<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></SPAN>CHAPTER V</h2>
<h3>IN CORRIDOR AND IN ROOM</h3>
<p>Three quarters of an hour later Mr. Ransom and Gerridge stood in close
conference before the last mentioned hotel. The former was peremptory in
what he had to say.</p>
<p>"I haven't a particle of confidence in this newspaper story," he
declared. "I haven't much confidence in her letter. It is this man who is
working us. He has a hold on her and has given her this cock and bull
story to tell. A sister! A twin sister come to light after fifteen years
of supposed burial! I find the circumstance entirely too romantic. Nor
does an explanation of this nature fit the conditions. She was happy
before she saw <i>him</i> in the church. He isn't her twin sister. I tell you
the game is a deep one and she is the sufferer. Her letters betray more
than a disturbed mind; they betray a disturbed brain. That man is the
cause and I mean to wring his secret from him. You are sure of his being
still in the house?"</p>
<p>"He was early this morning. He has lived a very quiet life these last few
days, the life of one waiting. He has not even had visitors, after that
one interview he held with your wife. I have kept careful watch on him.
Though a suspected character, he has done nothing suspicious while I've
had him under my eye."</p>
<p>"That's all right and I thank you, Gerridge; but it doesn't shake my
opinion as to his being the moving power in this fraud. For fraud it
is and no mistake. Of that I am fully convinced. Shall we go up? I want
to surprise him in his own room where he cannot slip away or back out."</p>
<p>"Leave that business to me; I'll manage it. If you want to see him in his
room, you shall."</p>
<p>But this time the detective counted without his host. Mr. Porter was not
in his room but in one of the halls. They encountered him as they left
the elevator. He was standing reading a newspaper. The disfigured jaw
could not be mistaken. They stopped where they were and looked at him.</p>
<p>He was intent, absorbed. As they watched, they saw his hands close
convulsively on the sheet he was holding, while his lips muttered
some words that made the detective look hard at his companion.</p>
<p>"Did you hear?" he cautiously inquired, as Mr. Ransom stood hesitating,
not knowing whether to address the man or not.</p>
<p>"No; what did he say? Do you suppose he is reading that paragraph?"</p>
<p>"I haven't a doubt of it; and his words were, 'Here's a damned
lie!'—very much like your own, sir."</p>
<p>Mr. Ransom drew the detective a few steps down the corridor.</p>
<p>"He said that?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I heard him distinctly."</p>
<p>"Then my theory is all wrong. This man didn't provide her with this
imaginary twin sister."</p>
<p>"Evidently not."</p>
<p>"And is as surprised as we are."</p>
<p>"And about as much put out. Look at him! Nothing yellow there! We shall
have to go easy with him."</p>
<p>Mr. Ransom looked and felt a recoil of more than ordinary dislike for the
man. The latter had put the paper in his pocket and was coming their way.
His face, once possibly handsome, for his eyes and forehead were
conspicuously fine, showed a distortion quite apart from that given by
his physical disfigurement. He was not simply angry but in a mental and
moral rage, and it made him more than hideous; it made him appalling. Yet
he said nothing and moved along very quietly, making, to all appearance,
for his room. Would he notice them as he went by? It did not seem likely.
Instinctively they had stepped to one side, and Mr. Ransom's face was in
the shadow. To both it had seemed better not to accost him while he was
in this mood. They would see him later.</p>
<p>But this was not to be. Some instinct made him turn, and Mr. Ransom,
recognizing his opportunity, stepped forward and addressed him by the
name under which he had introduced himself at the reception; that of his
wife's family, Hazen.</p>
<p>The effect was startling. Instead of increasing his anger, as the
detective had naturally expected, it appeared to have the contrary
effect, for every vestige of passion immediately disappeared from his
face, leaving only its natural disfigurement to plead against him.
He approached them, and Ransom, at least, was conscious of a revulsion
of feeling in his favor, there was such restraint and yet such undoubted
power in his strange and peculiar personality.</p>
<p>"You know me?" said he, darting a keen and comprehensive look from one to
the other.</p>
<p>"We should like a few words with you," ventured Gerridge. "This gentleman
thinks you can give him very valuable information about a person he is
greatly interested in."</p>
<p>"He is mistaken." The words came quick and decisive in a not unmelodious
voice. "I am a stranger in New York; a stranger in this country. I have
few, if any, acquaintances."</p>
<p>"You have <i>one</i>."</p>
<p>It was now Mr. Ransom's turn.</p>
<p>"A man with no acquaintances does not attend weddings; certainly not
wedding receptions. I have seen you at one, my own. Do you not recognize
me, Mr. Hazen?"</p>
<p>A twitch of surprise, not even Ransom could call it alarm, drew his mouth
still further towards his ear; but his manner hardly altered and it was
in the same affable tone that he replied:</p>
<p>"You must pardon my short-sightedness. I did not recognize you, Mr.
