Dangerous Ground; or, The Rival Detectives Read online

  CHAPTER XX.

  BETRAYED BY A PICTURE.

  Little Daisy Warburton was missing. The blow that had prostrated Leslieat its first announcement, struck Archibald Warburton with still heavierforce. It was impossible to keep the truth from him, and when it becameknown, his feeble frame would not support the shock. At day-dawn, he layin a death-like lethargy. At night, he was raving with delirium. And onthe second day, the physicians said:

  "There is no hope. His life is only a thing of days."

  Leslie and Alan were faithful at his bedside,--she, the tenderest ofnurses; he, the most sleepless of watchers. But they avoided aninterchange of word or glance. To all appearance, they had lost sight ofthemselves in the presence of these new calamities--Archibald's hopelesscondition, and the loss of little Daisy.

  No time had been wasted in prosecuting the search for the missing child.When all had been done that could be done,--when monstrous rewards hadbeen offered, when the police were scouring the city, and privatedetectives were making careful investigations,--Leslie and Alan tooktheir places at the bedside of the stricken father, and waited, theheart of each heavy with a burden of unspoken fear and a new, terriblesuspicion.

  "Leslie! Alan!" she cried, coming toward them with a sobin her throat, "we have lost little Daisy!"--page 155.]

  So two long, dreary days passed away, with no tidings from the lost andno hope for the dying.

  During these two days, Van Vernet and Richard Stanhope were not idle.

  The struggle between them had commenced on the night of the masquerade,and now there would be no turning back until the one became victor, theother vanquished.

  Having fully convinced himself that Vernet had deliberately ignored alltheir past friendship, and taken up the cudgel against him, for rewardand honor, Stanhope resolved at least to vindicate himself; whileVernet, dominated by his ambition, had for his watchword, "success!success!"

  Fully convinced that behind that which was visible at the Francoisehovel, lay a mystery, Vernet resolved upon fathoming that mystery, andhe set to work with rare vigor.

  Having first aroused the interest of the authorities in the case, Vernetcaused three rewards to be offered. One for the apprehension of themurderer of the man who had been identified as one Josef Siebel,professional rag-picker, and of Jewish extraction, having a sister whoran a thieving "old clo'" business, and a brother who kept adisreputable pawn shop.

  The second and third rewards were for the arrest of, or informationconcerning, the fellow calling himself "Silly Charlie," and the partieswho had occupied the hovel up to the night of the murder.

  These last "rewards" were accompanied by such descriptions of Papa andMamma Francoise as Vernet could obtain at second-hand, and by moreaccurate descriptions of the Sailor, and Silly Charlie.

  Rightly judging that sooner or later Papa Francoise, or some of hisconfederates, would attempt to remove the concealed booty from thedeserted hovel,--which, upon being searched, furnished conclusive proofthat buying rags at a bargain was not Papa's sole occupation,--VanVernet set a constant watch upon the house, hoping thus to discover thenew hiding-place of the two Francoise's. Having accomplished thus much,he next turned his attention to his affairs with the aristocrat ofWarburton Place.

  This matter he now looked upon as of secondary importance, and on thesecond day of Archibald Warburton's illness he turned his steps towardthe mansion, intent upon bringing his "simple bit of shadowing" to asummary termination.

  He had gathered no new information concerning Mrs. Warburton and hermysterious movements, nevertheless he knew how to utilize scant items,and the time had come when he proposed to make Richard Stanhope'spresence at the masquerade play a more conspicuous part in theinvestigation which he was supposed to be vigorously conducting.

  The silence and gloom that hung over the mansion was too marked to passunnoticed by so keen an observer.

  Wondering as to the cause, Vernet pulled the bell, and boldly handed hisprofessional card to the serious-faced footman who opened the door.

  In obedience to instructions, the servant glanced at the card, andreading thereon the name and profession of the applicant, promptlyadmitted him, naturally supposing him to be connected with the searchfor little Daisy.

  "Tell your master," said Vernet, as he was ushered into the library,"tell your master that I must see him at once. My business is urgent,and my time limited."

  The servant turned upon him a look of surprise.

  "Do you mean Mr. Archibald Warburton, sir?"

  "Yes."

  "Then it will be impossible. Mr. Warburton has been dangerously sicksince yesterday. The shock--Mr. Alan receives all who have business."

  Mentally wondering what the servant could mean, for in the intensity ofhis interest in his new search, he had not informed himself as to thelate happenings that usually attract the attention of all connected withthe police, and was not aware of the disappearance of ArchibaldWarburton's little daughter, Vernet said briefly, and as if he perfectlyunderstood it all:

  "Nevertheless, you may deliver my message."

  Somewhat overawed by the presence of this representative of justice, theservant went as bidden, and in another moment stood before AlanWarburton, presenting the card of the detective and delivering hismessage.

  Alan Warburton started at sight of the name upon the card, andinvoluntarily turned his gaze toward the mirror. The face reflectedthere was not the face we saw unmasked, for a moment, at the masquerade.The brown moustache and glossy beard, the abundant waving hair, weregone. To the wonder and disapproval of all in the house, Alan hadappeared among them, on the morning following the masquerade, withsmooth-shaven face and close-cropped hair, looking like a boy-graduaterather than the distinguished man of the world he had appeared on theprevious day.

  Van Vernet had seen his bearded face but once, and there was littlecause to fear a recognition; nevertheless, recalling Stanhope's warning,Alan chose the better part of valor, and said calmly:

  "Tell the person that Mr. Warburton is so ill that his life is despairedof, and that he is quite incapable of transacting business. He cannotsee him at present."

  Wondering somewhat at this cavalier message, the servant retraced hissteps, and Alan returned to the sick-room, murmuring as he went:

  "It seems the only way. I dare not trust my voice in conversation withthat man. For our honor's sake, my dying brother must be myrepresentative still."

  And then, as his eye rested upon Leslie, sitting by the bedside pale andweary, a thrill of aversion swept over him as he thought:

  "But for her, and her wretched intrigue, I should have no cause todeceive, and no man's scrutiny to fear."

  Alas for us who have secrets to keep; we should be "as wise asserpents," and as farseeing as veritable seers.

  While Alan Warburton, above stairs, was congratulating himself,believing that he had neglected nothing of prudence or precaution, VanVernet, below stairs, was grasping a clue by which Alan Warburton mightyet be undone.

  Reentering the library, the servant found Vernet, his cheeks flushed,his eyes ablaze with excitement, standing before an easel which upheld alife-sized portrait--a new portrait, recently finished and just senthome, and as like the original, as he had appeared on yesterday, as apicture could be like life.

  When the servant had delivered his message, and without paying theslightest heed to its purport, Vernet demanded, almost fiercely:

  "Who is the original of that portrait?"

  "That, sir," said the servant, "is Mr. Alan Warburton."