The Vanishing of Betty Varian

by Carolyn Wells

  CHAPTER XV Criminal or Victim?

  Pennington Wise came to the conclusion that he had now on hand thehardest job of his life. This knowledge did not discourage him, on thecontrary it spurred him to continuous and desperate effort.

  Yet, as he told Zizi, his efforts consisted mostly in making inquirieshere and there, in a hope that he might learn something indicative.

  "It isn't a case for clues, evidence or deduction," he told her."It's,--I hate the word,--but it's psychological."

  "If you can't be logical be psychological," said Zizi, flippantly. "Now,you know, Penny, you're going to win out----"

  "If I do, it'll be solely and merely because of your faith in me," hesaid, his face beginning to show the look of discouragement that she hadlearned to dread.

  "That's all right," she responded, "but this old faith of mine, while itwill never wear out,--its effect on you will. Don't depend on it toolong. Now let's count up what we've really got toward a solution."

  "We've got a lot," began Wise hopefully. "We know enough to assume thatBetty Varian was kidnapped and her father shot by the same hand. Orrather by orders of the same master brain. I don't say the criminalhimself committed these crimes. Then, we know that our master villain gotin and out of this house,--or his subordinates did,--by means which wehaven't yet discovered, but which I am on the trail of."

  "Oh, Penny, are you? Tell me where you think it is? Is it through thekitchen?"

  "Wait a couple of days, Ziz. I'll tell you as soon as I'm certain. Infact, I may have to wait a week to find out about it."

  "Getting an expert on it?"

  "Nope. Working it out myself,--but it all depends on the moon."

  "Oh, Penny, I've long suspected you of being luny, but I didn't thinkyou'd admit it yourself! Howsumever, as long as you're jocular, I'm notdiscouraged. It's when you pull a long face and heave great, deep sighsthat my confidence begins to wobble."

  "Don't wobble yet, then, my dear, for when the moon gets around to theright quarter, I'll show you the secret way in and out of this house."

  "It's too bad of you, Penny, to spring those cryptic remarks on me! Save'em for people you want to impress with your cleverness. But all right,wait till the moon gets in apogee or perigee or wherever you want her."

  "I shall. And meantime, I'm going to track down Friend North. He is afactor in the case, whether sinned against or sinning. That upset roomwas never upset in a real scuffle."

  "It wasn't!"

  "No, ma'am, it wasn't. I've been over it again, and unless I'm making themistake of my life, that upset chair was carefully,--yes, and silentlyoverturned by a cautious hand."

  "Meaning North's?"

  "Meaning North's. Of course, Ziz, I may be mistaken, so I'm notadvertising this yet, but I can't see a real scuffle in that room. Tobegin with, if a man, or two men, or three men tried to kidnap LawrenceNorth and carry him off against his will don't you suppose there would beenough noise made to wake some of us?"

  "Maybe they chloroformed him."

  "Maybe they did. But, I'm working on a different maybe. Say that manwanted to disappear and make it look like an abduction. Wouldn't he havedone just what he did do? Leave the room looking as if he had gone offunwillingly or unconsciously? The very leaving of his watch behind was aclever touch----"

  "Oh, come now, Penny, I believe you _are_ luny! Do you suspect LawrenceNorth of all the crimes? Did he abduct Betty, shoot her father,--killMartha? and then,--finally abduct himself! And, if so,--why?"

  "Zizi, you're a bright little girl, but you don't know everything. Now,you stay here and hold the fort, while I go off for a few days and stalkNorth. I don't say he did commit all that catalogue of crimes you stringoff so glibly, but I do say that he has to be accounted for,--and I mustknow whether he is a criminal or a victim."

  Wise went away and the little family at Headland House tried to possesstheir souls in patience against his return.

  Zizi devoted herself to the cheer and entertainment of Minna Varian,while Rodney Granniss found enough to do in looking after the accountsand financial matters of the estate.

  Doctor Varian came up again, and was both surprised and pleased to findhis brother's wife in such a calm, rational state of mind.

  "Yet it is not a unique case," he said; "I've known other instances ofhysterical and even unbalanced minds becoming rational and practicalafter a great shock or sorrow."

  And the fearful blows Minna Varian had received from the hand of Fate,did indeed seem to change her whole nature, and instead of a pettish,spoiled woman, she was now quiet, serious, and mentally capable.

  She kept herself buoyed up with a hope of Betty's return. This hope Zizifostered, and as the days went by, it came to be a settled belief inMinna's mind, that sooner or later her child would be restored to herwaiting arms.

