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<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Crevice, by William John Burns and Isabel
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<p>Title: The Crevice</p>
<p>Author: William John Burns and Isabel Ostrander</p>
<p>Release Date: July 6, 2009 [eBook #29331]</p>
<p>Language: English</p>
<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREVICE***</p>
<p> </p>
<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Roger Frank, Darleen Dove,<br />
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<tr><td>
<p style="font-size:2.3em; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:1.5em; text-align:center;">THE CREVICE</p>
<p style="font-size:1.3em; margin-bottom:3em; text-align:center;">
<span style="font-size:0.7em;">BY</span><br />WILLIAM J. BURNS<br /><span style="font-size:0.7em;">AND</span><br />ISABEL OSTRANDER</p>
<p style="font-size:1.1em; margin-bottom:3.5em; text-align:center;">
<span style="font-size:0.8em; font-variant:small-caps;">illustrations by</span><br />WILL GREFÉ</p>
<div class='figcenter'><img src='images/crevice-emb.png' alt="" /></div>
<p style="font-size:1.1em; margin-top:3.5em; margin-bottom:1em; letter-spacing:0.2em; text-align:center;">
NEW YORK<br />
<span style="font-size:1.3em; letter-spacing:0.25em;">GROSSET & DUNLAP</span><br />
PUBLISHERS</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
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<hr class='pb' />
<p style="text-align:center; font-variant:small-caps;">Copyright, 1915, by<br /></p>
<p style="text-align:center">W. J. WATT & COMPANY</p>
<hr class='micro' />
<hr class='pb' />
<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><p style='font-size:small;text-align:left'>CHAPTER</p></td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> </td>
<td valign='top' align='right'><p style='font-size:small;text-align:right'>PAGE</p></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Pennington Lawton and the Grim Reaper</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_PENNINGTON_LAWTON_AND_THE_GRIM_REAPER'>1</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Revelations</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_REVELATIONS'>16</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Henry Blaine Takes a Hand</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_HENRY_BLAINE_TAKES_A_HAND'>29</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Search</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_THE_SEARCH'>38</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Will</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_THE_WILL'>53</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The First Counter-move</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VI_THE_FIRST_COUNTERMOVE'>66</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Letter</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VII_THE_LETTER'>78</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Guy Morrow Faces a Problem</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VIII_GUY_MORROW_FACES_A_PROBLEM'>98</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Gone!</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IX_GONE'>104</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Margaret Hefferman’s Failure</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_X_MARGARET_HEFFERMANS_FAILURE'>116</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Confidence of Emily</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XI_THE_CONFIDENCE_OF_EMILY'>134</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Cipher</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XII_THE_CIPHER'>154</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Empty House</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIII_THE_EMPTY_HOUSE'>171</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>In the Open</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIV_IN_THE_OPEN'>192</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Checkmate!</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XV_CHECKMATE'>207</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Library Chair</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVI_THE_LIBRARY_CHAIR'>224</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Rescue</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVII_THE_RESCUE'>240</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Trap</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVIII_THE_TRAP'>255</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Unseen Listener</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIX_THE_UNSEEN_LISTENER'>272</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Crevice</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XX_THE_CREVICE'>290</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXI</td>
<td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Cleared Skies</span> </td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXI_CLEARED_SKIES'>308</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class='pb' />
<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'>
<col style='width:75%;' />
<col style='width:25%;' />
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'></td>
<td valign='top' align='right'><p style='font-size:small;text-align:right;font-style:italic;'>PAGE</p></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='left'>“I supposed that father was working late over some papers and I knew that I must not disturb him.”</td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='left'>With the cunning of a Jimmy Valentine he manipulated the tumblers. Ramon Hamilton, his discomfiture forgotten, watched with breathless interest.</td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>94</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td valign='top' align='left'>Her head was thrown back, her eyes blazing: and as she faced him, she slowly raised her arm and pointed a steady finger at the recoiling figure.</td>
<td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_6'>262</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class='pb' />
<h1>THE CREVICE</h1>
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_I_PENNINGTON_LAWTON_AND_THE_GRIM_REAPER' id='CHAPTER_I_PENNINGTON_LAWTON_AND_THE_GRIM_REAPER'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
<h3>PENNINGTON LAWTON AND THE GRIM REAPER</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">Had</span> New Illington been part of an empire instead
of one of the most important cities in the
greatest republic in the world, the cry “The
King is dead! Long live the King!” might well have
resounded through its streets on that bleak November
morning when Pennington Lawton was found dead,
seated quietly in his arm-chair by the hearth in the
library, where so many vast deals of national import had
been first conceived, and the details arranged which had
carried them on and on to brilliant consummation.</p>
<p>Lawton, the magnate, the supreme power in the
financial world of the whole country, had been suddenly
cut down in his prime.</p>
<p>The news of his passing traveled more quickly than
the extras which rolled damp from the presses could
convey it through the avenues and alleys of the city,
whose wealthiest citizen he had been, and through the
highways and byways of the country, which his marvelous
mentality and finesse had so manifestly strengthened
in its position as a world power.</p>
<p>At the banks and trust companies there were hurriedly-called
directors’ meetings, where men sat about
long mahogany tables, and talked constrainedly about
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span>
the immediate future and the vast changes which the
death of this great man would necessarily bring. In the
political clubs, his passing was discussed with bated
breath.</p>
<p>At the hospitals and charitable institutions which he
had so generously helped to maintain, in the art clubs
and museums, in the Cosmopolitan Opera House––in
the founding of which he had been leading spirit and
unfailingly thereafter, its most generous contributor––he
was mourned with a sincerity no less deep because of
its admixture of self-interest.</p>
<p>In aristocratic drawing-rooms, there were whispers
over the tea-cups; the luck of Ramon Hamilton, the
rising young lawyer, whose engagement to Anita Lawton,
daughter and sole heiress of the dead financier, had
just been announced, was remarked upon with the frankness
of envy, left momentarily unguarded by the sudden
shock.</p>
<p>For three days Pennington Lawton lay in simple, but
veritable state. Telegrams poured in from the highest
representatives of State, clergy and finance. Then,
while the banks and charitable institutions momentarily
closed their doors, and flags throughout the city were
lowered in respect to the man who had gone, the funeral
procession wound its solemn way from the aristocratic
church of St. James, to the graveyard. The last extras
were issued, detailing the service; the last obituaries
printed, the final pæans of praise were sung, and the
world went on its way.</p>
<p>During the two days thereafter, multitudinous affairs
of more imperative public import were brought to light;
a celebrated murder was committed; a notorious band of
criminals was rounded up; a political boss toppled and
fell from his self-made pedestal; a diplomatic scandal of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span>
far-reaching effect was unearthed, and in the press of
passing events, the fact that Lawton had been eliminated
from the scheme of things faded into comparative insignificance,
from the point of view of the general public.</p>
<p>In the great house on Belleair Avenue, which the man
who was gone had called home, a tall, slender young girl
sat listlessly conversing with a pompous little man, whose
clerical garb proclaimed the reason for his coming. The
girl’s sable garments pathetically betrayed her youth,
and in her soft eyes was the pained and wounded look of
a child face to face with its first comprehended sorrow.</p>
<p>The Rev. Dr. Franklin laid an obsequious hand upon
her arm.</p>
<p>“The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away;
blessed be the name of the Lord.”</p>
<p>Anita Lawton shivered slightly, and raised a trembling,
protesting hand.</p>
<p>“Please,” she said, softly, “I know––I heard you
say that at St. James’ two days ago. I try to believe, to
think, that in some inscrutable way, God meant it for the
best when he took my father so ruthlessly from me, with
no premonition, no sign of warning. It is hard, Dr.
Franklin. I cannot coordinate my thoughts just yet.
You must give me a little time.”</p>
<p>The minister bent his short body still lower before her.</p>
<p>“My dear child, do you remember, also, a later prayer
in the same service?”––unconsciously he assumed the
full rich, rounded, pulpit tones, which were habitual with
him. “‘Lord, Thou hast been our refuge from one generation
to another; before the mountains were brought
forth or ever the earth and world were made––’”</p>
<p>A low knocking upon the door interrupted him, and
the butler appeared.</p>
<p>“Mr. Rockamore and Mr. Mallowe,” Anita Lawton
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span>
read aloud from the cards he presented. “Oh, I can’t
see them now. Tell them, Wilkes, that my minister is
with me, and they must forgive me for denying myself
to them.”</p>
<p>The butler retired, and the Rev. Dr. Franklin, at the
mention of two of the most prominent and influential men
in the city since the death of Lawton, turned bulging,
inquiring eyes upon the girl.</p>
<p>“My dear child, is it wise for you to refuse to see two
of your father’s best friends? You will need their help,
their kindness––a woman alone in the world, no matter
how exalted her position, needs friends. Mr. Mallowe is
not one of my parishioners, but I understand that as
president of the Street Railways, he was closely associated
with your dear father in many affairs of finance.
Mr. Rockamore I know to be a man of almost unlimited
power in the world in which Mr. Lawton moved. Should
you not see them? Remember that you are under my
protection in every way, of course, but since our Heavenly
Father has seen fit to take unto Himself your dear
one, I feel that it would be advisable for you to place
yourself under the temporal guidance of those whom he
trusted, at any rate for the time being.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I feel that they were my father’s friends, but not
mine. Since mother and my little sister and brother
were lost at sea, so many years ago, I have learned to
depend wholly upon my father, who was more comrade
than parent. Then, as you know, I met Ramon––Mr.
Hamilton, and of course I trust him as implicitly as I
must trust you. But although, on many occasions, I
assisted my father to receive his financial confrères on a
social basis, I cannot feel at a time like this that I care
to talk with any except those who are nearest and dearest
to me.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span></div>
<p>“But suppose they have come, not wholly to offer you
consolation, but to confer with you upon some business
matters upon which it would be advantageous for you to
inform yourself? Your grief and desire for seclusion
are most natural, under the circumstances, but one must
sometimes consider earthly things also.” The minister’s
evidently eager desire to be present at an interview with
the great men and to place himself on a more familiar
footing with them was so obvious that Anita’s gesture
of dissent held also something of repugnance.</p>
<p>“I could not, Dr. Franklin. Perhaps later, when the
first shock has passed, but not yet. You understand
that I like them both most cordially. Those whom
father trusted must be men of sterling worth, but just
now I feel as must an animal which has been beaten. I
want to creep off into a dark and silent place until my
misery dulls a little.”</p>
<p>“You have borne up wonderfully well, dear child,
under the severe shock of this tragedy. Mrs. Franklin
and I have remarked upon it. You have exhibited the
same self-mastery and strength of character which made
your father the man he was.” Dr. Franklin arose from
his chair with a sigh which was not altogether perfunctory.
“Think well over what I have said. Try to realize
that your only consolation and strength in this hour
of your deepest sorrow come from on High, and believe
that if you take your poor, crushed heart to the Throne
of Grace it shall be healed. That has been promised us.
Think, also, of what I have just said to you concerning
your father’s associates, and when next they call, as they
will, of course, do very shortly, try to receive them with
your usual gracious charms, and should they offer you
any advice upon worldly matters, which we must not
permit ourselves to neglect, send for me. I will leave
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span>
you now. Mrs. Franklin will call upon you to-morrow.
Try to be brave and calm, and pray for the guidance
which will be vouchsafed you, should you ask it, frankly
and freely.”</p>
<p>Anita Lawton gave him her hand and accompanied
him in silence to the door. There, with a few gentle
words, she dismissed him, and when the sound of his
measured footsteps had diminished, she closed the door
with a little gasp of half relief, and turned to the window.
It had been an effort to her to see and talk with her
spiritual adviser, whose hypocrisy she had vaguely felt.</p>
<p>If only Ramon had come––Ramon, whose wife she
would be in so short a time, and who must now be father
as well as husband to her. She glanced at the little
French clock on the mantel. He was late––he had
promised to be there at four. As she parted the heavy
curtains, the telephone upon her father’s desk, in the
corner, shrilled sharply. When she took the receiver off
the hook, the voice of her lover came to the girl as
clearly, tenderly, as if he, himself, stood beside her.</p>
<p>“Anita, dear, may I come to you now?”</p>
<p>“Oh, please do, Ramon; I have been waiting for you.
Dr. Franklin called this afternoon, and while he was here
with me Mr. Rockamore and Mr. Mallowe came, but I
could not see them. There is something I feel I must
talk over with you.”</p>
<p>She hung up the receiver with a little sigh, and for the
first time in days a faint suspicion of a smile lightened
her face. As she turned away, however, her eyes fell
upon the great leather chair by the hearth, and her
expression changed as she gave an uncontrollable shudder.
It was in that chair her father had been found on
that fateful morning, about a week ago, clad still in the
dinner-clothes of the previous evening, a faint, introspective
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span>
smile upon his keen, inscrutable face; his eyes
wide, with a politely inquiring stare, as if he had looked
upon things which until then had been withheld from his
vision. She walked over to the chair, and laid her hand
where his head had rested. Then, all at once, the tension
within her seemed to snap and she flung herself within its
capacious, wide-reaching arms, in a torrent of tears––the
first she had shed.</p>
<p>It was thus that Ramon Hamilton found her, on his
arrival twenty minutes later, and without ado, he gathered
her up, carried her to the window-seat, and made her
cry out her heart upon his shoulder.</p>
<p>When she was somewhat quieted he said to her gently,
“Dearest, why will you insist upon coming to this room,
of all others, at least just for a little time? The memories
here will only add to your suffering.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know; I can’t explain it. That chair there
in which poor father was found has a peculiar, dreadful
fascination for me. I have heard that murderers
invariably return sooner or later to the scene of their
crime. May we not also have the same desire to stay
close to the place whence some one we love has departed?”</p>
<p>“You are morbid, dear. Bring your maid and come
to my mother’s house for a little, as she has repeatedly
asked you to do. It will make it so much easier for
you.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps it would. Your mother has been so very
kind, and yet I feel that I must remain here, that there is
something for me to do.”</p>
<p>“I don’t understand. What do you mean, dearest?”</p>
<p>She turned swiftly and placed her hands upon his
broad shoulders. Her childish eyes were steely with an
intensity of purpose hitherto foreign to them.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span></div>
<p>“Ramon, there is something I have not told you or
any one; but I feel that the time has come for me to
speak. It is not nervousness, or imagination; it is a fact
which occurred on the night of my father’s death.”</p>
<p>“Why speak of it, Anita?” He took her hands from
his shoulders, and pressed them gently, but with quiet
strength. “It is all over now, you know. We must not
dwell too much upon what is past; I shall have to help
you to put it all from your mind––not to forget, but to
make your memories tender and beautiful.”</p>
<p>“But I must speak of it. It will be on my mind day
and night until I have told you. Ramon, you dined with
us that night––the night before. Did my father seem
ill to you?”</p>
<p>“Of course not. I had never known him to be in
better health and spirits.” Ramon glanced at her in
involuntary surprise.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“Why do you ask me that? You know that heart-disease
may attack one at any time without warning.”</p>
<p>Anita sank upon the window-seat again, and leaned
forward pensively, her hands clasped over her knees.</p>
<p>“You will remember that after you and father had
your coffee and cigars together in the dining-room, you
both joined me?”</p>
<p>“Of course. You were playing the piano, ramblingly,
as if your thoughts were far away, and you
seemed nervous, ill at ease. I wondered about it at the
time.”</p>
<p>“It was because of father. To you he appeared in the
best of spirits, as you say, but I, who knew him better
than any one else on earth, realized that he was forcing
himself to be genial, to take an interest in what we were
saying. For days he had been overwrought and depressed.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span>
As you know, he has confided in me, absolutely,
since I have been old enough to be a real companion
to him. I thought that I knew all his business
affairs––those of the last two or three years at least––but
latterly his manner has puzzled and distressed me.
Then, while you were in the dining-room, the telephone
rang twice.”</p>
<p>“Yes; the calls were for your father. When he was
summoned to the wire he immediately had the connection
given to him on his private line, here in the library.
After he returned to the dining-room he did seem slightly
absent-minded, now that I think of it; but it did not
occur to me that there could have been any serious
trouble. You know, dearest, ever since the evening when
he promised to give you to me, he has consulted me, also,
to a great extent about his financial interests, and I
think if any difficulty had arisen he would have mentioned
it.”</p>
<p>“Still, I am convinced that something was on his
mind. I tried to approach him concerning it, but he
was evasive, and put me off, laughingly. You know
that father was not the sort of man whose confidence
could be forced even by those dearest to him. I had
been so worried about him, though, that I had a nervous
headache, and after you left, Ramon, I retired at once.
An hour or two later, father had a visitor––that fact
as you know, the coroner elicited from the servants, but
it had, of course, no bearing on his death, since the
caller was Mr. Rockamore. I heard his voice when I
opened the door of my room, after ringing for my maid
to get some lavender salts. I could not sleep, my headache
grew worse; and while I was struggling against it,
I heard Mr. Rockamore depart, and my father’s voice in
the hall, after the slamming of the front door, telling
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span>
Wilkes to retire, that he would need him no more that
night. I heard the butler’s footsteps pass down the
hall, and then I rose and opened my door again. I
don’t know why, but I felt that I wanted to speak to
father when he came up on his way to bed.”</p>
<p>Anita paused, and Ramon, in spite of himself, felt a
thrill of puzzled wonder at her expression, upon which
a dawning look, almost of horror, spread and grew.</p>
<p>“But he did not come, and after a while I stole to
the head of the stairs and looked down. There was a
low light in the hall and a brighter one from the library,
the door of which was ajar. I supposed that father
was working late over some papers, and I knew that I
must not disturb him. I crept back to bed at last, with
a sigh, but left my own door slightly open, so that if I
should happen to be awake when he passed, I might call
to him.</p>
<p>“Presently, however, I dozed off. I don’t know how
long I slept, but I awakened to hear voices––angry
voices, my father’s and another, which I did not recognize.
I got up and by the night-light I saw that the
hands of the little clock on my dresser pointed to nearly
three o’clock. I could not imagine who would call on
father so very late at night, and I feared at first it
might be a burglar, but my common sense assured me
that father would not stop to parley with a burglar.
While I stood wondering, father raised his voice
slightly, and I caught one word which he uttered.
Ramon, that word sounded to me like ‘blackmail!’
Why, what is it? Why do you look at me so
strangely?” she added hastily, at his uncontrollable
start.</p>
<p>“I? I am not looking at you strangely, dear; it is
not possible that you could have heard aright. It must
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span>
have been simply a fancy of yours, born of the state of
your nerves. You could not really have understood.”
But Ramon Hamilton looked away from her as he
spoke, with a peculiarly significant gleam in his candid
eyes. After a slight pause he went on: “No one in
the world could have attempted to blackmail your father.
He was the soul of honor and integrity, as no one knows
better than you. Why, his opinion was sought on every
public question. You remember hearing of some of the
political honors which he repeatedly refused, but he
could, had he wished, have held the highest office at the
disposal of the people. You must have been mistaken,
Anita. There has never been a reason for the word
‘blackmail’ to cross your father’s lips.”</p>
<p>“I know that I was not mistaken, for I heard more––enough
to convince me that I had been right in my surmise!
Father was keeping something from me!”</p>
<p>“Dear little girl, suppose he had been? Nothing, of
course, that could possibly reflect upon his integrity,––don’t
misunderstand me––but you are only twenty, you
know. It is not to be expected that you could quite
comprehend the details of all the varied business interests
of a man who had virtually led the finances of his
country for more than twenty years. Perhaps it was
a purely business matter.”</p>
<p>“I tell you, Ramon, that that man, whoever he was,
actually dared to threaten father. When I heard that
word ‘blackmail’ in the angriest tones which I had ever
heard my father use, I did something mean, despicable,
which only my culminating anxiety could have induced
me to do. I slipped on my robe and slippers, stole half-way
downstairs and listened deliberately.”</p>
<p>“Anita, you should not have done that! It was not
like you to do so. If your father had wished you to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span>
know of this interview, don’t you think he would have
told you?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps he would have, but what opportunity was
he given? A few hours later, he was found dead in that
chair over there; the chair in which he sat while he was
talking with his unknown visitor.”</p>
<p>The young man sprang to his feet. “You can’t
realize what you are saying; what you are hinting! It
is unthinkable! If you let these morbid fancies prey
upon your mind, you will be really ill.” His tones were
full of horror. “Your father died of heart-disease.
The doctors and the coroner established that beyond the
shadow of a doubt, you know. Any other supposition
is beyond the bounds of possibility.”</p>
<p>“Of heart-disease, yes. But might not the sudden
attack have been brought on by his altercation with this
man? His sudden rage, controlled as it was, at the
insults hurled at him?”</p>
<p>“What insults, Anita? Tell me what you heard
when you crept down the stairs. You know you can
trust me, dear––you must trust me.”</p>
<p>“The man was saying: ‘Come, Lawton, be sensible;
half a loaf is better than no bread. There is no blackmail
about this, even if you choose to call it so. It is
an ordinary business proposition, as you have been told
a hundred times!’”</p>
<p>“‘It’s a damnable crooked scheme, as I have told you
a hundred times, and I shall have nothing to do with it!
This is final!’ Father’s tones rang out clearly and distinctly,
quivering with suppressed fury. ‘My hands
are clean, my financial operations have been open and
above-board; there is no stain upon my life or character,
and I can look every man in the face and tell him to
go where you may go now!’</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></div>
<p>“‘Oh, is that so!’ sneered the other man loudly.
Then his voice became insinuatingly low. ‘How about
poor Herbert––’ His tones were so indistinct that I
could not catch the name. Then he went on more defiantly,
‘His wife––’ He didn’t finish the sentence,
Ramon, for father groaned suddenly, terribly, as if he
were in swift pain; the man gave a little sneering laugh,
and I could hear him moving about in the library,
whistling half under his breath in sheer bravado. I
could not bear to hear any more. I put my hands over
my ears and fled back to my room. What could it mean,
Ramon? What is this about father and some other
man and his wife which the stranger dared to insinuate!
reflected upon father’s integrity? Why should he have
groaned as if the very mention of these people hurt him
inexpressibly?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, dear.” Ramon Hamilton sat with his
honest eyes still turned from her. “You must have
been mistaken; perhaps you even dreamed it all.”
Anita Lawton gave an impatient gesture.</p>
<p>“I am not quite the child you think me, Ramon.
Could that man have meant to insinuate that father in
his own advancement had trod upon and ruined some
one else, as financiers have always done? Could he
have meant that father had driven this man and his wife
to despair? I cannot bear to think of it. I try to
thrust it from my thoughts a dozen times a day, but
that groan from father’s lips sounded so much like one
of remorse that hideous ideas come beating in on my
brain. Was my father like other rich men, Ramon?
He did not live for money, although the successful
manipulation of it was almost a passion with him. He
lived for me, always for me, and the good that he would
be able to do in this world.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span></div>
<p>“Of course he did, darling. No one who knew him
could imagine otherwise for a moment.” He hesitated,
and then added, “No one else discovered this man’s
presence in the house that night? You have told no
one? Not the doctor, or the coroner, or Dr. Franklin?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no; if I had it would have been necessary for me
to have told what I overheard. Besides, it could have
had no direct bearing on daddy’s death; that was caused
by heart-disease, as you say. But I believe, and I always
will believe, that that man killed father, as surely,
as inevitably, as if he had stabbed or shot or poisoned
him! Why did he come like a thief in the night?
Father’s integrity, his honor, were known to all the
world. Why did that reference to this Herbert and his
wife cause him such pain?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, dear; I have no more idea than you.
If you really, really overheard that conversation, as you
seem convinced you did, you did well in keeping it to
yourself. Let that hour remain buried in your thoughts,
as in your father’s grave. Only rest assured that whatever
it is, it casts no stain upon your father’s good name
or his memory.” He rose and gathered her into his
arms. “I must go now, Anita; I’ll come again to-morrow.
You are quite sure that you will not accept
my mother’s invitation? I really think it would be better
for you.”</p>
<p>She looked deeply into his eyes, then drew herself
gently from his clasp. “Not yet. Thank her for me,
Ramon, with all my heart, but I will not leave my
father’s house just yet, even for a few days. I am sure
that I shall be happier here.” He kissed her, and left
the room. She stood where he had left her until she
heard the heavy thud of the front door. Then, turning
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span>
to the window, she thrust her slim little hand between
the sedately drawn curtains, and waved him a tender
good-by; then with a little sigh, she dropped among the
pillows of the couch, lost in thought.</p>
<p>“Whatever was meant by that conversation which
I overheard,” she murmured to herself, “Ramon knows.
I read it in his eyes.”</p>
<p>The young man, as he made his way down the crowded
avenue, was turning over in his mind the extraordinary
story which the girl he loved had told him.</p>
<p>“What could it mean? Who could the man have
been? Surely not Herbert himself, and yet––oh! why
will they not let sleeping dogs lie; why must that old
scandal, that one stain on Pennington Lawton’s past
have been brought again to light, and at such a time?
I pray God that Anita never mentions it to anyone else,
never learns the truth. By Jove, if any complications
arise from this, there will be only one thing for me to do.
I must call upon the Master Mind.”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_II_REVELATIONS' id='CHAPTER_II_REVELATIONS'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>
<h3>REVELATIONS</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">For</span> two days Anita wandered wraithlike about the
great darkened house. The thought that Ramon
was keeping something from her––that he and
her dead father together had kept a secret which, for
some reason, must not be revealed to her, weighed upon
her spirits. Conjectures as to the unknown intruder
on the night of her father’s death, and his possible purpose,
flooded her mind to the exclusion of all else.</p>
<p>In the dusk of the winter afternoon she was lying on
the couch in her dressing-room, lost in thought, when
Ellen, tapping lightly at the door, interrupted her
reverie.</p>
<p>“The minister, Miss Anita––the Rev. Dr. Franklin––he
is in the drawing-room.”</p>
<p>“Oh!” Anita gave a little movement of dismay.
“Tell him that I am suffering from a very severe headache,
and gave orders that I was not to be disturbed by
anyone. He means well, Ellen, of course, but he always
depresses me horribly, lately. I don’t feel like talking
to him this afternoon.”</p>
<p>The maid retired, but returned again almost immediately
with a surprised, half-frightened expression on
her usually stolid face.</p>
<p>“Please, Miss Anita, Dr. Franklin says he must see
you and at once. He seems to be excited and he won’t
take no for an answer.”</p>
<p>“Ramon!” Anita cried, springing from the couch
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span>
with swift apprehension. “Something has happened
to Ramon, and Dr. Franklin has come to tell me. He
may be injured, dead! Ah, God would not do that;
He would not take him from me, too!”</p>
<p>“Don’t take on so, Miss Anita, dear,” the faithful
Ellen murmured, as she deftly smoothed the girl’s hair
and rearranged her gown; “the little man acts more as
if he had a fine piece of gossip to pass on––fidgeting
about like an old woman, he is. Begging your pardon,
Miss, I know he is the minister, of course, and I ought
to show him more respect, but he forever reminds me of
a fat black pigeon.”</p>
<p>The remarks of the privileged old servant fell upon
deaf, unheeding ears. Anita, sobbing softly beneath
her breath, flew down to the drawing-room, where the
pompous black-cloaked figure rose at her entrance.
But––was it purely Anita’s fancy or had some indefinable
change actually taken place in the manner of her
spiritual adviser? The rather close-set eyes seemed to
the girl to gleam somewhat coldly upon her, and although
he took both her hands in his in quick, fatherly
greeting, his hand-clasp appeared all at once to be lacking
in warmth.</p>
<p>“My poor child, my poor Anita!” he began unctuously,
but she interrupted him.</p>
<p>“What is it, Dr. Franklin? Has something happened
to Ramon?” she asked swiftly. “Please tell
me! Now, without delay! Don’t keep me in suspense.
I can tell by your face, your manner, that a new misfortune
has come to me! Does it concern Ramon?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no; it is not Mr. Hamilton. You need have no
fears for him, Anita. I have come upon a business matter––a
matter connected with your dear father’s estate.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span></div>
<p>Anita motioned him to a chair. Seating herself opposite,
she gazed at him inquiringly.</p>
<p>“The settlement of the estate? Oh, the lawyers are
attending to that, I believe.” Anita spoke a little
coldly. Had Dr. Franklin come already to inquire
about a possible legacy for St. James’?</p>
<p>She was ashamed of the thought the next moment,
when he said gently, “Yes, but there is something which
I must tell you. It has been requested that I do so. It
is a delicate matter to discuss with you, but surely no
one is more fitted to speak to you than I.”</p>
<p>“Certainly, Doctor, I understand.” She leaned forward
eagerly.</p>
<p>“My dear, you know the whole country, the whole
world at large, has always considered your father to
have been a man of great wealth.”</p>
<p>“Yes. My father’s charities alone, as you are aware,
unostentatiously as they were conducted, would have
tended to give that impression. Then his tremendous
business interests––”</p>
<p>“Anita, at the moment of your father’s death he was
far from being the King of Finance, which the world
judged him to be. It is hard for me to tell you this, but
you must know, and you must try to believe that your
Heavenly Father is sending you this added trial for
some sure purpose of His own. Your father died a poor
man, Anita. In fact, a bankrupt.” The girl looked
up with an incredulous smile.</p>
<p>“Dr. Franklin, who could ever have asked you to come
to me with such an incredible assertion? Surely, you
must know how preposterous the very idea is! I do not
boast or brag, but it is common knowledge that my
father was the richest man in the city, in this entire
part of the country, in fact. The thought of such a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span>
thing is absurd. Who could have attempted to perpetrate
such a senseless hoax, a ridiculous insult to your
intelligence and mine?”</p>
<p>The minister shook his head slowly.</p>
<p>“‘Common knowledge’ is, alas, not always trustworthy.
It is only too true that your father stood on
the verge of bankruptcy. His entire fortune has been
swept away.”</p>
<p>“Impossible!”</p>
<p>Anita started from her chair, impressed in spite of
herself. “How could that be? Who has told you this
terrible thing?”</p>
<p>“The unfortunate news was disclosed to me confidentially
by your late father’s truest friends and closest
associates. Having your best interests at heart, they
feel that you should know the state of affairs at once,
and came to me as the one best fitted to inform you.”</p>
<p>“I cannot believe it!” Anita Lawton sank back with
white, strained face. “I cannot believe that it is true.
How could such a thing have happened? They must be
mistaken––those who gave you such information.
Father was worth millions, at least. That I know, for
he told me much of his business affairs and up to the last
day of his life he was engaged in tremendous deals of
almost national importance.”</p>
<p>“Might he not have become so deeply involved in one
of them that he could not extricate himself, and ruin
came?” Dr. Franklin insinuated. “I know little of
finance, of course; and those who wished you to know
gave me none of the details beyond the one paramount
fact.”</p>
<p>“I know, of course, who were your informants,”
Anita said. “No one except my father’s three closest
associates had any possible conception of how much he
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span>
possessed, even approximately, for he was always secretive
and conservative in his dealings. Only to Mr.
Mallowe, Mr. Rockamore and Mr. Carlis did he ever
divulge his plans to the slightest extent. A bankrupt!
My father a bankrupt? The very words seem meaningless
to me. Dr. Franklin, there must be some hideous
mistake.”</p>
<p>“Unfortunately, it is no mistake, my poor child.
These gentlemen you mention, I may admit to you in
confidence, were my informants.”</p>
<p>“You say they gave you no details beyond the paramount
fact of my father’s ruin? But surely they must
have told you something more. I have a right to know,
Dr. Franklin, and I shall not rest until I do. How did
such a catastrophe come to him? There have been no
gigantic failures lately, no panics which could have
swept him down. What terrible mistake could he have
made, he whose judgment was almost infallible?”</p>
<p>The minister hesitated visibly, and when he spoke at
last, it was as if with a conscious effort he chose his
words.</p>
<p>“I do not think it was any sudden collapse of some
project in which he was engaged, Anita, but a––a general
series of misfortunes which culminated by forcing
him, just before his death, to the brink of bankruptcy.
You are a mere child, my dear, and could not be supposed
to understand matters of finance. If you will be
guided by me you will accept the assurance of your
friends who truly have your best interests at heart.
Their statements will be confirmed, I know, by the
lawyers who are engaged in settling up the estate of
your father. Do not, I beg of you, inquire too closely
into the details of your father’s insolvency.”</p>
<p>Anita rose slowly, her eyes fixed upon the face of the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span>
minister, and with her hands resting upon the chair-back,
as if to steady herself, she asked quietly:</p>
<p>“Why should I not? What is there which I, his
daughter, should not know? Dr. Franklin, there is
something behind all this which you are trying to conceal
from me. I knew my father to be a multi-millionaire.
You come and tell me he was a pauper instead, a
bankrupt; and I am not to ask how this state of affairs
came about? You have known me since I was a little
girl––surely you understand me well enough to realize
that I shall not rest under such a condition until the
whole truth is revealed to me!”</p>
<p>“I am your friend.” The resonance in the minister’s
voice deepened. “You will believe me when I tell you
that it would be best for your future, for the honor of
your father’s memory, to place yourself without
question in the hands of your true friends, and to ask
no details which are not voluntarily given you.”</p>
<p>“‘Best for my future!’” she repeated, aghast.
“‘For the honor of my father’s memory.’ What do you
mean, Dr. Franklin? You have gone too far not to
speak plainly. Do you dare––are you insinuating,
that there was something disgraceful, dishonorable about
my father’s insolvency? You have been my spiritual
adviser nearly all my life, and when you tell me that my
father was a bankrupt, that the knowledge comes to you
from his best friends and will be corroborated by his attorneys,
I am forced to believe you. But if you attempt
to convince me that my father’s honor––his good
name––is involved, then I tell you that it is not true!
Either a terrible mistake has been made or a deliberate
conspiracy is on foot––the blackest sort of conspiracy,
to defame the dead!”</p>
<p>“My dear!” The minister raised his hands in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span>
shocked amazement. “You are beside yourself, you
don’t know what you are saying! I have repeated to
you only that which was told to me, and in practically
the same words. As to the possibility of a conspiracy,
you will realize the absurdity of such an idea when I deliver
to you the message with which I was charged.
Your father’s partner in many enterprises, the Honorable
Bertie Rockamore, together with President Mallowe,
of the Street Railways, and Mr. Carlis, the
great politician, promised some little time ago that they
would stand in <i>loco parentis</i> toward you should your
natural protector be removed. They desire me to tell
you that you need have no anxiety for the immediate
future. You will be cared for and provided with all
that you have been accustomed to, just as if your father
were alive.”</p>
<p>“Indeed? They are most kind––” Anita spoke
quietly enough, but with a curiously dry, controlled note
in her voice which reminded the minister of her father’s
tones, and for some inexplicable reason he felt vaguely
uncomfortable. “Please say to them that I do sincerely
appreciate their magnanimity, their charity, toward one
who has no right, legal or moral, to claim protection
or care from them. But now, Dr. Franklin, may I beg
that you will forgive me if I retire? The news you have
brought me of course has been a terrible shock. I must
have time to collect my thoughts, to realize the sudden,
terrible change this revelation has made in my whole life.
I am deeply grateful to you, to my father’s three associates,
but I can say no more now.”</p>
<p>“Of course, dear child.” Dr. Franklin patted her
hand perfunctorily and arose with ill-concealed relief
that the interview was at an end. He could not understand
her attitude of the last few moments and it
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span>
troubled him vaguely. She had received the news of her
father’s bankruptcy with a girlish horror and incredulousness––which
had been only natural under the circumstances;
but when it was borne in upon her, in as
delicate a way as he could convey it, that dishonor was
involved in the matter, she had, after the first outburst,
maintained a stony, ashen self-poise and control that
were far from what he had expected. It was the most
disagreeable task he had performed in many a day and
he was heartily glad that it was over. Only his very
great desire to ingratiate himself with these kings of
finance, who had commissioned him to do their bidding,
as well as the inclination to be of real service to his
young and orphaned parishioner, had induced him to
undertake the mission.</p>
<p>“You must rest and have an opportunity to adjust
yourself to this new, unfortunate state of affairs,” he
continued. “I will call again to-morrow. If I can be
of the slightest service to you, do not hesitate to let me
know. It is a sad trial, but our Heavenly Father has
tempered the wind to the shorn lamb; He has provided
you with a protector in young Mr. Hamilton, and with
kind, true friends who will see that no harm or deprivation
comes to you. Try to feel that this added grief
and trouble will, in the end, be for the best.”</p>
<p>The alacrity with which he took his departure was
painfully obvious, but Anita scarcely noticed it. Her
mind was busy with the new, hideous thought, which had
assailed her at that first hint of dishonesty on the part
of her father––the thought that she was being made
the victim of a gigantic conspiracy.</p>
<p>As soon as she found herself alone, she flew to the
telephone. “Main, 2785,” she demanded.... “Mr.
Hamilton, please.... Is that you, Ramon?... Can
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span>
you come to me at once? I need your advice and help.
Something has happened––something terrible! No,
I cannot tell you over the ’phone. You will come at
once? Yes, good-by, Ramon dear.”</p>
<p>She hung up the receiver and paced the floor restlessly.
Almost inconceivable as it had appeared to
her consciousness under the first shock of the announcement,
she might in time have come to accept the astounding
fact of her father’s insolvency, but that disgrace,
dishonor, could have attached itself to his name––that
he, the model of uprightness, of integrity could have
been guilty of crooked dealing, of something which must
for the honor of his memory be kept secret from the ears
of his fellow-men, she could never bring herself to believe.
Every instinct of her nature revolted, and underlying
all her girlish unsophistication, a native shrewdness, inherited
perhaps from her father, bade her distrust alike
the worldly, self-interested pastor of the Church of St.
James and the three so-called friends, who, although her
father’s associates, had been his rivals, and who had offered
with such astounding magnanimity to stand by
her.</p>
<p>Why had they offered to help her? Was it really
through tenderness and affection for her father’s daughter,
or was it to stay her hand and close her mouth to all
queries?</p>
<p>Why did not Ramon come? Surely he should have
been there before this. What could be detaining him?
She tried to be patient, to calm her seething brain while
she waited, but it was no use. Hours passed while she
paced the floor, restlessly, and the dusk settled into the
darkness of early winter. Wilkes came to turn on the
lights, but she refused them––she could think better in
the dark. The dinner-hour came and went and twice
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span>
Ellen knocked anxiously upon the door, but Anita, torn
with anxiety, would pay no heed. She had telephoned
to Ramon’s office, only to find that he had left there immediately
upon receiving her message; to his home––he
had not returned.</p>
<p>Nine o’clock sounded in silvery chimes from the clock
upon the mantel; then ten and eleven and at length, just
when she felt that she could endure no more, the front
door-bell rang. A well-known step sounded upon the
stairs, and Ramon entered.</p>
<p>With a little gasp of joy and relief she flung herself
upon him in the darkness, but at an involuntary groan
from him she recoiled.</p>
<p>“What is it, Ramon? What has happened to you?”</p>
<p>Without waiting for a reply she switched on the light.</p>
<p>Ramon stood before her, his face pale, his eyes dark
with pain. One arm was in a sling and the thick hair
upon his forehead barely concealed a long strip of
plaster.</p>
<p>“Nothing really serious, dear. I had a slight accident––run
down by a motor-car, just after leaving the
office. My head was cut and I was rather knocked out,
so they took me to a hospital. I would have come before,
but they would not allow me to leave. I knew that
you would be anxious because of my delay in coming,
but I feared to add to your apprehension by telephoning
to you from the hospital.”</p>
<p>“But your arm––is it sprained?”</p>
<p>“Broken. I had a nasty crash––can’t imagine how
it was that I didn’t see the car coming in time to avoid
it. It was a big limousine with several men inside, all
singing and shouting riotously, and the chauffeur, I
think, must have been drunk, for he swerved the car
directly across the road in my path. They never
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span>
stopped after they had bowled me over, and no one
seemed to know where they went.”</p>
<p>“Then the police did not get their number?”</p>
<p>“No, but they will, of course. Not that I care, particularly;
I’m lucky to have got off as lightly as I did.
I might have been killed.”</p>
<p>“It was a miracle that you were not, Ramon. Do
you know what I believe? I don’t think it was any accident,
but a deliberate attempt to assassinate you; to
keep you from coming to me.”</p>
<p>“What nonsense, dear! They were a wild, hilarious
party, careless and irresponsible. Such accidents happen
every day.”</p>
<p>“I am convinced that it was no accident. Ramon,
I feel that I am to be the victim of a conspiracy; that
you are the only human being who stands in the way of
my being absolutely in the power of those who would
defraud me and defame father’s name.”</p>
<p>“Anita, what do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Dr. Franklin called upon me this afternoon; he left
just before I telephoned to you. He told me an
astonishing piece of news. Ramon, would you have considered
my father a rich man?”</p>
<p>“What an absurd question, dear! Of course. One
of the richest men in the whole country, as you know.”</p>
<p>“You say that he consulted you about his business
affairs, and that you knew of no trouble or difficulty
which could have caused him anxiety? His securities in
stocks and bonds, his assets were all sound?”</p>
<p>“Certainly. What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean that my father died a pauper! That on
the word of Mr. Rockamore, Mr. Mallowe, Mr. Carlis
and Dr. Franklin, he was on the verge of dishonorable
bankruptcy, into which I may not inquire.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></div>
<p>“Good Heavens, they must be mad! I am sure that
your father was at the zenith of his successful career,
and as for dishonor, surely, Anita, no one who knew him
could credit that!”</p>
<p>“Mr. Rockamore and the other two who were so
closely associated with him made a solemn promise to
my father shortly before his death, it seems, that they
would care for and provide for me. They sent Dr.
Franklin to me this afternoon to explain the circumstances
to me, and to assure me of their protection.
Save for you, they consider me absolutely in their
hands; and when I sent for you, you were almost killed
in the attempt to come to me. Ramon, don’t you see,
don’t you understand, there is some mystery on foot,
some terrible conspiracy? That unknown visitor, my
father’s death so soon after, and now this sudden revelation
of his bankruptcy, together with this accident to
you? Ramon, we must have advice and help. I do not
believe that my father was a pauper. I know that he
has done nothing dishonorable; I am convinced that the
accident to you was a premeditated attempt at murder.”</p>
<p>“My God! I can’t believe it, Anita; I don’t know
what to think. If it turns out that there really is something
crooked about it all, and Rockamore and the
others are concerned in it, it will be the biggest conspiracy
that was ever hatched in the world of high
finance. You were right, dear, bless your woman’s intuition;
we must have help. This matter must be thoroughly
investigated. There is only one man in America
to-day, who is capable of carrying it through, successfully.
I shall send at once for the Master Mind.”</p>
<p>“The Master Mind?”</p>
<p>“Yes, dear––Henry Blaine, the most eminent detective
the English-speaking world has produced.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></div>
<p>“I have heard of him, of course. I think father knew
him, did he not?”</p>
<p>“Yes, on one occasion he was of inestimable service
to your father. I will summon him at once.”</p>
<p>Ramon went to the telephone and by good luck found
the detective free for the moment and at his service.</p>
<p>He returned to the girl. She noticed that he reeled
slightly in his walk; that his lips were white and set
with pain.</p>
<p>“Ramon, you are ill, suffering. That cut on your
head and your poor arm––”</p>
<p>“It is nothing. I don’t mind, Anita darling; it will
soon pass. Thank Heavens, I found Mr. Blaine free.
He will get to the truth of this matter for us even
if no one else on earth could. He has brought more
notorious malefactors to justice than any detective of
modern times; fearlessly, he has unearthed political
scandals which lay dangerously close to the highest
executives of the land. He cannot be cajoled, bribed
or intimidated; you will be safe in his hands from the
machinations of every scoundrel who ever lived.”</p>
<p>“I have read of some of his marvelous exploits, but;
what service was it that he rendered to my father?”</p>
<p>“I––I cannot tell you, dearest. It was very long
ago, and a matter which affected your father solely.
Perhaps some time you may learn the truth of it.”</p>
<p>“I may not know! I may not know! Why must I
be so hedged in? Why must everything be kept from
me? I feel as if I were living in a maze of mystery. I
must know the truth.”</p>
<p>She wrung her hands hysterically, but he soothed her
and they talked in low tones until Wilkes suddenly appeared
in the doorway and announced:</p>
<p>“Mr. Henry Blaine!”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_III_HENRY_BLAINE_TAKES_A_HAND' id='CHAPTER_III_HENRY_BLAINE_TAKES_A_HAND'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>
<h3>HENRY BLAINE TAKES A HAND</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">A man</span> stood upon the threshold: a man of medium
height, with sandy hair and mustache slightly
tinged with gray. His face was alert and keenly
intelligent. His eyes shrewd, but kindly, the brows
sloping downward toward the nose, with the peculiar
look of concentration of one given to quick decisions
and instant, fearless action.</p>
<p>His eyes traveled quickly from the young girl’s face
to Ramon Hamilton, as the latter advanced with outstretched
hand.</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine, it was fortunate that we found you at
liberty and able to assist us in a matter which is of vital
importance to us both. This is Miss Anita Lawton,
daughter of the late Pennington Lawton, who desires
your aid on a most urgent matter.”</p>
<p>“Miss Lawton.” Mr. Elaine bowed over her hand.</p>
<p>When they were seated she said, shyly: “I understand
from Ramon––Mr. Hamilton––that you were
at one time of great service to my father. I trust that
you will be able to help me now, for I feel that I am in
the meshes of a conspiracy. You know that my father
died suddenly, almost a week ago.”</p>
<p>“Yes, of course. His death was a great loss to the
whole country, Miss Lawton.”</p>
<p>“Something occurred a few hours before his death,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span>
of which even the coroner is unaware, Mr. Blaine. I
told Mr. Hamilton what I knew, but he advised me to
say nothing of it, unless further developments ensued.”</p>
<p>“And they have ensued?” the detective asked quietly.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Anita then detailed to Mr. Blaine the incident of her
father’s nocturnal visitor. As she told him the conversation
she had overheard, it seemed to her that the
eyes of the detective narrowed slightly, but no other
change of expression betrayed the fact that the incident
might have held a significance in his mind.</p>
<p>“The voice was entirely strange to you?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Yes; I have never heard it before, but it made such
an impression upon me that I think I would recognize it
instantly whenever or wherever I might happen to hear
it.”</p>
<p>“You caught no glimpse of the man through the half-opened
door?”</p>
<p>“No, I was not far enough downstairs to see into the
room.”</p>
<p>“And when you fled, after hearing your father groan,
you returned immediately to your room?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I closed my door and buried my face deeply
in the pillows on my bed. I did not want to hear or
know any more. I was frightened; I did not know
what to think. After a time I must have drifted off into
an uneasy sort of sleep, for I knew nothing more until
my maid came to tell me that Wilkes, the butler, wished
to speak to me. My father had been found dead in his
chair. No one in the household seemed to know of my
father’s late visitor, for they made no mention of his
coming. I would have told no one, except Ramon, but
for the fact that this afternoon my minister informed
me that my father, instead of being the multi-millionaire
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span>
we had all supposed him, had in reality died a
bankrupt.”</p>
<p>The detective received this information with inscrutable
calm. Only by a thoughtful pursing of his lips
did he give indication that the news had any visible effect
upon him.</p>
<p>Anita continued, giving him all the details of the minister’s
visit, and the magnanimous promise of her
father’s three associates to stand in <i>loco parentis</i> toward
her.</p>
<p>It was only when she told of summoning her lover,
and the accident which befell him on his way to her, that
that peculiar gleam returned again to the eyes of Mr.
Blaine, and they glanced narrowly at the young man
opposite him.</p>
<p>“As I told Ramon, I cannot help but feel that it is
not true. My father could not have become a pauper,
much less could he, the soul of honor, have been guilty
of anything derogatory to his good name. Until a
few days prior to his death, he had been in his usual
excellent spirits, and surely had there been any financial
difficulties in his path he would have retrenched, in some
measure. He made no effort to do so, however, and in
the last few weeks has given even more generously than
usual to the various philanthropic projects in which he
was so interested. Does that look as if he was on the
verge of bankruptcy? He bought me a string of pearls
on my birthday, two months ago, which for their size
are considered by experts to be the most perfectly
matched in America. A fortnight ago, he presented
me with a new car. Only three days before his death he
spoke of an ancient château in France which he had desired
to purchase. Oh, the whole affair is utterly inexplicable
to me!”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span></div>
<p>“We will take the matter up at once, Miss Lawton.
The main thing that I must impress upon you for the
present is to acquiesce with the utmost docility and unsuspicion
in every proposition made to you by the three
men, Carlis, Mallowe and Rockamore; in other words,
place yourself absolutely in their hands, but keep me
informed of every move they make. You understand
that the most important factor in this case is to keep
them absolutely unsuspecting of your distrust, or that
you have called me to your assistance. I must not be
seen coming here or to Mr. Hamilton’s office, nor must
you come to mine. I will have a private wire installed
for you to-morrow morning, by means of which you can
communicate with me, or one of my operatives, at any
hour of the day or night, in the presence of anyone.
This telephone will connect only with my office, but the
number will be, supposedly, that of your dressmaker, and
if you require aid, advice, or the presence of one of my
operatives, you have merely to call up the number and
say: ‘Is my gown ready? If it is, please send it
around immediately.’ Let me know through this
medium whatever occurs, and take absolutely no one into
your confidence.”</p>
<p>“I understand, Mr. Blaine; and I will try to follow
your instructions to the letter. Oh, by the way, there
is something I wish to tell you, which no one, not even
Mr. Hamilton, knows, much less my father’s friends, or
my minister. Four years ago, my father financed a
philanthropic venture of mine, the Anita Lawton Club
for Working Girls. It is not a purely charitable institution,
but a home club, where worthy young women
could live by paying a nominal sum––merely to preserve
their self-respect––and be aided in obtaining positions.
Stenographers, telephone and telegraph operators,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span>
clerks, all find homes there. No one knew, however,
that under my management, the club grew in less
than a year not only to have paid for itself, but to have
yielded a small income, over and above expenses. I did
not tell my father––I don’t know why, perhaps it was
because I inherited a little of his business acumen, but I
manipulated the net income in various minor undertakings,
even in time buying small plots of unimproved real-estate,
meaning after a year or two more to surprise my
father with the result of my venture, but his death intervened
before I could tell him about it.”</p>
<p>“Your father’s associates, then, believe you to be
without funds or private income of your own?” the detective
asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr. Blaine. And whatever money is necessary
for the investigation, will, of course, be forthcoming
from this source.”</p>
<p>“Let me strongly advise you to make no mention of
it to anyone else; let these men believe you to be utterly
within their power financially. And now, Miss Lawton,
I will leave you, for I have work to do.” The detective
rose. “The private wire will be installed to-morrow
morning. Remember to be absolutely unsuspicious, to
appear deeply grateful for the kindness offered you; receive
these men and your spiritual adviser whenever they
call, and above all, keep me informed of everything that
occurs, no matter how <a name='TC_1'></a><ins title="Was ''insignficant'' in the original text">insignificant</ins> or irrelevant it may
seem to you to be. Keep me advised on even the smallest
details––anything, everything concerning you and
them.”</p>
<p>Thus it was, that when two days later, President
Mallowe of the Street Railways, called upon his new
ward, she received him with downcast eyes, and a charmingly
deferential manner. His long-nosed, heavy-jowled
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span>
face, with the bristling gray side-whiskers, flushed darkly
when she placed her trembling little hand in his and
shyly voiced her gratitude for his great kindness to
her.</p>
<p>“My dear young lady, this has been a most sad and
unfortunate affair, but I have come to assure you again
of the sentiments of myself and my associates toward
you. We come, your self-appointed guardians; we will
see that no financial worriments shall come to you. Remember,
my dear, that I have three married daughters
of my own, and I could not permit the child of my old
friend to want for anything. You may remain on here
in this house, which has been your home, indefinitely,
and it will be maintained for you in the manner to which
you have always been accustomed.”</p>
<p>“Remain here in my home?” Anita stammered.
“Why it––it is my home, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“You must consider it as such. I do not like to tell
you this, but it is necessary that you should know. I
hold a mortgage of eighty thousand dollars on the house,
but I have never recorded it, because of my friendship
and close affiliation with your father. I shall not have
it recorded now, of course, but there is a slight condition,
purely a matter of business, which in view of the
fact that through your coming marriage you will have
a home of your own, Mr. Rockamore, Mr. Carlis and
myself, feel that we should agree upon. Your father
has a shadowy interest in some old bonds which have
for years been unremunerative. Should they prove of
ultimate value, we feel that they should be transferred
to us as our reimbursement for the present large sum
which we shall lay out for you.”</p>
<p>“Of course, Mr. Mallowe. That would only be just.
I am glad that I may perhaps have an opportunity to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span>
repay some of the kindness which in your great-hearted
charity, you are now bestowing upon me. I will see
that my father’s attorneys attend to the matter, as soon
as possible. It may be some little time before the estate
is settled, as of course it must be horribly complicated
and involved, but I will bring this to their immediate
attention.”</p>
<p>“You are a very brave young woman, Miss Lawton,
and I am glad that you are taking such a clear-sighted
view of this double catastrophe which has come upon
you. Ah, I had almost forgotten; here is a duplicate
of the mortgage which I hold upon this house, which
your father made out to me some months ago.”</p>
<p>Anita scarcely glanced at it, but laid it quietly by
upon the table, as though it were of small interest to
her.</p>
<p>“Mr. Mallowe, although I understand that Mr.
Rockamore, being a promoter, was more closely associated
with my father in various projects than you, I believe
that he always considered you his best friend.
Can you tell me what it was which brought my father’s
affairs to such a pass as this?”</p>
<p>“Dear young lady, do not ask me. It is a painful
subject to discuss, and as you are a mere child, you cannot
be supposed to understand the financial manœuvres
of a man of your father’s passion for gigantic operations.
Years of success had possibly made him overconfident;
and then you know, we are none of us infallible;
we are liable to make mistakes, at one time or
another. Your father interested himself daringly in
many schemes which we more conservative ones would
have hesitated to enter; indeed, we not only hesitated,
but repeatedly declined when your father placed the
propositions before us. As you know, unfortunately,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span>
he was a man who would have resented any attempt at
advice, and although for a long time we have seen his
approaching financial downfall, and have helped him
in every way we could to avert it, he would not relinquish
his plans while there was yet time. Do not ask me to go
into any further details. It is really most distressing.
Your father’s attorneys will understand the matter fully
when the estate is finally settled.”</p>
<p>“I cannot understand it,” Anita murmured. “I
thought my father’s judgment almost infallible. However,
Mr. Mallowe, I cannot express my gratitude to
you and my father’s other associates for your great
kindness toward me. Believe me, I am deeply affected
by it. I shall never forget what you have done.”</p>
<p>“Do not speak of it, dear Miss Lawton. I only wish
for your sake that your poor father had heeded poorer
heads than his, but it is too late to speak of that now.
