CHAPTER V
Deeper in the Maze
I sat for a moment half-dazed, with this astonishing note in my fingers.Then I read it through again--there could be no doubting the sincerityof the writer, her passionate earnestness. "I cannot be your wife ... itis quite, quite impossible." But why was it impossible? Clearly not fromany lack of affection. If the note proved anything, it proved thatMarcia Lawrence loved Burr Curtiss far beyond the usual application ofthe word.
Why, then, had she fled? "There can be no explanation." There wasnothing left but flight; the marriage was impossible. But why should itbe impossible? Was not that too strong a term? Yet she no doubt believedit. Something had happened; there had been some sudden and startlingrevelation--the revelation of a secret so hideous that, rather thanbetray it, rather than risk an explanation, she had fled. But that wassuch a desperate thing to do; such a suicidal thing; and a woman doesnot throw away her happiness thoughtlessly!
I glanced at Curtiss, who had sunk down again into his chair and satstaring straight before him. Was there in his past some unnamable stainwhich had lain hidden till this last moment; which this stainless womanhad shrunk from, horrified?
Or was there, after all, another man? A man, perhaps, whom she had neverintentionally encouraged, yet who had fallen thrall to her, none theless, who had determined to possess her, and who, by some trick, somedesperate throw, had managed, at the last moment, to snatch her awayfrom Curtiss? Had she fled from the house of her own volition? Was thereany possible explanation of such a flight? None, except that she hadsuddenly found herself face to face with the fact that she no longerloved the man she was about to marry--face to face with a future sointolerable that any shame, any disgrace, was preferable to it. Yet as Ilooked again at the note's wording, I recognised anew the absurdity ofsuch a theory. Whatever the solution of the mystery, there could be nodoubting Marcia Lawrence's love for Burr Curtiss; whomever she had lovedin the past, it was certain that now she loved only him. And even inMrs. Lawrence's attitude, I seemed to discern an affection for him moreintense than is usually bestowed upon a son-in-law--at least, until hehas been tested in the crucible of marriage.
There could be, I told myself, only one other explanation. MarciaLawrence had been abducted. It was true, as her mother had pointed out,that a single scream would have alarmed the house; but perhaps thatscream had never been uttered. It could have been prevented easilyenough. And there had been no one with her at the time except her maid.Her maid! And I sat suddenly upright; I felt that I had found the key!
"It was your daughter's maid gave you this, Mrs. Lawrence?" I asked.
"Yes," she answered, turning toward me with a start which told me thatshe had again sunk into reverie. "She said she had just found it onMarcia's dresser."
"It's strange," I said, "that it wasn't found before this. You were inyour daughter's room, I suppose, after she disappeared?"
"Yes; several times."
"And you didn't see this note?"
"No; I did not notice it."
"Is the maid an old servant?"
"Yes," she said; "Lucy has been in the family for many years."
"And you've always found her perfectly trustworthy?"
"I have no cause of complaint against her," she answered, and though hervoice showed no sign of emotion, I saw a sudden trembling seize her andshake her convulsively for a moment. Was it fear? Was it anger? Wasit----?
Curtiss saw it, too, and, attributing it to a very different cause,moved impatiently in his chair. I felt that I was hampered by thesewitnesses. I must get rid of them, if I was to have freedom ofaction--and without freedom of action I could do nothing.
I turned again to the sheet of paper in my hand and examined it withcare. It was an ordinary linen, unruled. I held it to the light andtried to decipher the watermark, but only two letters were on the sheet,"Re." The remainder of the word had been cut away when the sheet wastrimmed to its present size. It seemed to me scarcely to possess thequality which one would expect in Miss Lawrence's writing-paper. Thewriting was in a woman's hand, a little irregular; but haste and stressof emotion would account for that. As I examined the writing moreclosely, I thought the ink seemed strangely fresh--scarcely dry, infact; and yet, if the maid's story were true, the note had been lyingupon the dresser for nearly three hours. And lying there unnoticed!
"There's no doubt that Miss Lawrence wrote this?" I asked.
"None whatever," answered Curtiss, with a quick shake of the head. "It'sher writing--I knew it instantly."
I read the note again, and, satisfied that I had it almost by heart,handed it back to him.
"Of course, Mr. Curtiss," I said, "you must decide one thing before wego any farther. Will you try to follow her, even though she expresslyforbids it?"
He sat with knitted brow and quivering mouth, reading the note word byword.
"Yes," he said brokenly, at last. "Yes, I'll try to follow her. I'll doeverything I can to find her. I can't live without her!"
"But if the marriage be really impossible?" I suggested.
