Chapter XXII: Ida’s Triumph

The servant led Ida up the stairs to the second floor and into a room in the front of the house, furnished most luxuriously as a sitting-room.

A young woman, rather under-sized, but well proportioned, and with some claims to beauty, stood in the center of this room.

Ida regarded the young woman intently. She saw that, though the features of the young lady were somewhat hard, and the expression of her face not wholly agreeable, yet she was one who would be attractive to the other sex. Her eyes were dark, and there was in them a rather steely gleam as she turned them keenly on Ida.

“I don’t know you,” was her salutation.

Looking about the room, Ida saw there were two doors therein, both open. Without replying to the abrupt and ungracious greeting of the young lady, Ida went to the one which seemed to lead into an inner apartment, and, closing it, shot the bolt she found on it.

“You are impertinent,” said Miss Rainforth.

Nor to this remark did Ida reply, but went to the door leading to the hall, closed that, and turned the key in the lock.

“What do you mean to do?” asked Miss Rainforth, so much astonished that she had not as yet interfered.

“I mean,” said Ida, “that we shall not be interrupted during our interview.”

Ida now went to a chair in that part of the room which brought her back to the light, and forced Miss Rainforth to stand, or sit, as she chose, with that light full on her face.

“You do not ask me to sit down, Miss Rainforth,” said Ida. “So I shall take a seat uninvited. But, before I do, I wish to say that I know that you are an expert in shooting. I would have you know that I am also. You can take your revolvers, if you choose to do so, for I shall sit with mine in my lap ready to check any use of yours on your part.”

With that Ida took her revolvers from her pocket, and, sitting down, laid them upon her lap.

“Well,” said Miss Rainforth, with a long breath, “of all the impudent things I have ever met, you are the most impudent.”

“Oh, no,” replied Ida, “I am merely a determined person who will not be denied in the matter I have come about.”

“Leave the room,” said Miss Rainforth, suddenly losing her temper.

“I shall do nothing of the kind,” said Ida.

Miss Rainforth made a motion as if she would run to the door, but Ida sternly commanded her to stop.

Apparently unused to such a tone, Miss Rainforth stopped, turning more in surprise and astonishment than in submission.

“Miss Rainforth,” said Ida, “you will please to return to your seat.”

The young lady continued to stare at her visitor, and Ida went on:

“It is useless for you to call any one, for that will only result in your ruin and disgrace. As I told you, you have met with a person even more determined than yourself. You must submit.”

“Who are you?” the young lady blurted forth.

“My name is of no consequence,” said Ida. “It is enough for you to know that I am one of Nick Carter’s people. I have something to learn from you which you must tell.”

“‘Must! Must! Must!’” repeated the young lady, now nearly beside herself with anger. “In all my life, I have never permitted any one to say ‘must’ to me. How dare you, when my father never dared to say it to me?”

“Simply because,” said Ida, very quietly, “I am determined that you shall tell me what you know about Mr. Ellison.”

The manner of Ida, so calm, determined and selfpossessed, made an evident impression upon the young lady.

She came across the room, standing almost directly in front of Ida, and calmly studied the face of her visitor, as if it were new to her experience.

“I know that you are supposed to be a bold and courageous young lady,” said Ida. “I know it is commonly reported that you are not unaccustomed to scenes of danger. You are in no danger here, except such as may result from your refusal to tell me what justice demands you should tell. Now, please sit down and let us get this matter over.”

The mood of the young lady changed, and she laughed aloud, sarcastically rather than otherwise, saying, when she had had her laugh out:

“Well, this is a new experience. Really, it is entertaining. I think I shall enjoy it.”

She went back to a chair, and sat down.

“Now, Miss One-of-Nick-Carter’s-People, what is your business with me?”

“Miss Rainforth, you notified my chief that a robbery was to be attempted at Mr. Sanborn’s house yesterday. Subsequently, and almost immediately after the singular disappearance of Mr. Ellison, you wrote another letter to Mr. Carter, telling him a woman was at the bottom of that disappearance. Later in the evening, you made your appearance, in disguise, in places in the Tenderloin, under circumstances which, if known publicly, would ruin the most respectable young lady.”

Miss Rainforth sprang to her feet, this time genuinely alarmed.

“How do you know that?” she exclaimed. “What do you know? How much do you know?”

Ida saw that she had made a point much stronger than she knew.

Evidently, the young lady had been engaged in something the night previous, had been somewhere, and had been involved in something, the concealment of which was far more important to her than of her entrance to the all-night restaurant at midnight.

Ida was quick to use the advantage she had gained, though she recognized that she was on dangerous ground, and was ignorant of what had so excited the young woman.

“You know little of Nick Carter and his perfect system,” she replied, “if you do not know that he is aware of the movements of any one who is of concern to him.”

Miss Rainforth fell back in her chair, muttering, rather to herself than to Ida:

“I had heard so. I had been warned. But I did not believe it.”

Then she turned to Ida.

“Talk plainly,” she said. “What is it you want to say? What is it you want of me?”

Ida stood up, deliberately replaced the revolvers in her pocket, and as calmly sat down again.

