CHAPTER XV
LOVE VERSUS BUSINESS
"Uncle Adam, you must tell me everything. Do you hear?—everything!"
"But my dear Letty, I am not sure of these things. I only want you to wait. That's easy enough, isn't it?"
"It will be, if you tell me everything. But I can't wait if I am kept in the dark." The girl raised her tear-stained face to that of the detective. "Oh, I am sure you will do the best you can and all that—you have always been so kind to me. But—but I must know the details."
A half hour had passed since he had discovered that Letty Bernard was in love with Tom Ostrello, that she had been in love with the traveling man ever since they had first met. He had heard her whole tale, how the young man had taken her out and how they had planned for the future—a tale not uncommon even in these plain, common-sense days, when Romance lingers only on the outskirts of society. He had been tremendously interested, as much so as if the girl was his own flesh and blood.
"Of course, he invited me to the theatre before he knew of the death of his mother," Letty went on. "And I suppose he has been so upset he hasn't thought to notify me. But he might have sent me word," she added wistfully. "I should have done so if it was my mother."
"He is not like you, Letty."
"Well, he is just as good."
"That remains to be seen."
"Are you going to tell me what you have in your mind or not, Uncle
Adam?"
He gazed at her fondly. How could he tell her? And yet, if his suspicions were correct, it would be better for her to know the truth now than to be struck down by it later on.
"There is nothing very definite, Letty," he said slowly. "You know that all detectives get on the wrong trail at times—I have made a mess of more than one case—you know that, even if the general public doesn't."
"Then he is suspected of these murders?" she said boldly.
"If you must have the whole story, I'll tell it to you. It is certainly a curious situation. At first suspicions pointed to Mr. Langmore's daughter; now they appear to point to Mrs. Langmore's son. For your sake and for the sake of Miss Langmore, who appears to be a very nice young lady, I trust we shall be able to prove some outside party guilty."
"Tom isn't guilty, I am sure of that."
"And Raymond Case is equally certain that Miss Langmore isn't guilty."
"He is the young man who came here and engaged you?"
"Yes."
"Is he engaged to her?"
"Yes."
"Then, of course, he thinks her innocent."
"I think her innocent myself."
"Do you think Tom is guilty?"
At this direct question Adam Adams winced. He saw before him a disagreeable duty which must be performed.
"I see I must give you the facts, Letty. But I will do so on one condition only, and that is, that you keep what I have to say to yourself—considering them as office secrets."
"Very well, Uncle Adam, I'll promise," she answered, with a pale face upturned to him. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. Then he locked the office door, sat down in an armchair and let her sit on his lap, just as she had done since childhood.
His recital took the best part of an hour, and he gave all the particulars of his interview with Cephas Carboy and with Doctor Calkey, and told of the finding of the bit of paper with the address of the drug firm on it, and of the strange Chinese poison. At the mention of the fatal drug she drew a sharp breath.
"I—I—" she began, and stopped short.
"Do you know anything of that drug, Letty? Perhaps he spoke to you about it?"
"He did, once, when we were speaking of poisons. He said he was glad his firm had decided not to handle it, for it was too dangerous. It has a power that most folks do not know about."
"The power to kill people, I suppose."
"No, not that. He said it was a fatal drug, but more than that, he said it had a strange power, according to the Chinese chemists who manufactured it. That power was, if it was used on a person and did not kill it would, in a few days or a week, make that person mad."
"Humph! Worse and worse! Such a drug should be banished by law. But to go on with my story, if you must hear the whole of it. I am fairly certain it was that drug which was used to kill Mr. and Mrs. Langmore."
"But Tom did not use it," she insisted. "Somebody else must have gotten the drug from him or from his traveling sample case."
"That is possible. Now there is another side to this case, which I cannot understand at all." And then he told of the counterfeit bank bills.
"Counterfeits!" she exclaimed, and the color began to leave her face once more. "What kind of bills were they, Uncle Adam?"
"They were one hundred dollar bills, on the Excelsior National Bank of
New York City."
She gave a gasp and clenched her little hands to control herself. He could not help but notice her increased agitation.
"What is it, Letty? Do you know—"
"Oh, Uncle Adam, do not ask me," she gasped. "I—I—there is some mistake—Tom did not—" she failed to go on and looked at the detective hopelessly.
"What do you know about these counterfeits? Come, it is best that you tell me everything," he continued kindly, but firmly.
"To—Tom had a counterfeit one hundred dollar bill. He—we went to the theatre and he got into some trouble over it, until he convinced the ticket seller that he did not know it was bad."
"Did he tell you where he got the bill?"
"No, he said he got stuck, that's all."
"Do you know what he did with it?"
"He said he was going to give it back and get a good one for it, if he could."
At that moment a postman's whistle sounded in the hallway and several letters dropped through the slit in the door. The girl glanced at them, and uttering a faint cry, arose and picked them up.
"Here is one from Tom now." She tore it open and glanced at it hastily. "I knew it," she went on. "He is all upset because of the murder and scarcely knows what to do. He had an important engagement in Albany for yesterday and one in New York for to-day, but has broken both. He says he will come to me as soon as he can, and adds a postscript asking me to look in the papers for the particulars of the awful affair. You read it, Uncle Adam. That doesn't look much as if he were guilty, does it?"
The detective took the communication and scanned it with care. It had evidently been penned in a hurry and was signed, "Your own Tom." One line read: "I hope with all my heart that the authorities bring the guilty party to justice."
"How could he pen that if he was guilty himself?" said Letty, pointing to the line. "Oh, Uncle Adam, you must look elsewhere for the one who did this foul deed."
"I wish I knew where he got that counterfeit?"
"Perhaps I can find out for you."
"Can you tell me where he stays when in New York?"
"At the Kingdon House, on Broadway."
"Then I may look him up."
"Cannot I do something?"
"Yes—wait and keep quiet, Letty."
"But you will try to clear him, if you can, won't you?"
"I am going to try to find the guilty party."
"It is dreadful to remain here and do nothing, with such a cloud hanging over one."
"Then take a vacation. It will do you good. Get Miss Harringford to come in here—she knows the ropes—and you go off in the country or to the seashore. I'll make you an allowance of fifty dollars for the trip. Take it out of the cash on hand. And, Letty, don't worry too much."
The girl smiled, but it was not a smile to please one. "Very well, I'll go off," she said, and turned back to her desk. "I'll take the time off to help clear poor Tom," she murmured to herself.