The House Opposite: A Mystery

by Elizabeth Kent

  CHAPTER XVI

  THAT TACTLESS DETECTIVE

  Her visit to town had certainly done May no harm. On the day of theirarrival, she and her mother dined with me at the newest thing inrestaurants, and we went afterwards to a roof garden. I had provided aman of an age suitable to Mrs. Derwent to make up the party, and so theevening passed pleasantly for all--delightfully for me. For, to my greatrelief, May seemed really better. With flushed cheeks and sparklingeyes, she flitted gaily from one topic to another, and only occasionallydid she give one of her nervous starts. Her good spirits kept up nearlyto the end, when she suddenly sank back into the state of apathy, which,alas! I knew so well.

  Mrs. Derwent had taken care to inform me that Norman had called latethat afternoon to inquire how they had borne the journey, and had beensurprised to hear that they were dining out. Was this a hint that Ishould have invited him also? If so, it was one that I did not mean totake. Having at last succeeded in parting him from May, I was determinednot to be the one to bring them together again.

  I had decided, in deference to May's morbid horror of seeing a doctor,that it would be better that her first interview with the nervespecialist should take place under circumstances which would lead herto suppose that their meeting was purely accidental. Thinking herselfunnoticed, she would put no restraint on herself, and he would thus beable to judge much more easily of the full extent of her peculiarities.Mrs. Derwent and I had therefore arranged that we should all lunchtogether on the day following their arrival in town. Atkins's affairs,however, detained me so long that I was almost late for my appointment,and when I at last got to the Waldorf, I found the doctor alreadywaiting for me.

  Luckily, the ladies were also late, so that I had ample time before theyturned up to describe May's symptoms, and to give him a hurried accountof what we knew of her experiences at the Rosemere. When she at lastappeared, very pale, but looking lovelier than ever, in a trailing bluegown, I saw that he was much impressed by her. Her manner was languidrather than nervous, and she greeted us both with quiet dignity.Notwithstanding the object of the lunch, it passed off very pleasantly,and I am sure no one could have guessed from our behaviour that it wasnot a purely social occasion. Doctor Storrs especially was wonderful,and was soon chatting and laughing with May as if he had known her allher life. After lunch, Mrs. Derwent and I retired to a distant corner.The Doctor led the young lady to a window seat, and I was glad to seethat they were soon talking earnestly to each other. I didn't dareto watch them, for fear she might suspect that we had arranged thisinterview. Doctor Storrs kept her there almost an hour, and when theyat last joined us she looked quite ghastly, and her mouth quiveredpathetically.

  As we stood in the hall, waiting for the ladies' sunshades to bebrought, I was astonished and annoyed to see Merritt coming towards us.He caught Miss Derwent's eye and bowed. She smiled and bowed in return,which encouraged him to join us.

  "How do you do? I trust you are well," he stammered. He seemed quitepainfully embarrassed, which surprised me, as I should never havethought him capable of shyness.

  "Quite well, thank you," she answered, graciously, evidently pitying hisconfusion.

  "That was a dreadful affair at the Rosemere," he bungled on, twistinghis hat nervously round and round.

  She drew herself up.

  "I suppose the Doctor has told you the latest development of thataffair?" he plunged on, regardless of her stiffness.

  I stared at him in surprise; what was the matter with the man?

  "No," she answered, looking anxiously at me.

  "Well, he's discreet; you see we don't want it to get into the papers--"he paused, as if waiting to be questioned.

  "What has happened?" struggled through her ashen lips.

  "I don't know if you know Mrs. Atkins," he went on, more glibly; "she'sa young bride, who has an apartment at the Rosemere."

  She shook her head impatiently.

  "Well, this lady has disappeared," he went on, lowering his voice; "andwe very much fear that she has fled because she knew more about thatmurder than she should have done."

  Miss Derwent tottered, and steadied herself against a table, but Mr.Merritt, with surprising denseness, failed to notice her agitation, andcontinued:

  "It's very sad for her husband. Such a fine young fellow, and onlymarried since May! He has been driven almost crazy by her flight. Ofcourse, it's difficult to pity a murderess, and yet, when I think ofthat poor young thing forced to fly from her home in the middle ofthe night, I can't help feeling sorry for her. Luckily, she has heartdisease, so that the agitation of being hunted from one place to anotherwill probably soon kill her. That would be the happiest solution for allconcerned."

  The sunshades having been brought, Mrs. Derwent, after glancing severaltimes impatiently at her daughter, at last moved towards her, but thelatter motioned her back.

  "Excuse me, Mamma, but I must say a few more words to this gentleman. Ishould like to know some more about Mrs. Atkins," she continued, turningagain to the detective. "What made her think she was suspected?"

  "Well, you see, the dead man was a friend of hers, and had been callingon her the very evening he was murdered. The fellow's name was AllanBrown, and we have discovered that a good many years ago he was creditedwith being one of her admirers. I guess that's true, too; but he wasa worthless chap, and she no doubt turned him down. At all events, hedisappeared from Chicago, and we doubt if she has seen him since. Ourtheory is, that when he found out that she was rich, and married, hetried to blackmail her. We know that he was drunk at the time of hisdeath, and so we think that, in a fit of desperation, she killed him. Itwas a dreadful thing to do. I don't say it wasn't, but if you had seenher--so small, so ill, so worn by anxiety and remorse--I don't thinkyou could help wishing she might escape paying the full penalty of hercrime."

