VI
TEN minutes later Wade sprang from a cab in front of the Fifty-third Street residence and ran up the steps. It differed in outward appearance but little from a dozen other houses in that end of the block; brown-stone front, high Dutch stoop, broad windows hung with panel curtains, iron grilled doors. But to Wade it was different from any other house in the world, for in it lived the Girl. Even the big mat with the house number in red held a pleasant fascination for him since her feet had trod it. He had his card ready when the door opened.
"Miss Pearse?" he asked pleasantly as he entered the hall.
"Not at home, sir," replied the butler, glancing at the card.
"Not at home?" Wade's face expressed great surprise. "But I understood—"
"The family left a half-hour ago, sir. They'll be out of town until New Year's."
"That's very disappointing," mused Wade with a frown. "I had fully expected to find Miss Pearse at home today. They left earlier than they intended?"
"I can't say, sir."
"Then I must reach her by telephone. You have her address?"
The butler hesitated. The caller spoke like an old friend of the family, but the name on the card was strange to him and he couldn't recall the face. And he was a discreet butler.
"No, sir. But if you write here, a letter will be forwarded."
"That will take too long," was the decisive reply. "Surely you know whether Miss Pearse has gone North or South or West!"
The butler hesitated, glancing at the card. "I think, sir," he finally replied cautiously, "that they left for Boston."
"But you don't know where in Boston I can reach her on the 'phone?"
"No, sir, I think they are to meet Master Gordon there and go on North, into Canada, tonight."
"Oh, they're going to meet the boy, eh?" said Wade carelessly. "And go on tonight. Then I can't reach her there. You didn't hear what place in Canada?"
"No, sir, I think not."
"You think not?" Wade dipped his hand into his pocket. The butler drew himself up haughtily.
"That's all I know, sir," he said coldly. Wade's hand came out empty.
"Well, I'll write to Miss Pearse here in the hope that the letter will be forwarded at once. Never mind the card."
The butler returned it, bowed, and Wade found himself outside again on the fascinating mat. He returned to the cab and bade the driver hurry to the hotel. There was but one thing to do and he meant to do it. Canada was a large country, and if the party went on from Boston tonight his chance of finding them was pretty slim. But the chance was there and he would take it. To remain in New York until New Year's and await her return was out of the question, and it might be that in Boston luck would favor him again and he could discover her destination. At the hotel he opened trunk and bag, and packed the latter with clothes for a fortnight's journey. The trunk he sent to the porter's room, directing that it be held there until he sent for it. By that time it was barely two o'clock, but he didn't intend taking any risks and so had himself and bag taken to the station. For three-quarters of an hour he paced the train-shed, smoking and weighing his chances. Finally he rescued his bag from the check-room, purchased a pathfinder and some magazines and found his place in the parlor car.
The pathfinder increased his despondency. The train she had gone on was due in Boston at six, and between that hour and the time when his own train was due she had several opportunities of eluding him. One thing, however, seemed reasonably certain, and that was that whatever place above the border she was going to, Montreal would be her first destination. Renewed examination of the guide revealed the fact that subsequent to his arrival in Boston there were two trains which he might take to reach Montreal; one at nine o'clock, and one at eleven. There was little to choose between them in point of speed, as each reached Montreal, over different routes, at approximately the same time in the morning. The train which he ought to take and which, doubtless, Miss Pearse's party meant to take, left the North Station at eight-thirty. As he wouldn't get to the South Terminal until that time there was no possibility for him of making that connection. He noted the leaving times of the Montreal trains in his memorandum book and then faced a new contingency.
Supposing the butler either didn't know or had deliberately lied? Supposing the party had no intention of going beyond Boston? Wade groaned. He only he had had the presence of mind to get through that gate before it closed! As it was he was two hours behind, and those two hours might make all the difference in the world. He tossed the pathfinder onto the opposite seat.
"No use worrying," he muttered. "I'll just have to keep my wits about me and trust to luck."
