The Vanishing of Betty Varian

No one knew what he had done, nor did any one know his destination when, half an hour later, he set off for the village.

He went to the inn and inquired where he could get the best motor boat that could be hired.

A suitable one was found and its owner agreed to take Wise on an exploring expedition at the next low tide. This would not be until the following morning, so the detective went back to Headland House.

Then, he concentrated all his efforts and attention on the subject of the moving picture film that had been said to portray Betty Varian.

“Rod Granniss vows it was really Betty,” Zizi insisted.

“He ought to know,” said Wise. “A man in love with a girl doesn’t mistake her identity. Besides, it’s quite on the cards, Ziz. Say Betty is confined somewhere, – say she is let out for a little exercise in care of a jailer, of course, – say there’s a M. P. contraption taking a picture of a crowd, – they often do, – pick up stray passers-by you know, and say, Betty somehow got into the picture – ”

“Oh, the jailer, as you call him, wouldn’t let her!”

“More likely a woman in charge of her. And, maybe a woman not averse to taking the few dollars those people pay to actors who just make up a crowd. Well, say that happened, and then Betty, not daring to speak aloud, made her lips form the words ‘I am Betty Varian,’ in the hope that among a few thousands of lip readers in the country one might strike twelve!”

“Nobody could be so clever as all that, Pen!”

“She might be on a chance inspiration. Anyway, how else can you explain it?”

“Why, anybody might have said that, who wasn’t Betty at all.”

“But why? What would be the sense of it? and why would such a thing occur to anybody but Betty?”

“If it’s true, – then you can find her! Surely you can track down a moving picture company!”

“Oh, it isn’t that! It’s tracking down the place where Betty is confined, – and – doing it while she is still alive. You see, Zizi, those ransom letters are true bills, and the villains have nearly reached the end of their patience.”

“Then why don’t you approve of Mrs Varian’s throwing the money over the cliff?”

“I may advise her to do it by Friday night, – if nothing happens in the meantime.”

“But look here, Penny,” Zizi said, after a thoughtful moment, “if your theory is the right one, why didn’t Betty scream out, ‘I am Betty Varian!’ and take a chance that somebody in the crowd would rescue her?”

“It would seem a natural thing to do, unless the girl had been so cowed by threats of punishment or even torture if she made any outcry when allowed to go for a walk. I’m visualizing that girl as kept in close confinement, but not in any want or discomfort. She is most likely treated well as to food, rooms and all that, but is not allowed to step out of doors except with a strict guard and under some terrible penalty if she attempts to make herself known. With Betty’s love of fresh air and sunshine she would agree to almost anything to get out of doors. Then, too, if she merely formed those words without sound, the chance of their being read by a lip reader was really greater than the chance of doing any good by crying out aloud.

“Had she done that, whoever had her in charge would have whisked her away at once, and no one would have paid any attention to the slight disturbance.”

“It’s all perfectly logical and, oh, I hope Rodney gets some clue to the place where the picture was taken.”

“I hope so, Ziz, but they’ve probably moved Betty away from there by now.”

“Did you find out, Penny, what that stain on my frock was?”

“I did.”

“Well?”

“Yes, my dear, you’ve struck it! You got that stain while you were down the well.”

“Oh,” Zizi’s eyes lighted up; “of course I did! Those damp, mossy stones. And, then, oh, Wise one, just how did the same stain get on Martha’s hand?”

“That, Zizi,” Wise spoke almost solemnly, “is part of the solution of the whole great mystery.”

CHAPTER XVIII

The Trap

In a small but powerful motor boat Wise went on his voyage of exploration. The man who managed the craft was a stolid, silent person who obeyed Wise’s orders without comment.

But when the detective directed that he go round the base of the headland, and skirt close to the rocks he grumbled at the danger.

“Be careful of the danger,” Wise said, “steer clear of hidden reefs, but go close to the overhanging cliff, there where I’m pointing.”

Skirting the cliff, at last Wise discovered what he was looking for, a small cave, worn in the rock by the sea. The floor of this cave rose sharply and it was with difficulty that Wise managed to scramble from the boat to a secure footing on the slippery wet rocks.

“Look out there,” said the imperturbable boatman, “you’ll get caught in there when the tide comes up. I never noticed that hole in the wall before, it must be out o’ sight ’ceptin’ at low tide.”

“Stay where you are and wait for me,” Wise directed, “if I’m not out here again in half an hour, go on home. But I’ll probably be back in less than that.”

“You will, if you’re back at all! The tide will turn in fifteen minutes and in half an hour it’ll be all you can do to get out!”

Disappearing, Wise began his climb up the floor of the cave, and at a point just above high water there was a fissure in the cliff which admitted air and some light. At this point the cave ran back for some distance, though still on a rising level. During the winter storms the ocean evidently had worn this tunnel in the rock.

Wise at once realized that this nature-made tunnel ran on for some distance until it ended in the old well.

Using his flashlight when necessary, he made his way, until he reached the pile of stones which he himself had pushed out from the well and found to his satisfaction that he had indeed come to the well, and that his solution of the mystery of a secret passage into Headland House was accomplished.

But what a solution! The difficulty and danger of entrance or exit by means of that rock tunnel and that old well could scarce be exaggerated!

Moreover, all such entrances or exits must be made at the lowest ebb of the tide. But the cave was roomy, not uncomfortable, and the tunnel, though cramped in places, was fairly navigable.

There was plenty of room in the cave quite above reach of the highest tide, and the whole matter was clear and simple now that he saw it all, but he marveled at the energy and enterprise that could conceive, plan and carry out the various attacks.

Whoever the criminal, or the master criminal, might be, he had come up through that tunnel and well on the several occasions of the kidnapping of Betty, the murder of Martha, the abduction of North, – yes, – and Wise remembered the letter that had been mysteriously left on the hall table, – also the night the library had been entered, – clearly, the man came and went at will!

A master mind, Wise concluded, he had to deal with, and he set his own best energies to work on his problems.

The way between Headland House and the outer world was not easy of negotiation, but it was a way, and it was passable to a determined human being.

Wise was back inside the prescribed half hour, and the uninterested boatman took him back to the Harbor without question or comment as to his enterprise.

That afternoon, Wise called Minna and Doctor Varian into the library and closed the door.

Zizi was also present, her black eyes shining with anticipation, for she knew from Wise’s manner and expression that he was making progress, and was about to disclose his discoveries.

“I have learned a great deal,” the detective began, “but not all. At least, I have found the so-called secret passage, which we all felt sure must exist.”

He described the cave and the tunnel as he had found them, and the outlet into the old well, so carefully piled with loose stones that it would escape the observance of almost any searcher.