The Mystery of Murray Davenport | Page 2

off the
streets with impatience as he sat in a north-bound car, and finally cover
with flying feet the long block to the Savoy Hotel. Wet but radiant, he
was, after due announcement, shown into the drawing-room of a suite,
where he was kept waiting, alone with his thumping heart, for ten
minutes. At the end of that time a young lady came in with a swish
from the next room.
She was a small creature, excellently shaped, and gowned--though for
indoors--like a girl in a fashion plate. Her head was thrown back in a

poise that showed to the best effect her clear-cut features; and she
marched forward in a dauntless manner. She had dark brown hair
arranged in loose waves, and, though her eyes were blue, her flawless
skin was of a brunette tone. A hint has been given as to Mr. Larcher's
conceit--which, by the way, had suffered a marvellous change to
humility in the presence of his admired--but it was a small and
superficial thing compared with the self-satisfaction of Miss Edna, and
yet hers sat upon her with a serenity which, taking her sex also into
consideration, made it much less noticeable.
"Well, this is a pleasure!" he cried, rapturously, jumping up to meet
her.
"Hello, Tom!" she said, placidly, giving him her hands for a moment.
"You needn't look apprehensively at that door. Aunt Clara's with me, of
course, but she's gone to see a sick friend in Fifty-eighth Street. We
have at least an hour to ourselves."
"An hour. Well, it's a lot, considering I had no hope of seeing you at
this time of year. When I got your telegram--"
"I suppose you were surprised. To think of being in New York in
August!--and to find such horrid weather, too! But it's better than a hot
wave. I haven't any shopping to do--any real shopping, that is, though I
invented some for an excuse to come. I can do it in five minutes, with a
cab. But I came just to see you."
"How kind of you, dearest. But honestly? It seems too good to be true."
The young man spoke sincerely.
"It's true, all the same. I'll tell you why in a few minutes. Sit down and
be comfortable,--at this table. I know you must feel damp. Here's some
wine I saved from dinner on purpose; and these cakes. I mustn't order
anything from the hotel--Auntie would see it in the bill. But if you'd
prefer a cup of tea--and I could manage some toast."
"No, thanks; the wine and cakes are just the thing--with you to share
them. How thoughtful of you!"
She poured a glass of Hockheimer, and sat opposite him at the small
table. He took a sip, and, with a cake in his hand, looked delightedly
across at his hostess.
"There's something I want you to do for me," she answered, sitting
composedly back in her chair, in an attitude as graceful as comfortable.
"Nothing would make me happier."

"Do you know a man in New York named Murray Davenport?" she
asked.
"No," replied Larcher, wonderingly.
"I'm sorry, because if you knew him already it would be easier. But I
should have thought you'd know him; he's in your profession, more or
less--that is, he writes a little for magazines and newspapers. But,
besides that, he's an artist, and then sometimes he has something to do
with theatres."
"I never heard of him. But," said Larcher, in a somewhat melancholy
tone, "there are so many who write for magazines and newspapers."
"I suppose so; but if you make it an object, you can find out about him,
of course. That's a part of your profession, anyhow, isn't it?--going
about hunting up facts for the articles you write. So it ought to be easy,
making inquiries about this Murray Davenport, and getting to know
him."
"Oh, am I to do that?" Mr. Larcher's wonder grew deeper.
"Yes; and when you know him, you must learn exactly how he is
getting along; how he lives; whether he is well, and comfortable, and
happy, or the reverse, and all that. In fact, I want a complete report of
how he fares."
"Upon my soul, you must be deeply interested in the man," said
Larcher, somewhat poutingly.
"Oh, you make a great mistake if you think I'd lose sleep over any
man," she said, with lofty coolness. "But there are reasons why I must
find out about this one. Naturally I came first to you. Of course, if you
hesitate, and hem and haw--" She stopped, with the faintest shrug of the
shoulders.
"You might tell me the reasons, dear," he said, humbly.
"I can't. It isn't my secret. But I've undertaken to have this information
got, and, if you're willing to do