Anticipating something of this kind and knowing that the woman might quite naturally gravitate to that point, I had ordered Operative Pinkham to proceed from Chicago to Terre Haute, and there assist Grey, or relieve him altogether, as occasion required, and continue the trail east towards Rochester, to which point the woman seemed gradually drifting, though evidently determined to prolong her journey so as to arrive in Rochester not more than a day or two before the time set for trial of the Winslow-Lyon breach of promise case.
Arriving at Terre Haute, Mrs. Winslow immediately went to Mrs. Deck's boarding-house, and upon telling that sympathetic old lady a harrowing tale about her persecutions, was received with open arms, and it was not long before her pitiful story had drawn a crowd of attenuated automatons to sympathize, suggest, and harangue against the entire orthodox world.
So impressed were these people with the woman's pitiable condition, that word was immediately passed among them that the persecuted lady should lecture to them at Pence's Hall, after which a sort of a general love-feast should be held, to be followed by seances and a collection for the benefit of the now notorious plaintiff.
That winter afternoon a quiet gentleman dropped into Mrs. Deck's and secured accommodations for a few days' stay, representing himself as a commercial traveller from Cincinnati. Mrs. Deck was absent working energetically in the interests of her spiritualistic guest, and the quiet man was obliged to transact his business with the handsome Belle Ruggles. He was a pleasant, winning sort of a fellow, young, shapely, and adapted to immediately gaining confidence and esteem.
From a little conversation with her the quiet man, who was none other than Detective Pinkham from my Chicago Agency, was sure that he could trust the girl, whom he at once saw had no sympathy with these people or their crazy antics. He saw that she was full of spirit, too, capable of carrying out any resolve she had made, and altogether the single oasis of good sense in this great desert of unbalanced minds.
So it was not long before he had her sentiments on Spiritualism, on Spiritualists, and on Mrs. Winslow, whom she denounced with tears of anger in her eyes as a disgrace to womanhood and to their place, and he had not been three hours in the house before the young lady and himself had entered into a conspiracy to give the woman such a scare as she had not recently had, and drive her from the pleasant though quaint old home her presence was contaminating.
The snow and the night came together, and the storm shook the old house until its weak, loose joints creaked, and every cranny and crevice wailed a dismal protest to the wind and the driving snow. It would take more than that though to keep people of one idea at home, and the entire household departed at an early hour for Pence's Hall, from which, whatever occurred there, Mrs. Deck's large family did not return until nearly midnight, by which time Operative Pinkham and Belle Ruggles had concluded their hasty preparations for a little dramatic entertainment of their own, and were properly stationed and accoutred to make it a brilliant success.
"Good-night, my poor dear!" said the kind-hearted old body as she ushered Mrs. Winslow into her best room, a long antiquated chamber, full of panels, wardrobes set in the wall, and ghostly, creaking furniture. "I have to give you this room, we are so full. My first husband died there, but you don't care for anything like that. I never sleep there, the place scares me; but I know you will like it, you are so brave!"
Whether brave or not, Mrs. Winslow seemed all of a shiver when she had entered the room where Mrs. Deck's first husband had died.
She closed the door carefully, and putting her candle upon a grim old bureau, began a thorough and seemingly frightened examination of the room. The storm had not gone down, and as it beat upon the old place with exceptionally wild and powerful gusts, the feeble structure seemed to shrink from them and tremble in every portion.