  Nurse Fletcher did not approve of this state of things at all.

  "You know that girl will never be found!" she would say to Zizi. "Youonly pretend that you think she will, and it isn't right to fill MrsVarian's mind with fairy tales as you do!"

  "Now, Nurse," Zizi would wheedle her, "you let me alone. I'm sure MrsVarian would collapse utterly if the hope of Betty's return were takenaway from her. You know she would! So, don't you dare say a word thatwill disturb her confidence!" Doctor Varian agreed with Zizi's ideas,regarding Minna, though he said frankly, he had grave doubts of everseeing Betty again.

  "To my mind," he said, as he and Zizi had a little confidential chat,"nothing has been accomplished. Nearly a month has passed since Bettydisappeared. There is no theory compatible with a hope that she has beenkept safely and comfortably all that time. The kidnappers,--if there areany----"

  "Why doubt their existence?"

  "Because I'm not at all sure that those ransom letters are genuine.Anybody could demand ransom."

  "You're not at all sure of anything, Doctor Varian," Zizi said, "andstrictly speaking, Mr Wise isn't either. But he is sure enough to go awayand stay all this time,--he's been gone ten days now, and I know unlesshe was on a promising trail he would have abandoned it before this."

  And Pennington Wise was on a promising trail.

  It was proving a long, slow business, but he was making progress.

  His first start had been from Lawrence North's New York office. This hefound closed and locked, and no one in attendance.

  Instead of bring disturbed at this, he regarded it as a step forward.

  The owner of the building in which Mr North's office was, told thedetective that Mr North had gone away for the summer,--that he had said,his office would be closed until September, at least, and that there wasnothing doing.

  Wise persuaded him that there was a great deal doing and in the name ofjustice and a few other important personages he must hand over a key ofthat office.

  At last this was done, and Wise went eagerly about the examination ofLawrence North's books and papers.

  The fact that he found nothing indicative, was to him an importantindication. North's business, evidently, was of a vague and sketchycharacter. He seemed to have an agency for two or three inconspicuousreal estate firms, and he appeared to have put over a few unimportantdeals.

  What was important, however, was a small advertisement, almost cut outfrom a newspaper and almost overlooked by the detective.

  This was a few lines expressing somebody's desire to rent a summer homeon the seashore, preferably on the Maine coast.

  It was signed F. V. and Wise thought that it might have been inserted byFrederick Varian. He hadn't heard that the Varians took Headland Housethrough the agency of or at the suggestion of North, yet it might be so.

  At any rate there was nothing else of interest to Wise in North's wholeoffice,--and he left no paper unread or book unopened.

  It took a long time, but when it was accomplished the detective set outon a definite and determined search for North.

  The man proved most elusive. No one seemed to know
anything about him. Ifever a negligible citizen lived in these United States, it was, thedetective concluded, Lawrence North.

  He hunted directories and telephone books. He visited mercantile agenciesand information bureaus. He had circulars already out with a rewardoffered for the missing man, but none of his efforts gave the slightestsuccess.

  Had he been able to think of North as dead, he could have borne defeatbetter, but he envisaged that nonchalant face as laughing at his futilesearch!

  There was, of course, the possibility that North was an assumed name, andthat the true name of the man might bring about a speedy end to hisquest. But this was mere surmise, and he had no way of verifying it.

  By hunting down various Norths here and there, he one day came upon awoman who said,

  "Why, I once knew a woman named Mrs Lawrence North. She lived in the sameapartment house I did, and I remember her because she had the same name.No, her husband was no relation of my husband,--my husband has been deadfor years."

  "Was her husband dead?" Wise inquired.

  "No, but he better 'a' been! He only came to see her once in a coon'sage. He kept her rent paid, but he hardly gave her enough money to liveon! He was one of these hifalutin artistic temperament men, and he justneglected that poor thing somethin' fierce!"

  "What became of her?"

  "Dunno. Maybe she's livin' there yet."

  To the address given Wise went, scarcely daring to hope he was on theright track at last.

  At the apartment house he was informed that Mrs Lawrence North had livedthere but that she had also died there, about three months previous.

  The superintendent willingly gave him all the details he asked, andPennington Wise concluded that the woman who had died there was withoutdoubt the wife of the Lawrence North he was hunting for.

  But further information of North's later history he could not gain. Afterthe death of his wife he had given up the apartment, which was afurnished one and had never been there since.

