"She didn't hide it from me, was frank and outspoken about the meeting and his subsequent attentions. For he saw her often after that, took her for walks on Sunday, sent her theater tickets and books. I was filled with anxiety, besought of her to give it up, but she wouldn't, she couldn't. Before I went to Gra.s.slands I realized a situation was developing that made me sick with apprehension. She was in love, madly in love. I couldn't reason with her, I couldn't make her listen to me; she was blind and deaf to anything but him and what he said.

"I went to Mr. Price and implored him to leave her alone. I had to catch him as I could-in the halls, at odd moments in the library, for he hated the scenes I made and tried to avoid me. He a.s.sured me that he meant no harm, that her position was hard and he was sorry for her. I threatened to tell Mrs. Janney, and he said I could if I wanted, that he would soon be done with them all and didn't care. I saw then that he too, like Florry, was growing indifferent to everything but the hours when they were together-that _he_ was in love.

"That was the situation when I went to Gra.s.slands. It was much worse there-I couldn't see her often, I was in ignorance of how things were going with her, for her letters told me little. It was unbearable, and I went into town whenever I could; all the extra holidays were asked for so that I could go into the city and see how Florry was getting on. On one of these visits she told me something that, at the time, I paid little attention to, setting it down as one of her pa.s.sing fancies; she was interested in the working girls' unions. At Camille's and in the boarding house she had fallen in with a group of girls of Socialistic beliefs and, through them, had met their organizers and backers. She was much more deeply involved than I guessed. Her fearlessness, her ardor for anything new and exciting, making her a valuable addition to their ranks. It carried her far, to the edge of tragedy."

She turned to Mr. Janney:

"Do you remember, Mr. Janney, one morning early in July, how I read you an account of a strike riot among the shirtwaist makers when one of the girls stabbed a policeman with a hatpin?"

The old man nodded:

"Yes, vaguely. I have a dim memory of arguing about it with you."

"That was the time. Well, that girl was Florry. She lost her head completely, stabbed the man, and in the tumult that followed, managed to get away through the hall of a tenement house. She was hidden by friends of hers, Russian socialists called Rychlovsky. I have met them; they seem decent, kindly people, and they certainly were very good to her.

When I read you the article I had no more idea that the girl was Florry than you had. It was not until the next morning that I received a letter from her, telling me what she had done and where she was.

"She wrote two letters, one to me and one to Mr. Price. He had told her that he would spend his week-ends with the Hartleys at Cedar Brook and she sent his there. Mine was delivered on the morning of July the seventh but he did not get his until the same evening when he came to Cedar Brook from the city. Each of us acted as promptly as we could, but he went to her before I did, going in that night in his car.

"It seems incredible that he should have done what he did, dared to take such a risk. But when he found her cooped up in the rear room of a tenement, lonely and frightened, he prevailed on her to go out with him in his motor. He took her for a drive far up the Hudson, not returning until after midnight. The Rychlovskys, who had missed her and were in a state of alarm, were furious. When I went there the next day they were vociferous in their desire to be rid of her, saying she would land them all in jail. I was her sister; it was up to me, I must find another lair for her.

"I had heard of the house in Gayle Street from two girls, art students, who had once lived there. It was the only place I could think of; and when I found that the top floor was vacant, I realized that she could be hidden in one of the rooms and no one suspect it was occupied. I engaged it and paid the rent, telling the janitor the story of a friend coming from the West. Then I took the key back to Florry. The Rychlovskys, pacified by the thought that she would be out of their house, undertook to furnish her with food. They made her promise that she would keep to the room, light no gas at night, make no noise, and stay away from the window. Florry was by this time thoroughly cowed and agreed to everything. It was through their adroitness that the room pa.s.sed as vacant. They visited her in the evening, a time when many people came and went in the house, bringing in her food and carrying away what was left in newspapers. They had two extra keys made, one for me, one for Mr. Price. I brought her money, Mr. Price books and magazines. He saw her oftener than I did, and gave me news of her. This I asked him to do by letter. I had once met him by Little Fresh Pond, and another time he had telephoned. I was afraid of repeating the meeting at the pond-we had both come upon Miss Rogers and Bebita on the way out-and I dreaded being overheard at the 'phone.

"All went well for two weeks, though we were terribly frightened, for the policeman developed blood-poisoning, and for some time hung between life and death. Then the Rychlovskys suggested a plan that seemed to me the only way out of our dangers and difficulties. A friend of theirs, a woman doctor, was one of a hospital unit sailing from Montreal to France. This woman, allied with them in their Socialistic activities, agreed to get Florry into her group as a hospital attendant, take her to France and look after her. It struck us all as feasible and as lacking in danger as any plan for her removal could be. The doctor was a woman of high character who told the Rychlovskys she would keep Florry near her as the unit was shorthanded and needed all the workers it could get.

The one person who showed no enthusiasm was Florry herself. I knew perfectly what was the matter-she did not want to leave Chapman Price.

He tried to persuade her, was as worried and anxious as I was. The situation between them had cleared to a definite understanding-when his wife had obtained her divorce he would go to France and marry Florry there.