"Impossible!" and he turned upon me hotly. "How could it be? What couldmake it impossible? I tell you, sir, there's nothing on earth can keepus apart."
"But this," and I leaned forward and tapped the note.
"Yes--that--I can't explain it. At least, the only explanation I cangive is that it's a hideous mistake."
"A mistake? But Miss Lawrence wasn't an emotional woman?" I questioned."Not a woman to be carried away by a moment's passion?"
"Oh, no! Quite the contrary."
"Not a woman who would jump at a conclusion?" I persisted. "Not a womanwho would condemn a man unheard--who would overlook the possibility ofmistake and be convinced by what we lawyers call circumstantialevidence?"
"She was not such a woman at all," he said decidedly. "She was just theopposite of all that."
"That makes it more difficult," I pointed out.
"I know; I've thought it all out, as well as I'm able--only there's ablank wall I can't get past. Besides, if there's a reason, I have theright to know it."
"Yes," I assented heartily. "Undoubtedly you have the right to know it.There we're on solid ground. Well, that point is settled, then. And nowI must ask you another question, Mr. Curtiss, which you may resent, butwhich it is absolutely necessary I should ask if I'm to be of any helpto you."
"I think I can guess what it is, Mr. Lester," and he smiled grimly."Since Marcia disappeared, I've reviewed carefully my whole past life,and I can find nothing in it which would justify, in the slightestdegree, such an action. I've not been a saint, but at least I've neverbeen dishonourable nor dissolute. Does that answer the question?"
"Perfectly," I said. There could be no doubting his utter truthfulness."And your family history?"
"Is neither long nor brilliant. My father and mother both died when Iwas a baby. I was raised by my grandparents."
"They lived in New York?"
"No; on Long Island. My grandfather's name was John Curtiss. He managedan estate belonging to a New York banker. He was an honest andhonourable man."
"And he is dead?"
"Yes; he and his wife have been dead ten years and more."
"You have no brothers or sisters?"
"No; nor any other near relatives."
That was the end of that theory, then. If the secret did not concernCurtiss, it must concern Miss Lawrence herself. More and more I feltthat she was the victim of a plot. Of the maid's complicity, I had notthe shadow of a doubt--but was Mrs. Lawrence a party to it, too?
I turned back to her. She was, apparently, so busy with her own thoughtsthat she paid no heed to what was passing. How explain her calmness, herlack of interest? How, except on the theory that she knew where herdaughter was, had assisted in her disappearance and approved of it? Ifelt my blood warm suddenly in Curtiss's behalf. If he had been thevictim of an adventuress, it should be my business to expose her!
But a second glance at Mrs. Lawrence's face showed me th
e folly of sucha thought. She was no adventuress--she was a gentle, cultured Christianwoman, who had suffered, as all mortals must, but had still preservedher sweetness and serenity, as few mortals do. Yet more and more was Iperplexed by that indefinable abstraction in her behaviour, which seemedsomehow out of tune with the circumstances. Perhaps she was really moremoved than she seemed to be; perhaps her apparent indifference was inreality only an admirable self-control. I fancied that it had given wayfor an instant when she was telling us the story of her daughter'sdisappearance. If I could only hit upon some way to startle her out ofher self-possession, I might yet learn----
She turned suddenly and met my eyes. She flushed painfully--perhaps sheread my thought; and instantly I blamed myself for my clumsiness inpermitting my suspicion to appear in my face. It was a mischance noteasily retrieved.
"I have told you all I know," she said, rising quickly, and answeringthe question I had not uttered. "I feel the need of rest. If I can helpyou in any way, command me."
"Thank you," I answered, and opened the door for her.
She paused on the threshold--glanced around--her eyes rested on BurrCurtiss's dreary face. In an instant, she was beside him, bending overhim with infinite tenderness.
"Dear boy," she said, so low I could scarcely hear her, and smoothedback his hair with a gesture almost motherly, "dear boy, don't worry so.I'm sure it will all come right."
He looked up and smiled at her tremulously. With a quick impulsiveness,she stooped and kissed him, then went rapidly from the room, leaving me,at least, more puzzled than before at this sudden glimpse of unsuspecteddepths of tenderness.
I closed the door after her and turned back to Curtiss.
"Has Mrs. Lawrence favoured your suit for her daughter's hand?" I asked.
"Favoured it?" he repeated. "Yes, from the very first."
"Then, in your opinion, she couldn't have had anything to do with thisdisappearance--advised it, perhaps assisted in it?"
"No," he said decidedly; "that's absurd."
"And yet----" I began.
