Dangerous Ground; or, The Rival Detectives

by Lawrence L. Lynch

  CHAPTER LVII.

  WHAT HAPPENED AT WARBURTON PLACE.

  There is unusual stir and life in the Warburton Mansion, for AlanWarburton has returned, as suddenly and strangely as he went away.

  He has made Mrs. French and Winnie such explanations as he could, andhas promised them one more full and complete when he shall be able,himself, to understand, in all its details, the mystery which surroundshim.

  After listening to the little that Alan has to tell--of course that partof his story which concerns Leslie is entirely ignored, as beinganother's secret rather than his--Mrs. French and Winnie are more thanever mystified, and they hold a long consultation in their privatesitting-room.

  Acting upon Alan's suggestion--he refuses to issue an order--Mrs. Frenchhas bidden the servants throw open the closed drawing-rooms, and give tothe house a more cheerful aspect.

  Wonderingly, the servants go about their task, and at noon all is done.Warburton Place stands open to the sunlight, a cheerful, tasteful,luxurious home once more.

  "I don't see what it's all about," Winnie French says petulantly. "Onewould think Alan were giving himself an ovation."

  They lunched together, Alan, Mrs. French and Winnie. It was a silentmeal, and very unsatisfactory to Alan. When they rose from the table,Mrs. French desired a few words with him, and Winnie favored him with achilling salute and withdrew.

  When she had gone, Mrs. French came straight to the point. She was aserious, practical woman, and she wasted no words.

  They had discussed the situation, her daughter and herself, and they haddecided. Winnie was feeling more and more the embarrassment of theirpresent position. They had complied with the wishes expressed inLeslie's farewell note, as well as by himself and Mr. Follingsbee. Butthis strangeness and air of mystery by which they were surrounded waswearing upon Winnie. She went out so seldom, and she grieved and pinedfor Leslie and the little one so constantly, that Mrs. French haddecided to send her away.

  She had talked of this before, but Winnie had been reluctant to go.To-day, however, she had admitted that she wished to go; that she neededand must have the change.

  It was not their intention to withdraw their confidence from Leslie, orfrom him, or to desert their friends. Mrs. French would stay at herpost, but Winnie, for a time at least, should go away. Her relatives inthe country were anxious to receive her, and Winnie was ready andimpatient to set out.

  And what could Alan say? While his heart rebelled against this decision,his reason endorsed it, and his pride held all protestation in check.

  He offered a few courteous commonplaces in a constrained and embarrassedmanner.

  He was aware that their unhappy complications must place himself and hissister-in-law in an unfavorable light. He realized that they had alreadyovertaxed the friendship and endurance of Mrs. French and her daughter.In his present situation, he dared not remonstrate against thisdecision; he was already too deeply their debtor. He should regret thedeparture of Miss French, and he should be deeply grateful to Mrs.French for the sacrifice she must make in remaining.

  All the same, he felt an inward pang as he left Mrs. French, and wentslowly down to the drawing-room. Winnie had gone in that direction, andhe was now in search of her, for, in spite of her scorn and his ownpride, he felt that he must speak with her once more before she wentaway. She had decided to go this day, the day of his home-coming. Thatmeant simply that she was leaving because of him.

  Winnie was seated in a cavernous chair, looking extremely comfortable,and, apparently, occupied with a late magazine. She glanced up as Alanentered, then hastily resumed her reading.

  Seeing her so deeply absorbed, he crossed the room, and looked out uponthe street for a moment, then slowly turned his back upon the window andbegan a steady march up and down the drawing-room, keeping to the endfarthest from that occupied by Winnie, and casting upon her, when hismarch brought her within view, long, earnest glances.

  That she was wilfully feigning unconsciousness of his presence, he feltassured. That she should finally recognize that presence, he wasobstinately determined.

  But Winnie is not as composed as she seems, and his steady march up anddown becomes very irritating. Lowering her book suddenly, she turnssharply in her chair.

