The Way of the Strong Part 49

"Just so, madam," he said. "It is urgent. I have brought you here to tell you that my people have decided to abandon the case."

Monica stared.

"But--but I don't understand."

"Precisely, madam, and I am here to explain."

"Please explain--and quickly. I have no time to waste."

Monica was angry. She was grievously disappointed, too. All the way down Main Street she had buoyed herself with the belief that her boy had at last been found.

"I'm sorry, mam," Mr. Verdant went on, "but we're business men as well as inquiry agents. Maybe we're business men first. You'll naturally understand that our inquiries frequently lead us into strange places, also they frequently land us up against people whom, as business men, we cannot afford to--vulgarly speaking--run up against. This is our position now with regard to your--er--inquiries."

"You mean--you are afraid to go on with my case?" Monica made no attempt to conceal her annoyance, even contempt.

"You can put it that way if you choose," Mr. Verdant went on imperturbably. "The point is that as inquiry agents I regret to say my chiefs have decided to abandon the case, and, in my capacity as their representative, it is my duty to notify you personally."

"But this is outrageous," cried Monica, suddenly giving full vent to angry disappointment. "I pay you. Whatever you ask I am willing to pay.

And you coolly, without any explanation, refuse to continue the case.

It--is a scandalous outrage!"

Her flushed face and sparkling eyes told the detective more plainly than her words the state of mind his ultimatum had thrown her into. He a.s.sumed at once a more conciliatory tone.

"Madam," he said, "you are just a little hard upon us. There are some things far better left alone, and, in this case, it is 'explanation.'

The fact that this is so should tell you that we have been by no means idle. We have simply gone as far as we dare in our investigations."

But Monica was not so easily appeased.

"If you have done the work you say; if you have made discoveries which you refuse to disclose to me, after accepting my money for your work, then you are committing a fraud which the law will not tolerate."

Mr. Verdant listened quite unimpressed.

"One moment, madam. I beg of you to keep calm. I have done my duty as an official of this agency. Now I am going to do my duty by you, as the detective in charge of your case. You desire to know the whereabouts of Mr. Frank Burton. I can tell you how to find his whereabouts--in half an hour."

"But you said you had not found him!"

Monica was beginning to wonder if the man were not a lunatic as well as a fraud.

"I have not found him."

"Then--gracious, man, speak out. How can I find him?"

"Ask your husband. Ask Mr. Alexander Hendrie where he is."

Mr. Verdant had risen from his seat as he spoke, and now stood holding the door open for his visitor to pa.s.s out.

CHAPTER II

WHEN VOWS MUST YIELD

"Ask your husband. Ask Mr. Alexander Hendrie where he is."

The words beat into Monica's brain. They hammered upon her ear-drums.

They rose before her eyes, mocking her.

She was back in her own home. She had gone straight to her bedroom and locked herself in. She was due at a luncheon party, and, on her return, Margaret had hurried to wait upon her. But the girl was promptly dismissed, and the luncheon forgotten. It was a matter of no importance now. Monica would go nowhere; she would receive no one. She was ill, she said, and refused to be disturbed.

So Margaret was left wondering and frightened.

Monica paced her room for hours. She was vainly endeavoring to think connectedly. She was trying desperately to fathom the meaning of the man Verdant's challenge. It was useless. All continuity of thought was gone. Her ideas, her thoughts just tumbled pell-mell through her hara.s.sed brain, eluded her grasp, and vanished in the darkness whence they had leaped.

"Ask your husband. Ask Mr. Alexander Hendrie where he is."

It was maddening; and fever coursed through her veins. Her head grew hot with her effort. It ached, as did her eyes. Things about her began to seem unreal. Even the familiar objects in the room seemed to belong to some long-past, almost forgotten period in her life. She pulled herself together, and even began to question herself. Where was she?

Ah, yes, this was her husband's house----

"Ask your husband."

For a moment the fever left her cold. Then it was on her again. She must ask her husband!

A hundred times the words came back, but she could proceed no further.

Instinctively she understood something of the ugliness lying beyond them.

The distraught woman endured this torture for hours. It seemed ages; and at times she believed she was struggling to keep her reason.

If her husband knew of Frank's whereabouts, then--but she dared go no further. Once she paused in her restless pacing and stood before the mirror on her dressing-table. She stared at it as though reading the man's words written there. Suddenly she became aware of her own reflection, which seemed to be mocking her. She fled precipitately and flung herself into a chair, burying her face in her hands.

But such a state of mind could not endure and sanity remain. It was the result of shock, and the worst of shocks must give way before the recuperative powers of healthy nature. So it was now.

The late afternoon sun had just fallen athwart the great bay window, when the troubled woman, with a sigh as of utter exhaustion, flung herself upon her bed in a flood of hysterical tears. For a while the storm remained unabating. It almost seemed that the flood-gates of a broken heart had been opened; as though life had no longer any joy remaining; as though all the most treasured possessions of her woman's heart had been ruthlessly torn from her bosom, so hopeless, so dreadful were her tears.

But it was the saving reaction. Within half an hour the storm had lessened. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ceased altogether.

Monica sat up.

For one painful moment she gazed stupidly about her. Then one by one the details of her room grew upon her, and, slowly, a subtle change crept into her eyes. For a moment they hardened, as though she were spurring herself to some painful resolve. Then, at last, they softened again to their natural expression. She left her bed, and pa.s.sed through the doorway which led into her private bathroom.

Presently she emerged. A cold douche had done its work. She was quite calm now, and all her movements became deliberate. She walked up to her mirror, and gazed at the reflection of her swollen eyes. Then, with a weary sigh, she finally turned away and pushed the electric bell at her bedside.

Margaret obeyed the summons with suspicious alacrity. Truth to tell the devoted girl had been near by, waiting for the summons. Her mistress's unusual att.i.tude had seriously troubled her. Now she came, hoping but anxious, and, after one glance at Monica's swollen eyes she gave vent to her distress.

"Oh, but, madam----" she cried.

She was silenced with a look.