That Affair at Elizabeth, Burton Egbert Stevenson [chromebook ebook reader .txt] 📗

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Ever since the time when I had succeeded, more by luck than anything else, in discovering the whereabouts of Frances Holladay, and solving the mystery of her father's death, our junior partner had conceived a tremendously exalted opinion of my abilities as an untangler of abstruse problems, and never lost an opportunity of referring to me such as came in his way. Every firm of practising lawyers knows how frequently a case hinges upon some puzzling point of evidence—how witnesses have a way of disappearing—and Graham & Royce had their full share of such perplexing tangles. It had come to be one of the unwritten rules of the office that such points should be referred to me, and while I was by no means uniformly successful in solving them, I always took a lively pleasure in the work. It was no doubt that habit which had caused our junior to turn to me in this emergency. I could guess how terrifying it must have been to overwhelm so completely a man so well-balanced and self-controlled—I could almost see the trembling hand with which he had penned the message.

So it was with a certain quickening of the pulse that I stepped from the train at the triangular Elizabeth station, and an instant later, Mr. Royce had me by the hand.

"I've a carriage over here, Lester," he said, drawing me toward it, and I noticed that he was fairly quivering with excitement. "I thought you could make this train," he added, as we took our seats and the driver whipped up smartly. "I knew you wouldn't lose any time, and I can't tell you how glad I am to have you here. Curtiss is all broken up—doesn't know which way to turn. Neither do I. I had just sense enough to send you that wire."

"I thought it was a mystery of some sort," I said, beginning to tingle in sympathy with him. "What has happened?"

"The bride-to-be has disappeared," answered Mr. Royce simply; "vanished—skipped out!"

For a moment, I scarcely understood. It seemed preposterous to suppose that I had heard aright.

"Disappeared!" I echoed helplessly. "Skipped out!"

"Yes, skipped out!" and Mr. Royce crushed his unlighted cigar savagely in his fingers and hurled it through the carriage window. "I haven't the slightest doubt that she deliberately ran away."

The sight of his emotion calmed me a little.

"At the last moment?" I questioned.

"Practically at the last moment—less than an hour before the time set for the ceremony. She was getting ready for it—was in her wedding-dress, in fact. I tell you, Lester——"

"Wait," I said, putting out a restraining hand. "Begin at the beginning. What's her name?"

"Marcia Lawrence."

"And she's the 'ideal' Curtiss imagined he'd found?"

"Yes," said Mr. Royce slowly, "and so far as I can judge from what I've seen and heard, she really was as nearly perfect as any woman can be."

"Yet she 'skipped out'!"

"That's why I'm so upset—she was the last woman in the world to do such a thing!"

"Tell me about her," I said.

"I don't know very much; but I do know that she wasn't a mere empty-headed chit. She was an accomplished and cultured woman. I've already told you how her beauty affected me."

I paused a moment to consider it—I was fairly nonplussed. It seemed incredible that such a woman should, under any conceivable circumstances, deliberately desert her lover at the altar!

"And in her wedding-gown!" I murmured, half to myself.

"Yes, in her wedding-gown!" repeated our junior, passing his hand feverishly across his eyes. "It's unbelievable! It's—I can't find any word to describe it. I can scarcely believe I'm awake."

"Perhaps she found she didn't love him," I suggested.

"At the last moment?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"I don't believe it!' A woman like Marcia Lawrence knows her own heart before she goes that far!"

"Suppose we say sudden insanity?"

"Well-balanced women don't go mad merely because they're going to get married."

"Then she didn't run away," I said.

Mr. Royce looked at me quickly.

"You mean——"

But the carriage stopped with a jolt and the driver jerked open the door.

CHAPTER III The Lover's Story

I paused, as soon as we reached the pavement, for a look about me. We were evidently in the fashionable quarter of the town. The street was wide, well-kept, and shaded by stately elms. The houses which stretched away on either hand had that spaciousness, that air of dignity and quiet, which bespeaks wealth and leisure. Here was no gaudy architecture, no flamboyant flourish of the newly-rich; rather the evidence of families long-settled in their present surroundings and long-accustomed to the luxuries of a cultured and generous existence.

But it was to the house directly before us that I gave the closest scrutiny. It was a large one, two-storied, with a wide veranda running across the entire front. It stood well back from the street, and was sheltered on each side by magnificent trees. The grounds seemed to be very extensive and were beautifully kept. Along the pavement, a curious crowd was loitering, kept in motion by a policeman, but staring at the house as though they expected to read the solution of the mystery in its inexpressive front.

Mr. Royce nodded to the officer, and we passed through the gate. As we went up the walk, I noticed that the blinds were closely drawn, as though it were a house of mourning—and, indeed, dead hopes enough lay there!

A maid admitted us, and when my companion inquired for Mr. Curtiss, led the way silently along the hall. In the dim light, I could see the decorations of palms and wreaths of smilax, relieved here and there by a mass of gorgeous bloom, and through a door to the right I caught a glimpse of many tables, set ready for the luncheon which was never to be eaten. There was something ghostly about the deserted rooms—something chilling in the thought of this arrested gaiety, these hopes for happiness so rudely shattered. It recalled that vision which had so astonished poor Pip—the vision of Miss Havisham, decked in her yellow wedding finery, sitting at her gilded dressing-table in the darkened room, with the bride-cake cobwebbed and mouldy, and the chairs set ready for the guests who were never to arrive. Only here, I reflected, the clocks should be stopped at noon, not at twenty minutes to nine!

