning, so the detective went back to Headland House. Then, he concentrated all his efforts and attention on the subject of the moving picture film that had been said to portray Betty Varian. “Rod Granniss vows it was really Betty,” Zizi insisted. “He ought to know,” said Wise. “A man in love with a girl doesn’t mistake her identity. Besides, it’s quite on the cards, Ziz. Say Betty is confined somewhere,—say she is let out for a little exercise in care of a jailer, of course,—say there’s a M. P. contraption taking a picture of a crowd,—they often do,—pick up stray passers-by you know, and say, Betty somehow got into the picture——” “Oh, the jailer, as you call him, wouldn’t let her!” “More likely a woman in charge of her. And, maybe a woman not averse to taking the few dollars those people pay to actors who just make up a crowd. Well, say that happened, and then Betty, not daring to speak aloud, made her lips form the words ‘I am Betty Varian,’ in the hope that among a few thousands of lip readers in the country one might strike twelve!” “Nobody could be so clever as all that, Pen!” “She might be on a chance inspiration. Anyway, how else can you explain it?” “Why, anybody might have said that, who wasn’t Betty at all.” “But why? What would be the sense of it? and why would such a thing occur to anybody but Betty?” “If it’s true,—then you can find her! Surely you can track down a moving picture company!” “Oh, it isn’t that! It’s tracking down the place where Betty is confined,—and—doing it while she is still alive. You see, Zizi, those ransom letters are true bills, and the villains have nearly reached the end of their patience.” “Then why don’t you approve of Mrs Varian’s throwing the money over the cliff?” “I may advise her to do it by Friday night,—if nothing happens in the meantime.” “But look here, Penny,” Zizi said, after a thoughtful moment, “if your theory is the right one, why didn’t Betty scream out, ‘I am Betty Varian!’ and take a chance that somebody in the crowd would rescue her?” “It would seem a natural thing to do, unless the girl had been so cowed by threats of punishment or even torture if she made any outcry when allowed to go for a walk. I’m visualizing that girl as kept in close confinement, but not in any want or discomfort. She is most likely treated well as to food, rooms and all that, but is not allowed to step out of doors except with a strict guard and under some terrible penalty if she attempts to make herself known. With Betty’s love of fresh air and sunshine she would agree to almost anything to get out of doors. Then, too, if she merely formed those words without sound, the chance of their being read by a lip reader was really greater than the chance of doing any good by crying out aloud. “Had she done that, whoever had her in charge would have whisked her away at once, and no one would have paid any attention to the slight disturbance.” “It’s all perfectly logical and, oh, I hope Rodney gets some clue to the place where the picture was taken.” “I hope so, Ziz, but they’ve probably moved Betty away from there by now.” “Did you find out, Penny, what that stain on my frock was?” “I did.” “Well?” “Yes, my dear, you’ve struck it! You got that stain while you were down the well.” “Oh,” Zizi’s eyes lighted up; “of course I did! Those damp, mossy stones. And, then, oh, Wise one, just how did the same stain get on Martha’s hand?” “That, Zizi,” Wise spoke almost solemnly, “is part of the solution of the whole great mystery.” |
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