CHAPTER XVII.
RUTH GLIDDEN.
Francis Ferrars sat in his sanctum, one could scarcely call it anoffice, although he received here, now and again, visitors of many sortson business bent. For, since his coming to America, five years before,to find the heiress of Sir Hillary Massinger, he had read many anotherriddle, and now, as at first, he worked independently, but with thedifference that he now undertook only such cases as especially attractedhim by reason of their strangeness, or of the worth, or need, of theclient.
Two letters lay before him, and as he pondered, frowning from time totime, he would take up one or the other and re-read a passage, andcompress his lips and give vent to his thoughts in fragmentarysentences. For he had grown, because of much solitude, to think aloudwhen his thoughts grew troublesome, voicing the pros and cons of acase, and seeming to find this an aid to clearness of thought.
"It's a most baffling thing," he declared, taking up for the third timea letter in the strong upright hand of Doctor Barnes. "I wonder justwhat the man meant by penning this," and once more he ran his eye overthis paragraph which occurred at the end of a long letter:
"Mrs. Jamieson has not forgotten you. She asks after you now and then, when we meet, and desires to be remembered to you. She is not looking well, and, I fancy, finds Glenville duller than at first."
"I'll wager she does not think of me any oftener than I of her. And shecan't know how ardently I long to stand before her and look into thosechangeful, blue-green eyes of hers. What strangely handsome eyes theyare--And say--Ah! how will those eyes look then, I wonder?"
Presently he turns the sheet and reads again:
"I think you did well to instruct your two men here to make use of, and place confidence in Doran. He's a host in himself. And what do you think of the tramp they have traced to the vicinity of that boat on the morning of the murder? He was seen, it appears, by at least three."
"Umph!" laying down the letter. "If you were here, my dear Barnes, Iwould tell you frankly--I feel just like being brutally frank with someone--that I have no doubt that the tramp is a link--there seems to be somany of them, and all detached--a link--and that he approached the boatin that tramp disguise, after separating from his confederate at somemore distant point. Bah! It looks simple enough. Confederate leavesvehicle--or two horses, possibly--they could slip off the saddles andhobble them in a thicket, where they would look, to the passer-by, likea pair of grazing animals, or they might have used a wagon, travellingthus like two innocent bucolics. Then how plain to me, the assassin goesthrough the woods, watchfully, like an Indian. The tramp boatman patrolsthe shore, to signal to the other when the victim appears; or, shouldthe assassin on shore be unable to creep upon his prey, the assassin inthe boat may row boldly near, and, at the signal from the other, tellinghim there is a clear coast, fire upon the victim. If he is sure of hisaim, how easy! And if seen by the victim, well--'Dead men tell notales.'"
He muses silently awhile now, puts down the doctor's letter, and takesup the other.
"This," he murmurs, "is tantalising." And then he read from a letter,signed "Hilda G----."
"Mrs. Jamieson begins to complain of the dullness of this place, in spite of the fact that she has had a visit from her husband's brother, a Mr. Carl Jamieson. He did not make a long visit, and I saw but little of him. He is something of a cripple, a sufferer from rheumatism, and just back from the hot springs. I met him but once. He looks and talks like an Englishman, and has a dark eye that betokens, if I am a judge of eyes, a bad temper. I give you these details knowing that all concerning the little blonde lady is of interest to you."
"Of interest!" he muttered "I should think so! Doubly so, now thatthere's so little else of interest, or----" He stopped short, andwheeled about in his chair. His office-boy had swung open his door, andwas saying:
"A lady to see you, sir." And Ferrars arose to confront a visitor, abrunette so tall and lissom, so glowing with the rich hues of health andbeauty, so clear of eye, and direct of gaze, that Ferrars could not atfirst find his usually obedient tongue, and then she spoke.
"Mr. Ferrars!" her voice was a low, rich contralto. "I am Miss RuthGlidden, and I have come to you to seek information concerning the awfuldeath of my friend, Charles Brierly. Pray let me explain myself atonce."
Ferrars bowed, placed her a chair, and closed the half-open door.
"The Brierlys and my own people were old friends, and Robert and CharlesBrierly were my childhood playmates. I arrived home, ten days ago, aftera year spent in Europe, and learned, soon, of Charlie's sad fate. Whilethis shock was still fresh upon me, I heard of Robert's narrow escapefrom a like attack. Mr. and Mrs. Myers are my dear friends. I have spentmuch of the past week under their roof, and----" There was a littlecatch of the breath, and then she went bravely on. "And I have had along, frank talk, first with Mrs. Myers, and then with her husband. Hehas told me all that he could tell. He has assured me that you arewholly to be trusted and relied upon, and, knowing my wishes--myintentions, in fact--Mr. Myers has advised me to come to you."
"And in what way can I serve you, Miss Glidden?"
"Please understand me. I have heard the story; that there are clues,but broken and disconnected ones; that you know what should be done, butthat there is a barrier in the way of the doing. Mr. Ferrars, as a truefriend of Robert Brierly, I ask you to tell me what that barrier is? Ihave a right to know." The rich tints of olive and rose had faded fromher rounded cheek, leaving it pale. But the dark eyes were stillsteadily intense in their regard.
As Ferrars was about to reply, after a moment of silent meditation, thedoor opened, and the boy came in again, softly and silently, and placedupon the desk a handful of letters, just arrived; laying a finger uponthe topmost one, and glancing up at his employer, thus signifying thathere was his excuse for entering at such a moment.
The letter was marked "immediate," and the handwriting was that of JamesMyers.
