XIV
Mr. Sparhawk had carefully closed the door of the apothecary shop and had passed the window with the leisurely air of a man who has satisfactorily transacted his business. But while still only a few steps away he had paused; then he went to the side door and knocked the rat-tat-tat which Tom Horn and the apothecary had heard.
A quadroon maid answered. Was Monsieur Lafargue at home? No, he was not. But Mademoiselle Lafargue was. Perhaps the gentleman would care to see her? Yes, it so happened after some consideration the gentleman would; and he was led up-stairs and asked to wait in a room into which the staircase opened. In a few moments Mademoiselle Lafargue appeared. She was taller than Mr. Sparhawk, and dressed in a robe that was not common in the houses of American women of that time. Her fine dark eyes were full of questioning as she looked at the visitor.
"I hope I don't intrude," said Mr. Sparhawk. "It's a matter of business that might not wait with profit."
"Will you sit down?" said the girl.
They sat down. Mr. Sparhawk settled himself comfortably, and put his finger-tips precisely together; then he regarded the girl with careful attention.
"You are the daughter of Jean Edouard Lafargue, citizen of Brest, I understand?"
"Yes," said the girl.
"He is, and has been, agent in France for the commercial house of Rufus Stevens' Sons," stated Mr. Sparhawk gravely, "and is in America on business having to do with that concern."
There was a shadow in the girl's eyes; but her voice was level and unchanged as she said:
"Am I to understand that you are its representative?"
"By no means," said Mr. Sparhawk. "I would not have you understand that for the world, because such would not be the fact. I do not represent it."
"It was your confidence as to my father's business that made me suppose it," said the girl quietly.
"I've mentioned his connection that we might put things on a solid footing; that is all." He nodded in his perky, bird-like way, and his finger-tips sought an even more perfect contact. "I desired you to know that I held him in high esteem; every one having to do with that excellent house is held in high esteem."
"So I have been told," said the girl, but there was bitterness in her voice.
"If you will pardon my calling the matter up," said Mr. Sparhawk in a most confidential way, "and I only call it up because I cannot go on without doing so, your father's procedure since reaching the city has been somewhat unusual. It has caused comment. He is a trusted agent of Rufus Stevens' Sons, and has been these many years; and yet, though he's been in the city a week, he has not yet called at their counting-house."
"You say you do not speak for my father's business connections," said the girl; "indeed, you do not say in whose interests you are here; and yet you do not hesitate to inquire into a thing that must, of its nature, be private."
Mr. Sparhawk held up one open hand in protest; his face wore a look of pain.
"My dear young lady," said he, "pray do not think me guilty of an idle impertinence. Nothing could be further from my thoughts. I've said what I said because it is the readiest way I can summon just now as an approach to a very delicate—an exceedingly delicate—subject." He regarded her with careful attention. "The Atlantic is wide," he observed; "and in these unsettled days it is also much troubled. A man does not venture upon the ocean now, especially with his daughter, without good reason. That is common sense. And yet we find, in this instance of your father's so doing, that no sufficient reason has shown itself. If a firm summons its agent he is, in commercial duty, bound to obey. But Rufus Stevens' Sons has not summoned your father. In fact, some in the firm are somewhat aghast at his appearance."
"Well?" said the girl, quietly.
"It has been observed—quite by chance, of course—that in the time Monsieur Lafargue has been in the city he has ventured abroad upon only a few occasions."
"He is old," said the girl.
"I have noted that," said Mr. Sparhawk cheerfully. "And I sympathize with his infirmities. I have heard talk," he added, after a moment's reflection, "connecting your father with Monsieur—or, as the revolutionary manner has it, Citizen—Genêt. This gentleman and he," and the little man's head took the inquiring bird-like tilt, "are fast friends, I think."
"Well?" said the girl.
Mr. Sparhawk had evidently expected more or less enlightenment on this point; but now that he saw none was forthcoming he proceeded with adroit readiness.
"To-day your father visited another person, Mr. Amos Bulfinch, a usurer!"
