TALE EIGHT. THE VICTIM OF A DRUG.

“I am sorry,” said the girl, “that you have concluded to abandon the detective business, for I am sure that you accomplished much good while thus engaged.”

If I had not been attracted by the strong personality of the speaker I should have been favorably impressed with the sincerity of her tone. She was pale, very pale; her eyes were large and brown. As she spoke she gazed on me with the languid expression so in keeping with one of great volume of earnestness. Her nose was thin; I might say drawn and pinched; her lips as red as cherries, parted slightly as the soft words left them, showing a mouth full of regular, well-kept teeth. The forehead was not higher than the ordinary, but it made a fitting support for the crown of dark brown hair, which was artistically dressed in a manner to form a frame about the face, which seemingly did not end at the chin, as most faces do, but it was possessed of a broadness and deepness of nature which illumined the pallid cheeks on either side back as far as the little, thin ears.

She was not large, neither could she be considered under size, not altogether on account of her stature, which might have seemed diminutive to the eye in search of physical development, but rather because the intelligence which this creature possessed seemed to reach out and permeate every nook and corner of the lavishly furnished parlor.

“I thank you for your kindly allusion and feel that if I have been the cause of good that there must have been some good enveloped in the subjects with which I had to deal during my professional career. In pursuance of the fact that good may come from good, I have retired from the secret service business and am now preparing a work which will be largely based upon the experience of former days. I find it necessary for me to glean from others some of the facts of their lives in order that I may not digress from the truth and that the twenty stories that will compose my book may be hinged upon different modes of existence, hence my call upon you to-day.

“I well remember the last words you uttered when I left you in a convalescent condition in the hospital: ‘If I can ever serve you, command me.’ I am not here to command you, but to ask you for your life’s story.”

“And did you know, Mr. Spencer, that if you are put in possession of the facts as they exist, that you will have something which the world knows nothing of?”

“I trust, however, that you will place in me the confidence of your history.”

“But what time in life do you desire that I begin?”

“I want you to tell me how you happened to come to Chicago before I ever met you.”

At this request the woman seemed to draw herself together and with a movement of her figure that impressed me as a straightening out process, she began by saying:

“I came to Chicago when I was sixteen. I came to visit my aunt. It was during my last year in high school. I don’t believe I had ever known what love was. I had lost my mother when an infant. My father was a stereotyped business man, with so many affairs to keep his mind employed that he evidently did not have the time nor inclination to take me in his arms and show me any devotion whatever. I had two brothers, both of them several years my senior, and by the time I was old enough to appreciate the brotherly protection and love which their existence might have afforded me they were married. True, I had my school day episodes of note writing and had indulged in the blissful pastime of a few kissing parties, but never the full realization of loving caresses.

“I had been in the city three days when I met a young man. I was quick to listen to his avowal of love. It seemed to bring to me new joys; it directed my feet into newer and brighter paths of life and all wound up with an elopement and a marriage, after which I wrote to my father for his blessing and, as I have since learned through the influence of my step-mother, received his curse. His cold letter informing me that if I wished to return to the old home and continue in my studies as I had suggested, that he would certainly offer no objection, as I was now mistress of my own affairs, and if I chose to continue in school he could see no reason why I should not do so, as the school house still remained. Of course, I didn’t go. I fell ill and this necessitated the absence of my husband from his duties for such a long time that he lost his position.

“When I regained my health I set out to find employment, and met with partial success. That is, I could have the position on conditions, one of them being that I was not married and that I would not marry while in their employ. I was compelled to sign an affidavit to that effect.

“The position which I obtained seemed to me of little importance. I was reception lady in the office of a coterie of physicians, who announced themselves on gayly printed circulars as the medical staff of a certain institution, each one being a specialist in treating different afflictions. My duties required me to report at the office at 10 in the morning and remain there until 4 in the afternoon. I went along in the even tenor of my way for six months, during which time my husband was searching for employment. He came to me one day, the first time that he had been in the office since my entrance there, to tell me that he had a position offered him, but that he must acknowledge that he was married, as the gentleman who wished to employ him could not engage a single man.

“Our work was to consist of caring for an invalid who was kept in a beautiful cottage in the outskirts of the city.

“We fully considered the conditions, terms, etc., and decided to accept the trust. I gave notice to my employers that I should leave, but agreed to remain one week through courtesy. Three days before I was to leave a gentleman of middle age, one who often came to the office and held long consultations with one or two members of the staff and frequently went away with them, came out of the private office of one of the physicians and approached me, saying: ‘Much to my regret, I have just learned that you are about to leave the establishment. I have a little gift here which I wish to give you in consideration of your kind treatment of me during my many calls.’”

As the girl’s voice fell and ended in a soft monotone she drew from her bosom a little chamois pouch and took from that a ring set with a beautiful diamond.

