The Bartlett Mystery Part 21

"Who is this lady?" asked Winifred.

"Mrs. Ronald Tower."

"Young--nice-looking?" asked Winifred, looking down at the crochet work in her lap. She was so taken up with the purely feminine aspect of affairs that she gave slight heed to a remarkable coincidence.

"Er--so-so," said Carshaw with a smile borne of memories, which Winifred's downcast eyes just noticed under their raised lids.

"What is she like?" she went on.

"Let me see! How shall I describe her? Well, you know Gainsborough's picture of the d.u.c.h.ess of Devons.h.i.+re? She's like that, full-busted, with preposterous hats, das.h.i.+ng--rather a beauty!"

"Indeed!" said Winifred coldly. "She must be awfully attractive. A _very_ old friend?"

"Oh, rather! I knew her when I was eighteen, and she was _elancee_ then."

"What does _elancee_ mean?"

"On the loose."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"Well--a bit free and easy, doesn't it? Something of that sort. Smart set, you know."

"I see. Do _you_, then, belong to the smart set?"

"I? No. I dislike it rather. But one rubs with all sorts in the grinding of the mill."

"And this Mrs. Ronald Tower, whom you knew at eighteen, how old was she then?"

"About twenty-two or so."

"And she was--gay then?"

"As far as ever society would let her."

"How--did you know?"

"I--well, weren't we almost boy and girl together?"

"I wonder you can give yourself the pains to come to spend your precious minutes with me when that sort of woman is within--"

"What, not jealous?" he cried joyously. "And of that _pa.s.see_ creature?

Why, she isn't worthy to stoop and tie the latchets of your shoes, as the Scripture saith!"

"Still, I'd rather not be indebted to that lady for anything," said Winifred.

"But why not? Don't be excessive, little one. There is no reason, you know."

"How does she come to know about singing and theatrical people?"

"I don't know that she does. I only a.s.sume it. A woman of the world, cutting a great dash, yet hard up--that kind knows all sorts and conditions of men. I am sure she could help you, and I'll have a try."

"But is she the wife of the Ronald Tower who was dragged by the la.s.so into the river?"

"The same."

"It is odd how that name keeps on occurring in my life," said Winifred musingly. "A month ago I first heard it on Riverside Drive, and since then I hear it always. I prefer, Rex, that you do not say anything to that woman about me."

"I shall!" said Rex playfully. "You mustn't start at shadows."

Winifred was silent. After a time she asked:

"Have you seen Mr. Steingall or Mr. Clancy lately?"

"Yes, a couple of days ago. We are always more or less in communication.

But I have nothing to report. They're keeping track of Voles and Mick the Wolf, but those are birds who don't like salt on their tails. You know already that the Bureau never ceases to work at the mystery of your relation with your impossible 'aunt,' and I think they have information which they have not pa.s.sed on to me."

"Is my aunty still searching for me, I wonder?" asked Winifred.

"Oh, don't call her aunty--call her your antipodes! It is more than that woman knows how to be your aunt. Of course, the whole crew of them are moving heaven and earth to find you! Clancy knows it. But let them try--they won't succeed. And even if they do, please don't forget that I'm here now!"

"But why should they be so terribly anxious to find me? My aunty always treated me fairly well, but in a cold sort of a way which did not betray much love. So love can't be their motive."

"Love!" And Carshaw breathed the word softly, as though it were pleasing to his ear. "No. They have some deep reason, but what that is is more than any one guesses. The same reason made them wish to take you far from New York, though what it all means is not very clear. Time, perhaps, will show."

The same night Rex Carshaw sat among a set which he had not frequented much of late--in Mrs. Tower's drawing-room. There were several tables surrounded with people of various American and foreign types playing bridge. The whole atmosphere was that of Mammon; one might have fancied oneself in the halls of a Florentine money-changer. At the same table with Carshaw were Mrs. Tower, another society dame, and Senator Meiklejohn, who ought to have been making laws at Was.h.i.+ngton.

Tower stood looking on, the most unimportant person present, and anon ran to do some bidding of his wife's. Carshaw's only relation with Helen Tower of late had been to allow himself to be cheated by her at bridge, for she did not often pay, especially if she lost to one who had been something more than a friend. When he did present himself at her house, she felt a certain gladness apart from the money which he would lose; women ever keep some fragment of the heart which the world is not permitted to scar and harden wholly.

She grew pensive, therefore, when he told her that he wished to place a girl on the concert stage, and wished to know from her how best to succeed. She thought dreamily of other days, and the slightest pin-p.r.i.c.k of jealousy touched her, for Carshaw had suddenly become earnest in broaching this matter, and the other pair of players wondered why the game was interrupted for so trivial a cause.

"What is the girl's name?" she asked.

"Her name is of no importance, but, if you must know, it is Winifred Bartlett," he answered.

Senator Meiklejohn laid his thirteen cards face upward on the table.

There had been no bidding, and his partner screamed in protest:

"Senator, what are you doing?"

He had revealed three aces and a long suit of spades.

"We must have a fresh deal," smirked Mrs. Tower.

"Well, of all the wretched luck!" sighed the other woman. Meiklejohn pleaded a sudden indisposition, yet lingered while a servant summoned Ronald Tower to play in his stead.

Carshaw knew Winifred--that same Winifred whom he and his secret intimates had sought so vainly during three long weeks! Voles and his arm-fractured henchman were recuperating in Boston, but Rachel Craik and Fowle were hunting New York high and low for sight of the girl.