CHAPTER XLV.
A TRIP TO EUROPE.
While Alan Warburton, closeted with Mr. Follingsbee, was slowly loweringthe crest of the Warburton pride, and reluctantly submitting himself tothe mysterious guidance of an unseen hand,--Winnie French, sittingbeside her mother, was perusing Leslie's note.
It was brief and pathetic, beseeching Mrs. French to go at once toWarburton Place; to dwell there as its mistress; to look upon it as herhome, and Winnie's, until such time as Leslie should return, or Mr.Follingsbee should indicate to her a change of plan. Would Mrs. Frenchforgive this appearance of mystery, and believe and trust in her still?Would she keep her home open for Alan, and a welcome ever ready for thelost Daisy, who must surely return some day? Everything could bearranged with Mr. Follingsbee; and Leslie's love and gratitude would bealways hers.
This note was somewhat incoherent, for it was the last written byLeslie, and her nerves had been taxed, perhaps, in the writing of thelonger epistle to Mr. Follingsbee.
Brief and fragmentary as it was, it furnished to Winnie and her motherfood for much wonderment, long discussion, and sincere sorrow.
"Oh, Mamma!" cried Winnie, choking back a sob, "some terrible troublehas come upon Leslie; and Alan Warburton is at the bottom of it!"
"My child!"
"I tell you he _is_!" vehemently. "And only yesterday Leslie would havetold me all, but for him."
"Winnie, compose yourself; try and be calm," said Mrs. Frenchsoothingly.
"I _can't_ compose myself! I _won't_ be calm! I _want_ to be so angrywhen Alan Warburton returns for me, that I can fairly scorch him with mycontempt! I want to _annihilate_ him!" And Winnie flung herself upon hermother's breast, and burst into a fit of hysterical sobbing.
Sorely puzzled, and very anxious, Mrs. French soothed her daughter withgentle, motherly words, and gradually drew from her an account of theevents of the past two days, as they were known to Winnie.
"And so, between his interruption and your refusal to listen to himafterward, you are quite in the dark as to this strange misunderstandingbetween Leslie and Mr. Warburton?" said Mrs. French musingly.
"Misunderstanding! You give it a mild name, Mamma. Would a meremisunderstanding with any one, bring such a look to Leslie's face as Isaw there when I left her alone with him? Would it leave her in adeathly faint at its close? Would it drive her from her home, secretly,like a fugitive? Would it cause Alan Warburton to address such words tome as those he uttered in his study? Because of a simplemisunderstanding, would he implore me to judge between them? Mamma,there is more than a _misunderstanding_ at the bottom of all thismystery. Somewhere, there is a monstrous _wrong_!"
But discuss the mystery as they would, there seemed no satisfactory, norational explanation. The evening wore on, and the ringing of thedoor-bell suddenly apprised them of the lateness of the hour.
"It's Alan!" exclaimed Winnie, starting nervously. "Mamma, we can't, wewon't, go with him."
But it was not Alan. It was a servant, bearing a message from Mr.Follingsbee. A matter of importance had suddenly called Mr. Warburtonaway. Mr. Follingsbee would wait upon the ladies in the morning.
It was very unsatisfactory, but it was all. And Winnie and her mother,after exhausting for a second time their stock of conjectures, wereconstrained to lay their puzzled heads upon their pillows, and to awaitin restlessness and sleepless anxiety the coming of morning and Mr.Follingsbee.
It comes at last, the morning, as morning in this world or anothersurely will come to all weary, restless watchers. And just as it isapproaching that point of time when we cease to say "this morning," andsupply its place with "to-day," Mr. Follingsbee comes also.
He comes looking demure, unhurried, without anxiety; just as he alwaysdoes look whenever he has occasion to withhold more than he chooses totell.
"I hope you have not been anxious, ladies," he says, serenely, as hedeposits his hat upon a table and extends a hand to each in turn.
But Winnie's impatience can no longer be held in check. "Oh, Mr.Follingsbee!" she cries, seizing his hand in both her own, "where isLeslie?"
Mr. Follingsbee smiles reassuringly, places a chair for Mrs. French withold-time gallantry, leads Winnie to a sofa, and seating himself besideher, says his say.
To begin with, the ladies must not expect a revelation; not yet. It willcome, of course; but Mrs. Warburton, for reasons that seemed to hergood, and that he therefore accepted, desired to keep her movements,for a time, a secret. There had been a slight misunderstanding betweenMrs. Warburton and her brother-in-law; but, fortunately, that was now,in a measure at least, adjusted. It was, in part, this misunderstanding,and in part, some facts which Mrs. Warburton thought she had discoveredconcerning the unaccountable absence of Daisy Warburton, that had causedher to adopt her present seemingly strange course. It was owing to thesesame causes that Mr. Warburton had suddenly determined to absent himselffrom the city--in fact from the country. Mr. Warburton had taken passagein the Steamer _Clytie_, for Europe. This movement might seem abrupt,even out of place at this particular time, but it was not anunwarrantable action; indeed, it was a thing of necessity.
