  Though slow to anger, Elsie was a little firebrand when roused. And the more she thought over the matter the more furious she grew at the game that had been played on her. The fact that she brought it all upon herself only made her more angry. And, yet, she didn’t blame herself utterly, for she had felt so sure that only by following instructions implicitly, could she accomplish her end. She didn’t for a moment believe that some one had tricked her who knew nothing of Kimball Webb, for she had his own letter to disprove that. She concluded they had tricked him, too, and had forced him to write the note and then had cheated him as they had her. Still, he might come home yet; the day might bring him or news of him. But when the slow hours passed and morning melted into afternoon, poor Elsie gave up hope. By the time Coe came in the evening, Elsie had decided to tell him the whole story, assuming that since the money was paid, it was now no breach of trust. Coley Coe stared at her as she unfolded the surprising tale. “You chump! You Easy Mark!” he cried, angrily, quite forgetting in his astonishment to whom he was speaking. “I beg your pardon,” he said, as he noted her rising colour. “I oughtn’t to say such things,—but, oh, Miss Powell, how could you go off on such a wild-goose chase,—and a dangerous one, too?” His thatch of hair bobbed wildly about in his excitement, and he clutched at it as if almost frenzied. Then he calmed down, and looked at the thing squarely. His blue eyes seemed to grow darker as their concentrated gaze fell on Elsie’s troubled face. “It’s outrageous!” he cried, “it’s a shame, but, Miss Powell, the villains may have overreached themselves. They may have started something that will lead to their own undoing. We’ve learned a heap from this experience of yours. Now, tell me all over again,—every smallest detail.” So again Elsie went over the whole story, and told of every step of the way. “Clever! clever!” was Coe’s grudging tribute to the ability of the abductors. “You see the first taxicab was a real one. They engaged the driver to do just what he did do. The second was a fake one,—their own car and one of their own men. Then when the time came, the car was abandoned,—and so were you. They knew you’d get a lift back to the city,—and they didn’t care whether you did or not! In one way, I can’t blame you, Miss Powell, for I see you didn’t dare tell me. Yet, you might have known they’d not release their prisoner.” “I don’t agree,” cried Elsie. “How could I know that? And if they had given him to me the money was well spent.” “That’s so; it wouldn’t have been surprising if they had let him go; they’d doubtless be glad to get rid of him. But I think your quick willingness to give the money make them greedy for more, and I think they’ll try the same game right over again.” “Oh,” Elsie cried, “I couldn’t do it again!” “No, indeed! And you’re not going to throw away another fifty thousand dollars, if I can prevent it! Now, let’s consider. What have we learned? What sleeping dogs have we stirred up? Much depends on the positive fact that this note is really from Mr. Webb himself. You’re sure?” “Absolutely,” declared Elsie. “I know Kimball’s writing, and I know that’s it. Nobody could forge so skilfully,—you can see that yourself. It’s dashed off.” “Yes, that’s so. A forgery would show a little hesitation or painstaking effort. But I’m going to show it to an expert. He can tell if he has some of Webb’s other letters.” “Anybody could tell,” insisted Elsie. “Wait, I’ll get some letters.” She ran away to her own room and returned with a packet of them. Comparison soon made it evident that the note in question was beyond all doubt the work of Webb himself. A thousand little points proved it. Coe was satisfied, and went on with his conclusions from it. “You see, it proves a whole lot of things,” he cried, jubilantly. “Perhaps your money, enormous sum though it was, bought worthwhile evidence.” “Such as what?” “Well, to begin with, we know now that Webb was really abducted, and is now held against his will. This does away with all thought of his having decamped on purpose,—also, to my mind, precludes the theory of his mother or sister being implicated. Miss Webb is a Tartar,—if you ask me! but she never managed the affair of yesterday!” “No, she never did! Henrietta is not acquainted with those—” “Loan Sharks! Right! Kimball Webb was carried off by desperate and clever men,—and, here’s a strong point,—he was unconscious when removed from his room.” “How do you know?” “Because in this first letter, it says the means used will never be known by any one,—not even himself. So, as I imagined, he was taken from his room,—from his home, while unconscious,—in a drugged sleep probably, and therefore, we must