"And now I come to the day of the kidnaping, that dreadful, unforgettable day!

"The morning before-Thursday-I had seen her and found her in a state of nervous indecision, weeping and miserable. I knew I was to be in town with Mrs. Price the next day and told her if I could get time I would come to her. Mrs. Price had told me how we were to divide the errands and I realized, if I could finish mine earlier than she expected, I would have a chance of seeing Florry. I had just been paid my salary and that, with some money I had saved, I brought with me. My intention was to give all this to Florry and implore her to go with the hospital unit, which was scheduled to leave Montreal early the following week.

"Things worked out as I had hoped. The commissions took less time than Mrs. Price had calculated and I found that I would be able to spend a few minutes with Florry. In case Bebita should mention the excursion downtown, I ordered the driver to drop me at a bookbindery on the corner of Gale Street. I could easily explain our stop there by saying that I had left a book to be bound.

"When I reached the room I found her in a state of hysterical terror-she said the house was watched. Peeping out through the coa.r.s.e lace curtains that veiled the window, she had several times noticed a man lounging about the corner. At first she had thought nothing of him, but the day before he had reappeared, and stayed about the block most of the afternoon covertly watching the entrance and the upper floor. I was nearly as frightened as she was-the thing was only too probable. There was no difficulty in getting her to go with the hospital ship. She had only stayed on in the hope of seeing me and having me tell her what to do.

"I gave her the money and told her to wait until nightfall and then slip out and go to the Rychlovskys. They had promised to help her in any way they could, and with Bebita waiting in the cab, I couldn't go with her.

It was a simply hideous position to have to leave her that way. But it was all I could think of-it came so unexpectedly I was stunned by it.

"When I reached the bookbindery the taxi was gone! Can you imagine what I felt? I told the truth when I said my first thought was that Bebita might have played a joke on me. I _did_ think that, for my mind, confused and crowded with deadly fears, could not take in a new catastrophe. Then, when I saw Mrs. Price and realized that the child had mysteriously disappeared, while with _me_, while in _my_ charge-I-well, I hope I'll never have to live over moments like those again. I had to keep one fact before my mind-to be quiet, to be cool, not to do or say anything that might betray Florry. If I'd known what you suspected, I couldn't have done it. But, of course, I hadn't any idea then you thought I was implicated.

"Florry had told me she would communicate with Mr. Price and he would give me word of her. The telephone message that Miss Rogers tapped was that word; all I received. It relieved me immensely, I began to feel the dreadful strain relaxing, I began to think we were on the high road to safety. And then came that day here in the office. Shall I ever forget it!"

She turned to Mrs. Janney:

"If I had had the least idea of what was going to be done here, I would have tried to get to you and have thrown myself on your mercy. But I was completely unsuspecting and unprepared, and with Mr. Whitney as the judge, representing the law, I did not dare to tell the truth, I _had_ to lie.

"As you saw, I lied as well as I could, puzzled at first, not knowing what you were getting at, to what point it was all leading. Then, when you caught me with the tapped message, I saw-I guessed how circ.u.mstances had woven a net about me. I realized there was nothing to be done but let you believe it, let you do what you wanted with me. You couldn't _make_ me speak, and if I could stay silent till Florry was in Europe, hidden, lost in the chaos of a country at war, it would be all right."

She swept their faces with a glance, half pleading, half triumphant.

"She is there now-this morning Mr. Price had a cable from her. I have told this to Mr. Whitney as well as the rest because I have thought-shut up in O'Malley's flat I had much time for thinking things out straight and clear-that after my explanation, no one would want, no one would dare, to bring that unfortunate girl back here to face a criminal charge. She has had her lesson, she will never forget it, the man she wounded is back on the force as good as ever. No human being with a conscience and a heart-" she looked at Whitney-"and you have both-could want to make her pay more bitterly than she has. She is safe, under intelligent supervision. She can work, be useful, where her youth and strength and enthusiasm are needed. I did not trust you before, Mr.

Whitney, but I do now and I know that my trust is not misplaced."

A murmur, a concerted sound of agreement, came from her listeners.

Whitney, pushing his chair back from the desk, said gravely:

"You can rest a.s.sured, Miss Maitland, that the matter will die here with us to-day. As you say, your sister has had her punishment. She will stay in France of course?"

"Yes, make her home there, I think. When Mr. Price is free he is to go over and marry her. He intends to sell his business out and offer his services to the French government."

There was a moment of silence, then Mrs. Janney spoke, clearing her throat, her face flushed with feeling:

"As you've said, Miss Maitland, none of this would have happened if you'd seen fit to come to me. But it's no use going over that now-we've all made mistakes and we're all sorry. What we-the Janneys-want to do is to be fair, to be just, and now-if it is not too late-to make amends.

The only way you can show your willingness to forget and forgive, is to come back at once to Gra.s.slands and take things up where you left them."

The girl for a moment did not answer, her face reddening with a sudden embarra.s.sment. Mrs. Janney saw the blush, read it as reluctance and exclaimed:

"Oh, Miss Maitland, don't say you refuse. It's as if you wouldn't take my hand held out in apology, in friendship."

