Chapter X Dorothy's Promise
But though the men from Philadelphia could not reach White Birches until seven o’clock, the doctor and the electrical engineer arrived during the afternoon hours.
Their information proved of no help in solving the mystery, but rather deepened it.
After a thorough and careful examination of the burglar-alarm and all its attachments, annunciators and indicators, the electrical expert pronounced it the most marvellous affair of its kind he had ever seen. He said that it was in perfect order, and that, owing to its wonderful and ingenious mechanism, it was positively impossible that any one should have gone out of the house between 12.30 a.m., when it was turned on, and 7.30 a.m., when Driggs had turned it off. The man staked his entire reputation as an electrical expert on the positiveness of this statement; after which there was of course nothing to do but to theorize that Justin Arnold was still under his own roof, although this seemed equally impossible.
As to Doctor Gaspard, he simply pooh-poohed any suggestion that there was any flaw in Arnold’s physical constitution or mental equipment. While, he said, a stroke of apoplexy or paralysis might happen to any one, yet some were far more liable to it than others, and Justin Arnold was the farthest possible removed from the type of constitution that would indicate that sort of thing. He, too, was willing to stake his professional reputation that whatever had happened to Arnold, if anything, was not a physical seizure of any kind. Nor was it any variety of mental derangement. Justin Arnold’s brain was not of a sort to give way in an emergency, or under mental pressure of any kind; and, moreover, no emergency or mental pressure had transpired that would even hint at such a condition.
“He is one of the soundest-minded men I know,” concluded Doctor Gaspard, “and while I agree with you all that it is most mysterious, yet I must suspect the fallibility of a perfect machine before I can admit a hypothesis implying sudden dementia on the part of Justin Arnold.”
“And that’s where it stands,” said Fred Crane, thoughtfully; “either Arnold’s strong, well-balanced brain gave way, or else his infallible burglar device did. Both these things are pronounced impossible by experts,—so what is there left to think?”
As the electrical expert was still present, he looked upon this speech as a direct implication that he had misunderstood or misrepresented the infallibility of the burglar-alarm. Being of a somewhat choleric nature, he chose to take offence at this and remarked heatedly that for his part he would sooner suspect the strongest mind in the strongest body in the world, than the fallibility of a perfect machine!
“And a perfect machine it is,” he went on, earnestly. “You ladies and gentlemen who are unacquainted with the real working of such a marvellous piece of ingenuity, cannot expect to understand how wonderful and beautiful its various perfections are. But you may take my word for it, as an experienced electrician, there never has been anything finer made of its kind; and you may be convinced that it is a physical impossibility for Mr. Arnold to have left this house secretly while that alarm was on.”
The old doctor sniffed, and the young electrician glared back at him. Mr. Crane strove to reconcile the irreconcilable, by saying: “Then we must conclude that since Arnold was sane and in his right mind, and since he could not get out of this house, that he must still be in the house, and that of his own knowledge and volition he is hiding himself from us. We have searched the house thoroughly; but I suppose there is a possibility of some secret passage or hiding place where he might be hidden, though I can conceive of no reason for such an act.”
Old Doctor Gaspard rose stiffly. “I cannot acquaint you with Mr. Arnold’s reasons for what seems to be an eccentric performance, but I can assure you that whatever Mr. Arnold is doing, he knows perfectly well why he is doing it. As I assume I cannot help you further in what must necessarily now become a search for the missing man, I will ask you to excuse me.”
With a disdainful glance at the electrician, whom he considered his rival in the mere question of expert evidence, Doctor Gaspard made his adieux and went away.
The electrician, concluding that his usefulness was also at an end, followed, and the members of the household were again left to confront the ever deepening mystery of the disappearance of Justin Arnold.
Though appalled by the situation, Fred Crane was taking a lively interest in this opportunity to test his detective powers, and though he had as yet accomplished nothing positively, yet he had the negative evidence of the two experts who had been called in, to work upon.
“It’s just this way,” he said. “Arnold must be somewhere. He couldn’t get out of the house, so he must be in the house. We’ve not been able to find him, so we are forced to the conclusion that there is some kind of a secret passage by which he has access to the outer world. This is not an unprecedented case. In many old houses like this there are secret and subterranean passages unsuspected by chance observers.”
“But not in this country,” remarked Mrs. Duncan. “I’ve never heard of such thing’s over here.”
“But there is no other explanation, Mrs. Duncan,” went on Crane, earnestly; “the process of elimination leaves that the only possible explanation of Justin’s disappearance. He couldn’t go up a chimney; he didn’t go out of any door or window, and since he is not in the house, he must have left by some secret passage. Do you not agree with me?”
“I suppose so,” said Mrs. Duncan, agreeing only because she had no other possibility to suggest.
