  Fenn Whiting was not unversed in feminine ways. And, especially did he count himself familiar with the ways of Elsie Powell. And though the average woman would make a threat of killing herself as a melodramatic bluff, not so Elsie. Whiting knew, for a certainty, if she had made up her mind to such a desperate step, she would assuredly take it. No interference or hindrance could prevent her. She might be foiled in several attempts but she would succeed finally, if she had set her face that way. And she had. Further conversation only revealed the depth and steadfastness of her purpose. She was willing to die for her mother and sister but not to live for them. “But, Elsie, darling,” Whiting urged, “I can’t marry you that way. You must choose some one else, then. Could you live with Allison?” “No! I couldn’t live with any man except Kimball Webb. And I never will! But my people have hounded me about that money, until I can’t stand it another minute. I must marry before my birthday, in order that they may get it,—but I don’t have to live on after that!” The big brown eyes were wide with despair, and the suffering, hunted look on Elsie’s face went to Whiting’s heart. “Marry me, dearest,” he said, softly; “I’ll engage that you sha’n’t kill yourself afterward. Why, sweetheart, I’ll make life a continuous round of pleasure for you; you shall have your own way in everything—everything! I’ll be your humble slave, and you may command me—” “Hush, Fenn. I’ve told you the course I shall take. Now, I think I may as well marry you as any one else. Then I’ll be legally entitled to the money. I’ve made a will, which I must sign after I’m married,—and then—” “Don’t, Elsie! You’re talking rubbish! Girls don’t kill themselves so easily, with friends around to prevent.” “Never mind about that,” Elsie smiled mysteriously, “the way is already provided. And I shall make no horrible scene, I shall merely go away from this horrid, horrid world!” “But I shall transform the horrid world into a world of light and flowers and love! Give me a chance, Elsie, let me prove my words—” “Don’t discuss it, Fenn,” Elsie was imperious, “you know nothing of my heart,—you couldn’t even appreciate my feelings if you knew them. But I do like you, and you are a friend. Marry me, then, and the rest is in my hands.” “No; Elsie. I refuse to marry you under such conditions. What man would?” “That’s the trouble,—no man would! That’s why I’ve decided on you, as my only hope. Marry me, Fenn, to save the money for my people. I’ll leave you a goodly share, too—” “Elsie!” Whiting’s look made her flush. “Well,” she defended herself, “that’s only fair, if you’re my husband.” “But I won’t be,—I can’t be,—the way you’ve arranged things!” “Yes, you can, and you will! Don’t desert me, Fenn, it’s the only thing you can do for me. I’d marry some one else, and not tell my plans,—but I don’t think it fair to any man.” “I should say not!” “But you,—you have always been a friend of Kim’s and I want you to be friend enough of mine to go through the ceremony with me, and for me. Why, Fenn, there’s no way for me to get that money without marrying,—and no way else, to secure the happiness of my people.” “If only Gerty would marry Joe,—” “That would fix it all right,—but in the first place, Gert wouldn’t marry anybody just yet,—it’s too soon,—and, oh, Fenn, it’s an awful thing to tell, but I sounded Joe,—and he—he doesn’t want to marry Gerty.” “Of course he doesn’t! He’s insanely in love with you!” “I know it,—and he’s too nice a boy for me to marry him and then—and then carry out my plan.” “So’m I, for that matter!” Whiting tried to speak jocularly. “I know you are,—any man would be. But, you’re my only hope. I’ve thought this thing out to the bitter end. Whoever took Kimball away has killed him. That I am sure of.” “Oh, no, Elsie, I don’t believe that.” “I know it. He isn’t in this world. And so, I want to go where he is,—I don’t care where that may be.” Elsie’s gaze was a little wild, her voice a trifle hysterical, but she was in complete control of her speech. “Well, let’s wait a bit, anyway. There’s nearly three weeks yet before the birthday, and in that time you may hear something from Kim.” “No, I won’t. And I’d rather get it over with. Marry me at once,—won’t you, Fenn?” “Well, for a young woman whom I’ve begged and coaxed to marry me, it’s turning the tables to have you urging me to marry you!” “All the same,—will you?” “Not this week. Do wait a few days, and consider matters a little more fully. I promise to tell nobody of this plan of yours, so you can revise it when you wish. But, oh, Elsie,—my little girl,—if you’ll marry me and stay right here on earth with me,—I’ll engage to make earth a heaven for you!” “Nobody could do that but Kimball,” and Elsie’s eyes filled with tears. True to his promise, Whiting told no one of Elsie’s gruesome plan. For, he decided, to tell her mother or sister would only stir up trouble in their household. And he hoped Elsie would change her mind. It was a forlorn hope, for the girl was so positive in her decisions and was rarely if ever known to change one. He thought of telling it all to Coley Coe, but decided against it, for he could see no use in passing the hateful secret on to anybody. Any other woman he would have expected to weaken when the time came for the tragic deed. But he knew Elsie’s determination well enough to believe that she had the means already at hand,—poison, probably,—and that if prevented several times, would finally manage to turn the trick. The more Whiting thought it over, the more he was convinced he would marry her. If he didn’t, she would pick up somebody else and marry him without telling her plan,—for she could never secure a bridegroom who was in her confidence. Then, he argued, he would stand a better chance of persuading her to give up her tragic course, than if he were not her husband. He thought he could watch her so closely that she would have no chance for a time, at least, and then if he couldn’t persuade her to live for him and with him, he could offer her