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Mansion of Mystery

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<h2 id="id01840" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXIII</h2> <h5 id="id01841">THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MARGARET</h5> "Tom, I tell you the best you can do is to make a clean breast of it and get Uncle Adam to help you." It was Letty Bernard who spoke and she addressed Tom Ostrello. The two were seated on a bench in the park, where they had gone to talk matters over without fear of interruption or of being overheard. The conversation had lasted over two hours, and in that time the girl had learned many of the young man's secrets, and in return had told him a few things which had astonished and disturbed him. He was much downcast and with good reason. For the past month many things had gone wrong with him. The one bright spot had been Letty's love for him, pure and strong, helping him to carry his burdens. "That's an easy thing to say, Letty," he answered. "But it is not such an easy thing to do. Poor Dick is deep enough in the mud as it is, and it will not be to my credit to mention my connection with Matlock Styles." "Yes, but Tom, you—you—Oh, how can I explain? Can't you trust me when I tell you that I am speaking for your own good? I—I know many things of which you are ignorant." "Then why don't you tell me, Letty? Is it fair for you to keep silent?" "No, but then you must remember that I am Mr. Adams' private clerk, and he is working on this case in the interests of Miss Langmore." "I know he is working for her and I hope he clears her. I always thought she was a pretty nice kind of a girl, and I can't believe that she is guilty." "Tom, did you ever imagine they would think you were guilty?" and she gazed at him earnestly, as if to search his very soul. He started. "Me? Why—why should anybody imagine I was guilty? It's—it's out of all reason." He drew a quick breath. "Letty, do you mean to insinuate that Mr. Adams imagines—" "You mustn't ask me questions, Tom. But think over what you have told me—of that letter your brother Dick wrote asking for money, and how you visited the house on the very morning of the murder to get the money, and how Mr. Langmore took the letter from your mother and tore it in half, and the scene afterwards." "Yes, I know. But—" "And then think of the way by which Mr. Langmore and your mother died. Killed by a curious poison, something that they inhaled, which, when the doctor got a whiff of it, gave him cramps in the stomach—a curious drug not generally known to medical science, a drug—" He caught her by the wrist and looked fearfully, frightfully, into her face. "Letty! My God!" A short silence followed and she saw that he was thinking, deeply, swiftly. The cold perspiration stood out on his forehead but he did not appear to notice it. He dropped her wrist and his hand fell as if made of stone. "Now you understand, Tom. I—I am speaking for I—I—want you to clear yourself." "Then it has gone as far as this?" He gave a groan. "It was that drug—Letty, are you sure they have found out about that drug?" "Yes, but do not say I said so." "That drug is accursed—a Chinese student told me so. I laughed at him then, but now I believe it. The first time I carried it around with me I was wrecked in a railroad accident and had my arm hurt. Then, two weeks later, when I had it with me, I got caught in that hotel fire in Buffalo. After that a vial once broke on me and if I hadn't gotten away in a hurry I should have been smothered. And now—" "Have you carried any of it lately?" "No, not for a month. I was afraid of it, and so was the firm. We got rid of it, and I was glad of it." He bit his lip meditatively. "And they think—they suspect—that that drug was used? It may be." "Cannot you trace where the drug went to, Tom?" "That might be possible, although a good many people saw and heard of it while our firm handled it." "Was any of it sold or used in the vicinity of Sidham?" "No, but—" The young commercial traveler stopped short. "I think—But no, it can't be. And yet—" "What, Tom?" she asked eagerly. He shook his head. "What's the use? It would only drag me into the mud deeper. I really can't see what's to do," he went on with something of anguish in his tones. "I am certain the very best thing you can do is to go to Uncle Adam and tell him everything. He will help you and clear up this great mystery." "But he is working for Margaret." "Yes, but I know he will work for you—after he has heard your story. But you must tell him everything." "Where is he now?" "Somewhere around your mother's home, or in Sidham, I think. I can find out for you." "Very well, I will go to him and ask him if he is willing to side with me as well as with Margaret. But wait, I think I'll go and see Margaret first. You can send word to Mr. Adams that I want to see him. Tell him I will be at the Beechwood Hotel. He can send me a message there. Tell him I can clear up some points which may seem queer to him." "I will, Tom," Letty looked much relieved. "Oh, I am sure he will help you! He has never yet failed to accomplish anything he has undertaken!" An hour later saw Tom Ostrello on his way to Sidham. His face was careworn and he looked to be ten years older than he had a week before. He was in a thoughtful mood and scarcely looked out of the car window as the train rushed onward to its destination. Arriving at the town, he speedily learned that Margaret had been taken to the home of Martha Sampson and was said to be in a serious if not dangerous state. This caused him to halt, and he was half inclined to give up the idea of interviewing her, "It will only make her condition worse," he mused. "And, poor girl, she seems to have suffered more than her share already. Perhaps I had better wait until I hear from Adam Adams." But then he determined to learn exactly how she was, anyway, and turned his footsteps toward the cottage, which stood on a side street of the town, backed up by a patch of woods leading to the river. He was just in sight of the place when he heard a cry, and a man came running out of the cottage, followed by a woman and a policeman. "Where is she? Where is she?" cried the man, and Tom Ostrello recognized Raymond Case. "Hullo! What's up?" queried the commercial traveler. "Margaret! She is gone!" cried Raymond. He ran back of the house. "I can't see anything of her!" he added with a groan. "Margaret gone? I thought she was sick." "So she is. She was out of her mind and slipped out of her room while the nurse went downstairs for some broth. I was in the parlor writing a letter." "And I was on guard in the hallway," put in the policeman. "She didn't pass me, that I'll swear to." "I was only gone a few minutes," said the nurse. "And I am sure she did not go through the kitchen." "How long ago was this?" asked Tom Ostrello. "Only a few minutes ago. Oh, we must find her," answered Raymond. "If she wanders off in her present state of mind there is no telling what will happen to her." The four scattered, and a vigorous search was instituted for the missing girl. Soon the news spread and the chief of police came hurrying to the scene. "Collins, you are responsible for this escape," said he sternly to the policeman. "I did the best I could, sir," was the nervous answer. "She was that sick, sir, I didn't think she could get out of bed, much less walk off." "Perhaps she is hiding in the house." The building was searched from cellar to garret, and so were several other buildings in that vicinity, but without avail. Then the gathering crowd scattered through the woods and along the river. "I don't believe she was as sick as they pretended," said one of the number. "This is only a bluff to let her get away. I said all along she was a sly one." "Perhaps she pulled the wool over the doctor's eyes," came from another. "And over the eyes of that young fellow who's in love with her, too." Raymond heard some of these remarks and they made his face burn. He longed to knock some of the speakers down, but held his temper in check as best he could. He realized that no argument he might advance would make an impression where opinions were so set. Tom Ostrello joined in the search as diligently as the rest, and he and Raymond ran through the woods from end to end several times. Then they procured a boat and rowed up and down the river, and crossed over to the other side. "She could not have gone far," said Raymond. "Her strength was not equal to it." It was dark by the time they came back to the river, to cross to the town side. As they rowed along, slowly and silently, Tom Ostrello noticed something floating on the water. He steered toward the object and picked it up. It was a girl's summer hat. "Margaret's hat!" cried Raymond. He dropped his oar and his face turned as white as death. "I know the truth now! She has drowned herself in the river!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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