CHAPTER XVII.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK.
For a moment Mona was too much astonished to even try to account for such a strange proceeding.
Then it occurred to her that Mrs. Montague must have returned before she was expected, let herself into the house with her latch-key, and coming quietly up stairs, had been taken by surprise to find her in her room, when she had supposed her to be safely out of her way in Havana, and so had made a prisoner of her by locking her in the boudoir.
At first Mona was somewhat appalled by her situation; then a calm smile of scorn for her enemy wreathed her lips, for she was sure that Ray would soon return. She had only to watch for him at the window, inform him of what had occurred the moment he drove to the door, and he would have her immediately released.
With this thought in her mind, she approached the window to see if he had not already arrived.
The curtain was down, and she attempted to raise it, when, the spring having been wound too tightly, it flew up with such a force as to throw the fixture from its socket, and the whole thing came crashing down upon her.
She sprang aside to avoid receiving it in her face, and in doing so nearly upset a small table that was standing before the window.
It was the table having in it the secret treasures which we have already seen. She managed to catch it, however, and saved the heavy marble top from falling to the floor by receiving it in her lap, and sinking down with it.
But while doing this, the broken lid to the secret compartment flew off, and some of its contents were scattered over her.
Mona was so startled by what she had done, that she was almost faint from fright, but she soon assured herself that no real damage had occurred—the most she had been guilty of was the discovery of some secret treasure which Mrs. Montague possessed.
She began to gather them up with the intention of replacing them in their hiding-place—the beautiful point-lace fan, which we have seen before, a box containing some lovely jewels of pearls and diamonds, and a package of letters.
"Ha!" Mona exclaimed, with a quick, in-drawn breath, as she picked these up, and read the superscription on the uppermost envelope, "'Miss Mona Forester!' Can it be that these things belonged to my mother? And this picture! Oh, yes, it must be the very one that Louis Hamblin told me about—a picture of my father painted on ivory and set in a costly frame embellished with rubies!"
She bent over the portrait, gazing long and earnestly upon it, studying every feature of the handsome face, as if to impress them indelibly upon her mind.
"So this represents my father as he looked when he married my mother," she said, with a sigh. "He was very handsome, but, oh, what a sad, sad story it all was!"
She laid it down with an expression of keen pain on her young face and began to look over the costly jewels, handling them with a tender and reverent touch, while she saw that every one was marked with the name of "Mona" on the setting.
"These also are mine, and I shall certainly claim them. How strange that I should have found them thus!" she said, as she laid them carefully back in the box. Then she arose and righting the table, replaced the various things in the compartment.
In so doing she stepped upon a small box, which, until then, she had not seen.
The cover was held in place by a narrow rubber band.
She removed it, lifted the lid, and instantly a startled cry burst from her lips.
"Oh, what can it mean? what can it mean?" she exclaimed, losing all her color, and trembling with excitement.
At that moment the hall-bell rang again, and Mona turned once more to the window, now fully expecting to find that Ray had come.
No, another carriage stood before the door, but she could not see who had rung the bell.
She wondered why Ray did not come; it was more than an hour since he went away, and she began to fear that her captor was planning some fresh wrong to her, and he might be detained until it would be too late to help her.
She was growing both anxious and nervous, and thought she would just slip into Mrs. Montague's bedroom and see if she could not get out in that way.
Suiting the action to the resolve, she hastened into the chamber, and tried the door.
No, that was locked on the outside, and she knew that the woman must have some evil purpose in thus making a prisoner of her.
She turned again to retrace her steps, that she might keep watch for Ray at the window, when her eyes encountered an object lying upon the bed which drove the color from her face, and held her rooted to the spot where she stood!
* * * * *
About nine o'clock of that same morning, a woman might have been seen walking swiftly down Murray street, in the direction of the Hudson River, to the wharf occupied by the Fall River steamers.
She was tall and quite stout, but had a finely proportioned figure, and she walked with a brisk, elastic tread, which betrayed great energy and resolution.
She was dressed in deep mourning, her clothing being made of the finest material, and fitting her perfectly.
A heavy crape vail covered her head and partially enveloped her figure, effectually concealing her features, and yet a close observer would have said that she had a lovely profile, and would have noticed, also, that her hair was a decided red.
She appeared to be in a hurry, looking neither to the right nor left, nor abating her pace in the least until she reached the dock where the Fall River boat, Puritan, had but a little while previous poured forth her freight of humanity and merchandise.
As she came opposite the gang-plank a low whistle caused her to look up.
