  But Elsie’s determination to get a special detective was not easily carried out. She visited several who were recommended to her by agencies, but none seemed sufficiently sure of success to make her willing to pay the large fees they demanded, irrespective of the outcome of their efforts. In fact none seemed anxious to take up the case. They deemed it too difficult to locate the missing man, for they held the opinion, that he had been hidden with his own consent or at his own request. One detective told Elsie plainly, that he had learned that Mr. Webb was entirely amenable to the advices of his mother and sister, and that as they so thoroughly disapproved of the marriage he contemplated, he had at last agreed to their views and had vanished the day of the projected wedding. He politely expressed his personal surprise at this state of things, and with an admiring glance at his would-be client, implied that, for his part, he didn’t see how Mr. Webb could have chosen more happily. Disgusted at his impertinence, Elsie left him, and after a few more trials to find a detective who would take a real interest, aside from his financial reward, she gave up in despair. “I thought it would be an easy matter to get a detective like they have in the stories,” she said to Gerty; “but they’re most of them stupid and indifferent.” “Give up the idea that you’ll ever see Kimball again,” Gerty urged, “that is, before your birthday. There’s not the slightest doubt that Henrietta is at the bottom of the whole affair. Nobody else could be. Nobody from outside could get into the house and get Kim away. Henrietta could, of course, and then all the mysteries are explainable.” “Explainable, how?” “Why, after he left the house,—to go wherever they planned for him to go,—Henrietta could lock the street door for him.” “And his room door,—locked from the inside?” “Oh, that yarn isn’t true. Henrietta made it all up. She bribed the servants to keep it quiet, and she made up the whole story. It couldn’t be, you know, that he really got out of those locked doors. Unless you’re going over to Mrs. Webb’s Spirit theory!” “Good gracious, no! But, she says she’s going to see a clairvoyant about Kimball, and she’ll find out the truth that way.” “Poppycock! Of course she could learn nothing, but if she could, she would have done so long ago. It’s nearly three weeks now since that he’s been gone, and nobody has done one thing toward finding him. That proves the Webbs did it. If he had been kidnapped or killed, the police would have found it out. But the Webbs can keep him hidden indefinitely; and they’re going to do it, until after your birthday.” “If they’ll give him back to me then,—I’ll be glad!” “Elsie, don’t talk like that. And, dear, I wish you would look at the matter sensibly. You can’t mean to give up five million dollars—for a mere bit of sentiment—” “Don’t call my love for Kimball a mere bit of sentiment! You don’t know what love means—” “Don’t say that! I guess if your husband had been killed in the war, you’d—” “Killed in the war! That’s a glorious fate! Philip died honourably, fighting for his country, and you can be proud of him! While I am not only deprived of my love, my mate, but I’ve no notion where he is, or what suffering he’s undergoing! Oh, Gerty, your sorrow is a great one, I know, but it’s nothing to mine!” “You talk like a silly girl! You can’t feel the same about a lover as I do about a husband and the father of my children! And you can marry some one else,—you can look on Kimball merely as a dear memory—” “You can marry some one else, too!” “No; my heart is buried in my husband’s grave. Elsie, dear sister, try to look at these things from a rational point of view. Try to realize that sad as your lot seems at present, there’s happiness ahead, if you choose to accept it. No young girl can so love a man to whom she’s not married as to be inconsolable at his loss.” “I can,” Elsie persisted, “and I do. And you can talk as long as you like, you’ll never persuade me that I could know a happy moment if I married any one else!” “Then, dear, don’t you think you ought to sacrifice yourself for mother’s sake? She is so ill,—” “One word for mother and two for yourself! You don’t fool me, Gerty, not for a minute! You want me to marry because if I don’t we’ll lose Aunt Elizabeth’s money! Why not speak out and say so!” “Very well, I do, then! And it’s quite as much for your sake as for mine! You don’t know what it will mean to leave this place to live in some little cramped flat, and to work for your living,—unless, indeed, you think of depending on Joe Allison for charity?” “I don’t,—you know I don’t! But I’d work myself into my grave