“And this,” she said, as she touched it with her lips, while the tears which gleamed in her eyes outshone the gem itself, “this I have kept.”

“I suppose there must be some little sentiment clinging to the bitter cruelty which makes it as precious to you as the sweet violets are to the lover of dainty flowers.”

“Yes,” she said, “the fact that I have kept this ring is, in part, the reason of my long suffering, but as it was given to me, according to my belief, in purity, I kept it in memory of the thoughts which emanated from my heart when I took it. My mind was as pure then as the gem itself. If I have become contaminated by adversity I can proudly say that this gleaming white stone, on account of its flinty hardness, has escaped the fire of degradation.

“It was five days subsequent to our going to the cottage that my husband and I were seated on the veranda of our little cottage, congratulating ourselves on having secured such an easy position and liberal compensation for the light services rendered.

“‘I wonder,’ said Dan, ‘why the old gentleman doesn’t take her to some private hospital, where she could receive proper medical attention, as well as the benefit of trained nurses?’

“‘But you know, dear,’ said I, ‘that a rich man does not like to have his daughter in an asylum; and besides I don’t think we should complain, because the care of this poor girl is not a great burden and her unbalanced condition serves for us to be together all the time.’

“‘Yes, I know,’ said Dannie; ‘but I can’t stand it to hear her moan and weep the way she does. Sometimes in the night when I am but half asleep her screams and groans disturb me so that I get to dreaming somehow or other that it is you who are locked up in that horrible but softly padded room. It is so real that it is like a nightmare, and finally, as I fancy myself struggling against a wall trying to free you, with a mighty lunge I awake, and while I then know it is only a dream I am dripping with cold perspiration. My nerves are all unstrung, and I feel just like reaching over and taking you in my arms and running away, leaving the old man and his crazy daughter far behind.’”

“Then it really was a crazy girl you had to care for?”

“Oh, yes. You see, this old gentleman had married years ago. I remember how he told us all about it. How his sweet young wife had been killed in a railroad accident and his little daughter went raving mad when her mother’s mangled form was brought home to her. And he seemed to be doing all he could to make the poor demented creature happy.”

At this she laughed discordantly. It seemed so out of place to me, for to look at her and hear her voice was to be inspired with a sense of harmony.

“I left my chair and went over to him. I crawled up into his lap and nestled my face against his. ‘You mustn’t dream that way, dear,’ said I. ‘It is bad for you, and besides you know I am always by your side.’

“One day when I had gone to the city to do some shopping the man who had engaged my husband came out to the cottage to have a talk with him. When I came home I found my husband all excitement.

“‘What in the world is the matter with you?’ said I. ‘Mr. Leighton was here to-day and he wants me to leave you in direct charge of things here while I go out West and look after his interests in the oil fields.’ He had given him a week in which to decide whether or not he would go, but I could see that Dannie feared to refuse. I cried and clung to him, for I couldn’t bear to be separated from him; so he decided not to go.

“When he went to the city to meet Mr. Leighton and give him his decision Mr. Leighton was quite haughty and seemed offended. He as good as told Dan that if he did not go he would have to find some one else to go to the cottage and take care of the invalid.

“Dan came home thoroughly disheartened. I tried to cheer him and said maybe I could go with him, but he said no, he had asked Mr. Leighton about that and he had very decidedly said that it would not do. We talked it all over quietly and the question resolved itself into a matter of dollars and cents. If Dan refused to go we must give up the cottage, and that meant all our income. If he went he would be well paid in addition to the amount we received for the care of the cottage. So we decided that it was best for him to go and we would try and save enough money to start in business.

“After Dannie left I took up the duties of nurse, for which I was not altogether unfitted, being patient and persevering.

“Mr. Leighton’s daughter was as frail as a lily, and when I took her meals in to her I used to sit and watch her and wonder how she lived, for she ate almost nothing.

“I concluded it must be the medicine which she took in the wine that gave her the little vitality she possessed.

“She rarely noticed me and I am sure my coming and going was of no interest to her. She was not often violent these days; on the contrary, she was very tractable.

“Two weeks had passed since Dannie left and I had had three letters from him, all of which breathed of his love and devotion to me and bade me be cheerful, that the time would soon pass and we would be reunited. No word had been received from Mr. Leighton yet, and I was just wondering what had become of him when the bell rang. When I was called down to the parlor whom should I meet but the kind gentleman who gave me the ring, Mr. Price.

“‘I am ever so glad to see you,’ said I; but I don’t believe my tones half expressed my feelings, for I was so lonely there, all alone with that poor girl, with only the servants for companions. Our cottage was built in the center of a large plot of ground, and there were no houses very near us. Mr. Leighton told Dan that he had built the house that way purposely, so Lita’s ravings would not disturb the neighbors.