A man stationed on the saloon deck, and evidently watching for some one, made a signal, and with a nod of recognition, the woman passed on board and up the stairs to the grand saloon, where a man met her and slipped a key into her hand, then turned and walked away without uttering a word.
"Two hundred and one," she muttered, and walked deliberately down the saloon glancing at the figures on the doors of the various staterooms until she came to No. 201, when she unlocked it and went in.
Ten minutes later the man who had stood on deck as she came aboard, followed her, entered the stateroom, and locked the door after him.
The two were closeted there for nearly an hour, when the woman in black came out.
"I shall look for you at three precisely; do not fail me," said a low voice from behind the door.
"I will not fail you; but keep yourself close," was the equally guarded response, and then the heavily draped figure glided quickly down stairs and off the boat.
She crossed West street, passed on to Chambers, and turned to walk toward Broadway, passing, as she did so, a group of three or four men who were standing at the corner.
One of them gave a slight start as her garments brushed by him, took a step forward for a second look at her, then he quietly broke away from the others, and followed her, about a dozen yards behind, up Chambers street.
The woman did not appear to notice that she was being followed, for she did not accelerate her speed in the least, nor seem to pay any heed to what was going on about her. She kept straight on, as if her mind was intent only upon her own business.
But all at once, as she reached the corner of Broadway, she slipped into a carriage that stood waiting there, and was driven rapidly up town.
An angry exclamation burst from the man following her, who was none other than Rider, the detective, and he hastened forward to catch another glimpse of the carriage, if possible, before it should get out of sight.
He saw it in the distance, and hailing another, he gave chase as fast as the crowded condition of the street would permit.
Some twenty minutes later he came upon the same carriage standing on another corner, the driver as quiet and unconcerned as if he had not been dodging vehicles at the risk of a smash-up, or urging his horses to a lawless pace in that busy thoroughfare.
But the coach was empty.
Mr. Rider alighted and accosted the man.
"Where is the passenger that you had a few minutes ago?" he inquired.
The man pointed with his whip to a store near by, then relapsed into his indolent and indifferent attitude.
Mr. Rider shook his head emphatically, to indicate his disbelief of this pantomimic information, and muttered a few words not intended for polite ears as he turned on his heel and moved away.
"Fooled again," he added, "and I thought I had her sure this time. Of course she didn't go into that store any more than that other party went from St. Louis to Chicago. But it's worth something to know that she is in New York. I'll try to keep my eyes open this time."
In spite of his skepticism, however, he entered the store and sauntered slowly through it, but without encountering any woman in black, having red hair.
"She came off the Puritan," he mused, as he issued into the street again, and turned his face up town. "I imagine that she either came on from Fall River last night, or she is going back this afternoon. I'll hang round there about the time the Puritan leaves. Meantime I'll take a stroll in some of the upper tendom regions, for I'll bet she is a high-liver."
He boarded a car and was soon rolling up toward the more aristocratic portion of the city, and thus we must leave him for a while.
When Ray returned to Mrs. Montague's residence for Mona, he found another carriage waiting at the door, and it was just at this moment that Mona made her strange discovery in the woman's bedroom.
"Mr. Corbin's carriage," Ray murmured to himself as he alighted and went up the steps. "I wonder if Mr. Graves is with him, and if Mrs. Montague has returned. I hope she has not made matters unpleasant for Mona."
He rang the bell and was admitted by Mary, who wondered how many more times she would be obliged to run to the door that morning.
"Is Miss—Miss Richards through with her packing?" the young man inquired, but having almost betrayed Mona's identity, which, in accordance with the advice of the lawyers, they were not quite ready to do yet.
"She's still up stairs, sir," the girl replied. "I'll step up and tell her that you have come. Perhaps you'll wait in the reception-room, sir, as Mrs. Montague has just come in and has callers in the drawing-room."
"Certainly," Ray answered, and was about to follow her thither, when he heard his name spoken, and turning, saw Mr. Graves beckoning to him from the doorway of the drawing-room.
"Come in here," he said; "we shall need you in this business," and Ray knew that Mrs. Montague was about to be interviewed upon various matters of importance.
"Very well," he replied, then turning to Mary, he added: "You may tell Miss Richards that she need not hurry. I will call you again when I am ready to go."
He then followed the lawyer into the drawing-room and the door was shut.
"There is something queer going on in there," she muttered. "Mrs. Montague seemed all worked up over something, and those two men looked as glum as parsons at a funeral. There is cook's bell again, and Miss Ruth must wait," she concluded, impatiently, as a ring came up from the lower regions, and then she went slowly and reluctantly down stairs again.