Part 11

But Lawrence was not thinking of furnishings. As he stepped through the wide doorway his eyes sought at once the single figure the great room contained--the figure of a woman of middle age, richly dressed and wearing many jewels, who had been pacing back and forth the length of the apartment, but who stopped abruptly as the man entered, and turned swiftly toward him. She was tall, a bit angular, sharp in her movements, and the wildest stretching of the imagination could not have conceived her handsome. But there was something about the way she carried her head, and an expression in the rather rugged face, which gave one an impression of bigness, mental and moral. Such a woman might be brusque and sharp and domineering; she could never be unjust or petty.

Barry took a few quick steps forward, and paused, a little embarrassed by the way those keen, dark eyes were fixed upon his face, as if searching the very depths of his soul. A faint touch of color came into his cheeks; but his eyes never wavered, and he held his head high. Presently, as the odd silence began to seem intolerable, his lips parted, as if he meant to speak, only to close again without a sound issuing. When at last the silence was broken, it was the woman who spoke.

"So you are Barry Lawrence," she said abruptly, with an oddly puzzled undercurrent in her voice.

He bowed.

"Humph!" she commented. "Read that!"

As she thrust her hand toward him, Barry saw that a letter was crumpled between her fingers. Without a word, he took it eagerly and twitched it open. It was written in a simple, running hand without any special characteristics, and was unsigned:

DEAR MADAM: This is to let you know that your niece is all right as long as you keep quiet and don't interfere. Very likely you think that money and position can do everything, but in this case you're wrong.

Nothing is going to happen to the girl unless you go running to the police; but if you do, you won't be a bit better off, and there'll only be a big scandal raised which will do irreparable harm to her and her husband.

This is just a tip to keep quiet and let things run their natural course unless you want to do a lot of harm to all concerned.

Lawrence scarcely took in the meaning of the second paragraph. His brain was reeling. Her husband! He could not believe that he had read aright, and dazedly his eyes sought the paragraph and tried to focus themselves upon the amazing, impossible, dastardly words.

Before he could do so, however, an impatient movement came from the woman beside him, and her voice broke the stillness.

"Well?" she snapped. "Are you her husband?"

Barry flung back his head and stared at her with blazing eyes.

"No!" he replied sharply. "No, I'm not! I'd give anything under heaven if there could ever be a chance for me to be."

The words were scarcely out of his mouth before he realized, with a pang of dismay, that he had been stung into saying something he never meant to say. All day he had been telling himself over and over again that no word concerning his feelings for Shirley Rives should ever pass his lips, yet now he had blurted it out like a blundering fool. The color flamed into his face, and his lids drooped before the curious expression in Mrs. Wilmerding's eyes.

"Indeed!" she said tersely. "And may I ask why you think there isn't?"

Lawrence stared at her in astonishment. Then he pulled himself together and glanced again at the crumpled letter.

"If this is true----" he began.

But Mrs. Wilmerding cut him short with a most emphatic snort.

"Fiddlesticks!" she snapped. "You don't believe that, I hope? Haven't you any faith at all in Shirley? It's all a lie from beginning to end."

"But what----"

"I don't know," she broke in, frowning. "I don't understand it yet, but I know it's a lie."

Barry's spirits began to rise. There was something about her tone of positiveness which heartened him instinctively. He had not really doubted Shirley; but the statement of the unknown writer was so nonchalant and matter-of-fact that it bewildered him.

"Still," he remarked more calmly, "you asked me----"

"I had my reasons; but it wasn't because I thought it true." She stood leaning against the side of a heavy, carved table, both hands resting lightly on the dull, waxed surface, her shrewd, bright eyes holding his in thrall. "What stands between you and Shirley?" she questioned quietly.

Lawrence threw out his hands in an impatient gesture. "Everything!" he exclaimed. "Her money and my lack of it are enough, without wasting time to go into any others."

"Her money!" Mrs. Wilmerding repeated. Then, with a sudden frown, she went on swiftly: "You're right. We are wasting time. Let us get down to business at once. Shirley must be found to-night, and yet I don't feel like putting the matter into the hands of the police."

