Miss Maitland Private Secretary Part 20

I told him the whole story and he never said a word. When I came to Miss Maitland's part in it, I couldn't but look at him. He drew his eyebrows down in a frown and fiddled with his fingers on the wheel. Even when I told him what they thought about her and Chapman Price he didn't made a sound, but he straightened up, and drew a deep breath like he wanted more air in his lungs. I got it some way then-I can't exactly say how-that he was a good deal more of a person than I'd guessed-a lot more iron in his make-up than I'd thought when I liked his laugh and his boyish, jolly ways.

When I finished he said, easy and cool:

"Thank you-that gives me just what I wanted. You won't regret having told me. As for Whitney & Whitney, they won't say anything. They're my lawyers-known 'em all my life. I'll take care of that."

He took hold of the wheel and the car backed out into the road.

"Can we ever catch them up?" I asked.

"I guess so-this car can make seventy-five miles an hour. Are you game for a race?"

"I'm game for anything that'll land me where I belong."

"All right-hold on to your hat."

I guess the Lord protects those who are bent on His own business. Anyway I don't know why else we weren't killed. We ate up that road like a dago eating macaroni; it ran under the car like a white ribbon fastened to a spindle somewhere behind us. The woods were two green streaks on either side, and now and then a chuck hole would send me bouncing, landing anywhere-on the floor once.

"Hold on to something," he shouted at me. "I don't want to lose you."

And I shouted back:

"You couldn't. I'm wished on to this motor till death do us part or it lands me somewhere alive."

Through the villages we had to slow up. Gliding dignified along the tree-shaded streets put me into a fever and I guess it wore on him for more than once I heard him muttering to himself, and believe me, he wasn't saying his prayers. I glimpsed sideways at him, and saw his tanned face, with the hair loose and tousled by the wind, looking changed, hardened and older, all the gay expression gone. The news he'd forced out of me had hit him a body blow, struck him in the heart. And I was sorry, awfully sorry. You can hurt a mean person or a criminal and not care, but it's no lady's job to have to wound a decent man. That's why I'd never make a good professional-the people get as big as the case to me, and if you're the real thing it's only the case that counts.

We were almost in Long Island City when we caught up with the Janneys, Mrs. Janney's veil still waving like a hand beckoning us to hurry.

CHAPTER XVII-MISS MAITLAND IN A NEW LIGHT

At the entrance of the great building which housed the Whitney office the two motors came to a halt. Ferguson went in with the others saying he would see if he could be of any use, and if he was not wanted would return to the street level and wait. In the elevator Mr. Janney, who had been informed en route of Molly's real status, eyed her morosely, but when the car stopped forgot everything but the urgencies of the moment, and crowded out, tremulous and stumbling, on his wife's heels.

They were met by Wilbur Whitney who in a large efficient way, distributed them:-Ferguson was sent back to the street to wait, Molly waved to a chair in the hall, and the old people conducted up the pa.s.sage to his private office. In a room opening from it Suzanne lay stretched on a sofa, restoratives and stimulants at hand, and a girl stenographer to fan her. She had revolted against the presence of Esther, who had been removed from her sight and shut in the sanctum of a junior partner.

Mrs. Janney went in to see her and the old man fell upon Whitney. It was Price's doing-they were certain of it, his wife had said so at once. He was bound to get back at them some way, he'd said he would-he'd left Gra.s.slands swearing vengeance, and had been only waiting his opportunity. The lawyer nodded in understanding agreement and, Mrs.

Janney returning, they drew up to the table and conferred in low voices.

What Whitney said confirmed the Janneys' belief. He told of his interview with Price; the man's anger and threats. Nevertheless he was of the opinion that the plot to kidnap the child had not been undertaken in sudden pa.s.sion, but had probably been for some time germinating in Chapman's mind. The news of Bebita's loss, telephoned to the office by Miss Maitland, while it had shocked, had not altogether surprised him, though he had hardly thought the young man's desire to get square would have carried him to such lengths. Immediately after Esther's communication, George had telephoned to Price's office receiving the answer that he was not there but could probably be found at the Hartleys' at Cedar Brook. From the Hartleys they had learned that Mr.

Price was in town, and had sent word that morning he would not come out this week-end.

There were other circ.u.mstances which the lawyer said pointed to Price.