With a murmured apology, the detective opened it, and read--
"MY DEAR FERRARS,--During the day you will no doubt receive a call from Miss Glidden. I cannot dictate your course, but I write this to say that no friend of Brierly's has a better right to the truth--all of it--nor a stronger will and greater power to aid. Of her ability to keep a secret you can judge when you meet her.
"Yours,
"JAMES MYERS."
When he had read this letter Ferrars silently proffered it to hisvisitor, and in silence she accepted and read it.
"I was strongly inclined to accede to your request, after, first, askingone question," he said, when she gave the letter back, still withoutspeaking. "And now, having read this, I am quite ready to tell you whatI can."
"And the question?"
"I will ask it, but have no right to insist upon the answer. Have youany motive, beyond the natural desire to understand the case, in comingto me?"
She leaned slightly toward him and kept her earnest eyes steadily uponhis face as she replied, "I cannot believe that you credit me withcoming here, on such an errand, simply because I wish to know. I do wishto know as much as possible, but let me first tell you, plainly, mymotives and why I have assumed such a right or privilege. To begin, I amtold that Robert Brierly will not be able to think or act for himselffor some time to come."
"That, unhappily, is true."
"And how does this affect your position?"
"It is unfortunate for me, of course. The case has reached a point whenI can hardly venture far unauthorised, and yet no moment should be lost.The time has come when skilled investigations, covering many weeks,perhaps, as well as long journeys, are necessary. We need also theconstant watchfulness of a number of clever shadowers."
"And this requires--it will incur great expense?" she asked, quickly."Is it not so?"
Ferrars bowed gravely.
"Mr. Ferrars," she began, and there was a sudden subtle change in hervoice. "I am g
oing to speak to you as a woman seldom speaks to a man,for I trust you, and we must understand each other. Two years ago, whenI was leaving my old home for my aunt's house, having still a half yearof study before me, with the year abroad, already planned, to follow,Robert Brierly came to bid me good-bye, and this is what he said; Iremember every word: 'Ruth, we have been playmates for ten years, anddear friends for almost ten years more. Now I am a man, and poor, andyou a budding woman, soon to be launched into society, and an heiress. Iwould be a scoundrel to seek to bind you to any promise now, so I leaveyou free to see the world and to know your own heart. I have not afortune, but if labour and effort will bring it about I hope to be ableto offer you a fit home some day, for I love you, and I shall notchange. I want you to be happy, Ruth, more than all else, and so I say,go out into the world, dear, and if you find in it a good man whom youlove, that is enough. But, remember this, as long as you remain RuthGlidden, I shall hope to win you when I can do so and still feel myselfa man, for I do not fear your wealth, Ruth, only I must first showmyself to possess the ability to win my way, on your own level."
She paused a moment, and bent her face upon her hand. Then she resumed,almost in a whisper. "He would not let me speak. He knew too well thathe had always been very dear to me, and he feared to take advantage ofmy inexperience. I loved and honoured him for that, and every day andevery hour since that moment I have looked upon myself as his promisedwife, and have been supremely happy in the thought. And now----" Therewas a little pause and a sobbing catch of the breath--"Have I not theright, Mr. Ferrars, to put out my hand and help in this work? To saywhat I came here to say? My fortune is ample. It is mine alone. I am ofage, and my own mistress. Take me into your confidence, to the utmost,make me your banker, and push on the work. Robert Brierly may behelpless for weeks or months longer. Charlie Brierly was a brother tome. No one has a stronger right to do this thing."
"Miss Glidden, have you thought or been told that----"
"That Robert may die? Yes. But I will never believe it. And, even so,there is yet more reason why this work should not be dropped, why nomoment should be lost." She paused again, battling now for self-control;then--"There is one other thing," she resumed. "Mr. Myers has told me ofthe young lady, poor Charlie's _fiancee_. Will you tell me her name? Hedid not speak it, I am sure, and I want to write to her, to know her."
"That will be a kindly deed, for she, too, is an orphan. Her name isHilda Grant."
"Hilda! Hilda Grant! Tell me, how does she look?"
"A brown-haired, grey-eyed, sweet-faced young woman, with a clear,healthy pallor and a rich colour in her lips alone. The hair is thatgolden brown verging upon auburn; she is tall, or seems so, because ofher slight, almost fragile, gracefulness."
"Ah! Thank you, thank you. This is my own Hilda Grant, who was myschoolmate and dearest friend, and who cut me because she was poor, andburied herself in some rustic school-house. She shall not stay there.She shall come to me."
"I fancy she will hardly be induced to leave Glenville now."
"I must see her. She will come up to see Robert, surely!"
"She is only waiting to know when she may see him."
"Of course. And now, it is agreed, is it not? You will take me as asilent partner?"
"Since Mr. Myers sanctions it I cannot refuse. Besides, I see you arequite capable of instituting a new search, if I did."
"I will not deny it." And they smiled, each in the other's face.
"Perhaps," he said, now grave again, "when I have told you all my ideas,theories, and plans, you will not be so ready to risk a small fortune,for, unless I am greatly in error, you will think what I am about topropose, after I have reviewed the entire situation, the wildest bit offar-fetched imagining possible, especially as I cannot, even to you,describe, name, or in any manner characterise the person, or persons,whom I wish to follow up, for months it may be, and because the slenderthreads by which I connect them with the few facts and clues we have,would not hold in the eyes of the most visionary judge and jury in theland."
"It will hold in my eyes. Do you think I have not informed myselfconcerning you and your work? Is not Elias Lord my banker, and Mrs.Bathurst _persona grata_ in my aunt's home? I am ready to listen, Mr.Ferrars."
The Last Stroke: A Detective Story Page 17