before I’d marry a man I didn’t love! I can’t even think about it—it makes me so indignant that you can suggest it!” “That’s the natural feeling, dear, but your case is so different from most girls’. Try to see it clearly. The income of five millions and all the comfort that means, against the sufferings and discomforts that poverty brings. And think not only of yourself, but of mother—” “Yes! and Gerty; Gerty first, last and all the time!” “Then, all I have to say is,—you’re a very selfish girl.” The discussions always wound up like this. Gerty took occasion nearly every day to repeat her accusations of selfishness, to impress on Elsie her duty to her invalid mother; to refer to her own two little children and her own inability to do any work, having the care of them; and eternally did she harp on the fact that since Elsie had not been married to Webb, her grief was merely a temporary regret for a man to whom she had been engaged, which, Gerty held, was an episode that might occur in any girl’s life. None of the arguments had any weight with Elsie, except the charge of selfishness. She was not selfish: she had always given lavishly of her wealth to her family and to her friends and to various charities. There was not a selfish impulse in Elsie Powell’s soul. And here was a very strong sense of duty and of obligation to her own people. She did not go so far as to think of marrying any one but Kimball,—that determination was, as yet, unshakable,—but she tried with all her might to think of some other way out. Yet there was none. She had been to see one of the trustees, who had her aunt’s estate in charge, and he had declared there was no possible loophole. If Elsie was not married when she became twenty-four years old, the entire property would revert to Joe Allison. “A pretty hard place that young man’s in!” said Mr. Thorne, the trustee; “he naturally has no ill feelings toward you, but if he’s human he can’t help wishing he might inherit all the money. So, he’s doubtless breathlessly awaiting developments, and every day that passes without any word from Kimball Webb brings Allison one day nearer to his inheritance. I suppose you’ve told him of your decision not to marry any one else?” “Oh, yes,” said Elsie, “I’ve told everybody of that. I thought if the Webbs were made to believe that, they might give up and let Kimball come back.” “Why do you think they know where he is?” “Who else could know? And if they find out that I shall marry him when he does return, they may think that he might better marry a rich girl than a poor one.” “They have no desire for money,” Mr. Thorne remarked. “I live next door to the Webbs, I’ve known them for years, and they’re among the few people I know who really and honestly scorn money. They think great wealth is vulgar, and though they require and have enough to live very comfortably, they’ve absolutely no desire for more.” “I know that,” Elsie sighed. “And I’m not so awfully keen for money myself,—not at all, compared to love and happiness! But I’ve people dependent on me. That is, my mother and my sister and her children have no home except what I give them from my inheritance. And if I give that up, what can we all do?” “That’s a grave question, my dear, and if you’ll listen to my advice, I suggest that you marry before your birthday. You’ll be glad in after years that you did so, even though you dread the idea just now.” “Everybody says the same thing,” Elsie rose to go; “but I’m not obliged to take the advice. I think I can trust Mr. Allison to provide for my mother, and Gerty can marry again. There’s no reason she shouldn’t marry for money, if it’s the thing for me to do!” “That’s quite different, my dear. Mrs. Seaman is a widow, and her husband’s memory is too dear to her—” “Oh, hush! I get so tired of that argument! Let me tell you, Kimball Webb’s memory is as dear to me as if he had been my husband for a thousand years! And I shall never marry any one else,—never!” Fenn Whiting continued to interest himself in the search for the missing Webb. He followed up the proceedings of the detective, Hanley, and brought reports, unsatisfactory as they were, to the Powell family. “I feel embarrassed about it all,” Whiting said to Gerty, in Elsie’s absence, “for, truly, I love Elsie enough to want her to get Webb back and marry him. But if he never turns up,—and I don’t believe he ever will,—I don’t mind telling you that I haven’t given up hope of yet winning Elsie for myself. But not before her birthday. I’m not a fortune-hunter, and rather than be thought so, I’d really rather take her without the money, than with it.” “But it would mean so much to her,” demurred Gerty. “Yes, and