We will do all in our power to aid you, rest assured of
that. Should you require anything, you have only to
call upon Mr. Rockamore, Mr. Carlis or myself.”</p>
<p>When he had bowed himself out, Anita flew to the
table, seized the duplicate of the mortgage which he had
given her, and slipped it between the pages of a book
lying there. Then she went directly to her dressing-room
where on a little stand near her bed reposed a
telephone instrument which had not been there three
days previously.</p>
<p>“Grosvenor 0760,” she demanded, and when a voice
replied to her at the other end of the wire, she asked
querulously, “Is not my new gown ready yet? If it is,
will you kindly send it over at once? I have also found
your last quarterly bill, and I think there is something
wrong with it. I will send it back by the messenger,
who brings my gown. Thank you; good-by.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></div>
<p>She took an envelope from the desk and returning to
the drawing-room slipped the duplicate mortgage within
it and sealed it carefully.</p>
<p>When, a few minutes later, a tall, dark, stolid-faced
young man appeared, with a large dressmaker’s box,
she placed the envelope in his hand.</p>
<p>“For Mr. Blaine,” she whispered. “See that it
reaches him immediately.”</p>
<p>A half hour afterward, Ramon Hamilton went to the
telephone in his office, and heard the detective’s voice
over the wire.</p>
<p>“Mr. Hamilton, have you among the letters and
documents at your office the signature of the person we
were discussing the other day?”</p>
<p>“Why, yes, I think so. I will look and see. If I
have do you wish me to send it around to you?”</p>
<p>“No, thank you. A messenger boy will call for it
in a few minutes.”</p>
<p>Wondering, Ramon Hamilton shuffled hastily through
the paper in the pigeon-holes of his desk until
he came to a letter from Pennington Lawton. He carefully
tore off the signature, and when the messenger boy
appeared, gave it to him. He would not have been so
puzzled, had he seen the great Henry Blaine, when a
few minutes had elapsed, seated before the desk in his
office, comparing the signature of the torn slip which he
had sent with that affixed to the duplicate mortgage.</p>
<p>A long, close, breathless scrutiny, with the most
powerful magnifying glasses, and the detective jumped
to his feet.</p>
<p>“That’s no signature of Pennington Lawton,” he exulted
to himself. “I thought I knew that fine hand,
perfectly as the forgery has been done. That’s the
work of James Brunell, by the Lord!”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_IV_THE_SEARCH' id='CHAPTER_IV_THE_SEARCH'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>
<h3>THE SEARCH</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">Henry Blaine,</span> the man of decision, wasted
no time in vain thought. Instantly, upon his
discovery that the signature of Pennington
Lawton had been forged, and that it had been done by
an old and well-known offender, he touched the bell on
his desk, which brought his confidential secretary.</p>
<p>“Has Guy Morrow returned yet from that blackmail
case in Denver?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. He’s in his private office now, making out
his report to you.”</p>
<p>A moment later, there entered a tall, dark young
man, strong and muscular in build, but not apparently
heavy, with a smooth face and firm-set jaw.</p>
<p>“I haven’t finished my report yet, sir––”</p>
<p>“The report can wait. You remember James
Brunell, the forger?”</p>
<p>“James Brunell?” Morrow repeated. “He was before
my time, of course, but I’ve heard of him and his
exploits. Pretty slick article, wasn’t he! I understand
he has been dead for years––at least nothing
has been heard of his activities since I have been in
the sleuth game.”</p>
<p>“Did you ever hear of any of his associates?”</p>
<p>“I can’t say that I have, sir, except Crimmins and
Dolan; Crimmins died in San Quentin before his time
was up; Dolan after his release went to Japan.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span></div>
<p>“I want to find Brunell. His closest associate was
Walter Pennold. I think Pennold is living somewhere
in Brooklyn, and through him you may be able to locate
Brunell––”</p>
<p>Morrow shrugged his shoulders.</p>
<p>“A retired crook in the suburbs. That’s going to
take time.”</p>
<p>“Not the way we’ll work it. Listen.”</p>
<p>The next morning, a tall, dark young man, strong
and muscular in build, with a smooth face and firm-set
jaw, appeared at the Bank of Brooklyn & Queens, and
was immediately installed as a clerk, after a private interview
with the vice-president.</p>
<p>His fellow clerks looked at him askance at first, for
they knew there had been no vacancy, and there was a
long waiting list ahead of him, but the young man bore
himself with such a quiet, modest air of <i>camaraderie</i>
about him that by the noon hour they had quite accepted
him as one of themselves.</p>
<p>During the morning a package came to the bank and
a letter which read in part:</p>
<p class="blockquote" >... I am returning these securities to you in the hope that
you may be able to place them in the possession of Jimmy
Brunell. They belong to him, and my conscience is responsible
for their return. I don’t know where to find him. I do
know that at one time he did some banking at the Brooklyn
& Queens Institution. If he does not do so now, kindly hold
these securities for Jimmy Brunell until called for, and in the
meantime see Walter Pennold of Brooklyn.</p>
<p>With the package and letter came a request from
Henry Blaine which those in power at the Brooklyn &
Queens Bank were only too glad to accede to, in order to
ingratiate themselves with the great investigator.</p>
<p>In accordance with this request, therefore, the affair
was made known by the bank-officials to the clerks as a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span>
matter of long standing which had only just been rediscovered
in an old vault, and the subordinates discussed
it among themselves with the gusto of those whose lives
were bounded by gilt cages, and circumscribed by rules
of silence. It was not unusual, therefore, that the new
clerk, Alfred Hicks, should have heard of it, but it was
unusual that he should find it expedient to make a detour
on his way to work the next morning which would take
him to the gate of Walter Pennold’s modest home.
Perhaps the fact that Alfred Hicks’ real name was Guy
Morrow and that a letter received early that morning
from Henry Blaine’s office, giving Pennold’s address
and a single line of instruction may have had much to do
with his matutinal visit.</p>
<p>Be that as it may, Morrow, the dapper young bank-clerk,
found in the Pennold household a grizzled, middle-aged
man, with shifty, suspicious eyes and a moist hand-clasp;
behind him appeared a shrewish, thin-haired wife
who eyed the intruder from the first with ill-concealed
animosity.</p>
<p>He smiled––that frank, winning smile which had
helped to land more men behind the bars than the astuteness
of many of his seniors––and said: “I’m a clerk
in the Brooklyn & Queens Bank, Mr. Pennold, and we
have a box of securities there evidently belonging to one
Jimmy Brunell. No one knows anything about it and
no note came with it except a line which read: ‘Hold
for Jim Brunell. See Walter Pennold of Brooklyn.’
Now you’re the only Walter Pennold who banks with
the B. & Q. and I thought you might like to know about
it. There are over two hundred thousand dollars in securities
and they have evidently been left there by somebody
as conscience-money. You can go to the bank and
see the people about it, of course. In fact, I understand
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span>
they are going to write you a letter concerning it,
but I thought you might like to know of it in advance.
In case this Mr. Brunell is alive, they will pay him the
money on demand, or if dead, to his heirs after him.”</p>
<p>The middle-aged man with the shifty eyes spat
cautiously, and then, rubbing his stubby chin with a
hairy, freckled hand, observed:</p>
<p>“Well, young man, I’m Pennold, all right. I do some
business with the Brooklyn & Queens people––small
business, of course, for we poor honest folk haven’t the
money to put in finance that the big stock-holders have.
I don’t know where you can find this man Brunell,
haven’t heard of him in years, but I understand he went
wrong. Ain’t that so, Mame?”</p>
<p>The hatchet-faced woman nodded her head in slow
and non-committal thought.</p>
<p>Pennold edged a little nearer his unknown guest and
asked in a tone of would-be heartiness. “And what
might your name be? You’re a bright-looking feller
to be a bank-clerk––not the stolid, plodding kind.”</p>
<p>Morrow chuckled again.</p>
<p>“My name is Hicks. I live at 46 Jefferson Place.
It’s only a little way from here, you know.” He swung
his lunch-box nonchalantly. “Of course, bank-clerking
don’t get you anywhere, but it’s steady, such as it
is, and I go out with the boys a lot.” He added confidentially:
“The ponies are still running, you know,
even if the betting-ring is closed––and there are other
ways––” He paused significantly.</p>
<p>“I see, a sport, eh?” Pennold darted a quick glance
at his wife. “Well, don’t let it get the best of you,
young feller. Remember what I told you about Jimmy
Brunell––at least, what the report of him was. If I
hear anything of where he is, I’ll let the bank know.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></div>
<p>“I’ll be getting on; I’m late now––” Morrow
paused on the bottom step of the little porch and turned.
“See you again, Mr. Pennold, and your wife, if you’ll
let me. I pass by here often––I’ve been boarding with
Mrs. Lindsay, on Jefferson Place, for some time now.
By the way, have you seen the sporting page of the
<i>Gazette</i> this morning? Al Goetz edits it, you know,
and he gives you the straight dope. There’ll be nothing
to that fight they’re pulling off Saturday night at
the Zucker Athletic Club––Hennessey’ll put it all over
Schnabel in the first round. Good-by! If you hear
anything of this Brunell, be sure you let me or the bank
know!”</p>
<p>For a long moment after his buoyant stride had carried
him out of sight around the corner, Walter Pennold
and his wife sat in thoughtful silence. Then the
woman spoke.</p>
<p>“What d’ye think of it all, Wally?”</p>
<p>“Dunno.” The gentleman addressed drew from his
pocket a blackened, odoriferous pipe and sucked upon
it. “Must be some lay, of course. I’ll go up to the
bank and find out what I can, but I don’t think that
young feller, Hicks, is in on it. I’ve been in the game
for forty years, and if I’m a judge, he’s no ’tec. Fool
kid spendin’ more’n he earns and out for what coin he
can grab. I’ll look up that landlady of his, too, Mame;
and if he’s on the level there, and at the bank––”</p>
<p>“And if those securities are at the bank, he ought
to be willin’ to come in with us on a share,” the wife
supplemented shrewdly. “But it seems like some kind
of a gag to me. You knew all Jimmy Brunell’s jobs till
he got religion or somethin’, and turned honest––I
can’t think of any old crook who’d turn over that money
to him, two hundred thousand cold, because his conscience
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span>
hurt him, can you? You know, too, how decent
and respectable Jimmy’s been livin’ all these years, putting
up a front for the sake of that daughter of his;
suppose this was a put-up game to catch him––what
do the bulls want him for?”</p>
<p>“I ain’t no mind-reader. I’ll look up this business of
securities, and then if the young feller’s talked straight,
we’ll try to work it through him, if we can get to him,
and I guess we can, so long as I ain’t lost the gift of the
gab in twenty years. We’ll be as good, sorrowing heirs
as ever Jimmy Brunell could find anywheres.”</p>
<p>Before Walter Pennold could reach the bank, however,
an unimpeachably official letter arrived from that
institution, confirming the news imparted by the bank-clerk
concerning the securities left for James Brunell.
Pennold, going to the bank ostensibly to assure those
in authority there of his cordial willingness to assist in
the search for the heir, incidentally assured himself
of Alfred Hicks’ seemingly legitimate occupation. A
later visit to Mrs. Lindsay of 46 Jefferson Place convinced
him that the young man had lived there for some
months and was as generous, open-handed, easy-going
a boarder as that excellent woman had ever taken into
her house. Just what price was paid by Henry Blaine
to Mrs. Lindsay for that statement is immaterial to this
narrative, but it suffices that Walter Pennold returned
to the sharp-tongued wife of his bosom with only one
obstacle in his thoughts between himself and a goodly
share of the coveted two hundred thousand dollars.</p>
<p>That obstacle was an extremely healthy fear of
Jimmy Brunell. It was true that there had been no
connection between them in years, but he remembered
Jimmy’s attitude toward the “snitcher,” as well as toward
the man who “held out” on his pals; and behind
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span>
his cupidity was a lurking caution which was made manifest
when he walked into the kitchen and found Mrs.
Pennold with her shriveled arms immersed in the washtub.</p>
<p>“Say, Mame, the young feller, Hicks, is all right, and
so is the bank; but how about Jimmy himself? If I
can fix the young feller, and we can pull it off with the
bank, that’s all well and good. But s’pose Jimmy
should hear of it? Know what would happen to us,
don’t you?”</p>
<p>“If he ain’t heard of them securities all this time
they’ve been lyin’ forgotten in the bank, it’s safe he
won’t hear of ’em now unless you tell him,” retorted his
shrewder half, dryly. “Of course, if he’s lived
straight, as he has for near twenty years as far as we
know, and he finds it out, he’ll grab everything for himself.
Why shouldn’t he? But s’pose the bulls are
after him for somethin’, and the bank’s hood-winked as
well as us, where are we if we mix up in this? Tell me
that!”</p>
<p>“There’s another side of it, too, Mame.”</p>
<p>Pennold walked to the window, and regarded the
sordid lines of washed clothes contemplatively. “What
if Jimmy has been up to somethin’ on the quiet, that the
bulls ain’t on to, and this bunch of securities is on the
level? If I went to him on the square, and offered him
a percentage to play dead, wouldn’t he be ready and
willin’ to divide?”</p>
<p>“Of course he would; he’s no fool,” returned Mrs.
Pennold shortly. “But let me tell you, Wally, I don’t
like the look of that ‘See Walter Pennold of Brooklyn,’
on the note in the bank. S’pose they was trying to
trace him through us?”</p>
<p>“You’re talkin’ like a blame’ fool, Mame. Them securities
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span>
has been there for years, forgotten. Everybody
knows that me and Brunell was pals in the old
days, but no one’s got nothin’ on us now, and he give
up the game years ago.”</p>
<p>“How d’you know he did?” persisted his wife doggedly.
“That’s what you better find out, but you’ve
gotter be careful about it, in case this whole thing should
be a plant.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to tell me!” Pennold grumbled.
“I’ll write him first and then wait a few days, and if
anyone’s tailing me in the meantime, they’ll have a run
for their money.”</p>
<p>“Write him!”</p>
<p>“Of course. You may have forgotten the old cipher,
but I haven’t. You know yourself we invented it,
Jimmy and me, and the police tried their level best to
get on to it, but failed.”</p>
<p>“You can’t address it in cipher, and if you’re tailed
you won’t get a chance to mail it, Wally. Better wait
and try to see him without writing.”</p>
<p>For answer Pennold opened a drawer in the table,
drew forth a grimy sheet of paper and an envelope, and
bent laboriously to his task. It was long past dusk
when he had finished, and tossed the paper across the
table for his wife’s perusal. This is what she saw:</p>
<div class='figtag'>
<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a>
</div>
<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='images/png050.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 368px; height: 113px;' /><br />
</div>
<p>When she had gazed long at the characters, she shook
her head at him, and a slow smile came over her face.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></div>
<p>“You’ve forgotten a little yourself, Wally. You
made a mistake in the <i>k</i>.”</p>
<p>He glanced half-incredulously at it, and then laid his
huge, rough hand on her thin hair in the first caress he
had given her in years.</p>
<p>“By God, old girl, you’re a smart one! You’re
right. Now listen. You’ve got to do the rest for me,
the hardest part. Mail it.”</p>
<p>“How? If we’re tailed––”</p>
<p>“There’ll be only one on the job, if we are, and I’ll
keep him busy to-morrow morning. You go to the
market as usual, then go into that big department store,
Ahearn & McManus’. There’s a mail chute there, next
the notion counter on the ground floor. Buy a spool of
thread or somethin’, and while you’re waitin’ for change,
drop the letter in the box. You used to be pretty slick
in department stores, Mame––”</p>
<p>“Smoothest shoplifter in New York until I got
palsy!” she interrupted proudly, an unaccustomed glow
on her sallow face. “I’ll do it, Wally; I know I can!”</p>
<p>The next morning Alfred Hicks was a little late in
getting to his work at the bank––so late, in fact, that
he had only time to wave a cordial greeting to his new
friends in their cages as he passed. He paused, however,
that evening, with a pot of flowering bloom for
Mrs. Pennold’s dingy, not over-clean window-sill, and a
packet of tobacco which he shared generously with his
host. He talked much, with the garrulous self-confidence
of youth, but did not mention the matter of the
securities, and left the crafty couple completely disarmed.</p>
<p>Neither on entering nor leaving did Hicks appear to
notice a short, swarthy figure loitering in the shadow
of a dejected-looking ailanthus tree near the corner.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span>
It would have appeared curious, therefore, that the lurking
figure followed the bank-clerk almost to his lodgings,
had it not been for the fact that just before Jefferson
Place was reached the figure sidled up to Hicks’
side and whispered:</p>
<p>“No news yet, Morrow. Pennold went this morning
to old Loui the Grabber and tried to borrow money from
him, but didn’t get it. I heard the whole talk. Then
he went to Tanbark Pete’s and got a ten-spot. After
that, he divided his time between two saloons, where he
played dominoes and pinochle, and his own house. I’ve
got to report to H. B. when I’m sure the subject is safe
for the night. Have you found anything yet?”</p>
<p>“Only that I’ve got him on the run. If he knows
where our man is, Suraci, he’ll go after him in a day or
two. Meantime, tell H. B., in case I don’t get a chance
to let him know, that the securities stunt went, all right,
and my end of it is O. K.”</p>
<p>The next day, and the following, Pennold did indeed
set for the young Italian detective a swift pace. He
departed upon long rambles, which started briskly and
ended aimlessly; he called upon harmless and tedious
acquaintances, from Jamaica to Fordham; he went––apparently
and ostentatiously to look for a position as
janitor––to many office-buildings in lower Manhattan,
which he invariably entered and left by different doors.
In the evenings he sat blandly upon his own stoop,
smoking and chatting amiably if monosyllabically with
his wife and their new-found friend, Alfred Hicks, while
his indefatigable shadow glowered apparently unnoticed
from the gloom of the ailanthus tree.</p>
<p>On Thursday morning, however, Pennold betook himself
leisurely to the nearest subway station, and there
the real trial of strength between him and his unseen
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span>
antagonist began. From the Brooklyn Bridge station
he rode to the Grand Central; then with a speed which
belied his physical appearance, he raced across the
bridge to the downtown platform, and caught a train for
Fourteenth Street. There he swiftly turned north to
Seventy-second Street––then to the Grand Central,
again to Ninety-sixth, and so on, doubling from station
to station until finally he felt that he must be entirely
secure from pursuit.</p>
<p>He alighted at length at a station far up in the
Bronx, and after looking carefully about he started off
toward the west, where the mushroom growth of the new
city sprang up in rows of <a name='TC_2'></a><ins title="Was ''rococco'' in the original text">rococo</ins> brick and stone houses
with oases of green fields and open lots between. He
turned up a little lane of tiny frame houses, each set in
its trim garden, and stopped at the fourth cottage.</p>
<p>With a last furtive backward glance, Pennold
mounted the steps and rang the bell nervously. The
door was opened from within so suddenly that it seemed
as if the man who faced his visitor on the threshold must
have been awaiting the summons. He stepped quickly
out, shutting the door behind him, and for a short space
the two stood talking in low tones––Pennold eagerly,
insistently, the other man evasively, slowly, as if choosing
his words with care. He was as erect as Pennold
was shambling and stoop-shouldered, and although gray
and lined of features, his eyes were clear and more
steady, his chin more firm, his whole bearing more elastic
and forceful.</p>
<p>He did not invite his visitor to enter, and the colloquy
between them was brief. It was significant that they did
not shake hands, but parted with a brief though not unfriendly
nod. The tall man turned and re-entered his
house, closing the door again behind him, while Pennold
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span>
scuttled away, without a farewell glance. It might
have been well had he looked once more over his shoulder,
for there, crouching against the veranda rail where
he had managed to overhear the last of the conversation,
was that short, swarthy figure which had followed
so indefatigably on his trail for three days––which had
clung to him, closely but unseen, through all his devious
journey of that morning. Suraci had not failed.</p>
<p>He tailed Pennold to his home, then went in person
with his report to the great Blaine himself, who heard
him through in silence, and then brought his mighty fist
down upon his desk with a blow which made the massive
bronze ink-well quiver.</p>
<p>“That’s our man! You’ve got him, Suraci. Good
work! Now wait a little; I want you to take some instructions
yourself over to Morrow.”</p>
<p>The next day the Pennolds missed the cheery greeting
of their new friend, the bank-clerk. Since the acquaintanceship
had been so recently formed, it was odd
that they should have been as deeply concerned over his
defection as they were. They said little that evening,
but when his absence continued the second day, Pennold
himself ambled down to the Brooklyn & Queens Bank
and reluctantly deposited twenty dollars, merely for the
pleasure of a chat with young Hicks. The latter’s
cheery face failed to greet him, however, within its
portals, and a craftily worded inquiry merely elicited
the information that he was no longer connected with
that institution.</p>
<p>“What do you make of it, Mame?” he asked anxiously
of his wife when he reached home. His step was
more shambling than ever, and his hands, clutching his
hat-brim, trembled more than her gnarled, palsied ones.</p>
<p>“I’ll tell you what I think when I’ve been around to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span>
Mrs. Lindsay’s this afternoon––to 46 Jefferson
Place.”</p>
<p>“What’re you goin’ to do there? You can’t ask for
him, very well,” objected her spouse.</p>
<p>“Do?” she retorted tartly. “What would I do in
a boarding-house? Look for rooms for us, of course,
and inquire about the other lodgers to be sure it’s respectable
for a decent, middle-aged, married couple.
Do you think I’m goin’ lookin’ for a long-lost son?
The life must be gettin’ you at last, Wally! Your head
ain’t what it used to be.”</p>
<p>But Mrs. Pennold’s vaunted astuteness gained her
little knowledge which could be of value to her in their
late acquaintance. Mrs. Lindsay was a beetle-browed,
enormously stout old lady, with a stern eye and commanding
presence, who looked as if in her younger days
she might well have been a police-matron––as indeed
she had been. She had two double rooms and a single
hall bedroom to show for inspection, and she waxed surprisingly
voluble concerning the vacancy of the latter,
at the first tentative mention of her other lodgers, by
her visitor.</p>
<p>“As nice a young man as ever you’d wish to see,
ma’am. I don’t have none but the most refined people
in my house. Lived with me a year and a half, Mr.
Hicks did, except for his vacation––regular as clockwork
in his bills, and free and open-handed with his tips
to Delia. Of course, he wasn’t just what you might call
steady in his goings-out and comings-in, but there never
was nothin’ objectionable in his habits. You know
what young men is! He had a fine position in a bank
here in Brooklyn, but I don’t think the company he
kep’ was all that it might have been. Kind of flashy
and sporty, his friends was, and I guess that’s what got
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span>
him into trouble. For trouble he was in, ma’am, when
he paid me yesterday in full even to the shavin’ mug
which I’d bought for his dresser, and meant him to keep
for a present––and picked up bag and baggage and
left. I always did think Friday was an unlucky day!
He stood in the vestibule and shook both my hands, and
there wasn’t a dry eye in his head or mine!</p>
<p>“‘Mis’ Lindsay!’ he says to me, just like I’m tellin’
it to you. ‘Mis’ Lindsay, I can’t stay here no longer.
I wisht to heavings I could, for you’ve given me a real
home,’ he says, ‘but I’m not at the bank no more, and
I’m going away. I’m in trouble!’ he says. ‘I needn’t
tell you where I’m goin’ for I ain’t got a friend who’ll
ask after me or care, but I just want to thank you for
all your kindness to me, an’ to ask you to accept this
present, and give this dollar-bill to Delia, when she comes
in from the fish-store.’</p>
<p>“This is what he give me as a present, ma’am!”
Mrs. Lindsay pointed dramatically to a German silver
brooch set with a doubtful garnet, at her throat.
“And I was so broke up over it all, that I forgot and
give Delia the whole dollar, instead of just a quarter,
like I should’ve done. I s’pose I’d ought to write to his
folks, but I don’t know where they are. He comes from
up-State somewheres, and I never was one to pry in a
boarder’s letters or bureau-drawers. I’m just worried
sick about it all!”</p>
<p>Mrs. Lindsay would have made a superb actress.</p>
<p>When the interview was at an end and Mrs. Pennold
had rejoined her husband, they discussed the disappearance
of Alfred Hicks from every standpoint and came
finally to the conclusion that the young bank-clerk’s
sporting proclivities had brought him to ruin.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, in a modest cottage in Meadow Lane, in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span>
the Bronx, a small card reading “Room to Let” had been
removed from the bay window, and just behind its curtains
a young man sat, his eyes fastened upon the house
across the way––the fourth from the end of the line.
He was a tall, dark young man with a smooth face and
firm-set jaw, and his new land-lady knew him as Guy
Morrow.</p>
<p>All at once, as he sat watching, the door of the cottage
opened, and a girl came out. There was nothing
remarkable about her; she was quite a common type of
girl: slender, not too tall, with a wealth of red-brown hair
and soft hazel eyes; yet there was something about her
which made Guy Morrow catch his breath; and throwing
caution to the winds, he parted the curtains and leaned
forward, looking down upon her. As she reached the
gate, his gaze drew hers, and she lifted her gentle eyes
and looked into his.</p>
<p>Then her lids drooped swiftly; a faint flush tinged her
delicate face, and with lowered head she walked quickly
on.</p>
<p>Guy Morrow sank back in his chair, and after the
warm glow which had surged up so suddenly within him,
a chill crept about his heart. What could that slender,
brown-haired, clear-eyed girl be to the man he had been
sent to spy upon––to Jimmy Brunell, the forger?</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_V_THE_WILL' id='CHAPTER_V_THE_WILL'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>
<h3>THE WILL</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">Henry Blaine</span> sat in his office, leisurely turning
over the pages of a morning newspaper;
his attitude was one of apparent idleness, but
the occasional swift glances he darted at the clock and
a slight lifting of his eyebrows at the least sound from
without betokened the fact that he was waiting for
some one or something.</p>
<p>His eyes scanned the columns of each page with
seeming carelessness, yet their keen glances missed not
one significant phrase. And suddenly his gaze was
transfixed by a paragraph tucked away in a corner of
the second page.</p>
<p>It was merely an account of trouble between capital
and labor in a distant manufacturing city, and a hint
of an organized strike which threatened for the immediate
future. The great detective was not at all a
politician, and the social and economic conditions of the
day held no greater import for him than for any other
conscientious, far-seeing citizen of the country, yet he
sat for a long moment with wrinkled brow and pursed
lips, musing, while the newspaper dropped unheeded
upon the desk.</p>
<p>His reverie was suddenly interrupted by the sharp,
insistent tinkling of the telephone; a clear, girlish voice
came to him over the wire:</p>
<p>“Is this Grosvenor 0760? This is Miss Lawton
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span>
speaking. An alteration must be made at once in that
last gown you sent me, and it is imperative that I see
you in person concerning it. It will be inconvenient for
me to have you come here this morning. Where shall I
see you? At your establishment or––”</p>
<p>She paused suggestively, and he replied with a hurried
question.</p>
<p>“It is absolutely necessary, Miss Lawton, that you
see me in person? You are quite sure?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely.” Her voice held a ring of earnestness
and something more which caused him to jump to a
lightning-like decision.</p>
<p>“Very well. I will meet you in twenty minutes at
your Working Girls’ Club. I am an architect, remember,
and you wish to build a new and more improved
institution of the same order on another site. Therefore,
you have met me there to show me over the old
building and suggest changes in its plans for the new
one. You understand, Miss Lawton? My name is
Banks, remember, and––be a few minutes late.”</p>
<p>“I understand perfectly. Thank you. Good-by.”</p>
<p>The receiver at the other end of the line clicked
abruptly, and the detective sprang to his feet.</p>
<p>A quarter of an hour later Blaine presented himself
at the Anita Lawton Club, where a trim maid ushered
him into a tiny office. There, behind the desk, sat a girl,
and at sight of her, the detective, master of himself as
he was, gave an imperceptible start.</p>
<p>There was nothing remarkable about her; she was
quite a common type of girl: slender, not too tall, with
a wealth of red-brown hair, and soft hazel eyes; yet she
reminded Blaine vaguely but insistently of some one else––some
one whom he had encountered in the past.</p>
<p>He recovered himself at once, and presented the card
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span>
which announced him as the senior member of the firm
of Banks and Frost, architects.</p>
<p>“Whom did you wish to see, sir?” The girl turned
slowly about in her swivel chair and regarded him respectfully
but coolly. Her voice was low and gentle
and distinctly feminine, yet it brought to him again that
haunting sense of resemblance which the first vision of
her had caused.</p>
<p>“Miss Lawton,” he replied, quietly.</p>
<p>“But Miss Lawton is not here.” The girl’s surprise
was unfeigned.</p>
<p>“I have an appointment to meet her here at this time.
She may perhaps have been detained. She has arranged
to go over the club building with me. As you
see by my card, I am an architect and she is planning
more extensive work, I believe, along the lines instituted
here––at least that is the impression she has given my
firm. I will wait a short time, if I may. You are connected
with the official work of the club?”</p>
<p>“I am the secretary.” The girl paused and then
added, “I understand perfectly, sir. Will you be
seated, please? Miss Lawton had not told me of her
appointment here with you. She will without doubt
arrive shortly.”</p>
<p>Henry Blaine seated himself, and as she started to
turn back to her desk, he asked quickly:</p>
<p>“You must find the work here very interesting, do
you not? We––our firm––have erected several
philanthropic institutions of learning and recreation,
but none precisely on this order. Miss Lawton has
shown us the plans of this present club and we consider
the arrangement of the dormitories particularly ingenious,
with regard to economy of space and the requisite
sunlight and air.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span></div>
<p>“Oh, yes!” The girl turned toward him swiftly, her
face suffused with interest. “Miss Lawton drew all the
plans herself, and they were not changed in the least. I
don’t see how they could possibly be improved upon.
Miss Lawton has done splendid work here, sir; the club
has been a wonderful success since it was first opened.”</p>
<p>“It must have been.” The detective paused, then
added easily, “I know that her late father was very
proud of her executive ability. You––er––you educate
young women here, do you not, and train them for
positions?”</p>
<p>“We not only train the members of the club, but
obtain positions for them, with reputable business
firms,” the girl answered.</p>
<p>“Indeed?” Blaine asked, with apparent surprise.
“What sort of positions do the members of your club
fill?”</p>
<p>“Whatever they are capable of acquiring a working
knowledge of. Filing clerks, stenographers, secretaries,
switchboard operators, telegraphers, even governesses.
We have never had a failure, and I think it is
because Miss Lawton gives not only her personal attention,
but real love and faith to each girl. She is––wonderful.”</p>
<p>The face of the young woman was rapt as she spoke,
and Blaine could guess without further explanation that
she herself was a protégée of Miss Lawton’s, and a
grateful one––unless she were playing a part. If so,
she was an actress of transcendent ability.</p>
<p>“You say that you have never had a failure. That
must, indeed, be encouraging,” Blaine remarked, tentatively.
“Perhaps we might arrange later with you or
Miss Lawton to place one or two of your clerks or
stenographers. We are enlarging our offices––”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></div>
<p>“Good morning!” a fresh young voice interrupted
him, and Anita Lawton stood upon the threshold.
“Did Mr. Banks come yet?––ah, yes, I see. How do
you do?”</p>
<p>Blaine arose, and Anita gave him her hand cordially.
His quick eyes observed that in passing she patted the
shoulder of her secretary affectionately, and the girl
looked up at her quickly, with eyes aglow. The truth
was no longer concealed from his discernment. The
girl was staunch in every fiber of her being.</p>
<p>“Miss Lawton, I am sorry, but I have really not any
too much time this morning. If we could proceed to
business at once.”</p>
<p>“Certainly. If you will come this way, Mr.
Banks––” At the door she paused, and turned to the
secretary: “I will see you later, dear.”</p>
<p>Anita led the detective swiftly through the wide, clean
halls and up the stairs, explaining in clear, distinct tones
the floor-plan. On the second floor she opened the door
leading into a little ante-room at the front of the house
just over the office, and when they were seated, she said
quickly, with rising excitement, although her voice was
carefully hushed.</p>
<p>“Mr. Bl––Banks, I have something to show you––my
father’s will! It was discovered, or rather, produced,
yesterday. The lawyers who have charge of the
estate––Anderson & Wallace, you know––seem to me
to be perfectly disinterested, and honest, but I am so
hedged in on every hand by a stifling feeling of deceit
and treachery that I feel I can trust no one save you and
Mr. Hamilton––not even poor old Ellen, my maid, who
has been with me since I was born!”</p>
<p>“I quite understand, Miss Lawton, and I realize how
difficult the situation is for you, but I want you to trust
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span>
no one––at least, to the extent of giving them your
confidence. Now about the will; it was produced by
your late father’s attorneys?”</p>
<p>“No, by President Mallowe, of the Street Railways.
It appears that Father left it in his charge. Mr. Anderson
drew it; his partner, Mr. Wallace, witnessed it;
and they both assure me that it is absolutely authentic.
Here it is.”</p>
<p>She opened her bag and handed a long envelope to
him, but at first his attention was held by what she had
said, and he frowned as he repeated quickly:</p>
<p>“‘Authentic?’ I trust you did not show any suspicion
that you doubted for a moment that it was genuine?”</p>
<p>“Oh, by no means! It was Mr. Anderson himself
who took especial pains to assure me of its authenticity.”</p>
<p>Blaine regarded the envelope reflectively for a moment
before he raised the flap. Why had the attorney
considered it necessary to assure his late client’s daughter
that the will which he had himself drawn was genuine?</p>
<p>The will was short and to the point. In it Pennington
Lawton left everything of which he died possessed
to his daughter, unconditionally and without reservation.</p>
<p>“Of course, Miss Lawton, since you are only twenty,
and your father has named no guardian or trustee, the
courts will at once appoint one, and I have no hesitation
in saying that I believe the guardian so appointed
will be one of your father’s three associates, presumably
Mr. Mallowe. However, that will make little difference
in our investigation, and, since it is claimed that all your
father’s huge fortune is lost, the matter of a guardian
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span>
cannot tie our hands in any way. Now, just a moment,
please.”</p>
<p>He drew from his pocket a small but powerful magnifying
glass and the slip of paper which Ramon Hamilton
had sent him, on which was the signature of the
late Pennington Lawton. Through the microscope he
carefully compared it with that affixed to the will and
then looked up reassuringly.</p>
<p>“It is quite all right, Miss Lawton. In my estimation
the will is authentic and your father’s signature
genuine.” He folded the paper, slipped it in its envelope
and returned it to her. “There is one thing now
which I must most earnestly caution you against. Do
not sign any paper, no matter who wishes it or orders
it––no matter if it is the most trivial household receipt.
Do not write any letters yourself, or notes to any one,
even to Mr. Hamilton; you understand they might be
intercepted. If anyone wishes you to sign a paper relating
to the matter of your father’s estate, say you cannot
do so until you have shown it in private to Mr. Hamilton––that
you have promised you will not do so.
Any other papers you can easily evade signing. As for
your private correspondence, obtain a social secretary,
and permit her to sign everything––one whom you can
trust––say, one of your girls from here, that girl downstairs,
for instance. What is her name?”</p>
<p>Anita Lawton rose, and a peculiar pained expression
passed over her features.</p>
<p>“I am sorry, Mr. Blaine––really, really I am sorry.
I cannot tell you her name. That was one of the conditions
under which she came to us here––that is why I
have given her an official position here in the Club. She
is staunch and faithful and true; I know it, I feel it;
and she is too high-principled to pass under any name
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span>
not her own. I know and am heartily in sympathy with
the reason for her secretiveness. You know that I trust
you implicitly, but I know you would not have me go
back on my word when once it has been given.”</p>
<p>“Certainly not, Miss Lawton. I realize that many
of your protégées here may come of unfortunate antecedents.
If you feel that you can trust her, use her. Do
you feel equally sure of the other members of your
Club?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely. I feel that they all really love me; that
they would do anything for me they could in the world,
and yet I have done so little for them––only given them
the little help which I was able to bestow, which we
should all do for those less fortunate than ourselves....
Why did you ask me, Mr. Blaine, if I felt that I could
trust the girls who have placed themselves under my
care?”</p>
<p>“Because we may have need of them in the future.
They may be of the most vital assistance to us in this
investigation, should events turn out as I anticipate and
they prove worthy of the charge it may be necessary for
me to impose on them. But enough of that for now.
If at any time you wish to see me, personally, telephone
me as you did this morning and I will meet you here.”</p>
<p>The detective left her in the office of the secretary,
and as he made his adieus to them both he cast a last
quick, penetrating glance at the girl behind the desk.
Again that vague sense of resemblance possessed him.
With whom was she connected? Why was her name so
significantly withheld?</p>
<p>In the meantime Guy Morrow, from his post of observation
in the window of the little cottage on Meadow
Lane, had watched the object of his espionage for several
fruitless days––fruitless, because the actions of the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span>
man Brunell had been so obviously those of one who felt
himself utterly beyond suspicion.</p>
<p>The erect, gray-haired, clear-eyed man had come and
gone about his business, without the slightest attempt at
concealment. A few of the simplest inquiries of his
land-lady had elicited the fact that the gentleman opposite,
old Mr. Brunell, was a map-maker, and worked at
his trade in a little shop in the nearest row of brick buildings
just around the corner––that he had lived in the
little cottage since it had first been erected, six years before,
alone with his daughter Emily, and before that,
they had for many years occupied a small apartment
near by––in fact, the girl had grown up in that neighborhood.
He was a quiet man, not very talkative, but
well liked by his neighbors, and his daughter was devoted
to him. According to Mrs. Quinlan, Guy Morrow’s
aforesaid land-lady, Emily Brunell was a dear, sweet
girl, very popular among the young people in the neighborhood,
but she kept strictly at home in her leisure
hours and preferred her father’s companionship to that
of anyone else. She was employed in some business capacity
downtown, from nine until six; just what it was
Mrs. Quinlan did not know.</p>
<p>Morrow kept well in the background, in case Mr. Pennold
should put in an appearance again, but he did not.
Evidently that conversation overheard by Suraci had
been a final one, concerning the securities at least, and
no one else called at the little cottage door over the way,
except a vapid-faced young man to whom Morrow took
an instant and inexplicable dislike.</p>
<p>Morrow made it a point to visit and investigate the
little shop at an hour when he knew Brunell would not be
there, and found in the cursory examination possible at
that time that its purpose seemed to be strictly legitimate.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span>
A shock-headed boy of fifteen or thereabout was
in charge, and the operative easily succeeded in engaging
his stolid attention elsewhere while, with a bit of soft
wax carefully palmed in his left hand, he succeeded in
gaining an impression of the lock on the flimsy door.
From this he had a key made in anticipation of orders
from his chief, requiring a thorough search of the little
shop––orders which for the first time in his career, he
shrank from.</p>
<p>He made no effort to scrape an acquaintance with
Brunell himself, but frequently encountered, as if by
accident, the daughter Emily, on her way to and from
the subway station. If she recognized in him the young
lodger across the street, she made no sign, and as the
days passed, Morrow, the man, despaired of gaining her
friendship, save through her father, whom Morrow––the
operative––had received orders not to approach
personally.</p>
<p>Before he had seen her, had he known that the old
forger possessed a daughter, he would have laid his plans
to worm himself into the confidence of the little family
through the girl, but having once laid eyes upon her face
in all its gentle, trusting purity, every manly instinct in
him revolted at the thought of making her a tool of her
father’s probable downfall.</p>
<p>There was a third member of the Brunell household
whom Morrow had observed frequently seated upon the
doorstep, or on one of the lower window sills––a small,
scraggly black kitten, with stiff outstanding fur, and an
absurdly belligerent attitude whenever a dog chanced to
pass through the lane. It waited in the doorway each
night for the return of its mistress, and in the soft glow
of the lamplight which streamed from within, he had
seen her catch the little creature up affectionately and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span>
cuddle it up against her neck before the door closed upon
them.</p>
<p>One afternoon in the early November twilight, as Morrow
was returning to his own door after shadowing
Brunell on an aimless and chilly walk, he saw the kitten
lying curled up just outside its own gate, and an inspiration
sprang to his ingenious mind. He seated himself
upon the steps of Mrs. Quinlan’s front porch and waited
until the darkness had deepened sufficiently to cloak his
nefarious scheme. Then, with soft beguiling tone––and
a few <i>sotto voce</i> remarks, for he hated cats––Morrow
began a deliberate attempt to entice the kitten across to
him.</p>
<p>“Come here, kitty, kitty,” he called softly. “Come,
pussy dear! Come here, you mangy, rat-tailed little
beast! Come cattykins.”</p>
<p>At his first words the kitten raised its head and regarded
him with yellow eyes gleaming through the dusk,
in unconcealed antagonism. But, at the soft, purring
flattery of his voice, the gleam softened to a glow of
pleased interest, and the little creature rose lazily,
stretched itself, and tripped lightly over to him, its tail
erect in optimistic confidence.</p>
<p>Morrow picked it up gingerly by the neck and tucked
it beneath his coat, stroking its head with a reluctant
thumb, while it purred loudly in sleepy content, at the
warmth of its welcome. The hour was approaching
when Emily Brunell usually made her appearance, and
he trusted to luck to keep the little animal quiet until she
had entered her home and discovered its loss, but the
fickle goddess failed him.</p>
<p>The kitten grew suddenly uneasy, as if some intuition
warned it of treachery, and tried valiantly to escape
from his grasp, and never did Spartan boy with wolf concealed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span>
beneath his tunic suffer more tortures than Morrow
with the wretched little creature clawing at his
hands.</p>
<p>Would Emily Brunell never come? What could be
keeping her to-night, of all nights? Morrow gripped
the soft, elusive bundle of fur with desperate firmness
and looked across the street. Evidently he was not the
only one impatient for her arrival. The doorway opposite
had opened, and Jimmy Brunell stood peering anxiously
forth into the darkness.</p>
<p>At that moment the kitten emitted a fearsome yowl,
which Morrow smothered hastily with his coat. He
fancied that the old man turned his head quickly and
glanced in his direction, and never had the operative felt
guiltier.</p>
<p>Brunell, however, retired within, closing the door after
him, and the kitten’s struggles gradually grew weaker
and finally ceased.</p>
<p>Morrow felt a horrible fear surging up within him
that he had strangled the little beast, and his grasp
gradually relaxed. Then he opened his overcoat cautiously
and peered within. The kitten was sleeping
peacefully, and he heaved a sigh of relief, glancing up
just in time to see Emily Brunell pass quickly through
her own gate and up to the door.</p>
<p>He sat motionless on the steps of Mrs. Quinlan’s, and
his patience was rewarded when after a few moments
the Brunell’s door re-opened and he heard the girl’s
voice calling anxiously: “Kitty! Kitty!”</p>
<p>Morrow rose with unfeigned alacrity and crossing
the road, opened the little gate without ceremony and
mounted the steps of the porch.</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon,” he said blandly. “Is this
your kitten? It––er––wandered across the street to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span>
me and fell asleep under my coat. I board just over the
way, you know, with Mrs. Quinlan. My name is Morrow.”</p>
<p>The girl gave a little cry of relieved anxiety, and
caught the kitten in her arms.</p>
<p>“Oh, I am so glad! I was afraid it was lost, and it
is so tiny and defenseless to be out all alone in the cold
and darkness. Thank you so much, Mr. Morrow. I
suppose it was waiting for me, as it usually does, and
grew restless at my delay, poor little thing! It was
kind of you to comfort it!”</p>
<p>Feeling like an utter brute, Morrow stammered a
humble disclaimer of her undeserved gratitude, and
moved toward the steps.</p>
<p>“Oh, but it was really kind of you; most men hate
cats, although my father loves them. I should have
been home much earlier but I was detained by some extra
work at the club where I am employed.”</p>
<p>“The club?” he repeated stupidly.</p>
<p>“Yes,” replied the girl, quietly, cuddling the kitten
beneath her chin. “The Anita Lawton Club for Working
Girls.”</p>
<p>She caught herself up sharply, even as she spoke, and
a look almost of apprehension crossed her ingenuous
face for a moment, and was gone.</p>
<p>“Thank you again for protecting my kitten for me,”
she said softly. “Good-night.”</p>
<p>Guy Morrow walked down the steps and across to his
own lodgings with his brain awhirl. The investigation,
through the medium of a small black kitten, had indeed
taken an amazing turn. Jimmy Brunell’s daughter was
a protégée of the daughter of Pennington Lawton!</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_VI_THE_FIRST_COUNTERMOVE' id='CHAPTER_VI_THE_FIRST_COUNTERMOVE'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
<h3>THE FIRST COUNTER-MOVE</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">The</span> little paragraph in the newspaper, which,
irrelevant as it would seem, had caught the keenly
discerning eye of Henry Blaine, grew in length
and importance from day to day until it reached a position
on the first page, and then spread in huge headlines
over the entire sheet. Instead of relating merely
the incidents of a labor strike in a manufacturing city––and
that city a far-distant one––it became speedily
a sociological question of almost national import. The
yellow journals were quick to seize upon it at the psychological
moment of civic unrest, and throw out hints,
vague but vast in their significance, of the mighty interests
behind the mere fact of the strike, the great
financial question involved, the crisis between capital and
labor, the trusts and the common people, the workers and
the wasters, in the land of the free.</p>
<p>Henry Blaine, seated in his office, read the scare-heads
and smiled his slow, inscrutable, illuminating
smile––the smile which, without menace or rancor, had
struck terror to the hearts of the greatest malefactors of
his generation––which, without flattery or ingratiation,
had won for him the friendship of the greatest men in
the country. He knew every move in the gigantic game
which was being played solely for his attention, long
before a pawn was lifted from its place, a single counter
changed; he had known it, from the moment that the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span>
seemingly unimportant paragraph had met his eyes; and
he also knew the men who sat in the game, whose hands
passed over the great chessboard of current events,
whose brains directed the moves. And the stakes? Not
the welfare of the workingmen in that distant city, not
the lifting of the grinding heel of temporal power from
the supine bodies of the humble––but the peace of mind,
the honorable, untarnished name, the earthly riches of
the slender girl who sat in that great darkened house on
Belleair Avenue.</p>
<p>Hence Blaine sat back quietly, and waited for the decisive
move which he knew to be forthcoming––waited,
and not in vain. The spectacular play to the gallery of
one was dramatically accomplished; it was heralded by
extras bawled through the midnight streets, and full-page
display headlines in the papers the next morning.</p>
<p>Promptly on the stroke of nine, Henry Blaine arrived
at his office, and as he expected, found awaiting him an
urgent telegram from the chief of police of the city
where the strike had assumed such colossal importance,
earnestly asking him for his immediate presence and assistance.
He sent a tentative refusal––and waited.
Still more insistent messages followed in rapid succession,
from the mayor of that city, the governor of that
state, even its representative in the Senate at Washington,
to all of which he replied in the same emphatic, negative
strain. Then, late in the afternoon, there eventuated
that which he had anticipated. Mohammed came
to the mountain.</p>
<p>Blaine read the card which his confidential secretary
presented, and laid it down upon the desk before him.</p>
<p>“Show him in,” he directed, shortly. He did not
rise from his chair, nor indeed change his position an
iota, but merely glanced up from beneath slightly raised
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span>
eyebrows, when the door opened again and a bulky,
pompous figure stood almost obsequiously before him.</p>
<p>“Come in, Mr. Carlis,” he invited coolly. “Take
this chair. What can I do for you?”</p>
<p>It was significant that neither man made any move
toward shaking hands, although it was obvious that they
were acquainted, at least. The great detective’s tone
when he greeted his visitor was as distinctly ironical as
the latter’s was uneasy, although he replied with a mirthless
chuckle, which was intended to be airily nonchalant.</p>
<p>“Nothing for me, Mr. Blaine––that is, not to-day.
One can never tell in this period of sudden changes and
revolt, when our city may be stricken as another was just
a few hours ago. There is no better, cleaner, more
honestly prosperous metropolis in these United States
to-day, than Illington, but––” Mr. Carlis, the political
boss who had ruled for more than a decade in almost
undisputed sway, paused and gulped, as if his oratorical
eloquence stuck suddenly in his throat.</p>
<p>The detective watched him passively, a disconcerting
look of inquiring interest on his mobile face. “It is because
of our stricken sister city that I am here,” went on
the visitor. “I know I will not be in great favor with
you as an advocate, Mr. Blaine. We have had our little
tilts in the past, when you––er––disapproved of my
methods of conducting my civic office and I distrusted
your motives, but that is forgotten now, and I come to
you merely as one public-spirited citizen to another.
The mayor of Grafton has wired me, as has the chief of
police, to urge you to proceed there at once and take
charge of the investigation into last night’s bomb outrages
in connection with the great strike. They inform
me that you have repeatedly refused to-day to come to
their assistance.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span></div>
<p>Blaine nodded.</p>
<p>“That is quite true, Mr. Carlis. I did decline the
offers extended to me.”</p>
<p>“But surely you cannot refuse! Good heavens, man,
do you realize what it means if you do? It isn’t only
that there is a fortune in it for you, your reputation
stands or falls on your decision! This is a public
charge! The people rely upon you! If you won’t,
for some reason of your own, come to the rescue now,
when you are publicly called upon, you’ll be a ruined
man!” The voice of the Boss ascended in a shrill
falsetto of remonstrance.</p>
<p>“There may be two opinions as to that, Mr. Carlis,”
Blaine returned quietly. “As far as the financial argument
goes, I think you discovered long ago that its appeal
to me is based upon a different point of view than
your own. You forget that I am not a servant of the
public, but a private citizen, free to accept or decline
such offers as are made to me in my line of business, as I
choose. This affair is not a public charge, but a business
proposition, which I decline. As to my reputation
depending upon it, I differ with you. My reputation
will stand, I think, upon my record in the past, even if
every yellow newspaper in the city is paid to revile me.”</p>
<p>Carlis rested his plump hands upon his widespread
knees, and leaned as far forward, in his eager anxiety,
as his obese figure would permit.</p>
<p>“But why?” he fairly wailed, his carefully rounded,
oratorical tones forgotten. “Why on earth do you decline
this offer, Blaine? You’ve nothing big on hand
now––nothing your operatives can’t attend to. There
isn’t a case big enough for your attention on the calendar!
You know as well as I do that Illington is clean
and that the lid is on for keeps! The police are taking
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span>
care of the petty crimes, and there’s absolutely nothing
doing in your line here at the moment. This is the
chance of your career! Why on earth do you refuse
it?”</p>
<p>“Well, Mr. Carlis, let us say, for instance, that my
health is not quite as good as it was, and I find the air
of Illington agrees with it better just now than that of
Grafton.” Blaine leaned back easily in his chair, and
after a slight pause he added speculatively, with deliberate
intent, “I didn’t know you had interests there!”</p>
<p>The Boss purpled.</p>
<p>“Look here, Blaine!” he bellowed. “What d’you
mean by that?”</p>
<p>“Merely following a train of thought, Mr. Carlis,”
returned the detective imperturbably. “I was trying
to figure out why you were so desperately anxious to
have me go to Grafton––”</p>
<p>“I tell you I am here at the urgent request of the
mayor and the chief of police!” the fat man protested,
but faintly, as if the unexpected attack had temporarily
winded him. “Why in h––ll should I want you to go to
Grafton?”</p>
<p>“Presumably because Grafton is some fourteen hundred
miles from Illington,” remarked Blaine, his quietly
unemotional tones hardening suddenly like tempered
steel. “Going to try to pull off something here in
town which you think could be more easily done if I
were away? Cards on the table, Mr. Carlis! You
tried to bribe me in a case once, and you failed. Then
you tried bullying me and you found that didn’t work,
either. Now you’ve come again with your hook baited
with patriotism, public spirit, the cry of the people and
all the rest of the guff the newspapers you control have
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span>
been handing out to their readers since you took them
over. What’s the idea?”</p>
<p>The Boss rose, with what was intended for an air of
injured dignity, but his fat face all at once seemed
sagged and wrinkled, like a pricked balloon.</p>
<p>“I did not come here to be insulted!” he announced
in his most impressive manner. “I came, as I told you,
as a public-spirited citizen, because the officials of another
city called upon me to urge you to aid them. I
have failed in my mission, and I will go. I am surprised,
Blaine, at your attitude; I thought you were too big a
man to permit your personal antagonism to me to interfere
with your duty––”</p>
<p>For the first time during their interview Blaine smiled
slightly.</p>
<p>“Have you ever known me, Mr. Carlis, to permit my
personal antagonism to you or any other man to interfere
with what I conceive to be my duty?”</p>
<p>Before he replied, the politician produced a voluminous
silk handkerchief, and mopped his brow. For
some reason he did not feel called upon to make a direct
answer.</p>
<p>“Well, what reason am I to give to the Mayor of
Grafton and its political leaders, for your refusal?
That talk about me trying to get you out of Illington,
Blaine, is all bosh, and you know it. <i>I’m</i> running Illington
just as I’ve run it for the last ten years, in spite of
your interference or any other man’s, and I’m going to
stay right on the job! If you won’t give any other
reason for declining the call to Grafton, than your
preference for the air of Illington, then the bets go as
they lay!”</p>
<p>He jammed his hat upon his head, and strode from
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span>
the room with all the ferocity his rotund figure could
express. The first decisive move in the game had failed.</p>
<p>The door was scarcely closed behind him, when Blaine
turned to the telephone and called up Anita Lawton on
the private wire.</p>
<p>“Can you arrange to meet me at once, at your Working
Girls’ Club?” he asked. “I wish to suggest a plan
to be put into immediate operation.”</p>
<p>“Very well. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”</p>
<p>When the detective arrived at the club, he was
ushered immediately to the small ante-room on the second
floor, where he found Anita anxiously awaiting
him.</p>
<p>“Miss Lawton,” he began, without further greeting
than a quick handclasp, “you told me, the other day,
that your girls here were all staunch and faithful to
you. Your secretary downstairs had previously informed
me that they were trained to hold positions of
trust, and that you obtained such positions for them.
I want you to obtain four positions for four of the girls
in whom you place the most implicit confidence.”</p>
<p>“Why, certainly, Mr. Blaine, if I can. Do you mean
that they are to have something to do with your investigation
into my father’s affairs?”</p>
<p>“I want them to play detective for me, Miss Lawton.
Have you four girls unemployed at the moment?––Say,
for instance, a filing clerk, a stenographer, a governess
and a switchboard operator, who are sufficiently intelligent
and proficient in their various occupations, to assume
such a trust?”</p>
<p>“Why, yes, I––I think we have. I can find out, of
course. Where do you wish to place them?”</p>
<p>“That is the most difficult part of all, Miss Lawton.
You must obtain the positions for them. These three
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span>
men who stand in <i>loco parentis</i> toward you, as you
say, and your spiritual adviser, Dr. Franklin, who so
obviously wishes to ingratiate himself with them, would
none of them refuse a request of this sort from you at
this stage of the game, particularly if they are really
engaged in a conspiracy against you. Go to these four
men––Mr. Mallowe first––and tell them that because
of the sudden, complete loss of your fortune, your club
must be disorganized, and beg them each to give one of
your girls, special protégées of yours, a position. Send
your filing clerk to Mr. Mallowe, your most expert
stenographer to Mr. Rockamore, your switchboard operator
to Mr. Carlis, and your governess into the household
of your minister. I have learned that he has three
small children, and his wife applied only yesterday at an
agency for a nursery governess. The last proposition
may be the most difficult for you to handle, but I think
if you manage to convey to the Reverend Dr. Franklin
the fact that your three self-appointed guardians have
each taken one of your girls into their employ, in order
to help them, and that his following their benevolent example
would bring him into closer <i>rapport</i> with them,
no objection will be made––provided, of course, the
young woman is suitable.”</p>
<p>“I will try, Mr. Blaine, but of course I can do nothing
about that until to-morrow, as it is so late in the
afternoon. However, I can have a talk with the girls,
if they are in now––or would you prefer to interview
them?”</p>
<p>“No, you talk with them first, Miss Lawton, and to-morrow
morning while you are arranging for their positions
I will interview them and instruct them in their
primary duties. I will leave you now. Remember that
the girls must be absolutely trustworthy, and the stenographer
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span>
who will be placed in the office of Mr. Rockamore
must be particularly expert.”</p>
<p>After the detective had taken his departure, Anita
Lawton descended quickly to the office of the secretary.</p>
<p>“Emily,” she asked, “is Loretta Murfree in, or
Fifine Déchaussée?”</p>
<p>“I think they both are, Miss Lawton. Shall I ring
for them?”</p>
<p>“Yes, please, Emily; send them to me one at a time,
in the ante-room, and let me know when Agnes Olson and
Margaret Hefferman come in. I wish to talk with all
four of them, but separately.”</p>
<p>Loretta Murfree was the first to put in an appearance.
She was a short, dumpy, black-haired girl of
twenty, and she bounced into the room with a flashing,
wide-mouthed smile.</p>
<p>“How are you, dear Miss Lawton? We have missed
you around here so much lately, but of course we knew
that you must be very much occupied––”</p>
<p>She stopped and a little embarrassed flush spread
over her face.</p>
<p>“I have been, Loretta. Thank you so much for your
kind note, and for your share in the beautiful wreath you
girls sent in memory of my dear father.”</p>
<p>“Sure, we’re all of us your friends, Miss Lawton;
why wouldn’t we be, after all you’ve done for us?”</p>
<p>“It is because I feel that, that I wanted to have a
talk with you this afternoon. Loretta, if a position
were offered to you as filing clerk in the office of a great
financier of this city, at a suitable salary, would you
accept it, if you could be doing me a great personal service
at the same time?”</p>
<p>“Would I, Miss Lawton? Just try me! I’d take it
for the experience alone, without the salary, and jump
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span>
at the chance, even if you weren’t concerned in it at all,
but if it would be doing you a service at the same time,
I’m more than glad.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Loretta. The position will be with an
associate of my father’s, I think, President Mallowe of
the Street Railways. You must attend faithfully to
your duties, if I am able to obtain this place for you,
but I think the main part of your service to me will consist
of keeping your eyes open. To-morrow morning
a man will come here and interview you––a man in
whom you must place implicit confidence and trust, and
whose directions you must follow to the letter. He will
tell you just what to do for me. This man is my friend;
he is working in my interests, and if you care for me you
must not fail him.”</p>
<p>“Indeed I won’t, Miss Lawton! I’ll do whatever he
tells me.... You said that I was to keep my eyes
open. Does that mean that there is something you wish
me to find out for you?” she asked shrewdly.</p>
<p>“I cannot tell you exactly what you are to do for me,
Loretta. The gentleman whom you are to meet to-morrow
morning will give you all the details.” Anita
Lawton approached the girl and laid her hand on her
shoulder. “I can surely trust you? You will not fail
me?”</p>
<p>The quick tears sprang to the Irish girl’s eyes, and
for a moment softened their rather hard brilliance.</p>
<p>“You know that you can trust me, Miss Lawton!
