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Against Odds

<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> <h2>'MORE DANGEROUS THAN HATE.'</h2> When we had watched her vanish within the walls of the opposite building, Miss Ross—for 'Aunt Ann' was a spinster—deliberately arose and took the place beside me. 'We can talk better so,' she said placidly, 'and I want[112] to talk with thee.' And she began to roll up her knitting with care. As we sat there I was almost hidden from view from the streets, because of the thick vine tendrils that fell like a curtain between me and the passers-by, while it did not prevent my looking through the green drapery at my pleasure. But Aunt Ann had placed herself where she was plainly visible to all who passed. 'Now,' she began, having put away her knitting, 'I ask thee honestly, sir, does thee think my niece in real danger of any sort? I cannot understand this strangeness.' 'Truly, Miss Ross,' I answered, 'I know no more than you have heard; but I could do no less than warn the young lady, knowing what I did.' She bent toward me and scrutinized my face closely, keenly. 'Thy face is a good face,' she said then, 'and I like thy voice; but, young man, I am only a woman, and I have no right to do rashly. My niece trusts thee, but she is but a girl, with all her self-reliance. Forgive an old woman's caution, and—tell me what is thy reason for the interest thee takes in my niece? Cannot thee give me some credential, some voucher for thy good faith, before I say to thee what I wish to say?' Again I found myself forced to a sudden decision. In my experience as a detective I had found myself in many strange situations, but never before had I felt that I must speak the truth, or not at all, in a position like this. I answered, with scarce a moment's hesitation: 'You are right and wise, madam, and I am sure that I can confide to you the truth concerning my business at the Fair—only asking, because others are concerned with myself, that you regard my information as confidential.'[113] 'Surely,' she said quietly. 'Thee may trust a Friend. We are not given to overmuch speaking. Of course thee has my promise.' 'Then I may tell you that my business here is to watch for and guard against just such people as this person, this brunette, seems to be. I am a member of the Secret Service Bureau.' We were alone in the little arbour, and I showed her first my badge, sewn inside my coat, and then my photographic pass. 'I thank thee; and may I ask now does my niece know this?' 'I should have found extreme difficulty in gaining her ear or her confidence otherwise,' I answered. 'Ah! I felt sure—I know the child so well—that somehow she had found a reason for her faith in you. There is no prouder or more womanly girl living than my niece, June Jenrys; and now tell me frankly, what does thee fear or anticipate for her?' 'If I knew your niece, Miss Ross, her friends, her foes, her history, I might venture an opinion. As it is, cannot you help me?' She pondered a little, then: 'Tell me again,' she said, 'all about the bag and this woman.' Now, I wanted to learn one or two things from this interview, and I realized that our time was short, so I rehearsed the story again, and quite fully, but as briefly as possible. When I had finished, the clear-headed Quakeress was thoughtful again, then she said: 'I don't like this, not in the least; and I feel that thee has been right. I fear my girl is, in some way, in danger. Will you advise me?' she asked, with sudden energy. 'To the best of my ability, willingly.' And then I risked[114] a first repulse. 'If I might ask you to tell me something of your niece—her position—your plans——' 'Of course. My niece there is an orphan and an heiress.' 'Oh!' She gave me a quick glance and went on. 'Her home has been in New York City, with an aunt, formerly her guardian. June is now of age and her own mistress. Of late she has been with me in my little home, less than one hundred miles from this city. She came of her own accord, and was most welcome, and we came here together a little more than a week ago, June declaring that she meant to stay all summer, and I nothing loth.' She stopped and smiled. 'This is all very barren,' she said. 'I think thee will have to question me.' 'Then I think we must be brief. First, are you stopping near the grounds?' 'Very near; on Washington Avenue, little more than two blocks away;' and she mentioned the number. 'Is it a boarding-house, a—pardon me, what I wish to know is if you have made any acquaintances there; if anyone has learned, for instance, that you are ladies of independent fortune, meaning to make a long stay, and consequently likely to have with you more or less money.' 'Ah! I was sure thee could get on. We are in a private house, found for us by the Public Comfort Bureau, and we have taken their only suite; there are no others.' 'And the family?' Just the two, man and wife, and a servant. It's a cottage, but very cosy.' 'Has your niece an enemy?' 'An enemy? Oh, I trust not! I do trust not! I can't think so. Still, June is a society girl; I know little of that side of her life.' 'Then do you know if she has a friend who is, or may be, a fortune-hunter, one whom you distrust?'[115] I saw the quick colour flush her sweet face and leave it pale again, and again for a moment she seemed to hesitate. 'I don't quite like to say it,' she began then; 'but since we have been here I have seen a person who, I think, would be a suitor for my niece if she would permit it. I am not versed in the world's ways, but I have seldom found myself deceived in my judgment of man or woman, though I ought not to boast it. But of this man I think three things. He is madly in love with my niece, and his sort of love is not the true sort. It is not lasting, and it is more dangerous than hate. He is a foreigner, with the soft, insincere ways that I cannot like nor trust. He has a strong will and a cruel eye, and—he likes me not at all. Mind thee, I do not accuse him—only he is the one person we have met here and spoken with except thyself; and——' She broke off and shook her head. 