"You don't believe there can be a particle of truth in this letter?" Barry questioned.

"Of course not. I told you it was a lie. At the same time, you must see that if the matter became public it might do my niece an irreparable amount of harm. No. We must work it out ourselves. To be strictly accurate, you must find her. Being a woman, I can't very well traipse around town without causing all sorts of talk. You won't fail me, I know."

"Fail you!" Lawrence cried. "I should say not! I won't rest or sleep until Miss Rives is found. I'll rake the city with a fine-tooth comb, and if any harm has come to her----"

He broke off abruptly, his face hard, almost cruel, his eyes narrowed. The momentary silence which followed was more expressive than many words.

*CHAPTER XXXV.*

*THE ASTONISHING MRS. WILMERDING.*

Mrs. Wilmerding looked at him with an odd touch of wistfulness in her gaze. Then she sighed a little. "Youth is a very wonderful thing," she murmured. "I shouldn't make such a vow as that, though. You might have to break it. Have you thought of any plan?"

"Not yet. I only know I'll find her in some way. You must tell me everything you know quickly. We haven't any time to lose. When did she go out?"

"A little after three. She said she was going to call on a girl friend she met at the dance--a Miss Jennings."

"And did she?"

"Yes. When I reached home, about half past five, and did not find her here, my secretary called up the Jennings house on Fifty-seventh Street, and found that Shirley had left there an hour before. Even then there was nothing to worry about. She might easily have gone shopping. But when another hour had passed I began to be troubled. At twenty minutes to seven this letter was delivered at the door."

"Delivered!" Barry exclaimed. "Did the man notice by whom?"

"An ordinary messenger boy in uniform."

Barry's eyes sparkled. "By Jove!" he burst out. "You're sure there isn't any mistake about that?"

"Perfectly. Naturally, I asked Pagdon about it instantly. Unfortunately, he did not notice the boy's number; but there was no mistaking the uniform."

"May I have a telephone book?" Lawrence asked abruptly. "It may take a little time, but there won't be any real difficulty in running the boy down."

Mrs. Wilmerding stepped over to the fireplace and pressed a button concealed in the carving. Almost instantly the velvet hangings were parted, and the footman stood in the doorway.

"Bring a New York telephone directory, Pagdon," Mrs. Wilmerding directed tersely; "and then tell Miss Winters I wish to see her at once. My secretary can do the telephoning as well as you," she went on, turning to Lawrence. "It will give you time for a bite of dinner, which you might not otherwise have."

Barry protested that he wanted nothing to eat; but his hostess insisted, and, to avoid actual rudeness, he was finally obliged to give in. The instant the directory was brought, he turned hastily to the list of American District Telegraph offices, and discovered that there were almost fifty in Manhattan and the Bronx alone. A number of them could be eliminated, however, and that he proceeded to do, jotting down the phone numbers of the most likely ones on a sheet of note paper. He had just finished the list, when the secretary, a trim, capable-looking girl of twenty-six or so, entered the room.

Having acknowledged the introduction, Lawrence explained what he wanted.

"We must find out which of these offices handled the letter that was delivered to Mrs. Wilmerding about half past six," he said hurriedly. "Will you please call them up, Miss Winters, beginning with the numbers I've jotted down here? If you fail to locate the right one, take the rest of the numbers from the book. The instant you succeed, tell the manager to hold the boy until I can get down, and kindly let me know at once."

The secretary nodded, and, gathering up list and book, was leaving the room when Barry had a sudden idea.

"Before you do anything else," he said quickly, "will you please call the Yale Club and get Mr. Jacob Hamersley, junior? Tell him that I'm delayed, but that it's most important he should wait at the club until I can get down there."

The girl nodded understandingly, and disappeared into the hall; while Lawrence followed his hostess through some wide doors at the farther end of the drawing-room into a library lined with books and as bewilderingly rich in its furnishings as the rest of the house.

At one end was a fireplace with a carved oak mantel and paneling black with age, which looked as if it had been transported from some old English country house--as it probably had. A fire of logs blazed and twinkled there; and drawn up before it was a small round table, set for two. Evidently Mrs. Wilmerding had not been idle while Barry was busy with the telephone book.

