CHAPTER X.

MARION FINDS HER UNCLE AT LAST.

A visit to the chief of police was naturally an embarrassment to a young and inexperienced girl like Marion, but his kindly manner put her at her ease.

He was unusually interested in the astonishing story which this beautiful country girl told him. If he doubted her words he did not betray it, so Marion talked on rapidly, feeling sure of his sympathy. The only item of information which Marion kept back was the fact that Bert Jackson had run away from the Poor Farm, and it did not occur to the great detective to question her on that point. Every word that she uttered was carefully taken down, and before she left the building an investigation was in progress.

She told him of Bert’s adventure with the hypnotist, and the chief sent an order for his immediate release.

“Now, what are you going to do next, miss?” the chief asked her kindly. “You seem to have a mind of your own, and I would like to hear what you will do personally toward finding your sister.”

Marion looked at him fearlessly, as she answered promptly:

“I shall go to that theatre to-night, sir, accompanied by Bert, and see this Professor Dabroski. If he is our former boarder, Mr. Lawson, I shall know him instantly. He may be disguised, but I am sure I shall know him!”

The chief looked at her keenly.

“I’m sure you will,” he said slowly. “I should hate to be the man to do you an injury, Miss Marlowe.”

This shrewd, worldly man had read the fair face at a glance. He saw in the flash of those gray eyes an indomitable spirit.

“I might forgive one to myself, but to my sister, never!” said Marion, sternly.

The chief was gazing at her in admiration. She looked like a queen with her head poised so defiantly.

“Here is Frederic Stanton’s address,” he said, after a minute, as he glanced over a directory. “Why, he is a prominent society man, Miss Marlowe. He is as proud as Lucifer. Are you sure he will help you?”

Poor Marion sighed.

“He must,” she said, slowly, “for I have not five dollars in the world, and there is no one else I can look to.”

The head of the great Detective Bureau did a few minutes’ thinking, then he gave Marion some instructions, all of which she promised to follow.

“These are very necessary,” he told her as he finished, “for if this villain has wronged your sister he must be punished without mercy. And now you had best go right up to ‘The Norwood’ and see your uncle. If he will help you, all right; if he won’t, why just let me know. You can stay at that hotel that you mentioned at present, and one of my men will be on hand at the theatre this evening.”

Marion thanked him for his advice and accompanied by Bert, joined Mr. Ray on the corner. Bert and Mr. Ray were introduced, and immediately seemed to take a mutual liking to each other. She had her uncle’s correct address now, and they were soon at “The Norwood.” Mr. Ray slipped his card into her hand as he and Bert left her at the door.

“We’ll call for you here later,” he said; with an admiring glance, “and if we don’t find you we’ll go over to the little hotel. Just as like as not your uncle will give you the cold shoulder.”

“He may,” said Marion, sadly, “for I’ve heard that he is very proud. And he doesn’t know the whole truth of my visit to the city.”

With a last glance of sympathy her friends turned away. Marion was alone again, but this time she was at the door of her own aunt’s dwelling.

She was ushered into a reception-room by a smartly-dressed maid, who glanced her over critically and evidently approved of her appearance.

“Wonder how she would have liked me in my own clothes?” thought Marion. “Ten to one I’d have received some cold glances from her if it wasn’t that I look so out and out stylish.”

After quite a long wait she was ushered into her Aunt Susan’s presence. It was the most unpleasant moment of the young girl’s whole adventure.

A fat, pudgy woman, very showily dressed, but who looked quite a little like her own mother, rose from a sofa as she entered.

There was a poodle in her arms that snapped and barked savagely.

“So this is my niece,” said the woman, languidly. She raised a lorgnette to her eyes and stared at Marion rudely.

“I am your Niece Marion, Aunt Susan,” said Marion as sweetly as possible. “I came yesterday, as I wrote you, but I must have missed uncle at the station.”

“Oh, he did not attempt to meet you,” said her aunt, said languidly. “He found he had a dinner engagement which prevented, but really, my dear, you are better than I expected.”

At this cool announcement, Marion’s color rose, but she bit her lips to control her feelings.

“Thank you, aunt,” she said, simply; “I am glad that you approve of me. Your sister’s children are not gawks, even if they do live in the country.”

“So I see,” said her aunt, “and it relieves my mind considerably. But tell me, Marion, how do you happen to be wearing such expensive clothes? Why, they are really quite fashionable! Can your father afford to dress you so stylishly?”

Marion burst out laughing before she answered.

“My father would not know me if he should see me,” she said honestly. “You see I have dressed myself according to my surroundings, aunt. I knew you would feel disgraced if I came to you in homespun.”

“Very thoughtful indeed!” said her aunt, thawing out a little. “Take off your hat, Marion, and I will order some luncheon. Really, you are extremely pretty. I am very glad to see you.”

Marion’s lip curled scornfully as she took off her hat. She would have been glad to have boxed the old lady’s ears, but as she couldn’t she watched her chance and teased the poodle for relief.

In a moment the door opened and her uncle came in. He was a pompous-looking man who tried to impress every one with his importance. He greeted her with a patronizing nod, looking her over critically, as his wife had before him.

“Glad to see you, of course,” he remarked, very frigidly, “but we are, er—very busy, don’t you know—so much doing in our set at present.”

Marion ate lunch with her relations before she told her story. She felt that she must fortify herself against what was probably coming.

When the servant had cleared away the things, she began talking quietly. She was determined to lose no time in enlisting her uncle’s sympathy.

“What! Dolly abducted, and here in New York?”

“You were sent to the apartments of a bachelor—alone!”

“Stayed all night at a cheap hotel with a—a man’s housekeeper, did you say?”

These exclamations of dismay interrupted Marion’s narrative.

“There—now I have told you all, uncle!” cried Marion, as she finished. “I have told you the whole truth, and I must rely upon your kindness! I should not have dreamed of coming to you had not Dollie’s own father disavowed her.”

“And quite right of him, I say!” almost screamed her Aunt Susan, who had supplied herself with smelling salts before Marion’s story was half over.

“And you expect me, a society leader, to mix myself up in this affair! Why, the thing is disgraceful! It will all be in the papers!”

Her uncle puffed himself up to an alarming degree as he spoke, but Marion controlled her feeling of disgust by a powerful effort.

“Is it anything against poor Dollie that she should have been hypnotized by that fiend?” she cried, earnestly. “Or is it anything to my discredit that I should have been tricked by scoundrels? We are only children, Aunt Susan! What do we know of the world? Why, we are both as innocent as the very field daisies at home, yet you scorn us for our misfortunes—you ridicule our sorrow!”

“We cannot afford to get entangled in this thing, Frederic,” said her aunt, without heeding her appeal.

“We certainly cannot,” said her husband, decidedly. “Once for all, Marion, you must excuse us from meddling in the matter.”

“So you refuse utterly to aid me in my search for Dollie?” asked Marion, breathlessly.

Frederic Stanton drew a bill from his pocket slowly and tossed it to her across the table.

“You can have that,” he said grandly, “but please don’t count upon me further. My position in society would be attacked at once were I to allow myself to be exploited in this manner.”

“Don’t mention our names, for heaven’s sake!” cried her aunt. “I would die of mortification if I should see this thing in the papers.”

Without noticing the bill, Marion rose to her feet. The scorn upon her face made her relations shrink a little.

“I’m only a country girl—a farmer’s daughter,” she said slowly, “but, oh, how I despise such natures as yours! You are a shame to your sex, Mrs. Susan Stanton, and as for you, sir, you are not worthy to be called a man.”

There was not a word spoken as Marion adjusted her hat.

As she left the apartment she did not even glance behind her.