Against Odds Part 37

I thanked her for the a.s.surance that my plans would be favourably received, and then told her of my wish to use her name in trying to draw out the brunette.

'I see no other way,' I concluded; 'and having once written her over your initials she may respond. Of course the reply must come to you at the office in the Government Building.'

'But you will receive it. I can give you my card, can I not?'

'Then you do not object?'

'How can I? Did I not promise you my help? Oh, I am quite enlisted now; although after such a _faux pas_ as I made last night I cannot boast of my finesse. I quite excited Monsieur Voisin by my exclamatory entrance.'

'And how?' I asked quietly, but inwardly eager.

'You remember how he questioned me about the "missing person?" Well, he called this afternoon. Aunt Ann and I had just returned from the Liberal Arts Building, where we had spent three long hours, and though his call was brief he did not forget to ask again about that "missing person." He was almost inquisitive.'

'And you?' I asked, inwardly anxious.

'He learned nothing more from me, rest a.s.sured. His curiosity seems quite unlike him.'

'Possibly,' I hazarded, 'he has some inkling of my true inwardness, and thinks I have made you my confidant. Do you think it possible?'

'Possible, perhaps, but not the fact,' she replied, with a little laugh. 'My dear aunt has, in some way, given him the impression that you are a friend or protege of hers. I am quite certain that he believes this, for he had the audacity to ask me to-day how long my aunt's acquaintance with you had been; and when I a.s.sured him that you and she were "quite old friends," he asked, with rather a queer intonation, if auntie knew what your occupation was, and when I murmured something about journalism, he smiled rather knowingly.'

'A clear case,' I said, smiling. 'He guesses, at least, at my business, and perhaps fancies me deceiving your dear aunt. We will let him continue in that error, if possible.'

I went home that evening pondering the question, Did Monsieur Voisin know me for what I was, and, if so, how? Of one thing I was certain.

Since our first meeting he had always affected a most friendly interest in me; and that he was secretly studying me, I felt quite a.s.sured.

Another thing furnished me with some food for thought: Not long before we took our leave, and while Miss Jenrys and Lossing were deep in the discussion of the latest Spanish novel, Miss Ross said to me, quite abruptly, and apropos of nothing:

'Did June tell you that Monsieur Voisin was here to-day?'

I nodded, and she went on:

'You know my feeling where he is concerned; at least, I think you do.

He is growing really aggressive, and June is blind to it; she is preoccupied. But I see all where she is concerned, and he will make her trouble. He is infatuated and bitterly jealous, and he is a man who knows no law but his own will. Do I not read him aright?'

The next morning I sent a note, written in the same dainty hand as the first, and signed with the initials J. J., to the little brunette, sending it as before to the cafe where she had lodged, and twenty-four hours later the telegram from Boston came.

In addition to my own letter, I had sent in the same envelope a copy of Miss O'Neil's, or as much of it as would help Mr. Trent to understand all that had been done by the young ladies in his absence.

His telegram read:

'Thanks for all. Carry out plan. Have ordered return of money. Letter follows.

'TRENT.'

Two days later came Mr. Trent's letter, and with it the original composition of Mr. E. Roe, 'On the Square.'

As Miss O'Neil had said, it was written in a small, clear, angular hand, which had the look of a genuine autograph, without attempt at disguise.

In this I quite agreed with her, and I stowed the letter carefully away for future use. Mr. Trent in his letter a.s.sured me that he could not make E. Roe's letter ring true, and that he had finally convinced his daughter and Miss O'Neil that they had made a mistake. 'Go on in your own way,' he concluded; 'and I hope before long to be with you.

My wife has recovered from her delirium--very weak, but quite sane except upon one point--she believes our son to be ill in a hospital in Chicago, and the doctor has bidden us humour her in this hallucination, as it may save her life. He looks now for a gradual recovery, and when she is a little stronger I shall come to you; already she has planned for the journey, and a.s.sured me that our boy needs me most. It is sad, inexpressibly so, but it is better, at least for her. When I can join you in your work, and your waiting, I shall, I am sure, feel more hopeful, and I trust less impatient of delay.'