I’d do anything in the world for you!”</p>
<p>Anita Lawton held a similar conversation with each of
the three girls, with a like result. To Fifine Déchaussée,
a tall, refined girl, with the colorless, devout face of a
religieuse, the probability of entering a minister’s home,
as governess for his children, was most welcome. The
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span>
young French girl, homesick and alone in a strange
land, had found in Anita Lawton her one friend, and her
gratitude for this first opportunity given her, seemed
overwhelming. Margaret Hefferman rejoiced at the
possible opportunity of becoming a stenographer to the
great promoter, Mr. Rockamore; and demure, fair-haired
little Agnes Olson was equally pleased with the
prospect of operating a switchboard in the office of Timothy
Carlis, the politician.</p>
<p>Meantime, back in his office, Henry Blaine was receiving
the personal report of Guy Morrow.</p>
<p>“The old man seems to be strictly on the level,” he
was saying. “He attends to his own affairs and seems
to be running a legitimate business in his little shop,
where he prints and sells maps. I went there, of course,
to look it over, but I couldn’t see anything crooked about
it. However, when I left, I took a wax impression of
the lock, in case you wanted me to have a key made and
institute a more thorough investigation, at a time when
I would not be disturbed.”</p>
<p>“That’s good, Morrow. We may need to do that
later. At present I want you merely to keep an eye on
them, and note who their visitors are. You’ve been
talking with the girl you say––the daughter?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir––” The young man paused in sudden confusion.
“She’s a very quiet, respectable, proud sort of
young woman, Mr. Blaine––not at all the kind you
would expect to find the daughter of an old crook like
Jimmy Brunell. And by the way, here’s a funny coincidence!
She’s a protégée of Miss Lawton’s, employed in
some philanthropic home or club, as she calls it, which
Pennington Lawton’s daughter runs.”</p>
<p>“By Jove!” Blaine exclaimed, “I might have known
it! I thought there was something familiar about her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span>
appearance when I first saw her! No wonder Miss Lawton
had promised not to divulge her name. It’s a small
world, Morrow. I’ll have to look into this. Go back
now and keep your eye on Jimmy.”</p>
<p>“Very well, sir.” Guy Morrow paused at the door
and turned toward his chief. “Have you seen the late
editions of the evening papers, Mr. Blaine? They’re
all slamming you, for refusing to accept the call to
Grafton, to investigate those bomb outrages last night.”</p>
<p>Henry Blaine smiled.</p>
<p>“There won’t be any more of them,” he remarked
quietly. “That strike will die down as quickly as it
arose, Morrow; the whole thing was a plant, and the
labor leaders and factory owners themselves were merely
tools in the hands of the politicians. That strike was
arranged by our friend Timothy Carlis, to get me away
from Illington on a false mission.”</p>
<p>“You don’t think, sir, that they suspect––”</p>
<p>“No, but they are taking no chances on my getting
into the game. They don’t suspect yet, but they will
soon––because the time has come for us to get busy.”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_VII_THE_LETTER' id='CHAPTER_VII_THE_LETTER'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
<h3>THE LETTER</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">The</span> next morning, when Ramon Hamilton presented
himself at Henry Blaine’s office in answer
to the latter’s summons, he found the great detective
in a mood more nearly bordering upon excitability
than he could remember having witnessed before.
Instead of being seated calmly at his desk, his thoughts
masked with his usual inscrutable imperturbability,
Blaine was pacing restlessly back and forth with the disquietude,
not of agitation, but of concentrated, ebullient
energy.</p>
<p>“I sent for you, Mr. Hamilton,” he began, after
greeting his visitor cordially and waving him to a chair,
“because we must proceed actively with the investigation
into the alleged bankruptcy of Pennington Lawton.
We have been passive long enough for me to have gathered
some significant facts, but we now must make a
salient move. The time hasn’t yet come for me to step
out into the open. When I do, it will be a tooth-and-nail
fight, and I must be equipped with facts, not theories.
I want some particulars about Mr. Lawton’s insolvency,
and there is no one who could more naturally
inquire into this without arousing suspicion than you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t need to tell you, Mr. Blaine, how anxious
I am to do anything I can to help you, for Miss Lawton’s
sake,” Ramon Hamilton replied eagerly. “I
should like to have looked into the matter long ago––indeed,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span>
I felt that suspicion must have been aroused in
the minds of Mallowe and his associates by the fact that
I accepted the astounding news of the bankruptcy as
unquestioningly as Miss Lawton herself, unless they
thought me an addlepated fool––but I didn’t want to
go ahead without direct instructions from you.”</p>
<p>“I did not so direct you, Mr. Hamilton, for a distinct
purpose. I wished the men we believe to be responsible
for the present conditions to be slightly puzzled by your
attitude, so that when the time came for you to begin
your investigation, they would be more completely reassured.
In order to make your questioning absolutely
bona fide, I want you to go first this morning to the office
of Anderson & Wallace, the late Mr. Lawton’s attorneys,
and question them as if having come with Miss
Lawton’s authority. Don’t suggest any suspicion of
there being any crookedness at work, but merely inquire
as fully as possible into the details of Mr. Lawton’s
business affairs. They will, in their replies, undoubtedly
bring in Mr. Mallowe, Mr. Rockamore and Mr.
Carlis, which will give you a cue to go quite openly and
frankly to one of the three––preferably Mallowe––for
corroboration. Knowing that you come direct from the
late Mr. Lawton’s attorneys, he will be only too glad to
give you whatever information he may possess or may
have concocted––and so lay open to you his plan of defense.”</p>
<p>“Defense? You think, then, Mr. Blaine, that they
anticipate possible trouble––exposure, even? Surely
such astute, far-seeing men as Mallowe and Rockamore
are, at least, would not have attempted such a gigantic
fraud if they’d anticipated the possibility of being discovered!
Carlis has weathered so many storms, so
many attacks upon his reputation and civic honor, that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span>
he may have felt cocksure of his position and gone into
this thing without thought for the future, but the other
two are men of different caliber, men with everything in
the world to lose.”</p>
<p>“And colossal, unearned wealth to gain––don’t forget
that, Mr. Hamilton. Men of different caliber, I
grant you, but all three in the same whirlpool of crime,
bound by thieves’ law to sink or swim together. It is
because they are astute and far-seeing that they must
inevitably have considered the possibility of exposure
and safeguarded themselves against it with bogus corroborative
proof. If that proof is in tangible form,
and we can lay our hands on it, we shall have them where
we want them. Now go back to your office, Mr. Hamilton,
and dictate this letter to your stenographer, having
it left open on your desk for your signature. Don’t
wait for the letter to be typed, but proceed at once to the
office of Anderson & Wallace. You, as a lawyer, will
of course know the form of inquiry to use.”</p>
<p>The detective handed Ramon Hamilton a typewritten
sheet of paper from his desk; and the young man, after
hastily perusing it, gazed with a blank stare of amazement
into Blaine’s eyes.</p>
<p>“I can’t make this out,” he objected. “Who on
earth is Alexander Gibbs, and what has he to do with
Miss Lawton’s case? This letter seems to inform one
Alexander Gibbs that I have retained you to recover for
us the last will and testament of his aunt, Mrs. Dorothea
Gibbs. I have no such client, and I know no one in––what’s
the address?––Ellenville, Sullivan County.”</p>
<p>Blaine smiled.</p>
<p>“Of course you don’t, Mr. Hamilton. Nevertheless,
you will sign that letter and your secretary will mail it––that
is, after it has lain open upon your desk for
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span>
casual inspection for a considerable length of time. One
of my operatives will receive it in Ellenville.”</p>
<p>“But what has it to do with the matter in hand?”
Ramon asked.</p>
<p>“Everything. I understand that you employ quite
an office force, for an attorney who has so recently been
admitted to the bar, and who has necessarily had little
time yet to build up an extensive practice. There may
be a spy in your office––remember that as Miss Lawton’s
fiancé and her only protector in this crisis, you are
the one whom they would safeguard themselves against
primarily. When I called you up this morning, to ask
you to come here, you very indiscreetly mentioned my
name over the telephone. Your entire office force will
know that you have been to consult me––this letter will
throw them off the track should there be a spy among
them, and will also give you a legitimate excuse to call
upon me frequently in the immediate future. You
realize that we also must safeguard ourselves, Mr.
Hamilton.”</p>
<p>The young man reddened.</p>
<p>“Of course. I did not think––I called you by name
inadvertently,” he stammered. “I’ll be more discreet
in the future, Mr. Blaine.”</p>
<p>“Memorize the gist of the letter on your way to your
office––particularly the name and address––and place
it securely in your vest pocket. When you have left
your office to go to Anderson & Wallace, destroy it carefully.
You had best, perhaps, stop in the lavatory of
some restaurant or public bar and burn it, or tear it into
infinitesimal pieces. Remember that everything depends
upon you now––upon your discretion and diplomacy.”</p>
<p>Hamilton followed Blaine’s instructions to the letter,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span>
and an hour after he had left the detective he was closeted
with the senior member of the firm of Anderson & Wallace.</p>
<p>“My dear Mr. Hamilton, we have had so little time,”
Mr. Anderson expostulated. “Remember that Mr.
Lawton’s death occurred little more than a fortnight
ago, and even the most cursory examination has shown
us that his affairs were in a most chaotic condition. It
will take us weeks, months, to settle up so involved an
estate.</p>
<p>“At present we can give you little information. It is
by no means certain that Mr. Lawton was an absolute
bankrupt––we have not yet assured ourselves that nothing
can be saved from the wreckage. You cannot imagine
how aghast, thunderstruck, we were, when this present
state of affairs was made known to us. We have
been Mr. Lawton’s attorneys for more than twenty
years, and we thought that we knew every detail of his
multifarious transactions, but for some reason which
we cannot fathom he saw fit, within the last two years,
to change his investments without taking us into his confidence––and
with disastrous results.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Lawton was always conservative. He took no
one fully into his confidence,” Ramon Hamilton replied
guardedly.</p>
<p>“You knew, of course, that he had ideas about the
disposal of his vast wealth which many other financiers
would consider peculiar. He would never invest in real
estate, to our knowledge. His millions were placed entirely
in stocks and bonds, and for years he had stated
that his object was, in the event of his death, to save his
daughter and the trustees from unnecessary trouble
over real-estate matters. This makes his later conduct
all the more inexplicable. Mr. Mallowe has told me that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span>
Mr. Lawton made several suggestions to him and to his
associates, Mr. Rockamore and Mr. Carlis, to go with
him into the unfortunate speculations which ultimately
caused his ruin. They were far-seeing enough to refuse.”</p>
<p>“Just what were these speculations, Mr. Anderson?”</p>
<p>“I can’t tell you at this moment. You’ll understand
that we don’t wish to make any statement until we can
do so definitely, and we are still, as I said, quite at sea.
We’ll try to straighten everything out as soon as possible,
and give you and Miss Lawton a full report. In
the meantime, why not consult Mr. Mallowe? He can
give you more explicit information concerning the late
Mr. Lawton’s speculation and final insolvency than we
shall be able to do for some time; or possibly, Mr.
Rockamore, or even Mr. Carlis might enlighten you.
All three seem to have been more conversant with Mr.
Lawton’s affairs than we, his attorneys.”</p>
<p>The dignified old gentleman’s voice held a note of
pained resentment, with which Ramon Hamilton could
not help but sympathize.</p>
<p>“I will adopt your suggestion, Mr. Anderson, and
call upon Mr. Mallowe at once. I can no more understand
than you can how it happens that Mr. Lawton
should have confided to such an extent in his business
associates, to the exclusion of you and Mr. Wallace––to
say nothing of his own daughter; but doubtless
there were financial reasons which we’ll learn. I will
take up no more of your valuable time, but will try to
see Mr. Mallowe immediately. If I learn any facts
you’re not now in possession of, I’ll let you know at
once.”</p>
<p>Mr. Mallowe, when approached over the telephone,
welcomed most cordially the proposed interview with
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span>
Miss Lawton’s fiancé. When the latter arrived, he was
greeted with a warm, limp hand-clasp, and seated confidentially
close to the president of the Street Railways.</p>
<p>“Mr. Anderson did well to suggest your coming to
me, Mr. Hamilton,” the magnate remarked unctuously.
“I believe I am in a position to give you a more comprehensive
idea of the circumstances which brought about
my esteemed friend’s unfortunate financial collapse at
the time of his death than my colleagues, because I was
closer to him in many ways, and I am confident that he
regarded me as his best friend. However, I don’t feel
that I can, in honor, violate the confidence of the dead
by giving any details just now––even to you and Miss
Lawton––of matters which have not yet been fully substantiated
by the attorneys. I know only from Mr.
Lawton’s own private statements that he was interested,
to the point one might almost say of mania, in a gigantic
scheme from which we, his friends, tried in vain to dissuade
him. He urged me especially to go in on it with
him, but because of the very position I hold, it would
have been impossible for me to consider it, even if my
better judgment hadn’t warned me against it.”</p>
<p>“Can’t you give me some idea of the nature of this
scheme?” Ramon asked. “I can’t believe, any more
easily than Miss Lawton can, that there could have been
anything that was not thoroughly open and above-board
about her father’s dealings. Surely, there can be no
reason for this extraordinary secrecy, particularly as
the newspapers had given to the world at large the unauthorized
statement, from a source unknown to Miss
Lawton or myself, that Pennington Lawton died a
bankrupt!”</p>
<p>The young man drew himself up sharply, as if fearful
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span>
of having said too much, and for a moment there was
silence. Then Mr. Mallowe leaned back easily in his
chair and, removing his tortoise-shell rimmed eyeglasses,
tapped the desk thoughtfully with them as he
replied:</p>
<p>“That was regrettable, of course, Mr. Hamilton.
It must have been distressing in the extreme to Miss
Lawton, coming just at this time, but it would have had
to be revealed sooner or later, you know––such a
stupendous fact could not be hidden. There is no extraordinary
secrecy about the matter. When the attorneys
have completed their settlement of the estate,
everything will be clear to you and Miss Lawton. I
must naturally decline to give you any explanation
which would be, just now, merely an uncorroborated
opinion. I appreciate your feelings in this sudden, almost
overwhelming trouble which has come to Miss Lawton,
and I sympathize with both of you most heartily;
but one must have patience. You will pardon me, but
you are both very young, and that is the hardest lesson
of all for you to learn.”</p>
<p>His watery eyes beamed in fatherly benevolence upon
Ramon, and Anita’s fiancé felt his gorge rising. The
older man reminded him irresistibly of a cat licking its
chops before a canary’s cage, and it was with difficulty
he restrained himself to remark coldly:</p>
<p>“You told me at the beginning of this interview, Mr.
Mallowe, that I did well in coming to you, since you
could give me a more comprehensive idea of the circumstances
than anyone else, yet you have disclosed nothing
beyond a few vague suggestions––to any other man I
should have said, insinuations––and generalities which
we were already familiar with. Can’t you give me any
real information?”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span></div>
<p>“My dear boy, I intend to tell you all that I know
and can verify.” The silky smoothness of the magnate’s
tones had deepened in spite of himself, with a
steely undernote.</p>
<p>“I don’t know when the project which spelled his
ruin was first conceived by Mr. Lawton, but I believe
that he started to put it into active operation over
three years ago. He went into it with his usual cold
nerve, and then, when the pendulum did not swing his
way he kept heaping more and more of his securities on
the pyre of his ambition and pride in himself, until he
was forced to obtain large loans. That he did seek
and obtain such loans I can prove to you at the present
moment, in one instance at least, for it was through
me the affair was negotiated. I think he fully realized
his enormous error, but refused to admit it even to himself,
and strove by sheer force of will-power to carry a
hopeless scheme to success.”</p>
<p>“Sought loans! He––Pennington Lawton required
loans and obtained them through you?” Ramon almost
started from his chair. “Mr. Mallowe, you will forgive
me, but I can scarcely credit it. I know, of course,
that financiers, even those who conduct their operations
on a far lesser scale than Mr. Lawton, frequently seek
loans, but your manner and your speech just now led
me to believe that you had some other motive in doing
what you did for Mr. Lawton. From what you have
told me I gather that it was owing more to your friendship
for him, than to your financial relations, that he
called upon you at that time.”</p>
<p>“And it was to my friendship at that time that he
appealed, Mr. Hamilton.”</p>
<p>“Appealed? I cannot imagine Pennington Lawton
appealing to any man. Why should he appeal to you?”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span></div>
<p>“Because, my dear boy, he was in a mighty bad fix
when he had need to call upon me. Oh, by the way, I
have the letter here in my safe––I found it only the
other day.”</p>
<p>“The letter? What letter?”</p>
<p>“The letter Mr. Lawton wrote me from Long Bay
asking me to get Mr. Moore’s help in the matter––here
it is.”</p>
<p>Mallowe went to his safe, and opening it, withdrew
from an inner drawer a paper which he presented to the
young lawyer. After a cursory examination Ramon
placed it upon the desk before him, and turning to Mr.
Mallowe said:</p>
<p>“I am awfully sorry to have annoyed you with this
matter, but you understand exactly how Miss Lawton
and I feel about it––”</p>
<p>“Of course, Mr. Hamilton, I realize the situation
fully. I am glad to have had this opportunity to explain
to you how the matter stood as far as I personally
was concerned. You know I will do anything that I
can for Miss Lawton and I trust that you will call upon
me.”</p>
<p>He rose with ponderous significance as if to state
tacitly that the interview was at an end, but the younger
man did not stir from his chair.</p>
<p>“This letter came to you––when did you say, Mr.
Mallowe?”</p>
<p>“When Pennington Lawton and his daughter were
at The Breakers at Long Bay, about two years ago last
August, as nearly as I can remember.”</p>
<p>“If you still had the envelope, we could obtain the
exact date from the postmark,” Ramon suggested significantly.
“The letter I see is only headed ‘Saturday.’”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></div>
<p>“Yes, it is unfortunate that I did not keep it,” the
magnate retorted a little drily. “It was by the merest,
most fortunate chance that the letter itself came to light.
However, I cannot see at this late date what difference
it could possibly make when the letter was mailed, since
it establishes beyond any possibility of doubt the fact
that it <i>was</i> mailed. As to the matter of the negotiation
of the loan, I would prefer that you apply to Mr. Moore
himself for the particulars concerning it. I am sure
that he will be quite as glad as I have been to give you
such definite information as he possesses.”</p>
<p>This time the dismissal could not be ignored, and
Ramon Hamilton took his departure, but not before he
had marked well the particular drawer within the safe
from which the letter had been taken.</p>
<p>As he went down the corridor, a saucy, red-cheeked
young woman with business briskness in her manner
came from an inner office and smiled boldly at him. She
was Loretta Murfree, the new filing clerk who had been
installed only that morning in Mr. Mallowe’s office.</p>
<p>Had Ramon known her to be the protégée of Anita
Lawton and the spy of Henry Blaine, he might have
glanced at her a second time.</p>
<p>The young man proceeded straight to the offices of
Charlton Moore, the banker, and found that an interview
was readily granted him. Mr. Moore remembered
the incident of the loan, and his private accounts showed
that it had been made on the sixteenth of August two
years previously.</p>
<p>“Mr. Mallowe arranged the matter with you for Mr.
Lawton, did he not?” Ramon asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, it was a purely confidential affair. Mr. Carlis
came with him to interview me. They did not at first
tell me that Mr. Lawton positively desired the loan,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span>
but they made tentative arrangements asking if I would
be in a position to give it to him should he desire it, and
they said they came to me at this early date desiring to
make no definite statement. Mr. Lawton had told them
that once before I had accommodated him by carrying a
note confidentially at his request. Of course I did not
care to commit myself, as you can readily understand,
Mr. Hamilton, until I was assured the proposition was
bona fide.</p>
<p>“Mr. Mallowe and Mr. Carlis suggested that I call
Mr. Lawton up on the private wire in his office, but the
matter was so delicate that as long as he had not come
to me in person I did not care to telephone him. Mr.
Mallowe showed me a letter which he had recently received
from Pennington Lawton corroborating his statement.
But in the matter of the amount desired we could
not definitely distinguish the figures. Mr. Mallowe was
sure that it was three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Mr. Carlis was equally certain that it was three
hundred and eighty-five thousand. To make certain
of the matter they called Mr. Lawton up from my office
here in my presence, and he stated that the sum desired
was three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
There was only one odd thing about the entire transaction,
and that was a remark Mr. Mallowe made as he
was leaving. After the negotiations had been completed
he turned and said, ‘You understand, Mr. Moore,
that Mr. Lawton is so careful, so secretive, that he does
not wish this matter ever mentioned to him personally,
even if you think yourself absolutely alone with him.’”</p>
<p>“Mr. Lawton was a very peculiar man in many ways,”
Ramon said meditatively. “His methods of conducting
his affairs were not always easily understood. The
negotiations were then completed shortly thereafter?”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span></div>
<p>“Yes, within a few days. I turned the amount required
over to Mr. Mallowe and Mr. Carlis, and accepted
Mr. Lawton’s note. I will show it to you if you
care to see it.”</p>
<p>“That will not be necessary, Mr. Moore, but I am
going to make a request that may seem very strange to
you. Should it be necessary, would you be willing to
show that note to some one whom I may bring here to
you––some one who may prefer not to see you personally,
but merely to be permitted to examine the note
in the presence of some responsible people of your own
choosing?”</p>
<p>“Certainly, Mr. Hamilton. I think I can safely
promise that. But what does it mean––is there anything
wrong with Pennington Lawton’s note?”</p>
<p>“Not that I am aware of, Mr. Moore,” Ramon answered,
laughing rather shortly. “I am unable to explain
just now, but I think the name of Pennington
Lawton carries with it a sufficient guarantee that the
note will be honored when it is presented.”</p>
<p>An hour later, at the close of the busiest day he had
experienced since his graduation from the law school,
young Hamilton presented himself at Henry Blaine’s
office. The detective listened in silence to his story, and
at its conclusion remarked quietly: “You did well,
Mr. Hamilton. I am going to call one of my operatives
and ask you to repeat to him in detail the location of
that safe in Mallowe’s office and the drawer which contains
Mr. Lawton’s letter from Long Bay.”</p>
<p>“Anyone would think you meant to steal it, Mr.
Blaine.”</p>
<p>Young Hamilton’s laugh was now unrestrained.
“There couldn’t possibly be anything wrong with the
note or the entire transaction. Mr. Moore proved that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span>
when he told me how Mr. Mallowe and Carlis called up
Mr. Lawton in his presence on his private wire and discussed
the negotiations.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure that they did, Mr. Hamilton?” The
detective suddenly leaned forward across his desk, his
body tense, his eyes alight with fervid animation. “Are
you sure Pennington Lawton ever received that message?”</p>
<p>“He must have. According to Mr. Moore, the two
men used Mr. Lawton’s private wire, the number of
which was known only to a few of his closest intimates
and which of course was not listed.”</p>
<p>“But some one who knew that the telephone message
was coming might readily have been in Lawton’s office
seated at his desk, alone, and replied to it in the financier’s
name. Do you understand, Mr. Hamilton? The
note may be a forgery, the letter may be a forgery; that
we shall soon know. If it is, and the money so obtained
from Moore has been converted to the use of the three
confederates whom we suspect to have formed a conspiracy
to ruin Miss Lawton, then her father’s entire
fortune might have been seized upon in virtually the
same way.”</p>
<p>Henry Blaine rose and paced back and forth as if almost
oblivious of the other’s presence. “The mortgage
of his was forged––we have proved that,” he
continued. “Why, then, should not every other available
security have been stolen in practically the same
way?” he continued.</p>
<p>“But how would anyone dare? The whole thing is
too bare-faced,” Ramon expostulated. “A man like
Mr. Moore could not have been imposed upon by a mere
forgery.”</p>
<p>“But if that note proves to be a forgery, Mr. Hamilton,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span>
and the letter as well––we shall have picked up a
tangible clue at last. I think I am beginning to see daylight.”</p>
<p>Late that night in the huge suite of offices of President
Mallowe of the Street Railways, a very curious
scene took place. The stolid watchman who had been
on uneventful duty there for twenty years had made his
rounds for the last time. With superb nonchalance, he
settled himself for his accustomed nap in his employer’s
chair. From the stillness and gloom of the semi-deserted
office-building two stealthy figures descended
swiftly upon him, their feet sinking noiselessly into the
rich pile of the rugs. A short, silent struggle, a cloth
saturated with chloroform pressed heavily over his face,
and the guardian of the premises lay inert. The
shorter, more stocky of the two nocturnal visitors, without
more ado switched on a pocket electric light and
made a hasty but thorough survey of the room. The
taller one shrank back inadvertently from the drug-stilled
body in the chair, then resolutely turned and knelt
beside his companion before the safe. He dreaded to
think of what discovery might mean. If he, Ramon
Hamilton, were to be caught in the act of burglarizing,
his career as a rising young lawyer would be at an end.
The risk indeed was great, but he had promised Henry
Blaine every aid in his power to help the girl he loved.</p>
<p>After a minute examination, the operative proceeded
to work upon the massive safe door. With the cunning
of a <i>Jimmy Valentine</i> he manipulated the tumblers.
Ramon Hamilton, his discomfiture forgotten, watched
with breathless interest while the keen, sensitive fingers
performed their task. Soon the great doors swung
noiselessly back and the manifold compartments within
were revealed.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span></div>
<p>The young lawyer pointed out the drawer from which
he had seen President Mallowe remove the letter that
morning, and it, too, yielded quickly to the master-touch
of the expert. There, on the very top of a pile of
papers, lay the written page they sought.</p>
<p>“He’ll be all right. We haven’t done for him, have
we?” Ramon Hamilton whispered anxiously, pointing to
the watchman’s unconscious form, as, their mission accomplished,
they stole from the room.</p>
<p>“Surest thing you know. He’ll come to in half an
hour, none the worse,” the operative responded. “We
made a good clean job of it.”</p>
<p>Henry Blaine could hardly suppress his elation when
they laid the letter before him on their return to his
office.</p>
<p>“It’s a forgery, just as I suspected,” he exclaimed,
with supreme satisfaction. “Look, Hamilton; I’ll
show you how it was done.”</p>
<p>“It is incredible. I can scarcely believe it. I know
Pennington Lawton’s handwriting as well as I know my
own, and I could swear that his fingers guided the pen.
His writing was as distinctive as his character.”</p>
<p>“It’s that very fact,” the detective returned, “which
would have made it easier to copy; but, as it happens,
you are partially right. This was not a forgery in the
ordinary sense. Those are Pennington Lawton’s own
words before you, in his own handwriting.”</p>
<p>“Then how––” the young lawyer inquired, in a bewildered
tone.</p>
<p>Henry Blaine smiled.</p>
<p>“You do not intend to specialize in criminal law, do
you, Mr. Hamilton?” he remarked whimsically. “If
you do, you will have to be up in the latest tricks of the
trade. The man who forged this letter––the same man,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span>
by the way, forged the signature on that mortgage––accomplished
it like this: He took a bundle of Mr.
Lawton’s old letters, cut out the actual words he desired,
and pasted ’em in their proper order on the letter
paper. Then he photographed this composite, and
electrotyped it––that is, transferred it to a copperplate,
and etched it. Then he re-photographed it, and
in this way got an actual photograph of a supposedly
authentic communication. There is only one man in
this country who is capable of such perfect work. I
know who that man is and where to find him.”</p>
<p>“Then if you can locate him before he skips, and
make him talk, you will have won the victory,” Ramon
exclaimed, jubilantly.</p>
<p>But the detective shook his head.</p>
<p>“The time is not yet ripe for that. The man is, in
my estimation, a mere tool in the hands of the men higher
up. He may not be able to give us any actual proof
against them, and our exposure of him will only tip
them off––put ’em on their guard. We needn’t show
our hand just yet.”</p>
<p>“What’s the next move to be, then?” the young
lawyer asked. “I don’t mean, of course, that I wish
to inquire into your methods of handling the case––but
have you any further commissions for me?”</p>
<p>“Only to accompany me to-morrow morning to the
office of Charlton Moore and let me examine that note
which Mr. Lawton presumably gave two years ago.
Afterward, I have four little amateur detectives of mine
to interview––then I think we’ll be able to proceed
straight to our goal.”</p>
<p>The note also, as Henry Blaine had predicted, proved
to be a forgery and to have been executed by the same
hand as the letter.</p>
<div class='figtag'>
<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a>
</div>
<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='images/illus-094.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 426px; height: 315px;' /><br />
<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 426px;'>
With the cunning of a Jimmy Valentine he manipulated the tumblers. Ramon Hamilton, his discomfiture forgotten, watched with breathless interest.<br />
</p>
</div>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></div>
<p>The detective betrayed to the unsuspecting banker
no sign of his elation at the discovery, but following
their interview he returned to his office and sent for the
four young girls whom he had taken from the Anita
Lawton Club and installed in the offices of the men he
suspected.</p>
<p>The first to respond was Margaret Hefferman, who
had been sent as stenographer to Rockamore, the promoter.</p>
<p>“You followed my instructions, Miss Hefferman,”
asked Blaine. “You kept a list for me of Mr. Rockamore’s
visitors?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. I have it here in my bag. I also brought
carbon copies of two letters which Mr. Rockamore dictated
and which I thought might have some bearing on
the matter in which you are interested––although I
could not quite understand them myself.”</p>
<p>“Let me see them, please.”</p>
<p>Blaine took the documents and list of names, scanning
them quickly and sharply with a practised eye.
The names were those of the biggest men in the city––bankers,
brokers, financiers and promoters. Among
them, that of President Mallowe and Timothy Carlis
appeared frequently. At only one did Henry Blaine
pause––at that of Mark Paddington. He had known
the man as an employee of a somewhat shady private
detective agency several years before and had heard
that he had later been connected in some capacity with
the city police, but had never come into actual contact
with him.</p>
<p>What business could a detective of his caliber have to
do with Bertrand Rockamore?</p>
<p>The letters were short and cryptic in their meaning,
and significant only when connected with those to whom
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span>
they were addressed. The first was to Timothy Carlis;
it read:</p>
<div style="font-size:0.9em; margin: auto 3em;">
<p>Your communication received. We must proceed with the utmost
care in this matter. Keep me advised of any further contingencies
which may arise. P. should know or be able to find
out. The affair is to his interests as much as ours.</p>
<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 0.78125em;'>B. R.</span><br /></p>
</div>
<p>The second was addressed to Paddington:</p>
<div style="font-size:0.9em; margin: auto 3em;">
<p>Have learned from C. that your assistants are under espionage.
What does it mean? Learn all particulars at once and advise.</p>
<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 0.78125em;'>R.</span><br /></p>
</div>
<p>“You have done well, Miss Hefferman,” said Blaine
as he looked up from the last of the letters. “I will
keep these carbon copies and the list. Let me know how
often Mr. Mallowe and Timothy Carlis call, and try
particularly to overhear as much as possible of the man
Paddington’s conversation when he appears.”</p>
<p>When the young stenographer had departed, Fifine
<a name='TC_3'></a><ins title="Was ''Déchausée'' in the original text">Déchaussée</ins> appeared. She was the governess who had
been sent to the home of Doctor Franklin, ostensibly to
care for his children, but in reality to find, if possible,
what connection existed between Carlis, Mallowe, Rockamore
and himself. The young Frenchwoman’s report
was disappointingly lacking in any definite result––save
one fact. The man Paddington had called twice
upon the minister, remaining the second time closeted
with him in his study for more than an hour. Later, he
had intercepted her when she was out with the children
in the park; but she had eluded his attentions.</p>
<p>“I wish you hadn’t done so. If he makes any further
attempt to talk with you, Mademoiselle <a name='TC_4'></a><ins title="Was ''Déchausée'' in the original text">Déchaussée</ins>,
encourage him, draw him out. If he tries to question
you about yourself and where you came from, don’t mention
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span>
the Anita Lawton Club, but remember his questions
carefully and come and tell me.”</p>
<p>“Certainly, m’sieur, I shall remember.”</p>
<p>Agnes Olson and Laurette Murfree, the switchboard
operator to Carlis and filing clerk to Mallowe, respectively,
added practically the same information as had the
two preceding girls. Mark Paddington, the detective,
had been in frequent communication with each of their
employers. When the young women had concluded their
reports and gone, Blaine telephoned at once to Guy
Morrow, his right-hand operative, and instructed him
to watch for Paddington’s appearance in the neighborhood
of the little house in the Bronx, where they had located
Brunell, the one-time forger.</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_VIII_GUY_MORROW_FACES_A_PROBLEM' id='CHAPTER_VIII_GUY_MORROW_FACES_A_PROBLEM'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
<h3>GUY MORROW FACES A PROBLEM</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">Morrow,</span> meanwhile, had slowly become aware
that he had a problem of his own to face, the
biggest of his life. Should he go on with his
work? In the event that James Brunell proved, indeed,
to be guilty of the forgeries of which he was suspected
by the Master Mind, it would mean that he, Morrow,
would have betrayed the father of the girl he felt himself
beginning to care for. Dared he face such a tremendous
issue?</p>
<p>His acquaintance with Emily Brunell had progressed
rapidly in the few days since his subterfuge had permitted
him to speak to her. He had met her father and
found himself liking the tall, silent man who went about
the simple affairs of his life with such compelling dignity
and courteous aloofness. Brunell had even invited him
to his little shop and shown him with unsuspecting enthusiasm
his process for making the maps which were
sold to the public schools.</p>
<p>Morrow had seen no evidence of anything wrong,
either in the little shop or the home life of the father and
daughter; nor had he observed Paddington––who was
well known to him––in the neighborhood.</p>
<p>Even in these few mornings it had become a habit with
him to watch for Emily and walk with her to her subway
station, and as frequently as he dared, he would await
her arrival in the evening. After his last telephone
conversation with Blaine, he called upon the two in the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span>
little house across the way, determined to find out, if
possible, if the man Paddington had come into their lives.
He felt instinctively that James Brunell would prove a
difficult subject to cross-examine. The man seemed to
be complete master of himself, and were he guilty, could
never be led into an admission, unless some influence
more powerful than force could be brought to bear upon
him.</p>
<p>But the girl, with her clear eyes and unsuspecting, inexperienced
mind, could easily be led to disclose whatever
knowledge she possessed, particularly if her interest
or affections were aroused. It seemed cowardly, in
view of his newly awakened feelings toward her, but he
had committed far more unscrupulous acts without a
qualm, in the course of his professional work.</p>
<p>Brunell was out when he called, but Emily led him
into the little sitting-room, and for a time they talked
in a desultory fashion. Morrow, who had brought so
many malefactors to justice by the winning snare of his
personality, felt for once at a loss as to how to commence
his questioning.</p>
<p>But the girl herself, guilelessly, gave him a lead by
beginning, quite of her own accord, to talk of her early
life.</p>
<p>“It seems so strange,” she remarked, confidingly, “to
have been so completely alone all of my life––except
for Daddy, of course.”</p>
<p>“You have no brothers or sisters, Miss Brunell?”
asked the detective.</p>
<p>“None––and I never knew my mother. She died
when I was born.”</p>
<p>Morrow sighed, and involuntarily his hand reached
forward in an expression of complete sympathy.</p>
<p>“Daddy has been mother and father to me,” the girl
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span>
went on impulsively. “We have always lived in this
neighborhood, ever since I can remember, and of course
we know everyone around here. But with my downtown
position and Father’s work in the shop, we’ve had
no time to make real friends and we haven’t even cared
to––before.”</p>
<p>“Before when?” he asked with a kindly intonation
not at all in keeping with the purpose which had actuated
him in seeking her friendship.</p>
<p>“Before you brought my kitten back to me.” She
paused, suddenly confused and shy, then added hurriedly,
“We have so few guests, you know. Daddy,
somehow, doesn’t care for people––as a rule, that is.
I’m awfully glad that he has made an exception with
you.”</p>
<p>“But surely you have other friends––for instance,
that young fellow I’ve noticed now and again when he
called upon you.”</p>
<p>Morrow’s thoughts had suddenly turned to that unknown
visitor toward whom he had taken such an unaccountable
dislike.</p>
<p>“Young fellow––what young fellow?” Emily
Brunell’s voice had changed, slightly, and a reserved
little note intruded itself which reminded Morrow all
at once of her father.</p>
<p>“I don’t know who he is––I’m such a newcomer in
the neighborhood, you know; but I happened to see him
from my window across the way––a short, dapper-looking
young chap with a small, dark mustache.”</p>
<p>“Oh! <i>that</i> man.” Her lip curled disdainfully.
“That’s Charley Pennold. He’s no friend of mine.
He just comes to see Father now and again on business.
I don’t bother to talk to him. I don’t think Daddy likes
him very much, either.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span></div>
<p>She caught her breath in sharply as she spoke, and
looked away from Morrow in sudden reserve. He felt a
quick start of suspicion, and searched her averted face
with a keen, penetrating glance.</p>
<p>If this Charley Pennold, whoever he might be, wished
to see James Brunell on legitimate business, why did he
not go to his shop openly and above-board in the day-time?
Could he be an emissary from some one whom
the old forger had reason to evade? If he were, did
Emily know for what purpose he came, and was she
annoyed at her own error in involuntarily disclosing his
name?</p>
<p>“He is a map-maker, too?” leaped from Morrow’s
lips.</p>
<p>“He is interested in maps––he gives Daddy large
orders for them, I believe.”</p>
<p>Emily spoke too hurriedly, and her tones lacked the
ring of sincerity which was habitual with them.</p>
<p>The trained ear of the detective instantly sensed the
difference, and his heart sank.</p>
<p>So she had lied to him deliberately, and her womanly
instinct told her that he knew it.</p>
<p>She began to talk confusedly of trivialities; and Morrow,
seeing that it would be hopeless to attempt to draw
her back to her unguarded mood, left her soon after––heartsick
and dejected.</p>
<p>Should he continue with his investigations, or go to
Henry Blaine and confess that he had failed him? Was
this girl, charming and innocent as she appeared, worth
the price of his career––this girl with the blood of criminals
in her veins, who would stoop to lies and deceit to
protect them? Yet had not he been seeking deliberately
to betray her and those she loved, under the guise of
friendship? Was he any better than she or her father?</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span></div>
<p>Then, too, another thought came to him. Might she
not be the tool, consciously or unconsciously, of a nefarious
plot?</p>
<p>He felt that he could not rest until he had brought his
investigations to a conclusion which would be satisfactory
to himself, even if he decided in the end, for her
sake, never to divulge to Henry Blaine the discoveries he
might make.</p>
<p>A few days later, however, Morrow received instructions
from Blaine himself, which forced his hand. The
time had come for him to use the skeleton-key which he
had had made. He must proceed that night to investigate
the little shop of the map-maker and look there
for the evidence which would incriminate him––the photographic
and electrotyping apparatus.</p>
<p>Early in the evening he heard Emily’s soft voice as
she called across the street in pleasant greeting to Miss
Quinlan, but he could not bring himself to go out upon
the little porch and speak to her, although he did not
doubt his welcome.</p>
<p>He waited until all was dark and still before he
started upon his distasteful errand. It was very cold,
and the streets were deserted. A fine dry snow was falling,
which obliterated his footprints almost as soon as he
made them, and he reached the now familiar door of the
little shop without meeting a soul abroad save a lonely
policeman dozing in a doorway. He let himself into
the shop with his key and flashed his pocket lamp about.
All appeared the same as in the day-time. The maps
were rolled in neat cases or fastened upon the wall.
The table, the press, the binder were each in their proper
place.</p>
<p>Morrow went carefully over every inch of the room
and the curtained recess back of it, but could find no evidence
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span>
such as he sought. At length, however, just
before the little desk in the corner where James Brunell
kept his modest accounts, the detective’s foot touched a
metal ring in the floor. Stepping back from it, he seized
the ring and pulled it. A small square section of the
flooring yielded, and the raising of the narrow trap-door
disclosed a worn, sanded stone stairway leading down
into the cellar beneath.</p>
<p>Blaine’s operative listened carefully but no sound
came from the depths below him; so after a time, with his
light carefully shielded, he essayed a gingerly descent.
On the bottom step he paused. There was small need
for him to go further. He had found what he sought.
Emily Brunell’s father was a forger indeed!</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_IX_GONE' id='CHAPTER_IX_GONE'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>
<h3>GONE!</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">Guy Morrow,</span> after a sleepless night, presented
himself at Henry Blaine’s office the next morning.
The great detective, observing his young
subordinate with shrewd, kindly eyes, noted in one swift
glance his changed demeanor: his pallor, and the new
lines graven about the firm mouth, which added strength
and maturity to his face. If he guessed the reason for
the metamorphosis, Blaine gave no sign, but listened
without comment until Morrow had completed his report.</p>
<p>“You obeyed my instructions?” he asked at length.
“When you discovered the forgery outfit in the cellar
of Brunell’s shop, you left everything just as it had been––left
no possible trace of your presence?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. There’s not a sign left to show any one
had disturbed the place. I am sure of that.”</p>
<p>“Not a foot-print in the earth of the cellar steps?”</p>
<p>“No, sir.”</p>
<p>“And the outfit––was there any evidence it had been
used lately?”</p>
<p>“No––everything was dust-covered, and even rusty,
as if it had not even been touched in months, perhaps
years. The whole thing might be merely a relic of
Jimmy Brunell’s past performances, in the life he gave
up long ago.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span></div>
<p>Morrow spoke almost eagerly, as if momentarily off
his guard, but Blaine shook his head.</p>
<p>“Rather too dangerous a relic to keep in one’s possession,
Guy, simply as a souvenir––a reminder of
things the man is trying to forget, to live down. You
can depend on it: the outfit was there for some more
practical purpose. You say Paddington has not appeared
in the neighborhood, but another man has––a
man Brunell’s daughter seems to dislike and fear?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. There’s one significant fact about him,
too––his name. He’s Charley Pennold. It didn’t
occur to me for some time after Miss Brunell let that
slip, that the name is the same as that of the precious
pair of old crooks over in Brooklyn, the ones Suraci and
I traced Brunell by.”</p>
<p>“Charley Pennold!” Blaine repeated thoughtfully.
“I hadn’t thought of him. He’s old Walter Pennold’s
nephew. The boy was running straight the last I heard
of him, but you never can tell. Guy, I’m going to take
you off the Brunell trail for a while, and put you on this
man Paddington. I’ll have Suraci look up Charley
Pennold and get a line on him. In the meantime, leave
your key to the map-making shop with me. I may want
to have a look at that forgery outfit myself.”</p>
<p>“You’re going to take me off the Brunell trail!”
Morrow’s astonishment and obvious distaste for the
change of program confronting him was all-revealing.
“But I’ll have to go back and make some sort of explanation
for leaving so abruptly, won’t I? Will it pay
to arouse their suspicions––that is, sir, unless you’ve
got some special reason for doing so?”</p>
<p>Blaine’s slow smile was very kindly and sympathetic
as he eyed the anxious young man before him.</p>
<p>“No. You will go back, of course, and explain that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span>
you have obtained a clerkship which necessitates your
moving downtown. Make your peace with Miss Brunell
if you like, but remember, Guy, don’t mix sentiment and
business. It won’t do. I may have to put you back on
the job there in a few days, and I know I can depend on
you not to lose your head. She’s a young girl and a
pretty one; but don’t forget she’s the daughter of
Jimmy Brunell, the man we’re trying to get! Pennington
Lawton had a daughter, too; remember that––and
she’s been defrauded of everything in the world but her
lover and her faith in her father’s memory.” His voice
had gradually grown deeper and more stern, and he
added in brisk, businesslike tones, far removed from the
personal element. “Now get back to the Bronx.
Come to me to-morrow morning, and I’ll have the data
in the Paddington matter ready for you.”</p>
<p>The young detective had scarcely taken his departure,
when Ramon Hamilton appeared. He was in some excitement,
and glanced nervously behind him as he entered,
as if almost in fear of possible pursuit.</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine,” he began, “I’m confident that we’re
suspected. Here’s a note that came to me from President
Mallowe this morning. He asks if I inadvertently
carried away with me that letter of Pennington Lawton’s
written from Long Bay two years ago, in which I had
shown such an interest during our interview the other
day. He has been unable to find it since my departure.
That’s a rather broad hint, it seems to me.”</p>
<p>“I should not consider it as such,” the detective responded.
“Guilty conscience, Mr. Hamilton!”</p>
<p>“That’s not all!” the young lawyer went on. “He
says that a curious burglary was committed at his offices
the night after my interview with him––his watchman
was chloroformed, and the safe in his private office
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span>
opened and rifled, yet nothing was taken, with the possible
exception of that letter. Mallowe asks me, openly,
if I knew of an ulterior motive which any one might have
possessed in acquiring it, and even remarks that he is
thinking of putting you, Mr. Blaine, on the mysterious
attempt at robbery. That would be a joke, wouldn’t it,
if it wasn’t really, in my estimation at least, a covert
threat. Why should he, Mallowe, take me into his confidence
about an affair which took place in his private
office? He did not make the excuse of pretending to
retain me as his attorney. I think he was merely warning
me that he was suspicious of me.”</p>
<p>“Probably a mere coincidence,” Blaine observed
easily.</p>
<p>“I wonder if you’ll think so when I tell you that twice
since yesterday my life has been attempted.” Ramon
spoke quietly enough, but there was a slight trembling
in his tones.</p>
<p>“What!” Blaine started forward in his chair, then
sank back with an incredulous smile, which none but he
could have known was forced. “Surely you imagine it,
Mr. Hamilton. Since your automobile accident, when
you were run down and so nearly killed on the evening
you sent for me to undertake Miss Lawton’s case, you
may well be nervous.”</p>
<p>As he spoke he glanced at the other’s broken arm,
which was still swathed in bandages.</p>
<p>“But these were no accidents, Mr. Blaine, and I have
always doubted that the first one was, as you know.
Yesterday afternoon, a new client’s case called me down
to the sixth ward, at four o’clock. In order to reach
my client’s address it was necessary to pass through the
street in which that shooting affray occurred which filled
the papers last evening. Two men darted out of a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span>
house, shot presumably at each other, then turned and
ran in opposite directions without waiting to see if either
of the shots took effect. You know that isn’t usual
with the members of rival gangs down there. Remember,
too, Mr. Blaine, that it was prearranged for me to
walk alone through that street at just that psychological
moment. It seemed to me that neither man shot at
the other, but both fired point-blank at me. I dismissed
the idea from my mind as absurd, the next minute, and
would have thought no more about it, beyond congratulating
myself on my fortunate escape, had not the second
attempt been made.”</p>
<p>“The sixth ward––” Blaine remarked, meditatively.
“That’s Timothy Carlis’ stamping ground, of course.
But go on, Mr. Hamilton. What was the second incident?”</p>
<p>“Late last night, I had a telephone message from my
club that my best friend, Gordon Brooke, had been taken
suddenly ill with a serious attack of heart-trouble, and
wanted me. Brooke has heart-disease and he might go
off with it at any time, so I posted over immediately.
The club is only a few blocks away from my home, so
I didn’t wait to call my machine or a taxi, but started
over. Just a little way from the club, three men sprang
upon me and attempted to hold me up. I fought them
off, and when they came at me again, three to one, the
idea flashed upon me that this was a fresh attempt to
assassinate me.</p>
<p>“I shouted for help, and then ran. When I reached
the club I found Brooke there, sitting in a poker game
and quite as well as usual. No telephone message had
been sent to me from him. I tried this morning, before
I came to you, to have the number traced, but without
success. Do you blame me now, Mr. Blaine, for believing,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span>
after these three manifestations, that my life is in
actual danger?”</p>
<p>“I do not.” The detective touched an electric button
on his desk. “I think it will be advisable for you
to have a guard, for the next few days, at least.”</p>
<p>“A guard!” Ramon repeated, indignantly. “I’m
not a coward. Any man would be disturbed, to put it
mildly, over the conviction that his life was threatened
every hour, but it was of her I was thinking––of Anita!
I could not bear to think of leaving her alone to face the
world, penniless and hedged in on all sides by enemies.
But I want no guard! I can take care of myself as
well as the next man. Look at the perils and dangers
you have faced in your unceasing warfare against malefactors
of every grade. It is common knowledge that
you have invariably refused to be guarded.”</p>
<p>“The years during which I have been constantly face
to face with sudden death have made me disregard the
possibility of it. But I shall not insist in your case,
Mr. Hamilton, if you do not wish it; and allow me to tell
you that I admire your spirit. However, I should like
to have you leave town for a few days, if your clients
can spare you.”</p>
<p>“Leave town? Run away?” Ramon started indignantly
from his chair, but Blaine waved him back with
a fatherly hand.</p>
<p>“Not at all. On a commission for me, in Miss Lawton’s
interests. Mr. Hamilton, you have known the
Lawtons for several years, have you not?”</p>
<p>“Ever since I can remember,” the young lawyer said
with renewed eagerness.</p>
<p>“Two years ago, in August, Pennington Lawton and
his daughter were at ‘The Breakers,’ at Long Bay, were
they not?”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span></div>
<p>“Yes. Anita and I were engaged then, and I ran out
myself for the week-end.”</p>
<p>“I want you to run out there for me now. The hotel
will be closed at this time of year, of course, but a letter
which I will give you to the proprietor, who lives close
at hand, will enable you to look over the register for an
hour or two in private. Turn to the arrivals for
August of that year, and trace the names and home addresses
on each page; then bring it back to me.”</p>
<p>“Is it something in connection with that forged letter
to Mallowe?” asked Ramon quickly.</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” the detective admitted. He shrugged,
then added leniently, “I think, before proceeding any
further with that branch of the investigation, it would
be well to know who obtained the notepaper with the
hotel letterhead, and if the paper itself was genuine.
Bring me back some of the hotel stationery, also, that
I may compare it with that used for the letter.”</p>
<p>A discreet knock upon the door heralded the coming
of an operative, in response to Blaine’s touch upon the
bell.</p>
<p>“There has been a slight disturbance in the outer
office, sir,” he announced. “A man, who appears to be
demented, insists upon seeing you. He isn’t one of the
ordinary cranks, or we would have dealt with him ourselves.
He says that if you will read this, you will be
glad to assent to an interview with him.”</p>
<p>He presented a card, which Blaine read with every
manifestation of surprised interest.</p>
<p>“Tell him I will see him in five minutes,” he said.
When the operative had withdrawn, the detective turned
to Ramon.</p>
<p>“Who do you think is waiting outside? The man
who threatened Pennington Lawton’s life ten years ago,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span>
the man whose name was mentioned by the unknown visitor
to the library on the night Lawton met his death:
Herbert Armstrong!”</p>
<p>“Good heavens!” Ramon exclaimed. “What brings
him here now? I thought he had disappeared utterly.
Do you think it could have been he in the library that
night, come to take revenge for that fancied wrong, at
last?”</p>
<p>“That is what I’m going to find out,” the detective
responded, with a touch of grimness in his tones.</p>
<p>“But you don’t mean––it isn’t possible that Mr.
Lawton was murdered! That he didn’t die of heart-disease,
after all!”</p>
<p>“I traced Armstrong to the town where he was living
in obscurity, and followed his movements.” Blaine’s
reply seemed to be purposely irrelevant. “I could not,
however, find where he had been on the night of Mr. Lawton’s
death. Now that he has come to me voluntarily,
we shall discover if the voice Miss Lawton overheard in
that moment when she listened on the stairs, was his or
not.... Come back this afternoon, Mr. Hamilton, and
I will give you full information and instructions about
that Long Bay errand. In the meantime, guard yourself
well from a possible attack, although I do not think
another attempt upon your life will be made so soon.
Take this, and if you have need of it, do not hesitate to
use it. We can afford no half-measures now. Shoot,
and shoot to kill!”</p>
<p>He opened a lower drawer in his massive desk and,
drawing from it a business-like looking revolver of large
caliber, presented it to the lawyer. With a warm hand-clasp
he dismissed him, and, going to the telephone,
called up Anita Lawton’s home.</p>
<p>“I want you to attend carefully, Miss Lawton. I
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span>
am speaking from my office. A man will be here with
me in a few minutes, and I shall seat him close to the
transmitter of my ’phone, leaving the receiver off the
hook. Please listen carefully to his voice. I only wish
you to hear a phrase or two, when I will hang up the
receiver, and call you up later. Try to concentrate
with all your powers, and tell me afterward if you have
ever heard that voice until now; if it is the voice of the
man you did not see, who was in the library with your
father just before he died.”</p>
<p>He heard her give a quick gasp, and then her voice
came to him, low and sweet and steady.</p>
<p>“I will listen carefully, Mr. Blaine, and do my best
to tell you the truth.”</p>
<p>The detective pulled a large leather chair close to the
telephone, and Herbert Armstrong was ushered in.</p>
<p>The man was pitiful in appearance, but scarcely demented,
as the operative had described him. He was
tall and shabbily clothed, gaunt almost to the point of
emaciation, but with no sign of dissipation. His eyes,
though sunken, were clear, and they gazed levelly with
those of the detective.</p>
<p>“Come in, Mr. Armstrong.” Blaine waved genially
toward the arm-chair. “What can I do for you?”</p>
<p>The man did not offer to shake hands, but sank
wearily into the chair assigned him.</p>
<p>“Do? You can stop hounding me, Henry Blaine!
You and Pennington Lawton brought my tragedy upon
me as surely as I brought it upon myself, and now you
will not leave me alone with my grief and ruin, to drag
my miserable life out to the end, but you or your men
must dog my every foot-step, spy upon me, hunt me
down like a pack of wolves! And why? Why?”</p>
<p>The man’s voice had run its gamut, in the emotion
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span>
which consumed him, and from a menacing growl of protest,
it had risen to a shrill wail of weakness and despair.</p>
<p>Henry Blaine was satisfied.</p>
<p>“Excuse me, Mr. Armstrong,” he said gently.
“The receiver is off my telephone, here at your elbow.
It would be unfortunate if we were overheard. If you
will allow me––”</p>
<p>But he got no further. Quick as he was, the other
man was quicker. He sprang up furiously, and dashed
the telephone off the desk.</p>
<p>“Is this another of your d––d tricks?” he shouted.