Ransom."</p>
<p>"Did not want to," muttered Gerridge, satisfied in his own mind that this
man was only deterred by his marked and unmistakable physiognomy from
denying the acquaintanceship just advanced.</p>
<p>"Your congratulations did not produce the desired effect," continued Mr.
Ransom. "My happiness was short lived. Perhaps you knew its uncertain
tenure when you wished me joy. I remember that your tone lacked
sincerity."</p>
<p>It was a direct attack. Whether a wise one or not remained to be seen.
Gerridge watched the unfolding drama with interest.</p>
<p>"I have reason to think," proceeded Mr. Ransom, "that the unhappy
termination of that day's felicities were in a measure due to you.
You seem to know my bride very well; much too well for her happiness
or mine."</p>
<p>"We will argue that question in my room," was the unmoved reply. "The
open hall is quite unsuited to a conversation of this nature. Now," said
he, turning upon them when they were in the privacy of his small but not
uncomfortable apartment, "you will be kind enough to repeat what you just
said. I wish to thoroughly understand you."</p>
<p>"You have the right," returned Mr. Ransom, controlling himself under the
detective's eye. "I said that your presence at this wedding seemed to
disturb my wife, which fact, considering the after occurrences of the
day, strikes me as important enough for discussion. Are you willing to
discuss it affably and fairly?"</p>
<p>"May I ask who your companion is?" inquired the other, with a slight
inclination towards Gerridge.</p>
<p>"A friend; one who is in my confidence."</p>
<p>"Then I will answer you without any further hesitation. My presence may
have disturbed your wife, it very likely did, but I was not to blame for
that. No man is to blame for the bad effects of an unfortunate accident."</p>
<p>"Oh, I don't mean that," Mr. Ransom hastened to protest. "The cause of
her very evident agitation was not personal. It had a deeper root than
that. It led, or so I believe, to her flight from a love she cherished,
at a moment when our mutual life seemed about to begin."</p>
<p>The impassive, I might almost say set features of this man of violent
passions but remarkable self-restraint failed to relax or give any
token of the feelings with which he listened to this attack.</p>
<p>"Then the news given of your wife in the papers to-night is false,"
was his quiet retort. "It professes to give a distinct, if somewhat
fantastic, reason for her flight. A reason totally different from the
one you suggest."</p>
<p>"A reason you don't believe in?"</p>
<p>"Certainly not. It is too bizarre."</p>
<p>"I share your incredulity. That is why I seek the truth from you rather
than from the columns of a newspaper. And you owe me this truth. You have
broken up my life."</p>
<p>"I? That's a strange accusation you make, Mr. Ransom."</p>
<p>"Possibly. But it's one which strikes hard on your conscience, for all
that. This is evident enough even to a stranger like myself. I am
convinced that if you had not come into her life she would have been at
my side to-day. Now, who are you? She told me you were a relative."</p>
<p>"She told you the truth; I am. Her nearest relative. The story in the
paper has a certain amount of truth in it. Her brother, not her sister,
has come back from the grave. I am that brother. She was once devoted to
me."</p>
<p>"You are—"</p>
<p>"Yes. Oh, there'll be no difficulty in my proving this relationship.
I have evidence upon evidence of the fact right in this room with me;
evidence much more convincing and far less disputable than this
surprising twin can bring forward if <i>her</i> identity is questioned.
Georgian had a twin sister, but she was buried years ago. I was never
buried. I simply did not return from a well-known and dangerous voyage.
The struggle I had for life—you cannot want the details now—has left
its indelible impress in the scar which has turned me from a personable
man into what some people might call a monstrosity. And it is this scar
which has kept me so long from home and country. It has taken me four
years to make up my mind to face again my family and friends. And now
that I have, I find that it would have been better for us all if I had
stayed away. Georgian saw me and her mind wavered. In no other way can I
account for her wild behavior since that hour. That is all I have to say,
sir. I think I am almost as much an object of pity as yourself."</p>
<p>And for a moment he appeared to be so, not only to Gerridge, but to Mr.
