_ CHAPTER XVIII. MYSTERIES BORN IN THE NIGHT
When the car, driven by Thompson, drew near to the derrick which had been to Morton the suggestion of an unholy impulse, he slowed the big Packard and leaned ahead, far over the wheel, for his keen eyes had already discerned something beside the road which had not been there when he had passed earlier in the evening. He stopped the car, and that fact awoke Duncan to a recollection of his surroundings.
"What is it, Thompson?" he asked. "Why have you stopped?"
Thompson was peering anxiously toward the jumbled mass of broken stone ahead of him, and there was an instant of silence before he replied. Then--
"There has been a wreck here, sir," he told his employer.
Instantly, Duncan thought of Patricia. He forgot Morton. He was out of the car even before Thompson could slide from under the steering-wheel, and started ahead at a run, toward the remnants of the wreck which he could now see quite plainly.
The roadster, in making its last leap, had literally climbed the rocky place, and then, turning end for end twice, had finally alighted upon a heap of stone, from which it could be seen from the roadway. It was now a mass of iron, a twisted chaos of castings and machinery, recognizable only as something that had once been an automobile; but the experienced eyes of Thompson, trained to the quick and perfect recognition of all cars that he had ever seen, identified the mass of wreckage as soon as he got near enough to see it clearly. One comprehensive glance sufficed for him. He straightened up after that quick search for identification marks, which was his first instinct, and said, quietly:
"It is Mr. Morton's roadster, sir."
"My God!" cried Duncan, with a catch in his breath. The truth of the matter seemed to rush upon him on the instant, although he afterward refused to recognize it as truth. But, as Thompson made the statement, Duncan saw again the despairing face of Richard Morton which had still had in it a hidden determination to do something that Duncan had not even tried to guess at the time. "Was this what he intended to do?" Duncan asked himself, silently.
"Yes, sir; it is Mr. Morton's roadster," Thompson repeated, with entire conviction. "He must have been hitting up a great gait, when he struck, too. I never saw such a wreck; never, sir. He must be somewhere about, sir."
"True. Look for him, Thompson; look everywhere."
He started forward himself, leaping over the stones, and plunging into every place where the body of a man might have fallen, after being hurled from the wrecked car. They searched distances beyond where it was possible that the body of a man might have been thrown, but they did not find Morton.
"It is possible that he escaped," said Duncan, at last, pausing and wiping perspiration from his brow. "He might have alighted on his feet, and--"
"No, sir. Pardon me. It is not possible. No man could go through such a wreck as that one, and in such a place, and escape alive. Besides, sir--look here."
The man struck a match, and held the blaze of it toward a pile of sharp stones. Duncan bent forward, peered at the spot indicated by Thompson, and drew back again with a sharp exclamation of horror.
There was blood on the stones; quite a lot of it, partly dried. And near it, half-hidden among the jagged stones, were Morton's watch and fob. The fob was instantly recognizable for it was totally unlike any other that Duncan had ever seen, formed of nuggets in the rough, linked together with steel rings, instead of with gold, or silver. The watch was smashed almost as badly as the automobile. Duncan took it in his hand, held it so for a moment, and at last, with a shudder, dropped it into one of his pockets.
"What does it mean, Thompson? Where is he?" he asked.
"I think it is likely, sir, that someone passed the spot, either at the time of the accident or directly after it happened. Of course, sir, the body would not have been left here under any circumstances."
"The body? You think he must be dead?"
"There can be no doubt of it, sir," said Thompson, with conviction. "Shall we go on, sir? Nothing more can be done here."
They returned to their own car, and the journey toward the city was resumed. Not another word was spoken until they were in the city streets, and then the only direction that Duncan gave his chauffeur was that he be taken directly to his rooms, where, as soon as he entered, he seized upon the telephone. One after another, he called up every hospital in the city, and it was not until he found his search to be entirely unavailing that it occurred to him Morton would have been taken to some place nearer the scene of the accident. Then, he bethought himself to communicate with police headquarters.
"I will give," he said, "a thousand dollars for positive information about the fate of Richard Morton, provided the same is brought to me before daylight, and that my request be kept a secret. This is not a bribe, but a spur to great effort. You have facilities for making such inquiries. Find Morton for me, before morning, if you can, no matter where he is. Keep it from the newspapers, too. Then, come to me for the check." He explained fully the locality of the accident--and then he waited.