She felt that she had already won her victory; if she managed the rest of the interview with skill that the reckless, courageous and masterful young woman was already cowed.

In the meantime, Miss Rainforth, settling back in her chair, was regarding her visitor with apprehensive intentness.

“Mr. Carter,” said Ida, “has neither wish nor disposition to do anything to your injury. You are of no consequence to him, as important as you doubtless regard yourself, except as you bear a relation to the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Ellison, and have knowledge of events leading up to that disappearance.”

“I am sure,” replied Miss Rainforth, with a sneer, “I’m obliged to the consideration of Mr. Carter.”

Ida gave no heed to the sneer, but went on:

“In the first place, I want to know how you came to have knowledge of the intended robbery of the wedding presents.”

“Really?” sneered Miss Rainforth.

Ida saw that the young lady was recovering from the panic into which she had been thrown, and was regaining possession of herself. She made an attempt to frighten the young lady again.

“I presume, Miss Rainforth,” she said, “that you are intelligent enough to understand that you are at present in the position of one who is in relations with a notorious thief and burglar, one Lannigan?”

The young lady started violently.

“Lannigan!” she repeated.

“Lannigan made the attempt to enter the house of Mr. Sanborn yesterday morning,” said Ida. “Indeed, he did enter it, and was recognized by Mr. Carter. He was driven off at that time and, though his gang made two other efforts later, they also were defeated.”

“They did make the attempt?” said Miss Rainforth. “I thought they had not done so.”

Ida made a bold play.

“Oh, they kept their part of the bargain,” she said.

It was a false play, for the young woman looked at Ida with a puzzled face.

Ida instantly saw it, and hastened to regain her ground.

“You do not answer my question,” she said. “How did you come to know of this intended robbery?”

“You are looking for Mr. Ellison,” said Miss Rainforth. “Of what use is that knowledge to you in such a search?”

“It is a step in the beginning,” replied Ida. “Understand, Miss Rainforth, you are related to this search, and to the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Ellison, either remotely or intimately, and evasion on your part will only involve you in trouble--in all the shame and disgrace that publicity of the matter, which will soon be a sensation, will involve.”

The young woman winced, an anxious expression appearing on her face, and Ida knew that the string upon which she must pull was the one of the young lady’s fear of notoriety.

“I must insist upon an answer to that question,” she said. “There are many ways of conducting our business. As a rule, we work in secret, but there are times when we are forced to take the public in our confidence, and make a part of our search through the newspapers. We have no desire to do that at any time, but it begins to look as if we would have to do so in this case, and you can see the position you would be in--you, a young lady of fashion, placed before the public as an associate of thieves and the frequenter of fast places at midnight.”

The young woman leaped to her feet with the remark:

“You would not dare do such a thing.”

Ida laughed, scornfully.

“Dare?” she repeated. “We spend our lives in daring.”

“The men of my family would kill you, if you did such a thing.”

Ida laughed again.

“Half the thieves and half the fast people, whether rich or poor, are always threatening that. We are used to it.”

The young woman began to walk rapidly up and down the room, and then stopped suddenly in front of Ida. She said:

“It was by an accident.”

“You mean,” said Ida, “that you obtained the knowledge of the intended robbery by accident?”

“Yes,” replied Miss Rainforth.

“Under what circumstances?” asked Ida.

“I cannot tell you that,” replied the young woman. “It is too much of a confession.”

Ida took a new tack.

“Miss Rainforth,” she said. “I have already said there is no desire on the part of Mr. Carter to do you injury. You are in a peculiar position, and a dangerous one for you. You are liable to that kind of notoriety in an extraordinary case which, to one like you, will be ruin. Your course in self-protection is not in striving to conceal your part in it from us, but, rather, to ask our assistance and our help in keeping your name out of an unpleasant matter.”

The young woman undertook to say something, but Ida went on:

“Wait and hear me out,” she said. “The fact that you won’t speak or will not give the information you evidently are possessed of, and which it is necessary for us to know, will have no effect in preventing us from going on to the end. If we do not find out by one means, we will by another. We never fail.”

These words seemed to impress the young lady, and she stood for a moment silent, with her head bent. Then she said:

“I went to see Mr. Ellison at his apartments the night before the wedding. He was not in when I first entered. Afterward, two men were shown into the room, and I, not desiring to be seen, hid myself from them and heard their conversation while they waited.

“I soon learned that their business was to force Mr. Ellison to help them enter Mr. Sanborn’s house the following day. I also heard that they had learned from Mr. Ellison, a little time previous, the value and kind of the presents that were to be displayed at the reception.

“And I also learned that it was the intention of these men to rob the house at the time of the reception, and that that was the reason for forcing Mr. Ellison to help them to enter.”

“Do you mean,” said Ida, not a little surprised, “that Mr. Ellison was a party to that robbery?”

“I mean nothing of the kind,” said the young lady. “I am sure he was not.”

“Yet it was from him that they obtained knowledge of these presents?” persisted Ida.