"I had it brought here because it is nearer the telephone," she explained as Lawrence drew out her chair. "It is only the simplest sort of a supper."

It proved to be extremely satisfactory, for all that. The butler and a footman who served the dishes seemed to realize the necessity for haste, and there was not a second's delay. Consequently, in an incredibly short space of time the meal was over, and they returned to the drawing-room a moment or two before Miss Winters reappeared.

"The office is on Broadway, between Thirteenth and Fourteenth," she said quietly. "The boy had not been sent out again, and the manager will hold him there until you get down."

Lawrence sprang to his feet. "Good!" he exclaimed. "And Hamersley?"

"He had left the club a moment or two before I called. He left word, however, that he would be back within half an hour."

Barry turned to Mrs. Wilmerding. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I thought my friend might help, but I can pick him up afterward if it's necessary."

"You might call the club again, Miss Winters," the older woman suggested, "and have them request Mr. Hamersley not to leave until he hears from Mr. Lawrence."

When the secretary had departed, she glanced swiftly back to Barry.

"You have enough money?" she asked.

"Plenty."

"Then hurry. Be sure and keep me informed of what you are doing when it's possible. I trust you to find her to-night."

She held out her hand, and Lawrence took it quickly. For an instant they stood looking into one another's eyes; then the woman threw back her head.

"You love my niece," she said rapidly. "You think there are insurmountable barriers between you. I tell you this, Barry Lawrence: The moment you bring Shirley back to me those barriers shall cease to exist. You understand? It shall be as if they had never been."

A flood of bright crimson leaped into Barry's face, and he stared at her, unable to credit his senses.

"But that will be--impossible!" he gasped. "I'm almost a--pauper! I have no position; my very name is--tarnished."

"Humph!" she exclaimed incredulously. "Tarnished through some fault of yours?"

"N-o; but everybody thinks----"

Her teeth came together with a click; her eyes were flashing. "Bah!" she retorted impatiently. "Do you suppose for a minute that I care what everybody thinks? I trust my own judgment, and it has never failed. If a man is clean and straight and decent, money isn't worth that!" She snapped her fingers. "I have more of it than I know what to do with. You understand? Well, go, then--and remember what I've said."

*CHAPTER XXXVI.*

*TAKING UP THE TRAIL.*

Dazed, bewildered, his mind in a turmoil of mingled joy and acute anxiety, Lawrence hastened down the steps of Mrs. Wilmerding's house and across the sidewalk to the waiting taxi.

"No. 854 Broadway, and go like the deuce!" he cried out as he leaped inside.

The door slammed behind him and the machine leaped forward like a thing alive. Straight down the wide avenue it flew, past marble palaces gleaming with lights, past the park entrance with its guarding statue of golden bronze, past great hotels whose tiers of twinkling windows seemed almost to touch the stars, past shadowy churches, glittering shop windows, and looming skyscrapers stealing slowly northward in that inexorable march of progress.

Sitting stiffly upright on the seat within, Lawrence saw nothing save those twin lines of opalescent globes which seemed to converge with such intolerable slowness until at last they came together miles and miles beyond. He knew that they would have to go almost to that point before nearing their destination, and he chafed impatiently at the slightest delay made necessary by traffic regulations.

Now that he had commenced the quest, he seemed to feel, even more strongly than before, the necessity for haste. While he was searching blindly for a clew, Shirley might be suffering all sorts of annoyances, humiliations, and fears. He ground his teeth and swore softly under his breath at the thought of his helplessness. He had started out with the quixotic belief that earnest effort, coupled with money, could accomplish anything; but slowly, as the car flew southward, a doubt began to creep into his mind.

What was he going to do if the messenger boy could tell him nothing? He had talked bravely enough about raking the city with a fine-tooth comb, but he knew that was an impossibility. The vastness of New York defied him, and made him feel suddenly as small and insignificant as a tiny insect. Without a clew, what possible chance had he to find a trace of the girl, whose captors would naturally be doing their best to baffle pursuit?