  "Mr. Warburton, allow me to mention that your boots creak," she saystartly.

  "I beg your pardon, Winnie."

  "No, you do not! I can't see why you must needs choose this room foryour tramping, when all the house is quite at your disposal."

  Alan stops and stands directly before her.

  "I came, Winnie, because you were here," he says gently.

  "Well," taking up her book and turning her shoulder towards him, "if youcan't make yourself less disagreeable, I shall leave, presently, because_you_ are here."

  Paying no heed to her petulant words, he draws forward a chair and seatshimself before her.

  "Winnie," he says gravely, "what is this that I hear from your mother:you wish to leave Warburton Place?"

  "I intend to leave Warburton Place."

  "Why, Winnie?"

  "Pray don't make my name the introduction or climax to all yoursentences, Mr. Warburton; I quite comprehend that you are addressing me.Why do I leave Warburton Place? Because I have staid long enough. I havestaid on, for Leslie's sake, until I'm discouraged with waiting." Thereis a flush upon her cheeks and a hysterical quiver in her voice. "I haveremained because it was _her_ home, and at _her_ request. Now that herabsence makes you master here, I will stay no longer. It was you whodrove her away with your base, false suspicions. I will never forgiveyou; I will never--"

  There is a sound behind her. She has risen to her feet, and she seesthat Alan is not heeding her words; his eyes are turned toward thedoor; they light up strangely, and as he springs forward, Winnie hastilyturns.

  Standing in the doorway, pale and careworn but slightly smiling, isLeslie Warburton, and she holds little Daisy tightly clasped in herarms; Daisy Warburton surely, though so pallid, and clad in rags!

  As Alan springs forward, she holds out the child.

  "Alan, I have kept my word," she says gently, wearily; "I have broughtback little Daisy."

  It is the end of her wonderful endurance. As Alan snatches the child tohis breast, she sinks forward and again, as on that last day of herpresence here, she lies senseless at his feet.

  But now his looks are not cold; he does not call a servant; but turningswiftly he puts the child in Winnie's arms, and kneels beside Leslie.

  As he kneels, he notes the presence of a man in sombre attire, andbehind him, the peering face of a servant.

  "Call Mrs. French," he says, chafing the lifeless hands. "Bringrestoratives--quick!"

  And he lifts her tenderly, and carries her to a divan.

  Then for a time all is confusion. There is talking, laughing, crying;Mrs. French is here, and Millie, and presently every other servant ofthe household.

  For a moment, Winnie seems about to drop her clinging burden. Thensuddenly her face lights up; she clasps Daisy closer, and drawing near,she watches those who minister to the unconscious one.

  Leslie revives slowly and looks about her, making a weak effort to rise.

  "Be quiet," says the stranger in the priestly garments, who has "kepthis head" while all the others seem dazed; "be quiet, madam. Let meexplain to your friends."

  As he speaks, Alan stoops over Winnie, and kisses the little onetenderly, but he does not offer to take her from Winnie's clasp. Heturns instead and bends over Leslie.

  "Obey him, Leslie," he says softly. "We will tell you how glad we are byand by."

  She looks wonderingly into his face, then closes her eyes wearily.

  "He can tell you," she whispers; "I--I cannot."

  And then there is silence, while Alan, in compliance with a hint fromthe seeming Priest, motions the servants out of the room, all butMillie. Daisy has seized her hand and clings to it obstinately.

  "Let her stay," whispers Winnie. And of course Millie
stays.

  When they have filed out, Alan moves forward, his hand extended to closethe door, and then he stops short, his attitude unchanged, and listens.

  There are voices outside, and approaching feet. He hears theremonstrance of a servant, and an impatient tone of command. And then aman strides into their presence, closely followed by two officers.

  It is Van Vernet, his eyes flashing, his face triumphant; Van Vernet in_propia personne_, and wearing the dress of a gentleman.