assume a secret entrance!” “But there isn’t any!” “There is! There’s got to be! They couldn’t take him through the door and fasten it behind them! They couldn’t get him out of that six inch opening at the top of a window! There has to be a secret way out! And, by George, I’m going to find it, if I have to tear the house down!” “I’d rather you’d find Kim,” said Elsie, sadly. “You poor child! Of course you would. Forgive me, I’m afraid I seem to think less of the quarry than the chase! But I don’t really. We’re going to get Kimball Webb back,—and we’re going to do it by means of the information you unconsciously achieved through this adventure of yours!” “And you don’t think they mean to give him back after I did my part?” “I do not! They look on you as an inexhaustible gold mine. They’ll wait a while and then make a stab for another big sum. Less maybe than the first, but exorbitant. Apparently they’re not afraid of anything or anybody. Clever chaps, but sure to come a cropper yet!” “How do you know?” “Oh, they’re too cocksure; they’re bound to overlook or forget some little thing, and now I know there is a scent to be followed, I’m all for following it. Now I know there’s a sleeping dog, I shan’t let him lie! Take that letter! The two letters from them! Look at ’em! No attempt at disguised writing. Plain, bold penmanship,—not printed nor words cut out from a newspaper, nor any of those hackneyed stunts.” “Well?” “Well, that proves they were written by some one who never could by the remotest chance be suspected. Somebody so outside suspicion that they’re willing to send his regular handwriting.” “Proving?” “Proving a clever, bold master spirit, who stops at nothing and who knows just what he dare do and what not! I believe he fully intended to set Mr. Webb free on the receipt of the money,—then, when you proved such a ninny,—pardon me, it slipped out,—but you were! then, he concluded you were good for one more touch, at least.” “Well, if what I learned,—or made it possible for you to learn—restores Kimball Webb to me,—I’ll never begrudge the money.” “That is, if we get him home in time for the wedding.” “Oh, I don’t care for the fortune—” “Then, just how are you going to pay your indebtedness to the Hebrew gentleman?” Elsie’s face fell. “I hadn’t thought of that!” “It’s a big thing to think of, Miss Powell! You can’t get out of that obligation, you know. And while the receipt of your aunt’s money would make it easy for you to pay it, yet if you are not married by your birthday—” “And do you think if I had acted differently in any way, I could have held those men to their agreement?” “I can’t say positively,—but I do think so.” “What ought I to have done?” “Demanded the person of Webb before you gave up the money,—or at least, asked for some assurance of his return, and asked when and where you might expect to see him.” “I was too frightened.” “I know you were, and they knew it, too.” “And anyway, even if they had made me promises then, they wouldn’t have kept them.” “Likely not. Now, Miss Powell, here’s a hard fact,—if Mr. Webb is not here by your birthday, you’ll have to marry somebody,—in order to get that money so you can pay off that loan.” “What?” Elsie’s face went white, and her eyes were filled with horror at the sudden realization of the truth of Coe’s statement. “I won’t,—I’ll kill myself first!” “Oh, come now, don’t talk about killing. And that would be a cowardly thing, for your people would be hounded,—whether legally or not.” “Mother and Gerty! Oh, no!” “I don’t say they could be made to pay it, but there’d be some mighty unpleasant experiences coming to them! No, Miss Powell, don’t kill yourself,—surely a marriage with some man other than Mr. Webb would be a better fate than suicide!” “No, not to my way of thinking. But I must think of my mother and sister! Oh, Mr. Coe, do help me! I think I shall go distracted!” “Small wonder! You poor child! I wish, now, we had more time. The birthday is drawing perilously near. Something must be done. Of course, you can’t describe either man well enough for positive identification?” “No; the taxi driver, the second one was a decent looking man, of medium build, with a grave, rather stern face. He was dark, I think,—with brownish hair. I saw his back mostly, and didn’t notice his face at all. I thought of him merely as a means to an end, and when the red car came along, I thought only of giving up the money. And the man in the red car wore a mask,—just a small one, but it covered his eyes and nose and came down partly over his mouth. But I noticed several gold filled teeth in the lower jaw. Unusually bright they were.” “That would be a help, if we could get any other hint which way to look. But, as I said, the master mind behind all this scheme is so diabolically