The Holladay Case (Detective Story Magazine)/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX.
An Astonishing Disappearance.
Mr. Royce grasped the arms of his chair convulsively, and for a moment remained speechless under the shock. Then he swung around toward me.
“Come here, Lester,” he said hoarsely. “This touches me so closely I can't think consecutively. You will help, won't you?”
“I'll help to the very limit of my power, Mr. Royce.”
“I knew you would,” he said. “Get the story from Thompson, will you?”
I brought a chair, and sat down by the old butler.
“You have been in Mr. Holladay's family a great many years, haven't you, Mr. Thompson?” I asked, to give him opportunity to compose himself.
“Yes, a great many years, sir—nearly forty, I should say.”
“Before Miss Holladay's birth, then?”
“Oh, yes, sir; long before. Just before his marriage, Mr. Holladay bought the Fifth Avenue house he lived in ever since, and I was employed, then, sir, as an underservant.”
“Mr. Holladay and his wife were very happy together, weren't they?” I questioned.
"Very happy, yes, sir. They were just like lovers, sir, until her death.”
“There was nothing to mar their happiness that you know of?”
“There was nothing to mar their happiness—except one thing.”
“And what was that?”
“Why, they had no children, sir, for fifteen years and more. After Miss Frances came that was all changed.”
“She was born abroad?”
“Yes, sir; in France. I don't just know the town.”
“But you know the date of her birth?”
“Oh, yes, sir—the tenth of June, eighteen ninety-six—we always celebrated it.”
“Mr. Holladay was with his wife at the time?”
“Yes, sir; he and his wife had been abroad nearly a year. His health had broken down, and the doctor made him take a long vacation. He came home a few months later, but Mrs. Holladay stayed on. She didn't get strong again, some way. She stayed nearly four years, and he went over every few months to spend a week with her; and at last she came home to die, bringing her child with her. That was the first time any of us ever saw Miss Frances.”
“Mr. Holladay thought a great deal of her?”
“You may well so say, sir; she took his wife's place,” said the old man simply.
“And she thought a great deal of him?”
“More than that, sir; she fairly worshiped him. She didn't care much for society—I've often heard her tell him that she'd much rather just stay at home with him.”
“There were no other relatives, were there?”
“None at all, sir; both Mr. Holladay and his wife were only children; their parents, of course, have been dead for years.”
“Nor any intimate friends?”
“None I'd call intimate, sir; Miss Frances had some school friends, but she was always—well—reserved, sir.”
“Yes.” IT nodded again. “And now,” I added, “tell me, as fully as you can, what has happened within the last three weeks.”
“Well, sir,” he began slowly, “after her father's death, she seemed quite distracted for a while—wandered about the house, sat in the library of evenings, ate scarcely anything. Then Mr. Royce got to coming to the house, and she brightened up, and we all hoped she'd soon be all right again. Then she seemed to get worse of a sudden, and sent us all away to get Belair ready. I got the place in order, sir, and telegraphed her that we were ready. She answered that she'd come in a few days. Ten day ago the rest of the servants came, and I looked for her every day, but she didn't come. I telegraphed her again, but she didn't answer, and, finally, I got so uneasy, sir, I couldn't rest, and came back to the city to see what was the matter. I got here early this morning and went right to the house. Thomas, the second man, had been left in charge, and he told me that Miss Frances and her maid had started for Belair the same day the servants did. That's all I know.”
“Then she's been gone ten days?” I questioned.
“Ten days; yes, sir.
Ten days! What might not have happened. in that time? Doctor Jenkinson's theory of dementia recurred to me, and I was more than ever inclined to credit it. How else explain this flight? I could see from Mr. Royce's face how absolutely nonplused he was.
“Well,” I said at last, for want of something better, “we'll go with you to the house, and see the man in charge there. Perhaps he can tell us something more.”
But he could tell us very little. Ten days before, an automobile had driven up to the door, Miss Holladay and her maid had entered it and been driven away. The car had been called, he thought, from some neighboring garage, as her chauffeur had been sent away with the other servants. They had driven to the Pennsylvania Station, he supposed, to take the Long Island train. We looked through the house—it was in perfect order. Miss Holladay's rooms were just as she would naturally have left them. Her father's rooms, too, were evidently undisturbed.
“Here's one thing,” I said, “that might help,” and I picked up a photograph from the mantel. “You won't mind my using it?”
Mr. Royce took it with trembling hand and gazed at it for a moment. Then he handed it back to me.
“No,” he answered; “not if it will really help; we must use every means we can.”
“I won't use it unless I absolutely have to,” I assured him; “and when I'm done with it, I'll destroy it.”
There was nothing more to be discovered there, and we went away, after warning the two men to say not a word to any one concerning their mistress' disappearance.
Plainly the first thing to be done was to find the chauffeur who had driven Miss Holladay and her maid away from the house. With this end in view, we visited all the garages in the neighborhood, but from none of them had a car been ordered by her. Had a taxi been ordered for her by her maid, and was she really the victim of foul play? I put this question to Mr. Royce, but he seemed quite unable to reach a conclusion. I was certain that she had gone away of her own accord, and had deliberately planned her disappearance. Why? I began to suspect that we had not yet really touched the bottom of the mystery.
We drove back to the office, and found Mr. Graham there. I related to him the circumstances of our search, and submitted to him and to our junior one question for immediate settlement.
