University of Virginia Library

8. VIII

It was fully a month after Elizabeth's return to New York when Fairfax Cary ran across Major Barry in the Pennsylvania Station as they were hurrying to their respective trains. At the risk of missing his connection, the major laid an arresting hand on Cary's arm.

"Have you seen Betty Crosby lately?"

he asked hurriedly. Then, as Fairfax shook his head, he added: "She's disappeared — can't be found anywhere. Her uncle's nearly distracted. When can I see you?"

"To-morrow at eleven, at my office," responded Fairfax, and they parted precipitately.

It was only when Fairfax was speeding through the cool tunnel under the river that he began to grasp the full import of the major's words. Betty Crosby gone! Without a trace! It was inconceivable! Things like that didn't happen in the set in which she moved. After her promise to him, too! No, he absolutely refused to believe it.

But the more he dwelt on the major's news, the deeper grew his concern. That she should leave the uncongenial atmosphere of the Crosby home did not surprise him, but that she should go without telling any one of her destination gave him, in spite of his determination not to credit the report, a feeling of extreme disquietude.

"There must have been an upheaval of some sort," he thought grimly. "Mrs. Crosby's a pretty difficult proposition at best, and she probably played on the child's nerves like a rasp. Can't say I blame her for cutting it all; but why in thunder didn't she let the rest of us know?"

It was this same question that he put to Trixie Hunnewell when they met on the club veranda as soon as he had succeeded in drawing her away from the group of people with whom he found her; for, as he speedily learned, she was in as deep ignorance as Major Barry and himself as to Elizabeth's whereabouts.

"She promised me before she left town that she would call on me if she was ever in trouble," he said, adding ruefully, half to himself: "As I knew mighty well she would be before long! And Betty Crosby's not one to break a promise."

Trixie eyed the tense, troubled face thoughtfully, and a feeling came over her that perhaps, in some way, she had been the cause of that broken promise. She realized that her letters to Betty had been full of Fairfax Cary. It was highly probable that Betty had imagined, as she herself had believed, that Cary's attentions were of a different significance from what it now appeared was their real character. For Trixie had come to see that her attraction for him lay in the fact that she was Elizabeth's friend and in constant communication with her.

"If it were really that way with them," she thought self-reproachfully, "I'm afraid Betsy felt that I wasn't very true to her; but why didn't they tell me? I certainly had no way of guessing!"

But her contrition only added to her concern, and made her even more desirous of aiding in the search.

"I shall depend on you to let me know how I can help," she told Fairfax when he left her. "I shall be on tenter-hooks until I hear what Major Barry has to tell you to-morrow."

That the intervening hours had been trying for Fairfax, too, was evident from the alacrity with which he rose to greet the major on his entrance into Cary's private office as the clock struck eleven the following morning.

"Sit here, major," he said, indicating a chair on the other side of his flat desk.

Major Barry laid his hat and cane carefully on the desk and sat down. His usual cheery expression had given place to one of deep seriousness, and he nervously fingered his eye-glasses on their broad black ribbon.

"The first intimation I had of this," he began without preliminary, "was two days ago, when I met George Crosby at Delmonico's. He looks like an old man. Have you seen him?" Fairfax shook his head, and the major went on: "You know how the Crosbys have always held themselves — as if there wasn't any one quite good enough — you know — just manner, of course, but — well, it's all gone as far as George is concerned. He has positively crumpled up! I thought he'd been ill, and stopped to hear about it, but he insisted he was all right. It was only when I inquired for Elizabeth — you know I'm her godfather, always was very intimate with Randolph and his wife — you knew, of course?"

He fixed his kind, candid eyes on Cary's face. Fairfax nodded understandingly. He had heard of the major's romance — how the two men had loved and courted the beautiful Helen Rogers, and how, when Crosby had succeeded in winning her, the major — or captain, as he then was — had laid his hand on Randolph's shoulder and said:

"You win, old man! Just as well, I guess; an army post's no place for a girl

like that! But if you don't make her happy, by gad, sir, you'll have to answer for it to me!"

And when at the end of a year she had died, leaving the little flaxen-haired miniature of herself to take her place, the two men had accepted the trust that was confided to them and lavished the deepest tenderness and care on the little maid.

"She isn't quite sure which is her real father," chuckled Randolph when, on her third birthday, Barry had "dropped in as he happened to be passing," as he put it, and Betty held out her arms to him with a gurgle of delight. He "happened to be passing" so often those days that it had come to be a joke between the two men.

"All right, old man, I understand — you just keep on," Randolph had said with a slap on the back as he handed the major his glass of whisky-and-seltzer. "Between the two of us she may get one fairly decent father!"

And Tod Barry had laughed, and said that he was willing and anxious to contribute his share. So it was evident from the major's manner, as he sat in Cary's big chair and twirled his eye-glasses, that Betty's lack of confidence had hurt him to the quick.

"It is strange she didn't communicate with you," mused Fairfax.

"I can't understand it — it makes me afraid the child has come to some harm."