clever, that he has discounted all chances of discovery and, I’ve no doubt, feels secure from police and detectives. “Now, I’m for spending another night in that room of Kimball Webb’s, and I’ll bet there’ll be no Poltergeist this time!” “Why?” “Why, don’t you see it! The arch villain,—I feel sure there’s one principal and two or more subordinates,—the chief devil, we’ll say, has a means of access to that room. It was he who was responsible for all the Poltergeist performances, he who pulled bedclothes off Webb, and later, off yours truly,—he who made a ghost appear,—” “How?” “Oh, lots of ways for that. I’ll tell you some other time. I must skittle, now. Go to sleep and dream of Webb’s return. But,—and this is very serious, Miss Powell,—if I don’t succeed in getting him back,—if the villains are scared off or any such matter, you must make up your mind to marry somebody else. For I should hate to see you in the clutches of that wretch of a Loan Broker! You’ve no idea what it would mean!” Coe went away, and Elsie went straight to her room. She denied admittance, when Gerty begged for it, and said she wanted to rest. But rest, she did not; in fact she was such a victim of unrest, worry and anguish, that morning found her in a high fever and grave danger of nervous collapse. The doctor came, a nurse was summoned and for a few days brain fever was feared. But Elsie’s strong constitution and brave will power conquered, and she pulled through without the dreaded attack. The doctor ordered, however, a change of scene, were it ever so small a journey, and after some discussion Elsie agreed to go to Atlantic City for a few days. Coley Coe was the one who finally persuaded her to adopt the plan. He promised to keep in constant touch with her and tell her any bit of information he could gain. He said he would come down to see her as often as necessary for their mutual conference, and he felt sure that she would be better off in every way from her family for a time. He had slept in Kimball Webb’s room several nights, since, and as he anticipated, nothing at all had happened. “You see,” he said, “the rascal thought he could make it appear supernatural, now he knows I’m on his trail, he has given up that idea.” “How does he know it?” asked Elsie. “Is he omniscient?” “Nearly so! You may depend he knows every step that is taken toward his discovery! Why, Miss Powell, he’s a man in the know, every way. He may not be one of Mr. Webb’s own particular circle, socially, but he’s enough in his set or in his life somehow, to be in touch with everybody even remotely connected with the case.” “Have the police done nothing at all?” “Yes, they’re working at it. But their methods are different from mine, and while they’re all right, I doubt if they get anywhere. Sometimes I doubt if I will, either. Howsumever, you toddle along to Atlantic City with Nursey, and I’ll try to corral a nice young man for you to marry before the fatal thirtieth gets much nearer. You wasted some good time with that illness of yours,—though I don’t wonder at it, I’m sure.” “Why, what could I have done,—if I hadn’t been ill?” “Nothing definite, but I feel sure the abductors would have written you another of those good-looking notes, and if you had gone on another taxi ride, I should have been off in the offing somehow.” The nurse, a Miss Loring, was a pleasant, sympathetic girl, and as she of course knew all about Elsie’s tragedy from the papers, she was deeply interested in her young charge. She was experienced and capable and Elsie found herself really glad to go away with the kind and gentle nurse. They were pleasantly located in The Turrets, a new hotel, and after twenty-four hours of rest and sea air Elsie felt wonderfully better. “I’m not really ill, you know,” she said, and the nurse agreed. “No, Miss Powell, but it was a real nervous breakdown, and another will follow, unless you try to keep it off.” “I’ll try,” and Elsie voluntarily became a biddable and obedient patient. It was on a Thursday,—just one week before the thirtieth of June that the two went for a ride in the rolling chairs. Sometimes they rode together, but this day they chanced to take separate chairs. The man who pushed Elsie’s was a big, husky chap, with an engaging smile. Miss Loring’s man was a slender youth, but of a wiry strength. For a time they rode close together, chatting casually, and then as Elsie grew silent, the nurse ceased to bother her with talk. Thus, it chanced, now and then, one chair or the other forged ahead, by reason of the traffic or danger of a collision. And one time, when Elsie’s chair was pushed ahead of Miss Loring’s it did not fall back beside the nurse’s chair as promptly as usual. Elsie looked around for the nurse, but failed to see her. “Where’s my