Chapter XVII: A New Side

Ida met with an experience unusual to her on her trip to Philadelphia.

While riding on the cars she perceived that a man and woman, fellow-passengers, were eying her with no little curiosity.

What had attracted their attention she was at a loss to know, and for a time it irritated her.

But, turning to the window, she, by interesting herself in a magazine, tried to forget it.

And, becoming interested in her story, she did forget it, and was only started from her interest by seeing a man seat himself in the chair next to her.

For a time she paid no attention to this person, except to observe that he was a man apparently of thirty-five, wearing a closely-clipped brown beard and brown mustache, his hair cut very short.

Her book slipping from her lap gave this man the opportunity for which evidently he had been looking.

Picking it up, he returned it to Ida, receiving her thanks for his courtesy, and then attempted to enter into conversation with her.

However, making no reply to his remarks, when he persisted she swung her chair about so that she presented her back to the man.

She was aware that the man was angry, but she gave little heed to that, merely turning to satisfy herself that the man was not the one who, with the lady, had a little time before annoyed her by their close watchfulness of her.

She had not sat in this position but a little time, when the lady before mentioned arose from her seat, and crossing the car, sat down in the empty seat which Ida was now facing.

“Pardon me,” said the lady; “I take this seat and speak to you for two reasons. One is rather a kindly one, and the other wholly selfish and curious.

“I perceive that you are being annoyed by the man on the other side of you. I saw that by sitting beside you and talking with you I could put an end to his annoyances.”

This the lady said in a low tone that could not be heard by the man at the back of Ida.

When Ida had thanked her for the interference the lady went on, but now in a much louder voice.

“My selfish and curious reason is one not so helpful, but I hope you won’t think it impertinent.

“My husband has recognized you as the celebrated Ida, the aid of the famous Nick Carter, of whose exploits I have frequently read.

“I have long admired you, wondering how a woman could do such brave things as I have known you to do. So I wanted to know and talk with you.”

Though much annoyed at thus having her identity revealed in a public place, Ida could not refrain from meeting the lady pleasantly, for in the lady’s speech and manner there was, after all, much that was complimentary.

Yet it was an uncommon experience for Ida. She knew that Nick, Chick and Patsy were subject to such happenings, and were often compelled to resort to disguises to prevent accidental recognitions.

She did not care to be so conspicuous as recognition made her, but a moment’s thought told her that, after all, no great harm was done, since her mission to Philadelphia could hardly be called a secret one; that is, secrecy was not required in doing her work.

But, what gave her the most annoyance was that she was conscious that the man on the other side of her had heard the lady, had started into unusual interest, showing a little agitation and had swung his chair around so as to bring his ears nearer to the two.

However, he soon got up, going to the other end of the car.

After this the lady and Ida chatted pleasantly until the train drew into the great station in Philadelphia, when the lady rejoined her husband, and Ida left the car.

The first thing that Ida did on reaching the street was at once to set out for the house in which the family of Blanche Constant and Ethel Romney lived.

As she passed the City Hall she saw, standing on the lower step of the main entrance, looking at her intently, the man who had attempted to get her into conversation on the cars.

Making no sign, and thinking that it was an accident, Ida hurried along, keeping a sharp lookout behind her. It seemed to her that the man was following her at a distance.

And when she reached the street, where she was to take the street car, she thought that she saw the man concealing himself in a neighboring doorway.

Of this she could not be certain, but, when mounting the car, which was a good deal crowded, she had the uncomfortable feeling that the man was on the same car.

“All this may be accidental,” said Ida to herself, “but I don’t think it is.”

Arriving at her destination she left the car hastily, and, reaching the curbstone, turned to watch the people descending from it.

The man who had seemed to follow her was not among those who got off at the corner, but, as she watched the car roll up the street, a man dropped off about midway of the block above, and Ida thought it was the man in question.

This man hurriedly walked up the block in the same direction the car was going, and disappeared around the same corner.

Ida now looked at her memoranda, and found that the house occupied by the family of the murdered girl was in the street on the corner of which she was standing. It was not her intention to visit this house, but she had intended to inspect it from the outside.