the privilege of divorcing him,—and the money, the great object in Elsie’s dilemma, would be all right. So Whiting determined that if nothing transpired to change the situation he would soon urge Elsie to announce their engagement, and trust to Fate that all might yet turn out well. Elsie, after her talk with Whiting felt better than she had done since her sorrow came to her. She was filled with an exaltation that buoyed her spirit up, and she went around as one in a trance. It may be that her strange experiences had affected her brain a little but except for a slight absent-mindedness she showed no eccentric impulses. And then, in her morning’s mail she received a letter. A letter that she had sub-consciously looked for,—a letter she had vaguely expected,—a letter from the people who had stolen Kimball Webb! Realizing its purport, she went off to her own room to read it by herself. Written in a strong, bold hand, on decent, inconspicuous paper, it read:
The letter was not signed, but the enclosure was. It was from Kimball himself,—there was no mistaking his small, scholarly writing, and even before reading it, Elsie pressed it to her lips in a frenzy of joy. Then she read: Elsie, darling! do as the note says. It is the only way. I love you! Kim. It was no forgery, every word, every letter was the work of the hand of Kimball Webb. Elsie knew his writing too well to be deceived. And there were peculiar little quirks and twirls that made it impossible for the note to be a forgery. It was the real thing! And, noting the date on the letter, Elsie suddenly bethought her that today was the day to hang out her flag of truce! Her white handkerchief,—no, a small towel would be more visible,—must be displayed that very afternoon. Quivering with excitement, she got out the towel, and was of half a mind to hang it out at once, but desisted, as she wished to follow instructions implicitly. How to get all that money troubled her not a whit. She hadn’t a tenth of it at her command, but get it she would, if she had to break a bank! And then she began to think. A wild suggestion of breaking a bank meant nothing,—she couldn’t do it, with all the will in the world. And how could she get it from Mr. Thorne unless she told her story? And if she did that,—the writer of the note would find it out,—already she pictured him in her mind as omniscient,—and the whole deal would be off! But, even with no plan for getting the money, she obeyed the written instructions. She told no one of the letter. That afternoon she hung out a small towel, and it hung undisturbed until sundown. Then next morning she received the second letter. This one was as explicit as the first.
Elsie read and re-read the missive. She was uncertain what to do. Her impulse was to lay the whole matter before Whiting or Coleman Coe, and follow their advice. But suppose they should say,—as so many people do,—make no bargains with the kidnappers. Treat any such communications with silent contempt,—or, arrange for police protection, even if it is forbidden. The more she thought it over, the more she was inclined to manage the whole affair alone. She could do it,—and she was not afraid. It was all to be done in broad daylight, there was no danger if she herself acted in good faith. And if she brought any one else into it, there was grave danger, not only to herself but to Kimball. She looked curiously at the card that had come in the letter. It was an address on Broadway, and was evidently,—even to her inexperienced mind,—the office of a loan broker. From him she could get the necessary money on the assurance of her nearby wedding and consequent inheritance. Arrangements had, of course, been made by the perpetrators of the crime against Kimball Webb. They must be a clever and powerful set,—they were so unafraid of anything or anybody. The thought of her restored lover and their wedding at last, so thrilled Elsie, that she began preparations at once. She could scarcely control her impatience to get to the broker’s office. Once there, she found indeed, that all had been arranged. The affable Hebrew, who presided over the establishment, was confidentially minded, and was quite ready to advance the large sum required in return for Elsie’s signed promise to pay,—with exorbitant interest, the day after her marriage. For Elsie Powell and her affairs were well known to newspaper readers and the affable Jew felt no qualms of doubt as to his future reimbursement and his usury. The parcel, made up neatly and inconspicuously, was handed to Elsie and her signed document carefully put away in a big safe. The transaction meant little to Elsie, herself, so wrapped up was her whole soul in her coming adventure. She would get Kimball back! That was all she knew or cared about! She went to Altman’s, her precious package in her handbag, which she carried with seeming carelessness, but with a watchful eye. She had a strange feeling of security because of the character and appearance of the notes she had received. Had they been illiterate scrawls she would have hesitated to go ahead as she had done, but the educated and socially correct tone of the letters gave her the impression of brains and character, however big a villain the writer might be. With a beating heart, but with a steady step she came out of Altman’s shop and seemed to glance casually about for a cab. Seeing a driver with a yellow plaid cap, she beckoned him and got into his cab. No word was spoken as she settled herself on the seat, and watched the man start the car. He, too, was nonchalant of manner, and drove away toward Madison Avenue. From there they followed a devious course, turning often, returning on their own tracks, wheeling suddenly, performing various eccentric detours, all, doubtless in an endeavour to detect a follower, if any. Elsie sat quietly, unmoved by these strange motions, and full of buoyant hope that all would be well, since she had not betrayed her trust. After a time the taxicab stopped at a curb, another cab drew up at its side, and Elsie stepped from one to the