CHAPTER XX
MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE
It was quite dark in the street, she found, when she had groped her way down the rickety stairs to it, and a fine, chill rain was falling.
With a wildly beating heart, and dilating frightened eyes, Editha looked up and down the sidewalk, hoping to catch sight of the friendly policeman again. But he was nowhere to be seen, and there were very few people to be either seen or heard, everyone who was fortunate enough to have a shelter having sought its protection against the storm.
Drawing her cloak closer about her, and calling all her resolution to her aid, she sped her way, half expecting that at every step some horrible creature would rise up and confront her, demanding the precious treasure that lay so close above her fluttering heart. But no such person was in sight, and no one appeared to be following her; and, gaining courage from the fact, she grew more calm, and began to breathe more freely, as she almost flew over the way.
She had nearly gained a more public street, where she could see the friendly lights glimmering and beckoning her on, and where, once reached, she intended to take a car home.
Her courage arose with every step; she had only one more low, ill-looking building to pass, then an open space, before she would be where no possible harm could come to her. Her heart beat lightly and cried out within her: “Victory! victory!” for now Earle would be free from all taint or suspicion—he could hereafter proudly face the whole world, and no one would dare to point the finger of scorn at him again.
How happy she would be to be able to give him this evidence when he should return. She had never dared to think that she would be the one to bestow upon him such exceeding joy, and she hugged to her bosom with a strange feeling of exultation the closely penciled paper that was to accomplish all this.
The low building was nearly passed—two minutes more and she would be—
Safe! she would have added, but a sudden shock prevented her from ever finishing the interrupted thought.
A heavy hand dropped upon her shoulder like the stroke of a hammer, and a fierce voice whispered in her ear:
“Make no noise and I will do you no harm; scream once, and I’ll choke you; but I must have that paper that John Loker signed for you.”
She knew the instant she felt the touch of that hand—before even a word was uttered—who it was that had captured her there in the darkness and rain.
She did not need the aid of a light to know that a burly head, with flaming red hair, and an ugly face, with a scar under the right eye, and an ear with part of the lobe gone, towered above her; she could almost feel that the hand lying so heavily upon her was minus a portion of the little finger, and a shudder ran through her as it flashed upon her how much of crime that hand was guilty of, and might be stained even more deeply, yet before it should be removed from her.
The sudden shock seemed to paralyze her for the moment so she was powerless to resist. She could not have cried out, even if his threat had not intimidated her, so terrible was the fright she sustained.
“I will do you no injury, Editha Dalton; but I must have that paper; and be quick about it, too,” the man repeated, in low tones.
Give up that precious paper voluntarily—that treasure worth more to her than her whole fortune! Give up all the evidence there was in the world that Earle Wayne was an innocent, injured, and long-suffering man!
Never!
Her whole soul arose at once to arms to do valiant battle for the noble lover and his honor.
She had been fearful and trembling all the way from John Loker’s house to this spot, dreading every step lest she should meet this very foe.
Now that the danger was encountered, and she, a frail, delicate girl, was actually in the power of a desperate villain, and not a person within hearing to help her, she grew suddenly calm, her brain clear, and quick, and keen to think, her nerves steady to act.
“How do you know that I have any paper signed by John Loker?” she quietly demanded.
She knew well enough how, but she asked the question to gain time.
The man laughed a short, scornful laugh; then he said:
“You are a brave little woman and a good actress;” and there was a note of admiration in his voice as he spoke. “You thought I did not see you glance up at the window back of John Loker’s bed half an hour ago,” he went on, in quick, low tones; “you did not scream nor make any fuss, as most women would have done on seeing a face like mine peering in upon them; you knew it was your only chance to get the evidence that would clear an innocent man from the suspicion of a crime; you showed a plucky spirit, Miss Dalton, to sit there and write so quietly, when you knew Tom Drake’s ugly face was looking down upon you. But did you think I would let you get away with that evidence? Not much—my business is too profitable to be stopped by having my likeness displayed to the world, even though it was taken by a hand as pretty as yours. So make haste and pass it over,” he said, not unkindly, for her dauntless spirit had really inspired him with admiration for her.
“You cannot have it!” Edith said, firmly, while she made an effort to free herself from the grasp of her captor.
The next instant she would have screamed for help in spite of his threat, but he, anticipating this, threw one powerful arm around her slight form, placing his other hand at the same time over her mouth, and, lifting her from her feet as easily as if she had been a child, he carried her within the shadow of a door-way in the low building before referred to.