We turned into a room which I saw to be the library, and a man sprang up as we entered.

"Royce!" he cried, and there was in his tone such an agony of entreaty that I knew instantly who he was.

"No; no news, Burr," said our junior; "but here's Mr. Lester, and if any one can suggest a solution of this mystery, I'm sure he can. Lester, this is Burr Curtiss."

As I shook hands with him, I told myself that Mr. Royce's description had been well within the truth. I could join with him in saying that I had never seen a handsomer man or a more attractive one, though in his eyes, as I met them, misery and anxiety were only too apparent.

"It was very kind of you to come, Mr. Lester," he said.

"Not at all," I protested. "I only hope I can be of some service."

"Royce has told you——"

"Only the bare facts," I said. "I'd like to have all the details of the story, if you'll be so kind as to give me them."

"Certainly," he assented instantly, as we sat down. "That's what I wish to do—I know how important details are."

He paused for a moment, to be sure of his self-control, and I had the chance to look at him more closely. His face was not only comely, it was strong, magnetic. The black hair and eyes bespoke a vigorous temperament; the full beard, closely cropped, served rather to accentuate the fine lines of mouth and chin. There was no superfluous flesh about the face—no puffiness; it was thin with the healthy thinness which tells of a busy life, and browned by exposure to wind and sun. It was, altogether, a manly face, not the merely handsome one which I had rather expected. My eyes were drawn especially to his hand as he passed it hastily across his forehead—a hand firm, white, with slightly tapering fingers—an artist's hand which one would scarcely connect with an engineer of construction.

"There's really very little I can tell you," he said, at last. "When I saw Marcia this morning——"

His voice choked, and he paused, unable, for the moment, to go on.

"Let us begin farther back than that, Mr. Curtiss," I suggested, knowing that the beginning was the hardest part. "Mr. Royce tells me you were classmates. When did you graduate from college?"

"Seven years ago."

"And you came at once to New York?"

"Yes, to take the examination for the Pennsylvania road."

"You were given a place on the road at once?"

"Yes—not a very important place, but one with a chance for promotion, which was all I asked. I was stationed at Pittsburg for three years and then called east to work on the division between New York and Philadelphia. A year ago, I was made assistant at the headquarters office."

"Rather a remarkable career," I commented, smiling.

"Not at all," he protested quickly. "I liked the work, and I was well equipped."

I saw that I should have to revise my opinion of him—certainly he was not conceited.

"When did you meet Miss Lawrence?" I asked.

"Last December—the tenth, to be quite accurate—just six months ago to-day——"

Again his voice trailed away into a sort of hoarse whisper, though he tried desperately to control it.

"Won't you tell me about it?"

"Is it necessary?" he questioned miserably. "I—I don't want to talk."

"I know you don't, and I don't want to make you. But if I'm to help, I must know the whole story."

"Pardon me, Mr. Lester," he said, pulling himself together by a mighty effort. "Of course you must. Only give me time. I'm—I'm——"

"All the time in the world," I assured him, and settled back in my chair to listen.

"We had a bad grade-crossing just east of Elizabeth," he began, after a moment, in a steadier tone. "It was an ugly place, with the driveway coming down a stiff hill and meeting our tracks at an angle which prevented a clear view of them. We kept a flagman there, of course, but nevertheless accidents happened right along. A skittish horse, once started down the hill and frightened perhaps by the whistle and rumble of the approaching train, would be pretty hard to stop."

I nodded. I had seen just such murderous crossings.

"So the company determined to build a viaduct there, and last December sent me out to look over the ground. I reached there about nine o'clock in the morning, and by noon had all my data and was ready to come back to the city.

"'Can you flag this train for me, John?' I asked the flagman, as I heard a whistle down the line.

"'No, sir,' he answered; 'can't do it, sir. That's the limited, but there'll be a local along ten minutes after it.'

"'All right,' I said, and went up the bank a bit to sit down and wait for it.

"The limited whistled again, just around the curve, and then I heard the flagman give a yell and start up the hill, waving his flag like mad. I jumped up and saw that a buggy containing two women had just started down and that the horse was beyond control. It didn't take me above a minute to run over, get the horse by the bridle, and stop him. I held the track record for everything up to the half-mile while I was at Sheff," he added, with a little apologetic smile.

I nodded again; only, I thought, I should like to hear the flagman tell the story.

"The horse had knocked me about a bit," he went on, "and kicked me on the legs once or twice, so when I let go the bridle I was a little wobbly—made a fool of myself, I suppose. Anyway, I was bundled into the buggy and taken back to Elizabeth, where the women lived."

"Yes," I encouraged him, for he seemed to have come to a full stop; "and then?"

"Well, they took me home with them and fixed me up as though I were a plaster baby. The elder woman introduced herself as Mrs. Lawrence and the younger as her daughter Marcia. They made me stay for tea——"

He stopped again.

"I don't know how to tell the rest, Mr. Lester," he blurted out. "Only Marcia Lawrence was the divinest woman I ever met. Royce used to laugh at me for having an ideal."

"Yes, he told me," I said.

"Well, I knew instantly that I'd found her. And she was very good to me—better than I knew how to deserve. Three months ago, she promised to be my wife—we were to have been married at noon to-day——"

He sat with bowed head and