  He pauses before Alan, and delivers a mocking salute.

  "Alan Warburton, you are my prisoner!"

  With a cry of alarm, Leslie lifts herself from the couch. _She_ knowswhat these words mean.

  Alan starts as he hears this cry, and moving a pace nearer Vernet, says,in a low tone:

  "I will go with you, sir; but withdraw yourself and men from this room;I--"

  "Alan, I have kept my word; I have brought back littleDaisy."--page 421.]

  Something touches his arm.

  He turns to see Winnie close beside him, her face flushing and paling,her breath coming in quick gasps.

  "Alan," she whispers, "what does he mean?"

  Alan takes her quivering hand in his, and tenderly seeks to draw herback.

  "He means what he says, Winnie. He is an officer of the law."

  "A prisoner! _you!_ Oh, Alan, why, why?"

  The tone of anguish, and the look in Alan's eyes, reveal to Vernet thesituation. This is the woman beloved by Alan Warburton; now his triumphover the haughty aristocrat will be sweet indeed. Now he can strikethrough her. Stepping forward, he lays a hand upon Alan's arm.

  "Mr. Warburton," he says sternly, "I must do my duty. Bob, bring thehandcuffs."

  As the officer thus addressed moves forward, Winnie French utters a cryof anguish, and flings herself before Alan.

  "You shall not!" she cries wildly. "You dare not! What has he done?"

  Vernet looks straight at his prisoner, and smiles triumphantly.

  "Mr. Warburton is accused of murder," he says impressively.

  "Murder!" Winnie turns and looks up into Alan's face. "Alan, oh, Alan,it is not true?"

  "I am accused of murder, Winnie, but it is _not_ true."

  "Oh, Alan! Alan! Alan!" She flings her arms about him clinging withpassionate despair, sobbing and moaning pitifully.

  And Alan clasps her close and a glad light leaps into his eyes. For onemoment he remembers nothing, save that, after all her assumed coldness,Winnie French loves him.

  Still folding her in his arms, he half leads, half carries her to thedivan where Leslie sits trembling and wringing her hands.

  "Winnie, darling," he whispers, "do you really care?"

  Then as Mrs. French extends her arms, he withdrew his clasp and turnsonce more toward Vernet.

  "End this scene at once," he says haughtily. "I ask nothing at yourhands, Van Vernet. Secure me at once; I am dangerous to you."

  He extends his hands, and casts upon Vernet a look full of contempt. Itcauses the latter to feel that, somehow, his triumph is not quitecomplete after all. But he will not lose one single privilege, not abateone jot of his power. He takes the manacles from the hands of hisassistant, and steps forward. No one else shall adjust them upon thesewhite, slender wrists.

  At that instant, as Leslie rises to her feet, uttering a cry of terror,there is a sudden commotion at the door; one of the officers is flungout of the way, and a strong hand strikes the handcuffs from Vernet'sgrasp.

  He utters an imprecation and turning swiftly is face to face with FranzFrancoise!

  "You!" he exclaims hoarsely. "How came you here? Boys--"

  The two officers move forward. But the seeming Priest, who has stood inthe back ground a silent spectator, now steps before them.

  "Hold on!" he says; "don't burn your fingers, boys."

  "Answer me," vociferates Vernet; "who brought you here, fellow? What--"

  "Oh, it ain't the first time I've slipped through your fingers, VanVernet," the new-comer says mockingly.

  Then seeing the terror in Leslie's eyes, he snatches the wig andmoustache from his head and face, and turns toward Alan.

  "Mr. Warburton," he says courteously, "I see that I am here in time. Itrust that you have suffered nothing at the hands of my colleague, savehis impertinence. Van, your game is ended. You've played it like a man,but you were in the wrong and you have failed. Thank your stars thatyour final blunder has been nipped in the bud. Alan Warburton is aninnocent man. The murderer, if you choose to call him such, is safelylodged in jail by now."

