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CHAPTER XIV.
MISSING – CARTE BLANCHE

It had been decided between Miss Jenrys and myself that the little brunette should not be altogether ignored, at least for a time; and I had taken it upon myself to provide the letter which was to put off until a more convenient season the proposed survey of the White City by night.

After some thought I had written the following, and posted it according to directions, in care of a certain café on Fifty-seventh Street:

'Dear Miss B – ,

'I find that I can hardly evade the duties one owes to courteous friends, and must for a few evenings devote myself to these. It is very likely that some of the friends of my chaperon will visit the Fair, perhaps this week, in which case she will perhaps be able to dispense with me for one evening; therefore please inform me if you should, as you suggested, change your address, so that I may drop you a note when the right time comes.

'Yours, etc.,

'J. E. J.'

This letter was submitted to Miss Jenrys, and then posted, but not until the superintendent had secured for me the services of a half-grown boy who had won a reputation as a keen and tenacious 'shadow.' Him I set to await the coming of our brunette; and, lest he should mistake or miss her, I waited in attendance with him until she came, which was at an early hour and in haste.

I had also placed a man upon Stony Island Avenue, armed with minute descriptions of Smug, Greenback Bob, Delbras, and the brunette, and with instructions to watch the cafés and houses upon a line with the Fair-grounds, and especially within a certain radius within which we knew parties of their peculiar sort were received 'and no questions asked.'

As for Brainerd and myself, we had laid out a new system, and upon it we founded a strong hope for ultimate success; though we recognised more and more the fact that we had to cope with men who were more than ordinarily keen, clever, and skilled in the fine art of dodging and baffling pursuit. In fact, I was now thoroughly convinced that they were living and working upon the supposition that they were constantly watched and pursued, and that they governed their movements and shifted their abode accordingly.

There was one thing which weighed upon my mind – I had almost said conscience – and troubled me uncomfortably, and that was the attitude I was permitting the disguised brunette to maintain toward Miss Jenrys.

Since she had entered so earnestly into the work of ferreting out the motive for the brunette's persistent attentions, she had manifested such a willingness to aid me by allowing that personage to continue the acquaintance already begun, that, while I appreciated it as an earnest of her trust in me, it was, nevertheless, embarrassing.

I was not yet ready to tell her that I believed the brunette to be a man in masquerade – I must be able to prove my charge first; and yet I had determined that they should not meet again if I could stand between them.

It was to speak an additional word of caution, and to tell the two ladies that two stalwart and trusty chair-pushers were engaged for their evening sight-seeing, that I set out one morning to make my first call upon them at their apartment on Washington Avenue. It had been decided that, even in such a throng as that of the White City, it would not be wise to meet within the grounds too often, or too openly. We were sure of more or less surveillance from one source; and I was quite ready to believe that from more than one direction interested eyes were watching the coming and going of Miss Jenrys, if not of myself.

Already I had tested the cooking and service of a variety of the restaurants, cafés, and tables d'hôte within the gates, and I had also found that outside, and especially within easy reach from the northern or Fifty-seventh Street gate, were to be found a number of most cleanly and inviting little places, more or less pretentious, and under various names, but all ready, willing, and able to serve one a breakfast, dinner, or luncheon such as would tempt even chronic grumblers to smile, feast, and come again.

I had breakfasted that morning at one of these comforting places, and upon leaving it had crossed the street to purchase a cigar from the stand on the corner, and having lighted it had kept on upon the same side.

I had meant to recross at the next corner, for half-way between two streets, stationed beneath some trees upon a vacant lot, was a bootblack's open-air establishment which I had a mind to patronize. As I neared the scene, however, and glanced across, I saw that both of the bootblack's chairs were occupied, and upon a second glance I noted that one of the occupants was my recent acquaintance, Monsieur Voisin, Miss Jenrys' friend.

He was busy with a newspaper, or seemed to be, and glancing down at my feet to make sure they were not too shabby for a morning call, I kept straight on and turned down Washington Avenue upon its farther or western side.

I had bought a paper along with my cigar, and as I ran up the steps of the pretty modern cottage where the two ladies had established themselves I threw away the one and put the other in my pocket, wondering as I did so if Monsieur Voisin was also on his way to this place, and smiling a little, because I had at least the advantage of being first.