Barry moved uneasily, and began beating a tattoo on the edge of the desk with his carefully kept nails.

"Did you find out the reason for her leaving?" asked Fairfax anxiously.

"Some family trouble, as far as I can make out from what George said. I couldn't really get at the facts, but George hinted something about Norman's wanting to marry her. Evidently Betty wouldn't have it — you know what a miserable, dissipated little cur he is, and I suppose Mrs. George cut up rusty and made it unpleasant for her; so she just left one night, taking a suit-case full of clothes, and they haven't heard of her since."

"Well, at all events, there's satisfaction in the knowledge that she has plenty of money," commented Cary.

That's just the rub! Has she? put in the major impatiently. "George as good as told me that Randolph's affairs were pretty well involved when he died. He intimated that Elizabeth had gone off with the idea of supporting herself. Imagine — Betty! "

"But I don't understand!" Fairfax exclaimed. "Randolph Crosby's fortune gone? Why, it's impossible! I know too well — "

The major looked at him attentively.

"Did you know anything about his investments?"

"Well, not such a great deal. Mr. Crosby was too reticent a man, too self-reliant, to confide anything more than was absolutely necessary, even to his lawyer, and of course I did only a small part of his legal work. But, from what I saw of his holdings and from my knowledge of the man, I should say that what you suggest is a rank impossibility."

The two men eyed each other thoughtfully.

"Is George Crosby sole trustee?"

In his effort to make it unconcerned, the major's voice sounded strained and unnatural.

"Sole trustee and guardian, so Miss Crosby told me."

"Humph!" The major was carefully examining the spring of his eye-glasses. "Cary," he said at last, looking directly into the dark, keen face across the desk, "I think it's time Elizabeth Crosby's friends took a hand. As her godfather, I feel a certain responsibility in regard to her, and I ask you to assist me in whatever search it is necessary to make to determine the child's whereabouts and the condition of her affairs."

"I will gladly do anything in my power, Major Barry. As you know, or perhaps you don't know, everything that concerns Miss Crosby concerns me very deeply."

Major Barry looked at him sharply.

"Why the dickens, man, didn't you tell her so?" he exclaimed. Then all this would have been avoided!

But Fairfax shook his head positively.

"She knew, or at all events she must have guessed; but I couldn't ask her to marry me when I had practically nothing to offer her."

"Good Lord, Cary, you had a fine young man and a fine old name to offer her! What more could any girl want?"

"Thank you, major. It's very kind of

you; but even if it were true, that's not enough for a girl like Elizabeth Crosby!"

"It's enough for any girl, especially for one of Betty's stamp. Why, every bit of this would have been avoided!"

"You speak as if you think she would have taken me!"

There was a badly concealed tremor in Cary's voice, and the hand that held the pencil with which he was scrawling illegible words on the pad before him shook visibly.

"Take you! Why, man, are you blind? Self-depreciation is one thing, but imbecility — there, there — "

He stopped and looked quickly at Cary, evidently afraid that he had gone too far; but the radiant expression on Cary's face told him that he could have continued indefinitely in the same strain.

"Cary," he asked abruptly, "have you heard anything derogatory to Randolph Crosby since he died?"

Fairfax Cary paused for a moment before answering, his eyes wandering to the tall buildings pressing closely in on his only window, a look of seriousness driving away the happy light in the dark eyes. He turned back to the major and nodded regretfully.

"I was with them when they left the race-track that afternoon, and I saw several of Mr. Crosby's friends refuse to speak to him. Afterward I tried to find out the reason for it. As far as I could learn, it was pretty generally conceded that his horse, Steadfast, had been doctored — "

The major inclined his head.

"And of course the blame was laid on him, in spite of the fact that he lost the purse

"They claimed that he had more than offset that."

Again Major Barry nodded.

"Well, of course I don't believe a word of it — don't see how any one could who knew the man; but the question is, how can we prove it's false? I'm not satisfied to let the good name of my best friend and the father of that child go down to posterity blackened. We've got to clear it, and we've got to find Elizabeth! Now, what do you suggest?"

"Have any steps been taken?"

"George Crosby has employed a private detective, but they're so afraid of people's talking, and of a scandal, that they're tremendously handicapped. You see how it was with me — I only learned by chance."

"I think I'll go and have a talk with Pat," ruminated Fairfax. "The boy may be able to tell us something. You know, one of the last things Mr. Crosby did before he died was to send the boy enough money to make up what he lost on the race. Pat told me about it just after the funeral. He was all broken up. It seems he has a sister who is a bit of a high-flier, from all I hear, and he's very anxious to establish her somewhere away from the track influences. He had saved enough money to give her a start, but he lost most of it when Steadfast was beaten, so you can imagine his gratitude at Mr. Crosby's generosity."

"Just like Rand!" The major's face twitched. "Well, let me know what you learn."

He rose and took up his hat and stick.

"I will, Major Barry. Could you meet me at the Sussex Club to-night at, say, eleven o'clock? I can't tell just when I can see Pat."

The major assented, and the hands of the two men met in a firm clasp.