Alora had no answer ready. Janet’s story did not satisfy her; she felt that somewhere there was a flaw in it; but she decided to bide her time.
CHAPTER XXI
THE PRICE OF LIBERTY
Alora, being in the main a sensible girl, strove to make the best of her unpleasant predicament. She longed to notify Mary Louise that she was safe and well and in answer to her pleadings Janet agreed she might write a letter to that effect, with no hint that she was imprisoned or where she could be found, and the nurse would mail it for her. So Alora wrote the letter and showed it to Janet, who could find no fault with its wording and promised to mail it when she went out to market, which she did every morning, carefully locking her prisoner in. It is perhaps needless to state that the letter never reached Mary Louise because the nurse destroyed it instead of keeping her agreement to mail it. Letters can be traced, and Janet did not wish to be traced just then.
The days dragged by with little excitement. Alora sought many means of escape but found none practical. Once, while Janet was unlocking the hall door to go to market, the girl made a sudden dash to get by her and so secure her freedom; but the woman caught her arm and swung her back so powerfully that Alora fell against the opposite wall, bruised and half stunned. She was no match for Janet in strength.
“I’m sorry,” said Janet complacently, “but you brought it on yourself. I’m not brutal, but I won’t be balked. Please remember, my girl, that to me this is a very important enterprise and I’ve no intention of allowing you to defeat my plans.”
Usually the woman was not unpleasant in her treatment of Alora, but conversed with her frankly and cheerfully, as if striving to relieve her loneliness.
“Have you written to my father about me?” the girl asked one day.
“Not yet,” was the reply. “I don’t even know where Jason Jones may be found, for you haven’t given me his address. But there’s no hurry. You have been missing only a week, so far. Jason Jones has doubtless been notified of your disappearance and is beginning to worry. Of course he will imagine I am responsible for this misfortune and his alarm will grow with the days that pass. Finally, when his state of mind becomes desperate, you will give me his address and he will hear from me. I shall have no trouble, at that crisis, in bringing my dishonest partner to terms.”
“I can’t see the object of waiting so long,” protested Alora. “How long do you intend to keep me here?”
“I think you should remain missing about fifty days, during which time they will search for you in vain. Your father’s search for you will include a search for me, and I’ve figured on that and defy him to find me. The Sisters’ Hospital, the only address known to the physicians who employ me, believe I’ve gone to some small Indiana town on a case, but I neglected to give them the name of the town. So there’s a blind lead that will keep my pursuers busy without their getting anywhere. It’s easy to hide in a big city. Here you are very safe, Alora, mid discovery is impossible.”
Janet had abandoned her nurse’s costume from the first day of the girl’s imprisonment. When she went out, which was only to a near-by market and grocery, she wore an unobtrusive dress.
Every day seemed more dreary to Alora than the last. She soon became very restless under her enforced confinement and her nerves, as well as her general health, began to give way. She had been accustomed to out- of-door exercise, and these rooms were close and “stuffy” because Janet would not allow the windows open.
For twelve days and nights poor Alora constantly planned an escape, only to abandon every idea she conceived as foolish and impractical. She looked forward to fifty days of this life with horror and believed she would go mad if forced to endure her confinement so long.
CHAPTER XXII
A COMPROMISE
“If I had any money of my own,” Alora said to Janet Orme on the morning of the twelfth day of imprisonment, “I would gladly pay it to free.”
Janet flashed a quick glance at her. “Do you mean that?” she asked with ill-suppressed eagerness.
“I do, indeed,” declared the girl, moaning dismally; “but I never have a cent to call my own.”
Janet sat still, for some time, thinking.
“I, too, wish you were free,” she admitted, resuming the conversation, “for my position as jailer obliges me to share your confinement, and it’s wearing on me, as it is on you. But you have unconsciously given me a thought — an idea that seems likely to lead to a compromise between us. I’m going to consider it seriously, and if it still looks good to me I’ll make you a proposition.”