It was so early that the ladies had not yet returned from breakfast, which they took at a café "aroond the corner joost," so the servant informed me. But I was expected, and I was asked to wait in their little reception-room, where a sunshade and a pair of dainty gloves upon a chair, and a shawl of soft gray precisely folded and lying upon a small table, not to mention the books, papers, and little feminine knicknacks, gave to the room a look of occupancy and ownership.

I had just unfolded my paper, and was glancing over the headlines upon the first page, when the two ladies entered, and I dropped my paper while rising to salute them.

In anticipation of or to forestall a possible call from Monsieur Voisin, I made haste to get through with the little business in hand, and obtained from Miss Jenrys, without question or demur, her promise not to hold communication with the brunette, at least by letter, and to avoid if possible a meeting until I should be able to enlighten her more fully.

'I do not want to lose sight of her,' I said, in scant explanation, 'and it seems that we can best keep our hold through her pursuit of you; but I would rather lose sight of her altogether and begin it all over again than let one line in your handwriting go into such hands' – I avoided those false pronouns 'her' and 'she' when I could – 'and hope and trust you may be spared another interview. Please take this upon trust, Miss Jenrys, and you too, Miss Ross, and believe that I will not keep you in the dark one moment longer than is needful.'

They assured me of their willingness to wait, even in the face of what Miss Jenrys laughingly described as a devouring curiosity; and then, while she turned the talk upon the Fair and some of its wonders, Miss Ross, murmuring a word of polite excuse, took up my paper from the place where it had fallen from my hands.

'Thee will allow me – I have not seen our morning paper.'

'Oh, Aunt Ann, I had entirely forgotten it!' cried her niece contritely.

'It is not important, child,' replied the smiling Quakeress. 'There is very little in it now except the Fair, and that we can better read at first hand.'

Nevertheless, she began to turn the pages and to scan here and there through her dainty gold-framed spectacles, while Miss Jenrys began to interrogate me concerning the mysteries of Midway Plaisance.

'We hear such very contradictory stories, and I do not want to miss any feature of the foreign show worth seeing,' she said, with an arch little nod and smile across to her aunt, 'nor does Aunt Ann; and I don't quite feel like bearding all those Midway lions unguarded, unguided, and – unadvised.'

I was not slow to offer my own individual services, in such an earnest manner that, after a little hesitation and the assurance that it would not only not conflict with my 'business engagements,' but would afford an especial pleasure, inasmuch as I had not yet 'done' the Plaisance in any thorough manner, she finally accepted my proffered services for her aunt and herself, adding at last:

'To be perfectly honest, Mr. Masters, I know Aunt Ann will never enter that alarming, fascinating Ferris Wheel without an escort whom she can trust should we lose our heads and want to jump out one hundred feet above terra firma; and I am quite sure I shall want to jump. I always am tempted to jump from any great height. Do you believe in these sensations? I have heard people say that they could hardly restrain themselves from jumping into the water whenever they ride in a boat or cross a bridge.'

'I have heard of such cases,' I replied. And so we talked on, discussing this singular and seldom met with, but still existing fact, of single insane freaks in the otherwise perfectly sane, when the gentle Quakeress, uttering a little shocked exclamation and suddenly lowering her paper, turned toward us.

'Pardon me! but, June, child, what did you tell me was the name of the young man to whom thy friend Hilda O'Neil is betrothed?'

'Trent, auntie – Gerald Trent.'

'Of Boston?'

'Of Boston; yes. Why, Aunt Ann?'

'I – I fear, then, that there is sorrow in store for thy young friend. Gerald Trent is missing.'

'Missing?'

The Quakeress held the paper toward me, I being nearest her, and pointing with a finger to some headlines half-way down the page, said:

'Perhaps thee would better read it.'

I took the paper and read aloud these lines:

'"Another World's Fair Mystery. – Gerald Trent among the Missing

'"Another Young Man swallowed up by the Maelstrom

'"Yesterday we chronicled the disappearance of Harvey Parker who was traced by his friends to this city, where he had arrived to visit the Exposition for a week or more. He is known to have arrived at the Rock Island Depot and to have set out for the Van Buren Street Viaduct en route for the Fair. This was on Monday last, five days ago, since which time, as was stated in our yesterday's issue, he has not been seen or heard from by his friends or by the police, who are searching for him.