  But Van Vernet says never a word. He only gazes at the transformedex-convict as if fascinated.

  Another gaze is riveted upon him also. Leslie Warburton leans forward,her lips parted, her face eager; she seems listening rather than seeing.Slowly a look of relieved intelligence creeps into her face, and swiftlythe red blood suffuses cheek and brow. Then she comes forward, her handsextended.

  "Mr. Stanhope, is it--was it _you_?"

  "It is and was myself, Mrs. Warburton. There is no other Franz Francoisein existence. The part I assumed was a hideous one, but it wasnecessary."

  "Stanhope!" At the name, Alan Warburton starts forward. "Are you RichardStanhope?"

  "Vernet utters an imprecation, and turning swiftly, isface to face with Franz Francoise!"--page 425.]

  "I am." And then, as he catches the reflection of his half disguisedself in a mirror, he gives vent to a short laugh. "We form quite acontrast, my friend Vernet and I," he says with a downward glance at hisuncouth garments. "Mr. Warburton, we--for your brother's wife has donemore than I--have brought back your little one. And I have managed tokeep you out of the clutches of this mistaken Expert, or at least toprevent his 'grip' from doing you any serious damage. Of course you areanxious to hear all about it, but I am waited for at head-quarters; mystory, to make it comprehensible, must needs be a long one, and I haveasked Mr. Follingsbee to meet me there. He can soon put you inpossession of the facts. Now a word of suggestion: This lady," glancingtowards Leslie, "has been very ill; she is still weak. She has fought abrave fight, and but for her your little girl might still be missing.She needs rest. Do not press her to tell her story now. When you haveheard my report from Mr. Follingsbee, you will comprehend everything."

  Leslie sinks back upon the divan, for she is indeed weak. Her faceflushes and pales, her hands tremble, and her eyes follow the movementsof the detective with strange fixedness. Then she catches little Daisyin her arms, and holding her thus, looks again at their rescuer.

  Meantime, Van Vernet has seemed like a man dazed; has stood gazing fromone to the other, listening, wondering, gnawing his thin under lip. Butnow he turns slowly and makes a signal to his two assistants, who, likehimself, have been stunned into automatons by the sudden change ofevents.

  "Stop, Vernet!" says Stanhope, noting the sign. "Just one word with you:Our difference, not to call it by a harsher name, our active differencebegan in this house, when, on the night of a certain masquerade, youcontrived to delay me here while you stepped into my shoes. I discoveredyour scheme that night, and since then I have not scrupled to thwart youin every way; how, and by what means, it will give me pleasure toexplain later. For the present, here, where our feud began, let it end.I shall give a full history of our exploits, yours and mine, to ourChief, to Mr. Follingsbee, and of course to these now present. This muchis in justice to myself, and to you. I think that I have influenceenough at head-quarters to keep the story from going further, and--don'tfancy me too magnanimous--I shall do this for the sake of Mrs.Warburton, and of Mr. Alan Warburton, whom you have persecuted sopersistently and mistakenly. As you have not succeeded in dragging theirnames into a public scandal, I shall withhold yours from publicderision; and believe me when I say that our feud ends here. In thebeginning, you took up the cudgel against me, to decide which is thebetter man. Put on the defensive, I have done my level best, and standready to be judged by my works. For the rest; I am saying too much here.I do not wish nor int
end to humiliate you unnecessarily. If you willwait for me outside, I can suggest something which you may profit by, ifyou choose."

  There is nothing that Van Vernet can say in reply. He is conquered, andhe knows it well. No scornful retort rises to his tongue, and there islittle of his accustomed haughty grace in his step, as he turns silentlyand leaves the room, followed by his overawed, astounded and silentassistants.

  At least he has the merit of knowing when he is defeated, and he acceptsthe inevitable in sullen silence.

  Then Richard Stanhope turns again to Leslie.

