Josie tried the Sisters’ Hospital and learned that Mrs. Orme lived in an apartment at 524 Morgan Avenue. She took a taxicab and drove there, determining to obtain an interview with the woman by posing as a nurse who desired assistance in securing employment. But disappointment confronted her. Mrs. Orme had moved from the apartment ten days ago and her present address was unknown.
“She has taken considerable pains to cover her traces,” said Josie to Mary Louise, when she returned from her futile trip.
“I hope you’re not discouraged, dear,” returned Mary Louise anxiously. “The local detectives have done nothing at all, so you are our only hope, Josie.”
The embryo detective smiled sweetly.
“I’m not here on a pleasure trip,” she said, “although I enjoy travel and good hotel fodder as well as anyone. This is business, but so far I’m just feeling my way and getting a start. You can’t open a mystery as you do a book, Mary Louise; it has to be pried open. The very fact that this Mrs. Orme has so carefully concealed her hiding- place is assurance that she’s the guilty party who abducted Alora. Being positive of that, it only remains to find her — not an impossibility, by any means — and then we shall have no difficulty in liberating her prisoner.”
“But to find her; can you do that, Josie?”
“Certainly, with a little help from the police, which they will gladly furnish. They know I’m Daddy’s daughter, for I have already introduced myself to them, and while they may be slow to take the initiative they are always quite willing to aid in an affair of this sort. Now, it stands to reason, Mary Louise, that the nurse didn’t use the streets to promenade with. Alora. That would have been dangerous to her plans. There are so few people abroad in Chicago at six o’clock in the morning that those who met the two would have noted and remembered them. For the same reason Mrs. Orme did not take a street car, or the elevated. Therefore, she took a cab, and the cabman who drove them will know Mrs. Orme’s address.”
“But who was the cabman?” asked Mary Louise.
“That,” said Josie, “is to be my next discovery.”
CHAPTER XIX
DECOYED
The excitement of being once more in a big city rendered Alora Jones wakeful on that eventful Tuesday morning following her arrival in Chicago. At daybreak she rose and peered trough the window into a gray and unimpressive side street; then, disinclined to return to bed, she slowly began dressing.
Presently a sharp knock sounded upon her door. Somewhat surprised, she opened it far enough to see a middle-aged woman attired in nurse’s uniform standing in the dim hallway.
“Miss Jones? Miss Alora Jones?” questioned the woman in a soft voice.
“Yes; what is it?”
“I’ve a message for you. May I come in?”
Alora, fearful that Mary Louise or the Colonel might have been taken suddenly ill, threw wide the door and allowed the woman to enter. As the nurse closed the door behind her Alora switched on the electric light and then, facing her visitor, for the first time recognized her and gave a little cry of surprise.
“Janet!”
“Yes; I am Janet Orme, your mother’s nurse.”
“But I thought you abandoned nursing after you made my father give you all that money,” an accent of scorn in her tone.
“I did, for a time,” was the quiet answer. “‘All that money’ was not a great sum; it was not as much as your father owed me, so I soon took up my old profession again.”
The woman’s voice and attitude were meek and deprecating, yet Alora’s face expressed distrust. She remembered Janet’s jaunty insolence at her father’s studio and how she had dressed, extravagantly and attended theatre parties and fashionable restaurants, scattering recklessly the money she had exacted from Jason Jones. Janet, with an upward sweep of her half veiled eyes, read the girl’s face clearly, but she continued in the same subdued tones:
“However, it is not of myself I came here to speak, but on behalf of your mother’s old friend, Doctor Anstruther.”
“Oh; did he send you here?”
“Yes. I am his nurse, just now. He has always used me on his important cases, and now I am attending the most important case of all — his own.”
“Is Dr. Anstruther ill, then?” asked Alora.
“He is dying. His health broke weeks ago, as you may have heard, and gradually he has grown worse. This morning he is sinking rapidly; we have no hope that he will last through the day.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for that!” exclaimed Alora, who remembered the kindly old doctor with real affection. He had been not only her mother’s physician but her valued friend.
“He learned, quite by accident, of your arrival here last evening,” Janet went on, “and so he begged me to see you and implore you to come to his bedside. I advised him not to disturb you until morning, but the poor man is very restless and so I came here at this unusual hour. It seems he is anxious to tell you some secret which your dead mother confided to his keeping and, realizing his hours are numbered, he urges you to lose no time in going to him. That is the message entrusted to me.”
There was no emotion in her utterance; the story was told calmly, as by one fulfilling a mission but indifferent as to its success. Alora did not hesitate.
“How far is it?” she quickly asked.
“A fifteen minute ride.”
The girl glanced at her watch. It was not quite six o’clock. Mary Louise and the Colonel would not appear for breakfast for a good two hours yet and after breakfast they were all to go to the yacht. The hour was opportune, affording her time to visit poor Doctor Anstruther and return before her friends were up. Had Alora paused to give Janet’s story more consideration she might have seen the inconsistencies in the nurse’s statements, but her only thoughts were to learn her mother’s secret and to show her sincere consideration for her kindly old friend.
Hastily completing her attire she added her hat and jacket and then said:
“I am ready, Janet.”