  Wise cogitated deeply over these revelations. So far, he had learnednothing greatly to North's discredit, save that he had not treated hiswife very well, and that he had, directly after her death, gone to asummer resort and mingled with the society there.

  Yet this latter fact was not damaging. To his knowledge, North had in noway acted, up at Headland Harbor, in any way unbecoming a widower. He hadnot been called upon to relate his private or personal history, and if hehad sought diversion among the summer colony of artists and dilettantes,he had, of course, a right to do so.

  Yet, the whole effect of the man was suspicious to Wise.

  He told himself it was prejudice, that there was no real evidence againsthim,--that--but, he then thought, if North was a blameless,undistinguished private citizen, why, in heaven's name would anybody wantto kidnap him?

  This he answered to himself by saying North might have learned somesecret of the kidnappers or of the secret entrance that made itimperative for the criminals to do away with him. This might also explainthe death of the maid, Martha.

  Yet, through it all, Wise believed that North was in wrong. How or towhat extent he didn't know, but North must be found. So to the variousunder-takers' establishments he went until at last he found the one whohad had charge of the obsequies of Mrs Lawrence North.

  That was a red letter day in the life of Pennington Wise. For, though hegained no knowledge there of his elusive quarry, he did learn the nameand former dwelling place of the woman North married.

  She had been, he discovered, a widow, and had been born in Vermont. Hername when she married North was Mrs Curtis, and they had been marriedabout ten years ago.

  This, while not an astounding revelation was of interest and, at leastpromised a further knowledge of North's matrimonial affairs.

  The town in Vermont was Greenvale, a small village Wise discovered, up inthe northern part of the state.

  It was a long trip, but the detective concluded that this case on whichhe was engaged was a case of magnificent distances and he at once madehis railroad reservations and bought his tickets.

  Meantime the household at Headland House had been thrown into a new spasmof excitement by the receipt of a letter from a stranger.

  It was addressed to Mrs Varian, and was of a totally different characterfrom the frequent missives she received telling of girls who looked likethe pictures of the advertised lost one.

  This was a well written, straightforward message that carried convictionby its very curtness.

  It ran:

  Mrs Varian, Dear Madam:

  I address you regarding a peculiar experience I have just had. I am deaf,therefore I never go to the theatre, as I can't hear the lines. But I gooften to the Moving Pictures. Of late I have been taking lessons in LipReading, and though I have not yet progressed very far in it, I can readlips sometimes, especially if the speaker makes an effort to form wordsdistinctly. Now last night I went to the Movies and in a picture therewas a girl, who seemed to be speaking yet there was no occasion in thestory for her to do so. She was merely one of a crowd standing in ameadow or field. But as practice in my Lip Reading I watched her and I amsure she said, "I am Betty Varian,--I am Betty Varian." This seemed sostrange that I went again this afternoon, and saw the picture again,--andI am sure that was what she said,--over and over. I don't know that thiswill interest you, but I feel I ought to tell you.

  Very truly yours, Ella Sheridan.

  "It can't mean anything," Minna said. "Wherever Betty is, she isn't in amoving picture company!"

  "But wait a minute," cried Granniss, "when they take pictures of crowds,you know,--in a field or meadow, they pick up any passer-by or any onethey can get to fill in."

  "Even so," Zizi said, "I can't see it. I think somebody was talking aboutBetty and the girl read the lips wrong. She's only a beginner, she says.I've heard it's a most difficult thing to learn."

  "I don't care," Granniss said, "it's got to be looked into. I'm going toanswer this letter,--no, I'm going straight down there, it's fromPortland, and I'm going to see that picture myself."

  "Make sure it's still being shown," said the practical Zizi.

  "I'll telegraph and ask her," cried Rodney; his face alight at thethought of doing some real work himself.

  "Oh, don't go, Rod," Minna said; "I can't get along without you,--andwhat good will it do? You know a picture isn't the real people, and--oh,it's all too vague and hazy----"

  "No, it isn't," Granniss insisted. "It's the first real clue. Why didn'tthat girl notice what the girl in the picture looked like? Oh, of courseI must go! I can get to Portland and back in three days, and--why, I'vegot to go!"

  And go he did.

  The picture was still on at the theater, and with a beating heart Rodneytook his seat to watch it.

  He could scarce wait for the preliminary scenes, he knew no bit of theplot or what happened to the characters: he sat tense and watchful forthe appearance of the crowd on the meadow.