Mr. Follingsbee said much more than this, and ended his discourse thus:
"And now, ladies, I solicit, on behalf of my clients, your friendship,your aid, and your confidence. While I am not at liberty to explainmatters fully, I promise you that you will not regret having given yourconfidence blindly. I, who know whereof I speak, assure you of this.Alan Warburton, while at this moment he is an innocent man, is menacedby serious danger. Leslie has gone on a Quixotic mission. The troublewill soon end, I trust, and we shall all rejoice together. In themeantime--" He paused abruptly and turned an enquiring gaze upon Mrs.French.
"In the meantime, sir," said that lady, with quiet decision, "you desireour passive cooperation. You have it."
"Oh, Mamma!" cried Winnie exultantly, "I was sure you would say that. Iwas sure you would not desert poor Leslie!"
"It will be an equal favor to Mr. Warburton," interposed the lawyer,with the shadow of a twinkle in his grey eye.
To which Winnie responded only by her heightened color, and a halfperceptible shrug.
And so Mrs. French and Winnie were escorted by Mr. Follingsbee to thebereaved and deserted mansion: were fully instructed in the small partthey were to play; and were left there in possession,--knowing only thatLeslie and Alan were both in danger, and menaced by enemies, that theirabsence was necessary to their safety, and might also result in therestoration of little Daisy.
In the face of this mystery their faith remained unshaken. They acceptedMr. Follingsbee's assurances, and also the part allotted to them, thepart which so commonly falls to women, of inactive waiting.
* * * * *
Meantime, Van Vernet, in a state of exceeding self-content, wasperfecting his latest plan.
He had failed in overtaking and identifying the troublesomeOrgan-grinder, who, he was more than ever convinced, was a spy, thoughin what interest, or in whose behalf, he could not even guess. But hehad failed in nothing else. His ruse had been most successful. He hadbeen admitted to the sanctum of Alan Warburton; had seen his face, heardhis voice, noted his movements. And his last doubt was removed; rather,the last shade of uncertainty, for he could scarcely be said to havebeen in doubt at any time.
Alan Warburton, and not Archibald, had been his patron on the night ofthe masquerade. It was Alan Warburton who, in the guise of a Sailor, hadkilled Josef Siebel on that selfsame night. There was much that wasstill a mystery, but that could now be sifted out.
Why had Alan Warburton secured his services to shadow his sister-in-law?He could not answer this question; but it was now plain to him that hehad been summarily dismissed from the case, on the following morning,because Alan Warburton, having recognized him in the hovel, had fearedto meet him again.
Why had he sought the Francoise abode on that especial night? And whyhad he killed Josef Siebel? These were problems to the solution o
f whichhe could now turn his attention--after he had secured his prisoner.
He had consumed some time in his hot chase after the Organ-grinder, andthen he had hastened to set a fresh guard upon the Warburton house. Andthis guard had just reported.
No one had left, no one had arrived, until this morning, when twoladies, escorted by an elderly gentleman, had driven to the door. Theladies had remained; the gentleman had departed almost immediately.
Vernet was more than satisfied. He sent a messenger to summon to his aidhis favorite assistants, made some other necessary preparations, and satdown to scan the morning paper while he waited.
His quick eye noted everything of a personal nature, births, deaths,marriages, arrivals, departures, social items. Suddenly he flung thepaper from him and bounded to his feet, uttering a passionateimprecation.
Then he snatched up the paper, and, as if for once he doubted his owneyes, reperused the startling paragraph. Yes, it was there; it was nooptical illusion.
Alan Warburton, and his sister-in-law, Mrs. Archibald Warburton hadtaken passage for Liverpool, on board the _Clytie_. And the _Clytie_ wasto sail that morning!
In one moment, Vernet was in the street. In five, he was drivingfuriously through the city. In half an hour, he had reached hisdestination.
Too late! The _Clytie_ had cleared the harbor, and was already a merespeck in the distance.
"So," he muttered, turning sullenly away, "he thinks he has outwittedme. God bless the Atlantic cable! When my aristocratic friend arrives inLiverpool, he shall receive an ovation--from Scotland Yards!"
While Vernet thus comforted himself, Mr. Follingsbee, seated in a cosyupper room of his own dwelling, addressed himself to a gentleman veryclosely resembling Mr. Alan Warburton.
"So here we are," he said, with a chuckle. "The _Clytie_ has sailedbefore now; you are on your way to Europe. Mr. Vernet will head you off,of course. In the meantime, we gain all that we wanted, _time_."
Dangerous Ground; or, The Rival Detectives Page 46