“Well, if that’s true,” put in Mabel, “I’ll find that secret passage! If there’s one in this house, I’ll find it. If there’s anything in this secret passage idea, then it must be that Justin went through his secret door and the lock sprung, or something, and he couldn’t get back. But he isn’t hiding on purpose; and if he’s walled up anywhere, I’ll get him out if I have to pull the walls down!”
“Don’t go to pulling the walls down, Mabel,” said her husband; “when Mr. Crosby comes, he can tell us if there’s any secret passage. I’ve often heard him say that he knows every nook and cranny of the whole place.”
“Yes, he does,” said Miss Abby; “as a child he was always rummaging around in the attics and cellars, and if there’s any subterranean passage he’ll know of it.”
“Then there’s nothing to do but to wait until Mr. Crosby comes,” said Ernest Chapin, thoughtfully.
“But it seems awful to do nothing,” said Fred Crane. “Suppose we telephone for a detective.”
“Oh, mercy, no!” exclaimed Miss Abby, “I have a perfect horror of detectives! Do let us wait until Mr. Crosby and Mr. Gale come; I’m sure they can do something.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what they can do more than we can,” declared Mr. Crane, who felt his own services unappreciated; “come, Mabel, let us go for a walk through the grounds,—we may find something by way of a clue.”
The party dispersed, only to congregate again in small groups here and there, to discuss the mystery.
Ernest Chapin asked Dorothy to go out on the South Terrace with him for a little chat, and, after a moment’s hesitation, the girl complied. They found themselves alone on the terrace, and Dorothy said, “You don’t think, do you, Mr. Chapin, that Justin’s absence has anything to do with last night’s scene?”
“What scene do you mean?” said Chapin, looking exceedingly perturbed.
“Why, the scene he made when he found you and me out on the little balcony, looking at the moon.”
“I wasn’t looking at the moon,” said Chapin, and he turned away his eyes as he added in a low voice, “I was looking at you.”
“Never mind what you were looking at,” said Dorothy, blushing a little. “He spied us while you were looking; and I’m asking you if you think that circumstance had anything to do with his disappearance.”
“How could it?” demanded Chapin savagely. “Do you suppose he went off and hanged himself because he saw me kiss you?” And then he added bitterly, “I only wish he had!”
“Oh, Mr. Chapin, how can you talk like that?” And Dorothy turned her lovely, frightened face toward him.
“Forgive me, Dorothy; I oughtn’t to have spoken like that. I don’t know what I’m saying. This thing has unnerved me.”
“Then, you too think something awful has happened to Justin?”
“I don’t see how anything could happen to him, but I can’t believe in a casual explanation of his absence. Can you?”
“No—if he were away on some errand, he would send word to me, somehow. He wouldn’t leave me in suspense all this time.”
“Unless he is angry with you,” suggested Chapin.
“Well, if he is, Mr. Chapin, it’s all your fault!” and Dorothy’s eyes blazed with indignation.
“Then I’m glad of it,” said Chapin exultantly. “If he’s angry at you because he saw us together last night, and has gone away for that reason, I’m glad of it; and the longer he stays away, the better I’ll like it!”
This speech did not seem to rouse Dorothy’s ire as it should have done. Looking at Chapin gravely, she said, “What did Justin say to you last night after I left you?”
For a long time Chapin did not reply, and then when the silence had become almost unbearable he answered, “Nothing of any importance. And, Dorothy, be advised by me in this matter: never mention to any living soul that you and I were on the balcony last night, or that Arnold discovered us there. Will you promise me this?”
“Why?” and Dorothy’s face looked troubled; “it may have been imprudent, but it wasn’t a—a crime.”
Chapin regarded her gravely. “Dorothy, dearest, I am very much in earnest You must not,—you shall not tell anyone of that episode. I forbid it!”
“I am not accustomed to being forbidden!”
“Then I beg it; I implore that you will give me your promise. Do, Dorothy, do!”
The man’s intensity of appeal startled her. “Why?” she asked again.
“Never mind why. This mystery of Mr. Arnold’s disappearance is not to be cleared up in a moment. And in his absence I am going to take care of you.”
“What do you mean?” and Dorothy’s eyes were big and frightened.
“Don’t ask me what I mean! Just promise what I ask!”
“Yes,—I promise;” she spoke in a whisper as if hypnotized by Chapin’s dominant personality. “Indeed, I have no wish to tell any one of that scene. I went to,—I mean,—I meant to tell Justin this morning that such a thing should never happen again.”
“But it shall happen again!” said Chapin, and, though he spoke in low tones, his voice had an exultant ring in it that startled Dorothy.
“What do you mean by that?” she breathed.