Once there, he sat her down upon her feet again, though he still kept her mouth firmly covered with his hand.
“I’ve got to have it, d’ye hear?” he said, fiercely; “if not by fair means, why, then, by foul. I’ve no wish to harm you, and if you’ll give it up quietly I’ll let you go; if you won’t, it will be the worst for you, that’s all. Will you give it up? Nod your head if you mean yes.”
Editha could scarcely breathe, his hand was so heavily pressed over her mouth and nostrils, and she was absolutely powerless in the strong man’s grasp.
She knew she was at his mercy, but she knew also that he could not get possession of her treasure without removing his hand from her face, which would give her an advantage over him because she could call for help.
So, instead of nodding her head as he had commanded her to do, she resolutely signified her defiance with a decided shake.
The man uttered a round oath at this.
Evidently, he had not anticipated any such determined resistance, and for a moment he appeared undecided what to do.
“I’d like to strangle what little life there is left in that traitor out of him,” he muttered, angrily, referring to John Loker.
His sentence was hardly completed when he uttered a suppressed howl.
Editha’s white teeth had suddenly closed over the fleshy part of his palm with a force that made him cringe with pain, and at the same time removed something of the pressure over her mouth.
Taking advantage of this, she threw back her head with a violent motion and sent forth a shrill cry for help.
The cry was her salvation, and help was nearer than either of them thought.
A quick, firm tread soon sounded upon the pavement, and then the tall form of a policeman became visible close at hand.
The villain saw that his “game was up,” and that the wisest thing for him to do would be to get out of the way, and, with another fierce oath, he released his hold upon his victim and beat a hasty and inglorious retreat, vowing vengeance upon her in the future.
With succor at hand, and the disappearance of her captor, Editha’s courage and strength failed her utterly.
Her nerves had received a terrible shock, for which she of necessity had now to pay the penalty.
She did not faint, nor go into hysterics, nor make any Other disturbance, but she clung in speechless terror and trembling to the sturdy policeman who had come to her aid.
“Are you hurt, miss? Did the villain dare to hurt you?” he asked, sternly.
“No, not much; but, oh, oh! he frightened me terribly,” she whispered, shaking as with the ague, and her teeth chattering audibly.
“Poor thing! poor thing! this is a bad place for such as you to be in,” he answered, pityingly. “I thought to watch for you,” he continued, “until you came out from John Loker’s house, and then take you safely through this dismal street; but there was a scrimmage down here apiece, and I had to go. But I was a sort ’o looking for you as I came along back, and I suspected at once that it was you when I heard you cry out. Did the wretch steal anything from you?”
“No; but he wanted something which he knew I had, and I wouldn’t give it to him.”
“Wouldn’t, eh?” repeated the policeman, with a little chuckle at her spirit and resolute tone. “Should you know him if you should ever meet him again?” he asked, presently.
“Oh, yes,” Editha answered, with a shudder, feeling that it would be impossible ever to forget that repulsive face that had so startled her at the window in John Loker’s miserable home.
She was now beginning to recover her strength and signified her readiness to go on if her companion would accompany her. She longed to get away from the dismal place, and as if she would never dare enter a by-street again as long as she lived.
The man readily went with her to the next street and waited to see her safely seated in a car, and in less than fifteen minutes she was once more in her own luxurious home, heartily thankful for her escape from a ruffian’s power.
Mr. Dalton expressed some surprise at her being out so late—remarked, with some indifference, that she looked pale, and asked if she was not well, and then added that dinner had been waiting for more than half an hour.
She simply replied that she was well, and regretted that he should have waited dinner for her, but she had been unavoidably detained.
Editha Dalton knew that she must keep her own counsel regarding that evening’s adventures.
The time had come when she could not trust her dearest interests in the hands of her father. She knew he would have no sympathy with her regarding the confession she had obtained and would oppose rather than aid her in making it public to vindicate Earle.
But she had resolved to go to Mr. Felton, on the morrow, put the precious evidence in his hands, and be guided by his ever-wise counsel.
She retired to her own rooms as soon as dinner was dispatched and immediately set herself to work to make a careful copy of John Loker’s confession to send to Earle. And then, with something of the fear creeping over her that she had experienced while in Tom Drake’s power, she looked around for a safe place in which to hide the original. She would not take it below and put it into the safe, for she knew that burglars were not troubled nowadays about opening such things, let them have ever so complicated a lock, and she could not sleep until it was safely disposed of somewhere.