Saying this, she retired to her bedroom and closed the door after her, leaving Alora in a fit of nervous trembling through half-formed hopes that she might gain her release.
It was nearly an hour before Janet returned. When she came from her room she stood before the girl for a time and seemed to study her face. Alora was anxious and did not endeavor to conceal the fact. In her hand the woman held a paper, which she presently laid upon the center- table.
“I have decided to make you a proposition,” she said, turning to seat herself near the table. “If it interests you, all right; if it doesn’t, you may of course reject it. My offer is this: If you will tell me where to find your father and will promise not to mention me to him or to warn him of my intentions, and if you will sign this paper which I have prepared, I will allow you to return to your friends to- day. You are not especially fond of Jason Jones, I believe?”
“Not especially, although he is my father,” returned Alora, eyeing the woman expectantly.
“Then you can have no objection to my forcing him to disgorge my share of his income, which you would not get in any event. I don’t know how much of an allowance he makes you, but — — ”
“I don’t get any allowance,” said Alora, “In fact, he gives me nothing.”
“Then my demands on your father will not affect your interests. Are you willing to give me his address, and promise not to warn him?”
“Under the circumstances, yes.”
“Very well. I accept your plighted word — your word of honor. Now sign this paper and you may go.”
She took the paper from the table and handed it to Alora, who read as follows:
“For value received, in services faithfully rendered and which I hereby freely and without coercion acknowledge, I hereby promise and agree to pay to Janet Orme Jones on the day that I attain my majority the sum of Fifty Thousand Dollars, which sum is to be paid from my estate without recourse, equivocation or attempt to repudiate the said obligation, inasmuch as I willingly admit the said sum to be justly due the said Janet Orme Jones.
“(Signed:).................”
Alora read the paper twice, with, growing indignation. Then she glanced up at her jailer and muttered questioningly: “Jones? Janet Orme Jones?”
“A family name, my dear. The Joneses are so thick and so unimportant that generally I do not use the name, but this is a legal document. I hope you won’t try to claim relationship,” she added with a light laugh.
“I’m not going to promise you so enormous a sum as fifty thousand dollars, even to secure my liberty,” said Alora. “It’s out of all reason — it’s — it’s — outrageous!”
“Very well,” returned Janet, coolly; “that’s your own affair. This is merely a compromise proposition, suggested by yourself, as I told you. Let us say no more about it.”
Alora was greatly disheartened. After allowing her hopes to run so high the disappointment was now doubly keen. Her defiance melted away with the thought of all the weary days of imprisonment she must endure until Janet was ready to act.
“I — I might agree to give you five thousand dollars,” she ventured.
“Nonsense. I’m not gunning for small game, Alora. Did you but realize it, I am quite considerate in exacting only fifty thousand. Your estate is worth two millions. Your income is something like eighty thousand a year, and this payment would leave you thirty thousand to use the first year aft
er you come into your fortune. I don’t believe you could spend thirty thousand in a year, when you are eighteen years of age.”
Alora turned away and going to the front window, looked through its stained and unwashed panes into the gloomy street below. The sight emphasized her isolation from the world. Her imprisonment was becoming unbearable. After all, she reflected, in reckless mood, what did so small a share of her prospective fortune weigh against her present comfort — and health — and happiness?
Janet was stealthily watching her.
“Should you decide to sign the paper,” said the nurse, “you must make up your mind not to raise a row when pay-day comes. The money will come out of your income, and instead of investing it in more bonds, you will have invested it in your liberty. You won’t be inconvenienced in the slightest degree. On the other hand, this money will mean everything to me — a modest competence for my old age and relief from the drudgery of working. I’ve had a hard life, my girl, for nursing is mere slavery to the whims of sick people. Consider, also, that for six years Jason Jones squandered all my savings in trying to paint pictures that were not worth the canvas he ruined. If I had that money now I wouldn’t need to descend to this disgraceful mode of recouping my bank account; but, under the circumstances, don’t you think I am justly entitled to some of the Jones money?”
