CHAPTER XVTHE PUZZLE BECOMES INTRICATE
Alora formed an immediate friendship for crippled Irene Macfarlane,first based on sympathy and afterward on genuine admiration. That onecondemned to pass her entire life in a wicker wheel-chair should be sobright and cheerful, with no word of protest or even a reference to herown misfortune, was deemed wonderful by Alora, and she soon found thatIrene had an excuse or explanation for every seeming annoyance herfriends suffered and delighted to console them. At the same time sheallowed no one to console her, because she declared she needed noconsolation.
Such a disposition invited confidence, and soon Irene knew more ofAlora's past history, including her trials and tribulations, than evenMary Louise had yet learned, and was shocked and grieved at the girl'svengeful defiance of her father, due to his neglect and coldness aswell as to his contemptible selfishness. But Irene had an excuse readyeven for the artist.
"Poor Mr. Jones!" she said one day, when the three girls were togetherand had been discussing Alora's troubles; "think what a trial must havebeen to him to be saddled with the care of a child he had not seensince babyhood and had no especial interest in. As for affectionbetween them, it could not sprout nor grow because there was no mutualunderstanding to germinate it. Your father's life, my dear, had beenwrecked by his separation from your mother and the money meant littleto him at that period of his life when you were left to his care. Butdid he refuse the obligation so inconsiderately thrust upon him? No.Although a man of reserved nature--almost a recluse--self absorbed andshrinking from association others, he accepted the care of an elevenyear old child and, without being able to change his disposition tosuit her requirements, has guarded her health and safety ever since."
"So that he can use my money," added Alora, with a shrug.
"But you admit that he doesn't squander money on himself."
"I don't know what he does with it. If he wants books, he buys them; hebought a rickety automobile in Italy and never took me to ride in it;but his extravagance seems to end there. I've read some letters that heleft around, showing that he is investing thousands in his own name--what for, I can't guess, as he is too miserly ever to have a use forit."
"Well, he may be intending to endow some deserving charity," suggestedIrene. "And, as for his not loving you, Alora, I fancy you have nevertried to win your father's love."
"No one could love that man."
"You have never been able to get beneath his reserve. You came to himfrom a luxurious life, a petted and pampered child, and his simpletastes and unemotional nature repelled you from the first. Is it notso?"
"I'm not sure, Irene. I needed sympathy and affection. Had my fatherbeen different, had he shown love for me, or even fatherlyconsideration, I would have responded eagerly. But he ignored me. Therehas never been any companionship between us. He has guarded my personalsafety because I was of financial value to him. Once, when I contracteda fever, he was really worried, and hired a skillful doctor and atrained nurse; but he never entered my sickroom. When I was well, hereproached me for costing him so much money. I told him it was mymoney, and he was costing me more than I could ever cost him. Ireminded him he would have been a beggar, but for my income, and thatshut him up at once."
"There's the whole trouble," declared Irene. "Constant friction and alack of consideration for one another. Such remarks could not have madehim more gracious toward you, Alora, and you did not appreciate hiscare in furnishing you with the means of recovery."
"Had I died," said the girl, "my fortune would have gone to a bunch ofthird-cousins whom I have never seen. That would have stopped father'sright to the income, you see."
Irene sighed and Mary Louise smiled. It was almost impossible to defendMr. Jones consistently, with Alora present to accuse him.
The artist at first took little interest in his new home. The cottagewas small and not very cheerful, but it was cheap, and all that JasonJones seemed to care for was a place to stay that was not expensive. Hecontinued his reading and had a book in his hand from morning tillnight. He seldom left the cottage except for a trip to the publiclibrary or to a book-store, and never spoke to anyone unless it wasnecessary.
Their maid was Jane Gladys O'Donnel, stout and good-natured, anindifferent cook and rather untidy. She was twenty years old and theeldest of a large and impoverished family. Her mother was a laundress--"took in washin'"--and her earnings, with the wages of Jane Gladys,must suffice to feed many hungry mouths. That was why Mrs. Conant hadhired Jane Gladys. Aunt Hannah knew the girl was not very competent,but she was cheap, so Mr. Jones accepted her without protest. Alora hadlived so long abroad that she did not know what a competent Americanhousemaid is.
One forenoon--they had now been a month at Dorfield--Mr. Jones wasseated on the little front porch, reading as usual, when a queerbuzzing in the air overhead aroused his attention.
"What's that?" he called sharply, and Jane Gladys, who was dusting inthe little room behind him, replied:
"That, sor, is only Steve Kane's flyin' machine."
"A what?"
"A flyin'-machine, sor. Kane has a facthry fer makin' the crazy thingsin the town yonder--over by the South Side."
"Indeed!" He got up and went into the yard to watch the far-away speckin the sky that was humming so persistently. "Why, there's another!There are two of them," he exclaimed, as if to himself.