"No, no"-Esther was obviously distressed-"don't think that, Mrs. Janney, it's not that. It's that I can't-I've-I've made another engagement-I'm going to marry Mr. Ferguson."

CHAPTER x.x.x-MOLLY'S STORY

It's my place to finish, tell the end of the story and straighten it all out. Some of it's been cleared up clean, with the people on the spot to give the evidence, some of it we had to work out from what we knew and what we guessed. Willitts, who was a gamy guy, told his tale from start to finish, and loved doing it, they said, like an actor who'd rather be dead in the spotlight than alive in the wings. Larkin's part we had to put together from what we could get from Bebita and what Mrs. Price gave up.

Bebita, the way children do, saw plain and could tell what she saw as accurate as a phonograph. It made tears come to hear the dear little thing, so sweet and innocent, making us see that even the crooks she was with couldn't help but love her.

When Miss Maitland got out of the taxi at the bookbindery the driver told the child that he knew her Daddy and could take her round to see him while Miss Maitland was in the store. He said it wouldn't take long, that Mr. Price was close by, and they would come back in a few minutes and pick up Miss Maitland. Bebita was crazy to go, and he started, giving her a box of chocolates to eat on the way. Of course she never could tell where he went but it could not have been a long distance, or Larkin-we all were agreed that he drove the cab-couldn't have reached the Fifth Avenue house as soon as he did. The place was evidently a flat over a garage. He told her her father was waiting there, went upstairs with her, and gave her in charge of a woman called Marion who opened the door for them.

During the whole time she was gone she stayed here with Marion, who every morning a.s.sured her her Daddy would come that day. She said Marion was very good to her, gave her toys and candies, cooked her meals and played games with her. She cried often and was homesick, and Marion never scolded her but used to take her in her arms and kiss her and tell her stories. She never saw the man again until he came to take her away, but sometimes the bell rang and Marion went out on the stairs and talked to some one.

One evening Marion said she was going home; it would be a long drive and she must be a good girl. Marion dressed her and then gave her a gla.s.s of milk, and kissed her a great many times and cried. Bebita cried too, for she was sorry to leave Marion, but she wanted to go home. After that the man came and took her downstairs to the taxi and told her to be very quiet and she'd soon be back at Gra.s.slands. It was dark and they went through the city and then she got very sleepy and laid down on the seat.

No trace of Marion, Larkin's confederate, could be found, and in fact no especial effort was made to do so. The man was dead, the woman, who had evidently treated the child with affectionate care, had fled into the darkness where she belonged. The family, even Mrs. Janney, was contented to let things drop and make an end.

When it came to Larkin we had to piece out a good deal. We agreed that he had started in fair and honest, had tried to make good and had failed. At just what point he changed we couldn't be sure, but Ferguson thought it was after Mrs. Price threatened to end the investigation.

Then he realized that his big chance was slipping by, determined to get something out of it, and hit on the kidnaping. It was easy to see how he could worm all the data he wanted out of Mrs. Price. From what she said he'd evidently pumped her at their last meeting in town, finding out just what her plans were, even to the fact that she intended taking the extra cab from the rank round the corner. _I_ thought that one thing might have given him the whole idea.

When they stopped at the book bindery he heard Miss Maitland tell Bebita she would be gone a few minutes and knew that was his opportunity. He took the child to the place he had ready for her, made a quick change-not more than the shedding of his coat, cap and goggles-and ran his car into the garage below, which of course he must have rented. Then he lit out for the Fifth Avenue house, a bit late but ready to report in case Miss Maitland didn't show up before him. Miss Maitland did-he must have seen her go in-but he rang just the same, which showed what a cunning devil he was.

He must have been surprised when he didn't see anything in the papers, but after he'd written the first "Clansmen" letter to Mrs. Price she explained that and it made it smoother sailing for him. Knowing her as well as he did, he planned the letters to scare her into silence, and saw before he was through he had her exactly in the state he wanted. The one place where his plot was weak was that an outsider had to drive the rescue car. But he had to take a chance somewhere, and this was the best place. He'd fixed it so neat that even if the outsider had informed on him, he'd have been wary, and, as Ferguson thought, not shown up at all.

He'd done it well; as well, we all agreed, as it could be done. What had beaten him had been no man's cleverness, just something that neither he, nor you, nor any of us could have foreseen. Ain't there a proverb about the best laid plans of mice and men slipping up when you least expect it? It was like the hand of something, that reached out sudden and came down hard, laid him dead in the moment when the goal was in sight.

As to Willitts, he was some boy! They found out that he was wanted in England, well-known there as an expert safe-cracker and notorious jewel thief. That's where he's gone, to live in a quiet little cell which will be his home from this time forth. He said he hadn't been in New York long before he heard of the Janney jewels and went into Mr. Price's service. But he couldn't do anything while the family were in town. The safe was right off the pantry-too many people about-and anyway it was a new one, the finest kind, that would have baffled even his skill. He would have left discouraged but one day Dixon let drop that the safe at Gra.s.slands was old-fashioned, put in years before by the former owners, so he stayed on devoted and faithful.