The sinister mark
soothingly. "She's all right. She's well and comfortable. Just a little
queer, maybe, but nothing to speak of, and when she sees you----"
"But I don't understand----" Morris began, anxiously.
"No, probably you don't, and I'd better tell you the whole story," said
the woman, easily. "I'd better spill the whole dope, and then you'll
see just how the land lays."
Donald sank into a chair near by and the woman, leaning forward, spoke
confidentially:
"My name's Shultze, Mrs. Gertrude Shultze, though all my friends call
me 'Trudie'," she said, in what she evidently considered a society
manner. "I keep a very classy boarding house for ladies and gentlemen
at 111 West Forty ---- Street. Well, that's me. Now, about the first
of June, a young lady comes to my house, a very beautiful young lady,
I think you'll agree, Mr. Morris. She's very quiet, respectable, and
ladylike"--Donald shuddered--"keeps herself to herself, and at first
she paid right along, as a real lady should. I thought, from the
start-off, that her manner was a bit strange, but I didn't really begin
to notice nothing till just a week or so ago. I hadn't seen much of
her, to tell you the truth, Mr. Morris, for the simple reason that
she paid to have her meals sent up until a short time ago, and after
that, she only took the room, and had her meals out, I suppose, though
I never seen her go out that I can remember, but, of course, I'm that
busy what with all the gentlemen taking up my time and that----"
Donald was frowning heavily. His interruption was rather brusque:
"What name did this young lady give when she came to your house,
Mrs.--Mrs. Shultze?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you? She gave the name of Curwood."
Donald caught his breath. "Curwood?" he asked, sharply, and,
remembering the name Clancy had discovered at Hobart Falls, he repeated
it again--"Curwood."
"Of course I'm aware now that it wasn't her real name," the woman went
on, knowingly. "As soon as I seen her photo in the paper, it set me
thinking. I couldn't get it out of me head, and the more I thought, the
surer I was. But this child don't go off half-cocked, believe me! So,
thinks I to myself, I know a place where they sells pictures of actors
and actresses, and I slipped over to Broadway this very afternoon, and
I buys three of Mary Blake, all different views. I studies 'em, you
may be sure, and when I goes up to see if she can come across with the
bit of money she's owing me, I give her the once-over--and there ain't
no doubt left in my mind. There couldn't be. It's Miss Mary Blake, all
right, all right"--confidently. "You can put all your money on that
horse, Mr. Morris."
Donald Morris shut his teeth together. He could not bear to think
what this month had been to Mary, shut up in the sort of house this
woman would have. Why had she hidden there? What reason could there
have been? As to her identity, he had no doubt. The woman, Shultze,
was sharp and keen enough--and there was the name--Curwood. It was an
unusual name, and Clancy was sure that his information was correct. No.
There could be no doubt.
It was horrible to his sensitive nature to be obliged to make use of
this woman, but he saw no other way. Something she had said----
"I think you told me you noticed something strange in the lady's
manner, Mrs. Shultze." His voice was abrupt though he strove to speak
in his usual tone. "Just what did you mean by that?"
"Why," the woman hesitated slightly, though Donald was under the
impression that she was not trying to be evasive, "I don't quite know
how to put it, Mr. Morris, but between friends, it seemed to me that
Miss Blake--or Miss Curwood, as she calls herself--has kind of--lost
her memory."
"Just how do you mean?" asked Donald, groaning inwardly. If the woman
was right, if Mary's mind were affected----
"She doesn't even seem to remember who I am," answered Mrs. Shultze,
quickly. "And when I asked who her friends were, and if some of
'em mightn't stake her for awhile, she looked at me, kind of
blank-like, and she says, putting her hand to her head, like this,
'Friends--friends? I don't believe I have a friend in the world.' And
you know, Mr. Morris, that's all nonsense. Of course a young lady like
her's bound to have all the friends she wants. And then, when I found
out who she was, why, 'twas only natural I should come to the gentleman
the paper mentioned, thinking that any one that knew the poor thing
would be glad to help her. But, if you don't see your way to that," her
raised eyebrows and lifted chin were slightly aggressive, "why, the
paper give the name of her manager, Mr. Frederick Jones, and I can go
to him. I don't believe he's no tightwad, and I guess----"
Donald Morris leaped to his feet. His subsequent actions were almost
automatic, so poignant were his emotions.
"Wait one moment, Mrs. Shultze," he said, hurriedly. "I'll go with you
at once. Just wait one moment."
He dashed through the hall and into a big library at the back of the
house. Seating himself at a telephone desk, he called O'Malley. When
the connection was made:
"I can't come to your office to-night, Captain O'Malley." He spoke
rapidly, and the old man at the other end of the wire caught the
excitement in his tone.
"Why, what's up, Mr. Morris?" he asked, quickly.
"I know where Miss Blake is, O'Malley," Donald cried. "She's staying
with a woman who's here in the house now. I'm going to her at once.
I----"
"Don't you want me to go with you, Mr. Morris? I can as well as not,
and I'll keep in the background if you say so. Don't you think it would
be advisable? Where is she?"
"The address is 111 West Forty ---- Street...." O'Malley whistled under
his breath, but Donald did not hear him. "I don't quite know----" He
hesitated.
"Pick me up at the northwest corner of Broadway and Thirty-ninth
Street," said O'Malley, crisply. "I'll be there before you are and it
won't cause any delay. If you don't need me, I'll just stay in the cab."