“‘How in the world did you happen to come here, Mr. Price?’ said I.

“‘Well, you see—I—I am Lita’s father.’

“‘Why, what do you mean? Lita’s father’s name is Mr. Leighton.’

“‘Yes, I know; but I can explain it all to you in a few moments. It is such a terrible thing, I could not endure to have it generally known that my daughter was hopelessly insane, so when I arranged to have her brought here I decided it was best to have her known as Lita Leighton.’

“‘Oh, yes,’ said I, ‘it must be very terrible to have such a misfortune befall a member of one’s family; but you surely couldn’t call it a disgrace.’

“‘Well, perhaps not; but, you know, it would injure my business if it were known. But what are you doing here?’ he said.

“‘Why, I am Dannie’s wife.’

“He seemed to be greatly surprised, and asked me why I did not tell him long before. I told him that I could not occupy the position which I held when he first met me if it had become known that I was married. I followed on with my whole life’s story, and he shed tears at my recital of woes and my father’s unkind treatment.

“‘How I should have cherished such a beautiful daughter,’ said he, and came over to my chair, bent over and kissed me. ‘Won’t you be a daughter to me in place of my poor demented Lita?’

“My heart went out to him then and there, and I put my arms around his neck and kissed him.

“By and by we went in to see Lita. At the sight of her father and me she ran into the furthest corner and no amount of coaxing could induce her to come out. Finally he asked me to leave him alone with her. Just as I was leaving I saw him give her her medicine.

“‘Oh,’ I exclaimed, ‘it is not time to give her that yet.’

“‘It is harmless enough,’ he said, closing the door.

“He remained in her room an hour or more and left the house soon after. At parting he said: ‘I shall come out often now, because I have two daughters instead of one to visit.’

“That night Lita was very violent. She shrieked and moaned most pitifully. My heart ached for her, but I did not dare to go to her while she was in such a state.

“At last she fell asleep, I suppose, for she ceased her ravings. When I took her breakfast to her the following morning I found her prone upon the floor, with hands clinched together as if in mortal agony. I was horror-stricken. I had never seen her like this before and had never heard that she had spells like this.

“She looked like death, and without regard to the strict orders we had had, never to call in a stranger, I fairly flew to the nearest doctor’s office.

“He responded at once, and after heroic treatments revived her. He asked to see the medicine we had been giving her. I showed it to him and he examined it critically, then looked grave.

“‘This is a drug which should not be administered except in an extreme case and then only in small doses,’ he said.

“Then I explained to him how her father had been there and how Lita had acted, and that it must have been necessary or he would not have given it. He told me I must not give her any more of it for three days and at the end of that time he would call again.

“After he had gone I went in to see Lita and she seemed brighter than I had ever seen her. On the evening of the second day she showed real interest in things and had a good appetite. There was a faint tinge of red in her cheeks and she was almost pretty.

“She asked me who I was and what my name was.

“‘I am your nurse, and you have been very ill, but are getting better now,’ said I, ‘and my name is quite a little like yours; it is Anita.’

“I was so delighted at her apparent improvement that I determined to write her father the good news, but on second thought concluded I would not, as he had said he would come out often.

“On the third day the doctor called and was greatly pleased at his patient’s progress. ‘Just continue to give her this tonic and keep the other away from her,’ said he.

“‘I think you had better not tell her father what we have done if he calls soon; better wait a couple of weeks and surprise him.’

“Then I thought of my orders not to call in a stranger and told the doctor about it. He passed the matter by as a trifle, saying: ‘They probably feared the excitement.’

“Two weeks passed and no Mr. Leighton and no word from Dannie. I was getting desperate at Dannie’s neglect and telegraphed him. The telegram came back, so I knew it had not found him. Mr. Leighton came the same afternoon and found me a pitiful looking object. My eyes were red and swollen with weeping.

“‘What is the matter with you, little daughter?’ said he, kissing me on each cheek.

“I told him about Dannie and he begged me not to worry; that he was probably out of town in the oil fields and too busy to write.

“We went in together to see Lita, and she acted as she had done on the previous occasion when he called. He did not stay long with her, but devoted most of his time to me, trying to cheer me up, which he certainly knew how to do. He remained to dinner and brought out some of the wine which we kept for Lita’s use.

“After dinner I felt so drowsy that I laid down and he covered me up carefully and told me to take a good sleep; that he would take a late train to the city.

“That was the last innocent sleep I had. When I awoke, in the night, I was undressed and in bed. I could not think where I was, and when I turned I thought Dannie was there and I put my arms about him.

“When morning came—ah! how can I tell it?” she said shuddering. “When morning came—well, I knew I was no longer what I had been—a true wife.”

“Mr. Leighton was very tender to me and tried to soothe my feverish unrest, and after awhile I passed into a quiet slumber. When I awoke I was alone. It was late in the afternoon and I thought with a start of Lita.

