Dangerous Ground Part 31

CHAPTER XXIII.

LESLIE'S STORY.

"I shall not weary you with a long story," began Leslie Warburton; "this is not the time for it, and I am not in the mood. My husband lies above us, hopelessly ill. My little step-daughter is lost, and in Heaven only knows what danger. My brother-in-law is a hunted man, accused of the most atrocious of crimes. And I feel that I am the unhappy cause of all these calamities. If I have erred, I am doubly punished. Let me give you the bare facts, Mr. Stanhope; such details as you may wish can be supplied hereafter.

"I am, as you have been told, the adopted child of Thomas Uliman, of the late firm of Uliman & French. Until his death, I had supposed myself to be his own child. During the last year of my adopted father's life, it was his dearest wish that I should marry his friend, Archibald Warburton, and we became affianced. After the death of my adopted father, Mr. Warburton urged a speedy marriage, and we fixed a day for the ceremony.

"Less than a week later, it became necessary to overlook my father's papers, in the search for some missing doc.u.ment. After looking through his secretary, and examining a great many papers without finding the one for which I searched, I remembered that my mother's desk contained many papers. As the missing doc.u.ment referred to some property held by them jointly, I made a search there. She had been dead for more than a year, and all her keys were in my possession, but until that day I had never had the courage to approach her desk.

"Searching among her papers, I found one which had never been intended for my eyes. It was folded tightly, and crowded into a tiny s.p.a.ce behind a little drawer. My mother's death was quite sudden; had she died of a lingering sickness, the paper would doubtless have been destroyed, for it furnished proof that I was not the child of Thomas Uliman and his wife, Mathilde, but an adopted daughter, while I was represented in the will as their only child. The paper I found was in my father's writing, and by it, Franz Francoise and his wife, Martha--"

"What!" The exclamation fell involuntarily from Stanhope's lips. Then checking himself, he said quietly: "I beg your pardon; proceed."

"Franz Francoise and his wife, Martha, by this paper resigned all claim to the child, Leschen, for a pecuniary consideration. The child was to be rechristened Leslie Uliman, and legally adopted by the Ulimans, the two Francoises agreeing never to approach or claim her.

"Imagine my consternation and grief! With this paper in my hand, I went straight to Mr. Follingsbee. He had known the truth from the first, but a.s.sured me that the Ulimans had never intended that I should learn it. I had been legally adopted, and the little fortune they had left me was lawfully mine.

"Then I told the story to my intended husband, and, knowing his pride, offered him a release. He only laughed at my Quixotism, and hastened the marriage preparations, bidding me never, under any circ.u.mstances, allude to the subject again. Soon after that, I was approached by the Francoises--you have seen them?" lifting her eyes to his face.

"Yes."

"Then I need not tell you the miseries of my various interviews with them. They had learned that I was alone in the world, and they came to claim me; I was their child. Holding, as I did, the proofs of adoption, many women would have accepted their claim; I could not. My soul arose in revolt; every throb of my heart beat against them. If nature's voice ever speaks, it spoke in me against their claim. Not against their age, their poverty, or their ignorance; but against the greed, the selfishness, the vileness that was too much a part of them to remain hidden. Sooner than acknowledge their claim, I would have died by my own hand. They wanted money, and with that I purchased a respite. Then my great temptation came.

"Archibald Warburton had bidden me never to speak again on the subject of my parentage--why not take him at his word? If I broke off my marriage with him, I must give a reason; and the true reason I would never give. Not even to Mr. Follingsbee would I tell the truth. I kept my secret; and after much hesitation, the Francoises accepted the larger share of my little fortune, and swore never to approach me again,--to leave the city forever. I believed myself safe then, and married Mr.

Warburton.

"The rest you can guess. Finding that I had married a wealthy man, disregarding their oaths, the Francoises came back, and renewed their persecutions. And I was more than ever in their power. They forced me to visit them when they would. Their demands for money increased. I grew desperate at last, and on the night of the masquerade, I went in obedience to an imperative summons, resolved that it should be the last time."

She paused here and looked, for the first time since the beginning of her recital, straight into the face of the detective, who, sitting with his body bent forward and his eyes fixed upon her, seemed yet to be listening after her words had ceased, so intent was his gaze, so absorbed his manner.

Thus a moment of silence pa.s.sed. Then Stanhope, withdrawing his eyes, and leaning back in his seat, asked suddenly:

"Is that all?"

"It is not all, Mr. Stanhope. On the night of the masquerade, while I was absent from the house no doubt, my little step-daughter disappeared."

"I know."

"You have heard it, of course. I believe that I know why, and by whom, she was abducted."

"Ah!"

"I suspect the Francoises."

"Why?"

"I love the child, and they know it. She will be another weapon in their hands. Besides, if I cannot, or will not reclaim her, there is the reward."

Richard Stanhope leaned forward, and slightly lifted his right hand.

"Is there any one else who would be benefited by the death or disappearance of the child?" he asked.

Leslie started, and the hot blood rushed to her face.

"I--I don't understand," she faltered.

"Do you know the purport of your husband's will."

"Yes."

"How does he dispose of his large property?"

"One third to me; the rest to little Daisy."

"And his brother?"

"Alan possesses an independent fortune."

"Are there no contingencies?"

"In case of my death, all comes to Daisy, Alan becoming her guardian. In case of Daisy's death, Alan and I share equally."

"Then by the loss of this child, both you and the young man become richer."

"Ah!" she gasped, "I had never thought of _that_!"

"Mrs. Warburton, beginning at the moment when you left this house to visit the Francoises, will you tell me all that transpired, up to the time of your escape from their house?"

With cheeks flus.h.i.+ng and paling, and voice tremulous with the excitement of some new, strange thought, she described to him the scene in the Francoises' house.

"So," thought Stanhope, when all was told, "Mr. Alan Warburton's presence at that special moment was strangely opportune. Why was he there? What does he know of the Francoises? The plot thickens, and I would not be in Alan Warburton's shoes for all the Warburton wealth."

But, aloud, he only said:

"Thanks, Mrs. Warburton. If you are correct in your suspicions, and the Francoises have stolen the child, they will approach you sooner or later. Should they do so, make no terms with them, but communicate with me at once."

"By letter?"

"No; through the morning papers. Use this form."

Taking from his pocket a note-book, he wrote upon a leaf a few words, tore it from the book, and put it into her hand.

"That is safer than a letter," he said, rising. "One word more, madam.

Tell Alan Warburton to be doubly guarded against Van Vernet. His danger increases at every step. Now we will call Mr. Follingsbee."