'"Nearly two weeks ago, Gerald Trent, only son of Abner Trent, one of Boston's millionaire merchants, came to this city to see the Exposition and to secure accommodations for his family, who were to come later. He stopped at an up-town hotel for some days, visited the Fair, and secured apartments for his friends, which were to have been vacated for their use in a few days.

'"He had written to his family, telling them to await his telegram, which they would receive in three or four days. When this time had expired and no telegram came, they waited another day, and then sent him a message of inquiry. This being unanswered, they made inquiry at his up-town hotel, and then began a search, which ended in the conviction that young Trent had met with misfortune, if not foul play. On Monday last he left the hotel, saying to one of the inmates of the house that he should have possession of a fine suite of rooms, within three blocks of the north entrance, which presumably means Fifty-seventh Street, within three days, and that he meant to send for his friends that day by telegraph. No message was received at his home, as has been said, and nothing has been heard of him since that day.

'"Young Trent wore, rather unwisely, a couple of valuable diamonds, one in a solitaire ring, the other in a scarf-pin; he also carried a fine watch, and was well supplied with money. The police are working hard upon the case. The list of the missing seems to be increasing."'

I put the paper down and looked across at Miss Jenrys. I had recognised the name Hilda O'Neil as that of her Boston correspondent whose letter I had found in the little black bag, and by association the name of Gerald Trent also. Miss Jenrys was looking pale and startled.

'Oh!' she exclaimed. 'That is what Hilda's telegram meant.'

'You have had a telegram from Boston?' I ventured.

'Yes. You perhaps remember the letter in my bag?'

I nodded.

'In that letter Hilda – Miss O'Neil – spoke of Mr. Trent's delay, and of her anxiety. I did not reply to her letter at first, expecting to hear from or see her, for she had my address. It was only a freak my telling her to write me through the World's Fair post-office; but when she did not come – on the day before I met you, in fact – I wrote just a few lines of inquiry. In reply to this I received a telegram last evening. I will get it.' She crossed the room and opened a little traveller's writing-case, coming back with a yellow envelope in her hand. 'There it is,' she said, holding it out to me.

I took it and read the words:

'Have you seen Gerald? Hilda.'

'Did you reply to this?' I asked, as I gave it back to her.

'At once – just the one word, "No."'

'Do you know this young man?' I asked.

'I have never even seen him, but I know that he bears a splendid reputation for manliness, sobriety, and studiousness. He was something of a bookworm at college, I believe, and has developed a taste for literature. You see, I have heard much of him. Oh, I am sure something has happened to him, some misfortune! You see, she had asked him to call upon me, and he would never have left Hilda – not to mention his parents and sister – five days in suspense if able to communicate with them.'

'If he is the person you describe him, surely not.'

She gazed at me a moment, as if about to reproach me for the doubt my words implied, and dropped her eyes. Then she answered quietly:

'The simple fact that John O'Neil, Hilda's father, has accepted him as his daughter's fiancé is sufficient for me. Mr. O'Neil is an astute lawyer and a shrewd judge of character; he has known the Trents for many years, and he already looks upon Gerald Trent as a son.'

'And Mr. O'Neil – where is he?'

'Abroad at present; it is to be regretted now.'

I took up the paper and re-read the account of young Trent's disappearance; and Miss Jenrys dropped her head upon her hand, and seemed to be studying the case. After a moment of silence, Miss Ross, who had been a listener from the beginning, leaned toward her niece and said, in her gentlest tone:

'June, my child, ought we not to try and do something? What does thee think? Should we wait, and perhaps lose valuable time, while the Trents are on their way?'

Miss Jenrys lifted her head suddenly.

'Auntie,' she exclaimed, 'you are worth a dozen of me! You are right! We must do something. Mr. Masters, what would you do first if you were to begin at once upon the case?'

'Get, from the chief of police if necessary, the name of the up-town hotel where young Trent was last seen.'

'And then?' she urged, in a prompt, imperious manner quite new in my acquaintance with her.

