________________________________________________
_ As time went on Butler grew more and more puzzled and restive as
to his duty in regard to his daughter. He was sure by her furtive
manner and her apparent desire to avoid him, that she was still
in touch with Cowperwood in some way, and that this would bring
about a social disaster of some kind. He thought once of going
to Mrs. Cowperwood and having her bring pressure to bear on her
husband, but afterwards he decided that that would not do. He
was not really positive as yet that Aileen was secretly meeting
Cowperwood, and, besides, Mrs. Cowperwood might not know of her
husband's duplicity. He thought also of going to Cowperwood
personally and threatening him, but that would be a severe measure,
and again, as in the other case, he lacked proof. He hesitated
to appeal to a detective agency, and he did not care to take the
other members of the family into his confidence. He did go out
and scan the neighborhood of 931 North Tenth Street once, looking
at the house; but that helped him little. The place was for rent,
Cowperwood having already abandoned his connection with it.
Finally he hit upon the plan of having Aileen invited to go somewhere
some distance off--Boston or New Orleans, where a sister of his
wife lived. It was a delicate matter to engineer, and in such
matters he was not exactly the soul of tact; but he undertook it.
He wrote personally to his wife's sister at New Orleans, and asked
her if she would, without indicating in any way that she had heard
from him, write his wife and ask if she would not permit Aileen
to come and visit her, writing Aileen an invitation at the same
time; but he tore the letter up. A little later he learned
accidentally that Mrs. Mollenhauer and her three daughters, Caroline,
Felicia, and Alta, were going to Europe early in December to visit
Paris, the Riviera, and Rome; and he decided to ask Mollenhauer
to persuade his wife to invite Norah and Aileen, or Aileen only,
to go along, giving as an excuse that his own wife would not leave
him, and that the girls ought to go. It would be a fine way of
disposing of Aileen for the present. The party was to be gone
six months. Mollenhauer was glad to do so, of course. The two
families were fairly intimate. Mrs. Mollenhauer was willing--
delighted from a politic point of view--and the invitation was
extended. Norah was overjoyed. She wanted to see something of
Europe, and had always been hoping for some such opportunity.
Aileen was pleased from the point of view that Mrs. Mollenhauer
should invite her. Years before she would have accepted in a
flash. But now she felt that it only came as a puzzling
interruption, one more of the minor difficulties that were tending
to interrupt her relations with Cowperwood. She immediately threw
cold water on the proposition, which was made one evening at dinner
by Mrs. Butler, who did not know of her husband's share in the
matter, but had received a call that afternoon from Mrs. Mollenhauer,
when the invitation had been extended.
"She's very anxious to have you two come along, if your father
don't mind," volunteered the mother, "and I should think ye'd have
a fine time. They're going to Paris and the Riveera."
"Oh, fine!" exclaimed Norah. "I've always wanted to go to Paris.
Haven't you, Ai? Oh, wouldn't that be fine?"
"I don't know that I want to go," replied Aileen. She did not care
to compromise herself by showing any interest at the start. "It's
coming on winter, and I haven't any clothes. I'd rather wait and
go some other time."
"Oh, Aileen Butler!" exclaimed Norah. "How you talk! I've heard
you say a dozen times you'd like to go abroad some winter. Now
when the chance comes--besides you can get your clothes made over
there."
"Couldn't you get somethin' over there?" inquired Mrs. Butler.
"Besides, you've got two or three weeks here yet."
"They wouldn't want a man around as a sort of guide and adviser,
would they, mother?" put in Callum.
"I might offer my services in that capacity myself," observed
Owen, reservedly.
"I'm sure I don't know," returned Mrs. Butler, smiling, and at
the same time chewing a lusty mouthful. "You'll have to ast 'em,
my sons."
Aileen still persisted. She did not want to go. It was too sudden.
It was this. It was that. Just then old Butler came in and took
his seat at the head of the table. Knowing all about it, he was
most anxious to appear not to.
"You wouldn't object, Edward, would you?" queried his wife, explaining
the proposition in general.