“If it is, whoever was listening may hear the rest. You
and Pennington Lawton between you, drove my wife to
suicide, but you’ll not drive <i>me</i> there! I’m ruined, and
broken, and hopeless, but I’ll live on, live till I’m even,
do you hear? Live till I’m square with the game!”</p>
<p>His violence died out as swiftly as it had arisen, and
he sank down in the chair, his face buried in his bony
hands, his thin shoulders shaken with sobs.</p>
<p>Blaine quietly replaced the telephone and receiver,
and seated himself.</p>
<p>“Come, man, pull yourself together!” he said, not
unkindly. “I’m not hounding you; Lawton never
harmed you, and now he is dead. He was my client and
I was bound to protect his interests, but as man to man,
the fault was yours and you know it. I tried to keep
you from making a fool of yourself and wrecking three
lives, but I only succeeded in saving one.”</p>
<p>“But your men are hounding me, following me, shadowing
me! I have come to find out why!”</p>
<p>“And I would like to find out where you were on a
certain night last month––the ninth, to be exact,” responded
Blaine quietly.</p>
<p>“What affair is it of yours?” the other man asked
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span>
wearily, adding: “How should I know, now? One
night is like another, to me.”</p>
<p>“If you hate Pennington Lawton’s memory as you
seem to, the ninth of November should stand out in your
thoughts in letters of fire,” the detective went on, in
even, quiet tone. “That was the night on which Lawton
died.”</p>
<p>“Lawton?” Herbert Armstrong raised his haggard
face. The meaning of Blaine’s remark utterly
failed to pierce his consciousness. “The date doesn’t
mean anything to me, but I remember the night, if that’s
what you want to know about, although I’m hanged if I
can see what it’s got to do with me! I’ll never forget
that night, because of the news which reached me in the
morning, that my worst enemy on earth had passed
away.”</p>
<p>“Were you in Illington the evening before?” asked
Blaine.</p>
<p>“I was not. I was in New Harbor, where I live,
playing pinochle all night long with two other down-and-outs
like myself, in a cheap hall bed-room––I, Herbert
Armstrong, who used to play for thousands a game,
in the best clubs in Illington! And I never knew that
the man who had brought me to that pass was gasping
his life away! Think of it! We played until dawn,
when the extras, cried in the street below, gave us the
news!”</p>
<p>“If you will give me the address of this boarding-house
you mention, and the names of your two friends,
I can promise that you will be under no further espionage,
Mr. Armstrong.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care whether you know it or not, if that’s all
you want!” The gaunt man shrugged wearily. “I’m
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span>
tired of being hounded, and I’m too weak and too tired
to oppose you, even if it did matter.”</p>
<p>He gave the required names and addresses, and
slouched away, his animosity gone, and only a dull, miserable
lethargy sagging upon his worn body.</p>
<p>When the outer door of the offices had closed upon
him, Henry Blaine again called up Anita Lawton. This
time her voice came to him sharpened by acute distress.</p>
<p>“I did not recognize the tones of the person’s voice,
Mr. Blaine, only I am quite, quite sure that he was not
the man in the library with my father the night of his
death. But oh, what did he mean by the terrible things
he said? It could not be that my father brought ruin
and tragedy upon any one, much less drove them to suicide.
Won’t you tell me, Mr. Blaine? Ramon won’t,
although I am convinced he knows all about it. I must
know.”</p>
<p>“You shall, Miss Lawton. I think the time has come
when you should no longer be left in the dark. I will
tell Mr. Hamilton when he comes to me this afternoon
for the interview we have arranged that you must know
the whole story.”</p>
<p>But Ramon Hamilton failed to appear for the
promised interview. Henry Blaine called up his office
and his home, but was unable to locate him. Then Miss
Lawton began making anxious inquiries, and finally the
mother of the young lawyer appealed to the detective,
but in vain. Late that night the truth was established
beyond peradventure of a doubt. Ramon Hamilton had
disappeared as if the earth had opened and engulfed
him.</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_X_MARGARET_HEFFERMANS_FAILURE' id='CHAPTER_X_MARGARET_HEFFERMANS_FAILURE'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>
<h3>MARGARET HEFFERMAN’S FAILURE</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">The</span> disappearance of Ramon Hamilton, coming so
soon after the sudden death of his prospective
father-in-law, caused a profound sensation. In
the small hours of the night, before the press had been
apprised of the event and when every probable or possible
place where the young lawyer might be had been
communicated with in vain, Henry Blaine set the perfect
machinery of his forces at work to trace him.</p>
<p>It was dawn before he could spare a precious moment
to go to Anita Lawton. On his arrival he found her
pacing the floor, wringing her slim hands in anguish.</p>
<p>“He is dead.” She spoke with the dull hopelessness
of utter conviction. “I shall never see him again. I
feel it! I know it!”</p>
<p>“My dear child!” Blaine put his hands upon her
shoulders in fatherly compassion. “You must put all
such morbid fancies from your mind. He is not dead
and we shall find him. It may be all a mistake––perhaps
some important matter concerning a client made it
necessary for him to leave the city over night.”</p>
<p>She shook her head despairingly.</p>
<p>“No, Mr. Blaine. You know as well as I that
Ramon is just starting in his profession. He has no
clients of any prominence, and my father’s influence was
really all that his rising reputation was being built
upon. Besides, nothing but a serious accident or––or
death would keep him from me!”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span></div>
<p>“If he had met with any accident his identity would
have been discovered and we would be notified, unless, as
in the case when he was run down by that motor-car, he
did not wish them to let you know for fear of worrying
you.”</p>
<p>Blaine watched the young girl narrowly as he spoke.
Was she aware of the two additional attempts only the
day before on the life of the man she loved?</p>
<p>“He merely followed a dear, unselfish impulse because
he knew that in a few hours at most he would be with
me; but now it is morning! The dawn of a new day,
and no word from him! Those terrible people who
tried to kill him that other time to keep him from coming
to me in my trouble have made away with him. I am
sure of it now.”</p>
<p>The detective breathed more freely. Evidently Ramon
Hamilton had had the good sense to keep from
her his recent danger.</p>
<p>“You can be sure of nothing, Miss Lawton, save the
fact that Mr. Hamilton is <i>not</i> dead,” Henry Blaine said
earnestly. “You do not realize, perhaps, the one
salient fact that criminal experts who deal with cases
of disappearance have long since recognized––the most
difficult of all things to conceal or do away with in a
large city is a dead body.”</p>
<p>Anita shivered and clasped her hands convulsively,
but she did not speak, and after a scarcely perceptible
pause, the detective went on:</p>
<p>“You must not let your mind dwell on the possibilities;
it will only entail useless, needless suffering on
your part. My experiences have been many and varied
in just such cases as this, and in not one in fifty does
serious harm come to the subject of the investigation.
In fact, in this instance, I think it quite probable that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span>
Mr. Hamilton has left the city of his own accord, and
in your interests.”</p>
<p>“In my interests?” Anita repeated, roused from her
lethargy of sorrow by his words, as he had intended that
she should be. “Left the city? But why?”</p>
<p>“When he called upon me yesterday morning I told
him of a commission which I wished him to execute for
me in connection with your investigation. I gave him
some preliminary instructions and he was to return to
me in the afternoon for a letter of introduction and to
learn some minor details of the matter involved. He
did not appear at the hour of our appointment and I
concluded that he had taken the affair into his own
hands and had gone immediately upon leaving my office
to fulfill his mission.”</p>
<p>“Oh, perhaps he did!” The young girl started
from her chair, her dull, tearless eyes suddenly bright
with hope. “That would be like Ramon; he is so impulsive,
so anxious to help me in every way! Where
did you send him, Mr. Blaine? Can’t we telephone, or
wire and find out if he really has gone to this place?
Please, please do! I cannot endure this agony of uncertainty,
of suspense, much longer!”</p>
<p>“Unfortunately, we cannot do that!” Blaine responded,
gravely. “To attempt to communicate with
him where I have sent him would be to show our hand
irretrievably to the men we are fighting and undo much
of the work which has been accomplished. He may
communicate with you or possibly with me, if he finds
that he can contrive to accomplish it safely.”</p>
<p>“Safely? Then if he has gone to this place, wherever
it is, he is in danger?” Anita faltered, tremblingly.</p>
<p>“By no means. The only danger is that his identity
and purpose may be disclosed and our plans jeopardized,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span>
the detective reassured her smoothly. “I know
it is hard to wait for news, but one must school oneself
to patience under circumstances such as this. It may
be several days before you hear from Mr. Hamilton and
you must try not to distress yourself with idle fears in
the meantime.”</p>
<p>“But it is not certain––we have no assurance that
he really did go upon that mission.” The light of hope
died in her eyes as she spoke, and a little sob rose in her
throat. “Oh, Mr. Blaine, promise me that you will
leave no stone unturned to find him!”</p>
<p>“My dear child, you must trust in me and have faith
in my long years of experience. I have already, as a
precautionary measure, started a thorough investigation
into Mr. Hamilton’s movements yesterday, and in
the event that he has not gone on the errand I spoke of,
it can only be a question of hours before he will be located.
You did not see him yesterday?”</p>
<p>“No. He promised to lunch with me, but he never
came nor did he telephone or send me any word.
Surely, if he had meant to leave town he would have let
me know!”</p>
<p>“Not necessarily, Miss Lawton.” Blaine’s voice
deepened persuasively. “He was very much excited
when he left my office, interested heart and soul in the
mission I had entrusted to him. Remember, too, that it
was all for you, for your sake alone.”</p>
<p>“And I may not know where he has gone?” Anita
asked, wistfully.</p>
<p>“I think, perhaps, that is why Mr. Hamilton did not
communicate with you before leaving town,” the detective
replied, significantly. “He agreed with me that it
would be best for you not to know, in your own interests,
where he was going. You must try to believe that I am
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span>
doing all in my power to help you, and that my judgment
is in such matters better than yours.”</p>
<p>“I do, Mr. Blaine. Indeed I do trust you absolutely;
you must believe that.” She reached out an impulsive
hand toward him, and his own closed over it
paternally for a moment. Then he gently released
it.</p>
<p>Anita sighed and sank back resignedly in her chair.
There was a moment’s pause before she added:</p>
<p>“It is hard to be quiescent when one is so hedged in
on all sides by falsehood and deceit and the very air
breathes conspiracy and intrigue. I have no tangible
reason to fear for my own life, of course, but sometimes
I cannot help wondering why it has not been imperiled.
Surely it would be easier for my father’s enemies to do
away with me altogether than to have conceived and
carried out such an elaborate scheme to rob me and
defame my father’s memory. But I will try not to entertain
such thoughts. I am nervous and overwrought,
but I will regain my self-control. In the meantime, I
shall do my best to be patient and wait for Ramon’s
return.”</p>
<p>Henry Blaine felt a glow of pardonable elation, but
his usually expressive face did not betray by a single
flicker of an eyelash that he had gained his point. He
knew that Ramon Hamilton had never started on that
mission to Long Bay, but if the young girl’s health and
reason were to be spared, her anxiety must be allayed.
Courageous and self-controlled as she had been through
all the grief and added trouble which besieged her on
every hand, the keen insight of the detective warned him
that she was nearing the breaking-point. If she fully
realized the blow which threatened her in the sudden disappearance
of her lover, together with the sinister events
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span>
which had immediately preceded it, she would be crushed
to the earth.</p>
<p>“You must try to rest.” Blaine rose and motioned
toward the window through which the cold rays of the
wintry sun were stealing and putting the orange glow
of the electric lights to shame. “See. It is morning
and you have had no sleep.”</p>
<p>“But you must not go just yet, Mr. Blaine! I cannot
rest until I know who that man was whose voice I
heard over your telephone this morning. What did
he mean? He said that his wife committed suicide; that
he himself had been ruined! And all through my father
and you! It cannot be true, of course; but I must
know to what he referred!”</p>
<p>“I will tell you. It is best that you should know the
truth. Your father was absolutely innocent in the
matter, but his enemies and yours might find it expedient
to spread fake reports which would only add to your
sorrow. You know, you must remember since your
earliest childhood, how every one came to your father
with their perplexities and troubles and how benevolently
they were received, how wisely advised, how generously
aided. Not only bankers and financiers in the
throes of a panic, but men and women in all walks of
life came to him for counsel and relief.”</p>
<p>“I know. I know!” Anita whispered with bowed
head, the quick tears of tender memory starting in her
eyes.</p>
<p>“Such a one who came to him for advice in her distress
was the wife of Herbert Armstrong. She was a
good woman, but through sheer ignorance of evil she
had committed a slight indiscretion, nothing more than
the best of women might be led into at any time. We
need not go into details. It is enough to tell you that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span>
certain unscrupulous persons had her in their power
and were blackmailing her. She fell their victim
through the terror of being misunderstood, and when
she could no longer accede to their demands she came to
your father, her husband’s friend, for advice. Herbert
Armstrong was insanely jealous of his wife, and in your
father’s efforts to help her he unfortunately incurred
the unjust suspicions of the man. Armstrong brought
suit for divorce, intending to name Mr. Lawton as corespondent.”</p>
<p>“Oh, how could he!” Anita cried, indignantly.
“The man must have been mad! My father was the
soul of honor. Every one––the whole world––knows
that! Besides, his heart was buried, all that he did not
give to me, deep, deep in the sea where Mother and my
little brother and sister are lying! He never even
looked at another woman, save perhaps in kindness, to
help and comfort those who were in trouble. But when
did you come into the case, Mr. Blaine? That man
whose voice I heard to-day must have been Herbert
Armstrong himself, of course. Why did he say that
you, as well as my father, were responsible for his
tragedy?”</p>
<p>“Because when Mr. Lawton became aware of Armstrong’s
ungovernable jealousy and the terrible length
to which he meant to go in his effort to revenge himself,
he––your father––came to me to establish Mrs. Armstrong’s
innocence, and his, in the eyes of the world.
Armstrong’s case, although totally wrong from every
standpoint, was a very strong one, but fortunately I
was able to verify the truth and was fully prepared to
prove it. Just on the eve of the date set for the trial,
however, a tragedy occurred which brought the affair to
an abrupt and pathetic end.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></div>
<p>“A tragedy? Mrs. Armstrong’s suicide, you
mean?” asked Anita, in hushed tones. “How awful!”</p>
<p>“She was deeply in love with her husband. His unjust
accusations and the public shame he was so undeservedly
bringing upon her broke her heart. I assured
her that she would be vindicated, that Armstrong would
be on his knees to her at the trial’s end. Your father
tried to infuse her with courage, to gird her for the coming
struggle to defend her own good name, but it was
all of no use. She was too broken in spirit. Life held
nothing more for her. On the night before the case was
to have been called, she shot herself.”</p>
<p>“Poor thing!” Anita murmured, with a sob running
through her soft voice. “Poor, persecuted woman.
Why did she not wait! Knowing her own innocence
and loving her husband as she did, she could have forgiven
him for his cruel suspicion when it was all over!
But surely Herbert Armstrong knows the truth now.
How can he blame you and my father for the wreck
which he made of his own life?”</p>
<p>“Because his mind has become unhinged. He was
always excitable and erratic, and his weeks of jealous
wrath, culminating in the shock of the sudden tragedy,
and the realization that he had brought it all on himself,
were too much for him. He was a broker and one
of the most prominent financiers in the city, but with the
divorce fiasco and the death of Mrs. Armstrong, he
began to brood. He shunned the friends who were left
to him, neglected his business and ultimately failed.
Sinking lower and lower in the scale of things, he finally
disappeared from Illington. You can understand now
why I thought it best when you told me of the conversation
you had overheard in the library here a few hours
before your father’s death, and of the mention of Herbert
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span>
Armstrong’s name, to trace him and find out if it
was he who had come in the heart of the night and
attempted to blackmail Mr. Lawton.”</p>
<p>“I understand. That was why you wanted me to
hear his voice yesterday and see if I recognized it. But
it was not at all like that of the man in the library on
the night of my father’s death. And do you know, Mr.
Blaine”––she leaned forward and spoke in still lower
tones––“when I recall that voice, it seems to me, sometimes,
that I have heard it before. There was a certain
timbre in it which was oddly familiar. It is as if some
one I knew had spoken, but in tones disguised by rage
and passion. I shall recognize that voice when I hear
it again, if it holds that same note; and when I do––”</p>
<p>Blaine darted a swift glance at her from under narrowed
brows. “But why attribute so much importance
to it?” he asked. “To be sure, it may have some bearing
upon our investigation, although at present I can see
no connecting link. You feel, perhaps, that the violent
emotions superinduced by that secret interview, added
to your father’s heart-trouble, indirectly caused his
death?”</p>
<p>Anita again sank back in her chair.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, Mr. Blaine. I cannot explain it, even
to myself, but I feel instinctively that that interview
was of greater significance than any one has considered,
as yet.”</p>
<p>“That we must leave to the future.” The detective
took her hand, and this time Anita rose and walked
slowly with him toward the door. “There are matters
of greater moment to be investigated now. Remember
my advice. Try to be patient. Yours is the hardest
task of all, to sit idly by and wait for events to shape
themselves, or for me to shape them, but it must be.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span>
If you can calm your nerves and obtain a few hours’
sleep you will feel your own brave self again when I
report to you, as I shall do, later to-day.”</p>
<p>Despite his night of ceaseless work, Henry Blaine,
clear-eyed and alert of brain, was seated at his desk at
the stroke of nine when Suraci was ushered in––the
young detective who had trailed Walter Pennold from
Brooklyn to the quiet backwater where Jimmy Brunell
had sought in vain for disassociation from his past
shadowy environment.</p>
<p>“It has become necessary, through an incident which
occurred yesterday, for me to change my plans,” Blaine
announced. “I had intended to put you on the trail
of a young crook, a relative of Pennold, but I find I
must send you instead to Long Bay to look up a hotel
register for me and obtain some writing paper with the
engraved letter-head from that hotel. You can get a
train in an hour, if you look sharp. Try to get back
to-night or to-morrow morning at the latest. Find out
anything you can regarding the visit there two years
ago last August of Pennington Lawton and his daughter
and of other guests who arrived during their stay.
Here are your instructions.”</p>
<p>Twenty minutes’ low-voiced conversation ensued, and
Suraci took his departure. He was followed almost immediately
by Guy Morrow.</p>
<p>“What is the dope, sir?” the latter asked eagerly,
as he entered. “There’s an extra out about the Hamilton
disappearance. Do you think Paddington’s had a
hand in that?”</p>
<p>“I want you to tail him,” Blaine replied, non-committally.
“Find out anything you can of his movements
for the past few weeks, but don’t lose sight of him
for a minute until to-morrow morning. He’s supposed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span>
to be working up the evidence now for the Snedecker divorce,
so it won’t be difficult for you to locate him.
You know what he looks like.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. I know the man himself––if you call
such a little rat a man. We had a run-in once, and it
isn’t likely I’d forget him.”</p>
<p>“Then be careful to keep out of his sight. He may
be a rat, but he’s as keen-eyed as a ferret. I’d rather
put some one on him whom he didn’t know, but we’ll have
to chance it. I wouldn’t trust this to anyone but you,
Guy.”</p>
<p>The young operative flushed with pride at this tribute
from his chief, and after a few more instructions he went
upon his way with alacrity.</p>
<p>Once more alone, Henry Blaine sat for a long time
lost in thought. An idea had come to him, engendered by
a few vague words uttered by Anita Lawton in the early
hours of that morning: an idea so startling, so tremendous
in its import, that even he scarcely dared give it
credence. To put it to the test, to prove or disprove
it, would be irretrievably to show his hand in the game,
and that would be suicidal to his investigation should
his swift suspicion chance to be groundless.</p>
<p>The sharp ring of the telephone put an end to his
cogitations. He put the receiver to his ear with a preoccupied
frown, but at the first words which came to him
over the wire his expression changed to one of keenest
concentration.</p>
<p>“Am I speaking to the gentleman who talked with me
at the working girls’ club?” a clear, fresh young
voice asked. “This is Margaret Hefferman, Mr.
Rockamore’s stenographer––that is, I was until ten
minutes ago, but I have been discharged.”</p>
<p>“Discharged!” Blaine’s voice was eager and crisp
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span>
as he reiterated her last word. “On what pretext?”</p>
<p>“It was not exactly a pretext,” the girl replied.
“The office boy accused me of taking shorthand notes
of a private conversation between my employer and
a visitor, and I could not convince Mr. Rockamore of
my innocence. I––I must have been clumsy, I’m
afraid.”</p>
<p>“You have the notes with you?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“The visitor’s name was Paddington?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>Blaine considered for a moment; then, his decision
made, he spoke rapidly in a clear undertone.</p>
<p>“You know the department store of Mead & Rathbun?
Meet me there in the ladies’ writing-room in half
an hour. Where are you now?”</p>
<p>“In a booth in the drug-store just around the corner
from the building where Mr. Rockamore’s offices are located.”</p>
<p>“Very good. Take as round-about a route as you
can to reach Mead & Rathbun’s, and see if you are followed.
If you are and you find it impossible to shake
off your shadow, do not try to meet me, but go directly
to the club and I will communicate with you there later.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t think I’ve been followed, but I’ll be very
careful. If everything is all right, I will meet you at
the place you named in half an hour. Good-by.”</p>
<p>Henry Blaine paced the floor for a time in undisguised
perturbation. His move in placing inexperienced
girls from Anita Lawton’s club in responsible positions,
instead of using his own trained operatives, had been
based not upon impulse but on mature reflection. The
girls were unknown, whereas his operatives would assuredly
have been recognized, sooner or later, especially
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span>
in the offices of Carlis and Rockamore. Moreover, the
ruse adopted to obtain positions for Miss Lawton’s protégées
had appeared on the surface to be a flawlessly
legitimate one. He had counted upon their loyalty and
zeal to outweigh their possible incompetence and lack of
discretion, but the stolid German girl had apparently
been so clumsy at her task as to bring failure upon his
plan.</p>
<p>“So much for amateurs!” he murmured to himself,
disgustedly. “The other three will be discharged as
soon as excuses for their dismissal can be manufactured
now. My only hope from any of them is that French
governess. If she will only land Paddington I don’t
care what suspicions the other three arouse.”</p>
<p>Margaret Hefferman’s placid face was a little pale
when she greeted him in the ladies’ room of the department
store a short time later.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, Mr. Blaine!” she exclaimed, but in
carefully lowered tones. “I could have cut my right
hand off before I would hurt Miss Lawton after all she
has done for me, and already the first thing she asks, I
must fail to do!”</p>
<p>“You are sure you were not followed?” asked the
detective, disregarding her lamentations with purposeful
brusqueness, for the tears stood in her soft, bovine
eyes, and he feared an emotional outburst which would
draw down upon them the attention of the whole room.</p>
<p>“Oh, no! I made sure of that. I rode uptown and
half-way down again to be certain, and then changed to
the east-side line.”</p>
<p>“Very well.” He drew her to a secluded window-seat
where, themselves almost unseen, they could obtain
an unobstructed view of the entrance door and of their
immediate neighbors.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span></div>
<p>“Now tell me all about it, Miss Hefferman.”</p>
<p>“It was that office boy, Billy,” she began. “Such
sharp eyes and soft walk, like a cat! Always he is
yawning and sleepy––who would think he was a spy?”</p>
<p>Her tone was filled with such contempt that involuntarily
the detective’s mobile lips twitched. The girl had
evidently quite lost sight of the fact that she herself
had occupied the very position in the pseudo employ of
Bertrand Rockamore which she derided in his office
boy.</p>
<p>He did not attempt to guide her in her narrative of
the morning’s events, observing that she was too much
agitated to give him a coherent account. Instead, he
waited patiently for her to vent her indignation and tell
him in her own way the substance of what had occurred.</p>
<p>“I had no thought of being watched, else I should
have been more careful,” she went on, resentfully.
“This morning, only, he was late––that Billy––and
I did not report him. I was busy, too, for there was
more correspondence than usual to attend to, and Mr.
Rockamore was irritable and short-tempered. In the
midst of his dictation Mr. Paddington came, and I was
bundled out of the room with the letters and my shorthand
book. They talked together behind the closed
door for several minutes and I had no opportunity to
hear a word, but presently Mr. Rockamore called Billy
and sent him out on an errand. Billy left the door of
the inner office open just a little and that was my chance.
I seated myself at a desk close beside it and took down
in shorthand every word which reached my ears. I was
so much occupied with the notes that I did not hear
Billy’s footsteps until he stopped just behind me and
whistled right in my ear. I jumped and he laughed at
me and went in to Mr. Rockamore. When he came out
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span>
he shut the door tight behind him and grinned as if he
knew just what I had been up to. I did not dare open
the door again, and so I heard no more of the conversation,
but I have enough, Mr. Blaine, to interest you, I
think.”</p>
<p>She fumbled with her bag, but the detective laid a detaining
hand on her arm.</p>
<p>“Never mind the notes now. Go on with your story.
What happened after the interview was over?”</p>
<p>“That boy Billy went to Mr. Rockamore and told
him. Already I have said he was irritable this morning.
He had seemed nervous and excited, as if he were
angry or worried about something, but when he sent for
me to discharge me he was white-hot with rage. Never
have I been so insulted or abused, but that would be
nothing if only I had not failed Miss Lawton. For her
sake I tried to lie, to deny, but it was of no use. My
people were good Lutherans, but that does not help one
in a business career; it is much more a nuisance. He
could read in my face that I was guilty, and he demanded
my shorthand note-book. I had to give it to
him; there was nothing else to be done.”</p>
<p>“But I understood that you had the notes with you,”
Blaine commented, then paused as a faint smile broke
over her face and a demure dimple appeared in either
cheek.</p>
<p>“I gave to him a note-book,” she explained naïvely.
“He was quite pleased, I think, to get possession of it.
No one can read my shorthand but me, anyway, so one
book did him as much good as another. He tried to
make me tell him why I had done that––why I had
taken down the words of a private conference of his with
a visitor. I could not think what I should say, so I kept
silent. For an hour he bullied and questioned me, but
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span>
he could find out nothing and so at last he let me go.
If now I could get my hands on that Billy––”</p>
<p>“Never mind him,” Blaine interrupted. “Rockamore
didn’t threaten you, did he?”</p>
<p>“He said he would fix it so that I obtained no more
positions in Illington,” the girl responded, sullenly.
“He will tell Miss Lawton that I am deceitful and
treacherous and I should no longer be welcome at the
club! He said––but I will not take up your so valuable
time by repeating his stupid threats. Miss Lawton
will understand. Shall not I read the notes to you? I
have had no opportunity to transcribe them and indeed
they are safer as they are.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Read them by all means, Miss Hefferman, if
you have nothing more to tell me. I do not think we
are being overheard by anyone, but remember to keep
your voice lowered.”</p>
<p>“I will, Mr. Blaine.”</p>
<p>The girl produced the note-book from her bag and
swept a practised eye down its cryptic pages.</p>
<p>“Here it is. These are the first words I heard
through the opened door. They were spoken by Mr.
Rockamore, and the other, Paddington, replied. This
is what I heard:</p>
<p>“‘I don’t know what the devil you’re driving at, I
tell you.’</p>
<p>“‘Oh, don’t you, Rockamore? Want me to explain?
I’ll go into details if you like.’</p>
<p>“‘I’m hanged if I’m interested. My share in our
little business deal with you was concluded some time
ago. There’s an end of that. You’re a clever enough
man to know the people you’re doing business with,
Paddington. You can’t put anything over on us.’</p>
<p>“‘I’m not trying to. The deal you spoke of is over
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span>
and done with and I guess nobody’ll squeal. We’re all
tarred with the same brush. But this is something quite
different. We were pretty good pals, Rockamore, so
naturally, when I heard something about you which
might take a lot of explaining to smooth over, if it got
about, I kept my mouth shut. I think a good turn deserves
another, at least among friends, and when I got
in a hole I remembered what I did for you, and I thought
you’d be glad of a chance to give me a leg up.’</p>
<p>“‘In other words you come here with a vague threat
and try to blackmail me. That’s it, isn’t it?’</p>
<p>“‘<i>Blackmail</i> is not a very pleasant term, Rockamore,
and yet it is something which even you might attempt.
Get me? Of course the others would be glad
to help me out, but I thought I’d come to you first, since
I––well, I know you better.’</p>
<p>“‘How much do you want?’</p>
<p>“‘Only ten thousand. I’ve got a tip on the market
and if I can raise the coin before the stock soars and
buy on margin, I’ll make a fine little <i>coup</i>. Want to
come in on it, Rockamore?’</p>
<p>“‘Go to the devil! Here’s your check––you can
get it certified at the bank. Now get out and don’t
bother me again or you’ll find out I’m not the weak-minded
fool you take me for. Stick to the small fry,
Paddington. They’re your game, but don’t fish for
salmon with a trout-fly.’</p>
<p>“‘Thanks, old man. I always knew I could call on
you in an emergency. I only hope my tip is a straight
one and I don’t go short on the market. If I do––’</p>
<p>“‘Don’t come to me! I tell you, Paddington, you
can’t play me for a sucker. That’s the last cent you’ll
ever get out of me. It suits me now to pay for your silence
because, as you very well know, I don’t care to inform
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span>
my colleagues or have them informed that I acted
independently of them; but I’ve paid all that your knowledge
is worth, and more.’</p>
<p>“‘It might have been worth even more to others than
to you or your colleagues. For instance––’</p>
<p>“Then Billy came up behind me and whistled,” concluded
Miss Hefferman, as she closed her note-book.
“Shall I transcribe this for you, Mr. Blaine? We have
a typewriter at the club.”</p>
<p>“No, I will take the note-book with me as it is and
lock it in my safe at the office. Please hold yourself in
readiness to come down and transcribe it whenever it
may be necessary for me to send for you. You have
done splendidly, Miss Hefferman. You must not feel
badly over having been discovered and dismissed. You
have rendered Miss Lawton a valuable service for which
she will be the first to thank you. Telephone me if anyone
attempts to approach you about this affair, or if
anything unusual should occur.”</p>
<p>Scarcely an hour later, when Henry Blaine placed
the receiver at his ear in response to the insistent summons
of the ’phone, her voice came to him again over
the wire.</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine, I am at the club, but I thought you
should know that after all, I was––what is that you say––shadowed
this morning. Just a little way from
Mead & Rathbun’s my hand-bag was cut from my arm.
It was lucky, <i>hein</i>, that you took the note-book with
you? As for me, I go out no more for any positions.
I go back soon as ever I can, by Germany.”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_XI_THE_CONFIDENCE_OF_EMILY' id='CHAPTER_XI_THE_CONFIDENCE_OF_EMILY'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2>
<h3>THE CONFIDENCE OF EMILY</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">All</span> during that day and the night which followed
it, the search for Ramon Hamilton continued,
but without result. With the announcement of
his disappearance, in the press, the police had started a
spectacular investigation, but had been as unsuccessful
as Henry Blaine’s own operatives, who had been working
unostentatiously but tirelessly since the news of the
young lawyer’s evanescence had come.</p>
<p>No one could be found who had seen him. When he
left the offices of the great detective on the previous
morning he seemed to have vanished into thin air. It
was to Blaine the most baffling incident of all that had
occurred since this most complex case had come into his
hands.</p>
<p>He kept his word and called to see Anita in the late
afternoon. He found that she had slept for some hours
and was calmer and more hopeful, which was fortunate,
for he had scant comfort to offer her beyond his vague
but forceful reassurances that all would be well.</p>
<p>Early on the following morning Suraci returned from
Long Bay and presented himself at the office of his chief
to report.</p>
<p>“Here are the tracings from the register of ‘The
Breakers’ which you desired, sir,” he began, spreading
some large thin sheets of paper upon the desk. “The
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span>
Lawtons spent three weeks there at the time you designated,
and Mr. Hamilton went out each week-end, from
Friday to Monday, as you can see here, and here. They
had no other visitors and kept much to themselves.”</p>
<p>Blaine scanned the papers rapidly, pausing here and
there to scrutinize more closely a signature which appeared
to interest him. At length he pushed them aside
with a dissatisfied frown, as if he had been looking for
something which he had failed to find.</p>
<p>“Anything suspicious about the guests who arrived
during the Lawtons’ stay?” he asked. “Was there
any incident in connection with them worthy of note
which the proprietor could recall?”</p>
<p>“No, sir, but I found some of the employees and
talked to them. The hotel is closed now for the winter,
of course, but two or three of the waiters and bell-boys
live in the neighborhood. A summer resort is a hot-bed
of gossip, as you know, sir, and since Mr. Lawton’s
sudden death the servants have been comparing notes of
his visit there two years ago. I found the waiter who
served them, and two bell-boys, and they each had a
curious incident to tell me in connection with the Lawtons.
The stories would have held no significance if it
weren’t for the fact that they all happened to concern
one person––a man who arrived on the eighth of
August. This man here.”</p>
<p>Suraci ran his finger down the register page until he
came to one name, where he stopped abruptly.</p>
<p>“Albert Addison, Baltimore, Maryland,” read
Blaine. Then, with a sudden exclamation he bent closer
over the paper. A prolonged scrutiny ensued while
Suraci watched him curiously. Reaching into a drawer,
the Master Detective drew out a powerful magnifying
glass and examined each stroke of the pen with minute
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span>
care. At length he swung about in his chair and pressed
the electric button on the corner of the desk. When his
secretary appeared in response to the summons, Blaine
said:</p>
<p>“Ask the filing clerk to look in the drawer marked
‘P. 1904,’ and bring me the check drawn on the First
National Bank signed <i>Paddington</i>.”</p>
<p>While the secretary was fulfilling his task the two
waited in silence, but with the check before him Henry
Blaine gave it one keen, comparing glance, then turned
to the operative.</p>
<p>“Well, Suraci, what did you learn from the hotel employees?”</p>
<p>“One of the bell-boys told me that this man, Addison,
arrived with only a bag, announcing that his luggage
would be along later and that he anticipated remaining
a week or more. This boy noticed him particularly because
he scanned the hotel register before writing his
own name, and insisted upon having one of two special
suites; number seventy-two or seventy-six. Seventy-four
the suite between, was occupied by Mr. Lawton.
They were both engaged, so he was forced to be content
with number seventy-three, just across the hall.
The boy noticed that although the new arrival did not
approach Mr. Lawton or his daughter, he hung about
in their immediate vicinity all day and appeared to be
watching them furtively.</p>
<p>“Late in the afternoon, Mr. Lawton went into the
writing-room to attend to some correspondence. The
boy, passing through the room on an errand, saw him
stop in the middle of a page, frown, and tearing the
paper across, throw it in the waste-basket. Glancing
about inadvertently, the bell-boy saw Addison seated
near by, staring at Mr. Lawton from behind a newspaper
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span>
which he held in front of his face as if pretending to
read. The boy’s curiosity was aroused by the eager,
hungry, expectant look on the stranger’s face, and he
made up his mind to hang around, too, and see what was
doing.</p>
<p>“He attended to his errand and returned just in time
to see Mr. Lawton seal the flap of his last envelope, rise,
and stroll from the room. Instantly Addison slipped
into the seat just vacated, wrote a page, crumpled it,
and threw it in the same waste-basket the other man
had used. Then he started another page, hesitated and
finally stopped and began rummaging in the basket, as
if searching for the paper he himself had just dropped
there. The boy made up his mind––he’s a sharp one,
sir, he’d be good for this business––that the stranger
wasn’t after his own letter, at all, but the one Mr.
Lawton had torn across, and in a spirit of mischief, he
walked up to the man and offered to help.</p>
<p>“‘This is your letter, sir. I saw you crumple it up
just now. That torn sheet of paper belongs to one of
the other guests.’</p>
<p>“According to his story, he forced Addison’s own
letter on him, and walked off with the waste-basket to
empty it, and if looks could kill, he’d have been a dead
boy after one glance from the stranger. That was all
he had to tell, and he wouldn’t have remembered such
a trifling incident for a matter of two years and more, if
it hadn’t been for something which happened late that
night. He didn’t see it, being off duty, but another boy
did, and the next day they compared notes. They were
undecided as to whether they should go to the manager
of the hotel and make a report, or not, but being only
kids, they were afraid of getting into trouble themselves,
so they waited. Addison departed suddenly that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span>
morning, however, and as Mr. Lawton never gave any
sign of being aware of what had taken place, they kept
silent. I located the second boy, and got his story at
first hand. His name is Johnnie Bradley and he’s as
stupid as the other one is sharp.</p>
<p>“Johnnie was on all night, and about one o’clock he
was sent out to the casino on the pier just in front of
the hotel, with a message. When he was returning, he
noticed a tiny, bright light darting quickly about in
Mr. Lawton’s rooms, as if some one were carrying a
candle through the suite and moving rapidly. He remembered
that Mr. Lawton and his daughter had motored
off somewhere just after dinner to be gone overnight,
so he went upstairs to investigate, without mentioning
the matter to the clerk who was dozing behind
the desk in the office. There was a chambermaid on
night duty at the end of the hall, but she was asleep, and
as he reached the head of the stairs, Johnnie observed
that some one had, contrary to the rules, extinguished
the lights near Mr. Lawton’s rooms. He went softly
down the hall, until he came to the door of number
seventy-four. A man was stooping before it, fumbling
with a key, but whether he was locking or unlocking the
door, it did not occur to Johnnie to question in his own
mind until later. As he approached, the man turned,
saw him, and reeled against the door as if he had been
drinking.</p>
<p>“‘Sa-ay, boy!’ he drawled. ‘Wha’s matter with
lock? Can’t open m’ door.’</p>
<p>“He put the key in his pocket as he spoke, but that,
too, Johnnie did not think of until afterward.</p>
<p>“‘That isn’t your door, sir. Those are Mr. Pennington
Lawton’s rooms,’ Johnnie told him. ‘What is
the number on your key?’</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></div>
<p>“The man produced a key from his pocket and gave
it to Johnnie in a stupid, dazed sort of way. The key
was numbered seventy-three.</p>
<p>“‘That’s your suite, just across the hall, sir,’ Johnnie
said. He unlocked the door for the newcomer, who
muttered thickly about the hall being d–––d confusing
to a stranger, and gave him a dollar. Johnnie waited
until the man had lurched into his rooms, then asked
if he wanted ice-water. Receiving no reply but a
mumbled curse, he withdrew, but not before he had seen
the light switched on, and the man cross to the door and
shut it. The stranger no longer lurched about, but
walked erectly and his face had lost the sagged, vapid,
drunken look and was surprisingly sober and keen and
alert.</p>
<p>“The two boys decided the next day that Addison
had come to ‘The Breakers’ with the idea of robbing
Mr. Lawton, but, as I said, nothing came of the incident,
so they kept it to themselves and in all probability
it had quite passed from their minds until the news of
Mr. Lawton’s death recalled it to them.”</p>
<p>Suraci paused, and after a moment Blaine suggested
tentatively:</p>
<p>“You spoke of a waiter, also, Suraci. Had he anything
to add to what the bell-boys had told you, of this
man Addison’s peculiar behavior?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. It isn’t very important, but it sort of
confirms what the first boy said, about the stranger trying
to watch the Lawtons, without being noticed himself,
by them. The waiter, Tim Donohue, says that on the
day of his arrival, Addison was seated by the head waiter
at the next table to that occupied by Mr. Lawton, and
directly facing him. Addison entered the dining-room
first, ordered a big luncheon, and was half-way through
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span>
it when the Lawtons entered. No sooner were they
seated, than he got up precipitately and left the room.
That night, at dinner, he refused the table he had occupied
at the first meal, and insisted upon being seated at
one somewhere back of Mr. Lawton.</p>
<p>“This Donohue is a genial, kind-hearted soul, and he
was a favorite with the bell-hops because he used to save
sweets and tid-bits for them from his trays. Johnnie
and the other boy told him of their dilemma concerning
number seventy-three, as they designated Addison, and
he in turn related the incident of the dining-room. The
boys told me about him and where he could be found.
He’s not a waiter any longer, but married to one of the
hotel chamber-maids, and lives in Long Bay, running a
bus service to the depot for a string of the cheaper
boarding houses. He corroborated the bell-hops’ story
in every detail, and even gave me a hazy sort of description
of Addison. He was small and thin and dark; clean
shaven, with a face like an actor, narrow shoulders and
a sort of caved-in chest. He walked with a slight limp,
and was a little over-dressed for the exclusive, conservative,
high-society crowd that flock to ‘The Breakers.’”</p>
<p>“That’s our man, Suraci––that’s Paddington, to
the life!” Blaine exclaimed. “I knew it as soon as I
compared his signature on this check with the one in
the register, although he has tried to disguise his hand,
as you can see. I’m glad to have it verified, though, by
witnesses on whom we can lay our hands at any time,
should it become necessary. He left the day after his
arrival, you say? The morning after this boy, Johnnie,
caught him in front of Mr. Lawton’s door?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. The bell-hops don’t think he came back,
either. They don’t remember seeing him again.”</p>
<p>“Very well. You’ve done splendidly, Suraci. I
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span>
couldn’t have conducted the investigation better myself.
Do you need any rest, now?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no, sir! I’m quite ready for another job!”
The young operative’s eyes sparkled eagerly as he spoke,
and his long, slim, nervous fingers clasped and unclasped
the arms of his chair spasmodically. “What is it?
Something new come up?”</p>
<p>“Only that disappearance, two days ago, of the
young lawyer to whom Miss Lawton is engaged, Ramon
Hamilton. I want you to go out on that at once, and
see what you can do. I’ve got half a dozen of the best
men on it already, but they haven’t accomplished anything.
I can’t give you a single clue to go upon, except
that when he walked out of this office at eleven o’clock
in the morning, he wore a black suit, black shoes, black
tie, a black derby and a gray overcoat with a mourning
band on the sleeve––for Mr. Lawton, of course. Outside
the door there, he vanished as if a trap had opened
and dropped him through into space. No one has seen
him; no one knows where he went. That’s all the help
I can offer you. He’s not in jail or the morgue or any
of the hospitals, as yet. That isn’t much, but it’s something.
Here’s a personal description of him which the
police issued yesterday. It’s as good as any I could
give you, and here are two photographs of him which I
got from his mother yesterday afternoon. Take a good
look at him, Suraci, fix his face in your mind, and then
if you should manage, or happen, to locate him, you
can’t go wrong. I know your memory for faces.”</p>
<p>The “shadow” departed eagerly upon his quest, and
Blaine settled down to an hour’s deep reflection. He
held the threads of the major conspiracy in his hands,
but as yet he could not connect them, at least in any
tangible way to present at a court of so-called justice,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span>
where everyone, from the judge to the policeman at the
door could, and inevitably would, be bought over, in advance,
to the side of the criminals. It was a one-man
fight, backed only with the slender means provided by a
young girl’s insignificant financial ventures, against the
press, the public, a corrupt political machine of great
power, the desperate ingenuity of three clever, unscrupulous
minds brought to bay, and the overwhelming influence
of colossal wealth. Henry Blaine felt that the
supreme struggle of his whole career was confronting
him.</p>
<p>The unheard-of intrepidity of conception, the very
daring of the conspiracy, combined with the prominence
of the men involved, would brand any accusation, even
from a man of Henry Blaine’s celebrated international
reputation, as totally preposterous, unless substantiated.
And what actual proof had he of their
criminal connection with the alleged bankruptcy of
Pennington Lawton?</p>
<p>He had established, to his own satisfaction, at least,
that the mortgage on the family home on Belleair Avenue
had been forged, and by Jimmy Brunell. The signature
on the note held by Moore, the banker, and the entire
letter asking Mallowe to negotiate the loan had been
also fraudulent, and manufactured by the same hand.
Paddington, the private detective with perhaps the most
unsavory record of any operating in the city, was in
close and constant communication with the three men
Blaine held under suspicion, and probably also with
Jimmy Brunell. Lastly, Brunell himself was known to
be still in possession of his paraphernalia for the pursuit
of his old nefarious calling. Paddington, on Margaret
Hefferman’s testimony, had assuredly succeeded
in mulcting the promoter, Rockamore, of a large sum in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span>
a clear case of blackmail, but on the face of it there was
no proof that it was connected with the matter of Pennington
Lawton’s insolvency.</p>
<p>The mysterious nocturnal visitor, on the night the
magnate met his death, was still to be accounted for, as
was the disappearance of Ramon Hamilton; and in spite
of his utmost efforts, Henry Blaine was forced to admit
to himself that he was scarcely nearer a solution, or
rather, a confirmation of his steadfast convictions, than
when he started upon his investigation.</p>
<p>Unquestionably, the man Paddington held the key to
the situation. But how could Paddington be approached?
How could he be made to speak? Bribery
had sealed his lips, and only greed would open them.
He was shrewd enough to realize that the man who had
purchased his services would pay him far more to remain
silent than any client of Blaine’s could, to betray
them. Moreover, he was in the same boat, and
must of necessity sink or swim with his confederates.</p>
<p>Fear might induce him to squeal, where cupidity would
fail, but the one sure means of loosening his tongue was
through passion.</p>
<p>“If only that French girl, Fifine Déchaussée, would
lead him on, if she had less of the saint and more of the
coquette in her make-up, we might land him,” the detective
murmured to himself. “It’s dirty work, but
we’ve got to use the weapons in our hands. I must have
another talk with her, before she considers herself affronted
by his attentions, and throws him down hard––that
is, if he’s making any attempt to follow up his
flirtation with her.”</p>
<p>Blaine’s soliloquy was interrupted by the entrance of
Guy Morrow, whose face bore the disgusted look of one
sent to fish with a bent pin for a salmon.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span></div>
<p>“I found Paddington, all right, sir,” he announced.
“I tailed him until a half-hour ago, but I might as well
have been asleep for all I learned, except one fact.”</p>
<p>“Which is––” the detective asked quickly.</p>
<p>“That he went to Rockamore’s office yesterday morning,
remained an hour and came away with a check for
ten thousand dollars. He proceeded to the bank, had it
certified, and deposited it at once to his own account in
the Merchants’ and Traders’. He evidently split it up,
then, for he went to three other banks and opened accounts
under three different names. Here’s the list. I
tailed him all the way.”</p>
<p>He handed the Master Detective a slip of paper,
which the latter put carefully aside after a casual
glance.</p>
<p>“Then what did he do?”</p>
<p>“Wasted his own time and mine,” the operative responded
in immeasurable contempt. “Ate and drank
and gambled and loafed and philandered.”</p>
<p>“Philandered?” Blaine repeated, sharply.</p>
<p>“In the park,” returned the other. “Spooning with
a girl! Rotten cold it was, too, and me tailing on like
a blamed chaperon! After he made his last deposit at
the third bank, he went to lunch at Duyon’s. Ate his
head off, and paid from a thick wad of yellowbacks.
Then he dropped in at Wiley’s, and played roulette for
a couple of hours––played in luck, too. He drank
quite a little, but it only seemed to heighten his good
spirits, without fuddling him to any extent. When he
left Wiley’s, about five o’clock, he sauntered along Court
Street, until he came to Fraser’s, the jeweler’s. He
stopped, looked at the display window for a few minutes,
and then, as if on a sudden impulse, turned and entered
the shop. I tailed him inside, and went to the men’s
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span>
counter, where I bought a tie-clasp, keeping my eye on
him all the time. What do you think he got? A gold
locket and chain––a heart-shaped locket, with a chip
diamond in the center!”</p>
<p>“The eternal feminine!” Blaine commented; and
then he added half under his breath: “Fifine Déchaussée’s
on the job!”</p>
<p>“What, sir?” asked the operative curiously.</p>
<p>“Nothing, Guy. Merely an idle observation. Go on
with your story.”</p>
<p>“Paddington went straight from the jeweler’s to the
Democratic Club for an hour, then dined alone at
Rossi’s. I was on the look-out for the woman, but
none appeared, and he didn’t act as if he expected anybody.
After dinner he strolled down Belleair Avenue,
past the Lawton residence, and out to Fairlawn Park.
Once inside the gates, he stopped for a minute near a
lamp-post and looked at his watch, then hurried straight
on to Hydrangea Path, as if he had an appointment
to keep. I dropped back in the shadow, but tailed
along. She must have been late, that girl, for he
cooled his heels on a bench for twenty minutes, growing
more impatient all the time. Finally she came––a
slender wisp of a girl, but some queen! Plainly dressed,
dark hair and eyes, small hands and feet and a face like
a stained-glass window!</p>
<p>“They walked slowly up and down, talking very confidentially,
and once he started to put his arm about her,
but she moved away. I walked up quickly, and passed
them, close enough to hear what she was saying: ‘Of
course it is lonely for a girl in a strange country, where
she has no friends.’ That was all I got, but I noticed
that she spoke with a decidedly foreign accent, French
or Spanish, I should say.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span></div>
<p>“Around a bend in the path I hid behind a clump of
bushes and waited until they had passed, then tailed
them again. I saw him produce the locket and chain
at last, and offer them to her. She protested and took
a lot of persuading; but he prevailed upon her and she
let him clasp it about her neck and kiss her. After
that––Good Lord! They spooned for about two hours
and never even noticed the snow which had begun to
fall, while I shivered along behind. About half-past ten
they made a break-away and he left her at the park
gates and went on down to his rooms. I put up for the
night at the Hotel Gaythorne, just across the way, and
kept a look-out, but there were no further developments
until early this morning. At a little after seven he left
his apartment house and started up State Street as if he
meant business. Of course I was after him on the
jump.</p>
<p>“He evidently didn’t think he was watched, for he
never looked around once, but made straight for a little
shop near the corner of Tarleton Place. It was a stationery
and tobacco store, and I was right at his heels
when he entered. He leaned over the counter, and asked
in a low, meaning tone for a box of Cairo cigarettes.
The man gave him a long, searching glance, then turned,
and reaching back of a pile of boxes on the first shelf,
drew out a flat one––the size which holds twenty cigarettes.
He passed it quickly over to Paddington, but
not before I observed that it had been opened and rather
clumsily resealed.</p>
<p>“Paddington handed over a quarter and left the
shop without another word. He went directly to a cheap
restaurant across the street, and, ordering a cup of
coffee, he tore open the cigarette box. It contained only
a sheet of paper, folded twice. I was at the next table,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span>
too far away to read what was written upon it, but
whatever it was, it seemed to give him immense satisfaction.
He finished his coffee, returned to his rooms,
changed his clothes, and went directly to the office of
Snedecker, the man whose divorce case he is trying to
trump up. Evidently he’s good for a day’s work on
that, so I thought I could safely leave him at it, and report
to you.”</p>
<p>“Humph! I’d like to have a glimpse of that communication
in the cigarette box, but it isn’t of sufficient
importance, on the face of it, to show our hand by having
him waylaid, or searching his rooms,” Blaine cogitated
aloud. “I’ll put another man on to-morrow
morning. Leave the address of the tobacconist with my
secretary on your way out, and if there is another message
to-morrow, he’ll get it first. You needn’t do anything
more on this Paddington matter; I think the other
end needs your services more; and since you’ve already
broken ground up there, you’ll be able to do better than
anyone else. I want you to return to the Bronx, get
back your old room, if you can, and stick close to the
Brunells.”</p>
<p>Back in his old rooms at Mrs. Quinlan’s, Guy sat in
the window-seat at dusk, impatiently awaiting the appearance
of a slender, well-known figure. The rain,
which had set in early in the afternoon, had turned to
sleet, and as the darkness deepened, the rays from a
solitary street lamp gleamed sharply upon the pavement
as upon an unbroken sheet of ice.</p>
<p>Presently the spare, long-limbed form of James
Brunell emerged from the gloom and disappeared within
the door of this little house opposite. Morrow observed
that the man’s step lacked its accustomed jauntiness and
spring, and he plodded along wearily, as if utterly preoccupied
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span>
with some depressing meditation. A light
sprang up in the front room on the ground floor, but
after a few moments it was suddenly extinguished, and
Brunell appeared again on the porch. He closed the
door softly behind him, and strode quickly down the
street. There was a marked change in his bearing, a
furtiveness and eager haste which ill accorded with his
manner of a short time before.</p>
<p>Scarcely had Brunell vanished into the encroaching
gloom, when his daughter appeared. She, too, approached
wearily, and on reaching the little sagging
gate she paused in surprised dismay at the air of detached
emptiness the house seemed to exude. Then a
little furry object scurried around the porch corner and
precipitated itself upon her. She stooped swiftly, gathered
up the kitten in her arms and went slowly into the
house.</p>
<p>Morrow ate his supper in absent-minded haste, and
as soon as he decently could, he made his way across the
street.</p>
<p>Emily opened the door in response to his ring and
greeted him with such undisguised pleasure and surprise
that his honest heart quickened a beat or two, and
it was with difficulty that he voiced the plausible falsehood
concerning his loss of position, and return to his
former abode.</p>
<p>Under the light in the little drawing-room, he noticed
that she looked pale and careworn, and her limpid, childlike
eyes were veiled pathetically with deep, blue
shadows. As he looked at her, however, a warm tint
dyed her cheeks and her head drooped, while the little
smile still lingered about her lips.</p>
<p>“You are tired?” he found himself asking solicitously,
after she had expressed her sympathy for his supposed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span>
ill fortune. “You found your work difficult to-day
at the club?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no,”––she shook her head slowly. “My position
is a mere sinecure, thanks to Miss Lawton’s wonderful
consideration. I have been a little depressed––a
little worried, that is all.”</p>
<p>“Worried?” Morrow paused, then added in a lower
tone, the words coming swiftly, “Can’t you tell me,
Emily? Isn’t there some way in which I can help you?
What is it that is troubling you?”</p>
<p>“I––I don’t know.” A deeper, painful flush spread
for a moment over her face, then ebbed, leaving her
paler even than before. “You are very kind, Mr. Morrow,
but I do not think that I should speak of it to anyone.
And indeed, my fears are so intangible, so vague,
that when I try to formulate my thoughts into words,
even to myself, they are unconvincing, almost meaningless.
Yet I feel instinctively that something is wrong.”</p>
<p>“Won’t you trust me?” Morrow’s hand closed
gently but firmly over the girl’s slender one, in a clasp
of compelling sympathy, and unconsciously she responded
to it. “I know that I am comparatively a new
friend. You and your father have been kind enough to
extend your hospitality to me, to accept me as a friend.
You know very little about me, yet I want you to believe
that I am worthy of trust––that I want to help you.
I do, Emily, more than you realize, more than I can express
to you now!”</p>
<p>Morrow had forgotten the reason for his presence
there, forgotten his profession, his avowed purpose,
everything but the girl beside him. But her next words
brought him swiftly back to a realization of the present––so
swiftly that for a moment he felt as if stunned
by an unexpected blow.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></div>
<p>“Oh, I do believe that you are a friend! I do trust
you!” Emily’s voice thrilled with deep sincerity, and
in an impetuous outburst of confidence she added:
“It is about my father that I am troubled. Something
has happened which I do not understand; there is something
he is keeping from me, which has changed him.
He seems like a different man, a stranger!”</p>
<p>“You are sure of it?” Morrow asked, slowly.
“You are sure that it isn’t just a nervous fancy? Your
father really has changed toward you lately?”</p>
<p>“Not only toward me, but to all the world beside!”
she responded. “Now that I look back, I can see that
his present state of mind has been coming on gradually
for several months, but it was only a short time ago that
something occurred which seemed to bring the matter,
whatever it is, to a turning-point. I remember that it
was just a few days before you came––I mean, before
I happened to see you over at Mrs. Quinlan’s.”</p>
<p>She stopped abruptly, as if an arresting finger had
been laid across her lips, and after waiting a moment for
her to continue, Morrow asked quietly:</p>
<p>“What was it that occurred?”</p>
<p>“Father received a letter. It came one afternoon
when I had returned from the club earlier than usual.
I took it from the postman myself, and as father had
not come home yet from the shop, I placed it beside his
plate at the supper table. I noticed the postmark––‘Brooklyn’––but
it didn’t make any particular impression
upon me; it was only later, when I saw how it
affected my father, that I remembered, and wondered.
He had scarcely opened the envelope, when he rose,
trembling so that he could hardly stand, and coming
into this room, he shut the door after him. I waited as
long as I could, but he did not return, and the supper
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span>
was getting cold, so I came to the door here. It was
locked! For the first time in his life, my father had
locked himself in, from me! He would not answer me at
first, as I called to him, and I was nearly frightened to
death before he spoke. When he did, his voice sounded
so harsh and strained that I scarcely recognized it. He
told me that he didn’t want anything to eat; he had
some private business to attend to, and I was not to
wait up for him, but to go to bed when I wished.</p>
<p>“I crept away, and went to my room at last, but I
could not sleep. It was nearly morning when Father
went to bed, and his step was heavy and dragging as he
passed my door. His room is next to mine, and I heard
him tossing restlessly about––and once or twice I
fancied that he groaned as if in pain. He was up in
the morning at his usual time, but he looked ill and
worn, as if he had aged years in that one night.
Neither of us mentioned the letter, then or at any subsequent
time, but he has never been the same man since.”</p>
<p>“And the letter––you never saw it?” Morrow asked
eagerly, his detective instinct now thoroughly aroused.
“You don’t know what that envelope postmarked
‘Brooklyn’ contained?”</p>
<p>“Oh, but I do!” Emily exclaimed. “Father had
thrust it in the stove, but the fire had gone out, without
his noticing it. I found it the next morning, when I
raked down the ashes.”</p>
<p>“You––read it?” Morrow carefully steadied his
voice.</p>
<p>“No,” she shook her head, with a faint smile.
“That’s the queer part of it all. No one could have
read it––no one who did not hold the key to it, I
mean. It was written in some secret code or cipher,
with oddly shaped figures instead of letters; dots and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span>
cubes and triangles. I never saw anything like it before.