"If you knew her," he interrupted, "you would see its absurdity. She hasalways been most kind to me. You saw----"
"Yes," I nodded.
"She has always been like that. She has treated me as a dearly belovedson ever since we told her of our engagement."
"There has been no cloud?"
"Not the slightest! She seemed to share in her daughter's happiness andin mine. She has told me more than once that she thought fate had madeus for each other."
"And she helped on the wedding-day?"
"In a thousand ways. She and Marcia worked together upon the trousseau.She helped with all the plans. Surely, Mr. Lester, if she objected, shewouldn't have waited till the last minute to make her objection known."
"Most certainly she would not," I agreed.
"Besides," Curtiss added hoarsely, "I don't believe that even her mothercould have kept Marcia from me."
"She's a widow?" I asked.
"Yes. Her husband has been dead ten or twelve years. Marcia is the onlychild."
"She seems to have had her share of sorrow," I remarked. "Her face showsit."
"She has not been quite well lately; but she was always alittle--well--sad, it seemed to me; serious, you know; smilingsometimes, but rarely laughing. I've fancied she grieved for herhusband; but I really know nothing about it."
"She doesn't look very strong," I hazarded, in the hope that Curtissreally knew more than he supposed.
"She isn't strong; but I've never seen her really ill. She is subject tospells of depression, so Marcia told me. Of course, I've known her onlysix months."
So there _was_ an old trouble, as I had thought, beside which this newone seemed of little moment. She had been schooled by suffering; perhapsI had misjudged her in thinking her indifferent. But it was evident thatI could get no further information from Curtiss.
"You were at the church," I asked, "when you heard that Miss Lawrencehad disappeared?"
"Yes," he answered hoarsely. "Royce brought me word."
"And you came straight here?"
"Yes."
"And searched for her?"
"Where could I search? I was utterly at sea. I--I don't remember justwhat I did at first."
"But you didn't search the house nor the grounds?"
"Why should I have done that when Mrs. Lawrence had already done itthoroughly?" he demanded.
"True," I assented. After all, I had no right to shake his faith in herupon a mere suspicion.
"I was overwhelmed," he added. "I was too dazed to think. Royce saidhe'd wire for you. I'm glad he did, for I'm utterly unable to decidewhat to do. I should like you to advise me."
"Well, Mr. Curtiss," I said, "there's plainly only one thing to bedone--that is, to find Miss Lawrence and demand an explanation from herown lips. Whether or not this is the wisest course, may be open toquestion--but if I were in your place, I think I'd do just as you aredoing and take the risk."
"But to find her--how can I do that? I can't set a detective on hertrack."
"No, of course not," I agreed; "but I think we can get along without adetective."
"We must. Detectives talk too much, and this thing mustn't get into thepapers."
"I don't see how you can prevent that. It was to have been a churchwedding, wasn't it?"
"Yes; a church wedding."
"With an invited list of guests?"
"Certainly."
"And they were present at the church, weren't they?"
Curtiss groaned and I saw the perspiration start out across hisforehead.
"Present!" echoed Mr. Royce. "I should say they were--the church wascrowded. And we were waiting there in the minister's study, worryingbecause it was so late, when word came----"
"Don't!" protested Curtiss, with a despairing gesture. "I'd neverthought of that. I've been thinking only of myself. Of course the paperswill have it!" and he groaned again.
"Well, there's no use worrying about it," interposed Mr. Royce. "What isdone is done. The thing is to find Miss Lawrence, and if anybody canfind her, Lester can. I'm sure that five minutes' talk with her willstraighten out the whole tangle. There's been an absurd mistake of somesort."
"No doubt," I assented, though in my heart I did doubt it very much. Atany rate, the five minutes' talk could do no harm.
"Now you go away somewhere for a day or two, and leave this thing in ourhands," added our junior. "What you need is rest. Don't worry any morethan you can help. Let us know where you are, and we'll wire you as soonas we have any information. That's good advice, isn't it, Lester?"
"Very good," I said. "I hope Mr. Curtiss will follow it."
"No, no," he protested. "I can't go away--I must stay here--I couldn'tstand it to go away."
"May I speak to you frankly, Mr. Curtiss?" I asked quietly.
"Please do," he said. "Speak as frankly as you like."
"Well, then," I began, "you'll pardon me for saying it, but I don'tbelieve you can help us any, just at present. Besides, you need to pullyourself together."
"That's true," he agreed, and glanced at his trembling hands.
"Take my advice," I went on earnestly, "and Mr. Royce's advice. LeaveElizabeth for a little while. There isn't much chance of my finding MissLawrence for a day or two. You must get your calmness andself-possession back, for you'll need them."
