Despite the fact that the arrangement was very advantageous to me from a financial standpoint, the time came when I simply couldn’t put up with it any longer. Day by day, Corrine Lansing became progressively worse. I had reason to believe she was completely unbalanced on some things. Carmen told me Corrine had threatened to kill me if I should try to leave her.
Under the circumstances, I feared to have an open break lest she might become violent. In short, the woman had developed a fierce, passionate attachment for me and insisted that I be near her all the time. It was quite apparent that she was rapidly becoming a mental case. She wanted to monopolize me. There was a definite desire to dominate, which not only annoyed but frightened me. It seems she had a well-developed persecution complex and had decided someone was trying to poison her and that having me constantly with her was her only protection.
I felt sorry for her, but I began to feel afraid for myself and I know Carmen Monterrey was equally afraid.
It happened that events made it necessary for George Alder to fly to South America, bringing some papers for Corrine to sign, and on the day he was due to arrive and while she was at the beauty parlor I packed my bags and left a note for her saying I had been unexpectedly called back home by a telegram informing me a close relative was very ill and not expected to live. Anticipating that she would go to the beauty parlor before meeting her half brother, I had previously reserved passage on a Pan American airplane flying north.
I fancied myself well free of an embarrassing entanglement and thought no more about it for weeks after my return. Then I read in the papers that Corrine was supposed to be dead, that she had disappeared on the afternoon of the day I had left and no one had ever been able to find so much as a trace of her.
For a while it had been assumed she had merely wandered off in a fit of despondency. She had, it seemed, been much upset by the departure of “a friend,” and it was feared had gone to look for her. With the passage of time it was assumed she must have met with some fatal accident.
Detectives were employed and searched without getting any tangible results. It was, however, definitely established that the woman was mentally unbalanced at the time of Tier disappearance.
Naturally, upon reading this, I went to see George S. Alder and told him what I knew and offered to help in any way I could. I felt conscience-stricken because I knew Corrine had gone to search for me when she disappeared.
Alder was at first very grateful, and then became friendly, and I am frank to admit that I was foolish enough to feel that perhaps there was something more to his friendship than just a desire to see that the evidence concerning his sister’s death was properly established.
I had told George Alder I would take a cruise with him and had been looking forward to it with a great deal of pleasure. However, just before we embarked upon this cruise, I had occasion to go to the mental hospital at Los Merritos. I was leaving when in the yard I saw a woman whom I first thought to be a ghost
It was Corrine Lansing!
I stood staring at her as though transfixed, and she looked at me with that peculiar gleam of an insane person in her eyes, but nevertheless she recognized me. She said, “Minerva! What are you doing here? Minerva, Minerva, Minervar and started screaming until an attendant rushed to her and told her she mustn’t excite herself. By that time, Corrine was hysterical and violent, and she was rushed to a room where she could be treated.
By discreet inquiries I learned that this woman had been picked up on the streets of Los Angeles, wandering as in a dream. She seemed to know nothing about herself and had never been able to give a name, or the names of any relatives. At times she would claim to be one person, at times another, each time giving a different name. Then at times she could remember no name to give, but would sit helpless and distraught.
Very much upset and completely unnerved, I hastened to find George Alder so I could tell him what I had found.
George Alder was not aboard the yacht when I arrived, and no one seemed to know where he was. I waited for him to return, but, when he had not come aboard by ten o’clock, I left word that he was to call me, and went to my cabin to wait.
I had had a fatiguing day. I stretched out on the couch and was soon asleep. I was awakened from that sleep by the sound of the engines and, from the motion of the yacht, realized we were at sea and that there was a heavy sea running. Moreover, the wind was howling about the yacht so that I knew a sudden storm had descended upon us.
I rang for the steward and asked him, despite the lateness of the hour, to get in touch with George Alder, and tell him I must see him at once.
George sent back word that a sudden terrific wind-storm had descended upon us and that he was busy with the yacht, but would come just as soon as he could. It was just an hour ago, at two o’clock in the morning, that George came to my cabin.
I told him what had transpired. He asked me several shrewd questions, and then asked me several times whether I had repeated what had happened to anyone.
At the time I was too stupid to realize what he had in mind. I was rather proud of my reticence in keeping my own counsel until I could bring the news to George Alder because I knew how he disliked newspaper notoriety.
I am now trying to make allowances for the fact that I have had a very trying experience, that the events of the last twenty-four hours have been such as to shock me greatly. But, despite all of my attempts to discount what has happened and account for it as being nerves, I am filled with apprehension.
George Alder sat in my cabin after I had told him my story and looked at me with steady, appraising eyes.
I began to feel uneasy. It was as though a snake were trying to charm a bird.
“You’re sine you haven’t told anyone, Minerva?” he asked.
“Not a soul,” I said, “You can trust my sense of discretion on that.”
And then suddenly I saw in his eyes that same look which I had seen in the eyes of his sister, the look of an insane person contemplating some peculiarly cunning means of attaining an end. He arose without a word, tinned toward the door, paused in the doorway, fumbled with the lock for a moment, gave me once more that queer look, and then went out and slammed the door behind him.
I suddenly felt myself filled with apprehension. I wanted to be put ashore. I wanted to communicate with someone. I ran to the door.
It was locked. George had locked it from the outside as he went out.
I flung myself against the door and pounded with my fists. I kicked. I pulled at the knob and I screamed.
Nothing happened. The noise of the storm was howling about the yacht. The hull was creaking and groaning with the strains and stresses set up by the huge waves. Wind shrieked through the rigging. The crashing waves made my screams seem weak and puny.
I have repeatedly tried ringing for the steward. Nothing happens. I have tried telephoning. The line is dead. I realize now that George has cut the wires leading from my cabin.