Charred Wood Part 8

"Then who _is_ she?"

Saunders drew a deep breath, and stared hard at Mark for what seemed a long time to both. The detective broke the tension.

"Griffin," he almost shouted, "either I am a fool, and ought to be given a job as town crier, or you are the cleverest I've ever gone up against, or--"

"Or," Mark's voice was still quiet, "I may be entirely lacking in the knowledge which you possess. Get it off your mind, man--better do it soon, for you will _have to_ later on, you know. I have _quite_ made up my mind on that."

"Yes," Saunders seemed half satisfied, "yes, you may not know--it really looks as if you didn't. Are you the simon-pure Mark Griffin, brother of Baron Griffin of the Irish peerage?"

"Yes. Where did you get that last bit of information?"

Saunders ignored the query.

"Did you really drop in here as a traveler, aiming at nothing in particular?"

"Yes."

"Did you never know Ruth--"

"Miss--"

"Miss Ruth Atheson before?"

"No."

"Ever hear of her?"

"No."

"Are you really--interested in her?"

"Yes."

"Do you intend to stay interested?"

"Yes."

"I _was_ mistaken. You don't know, and I guess it's my duty to tell you the truth. This girl is a _runaway_."

"What?" Mark was rising.

Saunders put out his hand. "Easy now, Griffin, easy now. Just wait.

I am going to tell you something. I see that you really know nothing, and it's up to me to enlighten you. As I said, Ruth Atheson is _not_ Ruth Atheson. She's the daughter of a grand duke. I can't tell you the name of the Grand Duchy, but I'll say this: it isn't very far from a certain Big Kingdom we hear a great deal about now--in fact the Duchy is a dependency of the Big Kingdom--more than that, the so-called Ruth Atheson is heiress presumptive to the throne. She'll some day be the Grand d.u.c.h.ess."

Mark sat stunned. It was with difficulty that he could speak. He saw a tragedy that Saunders could not see. Then he broke out:

"But you? How do you know?"

"It's my business to know--the business you don't like. I was instructed to watch her. She got out of Europe before certain people could reach her--"

"But," objected Mark, "how do I know you are telling the truth?"

Saunders dug into his pocket and pulled out a postal card. "This will tell you--or the photograph on it will."

The picture was a foreign one, bearing the strange characters of a Slavic language, such a card as is sold in every country with portraits of reigning or distinguished personages. The facsimile signature, in a bold feminine hand across the lower part of the picture, was "Carlotta."

"Do you believe me now, Griffin?" asked Saunders, with some sympathy showing on his face, which fact alone saved Mark from smashing it.

"I am afraid I must, Saunders. You had better tell me the whole of this."

"I will; for, as I have sized up the situation, it is best that I should. The d.u.c.h.ess ran away. She was supposed to be at San Sebastian with a trusted attendant. The attendant was evidently _not_ to be trusted, for _she_ disappeared, too. They were traced to London, then to Madeira, then to a North German Lloyd liner which stopped at the island on its way to America. Then to Boston. Then to Siha.s.set."

"This attendant you spoke of--what was she like?"

Saunders gave the description: "Dark, fairly stout, white hair, bad English, piercing black eyes, sixty years old, upper lip showing a growth of hair, slight wart on the right side of the nose."

"Madam Neuville!"

"So she's here with her, is she? I suspected that, but I have never seen the old lady."

"She doesn't go out much."

"Are you satisfied now, Mr. Griffin?"

"As to ident.i.ty, yes. Now, I will ask the questions. I have a right, haven't I, Saunders?"

Saunders nodded.

"Why did the d.u.c.h.ess run away?"

Saunders hesitated before he answered. "I hate to tell you that.

Don't ask."

"But I _do_ ask."

"Well, you may have a right to know. There was a man, that's why."

Mark wondered at his own self-control.

"Who was he?"

"An army officer, attached to the Italian emba.s.sy at her father's court. But, look here, Griffin, there was no scandal about it. She just fell in love with him, that's all. I was here watching for _him_.

I thought, for a while, that _you_ might be the man, though the descriptions did not tally. I was taking no chances. If I saw him, my business was to telegraph to a certain Ministry at Washington; that was all."

"And they would--"

"I don't know. Those fellows have ways I can't fathom. I don't know what they would do. They probably have their plans laid. It's evident that they don't want her to meet him. I can't arrest her, and neither can they; but they certainly could do for him if they wanted to. It would be easier to bring her back, then, without scandal or publicity.

Now you've got all I know. What are you going to do?"