  "Madam," he says, with hesitating deference, "I have kept my word asbest I could, and I leave you in the hands of your friends. Forgive mefor any rudeness of mine, for any unpleasant moments I may have causedyou, while I was playing the part of Franz Francoise. We could have wonour battle in no other way. To-morrow, I will place in your hands,through Mr. Follingsbee, some papers which will, I believe, prove mostvaluable. I trust that you will never again have need of the aid of adetective. Still, should you ever require a service which I can render,I am always at your command."

  With a hasty movement, as if in defiance of that which sought to holdher back, Leslie rises and extends both her hands.

  "I cannot thank you," she says earnestly; "words are too weak. But noman will ever stand above you in my esteem. In time of trouble ordanger, I could turn to you with fullest trust, not as a detective only,but as a friend, as a man; the truest of men, the bravest of the brave!"

  Something in her voice vibrated pitifully, then choked her utterance.She trembled violently, and all the life went out of her face.

  As she sank back, Stanhope gently released her hands, and stepping asideto make way for Mrs. French and Winnie, said in a low tone to Alan:

  "She has been terribly tried; do not let her talk until she is stronger.She needs a physician's care."

  "She shall have it," returned Alan, moving with Stanhope toward thedoor. "Mr. Stanhope, I--I know, through Mr. Follingsbee, of the interestyou have taken in my welfare, but I realize to-day, as I could notbefore, how much your protection has been worth. I see what would havebeen the result of my remaining here. Vernet would have dragged mebefore the public, as a felon. But you are eager to go. I will notattempt to express my gratitude now; I expect and intend to see youagain, here and elsewhere."

  He extended his hand and clasped that of Stanhope with a heartypressure.

  And then, with a sign to the sham Priest who had been his silentabettor, Stanhope hurried from the room and from the house.

  Vernet was standing alone on the pavement. His two assistants, havingbeen dismissed, were already some distance away.

  "I have waited," he said, turning his face at Stanhope's approach, butwithout changing his position of body, "because I would not gratify youby running away. Have you anything further to add to your triumph?"

  For a moment Stanhope's eyes seemed piercing him through and through.Then he smiled.

  "When our Chief told me, Van," he said slowly, "that you had determinedto try your strength against mine, I felt hurt, but not angry. That wasa disappointment; it was the game you played at the masquerade which hascost you this present humiliation. But for that night, I swear to you, Ishould never have interfered, never laid a straw in your way. Let usmove on, Van, and talk as we go."

  He made a signal to the disguised officer standing near him, and thatindividual, accepting his dismissal by a quick nod, moved down thestreet with an alacrity quite unbecoming to his clerical garb.

  Then Stanhope and Vernet, Victor and Vanquished, turned their steps inthe opposite direction.

  For some moments Vernet paced on in silence, savagely gnawing at hisunder lip. Then professional curiosity broke through his chagrin.

  "I should like to know how you did it," he said, his face flushing.

  Stanhope shrugged his shoulders and favored his interlocutor with anuncouth grimace.

  "Easy 'nuff," he said; "Hoop la!"

  Vernet started and stared. "Silly Charlie!" he ejaculated.

  "That's the ticket; how did I do the _role_?"

  Vernet ground his teeth, and pondered over this startling bit ofintelligence. At last:

  "I understand why the Raid failed," he said, "but I don't comprehend--"

  "Let me clear it up," broke in Stanhope. "You see, I had often exploredthose alleys, disguised as Silly Charlie; the character was one thatadmitted me everywhere. Before going to the masquerade, I had preparedfor the night's work by putting my toilet articles in a carriage, andstationing it near the festive mansion. This I did to insure myselfagainst possible delay, my programme being to drive to the agency, startmy men, and then go on ahead of them, assuming my disguise as I went,for the purpose of reconnoitring the grounds for the last time, beforeleading the men into the alleys. You delayed me a little, and I had todeal with your 'Chinaman' in such a way as to leave in his mind a veryunfavorable opinion of 'Hail Columbia.' But I was there ahead of youafter all; for particulars--ahem! consult your memory."