“You’re going to get a lot from my father.”
“True; but that is for his indebtedness, while this amount is for your freedom. A scrape of the pen and you secure liberty, fresh air and the privilege of rejoining your friends, who are probably getting anxious about you. If you are the sensible girl I take you to be, you won’t hesitate.”
Alora knew the woman was pleading her own case, but the arguments appealed to her. She was weak and nervous and her longing for liberty outweighed her natural judgment.
“I suppose I’m a fool, but — — ”
Slowly she approached the table where the written promissory note still lay. Janet had placed a pen and inkstand beside it.
CHAPTER XXIII
MARY LOUISE HAS AN INTUITION
“I wish, Josie,” said Mary Louise dolefully, “you’d let me help in this search for Alora.”
“I’d be glad to, dear, if I could think of a single thing you can do,” replied her friend. “Just now I’m on the most tedious task imaginable — visiting the army of cab-drivers — horse and taxi — here in Chicago and trying to find the one who carried a woman and a girl away from the Blackington at six o’clock that eventful Tuesday morning.”
“Have you met with any success, at all?” asked Mary Louise.
“That question proves you’re not fitted for detective work,” Josie laughingly asserted. “A moment’s reflection would assure you that when I found my man my search would be ended. Ergo, no success has yet attended my efforts. I’ve interviewed a couple of hundreds, however, and that leaves only a few hundreds left to question.”
“But the whole thing drags terribly!” complained Mary Louise. “Days are passing, and who knows what may be happening to poor Alora while you are hanging around the cab-stands?”
Josie’s face grew grave. In sober tones she said:
“I’m just as anxious as you are, Mary Louise. But this case is really puzzling, because Chicago is such a big city that criminals may securely hide themselves here for months — even for years — without being discovered. Mrs. Orme was clever enough to leave few traces behind her; as far as clews are concerned she might have evaporated into thin air, taking Alora with her — except for this matter of the cabman. That’s why I am pinning my faith to this search, knowing all the time, nevertheless, that Mrs. Orme may have provided for even that contingency and rendered the discovery of the cabman impossible. To do that, however, she would have to use a private equipage, involving a confederate, and I believe she preferred to take chances with a hired cab.”
“What are the police doing?” inquired Mary Louise nervously.
“Nothing. They were soon discouraged and lost interest in the matter when I took hold of the case. But I don’t intend to get discouraged. I hate to be ‘stumped,’ as you know, and it seems to me, after careful consideration, that success may follow the discovery of the cab-driver. I’ve not been neglecting other trails, I assure you. I’ve obtained a pretty fair record of the history of nurse Orme. She has the habit of drudging in sick rooms until she accumulates enough capital to lead a gay life for a month or so, after which she resumes nursing in order to replenish her purse. She’s a good nurse and a wild spendthrift, but aside from the peculiarity mentioned there’s nothing in her career of especial interest. The woman is pretty well known both in New York and Chicago, for she squanders in the first city and saves in the other, but of her early history there is no information available. In her wildest moods she has never done anything to warrant her arrest, yet the police have kept a suspicious eye on her for years.”
“Poor Alora!” wailed Mary Louise, miserably; “I wish I could do something for her.”
“You did a lot for her when you put me on her trail,” declared Josie, with conviction. “I’ve a hunch I shall win. I’ve wired Daddy O’Gorman all about the case, but he says he can’t advise me. In other words, he’s watching to see whether I make good or cave in, and I just dare not fail. So keep your courage, Mary Louise, and muster all the confidence you are able to repose in me. I may not know all the tricks of the sleuths, but I know some of them. And now I’m off to interview more cabmen.”
Mary Louise sighed as her friend left her. She was indeed very unhappy and restless during those days of tedious waiting. Peter Conant had come to Chicago on the Colonel’s demand, but Mary Louise couldn’t see how he was able to help them one bit.
