Excerpt
CHAPTER I.
THE SAME OLD INCIDENT OF A MISSING BEAUTY—A WIDOW'S NARRATIVE—AN AROUSED INTEREST—THE POSSIBILITIES IN A NAME—STARTLING SUGGESTIONS—WAS IT A CLUE.
"Mr. Alvarez, I am very poor; I cannot offer you a large reward, but I have saved a few hundred dollars, and those I will give you if you are successful in finding my lost child."
Jack Alvarez, the detective, was seated in his office when a veiled woman entered and addressed him in the language with which we open our narrative.
The detective was a kind-hearted man, well-to-do financially, and as it occurred not immediately engaged on any special job. He looked the visitor over a moment and then said:
"Madam, before I can entertain your proposition at all, I must see your face."
"Is that necessary, sir?"
"It is."
"I am sorry."
"Why?"
"Simply because I fear that you will be so shocked you will not aid me."
"Why will I be shocked, madam? Are you a criminal?"
"I am an honest woman, sir, but oh, how bitter has been my life—yes, sir, it has been one of humiliation and suffering, and now there has come to me this terrible sorrow. It may prove even a greater sorrow than I at present dare anticipate, but I trust not."
"You need not fear to show me your face."
"May I first tell you my story, sir?"
"Yes."
"I was left an orphan at a very early age. I was reared in an institution until I was able to go out to work. I never knew my parents, I never knew my real name. I was deserted in my infancy and I grew up to be quite a fair-looking girl. I can say this now, sir, without any feeling of exultation, for what beauty I may once have possessed vanished in one night, and I am now hideous to look at. When I left the asylum in which I had been placed I went to live with a very kind family, and at the age of twenty I married a poor but very worthy man. My little daughter was five years old when one night our little family was aroused by the barking of our dog. We lived up in the country in New York State. My husband was an invalid and slept in a room adjoining the one I occupied with my child. As I told you, I was aroused by the barking of our dog; I knew it meant danger, and I leaped from my bed and instantly discovered that our little home was on fire. I rushed down the one flight of stairs with my child in my arms, and then returned to aid my husband to escape, but, alas! I was overcome by smoke and flame and fell unconscious, and would have been consumed had not a neighbor rushed in and dragged me forth. I was saved, but when the fire was subdued and they entered the room of my husband, they found him dead. He had been suffocated, and I, alas! was horribly disfigured for life, being terribly burned in the face. This, sir, is a part of my story. I am terribly scarred and, now if you still desire to see my face I will remove my veil before continuing my story."
"Madam, you need not be ashamed to remove your veil. Your scars were honorably won; you should be proud—yes, I will look upon your face."
The woman removed her veil, and indeed she did have two ghastly looking scars, but she had exaggerated her disfigurement, for despite the scars hers was not an uncomely face to look upon. Her eyes were beautiful, and the detective was led to say with chivalrous truth and gallantry:
"Madam, you may once have been so beautiful, over-sensitiveness causes you to exaggerate your misfortune, but enough, tell me your story. Tell me about the loss of your child."
The woman's voice was very musical; she spoke in low tones and her pronunciation and general demeanor betrayed the fact that gentle blood ran in her veins....