By the time the taxi had whirled through Thirteenth Street, and halfway up the block, Barry was well-nigh despairing. He pulled himself together with an effort, however, and hurried into the telegraph office.

There were telephone booths in the front, but he passed them with unseeing eyes and made straight for the desk beyond a railing, above which was painted, on a tin sign, the word, "Manager." A young fellow of about his own age occupied the revolving chair, and glanced up inquiringly as Barry stopped in front of him.

"My name is Lawrence," the latter explained swiftly. "I phoned down some twenty minutes ago asking you to hold the boy who delivered a letter to Mrs. Ogden Wilmerding about half past six this evening. He hasn't been sent out, I hope."

"Nope! I only came on ten minutes ago, but the boss told me to keep Jimmy till you showed up. He's over there."

Lawrence followed the direction of his thumb, and saw a very diminutive youngster, with a pert, freckled face and fiery red hair, sitting nonchalantly on the end of the bench and eying the newcomer with undisguised curiosity.

"Want me to call him over?" continued the temporary manager. "Maybe I can help you get what you want out of him."

Barry shook his head. "If you don't mind, I'll just talk to him over there." He hesitated an instant and then went on, in an attempt to assuage the other's very evident curiosity: "The letter was unsigned, and Mrs. Wilmerding is very anxious to have a description of the person who sent it."

"Well, go ahead and see what you can do," replied the man at the desk. "Jimmy's a sharp little cuss, though, and if he's been paid to hold his tongue, you'll have a job getting anything out of him."

"I can try, anyhow," smiled Lawrence. "By the way, you have a record of where the call came from, I suppose?"

"Sure!" The young man reached across the littered desk and drew a slip of paper toward him. "I thought you might want to know, so I looked it up when I first came in. It was phoned in from the Merton House at six-five. Party by the name of Brown."

"Much obliged," Barry remarked thoughtfully. "I'll see what I can get out of the boy."

As he turned toward the youngster, he saw the latter's eyes drop and his heels begin to kick automatically against the rungs of the wooden bench.

"Just a little too careless to be natural," Barry reflected. "Looks to me as if you'd been well coached, my son."

The boy did not look at him squarely as Lawrence took his seat on the bench beside him; but the man caught a flashing glint from the blue eyes which told him that his young neighbor was on the alert.

For a second Barry sat silent. Then, turning suddenly toward the youngster, he said quietly:

"I'm in trouble, Jimmy, and I want you to help me."

*CHAPTER XXXVII.*

*TWO SHEETS OF PAPER.*

There was no reply in words, but the boy moved uneasily and twisted one foot around the bench leg.

"You went to the Merton House a little after six to-night," Lawrence went on, in the same low, even voice, "and got a letter there, which you took to Mrs. Ogden Wilmerding on Fifth Avenue. Do you remember anything about the man who gave it to you?"

The boy squirmed a little, and seemed intent on poking a minute pebble into a crack in the floor.

"Nothin' special," he mumbled at last.

Barry laughed. "Oh, come now!" he returned. "You must remember what he looked like."

The youngster thrust both chapped and freckled hands deep into the pockets of his trousers, and scowled.

"Well," he muttered slowly, his eyes still on the floor, "he was sort o' short, an' fat, an'--an' had a--a squint in one eye. His hair was--light. That's all I know about him."

For a moment Barry sat regarding the small face screwed up into a fearsome scowl, noted the twitching eyebrows, and the clenched fists visible through the cloth of the blue trousers. Then he shook his head.

"I'm afraid, Jimmy," he murmured, "that your bump of observation isn't very well developed. Are you sure the man wasn't tall and slim and dark, and rather good looking?"

The red-headed youngster gasped, and, flinging back his head, met Lawrence's eyes squarely for the first time.

"How in blazes did you----" he stammered; and then broke off abruptly, a vivid flush staining his freckled face.