He did not occupy his bed that night, and he could not have explained why he did not do so. He kept telling himself that Richard Morton was nothing whatever to him; that it did not matter what had happened to the fellow; that Morton deserved death for what he had done--and a lot of other things of the same character. But all the while he paced the floor, and waited for information; or, he seated himself in a corner of the room and smoked like a furnace chimney. Just as daylight was breaking, while gazing through his window toward the eastward, he started, and asked himself, guiltily:
"Am I hoping all the time that he is dead? Have I offered that thousand dollars only for assurance of his death?"
Fortunately, he was not compelled to reply to the self-accusing question, for there came a summons at his door, and an officer from headquarters entered to announce that, although diligent search and inquiry had been made in every conceivable quarter, not a word of information regarding Richard Morton could be obtained. Duncan listened in silence to the report, and, when it was finished, said:
"Very well; continue the search. Find the man, or find out what became of him. I will defray all the expenses, and will pay the reward I offered, too. But I must have the information at once, and everything relative to this affair must be kept from the newspapers."
The officer had just gone when a ring at Duncan's telephone took him quickly to it--and the voice of Jack Gardner at the other end of the wire alarmed him unduly, considering that there was no known reason to feel alarm. Gardner, upon being assured that he was talking directly with his friend, said:
"You'll have to pardon me, old chap, for calling you out of bed at this ungodly hour, but I just had to do it."
"You needn't worry, Jack. I haven't been in bed. What's up?" Duncan replied.
"Why; you see there is a mystery developed, just now. If you haven't been in bed, I have. I was called out of it by this confounded telephone--twice. The first call was to tell me that some sort of an accident had happened to Dick Morton. I couldn't gather what it was, and didn't really take much stock in it, so far as that goes. Then, the second call came. I was mad by that time, and didn't have very much to say to the chap at the other end of the wire--till Sally put me up to calling you."
"What was the second call about?" asked Duncan, gritting his teeth and almost fearing to hear what it might have been.
"Why, my Thomas car--the one that took Patricia away, you know--has been found somewhere in the streets of New York, deserted, apparently. I can't understand it. They identified the car by the number, you know. When I told Sally what had been said to me, she immediately had a spasm of fear lest the accident reported to have happened to Morton might have been Patricia, instead. I thought I'd ask you about it; that's all."
"Wait a minute, Jack. Just let me think, a minute; then I'll answer you."
Duncan put the receiver down on the table, and crossed the room. He found it difficult to grasp the situation. Until that moment, it had not occurred to him that Patricia might have been the one to find Morton, or Morton's body, at the scene of the wreck. He had forgotten that she must have passed that way within half an hour from the time of the piling of the steamer upon the mass of sharp stones. Presently, he returned to the telephone, and told his friend all that he knew about the circumstances, and all that he had done since Thompson and he came away from the scene of the wreck.
"But I don't see what your Thomas car has got to do with it," he concluded. "Your man Patrick was driving it, wasn't he? I know he was. He used to be with Langdon, you know. He isn't a chauffeur, but he's a lot more competent to be one than half the men who are. I say, Jack, have Sally call up Patricia, right away. You--"
He heard a click over the wire which told him that connection was cut off; and after that he paced the floor again, wishing and hoping for the ringing of his telephone-bell.
"We are coming to the city at once," Gardner told him, when at last it did ring, and Duncan had taken down the receiver. "What the devil is the matter with everything, anyhow? You had better hump yourself, Duncan, and get busy. I don't believe that Morton was hurt half so badly as you and Thompson seemed to think. Anyhow, the only way I can see through it all is that Patricia was the one who found him. But, even so--"
"Hold on a minute, Jack. You are getting too swift for me. What did Sally find out when she telephoned to Patricia?"
"Oh! Didn't I tell you that? Patricia hasn't been home, at all. They thought, at Langdon's, that she was here. She certainly hasn't shown up there. And you say that Dick has disappeared, after leaving his gore spread all over the place where his car was smashed. And, then, my car is found somewhere down there, abandoned. I can't make it out, at all. Sally is sure that something dreadful has happened. We're starting now. Sally won't wait another minute. I'll see you as soon as I get into town."
