The Bartlett Mystery

“Unquestionably. And mark you, mother, when the clouds pass, and we are rich again, you will be proud of your daughter-in-law. She will bear all your skill in dressing. Gad! how the women of your set will envy her complexion.”

Mrs. Carshaw smiled wanly at that. She knew her “set,” as Rex termed the Four Hundred.

“Why is she called Bartlett?” she inquired after a pause, and Rex looked at her in surprise. “I have a reason,” she continued. “Is that her real name?”

“Now,” he cried, “I admit you are showing some of your wonted cleverness.”

“Ah! Then I am right. I have been thinking. Cessation from society duties is at least restful. Last night, lying awake and wondering where you were, my thoughts reverted to that girl. I remembered her face. All at once a long-forgotten chord of memory hummed its note. Twenty years ago, when you were a little boy, Rex, I met a Mrs. Marchbanks. She was a sweet singer. Does your Winifred sing?”

Carshaw drew his chair closer to his mother and placed an arm around her shoulder.

“Yes,” he said.

“Rex,” she murmured brokenly, hiding her face, “do you forgive me?”

“Mother, I ask you to forgive me if I said harsh things.”

There was silence for a while. Then she raised her eyes. They were wet, but smiling.

“This Mrs. Marchbanks,” she went on bravely, “had your Winifred’s face. She was wealthy and altogether charming. Her husband, too, was a gentleman. She was a ward of the elder Meiklejohn, the present Senator’s father. My recollection of events is vague, but there was some scandal in Burlington.”

“I know all, or nearly all, about it. That is why I was called to Vermont. Mother, in future, you will work with me, not against me?”

“I will – indeed I will,” she sobbed.

“Then you must not drop your car. I have money to pay for that. Keep in with Helen Tower, and find out what hold she has on Meiklejohn. You are good at that, you know. You understand your quarry. You will be worth twenty detectives. First, discover where Meiklejohn is. He has bolted, or shut himself up.”

“You must trust me fully, or I shall not see the pitfalls. Tell me everything.”

He obeyed. Before he had ended, Mrs. Carshaw was weeping again, but this time it was out of sympathy with Winifred. Next morning, although it was Sunday, her smart limousine took her to the Tower’s house. Mrs. Tower was at home.

“I have heard dreadful things about you, Sarah,” she purred. “What on earth is the matter? Why have you given up your place on Long Island?”

“A whim of Rex’s, my dear. He is still infatuated over that girl.”

“She must have played her cards well.”

“Yes, indeed. One does not look for such skill in the lower orders. And how she deceived me! I went to see her, and she promised better behavior. Now I find she has gone again, and Rex will not tell me where she is. Do you know?”

“I? The creature never enters my mind.”

“Of course not. She does not interest you, but I am the boy’s mother, and you cannot imagine, Helen, how this affair worries me.”

“My poor Sarah! It is too bad.”

“Such a misfortune could not have happened had his father lived. We women are of no use where a headstrong man is concerned. I am thinking of consulting Senator Meiklejohn. He is discreet and experienced.”

“But he is not in town.”

“What a calamity! Do tell me where I can find him.”

“I have reason to know that Rex would not brook any interference from him.”

“Oh, no, of course not. It would never do to permit his influence to appear. I was thinking that the Senator might act with the girl, this wonderful Winifred. He might frighten her, or bribe her, or something of the sort.”

Now, Helen Tower was not in Meiklejohn’s confidence. He was compelled to trust her in the matter of the Costa Rica concession, but he was far too wise to let her into any secret where Winifred was concerned. Anxious to stab with another’s hand, she thought that Mrs. Carshaw might be used to punish her wayward son.

“I’m not sure – ” She paused doubtfully. “I do happen to know Mr. Meiklejohn’s whereabouts, but it is most important he should not be troubled.”

“Helen, you used to like Rex more than a little. With an effort, I can save him still.”

“But he may suspect you, have you watched, your movements tracked.”

Mrs. Carshaw laughed. “My dear, he is far too much taken up with his Winifred.”

“Has he found her, then?”

“Does he not see her daily?”

Here were cross purposes. Mrs. Tower was puzzled.

“If I tell you where the Senator is, you are sure Rex will not follow you?”

“Quite certain.”

“His address is the Marlborough-Blenheim, Atlantic City.”

“Helen, you’re a dear! I shall go there to-morrow, if necessary. But it will be best to write him first.”

“Don’t say I told you.”

“Above all things, Helen, I am discreet.”

“I fear he cannot do much. Your son is so wilful.”

“Don’t you understand? Rex is quite unmanageable. I depend wholly on the girl – and Senator Meiklejohn is just the man to deal with her.”

They kissed farewell – alas, those Judas kisses of women! Both were satisfied, each believing she had hoodwinked the other. Mrs. Carshaw returned to her flat to await her son’s arrival. If the trail at East Orange proved difficult he promised to be home for dinner.

“There will be a row if Rex meets Meiklejohn,” she communed. “Helen will be furious with me. What do I care? I have won back my son’s love. I have not many years to live. What else have I to work for if not for his happiness?”

So one woman in New York that night was fairly well content. There may be, as the Chinese proverb has it, thirty-six different kinds of mothers-in-law, but there is only one mother.

CHAPTER XXII

THE HUNT

Steingall, not Clancy, presented his bulk at Carshaw’s apartment next morning. He contrived to have a few minutes’ private talk with Mrs. Carshaw while her son was dressing. Early as it was, he lighted a second cigar as he stepped into the automobile, for Carshaw thought it an economy to retain a car.