to all of you. I’ve a good income, and it would be entirely at Elsie’s disposal, and I know her well enough to know how she would feel toward her family. But, my income isn’t a princely one, and so, the matter of the inheritance would be up to Elsie herself. I’d be thankful if she’d marry me, say in a year, or after she gives up her last hope of ever seeing Kimball again. Do you think she’d do that, Gerty? do you?” Whiting was very much in earnest, and indeed, it was easy to believe in his great love for Elsie. He said little to her about it, but when in her presence he watched her with an expression of devotion that seemed all the greater for being untold. He was at the house one afternoon, when Elsie came in, bringing Joe Allison with her. Gerty opened the subject of the inheritance, making no secret of her opinion that Elsie ought to marry before her birthday. “It’s hard on you, Joe,” she said, for they had all learned to like young Allison. “But the fortune is rightfully Elsie’s,—Aunt Powell merely put in that alternative clause to make sure Elsie married. And but for Kimball’s strange absence all would have gone well, you wouldn’t even have thought about being a millionaire.” “That’s so,” and Joe smiled, grimly. “But, I say, the thought that I may be one, has taken hold of me. I’m only human, after all, and I’d like a fortune as well as the next one! Oh, I suppose it would be more noble to say I don’t want it,—and all that,—but I do. That is, if it comes to me squarely. I want Elsie to get her man back, and be happy. Or, I want her to marry some other man—if she wants to. But, if Elsie, of her own free will, gives up that bunch of ducats, I’m mighty glad that it will then come my way! There, honesty is the worst policy, I daresay, but it’s mine.” “Good for you, Joe,” Elsie smiled at him. “I like your frank statement, and it is, as you say, only human nature to feel that way.” “But, Joe,” Gerty began, “how about some kind of a compromise? Why can’t you and Elsie make a compact, that if Elsie gets the money she’ll give you a good slice, and if you get it, you’ll give her—” “Nothing doing!” Allison cried; “that isn’t cricket, and, besides, I know Elsie well enough to know that she doesn’t want charity.” “Not for herself, maybe—” but Elsie interrupted her sister: “No, nor for any one else. You’ve proposed all sorts of plans, Gert, but this last is about the worst of all! I may ask you, Joe, to look after mother a bit, but not unless you’re glad to do it!” “Oh, pshaw, Elsie, you know I’ll do the right thing by her. But, here’s the truth: I don’t suppose it’s the time to say it,—but I do want you all to know it,—and Mr. Whiting, too.” Joe looked at Whiting with a glance of hesitation and then proceeded. “It’s this way: if Elsie doesn’t marry by her birthday,—the thirtieth of next month, the money comes to me. Well, suppose Elsie marries me, the day after her birthday!” Elsie gasped; Fenn Whiting laughed outright, and Gerty exclaimed quickly, “Why not the day before?” “No, sir!” retorted Joe. “I love Elsie. I want her for my wife, and I’ll be glad to share the fortune with her, if she marries me. But my independence, my manhood, my whole better judgment calls out for the ownership of the fortune myself. I’ll gladly settle a big sum on her, she shall have all the allowance she wants, she shall do as she pleases, unquestioned and unconditionally, but I think I don’t care to be dependent on a rich wife! Any man worth his salt, would feel that way about it.” “Joe, you are too funny for anything!” and Elsie laughed in spite of her shocked amazement. “I am, am I? Well, I don’t care what you think I am, Elsie, if you’ll marry me. This is a queer way to propose, I know, but it’s a queer situation.” “It’s all that!” agreed Whiting. “And, as I’ve proposed to Elsie many times in the past, and in more appropriate circumstances, I’ll also take this occasion to renew my plea that she’ll marry me,—the day after her birthday.” “Why, then she’d lose the money!” cried Gerty. “Yes, but I can’t ask her to marry me in time to save the money! That would stamp me a fortune-seeker. I love Elsie for herself alone, and she knows it. This proposal, here and now, is so that you others will understand the situation.” “Well, I’m the most proposed to girl in the city, I do believe,” and Elsie smiled at both her suitors as at two blundering children. “But you see, gentlemen, I’ve no intention of marrying anybody. As Joe has tacitly agreed to look after mother, and as I can look after myself, I propose to live in single blessedness till Kimball comes home, if it’s my whole lifetime. I’m sorry, Gerty, that I can’t sacrifice myself for