Word from the Fugitive

I glanced at my watch; it wanted still half an hour of eleven o'clock.

"Let's walk on together," I said; "this needs talking over. A special-delivery letter from New York, then, causes Marcia Lawrence, a well-poised, self-possessed, happy woman, to flee from the man she loves, to wreck her life, throw away her future--" I stopped in despair. Really, I felt for the moment like tearing my hair.

"It seems incredible, doesn't it?" asked G.o.dfrey, smiling at my bewildered countenance.

"Incredible? Why, it's more than that-it's-it's-I don't know any word strong enough to describe it. G.o.dfrey, what is this secret?"

"I know what it isn't."

"Well, what isn't it, then?"

"It isn't about Curtiss. We've looked into his life-I just got a report from Delaney-and he's as straight as a string."

"And the women?"

"With the women it isn't so easy. You see, they were in Europe for six or seven years, and it's hard to follow them. However, we're on their track, and I have hopes."

"Hopes?"

"Of proving my theory the right one. Depend upon it, Lester, there's either a lover or a husband in the background somewhere."

But again I remembered the photograph.

"A lover, perhaps," I admitted, "but not a husband, G.o.dfrey. There's no stain like that on her-there's no stain at all. She's spotless-I'll stake my soul upon it!"

He was gazing at me curiously.

"You seem mighty certain about it," he commented.

For an instant, I had an impulse to show him the photograph. But I stifled it.

"I am certain," I answered lamely. "Certain your theory's all wrong."

"Well, I'm going to stick to it till I find a better one."

"Are you going to make it public?"

"No, not till we've something more to back it. We've wired our European correspondents to look up the record of the women while they were abroad. We'll wait till we get reports from them, which will be to-morrow or the day after. Let's see if we can find out which way Miss Lawrence went last night."

We had reached the hotel, and, as he spoke, G.o.dfrey turned into it.

"The ticket agent boards here," he said, "and I took care to make friends with him. I thought perhaps he might be able to help me. Ah, there he is now. Wait a moment."

He hurried forward and intercepted a well-dressed man who was just leaving the office. I saw them stop for a moment's low-toned conversation; then G.o.dfrey turned back towards me.

"No," he said, "no luck. Miss Lawrence bought no ticket at the station here last night, nor did either of the Kingdons. The agent was on duty from six o'clock till midnight. But he suggests a very simple way in which she could have escaped notice, had she wished. She had merely to enter the train without buying a ticket, and pay her fare direct to the conductor. I'm inclined to think that's what she did-providing, of course, that she left town at all."

"I think she's left," I said; "and that's no doubt the way she did it."

"Now, I'll have to say good-bye," he added. "I don't think I shall stay here much longer-the case isn't worth it. When do you go back?"

"I don't know, yet," I answered. "I've got to have something to take to Curtiss. I can't go back empty-handed."

"I'll let you know if I hear anything," he said. "Our correspondent here will be on the lookout for developments. My sympathies are all with Curtiss. I want to help you."

"Thank you," I said. "Good-bye."

I watched him for a moment, as he hurried down the street; then I turned back towards the Lawrence house. Yes, G.o.dfrey evidently wished to help me; and yet, while he had given me a lot of what he called "interesting information," and had treated me to a no-less-interesting theory, he had only made the mystery more impenetrable than ever.

"Beg pardon, sir," said a voice, and somebody ran into me.

I glanced up to see that it was a pert-looking boy, wearing a cap with "W. U." on the front. We were just at the Lawrence gate.

"All right," I said. "No harm done," and entered.

Not till I was half-way up the walk, did it occur to me that the boy had probably come out of the gate-that he had brought a message-from whom? for whom?

I rang the bell, and a girl admitted me; but it was not Lucy Kingdon, whom I had hoped to see. She showed me into the library, and took my card. She must have met her mistress in the hall, for it was only a moment before the rustle of approaching skirts announced her. As she entered, I noticed with a quick leap of the heart that she held crushed in her hand a sheet of yellow paper.

"Good-morning, Mr. Lester," she said, quite composedly, and it was evident that she had entirely conquered the agitation which had racked her the evening before. "Sit down, please," and she herself sank into a chair. "I've been thinking over what you said to me yesterday afternoon," she continued, "and I believe that you were right. Mr. Curtiss unquestionably has the right to know what it is that takes his promised wife away from him, and to decide if he shall permit it to take her away forever."

"Then it's not impossible that she should be his wife?" I questioned quickly. "Your daughter was mistaken?"

"She perhaps thought it impossible at first; but I don't see it so. She has been moved, I should say, by a sense of faithfulness to the dead. I don't think-I can't think-that he will take it so seriously as she does. He will look at it from a man's point of view; he won't shrink from it as she did; besides, he'll see that it is no fault in her, that she's just as she always was, sweet, pure, and lovable. She herself will take it less seriously when she has time to think it over."

"Yes," I agreed, striving to conceal from her the fact that I did not in the least understand. "No doubt of that. The first shock when she read the letter--"

"The letter?" she broke in. "Which letter?"

"But I thought you knew!"

"I knew nothing of any letter," she said, her face suddenly white.

"Yesterday morning," I said, "just as Miss Lawrence was going upstairs after looking at the decorations, a boy came to the door with a special-delivery letter from New York. It was addressed to her-marked 'Important, read at once.' She took it and came into this room, and it was here she learned this secret--"

But Mrs. Lawrence was no longer listening. She was sitting there, staring straight before her, her face livid.

"A letter!" she repeated hoa.r.s.ely. "A letter! I don't understand. I thought she had been told-I thought that woman had told her-I was sure of it. Yes-that must have been it-I cannot be mistaken-the letter had nothing to do with it. It was that woman. She had waited all these years, and then--"

There was a step at the door, and Lucy Kingdon's dark face appeared. She was going past, but at the sight of us, she hesitated, and then stopped on the threshold.

"Did you call, ma'am?" she asked, shooting me at the same time a glance so venomous that I recoiled a little.

"No!" said Mrs. Lawrence, and it seemed to me that there was abhorrence in the look she turned upon the other woman. "Yet stay," she added quickly. "Go to your sister. Tell her I wish to see her-here-at once."

I saw the girl's start of surprise; she half-opened her lips to speak, then glanced at me again and closed them.