He did not delay to say good-bye, but hung up the receiver at his end.
Duncan did not await the arrival of Gardner. He summoned his valet, and gave him strict directions about the reception of any news concerning the mysteries of the night. Then, he hurried to Stephen Langdon's home where he was admitted at once to the old banker's sleeping apartment.
"What in heaven's name is the matter now, Rod?" the financier demanded, testily. "It is bad enough to have you and Patricia at sword's points, but to rout out an old fellow like me from his bed at this hour, is rubbing it in."
"I suppose you haven't heard that Patricia did not come home last night, have you?" Duncan said, by way of reply.
"No, I haven't. I should have been surprised, if I had heard it. She wasn't expected to come home. She went to the Gardners."
"Well, sir, there is a lot that you ought to know, before you step out of this room, to face all sorts of statements and inquiries. That is why I am here. I thought I was the best one to tell you."
"To tell me what?"
"It will be something of a shock, sir. Brace yourself for it. I don't think that a soul in the world except me, guesses at the truth."
"Guesses at what truth? What the devil is the matter with you? What are you trying to tell me? Out with it, whatever it is!"
"Patricia has run away with Richard Morton. He was hurt last night. She was in love with him, and--"
"Stop! Stop where you are, Rod. You're crazy. You're stark, staring, raving crazy! Why in heaven's name should Patricia want to run away with Morton? It is true that I have always wanted her to marry you, but, if she wanted
him, she knows mighty well she could have him. I wouldn't put out a finger to stop her from marrying anybody of her choice, so long as the man was morally and mentally fit. Sit down over there; take a drink. You look as if you needed one. Don't utter a word for five minutes, and then begin at the beginning and tell me all about it."
But Duncan would listen to neither request. He began at once and told of the occurrences of the night, from the moment when Patricia had arrived at Cedarcrest alone, till the receipt of the telephonic messages from Gardner; and he concluded by saying:
"There is no mystery in the affair, at all, as I regard it. Patricia left the house, at Cedarcrest, half an hour after Morton left it. She found the wrecked car, near the derrick, as Thompson and I found it, later on. But she found Morton, too. Patrick was with her, and Patrick is devoted to Patricia. He wouldn't consider the fact that he is, or was, in Jack's employ, if it came to a question of obedience to her wishes; he would serve her. You see, Patricia found out that she loved Morton, when he got his calling-down; only, I suppose, even then, she wasn't quite sure. But, when the time came for him to go away entirely, she had no more doubts about it! She didn't remain long at Cedarcrest, after that; she followed him. She knew that Patrick was there, and that he would go with her. Well, they found the wreck of Morton's car, along the road; then, they found Morton. Probably, he wasn't much hurt; chaps like him don't mind the loss of a little blood. Patricia and the man helped him into the car. It was just the proper scene, with all the best kind of setting for a mutual confession of their love, and--there you are."
"Go on, Roderick. Finish all you have to say, before I begin. What next?"
"Why--oh, what's the use? There isn't any more to say. Morton probably asked her to go away with him, and she went. That's all. I thought you ought to know it."
"You don't know it yourself, do you?"
"No--not positively, of course."
"You have just guessed it."
"I suppose that's true, too."
"I wonder if your guessing has gone far enough to enlighten me on two important points."
"What do you mean?"
"I'd like to know why Morton would want her to run away with him at all, and why she should think of consenting to such a thing, if he did. Patricia isn't one of the run-away kind. I should think you would know that. And they didn't have to run."
"Why, Morton had just been virtually kicked out of Jack Gardner's house. He was--"
"Well? Well? Couldn't Stephen Langdon's daughter kick him into it again? Or into any other house on God's green earth, for that matter, if she tried to do so? Do you suppose he'd have to pay any attention to a little, petty ostracism, on the part of such puppets of society as gathered out there, if he became the husband of Patricia Langdon? Don't be an ass, Roderick! You are just plain jealous, and I don't know that I blame you--for that."
"I'm not jealous."
"Then, you're a fool, and that's a heap worse." _