I couldn’t understand why anyone should send
such a funny message to my father, instead of writing it
out properly.”</p>
<p>“What did you do with the letter––did you destroy
it?” This time the detective made no effort to
control the eagerness in his tones, but the girl was so
absorbed in her problem that she was oblivious to all
else.</p>
<p>“I suppose I should have, but I didn’t. I knew that
it was what my father had intended, yet somehow I felt
that it might prove useful in the future––that I might
even be helping Father by keeping it, against his own
judgment. The envelope was partially scorched by the
hot ashes, but the inside sheet remained untouched. I
hid the letter behind the mirror on my dresser, and
sometimes, when I have been quite alone, I took it out
and tried to solve it, but I couldn’t. I never was good
at puzzles when I was little, and I suppose I lack that
deductive quality now. I was ashamed, too: it seemed
so like prying into things which didn’t concern me,
which my father didn’t wish me to know; still, I was
only doing it to try to help him.”</p>
<p>Morrow winced, and drew a long breath. Then resolutely
he plunged into the task before him.</p>
<p>“Emily, don’t think that I want to pry, either, but
if I am to help you I must see that letter. If you trust
me and believe in my friendship, let me see it. Perhaps
I may be able to discover the key in the first word
or two, and then you can decipher it for yourself. You
understand, I don’t wish you to show it to me unless you
really have confidence in me, unless you are sure that
there is nothing in it which one who has your welfare
and peace of mind at heart should not see.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></div>
<p>He waited for her reply with a suffocating feeling as
if a hand were clutching at his throat. A hot wave of
shame, of fierce repugnance and self-contempt at the
rôle he was forced to play, surged up within him, but
he could not go back now. The die was cast.</p>
<p>She looked at him––a long, searching look, her childlike
eyes dark with troubled indecision. At length they
cleared slowly and she smiled, a faint, pathetic smile,
which wrung his heart. Then she rose without a word,
and left the room.</p>
<p>It seemed to him that an interminable period of time
passed before he heard her light, returning footsteps
descending the stairs. A wild desire to flee assailed
him––to efface himself before her innocent confidence
was betrayed.</p>
<p>Emily Brunell came straight to him, and placed the
letter in his hands.</p>
<p>“There can be nothing in this letter which could
harm my father, if all the world read it,” she said
simply. “He is good and true; he has not an enemy
on earth. It can be only a private business communication,
at the most. My father’s life is an open book; no
discredit could come to him. Yet if there was anything
in the cryptic message written here which others, not
knowing him as I do, might misjudge, I am not afraid
that you will. You see, I do believe in your friendship,
Mr. Morrow; I am proving my faith in you.”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_XII_THE_CIPHER' id='CHAPTER_XII_THE_CIPHER'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>
<h3>THE CIPHER</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">It</span> was a haggard, heavy-eyed young man who presented
himself at Henry Blaine’s office, early the
next morning, with his report. The detective
made no comment upon his subordinate’s changed appearance
and manner, but eyed him keenly as with
dogged determination Guy Morrow told his story
through to the end.</p>
<p>“The letter––the cipher letter!” Blaine demanded,
curtly, when the operative paused at length. “You
have it with you?”</p>
<p>Morrow drew a deep breath and unconsciously he
squared his shoulders.</p>
<p>“No, sir,” he responded, his voice significantly steady
and controlled.</p>
<p>“Where is it?”</p>
<p>“I gave it back to her––to Miss Brunell.”</p>
<p>“What! Then you solved it?” the detective leaned
forward suddenly, the level gaze from beneath his close-drawn
brows seeming to pierce the younger man’s impassivity.</p>
<p>“No, sir. It was a cryptogram, of course––an arrangement
of cabalistic signs instead of letters, but I
could make nothing of it. The message, whatever it is,
would take hours of careful study to decipher; and even
then, without the key, one might fail. I have seen
nothing quite like it, in all my experience.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></div>
<p>“And you gave it back to her!” Blaine exclaimed,
with well-simulated incredulity. “You actually had
the letter in your hands, and relinquished it? In
heaven’s name, why?”</p>
<p>“Miss Brunell had shown it to me in confidence. It
was her property, and she trusted me. Since I was unable
to aid her in solving it, I returned it to her. The
chances are that it is, as she said, a matter of private
business between her father and another man, and it is
probably entirely dissociated from this investigation.”</p>
<p>“You’re not paid, Morrow, to form opinions of your
own, or decide the ethics, social or moral, of a case
you’re put on; you’re paid to obey instructions, collect
data and obtain whatever evidence there may be. Remember
that. Confidence or no confidence, girl or no
girl, you go back and get that letter! I don’t care what
means you use, short of actual murder; that cipher’s
got to be in my hands before midnight. Understand?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir, I understand.” Morrow rose slowly, and
faced his chief. “I’m sorry, but I cannot do it.”</p>
<p>“You can’t? That’s the first time I ever heard that
word from your lips, Guy.” Henry Blaine shook his
head sadly, affecting not to notice his operative’s rising
emotion.</p>
<p>“I mean that I won’t, sir. I’m sorry to appear insubordinate,
but I’ve got to refuse––I simply must.
I’ve never shirked a duty before, as I think you will admit,
Mr. Blaine. I have always carried out the missions
you entrusted to me to the best of my ability, no
matter what the odds against me, and in this case I
have gone ahead conscientiously up to the present moment,
but I won’t proceed with it any further.”</p>
<p>“What are you afraid of––Jimmy Brunell?” asked
the detective, significantly.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></div>
<p>The insult brought a deep flush to Morrow’s cheek,
but he controlled himself.</p>
<p>“No, sir,” he responded, quietly. “I’m not going
to betray the trust that girl has reposed in me.”</p>
<p>“How about the trust another girl has placed in me––and
through me, in you?” Henry Blaine rose also,
and gazed levelly into his operative’s eyes. “What of
Anita Lawton? Have you considered her? I ought
to dismiss you, Guy, at this moment, and I would if it
were anyone else, but I can’t allow you to fly off at a
tangent, and ruin your whole career. Why should you
put this girl, Emily Brunell, before everything in the
world––your duty to Miss Lawton, to me, to yourself?”</p>
<p>“She trusted me,” returned Morrow, with grim persistence.</p>
<p>“So did Henrietta Goodwin, in the case of Mrs.
Derwenter’s diamonds; so did the little manicure, in the
Verdun blackmail affair; so did Anne Richardson, in
the Balazzi kidnaping mystery. You made love to all
of them, and got their confessions, and if your scruples
and remorse kept you awake nights afterward, you certainly
didn’t show any effect of it. What difference
does it make in this case?”</p>
<p>“Just this difference, Mr. Blaine”––Morrow’s
words came with a rush, as if he was glad, now that the
issue had been raised, to meet it squarely––“I love
Emily Brunell. Whatever her father is, or has done,
she is guiltless of any complicity, and I can’t stand by
and see her suffer, much less be the one to precipitate
her grief by bringing her father to justice. I told you
the truth when I said that the cipher letter was an
enigma to me. I could not solve the cryptogram, nor
will I be the means of bringing it to the hands of those
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span>
who might solve it. I don’t want any further connection
with the case; in fact, sir, I want to get out of the
sleuth game altogether. It’s a dirty business, at best,
and it leaves a bad taste in one’s mouth, and many a
black spot in one’s memory. I realize how petty and
sordid and treacherous and generally despicable the
whole game is, and I’m through!”</p>
<p>“Through?” Henry Blaine smiled his quiet, slow,
illuminating smile, and walking around the table, laid his
hand on Morrow’s shoulder. “Why, boy, you haven’t
even commenced. Detective work is ‘petty,’ you said?
‘Petty’ because we take every case, no matter how insignificant,
if it can right a wrong? You call our profession
‘sordid,’ because we accept pay for the work
of our brains and bodies! Why should we not? Are
we treacherous, because we meet malefactors, and fight
them with their own weapons? And what is there that
is ‘generally despicable’ about a calling which betters
mankind, which protects the innocent, and brings the
guilty to justice?”</p>
<p>Morrow shook his head slowly, as if incapable of
speech, but it was evident that he was listening, and
Blaine, after a moment’s pause, followed up his advantage.</p>
<p>“You say that you love Miss Brunell, Guy, and because
of that, you will have nothing further to do with
an investigation which points primarily to her father
as an accomplice in the crime. Do you realize that if
you throw over the case now, I shall be compelled to
put another operative on the trail, with all the information
at his disposal which you have detailed to me?
You may be sure the man I have in mind will have no
sentimental scruples against pushing the matter to the
end, without regard for the cost to either Jimmy Brunell
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span>
or his daughter. Naturally, being in love with the girl,
her interests are paramount with you. I, too, desire
heartily to do nothing to cause her anxiety or grief.
Remember that I have daughters of my own. As I
have told you, I firmly believe that the old forger is
merely a helpless tool in this affair, but my duty demands
that I obtain the whole truth. If you repudiate
the case now, give up your career, and go to work
single-handed to attempt to protect her and her father
by thwarting my investigation, you will be doing her
the greatest injury in your power. The only way to
help them both is to do all that you can to discover the
real facts in the case. When we have succeeded in that,
we shall undoubtedly find a way to shield old Jimmy
from the brunt of the blame.</p>
<p>“Don’t forget the big interests, political and municipal,
at work in this conspiracy. They would not
hesitate to try to make the old offender a scape-goat,
and you know what sort of treatment he would receive
in the hands of the police. Play the game, Guy; stick
to the job. I’m not asking this of you for my own investigation.
I have a dozen, a score of operatives who
could each handle the branch you are working up just
as well as you. I ask it for the sake of your career,
for the girl herself, and her father. I tell you that instead
of incriminating old Jimmy, you may be the
means of ultimately saving him.––Go back to Emily
Brunell now, get that letter from her by hook or crook,
and bring it to me.”</p>
<p>The detective paused at length and waited for his
answer. It was long in coming. Guy Morrow stood
leaning against his desk, his brows drawn down in a
troubled frown. Blaine watched the outward signs of
his mental struggle warily, but made no further plea.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span>
At last the young operative raised his head, his eyes
clear and resolute, and held out his hand.</p>
<p>“I will, sir! Thank you for giving me another
chance. I do love the girl, and I want to help her
more than anything else in the world, but I’ll play the
game fairly. You are right, of course. I can be of
more assistance to her on the inside than working in the
dark, and it would be better for everyone concerned if
the truth could be brought to light. I’ll get the letter,
and bring it to you to-night.”</p>
<p>Morrow was waiting at the foot of the subway stairs
that evening when Emily appeared. The crisp, cold
air had brought a brilliant flush to her usually pale
cheeks, and her sparkling eyes softened with tender surprise
and happiness when they rested on him. He
thought that she had never appeared more lovely, and
as they started homeward his hand tightened upon her
arm with an air of unconscious possession and pride
which she did not resent.</p>
<p>“May I come over after supper?” he asked, softly,
as they paused at her gate. “I have something to tell
you––to ask you.”</p>
<p>“Won’t you come in and have supper with me?” she
suggested shyly. “Caliban and I will be all alone. My
father will not be home until late to-night. He telephoned
to me at the club and told me that he had closed
the shop for the day and gone down-town on business.”</p>
<p>A shadow crossed her face as she spoke, the faint
shadow of hidden trouble which he had noticed before.
It was an auspicious moment, and Morrow seized upon
it.</p>
<p>“I will, gladly, if you will let me wash the dishes,” he
replied, with alacrity.</p>
<p>“We will do them together.” The brightness which
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span>
but an instant before had been blotted from her face returned
in a warm glow, and side by side they entered the
door.</p>
<p>With Caliban, the black kitten, upon his knees, Morrow
watched as she moved deftly about the cheerful,
spotless kitchen preparing the simple meal. He made
no mention of the subject which lay nearest his heart
and mind, and they chattered as gaily and irresponsibly
as children. But when supper was over, and they settled
themselves in the little sitting-room, a curious constraint
fell upon them both. She sat stroking the kitten,
which had curled up beside her, while he gazed absently
at the rosy gleam of the glowing coals behind the
isinglass door of the little stove, and for a long time
there was silence between them.</p>
<p>At length he turned to her and spoke. “Emily,” he
began, “I told you out there by your gate to-night that
I had something to ask of you, something to tell you. I
want to tell you now, but I don’t know how to begin.
It’s something I’ve never told any girl before.”</p>
<p>Her hands paused, resting with sudden tenseness upon
Caliban’s soft fur, and slowly she averted her face from
him. He swallowed hard, and then the words came in a
swift, tender rush.</p>
<p>“Dear, I love you! I’ve loved you from the moment
I first saw you coming down the street! You––you
know nothing of me, save the little I have told you,
and I came here a stranger. Some day I will tell you
everything, and you will understand. You and your
father admitted me to your friendship, made me welcome
in your home, and I shall never forget it. It
may be that some time I shall be able to be of service to
you, but remember that whatever happens, no matter
how you reply to me now, I shall never forget your
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span>
goodness to me, and I shall try to repay it. I love you
with all my heart and soul; I want you to be my wife,
dear! I never knew before that such love could exist in
the world! You have your father, I know, but, oh, I
want to protect you and care for you, and keep all harm
from you forever.”</p>
<p>“Guy!” Her voice was a mere breathless whisper,
and her eyes blurred with sudden tears, but he slipped
his arm about her, and drew her close.</p>
<p>“Emily, won’t you look at me, dear? Won’t you tell
me that you care, too? That at least there is a chance
for me? If I have spoken too soon, I will await patiently
and serve you as Jacob served for Rebecca of
old. Only tell me that you will try to care, and there is
nothing on this earth I cannot do for you, nothing I
will not do! Oh, my darling, say that you care just a
little!”</p>
<p>There was a pause and then very softly a warm arm
stole about his neck, and a strand of rippling brown
hair brushed his cheek lightly as her gentle head drooped
against his shoulder.</p>
<p>“I––I do care––now,” she whispered. “I knew
that I cared when you––went away!”</p>
<p>The minutes lengthened into an hour or more while
Morrow in the thrall of his exalted mood forgot for the
second time in the girl’s sweet presence his battle between
love and duty: forgot the reason for his coming,
the mission he was bound to fulfill––the letter he had
promised his employer to obtain.</p>
<p>For many minutes Guy Morrow and Emily forgot all
else but the new-found happiness of the love they had
just confessed for each other. Morrow had even forgotten
that most-important letter which, after many
misgivings, he had solemnly promised his employer to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span>
obtain from Emily. It was a phrase which fell from her
own lips that recalled him to the stern reality of the
situation.</p>
<p>“My father!” she exclaimed, starting from Morrow’s
arms in sudden confusion. “What do you suppose
Father will say?”</p>
<p>“We will tell him when he returns.” Morrow spoke
with reassuring confidence, but a swift feeling of apprehension
came over him. What indeed would Jimmy
Brunell say? The thought of lying to Emily’s father
was repugnant beyond expression, and yet what account
could he give of himself, of his profession and earlier
career? What credentials, what proof of his integrity
and clean, honest life could he present to the man whose
daughter he sought to marry? At the first hint of “detective”
the old forger would inevitably suspect his motive
and turn him from the house, forbidding Emily to
speak to or even look upon him again. There was an
alternative, and although he shrank from it as unworthy
of her faith and trust in him, Morrow was forced to
accept it as the only practicable solution to the problem
confronting him.</p>
<p>“Oh, no, don’t let us tell him––yet!” Unconsciously
Emily smoothed the way for him. “I don’t
mean to deceive him, of course, or keep anything from
him which it is really necessary that he know at once,
but it seems too wonderful to discuss, even with Father,
just now. It is like a fairy promise, like moonshine,
which would be dispelled if we breathed a word of it to
anyone.”</p>
<p>“Of course, dearest, if it is your wish, we will say
nothing now,” he returned slowly. In his heart a fierce
wave of self-contempt at his own hypocrisy surged up
once more, but he forced it doggedly down. He had
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span>
promised his chief to play the game, and after all it was
for the sake of the girl beside him, that he might be able,
when the inevitable moment of disclosure came, to be of
real service to her and her unfortunate father, and to
shield her from the brunt of the blow. “I should not
like your father to think that we deceived him, but perhaps
it would be as well if we kept our secret for a little
time. Later, when I have succeeded in landing a good,
permanent position with a prospect of advancement, I
can go to him with greater assurance, and ask him for
you.”</p>
<p>“Poor Father!” sighed Emily, with a wistful, tremulous
little smile. “We have been inseparable ever since
I can remember. He has lived only for me, and I cannot
bear to think of leaving him––especially now, when
he seems weighed down with some secret anxiety, which he
will share with no one, not even me. I feel that he needs
me, more than ever before. It wrings my heart, Guy, to
see him age before my very eyes, and to know that he
will not confide in me, I may not help him! He seems
to lean upon me, upon my presence near him, as if somehow
I gave him strength. Although he maintains a
steadfast silence, his eyes never leave me, and such a
sad, hungry expression comes into them sometimes, almost
as if he were going away from me forever, as if
he were trying to say farewell to me, that I have to turn
away to hide my tears from him.”</p>
<p>“Poor little girl! It must make you terribly unhappy.”
Morrow paused, and then added, as if in
afterthought: “Perhaps when we tell your father that
we care for each other, that when I have proved myself
you are going to be my wife, he may confide in me––that
is, if he is willing to give you to me. You know,
dear, it is easier sometimes for a man to talk to another
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span>
of his private worries, than to a woman, even the one
nearest and dearest to him in all the world. I may possibly
be of assistance to him. You told me last night
that the change in him had been coming on gradually
for several months. When did it first occur to you that
he was in trouble?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I can’t remember. You see, I didn’t
realize it until that letter came, and then I began to
think back, and the significance of little things which I
had not noticed particularly when they occurred, was
borne in upon me. Although I have no reason for connecting
the two happenings beyond the fact that they
coincided, I cannot help feeling that Mr. Pennold––the
young man whom you have observed when he called to
see my father––has something to do with the state of
things, for it was with his very first appearance, more
than two years ago, that my father became a changed
man.”</p>
<p>“Tell me about it,” Morrow urged, gently. “Can
you remember, dear, when he first came?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes. We have so few visitors––Father
doesn’t, as a rule, encourage new acquaintances, you
know, Guy, although he did seem to like you from the
very beginning––that the reception of a perfect
stranger into our home as a constant caller puzzled me.
It occurred on a Sunday afternoon in summer. I was
sitting out on the porch reading, when a strange young
man came up the path from the gate, and asked to see
my father. I called to him––he was weeding the flowerbed
around the corner of the house––and when he came,
I went up to my room, leaving them alone together. I
didn’t go, though, until I had seen their meeting, and
one thing about it seemed strange to me, even then.
The stranger, Mr. Pennold, evidently did not know my
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span>
father, had never even seen him before, from the way he
greeted him, but when Father first caught sight of his
face, his own went deathly white and he gripped the
porch railing for a moment, as if for support.</p>
<p>“‘You wished to see me?’ he said, and his voice
sounded queer and hollow and dazed, like a person awaking
from sleep. ‘What can I do for you?’</p>
<p>“‘This is Mr. James Brunell?’ the young man asked.
‘You are a map-maker, I understand. I have come to
ask for your estimate on a large contract for wall-maps
for suburban schools. If you can spare a half-hour,
we can talk it over now, sir, in private. I have a letter
of introduction to you from an old acquaintance. My
name is Pennold.’</p>
<p>“‘I know.’ My father smiled as he spoke, an odd,
slow smile which somehow held no mirth or welcome. ‘I
noted the family resemblance at once. A relative of
yours was at one time associated with me in business.’</p>
<p>“The young man laughed shortly.</p>
<p>“You mean my uncle, I guess. He’s retired now.
Well, Mr. Brunell, shall we get to business?’</p>
<p>“I left them then, and when I came downstairs from
my room, the young man had gone. Father was standing
in the window over there, with a letter crushed in his
hand. He turned when I spoke to him, and, oh, Guy, if
you had seen his face at that moment! I almost cried
out in fear! It was like one of the terrible, despairing
faces in Dante’s description of the Inferno. He looked
at me blankly as if he scarcely recognized me; then gradually
that awful expression was blotted out, and his old
sweet, sunny smile took its place.</p>
<p>“‘Well, little girl!’ he said. ‘Our Sunday together
was spoiled, wasn’t it, by that young fellow’s intrusion?’</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span></div>
<p>“‘Not spoiled,’ I replied, ‘if he brought you work.’</p>
<p>“The smile faded from Father’s face, and he responded
very gravely, with a curious, halting pause between
the words:</p>
<p>“‘Yes. He has brought me––work.’</p>
<p>“I forgot all about that episode, in the weeks and
months which followed. Charley Pennold called irregularly.
Sometimes he would come three or four times
a week, then again we would not see him for two or three
months. Father was busier than ever in the shop, and,
Charley Pennold’s orders must have been very profitable,
for we’ve had more money in the last two years
than ever before, that I can remember. And yet Father
has been melancholy and morose at times, as if he were
brooding over something, and his disposition has
changed steadily for the worse, although in the last few
months the difference in his moods has become more
marked. Then, when that letter came he seemed to give
himself wholly up to whatever it is which has obsessed
him.”</p>
<p>“Emily, will you let me see the letter again?” Morrow
asked suddenly. “If you really care for me, and
will be my wife some day, your troubles and vexations
are mine. I want you to let me take the letter home
with me to-night. I feel that if I can study it for a few
hours undisturbed, I shall be able to read the cipher.
I’ll promise, dear, to bring it back the very first thing in
the morning.”</p>
<p>“Of course, you may have it, Guy!” The young
girl rose impulsively, and went to the little desk in the
corner. “I hid it last night after you had gone, among
some old receipts; here it is. You need not return it
to-morrow. Keep it for several days, if you like, until
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span>
you have studied it thoroughly. I don’t see how you
or any one could solve it without possessing the key, but
I should feel as if a load were taken off my shoulders if
you will try.”</p>
<p>She gave him the letter, and after a long, tender farewell,
he took his departure. Going straight to his room
at Mrs. Quinlan’s, he lighted the lamp, so that if Emily
chanced to look over the way, she would fancy him at
work upon the cryptogram. Morrow waited until the
little house opposite was plunged in darkness; then very
stealthily he crept down the stairs and let himself out,
the precious letter carefully tucked into an inside
pocket.</p>
<p>Morrow proceeded at once to Blaine’s office and found
his chief awaiting him.</p>
<p>“Here’s the letter, sir,” he announced, as he placed
the single sheet of paper on the desk before the detective.
“I can’t make anything out of it, but you probably will.
It’s curious, isn’t it! Why, for instance, are those little
dots placed near some of the crazy figures, and not others?”</p>
<p>Blaine picked the letter up, and examined it with eager
interest.</p>
<p>“It’s comparatively simple,” he remarked, as he
spread it flat upon the desk, and taking up pen and
paper, copied it rapidly. “Symbolic cryptograms are
usually decipherable, with the expenditure of a little
time and effort. There is a method which is universally
followed, and has been for ages. For instance, the
letter <i>e</i> is recognized as being the most frequently used,
in ordinary English, of the whole alphabet; after that
the vowels and consonants in an accepted rotation
which I will not take up our valuable time in discussing
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span>
with you now, since we will not even need to use it, in
this case.––Here, take this copy, and see if you can
follow me.”</p>
<p>He passed the sheet of paper across to his operative
and Morrow gazed again upon the curiously shaped characters
which from close scrutiny had become familiar,
yet still remained maddeningly baffling to him:</p>
<div class='figtag'>
<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a>
</div>
<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='images/png174.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 365px; height: 106px;' /><br />
</div>
<p>“Now,” resumed Blaine, “presupposing that in an
ostensibly friendly message beginning with a word of
four letters, that word is <i>dear</i>, and we’ve two important
vowels to start with. We know the letter was addressed
to Brunell, from an old partner in crime. We will
assume, therefore, that the two words of three letters
each, following <i>dear</i> are either <i>old Jim</i>, <i>old man</i>, or <i>old
boy</i>. Let us see how it works out.”</p>
<p>The detective scribbled hastily on a pad for several
minutes, then leaned back in his chair, with a sigh of satisfaction.</p>
<p>“It can only be <i>boy</i>,” he announced. “That gives
us a working start of eight letters. Add to that the
fact that this character is printed twice consecutively
in three different places”––he pointed to the figure <span style='font-weight:bold'>[.</span>
as he spoke––“which confirms the supposition that it is
<i>l</i>, and you have this result immediately.”</p>
<p>Blaine handed the pad across to Morrow, who read
eagerly:</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span></div>
<div style="font-size:0.9em; margin: auto 3em;">
<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:left'><i>Dear Old Boy.</i><br /></p>
<p><i>B-- -o-ey -o---- -o yo- -ro- old --ore le-- ---a-d
--a- ---y --are -or -olle----- -or yo--o r--- --ll -all
o- yo- ---r-day a- -o-r -e-.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The operative started to speak, but checked himself,
and listened while Henry Blaine went on slowly but
steadily.</p>
<p>“Each letter gained helps us to others, you see, Guy.
For instance <i>-o-ey</i> must be <i>money</i>; the character following
<i>yo</i> three times in different places must be <i>u</i>; the
word <i>––-r-day</i> can only be <i>Thursday</i>; <i>-all</i> is <i>call</i>; <i>a-</i> is
<i>at</i>; and <i>-o-r</i> is <i>four</i>. That gives us eight more letters,
and makes the message read like this.” Blaine
wrote it down and handed the result to Morrow, who
read:</p>
<div style="font-size:0.9em; margin: auto 3em;">
<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:left'><i>Dear Old Boy.</i><br /></p>
<p><i>B-- money com-n- to you from old score left un-a-d -hat
-s my share for collect-n- for you? No ris- --ll call on you
Thursday at four. -en.</i></p>
</div>
<p>“It looks easy, now,” admitted Morrow. “But I
never should have thought of going about it that way.
I suppose the sixth word is <i>coming</i>. That gives us <i>i</i>
and <i>g</i>.”</p>
<p>“Right you are,” Blaine chuckled. “Knowing, too,
that the message came from Walter Pennold, we can
safely assume that <i>-en</i> is <i>Pen</i>. Use your common sense
alone, now, and you will find that the message reads:
‘Dear old boy. Big money coming to you from old
score left unpaid. What is my share for collecting for
you? No risk. Will call on you Thursday at four.
Pen.’</p>
<p>“The word <i>risk</i> was misspelled <i>risl</i>. Evidently Pennold
was a little bit rusty in the use of the old code.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span>
Our bait landed the fish all right, Guy. The money we
planted in the bank of Brooklyn and Queens certainly
brought results. No wonder poor old Jimmy Brunell
was all broken up when he received such a message.
More crafty than Pennold, he realized that it was a
trap, and we were on his trail at last. We’ve got him
cinched now, but he’s only a tool, possibly a helpless
one, in the hands of the master workmen. We’ll go
after them, tooth and nail, for the happiness and stainless
name of two innocent young girls, who trust in us,
and we’ll get them, Guy, we’ll get them if there is any
justice and honor and truth left in the world!”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_XIII_THE_EMPTY_HOUSE' id='CHAPTER_XIII_THE_EMPTY_HOUSE'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
<h3>THE EMPTY HOUSE</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcapq" ><small>“</small><span class="drop">D</span><span class="dcap">on’t</span> spare them now. Get the truth at all
costs.”</p>
<p style="clear: both; padding-top: .4em;" >With the last instructions of his chief ringing
in his ears, the following morning Guy Morrow set
out for Brooklyn, to interview his erstwhile friends, the
Pennolds, in his true colors.</p>
<p>Mame Pennold, who was cleaning the dingy front
room, heard the click of the gate, and peered with
habitual caution from behind the frayed curtains of the
window. The unexpected reappearance of their young
banking acquaintance sent her scurrying as fast as her
palsied legs could carry her back to the kitchen, where
her husband sat luxuriously smoking and toasting his
feet at the roaring little stove.</p>
<p>“Wally, who d’you think’s comin’ up the walk?
That young feller, Alfred Hicks, who skipped from the
Brooklyn and Queens Bank!”</p>
<p>“Good Lord!” Walter Pennold took his pipe from
his lips and stared at her. “What <a name='TC_5'></a><ins title="Was ''d' you'' in the original text">d’you</ins> s’pose
brought him back? Think he’s broke, an’ wants a
touch?”</p>
<p>“No-o,” his wife responded, somewhat doubtfully.
“He looked prosperous, all right, by the flash I got at
him, an’ he’s walkin’ real brisk and businesslike. Maybe
he’s back on the job.”</p>
<p>“’Tain’t likely, not after the way he left his boarding
place, if that Lindsay woman didn’t lie.” Pennold
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span>
laid aside his pipe and frowned thoughtfully, as steps
echoed from the rickety porch and a knock sounded
upon the door. “He’s a lightweight, every way you
take him––he’d never stick anywhere.”</p>
<p>“Maybe he’s come to try an’ get you into somethin’,”
Mame suggested. “Don’t you go takin’ up with a bad
penny at your time o’ life, Wally. He might know
somethin’ an’ try blackmail, if he’s real up against it.”</p>
<p>“Well, go ahead an’ open the door!” ordered Walter
impatiently. “We’re straight with the bank. If
he’s workin’ there again we ain’t got nothin’ to worry
about, an’ if he ain’t, we got nothin’ against him. Let
him in.”</p>
<p>With obvious reluctance, Mame shuffled through the
hall and obeyed.</p>
<p>“Hello, Mrs. Pennold!” Guy greeted her heartily,
but without offering his hand. He brushed past her
half-defensive figure with scant ceremony, and entered
the kitchen. “Hello, Pennold. Thought I might find
you home this cold morning. How goes it?”</p>
<p>“Same as usual.” Pennold rose slowly and looked at
his visitor with swiftly narrowed eyes. There was a new
note in the young man’s voice which the other vaguely
recognized; it was as if a lantern had suddenly flashed
into his face from the darkness, or an authoritative hand
been laid upon his shoulder. He motioned mechanically
toward a chair on the other side of the stove, and added
slowly: “S’prised to see you, Al. Didn’t expect
you’d be around here again after your get-away.
Workin’ once more?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m right on the job!” responded Guy briskly.
He drew the chair close to the square deal table, so close
that he could have reached out, had he pleased, and
touched his host’s sleeve. Pennold seated himself again
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span>
in his old position, significantly half-turned, so that
when he glanced slyly at his visitor it was over his
shoulder, in the furtive fashion of one on guard.</p>
<p>“Ain’t back with the Brooklyn and Queens, are
you?” he asked.</p>
<p>“No. It got too slow for me there. I found something
bigger to do.”</p>
<p>Mame Pennold, who had been hovering in the background,
came forward now and faced him across the
table, her shrewd eyes fastened upon him.</p>
<p>“Must have easy hours, when you can get off in the
morning like this?” she observed. “Didn’t forget your
old friends, did you?”</p>
<p>“No, of course not. I hadn’t anything more important
to do this morning, so I thought I’d drop in
and see you both.”</p>
<p>His hand traveled to his breast pocket, and at the
gesture, Mame’s gaunt body stiffened suddenly.</p>
<p>“Didn’t come to inquire about our health, did you?”
she shot at him, acrimoniously.</p>
<p>“I came to see you about another matter––”</p>
<p>“Not on the trail of old Jimmy Brunell still, on that
business of the bonds found at the bank?” Walter’s
voice was suddenly shrill with simulated mirth.
“Nothin’ in that for you, Al; not a nickel, if that’s
what you’re here for.”</p>
<p>“I’m not on Brunell’s trail. I’ve found him,” Morrow
returned quietly; and in the tense pause which ensued
he added dryly: “You led me to him.”</p>
<p>“So that’s what it was, a plant!” Walter started
from his chair, but Mame laid a trembling, sinewy hand
upon his shoulder and forced him back.</p>
<p>“What d’you mean, young man?” she demanded.
“What do we know about old Brunell?”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></div>
<p>“You wrote him a letter––you knew where to find
him.”</p>
<p>“I only wish we did!” she ejaculated. “We didn’t
write him! You must be crazy!”</p>
<p>“‘Big money coming to you from old score left unpaid.
What is my share for collecting for you?’”
quoted Morrow, adding: “I have a friend who is very
much interested in ciphers, and he wanted me to ask
you about the one you use, Pennold. His name is
Blaine. Ever hear of him?”</p>
<p>“Blaine!” Mame’s voice shrank to a mere whisper,
and her sallow face whitened.</p>
<p>“Blaine! Henry Blaine? The guy they call the
Master Mind?” Pennold’s shaking voice rose to a
breaking cry, but again his wife silenced him.</p>
<p>“Suppose we did write such a letter––an’ we ain’t
admittin’ we did, for a minute––what’s Blaine got on
us?” demanded Mame, coolly. “It’s no crime, as I
ever heard, to write a letter any way you want to. Who
are you, young man? You’re no bank clerk!”</p>
<p>“He’s a ’tec, of course! Shut up your fool mouth,
Mame. An’ as for you, d––n you, get out of this house,
an’ get out quick, or I’ll call the police myself! We’ve
been leadin’ straight, clean, respectable lives for years,
Mame an’ me, an’ nobody’s got nothin’ on us! I ain’t
goin’ to have no private ’tecs snoopin’ in an’ tryin’ to
put me through the third degree. Beat it, now!”</p>
<p>He rose blusteringly and advanced toward Morrow
with upraised fist, but the other, with the table between
them, drew from his pocket a folded paper.</p>
<p>“Not so fast, Pennold. I have a warrant here for
your arrest!”</p>
<p>“Don’t you believe him, Wally!” shrilled Mame.
“It’s a fake! Don’t you talk to him! Put him out.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span></div>
<p>“The warrant was issued this morning, and I am
empowered to arrest you. You can look at it for yourselves;
you’ve both seen them before.” He opened the
paper and spread it out for them to read. “Walter
Pennold, alias William Perry, alias Wally the Scribbler,
number 09203 in the Rogues’ Gallery. First term at
Joliet, for forgery; second at Sing Sing for shoving
the queer. This warrant only holds you as a suspicious
character, Pennold, but we can dig up plenty of other
things, if it’s necessary; there’s a forger named Griswold
in the Tombs now awaiting trial, who will snitch
about that Rochester check, for one thing.”</p>
<p>“Don’t let him bluff you, Wally.” Mame faced
Morrow from her husband’s side. “They can’t rake
up a thing that ain’t outlawed by time. You’ve lived
clean more’n seven years, an’ you’re free from the bulls.
They can’t hold you.”</p>
<p>“I haven’t any warrant yet for you, Mrs. Pennold,”
observed Morrow, imperturbably. “I admit that it’s
more than seven years since every department-store detective
was on the look-out for Left-handed Mame. I
believe you specialized in furs and laces, didn’t you?”</p>
<p>“What’s it to you? You can’t lay a finger on me
now!” the woman stormed, defiantly.</p>
<p>“Not for shop-lifting or forgery––but how about
receiving stolen goods?”</p>
<p>The shot found an instant target. Walter Pennold
slumped and crumpled down into his chair, his arms outspread
upon the table. He laid his head upon them, and
a single dry, shuddering sob tore its way from his
throat. The woman backed slowly away, and for the
first time a shadow as of approaching terror crossed her
hard, challenging face.</p>
<p>“Stolen goods!” she repeated. “What are you
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span>
tryin’ to put over? Do you think we’re so green at the
game that you can plant the goods here an’ get us put
away on the strength of a past record? You’re a––”</p>
<p>“Nothing like it!” Morrow leaned forward impressively.
“We don’t have to do any planting, Mame.
It’s a good deal less than seven years since the Mortimer
Chase’s silver plate lay in your cellar.”</p>
<p>“Silver plate––in our cellar!” echoed Mame in genuine
amazement.</p>
<p>She stepped forward again, her shrewish chin out-thrust,
but Walter Pennold raised his face, and at sight
of it she stopped as if turned to stone.</p>
<p>“It’s no use!” he cried, brokenly. “They’ve got
me, Mame!”</p>
<p>“Got you? They’ll never get you!” her startled
scream rang out. “Wally, d’you know what the next
term means? It’s a lifer, on any count! I don’t know
what he means about any silver plate, but it’s a bluff!
Don’t let him get your nerve!”</p>
<p>“Is it a bluff, Pennold?” asked Morrow, with dominant
insistence.</p>
<p>The broken figure huddled in the chair shuddered uncontrollably.</p>
<p>“No, it ain’t,” he muttered. “I––I held out on
you, Mame! I knew you wouldn’t risk it, so I didn’t
say nothin’ to you about it, but the money was too easy
to let get by. The old gang offered me five hundred
bucks just to keep it ten days, and pass it on to Jennings.
He came here with a rag-picker’s cart, you remember?
You wondered what I was givin’ him, an’ I
told you it was some rolls of old carpet I got from that
place I was night watchman at, in Vandewater Street.
I hid the stuff under the coal––”</p>
<p>“Shut up!” cried Mame, fiercely. “You don’t know
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span>
what you’re sayin’. Wally, hold your tongue for God’s
sake! Where’s your spirit? Are you goin’ to break
down now like a reformatory brat, you that had ’em all
guessin’ for twenty years!”</p>
<p>The gaunt woman had recovered from the sudden
shock of her husband’s unexpected revelation and now
towered protectingly over his collapsed form, her palsied
hands for once steady and firm upon his shoulders, while
her keen eyes glittered shrewdly at the young operative
confronting them.</p>
<p>“Look here!” she said, shortly. “If you wanted
us for receiving stolen goods, you wouldn’t come around
here with a warrant for Wally’s arrest as a suspicious
character, an’ you wouldn’t have worked that Brunell
plant. What’s your lay?”</p>
<p>“Information,” responded Morrow, frankly. “The
police don’t know where the plate was, for those ten
days, and there’s no immediate need that they should.
Blaine cleaned up that case eventually, you know––recovered
the plate and caught the butler in Southampton,
under the noses of the Scotland Yard men. I want to
know what you can tell me about Brunell––and about
your nephew, Charley Pennold.”</p>
<p>Walter opened his lips, but closed them without
speech, and his wife replied for him.</p>
<p>“We’re no snitchers,” she said coldly. “There’s
nothin’ we can tell. Jimmy Brunell’s run straight for
near twenty years, so far as we know.”</p>
<p>“And Charley?” persisted Morrow.</p>
<p>“It’s no use, Mame,” Walter Pennold repeated, dully.
“If I go up again, it means the end for me. Charley’s
got to take his chance, same as the rest of us. God
knows I tried to do the right thing by the boy, same as
Jimmy did by his daughter, but Charley’s got the blood
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span>
in him. It’s hell to peach on your own, but it’s worse
to hear that iron door clank behind you, and to know it’s
for the last time! After all, there ain’t nothin’ in what
we can tell about Charley that a lot of other people
wouldn’t spill, an’ nothin’ that could land him behind the
bars. I ain’t the man I was, or I’d take my medicine
without squealin’, but I can’t face it again, Mame, I
can’t! I’m an old man now, old before my time, perhaps,
but it’s been so long since I smelled the prison
taint, so long since I had a number instead of a name,
that I’d die now, quick, before I’d rot in a cell!”</p>
<p>The terrible, droning monotone ceased, and for a
moment there was silence in the squalid little room.
The woman’s face was as impassive as Morrow’s, as she
waited. Only the tightening of her hands upon her
husband’s shoulders, until her bony knuckles showed
white through the drawn skin, betrayed the storm of
emotion which swept over her, at the memories evoked
by the broken words.</p>
<p>“I’m not asking you to snitch, Pennold,” Morrow
said, not unkindly. “We know all we want to about
Brunell’s life at present––his home in the Bronx, and
his little map-making shop––and we’re not trying to
rake up anything from the past to hold over him now; it
is only some general information I want. As to your
nephew, you’ve got to tell me all you know about him,
or it’s all up with you. Blaine won’t give you away,
if you’ll answer my questions frankly and make a clean
breast of it, and this is your only chance.”</p>
<p>Pennold licked his dry lips.</p>
<p>“What do you want to know?” he asked, at last.</p>
<p>“When did Jimmy Brunell turn his last trick?”</p>
<p>“Years ago; I’ve forgotten how many. It’s no
harm speakin’ of it now, for he did his seven years up
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span>
the river for it––his first and only conviction. That
was the time old Cowperthwaite’s name was forged to
five checks amounting to thirty thousand, all told, and
Jimmy was caught on the last.”</p>
<p>“Where was his plant?”</p>
<p>“In a basement on Dye Street. The bulls never
found it. He was running a little printer’s shop in
front, as a blind––oh, he was clever, old Jimmy, the
sharpest in his line!”</p>
<p>“What became of his outfit, when he was sent up?”</p>
<p>“Dunno. It just disappeared. Some of his old
pals cribbed it, I guess, or Jimmy may have fixed it with
them to remove it. He was always close-mouthed, and
he never would tell me. I knew where his plant was, of
course, and I went there myself, after he was sent up and
the coast was clear, to get the outfit, to––to take care
of it for him until he came out. Oh, I ain’t afraid to
tell now; it’s so long ago! I could take you to the place
to-day, but the outfit’s gone.”</p>
<p>“And when he had served his term, what happened?”</p>
<p>“He came out to find that his wife was dead, and
Emily, the little girl that was born just after he went
up, was none too well treated by the people her mother’d
had to leave her with. He’d learned in the pen’ to
make maps, an’ he opened a little shop an’ made up his
mind to live straight, an’––an’ so far as I know, he
has.” Pennold faltered, as if from weakness, and for a
moment his voice ceased. Then he went on: “I ain’t
seen him for a long time, but we kept track of each
other, an’ when you come with that cock-an’-bull story
about the bonds, and the bank backed you up in it, why
I––I went to see him.”</p>
<p>“You wrote him first. Why did you send a cipher
letter?”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span></div>
<p>“Because I suspicioned the whole thing was a plant,
just like it turned out to be, an’ I didn’t want to get an
old pal into no trouble. The cipher’s an old one we
used years ago, in the gang, an’ I know he wouldn’t forget
it. I never thought he’d squeal on me to Blaine!”</p>
<p>“He didn’t. The letter––er––came into Blaine’s
possession, and he read it for himself.”</p>
<p>“He did?” Pennold looked up quickly, with a flash
of interest on his sullen face. “He’s a wonder, that
Blaine! If he’d only got started the other way, the
way we did, what a crook he would have made! As it is,
I guess we ain’t afraid of all the organized police on
earth combined, as much as we are of him. It’s a queer
thing he ain’t been shot up or blown into eternity long
ago, an’ yet they say he’s never guarded. He must be
a cool one! Anyhow, I’m glad Jimmy didn’t squeal on
me; I’d hate to think it of him. When I went to see
him about the bonds, he wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with
them. Swore they was a plant, he did, an’ warned me
off. He seemed real excited, considerin’ he had nothin’
to worry about, but I took his word for it, an’ beat it.
That’s the last I seen of him.”</p>
<p>“Did you send your nephew to him?”</p>
<p>“Me?” Pennold’s tones quickened in surprise. “I
ain’t seen him in a long while, an’ I don’t believe he even
remembers old Jimmy; he was only a kid when Jimmy
went up the river. What would I send Charley for,
when I’d gone myself an’ it hadn’t worked?”</p>
<p>It was evident to Morrow that the man he was interrogating
was ignorant of Brunell’s connection with the
Lawton case, and he changed his tactics.</p>
<p>“Tell me about Charley. You say you tried to do
right by him.”</p>
<p>“Of course I did! Wasn’t he my brother’s boy?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span>
Pennold hunched over the table, and continued eagerly:
“Mame kept him clean an’ fed, an’ we sent him to public
school, just like any other kid. But it wasn’t no use.
He had it in him to go wrong, without the wit to get
away with it. He was caught pinchin’ lead piping when
he was sixteen, an’ sent to Elmira for three years.
Them three years was his finish. When he came out
he’d had what you’d call a graduate course in every form
of crookedness under the sun, from fellers harder an’
cleverer than he’d ever thought of bein’, an’ he was bitter
besides, an’ desperate. There wasn’t no chance for him
then, an’ he just drifted on down the line. I never
heard of him turnin’ a real trick himself, an’ he never
got caught at nothin’ again, but he chummed in with
the gang, an’ he always seemed to have coin enough. I
ain’t seen him in more’n a year. The last I heard of
him, he was workin’ as a stool-pigeon an’ snitcher for
the worst scoundrel of the lot.”</p>
<p>“Who was that?” asked Morrow.</p>
<p>Pennold hesitated and then replied with dogged reluctance.</p>
<p>“I dunno what that’s got to do with it, but the feller’s
name is Paddington, an’ he’s the worst kind of a crook––a
’tec gone wrong. At least, that’s what they say
about him, but I ain’t got nothin’ on him; I don’t believe
I ever seen the man, that I know of. He’s worked on a
lot of shady cases; I know that much, an’ he’s clever.
More’n a dozen crooks are floatin’ around town that
would be up the river if he told what he knew about ’em;
so naturally, he owns ’em, body an’ soul. Not that
Charley’s one that’d go up––he’s only in it for the coin––but
I’d rather see him get pinched an’ do time for
pullin’ off somethin’ on his own account, than runnin’
around doin’ dirty work for a man who ain’t in his
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span>
father’s class, or mine. He’s a disgrace; that’s what
Charley is––a plain disgrace.”</p>
<p>Pennold’s voice rang out in highly virtuous indignation.
Morrow forbore to smile at the oblique moral
viewpoint of the old crook.</p>
<p>“What does he look like?” he asked. “Short and
slim, isn’t he, with a small dark mustache?”</p>
<p>“That’s him!” ejaculated Pennold disgustedly.
“Dresses like a dude, an’ chases after a bunch of skirts!
Spreads himself like a ward politician when he gets a
chance! He’s my nephew, all right, but as long as he
won’t run straight, same as I’m doin’ now, I’d rather
he’d crack a crib than play errand boy for a man I
wouldn’t trust on look-out!”</p>
<p>“Where does Charley live?” asked Morrow.</p>
<p>“How should I know? He hangs out at Lafferty’s
saloon, down on Sand Street, when he ain’t off on some
steer or other––leastways he used to.”</p>
<p>Morrow folded the warrant slowly, in the pause which
ensued, and returned it to his pocket while the couple
watched him tensely.</p>
<p>“All right, Pennold,” he said, at last. “I guess I
won’t have to use this now. If you’ve been square, an’
told me all you know, you won’t be bothered about that
matter of the Mortimer Chase silver plate. If you’ve
kept anything back, Blaine will find it out, and then it’s
good-night to you.”</p>
<p>“I ain’t!” returned Pennold, with tremendous eagerness.
“I’ve told you everything you asked, an’ I don’t
savvy what you’re gettin’ at, anyway. If you’re tryin’
to mix Jimmy Brunell up in any new case you’re dead
wrong; he’s out of the game for good. As for Charley,
he wouldn’t know enough to pick up a pocket-book if he
saw one lyin’ on the sidewalk, unless he was told to!”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></div>
<p>“Well, I may as well warn both of you that you’re
watched, and if you try to make a get-away, you’ll be
taken up––and it won’t be on suspicion, either. Play
fair with Blaine, and he’ll be square with you, but don’t
try to put anything over on him, or it’ll be the worse for
you. It can’t be done.”</p>
<p>Morrow closed the door behind him, leaving the
couple as they had been almost throughout the interview––the
woman erect and stony of face, the man miserable
and shaken, crouched dejectedly over the table. But
scarcely had he descended the steps of the ramshackle
little porch when the voice of Mame Pennold reached
him, pitched in a shrill key of emotional exultation.</p>
<p>“Oh, Wally, Wally! Thank God you ain’t a
snitcher! Thank God you didn’t tell!”</p>
<p>The voice ceased suddenly, as if a hand had been laid
across her lips, and after a moment’s hesitation, Morrow
swung off down the path, conscious of at least one pair
of eyes watching him from behind the soiled curtains of
the front room.</p>
<p>What had the woman meant? Pennold obviously had
kept something back, but was it of sufficient importance
to warrant his returning and forcing a confession?
Whether it concerned Brunell or their nephew Charley
mattered little, at the moment. He had achieved the
object of his visit; he knew that Pennold himself had no
connection with the Lawton forgeries, nor knowledge of
them, and at the same time he had learned of Charley’s
affiliation with Paddington. The couple back there in
the little house could tell him scarcely more which would
aid him in his investigation, but the dapper, viciously
weak young stool-pigeon, if he could be located at once,
might be made to disclose enough to place Paddington
definitely within the grasp of the law.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span></div>
<p>Guy Morrow boarded a Sand Street car, and behind
the sporting page of a newspaper he kept a sharp look-out
for Lafferty’s saloon. He came to it at last––a
dingy, down-at-heel resort, with much faded gilt-work
over the door, and fly-specked posters of the latest social
function of the district’s political club showing dimly
behind its unwashed windows.</p>
<p>He rode a block beyond––then, alighting, turned
back and entered the bar. It was deserted at that hour
of the morning, save for a disconsolate-looking individual
who leaned upon one ragged elbow, gazing mournfully
into his empty whisky glass at the end of the narrow,
varnished counter. The bartender emerged from a door
leading into the back room, with a tall, empty glass in
his hand, and Morrow asked for a beer. As he stood
sipping it, he watched the bartender replenish the empty
unwashed glass he had carried with a generous drink of
doubtful looking absinthe and a squirt from a syphon.</p>
<p>“Bum drink on a cold morning,” he observed tentatively.
“Have a whisky straight, on me?”</p>
<p>“I will that!” the bartender returned heartily.
“This green-eyed fairy stuff ain’t for me; it’s for a
dame in the back room––one of the regulars. She’s
been hittin’ it up all the morning, but it don’t seem to
affect her––funny, too, for she ain’t a boozer, as a
general thing. Her guy’s gone back on her, an’ she’s
sore. I’ll be with you in a minute.”</p>
<p>He vanished into the back room with the glass, and
before he returned, the disconsolate individual had slunk
out, leaving Morrow in sole possession. If this place
was indeed the rendezvous of the gang of minor criminals
with which Charley Pennold had allied himself, he
had obviously come at the wrong time to obtain any
information concerning him, unless the voluble bartender
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span>
could be made to talk, and that would be a difficult
matter.</p>
<p>“Look here!” Morrow decided on a bold move, as
the bartender reappeared and placed a bottle of whisky
between them. He leaned forward, after a quick, furtive
glance about him, and spoke rapidly, with a disarming
air of confidential frankness. “I’m in an awful
hole. I’m new at this game, and I’ve got to find a fellow
I never saw, and find him quick. He hangs out
here, and the big guy sent me for him.”</p>
<p>“What big guy?” The cordiality faded from the
bartender’s ruddy countenance and he stepped back
significantly.</p>
<p>“You know––Pad!” Morrow shot back on a desperate
bluff. “The fellow’s name’s Charley Pennold,
and Pad wants him right away. He didn’t tell me to
ask you about him, but he made it pretty plain to me
that he’d got to get him.”</p>
<p>“Say!” The bartender approached cautiously.
He rested one hand upon the counter, keeping the other
well below it, but Morrow did not flinch. “What’s
your lay?”</p>
<p>“Anything there’s coin in,” returned the operative,
with a knowing leer. “Anything from planting divorce
evidence to shoving the queer. I’ve been working
for a pal of Pad’s in St. Louis for three or four
years––that’s why I’m strange around here. Pad’s
up in the air about something, and wants this
Charley-boy right away, and he tells me to look here for
him and not come back without him, see? This is on
the level. If you know where he is, be a good fellow
and come across, will you?”</p>
<p>The bartender felt under the counter for the shelf,
and then raised his hand, empty, toward the bottle.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span></div>
<p>“I guess you’re all right,” he remarked. “Anyway,
I’ll take a chance. What’s your moniker?”</p>
<p>“Guy the Blinker,” returned Morrow promptly.
“Guess you’ve heard of me, all right. I pulled off––but
I haven’t got time to chin now. I got to find this
boy if I want to keep in with Pad, and there’s coin in
it.”</p>
<p>“Sure there is,” the bartender affirmed. “But he’s
a queer one––the big guy, as you call him. What’s
his game? Why, only this morning, he tipped Charley
off to beat it, and Charley did. Maybe he thinks the
kid’s double-crossed him.”</p>
<p>Morrow’s heart leaped in sudden excitement at this
astounding news, but he controlled himself, and replied
nonchalantly:</p>
<p>“Search me. He told me I’d find this Charley-boy
here; that’s all I know. He isn’t talking for publication––not
Pad.”</p>
<p>“You bet not!” The bartender nodded. Then he
jerked a grimy thumb in the direction of the back room.
“Why, the dame in there, cryin’ into her absinthe, is
Charley’s girl. She’s a queen––straight as they make
’em, if she does work the shops now and then––and
Charley was fixin’ to hook up with her next month,
preacher-fashion, and settle down. Now he gets the
office and skips without a word to her, and she’s all
broke up over it!”</p>
<p>The door at the rear opened suddenly, and a girl
stood upon the threshold. She was tall and slender,
and her face showed traces of positive beauty, although
it was bloated and distorted with weeping and dissipation,
and her big black eyes glittered feverishly.</p>
<p>“What’s that you’re sayin’ about Charley?” she
demanded half-hysterically. “He’s gone! He’s left
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span>
me! I don’t believe Pad gave him the office, and if he
did, Charley’s a fool to beat it! They’ve got nothin’
on him––it’s Pad who’s got to save his own skin!”</p>
<p>“Shut up, Annie!” advised the bartender, not unkindly.
“Pad’s sent this here feller for him, now!”</p>
<p>“Then it was a lie––a lie! Pad didn’t tell him to
beat it––he’s gone on his own account, gone for good!
But I’ll find him; I’ll––”</p>
<p>The girl suddenly burst into a storm of sobs, and,
turning, reeled back into the inner room.</p>
<p>“You see!” the bartender observed, confidentially,
as the door swung shut behind her. “She thinks he’s
gone off with another skirt; that’s the way with women!
I knew Pad had given him the office, though. I got it
straight. You’re right about Pad bein’ up in the air.
He must have bitten off more than he can chew, this
time. I heard Reddy Thursby talkin’ to Gil Hennessey
about it, right where you’re standin’, not two hours ago.
They’re both Pad’s men––met ’em yet?”</p>
<p>Morrow shook his head, not trusting himself to speak,
and the loquacious bartender went on.</p>
<p>“It was Reddy brought the word for Charley to
skip, and he dropped somethin’ about a raid on some
plant up in the Bronx. Know anything about it?”</p>
<p>For a moment the rows of bottles on their shelves
seemed to reel before Morrow’s eyes, and his heart
stood still, but he forced himself to reply:</p>
<p>“Oh, that? I know all about it, of course. Wasn’t
I in on the ground floor? But that’s only a fake steer;
this Charley-boy hasn’t got anything to do with it,
that I know of. Maybe the big guy thought he hadn’t
got out of the way, and sent me to find out. No use
my hanging round here any longer, anyhow. I’ll amble
back and tell Pad he’s gone. Swell dame, that Annie––some
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span>
queen, eh? Let’s have one more drink and I’ll
blow!”</p>
<p>With assurances of an early return, Morrow contrived
to beat a retreat without arousing the suspicions
of the bartender, but he went out into the pale, wintry,
sunlight with his brain awhirl. To his apprehensive
mind a raid on a plant in the Bronx could mean only
one place––the little map-making shop of Jimmy
Brunell. Something had happened in his absence;
some one had betrayed the old forger. And Emily––what
of her?</p>
<p>Morrow sped as fast as elevated and subway could
carry him to the Bronx. Anxious as he was about the
girl he loved, he did not go directly to the house on
Meadow Lane, but made a detour to the little shop a
few blocks away.</p>
<p>Morrow’s instinct had not misled him. Before he
had approached within a hundred feet of the shop he
knew that his fears had been justified.</p>
<p>The door swung idly open on its hinges, and the single
window gave forth a vacant stare. Within everything
was in the wildest disorder. The table which served
as a counter, the racks of maps, the high stool, the
printing apparatus, all were overturned. The trap
door leading into the cellar was open, and Morrow flung
himself wildly down the sanded steps. The forger’s
outfit had disappeared.</p>
<p>What had become of Jimmy Brunell? His purpose
served, had Paddington betrayed him to the police, or
had some warning reached him to flee before it was too
late?</p>
<p>With mingled emotions of fear and dread, Morrow
emerged from the little dismantled shop and made the
best of his way to Meadow Lane. The Brunell cottage
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span>
appeared much as usual as he neared it, and for
an instant hope surged up within him. Emily would
be at the club, of course. If her father had been arrested,
or had succeeded in getting away safely alone,
she would not know of it until she came back in the
evening. He would wait for her, intercept her, and tell
her the whole truth.</p>
<p>Instead of entering his own lodgings, he crossed the
road, and paused at the Brunells’ gate. Something
forlorn and desolate in the atmosphere of the little
home seemed to clutch at his heart, and on a swift impulse
he strode up the path, ascended the steps of the
porch and peered in the window of the living-room.