"Yes," he said hoarsely; "yes, I'll need them. Very well, I'll do as yousay, Mr. Lester. Only it's deuced selfish of me to throw my troubles onyour shoulders this way."
"Selfish nothing!" cried our junior. "Where will you go?"
"I don't know," answered Curtiss helplessly.
"Go to one of the beaches near New York. The sea-air and surf will doyou good. Let us know where you are; then, if we want you, we won't haveany trouble finding you, and you can get back here in an hour or two."
"There's one thing Mr. Curtiss can do," I said. "A photograph of MissLawrence might prove a great help."
"W
hy, of course," he assented, and thrust his hand into an inner pocket.But, after an instant's hesitation, he drew it out empty. "I can't giveyou that one," he said; "I must keep that one. I'll send you another.You're at the Sheridan?"
"Yes."
"I'll leave it there for you. But please don't use it unless youabsolutely have to."
"I won't use it at all, if I can avoid it," I assured him. "I promiseyou that it won't go out of my hands."
"Thank you," he said. "I knew you'd understand. As soon as you have anynews you'll wire me?"
"The very moment. I want you to rely on us."
"I will."
"And not worry."
"I'll try not to," and he was gone.
As the door closed behind him, Mr. Royce looked at me with a somewhatguilty countenance.
"You see, I've got you into it again, Lester," he began. "I hope youdon't mind."
"I don't. Rather the contrary."
"It's a little out of our line," he added. "But for a friend--and Icertainly pity the poor fellow--we lawyers have to do peculiar thingssometimes."
"I've done more peculiar ones than this," I said. "This is, at bottom,merely a matter of finding an important witness who is missing."
"Thank you, Lester," he said, and held out his hand. "I didn't want toseem to be imposing on you."
"You're not," I assured him again, and rose. "Now I think I'd better begetting to work."
"Can I be of any help?" he asked, rising too. "If not, I'll take thefour-ten back to New York. I think Curtiss needs a little looking after.I'll hunt him up and take him with me. Besides, my wife is so wrought-upover this affair that she wants to get home."
"Very well," I assented. "Curtiss will need some one to protect him fromthe reporters. It's a wonder they haven't treed him before this."
"They tried to," said Mr. Royce, smiling grimly. "I succeeded in keepingthem off. He was too preoccupied to notice. There's nothing else I cando?"
"No, I think not. If I need you, I'll wire."
"You won't need me," and he smiled again. "You know I'm no good at thiskind of work."
"I know you'll be working harder than I will, keeping up with things atthe office."
"Don't worry about that. You intend to stay here?"
"Yes; but only for a day or two, I trust. I can't think it a verydifficult task to find a young woman who has run away in broad daylightin her wedding finery. Somebody must have seen her--that is, if she ranaway at all."
"No doubt," he agreed. "Of course you'll find her--it's not about thatI'm worrying so much; it's about her motive for doing such a thing. Itseems preposterous to suppose that any woman in her right mind would runaway half an hour before her wedding. Curtiss saw her at ten o'clock andfound her happy, yet an hour later she had taken this desperate step. Iwonder, Lester, if you realise just how desperate it was?"
"Yes," I said; "I think I do."
"Well, I'm free to confess I didn't until I saw its effect on my wife.Why, Lester, it was suicidal--it means social ostracism--no less. Evenif it doesn't altogether ruin her life, it will always shadow it. It'ssomething she can never outlive."
"Yes," I said again; "it's all that."
"And yet she was a thoughtful, self-controlled, well-balanced woman, whowould foresee all this--who would realise the consequences more clearlythan we can do. Lester--what was it drove her to it?"
"Ah, if I only knew! But I'm going to find out!"
"I hope you will--and yet I fear it, too. I'm afraid to think of it--I'mafraid to try to guess the secret--I'm afraid I'll unearth some grisly,loathsome skeleton, which should never have seen the light! But I'm sureof one thing," he added, his face hardening. "I think you suspected,too."
"What was that?"
"Whatever the secret is, Mrs. Lawrence knows it."
"Yes," I agreed, "I believe she does."
"And had a hand in her daughter's disappearance."
"Yes," I said again, "I think that very likely."
He stood for a moment longer, looking at me as though half-inclined tosay something more; then he shook hands abruptly and left the room.
As I turned to sit down again, I noticed, in the chair from which I hadarisen, something white crushed into one corner of the seat. I picked itup. It was a handkerchief of dainty lace and it was damp--with tears?
That Affair at Elizabeth Page 5