These they could hear from Mrs. Babbitts who had made some important discoveries. He rose to send for her, but Mrs. Janney stayed him with a gesture-before they went into that she would like to see Miss Maitland and hear from her exactly what had occurred. Mr. Whitney, suavely agreeable, sent a summons for Esther, then softly closed the door into the room where Suzanne lay.

"Mrs. Price is very bitter against her," he said in explanation.

Mrs. Janney, too wrought up for polite hypocrisies, said brusquely:

"Oh, that's exactly like Suzanne. She has no balance at all. Of course we can't blame Miss Maitland-it's not her fault."

Mr. Whitney dropped back into his revolving desk chair and swung it toward her with a lurch of his body:

"She tells a very clear story-extremely clear. I'll let you get your own impression of it and then we'll have a talk with Mrs. Babbitts and you can see-"

A knock on the door interrupted him; in answer to his "Come in," Esther entered. She halted a moment on the threshold, her eyes touching the faces of her employers questioningly, as if she was not sure of her reception. But Mrs. Janney's quick, "Oh, Miss Maitland, I want to see you," brought her across the sill. Though she looked hara.s.sed and distressed, her manner showed a restrained composure. She took a chair facing them, meeting their glances with a steady directness. Mrs.

Janney's demand for information was promptly answered; indeed her narrative was so devoid of unnecessary detail, so confined to essentials, that it suggested something gone over and put in readiness for the telling.

She had taken Bebita to the dressmaker and the oculist, the child accompanying her into both places. At the third stop, Justin's, she had persuaded Bebita to stay in the taxi. She had left it at the curb and had not been more than ten minutes in the store. When she came out it was gone. She had spent some time looking for it, searched up and down the street, and, though she was frightened, she could not believe anything had happened. Her idea had been that Bebita, tired of waiting or wanting to play a joke on her, had prevailed on the driver to return to the Fifth Avenue house. She had hailed a cab and gone back there and it was not till she saw Mrs. Price that she realized the real extent of the calamity. Mrs. Price had been utterly overwhelmed, and, not knowing what else to do, she had called up Gra.s.slands for instructions.

Mr. Janney, who had been twisting and turning on his chair, burst out with:

"The man-the driver-did you notice him?"

She lifted her hands and dropped them in her lap.

"Oh, Mr. Janney, _of course_ I didn't. Does any one _ever_ look at those men? He never got off his seat, opened the door by stretching his arm round from the front. I have a sort of vague memory of his face when I called him off the stand, and I think-but I can't be sure-that he wore goggles."

"It's needless to ask if you remember the number," Mrs. Janney said.

The girl answered with a hopeless shake of the head.

"You say you ran about looking for the taxi"-it was Mr. Janney again-"Why did you waste that time?"

"Mr. Janney," she leaned toward him insistent, but with patience for his afflicted state, "I thought it had gone somewhere farther along. You know how they won't let the vehicles stand in Fifth Avenue. I supposed it was down the block or round the corner on a side street. I asked the doorman but he hadn't noticed. I looked in every direction and even when I finally gave up and went after her I hadn't an idea that she'd been _stolen_."

"Time lost-all that time lost!" wailed the old man and began to cry.

"Come, come, Mr. Janney," said Whitney, "don't despond. It's not as bad as all that, and I'm pretty confident we'll have her back all right before very long."

Mr. Janney, with his face in his handkerchief, emitted sounds that no one could understand. His wife silenced him with a peremptory, "Be quiet, Sam," and returned to Miss Maitland:

"You say you dissuaded her from going into Justin's. Why did you do that?"

For the first time the girl lost her even poise. As she answered her voice was unsteady: "We were so pressed for time and I knew I could get through much quicker without her. That's why I did it-begged her to stay in the taxi and she said she would,"-she stopped, biting on her under lip, evidently unable to go on.

There was a moment's silence broken by Mrs. Janney's voice low and grim:

"The man heard you and knew that was his chance."

Miss Maitland, her eyes down, the bitten lip showing red against its fellow, said huskily:

"You must blame me-you can't help it-but I'd rather have died than had such a thing happen."

Mr. Janney began to give forth inarticulate sounds again and his wife said with a sort of dreary resignation:

"Oh, I don't blame you, Miss Maitland. n.o.body does. Mrs. Price is not responsible; she doesn't know what she's saying."