'Do you think——' The question did not fall from my lips, but she interpreted it. 'Thee means does she care for him? I do not think it. She is courteous to him, nothing more. Out of his sight I do not think she gives him a thought. But he is here, and she is young. I am poor company for a young girl.' 'I wish all young girls could enjoy such society as yours, Miss Ross. Do you think this business has disturbed Miss Jenrys?' 'Disturbed? June Jenrys has not one drop of coward blood in her veins! I have thought, since she has been with me—I am almost certain, indeed—that something has saddened my girl just a little; she seems quieter than she used, and is almost listless at times, which is not like her. Sometimes she seems quite herself, and that is a very bright self, then at times she is quite preoccupied. I think this affair has aroused her interest, perhaps—ah——' She was facing the street, and the little quietly-uttered syllable caused me to look through the leaves in the same[116] direction. Miss Jenrys was approaching, on the opposite side, in the shadow of the Dakota Building, and with her, walking slowly and talking volubly, was the little brunette. I was watching her narrowly, and as the two crossed to the side nearest us I saw her start, stop suddenly, and turn toward her companion; as she thus stood, her back was toward the bridge, and a glance in that direction showed me a tall, well-dressed man, who carried a bunch of long-stemmed La France roses, and whose brisk steps brought him in a moment face to face with Miss Jenrys. There was a brief pantomime of greeting between the newcomer and Miss Jenrys, and then she turned toward the brunette, and there was a short exchange of words. Then the man lifted his hat, the brunette bowed and turned away, going toward the entrance, while Miss Jenrys and her companion, whom I had recognised as Monsieur Voisin, came toward us. He was not aware of my presence, I know, until he had passed the point where the arbour opened opposite the west door of the Nebraska House, but he acknowledged Miss Jenrys' introduction with a perfect bow and an amiable speech, intended for my companions as well as for myself. He had taken the liberty of calling at their cottage, he informed us, to ask if he might not serve them as escort, but had been told that they were already at the grounds. He considered himself very fortunate to have met them at the very gate, as it were; and then he presented the roses to Miss Jenrys. She received them with a smile, and a word of praise for their beauty, and then, in that charming way a clever woman has when she chooses to employ it, she made him aware that his kindly offer of escort service must be declined, since, with a nod in my direction, they 'were already provided with an escort.' I took my cue at once, and after a few more words, addressed to each in turn, and a short exchange of courtesies[117] between him and myself, Monsieur Voisin lifted his hat, saying that since he was so much a laggard as to have lost some charming companions he would endeavour to recover his lost time by travelling to the Convent of La Rabida viâ the Intramural Railway; and so, smiling and bowing, he went back over the bridge to the station above the entrance. When he had gone Miss Jenrys turned to me. 'I must ask your pardon for that little implied fib, Mr. Masters; and, auntie, don't look too much shocked. I could not allow Mr. Masters to lose his time, which is no doubt of value, or to go away perhaps before he had heard my experience.' And then, before the elder lady could utter her gentle reproof or I could reply to her speech, she began to tell her story. 'I thought,' she began, 'that I would take the shortest way to my object, so I went in, as you saw, to view South Dakota. It was so small that I was soon upstairs, walking around the little gallery under the dome. Of course I came upon our friend the brunette almost at once, and greeted her so amiably that she joined my promenade without hesitation. Of course you don't care to know all that we said. I let her take the initiative, only keeping an amiable and fairly interested countenance and following her lead. She began by telling me how she "happened to meet me again." She had entered early, and had passed the time looking at some of the State buildings, in order to be near the entrance, where her "mamma" had partly promised to meet her in an hour or so. She did not want to miss her "mamma," and so had loitered, after a little time spent in some of the buildings opposite, in these two houses, where she could overlook the entrance and the bridge. It was not "nice" to be alone so much, and her "mamma" did not like her to be alone, but she could not bear to lose the Fair, any of it. Did I like going about alone? They were stopping at a hotel quite near. Did I like a hotel? etc. In short, one[118] of her objects, I am sure, was to learn how long we mean to stay here in Chicago; and another, who were in the house with us, if it were large, and if there were other rooms to let——' 'One moment,' I broke in. 'Did she ask for your street or number, or both? and how did you reply to her?' 'My answers were politely vague. She did not ask for our address, and I thought it rather strange. She knows that there are "several people at our house, but no room for more," and that our stay depends upon circumstances; but she had one important request to make, and she made it very adroitly. Seeing that I, like herself, was alone, at least sometimes, she had wondered, if it were possible, if I would not like to see the grounds by night. Her "mamma" did not care to come out after six o'clock, she feared the lake breezes; and she did so long to explore the grounds at night. Would it be possible—would I be willing to accompany her, when I had no better companion, of course, for an hour or so, some evening soon, to see the grounds and buildings illuminated? Her "mamma" had told her she might ask, provided of course she was sure, which of course she was, that I was "quite nice and proper." As for herself, she was quite prepared with her cards and references.' She stopped here, and challenged my opinion with a piquant, questioning look. 