After that he wondered who "Master Gordon" might be, and while he was wondering the train stopped at Bridgeport. It stayed an unconscionably long time and he began to fret. So he selected a magazine and went into the smoking-room and lighted a pipe. It was dark outside now and the lights were on in the car. Presently they were jogging along again. The magazine didn't prove very interesting and presently it slipped from his hands and his head dropped back against the wall. He must have slumbered for some time, for when he awoke with a start the train was still and his watch told him it was about six o'clock. There was no sight of a station and presently he grew curious. As there was no one in the smoking room to make inquiries of, he punched the button. In his own good time the porter appeared at the door.
"Where are we, porter?" Wade asked.
"’Bout eight miles west of New London, sir."
"This isn't a station, is it? What's the trouble?"
"There's a freight wreck ahead of us, sir."
"Good Lord!" groaned Wade. The porter grinned sympathetically.
"Yes, sir, we done tied up here for awhile, I reckon. Other train ain't no better off, though."
"What other train?"
"Number 18; she's held up too, sir."
Wade stared.
"You mean the train that left New York at one-two?"
"Yes, sir."
"She didn't get by? She's ahead of us here?"
"Yes, sir, 'bout quarter of a mile down the track."
Wade jumped from his seat, pushed the porter aside and rushed into the car. The next instant he was back, bag in hand. He thrust a half-dollar at the astonished porter.
"There you are. Open that door for me, porter."
"Wh-what you all goin' do, sir?"
"I'm going to change trains. Hurry up with the door!"
"You may get left, boss," remonstrated the darkey as he pulled open the vestibule door. "That other train may pull out any time."
"Then I get left," answered Wade as he swung himself onto the ground. It was pitch dark save for the lights from the car windows and he stumbled over the ends of the ties until his eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom and descried a narrow path at the edge of the enbankment. Once on that it was easier going and soon he was past the sobbing engine with the tail-lights of the other train faintly in sight ahead. He took to the track now, trotting along with his heavy bag swinging against his legs at. every stride and threatening to bring him down. Finally he lifted it to his shoulder and had less trouble. The porter had mentioned a quarter of a mile, but Wade was sure he had underestimated the distance, for it seemed to him that the lights were as far away as ever. Every instant he feared to hear the engine signal departure. Then the tail-lights suddenly drew nearer and ahead a yellow glow came into view. They were working at the wreck by naphtha flames far down the track. Now he was almost up to the rear car and he had won his race. He slackened his pace a little and smiled to think that now that he had reached the train it was quite likely to remain there for another hour or two. And at that instant from up the track ahead came the hoarse whistle of the locomotive, there was a sound of straining couplings and the rear lights began to move slowly away. Wade sprang forward, swinging the bag down from his shoulder and raced frantically over the ties. Only a few yards separated him from his goal, but for one heart-sickening moment it seemed that his goal was going to elude him. He put every ounce of strength into the chase and plunged on. The distance lessened and he sprang across a rail and gained the path. Then his outstretched hand caught the brass railing, he swung his bag onto the lower step and, free of his burden, ran alongside until he could reach the other railing with his right hand. With an effort that seemed to require every last drop of breath and strength he threw himself up beside his bag. For a moment he clung there exhausted on his knees. Then he drew himself to the upper-step and with one hand clutching the bag and the other the railing leaned against the door and fought for breath.
"THEN HIS OUTSTRETCHED HAND CAUGHT THE BRASS RAILING"
"Can I get a seat?" he asked the conductor.
"Number 7 in car 3." A porter seized his bag and Wade followed up the steps and into the car to sink tiredly into the chair pointed out to him. He felt oddly dizzy and closed his eyes for a moment. Outside the conductor cried "All aboard!"; the porter slammed the vestibule doors; the train moved on again. And Wade, opening his eyes, found himself looking across the car into the puzzled blue eyes of the Girl.