don’t know; I haven’t thought about it,” and Anne gave a weary little sigh. “I wish I had some one to help me decide these things. Morland and Barbara are so fiery-tempered that I can’t discuss plans coolly with them. I don’t know how the will reads exactly, but I suppose it is thirds. They may have Buttonwood Terrace, if they want it, I don’t care. But I don’t know where to go, myself.”
It is a tribute to my own self-control that I didn’t tell her what was in my heart concerning her future welfare, but I knew from the tone of her voice that no thought of me as a factor in her future had yet entered her mind. Whether she thought thus of Archer, or not, I did not know; but surely while David Van Wyck lay dead in the house, no one could speak of love to his widow. And yet I had a brave hope that time might bring me that for which I longed with my whole heart.
“Let the future take care of itself,” I responded, gently. “What I want, Anne, just now, is for you to pluck up your courage and carry yourself through the ordeal of the next few days as bravely as may be. I have seen you rise above the annoyance of Mrs. Carstairs’ presence and vanquish her with your own superiority. What you have done, you can do again.”
“But that was before last night!” and Anne fairly moaned in despair. “Oh, Raymond! you don’t know—you don’t know!”
At that moment we heard a slight sound behind us, and a dark clad form glided by. It was Mrs. Carstairs herself, and as she passed, she murmured, “But I know, Anne Van Wyck!—I know!”
She passed away as swiftly as she had come, and as silently, and I felt Anne’s form grow limp and lean against me. I could have carried her to the house, but I did not wish to subject her to a possible mortification. So, instead, I grasped her arm firmly, and whispered in her ear: “Brace up! now is the time to show what you’re made of! call upon your pride, your dignity, your scorn,—whatever you will —but succeed!”
The force of my voice must have nerved her, for she straightened up and walked with a steady step toward the house. I kept my hold on her arm, till we reached the door, and then, seeing one of the maids in the hall, I bade her take Mrs. Van Wyck to her room.
Then I went to the smoking-room, and though I would not allow myself even to surmise what Anne had meant by her strange words, nor what Mrs. Carstairs had meant by her threatening whisper, I said over and over from the depths of my soul, “Anybody but Anne!”
Chapter XIV.
A Mysterious Disappearance
I found Archer in the billiard room and joined him in a chat and a smoke. Though our desultory conversation could scarcely be called a chat, so uncommunicative were we both.
But there seemed to be little to say. We agreed that the mystery was inexplicable. We agreed that the criminal, if there had been one, must be tracked down. We agreed that Markham, while a shrewd man and a reasoning one, hadn’t done much as yet,—but we further agreed he should be allowed more time to show his prowess.
I certainly had no intention of telling Archer what Anne had said to me out on the terrace,—nor yet what Mrs. Carstairs had said, as she so suddenly appeared and disappeared.
And if Archer had any secret information he was equally determined not to confide in me.
We told each other of our intention to remain at Buttonwood Terrace for a few days after the funeral, in the hope of being of some assistance to the family. If to both of us, “the family” was merely a euphemism for Anne Van Wyck, neither of us said so.
The talk turned again to Mr. Markham, and I compared him to Fleming Stone.
“Why,” said I, “Stone would have found the criminal by this time, I’m sure.”
“How?” asked Archer; “there are no clues.”
“But there is mystery. I once heard Fleming Stone say that mystery in a case always spurred and enthused him. I wish the Van Wycks would engage him.”
“I thought somebody said he had gone West,” returned Archer, moodily, blowing smoke rings into the air.
“Yes, when he was here yesterday, he said he was to start at once. But if Markham doesn’t do something soon, I shall advise employing Stone. It’s all very well to say Markham must have more time, and all that, but I know what a value Stone places on looking into things before the clues have been destroyed. As you very well know, Archer, he really deduced a lot of truths from that foolish fan business, yesterday, and you must admit he’s unusually clever in that way.”
“I never denied it; I think he is a wonderful detective. But isn’t he very expensive?”
“He is, I believe; but the Van Wycks are rich, and they ought to have the best possible expert advice in this matter.”
While I was speaking, Morland came into the room. The young fellow looked worn and tired, but he had his customary belligerent air, as he flung himself astride of a chair and glared at us over its back.
“I suppose we are rich, but I don’t mean to throw money away on spectacular detectives! I heard what you were saying, Sturgis, and I think it’s tommyrot to get in that omniscient sleuth you’re talking about. My father was killed by somebody. I’m sure I don’t know who did it, but if Markham can’t find out, nobody can. I don’t mean by that, that I consider Markham such a great detective; but I mean, that I think the case is one that can never be solved,—and perhaps it’s just as well that it shouldn’t be.”
Young Van Wyck sighed deeply, and then frowned, as he went on: “I suppose I’m master here now, in a way. I don’t mean to question my stepmother’s position or authority, but I’m the man of the house, and my wishes ought to have some weight. Especially, as Mrs. Van Wyck declines to take any part in the settlement of questions that arise.”
“Don’t you think,” I ventured, “that the services of a good detective are really necessary?”
“No!” Morland thundered; “not since that stiletto business! Good Heavens, man! Do you want to run down that clue?”
Archer looked at the speaker as if he would jump at his throat. “You mean to say—” he blazed, and then stopped, unable to voice his own meaning.
I felt equally incensed, and thought it better to speak plainly.
“Morland,” I said, “I wish you’d state in plain terms what you do think.”
“I don’t think anything! and if I did I shouldn’t say it! but you must see, both of you, what it all means. And I want to shield Anne in every way I can. Oh, let’s not even speak of it,—it drives me crazy to think about it!”
The boy’s face,—for Morland was really not much more than a boy,—was pathetic. He was afraid to face the conclusions which the finding of that stiletto must lead to.
Not so, Archer. The older man was quiet and composed as he said, straightforwardly: “Nothing can be gained by shirking the issue. If we refuse to consider the case, others will do so. Don’t you think it’s wiser to learn all we can ourselves, and be ready to meet any detective on his own ground? Now look here, Morland, if you are really anxious to shield Mrs. Van Wyck from suspicion, the best way to go about it is to face that stiletto business and run it to earth. I don’t believe there’s anything in it.”
“I wish I could think so,” and Morland’s eyes showed a gleam of hope. “But you fellows don’t know how Anne hated the governor.”
“Hush!” said Archer, sternly; “don’t say such things as that!”
“But it’s true,” Morland insisted, doggedly. “You fellows don’t know anything about it. At first, they got along pretty well, but lately,—well, it wasn’t all Anne’s fault; Dad certainly made it hard for her, with his domineering ways