"Object!" he echoed, with a well simulated but rough attempt at
gayety. "A fine thing I'd be doing for meself--objectin'. I'd
be glad if I could get shut of the whole pack of ye for a time."
"What talk ye have!" said his wife. "A fine mess you'd make of
it livin' alone."
"I'd not be alone, belave me," replied Butler. "There's many a
place I'd be welcome in this town--no thanks to ye."
"And there's many a place ye wouldn't have been if it hadn't been
for me. I'm tellin' ye that," retorted Mrs. Butler, genially.
"And that's not stretchin' the troot much, aither," he answered,
fondly.
Aileen was adamant. No amount of argument both on the part of
Norah and her mother had any effect whatever. Butler witnessed
the failure of his plan with considerable dissatisfaction, but
he was not through. When he was finally convinced that there was
no hope of persuading her to accept the Mollenhauer proposition,
he decided, after a while, to employ a detective.
At that time, the reputation of William A. Pinkerton, of detective
fame, and of his agency was great. The man had come up from poverty
through a series of vicissitudes to a high standing in his peculiar
and, to many, distasteful profession; but to any one in need of
such in themselves calamitous services, his very famous and decidedly
patriotic connection with the Civil War and Abraham Lincoln was a
recommendation. He, or rather his service, had guarded the latter
all his stormy incumbency at the executive mansion. There were
offices for the management of the company's business in Philadelphia,
Washington, and New York, to say nothing of other places. Butler
was familiar with the Philadelphia sign, but did not care to go
to the office there. He decided, once his mind was made up on
this score, that he would go over to New York, where he was told
the principal offices were.
He made the simple excuse one day of business, which was common
enough in his case, and journeyed to New York--nearly five hours
away as the trains ran then--arriving at two o'clock. At the
offices on lower Broadway, he asked to see the manager, whom he
found to be a large, gross-featured, heavy-bodied man of fifty,
gray-eyed, gray-haired, puffily outlined as to countenance, but
keen and shrewd, and with short, fat-fingered hands, which drummed
idly on his desk as he talked. He was dressed in a suit of
dark-brown wool cloth, which struck Butler as peculiarly showy,
and wore a large horseshoe diamond pin. The old man himself
invariably wore conservative gray.
"How do you do?" said Butler, when a boy ushered him into the
presence of this worthy, whose name was Martinson--Gilbert Martinson,
of American and Irish extraction. The latter nodded and looked
at Butler shrewdly, recognizing him at once as a man of force and
probably of position. He therefore rose and offered him a chair.
"Sit down," he said, studying the old Irishman from under thick,
bushy eyebrows. "What can I do for you?"
"You're the manager, are you?" asked Butler, solemnly, eyeing the
man with a shrewd, inquiring eye.
"Yes, sir," replied Martinson, simply. "That's my position here."
"This Mr. Pinkerton that runs this agency--he wouldn't be about
this place, now, would he?" asked Butler, carefully. "I'd like to
talk to him personally, if I might, meaning no offense to you."
"Mr. Pinkerton is in Chicago at present," replied Mr. Martinson.
"I don't expect him back for a week or ten days. You can talk to
me, though, with the same confidence that you could to him. I'm
the responsible head here. However, you're the best judge of that."
Butler debated with himself in silence for a few moments, estimating
the man before him. "Are you a family man yourself?" he asked,
oddly.
"Yes, sir, I'm married," replied Martinson, solemnly. "I have a
wife and two children."
Martinson, from long experience conceived that this must be a
matter of family misconduct--a son, daughter, wife. Such cases
were not infrequent.
"I thought I would like to talk to Mr. Pinkerton himself, but if
you're the responsible head--" Butler paused.
"I am," replied Martinson. "You can talk to me with the same
freedom that you could to Mr. Pinkerton. Won't you come into my
private office? We can talk more at ease in there."
