CHAPTER IX.
"By the way," asked Quentin, halting on the steps of the hotel and determining swiftly to see just where Burlington stood, "from whom did your patient escape? She was not confined, I suppose?"
The other shot him a quick glance, but Quentin's face expressed only interested curiosity and sympathy.
"No. She was—er—being taken care of by friends who lived at Long Beach. It was not thought that she would try to get away, for her mind has never run to violence or anything of the sort. She merely slipped out alone, got a man in the street to help her on the car, and that was an end of it. Her friends wanted to call in detectives and all that sort of tiling, but I happened to find the man who had helped her, and that made all straight. She's over here somewhere, and should be easy to locate."
That clinched the matter in Quentin's mind. He tried to recall any girl answering the description of Enid, on the boat coming over, but could not. In fact, he had been too much absorbed with his own blind girl to watch other people.
"Well, my friend and professional brother, you've lied neatly," he thought grimly, as they entered the hotel. The thought halted him mentally, however. Had Burlington lied to him, after all?
He had doubted Enid's story in the first place, though she had substantiated it by her seeming knowledge of Burlington's family. If her story had been true, Burlington had just now lied to him; yet Burlington had described an entirely different girl as the one for whom he was searching, which would rather tend to back up his own story.
"I can't make head nor tail of it," groaned Quentin to himself. "I'll simply introduce 'em, and that will put the whole thing on the knees of the gods. And I feel blamed sorry for the gods!"
Pleading that there was no time to waste on formalities, he steered Burlington past the desk without registering, they left their hats at the dining-room entrance, and he led the way toward the table at which Enid Elsmere still sat. He reflected that if she had lied to him, it would be poetic justice that he should introduce her by the name of Mary Palmer.
Before they reached the table, Quentin had found the answer to his mental questionings. He saw Burlington's eyes fall on the figure of Enid, then flicker on without any change to the next table. The girl had not been recognized.
This settled one doubt, only to raise another; how could she have known of the blind girl in Burlington's care? The physician's presence proved that there had been such a person, and Quentin had no more doubts that the girl's story had been a true one, whether true as regarded herself or not. However, a moment later they had reached the table, and there was no time to reflect on the situation.
"Miss Palmer, allow me to present Doctor Hall—Burlington Burlington, my patient, Miss Palmer."
Burlington bowed in his precise manner, but the girl's face suddenly flamed scarlet, then became dead white; Quentin could almost have sworn that there was sight in the violet eyes that went from one to the other of them.
"You are now breakfasting with two famous professional men, Miss Palmer," he went on, forcing a laugh. Now that he had found out what he wanted to know, he refused to torture the girl further. If she was a pickpocket—well and good; it was still to be explained how she had known of his own intimacy with Dolly Burlington.
"But it is the gentlemen who are honored," added Burlington, with heavy gallantry. "You are a native daughter, Miss Palmer?"
"No," she faltered, but with an evident effort regained her self-control. "No, I am an Eastern girl, Doctor Burlington. I am merely spending a few months with friends—in Los Angeles."
With this the waiter bustled up, and the girl had a chance to recover, which she did slowly. Her manner gave Quentin no doubt of her evident shame and distress, but at thought of his own simple-minded faith in her story, Quentin felt little remorse at his action.
None the less, he steered Burlington into a line of talk which he could keep up indefinitely; the Long Beach physician had bought heavily in real estate during the past year or two, and consequently was a "booster" of the most virulent type. He talked at length until breakfast was served, Quentin and the girl having only to throw in a word here and there to keeping him going.
Another crisis was coming from a source which Quentin little suspected, however. Before breakfast was half over, a waiter brought him in a note which he tore open with a word of apology to the others. It was a very brief and curt request that he visit the office. Wondering what was up now, he excused himself, and went out to the desk, finding there the clerk with whom Osgood had been talking on the previous day. The clerk nodded at him and led him into the interior office.
"Doctor," he said challengingly, "you left a package here for that bull, Osgood, last night. Osgood had reserved a room here, and he's not shown up; I'll have to have an explanation—I may as well tell you frankly that he suspected that lady with you of"
"Go easy," warned Quentin, and at the icy flame in his eyes the clerk drew back. "Where Osgood is isn't my business or yours, either. As for that lady, she's a patient in my charge, and if you know Doctor Burlington, of Long Beach, you'll find him at breakfast with us now, and he can identify me. You've made a mistake, young man, and you'd better back water pretty hard, and do it quick."
The clerk tried to stare him down, but the result was only to send him into a stammering apology, and Quentin knew that his bluff had gone down. None the less, he insisted on sending for Burlington, and when that individual arrived and identified him in some surprise, Quentin promptly closed the incident.
"Merely a matter of cashing a check," he explained to Burlington as they returned to their table. The other waved his hand loftily, sat down with a pompous air which ruffled Quentin afresh, adjusted his cuffs, and fell to his breakfast. Quentin smiled at the girl and was astonished to see a little color rise in her cheeks—as if she had seen the smile and took it for an assurance. From that moment he was convinced that she was no other than the pickpocket, and that she was no more blind than he was.