you and the babies—but—oh, Gerty, dearest, don’t!” For Gerty had dropped her face in her hands and was crying silently. “You must forgive me,” she sobbed; “I’m not mercenary, but when I think of those two dear little innocent children, with no home, no means,—oh, Elsie, how can you?” “I can’t!” declared Elsie, her arms round her sister. “But, what can I do? I wish I knew,—Oh, I am the most miserable girl in the world!” She ran from the room, and after a few minutes Joe Allison went away. “I thought he’d prove more generous,” Whiting said to Gerty. “I understand him,” Gerty replied. “He thinks if he offers to settle a large sum on us, Elsie won’t marry him. And if he holds off, she may.” “Yes, I see that, but I say, Gerty, I don’t want him to marry Elsie!” “Well, I do! It would fix everything all right, and everybody’d be happy.” “Except Elsie! She couldn’t stand a life with that kid!” “Oh, he’s as old as she is. He’s not quite our sort, but he’s a nice chap, and Elsie could twist him round her finger.” “But I want Elsie myself. She’d be happy with me—I could make her forget Kim. Allison never could do that.” “Well, marry her before the birthday, and it will be all right.” “If I can get her to consent, I will. But before or after her birthday, I want her just the same. I’ll tell you what, Gerty, you marry young Allison, and let him have the money, and after that,—I mean after the birthday is past, I’ll hope to get Elsie to take me.” “You don’t think Kimball will ever come back, then?” “Not till after Elsie is married. There’s no solution, Gerty, but that the Webbs know where he is. Doubtless, tucked away in some comfortable place, working on his play. They’re so sure Elsie will marry, to get the money, they expect he’ll be ready to return right after her birthday.” “You think he went willingly?” “I think he let Henrietta and his mother persuade him. He’s under Henrietta’s thumb, you know, and always has been.” “That’s not fair, Fenn. Kimball’s a strong character.” “So’s Henrietta. She’s the only one in the world who can rule him.” It was the day after this confab, that a stranger called on Elsie. She willingly saw him, for she had always a lurking hope that news of Kimball might come from some unexpected quarter. So she entered the little reception room, where strangers were entertained, and saw what seemed at first to be a shy, shock-headed youth. But a second glance revealed that the apparent shyness was merely the quiet air of a thoughtful man, and the shock-headedness resolved itself into a peculiar way of wearing his hair. The unusually thick crop of light brown was cut short behind and at the sides, but over the man’s brow the long locks stood out straight and then fell over, not like a thatch, but like a long marquise over a doorway! Elsie was fascinated by the effect. The thick tresses waved and bobbed as the owner of them smiled at her. “May I have a talk with you?” he said, impulsively. “Certainly,” she said, smiling in spite of her amazement. “May I ask your business?” “Yes, indeed; that’s what I came to tell you. I’m a Stirrer Up of Sleeping Dogs.” “I—I beg your pardon?” “Unusual profession, yes. But I’m a whale at it! Now, it’s this way, Miss Powell. I read the papers, and I see a lot of funny things; I don’t mean humorous, but queer,—inexplicable,—questionable. And, often they’re things that ought to be investigated,—and aren’t. Aren’t,—because somebody doesn’t want them to be,—although they should be! Well, I don’t believe in letting sleeping dogs lie. So, I go around and stir them up. See? Simple enough!” “A detective?” “I don’t call myself that,—for I’m not at the beck and call of the populace. I don’t accept invitations to stir up the dogs, but when I feel enough interest, I go and ask permission to do so.” “Oh, I’m glad you came!” cried Elsie, fervently. “I believe you’re the right man at last.” “I’m the right man, all right. And, if I may, I’ll begin to stir at once.” “Oh, do! But, wait a minute,—Mr.—Mr.?” “Coe, Miss Powell. Coleman Coe,—called Coley Coe, of course.” “I was going to say, Mr. Coe, are your services very expensive?” “Depends on time, place, degree and manner of the work, and more than that, on the results. No results, no pay. Results,—pay accordingly.” “Begin to stir, then,” said Elsie, with a straight glance into the honest eyes that had already gained her trust. “You know the case.” “I know all that has been in the papers; all I could glean from gunning around among people; and I’ve a few stirring ideas of my own. Let’s work together, shall us?” And the brown marquise shook eagerly. “To a finish!” exclaimed Elsie. |
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