Ransom himself. Then something in the man—his unnatural coldness, the
purpose which made itself felt through all his self-restraint—reawakened
Mr. Ransom's distrust and led him to say:</p>
<p>"Your complaint is natural. If you are Mrs. Ransom's brother, there
should be sympathy between us and not antagonism. But I feel only
antagonism. Why is this?"</p>
<p>A shrug, followed by an odd smile.</p>
<p>"You should be able to account for that on very reasonable grounds," said
he. "I do not expect much mercy from strangers. It is hard to make your
good intentions felt through such a distorted medium as my expression has
now become."</p>
<p>"Mrs. Ransom has been here," Ransom suddenly launched forth. "Within two
hours of your encounter under Mr. Fulton's roof, she was talking with you
in this hotel. I have proof positive of that, sir."</p>
<p>"I have no wish to deny the fact," was the steady answer. "She did come
here and we had a talk; it was necessary; I wanted money."</p>
<p>The last phrase was uttered with such grim determination that the
exclamation which had risen to Mr. Ransom's lips died in a conflict
of feeling which forbade any rejoinder that savored of sarcasm. Hazen,
however, must have noted his first look, for he added with an air of
haughty apology:</p>
<p>"I repeat that we were once very fond of each other."</p>
<p>Ransom felt his perplexities growing with every moment he talked with
this man. He remembered the money which both he and Gerridge had seen in
her bag,—an amount too large for her to have retained very much on her
person,—and following the instinct of the moment, he remarked:</p>
<p>"Mrs. Ransom is not the woman to hesitate when a person she loves makes
an appeal for money. She handed you immediately a large sum, I have no
doubt."</p>
<p>"She wrote me out a check," was the simple but cold answer.</p>
<p>Mr. Ransom felt the failure of his attempt and stole a glance at
Gerridge.</p>
<p>The doubtful smile he received was not very encouraging. The same thought
had evidently struck both. The money in the bag was a blind—she had
carried her check-book with her and so could draw on her account for
whatever she wished. But under what name? Her maiden one or his? Ransom
determined to find out.</p>
<p>"I do not begrudge you the money," said he, "but Mrs. Ransom's signature
had changed a few hours previous to her making out this check. Did she
remember this?"</p>
<p>"She signed her married name promising to notify the bank at once."</p>
<p>"And you cashed the check?"</p>
<p>"No, sir; I am not in such immediate need of money as that. I have it
still, but I shall endeavor to cash it to-morrow. Some question may come
up as to her sanity, and I do not choose to lose the only money she has
ever been in a position to give me."</p>
<p>"Mr. Hazen, you harp on the irresponsible condition of her mind. Did you
see any tokens of this in the interview you had together?"</p>
<p>"No; she seemed sane enough then; a little shocked and troubled, but
quite sane."</p>
<p>"You knew that she had stolen away from me—that she had resorted to a
most unworthy subterfuge in order to hold this conversation with you?"</p>
<p>"No; I had asked her to come, and on that very afternoon if possible, but
I never knew what means she took for doing so; I didn't ask and she
didn't say."</p>
<p>"But she talked of her marriage? She must have said something about an
event which is usually considered the greatest in a woman's life."</p>
<p>"Yes, she spoke of it."</p>
<p>"And of me?"</p>
<p>"Yes, she spoke of you."</p>
<p>"And in what terms? I cannot refrain from asking you, Mr. Hazen, I am
in such ignorance as to her real attitude towards me; her conduct is so
mysterious; the reasons she gives for it so puerile."</p>
<p>"She said nothing against you or her marriage. She mentioned both, but
not in a manner that would add to your or my knowledge of her intentions.
My sister disappointed me, sir. She was much less open than I wished. All
that I could make out of her manner and conversation was the overpowering
shock she felt at seeing me again and seeing me so changed. She didn't
even tell me when and where we might meet again. When she left, she was
as much lost to me as she was to you, and I am no less interested in
finding her than you are yourself. I had no idea she did not mean to
return to you when she went away from this hotel."</p>
<p>Mr. Ransom sprang upright in an agitation the other may have shared, but
of which he gave no token.</p>
<p>"Do you mean to say," he asked, "that you cannot tell me where the woman
you call your sister is now?"</p>
<p>"No more than you can give me the same necessary information in regard to
your wife. I am waiting like yourself to hear from her—and waiting with
as little hope."</p>
<p>Had he seen Ransom's hand close convulsively over the pocket in which her
few strange words to him were lying, that a slight tinge of sarcasm gave
edge to the last four words?</p>
<p>"But this is not like my wife," protested Ransom, hesitating to accuse
the other of falsehood, yet evidently doubting him from the bottom of his
heart. "Why deceive us both? She was never a disingenuous woman."</p>
<p>"In childhood she had her incomprehensible moments," observed Hazen, with
an ambiguous lift of his shoulders; then, as Ransom made an impatient
move, added with steady composure: "I have candidly answered all your
questions whether agreeable or otherwise, and the fact that I am as much
shocked as yourself by these mad and totally incredible statements of
hers about a newly recovered sister should prove to you that she is not
following any lead of mine in this dissemination of a bare-faced
falsehood."</p>
<p>There was truth in this which both Mr. Ransom and Gerridge felt obliged
to own. Yet they were not satisfied, even after Mr. Hazen, almost against
Mr. Ransom's will, had established his claims to the relationship he
professed, by various well-attested documents he had at hand. Instinct
could not be juggled with, nor could Ransom help feeling that the mystery
in which he found himself entangled had been deepened rather than
dispelled by the confidences of this new brother-in-law.</p>
<p>"The maze is at its thickest," he remarked as he left a few minutes later
with the perplexed Gerridge. "How shall I settle this new question? By
what means and through whose aid can I gain an interview with my wife?"</p>
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