'Obtain a description of him from some of the people there, and learn all that can be learned about him.'

'And what next?' she urged still.

'Next, I would seek among the houses within two or three blocks from the north entrance for the rooms which he engaged, and which are perhaps still held for him.'

'Mr. Masters, can you do this for me?' She was sitting erect before me, the very incarnation of repressed activity, and I knew, as well as if she had said it, that she would never permit my refusal to weaken the determination just taking shape in her mind to do for Hilda O'Neil what she could not have done for herself, and to do it boldly, promptly, openly. She saw my hesitation, and went on hurriedly:

'I know how busy you must be, how much I am asking, but you have undertaken to follow up that brunette and find out the reason for her interest in me, and surely this is far, far more important – a man's life, the happiness of a family, my friend's happiness at stake, perhaps; for I am sure that no common cause, nothing but danger, illness, or death, could keep Gerald Trent from communicating with his parents and his promised wife. Drop the brunette and all connected with her, Mr. Masters, and give such time as you would have given to my affairs, and more if possible, to this search, I beg of you. At least, promise me that you will conduct the search, and employ as many helpers as you need. I'll give you carte-blanche. Deal with me as you would with a man, and if I can aid in any other way than with my purse, let me do it.'

As she paused, with her eyes eagerly fixed upon my face, the sweet Quakeress leaned toward me, and put out her white slender hand in earnest appeal.

'"Thy brother's keeper;" remember that a deed of mercy is beyond and above all works of vengeance. What is the capture of a criminal, of many of them, compared to the rescue, the saving, perchance, of an honest man's life? I beg of thee, consent, help us!'

There may be men who could have resisted that appeal. I could not, and did not. I did not throw my other responsibilities to the winds; I simply did not think of them at the moment, when I took the soft hand of the elder woman in my own, and, looking across at the younger, said:

'I will do my best, Miss Jenrys, and, that not one moment may be lost, tell me, can you describe young Trent?'

'Not very well, I fear.'

'And his picture? Your friend must have that?'

'Of course,' half smiling.

'Telegraph her to forward it to you at once. And has your friend at any time mentioned the hotel where young Trent would stop? Most of our Eastern visitors have a favourite stopping-place.'

'I know.' She had made a movement toward her desk, but paused and turned toward me. 'I think it is safe to say that the two families would share the same house. They did in visiting the summer resorts, always; and I know where Mr. O'Neil and Mr. Trent went when they attended the great convention in this city.' She named the place, and I promptly arose.

'I will go there at once; but you may as well give me the Trents' address, and permit me the use of your name. If I am wrong I will telegraph from up-town for the name of his hotel.'

As I turned my face cityward that morning I was not only fully committed to the search for missing Gerald Trent, but I was determined to convert my friend and partner to the same undertaking.

And having now found time for sober, second thought, I had also determined not to relinquish my search for the little brunette and her secret, nor for Messrs. Bob Delbras and company. Had I not carte-blanche?

As I left the house, intent upon my new errand, I was not surprised to see approaching it, almost at the door, in fact, Monsieur Voisin. We exchanged greetings at the entrance, and I had walked some distance before it occurred to me to wonder how it came about that Monsieur Voisin, whom I had last seen at the bootblack's stand, two blocks north and east, happened to be approaching Miss Jenrys' residence from the south.

CHAPTER XV.
THE KING OF CONFIDENCE MEN

I found a number of people at the big up-town hotel who could tell me a little of Gerald Trent, as he appeared to them after a few days' acquaintance; and these were unanimous in saying and believing that young Trent was not absent by his own will.

'It's a case of foul play, I'm sure of it,' declared the clerk, to whom I had represented myself as 'acting for one of Mr. Trent's friends.' 'Cowles saw him at the viaduct, he told me, just before he left; that was five days ago now, and Trent was then going down to secure those rooms and see that they were put in order. He went by the Suburban, because he wanted to go over to the avenues, and Cowles went down by the Whaleback.'

There was no more to be learned up-town. Gerald Trent had been last seen at the viaduct at the foot of Van Buren Street, where the 'cattle cars,' the 'Suburban,' and numerous boats left the Lake Front and the wharf beyond en route for the Fair City. This was at ten o'clock a.m., or near it.