  His eyes twinkled merrily at the recollection of Vernet in the cellartrap, and he suppressed a laugh with difficulty.

  Again Vernet reddened and bit his under lip.

  "Oh, you have outwitted me," he said bitterly, "but you will never beable to prove it was not Warburton who personated the Sailor thatnight."

  "I won't try, for it was Warburton. I shall not explain his presencethere, however; it was a mistake on his part, but he meant well. It wasnot he who did the killing."

  "You are bent on clearing Warburton, but how will you prove hisinnocence?"

  "By a witness who saw Papa Francoise strike the blow."

  "Who?"

  "A girl known as Rag-picker Nance. She was in the custody of theFrancoises when I made my appearance among them, in the character ofFranz. They were afraid of her and kept her drugged and drunkconstantly. They wanted to be rid of her, and I took her off their handsone dark night--the same night, by the by, that came so near being yourlast, in that burning tenement. Heavens! but that old woman is atigress! In spite of me, she managed to fire the building. It came nearbeing the end of you."

  Vernet turned and eyed him sharply.

  "Was it you," he asked, "who brought me out?"

  Stanhope blushed, and then laughed carelessly to conceal hisembarrassment.

  "Well, yes," he admitted; "I'm sorry to say that it was. It was a greatpiece of impertinence on my part; but, you see, I had the advantage overthe others of knowing that you were up there."

  Vernet wore the look of a man who sees what he cannot comprehend.

  "You're a riddle to me," he said. "You upset a man's plans and boast ofit openly. You do him a monstrous favor, you save his life, and admit itwith the sheepishness of a chicken-thief."

  "Well, you see, I feel sheepish," confessed Stanhope flippantly. "Iblush for so such Sunday-school sentiment. This habit of putting in myoar to interfere with the designs of Providence, is a weakness in a manof my cloth. Don't give me away, Van; _I'll_ never tell of it."

  Light as were the words, Vernet well understood their meaning. Theepisode of the blazing tenement--his burnt-cork essay, with itsludicrous beginning and its almost tragical end--was to be kept a secretbetween them. When he could, in justice to others, Stanhope would sparehis defeated rival.

  Vernet's is not the only mind that would find it difficult to comprehendthis generous nature, turning, for the sake of a less fortunatecompanion, his own brave deeds into a jest.

  For some moments they walked on in silence. Then Vernet said:

  "Of course, I see that there is a mystery between Alan Warburton andthese Francoises, and that you intend to keep the mystery frompublicity. But I don't see how you can prosecute this case withoutbringing Warburton into court."

  "What case?"

  "Papa Francoise, for the murder of the Jew."

  "Say, the killing of the Jew; it was only manslaughter. We shall notpress that case."

  "What!"

  "There is an
older charge against Papa Francoise, and a weightier one."

  "What is that?"

  "It's the end of your search and mine, Van. When I arrested PapaFrancoise to-day, I arrested _the murderer of Arthur Pearson_!"

  "What!"

  Van Vernet stopped short and faced his companion, his face growing ashenwhite.

  "When I arrested Papa Francoise to-day, I arrested _themurderer of Arthur Pearson_!"--page 434.]

  "It's true, Van. In trying to relieve the sufferings of a dying man, Istumbled upon the clue I might have sought after, and failed to find,for an hundred years."

  They had halted at a street corner, and Van Vernet wheeled sharply aboutand made a step forward.

  "Vernet, where are you going?"

  "Nowhere; never mind me; we part here."

  "Not yet, Van, I want to say--"

  "Not now," broke in Vernet huskily. "You--have said enough--for once."

  And he strode hurriedly down the side street.

  "Poor Van," soliloquized Stanhope, as he gazed after the retreatingfigure. "Poor fellow; defeat and loss of fortune are too much for him."

  And he turned and went thoughtfully on toward his own abode.