“When I entered her room she came toward me with outstretched arms.

“‘I am so glad to see you, Anita,’ she said. ‘Where have you been all this time? If you had not locked me in so securely, I should have found you before this time.’ She pulled me down on her cot and said: ‘I want to tell you something.’

“I always indulged her whims, so I sat down beside her.

“‘You have been so good to me that I have learned to love you, Anita, and I want you to love me, too; but I have much to tell you, and maybe you will hate me when you have heard all,’ she said, her lips quivering.

“I was surprised at her rational manner, yet delighted. I put my arms around her and said: ‘Tell me all, Lita. I shall not hate you, no matter how bad it is.’

“‘You think I am crazy, but I am not,’ she said, ‘although I have had enough to make me so in the past two years. My senses have been so benumbed since I have been here that I don’t know all I have done. I have had a terrible experience, and my mother is the cause of it all. Several years ago my father began to speculate; he was a wealthy man at that time, but with the speculation the trouble began. He became deeply involved, and when one of his creditors fell on him and demanded a settlement he collapsed. My mother met the man and he demanded me as the price of liquidation. Rather than suffer the financial loss and the disgrace of the penitentiary, which stared my father in the face, my mother sold my honor, my virtue, my all to this scoundrel who poses as my father. He took me abroad with him and traveled with me as my husband. He was ideally kind to me for more than a year, or until he had worn me out and my health began to fail. Little by little he began to neglect me, and at last I was furious. One night when he did condescend to come home I met him at my door with a revolver and told him to take another step at his peril. This was the beginning of the end. As soon as we returned to this country he brought me directly to Chicago, where he had me examined and pronounced of unsound mind. After that he kept me under the influence of some opiate and the next thing I knew I was here, in this cottage. It is no wonder I have acted insane, no wonder they padded this room to keep me from doing myself violence. Every time he came here he gave me more medicine and then treated me with every indignity possible. I grew to loathe him and feared the very sight of him. Since this doctor came I feel so much better, and I am going to get well and punish that vile man.’

“I was so filled with dismay I could only gasp: ‘And this man isn’t your father after all?’

“‘No, indeed,’ she said.

“Well, as you may imagine, my suspicions were aroused; yet I felt, too, the whole story might be the vagary of her imagination.

“After thinking it over I resolved to tell Mr. Leighton all. While he talked to me and I was under his mesmeric influence my suspicions were lulled to rest and I felt that he was the best and kindest man I had ever met.

“One day soon after this I received a telegram stating that Dannie was dead. I got Mr. Leighton to investigate the matter and he found it was too true. He had been killed and robbed. For a time I was inconsolable, and it was then that Mr. Leighton was most tender. When I began to recover from the blow I wondered why he had not asked me to be his wife, for he had often told me he loved me better than his life. I waited several weeks and he said no word, so I finally decided to speak of the matter myself, thinking he might feel reticent considering my recent bereavement.

“When I did muster up courage to speak to him he said: ‘Why, my dear, when I marry and give a woman my name she must be pure.’

“‘And if I am not pure, who is to blame?’ said I, quivering with rage.

“‘There, there, we won’t talk about it any more,’ said he.

“He went away and left me in an agony of despair. I went to Lita’s room and told her the whole story, for I knew she was rational and had told me the truth.

“When I had sobbed out all my troubles on her breast she soothed me and said: ‘Listen, Anita, you will believe me, I am sure, so I will tell you something. Dr. Snyder, whom you called in that day I was so ill, has learned to love me. He knows all my story and is willing to marry me. We were going to run away from here together at the first opportunity. If you will, you shall go with us. We are going to have a beautiful home on Drexel Boulevard, and you will be a most welcome guest.’”

“I suppose this is the place,” said I. “You certainly have a lovely home.”

“Yes, and Lita has more than repaid me for what I did for her. The doctor went to the doctors who employed me before we took the cottage and learned all about his doings. He had him arrested and he is now languishing in jail. Dannie will be here in three days now. Oh, I am so happy!”

“Dannie! Why, I thought you said he was dead?”

“Oh, you see, that was a part of Mr. Leighton’s nefarious plot. He intercepted all the letters that passed between Dannie and me and bribed a man to send that telegram to me; then sent a man to Dannie to prove I was untrue to him.

“He seemed to be highly successful in carrying out his plans for a long time, but you see he was caught in his own toils.

“Dr. Snyder was so kind that he went out West and searched for Dannie until he found him and told him all and Dannie forgave everything. He had invested some of his money in the oil lands there and we will have plenty of money now, for they turned out well. He was coming to me on the first train, but the doctor prevailed upon him to stay and finish up his affairs first, so that he would not lose anything.

“Just think! only three days more until we are reunited.”