The Mystery of Murray Davenport Part 22

The next day, in the midst of a whirl of snow that made it nearly impossible to see across the street, Florence appeared.

"What is it, dear?" were almost her first words. "Why do you look so serious?"

"I've found out something. I mus'n't tell you till after luncheon. Tom will be here, and I'll have him speak for himself. It's a very delicate matter."

Florence had sufficient self-control to bide in patience, holding her wonder in check. Edna's portentous manner throughout luncheon was enough to keep expectation at the highest. Even Aunt Clara noticed it, and had to be put off with evasive reasons. Subsequently Edna set the elderly lady to writing letters in a cubicle that went by the name of library, so the young people should have the drawing-room to themselves. Readers who have lived in New York flats need not be reminded, of the skill the inmates must sometimes employ to get rid of one another for awhile.

Larcher arrived in a wind-worn, snow-beaten condition, and had to stand before the fire a minute before he got the shivers out of his body or the blizzard out of his talk. Then he yielded to the offered embrace of an armchair facing the grate, between the two young ladies.

Edna at once a.s.sumed the role of examining counsel. "Now tell Florence all about it, from the beginning."

"Have you told her whom it concerns?" he asked Edna.

"I haven't told her a word."

"Well, then, I think she'd better know first"--he turned to Florence--"that it concerns somebody we met through her--through you, Miss Kenby. But we think the importance of the matter justifies--"

"Oh, that's all right," broke in Edna. "He's nothing to Florence. We're perfectly free to speak of him as we like.--It's about Mr. Turl, dear."

"Mr. Turl?" There was something eager in Florence's surprise, a more than expected readiness to hear.

"Why," said Larcher, struck by her expression, "have _you_ noticed anything about his conduct--anything odd?"

"I'm not sure. I'll hear you first. One or two things have made me think."

"Things in connection with somebody we know?" queried Larcher.

"Yes."

"With--Murray Davenport?"

"Yes--tell me what you know." Florence's eyes were poignantly intent.

Larcher made rapid work of his story, in impatience for hers. His relation deeply impressed her. As soon as he had done, she began, in suppressed excitement:

"With all those circ.u.mstances--there can be no doubt he knows something.

And two things I can add. He spoke once as if he had seen me in the past;--I mean before the disappearance. What makes that strange is, I don't remember having ever met him before. And stranger still, the other thing I noticed: he seemed so sure Murray would never come back"--her voice quivered, but she resumed in a moment: "He _must_ know something about the disappearance. What could he have had to do with Murray?"

Larcher gave his own conjectures, or those of Mr. Bud--without credit to that gentleman, however. As a last possibility, he suggested that Turl might still be in Davenport's confidence. "For all we know," said Larcher, "it may be their plan for Davenport to communicate with us through Turl. Or he may have undertaken to keep Davenport informed about our welfare. In some way or other he may be acting for Davenport, secretly, of course."

Florence slowly shook her head. "I don't think so," she said.

"Why not?" asked Edna, quickly, with a searching look. "Has he been making love to you?"

Florence blushed. "I can hardly put it as positively as that," she answered, reluctantly.

"He might have undertaken to act for Davenport, and still have fallen in love," suggested Larcher.

"Yes, I daresay, Tom, you know the treachery men are capable of," put in Edna. "But if he did that--if he was in Davenport's confidence, and yet spoke of love, or showed it--he was false to Davenport. And so in any case he's got to give an account of himself."

"How are we to make him do it?" asked Larcher.

Edna, by a glance, pa.s.sed the question on to Florence.

"We must go cautiously," Florence said, gazing into the fire. "We don't know what occurred between him and Murray. He may have been for Murray; or he may have been against him. They may have acted together in bringing about his--departure from New York. Or Turl may have caused it for his own purposes. We must draw the truth from him--we must have him where he can't elude us."

Larcher was surprised at her intensity of resolution, her implacability toward Turl on the supposition of his having borne an adverse part toward Davenport. It was plain she would allow consideration for no one to stand in her way, where light on Davenport's fate was promised.

"You mean that we should force matters?--not wait and watch for other circ.u.mstances to come out?" queried Larcher.

"I mean that we'll force matters. We'll take him by surprise with what we already know, and demand the full truth. We'll use every advantage against him--first make sure to have him alone with us three, and then suddenly exhibit our knowledge and follow it up with questions. We'll startle the secret from him. I'll threaten, if necessary--I'll put the worst possible construction on the facts we possess, and drive him to tell all in self-defence." Florence was scarlet with suppressed energy of purpose.

"The thing, then, is to arrange for having him alone with us," said Larcher, yielding at once to her initiative.

"As soon as possible," replied Florence, falling into thought.

"We might send for him to call here," suggested Edna, who found the situation as exciting as a play. "But then Aunt Clara would be in the way. I couldn't send her out in such weather. Tom, we'd better come to your rooms, and you invite him there."

Larcher was not enamored of that idea. A man does not like to invite another to the particular kind of surprise-party intended on this occasion. His share in the entertainment would be disagreeable enough at best, without any questionable use of the forms of hospitality. Before he could be pressed for an answer, Florence came to his relief.

"Listen! Father is to play whist this evening with some people up-stairs who always keep him late. So we three shall have my rooms to ourselves--and Mr. Turl. I'll see to it that he comes. I'll go home now, and give orders requesting him to call. But you two must be there when he arrives. Come to dinner--or come back with me now. You will stay all night, Edna."

After some discussion, it was settled that Edna should accompany Florence home at once, and Larcher join them immediately after dinner.

This arranged, Larcher left the girls to make their excuses to Aunt Clara and go down-town in a cab. He had some work of his own for the afternoon. As Edna pressed his hand at parting, she whispered, nervously: "It's quite thrilling, isn't it?" He faced the blizzard again with a feeling that the antic.i.p.atory thrill of the coming evening's business was anything but pleasant.

CHAPTER XIII.

MR. TURL WITH HIS BACK TO THE WALL

The living arrangements of the Kenbys were somewhat more exclusive than those to which the ordinary residents of boarding-houses are subject.

Father and daughter had their meals served in their own princ.i.p.al room, the one with the large fireplace, the piano, the big red easy chairs, and the great window looking across the back gardens to the Gothic church.

The small bedchamber opening off this apartment was used by Mr. Kenby.

Florence slept in a rear room on the floor above.

The dinner of three was scarcely over, on this blizzardy evening, when Mr. Kenby betook himself up-stairs for his whist, to which, he had confided to the girls, there was promise of additional attraction in the shape of claret punch, and sundry pleasing indigestibles to be sent in from a restaurant at eleven o'clock.

"So if Mr. Turl comes at half-past eight, we shall have at least three hours," said Edna, when Florence and she were alone together.

"How excited you are, dear!" was the reply. "You're almost shaking."

"No, I'm not--it's from the cold."

"Why, I don't think it's cold here."

"It's from looking at the cold, I mean. Doesn't it make you shiver to see the snow flying around out there in the night? Ugh!" She gazed out at the whirl of flakes illumined by the electric lights in the street between the furthest garden and the church. They flung themselves around the pinnacles, to build higher the white load on the steep roof. Nearer, the gardens and trees, the tops of walls and fences, the verandas and shutters, were covered thick with snow, the ma.s.s of which was ever augmented by the myriad rushing particles.