“That, I am sure,” responded the young lady, “was only a matter of accident, as he had been associating with those people, and talked about them.”

“Mr. Ellison an associate of thieves?” asked Ida.

“I am sure he did not know them as thieves,” said Miss Rainforth, “but as gamblers.”

“Gamblers?” inquired Ida.

“Yes,” replied Miss Rainforth. “Gambling is Mr. Ellison’s weakness. It has brought him into great trouble in the past, and I should not be surprised if his present trouble could be traced to it.”

“Explain yourself,” said Ida, believing that she was now on the line of a new discovery.

“Mr. Ellison’s weakness is a love of gambling, and, though his New York friends know little or nothing of that side of him, yet he used to go to Philadelphia frequently to play. There he gambled most heavily, with a certain poker set in that city, of whom this Lannigan was one. He is very heavily in debt to some of that party.”

“Were you present when Mr. Ellison come in and saw these men?”

“Yes.”

“Did you overhear their conversation?”

“Yes; I could not help it, situated as I was.”

“Was Mr. Ellison made aware of the intention to rob the Sanborn house?”

“No.”

“What reason did they give for desiring to enter the house?”

“Merely the wish to be present.”

“Did they give no reason for it?”

“No.”

“Did Mr. Ellison refuse their request?”

“Very promptly.”

“And what then?”

“They attempted to force him to consent by threatening that, if he did not, they would inform Mr. Sanborn of his gambling habit and his gambling debts.”

“What did Mr. Ellison do?”

“Mr. Ellison is a brave man. He told them that he would not be forced by anybody; that, if they wanted to do that, they could do so, but he would not consent to their being present at the wedding reception; and that they were presuming in attempting to lift a gambling acquaintance into a social relation.”

“Then what did the men do?”

“They went away, threatening.”

“Do you think Mr. Ellison had a suspicion of their intentions?”

“I don’t know.”

“Now, Miss Rainforth, what was your purpose in going to Mr. Ellison’s apartments at such a strange hour?”

Miss Rainforth turned a startled look on Ida, took a turn or two up and down the room, and came back. She said:

“I was not alone. My brother was nearby. He knew of my going there.”

“Even so,” said Ida, “it was a remarkable thing for a young woman to go to a young man’s apartment on the night before his wedding at nearly the midnight hour.”

The young woman blazed up into a passion.

“I went there in a last attempt to prevent his marriage.”

“To prevent his marriage?” repeated Ida.

“Yes,” replied Miss Rainforth. “By all rights, he was bound to me, and it was I whom he should have married.”

“Do you mean to say that you were engaged?”

“Yes; if promise is an engagement.”

The young woman paused a moment and then said, passionately:

“It was that wretch, that Ladew woman, who interfered. But he never loved her.”

“Miss Rainforth,” said Ida, “I fear you have been laboring under a strange delusion. You evidently do not know that, almost from the moment of his arrival in New York, Mr. Ellison was a suitor for the hand of Miss Sanborn.”

“It is not so,” said Miss Rainforth. “He was entangled by her family, pursued and hunted by Elsie Sanborn herself.”

“In your last letter to Mr. Carter,” said Ida, “you hinted that a woman was at the bottom of the disappearance of Mr. Ellison.”

“I’m sure of it,” said Miss Rainforth, “and it is the Ladew woman. She was at the reception and she was in the house when he went away.”

“And you were, too,” said Ida.

“I was, and it was from the Ladew woman that I found out that he had run away. If she wasn’t at the bottom of it, how did she know of it when nobody else did?”

Ida now made up her mind that she had gotten at the bottom of Miss Rainforth’s connection with the matter.

She was certain that Miss Rainforth was in love with Ellison and had herself hoped to be Mrs. Ellison; that, possibly, there had been tender passages between herself and Ellison which had been interrupted by Ellison’s intrigue with Mrs. Ladew, and, escaping from that, he had not returned to Miss Rainforth, but had devoted himself to Miss Sanborn; and that, in her jealousy and disappointment, Miss Rainforth had first tried to break up the marriage and, secondly, punish Mrs. Ladew by directing Nick Carter’s suspicions to her.

Ida’s substantial gain had been knowledge of Ellison’s relations to a gang of sharpers in Philadelphia, of whom Lannigan undoubtedly was one. And she believed that nothing more of value was to be obtained from the young woman.

“You have been wise,” said Ida, “in being plain with me. We shall be able to protect your name and reputation. And that we will do.”

She rose from her seat, and, as she did so, Miss Rainforth said:

“What I did last night that brought suspicion on me was to try and find where Mr. Ellison was taken.”

“Taken?” repeated Ida.

“Yes, taken,” continued Miss Rainforth. “I am satisfied that Mr. Ellison was lured from the house to be seized and carried off.”

However startling this idea was, Ida found, on pursuing it, that the young lady, Miss Rainforth, had nothing better than her suspicion to base it on.

Therefore, Ida went away, but not until Miss Rainforth had promised that, if anything additional came to her knowledge, she would send word of it to Nick Carter.

But Ida thought that, as a person of concern in the case, Miss Rainforth had now ceased to be important.