"There might be a dozen, sor, 'cause there's a school for airy--airy--airy-flyin' over by Kane's facthry, where they teaches the folks to flythat buy the machines."
He stood a long time, watching the sky. When the last aeroplane haddisappeared he resumed his reading. But the next day he watched for themachines again, abandoning his book to follow the course of the flyers.
"Where did you say that factory is located?" he asked Jane Gladys.
"Over by the gas works, sor, be the South Side. Ye takes the Ellemstreet car, at the four corners. On a Sunday there be crowds a-watchin'the air-divils."
He started to read again, but gave it up and glanced nervously up anddown the little porch. Jane Gladys noted this with surprise, for he wasusually quiet and unobservant, "like th' toad in th' garden, whatsquats under a bush all day an' fergits he's alive till a fly lights onhis nose," as she expressed it to the family at home.
After lunch Mr. Jones went to town and after making inquiries took thecar to the aviation works and field. He watched the construction offlying machines in the factory and saw one or two pupils take shortflights in the air. And Jason Jones was so interested that he was lateto dinner that evening.
Next day he was at the aviation field again, and from that time hehaunted the place, silent and composed but watching every detail ofmanufacture and listening to the experts as they instructed the pupils.These were not many--three altogether--although Stephen Kane'saeroplane was now admitted to be one of the safest and most reliableever invented. And one day one of the instructors, noticing the silentman who had watched so long, invited him to take a flight, thinkingperhaps to frighten him; but Jason Jones promptly accepted theinvitation and with perfect composure endured the strange experienceand returned to ground with heightened color but no other evidence ofexcitement. Could Alora have seen him that day she would have acquittedhim of cowardice.
But Alora knew nothing of her father's odd fancy for some time after hebecame interested in aeroplanes. She was not often at home during theday, frequently taking lunch with Mary Louise or Irene and passing muchof her time in their company. She had no interest whatever in herfather's movements and Jane Gladys didn't think to mention the matterto her, for "flyin'-machines" had ceased to be a novelty in Dorfieldand the sound of their buzzing through the air was heard many times aday. But in turning over a pile of her father's books one day in hisabsence, Alora found several treatises on aviation and was almoststartled to find that Jason Jones cared for any reading aside fromlight novels.
She had been hunting, at the time, for a novel to read herself, soturning from the aviation literature to a shelf of
fiction she begansearching for an interesting title. Presently, as she drew out one ofher father's books, it opened by accident at a place where a letter hadbeen tucked in--a letter written on soiled and coarse paper of aforeign make. It was addressed: "Sig. Jaysn Jones, at the SteamerHercules to sail for New York, U.S.A." Opening it, she found it signed:"Silvio Alleghero."
That was their man-servant in Italy, so with a smile of anticipatedamusement she read the letter. It was brief, indeed, but the girl'sexpression soon changed to a puzzled look, for the scrawl said:
"Honored Signore: At your command I have this morning, three hoursafter your departure for Naples, allowed the prisoner to escape."
"How funny!" she exclaimed, knitting her brows. "I can't remember anyprisoner at the villa. Perhaps it was the cat. It would be just likeSilvio to consider the release of a cat a important event."
She replaced the letter in the book and after selecting another novelforgot Silvio's epistle entirely.
Another time, when Alora happened to be at home for their noon-dayluncheon and her father did not appear, Jane Gladys quietly remarked inanswer to her query that "th' ol' man was prob'ly over to theflyin'-machine works."
"Does he go there often?" she asked in surprise.
"Why, he mostly lives there," asserted the maid.
Alora laughed, and afterward told Mary Louise, as a bit of humorousgossip, that the man who had heretofore failed to find any interest inlife had at last succumbed to the fascination of the aeroplane.
"Well, I'm glad of it," said Mary Louise. "I've often wondered, Lory,how your father could be so infatuated with novel-reading, absorbingstories of human interest, if they have any interest at all, with suchavidity, while the real people all around him failed to interest him atall. I have thought perhaps he read to keep his mind from--from otherthings that it would make him unhappy to dwell upon."
"I have thought so, too," replied Alora, musingly. "And this queerfancy of his for a new and unusual invention may serve the samepurpose. But I, too, am glad he has found a diversion that will keephim away from home. That barn of a cottage will become more homelikewithout his eternal presence."
Peter Conant, the lawyer, had paid little heed to Jason Jones since thelatter's arrival in Dorfield. He had heard his wife and Irene gossipabout the girl and her father and state that Alora was an heiress andMr. Jones merely the guardian of her fortune until she came of age, buthis legal mind decided that the girl's "fortune" must be a modest one,since they lived so economically and dressed so plainly. ColonelHathaway, who might have undeceived him in this regard, seldom spoke tothe lawyer of anything but his own affairs and had forborne to mentionMr. Jones and his personal affairs in any way.
