The Vanishing of Betty Varian

It was Minna who answered, and her face was jubilant at the hope renewed in her heart by Wise’s own hopefulness.

But she determined in her secret thoughts to throw the money over the cliff on Friday night, whether the detective agreed to that plan or not. What, she argued to Mrs Fletcher, whom she took into her confidence on this matter, was any amount of money compared to the mere chance of getting back her child? She urged and bribed Fletcher until she consented to help Minna get out of the house on Friday night without Wise’s knowledge.

It was now Tuesday, and after much questioning of every one in the house as to what had taken place in his absence, the detective shut himself alone in the library, and surrounded by his own written notes, and with many of Mr Varian’s letters and financial papers, he thought and brooded over it all for some hours.

At last he opened the door and called Zizi.

“Well, my child,” he said, closing the door behind her, “I’ve got a line on things.”

“I do hope, Penny, you’ll watch out for Mrs Varian. She’s going to throw the money over the cliff on Friday night without your knowledge or consent.”

“She can’t do that.”

“She can’t without your knowledge, I admit. But, she can without your consent. Her money is her own and you’ve no real authority that will let you dictate to her how to use it.”

“True, oh, Queen!”

“Oh, Penny, when you smile like that, I know something’s up! What is it?”

“My luck, I hope. Ziz, do you remember you said you had a green smear on your frock like the one on Martha’s hand?”

“Yes; why?”

“Is it there yet, or did you clean it off?”

“It’s there yet, I haven’t worn the dress since.”

“Get it, will you?”

Zizi went, and returned with the little frock, a mere wisp of light, thin material, and handed it to Pennington Wise.

He inspected the green streak, which was visible though not conspicuous, and then he sniffed at it with such absorption that Zizi laughed outright.

“Pen,” she said, “in detective stories they always represent the great detective as sniffing like a hound on a scent. You’re literally doing it.”

“Not astonishing that I should, little one, when you realize that this green smear is a beacon to light our way.”

“What is it?” Zizi’s big Hack eyes grew serious at Wise’s tone.

“The way out; the exit; the solution of the mystery of the secret passage.”

“Oh, Penny, tell me! You’ll be the death of me if you keep the truth from me! I’m crazy with suspense!”

But Zizi’s curiosity could not be gratified just then, for Fletcher came to say that Minna desired the girl’s company.

Minna Varian had come to depend much on Zizi’s charm and entertainment, and often sent for her when feeling especially blue or nervous.

Zizi had been waiting for an opportunity, and now as the nurse left her alone with Mrs Varian, she gradually and deftly led the talk around to Betty as a baby.

“Tell me what you thought when you first saw your little daughter,” Zizi said, in her pretty, coaxing way. “How old was she?”

“About an hour or so, I think,” Minna said, reminiscently. “And my first thought was, ‘Oh, thank God for a healthy, beautiful baby!’ She was so lovely, – and so strong and perfect! I had hoped she would be all right, but I never looked for such a marvel as came to me!”

“And Mr Varian was as pleased as you were!” Zizi said, gently.

“Oh, yes, – but,” Minna’s face clouded a little, “I don’t know how to express it, – but he never seemed to love Betty as he did our first children. He admired her, – nobody could help it, – but he had a queer little air of restraint about her. It lasted all through life. I can’t understand it, – unless he was jealous – ”

“Jealous?”

“Yes, of my love and adoration of the child. Silly idea, I know, but I’ve racked my brain and I can’t think of any other explanation.”

“That doesn’t explain the Varian pearls – ”

“No; nothing can explain that! Oh, nothing explains anything! Zizi, you’ve no idea what I suffer! I wonder I keep my mind! Just think of a woman who never had to decide a question for herself, if she didn’t want to, – who never had a care or responsibility that she didn’t assume of her own accord, – who had a husband to care for her, a daughter to love her – ”

The poor woman broke down completely, and Zizi had her hands full to ward off the violent hysterics that attacked her at times.

Meantime, Pennington Wise, convinced of the origin of the green smear on Zizi’s frock, was starting forth to prove his conviction.

Armed only with a powerful flashlight and a good-sized hammer, he went out to the kitchen and through that to the cellar.

There, he went straight to the old well, and testing the rope as he did so, he let the bucket down as far as it would go. Then, with monkey-like agility he began to clamber down, – partly supported by clinging to the rope, partly by getting firm footholds on the old stones that lined the well.

Scarcely had he started, when he experimentally drew his hand across the stones, and by his flashlight perceived a green smear, the counterpart of that on Zizi’s frock. Also, the counterpart of that on Martha’s hand.

Yet, the dead girl could scarcely have been in the well! So, – her assailant must have been.

However, he went on investigating.

He noted carefully the walls as he descended, and it was not until he almost reached the bottom of the dried-up old well, that he noticed anything strange.

All of the wall was very rough and uneven but here was what appeared to be a distinct hole, roughly filled in with loose stones.

Standing now on the bottom of the well, slippery with moisture but no water above his shoe soles, he used his hammer to dislodge these stones, working carefully and slowly, but with a certainty of success.

“Fool that I was,” he chattered to himself, “not to come down here the very first thing! To trust to Zizi was all right, – the kid couldn’t notice this place, – but I had no business to trust that half-baked sheriff or his man!”

His work soon disclosed the fact that the loose stones apparently closed the mouth of a deep hole.

When all that were loose had been either pulled out or pushed in, he found there was an aperture large enough to permit a man’s body to pass through, and without hesitation, he scrambled through it.

His flashlight showed him that almost from the start the hole widened until it became a fair-sized tunnel. Crawling along this for a hundred yards or so, he heard the splash of water, and soon he no longer needed his flashlight, as daylight streamed in through a narrow fissure in the rock.

It was fortunate for Wise that it did, for just ahead the tunnel descended sharply, and at the bottom, what was evidently the surf was surging in from the ocean.

It was quite dark below, and being unable to progress further, Wise backed out of the tunnel, it wasn’t wide enough to turn around in, and reaching the well again, he ascended to the surface.

He went to his room, looked with satisfaction on the numerous smears of green and brown that disfigured his suit, – which he had taken care should be an old one.