“I mean what I say! I told you last night you should never marry Arnold, and you shan’t! You are mine, mine, and, whether Arnold returns or not, you shall never marry him, but you shall marry me! Because, Dorothy, because—you love me!”
Disregarding the real tenor of his speech, Dorothy caught at a phrase.
“Whether Justin returns or not,” she repeated. “Why do you say that? Then, you do think something has happened to him!”
“I can’t say,” said Chapin, speaking more gently. “It’s a mystery, dear, a deep mystery. But I doubt if it is solved very soon.”
And then Mrs. Duncan appeared, and carried Dorothy off to her room to rest.
“What do you think, Mother?” asked the girl, when they were alone.
“I don’t know, darling. There seems no explanation whatever; but of course there must be one soon. Meantime, my child, I want you to be more careful in your behavior. You must not flirt with that Mr. Chapin. I know you don’t mean anything—flirtation is second nature to you—but, my dear child, it won’t do! In Justin’s absence I shall look after you as carefully as he would if he were here, and I cannot allow you to play at love-making with Mr. Chapin.”
“It isn’t playing, Mother,” said Dorothy, in a low voice.
“What do you mean by that, Dorothy?”
“I mean that it isn’t playing, because it’s real. I do love him, Mother, and I don’t love Justin.”
“Why, Dorothy, you do!”
“No, Mother, I don’t. When I engaged myself to him, I thought I loved him; or, at least, I liked him as well as anybody. But I hadn’t met Mr. Chapin then; and now—”
“Now you think you love him better than Justin! Dorothy, I’m not going to scold you, because you don’t know your own mind, and you really imagine this state of things. But I’m going to forbid you ever to be alone with Mr. Chapin, and I’m going to command you to stamp out whatever affection you may think you feel for him. As Justin’s’ promised wife, your faith and loyalty are due to him, and I know you must see for yourself that it is unfaithful and disloyal to treat Mr. Chapin as anything more than a mere acquaintance and your future husband’s secretary.”
Dorothy nestled in her mother’s embrace, feeling, as she always did, the loving security of it.
“But suppose, Mother, that Justin never comes back.”
“Dorothy! What an idea! Of course he’ll come back! Why shouldn’t he?”
“Well, but you know it’s pretty queer. He couldn’t have been kidnapped, and wherever he is, he ought to telephone me—or—or something.”
Dorothy flung herself on her bed, and burst into violent sobs.
“Now, Dorothy, sit up and be sensible. When we learn that something has happened to Justin it is time enough for you to cry like that. Stop it, now, and look forward to his return. Let me bathe your forehead with violet water.”
“I don’t want any violet water! Go ‘way, Mother! I want to be alone.”
“Well, you can’t be. I won’t leave you like this. You’re unstrung, dearie, but a little nap will set you right.”
Mrs. Duncan soothed Dorothy, stroking her brow gently, until the girl did fall asleep. But she woke with a start, crying: “Oh, what will Mother say when she knows!”
Mrs. Duncan was startled, but said, calmly, “There, there, dear, what were you dreaming about?”
Dorothy sat up, her eyes wide and staring, her cheeks white.
“What did I say, Mother,—what did I say?” she asked, a little wildly.
“Nothing of importance,” said her mother, smiling at her. “Now, dear, you must conquer this nervousness, and get dressed. A refreshing bath and a pretty frock will make you all over. What shall you wear? Pick out a frock Justin likes, for I’ve no doubt he’ll be home to dinner.”
“Why, Mother, you speak as if he had only run down to New York on an errand.”
“And very likely that is just what he has done. Now mind, Dorothy, no more flirtation with Mr. Chapin.”
“I’ll promise you that I’ll never flirt with Ernest Chapin again; but until Justin does come back, I must have somebody to talk to.”
“You’re a little rogue,” said her mother, kissing her fondly, “and as I’m here to look after you, I’m not much afraid that you’ll do anything very dreadful. But I forbid you ever to be alone with Mr. Chapin for a moment, and I shall see to it myself that my commands are obeyed. Now you must get dressed for dinner, dearie. What shall you wear?”
“I don’t know,” returned Dorothy thoughtfully. “I don’t feel like wearing bright colors, for it seems, somehow, as if Justin were dead.”
“Don’t talk like that,” said Mrs. Duncan peremptorily. “Put on your rose and silver. If we feel down-hearted, that’s all the more reason we should look as cheerful as possible. And probably Justin will come home to dinner, any way, and he likes you in that dress.”
“He likes me in anything; but he doesn’t love me in anything. At least, not what I call love.”
As these words were half-muttered, Mrs. Duncan did not entirely catch them, and she went away to her own room, leaving Dorothy to decide on her costume for herself.