"All right, O'Malley. I think I'll be glad to have you along," Donald
agreed, and with a caution born of his estimate of Mrs. Gertrude
Shultze, he added, swiftly, "Don't mention your--your profession before
the person you'll find in the cab with me. I'll say you're a friend of
Miss Blake's."
"I'm on," said O'Malley, briefly, and Morris hung up the receiver.
He went swiftly back to the reception room.
"I'm ready, Mrs. Shultze," he said.
The woman gave him a long, calculating glance, and followed to the
waiting cab.
CHAPTER XXVII
111 WEST FORTY ---- STREET
Gertrude Shultze listened attentively while Donald instructed the
cabman to go to number 111 West Forty ---- Street, but to stop on
the way and pick up another passenger on the northwest corner of
Thirty-ninth Street. She looked at him shrewdly from the corner of her
eye as the cab started forward, and after a moment she said:
"Who's your friend, Mr. Morris? I shouldn't think Miss Blake would be
any too crazy to have a crowd----"
"It's a friend of Miss Blake's," said Morris, shortly. "Someone who is
almost as interested in finding her as I am."
"Oh," said the woman, and remained silent for several minutes, much to
Donald's relief.
She started talking again (it was obvious that she could not be
silent for long), but she said nothing of any consequence to Donald.
Her chatter annoyed him because it gave him no time to think, and he
was relieved when he saw O'Malley's bulky old figure standing at the
appointed place.
O'Malley jumped in, with surprising agility for one of his age and
figure, almost before the cab came to a standstill, and after being
introduced to Mrs. Shultze, he bore the brunt of the conversation. Even
then, Donald had little opportunity for concentrated thought for his
attention was distracted by the clever way in which the old man drew
the woman out, making an excellent impression by the interest he showed
in her personal concerns. The adaptable old fellow had no difficulty,
apparently, in meeting her on her own ground, and in the few minutes
which elapsed before the cab stopped in front of her house he had
gained such headway that she made no difficulty whatever about his
accompanying Mr. Morris.
With her own latch-key she opened the door of the big, somewhat shabby
house, and requested the gentlemen to follow her upstairs.
Donald hesitated to go up unannounced, but she imperatively overruled
his objections.
"Your best bet is to go in sudden, Mr. Morris," she said. "It may be a
shock, but if you ask me, I think a shock is just what the poor thing
needs."
O'Malley cast a sharp, questioning look from one to the other, and
Mrs. Shultze told him at once of Miss Blake's loss of memory. When he
understood:
"I think she's right, Mr. Morris," he said. "I've had some
experience--I mean I've seen a case of this sort, and it was just the
shock of seeing someone well known in the past that brought the memory
back. It's worth trying."
Donald agreed to that, and all three, Mrs. Shultze in the lead, went
up the heavily carpeted, dusty stairs. When they reached the top floor,
she pointed to a door and placing her finger on her lips, knocked
softly.
"Who's there?"
Donald started forward at the sound of the voice within the room.
O'Malley put his hand on Donald's arm.
"Wait," he said, in a low whisper.
"It's only me, dearie," said Mrs. Shultze in honeyed accents. She tried
the door, and finding it locked, added more sweetly still, "Won't you
let me in?"
There was no answer except the sound of a key turning in a lock. Mrs.
Shultze cast a warning glance at the two men, opened the door and
stepped quickly inside, leaving it ajar.
"How are you to-night, dearie?"
"I'm very well, I think. I'm not sure. What is it you want? You've been
here before about something, but what is it, I can't remember."
At the first words Donald started again, convulsively. He stepped close
to the door and listened intently to that voice, that beloved voice,
now so uncertain, so strangely altered, yet the same--the same.
"Oh, forget it, dearie," Mrs. Shultze had responded at once, with
exaggerated cheerfulness. "We won't talk about that now. I've brought a
friend to see you, sweetie. That's the way little Trudie looks out for
them she takes a fancy to. I've brought an old friend----" There was a
low murmur and the woman, evidently replying to it, said: "You look all
right, dearie. He won't mind." Donald knew that she had turned toward
the door, for her voice was louder as she added, "Come in, Mr. Morris."
"I'll stay here," whispered O'Malley in Donald's ear. "Leave the door
open. I'll keep out of sight."
Scarcely hearing, with heart beating wildly, Donald pushed open the
door.
"Mary," he cried, chokingly. "Mary! At last!"
She was seated on the other side of a small table, leaning slightly
forward, her cheek resting on her right hand, in a position poignantly
familiar; but the exquisite face--oh, how changed and ravaged it was!
Only the great, gold-gray eyes burned with the old fire.
Donald cried out again, "Mary!" and threw himself on his knees beside
her. Mrs. Shultze, keeping herself well in the background, watched with
calculating eyes.
O'Malley, in the hall, saw the woman at the table draw back, turning
sidewise in her chair.
"I--I don't understand----" The voice was sweet, low, and troubled,
"Ought I to know you? I can't think----" She passed her hand across her
forehead, pushing back the lovely curves of soft dark hair.
"Oh, Mary," there was heart-break in the tone, "don't you remember?
It's Donald. Donald. You must----"
"I can't remember," she said, gently drawing her rather worn silk
négligée closer about her. "There was someone--someone once, who spoke