The delicate irony of forcing Burlington to help him out. made him chuckle again, but he longed for Mathews to show up that the tangle might be complete. Certainly this girl had been confident in her appeal to Mathews, and Quentin wondered if every one who came into contact with her was to be drawn into some wild imbroglio. Osgood had certainly suffered therefor, and just at present Burlington seemed to be in for future trouble also!
"Now, Miss Palmer," he said finally, "Doctor Burlington and I are going out to look up a professional case, into which he has drawn me on consultation. You won't mind if I leave you for an hour or so?"
"Of course not!" She smiled up at him with a rather pathetic effort at brightness, he thought. "But you'll take me to my room, first?"
"By all means!"
Burlington shook hands with her in his most precise air, and Quentin led her from the dining room, keeping up the farce. She said nothing until they had stepped from the elevator, then Quentin turned her around gently.
"Well, Enid Elsmere?"
She put out her hand to his arm impulsively.
"Doctor Quentin, you made a promise to Enid Elsmere to help her to escape from her guardian. You gave me to understand that your promise was ironclad. Do you wish to be released from it or not?"
Quentin was taken aback by her firm voice, and as he searched her face he found it impossible to believe that this girl was a shamed, discomfited thief. She was making no plea; she was merely asking him a direct question.
"My dear girl," he said softly, his hand closing on hers, "please let this matter drop until I can get back for a talk. I know very well that you have not told me the truth, but that does not affect my willingness to stand by you; even if you are a thief, as the detective believed yesterday, my promise stands. When I met Burlington, and he told me about the girl he was seeking, I saw from his description that it was not you he was after; now, do you want to see Mr. Mathews, or shall I stave him off also?"
"No," she returned, with a half-sobbing laugh. "Oh, if he were only here now I would be able to tell you everything! Come to me when you get through with Doctor Burlington—I will explain to you then if I can. Please—please continue to trust me!"
"Look up at me, Mary Palmer," he said, and her head came up; but if the vacant, fixed stare in the violet eyes was assumed, he could not tell. "Now, under the circumstances—if you'll pardon my language—wouldn't any man who granted that request be nothing short of a damned fool?"
She flushed. Then, to his amazement, a laugh flickered across her face.
"Yes—but I still make it."
"All right—it's granted," he smiled cheerfully, unable to resist the charm of her. "I'll be back as soon as I can shake Burlington, and get straightened out. I don't know whether you're blind or not, or whether there are three blind girls wandering around Avalon, or whether your name is Enid Elsmere or Mary Palmer—but I'll bank on you, and you can depend on me to the limit."
Her face changed—confidence and regret and perplexity following each other in swift succession. Quentin saw that the violet eyes had lost their fixed expression, but that might have been because of the tears that glittered in them.
"Oh, I—I wish I could have known that yesterday!" she faltered. Then, pushing him back as she averted her head to hide her tears, she left him quickly and entered her own room.
Quentin flung back his shoulders aggressively as he returned to the elevator. So, then, the whole matter was at last out in the open! She was the pickpocket and no other—yet for the sake of her indefinable appeal, for the sake of her smile and the touch of her hand, he was going to help her elude justice at the cost of his own good name and reputation, it might well be.
"Then I'll be a damned fool to the limit," he reflected bitterly. "But I won't believe her a thief until she has told me so herself."
Fate had not yet finished with him, however—or rather, he was still serving as a shuttlecock between fate and Nemesis. As he left the elevator, he saw the desk clerk, Burlington, and another—a pudgy man in policeman's clothes—talking quietly together and evidently waiting for him. The clerk turned to him with puzzled deference.
"Here he is now. Doctor Quentin, this is the island constable, Mr. McBean. I'm sorry, sir, but you seem in hot water all around to-day!"
"What's the matter now?" smiled Quentin, wondering if his fight with Osgood had become noised abroad. The pudgy constable eyed him in hesitation.
"Why, sir, I didn't know exactly what to do—you see, a couple of gentlemen at the club yesterday"
"Oh, that!" Quentin laughed again in relief. He remembered that Osgood had said something about the constable in connection with the reported assault. "You're looking that up?"
The pudgy constable, whose lack of duties made his office a sinecure, nodded doubtfully.
"Yes, sir. Doctor Burlington says that you're all right, though"
"Of course, I am," laughed Quentin, and at that he explained exactly how the affair at the club had come about, and stated that it was no doubt a joke perpetrated by Green.
"I guess that's right, sir," said McBean, grinning. "I've been talking to the people up there, and Mr. Green was a little off color, I'm afraid. He's gone off fishing, so if Doctor Burlington will vouch for you we'd better let the thing hang over. It won't do to give the island a bad name, you know."
"Of course, of course," broke in Burlington, in evident haste to be off after his quarry. "I'll answer for Quentin, my man—any one in Los Angeles knows him. Now come along, Quentin. We can't waste any more time."