  At last it came,--and, he nearly sprang from his seat,--it _was_ Betty!Betty Varian herself,--he could not be mistaken! She wore a simplegingham frock, a plain straw hat, and had no sign of the smartness thatalways characterized Betty's clothes, but he could not be deceived inthat face, that dear, lovely face of Betty herself!

  And he saw her lips were moving. He could not read them, as the girl whotold of it had done, but he imagined she said, "I am Betty Varian,--I amBetty Varian."

  Yet her face was expressionless,--no eager air of imparting information,no apparent interest in the scene about her,--the face in the screenseemed like that of an automaton saying the words as if from a lesson.

  Rod couldn't understand it. He feared that it was merely a chancelikeness,--he had heard of exact doubles,--and as the scene passed, andthe crowd on the meadow returned no more to the story, he left his seatand went in search of the owner of the theater.

  But all his questioning failed to elicit a
ny information as to the sceneor where it was taken. The theatrical manager arranged for his picturethrough an agent and knew nothing of the company that took it or theauthor of the play.

  The next morning Rodney tried again to locate the producer, but failing,decided to return home and put the matter in the hands of PenningtonWise:

  He was sure the girl on the screen was Betty, yet had he been toldauthoritatively that it was not, he could believe himself the victim of acase of mistaken identity.

  He related his experiences to Minna and Zizi and they both felt there waslittle to hope for as a result.

  "You see," Zizi explained it, "when those crowds are picked up at randomthat way, they are always chatting about their own affairs. Now, it maywell be this girl had been reading the circulars about Betty, also shemay have been told how much she looked like her, and that would explainher speaking the name. And except for the actual name, I don't believethe Ella Sheridan person read it right."

  "I don't either," Minna agreed. "I wish I could see something in it, Rod,but it's too absurd to think of Betty in the moving pictures, even bychance, as you say. And, too, where could she be that she would saunterout and join in a public picture like that?"

  "I know, it seems utterly absurd,--but--it was Betty,--it was, it _was_!When will Mr Wise be back, Zizi?"

  "I had a letter this morning, and he says not to expect him before theend of the week at least. He is on an important trail and has to go to adistant town, then he will come back here."

  "Oh, I want to consult him about this thing," and Rodney lookeddisconsolate.

  "Work at it yourself, Rod," Zizi advised him. "Get lists of the picturemaking companies, write to them all, and track down that film. It must bea possible thing to do. Go to it!"

  "I will," Rodney declared, and forthwith set about it.

  "Now, I want to go off on a little trip," Zizi said to Minna. "And Idon't want to say where I'm going, for it may turn out a wild goosechase. The idea is not a very big one,--yet it might be the means offinding out a lot of the mystery. Anyway, I want to go, and I'll be backin three days or four at most."

  "I hate to have you leave me, Zizi," Mrs Varian answered, "but if itmeans a chance, why take it. Get back as soon as you can, I've grown todepend on you for all my help and cheer."

  So Zizi packed her bag and departed.

  With her she took a letter that she had abstracted from a drawer of MinnaVarian's writing-desk.

  She had taken it without leave, indeed without the owner's knowledge, butshe felt the end justified the means.

  "If indeed the end amounts to anything," Zizi thought, a little ruefully.

  Once started on her journey, it seemed like a wilder goose chase than ithad at first appeared.

  The route, the little, ill-appointed New England railroad, took herinland into the state of Maine, and then westward, until she was in thegreen hills and valleys of Vermont.

  It was when the conductor sung out "Greenvale" that Zizi, her journeyended, alighted from the train.

  She found a rickety old conveyance known as a buckboard and asked theindifferent driver thereof if she might be conveyed to any inn orhostelry that Greenvale might boast.

  Still taciturn, the lanky youth that held the horse told her to "get in."

  Zizi got in, and was transported to a small inn that was not half so badas she had feared.

  She paid her charioteer, and as he set her bag down for her on the porch,she went into the first room, which seemed to be the office.

  "Can I have a room for a day or two?" she asked.

  "Sure," said the affable clerk, looking at her with undisguisedadmiration.

  Zizi smiled at him, quite completing his subjugation, for she wished tobe friendly in order to get all the help she could on her mission.

  She registered, and then said,

  "Greenvale is a lovely place. How large is it?"

  "'Most three thousand," said the clerk, proudly. "Gained a lot of late."

  "Do you have many visitors in the summer?"

  "Lots; and we've got a noted one here right now."

  "Who?"

  "Nobody less than--why, here he comes now!" and Zizi looked toward thedoor, and just entering, she saw,--Pennington Wise!