"I guessed," Barry returned quietly. "Look here, Jimmy," he went on, in a low, vibrant tone. "I'm going to tell you something which I haven't spoken of to a soul to-night. I'm doing this because I need your help--badly. A young girl is in trouble. She's been carried off by some men whom she's never harmed in any way, and I've got to get her back--I've simply got to! That fellow who gave you the letter at the Merton House is one of the gang. That's why I want to know what he looks like. That's why I'm sure you're going to tell me everything you can, for he's a scoundrel, Jimmy, nothing less; and no decent man would try to shield him once he knew how bad he was."

For the second time the boy looked straight into Barry's eyes. His face was still flushed, but there was upon it an expression of intense, overpowering interest.

"Is that straight, mister?" he demanded excitedly. Jimmy had always pined to be mixed up in some really big crime, but this was the nearest he had come to realizing his dream. "You ain't stringin' me?"

"I'm telling you the solemn truth," Lawrence returned seriously. "If the reporters got on to it, there'd be the biggest kind of excitement in the newspapers. She's the niece of Mrs. Wilmerding; one of the richest women in New York, you know."

The youngster's eyes were popping out by this time, but he still seemed to hesitate.

"He gimme a dollar," he explained doubtfully, "an' I promised----"

"I wouldn't worry about that," Lawrence interposed. "He had no right to make you promise to keep still about a crime."

"Then I'll tell you," the boy burst out impulsively; and, with a long breath, he plunged into a recital which Barry had no doubt was the truth this time.

He had been called to the desk at six-five, and told to report to Mr. George Brown in the lobby of the Merton House. On arriving, he had not even had to inquire at the desk for that person. A man had hurried up to him as he entered the door, and, drawing him to one side, handed him a sealed letter addressed to Mrs. Ogden Wilmerding on Fifth Avenue. It must be delivered at once, the stranger said; then, when he had paid the boy and Jimmy was turning to leave, he produced a dollar bill, and told the messenger that, if any inquiries were made, he was not to tell anything. The man was tall and slim, with dark hair and eyes, and wore a silk hat. Jimmy pronounced him altogether a decided swell.

"He told me it was a joke, an' he didn't want the parties to get wise to him," the boy concluded; "but I kinda thought it was something different from that."

"It was--very different," Barry said thoughtfully. He was searching his memory for any possible recollection of such an individual, but in vain. "You're all to the good, Jimmy, and I can't tell you how much obliged I am. I'd like to give you----"

"I don't want nothin'," the youngster broke in decidedly. "You jest give my name right to the reporters, that's all."

"I will," Lawrence returned seriously, "if they get on to the case. What is it?"

"Donovan--James F. Donovan."

Barry noted it on a bit of paper with the inward determination to reward the boy in some way; then, after another word of thanks and a quick handshake, he sprang to his feet and made his way hastily to the door.

Three minutes later he was interviewing the telephone girl at the Merton House concerning the tall, slim man with the top hat who had called a certain number earlier in the evening.

The young woman remembered the incident perfectly, and was able to add one or two particulars which had escaped the messenger boy, but which only made certain Barry's impression that he had never set eyes on the unknown.

On his way out he scrutinized the hotel stationery, but without any real hope that it would prove identical with that on which the letter, was written.

In the doorway he paused undecided. The fact that the man had sent his message from the Merton House showed absolutely nothing. He might have come from a totally different part of town in order to divert suspicion and throw possible pursuers off the track. That would be a natural move, anyway, and Lawrence hesitated a long time before an idea came to him.

Then suddenly his eyes brightened and he glanced swiftly up Fourth Avenue. He knew the neighborhood very well, and could recall no stationery shop near it. Nevertheless, he told the chauffeur to drive slowly around the square, and to stop if he rapped on the glass.

The circuit was of no avail. The taxi reached the southwest corner without the signal having been made, and Barry told the man to proceed on down University Place at the same slow speed. A block passed, then another; but before the third corner had been reached Lawrence struck the glass with such force as nearly to shatter it, and, leaping out of the still-moving machine, darted into a narrow little shop bearing a sign above the door to the effect that stationery and cigars could be had within.

As the girl came forward, he fumbled in his pocket and produced the letter.

"Have you any writing paper like this?" he asked, extending it to her, but still retaining a hold upon one corner.