Everything in the usually orderly room was topsy-turvy,
and everywhere there was evidence of hurried
flight. From where he stood the desk––her desk––was
plainly visible, its ransacked drawers pulled open,
the floor before it strewn with torn and scattered
papers. Its top was bare, amid the surrounding litter,
and even his photograph which he had recently given
her, and which usually stood there in the little frame she
had made for it with her own hands, was gone.</p>
<p>A chill settled about his heart. Had Brunell been
captured, and police detectives searched the house, his
picture could hold no interest for them. Had the old
forger fled alone, he would not have taken so insignificant
an object from among all his household goods and
chattels. Emily alone would have paused to save the
photograph of the man she loved from the wreckage of
her home; Emily, too, had gone!</p>
<p>Scarcely knowing what he was doing, and caring
less, Morrow rushed across the street, and descended
upon Mrs. Quinlan, his landlady, at her post in the
kitchen.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span></div>
<p>“What’s happened to the Brunells?” he demanded
breathlessly.</p>
<p>“Land’s sakes, but you scared me, Mr. Morrow!”
Mrs. Quinlan turned from the stove with a hurried start,
and wiped her plump, steaming face on her apron. “I
should like to know what’s happened myself. All I do
know is that they’ve gone bag and baggage––or as
much of it as they could carry with them––and never;
a word to a soul except what Emily ran across to say
to me.”</p>
<p>“What was it?” he fairly shouted at her. But
there were few interests in Mrs. Quinlan’s humdrum existence,
and seldom did she have an exciting incident to
relate and an eager audience to hang upon her words.
She sat down ponderously and prepared to make the
most of the present occasion.</p>
<p>“I thought it was funny to see a man goin’ into their
yard at five o’clock this mornin’, but my tooth was so
bad I forgot all about him and it never come into my
mind again until I seen them goin’ away. I sleep in the
room just over yours, you know, Mr. Morrow, an’ my
tooth ached so bad I couldn’t sleep. It was five by my
clock when I got up to come down here an’ get some hot
vinegar, an’ I don’t know what made me look out my
winder, but I did. I seen a man come running down
the lane, keepin’ well in the shaders, an’ looking back as
if he was afraid he was bein’ chased, for all the world
like a thief. While I looked, he turned in the Brunells’
yard an’ instead of knocking on the door, he began
throwin’ pebbles up at the old man’s bedroom winder.
Pretty soon it opened and Mr. Brunell looked out.
Then he come down quick an’ met the man at the front
door. They talked a minute, an’ the feller handed over
somethin’ that showed white in the light of the street
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span>
lamp, like a piece of paper. Mr. Brunell shut the door
an’ the man ran off the way he had come. I come down
an’ got my hot vinegar an’ when I got back to my room
I seen there were lights in Mr. Brunell’s room an’
Emily’s, an’ one in the livin’-room, too, but my tooth
was jumpin’ so I went straight to bed. About half an
hour after you’d left for business I was shakin’ a rug
out of the front sittin’-room winder, when Emily come
runnin’ across the street.</p>
<p>“‘Oh, Mrs. Quinlan!’ she calls to me, an’ I see she’d
been cryin’. ‘Mrs. Quinlan, we’re goin’ away!’</p>
<p>“‘For good?’ I asked.</p>
<p>“‘Forever!’ she says. ‘Will you give a message to
Mr. Morrow for me, please? Tell him I’m sorry I was
mistaken. I’m sorry to have found him out!’</p>
<p>“She burst out cryin’ again an’ ran back as her father
called her from the porch. He was bringin’ out a pile
of suit-cases and roll-ups, and pretty soon a taxicab
drove up with a man inside. I couldn’t see his face––only
his coat-sleeve. They got in an’ went off kitin’
an’ that’s every last thing I know. What d’you s’pose
she meant about findin’ you out, Mr. Morrow?”</p>
<p>He turned away without reply, and went to his room,
where he sat for long sunk in a stupor of misery. She
had found out the truth, before he could tell her. She
knew him for what he was, knew his despicable errand in
ingratiating himself into her friendship and that of her
father. She believed that the real love he had professed
for her had been all a mere part of the game he
was playing, and now she had gone away forever! He
would never see her again!</p>
<p>“By God, no!” he cried aloud to himself, in the bitterness
of his sorrow. “I will find her again, if I search
the ends of the earth. She shall know the truth!”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_XIV_IN_THE_OPEN' id='CHAPTER_XIV_IN_THE_OPEN'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
<h3>IN THE OPEN</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">Guy Morrow’s</span> resolve to find Emily Brunell at
all costs, stirred him from the apathy of despair
into which he had fallen, and roused him to instant
action. Leaving the house, he went to the nearest
telephone pay station, where he could converse in
comparative privacy, and called up Henry Blaine’s office,
only to discover that the master detective had departed
upon some mission of his own, was not expected
to return until the following morning, and had left no
instructions for him.</p>
<p>This unanticipated set-back left Morrow without definite
resource. As a forlorn hope he telephoned to the
Anita Lawton Club, only to learn that Miss Brunell had
sent in her resignation as secretary early that morning,
but told nothing of her future plans, except that she
was leaving town for an indefinite period.</p>
<p>There was nothing more to be learned by another examination
of the dismantled shop, and the young operative
turned his steps reluctantly homeward. A sudden
suspicion had formed itself in his mind that Blaine himself,
and not the police, had been responsible for the
raid on the forger’s little establishment––that Blaine
had done this without taking him into his confidence and
was now purposely keeping out of his way.</p>
<p>When the early winter dusk came, Guy could endure
it no longer, but left the house. Drawn irresistibly by
his thoughts, he crossed the road again, and entering
the Brunells’ gate, he strolled around the deserted cottage,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span>
to the back. At the kitchen door a faint, piteous
sound made him pause. It was an insistent, wailing cry
from within, the disconsolate meowing of a frightened,
lonely kitten.</p>
<p>Caliban had been left behind, forgotten! Emily’s
panic and haste must have been great indeed to cause
her to forsake the pet she had so tenderly loved! Much
as he detested the spiteful little creature, he could not
leave it to starve, for her sake.</p>
<p>Morrow tried the kitchen door, but found it securely
bolted from within. The catch on the pantry window
was loose, however, and Morrow managed to pry it open
with his jackknife. With a hasty glance about to see
that he was not observed, he pushed up the window and
clambered in, closing it cautiously after him. He
stumbled through the semi-obscurity and gloom into the
kitchen; instantly the piteous cry ceased and Caliban
rose from the cold hearth and bounded gladly to him,
purring and rubbing against his legs. Mechanically he
stooped and stroked it; then, after carefully pulling
down the shades, he lighted the lamp upon the littered
table, and looked about him. Everything bore evidence,
as had the living-room, of a hasty exodus. The
fire was extinguished in the range, and it was filled to
the brim with flakes of light ashes. Evidently Brunell
or his daughter had paused long enough in their flight
to burn armfuls of old papers––possibly incriminating
ones.</p>
<p>On the table was the débris of a hasty meal. Morrow
poured some milk from the pitcher into a saucer and
placed it on the floor for the hungry kitten; then, taking
the lamp, he started on a tour of inspection through
the house. Everywhere the wildest confusion and disorder
reigned.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></div>
<p>Morrow turned aside from the door of Emily’s room,
but entered her father’s. There, save for a few articles
of old clothing strewn about, he found comparative order
and neatness. The simple toilet articles were in
their places, the narrow bed just as Jimmy Brunell had
left it when he sprang up to admit his nocturnal visitor.</p>
<p>On the floor near the bureau on which the lamp stood,
something white and crumpled met Morrow’s eye; he
stooped quickly and picked it up. It was a large single
sheet of paper, and as the operative smoothed it out, he
realized that it must be the message which had been hurriedly
brought to Brunell in the early hour before the
dawn. The paper had lain just where he had dropped
it, crushed from his hand after reading the warning it
contained.</p>
<p>Morrow turned up the wick of his own lamp and
stared curiously at the missive. The sheet of paper
was ruled at intervals, the lines and interstices filled
with curious hieroglyphics, and at a first glance it appeared
to the operative’s puzzled eyes to be a mere portion
of a page of music. Then he observed that old
figures and letters, totally foreign to the notes of a
printed score, were interspersed between the rest, and
moreover only the treble clef had been used.</p>
<p>“Oh, Lord!” he groaned to himself. “It’s another
cryptogram, and I don’t believe Blaine himself will be
able to solve this one!”</p>
<p>He stared long and uncomprehendingly at it; then
with a sigh of baffled interest he folded it carefully and
placed it in his pocket. As he did so, there came a sudden
sharp report from outside, the tinkle of a broken
window pane, and a bullet, whistling past his ear, embedded
itself in the wall behind him!</p>
<p>Instinctively Morrow flung himself flat upon the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span>
floor, but no second shot was fired. Instead, he heard
the muffled receding of flying footsteps from the sidewalk,
and an excited cry or two as neighboring windows
were raised and curious heads were thrust out.</p>
<p>Hastily extinguishing the lamp, Morrow felt his way
to the kitchen, where he pocketed Caliban with scant
ceremony and departed swiftly the way he had come,
through the pantry window. By scaling a back-yard
wall or two he found an alley leading to the street; and
making a detour of several blocks, he returned to his
lodgings, to find Mrs. Quinlan waiting in great excitement
to relate her version of the revolver shot.</p>
<p>Morrow listened with what patience he could muster,
and then handed Caliban over to her mercy.</p>
<p>“It’s Miss Brunell’s cat,” he explained. “You’ll
take care of it for a day or two, at least, won’t you? I
expect to hear from her soon, and I’d like to be able to
restore it to her.”</p>
<p>“Well, I ain’t what you would call crazy about cats,”
the landlady returned, somewhat dubiously, “but I
couldn’t let it die in this cold. I’ll keep it, of course,
till you hear from Emily. Where did you find it?”</p>
<p>“Over in their yard,” he responded, with prompt
mendacity. “I was in the neighborhood and heard the
shot fired, so I ran in to have a look around and see if
anyone was hurt, and I came across this poor little chap
yowling on the doorstep. I won’t want any supper to-night,
Mrs. Quinlan. I’m going out again.”</p>
<p>Within the hour, Morrow presented himself at
Henry Blaine’s office. This time he did not wait to be
told that the famous investigator was out, but writing
something on a card, he sent it in to the confidential
secretary.</p>
<p>In a moment he was admitted, to find Blaine seated
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span>
imperturbably behind his desk, fingering the card his
young operative had sent in to him.</p>
<p>“What is it, Guy?” he asked, not unkindly. “You
say you have a communication of great importance.”</p>
<p>“I think it is, sir,” returned the other, stiffly. “At
least I have the message which warned Brunell of your
raid upon his shop. It’s another cipher, a different one
this time.”</p>
<p>“Indeed? That’s good work, Guy. But how did
you know it was a warning to old Jimmy of the raid?
Could you read it?”</p>
<p>Morrow shook his head.</p>
<p>“No, and I don’t see how anyone else could! It
must have been a warning of some sort, for it was what
caused them both, old Jimmy and his daughter, to run
away. Here it is.”</p>
<p>He passed the cryptogram over to his chief, who
studied it for a while with a meditative frown, then laid
it aside and listened in a non-committal silence to his
story. When the incidents of the day had been narrated,
Blaine said:</p>
<p>“That was a close call, Guy, that shot from the darkness.
It must have come from the opposite side of the
street, of course, from before your own lodgings. The
bullet glanced upward in its course, didn’t it?”</p>
<p>“No, sir. That’s the funny part of it! The spot
where it is embedded in the wall is very little higher than
the hole in the window pane.”</p>
<p>“And Mrs. Quinlan’s, where you board, is directly
opposite?”</p>
<p>“Yes. It’s the only house on the other side of the
street for fifty feet or more on either side.”</p>
<p>“Then you’d better look out for trouble, Guy. That
shot came from your own house, probably from the window
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span>
of your own room, if it is the second floor front, as
you say. There’s a traitor in camp. Any new lodgers
to-day that you know of?”</p>
<p>“No, sir,” Morrow replied, startled at the theory
evolved by his chief. “But how do you account for
the fact that I distinctly heard some one running away
immediately after the shot was fired?”</p>
<p>“It was probably a look-out, or a decoy to draw investigation
away from the house had a prompt pursuit
ensued. Be careful when you go back, Guy, and don’t
take any unnecessary chances.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going back, sir,” the younger man returned,
with quiet determination. “I’m sorry, but I’m
through. I wanted to resign before, to protect the
woman I love from just this trouble which has come
upon her, but you overruled me, and I listened and
played the game fairly. Now I’ve lost her, and nothing
else matters under the sun except that I must find her
again and tell her the truth, and I mean to find her!
Nothing shall stand in my way!”</p>
<p>“And your duty?” asked Blaine quietly.</p>
<p>“My duty is to her first, last, and all the time! I
know I have no right, sir, to ask that I should be
taken into your confidence in regard to any plans you
make in conducting an investigation, but I think in view
of the exceptional conditions of this case that I might
have been told in advance of the raid you intended, so
that I might have spared Emily much of the trouble
which has come upon her, or at least have told her the
truth, and squared myself with her, and known where
she was going. I’ve got to find her, sir! I cannot rest
until I do!”</p>
<p>“And you shall find her, Guy. I promise you on my
word that if you are patient all will be well. It is not
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span>
my custom to explain my motives to my subordinates,
but as you say, this case is exceptional, and you have
been faithful to your trust under peculiarly trying circumstances.
I raided Jimmy’s little shop last night and
carried off his forgery outfit because I had received
special information of a confidential nature that Paddington
intended to make the same move and lay it to
the work of the police, not only to scare poor old Jimmy
out of town, but to obtain possession of the outfit himself
and destroy the evidence, in case the old forger was
caught and lost his spirit and confessed, implicating
him. I did not know the raid would be discovered and
the warning take effect so soon. I had arranged to
have the Brunells watched and tailed later in the day,
but they escaped my espionage.</p>
<p>“I shall at once set the wheels in motion to discover
the number of the taxicab in which they went away, and
I will leave no stone unturned to find their ultimate
destination and see that no harm comes to either of
them; you may depend upon that. I don’t mind going
a little further with this subject with you now than I
have before, and I’ll tell you confidentially that I believe
whatever part Jimmy played in this conspiracy, in
forging the letter, note, and signatures, was a compulsory
one; and in the end we shall be able to clear him.
You know that I am a man of my word, Guy. I want
you to go on with this case under my instructions and
leave the search for the Brunells absolutely in my hands.
Will you do this, on my assurance that I will find
them?”</p>
<p>“If I can have your word, sir, that at the earliest
possible moment I may go to her, to Emily, and tell her
the truth,” Morrow replied, earnestly. “You don’t
know what it means to me, to have her feel that I have
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span>
been such a dog as not to mean a word of all that I said
to her, to have her believe that it was all part of a plan
to trap her into betraying her father. It drives me almost
mad when I think of it! This inaction, the suspense
of it, is intolerable.”</p>
<p>“Then go home and find out who fired at you from
the window of your own house. Watch the Brunell
cottage, too––there will be developments there, if I’m
not mistaken. To-morrow I may want you to go out
on another branch of this investigation––the search
for Ramon Hamilton.”</p>
<p>“Very good, sir, I’ll try,” Morrow promised with obvious
reluctance. “I know how busy you are and how
much every day counts in this matter just now; but for
God’s sake, do what you can to find the Brunells for
me!”</p>
<p>Blaine repeated his assurances, and Morrow returned
to the Bronx with considerably lightened spirits.
The sight of the little cottage across the way, dark
and deserted, brought a pang to his heart, but it also
served to remind him of the duty which lay before him.
He must find out whose hand had fired that shot at him
from the house which had given him shelter.</p>
<p>Mrs. Quinlan had not yet retired. He found her
reading a newspaper in the kitchen, with Caliban curled
up in drowsy content beside the stove.</p>
<p>“Cold out, ain’t it?” she observed. “I went round
to the store, an’ I like to’ve froze before I got back.
They said they’d send the things, but they didn’t.”</p>
<p>“I’ll go get them for you,” offered Morrow. “Was
it the grocery to which you went?”</p>
<p>“No, the drug store. I––I’ve got a new lodger upstairs
at the back––an old gentleman who’s kind of
sickly and rheumatic, and he asked me to get some
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span>
things for him. Thank you just the same, Mr. Morrow,
but there ain’t no hurry for them.” Mrs. Quinlan’s
wide, ingenuous face flushed, and for a moment she
seemed curiously embarrassed. Could she have guessed
that the revolver shot which had created so much excitement
that afternoon had been fired from beneath her
roof?</p>
<p>“A new lodger!” repeated Morrow. “Came to-day,
didn’t he?”</p>
<p>“No, yesterday,” she responded quickly––too
quickly, the operative fancied. The ruddy flush had
deepened on her cheek, and she added, as if unable to
restrain the question rising irresistibly to her lips:
“What made you think he came to-day?”</p>
<p>“I thought this afternoon that I heard furniture being
moved about in the room directly over mine,” he returned,
with studied indifference.</p>
<p>“Oh, you did!” Mrs. Quinlan affirmed. “That’s
my room, you know. I was exchanging my bureau for
the old gentleman’s.”</p>
<p>“Let me see; that makes four lodgers now, doesn’t
it?” Morrow remarked thoughtfully, as he toasted his
back near the stove. “Peterson, the shoe clerk; Acker,
the photographer; me––and now this old gentleman.
What’s his name, by the way?”</p>
<p>“Mr.––Brown.” Again there was that obvious hesitation,
followed by a hasty rush of words as if to cover
it. “Yes, my house is full now, and I think I’m
mighty lucky, considering the time of year. Just think,
it’s most Christmas! The winter’s just flyin’ along!”</p>
<p>The next morning, from his bed Morrow heard the
clinking of china on a tray as Mrs. Quinlan laboriously
carried breakfast upstairs to her new boarder. Guy
rose quickly and dressed, and when he heard her descending
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span>
again he flung open his door and met her face
to face, quite as if by accident. She started violently
at the sudden encounter and nearly dropped the tray.</p>
<p>“Land sakes, how you scared me, Mr. Morrow!” she
exclaimed. “You’re up earlier than usual. I’ll have
your breakfast ready in the dining-room in ten minutes.”</p>
<p>She hurried on quickly, but not before the operative’s
keen eyes had noted in one lightning glance the
contents of the tray. Upon it was a teapot, as well
as one for coffee, and service for two. Peterson and
Acker had both long since gone to their usual day’s
work. Mrs. Quinlan had lied, then, after all. She
had two new lodgers instead of the single rheumatic old
gentleman she had pictured; two, and one of them had
entered his own room, and from the window fired that
shot across the street at him, as he bent over the lamp
in the Brunell cottage. He had one problematic advantage––it
was possible that he had not been recognized
as the intruder in the deserted house. He must
contrive by hook or crook to obtain a glimpse of the
mysterious newcomers, and learn the cause of their interest
in the Brunells and their affairs. They were in
all probability emissaries of Paddington’s––possibly
one of them was Charley Pennold himself.</p>
<p>At that same moment Henry Blaine sat in his office,
receiving the report of Ross, one of his minor operatives.</p>
<p>“I tried the tobacconist’s shop yesterday morning,
sir, but there wasn’t any message there for Paddington,
and although I waited around a couple of hours he
didn’t show up,” Ross was saying. “This morning,
however, I tried the same stunt, and it worked. I
wasn’t any too quick about it, either, for Paddington
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span>
was just after me. I strolled in, asked for a package of
Cairos and gave the man the office, as you told me. He
handed it over like a lamb, and I walked out with it,
straight to that little café across the way. I had four
of the boys waiting there, and my entrance was a signal
to them to beat it over and buy enough tobacco to keep
the shopkeeper busy while I made a getaway from the
dairy-lunch place. I only went three doors down, to a
barber’s, and while I was waiting my turn there I
watched the street from behind a newspaper.</p>
<p>“In about ten minutes Paddington came along, walking
as if he was in quite a hurry. He went into the
tobacconist’s, but he came out quicker than he had entered,
and his face was a study––purple with rage one
minute, and white with fear the next. I don’t believe he
knows yet who’s tailing him, sir, but he looks as if he
realized we had him coming and going. He went
straight over to the little restaurant, with murder in his
eye, but he only stayed a minute or two. I tailed him
home to his rooms, and he stamped along at first as if he
was so mad he didn’t care whether he was followed or
not. When he got near his own street, though, he got
cautious again, and I had all I could do to keep him
from catching me on his trail––he’s a sharp one, when
he wants to be, and he’s on his mettle now.”</p>
<p>“I know the breed. He’ll turn and fight like any
other rat if he’s cornered, but meanwhile he’ll try at any
cost to get away from us,” Blaine responded. “You
have him well covered, Ross?”</p>
<p>“Thorpe is waiting in a high-powered car a few
doors away, Vanner in a taxi, and Daly is on the job
until I get back. He won’t take a step to-day without
being tailed,” the operative answered, confidently.
“Here’s the cigarette box, sir. I opened it as soon as
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span>
I got in the restaurant, to see if it was the real goods
and not a plant, as you instructed. It’s the straight
tip, all right. There were no cigarettes inside, only
this single sheet of paper covered with little marks––looks
like music, only it isn’t. I don’t know much
about sight-reading, but some of those figures couldn’t
be played on any instrument!”</p>
<p>Henry Blaine opened the little box and drew from it
the bit of folded paper, which he spread out upon the
desk before him. A glance was sufficient to show him
that it was another cryptic message, similar to that
which Guy Morrow had found in the Brunells’ deserted
cottage, and which he had vainly studied until far into
the night.</p>
<p>“Very good, Ross. Get back on the job, now, and
report any developments as soon as you have an opportunity.”</p>
<p>When the operative had gone, Blaine drew forth the
cryptogram received the previous evening and compared
the two. They were identical in character, although
from the formation of the letters and figures,
the message each conveyed was a different one. The
first had baffled him, and he scrutinized the second with
freshly awakened interest:</p>
<div class='figtag'>
<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a>
</div>
<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='images/png209.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 366px; height: 65px;' /><br />
</div>
<p>The three lines fascinated him by their tantalizing
problem, and he could not take his eyes from them.
The musical notes could be easily read in place of letters,
of course, with the sign of the treble clef as a basic
guide, but the other figures still puzzled him.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></div>
<p>All at once, a word upon the lowest line which explained
itself caught his eye; then another and another,
until the method of deciphering the whole message burst
upon his mind. One swift gesture, a few eagerly
scrawled calculations, and the truth was plain to him.</p>
<p>Calling his secretary, he hastily dictated a letter.</p>
<p>“I want a copy of that sent at once, by special delivery,
to every physician and surgeon in town, no matter
how obscure. See to it that not one is overlooked.
Even those on the staffs of the different hospitals must
be notified, although they are the least likely to be called
upon. Above all, don’t forget the old retired one, those
of shady professional reputation and the fledglings just
out of medical colleges. It’s a large order, Marsh, but
it’s bound to bring some result in the next forty-eight
hours.”</p>
<p>With the closing of the door behind his secretary,
Henry Blaine rose and paced thoughtfully back and
forth the length of his spacious office. The problem
before him was the most salient in its importance of any
which had confronted him during his investigation of the
Lawton mystery––probably the weightiest of his entire
career. Should he, dared he, throw caution to the
winds and step out into the open, in his true colors at
last?</p>
<p>It was as if he held within his hands the kernel of the
mystery, yet surrounded still by an invulnerable shield
of cunning and duplicity with which the master criminals
had so carefully safe-guarded their conspiracy. He
held it within his hands, and yet he could not break
the shell of the mystery and expose the kernel of truth
to justice. There seemed to be no interstice, no crevice
into which he might insert the keen probe of his marvelous
deductive power. And yet his experience told him
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span>
that there must be some rift, some hiatus in the scheme.
If only he could discover that rift, could prove beyond
a shadow of a doubt the facts which he had circumstantially
established, he would not hesitate to lay his
hands upon the culprits, high in power and influence
throughout the country as they were, and bring them
before any court of so-called justice, however it might
be undermined by bribery and corruption.</p>
<p>He had accomplished much, working as a mole works,
in the dark. Could he not accomplish more by declaring
himself; could he not by one bold stroke lay bare
the heart of the mystery?</p>
<p>Seating himself again at his desk, he took the telephone
receiver from its hook and called up Anita <a name='TC_6'></a><ins title="Was ''Lawnot'' in the original text">Lawton</ins>
at her home––not upon the private wire he had had
installed for her, but on the regular house wire.</p>
<p>“Oh, Mr. Blaine, what is it! Have you found him?
Have you news for me of Ramon?” Her voice, faint
and high-pitched with the hideous suspense of the days
just past, came to him tremulous with eagerness and an
abiding hope.</p>
<p>“No, Miss Lawton, I am sorry to say that I have
not yet found Mr. Hamilton, but I have definite information
that he still lives, at least,” he returned. “I
hope that in a few days, at most, I may bring him to
you.”</p>
<p>“Thank heaven for that!” she responded fervently.
“I have tried so hard to believe, to have faith that he
will be restored to me, and yet the hideous doubt will
return again and again. These days and nights have
been one long, ceaseless torture!”</p>
<p>“You have taken my advice in regard to receiving
your visitors?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, Mr. Blaine. My three guardians have
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span>
been unremitting in their attentions, particularly Mr.
Rockamore, who calls daily. He has just left me.”</p>
<p>“Miss Lawton, I have decided that the time has come
for us to declare ourselves openly––not in regard to
the mystery of your father’s insolvency, but concerning
the disappearance of Ramon Hamilton. I want you to
call his mother up on the telephone as soon as I ring off,
and tell her that you have resolved to retain me, on
your account, to find him for you. Should she put forward
any objections, over-rule her and refuse to listen.
I will be with you in an hour. In the meantime, should
anyone call, you may tell them that you have just retained
me to investigate the disappearance of your
fiancé. Tell that to anyone and everyone; the more
publicity we give to that fact the better. The moment
has arrived for us to carry war into the enemy’s camp,
and I know that we shall win! Keep up your courage,
Miss Lawton! We’re done with maneuvering
now. You’ve borne up bravely, but I believe your
period of suspense, in regard to many things, is past.
Before this day is done, they will know that we are in this
to fight to the finish––and to fight to win!”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_XV_CHECKMATE' id='CHAPTER_XV_CHECKMATE'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
<h3>CHECKMATE!</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">Henry Blaine</span> was allowed scant opportunity
for reflection, in the hour which intervened between
his telephone message to Anita and the
time of his appointment with her. Scarcely had he
hung up the receiver once more when his secretary announced
the arrival of Fifine Déchaussée.</p>
<p>Had not Blaine been already aware of her success
with Paddington, as the scene in the park an evening or
two previously denoted, he would have been instantly
apprised by her manner that something of vital import
had occurred. There was an indefinable change, a
subtle metamorphosis, which was conveyed even in her
appearance. Her delicate, Madonna-like face had lost
its wax-like pallor and was flushed with a faint, exquisite
rose; the wooden, slightly vacant expression was
gone; she walked with a lissome, conscious grace which
he had not before observed, and the slow, enigmatic
smile with which she greeted him held much that was
significant behind it.</p>
<p>“You did not keep your appointment with me yesterday––why,
mademoiselle?” asked Blaine, quietly.</p>
<p>“Because it was impossible, m’sieu,” she returned.
“I could not get away. Madame––the wife of M’sieu
Franklin––would not allow me to leave the children.
This is the first opportunity I have had to come.”</p>
<p>“And what have you to report?” he asked, watching
her narrowly.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></div>
<p>She shrugged her shoulders.</p>
<p>“Very little, M’sieu Blaine. Yesterday the president
of the Street Railways, M’sieu Mallowe, called on
the minister, and remained for more than an hour. I
could not hear their conversation––they were in the
library; but just as M’sieu Mallowe was taking his departure
I passed through the hall, and heard him say:</p>
<p>“‘You must try to persuade her, Mr. Franklin; you
have more influence over her than anyone else, even I.
Miss Lawton must really go away for a time. It is
the only thing that will save her health, her reason!
She can do nothing here to aid in the search for young
Hamilton, and the suspense is killing her. Try to get
her to take our advice and go away, if only for a few
days.’”</p>
<p>“What did Dr. Franklin reply?”</p>
<p>“I did not hear it all. I could not linger in the hall
without arousing suspicion. Dr. Franklin agreed that
Miss Lawton was ill and should go away, and he said he
would try to induce her to go––that M’sieu Mallowe
was undoubtedly right, and he was delighted that he
took such an interest in Miss Lawton.”</p>
<p>She paused, and after a moment Blaine asked:</p>
<p>“And that is all?”</p>
<p>“Yes, m’sieu.” The French girl half turned as if to
take her departure, but he stayed her by a gesture.</p>
<p>“You have nothing else to report? How about Paddington?”
He shot the question at her tersely, his
eyes never leaving her face, but she did not flinch.</p>
<p>“M’sieu Paddington?” she repeated demurely. “I
have nothing to tell you of him.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t try, then, to lead him on, as I suggested––to
get him to talk about Miss Lawton, or the people
who were employing him? You have not seen him?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></p>
<p>“M’sieu Blaine, I could not do that!” she cried, ignoring
his last question. “I would do much, anything
that I could for Miss Lawton, but she would be the last
to ask of me that I should lead a man on to––to make
love to me, in order to betray him! I will do anything
that is possible to find out for Miss Lawton and for you,
m’sieu, all that I can by keeping my ears open in the
house of the minister, but as to M’sieu Paddington––I
will not play such a rôle with any man, even to please
Miss Lawton.”</p>
<p>“Yet you have been meeting him in the park.” The
detective leaned forward in his chair and spoke gently,
as if merely reminding the girl of some insignificant
fact which she had presumably forgotten, yet there was
that in his tone which made her stiffen, and she replied
impulsively, with a warning flash of her eyes:</p>
<p>“What do you mean, m’sieu? How do you know?
I––I told you I had nothing to report concerning
M’sieu Paddington, nothing which could be of service to
Miss Lawton, and it is quite true. I––I did meet
M’sieu Paddington in the park, but it was simply an
accident.”</p>
<p>“And was the locket and chain an accident, too?
That locket which you are wearing at the present moment,
mademoiselle?”</p>
<p>“The locket––” Her hand strayed to her neck and
convulsively clasped the bauble of cheap, bright gold
hanging there. “What do you know of my locket,
M’sieu Blaine?”</p>
<p>“I know that Paddington purchased it for you two
or three days ago––that he gave it to you that night
in the park, and you allowed him to take you in his
arms and kiss you!”</p>
<p>“Stop! How can you know that!” she stormed at
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span>
him, stepping forward slightly, a deep flush dyeing her
face. “He did not tell you! You have had me
watched, followed, spied upon! It is intolerable! To
think that I should be treated as if I were unworthy of
trust. I have been faithful, loyal to Miss Lawton, but
this is too much! I have not questioned M’sieu Paddington;
I know nothing of his affairs, but I like him,
I––I admire him very much, and if I desire to meet
him, to receive his attentions, I shall do so. I am not
harming Miss Lawton, who has been my <i>patronne</i>, my
one friend in this strange, big country. M’sieu Paddington
does not know that I am working at Dr. Franklin’s
under your instructions, and I shall never betray
to him the confidence Miss Lawton has reposed in me.
But I shall do no more; it is finished. That I should be
suspected––”</p>
<p>“But you are not, my dear young woman!” interposed
Blaine, mildly. “It was not you who was followed,
spied upon, as you call it. For Miss Lawton’s
sake, because she is in trouble, we are interested just
now in Paddington’s movements, and naturally my operative
was not aware that it was to meet you he went to
the park.”</p>
<p>“<i>N’importe!</i>” Fifine exclaimed. The color had receded
from her face, and a deathly white pallor had
superseded it. She retreated a step or two, and continued
defiantly: “This afternoon I resign from the
service of Dr. Franklin! I do not believe that M’sieu
Paddington is an enemy of Miss Lawton; nothing shall
make me believe that he, who is the soul of honor, of
chivalry, would harm her, or cause her any trouble, and
I do not like this work, this spying and treachery and
deceit! That is your profession, m’sieu, not mine; I
only consented because Miss Lawton had been kind to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span>
me, and I desired to aid her in her trouble, if I could.
But that he––that I––should be suspected and
watched, and treated like criminals, oh, it is insufferable.
To-day, also, I leave the Anita Lawton Club. You
shall find some one else to play detective for you––you
and Miss Lawton!”</p>
<p>With an indignant swirl of her skirts, she turned and
made for the door, in a tempest of rage; but on the
threshold his voice stayed her.</p>
<p>“Wait! Miss Lawton has befriended you, and now,
because of a man of whom you know nothing, you desert
her cause. Is that loyalty, mademoiselle? We
shall not ask you to remain at Dr. Franklin’s any
longer; Miss Lawton does not wish unwilling service
from anyone. But for your own sake, go back to the
club, and remain there until a position is open to you
which is to your liking. You are a young girl in a
strange country, as you say, and at least you know the
club to be a safe place for you. Do not trust this man
Paddington, or anyone else; it is not wise.”</p>
<p>“I shall not listen to you!” she cried, her voice rising
shrill and high-pitched in her excitement. “You
shall not say such things of M’sieu Paddington! He
is brave and good, while you––you are a spy, an
eavesdropper, a delver into the private affairs of others.
I do not know what this trouble may be, which Miss
Lawton is in, and I am sorry for her, that she should
suffer, but I shall have nothing more to do with the case,
nor with you, m’sieu! <i>Au revoir!</i>”</p>
<p>“Whew!” breathed Blaine to himself, as the door
closed after her with a slam. “What a firebrand! She
may not have actually betrayed us to Paddington in so
many words, but it isn’t necessary to look far for the
one who warned him that he was being watched, and put
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span>
him on his guard, all unknowingly, that the whole
scheme in which he is so deeply involved, was in jeopardy.
Oh, these women! Let them once lose their
heads over a man, and they upset all one’s plans!”</p>
<p>Blaine arrived promptly within the hour at the house
on Belleair Avenue. Anita Lawton received him as before
in the library. He observed with deep concern
that she was a mere shadow of her former self. The
slenderness which had been one of her girlish charms had
become almost emaciation; her eyes were glassily bright,
and in the waxen pallor of her cheeks a feverish red spot
burned.</p>
<p>She smiled wanly as he pressed her hand, and her
pale lips trembled, but no words came.</p>
<p>“My poor child!” the great detective found himself
saying from the depths of his fatherly heart. “You
are positively ill! This will never do. You are not
keeping your promise to me.”</p>
<p>“I am trying hard to, Mr. Blaine.” Anita motioned
toward a chair and sank into another with a little gasp
of sheer exhaustion. “You have never failed yet, and
you have given me your word that you would bring
Ramon back to me. I try to have faith, but with every
hour that passes, hope dies within me, and I can feel
that my strength, my will to believe, is dying, too. I
know that you must be doing your utmost, exerting
every effort, and yet I cannot resist the longing to urge
you on, to try to express to you the torture of uncertainty
and dread which consumes me unceasingly.
That my father’s fortune is gone means nothing to me
now. Only give me back Ramon alive and well, and I
shall ask no more!”</p>
<p>“I hope to be able to do that speedily,” Blaine returned.
“As I told you over the telephone, I have
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span>
positive proof that he is alive, and a definite clue as to
his whereabouts. You must ask me nothing further
now––only try to find faith in your heart for just a
few days, perhaps hours, longer. You ’phoned to Mrs.
Hamilton, as I suggested?”</p>
<p>“Yes. She demurred at first, dreading the notoriety,
and not––not appearing to believe in your
ability as I do, but I simply refused to listen to her objections.
Mr. Carlis called me up shortly afterward,
and wanted to know if I would be able to receive him
this afternoon, on a matter connected with my finances,
but I told him I had retained you to search for Ramon,
and was expecting you at any moment. He seemed
greatly astonished, and warned me of the––he called
it ‘useless’––expense. He begged me not to be impatient,
to wait until I had time to think the matter over
and consult himself and Mr. Mallowe, saying that they
were both doing all that could be done to locate Ramon,
and Mr. Rockamore was, also, but I told him it was too
late, that you were on your way here.”</p>
<p>“That was right. I am glad you told him. The
fact that you have retained me to search for Mr. Hamilton
will appear as a scoop in every evening paper which
he controls, now, and the more publicity given to it,
the better. You told me over the ’phone that Mr.
Rockamore calls upon you every day?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I try to be cordial to him, but for some
reason which I can’t explain I dislike him more than
either of the others. I don’t know why he comes so
often, for he says very little, only sits and stares at that
chair––the chair in which my father died––until I
feel that I should like to scream. It seems to exert
the same strange, uncanny influence over him as it does
over me––that chair. More than once, when he has
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span>
been announced, I have entered to find him standing
close beside it, looking down at it as if my father were
seated there once more and he was talking to him,
I don’t in the least know why, but the thought seems
to prey on my mind––perhaps because the chair fascinates
me, too, in a queer way that is half repulsion.”</p>
<p>“You are morbid, Miss Lawton––you must not allow
such fancies to grow, or they will soon take possession
of you, in your weakened state, and become an
obsession. Tell me, have you heard anything from the
club girls we established in your guardian’s offices?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes! I had forgotten completely in my excitement
and joy over your news of Ramon, vague though
it is, that there was something important which I wanted
to tell you. Since Margaret Hefferman’s dismissal,
all my girls have been sent away from the positions I
obtained for them––all except Fifine Déchaussée.”</p>
<p>“And she resigned not an hour ago,” remarked the
detective rather grimly, supplementing the fact, with as
many details as he thought necessary.</p>
<p>Anita listened in silence until he had finished.</p>
<p>“Poor girl! Poor Fifine! What a pity that she
should fancy herself in love with such a man as you describe
this Paddington to be! She must be persuaded
to remain in the club, of course; we cannot allow her to
leave us now. I feel responsible for her, and especially
so since it was indirectly because of me, or while she was
in my service, at any rate, that she met this man. If
she is all that you say, she could never be happy if she
married him.”</p>
<p>“There’s small chance of that. He has a wife already.
She left him years ago, and runs a boarding-house
somewhere on Hill Street, I believe,” Blaine replied.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span>
“I don’t fancy he’ll add bigamy to the rest of
his nefarious acts. But tell me of the other girls.
They did not report to me.”</p>
<p>“Poor little Agnes Olson was dismissed yesterday.
She is a spineless sort of creature, you know, without
much self-assurance, or initiative, and I believe she had
quite a scene with Mr. Carlis before she left. She was
on the switchboard, if you remember, and as well as I
was able to understand from her, he caught her listening
in on his private connection. She reached the club
in an hysterical condition, and I told them to put her
to bed and care for her. I ought to be there myself
now, at work, for I have lost my best helper, but I am
too distraught over Ramon to think of anything else.
My secretary––the girl you saw there at the club and
asked me about, do you remember?––did not appear
yesterday, but telephoned her resignation, saying she
was leaving town. I cannot understand it, for I would
have counted on her faithfulness before any of the rest,
but so many things have happened lately which I can’t
comprehend, so many mysteries and disappointments
and anxieties, that I can scarcely think or feel any
more. It seems as if I were really dead, as if my emotions
were all used up. I can’t cry, even when I think
of Ramon––I can only suffer.”</p>
<p>“I know. I can imagine what you must be trying
to endure just now, Miss Lawton, but please believe that
it will not last much longer. And don’t worry about
your secretary; Emily Brunell will be with you again
soon, I think.”</p>
<p>“Emily Brunell!” repeated Anita, in surprise.
“You know, then?”</p>
<p>“Yes. And, strange as it may seem, she is indirectly
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span>
concerned in the conspiracy against you, but innocently
so. You will understand everything some day.
What about the Irish girl, Loretta Murfree?”</p>
<p>“President Mallowe’s filing clerk? He dismissed her
only this morning, on a trumped-up charge of incompetence.
He has been systematically finding fault with
her for several days, as if trying to discover a pretext
for discharging her, so she wasn’t unprepared. She’s
here now, having some lunch, up in my dressing-room.
Would you like to talk with her?”</p>
<p>“I would, indeed,” he assented, nodding as Anita
pressed the bell. “She seemed the brightest and most
wide-awake young woman of the lot. If anyone could
have obtained information of value to us, I fancy she
could. Did she have anything to say to you about Mr.
Mallowe?”</p>
<p>“I would rather she told you herself,” Anita replied,
hesitatingly, with the ghost of a smile. “Whatever she
said about him was strictly personal, and of a distinctly
uncomplimentary nature. There is nothing spineless
about Loretta!”</p>
<p>When the young Irish girl appeared in response to
Anita’s summons, her eyes and mouth opened wide in
amazement at sight of the detective.</p>
<p>“Oh, sir, it’s you!” she exclaimed. “I was going
down to your office this afternoon, to tell you that I had
been discharged. Mr. Mallowe himself turned me off
this morning. I’m not saying this to excuse myself,
but it was honestly through no fault of mine. The old
man––gentleman––has been trying for days to get
rid of me. I knew it, so I’ve been especially careful in
my work, and cheerful and smiling whenever he appeared
on the scene––like this!”</p>
<p>She favored them with a grimace which was more like
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span>
the impishly derisive grin of a street urchin than a respectful
smile, and continued:</p>
<p>“This morning I caught him mixing up the letters
in the files with his own hands, and when he blamed me
for it later, I saw that it was no use. He was bound to
get rid of me in some way or another, so I didn’t tell him
what I thought of him, but came away peaceably––which
is a lot to ask of anybody with a drop of Irish
blood in their veins, in a case like that! However, I
learned enough while I was in that office, of his manipulations
of the street railway stock, to make me glad I’ve
got a profession and am not sitting around waiting for
dividends to be paid. If the people ever wake up, and
the District Attorney indicts him, I hope to goodness
they put me on the stand, that’s all.”</p>
<p>“Why has he tried to get rid of you? Do you think
he suspected the motive for your being in his employ?”
asked Blaine, when she paused for breath.</p>
<p>“No, he couldn’t, for I never gave him a chance,”
she responded. “He’s a sly one, too, padding around
the offices like a cat, in his soft slippers; and he looks
for all the world like a cat, with the sleek white
whiskers of him! Excuse me, Miss Lawton, I don’t
mean to be disrespectful, but he’s trying, the old gentleman
is! I think he got suspicious of me when Margaret
Hefferman made such a botch of her job with Mr.
Rockamore, and yesterday afternoon when Mr. Carlis
caught Agnes Olson listening in––oh, I know all about
that, too!––he got desperate. That’s why he mixed
up the files this morning, for an excuse to discharge
me.”</p>
<p>“How did you know about Agnes Olson?” asked
Blaine quickly. “Did she tell you?”</p>
<p>“No, I heard it from Mr. Carlis himself!” returned
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span>
Loretta, with a reminiscent grin. “He came right
straight around to Mr. Mallowe and told him all about
it, and a towering rage he was in, too! ‘Do you think
the little devil’s sold us?’ he asked. Meaning no disrespect
to you, Miss Lawton, it was you he was talking
about, for he added: ‘She gets her girls into our offices
on a whining plea of charity, and they all turn out
crooked, spying and listening in, and taking notes.
Remember Rockamore’s experience with the one he took?
Do you suppose that innocent, big-eyed, mealy-mouthed
brat of Pennington Lawton’s suspects us?’</p>
<p>“‘Hold your tongue, for God’s sake!’ old Mr. Mallowe
growled at him. ‘I’ve got one of them in there, a
filing clerk.’”</p>
<p>“‘Then you’d better get rid of her before she tries
any tricks,’ Mr. Carlis said. ‘I believe that girl is
deeper than she looks, for all her trusting way. I always
did think she took the news of her father’s bankruptcy
too d––n’ calmly to be natural, even under the
circumstances. Kick her protégée out, Mallowe, unless
you’re looking for more trouble. I’m not.’”</p>
<p>“What did Mr. Mallowe reply?” Blaine asked.</p>
<p>“I don’t know. His private secretary came into the
office where I was just then, and I had to pretend to be
busy to head off any suspicion from him. Mr. Carlis
left soon after, and I could feel his eyes boring into the
back of my neck as he passed through the room. Mr.
Mallowe sent for me almost immediately, to find an old
letter for him, from one of the files of two years ago,
and it was funny, the suspicious, worried way he kept
watching me!”</p>
<p>“There is nothing else you can tell us?” the detective
inquired. “Nothing out of the usual run happened
while you were there?”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span></div>
<p>“Nothing, except that a couple of days ago, he had
an awful row with a man who called on him. It was
about money matters, I think, and the old gentleman got
very much excited. ‘Not a cent!’ he kept repeating,
louder and louder, until he fairly shouted. ‘Not one
more cent will you get from me. This systematic extortion
of yours must come to an end here and now!
I’ve done all I’m going to, and you’d better understand
that clearly.’ Then the other man, the visitor, got
angry, too, and they went at it hammer and tongs. At
last, Mr. Mallowe must have lost his head completely,
for he accused the other man of robbing his safe. At
that, the visitor got calm and cool as a cucumber, all of
a sudden, and began to question Mr. Mallowe. It
seems from what I heard––I can’t recall the exact
words––that not very long ago, the night watchman in
the offices was chloroformed and the safe ransacked, but
nothing was taken except a letter.</p>
<p>“‘You’re mad!’ the strange man said. ‘Why in
h––l should anybody take a letter, and leave packets of
gilt-edged bonds and other securities lying about untouched?’</p>
<p>“‘Because the letter happens to be one you would
very much like to have in your possession, Paddington,’
the old gentleman said. Oh, I forgot to tell you that
the visitor’s name was Paddington, but that doesn’t matter,
does it? ‘Do you know what it was?’ Mr. Mallowe
went on. ‘It was a certain letter which Pennington
Lawton wrote to me from Long Bay two years ago.
Now do you understand?’”</p>
<p>“‘You fool!’ said Paddington. ‘You fool, to keep
it! You gave your word that you would destroy it!
Why didn’t you?’</p>
<p>“‘Because, I thought it might come in useful some
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span>
day, just as it has now,’ the old gentleman fairly whined.
‘It was good circumstantial evidence.’</p>
<p>“‘Yes––fine!’ Paddington said, with a bitter kind
of a laugh. ‘Fine evidence, for whoever’s got it now!’</p>
<p>“‘You know very well who’s got it!’ cried Mr. Mallowe.
‘You don’t pull the wool over my eyes! And I
don’t mean to buy it back from you, either, if that’s
your game. You can keep it, for all I care; it’s served
its purpose now, and you won’t get another penny from
me!’</p>
<p>“Well, I wish you could have heard them, then!”
Loretta continued, with gusto. “They carried on terribly;
the whole office could hear them. It was as good
as a play––the strange man, Paddington denying
right up to the last that he knew anything about the
robbery, and Mr. Mallowe accusing him, and threatening
and bluffing it out for all he was worth! But in the
end, he paid the man some money, for I remember he insisted
on having the check certified, and the secretary
himself took it over to the bank. I don’t know for what
amount it was drawn.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you tell me that before, Loretta?”
asked Anita, reproachfully. “I mean, about the––the
names Mr. Carlis called me, and his suspicions. I wish
I’d known it half an hour ago, when he telephoned to
me!”</p>
<p>“That’s just why I didn’t tell you, Miss Lawton!”
responded Loretta, with a flash of her white teeth.</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine told me to report to him this afternoon,
and I meant to, but he didn’t tell me to talk to anyone
else, even you. When you asked me to undertake this
for you, you said I was to do just what Mr. Blaine directed,
and I’ve tried to. It was on the tip of my
tongue to tell you, but I thought I’d better not, at least
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span>
until I had seen Mr. Blaine. I was sure that if I said
anything to you about it, you would let Mr. Carlis see
your resentment the next time he called, and then he and
Old Mr. Mallowe would get their heads together, and
find out that their suspicions of all of us girls were correct.
You wouldn’t want that.”</p>
<p>“Miss Murfree is quite right,” Blaine interposed.
“You must be very careful, Miss Lawton, not to allow
Mr. Carlis to discover that you know anything whatever
of that conversation––at least just yet.”</p>
<p>“I’ll try, but it will be difficult, I am afraid,” Anita
murmured. “I am not accustomed to––to accepting
insults. Ah! if Ramon were only here!”</p>
<p>Wilkes, the butler, appeared at the door just then,
with a card, and Anita read it aloud.</p>
<p>“Mr. Mallowe.”</p>
<p>“Oh, gracious, let me go, Miss Lawton!” exclaimed
Loretta. “I’ve told you everything that I can think
of, and if he sees me, it will spoil Mr. Blaine’s plans,
maybe?”</p>
<p>“Yes, he must not find you here!” the detective
agreed hurriedly. “I’ll communicate with you at the
club if I need you again, Miss Murfree. You have
been of great service to both Miss Lawton and myself.”</p>
<p>When they were alone for the moment before the
street-railway president appeared, Blaine turned to
Anita.</p>
<p>“You will try to be very courageous, and follow
whatever lead I give you?” he asked. “This interview
may prove trying for you.”</p>
<p>Anita had only time to nod before Mr. Mallowe stood
before them. He paused for a moment, glanced inquiringly
at Blaine and then advanced to Anita with outstretched
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span>
hand. If he had ever seen the detective before,
he gave no sign.</p>
<p>“My dear child!” he murmured, unctuously. “I
trust you are feeling a little stronger this afternoon––a
little brighter and more hopeful?”</p>
<p>“Very much more hopeful, thank you, Mr. Mallowe,”
returned the young girl, steadily. “I have enlisted in
my cause the greatest of all investigators. Allow me to
present Mr. Henry Blaine.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine,” Mallowe repeated, bowing with supercilious
urbanity. “Do I understand that this is the
private detective of whom I have heard so much?”</p>
<p>Blaine returned his salutation coolly, but did not
speak, and Anita replied for him.</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr. Mallowe, Mr. Blaine is going to find Ramon
for me!”</p>
<p>Mallowe shook his head slowly, with a mournful smile.</p>
<p>“Ah! my dear!” he sighed. “I do not want to
dampen your hopes, heaven knows, but I very much fear
that that will be an impossible task, even for one of Mr.
Blaine’s unquestioned renown.”</p>
<p>“Still, it is always possible to try,” the detective returned,
looking levelly into Mallowe’s eyes. “Personally,
I am very sanguine of success.”</p>
<p>“Everything is being done that can be of any use
now,” the other man observed hurriedly. “Do I understand,
Mr. Blaine, that Miss Lawton has definitely retained
you on this case?”</p>
<p>Blaine nodded, and Mallowe turned to Anita.</p>
<p>“Really, my dear, you should have consulted me, or
some other of your father’s old friends, before taking
such a step!” he expostulated. “It will only bring
added notoriety and trouble to you. I do not mean to
underestimate Mr. Blaine’s marvelous ability, which is
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span>
recognized everywhere, but even he can scarcely succeed
in locating Mr. Hamilton where we, with all the resources
at our command, have failed. Mark my words,
my dear Anita; if Ramon Hamilton returns, it will be
voluntarily, of his own free will. Until––unless he so
decides, you will never see him. It is too bad to have
summoned Mr. Blaine here on a useless errand, but I am
sure he quite understands the situation now.”</p>
<p>“I do,” responded the detective quietly. “I have accepted
the case.”</p>
<p>“But surely you will withdraw?” The older man’s
voice rose cholerically. “Miss Lawton is a mere girl,
a minor, in fact––”</p>
<p>“I am over eighteen, Mr. Mallowe,” interposed Anita
quietly.</p>
<p>“Until your proper guardian is appointed by the
courts,” Mallowe cried, “you are nominally under my
care, mine and others of your father’s closest associates.
This is a delicate matter to discuss now, Mr. Blaine,” he
added, in calmer tones, turning to the detective, “but
since this seems to be a business interview, we must touch
upon the question of finances. I know that the fee you
naturally require must be a large one, and I am in duty
bound to tell you that Miss Lawton has absolutely no
funds at her disposal to reimburse you for your time
and trouble. Whatever fortune she may be possessed
of, she cannot touch now.”</p>
<p>“Miss Lawton has already fully reimbursed me––in
advance,” returned Henry Blaine calmly. “That question
need cause you no further concern, Mr. Mallowe,
nor need you have any doubt as to my position in this
matter. I’m on this case, and I’m on it to stay! I’m
going to find Ramon Hamilton!”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_XVI_THE_LIBRARY_CHAIR' id='CHAPTER_XVI_THE_LIBRARY_CHAIR'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
<h3>THE LIBRARY CHAIR</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcapq" ><small>“</small><span class="drop">P</span><span class="dcap">addington’s</span> on the run!” Ross, the operative,
announced to Henry Blaine the next
morning, jubilantly. “He left his rooms
about an hour after I got back on the job, and went to
Carlis’ office. He only stayed a short time, and came
out looking as black as a thunder-cloud&ndash;&ndash;I guess the
interview, whatever it was, didn’t go his way. He went
straight from there to Rockamore, the promoter. I pretended
an errand with Rockamore, too, and so got into
the outer office. The heavy glass door was closed between,
and I couldn’t hear anything but a muffled growling
from within, but they were both angry enough, all
right. Once the stenographer went in and came out
again almost immediately. When the door opened to
admit her, I heard Paddington fairly shout:</p>
<p>“‘It’s your own skin you’re saving, you fool, as well
as mine! If I’m caught, you all go! Carlis thinks he
can bluff it, and Mallowe’s a superannuated, pig-headed
old goat. He’ll try to stand on his reputation,
and cave in like a pricked balloon when the crash
comes. I know his kind; I’ve hounded too many of ’em
to the finish. But you’re a man of sense, Rockamore,
and you know you’ve got to help me out of this for your
own sake. I tell you, some one’s on to the whole game,
and they’re just sitting back and waiting for the right
moment to nab us. They not only learn every move we
make––they anticipate them! It’s every man for himself,
now, and I warn you that if I’m cornered in this––’</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></div>
<p>“‘Hold your tongue!’ Rockamore ordered. ‘Can’t
you see––’</p>
<p>“Then the door closed, and I couldn’t hear any more.
The voices calmed down to a rumble, and in about twenty
minutes I could hear them approaching the door. I
decided I couldn’t wait any longer, and got outside just
in time to give Paddington a chance to pass me. He
seemed in good humor, and I guess he got what he was
after––money, probably, for he went to his bank and
put through a check. Then he returned to his rooms,
and didn’t show up again until late afternoon, when he
went away up Belleair Avenue, to the rectory of the
Church of St. James. He didn’t go in––just talked
with the sexton in the vestibule, and when he came down
the steps he looked dazed, as if he’d received a hard jolt
of some sort. He couldn’t have been trying to blackmail
the minister, too, could he?”</p>
<p>“Hardly, Ross. Go on,” Blaine responded.
