That Affair at Elizabeth Part 22

"New developments!" Ah, G.o.dfrey knew me well! For already my fatigue was forgotten in the ardour of the chase, and a moment later I found myself changing from slippers to shoes as fast as my fingers could handle the laces.

Mrs. Fitch met me on the stair.

"Not going out again, Mr. Lester!" she protested. "Why, you'll kill yourself."

"I can't help it, Mrs. Fitch," I said. "I've got to go."

"Not bad news, I hope?"

"No."

"And you'll be back soon?"

"Not to-night, I'm afraid."

"Oh, nonsense, Mr. Lester--"

But I left her protesting on the step, and hurried down the street. Mrs. Fitch meant well, but she was sometimes a little in the way.

I took the elevated to Cortlandt Street, and hurried down to the ferry, expecting every instant to hear the gong which announced the departure of the boat. But I found that I had ten minutes to wait before there was a train, and I spent them walking feverishly up and down the narrow waiting-room, where the road's patrons are herded like cattle behind the slatted gates.

At last the gates opened; there was the usual rush to the boat; the slow crossing of the wide river, with the cool salt breeze coming in from the ocean; the stampede to the coaches through the great Jersey City station; and finally I found myself in a seat, with the train rumbling out from under the long shed.

I stared out into the night, wondering what the new developments could be. They must have been unusual and unexpected ones, to stir G.o.dfrey to sending me that telegram! But what could they be? For the present, the case was closed. Curtiss and Miss Lawrence were both in mid-ocean, and any further developments must await their meeting. Besides, it was only a few hours since I myself had left Elizabeth, and there had seemed no prospect then of anything further happening there. G.o.dfrey had announced his own intention of leaving the place at once-he had said that the case wasn't worth wasting any more time over. What, then, had detained him?

Was it possible, I asked myself, that Marcia Lawrence had not sailed on the Umbria, that the message had been merely a blind, that she had foreseen that we would trace it to the West Street office, that she had written it on a sheet of the steamer's paper for the purpose of deceiving us? Yes, that was clearly possible. She may have returned home, and G.o.dfrey, discovering the return, had summoned me to be present at her unmasking! I had really only half-believed that it was she whom Curtiss had descried upon the Umbria's forward deck. But if she had, indeed, done all this, she must be far more deeply versed in deception than I had supposed. I should hardly have given her credit for laying a plan so adroit as that; but one can never judge a woman's capabilities.

Suddenly conscious again of my fatigue, I laid my head back against the seat, and dozed away until the sharp call of the brakeman aroused me. Not until I had left the train did I remember that G.o.dfrey had appointed no rendezvous. He might, perhaps, be awaiting me at the hotel, or, at least, he had certainly left a message there for me, and I started up the street.

But an inquiry of the clerk developed the fact that, while G.o.dfrey was still stopping there, he had gone out immediately after dinner, and had left no message of any kind. For a moment I was fairly taken aback, so confident had I been; but perhaps G.o.dfrey had deemed a message superfluous after the hint given in the telegram-I knew how he detested the obvious. He had no doubt thought that hint sufficient-and it was.

Eleven o'clock was striking as I gained the street again, and turned my steps toward the Lawrence place. If there were indeed any new developments, it must be either there or at the cottage that they had come to light. That was self-evident; that could be the only rendezvous; it was there G.o.dfrey was awaiting me. So I walked on rapidly, and in a very few minutes reached my destination.

The house was dark and gloomy, as it had been the night before. I entered the grounds and made a careful circuit of the place, but not a glimmer of light could I detect at any of the windows. There was nothing to indicate that any one was stirring, nor did I come upon any trace of G.o.dfrey, though I half expected to collide with him at any moment. Plainly there was nothing to be discovered here, and at last I turned my steps toward the path which led to the cottage.

Then suddenly I stopped, for it seemed to me that I had caught sight of a dim figure flitting among the trees. I was facing the street, and the glow from the arc lights there made a grey background against which I fancied I saw a shadow moving. I strained my eyes-yes-there it was again, approaching the house along the path.

I am no more superst.i.tious than most men, yet, for an instant, the notion seized me like an electric shock, that this was no earthly visitant. But I shook myself together, and leaned forward watching it from behind a sheltering tree. It went directly to the balcony steps, and mounted them with a swiftness which showed how familiar it was with the place. Had I been right in my conjecture, then? Had Marcia Lawrence really come home again?

The question flashed through my brain like lightning. I had already delayed too much; it was time that I did something!

In an instant I had gained the path and mounted the steps. One of the windows was open. I pa.s.sed through it into the library.

There was a sharp click and, in the sudden flare of light, I found myself looking down the barrel of a revolver, behind which glared the sinister face of Lucy Kingdon.

CHAPTER XV

A Battle of Wits

I saw the swift spasm of hatred which crossed her face, as she recognised me; I even fancied that her finger tightened convulsively upon the trigger, and I braced myself for the shock. But she did not fire. Instead, she lowered her pistol with a grim little laugh.

"So it's you!" she said, and stood looking at me, her lips curving maliciously.

"Yes," I answered. "Who did you think it was?"

"Oh, I don't know. A burglar, perhaps."

"You seem to have been prepared for him."

"I always carry this pistol when I go back and forth through the grounds at night."

"And know how to use it, I dare say."

"I think I'd be able to defend myself."

"I'm sure of it. Do you often go back and forth at night?"

"It's sometimes late when I get through here."

"But this time," I pointed out, "you weren't leaving the house-you were returning to it."

"Is that any of your business?" she asked, her eyes beginning to gleam.

"Perhaps not," I admitted.

"And yet you're capable of making a mystery out of it!" she sneered. "Let me relieve your mind-I'm staying with Mrs. Lawrence. She sleeps badly, and wishes me near her."

"And your exits and entrances are, I suppose, usually by the window?"

"It's the most convenient way."

"Mrs. Lawrence doesn't object, then, to your leaving it open?"

"I don't leave it open."

"You did just now."

She looked at me a moment without replying, then laughed a short, little laugh of mingled amus.e.m.e.nt and vexation.

"I'll leave you to puzzle that out, I think," she said. "You're so ingenious, you'll surely hit upon the explanation. I scarcely expected to see you here again," she added. "You thought it worth while to return?"

"Yes; there are one or two points which are not quite clear."

"And you expect to make them so?" she asked, with a mocking smile. "How? By lurking around the house like a thief, and following women?"

There was something in her tone, her look, her att.i.tude, which caught my attention-a sort of confident triumph, as of one who plays for a high stake and wins. She was no longer anxious and perturbed, as she had been the day before-nay, that very morning. She thought it safe to flout me openly.

"So you convinced Mrs. Lawrence that you and your sister were not guilty?" I asked. "But of course you'd do that!"