So for the second time Burlington had extricated him from a difficulty! Quentin grinned inwardly as he followed the other to the steps; he saw a good many more difficulties ahead, notably that of Osgood. But these could all wait, and now he put himself at the disposal of Burlington with a very cheerful heart.
They discussed the affair in hand, and, after a brief talk, decided that they could do nothing except make a canvass of the half dozen smaller hotels. In order to save as much time as possible, they divided these between them, and Burlington strode away with the tourists sending amused glances at his formal attire and shiny "topper."
As Quentin had no intention of wasting his time on a search to which he felt that Enid Elsmere—or Mary Palmer—held the clew, he promptly sat down on a bench and prepared to report failure on Burlington's return. He preferred to postpone his talk with the girl until he had Burlington off his hands.
"Well, I'm in good and deep," he reflected ruefully, biting the end from a cigar and settling down. "Now let's get cleared up. My Enid is probably named Mary Palmer, and appears to be a woman thief whom Osgood is after. Osgood is locked up in Mathews' shed and therefore may be eliminated as a factor. But what about Mathews? If the worst comes to the worst, I can hire a launch and skip out with Enid—or whatever her name is—and get home and wait for arrest.
"If I was a hero of romance, I'd probably lure Burlington up to that shed and pile him in with Osgood. By George, though! If he hadn't backed up Enid's yarn by his own errand here, I'd find it hard to believe of him! I can't pretend to like him a whole lot, but it doesn't seem exactly probable that such high-flown villain stunts could be put over outside of a dime novel. Anyhow, I'm getting to be a beautifully finished liar myself!"
This last admitted of no dispute, and the outlook seemed dismal in consequence. He saw now that he had made a mistake in taking Osgood's identity on himself with the old caretaker, on the previous evening. That in itself might lead to undesired complications, unless Mathews arrived in time. And what would happen then? Since the girl's story had been untrue, where did Mathews come in except as another disturbing factor.
"If I don't go mad first," he laughed hopelessly, flinging away his cigar, "I am due to catch it from all concerned! Well, there's Burlington's silk tile coming down the hill, so now for another bunch of lies, I suppose."
It flashed over him, as he stood waiting, that Mary Palmer no doubt had his pocketbook for him. That must have been what she meant by her final exclamation: "If I had only known that yesterday!" Her explanation, then, would take a very material form; and the sooner made the better, for when he had plenty of ready cash in hand he could visit Osgood and undoubtedly bribe him off his private revenge. Even though Osgood had arrested him falsely, there might be trouble in prospect.
"Well, any luck, Quentin?"
He turned, to find Burlington once more mopping his heavy face, with his pompous air somewhat dissipated.
"Nothing doing," returned Quentin briefly, eying his confrère. "Seems to me you're a whole lot excited over the matter, Burlington. By the way, I just recalled the fact that I'd heard that girl's name before—seems as though Dolly had mentioned an Enid Elsmere to me."
Burlington's cheeks flushed slightly, then mottled. He forced a harsh laugh.
"You're twisted, Quentin. It's rankly impossible. Now, I'm sure I don't know just what to do—a house-to-house canvass is absurd, of course."
"Had Miss Elsmere any friends here?" asked Quentin craftily.
"No, no, of course not!" exploded the other testily. "Since she's not at the larger hotels, we might as well start systematic inquiries along the water front. She can't have got very far without being seen."
Quentin nodded, thinking rapidly. He might as well accompany Burlington and keep him occupied in the quest, since there really was an Enid Elsmere, and since the physician was plainly in no little mental distress over the disappearance. Also, he determined to probe Burlington's mind and make sure of his ground on the heiress question before he committed himself to any definite break with the other. But first he must telephone the girl and let her know why he could not return immediately.
"I'll step into the drug store here and call up Miss Palmer," he said. "I'd better let her know that this thing is apt to take all morning."
Burlington nodded and dropped on the bench, while Quentin strode to the corner store, and got the Metropole on the telephone. When he inquired for Miss Elsmere, he found that she had gone out; and in response to his amazed questions the operator switched his friend, the desk clerk, on the wire.
"Yes, doctor," explained that individual, with a touch of malice in his voice, "a message came for her just after you went out with Doctor Burlington. She also went out."
"What—alone?"
"Yes, sir—and blindness didn't seem to bother her much, either."
"Good Lord!" gasped Quentin inwardly. Then, aloud: "Didn't she leave any word?"
"Yes; she said she'd be back in an hour or less, sir. Oh—by the way, did you lose a pocketbook yesterday, doctor?"
"You bet," uttered Quentin weakly, wondering if she had left it for him. "Why?"
"It was just turned in a minute ago—one of the boatmen found it yesterday in his launch, looked your name up at the hotels, and left it lot you."
"All right," said Quentin. "Get his name, and I'll reward him. Good-by."
He staggered out into the sunlight, too dazed to do more than rejoin Burlington and allow himself to be patronized without protest. After extracting that promise of trust from him—the girl had skipped out! It was the last straw.