“What did he do next?”</p>
<p>“Nothing. Just went back to his rooms and stayed
there. It seemed as if he was afraid to leave––not so
much afraid to be found, but as if he might miss something,
if he left. He even had his dinner sent in from a
restaurant near there. Knowing him, I might have
known what it was he was waiting for––he’s always
chasing after some girl or other.”</p>
<p>“There was a woman in it, then?” asked the detective,
quietly.</p>
<p>“You can bet there was––very much in it, sir!”
the operative chuckled. “She came along while I
watched––a tall, slim girl, plainly dressed in dark
clothes, but with an air to her that would make you
look at her twice, anywhere. She hesitated and looked
uncertainly about her, as if she were unfamiliar with the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span>
place and a little scary of her errand, but at last she
made up her mind, and plunged in the vestibule, as if she
was afraid she would lose her courage if she stopped to
think.</p>
<p>“For a few minutes her shadow showed on the window-shades,
beside Paddington’s. They stood close together,
and from their gestures, he seemed to be arguing
or pleading, while she was drawing back and refusing,
or at least, holding out against him. At last they
fell into a regular third-act clinch––it was as good as
a movie! After a moment she drew herself out of his
arms and they moved away from the window. In a
minute or two they came out of the house together, and
I tailed them. They walked slowly, with their heads
very close, and I didn’t dare get near enough to try
to hear what they were discussing so earnestly. But
where do you suppose he took her? To the Anita Lawton
Club for Working Girls! He left her at the entrance
and went back to his own rooms, and he seemed
to be in a queer mood all the way––happy and up in
the air one minute, and down in the dumps the next.</p>
<p>“He didn’t stir out again last night, but early this
morning he went down to the office of the Holland-American
line, and purchased two tickets, first-class to
Rotterdam, on the <i>Brunnhilde</i>, sailing next Saturday, so
I think we have the straight dope on him now. He
means to skip with the girl.”</p>
<p>“Saturday––two days off!” mused Blaine. “I
think it’s safe to give him his head until then, but keep
a close watch on him, Ross. The purchase of those
tickets may have been just a subterfuge on his part to
throw any possible shadow off the trail. Did you ascertain
what name he took them under?”</p>
<p>“J. Padelford and wife.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span></div>
<p>“Clever of him, that!” Blaine commented. “If he
really intends to fool this girl with a fake marriage and
sail with her for the other side, he can explain the
change of names on the steamer to her by telling her it
was a mistake on the printed sailing-list. Once at sea,
without a chance of escape from him, he can tell her
the truth, or as much of it as he cares to, and she’ll
have to stick; that type of woman always does. She
might even come in time to take up his line, and become
a cleverer crook than he is, but we’re not going to let
that happen. We’ll stop him, right enough, before he
goes too far with her. What’s he doing now?”</p>
<p>“Walking in the park with her. She met him at
the gates, and Vanner took the job there of tailing
them, while I came on down to report to you.”</p>
<p>“Good work, Ross. But go back and take up the
trail now yourself, if you’re fit. And here, you’d better
take this warrant with you; I swore it out against
him several days ago, in case he attempted to bolt. If
he tries to get the girl into a compromising situation,
arrest him. Let me know if anything of importance
occurs meanwhile.”</p>
<p>As Ross went out, the secretary, Marsh, appeared.</p>
<p>“There’s an elderly gentleman outside waiting to see
you, sir,” he announced. “He does not wish to give
his name, but says that he is a physician, and is here in
answer to a letter which he received from you.”</p>
<p>“Good! They pulled it off, then! We were only
just in time with those letters we sent out yesterday,
Marsh. Show him in at once.”</p>
<p>In a few moments a tall, spare figure appeared in the
doorway, and paused an instant before entering. He
had a keen, smooth-shaven, ascetic face, topped with a
mass of snow-white hair.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></div>
<p>“Come in, Doctor,” invited the detective. “I am
Henry Blaine. It was good of you to come in response
to my letter. I take it that you have something interesting
to tell me.”</p>
<p>The doctor entered and seated himself in the chair
indicated by Blaine. He carried with him a worn, old-fashioned
black leather instrument case.</p>
<p>“I do not know whether what I have to tell you will
prove to have any connection with the matter you referred
to in your letter or not, Mr. Blaine. Indeed, I
hesitated about divulging my experience of last night
to you. The ethics of my profession––”</p>
<p>“My profession has ethics, too, Doctor, although
you may not have conceived it,” the detective reminded
him, quietly. “Even more than doctor or priest, a
professional investigator must preserve inviolate the secrets
which are imparted to him, whether they take the
form of a light under a bushel or a skeleton in a closet.
In the cause of justice, only, may he open his lips. I
hold safely locked away in my mind the keys to mysteries
which, were they laid bare, would disrupt society,
drag great statesmen from their pedestals, provoke international
complications, even bring on wars. If you
know anything pertaining to the matter of which I
wrote you, justice and the ethics of your profession require
you to speak.”</p>
<p>“I agree with you, sir. As I said, I am not certain
that my adventure––for it was quite an adventure for
a retired man like myself, I assure you––has anything
to do with the case you are investigating, but we can
soon establish that. Do you recognize the subject of
this photograph?”</p>
<p>The doctor drew from his pocket a small square bit
of cardboard, and Blaine took it eagerly from him.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span>
One glance at it was sufficient, and it was with difficulty
that the detective restrained the exclamation of triumph
which rose to his lips. Upon the card was
mounted a tiny, thumbnail photograph of a face––the
face of Ramon Hamilton! It was more like a death-mask
than a living countenance, with its rigid features
and closed eyes, but the likeness was indisputable.</p>
<p>“I recognize it, indeed, Doctor. That is the man
for whom I am searching. How did it come into your
possession?”</p>
<p>“I took it myself, last night.” The spare figure of
the elderly physician straightened proudly in his chair.
“When your communication arrived, I did not attach
much importance to it because it did not occur to me
for a moment that I should have been selected, from
among all the physicians and surgeons of this city, for
such a case. When the summons came, however, I remembered
your warning––but I anticipate. Since my
patient of last night is your subject, I may as well tell
you my experiences from the beginning. My name is
Alwyn––Doctor Horatius Alwyn––and I live at
Number Twenty-six Maple Avenue. Until my retirement
seven years ago I was a regular practising physician
and surgeon, but since my break-down––I
suffered a slight stroke––I have devoted myself to my
books and my camera––always a hobby with me.</p>
<p>“Well––late last night, the front door-bell rang.
It was a little after eleven, and my wife and the maid
had retired, but I was developing some plates in the
dark-room, and opened the door myself. Three men
stood there, but I could see scarcely anything of their
faces, for the collars of their shaggy motor coats were
turned up, their caps pulled low over their eyes, and
all three wore goggles.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span></div>
<p>“‘Doctor Alwyn?’ asked one of the men, the burliest
of the three, advancing into the hall. ‘I want you
to come out into the country with me on a hurry call.
It’s a matter of life and death, and there’s five thousand
dollars in it for you, but the conditions attached to it
are somewhat unusual. May we come into your office,
and talk it over?’</p>
<p>“I led the way, and listened to their proposition.
Briefly, it was this: a young man had fallen and injured
his head, and was lying unconscious in a sanitarium in
the suburbs. There were reasons which could not be
explained to me, why the utmost secrecy must be maintained,
not only concerning the young man’s identity,
but the location of the retreat where he was in seclusion.
They feared that he had suffered a concussion
of the brain, possibly a fractured skull, and my diagnosis
was required. Also, should I deem an operation
necessary, I must be prepared to perform it at once.
They would take me to the patient in the car, but when
we reached our destination, I was to be blindfolded, and
led to the sickroom, where the bandage would be removed
from my eyes. I was to return in the same manner.
For this service, and of course my secrecy, they
offered me five thousand dollars.</p>
<p>“Although that would not have been an exorbitant
sum for me to obtain for such an operation in the
days of my activities, it looked very large to me now,
especially since some South American securities in
which I invested had declined, but I did not feel that
it would be compatible with my dignity and standing to
accept the conditions which were imposed. I was,
therefore, upon the point of indignantly declining, when
I suddenly remembered your letter, and resolved to see
the affair through.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></div>
<p>“It occurred to me, while I was selecting the instruments
to take with me, that it would not be a bad idea
to take also my latest camera, and if possible obtain a
photograph of the patient to show you. I managed
to slip it into my vest pocket, unobserved by my visitors.
Here it is.”</p>
<p>Dr. Alwyn took the instrument case upon his knee
and opening it, produced what looked like a large old-fashioned
nickel-plated watch of the turnip variety. The
doctor extended it almost apologetically.</p>
<p>“You see,” he observed, “it is really more a toy
than a real camera, although it served admirably last
night. I have had a great deal of amusement with it,
pretending to feel people’s pulses, but in reality snapping
their photographs. It takes very small, imperfect
pictures, of course, as you can see from the print
there on your desk, and only one to each loading, but it
can be carried in the palm of one’s hand, and it uses a
peculiarly sensitive plate that will register a snap-shot
even by electric light. It had fortunately just been
reloaded before the advent of my mysterious visitors,
and I resolved to make use of it if an opportunity offered.</p>
<p>“The curtains were tightly drawn in the car, and
as the interior lights had been extinguished, we sat in
total darkness. I could not, of course, tell in what
direction we were going, although the car had been
pointed south when we left my door. We appeared to
be travelling at a terrific rate of speed and swung around
a confusing number of curves.</p>
<p>“I tried at first to remember the turns, and their
direction, but there were so many that I very soon lost
count. I think they took me in a round-about way
purposely, to confuse me. I have no idea how long
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span>
we drove, but it must have been well over two hours.
At last we struck a long up-grade, and one of my companions
announced that we were almost there.</p>
<p>“They bound my eyes with a dark silk handkerchief,
and a moment later the car swerved and turned abruptly
in, evidently at a gateway, for we curved about up a
graveled driveway––I could hear it crunching beneath
the wheels––and came to a grinding stop before the
door. They helped me out of the car, up some shallow
stone steps and across the threshold.</p>
<p>“I was led down a thickly carpeted hall and up a single
long flight of stairs, to a door just at its head. We
entered; the door closed softly behind us; and the bandage
was whipped from my eyes. There was only a low
night-light burning in the room, but I made out the
outlines of the furniture. There was a great bed over
in the corner, with a motionless figure lying upon it.</p>
<p>“‘There’s your patient, Doc; go ahead,’ my burly
friend said, and accordingly I approached the bed, asking
at the same time for more light. The young man
was unconscious, and in answer to a question of mine
the attendant who had sat at the head of the bed as we
entered informed me that he had been in a complete
state of coma since he had been brought there, several
days before.</p>
<p>“I remembered the description in your letter of the
subject for whom you were searching, and I fancied, in
spite of the bandages which swathed his head, that I
recognized him in the young man before me. The
lights flashed on full in answer to my request, and on
a sudden decision I drew the watch camera from my
pocket, took the patient’s wrist between my thumb and
finger as if to ascertain his pulse, and snapped his picture.
The result was a fortunate chance, for I did not
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span>
dare focus deliberately, with the eyes of the attendant
and the three men who had accompanied me, all directed
at my movements.</p>
<p>“Then I gave the patient a thorough examination.
I found a fracture at the base of the brain––not necessarily
fatal, unless cerebral meningitis sets in, but
quite serious enough. He was still bleeding a little
from the nose and ears. I washed them out, and
packed the ears with sterile gauze, leaving instructions
that a specially prepared ice cap be placed at once upon
his head and kept there. That was all which could be
done at that time, but the patient should have constant,
watchful attention. He must either have suffered
a severe backward fall, or received a violent blow
at the base of the skull, to have sustained such an injury.</p>
<p>“When I had finished, they blindfolded me again, led
me from the room, and conveyed me home in the same
manner in which I had come, with the possible exception
that the car in returning seemed to take a different and
more direct route; the journey appeared to be a much
shorter one, with fewer twists and turns. The same
three men came back to the house with me, and entered
my <a name='TC_7'></a><ins title="Was ''offce'' in the original text">office</ins>, where the burly one turned over to me ten five-hundred-dollar
bills. They left almost immediately,
and although it was close on to dawn, I went into my
dark room, and developed the negative of the thumbnail
photograph I had taken.</p>
<p>“The events of the night had been so extraordinary
that when I did retire, it was long before I could sleep.
In the morning, I made a couple of prints from the
negative, then took the five thousand dollars down and
deposited it to my account in the bank.”</p>
<p>“When I decided to come here, I ran over in my
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span>
mind every moment of the previous night’s adventure,
to catalogue my impressions. The habit of years has
made me methodical in all things, and I jotted them
down in the order in which they occurred to me, that I
might not forget to relate them to you. Memory plays
one sad tricks, sometimes, when one reaches my age.
These notes may be of no assistance to you, sir, but
they are entirely at your service.”</p>
<p>“I am eager to hear them, Doctor. I only wish all
witnesses were like you––my tasks would be lightened
by half,” Blaine said, heartily.</p>
<p>The elderly physician drew from his pocket a paper,
at which he peered, painstakingly.</p>
<p>“I have numbered them. Let me see––oh, yes.
First, the burly man walks with a slight limp in the
right leg. Second, of the two men with him, all I
could note was that one spoke with a decided French
accent and had a hollow cough, tuberculous, I think;
the other, who scarcely uttered a word, was short and
stocky, and of enormous strength. He fairly lifted me
into and out of the car when I was blindfolded at the
entrance of the place they called a sanitarium. Third,
the car had a peculiar horn; I have never heard one
like it before. Its blast was sharp and wailing, not
like a siren, but more like the howl of a wounded animal.
I would know it again, anywhere. Fourth, there
is a railroad bridge very near the house to which I was
taken––I distinctly heard two trains thunder over the
trestles while I was attending my patient. Fifth, I
should judge the place to be more of a retreat for alcoholics
or the insane, than for those suffering from accident,
or any form of physical injury. A patient in
some remote part of the house was undoubtedly a maniac
or in the throes of an attack of delirium tremens.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span>
I heard his cries at intervals as I worked, until he
quieted down finally.</p>
<p>“Sixth, the bedroom where my patient is lying is on
the second floor, the windows facing south and east;
there was a moon last night, and one of the curtains
was partly raised. His door is just at the head of the
stairs on your right as you go up, and the stairs are
on a straight line with the front door––therefore the
house faces south. Seventh, when we returned to my
home, and were in my office, the burly man had to pull
the glove off his right hand to get the wallet from his
pocket in order to pay me my fee, and I saw that two
fingers were missing––they had both been amputated
at the middle joint. Also, when they were leaving, I
heard the man who spoke with an accent address him as
‘Mac.’”</p>
<p>“Mac! It’s three-fingered Mac Alarney, by the
Lord!” Blaine started from his chair. “Why did I
not think of him before! Doctor, you have rendered
to me and to my client an invaluable service, which
shall not be forgotten. Mac Alarney is a retired prize-fighter,
in close touch with all the political crooks and
grafters in the city. He runs a sort of retreat for
alcoholics up near Green Valley, and bears a generally
shady reputation. Are you game to go back with me
to-night for another call on your patient? You will
be well guarded and in no possible danger, now or for
the future. I give you my word for that. I may need
you to verify some facts.”</p>
<p>The doctor hesitated visibly.</p>
<p>“I am not afraid,” he replied, at last, “but I
scarcely feel that it is conformable with the ethics of
my calling. I was called in, in my professional capacity––”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span></div>
<p>“My dear Doctor,” the detective interrupted him
with a trace of impatience in his tones, “your patient
is one of the most widely known young men of this city.
He was kidnaped, and the police have been searching
for him for days. The press of the entire country has
rung with the story of his mysterious disappearance.
He is Ramon Hamilton.”</p>
<p>“Good heavens! Can it be possible!” the physician
exclaimed. “I assure you, sir, I had no idea of his
identity. He was to have married Pennington Lawton’s
daughter, was he not? I have read of his disappearance,
of course; the newspapers have been full
of it. And he was kidnaped, you say? No wonder
those ruffians maintained such secrecy in regard to
their destination last night! Mr. Blaine, I will accompany
you, sir, and give you any aid in my power,
in rescuing Mr. Hamilton!”</p>
<p>“Good! I’ll make all the necessary arrangements
and call for you to-night at eight o’clock. Meanwhile,
keep a strict guard upon your tongue, and say nothing
to anyone of what has occurred. Have you told your
wife of your adventure?”</p>
<p>“No, Mr. Blaine; I merely told her I was out on a
sudden night call. I decided to wait until I had seen
you before mentioning the extraordinary features of
the case.”</p>
<p>“You are a man of discretion, Doctor! Until eight
o’clock, then. You may expect me, without fail.”</p>
<p>Doctor Alwyn left, and Blaine spent a busy half-hour
making his arrangements for the night’s raid.
Scarcely had he completed them when the telephone
shrilled. The detective did not at first recognize the
voice which came to him over the wire, so changed was
it, so fraught with horror and a menace of tragedy.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span></div>
<p>“It is you, Miss Lawton?” he asked, half unbelievingly.
“What is the matter? What has happened?”</p>
<p>“I must see you at once, <i>at once</i>, Mr. Blaine! I
have made a discovery so unexpected, so terrible, that
I am afraid to be alone; I am afraid of my own
thoughts. Please, please come immediately!”</p>
<p>“I will be with you as soon as my car can reach
your door,” he replied.</p>
<p>What could the young girl have discovered, shut up
there in that great lonely house? What new developments
could have arisen, in the case which until this
moment had seemed plain to him to the end?</p>
<p>He found her awaiting him in the hall, with ashen
face and trembling limbs. She clutched his hand with
her small icy one, and whispered:</p>
<p>“Come into the library, Mr. Blaine. I have something
to tell you––to show you!”</p>
<p>He followed her into the huge, somber, silent room
where only a few short weeks ago her father had met
with his death. Coming from the brilliant sunshine
without, it was a moment or two before his eyes could
penetrate the gloom. When they did so, he saw the
great leather chair by the hearth, which had played
so important a part in the tragedy, had been overturned.</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine,”––the girl faced him, her voice
steadied and deepened portentously,––“my father died
of heart-disease, did he not?”</p>
<p>The detective felt a sudden thrill, almost of premonition,
at her unexpected question, but he controlled
himself, and replied quietly:</p>
<p>“That was the diagnosis of the physician, and the
coroner’s findings corroborated him.”</p>
<p>“Did it ever occur to you that there might be another
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span>
and more terrible explanation of his sudden
death?”</p>
<p>“A detective must consider and analyze a case from
every standpoint, you know, Miss Lawton,” he answered.
“It did occur to me that perhaps your
father met with foul play, but I put the theory from me
for lack of evidence.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine, my father was murdered!”</p>
<p>“Murdered! How do you know? What have you
discovered?”</p>
<p>“He was given poison! I have found the bottle
which contained it, hidden deep in the folds of his
chair there. It was no morbid fancy of mine after
all; my instinct was right! No wonder that chair has
exerted such a horrible fascination for me ever since
my poor father died in it. See!”</p>
<p>With indescribable loathing, she extended her left
hand, which until now she had held clenched behind
her. Upon the palm lay a tiny flat vial, with a pale,
amber-colored substance dried in the bottom of it.
Blaine took it and drew the cork. Before he had time
to place it at his nostrils, a faint but unmistakable
odor of bitter almonds floated out upon the air and pervaded
the room.</p>
<p>“Prussic acid!” he exclaimed. “It has the same
outward effect as an attack of heart-disease would produce,
to a superficial examination. Miss Lawton, how
did you discover this?”</p>
<p>“By the merest accident. I have a habit of creeping
in here, when I am more deeply despondent than
usual, and sitting for a while in my father’s chair.
It calms and comforts me, almost as if he were with
me once more. I was sitting there just before I telephoned
you, thinking over all that had occurred in these
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span>
last weeks, when I broke down and cried. I felt for
my handkerchief, but could not find it, and thinking
that I might perhaps have dropped it in the chair, I
ran my hand down deep in the leather fold between the
seat and the side and back. My fingers encountered
something flat and hard which had been jammed away
down inside, and I dug it out. It was this bottle!
Mr. Blaine, does it mean that my father was murdered
by that man whose voice I heard––that man
who came to him in the night and threatened him?”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid it does, Miss Lawton.” Henry Blaine
said slowly. “When you hear that voice again and
recognize it, we shall be able to lay our hands upon the
murderer of your father.”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_XVII_THE_RESCUE' id='CHAPTER_XVII_THE_RESCUE'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
<h3>THE RESCUE</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">Precisely</span> at the hour of eight that night, a
huge six-cylinder limousine drew up at the gate
of Number Twenty-six Maple Avenue. Half-way
down the block, well in the shadow of the trees which
gave to the avenue its name, two more cars and a motor
ambulance had halted.</p>
<p>Doctor Alwyn, who had been excitedly awaiting the
arrival of the detective, was out of his door and down
the path almost before the car had pulled up at his
gate. Within it were three men––Blaine himself and
two others whom the Doctor did not know. Henry
Blaine greeted him, introduced his operatives, Ross and
Suraci, and they started swiftly upon their journey.</p>
<p>The doctor was plainly nervous, but something in
the grim, silent, determined air of his companions imparted
itself to him. The lights in the interior of the
car had not been turned on, nor the shades lowered,
and after a few tentative remarks which were not encouraged,
Doctor Alwyn turned to the window and
watched the brightly lighted cross streets dart by with
ever-increasing speed. Once he glanced back, and
started, casting a perturbed glance at the immovable
face of the detective, as he remarked:</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine, are you aware that we are being followed?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes. Give yourself no uneasiness on that
score, Doctor. They are two of my machines, filled
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span>
with my men, and a Walton ambulance for Mr. Hamilton.
We will reach Mac Alarney’s retreat in an hour,
now. There will be a show of trouble, of course, and
we may have to use force, but I do not anticipate any
very strenuous opposition to our removal of your
patient, when Mac is convinced that the game is up.
No harm will come to you, at any rate; you will be well
guarded.”</p>
<p>The Doctor drew himself up with simple dignity,
quite free from bombast or arrogance.</p>
<p>“I am not afraid,” he replied, quietly. “I am
armed, and am fully prepared to help protect my
patient.”</p>
<p>“Armed?” the detective asked, sharply.</p>
<p>For answer, Doctor Alwyn drew from his capacious
coat pocket a huge, old-fashioned pistol, and held it
out to Blaine. The latter took it from him without
ceremony.</p>
<p>“A grave mistake, Doctor. I am glad you told me,
in time. Fire-arms are unnecessary for your own protection,
and would be a positive menace to our plans
for getting your patient safely away. Gun-play is
the last thing we must think of; my men will attend
to all that, if it comes to a show-down.”</p>
<p>The Doctor watched him in silence as he slipped the
pistol under one of the side seats. If his confidence
in the great man beside him faltered for the moment,
he gave no sign, but turned his attention again to the
window. They were now rapidly traversing the suburbs,
where the houses were widely separated by
stretches of vacant lots, and the streets deserted and
but dimly lighted. Soon they rattled over a narrow
railroad bridge, and Doctor Alwyn exclaimed:</p>
<p>“By George! This is the way we went last night!
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span>
With all my careful thought, I forgot about that bridge
until this moment!”</p>
<p>Minutes passed, long minutes which seemed like hours
to the overstrained nerves of the Doctor, while they
speeded through the open country.</p>
<p>All at once, from just behind them came a hideous,
wailing cry, which swelled in volume to a screech and
ended abruptly.</p>
<p>Doctor Alwyn grasped Blaine’s arm.</p>
<p>“The motor-horn!” he gasped. “The car I was
in last night!”</p>
<p>The detective nodded shortly, without speaking, and
leaning forward, stared fixedly out of the window. A
long, low-bodied limousine appeared, creeping slowly
up, inch by inch, until it was fairly abreast of them.
The curtain at the window was lowered, and the chauffeur
sat immovable, with his face turned from them,
as the two cars whirled side by side along the hard,
glistening road. Blaine leaned forward, and pressed
the electric bell rapidly twice, and there began a
curious game. The other car put on extra speed and
darted ahead––their own shot forward and kept
abreast of it. It slowed suddenly, and made as if to
swerve in behind; Blaine’s driver slowed also, until both
cars almost came to a grinding halt. Three times these
maneuvers were repeated, and then there occurred what
the detective had evidently anticipated.</p>
<p>The curtain in the other car shot up; the window
descended with a bang and a huge, burly figure leaned
half-way out. Henry Blaine noiselessly lowered their
own window, and suddenly flashed an electric pocket
light full in the heavy-jowled face, empurpled with
inarticulate rage.</p>
<p>“Is that your man?” he asked, quickly.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></div>
<p>“The one with the three fingers! Yes! That’s the
man!” whispered the Doctor, hoarsely.</p>
<p>“That’s Mac Alarney.” Blaine pressed the electric
bell again, and their own car lunged forward in a spurt
of speed which left the other hopelessly behind, although
it was manifestly making desperate efforts to overtake
and pass them.</p>
<p>“Do you suppose he suspected our errand?” the Doctor
asked.</p>
<p>“Suspected? Lord bless you, man, he knows! He
had already passed the two open cars full of my men,
and the ambulance. He’d give ten years of his life to
beat us out and reach his place ahead of us to-night, but
he hasn’t a chance in the world unless we blow out a tire,
and if we do we’ll all go back in the ambulance together,
what’s left of us!”</p>
<p>Even as he spoke, there came a swift change in the
even drone of their engine,––a jarring, discordant note,
slight but unmistakable, and a series of irregular thudding
knocks.</p>
<p>“One of the cylinder’s missing, sir.” Ross turned to
the detective, and spoke with eager anxiety.</p>
<p>“We’ll make it on five.” The quiet confidence in
Blaine’s voice, with its underlying note of grim, indomitable
determination, seemed to communicate itself to the
other men, and no further word was said, although they
all heard the thunder of the approaching car behind.</p>
<p>The Doctor restrained with difficulty the impulse to
look backward, and instead kept his eyes sternly fixed
upon the trees and hedge-rows flying past, more sharply
defined shadows in the lesser dark.</p>
<p>Then, all at once, the shriek of a locomotive burst
upon his ears, and the roar and rattle of a train going
over a trestle.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span></div>
<p>“The railroad bridge!” he cried, excitedly. “We’re
there, Mr. Blaine!”</p>
<p>The noise of the passing train had scarcely died away,
when from just behind them the hideous shriek of Mac Alarney’s
motor-horn rose blastingly three times upon
the night air, the last fainter than the others, as if the
pursuing car had dropped back.</p>
<p>“He’s beaten! He couldn’t keep up the pace, much
less better it,” Blaine remarked. “Those three blasts
sounded a warning to the guards of the retreat. It was
probably a signal agreed upon in case of danger.
We’re in for it now!”</p>
<p>They swerved abruptly, between two high stone gateposts,
and up a broad sweep of graveled driveway.
Lights gleamed suddenly in the windows of the hitherto
darkened house, which loomed up gaunt and squarely
defined against the sullen sky.</p>
<p>“Your men, in the other cars––” Doctor Alwyn
stammered, as they came to a crunching stop before the
door. “Will they arrive in time to be of service?
Mac Alarney will reach here first––”</p>
<p>“My men will be at his heels,” returned Blaine,
shortly. “They held back purposely, acting under my
instructions. Come on now.”</p>
<p>He sprang from the car and up the steps, and the
Doctor found himself following, with Ross and Suraci on
either side. The driver turned their car around and
ran it upon the lawn, its searchlight trained on the circling
drive, its engine throbbing like the throat of an
impatient horse.</p>
<p>In response to the detective’s vigorous ring, the door
was opened by a short, stocky man, at sight of whom
the Doctor gave a start of surprise, but did not falter.
The man was clad in the white coat of a hospital attendant,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span>
beneath which the great, bunchy muscles of his
shoulders and upper arms were plainly visible.</p>
<p>“Hello, Al!” exclaimed Blaine, briskly.</p>
<p>The veins on the thick bull neck seemed to swell, but
there was no sign of recognition in the stolid jaw. Only
the lower lip protruded as the man set his jaw, and the
little, close-set, porcine eyes narrowed.</p>
<p>“You were a rubber at the Hoffmeister Baths the last
time I saw you,” went on the detective, smoothly, as he
deftly inserted his foot between the door and jamb.
“You remember me, of course. I’m Henry Blaine.
My friends and I have come here to-night on a confidential
errand, and I’d like a word in private with you.”</p>
<p>The man he called “Al” muttered something which
sounded like a disclaimer. Then he caught sight of the
Doctor’s face over Blaine’s shoulder, and a spasm of
black rage seized him.</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s you, is it? You’ve snitched, d––n you!
I’ll do for you, for this!”</p>
<p>He lunged forward, but Blaine, with a strength of
which the Doctor would not a moment before have
thought him possessed, grasped the ex-rubber and flung
him backward, advancing into the hall at the same time,
while his two operatives and the Doctor crowded in behind
him.</p>
<p>“Al” staggered, regained his balance, and came on in
a blind rush, bull neck lowered, long, monkey-like arms
taut and rigid for the first blow. Blaine set himself to
meet it, but it was never delivered. At that instant the
whirring roar of a high-powered car, unmuffled, sounded
in all their ears, and a second machine drew up at the
steps.</p>
<p>Its single passenger flung himself out and bounded
up to the door.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span></div>
<p>“What in h––l does this mean?” he bellowed.
“Didn’t you hear my horn?”</p>
<p>He stopped abruptly in sheer amazement, for Blaine
had turned, with beaming face and outstretched hand.</p>
<p>“Mac Alarney!” he exclaimed. “Thank the Lord
you’ve come! This thick-skulled boob wouldn’t give me
time for a word, and every minute is precious! Come
where I can talk to you, quick!”</p>
<p>Then, as if catching sight of the car in which Mac Alarney
had come, for the first time his eyes widened and
he seemed struggling to suppress an outburst of mirth.</p>
<p>“Great guns! Is that <i>your</i> car, yours? Do you
mean to tell me it was you I was playing with, back there
on the road? When I flashed the light in your face I
was sure you were Donnelley!”</p>
<p>As he uttered the name of the Chief of Police, Mac Alarney
involuntarily stepped backward, and a wave of
startled apprehension swept the amazement from his
face, to be succeeded in turn by the primitive craftiness
of the brute instinct on guard.</p>
<p>“And what may you be wanting here, Mr. Blaine?”
he demanded, warily.</p>
<p>“To beat the police to it!” Blaine replied in a gruff
whisper, adding as he jerked his thumb in the direction
of the waiting Al. “Get rid of him! We haven’t got
a minute, I tell you!”</p>
<p>“The police!” repeated the other man, sharply.
“Sure, I passed two cars full of plain-clothes bulls, with
an ambulance trailing them!––You can go now, Al.”</p>
<p>Without giving the burly proprietor of the retreat
time to discover him for himself, Blaine pulled the astonished
Doctor forward.</p>
<p>“Here’s Doctor Alwyn, whom you brought here last
night. The police trailed you, and got his number, but
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span>
fortunately when they began to question him, he smelled
a rat in the whole business and came to me. They told
him a man named Paddington had double-crossed you,
but of course I knew that was all rot, the minute I’d
doped it out. You’ve got a fortune under your roof
this minute, and you don’t know it, Mac! That’s the
best joke of all! You’re entertaining an angel unawares!”</p>
<p>“Say, what’re you gettin’ at, Mr. Blaine?” Mac
Alarney’s brows drew close together, and he stared levelly
from beneath them at the detective’s exultant face.</p>
<p>“That young man with the fractured skull in the
corner room upstairs––the one you brought Doctor
Alwyn to attend last night––when you know who he
is you’re going up in the air! I don’t know who brought
him here, or what flim-flam line of talk they gave you,
but it’s a wonder you haven’t guessed from the start who
he was, with the papers full of it for days! Of course
they must have given you a lot of money to get him well,
and hush it all up, when you were able to pay the Doctor,
here, five thousand dollars, but whatever they paid,
it’s a drop in the bucket compared to the reward they
expected to get. Mac, it’s Ramon Hamilton you’ve got
upstairs!”</p>
<p>Blaine stepped back himself, as if the better to observe
the effect of what he manifestly seemed to believe would
be astounding news, and clumsily and cautiously the
other tried to play up to his lead.</p>
<p>“Ramon Hamilton!” he echoed. “You’re crazy,
Blaine! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”</p>
<p>“You’d better believe I do! See this photograph?”
He held the tiny thumbnail picture before Mac Alarney’s
amazed eyes. “The Doctor took it last night, at the
bedside of the young man upstairs, when you thought he
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span>
was feeling his pulse. That watch of his was in reality
a camera.”</p>
<p>With a roar, the burly man turned upon the erect, unshrinking
figure of the gray-haired doctor, but Blaine
halted him.</p>
<p>“Not so fast, Mac. If it hadn’t been for him, you’d
be in the hands of the police now, remember, and they’ve
only been waiting to get something on you, as you know.
You can’t blame Doctor Alwyn for being suspicious,
after all the mysterious fuss you made bringing him here.
I know Ramon Hamilton well, and I recognized his face
the instant it was handed to me! I’m on the case, myself––Miss
Lawton, the girl he’s going to marry,
engaged me. I might have come and tried to take him
away from you, so as to cop all the reward myself, but
as it is, we’ll split fifty-fifty––unless the police get here
while we’re wasting time talking! Man, don’t you see
how you’ve been done?”</p>
<p>“You can bet your life I do––that is, if the young
man I’ve got upstairs is the guy you think he is,” he
added, in an afterthought of cautious self-protection.
The acid of the hint that Paddington had betrayed him
to the police had burned deep, however, as Blaine had
anticipated, and he walked blindly into the snare laid for
him. “I’ll tell you all about how he come to be here,
later, and I’ll fix them that tried to pull the wool over
my eyes! Now, for the love of Heaven, Mr. Blaine,
tell me what to do with him before the bulls come!
Thank God, they can search the rest of the place, and
welcome––I’ve got nothin’ here but a half-dozen souses,
and two light-weights, training.”</p>
<p>“That’s all right! You’re safe if we can get him
away without loss of time. That ambulance you saw
don’t belong to the police; it’s mine. I saw them first,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span>
away back in the outskirts of the city, and I ordered it
to drop behind and take the short cut up through Wheelbarrow
Lane. It’s waiting now under the clump of elms
by the brook, up the road a little––you know the spot!
Bring him down and we’ll take him there in my car.
You come too, of course, and Al, and help load him into
the ambulance. Then Al can come back, if you don’t
want to trust him, and you go on with us, back to the
city.”</p>
<p>“Where you goin’ to take him?” asked Mac Alarney,
warily. “You can’t hide him from them in town.”</p>
<p>“Who’s talking about hiding him!” Blaine demanded,
with contemptuous impatience. “Your brain must be
taking a rest cure, Mac! We’ll go straight to Miss
Lawton, deliver the goods and get the reward, before
they beat us to it! It’ll be easy to explain matters to
her; she won’t care much about the story as long as she’s
got him again alive, and at that you’ve only got to stick
to the truth, and I’m right there to back you up in it.
Any fool could realize that you’d have produced him and
claimed the reward, if you had known who he actually
was. Whoever brought him here gave you the wrong
dope and you fell for it, that’s all––For the Lord’s
sake, hurry!”</p>
<p>“You’re right, Mr. Blaine. It’s the only thing to do
now. I fell for their dope, all right, but they’ll fall
harder before I’m through with them! Lend me your
two men, here. There’s no use having any of mine except
Al get wise. You and the Doctor wait in the car,
and we’ll bring him out.”</p>
<p>Henry Blaine motioned to his operatives, with a curt
wave of his hand, to follow Mac Alarney, and turning, he
went out of the door and down the steps to his car, with
the Doctor at his heels.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></div>
<p>“You don’t suppose that he saw through your story,
do you, Mr. Blaine?” the latter queried in an anxious
whisper, as they settled themselves to wait with what
patience they could muster. “Could that suggestion
of his have been merely a ruse to separate your assistants
from you?”</p>
<p>The detective smiled.</p>
<p>“Hardly, Doctor. It’s part of my profession to
have made a study of human nature, and Mac Alarney’s
type is an open book to me. Added to that, I’ve known
the man himself for years, in an offhand way. I’ve got
his confidence, and now that he realizes he is in a hole,
he’s a child in my hands, even if he thinks for the moment
that as a detective I’m about the poorest specimen in
captivity. Steady now, here they come!”</p>
<p>The large double doors had been thrown wide open
and Mac Alarney, the burly Al, and the two operatives
appeared, bearing between them a limp, unconscious,
blanket-swathed form. As they eased it into the back
seat of the limousine, Blaine flashed his electric pocket
light upon the sleeping face.</p>
<p>“I knew I wasn’t mistaken!” he whispered exultantly
to Mac Alarney and the Doctor. “It’s young Hamilton,
all right. Now, let’s be off!”</p>
<p>The others crowded in, and they whirled down the
drive and out once more upon the wide State road, in the
opposite direction to that in which they had come. A
bare half-mile away, and they came abruptly upon the
ambulance, screened by the clump of naked elms at the
side of the road.</p>
<p>“You get in first, Doctor,” ordered Blaine, significantly.
“You’ve got to look after your patient now.”</p>
<p>As the Doctor obeyed, Mac Alarney, with a shrewd
gleam in his eyes, turned to the detective.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span></div>
<p>“I think I’d better ride with him, too, Mr. Blaine,”
he observed. “You don’t know who you can trust
these days. Your ambulance driver may give you the
slip.”</p>
<p>“All right, Mac!” Blaine assented, with bluff heartiness.
“We’ll both ride with him! Did you think I’d
try to double-cross you, too? I can’t blame you, after
the rotten deal that’s been handed to you, but we won’t
waste time arguing. Here’s the stretcher. Come on,
shove him in!”</p>
<p>The Doctor had been wondering when the dénouement
of this adventure would be. Now it came without warning,
with a startling suddenness which left him dazed and
agape.</p>
<p>The inert body of his patient was laid carefully beside
him, and he glanced out of the ambulance door in time to
see Mac Alarney dismiss his burly assistant, and turn
to enter the vehicle. His foot was already upon the
lowest step, when the Doctor saw Blaine raise his hand to
his lips. A short, sharp blast of a whistle pierced the
air, and in an instant a dozen men had sprung out of the
darkness and leaped upon the two surprised miscreants.
Then ensued a struggle, brief but awful to the onlooker
in its silent, grim ferocity, as the two separate knots of
men battled each about their central orbit. The scuffle
of many feet on the hard-packed road, the mutter of
curses, the dull thud of blows, the hoarse, strangulated
breathing of men fighting against odds to the last ounce
of their strength, came to the Doctor’s startled ears in a
confused babel of half-suppressed sound, with the purring
drone of the two engines as an undertone.</p>
<p>A minute, and it was all over. The thick-set Al went
down like a felled ox, and Mac Alarney wavered under
an avalanche of blows and crumpled to his knees.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span>
Handcuffed and securely bound, the two were bundled
into Blaine’s waiting car.</p>
<p>“Paddington never double-crossed me!” groaned Mac Alarney,
before the door closed upon him. “But you
did, Blaine! Just as I meant to get him, I’ll get you!
I fell for your d––d scheme, and since you’ve got the
goods on me, I suppose I’ll go up, but God help you when
I come out! I can wait––it’ll be the better when it
comes!”</p>
<p>“But the others––” queried the Doctor, as he and
Blaine, with the injured man between them, settled down
in the ambulance for the slow, careful journey back to
the city. “That third man who came for me last night––the
one with the French accent and the cough––and
the rest who are in this kidnaping plot? Will you get
them, too?”</p>
<p>“Ross and Suraci are enough to guard Mac Alarney
and Al on their way to the lock-up,” the detective responded
quietly. “The others will go on up to the sanitarium
and clean the place out. They’ll get French
Louis, all right. And as for the rest who are concerned
in this, Doctor Alwyn, be sure that I intend to see that
they get their just deserts.”</p>
<p>“And it is said that you have never lost a case!” the
Doctor remarked.</p>
<p>“I shall not lose this one.” Blaine spoke with quiet
confidence, unmixed with any boastfulness. “I cannot
lose; there is too much at stake.”</p>
<p>Late that night, Anita Lawton was awakened from a
tortured, feverish dream by the violent ringing of the
telephone bell at her bedside. The voice of Henry
Blaine, fraught with a latent tension of suppressed elation,
came to her over the wire.</p>
<p>“Miss Lawton, I shall come to you in twenty minutes.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span>
Please be prepared to go out with me in my car. No,
don’t ask me any questions now. I will explain when I
reach you.”</p>
<p>His arrival found her dressed and restlessly pacing
the floor of the reception-room, in a fever of mingled
hope and anxiety.</p>
<p>“What is it, Mr. Blaine?” she cried, seizing his hand
and pressing it convulsively in both of hers. “You
have news for me! I can read it in your face! Ramon––”</p>
<p>“Is safe!” he responded. “Can you bear a sudden
shock now, Miss Lawton? After all that has gone before,
can you withstand one more blow?”</p>
<p>“Oh, tell me! Tell me quickly! I can endure everything,
if only Ramon is safe!”</p>
<p>“I found him to-night, and brought him back to the
city. I have come to take you to him.”</p>
<p>“But why––why did he not come with you? Does
he not realize what I have suffered––that every moment
of suspense, of waiting for him, is an added torture?”</p>
<p>“He realizes nothing.” Blaine hesitated, and then
went on: “It is best for you to know the truth at once.
Mr. Hamilton has suffered a severe injury. He is lying
almost at the point of death, but the physicians say he
has a chance, a good chance, for recovery, now that he
is where he can receive expert care and attention. How
he came by his shattered skull––he has a fracture at the
base of the brain––we shall not know until he recovers
sufficient consciousness to tell us. At present, he is in a
state of coma, recognizing no one, nothing that goes on
about him. He will not rouse to hear your voice; he
will not know of your presence; but I thought that it
would comfort you to see him, to feel that everything is
being done for him that can be done.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span></div>
<p>“Ah, yes!” she sobbed. “Take me to him, Mr.
Blaine! Thank God, thank God that you have found
him! Just to look upon his dear face again, to touch
him, to know that at least he still lives! He must not
die, now; he cannot die! The God who has permitted
you to restore him to me, would not allow that! Take
me to him!”</p>
<p>So it was that a few short minutes later, Henry Blaine
tasted the first real fruit of his victory, as he stood aside
in the quiet hospital room, and with dimmed eyes beheld
the scene before him. The wide, white bed, the silent,
motionless, bandage-swathed figure upon it, the slender,
dark-robed, kneeling girl––only that, and the echo of
her low-breathed sob of love and gratitude. His own
great, fatherly heart swelled with the joy of work well
done, of the happiness he had brought to a spirit all but
broken, and a sure, triumphant premonition that the
struggle still before him would be crowned with victory.</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII_THE_TRAP' id='CHAPTER_XVIII_THE_TRAP'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
<h3>THE TRAP</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcapq" ><small>“</small><span class="drop">Y</span><span class="dcap">ou</span> are ready, Miss Lawton? Nerves steady
enough for the ordeal?” asked Blaine the
following morning.</p>
<p style="clear: both; padding-top: .4em;" >“I am ready.” Anita’s voice was firm and controlled,
and there was the glint of a challenge in her eyes. A
wondrous change had come over her since the previous
day. With the rescue of the man she loved, and the certainty
that he would recover, all the latent, indomitable
courage and fighting spirit which had come to her as an
heritage from her father, and which had made of him the
ruler of men and arbiter of events which he had been,
arose again within her. The most crushing weight upon
her heart had been lifted; hope and love had revivified
her; and she was indeed ready to face the world again,
to meet her enemies, the murderers and traducers of her
father, and to give battle to them on their own ground.</p>
<p>“In a few moments, a man will enter this library––a
man whom you know well. You will be stationed behind
the curtains at this window here, and you must summon
all your self-control to restrain yourself from giving any
start or uttering a sound of surprise which would betray
your presence. While I talk to him, I want you to try
with all your might to put from your mind the fact that
you know him. Do not let his personality influence you
in any way, or his speech. Only listen to the tones of
his voice––listen and try to recall that other voice
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span>
which you heard here on the night of your father’s death.
If in his tones you recognize that voice, step from behind
those curtains and face him. If not––and you must be
absolutely sure that you do recognize the voice, that you
could swear to it under oath in a court of justice, realizing
that it will probably mean swearing away a man’s
life––if you are not sure, remain silent.”</p>
<p>“I understand, Mr. Blaine. I will not fail you. I
could not be mistaken; the voice which I heard here that
night rings still in my ears; its echo seems yet to linger
in the room.” Her gaze wandered to the great leather
chair, which had been replaced in its usual position.
“Now that you have restored Ramon to me, I want only
to avenge my father, and I shall be content. To be murdered,
in his own home! Poisoned like a rat in a trap!
I shall not rest until the coward who killed him has been
brought to justice!”</p>
<p>“He will be, Miss Lawton! The trap has been baited
again, and unless I am greatly mistaken, the murderer
will walk straight into it.––There is the bell! I gave
orders that you were to be at home to no one except the
man I expect and that he was to be ushered in here immediately
upon his arrival, without being announced––so
take your place, now, please, behind the curtains.
Do not try to watch the man––only listen with all your
ears; and above all do not betray yourself until the
proper moment comes for disclosing your presence.”</p>
<p>Without a word Anita disappeared into the window-seat,
and the curtains fell into place behind her. The
detective had only time to step in the shadow of a dark
corner beside one of the tall bookcases, when the door
was thrown open. A man stood upon the threshold––a
tall, fair man of middle age, with a small blond mustache,
and a monocle dangling from a narrow black ribbon
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span>
about his neck. From the very correct gardenia in
his buttonhole to the very immaculate spats upon his
feet, he was a careful prototype of the Piccadilly exquisite––a
little faded, perhaps, slightly effete, but perfect
in detail. He halted for a moment, as if he, too, were
blinded by the swift change from sunshine to gloom.
Then, advancing slowly, his pale, protruding eyes wandered
to the great chair by the fireplace, and lingered as
if fascinated. He approached it, magnetized by some
spell of his own thoughts’ weaving, until he could have
stretched out his hand and touched it. A pause, and
with a sudden swift revulsion of feeling, he turned from
it in a sort of horror and went to the center-table.
There he stood for a moment, glanced back at the chair,
then quickly about the room, his eyes passing unseeingly
over the shadowy figure by the bookcase. Then he
darted back to the chair and thrust his hand deep into
the fold between the back and seat. For a minute he
felt about with frenzied haste, until his fingers touched
the object he sought, and with a profound sigh of relief
he drew it forth––a tiny flat vial.</p>
<p>He glanced at it casually, his hand already raised
toward his breast-pocket; then he recoiled with a low,
involuntary cry. The vial was filled with a sinister
blood-red fluid.</p>
<p>At that moment Blaine stepped from behind the bookcase
and confronted him.</p>
<p>“You have succeeded in regaining your bottle, haven’t
you, Mr. Rockamore?” he asked, significantly. “Are
you surprised to find within it the blood of an innocent
man?”</p>
<p>Rockamore turned to him slowly, his dazed, horror-stricken
eyes protruding more than ever.</p>
<p>“Blood?” he repeated, thickly, as if scarcely understanding.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span>
Then a realization of the situation dawned
upon him, and he demanded, hoarsely: “Who are you?
What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>“My name is Blaine, and I am here to arrest the murderer
of Pennington Lawton,” the detective replied, his
dominant tones ringing through the room.</p>
<p>“Blaine––Henry Blaine!” Rockamore stepped
back a pace or two, and a sneer curled his thin lips, although
his face had suddenly paled. “I’ve heard of
you, of course––the international meddler! What sort
of sensation are you trying to work up now, my man, by
such a ridiculous assertion? Pennington Lawton––murdered!
Why, all the world knows that he died of
heart-disease!”</p>
<p>“All the world seldom knows the truth, but it shall, in
this instance,” returned Blaine, trenchantly. “Pennington
Lawton was murdered––poisoned by a draught
of prussic acid.”</p>
<p>“You’re mad!” Rockamore retorted, insolently. He
tossed the incriminating little vial carelessly on the blotter
of the writing-desk, and when he turned again to the
detective his face, with its high, thin, hooked nose and
close-drawn brows, was vulture-like in its malevolent
intensity. “You don’t deserve serious consideration!
If you make public such a ridiculous statement, you’ll
only be laughed at for your pains.”</p>
<p>“I shall prove it. The murderer’s midnight visit, his
secret conference with his victim, did not proceed unwitnessed.
His motive is known, but his act was futile.
It came too late.”</p>
<p>“This is all very interesting, no doubt, or would be if
it could be credited. However, I cannot understand
why you have elected to take me into your confidence.”
Rockamore was livid, but he controlled himself sufficiently
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span>
to speak with a simulation of contemptuous boredom.
“I came here to see Miss Lawton, in response to
an urgent call from her; I don’t know by what authority
you are here, but I do know that I do not propose to be
further annoyed by you!”</p>
<p>“I am afraid that you will find yourself very seriously
annoyed before this affair comes to an end, Mr. Rockamore,”
said Blaine. “Miss Lawton’s butler summoned
you this afternoon by my instructions, and with gratifying
promptness you came and did just what I expected
you would do––betrayed yourself irretrievably in your
haste to recover the evidence which now will hang you!”</p>
<p>The other man laughed harshly, a discordant, jarring
laugh which jangled on the tense air.</p>
<p>“Your accusation is too absurd to be resented. I
knew that Miss Lawton herself could not have been a
party to this melodramatic hoax!”</p>
<p>Blaine walked to the desk before replying, and taking
up the crimson-tinged vial, weighed it in his hand.</p>
<p>“You did not find the poison bottle which you yourself
thrust in that chair the night Pennington Lawton
died, Mr. Rockamore, because his daughter discovered it
and communicated with me,” he said. “She anticipated
you by less than twenty-four hours. We have known
from the beginning of your nocturnal visit to this room;
every word of your conversation was overheard. It’s
no use trying to bluff it; we’ve got a clear case against
you.”</p>
<p>“You and your ‘clear case’ be d––d!” the other
man cried, his tones shaking with anger. “You’re trying
to bluff me, my man, but it won’t work! I don’t
know what the devil you mean about a midnight visit to
Lawton; the last I saw of him was at a directors’ meeting
the afternoon before his death.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span></div>
<p>“Then why has that chair––the chair in which he
died––exerted such a peculiar, sinister influence over
you? Why is it that every time you have entered this
room since, you have been unable to keep away from it?
Why, this very hour, when you thought yourself unobserved,
did you walk straight to this chair and place
your hand deliberately upon the place where the poison
bottle was concealed? Why did you recoil? Why did
that cry rise from your lips when you saw what it contained?”</p>
<p>“I touched the chair inadvertently, while I waited for
Miss Lawton’s appearance, and my hand coming accidentally
in contact with a hard substance, mere idle curiosity
impelled me to draw it out. Naturally, I was
startled for the moment, when I saw what it was.” The
man’s voice deepened hoarsely, and he gave vent to
another sneering, vicious laugh. As its echo died in the
room, Blaine could have sworn that he heard a quick
gasp from behind the curtains of the window-seat, but it
did not reach the ears of Rockamore.</p>
<p>The latter continued, his voice breaking suddenly,
with a rage at last uncontrolled:</p>
<p>“I could not, of course, know that that bottle of red
ink was a cheap, theatrical trick of a mountebank, a creature
who is the laughing-stock of the press and the public,
in his idiotic attempts to draw sensational notoriety
upon himself. But I do know that this effort has failed!
You have dared to plant this outrageous, puerile trap to
attempt to ensnare me! You have dared to strike
blindly, in your mad thirst for publicity, at a man
infinitely beyond your reach. Your insolence ceases to
be amusing! If you try to push this ridiculous accusation,
I shall ruin you, Henry Blaine!”</p>
<p>“No man is beyond my reach who has broken the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span>
law.” The detective’s voice was quietly controlled, yet
each word pierced the silence like a sword-thrust. “I
have been threatened with ruin, with death, many times
by criminals of all classes, from defaulting financiers to
petty thieves, but I still live, and my fortunes have not
been materially impaired. I do not court publicity, but
I cannot shirk my duty because it entails that. And in
this case my duty is plain. You, Bertrand Rockamore,
came here, secretly, by night, to try to persuade Mr.
Lawton to go in with you on a crooked scheme––to
force him to, by blackmail, if necessary, on an old score.
Failing in that, you killed him, to prevent the nefarious
operations of yourself and your companions from being
brought to light!”</p>
<p>“You’re mad, I tell you!” roared Rockamore.
“Whoever stuffed you with such idiotic rot as that is
making gammon of you! That conversation is a
chimera of some disordered mind, if it isn’t merely part
of a deliberate conspiracy of yours against me! You’ll
suffer for this, my man! I’ll break you if it is the last
act of my life! Such a conference never took place, and
you know it!”</p>
<p>“‘Come, Lawton, be sensible; half a loaf is better
than no bread,’” Blaine quoted slowly. “‘There is no
blackmail about this––it is an ordinary <a name='TC_8'></a><ins title="Was ''busines'' in the original text">business</ins> proposition.’</p>
<p>“‘It’s a damnable crooked scheme, and I shall have
nothing to do with it. This is final! My hands are
clean, and I can look every man in the face and tell him
to go where you can go now!’</p>
<p>“You remember that, don’t you, Rockamore?” Blaine
interrupted himself to ask sharply. “Do you also recall
your reply?––‘How about poor Herbert Armstrong?
His wife––’”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span></div>
<p>“It’s a lie! A d––d lie!” cried Rockamore. “I
was not in this room that night! Such a conversation
never occurred! Who told you of this? Who dares
accuse me?”</p>
<p>“I do!” A clear, flute-like voice, resonant in its
firmness, rang out from behind him as he spoke, and he
wheeled abruptly, to find Anita standing with her slender
form outlined against the dark, rich velvet of the curtains.
Her head was thrown back, her eyes blazing; and
as she faced him, she slowly raised her arm and pointed a
steady finger at the recoiling figure. “I accuse you,
Bertrand Rockamore, of the murder of my father! It
was I who heard your conversation here in this room; it
was I who found the vial which contained the poison you
used when your arguments and threats failed! I am not
mistaken––I knew that I could never be mistaken if I
heard that voice again, shaken, as it was that night, with
rage and defiance––and fear! I knew that I should
hear it again some time, and all these weeks I have listened
for it, until this moment. Mr. Blaine, this is the
man!”</p>
<div class='figtag'>
<a name='linki_6' id='linki_6'></a>
</div>
<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='images/illus-262.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 424px; height: 314px;' /><br />
<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 424px;'>
Her head was thrown back, her eyes blazing: and as she faced him, she slowly raised her arm and pointed a steady finger at the recoiling figure.<br />
</p>
</div>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></div>
<p>“Anita, you have lost your mind!” With the shock
of the girl’s appearance, a steely calm had come to the
Englishman, and although a tremor ran through his
tones, he held them well in leash. “My poor child, you
do not know what you are saying.</p>
<p>“As for you,”––he turned and looked levelly into
Blaine’s eyes,––“I am amazed that a man of your perception
and experience should for a moment entertain the
idea that he could make out a case of capital crime
against a person of my standing, solely upon the hysterical
pseudo-testimony of a girl whose brain is overwrought.
This midnight conference, which you so
glibly quote, is a figment of her distraught mind––or, if
it actually occurred (a fact of which you have no
proof), Miss Lawton admits, by the words she has just
uttered, that she did not see the mysterious visitor, but
is attempting to identify me as that person merely by the
tones of my voice. She has made no accusation against
me until this moment, yet since her father’s death she has
heard my voice almost daily for several weeks. Come,
Blaine, listen to reason! Your case has tumbled about
your ears! You can only avoid serious trouble for both
Miss Lawton and yourself by dropping this absurd matter
here and now.”</p>
<p>“It is true that I did not recognize your voice before,
but I have not until now heard it raised in anger as it
was that night––” began Anita, but Blaine silenced her
with a gesture.</p>
<p>“And the bottle of prussic acid which was found yesterday
hidden in the chair where just now you searched
for it?” he demanded, sternly. “The incontrovertible
evidence, proved late last night by an autopsy upon the
body of Pennington Lawton, which shows that he came
to his death by means of that poison––how do you account
for these facts, Rockamore?”</p>
<p>“I do not propose to account for them, whether they
are facts or not,” returned the other man, coolly.
“Since I know nothing whatever about them, they are
beyond my province. Unless you wish to bring ruin
upon yourself, and unwelcome notoriety and possibly an
official inquiry into her sanity upon Miss Lawton, you
will not repeat this incredible accusation. Only my
very real sympathy for her has enabled me to listen with
what patience I have to the unparalleled insolence of
this charge, but you are going too far. I see no necessity
for further prolonging this interview, and with your
permission I will withdraw––unless, of course,” he
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span>
added, sneeringly, “you have a warrant for my arrest?”</p>
<p>To Anita’s astonishment, Henry Blaine stepped back
with a slight shrug and Rockamore, still with that sarcastic
leer upon his lips, bowed low to her and strode
from the room.</p>
<p>“You––you let him go, Mr. Blaine?” she gasped,
incredulously. “You let him escape!”</p>
<p>“He cannot escape.” Blaine smiled a trifle grimly.