“Of course,” the lawyer had said in his terse, choppy manner, “whoever abducted the girl is, criminally liable. We can put the party in jail.”
“When we get her,” suggested Mary Louise impatiently. “The party is Mrs. Orme; we have established that fact without a doubt; and, if we could get her, we’d also get Alora.”
“Just so,” Peter replied; “and, between the O’Gorman girl and the police, we ought to capture the woman soon. I have a degree of confidence in Josie O’Gorman and somewhat more confidence in the police.”
“Do you think we should notify Jason Jones?” inquired Colonel Hathaway.
“I have considered that, sir, in all its phases, and knowing the man’s peculiar characteristics I believe such a course is not as yet desirable. Jones is so enthralled by his latest craze over aviation that he would be no fit adviser and could render no practical assistance in the search for his daughter. On the other hand, his association would be annoying, for he would merely accuse you of neglect in permitting Alora to be stolen while in your care. I have seen a copy of his wife’s will and know that the girl’s loss may cost him his guardianship and the perquisites that pertain to it. In that case he will probably sue you for the loss of the money, claiming Alora’s abduction was due to your carelessness.”
“He could not win such an absurd suit, however,” declared the Colonel.
“Still, he might be awarded damages,” asserted the lawyer. “Juries are uncertain; the law is somewhat elastic; judges are peculiar.”
“Don’t worry, Gran’pa Jim,” said Mary Louise soothingly, as she sat on the arm of his chair and rubbed the wrinkles from his forehead; “there must be such a thing as justice, even in law.”
“Law is justice,” stated Mr. Conant, resenting the insinuation, “but justice is sometimes recognized by humans in one form, and sometimes in another. I do not say that Jason Jones could collect damages on such complaint, but he assuredly would have a case.”
Mr. Conant had desired to return home after the first conference with his client, but he admitted that his wife was recovering from her indisposition and a kindly neighbor was assisting Irene in the care of her, so he yielded to his client’s urgent request to remain. Colonel Hathaway was more alarmed by Alora’s disappearance than
he allowed Mary Louise to guess, and he wanted Mr. Conant to spur the police to renewed effort. In addition to this the Colonel and his lawyer usually spent the best part of each day pursuing investigations on their own account, with the result that Mary Louise was left to mope alone in the hotel rooms.
The young girl was fond of Alora and secretly terrified over her mysterious disappearance. She tried to embroider, as she sat alone and waited for something to happen, but her nerveless fingers would not hold the needle. She bought some novels but could not keep her mind on the stories. Hour by hour she gazed from the window into the crowded street below, searching each form and face for some resemblance to Alora. She had all the newspapers sent to her room, that she might scan the advertisements and “personals” for a clew, and this led her to following the news of the Great War, in which she found a partial distraction from her worries. And one morning, after her grandfather and the lawyer had left her, she was glancing over the columns of the Tribune when an item caught her eye that drew from her a cry of astonishment. The item read as follows:
“The Grand Prize at the exhibition of American paintings being held in the Art Institute was yesterday awarded by the jury to the remarkable landscape entitled ‘Poppies and Pepper Trees’ by the California artist, Jason Jones. This picture has not only won praise from eminent critics but has delighted the thousands of visitors who have flocked to the exhibition, so the award is a popular one. The Associated Artists are tendering a banquet to-night to Jason Jones at the Congress Hotel, where he is staying. The future of this clever artist promises well and will be followed with interest by all admirers of his skillful technique and marvelous coloring.”
Mary Louise read this twice, trying to understand what it meant. Then she read it a third time.
“How strangely we have all been deceived in Alora’s father!” she murmured. “I remember that Gran’pa Jim once claimed that any man so eccentric might well possess talent, but even Mr. Jones’ own daughter did not believe he was a true artist. And Alora never guessed he was still continuing to paint — alone and in secret — or that he had regained his former powers and was creating a masterpiece. We have all been sadly wrong in our judgment of Jason Jones. Only his dead wife knew he was capable of great things.”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 609