“I hope we shall find him still alive,” remarked the nurse, a cleverly assumed anxiety in her tone, as she took the key from inside the door and fitted it to the outer side of the lock.
Alora passed out, scarcely aware that Janet had pretended to lock the door. Halfway down the hall the woman handed her the key.
“Come this way, please,” she said; “it is nearer to the carriage which is waiting for us.”
At the rear of the building they descended the stairs and passed through an anteroom fitted with lockers for the use of the employees of the hotel. No one happened to be in the anteroom at that moment and they gained the alley without encountering a single person. Janet quickly led the girl through the alley and soon they came to a closed automobile which evidently awaited them. Janet opened the door for Alora and followed the girl inside the car, which started at once and sped along the quiet streets.
“You will find Doctor Anstruther very feeble,” said the nurse, “for he has suffered greatly. But I am sure it will give him pleasure to see you again. I hope he will recognize you. I scarcely recognized you, myself, you have changed so much since last we saw you at the Voltaire. Your resemblance to your mother is quite marked, however.”
And so, during the ride, she kept up a flow of desultory conversation, intended to distract Alora’s attention from the section of the city through which they were passing. She spoke of Dr. Anstruther, mostly, and answered such questions as Alora put to her in a calm, unemotional manner well calculated to allay suspicion. The woman kept her eyes veiled by her lashes, as of yore, but her face seemed to have aged and grown harder in its lines. There was no hint now of her former gay life in New York; she had resumed the humble tones and manners peculiar to her profession, such as Alora remembered were characteristic of her at the time she nursed her mother.
“This is the place,” said Janet, as the cab came to a stop. “Let us move softly, as noise disturbs my patient.”
Alora had paid no attention to the direction they h
ad driven but on leaving the car she found herself facing a three-storied brick flat building of not very prepossessing appearance. Then were several vacant lots on either side of this building, giving it a lonely appearance, and in the lower windows were pasted placards: “To Let.”
“Oh; does Doctor Anstruther live here?” asked Alora, somewhat astonished.
Without seeming to have heard the question Janet mounted the steps and opened the front door with a latch-key. Alora followed her inside and up two dingy flights to the third floor. Once she started to protest, for the deadly silence of the place impressed her with a vague foreboding that something was amiss, but Janet silenced her with a warning finger on her lips and on reaching the upper landing herself avoided making a noise as she cautiously unlocked the door. She stood listening a moment and then entered and nodded to the girl to follow.
They were in a short, dark passage which separated the landing from the rooms of the flat. Janet closed the outer door, startling her companion with the sharp “click” it made, and quickly opened another door which led into a shabby living room at the front of the building. Standing just within this room, Alora glanced around with the first real sensation of suspicion she had yet experienced. Janet raised her lids for a sweeping view of the girl’s face and then with a light laugh began to remove her own cloak and cap, which she hung in a closet.
“Come, child, make yourself at home,” she said in a mocking, triumphant voice, as she seated herself in a chair facing the bewildered girl. “I may as well inform you that this is to be your home for some time to come — until Jason Jones decides to rescue you. You won’t object, I hope? Don’t get nervous and you’ll find your quarters very comfortable, if retired.”
Alora, understanding now, first shuddered, then grew tense and cast a hurried glance at the hall door behind her.
“Have you lied to me, Janet?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
“And this is a trap? Doctor Anstruther is not sick? He did not send for me? He is not here?”
“You have guessed correctly, Alora.”
The girl wheeled and in a quick run reached the door to the landing. It was fast locked.
“Help!” she cried, and stopped to listen; “help! help!”
“Come in and take off your things,” called Janet, undisturbed by the outcry. “This building hasn’t a soul in it but ourselves, and you may yell for help until you are hoarse without being heard. But don’t be frightened. I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I’d like to make your confinement as cheerful as possible. Can’t you understand the truth — that I am simply holding your person in order to force Jason Jones to pay the money he owes me?”
CHAPTER XX
JANET’S TRIUMPH
Alora stood by the door, irresolute, wondering what to do. It occurred to her that she was not much afraid of Janet Orme. She had been trapped in order to bleed her father of money; it was all her father’s fault — his fault and Janet’s.
“Suppose you help me get our breakfast,” suggested the nurse, coolly. “It will take your mind off your trouble and keep you from brooding. I admit I’m hungry, and I’m sure you’ll feel better for a cup of coffee.”
She passed into another room, as she spoke, and Alora, realizing the hall door could not be forced by her puny strength, advanced into the living room. There were three other doorways opening from this apartment. She could hear Janet rattling dishes and pans, so the way she had gone led into the kitchen. The other two doors she found gave entrance to small bedrooms, neither having egress other than through the living room. The furniture in all the rooms was cheap and tawdry but fairly comfortable.
Alora sat down and tried to collect her thoughts. Janet got the breakfast unaided and then came to summon her. Alora quietly walked into the kitchen and sat down at a little table spread for two. There was a dish of crisp bacon, some toast and coffee. Alora silently ate and drank, determined to maintain her strength. Having finished her meal she sat back and asked:
“Do you mind explaining what all this means?”