other. The second cab had also a taciturn, grave-faced driver. Though he said no word, gave no look of intelligence, Elsie felt a sense of safety with him, from his very silence. She was free from all fear, and looked forward eagerly to the consummation of her errand. This time it was a long drive. On they went, northward from the city and into a pleasant, wooded locality. Swiftly the car flew and after an hour’s journey they were on a smooth road, with groves of trees on either side. But it was a travelled road, and its well-kept asphalt proclaimed its nearness to civilization. Elsie kept her eyes open and her mind clear. She grew impatient for the end of her trip, but she preserved her poise and her balance. “Here’s the car, miss,” the taxi driver said suddenly, and she saw a red roadster approaching swiftly. Both cars slowed down and then stopped. From the red car a man leaned out. He had a small mask on that concealed most of his features, but Elsie caught a gleam of many gold filled teeth in his lower jaw. Into his outstretched hand, conveniently near, Elsie placed the packet, from her hand-bag. She felt a shock of disappointment that she did not receive Kimball in return, right then and there, but she had no time to speak. In a flash, the driver on the cab she was in, sprang from his seat, jumped into the red car, and like a streak the roadster disappeared. Alone, in a driverless taxicab, Elsie sat, unable for a moment to realize what had happened. Slowly it dawned upon her that she had been tricked,—swindled,—but no, she couldn’t believe that! She felt sure that the men had only carried out their plans for safety. That they feared pursuit and had made off with the money and would restore Kimball in their own good time, she had no doubt. The thing was, now, how was she to get home? She wasn’t greatly alarmed, for the well-kept road gave hope of frequent travellers, and somebody would take her back to New York. And, after a time, somebody did. She let several cars pass before she asked help, and though curious looks were cast at her, no one intruded upon her. But when she saw a car come by, with a good chauffeur, and a benignant looking lady in the tonneau, she asked for a ride to New York. The benignant looking lady was not all that could be hoped for in the way of cordiality, but when Elsie explained that the taxicab had refused to go and the chauffeur had gone for help and that she was in great haste to get to the city the lady agreed to take her. Remarking, however, that for a girl who wanted to get to New York in haste, her cab was turned astonishingly in the opposite direction! But Elsie’s smile and winning manner soon overcame the other’s asperity, and they were affably chatting long before they reached the city. Naturally enough, the kind lady asked the name of her passenger, but Elsie, knowing the necessity for caution, gave an assumed name and address and made up a story of her life that was as plausible as it was false. But she dared take no chances on breaking her pledge of inviolate secrecy, lest she lose her chance of getting Kimball back, and after all she had gone through, that would be unbearable. She asked to be set down at the Grand Central Station, as she was going back to her home,—avowedly in Boston,—that night. Warmly friendly by this time, the benignant lady set her down as requested, after exacting a promise to hear from her by letter. Alone again, Elsie flew for a taxicab and went straight home. She glanced at the mail, arrived since her departure, but was not surprised to find no letter in the writing of her new correspondent. He had said he would not write again, and she did not think he would. She had nothing to do now, but wait. She had conscientiously fulfilled her part of the bargain, and she had utter faith that the abductors of Kimball would do the same. They had their money—what more did they want? She waited all that evening, dully patient, quietly serene of manner, but with a heart that beat wildly when the door bell or telephone sounded. Occasionally, she telephoned to the Webb house, hardly thinking Kimball would go there before coming to her, but unable to resist general inquiry. At bedtime, she had heard nothing from him, and resolved to go to bed and to sleep in happy hopes of a blessed meeting tomorrow. She could not sleep,—slumber does not come for the willing of it and as she tossed in wide awake suspense, her thoughts took a new turn. Suppose,—just suppose she had been tricked! Suppose the notes had not come from the men who stole Kimball,—ah, they must have done so! She had Kim’s note to prove it! Nothing ever could make her believe that note a forgery. She knew his dear writing too well—she knew every stroke of his pen, every peculiarity of his really unusual handwriting, and she felt in every letter of that note that he himself had penned it. There was no chance that he had not. Therefore, the letters from the kidnappers were in good faith. They proved the fact that Kimball had been abducted,—and held for ransom. Well, now they had the ransom, and Kim would be returned. Of course he would! She would not think otherwise, or she would die! She knew he would come tomorrow,—and in that knowledge she at last fell asleep. She awoke with a start. Throwing on her night light, she found it was three o’clock in the morning. She felt a strange numbness of mind, a peculiar feeling as if the end of the world had come. Striving to determine what it all meant, she realized that she had lost hope,—that she was now persuaded that she had been tricked. The notes were from the kidnappers but they had no intention of returning her lover! Something, she could not tell what, brought the conviction to her soul that she had done very wrong in following their bidding blindly in giving them the money on such uncertainty. She remembered clearly the smile of the man in the red car,—the smile that had disclosed those gold-filled teeth, and she knew she had been duped, deceived and swindled! |
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