I went back to the Fair City, as Trent had last gone, upon the Suburban train; and before noon had begun an exploration, in the vicinity of the north entrance, for the rooms engaged by him.

Bounding the Fair City on the west was the street known as Stony Island Avenue, and after a short survey of such near portions of this street as I had not seen, I satisfied myself that young Trent would not have selected it as a place of abode for his lady mother, his sister, and his sweetheart. One block westward, running south from Fifty-seventh, was a short street called Rosalie Court, and after exploring this I pushed on to Washington Avenue, and then to Madison, running respectively one and two blocks parallel with Rosalie Court.

Something impelled me to pass by Washington Avenue, upon which Miss Jenrys and her aunt were lodged, and to explore the farther avenue first.

'If the rooms are within two or three blocks of the north entrance,' I said to myself, 'and if they are upon this street, I shall find them within one block north or south from this corner,' meaning Fifty-seventh Street, and I turned southward and began my search in earnest.

Not long since this part of the city had been a beautiful suburb, and the pretty cottages and more stately villas were, for the most part, isolated in the midst of their own grounds. Every other house it seemed, and some of the most pretentious, bore upon paling, piazza, or door-post the legend 'Rooms to Let,' and I applied and entered at a number of handsome and home-like portals, first upon the east side and then upon the west, crossing at Fifty-eighth Street to turn my face northward.

At Fifty-seventh I paused. 'It is something more than two blocks from the Fair entrance to this point,' I mused, 'and therefore I ought to go but one block in this direction.' But when I had traversed the block to Fifty-sixth Street, with no success, I crossed the street and went on, saying, 'It's easy for a stranger to be mistaken in a matter of distance.' At the north end of this square stood a large old-fashioned mansion, of a decidedly Southern type. It stood upon terraced grounds, and was a dignified reminder of better days, with its stained and time-roughened stuccos, and the worn paint about the ornate cornices. 'Rooms to Let' was the sign upon a tree-trunk, and after some doubt and hesitation, I went up the terraced steps, crossed the lawn, and rang a bell much newer than its surroundings.

Once admitted to the wide, inviting hall, with its glimpse of cheerful dining-room beyond, and a large cool parlour opening at the side, I felt that Trent might well have sought quarters in this roomy, airy house; and when the 'lady of the house,' a woman small, elderly, delicate, and refined, appeared before me, I put my question hopefully.

'Madam, have you among the inmates of your house a Mr. Gerald Trent?' I saw by her sudden change of countenance that the name was not strange to her, and was not surprised when she informed me that a Mr. Trent had engaged her best suite of rooms for himself and four others; that he had called upon her on the Monday previous, paid her an advance upon the rooms, and informed her that his friends would arrive in three days, if not sooner.

'They should have been here,' she concluded, 'the day before yesterday, but they have not appeared, and we have had no word from them. It is very inconvenient for me. Of course, the rooms are secured until Monday, but I have no means of knowing if they will come then; or when I may consider them at my disposal.'

It was evident she had not seen the papers, and I at once put the notice in her hand, and told her the nature of my business.

There seemed but one opinion of Gerald Trent. When she had read the paper and heard my statement, she said, at once, what the inmates of the hotel had said before her:

'Something has happened him. He never went away like this of his own accord. I never saw a more simple and sincere young man.' And then, as if by an afterthought, 'He had too much money about him; he was too well dressed, and – I don't think he was of a suspicious nature.'

I learned from her very little to help my further search. Trent had met none of the guests of the house upon either of his visits there. In reply to a question, she had said:

'He seemed in the best of spirits when he paid the advance money and went away; and he said that he meant to spend the day in the Plaisance. I remember that he laughed when he said this, and added something to the effect that he wanted to decide, before the ladies came, where it would pay to go on the Plaisance, and what were the things they would not care for. He had a rather frank and boyish way of expressing himself.'

'And you think he went from here to the Fair?'

'I believe he went from here to Midway Plaisance. There is an entrance on this street, three blocks south, and I walked to the door with him and pointed the way to it.'