“No, indeed; I’m glad to explain,” replied the woman, raising her eyelids an instant to flash a glance of approval at her prisoner. “I have already said that I was obliged to annoy you in order to reach your father. The dear father is an elusive person, you know, and is determined to avoid paying the money he owes me. I haven’t been able to locate him, lately, but I have located you, and you are mighty precious to him because if he loses you he loses the income from your fortune. Therefore it is my intention to hold you here until Jason Jones either pays my demands or allows the probate court to deprive him of his guardianship. The proposition is really very simple, as you see.”
“Still,” said Alora, “I do not quite understand. How did you know of my value to my father?”
“I witnessed your mother’s will,” was the reply.
Alora remembered that this was true.
“But why does my father still owe you money? You were paid for nursing my mother. And, if your demands are merely blackmail, why does not my father defy you?”
“I’ll tell you,” answered. Janet. “It is a bit of ancient history, but it may interest you. Your mother renounced your father when you were scarcely a year old. I met Jason Jones soon afterward, and believing, — as your own deluded mother did — that he would become a great artist, I gambled with him on his career. In other words, I supported Jason Jones with all my earnings as a nurse for a period of six years and in return he signed an agreement which states that one-half of all the money he received in the future, from whatever source, must be paid to me in return for my investment. Doubtless we both thought, at the time, that any money he got would come from the sale of his pictures; neither could have dreamed that your mother would call him to her on her death-bed and present sent him with your income until you came of age — seven years’ control of a fortune, with no other obligation than to look after a child and keep her with him. But the agreement between us covered even that astonishing event. Imagine, if you can, Jason Jones’ amazement when he entered your mother’s sick chamber to find me — his partner — acting as her nurse. He was also annoyed, for he realized I knew the terms of the will and would demand my share of his income. Can you blame me? He hadn’t made good as an artist and this was my only chance to get back some of the hard earned savings I had advanced him. But Jason Jones isn’t square, Alora; he’s mean and shifty, as perhaps you have discovered. He gave me some money at first, when I followed him to New York, as you know; but after that the coward ran away. That provoked me and made me determined to run him down. I traced him to Europe and followed him there, but he evaded me for a full year, until my money was gone and I was forced to return to America. For nearly three years longer I worked as a nurse and hoarded my earnings. Then, through your father’s banker in New York I managed to learn his address. The banker didn’t tell me, but I did a little spy work and in the bank’s mail I found a letter in Jason Jones’ handwriting postmarked ‘Positano, Italy.’ That was all the clew I needed and I went to Italy and soon located my man. I faced him in his own villa — I believe you were away at the time — and when he found he was caught he cringed and begged for mercy and promised to give me all that belonged to me. He said he had a lot of gold in his possession and he would pay me partly in gold and partly in drafts on his New York banker. Then he left the room to get the gold and returned with a husky Italian servant who seized and bound me and threw me into a stone house used to store grapes, where I was kept a prisoner for nearly ten days and treated like a dog.
“Finally the Italian released me, asserting that Jason Jones was on his way to America. I followed as soon as I could get passage in a ship, but your clever father had left New York before I arrived there and I could not discover where he had hidden himself. Once more he had beaten me.”
Her voice was hard and angry. Alora was tempted to believe the story, for many of its details she knew were true. She remembered, for one thing, that queer lette
r from Silvio which she had discovered tucked inside one of her father’s books. It stated that, according to orders, the Italian had “released the prisoner.” So the prisoner had been Janet, and Alora could well understand her determination to secure revenge.
“It seems to me,” she said, “that you should have taken your contract with my father to a lawyer, and brought suit to recover the money due you. Surely that would have been the easiest way to collect it.”
Janet’s face grew red; her lashes dropped still further over the eyes; but she answered after an instant’s pause:
“I do not wish the world to know what a fool I was to support an imitation artist for six long years. A lawsuit means publicity, and I have a little pride left, I assure you. Besides,” collecting her thoughts as she spoke, “I cannot see the wisdom of dividing my share with a lawyer when I can bring your father to terms myself. I know I have executed a bold stroke in seizing you and making you my prisoner, but it’s a stroke that’s bound to win. It was conceived last night, on the spur of the moment. Lately I have been nursing in Chicago, where I am better known than in New York and can get better wages. Since my return from Italy I’ve been saving to renew the search for Jason Jones. While nursing a Mrs. Tolliver at the Hotel Blackington, fortune suddenly smiled on me. I chanced to examine the hotel register last night and found you were registered with Colonel Hathaway’s party. Your room number was marked opposite your name, so I had you properly located. During the night, while on duty in Mrs. Tolliver’s room, I had ample time to figure out a plan of action. I knew you were fond of old Doctor Anstruther and so used his name for a lure. I had already rented this flat; not with the idea of using it for a prison, but because it was cheap and so isolated that I could sleep during the daytime without being disturbed. I believe that’s all that I need explain to you. Our little adventure of this morning you will now be able to understand perfectly. Also you will understand the fact that you must remain a prisoner until my purpose is accomplished. I’m sorry for you, but it can’t be helped. Won’t you have another cup of coffee, Alora?”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 608