'My child!' ejaculated Aunt Ann, 'thee did not accept?' 'Was that all?' I asked. 'It was quite enough,' she replied, quite gravely now. 'She gave me a card with a written address upon it, and I told her I would let her know to-morrow morning by mail.' 'June, thee must not go!' She turned to me, without replying to her aunt's exclamation. 'What do you think of it?' she asked calmly, but quite[119] earnestly now, in contrast to her light manner of telling her story. 'I think you have done well, both in going to meet this person and in your manner of meeting her modest requests, but I think it has gone far enough.' 'You think, then, that there is a plot—something serious?' 'I can see no other explanation; and now, Miss Jenrys, before another word is said, will you promise me not to allow this person to approach or address you again?' She looked at me in some surprise. 'You think her so dangerous?' she questioned. 'Yes; you have used the right word.' Again she watched my face intently, but she did not give the asked-for promise, and her aunt broke in anxiously. 'Mr. Masters, does thee think we would be safer, and wiser, if we went away quickly and quietly?' 'Auntie!' exclaimed the young lady, 'how can you! I thought you were braver. Don't speak of going away. I will not hear of it. I am willing to be advised, within reason, but I would rather risk something than go away from this beautiful place before I have seen all of its wonders, or as many as I can. I am not afraid, and I will not run away. You do not advise such extreme precautionary measures, Mr. Masters, surely?' 'Not since I have heard your wishes so strongly expressed. No, Miss Ross, I think there is no need of going away, now that you are warned and will use caution; but, Miss Jenrys, you will be cautious about going out alone, and especially at evening—you should have an escort, a protector.' 'One might as well be a prisoner at once as be compelled to remain indoors on these lovely nights,' said the girl rebelliously. 'Auntie, I will carry my little revolver. Oh,' in answer to my glance of too plain inquiry, 'I can shoot very well.'[120] 'I shall feel much safer without it, my child,' said Aunt Ann uneasily. 'Mr. Masters, is there not some way—these guards in uniform, or are there not guides who could be employed—in the evening, that is?' 'Auntie dear, I have a better thought still—the chairs. We can secure two reliable men for them, and do our sight-seeing by night in comfort and safety in that way.' She turned a smiling face toward me. 'Don't you think that a simple and sensible arrangement?' 'I do; that is, if you will permit me to choose the men who are to guide the chairs and see that they understand their duty.' 'Why, to be sure. Mr. Masters, we are very stupid, auntie and I. If you could——' She hesitated, and glanced from her aunt's face to mine. 'June, child, I think I know what is in thy mind; I know the nature of this young man's business in this place, and you are right. If he can spare the time, it is right that we should know, if possible, what we have to guard against, to fear or avoid. Is it thy pleasure, sir, to undertake this for us?' I turned silently toward Miss Jenrys. 'Aunt Ann is right,' she said, with decision. 'Can you take this matter in hand?' 'I will take it in hand,' I replied. 'But tell me just what you wish. Do you simply want insured protection against annoyance, or do you want this brunette followed up until we learn why she has singled you out for her peculiar attentions?' 'I have heard it said,' Miss Jenrys replied, 'that the detective fever is contagious, and I feel now as if I must have this little mystery unravelled. I dare say it will end in something stupid and commonplace. Still, let us unravel it if possible. What say you, Aunt Ann?'[121] 'I have already told thee that I detest mysteries. Yes, we must know what it means.' 'And know you shall,' I declared, 'if it rests within my power.' The sun was fast travelling toward the zenith, and I had promised Dave a rendezvous at noon. It was not difficult to impress upon these two clever women the need for perfect secrecy, and that no one must guess at the truth concerning myself. I had observed that Monsieur Voisin addressed me as Mr. Masseys, and that Miss Jenrys had spoken my name in performing the introduction very indistinctly, and before I left she spoke of this. 'Perhaps you noticed the mistake of Monsieur Voisin in addressing you,' she said. 'It occurred to me, just as I was about to speak your name, that I might be making a blunder, so I mumbled your name, and was glad to hear him call you by another.' 'Your tact was a kindness. Let me remain Mr. Masseys to him and to anyone I may chance to meet in your company. I may be obliged to call upon you, and should we meet, Monsieur Voisin and I, it will be best that he knows me for a visitor like himself.' When we parted it was with a very thorough understanding, and I went toward my meeting-place wondering what new thing would turn up in this city of surprises, and what Dave would think of all this. I had determined to put a shadow upon the heels of the brunette when she should appear to get the note from Miss Jenrys, which was to be couched in diplomatic language, and take the form of an indefinite postponement rather than a refusal. When Dave and I met, I gave him, as usual, ample time to say the things of no moment first, in his usual manner; but I did not mention my own affair of the morning, leaving this to be told later and at a time of more leisure,[122] for Dave and I had no secrets from each other when we were together. And this was the part of wisdom as well as for friendship's sake. I knew always just how his work stood, and should disaster or delay overtake him, I knew just how to report or to go on with his work, as he with mine. When he joined me, I saw at once that he was more than usually animated, and, contrary to his usual custom, he came straight to the business upon his mind: 'Old man, I have seen Delbras.' <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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