“At the best, it's a delicate case,” I pointed out. “Miss Holladay has plainly laid her plans very carefully to prevent us following her. It may be difficult to prove that she has not gone away entirely of her own accord. She certainly has a perfect right to go wherever she wishes without consulting us. Have we the right to follow her against her evident desire?”
For a moment Mr. Graham did not answer, but sat tapping his desk with that deep line of perplexity between his eyebrows. Then he nodded emphatically.
“It's our duty to follow her and find her,” he said. “It's perfectly evident to me that no girl in her right mind would act as she has done. She had no reason whatever for deceiving us—for running away. We wouldn't have interfered with her. Jenkinson's right—she's suffering with dementia. We must see that she receives proper medical treatment.”
“It might not be dementia,” I suggested, “so much as undue influence—on the part of the new maid, perhaps.”
“Then it's our duty to rescue her from that influence,' rejoined Mr. Graham,
“The police, probably, could locate her speedily, but Miss Holladay would very properly resent any more publicity.”
“But,” objected Mr. Graham, “if we don't call in the police, how are we to find her?”
“If I could be excused from the office for a few days, sir,” I began hesitatingly, “I might be able to find some trace of her. If I'm unsuccessful, we might then call in the authorities.”
Mr. Royce brightened up for a moment.
“That's it,” he said. “Let Lester look into it.”
“Very well,” assented Mr. Graham. “I agree to that. Of course any expenses you may incur will be borne by the office.”
“Thank you, sir,” and I rose with fast-beating heart, for the adventure appealed to me strongly. “I'll begin at once then. Could you let me have three or four clerks to visit the various garages of the city? It would be best, I think, to use our own people.”
“Certainly,” assented our senior instantly. “I'll call them in, and we can give them their instructions at once.”
So four clerks were summoned, and each was given a district of the city. Their instructions were to find from which garage Miss Holladay had ordered an automobile on the morning of Thursday, April 3d. I turned to go, when my eye caught the expression of our junior's face.
“Mr. Royce is ill, sir!” I cried. “Look at him!”
He was leaning forward heavily, his face drawn and livid, his eyes set, his hands plucking at the arms of his chair. We sprang to him and led him to a couch. Mr. Graham hurriedly summoned a physician, who diagnosed the case at a glance.
“Nervous breakdown,” he said tersely.
He poured out a stimulant which the sick man swallowed without protest. He seemed stronger in a few moments, and began talking incoherently to himself. We got him down to the doctor's car, and drove rapidly to his lodgings, where we put him to bed without delay.
“He'll pull through,” observed the doctor, after watching him for a while. “I'll get a couple of nurses, and we'll give him every chance.”
“I'd like to call Doctor Jenkinson into the case,” I said. “He knows Mr. Royce, and may be of help.”
Jenkinsen was called, and confirmed the diagnosis. He understood, of course, the cause of Mr. Royce's breakdown, and turned to me when the consultation was ended and his colleague had taken his departure.
“Mr. Lester,” he said, “I advise you to go home and get some rest. Put this case out of your mind, or you'll be right where Mr. Royce is. He had some more bad news, I suppose?”
I told him of Miss Holladay's disappearance; he pondered over it a moment with grave face.
“This strengthens my belief that she is suffering with dementia,” he said. “Sudden aversion to relatives and friends is one of its most common symptoms. Of course, she must be found.”
“I'm going to find her,” I assured him, with perhaps a little more confidence than I really felt.
“Call on me if I can help you. But first of all go home and sleep for ten hours—twelve, if you can. Mind, no work before that—no building of theories. You'll be so much the fresher to-morrow.”
I recognized the wisdom of this advice, but I had one thing to do first. I took a taxi to the nearest telegraph office. I sent an imperative message to Brooks, the Holladay chauffeur, telling him to return to New York by the first train, and report to me at the office. That done, I gave the driver my address and settled back in the seat.
Where was Frances Holladay? had she fled? Was she really tally deranged? Had the weight of the secret proved too great for her? Or had she merely fallen under the influence of the woman who was guilty? These and a hundred other questions crowded upon me, till thought failed, and I lay back confused, indifferent to what
“Here we are, sir,” said the chauffeur, jumping down from his seat and jerking open the door.
I paid him, and went stumblingly up the steps. As I fumbled with my key, some one opened the door from the inside.
“Why, Mistair Lester!” exclaimed Martigny's voice. “What is it? You have no illness, I hope!”
“No,” I murmured, “I'm just dead tired,” and I started blindly for the stair.
“Let me assist you,” and he took my arm and helped me up; then went on ahead, opened my door, and lighted the gas.
“Thanks,” I said, as I dropped into a chair.
He sat quietly down opposite me, and, weary as I was, I was conscious of his keen eyes upon me.
“We heard from Miss Holladay this morning,” I remarked, unconsciously answering their question.
He did not reply for a moment, but I had closed my eyes again, and I was too tired to open them and look at him.
“Ah,” he said, in a voice a little hoarse; “and she is well?”
“No; she's disappeared.”
“You mean”
“I mean she's run away,” I said, waking up a little.
“And she has informed you”
“Oh, no; we've just found it out. She's been gone ten days.”
“And you are going to search for her?” he questioned carelessly, after another pause.
“Yes—I'll begin in the morning.”
Again there was a moment's silence.
“Ah!” he said, with a curious intensity. “Ah.”
Then he arose and left me to tumble incontinently into bed.