The girl arose suddenly, but before she could speak Mr. Sparhawk once more lifted the protesting hand.
"If you will favor me with one more instant," said he. Then, as she stood looking at him: "Thank you. It would seem," said he, "there was one other person upon whom your father called since he's been in the city; and, if reports speak truly, the circumstances of the visit were peculiar. The person I refer to was one Magruder, a merchant, now dead."
The girl sat down; her face was very white.
"My father did not know Mr. Magruder," she said. "He never so much as saw him."
"The late night," said Mr. Sparhawk, "is commonly spoken of as the silent hours. But, while these hours have no voice, it has been shown time and again that they have many eyes. And on that particular night these eyes seem to have been more than usually vigilant. It is said," and Mr. Sparhawk nodded his head, and looked exceedingly unwilling to credit it, "that upon this visit you bore your father company."
There was a pause of some duration; the girl sat very still, and her gaze never ceased from searching the man's face. Mr. Sparhawk was quite composed; he tilted his head and looked exceedingly prim, and he pressed his finger-tips together with the utmost nicety of adjustment.
"Are you of the police?" asked Mademoiselle Lafargue.
"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Sparhawk. "No! Whatever made you think of such a thing?"
"What is your errand here?" said the girl.
"We shall reach that by and by," said Mr. Sparhawk reassuringly. "Never fear, we shall come to it in due course." He nodded his head; his whole expression and manner indicating that here, at least, was one matter that would be properly attended to when its turn came—attended to and settled, once and for all. "You say," said Mr. Sparhawk, "that your father did not know Mr. Magruder; indeed, he'd never seen him. Very well. Suppose we accept that statement and pass on." Mr. Sparhawk seemed to test his footing at this new point of advance; and, apparently convinced that it was safe, he said, "Had your father and Magruder ever had any correspondence?"
"I know very little of my father's business affairs," said the girl.
"Why, of course, that would be so," agreed Mr. Sparhawk. "I am glad you've mentioned it." Then he shook his head, and looked disturbed. "I wish, though, it had been otherwise. Your father's proposed call upon this man—and, God save us! what an unfortunate time he took for it!—would indicate that some writings had passed between them."
The girl said nothing. Mr. Sparhawk pondered, his head continuing to shake dubiously.
"It is peculiar," said he, "that your father should appear so unexpectedly in this country. It would almost seem," and he looked at the girl with elevated brows and a face of mild interest, "that he had been sent for." Once more the girl failed to speak, and he went on. "But, then, that is most unlikely. Who would send for him, if it were not Rufus Stevens' Sons? and that they did not is shown by their amazement at his appearance."
Mr. Sparhawk during the next fifteen minutes said a number of things; he said some of them gently, others were uttered guardedly, still others had that insinuating quality which usually forces an answer. But the girl merely sat and listened, her eyes fixed upon Mr. Sparhawk's face. At length he arose to go; and then she spoke.
"If it is common rumor that my father and myself were seen at Mr. Magruder's place of business on the night of his death, why do not the police of the city take action?"
"It is not common rumor," stated Mr. Sparhawk. "Far from it. There is a whisper going about that a woman is somehow concerned; but it is only a whisper, and a vague one. Neither your father's name nor yours has been mentioned. And the reason for this," Mr. Sparhawk smoothed the nap of his hat with careful touch, "is that, excepting those who saw you, no one knows them in connection with the matter but myself."
The girl regarded him quietly.
"In that you are wrong," she said. "There is, at least, one other person who knows."
"No!" said Mr. Sparhawk, and his leisurely manner became suddenly swift. "No!"
"At least one other," repeated the girl. "He mentioned it to me several days ago!"
"May I ask," and Mr. Sparhawk tilted his head sideways with his bird-like manner, "who it was?"
"Captain Weir," said the girl.
"I see," said Mr. Sparhawk, softly; "I see."
And when he had bidden the girl good night, and the maid had shown him down-stairs, and he stood in Water Street, buttoning up his coat against the chill air, Mr. Sparhawk once more carried between his brows the little frown of interrogation.