And this was all. Of course I took from her lips, as from the people up-town, a minute description of Trent's dress and appearance on the day of his disappearance, and then I went back to the Fair by the Midway gate, and wished impatiently for the time to come when I should meet Brainerd and consult with him. This I knew would not be until a late hour, and as I lounged down the Plaisance I began to look about for the handsome guard, in whom I had taken a decided interest.

I found him easily – as erect, soldierly, attentive to duty as usual – and we spent the greater part of two hours chatting, while we paced up and down Midway. He was a bright talker, and he entertained me with a number of amusing incidents, graphically related, and illustrative of the life of the Plaisance.

During the two hours, however, I broke the monotony of a continuous tramp by an excursion, now on one side and then on the other; now to see the glass-blowers; now the submarine exhibit; and, lastly, to the Irish village that clustered about Blarney Castle.

It was on my return from this that, as I approached him, I saw, with some surprise, that he was in earnest conversation with a woman, and as I came nearer and he shifted his position slightly, I saw that the woman was none other than that ignis fatuus the brunette. Her back was toward me, and she was squarely facing him, so that, as I came nearer and directly toward them, I caught his eye, and, nodding with a gesture which I think he understood, I turned away and watched the manœuvres of 'the little mystery,' as Brainerd so often called the brunette, wondering if this unknown guard was also to be enmeshed in the plot she seemed to be weaving. And then there flashed into my mind that first meeting with the guard, and his avowed acquaintance with Miss Jenrys. Was this interview in any way connected with or concerning her?

The brunette had not seen me; of that I was quite assured, and even so I had small fear of recognition, for while I had not, on the occasion of our two meetings face to face, worn any disguise, I was confident that the widely different garments worn on the two occasions, together with my ability to elongate, twist, and change my features, and to alter the pitch of my voice, was masquerade sufficient. But I did not desire to become known to this anomalous personage, and I lingered here and there, within sight and at a safe distance, until I saw her nod airily and trip away, flinging a smile over her shoulder.

In the time spent in waiting the end of this little dialogue I had decided that I must know this young man – so reticent, yet so frank – better, and that I must win his confidence, and to do this perfect frankness, I knew, would be my best aid.

When the 'mystery' was safely out of sight, and on this occasion I had no desire to follow her, I rejoined the guard, and I was sure that I surprised upon his face a look of perplexity and annoyance, which vanished when I put my hand upon his arm, and, falling into step with him, began:

'I hope you understood my meaning when I went into ambush so suddenly? I really did not care to encounter your friend.'

'That is hardly the right name, seeing that the lady is a stranger to me,' he replied, slightly smiling.

'Indeed!' I retorted. 'Then may I wager that I know what she had to say to you?' I saw him flush, and his lips compress themselves as if to hold back some hasty speech, but I went lightly on: 'That is the young person who claimed the bag belonging to your acquaintance – you remember the circumstance – and if she is still as angry at me as she was on that day she was doubtless imploring you to "run me in," and put me in more irons than Christopher Columbus ever wore. Honestly now, am I not right?'

He was silent and seemed perplexed again, and I promptly changed my tone. 'If I am mistaken, and if the young woman is someone you know, I beg your pardon; but, remembering how she turned her look upon you on the occasion of that first meeting – '

'One moment,' he broke in. 'It is possible that we have been unjust in this case, and I think I may tell you, without a breach of confidence, what this young lady' – I thought he emphasized the 'lady' somewhat – 'who by-the-by is a stranger to me, had to say just now.'

I bowed my assent, lest speech might cause a discussion, and he went on:

'The young lady, after excusing herself for doing what she termed an unconventional thing in addressing me, asked at once after you.'

'After me? But – go on.'

'She spoke of you as "the person" I was talking with on the day when her friend lost her bag and she tried to reclaim it, and when I disclaimed all knowledge of you, she told me how "cavalierly" – that is also her word – you refused to yield up the bag, and how anxiously her friend was hoping to secure that bag – even yet.'

'Ah! Indeed!'

'You will pardon me,' he went on, not heeding my interjection, and speaking with marked courtesy, 'but I almost fear you have mistaken this young lady.'

'Why?'

'Because she not only gave me the name of the owner of the bag, but she assured me that the lady recognised me in passing, a thing which I regret, and she called me by my name.'