companion?” she said over her shoulder; “don’t let us get separated.” “No, ma’am,” smiled the big man who pushed her, and she settled back into her seat, thinking deeply. A moment later, she looked around again, and still not seeing the nurse told the man to wait for her to come up to them. “Why, the other lady is ahead, ma’am, I’ll catch up to her,” and he moved her chair more quickly. Elsie looked about with a sudden thrill of alarm, and saw no sign of the nurse anywhere. “Here we are, ma’am, she just went in here,” the man stopped the chair in front of a tall hotel. “Went in here? What do you mean?” “Yes’m, the lady who belongs with you,—the nurse, ma’am, she went in here in great haste and motioned for you to follow her. Better go in, ma’am.” Bewildered, Elsie allowed herself to be assisted from the chair and ushered inside, not thinking at the moment that it was strange for the chair-pusher to be so officious. “What in the world did Miss Loring come in here for?” she asked, as they stood a moment in the hall. “I don’t know, ma’am, but I just saw her go up in this elevator. She beckoned for you to follow.” Elsie hesitated a moment, but it was a first class hotel, not a large building but a tall one, and handsomely appointed. She got into the elevator, the man following, indeed, urging her in by a guiding hand on her elbow. “Tenth,” he said to the elevator girl, and the car shot upward. It was not until they were walking along the corridor on the tenth floor that Elsie felt a thrill of fear. What did it mean? Surely Miss Loring never came up here,—expecting Elsie to follow! “Here you are,” and as they reached a closed door, the man swung it open and led Elsie firmly inside. “Sorry, Miss, but I’m only obeying orders. Good-bye.” He jerked off his cap, closed the door behind him and went away, leaving Elsie alone, in a strange room in a strange house. She flew to the door, but she could not open it. She was trapped,—and she had walked into a trap, unresistingly, in broad daylight! What would Coley Coe say to her now? She went to the window and looked out. The familiar sight of the ocean and the boardwalk cheered her. She didn’t know what she was to experience next, but she felt a sense of relief at sight of the throngs of people. She was alone in the room for what seemed hours but was not more than twenty minutes when the door was flung open and in rushed,—not the man with the gold teeth, whom she had rather expected to see,—but Fenn Whiting. “Oh, Elsie,” he cried, wildly, “am I in time?” “Time for what?” she asked bewilderedly. “Why, I met Miss Loring and she said she had lost you, and I chased madly about asking everybody questions, and I finally traced you here! Who brought you? What does it mean?” “I know no more than you do, Fenn,” and so relieved at sight of a kind and familiar face was she, that Elsie burst into tears on his shoulder. “There, there, darling,” he soothed her, “never mind,—it’s all right. Stay there, dearest, that’s your rightful place. I hope it will always be your haven in troublous times. Be quiet, my love, don’t try to talk yet,—and when you can, then tell me what happened.” “Yes, I can talk! I’m all right,” and Elsie stopped crying; “I’m only mad! Why, Fenn, somebody trapped me into this room!” “Trapped you! What do you mean?” “Just that!” and Elsie told how the chair-pusher had led her to the house, and urged her up in the elevator and into the room, and then had locked her in. “Why, the door isn’t locked,” Whiting exclaimed, “I walked right in!” “How did you know I was in here?” “Asked the elevator girl,—she told me.” “Well, the door was locked on this side,—must be a spring catch.” “It must be, then,”—and Whiting went to examine it. “Yes, it is. Thank Heaven I could open it from outside. Well, dearest, we’ll go home, shall we?” “Yes, I suppose so. But I want to know what it all means.” “Didn’t you know your chair man?” “No; we pick up different ones every time,—wherever we happen to be. He wasn’t a real one, of course. He must have been placed there, so I’d engage him, by those villains—” “What villains? What are you talking about?” Elsie bit her lip. She had promised Coe to reveal no slightest word regarding her experiences with the kidnappers of Webb, and now she had given a hint! “Nothing,” she said, “nothing, Fenn. Oh, I am ill, please take me home!” “You’re not ill, Elsie, but you’re terribly frightened. Tell me what about and tell me who are the villains who are troubling you. Let me settle with them! I am your rightful protector. You are engaged to me, and in less than a week is our wedding day! Can’t we announce it, at once, and let me be known as your proper protector? You shall not leave this room until you say yes!” |
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