Therefore Mr. Conant was somewhat surprised when one morning JasonJones called at his office and asked for an interview. The lawyer wasbusy that day, and attaching little importance to his caller hedemanded brusquely:
"Well, sir, what can I do for you?"
The man seated himself and glanced around the room before replying. Thebig desk, littered with papers, the cabinet files and stiff chairsseemed to meet his approval. In the outer office a girl was busilyclicking a typewriter.
"You are Colonel Hathaway's lawyer, I believe?" said Jones.
"I have that honor, sir."
"That's why I came to you. The Colonel is a prosperous man and hasjudgment. I want your advice about investing some money."
Peter Conant regarded him with a speculative gaze. The thought flashedthrough his mind that if Jones had any money to invest he might betterbuy himself a new necktie and have his shoes repaired, or even investin a new dress for his daughter, who needed it. But he merely said inhis peculiar way of chopping each word off short as he uttered it:
"How much have you to invest?"
"Not a great deal at this moment, but I am I constantly receivingdividends and interest on my daughter's securities and so, if I amgoing to live in Dorfield, I shall need a lawyer to advise me how toreinvest the money, as well as how to make out the papers properly. Idon't want to make any mistakes and get robbed--even by my lawyer. ButI'll pay you a fair price. Perhaps I should explain that while theincome is derived from my daughter's property the investments are to bemade in my name."
"Why so?"
"The income belongs to me, by my dead wife's will, as long as Alora isalive and in my keeping. When the girl is eighteen she will manage herown affairs, and I'll be quit of her--and out of any further income, aswell. So I'm investing now to secure my future."
"I see. How old is your daughter at this time?"
"Fifteen."
"So you've three years more to grab the income."
"Exactly."
"How much money do you wish to invest to-day?"
"Twelve thousand dollars."
Peter Conant sat up straight in his chair.
"And you say this is but part of the income?"
"The estate is valued at nearly two million dollars."
The lawyer gave a low whistle of amazement. Beside this enormous sum,even Colonel Hathaway's holdings shrank into insignificance.
"You surprise me," he said. "I imagine, then, that you can afford tolive somewhat better than you do."
"That is none of your business."
"True. Good day, Mr. Jones."
"Eh?"
"I won't accept you as a client."
"Why not, sir?"
"Thank you for asking. In the first place, I don't like you," saidPeter Conant. "Nor do I approve of your treating your daughter--a greatheiress--as you do, and hoarding all her enormous income for yourpersonal use. You're not toting fair. It is an unjust arrangement andI'll have nothing to do with it."
Jason Jones sat still and stared at him.
"Good day, sir!" repeated the lawyer, curtly.
The man did not move. Peter turned to his papers.
"See here," the artist presently remarked; "let's come to anunderstanding. I don't like you, either. You're insulting. But you'rehonest, and I think I could trust you."
"I'm not especially honest," retorted the lawyer, "but I'm particular.I don't need clients, and I don't want a client I'm ashamed of."
Still the man did not offer to go. Instead, he reflected for awhile inhis stolid, unemotional way, while Peter Conant frowned and examinedthe papers on his desk.
"I believe you'll see the thing in a different light if you read mywife's will," said Jones. "I've brought a copy of it with me, thinkingit might help you to understand my affairs."
"Is it an attested copy?" asked the lawyer, turning around again.
"Yes."
"Let me see it."
Mr. Conant decided to read the will, with the idea that he might findin it some way to assist Alora. When he had finished the document hewas disappointed. Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones, a woman clever enoughto make a fortune, had been foolish enough to give her former husbandautocratic power over her money during her daughter's minority. Had theman been a gentleman, the folly would have been mitigated, but JasonJones, in Mr. Conant's opinion, was a selfish, miserly, consciencelessrascal. Enjoying a yearly income that was a small fortune in itself, hehad neglected to educate his daughter properly, to clothe her asbefitted her station in life or to show her ordinary fatherlyconsideration. Affection and kindness seemed foreign to the man'snature. He handed the will back and said:
"You have taken an unfair advantage of the confidence reposed in you byyour dead wife, who doubtless loved her child. Legally your actionscannot be assailed, but morally they should ostracize you from decentsociety. As I said before, I do not want your business. I'll havenothing to do with you."
Jones remained unruffled.
"I'm a stranger in the city," he remarked. "Perhaps you will recommendme to some good lawyer."
"No. There are a score of lawyers in town. Make your own choice."
The man rose and put on his hat.
"I said you were honest, and I was right," he calmly remarked. "I'llsay now that you are a fool, and I'm right
in that, also," and withthese words he walked away.
That was his only protest to the humiliating rebuff. He showed noanger. He did not seem annoyed. He simply rode down in the elevator,examined the directory, and selected another lawyer in the samebuilding.
Mary Louise Solves a Mystery Page 15