He led the way into an adjoining room which had two windows looking
down into Broadway; an oblong table, heavy, brown, smoothly polished;
four leather-backed chairs; and some pictures of the Civil War
battles in which the North had been victorious. Butler followed
doubtfully. He hated very much to take any one into his confidence
in regard to Aileen. He was not sure that he would, even now.
He wanted to "look these fellys over," as he said in his mind. He
would decide then what he wanted to do. He went to one of the
windows and looked down into the street, where there was a perfect
swirl of omnibuses and vehicles of all sorts. Mr. Martinson quietly
closed the door.
"Now then, if there's anything I can do for you," Mr. Martinson
paused. He thought by this little trick to elicit Buder's real
name--it often "worked"-- but in this instance the name was not
forthcoming. Butler was too shrewd.
"I'm not so sure that I want to go into this," said the old man
solemnly. "Certainly not if there's any risk of the thing not
being handled in the right way. There's somethin' I want to find
out about--somethin' that I ought to know; but it's a very private
matter with me, and--" He paused to think and conjecture, looking
at Mr. Martinson the while. The latter understood his peculiar
state of mind. He had seen many such cases.
"Let me say right here, to begin with, Mr.--"
"Scanlon," interpolated Butler, easily; "that's as good a name as
any if you want to use one. I'm keepin' me own to meself for the
present."
"Scanlon," continued Martinson, easily. "I really don't care whether
it's your right name or not. I was just going to say that it might
not be necessary to have your right name under any circumstances--
it all depends upon what you want to know. But, so far as your
private affairs are concerned, they are as safe with us, as if you
had never told them to any one. Our business is built upon confidence,
and we never betray it. We wouldn't dare. We have men and women
who have been in our employ for over thirty years, and we never
retire any one except for cause, and we don't pick people who are
likely to need to be retired for cause. Mr. Pinkerton is a good
judge of men. There are others here who consider that they are.
We handle over ten thousand separate cases in all parts of the
United States every year. We work on a case only so long as we
are wanted. We try to find out only such things as our customers
want. We do not pry unnecessarily into anybody's affairs. If we
decide that we cannot find out what you want to know, we are the
first to say so. Many cases are rejected right here in this office
before we ever begin. Yours might be such a one. We don't want
cases merely for the sake of having them, and we are frank to say
so. Some matters that involve public policy, or some form of small
persecution, we don't touch at all--we won't be a party to them.
You can see how that is. You look to me to be a man of the world.
I hope I am one. Does it strike you that an organization like ours
would be likely to betray any one's confidence?" He paused and
looked at Butler for confirmation of what he had just said.
"It wouldn't seem likely," said the latter; "that's the truth.
It's not aisy to bring your private affairs into the light of day,
though," added the old man, sadly.
They both rested.
"Well," said Butler, finally, "you look to me to be all right, and
I'd like some advice. Mind ye, I'm willing to pay for it well
enough; and it isn't anything that'll be very hard to find out. I
want to know whether a certain man where I live is goin' with a
certain woman, and where. You could find that out aisy enough, I
belave--couldn't you?"
"Nothing easier," replied Martinson. "We are doing it all the
time. Let me see if I can help you just a moment, Mr. Scanlon,
in order to make it easier for you. It is very plain to me that
you don't care to tell any more than you can help, and we don't
care to have you tell any more than we absolutely need. We will
have to have the name of the city, of course, and the name of either
the man or the woman; but not necessarily both of them, unless you
want to help us in that way. Sometimes if you give us the name of
one party--say the man, for illustration--and the description of
the woman--an accurate one--or a photograph, we can tell you after
a little while exactly what you want to know. Of course, it's
always better if we have full information. You suit yourself about
that. Tell me as much or as little as you please, and I'll guarantee
that we will do our best to serve you, and that you will be satisfied
afterward."
He smiled genially.
"Well, that bein' the case," said Butler, finally taking the leap,
with many mental reservations, however, "I'll be plain with you.