  "I do hope so. What is her name, did you say?"

  "Mrs. Lawrence P. Atkins."

  "Mrs. Lawrence P. Atkins," she repeated. "And you cannot find her?"

  "We have not yet been able to do so."

  "This is too dreadful; how I pity the poor husband." And her eyes soughther mother, and rested on her with an expression I could not fathom.

  The detective stood watching the girl for a moment, then, with a lowbow, finally took himself off. My parting nod was very curt. Could anyone have been more awkward, more tactless, more indiscreet, than he hadbeen during his conversation with Miss Derwent? Was the man drunk? Andwhat did he mean by talking about the Atkins's affairs in this way?

  As the girl turned to say good-bye I was struck by a subtle change thathad come over her; a great calm seemed to have settled upon her and astrange, steady light burnt in her eyes.

  As I was anxious to have a private talk with the Doctor, I jumped intoan automobile with him, for he had only just enough time to catch histrain.

  "Well, Doctor Storrs, what do you think of the young lady's case?"

  "That girl is no more insane than I am, Fortescue. She is suffering fromsome terrible shock, but even now she has more self-control than ninewomen out of ten. What kind of a shock she has had I don't know, but amsure it is connected in some way with the Rosemere murder. If you everdo discover its exact nature, mark my words, you will find she hasbeen through some ghastly experience and has borne up with amazingfortitude."

  "What do you think ought to be done for her?"

  "You will find that there is very little that can be done. Something isstill hanging over her, I am sure; in fact she hinted as much to me.Now, unless we can find out the cause of her trouble and remove it,it is useless to look for an amelioration of her condition. In themeantime, let her have her head. She knows what she has to struggleagainst; we don't."

  "It's all very mysterious, but I wish we could help her."

  We had now reached his destination, and, with a hurried farewell, hedisappeared into the station.

  I had promised Mrs. Derwent to let her know immediately the result of mytalk with Storrs, so, without alighting, I
drove at once to the hotel.In order to avoid arousing May's suspicions by calling so soon again,Mrs. Derwent had agreed to meet me in the hotel parlour. I told her asbriefly as I could what the Doctor had said. When I had finished, I sawthat she was struggling with conflicting emotions.

  "What can have happened to her? Oh, it is all so dreadful that I don'tknow what to think or fear."

  "Can't you get your daughter to confide in you?"

  "I will try," she murmured, as the large tears stole down her whitecheeks, and, rising, she held out her long slender hand, on whichsparkled a few handsome rings. As she stood there--tall, stately, stillbeautiful, in spite of her sufferings, her small, classic head crownedwith a wreath of silvery hair--she looked like some afflicted queen, andI pitied her from the bottom of my heart. But was not my distress asgreat as hers!

  On leaving the poor lady I hurried back to my office, where I foundAtkins sitting in a miserable heap. He looked so dreadfully ill that Iwas alarmed.

  "Have you had anything to eat to-day?" I asked. He shook his head indisgust. Without another word, I rang for my boy, and in a quarter of anhour a very passable little meal was spread on my table.

  "Now, eat that," I said. He frowned, and shook his head.

  "Atkins, you are behaving like a child; you must not fall ill now, orwhat will become of your wife?"

  He hesitated a minute, then sat obediently down. I drew up a chair also,and, by playing with some fruit, pretended to be sharing his meal. Themore I watched him the more I became convinced that something must bedone to relieve the tension under which he suffered. A new emotion mightserve the purpose; so I said:

  "I have just found out some interesting facts about the murdered man."

  He dropped his knife and fork.

  "What?" he gasped.

  "Nothing at all derogatory to your wife, I assure you; I am more thanever convinced that a frank talk would have cleared up your littlemisunderstanding long ago."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, and I'll tell you the whole story, only you must eat."

  He fell to with feverish haste, his hollow eyes fixed on my face.

  "Your wife's visitor was not a friend of hers, and Merritt (here Istrained a point) is sure she has not met him for years. He used to beone of her admirers till she refused to see him, and then he leftChicago and has not been seen there since; but he has a bad record inseveral other cities. The night he was killed he came to your apartmentdrunk, and the detective thinks he probably tried to get money from yourwife. It seems to me natural that she should have concealed his visit.He was not a guest to be proud of, and, besides, she may have beenafraid of rousing your jealousy, for you are pretty jealous, you know."

  "What a crazy fool I have been; I deserve to lose her. But," heinquired, with renewed suspicion, "why has she run away?"

  "Because she found out that the fact that the dead man had gone to theRosemere to see her had become known to the police, for when I saw heryesterday afternoon I blurted out that the detective did not believe inArgot's guilt, but was on the track of some female. She at once jumpedto the conclusion that he suspected her, and decided to fly before shecould be apprehended, and so save her life and your honour."

  "Well, Doctor," he cried, pushing his plate away, "I feel better. Yournews is such a relief. I must now be off again. I can't rest. Oh, how Iwish I might be the one to find my little girl!"

  "I do hope you will; only don't be disappointed if you are notimmediately successful; New York is a big place, remember. But till youdo find your wife I wish that instead of going back to your apartmentyou would stay here with me; we are both alone, and would be company foreach other."

  "Thank you; if I don't find her, I'll accept your offer. You're awfullykind, Doctor."

  The poor fellow turned up again, footsore and weary, at about twelvethat night. He was too exhausted by that time to suffer much, but I gavehim a sedative so as to make sure of his having a good sleep.