It was clear that the houses of that neighborhood were not occupied by the wealthier residents of Philadelphia, but it was also clear that it was a thrifty neighborhood, and that the people living there were at least in comfortable circumstances.

Most of the people whose names Nick had put down on the list he had given her lived thereabouts.

One, however, was a detective friend of Nick’s, who, Nick said, would give Ida such assistance as she might need were she to require it.

Ida, however, had determined that she would not call upon this detective unless she were compelled to, by failing to secure what she was after in applying to the other people.

Having observed the house, Ida passed on, intending to call on a woman living on the block below, whose name had been given her by Nick.

As she reached the next corner, to her surprise, as well as to the surprise of the other, she came face to face with the man who had annoyed her previously, and who had just turned the corner.

In his surprise and embarrassment the man lifted his hat and went on.

Ida continued her way, a good deal troubled by the encounter.

Her call on the lady in question resulted in a success that she could not have hoped for.

In fact, she secured information which was complete, and was only confirmed, not added to, by those whom she subsequently visited.

And in this information were revelations of which Nick had not dreamed.

From this woman, who was familiar with the history of the family, Ida learned that Blanche and Ethel were twin daughters of an old actor and actress; that the father had died when the girls were about twelve years of age, and that the mother, after continuing on the stage for some two years thereafter, had married again and left the stage.

The man she had married was a superior mechanic, who had invested his savings in the purchase of a saloon, which quickly became a sporting haunt; he was a widower, with a son aged about eighteen years at the time of his father’s marriage.

When his father engaged in the liquor business he had taken the son into the store, who, under the influences, grew to be rather sporty in his tastes and practices.

As the two girls developed they did not get along well with their stepfather, and Blanche, the more spirited of the two, left her home when eighteen to become an actress.

Ethel, however, who had neither a taste nor an aptitude for the stage, remained at home, enduring an unpleasant life.

After Blanche had made what was considered to be a wealthy marriage, the conditions at the Romney home were utterly changed.

George Macrane, the stepbrother, under the suggestion of Donald, his father, became a suitor for the hand of Ethel.

There seemed to be an idea on the part of the father and son that a good deal of money must come from Blanche to Ethel, and that the husband of Ethel must benefit by it.

Ethel, from the first, had resisted these efforts, and was compelled to fight the battle almost alone.

Her mother was evidently a weak woman, completely under the rule of her husband, and joined her husband and his son in their effort to force upon the girl the unwelcome suit.

The girl Ethel had shown more spirit in this resistance than she had displayed in all her life before. It became persecution, for her life was made miserable during the four years that it lasted.

All sorts of annoyances were put upon her. She was not permitted to go out, or to receive company, and, if she talked with any one, especially a man, a great row was made with her.

As the time went on these persecutions were increased.

Finally the girl Ethel, in her distress, had carried her troubles to the lady talking to Ida.

This lady had advised Ethel to tell all her troubles to her sister Blanche, something which Ethel had not done, because of the urgency of her mother not to trouble Blanche with the family affairs.

At length the matter had become so bad that Ethel had permitted Blanche to know how unpleasant was her life at home, with the result that Blanche had insisted that Ethel should come to live with her.

The decision to do so had been met by a terrible row at home, and was only accomplished by Blanche coming over to Philadelphia and actually carrying Ethel off in spite of the opposition of the stepfather and son, which became so much of a quarrel that the elder Macrane, losing his temper, attempted to strike Blanche, and was only prevented by the interference of the mother and son.

Blanche had carried Ethel off, but not until both father and son had threatened that it would not end with that.

Further inquiry on the part of Ida showed that the elder Macrane was a man of almost ungovernable passion, while the son was in much better control of himself, but was sullen, determined and vindictive.

Ida left this lady intending to confirm this story by further inquiries, and, indeed, did so in parts by three subsequent calls.

She said to herself, that at the present rate of progress she was making, she would be able to return so as to arrive in New York by midnight at least.

It was now just growing dark when she set out for the next name on the list.