My name's not Scanlon. It's Butler. I live in Philadelphy. There's
a man there, a banker by the name of Cowperwood--Frank A. Cowperwood--"
"Wait a moment," said Martinson, drawing an ample pad out of his
pocket and producing a lead-pencil; "I want to get that. How do
you spell it?"
Butler told him.
"Yes; now go on."
"He has a place in Third Street--Frank A. Cowperwood--any one can
show you where it is. He's just failed there recently."
"Oh, that's the man," interpolated Martinson. "I've heard of him.
He's mixed up in some city embezzlement case over there. I suppose
the reason you didn't go to our Philadelphia office is because you
didn't want our local men over there to know anything about it.
Isn't that it?"
"That's the man, and that's the reason," said Butler. "I don't care
to have anything of this known in Philadelphy. That's why I'm here.
This man has a house on Girard Avenue--Nineteen-thirty-seven. You
can find that out, too, when you get over there."
"Yes," agreed Mr. Martinson.
"Well, it's him that I want to know about--him--and a certain woman,
or girl, rather." The old man paused and winced at this necessity
of introducing Aileen into the case. He could scarcely think of
it--he was so fond of her. He had been so proud of Aileen. A dark,
smoldering rage burned in his heart against Cowperwood.
"A relative of yours--possibly, I suppose," remarked Martinson,
tactfully. "You needn't tell me any more--just give me a description
if you wish. We may be able to work from that." He saw quite
clearly what a fine old citizen in his way he was dealing with here,
and also that the man was greatly troubled. Butler's heavy,
meditative face showed it. "You can be quite frank with me, Mr.
Butler," he added; "I think I understand. We only want such
information as we must have to help you, nothing more."
"Yes," said the old man, dourly. "She is a relative. She's me
daughter, in fact. You look to me like a sensible, honest man.
I'm her father, and I wouldn't do anything for the world to harm
her. It's tryin' to save her I am. It's him I want." He suddenly
closed one big fist forcefully.
Martinson, who had two daughters of his own, observed the suggestive
movement.
"I understand how you feel, Mr. Butler," he observed. "I am a
father myself. We'll do all we can for you. If you can give me
an accurate description of her, or let one of my men see her at
your house or office, accidentally, of course, I think we can tell
you in no time at all if they are meeting with any regularity.
That's all you want to know, is it--just that?"
"That's all," said Butler, solemnly.
"Well, that oughtn't to take any time at all, Mr. Butler--three
or four days possibly, if we have any luck--a week, ten days, two
weeks. It depends on how long you want us to shadow him in case
there is no evidence the first few days."
"I want to know, however long it takes," replied Butler, bitterly.
"I want to know, if it takes a month or two months or three to find
out. I want to know." The old man got up as he said this, very
positive, very rugged. "And don't send me men that haven't sinse--
lots of it, plase. I want men that are fathers, if you've got
'em--and that have sinse enough to hold their tongues--not b'ys."
"I understand, Mr. Butler," Martinson replied. "Depend on it,
you'll have the best we have, and you can trust them. They'll
be discreet. You can depend on that. The way I'll do will be
to assign just one man to the case at first, some one you can see
for yourself whether you like or not. I'll not tell him anything.
You can talk to him. If you like him, tell him, and he'll do the
rest. Then, if he needs any more help, he can get it. What is
your address?"
Butler gave it to him.
"And there'll be no talk about this?"
"None whatever--I assure you."
"And when'll he be comin' along?"
"To-morrow, if you wish. I have a man I could send to-night. He
isn't here now or I'd have him talk with you. I'll talk to him,
though, and make everything clear. You needn't worry about anything.
Your daughter's reputation will be safe in his hands."
"Thank you kindly," commented Butler, softening the least bit in
a gingerly way. "I'm much obliged to you. I'll take it as a great
favor, and pay you well."
"Never mind about that, Mr. Butler," replied Martinson. "You're
welcome to anything this concern can do for you at its ordinary rates."
He showed Butler to the door, and the old man went out. He was
feeling very depressed over this--very shabby. To think he should
have to put detectives on the track of his Aileen, his daughter! _
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