CHAPTER XXVI.

A COLUMBIAN GUARD.

It was still our theory--Dave's and mine--that, granted our original quarry was still in the White City, we must sooner or later encounter it, if we continued to traverse the thickly populated enclosure long enough, and with an eye single to our search.

We believed as firmly, yes, more firmly than at first, that Delbras and his band were still, much of the time, in Midway; and after long watching we had grown to believe that they had somewhere upon Stony Island Avenue a retreat where all could find shelter and safety in time of need.

'But one thing's certain,' quoth Dave, when we were discussing the matter, 'wherever the place is, they can approach it from more directions and more entrances than one. They, some of them, have been seen to enter saloons, to go upstairs, around corners, and into bas.e.m.e.nts, and are never seen to come out I can only account for it in one way.'

'And what is that?' I questioned.

'They enter always at the side or rear, and never at the front, and they only do this when they know, by signal, that the way is clear.'

'If that is true,' I said, 'we shall find them sooner or later.'

One of the characters a.s.sumed by me when going about the grounds in my capacity of a detective was that of a Columbian Guard. I had a natty blue uniform, in which, when donned with the addition of a brown curly wig, and a luxuriant moustache just light enough to be called blond, I became a really distinguished guard. And more than once, when thus attired, I have watched the conscious faces and overburdened shoulders and heads of the mult.i.tudes of uniformed martyrs who, on these oft-recurring dedication days, State and national, not to mention receptions to the great--native and foreign--tramped in sun, mud, or rain, arrayed in all the rainbow hues, beplumed, gilded, and uncomfortable, and have thanked the good sense and good taste that evolved for the manly good-looking 'C. G.' a uniform at once tasteful, soldierly, and subdued, in which one might walk abroad and not feel shamefacedly aware that he was too brilliantly picturesque for comfort.

In this array I had more than once pa.s.sed my acquaintances of the bureau and the hospital, Miss Jenrys and her aunt, and even Lossing, until one day it occurred to me that I might keep him near me, enjoy his society, and still be on duty, by making myself known; and so, until he chose to go on duty for a part of the day, we went up and down Midway, and in and out of the foreign villages together, as Dave described us, 'keeping step, with our chin-straps up.'

We had made our first appearance in the Plaisance as a brace of guards off duty, on the day upon which I posted the decoy letter to the little brunette.

I had made this letter as brief as possible, merely asking her to name a day or evening when she would be at liberty to do the Liberal Arts, etc., in company with the writer, and upon second thought, I saw that it would be a great mistake for me to call for the reply, in case the brunette caught at the bait. She had shown herself a wary opponent, and she might think it worth while to know who received her answer.

It was late in the day when we left Midway, and with this new thought in my mind I dropped Lossing's arm as we approached the Java village, and skirting the west side of the inclosure, left the grounds by the Midway exit at Madison Avenue, and hastened on to Washington Avenue.

As I turned a corner I saw a smart carriage at Miss Jenrys' door, but before I had reached the house I saw the driver turn his head and gather up his reins, and the next moment Monsieur Voisin, attired as if for a visit of ceremony, came down the steps slowly, almost reluctantly, it seemed to me, entered the carriage, and dashed past me without a glance to right or left.

A card brought Miss Jenrys to the little reception-room where I waited, and when she had inspected my disguise, which she declared quite perfect, I made known my errand, and, as I fully expected, she declared my second thought best.

'I will go to-morrow; there will hardly be an answer before that time; and--suppose we should meet?'

Before I could reply, the door opened and Miss Ross came in.

'A disguised detective is a thing to see!' she declared; and then, when she had looked me over and marvelled at the fit of my wig, she turned to her niece:

'June, child, did thee speak of our dilemma?'

'Auntie, you must give me time!' her face flushing rosily.