“What shall I do with it?” she said, with flushed cheeks and anxious brow. “Something tells me I must hide it even for tonight.”
No drawer with any common lock would be a safe place, she reasoned—she could not keep it about her person, and for a long time it was a matter that caused her much perplexity. All at once her eyes lighted. In her jewel box, which was quite a large one, there was a raised velvet cushion, with places on it for the different articles of jewelry she was in the habit of wearing.
This cushion was securely glued to the bottom of the box. What omen of impending evil could have inspired Editha with the idea that underneath this would be a safe place to hide her evidence?
She carefully pried it from the box, folded the papers just to fit the bottom, then, pressing the cushions firmly back into its place, she once more arranged her jewels in their accustomed position, and then, apparently satisfied with her work, she resumed her seat and began to write an account of her adventures to her dear one across the sea.
It is said that “coming events cast their shadows before;” whether this be true or not, I cannot say, but one thing is certain, and that is that it was well for Earle Wayne’s honor that Editha Dalton was guided by her impressions to so adroitly conceal John Loker’s confession just where she did and just when she did.
The next morning Editha did not make her appearance at the breakfast table.
This was something unusual, for the young girl had always made it a point, even since Mrs. Dalton’s death, to be neatly and attractively dressed and in her place opposite her father promptly every morning upon the ringing of the breakfast bell.
Mr. Dalton, angry at thus being obliged to wait for two successive meals for her, curtly ordered a servant to go and wake her and tell her he was waiting for her.
The girl hastened to do his bidding, but soon returned, with a pale and affrighted face, saying that Miss Editha was not in her chamber, her bed had not been occupied during the night, and that both sitting room and bedroom were in the direst confusion.
Mr. Dalton, was, of course, instantly alarmed at this startling intelligence, and hastened at once to investigate the matter.
He found it was even worse than the girl had stated. Drawers, boxes, and closets had been overturned and emptied of their contents and lay scattered in every direction upon the floor, chairs, and bed. Clothing had been unfolded, shaken out, and then thrown hastily aside; dresses were lying over chairs, with their pockets turned inside out and rifled of their contents. Editha’s costly writing desk was overturned upon the floor, her letters and papers scattered in every direction; and then it was for the first time that Mr. Dalton knew for a certainty of her correspondence with Earle, for stooping down to pick up these letters, he had gathered up with others those that the young man had sent across the sea to her.
Never had those beautiful rooms been in such dire confusion before, and nothing seemed to be missing but Editha’s jewelry, which had been taken from its box, and that was left standing, empty and open, in its accustomed place, and a very common hat and circular waterproof, which she had been in the habit of wearing in stormy weather. Editha herself was gone—that was evident, and no one appeared to know when nor whither.
Mr. Dalton was nearly stupefied at first, and the thought flashed upon him that she might have fled to Earle.
But he soon dismissed this idea, for he knew her character well enough to know that if she was bound to marry Earle Wayne she would do it boldly, openly, and in defiance of the whole world; moreover, she never would have gone away voluntarily and left things in that style, taking nothing with her for her own comfort or needs.
No, it was a deep and incomprehensible mystery.
Days and weeks were devoted to the search for her. Detectives were employed, the police were notified, and advertisements were inserted in all the leading papers, but all without avail; no clue could be gained as to the whereabouts of the missing girl; and Mr. Dalton was at last left entirely alone and desolate in his beautiful home.
Only one thing was discovered that seemed to have any bearing on the matter, and that was her adventure with the unknown ruffian after her visit to John Loker’s house.
The policeman who had rescued her gave an account of what he knew of the matter, and then Mr. Dalton went himself to see the wretched family, thinking perhaps some further information might be gleaned from them.
But John Loker had died the day following Editha’s visit there, and after the funeral, the family had disappeared, and no one knew anything of them.
To say that Mr. Dalton was not extremely distressed over the strange affair would be very unjust to him.
He availed himself of every possible means to solve the dreadful mystery; but, as we have already seen, he was an utterly selfish man, and it was not in his nature to brood over anything either troublesome or disagreeable; and the source from which he at length drew consolation may perhaps be revealed by the following soliloquy with himself, as he sat one night in the library, considering the pros and cons of the future:
“If anything—ah—fatal—should have—happened to Editha—if she should not be—living, her—fortune then will be—mine, I suppose.”
And even while he spoke a strange look settled over his face, there was a queer quaver in his voice, and he was as white as the immaculate tie which he wore about his neck.
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