“I’m giving him just a little more rope, that is all, to
see if he will help us secure the others. His every move
is under strict surveillance––for him there is no way
out, save one.”</p>
<p>“And that way?” asked Anita.</p>
<p>The detective made no reply. In a few minutes he
took leave of her and proceeded to his office, where he
spent a busy day, sending cables in cipher, detailing
operatives to many new assignments and receiving reports.</p>
<p>Late in the afternoon replies began to come in to his
cablegrams of the morning. Whatever their import,
they quite evidently afforded him immense satisfaction,
and as the early dusk settled down, his eyes began to
glow with the light of battle, which those closest to him
in his marvelous work had learned to recognize when victory
was in sight.</p>
<p>Suraci noted it when he entered to make his report,
and the glint of enthusiasm in his own eyes brightened
like burnished steel.</p>
<p>“I relieved Ross at noon, as you instructed me, sir,”
he began, “in the vestibule of Mr. Rockamore’s apartment
house. It was a good thing that I had the six-cylinder
car handy, for he surely led me a chase! Ten
minutes after I went on duty, Rockamore came out,
jumped into his automobile, and after circling the park,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span>
he turned south, zig-zagging through side streets as if
to cut off pursuit. He reached South-end Ferry, but
hovered about until the gates were on the point of closing.
Then his chauffeur shot the car forward, but before
I could reach him, Creghan stepped up with your
warrant.</p>
<p>“‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I heard him say as I came up.
‘I’m to use this only in case you insist on attempting to
leave the city, sir. Mr. Blaine’s orders.’</p>
<p>“Rockamore turned on him in a fury, but thought
better of it, and after a minute he leaned forward with a
shrug, and directed the chauffeur north again. This
time he tried the Great Western Station, but Liebler was
there, waiting for him; then the North Illington branch
depot––Schmidt was on hand. As a forlorn hope he
tried the Tropic and Oriental steamship line,––one of
their ships goes out to-night,––but Norris intercepted
him; at last he speeded down the boulevard and out on
the eastern post-road, but Kearney was on the job at the
toll-gate.</p>
<p>“He gave it up then, and went back to his rooms, and
Ross relieved me there, just now. The lights are flaring
in the windows of his rooms, and you can see his shadow––he’s
pacing up and down like a caged animal!”</p>
<p>“All right, Suraci. Go back and tell Ross to have
one of his men telephone to me at once if Rockamore
leaves his rooms before nine. That will be all for you
to-night. I’ve got to do the rest of the work myself.”</p>
<p>At nine o’clock precisely, Henry Blaine presented himself
at Rockamore’s door. As he had anticipated he was
admitted at once and ushered into the Englishman’s
presence as if his coming had been expected.</p>
<p>“I say, Blaine, what the devil do you mean by this
game you’re playing?” Rockamore demanded, as he
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span>
stood erect and perfectly poised upon the hearth, and
faced the detective. A faint, sarcastic smile curved his
lips, and in his pale eyes there was no hint of trouble or
fear––merely a look of tolerant, half-contemptuous
amusement. Immaculate in his dinner-coat and fresh
boutonnière, his bearing superb in his ease and condescension,
he presented a picture of elegance. Blaine
glanced about the rich, somber den before he replied.</p>
<p>“I’m not playing any game, Mr. Rockamore. Why
did you try so desperately to leave the city?”</p>
<p>The Englishman shrugged.</p>
<p>“A sudden whim, I suppose. Would it be divulging
a secret of your profession if you informed me why one
of your men did not arrest me, since all had warrants on
the ridiculous charge you brought against me this morning,
of murdering my oldest and closest friend?”</p>
<p>“I merely wanted to assure myself that you would not
leave the city until I had obtained sufficient data with
which to approach you,” the detective responded, imperturbably.
“I have come to-night for a little talk
with you, Mr. Rockamore. I trust I am not intruding?”</p>
<p>“Not at all. As a matter of fact, after to-day’s incidents
I was rather expecting you.” Rockamore waved
his unbidden guest to a chair, and produced a gold cigarette-case.
“Smoke? You perhaps prefer cigars––no?
A brandy and soda?”</p>
<p>“Thank you, no. With your permission, I will get
right down to business. It will simplify matters for
both of us if you are willing to answer some questions I
wish to put to you; but, of course, there is no compulsion
about it. On the other hand, it is my duty to warn
you that anything you say may be used against you.”</p>
<p>“Fire away, Mr. Blaine!” Rockamore seated himself
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span>
and stretched out his legs luxuriously to the open
wood-fire. “I don’t fancy that anything I shall say
will militate against me. I was an idiot to lose my temper
this morning, but I hate being made game of. Now
the whole situation merely amuses me, but it may become
tiresome. Let’s get it over.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Rockamore, you were born in Staffordshire,
England, were you not? Near a place called Handsworth?”</p>
<p>The unexpected question brought a meditative frown
to the other man’s brow, but he replied readily enough:</p>
<p>“Yes, at Handsworth Castle, to be exact. But I
can’t quite gather what bearing that insignificant fact
has upon your amazing charge this morning.”</p>
<p>“You are the only son of Gerald Cecil Rockamore,
third son of the Earl of Stafford?” The detective did
not appear to have heard the protest of the man he was
interrogating.</p>
<p>“Precisely. But what––”</p>
<p>“There were, then, four lives between you and the
title,” Blaine interrupted, tersely. “But two remain,
your father and grandfather. Your uncles died, both
of sudden attacks of heart-disease, and curiously
enough, both deaths occurred while they were visiting at
Handsworth Castle.”</p>
<p>“That is quite true.” The cynical banter was gone
from Rockamore’s tones, and he spoke with a peculiar,
hushed evenness, as if he waited, on guard, for the next
thrust.</p>
<p>“Lord Ashfrith, your father’s oldest brother, and
next in line to the old Earl, was seated in the gun-room
of the castle, sipping a brandy and soda, and carving a
peach-stone. Twenty minutes before, you had brought
the peaches in from the garden, and eaten them with him.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span>
He was showing you how, in his boyhood, he had carved
a watch-charm from a peach-stone, and you were close
at his side when he suddenly fell over dead. Two years
later, your Uncle Alaric, heir to the earldom since his
older brother was out of the way, dropped dead at a
hunt breakfast. You were seated next him.”</p>
<p>“Are you trying to insinuate that I had anything to
do with these deaths?” Rockamore still spoke quietly,
but there was a slight tremor in his tones, and his face
looked suddenly gray and leaden in the glow of the leaping
flames.</p>
<p>“I am recalling certain facts in your family history.
When your Uncle Alaric died, he had just set down his
cordial glass, which had contained peach brandy. An
odd coincidence, wasn’t it, that both of these men died
with the odor of peaches about them, an odor which
incidentally you had provided in both cases, for it was
you who suggested the peach brandy as a cordial at the
hunt breakfast, and induced your uncle to partake of
it.”</p>
<p>“It was a coincidence, as you say. I had not thought
of it before.” The Englishman moistened his lips nervously,
as if they suddenly felt dry. “Uncle Alaric was
a heavy, full-blooded man, and he had ridden hard that
morning, contrary to the doctor’s orders. I suggested
the brandy as a bracer, I remember.”</p>
<p>“An unfortunate suggestion, wasn’t it?” Blaine
asked, significantly. The other man made no reply.</p>
<p>“There was another coincidence.” The detective
pursued relentlessly. “The brandy-and-soda, which
Lord Ashfrith was drinking at the moment of his death,
was naturally a pale amber color. So was the brandy
which your Uncle Alaric drank as he died. And prussic
acid is amber-colored, too, Mr. Rockamore! Lord Ashfrith
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span>
was carving a peach-stone when the end came, and
the odor of peaches clung to his body. Your Uncle
Alaric partook of peach brandy, and the same odor hovered
about him in death. Prussic acid is redolent of the
odor of peaches!”</p>
<p>Rockamore started from his chair.</p>
<p>“I understand what you are attempting to establish
by the flimsiest of circumstantial evidence!” he sneered.
“But you are away beyond your depth, my man! May
I ask where you obtained this interesting but scarcely
valuable information?”</p>
<p>“From Scotland Yard, by cable, to-day.” Blaine
rose also and faced the other man. “An investigation
was started into the second death, upon the Earl’s request,
but it was dropped for lack of evidence. About
that time, Mr. Rockamore, you decided rather suddenly,
and for no apparent reason, to come to America, where
you have remained ever since.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine, if I were in the mood to be facetious, I
might employ your American vernacular and ask that
you tell me something I don’t know! Come to the point,
man; you try my patience.”</p>
<p>“In view of recent developments, I am under the impression
that Scotland Yard would welcome your reappearance
on British soil, but I fear that will be forever
impossible,” Blaine said slowly. “Just as you were beside
your uncles when each met with his end, so you were
beside Pennington Lawton when death came to him!
That has been proved. Just as brandy and soda, and
peach brandy, are amber-colored, so are Scotch high-balls,
which you and Pennington Lawton were drinking.
No odor of peaches lingered about the room, for Miss
Lawton had lighted a handful of joss-sticks in a vase
upon the mantel earlier in the evening, and their pungent
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span>
perfume filled the air. But the odor of peaches permeated
the room when the tiny bottle which you hid in
the folds of the chair was uncorked––the odor of
peaches rose above the stench of mortifying flesh, when
the body of your victim was exhumed late last night for
a belated autopsy! The heart would have revealed the
truth, had there been no corroborative evidence, for it
was filled with arterial blood––incontrovertible proof
of death by prussic-acid poisoning.”</p>
<p>There was a tense pause, and then Rockamore spoke
sharply, his voice strained to the breaking point.</p>
<p>“If you are so certain of my guilt, Blaine, why have
you come to me secretly here and now? What is your
price?”</p>
<p>“I have no price,” the great detective answered,
simply.</p>
<p>“Then why did you not arrest me at once? Why
this purposeless interview?”</p>
<p>“Because––” Blaine paused, and when he spoke
again, a solemn hush, almost of pity, had crept into his
tones. “You come of a fine old line, Mr. Rockamore, of
a splendid race. Your grandfather, the aged Earl, is
living only in the past, proud of the record of his forebears.
Your father is a soldier and statesman, valuable
to the nation; his younger brother, Cedric, has achieved
deserved fame and glory in the Boer War. There remains
only you. For the sake of the innocent who must
suffer with you, I have come to you to-night, that you
may have an opportunity to––prepare yourself. In
the morning I must arrest you. My duty is plain.”</p>
<p>As he uttered the words, the craven fear which had
struggled through the malicious sneer on the other man’s
face faded as if an obliterating hand had passed across
his brow, and a look of indomitable courage and resignation
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span>
took its place. There was something akin to
nobility in his expression as he turned to the detective
with head proudly erect and shoulders squared.</p>
<p>“I thank you, Mr. Blaine,” he said, simply. “I
understand. I shall not fail them––the others! You
have been far more generous to me than I deserve. And
now––good-night. You will find me here when you
come in the morning.”</p>
<p>But in the morning Henry Blaine did not carry out
his expressed intention. Instead, he sat at his desk,
staring at the headlines in a paper spread out before
him. The Honorable Bertrand Rockamore had been
found dead on the floor of his den, with a bullet through
his head. He would never allow his man to touch his
guns, and had been engaged in cleaning one of them, as
was his custom, in preparation for his annual shooting
trip to Florida, when in some fashion it had been accidentally
discharged.</p>
<p>“I wonder if I did the right thing!” mused Blaine.
“He had the courage to do it, after all. Blood will
tell, in the end.”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_XIX_THE_UNSEEN_LISTENER' id='CHAPTER_XIX_THE_UNSEEN_LISTENER'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
<h3>THE UNSEEN LISTENER</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcapq" ><small>“</small><span class="drop">T</span><span class="dcap">here’s</span> a man outside who wishes to speak to
you, sir. Says his name is Hicks, but won’t tell
his business.”</p>
<p style="clear: both; padding-top: 0.4em;" >Blaine looked up from the paper.</p>
<p>“Never heard of him. What sort of a man, Marsh?”</p>
<p>“Old, white-haired, carries himself like an old family
servant of some sort. Looks as if he’d been crying.
He’s trembling so he can scarcely stand, and seems
deeply affected by something. Says he has a message
for you, and must see you personally.”</p>
<p>“Very well. Show him in.”</p>
<p>“Thank you for receiving me, sir.” A quavering old
voice sounded from the doorway a moment later, and
Blaine turned in his chair to face the aged, erect, black-clad
figure which stood there.</p>
<p>“Come in, Hicks.” The detective’s voice was kindly.
“Sit down here, and tell me what I can do for you.”</p>
<p>“I bring you a message, sir.” The man tottered to
the chair and sank into it. “A message from the dead.”</p>
<p>Blaine leaned forward suddenly.</p>
<p>“You were––”</p>
<p>“Mr. Rockamore’s valet, sir, and his father’s before
him. I loved him as if he were my own son, if you will
pardon the liberty I take in saying so, and when he came
to this country I accompanied him. He was always
good to me, sir, a kind young master and a real friend.
It was I who found him this morning––”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span></div>
<p>His voice broke, and he bowed his head upon
his wrinkled hands. No tears came––but the thin
shoulders shook, and a dry sob tore its way from the
gaunt throat.</p>
<p>Blaine waited until the paroxysm had ceased, and then
urged, gently:</p>
<p>“Go on, Hicks. You have something to tell me?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. The coroner and the press call it accidental
death, but I––may God forgive me for saying
it––I know better! He left word where none could
find it but me, that you knew the truth, and he bade me
give you––this!”</p>
<p>He produced a large, square envelope from an inner
pocket, and extended it in his trembling hand to the
detective. Without glancing at it, Blaine laid it on the
desk before him.</p>
<p>“Where did you discover this?”</p>
<p>“There is a flat, oblong casket of old silver, shaped
somewhat like a humidor––a family relic, sir––which
stands upon the center-table in the den. Whenever
Mr. Rockamore had any message to leave for me in
writing, concerning his confidential business, which he
did not wish the other servants to have access to, he
always slipped it into the casket. After the coroner
had come and gone this morning, and some of the excitement
had died down, I went back to the den, to
straighten it. I don’t know why, but somehow I half
suspected the truth. Perhaps it was the expression of
his face––so peaceful and resigned, with all the hard,
sneering lines the years had brought gone from it, so
that he looked almost like a boy again, the bonny boy
who used to ride helter-skelter on his pony through the
lanes of Staffordshire, long ago.”</p>
<p>The aged man spoke half to himself and seemed to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span>
have fallen into a reverie, which Blaine made no attempt
to break in upon. At length he roused himself with a
little start, and went on.</p>
<p>“At any rate, when I had the room in order, and was
standing by the table taking a last look about, my hand
rested on the casket, and quite without thinking, sir, I
raised the lid. There within it lay a sealed envelope
with my name on it! Inside was a certified check for
two thousand pounds made out to me––he didn’t forget
me, even at the last––and that letter for you, together
with a little note asking me to––to take him home.
Is it true, sir, that you do know the whole truth?”</p>
<p>“I think I do,” Blaine responded gravely. “I did
the best I could for your late master, Hicks, all that I
could do which was compatible with my duty, and now
my lips are sealed. I cannot betray his confidence.
You intend to accompany the body to England?”</p>
<p>“Of course, sir,” the old man said simply. “It was
his last request of me, who have never refused him anything
in all his life. When I have seen him laid beside
the others of the House of Stafford, I will go back to the
castle, to his father, and end my days there. My course
is nearly run, and this great new country has no place in
it for the aged. I––I will go now, sir. I have much
to attend to, and my master is lying alone.”</p>
<p>When the old servant had taken his departure, Henry
Blaine picked up the envelope. It was addressed in a
firm, unshaken hand, and with a last touch of the
sardonic humor characteristic of the dead man, it
had been stamped with the seal of the renowned and
honored House of Stafford.</p>
<p>The detective broke the seal, and lifting the flap, drew
out the folded letter page and became immediately absorbed
in its contents. He read:</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span></div>
<div style="font-size:0.85em; margin: 0.5em 2.5em;">
<p>In view of your magnanimity to-night, I feel that this explanation––call
it a confession, if you will––is your due. If you consider
it your duty to give it to the world at large, you must do
so, but for God’s sake be as merciful as you can to those at home,
who will suffer enough, in all conscience, as the affair now stands.</p>
<p>Your accusation was justified. I killed Pennington Lawton in
the manner and for the reason which you alleged. I made an
appointment by telephone just after dinner, to call upon him
late that night. I tried by every means in my power to induce
him to go in on a scheme to which, unknown to him, I had already
committed him. He steadfastly refused. His death was
the only way for me to obviate exposure and ruin, and the disgrace
of a prison sentence. I anticipated his attitude and had
come prepared. During a heated period of our discussion, he
walked to the desk and stood for a moment with his shoulder
turned to me, searching for a paper in his private drawer. I saw
my chance, and seized upon it. I was standing before his chair,
I may explain, watching him over its high back. I took the vial
of prussic acid from my pocket, uncorked it and poured a few
drops into his high-ball glass. I had recorked the vial, and was
on the point of returning it to its hiding-place, when he turned
to me. Had I raised my hand to my pocket he would have noticed
the gesture; as it was, the back of the chair screened me,
and on a sudden desperate impulse I thrust the vial deep in the
leather fold between the seat and back.</p>
<p>Lawton drank, and died. I left the house, as I thought, unnoticed
and secure from detection. On subsequent visits to the
house I endeavored to regain possession of the vial, but on each
occasion I failed in my purpose, and at length it fell into the
hands of Anita Lawton. I have no more to say. Of earlier
events at home in England, which you and I discussed to-night,
it is better that I remain silent. You, of all men, will appreciate
my motive.</p>
<p>And now, Blaine, good-night. Please accept my heartfelt
thanks for the manner in which you handled a most difficult situation
to-night. You have beaten me fairly at my own game.
It may be that we shall meet again, somewhere, some time. In
all sincerity, yours,</p>
<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 0.78125em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Arthur Bertrand Rockamore.</span></span><br /></p>
</div>
<p>The detective folded the letter slowly and returned it
to its envelope. Then he sat for long buried in thought.
Rockamore had taken the solitary loophole of escape
from overwhelming disgrace left to him. He had, as
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span>
far as in him lay, expiated his crimes. What need, then,
to blazon them forth to a gaping world? Pennington
Lawton had died of heart-disease, so said the coroner.
The press had echoed him, and the public accepted that
fact. Only two living persons beside the coroner knew
the truth, and Blaine felt sure that the gentle spirit of
Anita Lawton would be merciful––her thirst for vengeance
upon her father’s murderer sated by his self-inflicted
death––to those of his blood, who, innocent,
must be dragged in the mire by the disclosure of his
infamy.</p>
<p>When Henry Blaine presented himself an hour later
at her home, he found Anita inexpressibly shocked by the
tragic event of the night.</p>
<p>“He was guilty!” she murmured. “He took his
own life to escape falling into your hands! That gunshot
was no accident, Mr. Blaine. He murdered my
father in cold blood, but he has paid. I abhor his
memory, and yet I can find it in my heart to be sorry
for him!”</p>
<p>In silence, the detective placed in her hands the letter
of the dead man, and watched her face as she slowly read
it. When she looked up, her eyes were wet, and a tiny
red spot glowed in either cheek.</p>
<p>“Poor Father!” she moaned. “With all his leadership
and knowledge of men, he was helpless and unsuspecting
in the hands of that merciless fiend! And
yet even he thought of his own people at the last, and
wanted to spare them. Oh, how I wish we could! If we
might only keep from them forever the knowledge of his
wickedness, his crime!”</p>
<p>“We can, if you are willing.”</p>
<p>Blaine met her look of startled inquiry, and replied to
it with a brief résumé of his interview of the previous
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span>
evening with Rockamore. When he added his suggestion
that the matter of the way in which her father
came to his death be buried in oblivion, and the public
left to believe the first report, she was silent for a time.</p>
<p>“But the coroner who performed the autopsy night
before last,” she remarked, at length, hesitatingly.
“He will make the truth public, will he not?”</p>
<p>“Not necessarily. That depends upon you. If you
wish it, nothing will ever be known.”</p>
<p>“I think you are right, Mr. Blaine. Father’s death
has been avenged; neither you nor I can do more. The
man who killed him has gone to his last account.
Further notoriety and scandal cannot help Father, or
bring him back to me. It would only cause needless
suffering to those who are no more at fault than we ourselves.
If the coroner can be silenced, we will keep our
secret, you and I.”</p>
<p>“Unless,”––Blaine’s voice was very grave––“unless
it becomes necessary to divulge it in order to get the
rest of them within our grasp.”</p>
<p>“The rest?” she looked up as if she had scarcely
heard.</p>
<p>“Mallowe and Carlis and Paddington and the horde
of lesser conspirators in their hire. We must recover
your father’s immense fortune, and find out how it was
possible for them to divert it to their own channels.
There is Mr. Hamilton to be thought of, too––his
injury, his kidnaping! If we can succeed in unraveling
this mysterious tangle of events without recourse to the
fact of our knowledge of the murder, well and good. If
not, we must make use of whatever has come to our hand.
With the rest of the malefactors brought to justice, you
can afford to be magnanimous even to the dead man
who has done you the most grievous wrong of all.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></div>
<p>“It shall be as you say––”</p>
<p>She broke off suddenly as her eyes, looking beyond
Blaine’s shoulder, fell upon a silent figure in the doorway.</p>
<p>“Mr. Mallowe!” she cried. “When did you come?
How is it that Wilkes failed to announce you?”</p>
<p>“I arrived just at this moment.” The smooth,
unctuous tones floated out upon the strained tension of
the air. “I told Wilkes I would come right up. He
told me Mr. Blaine was with you, and I wish to congratulate
him on his marvelous success. Surely you do
not mind the liberty I took in announcing myself, my
dear child?”</p>
<p>“Not at all,” Anita responded, coldly. “To which
success of Mr. Blaine’s do you refer, Mr. Mallowe?”</p>
<p>“Why, to his discovery of Ramon, of course.” Mr.
Mallowe looked from one to the other of them as if nonplused
by Anita’s unexpected attitude. Then he continued
hurriedly, with a show of enthusiasm. “It was
wonderful, unprecedented! But how did Ramon come
to be in Mac Alarney’s retreat, and so shockingly
injured?”</p>
<p>“The same people who ran him down the day Miss
Lawton sent for him to come to her aid––the day she
learned of her father’s insolvency.” Blaine spoke
quickly, before the girl had an opportunity to reply.
“The same people who on two other separate occasions
attempted his life!”</p>
<p>“You cannot mean to tell me that there is some conspiracy
on foot against Ramon Hamilton!” Mallowe’s
face was a picture of shocked amazement. “But why?
He is the most exemplary of young men, quite a model
in these days––”</p>
<p>“Because he is a man, and prepared to protect and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span>
defend to the last ounce of his strength the thing which
he loved better than life itself––the thing which, but
for him, stood helpless and alone, surrounded by enemies
and hopelessly entangled in the meshes of a gigantic
conspiracy!”</p>
<p>“You speak in riddles, Mr. Blaine.” Mallowe’s gray
brows drew together.</p>
<p>“Riddles which will soon be answered, Mr. Mallowe.
Miss Lawton’s natural protector––her father––had
been ruthlessly removed by––death. Only Mr. Hamilton
stood between her and the machinations of those
who thought they had her in their power. Therefore,
Mr. Hamilton was also removed, temporarily. Do I
make myself quite clear now?”</p>
<p>“It is impossible, incredible! What enemies could
this dear child here have made, and who could wish to
harm her? Besides, am I not here? Do not I and my
friends stand <a name='TC_9'></a><ins title="''in loco parentis'' was italicized in the original text">in <i>loco parentis</i></ins> to her?”</p>
<p>“As you doubtless are aware, one of Miss Lawton’s
pseudo-guardians, at least, has involuntarily resigned
his wardenship,” Blaine remarked.</p>
<p>“You refer to the sudden death last night of my
associate, Mr. Rockamore?” Mallowe shook his head
dolorously. “A terrible accident! The news was an
inexpressible shock to me! It was to comfort Miss
Lawton for the blow which the loss of this devoted
friend must be to her that I came to-day.”</p>
<p>“I fancy the loss itself will be consolation enough,
Mr. Mallowe. The accident was tragic, of course. It
takes courage to clean a gun, sometimes––more
courage, perhaps, than to spill into a glass an ingredient
not usually included in a Scotch highball, let
us say.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine, if you are inclined to be facetious, sir,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span>
let me tell you this is neither the time nor place for an
attempt at a jest! When Miss Lawton called you in,
the other day, and engaged you to search for Mr.
Hamilton––”</p>
<p>“Oh, she didn’t call me in then, Mr. Mallowe! I’ve
been on the case from the start, all this last month, in
fact, and in close touch with Miss Lawton every day.”</p>
<p>Mallowe started back, the light of comprehension
dawning swiftly in his eyes, only instantly to be veiled
with a film of craftiness.</p>
<p>“What case?” he asked. “Ramon Hamilton has not
been missing for a month.”</p>
<p>“The case of the death of Pennington Lawton! The
case of his fraudulently alleged bankruptcy! The case
of the whole damnable conspiracy to crush this girl to
the earth, to impoverish her and tarnish the fair name
and honored memory of her father. It’s cards on the
table now, Mr. Mallowe, and I’m going to win!”</p>
<p>“You must be mad!” exclaimed the older man.
“This talk of a conspiracy is ridiculous, absurd!”</p>
<p>“Mr. Rockamore called me ‘mad,’ also, yesterday
afternoon, standing just where you stand now, Mr. Mallowe.”
The detective met the lowering eyes squarely.
“Yet he went home and––accidentally shot himself!
A curiously opportune shot that! Miss Lawton’s
enemies depended too confidently upon her credulity in
accepting without question the unsubstantiated assertion
of her father’s insolvency. They did not take
into account the possibility that their henchman, Paddington,
might fail, or turn traitor; that Mac Alarney
might talk to save his own hide; that Jimmy Brunell’s
forgeries might be traced to their source; that the books
in the office of the Recorder of Deeds might divulge
interesting items to those sufficiently concerned to delve
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span>
into the files of past years! You discharged your clerk
on the flimsiest of excuses, Mr. Mallowe––but you did
not discharge her quite soon enough. Rockamore’s
stenographer, and the switchboard operator in Carlis’
office,––who, like your filing clerk, came from Miss
Lawton’s club,––were also dismissed too late. As I
have said, my cards are on the table now. Are you prepared
to play yours?”</p>
<p>For answer, Mallowe turned slowly to Anita, his
face a study of pained surprise and indignation.</p>
<p>“My dear girl, I do not understand one word of what
this person is saying, but he is either mad, or intoxicated
with his success in locating Ramon, to the extent that he
is endeavoring to build up a fictitious case on a maze of
lies. Any notoriety will bring him welcome publicity,
and that is all he is looking for. I shall take immediate
steps to have his incomprehensible and dangerous allegation
suppressed. Such a man is a menace to the community!
In the meantime, I must beg of you to dismiss
him at once. Do not listen to him, do not allow him to
influence you! You are only an impulsive, credulous
girl, and he is using you as a mere tool for his own ends.
I cannot imagine how you happened to fall into his
clutches.”</p>
<p>Anita faced him, straight and slim and tall, and her
soft eyes seemed fairly to burn into his.</p>
<p>“I am not so credulous as you think, Mr. Mallowe.
I never for a moment believed your assertion that my
father died a pauper, and I took immediate steps to disprove
it. Doctor Franklin was your tool, when he came
to me with your message, but not I! And I shouldn’t
advise you to try, at this late date, to ‘suppress’ Mr.
Blaine. Many other malefactors have attempted it, I
understand, in the past, but I never heard of any of them
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span>
meeting with conspicuous success. You and my other
two self-appointed guardians must have been desperate
indeed to have risked trying to hoodwink me with so
ridiculous and vague a story as that of the loss of my
father’s fortune!”</p>
<p>“This is too much!” Mallowe stormed. “Young
woman, you forget yourself! Because of the evil suggestions,
the malevolent influence of this man’s plausible
lies, are you such an ingrate as to turn upon your only
friends, your father’s intimate, life-long associates, the
people who have, from disinterested motives of the
purest kindness and affection, provided for you, comforted
you, and shielded you from the world? Anita,
I cannot believe it of you! I will leave you, now. I
am positively overcome with this added shock of your
ingratitude and willful deceit, coming so soon after the
blow of my poor friend’s death. I trust you will be in
a thoroughly repentant frame of mind when next I see
you.</p>
<p>“As for you, sir!” He turned to the immovable
figure of the detective. “I will soon show you what it
means to meddle with matters which do not concern you––to
pit yourself arrogantly against the biggest power
in this country!”</p>
<p>“The biggest power in this or any other country
is the power of justice.” Blaine’s voice rang out
trenchantly. “When you and your associates planned
this desperate <i>coup</i>, it was as a last resort. You had
involved yourselves too deeply; you had gone too far to
retrace your steps. You were forced to go on forward––and
now your path is closed with bars of iron!”</p>
<p>“I will not remain here any longer to be insulted!
Miss Lawton, I shall never cross the threshold of this
house again––this house, which only by my charity
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span>
you have been suffered to remain in––until you apologize
for the disgraceful scene here this morning. I can
only hope that you will soon come to your senses!”</p>
<p>As he strode indignantly from the room, Anita turned
anxiously to Henry Blaine.</p>
<p>“Oh, what will he do?” she whispered. “He is really
a power, a money-power, you know, Mr. Blaine! Where
will he go now?”</p>
<p>“Straight to his <i>confrère</i> Carlis, and tell him that the
game is up.” The detective spoke with brisk confidence.
“He’ll be tailed by my men, anyway, so we shall soon
have a report. Don’t see anyone, on any pretext whatsoever,
and don’t leave the house, Miss Lawton. I will
instruct Wilkes on my way out, that you are to be at
home to no one. I must be getting back to my office
now. If I am not mistaken, I shall receive a visit without
unnecessary delay from my old friend Timothy
Carlis, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”</p>
<p>Blaine’s prediction proved to have been well founded.
Scarcely an hour passed, and he was deep in the study
of some of his earlier notes on the case, when all at once
a hubbub arose in his outer office. Usually quiet and
well-ordered, its customary stillness was broken by a
confused, expostulatory murmur of voices, above which
rose a strident, angry bellow, like that of a maddened
wild beast. Then a chair was violently overturned; the
sudden sharp sound of a scuffle came to the detective’s
listening ears; and the door was dashed open with a jar
which made the massive inkstand upon the desk quiver.</p>
<p>Timothy Carlis stood upon the threshold––Timothy
Carlis, his face empurpled, the great veins upon his low-slanting
forehead standing out like whipcords, his huge,
spatulate hands clenched, his narrow, slit eyes gleaming
murderously.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></div>
<p>“So you’re here, after all!” he roared. “Those
d––d fools out there tried to give me the wrong steer,
but I was wise to ’em. You buffaloed Rockamore,
and that senile old idiot, Mallowe, but you can’t bluff
me! I came here to see you, and I usually get what I go
after!”</p>
<p>“Having seen me, Carlis, will you kindly state your
business and go? This promises to be one of my busiest
days. What can I do for you?” Blaine leaned back in
his chair, with a bland smile of pleased expectancy.</p>
<p>“It ain’t what you <i>can</i> do; it’s what you’re <i>goin’</i> to
do, and no mistake about it!” the other glowered.
“You’re goin’ to keep your mouth shut as tight as a
trap, and your hands off, from now on! Oh, you know
what I mean, right enough. Don’t try to work the surprised
gag on me!”</p>
<p>He added the latter with a coarse sneer which further
distorted his inflamed visage. Blaine, with an expression
of sharp inquiry, had whirled around in his swivel
chair to face his excited visitor, and as he did so, his
hand, with seeming inadvertence, had for an instant
come in contact with the under ledge of his desk-top.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid, much as I desire not to prolong this unexpected
interview, that I must ask you to explain just
what it is that I must keep my hands off of, as you say.
We will go into the wherefore of it later.”</p>
<p>Carlis glanced back of him into the empty hallway,
then closed the door and came forward menacingly.</p>
<p>“What’s the good of beating about the bush?” he
demanded, in a fierce undertone. “You know d––n’
well what I mean: you’re butting in on the Lawton
affair. You’ve bitten off more than you can chew, and
you’d better wise yourself up to that, here and now!”</p>
<p>“Just what is the Lawton affair?”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span></div>
<p>“Oh, stow that bluff! You know too much already,
and if I followed my hunch, I’d scrag you now, to play
safe. Dead men don’t blab, as a rule––though one may
have, last night. I came here to be generous, to give
you a last chance. I’ve fought tooth and nail, myself,
for my place at the top, and I like a game scrapper, even
if he is on the wrong side. You’ve tried to get me for
years, but as I knew you couldn’t, I didn’t bother with
you, any more than I would with a trained flea, and
I bear no malice. D––d if I don’t like you,
Blaine!”</p>
<p>“Thank you!” The detective bowed in ironic acknowledgment
of the compliment. “Your friendship
would be considered a valuable asset by many, I have no
doubt, but––”</p>
<p>“Look here!” The great political boss had shed his
bulldozing manner, and a shade of unmistakable earnestness,
not unmixed with anxiety, had crept into his tones.
“I’m talking as man to man, and I know I can trust
your word of honor, even if you pretend you won’t take
mine. Is anyone listening? Have you got any of your
infernal operatives spying about?”</p>
<p>Blaine leaned forward and replied with deep seriousness.</p>
<p>“I give you my word, Carlis, that no human ear is
overhearing our conversation.” Then he smiled, and
added, with a touch of mockery: “But what difference
can that make? I thought you came here to issue instructions.
At least, you so announced yourself on
your arrival!”</p>
<p>“Because I’m going to make a proposition to you––on
my own.” Even Carlis’ coarse face flushed darkly
at the base self-revelation. “Pennington Lawton died
of heart-disease.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span></div>
<p>He paused, and after waiting a full minute, Blaine
remarked, quietly, but with marked significance:</p>
<p>“Of course. That is self-evident, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Well, then––” Carlis stepped back with a satisfied
grunt. “He didn’t have a soul on earth dependent
on him but his daughter. His great fortune is swept
away, and that daughter left penniless. But ain’t there
lots of girls in this world worse off than she? Ain’t she
got good friends that’s lookin’ out for her, and seein’
that she don’t want for a thing? Ain’t she goin’ to
marry a young fellow that loves the ground she walks
on––a rich young fellow, that’ll give her everything,
all her life? What more could she want? <i>She’s</i> all
right. But the big money––the money Lawton made
by grinding down the masses––wouldn’t you like a
slice of it yourself, Blaine? A nice, fat, juicy slice?”</p>
<p>“How?” An interested pucker appeared suddenly
between the detective’s expressive brows, and Carlis
laughed.</p>
<p>“Oh, we’re all in it––you may as well be! You’re
on the inside, as it is! The play got too high for Rockamore,
and he cashed in; you’ve bluffed old Mallowe till
he’s looking up sailing dates for Algiers, but I knew
you’d be sensible, when it came to the scratch, and divide
the pot, rather than blow your whistle and have the
game pulled!”</p>
<p>“But it was old Mallowe”––Blaine’s tone was
puzzled––“who succeeded in transferring all that worthless
land he’d acquired to Lawton, when Lawton wouldn’t
come in and help him on that Street-Railways grab,
which would have made him practically sole owner of all
the suburban real estate around Illington, wasn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Sure it was!” laughed Carlis, ponderously. “But
who made it possible for Mallowe to palm off those miles
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span>
of vacant lots––as improved city property, of course––on
Lawton, without his knowledge, and even have
them recorded in his name, but me? What am I boss
for, if I don’t own a little man like the Recorder of
Deeds?”</p>
<p>“I see!” Blaine tapped his finger-tips together and
smiled slowly, in meditative appreciation. “And it
was your man, also, Paddington, who found means to
provide the mortgage, letter of appeal for a loan, note
for the loan itself, and so forth. As for Rockamore––”</p>
<p>“Oh, he fixed up the dividend end, watered the stock
and kept the whole thing going by phony financing while
there was a chance of our hoodwinking Lawton into
going into it voluntarily. He was one grand little promoter,
Rockamore was; pity he got cold feet, and promoted
himself into another sphere!”</p>
<p>“All things considered, it may not be such a pity,
after all!” Blaine rose suddenly, whirling his chair
about until it stood before him, and he faced his amazed
visitor from across it. “Now, Carlis, suppose you promote
yourself from my office!”</p>
<p>“Wh-what!” It was a mere toneless wheeze, but
breathing deep of brute strength.</p>
<p>“I told you when you first came in that this promised
to be one of my busiest days. You’re taking up my
time. To be sure, you’ve cleared up a few minor points
for me, and testified to them, but you haven’t really
told me anything I didn’t know. The game is up!
Now––get out!”</p>
<p>He braced himself, as he spoke, to meet the mountain
of flesh which hurled itself upon him in a blind rush of
Berserk rage––braced himself, met and countered it.
Never had that spacious office––the scene of so many
heartrending appeals, dramatic climaxes, impassioned
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span>
confessions and violent altercations––witnessed so terrific
a struggle, brief as it was.</p>
<p>“I’ll kill you!” roared the maddened brute. “You’ll
never leave your office, alive, to repeat what I’ve told!
I’ll kill you, with my bare hands, first, d––n you!”</p>
<p>But even as he spoke, his voice ended in a surprised
scream of agony, which told of strained sinews and
ripped tendons, and he fell in a twisted, crumpled heap
of quivering, inert flesh at the detective’s feet, the victim
of a scientific hold and throw which had not been included
in his pugilistic education.</p>
<p>Instantly Blaine’s hand found an electric bell in the
wall, and almost simultaneously the door opened and
three powerful figures sprang upon the huge, recumbent
form and bound him fast.</p>
<p>“Take him away,” ordered the detective. “I’ll have
the warrant ready for him.”</p>
<p>“Warrant for what?” spluttered Carlis, through
bruised and bleeding lips. “I didn’t do anything to
you! You attacked me because I wouldn’t swear to a
false charge. I got a legal right to try to defend myself!”</p>
<p>“You’ve convicted yourself, out of your own mouth,”
retorted Blaine.</p>
<p>The other looked into his eyes and quailed, but
blustered to the end.</p>
<p>“Nobody heard, but you, and my word goes, in this
town! What d’you mean––convicted myself?”</p>
<p>For answer Blaine again touched that little spring in
the protruding under-ledge of his desk, and out upon the
trenchant stillness, broken only by the rapid, stertorous
breathing of the manacled man, burst the strident tones
of that same man’s voice, just as they had sounded a
few minutes before:</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span></div>
<p>“‘But the big money––the money Lawton made by
grinding down the masses––wouldn’t you like a slice
of it yourself, Blaine––a nice, fat, juicy slice....
Oh, we’re all in it, you may as well be!... The play
got too high for Rockamore, and he cashed in; you’ve
bluffed old Mallowe till he’s looking up sailing dates for
Algiers, but I knew you’d be sensible, when it came to
the scratch, and divide the pot, rather than blow your
whistle and have the game pulled.... Who made it
possible for Mallowe to palm off those miles of vacant
lots––as improved city property, of course––on Lawton
without his knowledge, and even have them recorded
in his name, but me? What am I boss for, if I don’t
own a little man like the Recorder of Deeds?’”</p>
<p>“What is it?” gasped the wretched Carlis, in a
fearful whisper, when the voice had ceased. “What is
that––infernal thing?”</p>
<p>“A detectaphone,” returned Blaine laconically.
“You’ve heard of them, haven’t you, Carlis? When
you asked me if we were alone, if any of my operatives
were spying about, I told you that no human ear overheard
our conversation. But this little concealed instrument––this
unseen listener––recorded and bore
witness to your confession; and this is a Recorder you
do not own, and cannot buy!”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_XX_THE_CREVICE' id='CHAPTER_XX_THE_CREVICE'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2>
<h3>THE CREVICE</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcapq" ><small>“</small><span class="drop">B</span><span class="dcap">ut I</span> don’t understand”––Guy Morrow’s voice
was plaintive, and he eyed his chief reproachfully,
as he stood before Blaine’s desk, twisting
his hat nervously––“why you didn’t nail him!
You’ve got the goods on him, all right; and now, just
because you only had him arrested on a charge of assault
with intent to kill, he’s gone and used his influence, and
got himself released under heavy bail. Oh, why won’t
you go heeled or guarded? We can’t afford to lose you,
sir, any of us, and now he’ll do for you, as sure as shooting!”</p>
<p>“Who––Carlis?” Blaine spoke almost absently, as
if the portentous scene of two hours before had already
almost slipped from his memory. “Oh, he won’t get
away, and I’m not afraid of him! I let him go for the
same reason that I didn’t have Mallowe arrested this
morning––for the same reason why I haven’t stopped
Paddington’s philandering with the French girl, Fifine:
because a link is still missing in the chain; the shell, the
exterior of the whole conspiracy is in the hollow of my
hand, but I can’t find the chink, the crevice into which
to insert my lever and split it apart, lay the whole dastardly
scheme irrefutably open to the light of day. I
want to complete my case: in other words, Guy––I
want to win!”</p>
<p>“And you will, sir; you’ve never failed yet! Only I––I
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span>
don’t have any luck!” The young man’s haggard
face grew wistful. “I want Emily Brunell; I need her––and
I seem farther from finding her than ever!”</p>
<p>“I didn’t know that was your job!” the detective objected,
with a brusqueness which was not unkind. “I
told you I’d take care of that, in my own way. I
thought I assigned you to the task of finding out who
fired at you, from the darkened window of your own
room, when you were in Brunell’s house across the street;
also I wanted a line on those two mysterious boarders
of Mrs. Quinlan’s.”</p>
<p>“Nothing doing on either count, sir,” Morrow returned,
ruefully. “I can’t get a glimpse of them, or a
line on either of them; and as for who tried to plug me––well,
there isn’t an iota of evidence, that I can discover,
beyond the bare fact. I didn’t come to report, for
there’s nothing to say, except that I’m sticking at it,
and if I don’t get a sight of those two before long I’m
going to burn a red sulphur light some fine night, and
yell ‘fire!’ I bet that’ll bring the old codger out, for
all his rheumatism!”</p>
<p>“Not a bad idea,” Blaine commented, adding dryly:
“What did you come for, then, Guy?”</p>
<p>“To find out if you had any news you were willing to
tell me yet, sir––of Emily?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” The detective’s slow smile was quizzical.
“The most significant news in the world.”</p>
<p>“You’ve discovered their destination––hers and her
father’s?” the young operative cried eagerly. “You
traced their taxi, of course!”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Then what is it?”</p>
<p>“Just that, Guy––that I haven’t been able to trace
the taxicab in which they left their house. Think it
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span>
over. Report to me when you’ve got anything definite
to tell me.”</p>
<p>With a curt nod Blaine dismissed him, but he glanced
after the dejected, retreating figure with a very kindly,
affectionate light in his fatherly eyes. It was dusk when
he was aroused from a deep study of his carefully annotated
résumé of the case by the excited jangle of the
telephone bell, to hear Guy Morrow’s no less excited but
joyous voice at the other end of the wire.</p>
<p>“I’ve found her! I’ve found Emily! She loves me!
She does! I made her listen, and she understands everything!
She don’t mind a bit about my hounding her
father down, because she sees how it all had to be, and the
old man’s a regular brick about it!”</p>
<p>“Where––”</p>
<p>“It was the kitten did it––that blessed Caliban!
And think of it, sir; I’ve always hated cats, ever since I
was a kid! Emily says––”</p>
<p>“But how––”</p>
<p>“Maybe if the hall had been lighted––but Mrs.
Quinlan’s got that parsimony peculiar to all landladies––and
I trod on its tail, and it was all up!”</p>
<p>“Morrow, are you a driveling idiot, or an operative?
Are you reporting, or exploding? If you called me up
to tell me that you trod on the tail of your landlady’s
parsimony, you don’t need a job in a detective bureau;
you need a lunacy commission!” Blaine’s voice was
vexed, but little smiling lines crinkled at the corners of
his eyes.</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon, sir; I am almost crazy, I think––with
happiness. I’ve found Mr. Jimmy Brunell and
his daughter. They are the two mysterious boarders
whom Mrs. Quinlan has been shielding all this time, and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span>
I never even suspected it! It was Jimmy Brunell who
fired at me that night of the day they disappeared. He
didn’t recognize me, and thought I was one of his enemies––one
of Paddington’s men, like young Charley Pennold.</p>
<p>“You remember, I told you I found the kitten in the
deserted house and brought it home for Mrs. Quinlan to
take care of? Well, she never lights the gas until the
very last minute, and late this afternoon, about half an
hour ago, I was stumbling along the second-floor hallway
to my room in the dark, when I stepped on the kitten.
It yelled like mad, and Emily heard it from her room
above. Forgetting caution and everything else, she
opened the door and called it!</p>
<p>“Of course, when I heard her voice, I was upstairs
two steps at a time, with the cat under my arm clawing
like a vixen. She was perfectly freezing at first––not
the cat; it’s a he; I mean Emily. But after I explained
that when I’d gotten to care for her I only tried to help
her, she––oh, well, I’m going to let her tell you herself,
if you’re willing, sir! I’ll bring them both down to you
now, if you say so, she and her father. Jimmy Brunell’s
more than anxious to see you; he wants to make a clean
breast of the whole affair––tell all he knows about the
case; and I think what he’s got to say will astonish you
and finish the whole thing––crack that nut you were
talking to me about this afternoon, provide the link in
the chain, the crevice in the crime cube! May I bring
them?”</p>
<p>Blaine acquiesced, and after issuing his orders to the
subordinates about him, waited in a fever of impatience
which he could scarcely control, and which, had he
stopped to think of it, would have astonished him beyond
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span>
measure. That he––who had daily, almost hourly,
awaited unmoved the appearance of men famous and infamous,
illustrious and obscure, should so agitatedly
view the coming of this old offender, was incomprehensible.</p>
<p>Yet although he had really learned little that was conclusive
from Guy’s somewhat incoherent account, he felt,
in common with his young operative, that the crux of the
matter lay here, to his hand, that from the lips of this
old ex-convict would fall the magic word which would
open to him the inner door of this mystery of mysteries––which
would prove, as the golden key of truth, absolute
and unassailable.</p>
<p>After what seemed an incredibly long period of suspense,
the door opened and Marsh ushered them in––Morrow,
his face wreathed in triumph and smiles; a
brown-haired, serene-eyed girl whom Blaine remembered
from his memorable interview with her at the Anita Lawton
Club; and a tall, grizzled, smooth-shaven man, who
held himself proudly erect, as if the weight of years had
fallen from his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir, I’m Brunell,” the latter announced, when
the incidental salutations were over, “––Jimmy Brunell,
the forger. I’ve lived straight, and tried to keep the
truth from my little girl, for her own sake, but perhaps
it is better as it is. She knows everything now, and has
forgiven much, because she’s a woman like her mother,
God bless her! I’ve come of my own free will, to tell
you all you want to know, and prove it, too!”</p>
<p>“Sit down, all of you. Brunell, you forged the signature
to the mortgage on Pennington Lawton’s home,
at Paddington’s instigation?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. And the signature on the note given for
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span>
the loan from Moore, and the whole letter supposed to be
from Mr. Lawton to Mallowe, asking him to procure
that loan for him, and all the other crooked business
which helped sweep Mr. Lawton’s fortune away. But I
didn’t understand how big the job was, nor just what
they were trying to put over, or I wouldn’t have done it.
I wish to heaven I hadn’t, now, but it’s too late for that;
I can only do what’s left me to help repair the damage.
I wish I’d taken the consequences Paddington threatened
me with, through Charley Pennold––curse them both!</p>
<p>“For it wasn’t because of the money I did it, sir,
although what they offered me was a small fortune, and
would have been a mighty hard temptation in the old
days. It was because if I refused they were going to
strike at me through my little girl, the one thing on earth
I’ve got left to love! They were going to have me sent
up on an old score which no one else even had suspected
I’d been mixed up in. I didn’t know––until just now
when this young friend here, Mr. Morrow, told me––that
it had been outlawed long years ago, and I can see
that they counted on my not knowing. How they found
out about it, anyway, is a mystery to me, but that Paddington
is the devil himself! However, if I didn’t do
the trick for them, they’d have me convicted, and once
out of the way, my little girl would be helpless in their
hands. They talked of sweatshops, and worse––”</p>
<p>The old man broke down, and shuddering, covered his
face with his thin fingers. But in a moment, before the
pitying, outstretched hand of his daughter could reach
his shoulder, he had regained control of himself, and
resumed:</p>
<p>“I did what they asked of me––all they asked. But
I was suspicious, not only because they didn’t take me
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span>
fully into their confidence, but because I knew Paddington
and his breed; and also, Miss Lawton had been kind
to my little girl. If they meant any harm to Pennington
Lawton’s daughter, or if their scheme, whatever kind
of a hold-up it was, failed to pan out as they expected,
and they tried to make me the scape-goat––well, I meant
to protect myself and Lawton. My word would have
to be proof against theirs that they forced me into what
I did, but I could fix it so that I could prove to anybody,
without any doubt, that Lawton never wrote that note to
Mallowe from Long Bay about that loan two years ago,
and that would sort of substantiate my word that the
signatures weren’t his, either.”</p>
<p>“How could you prove such a thing?” Blaine
leaned forward tensely.</p>
<p>“Young Morrow, here, tells me that you’ve got that
note––the note asking Mallowe to arrange the loan for
Lawton. Will you get it, please, sir? I don’t want to
see it; I want you to read it to me, and then I’ll tell you
something about it. They thought they were clever,
the rascals, but I fooled them at their own game! I cut
out the words from a bundle of Lawton’s old letters
which they gave me, and I manufactured the note, all
right. I did it, word for word, just like they wanted
me to––but I put my <i>own private mark</i> on it, that they
couldn’t discover, so that I could prove anywhere, any
time, that it was a forgery!”</p>
<p>In a concealed fever of excitement, the detective produced
the fateful note from his private file.</p>
<p>“That looks like it!” chuckled old Jimmy. “It’s
dated August sixteenth, nineteen hundred and twelve,
isn’t it? Now, sir, will you read it out loud, please?”</p>
<p style='margin-bottom: 1em' >Blaine unfolded the single sheet of hotel note-paper,
and looked once more at the following message:</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span></div>
<div style='width:27em; margin: 1em 0 1em 2.5em;'>
<p class='typewriter'>
My Dear Mallowe:<br /><br />
Kindly regard this letter as strictly<br />
confidential. I desire to negotiate a private loan immediately,<br />
for a considerable amount,–three hundred<br />
and fifty thousand dollars, in fact,–but<br />
for obvious reasons, which you, as a man of<br />
discretion and financial astuteness second to<br />
none in this country, will readily understand, a<br />
public assumption of it by me would be disastrous<br />
to a degree, under the prevailing conditions. Ask<br />
Moore if he can arrange the matter for me, but<br />
feel him out tentatively first. If he does not see<br />
his way clear to it, let me know without delay,<br />
and I will come to Illington and confer with<br />
you.<br /><br />
I am prepared, of course, to give him my personal<br />
note for same, but do not desire any direct<br />
dealings with him. In fact, it would be exceedingly<br />
dangerous to my interests if he ever mentioned<br />
it to me personally, even when he fancied<br />
himself alone with me. Impress this upon him.<br />
I will pay far above the legal rate of interest, of<br />
course. You can arrange this with him.<br />
I will go into the whole matter of this contingency<br />
confidentially with you when I see you. In<br />
the meantime, I know that I can rely upon you.<br /><br />
Awaiting the earliest possible reply, and thanking<br />
you for the interest I know you will take<br />
in this affair,<br /></p>
<p class='typewriter' style='text-align:right; margin-right: 10em;'>Sincerely, your friend,<br /><br />Pennington Lawton.</p>
</div>
<p style='margin-top: 1em' >After glancing at it a moment Blaine read the letter
aloud in a calm, unemotional voice which gave no hint
of the tumult within him. He had scarcely finished when
Jimmy Brunell, greatly excited, interrupted triumphantly:</p>
<p>“That’s it! That’s the note! Don’t see anything
phony about it, do you, sir? Neither did they! Now,
leave out the ‘My dear Mallowe,’ and beginning with the
next as the first line, count down five lines. The last
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span>
letter of the last word on that line is <i>f</i>, <i>isn’t it</i>? Omit a
line and take the last letter of the next, and so on for
four letters––that is, the last words of the four alternate
lines beginning with the fifth from the top are:
<i>of</i>, <i>a</i>, <i>ask</i>, and <i>see</i>, and the last letters of those four spell
a word. That word is <i>fake</i>, and so is the note, and the
whole infernal business! <i>Fake</i>, from beginning to end!
I put my mark on it, sir, so it could be known for what
it is, in case of need. Now the need has come.”</p>
<p>“By Jove, so it is!” Guy Morrow cried, unable to
restrain himself longer. “You’re a wonder, Mr. Brunell!”</p>
<p>“You have rendered us a greater service than you
know,” supplemented Blaine, the while his pulses
throbbed in time to his leaping heart. The crevice!
The rift in the criminal’s almost perfected scheme, into
which he had succeeded in inserting the little silver
probe of his specialized knowledge, and disclosed to a
gaping world the truth! He had found it at last, and
his work was all but done.</p>
<p>“But what’s to happen to me now?” The exultation
had died out of his voice, and Jimmy Brunell looked suddenly
pinched and gray and tired, and very, very old.
“I don’t care much what happens to me, but my daughter––Emily––”</p>
<p>“I’ll take care of her, whatever happens!” Guy’s
heart was in his buoyant voice. “But you’ll be all
right. Don’t you worry! Haven’t you got Mr. Blaine
on your side?”</p>
<p>“I’ll try to see that you don’t suffer for your enforced
share in the Lawton conspiracy, Brunell. It seems to
me that you’ve already gone through trouble enough
on that score, great as was the damage you half-unwittingly
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span>
wrought,” Blaine remarked, reassuringly––adding:
“But why didn’t you come forward before, and
give your testimony?”</p>
<p>“There wasn’t any court action,” the old man returned,
hesitatingly. “And besides, I was afraid to
come forward and tell what I knew, because of Emily.
I would have done it, though, as soon as I learned they
had robbed Miss Lawton of everything. I wasn’t sure
of that, you see.”</p>
<p>“One thing more!” Blaine pressed the bell which
would summon his secretary. “Why, if you had reformed,
did you keep in your possession all these years
your forging apparatus?”</p>
<p>“I had it taken care of for me while I served my term,
meaning to use it again when I came out. I was bitter
and revengeful, and I meant to do everybody up brown
that I could. But when I was free and found my––my
wife had gone and left me Emily, it seemed like a hostage
from her gentle spirit given to the world, that I wouldn’t
do any more wrong. I kept the plant because I didn’t
know how to dispose of it so no one else could use it, and
as the years went by, I got more and more scared at the
thought of it.</p>
<p>“I was afraid both ways––afraid it would be discovered,
but more afraid I’d be found out if I tried to get
rid of it. So I buried it in the cellar of my little shop
and did my level best to forget it. I’d almost succeeded
when, God knows how, Paddington found me. You
know the rest.”</p>
<p>“You rang, sir?” Marsh, the secretary, had entered
noiselessly.</p>
<p>“Yes. Have these two people––this young lady
and her father––conducted in my own limousine to my
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span>
house, and made comfortable there until I give you
further directions as to what I wish done concerning
them.”</p>
<p>Blaine cut short the old forger’s broken words of
gratitude in his brusquely kind fashion, but his heart
imaged always the light in the girl’s soft eyes as she
bent a parting glance upon him, like a benediction, before
the door closed.</p>
<p>“What are you going to do with them, sir?” young
Morrow asked anxiously when they were alone.</p>
<p>Henry Blaine paused a moment before replying.</p>
<p>“I might let him take his chance before the court, on
the strength of his years, and his having turned State’s
evidence voluntarily, Guy, but he’s an old offender, and
Carlis’ faction is strong. My racing car will make
ninety miles an hour, easily, and it can do it unmolested,
with my private sign on the hood. It can meet the
Canadian express at Branchtown at dawn. I’ve a little
farm in a nice community in Canada, not too isolated,
and I’m going to make it over to you as part of your
reward for your work on the Lawton case....</p>
<p>“No, don’t thank me! I’m sworn on the side of law
and order, but Justice is stern and sometimes blind because
she will not see. Remember, the Greatest Jurist
Himself recommended mercy!”</p>
<p>Soon afterward, as they sat discussing the wind-up
of the case, the subject of the second set of cryptograms
was broached, and Blaine smiled at Morrow’s utter bewilderment
concerning them.</p>
<p>“Still puzzling about those, Guy? They weren’t as
simple as the first one was, that of the system of odd-shaped
characters and dots. The later ones were the
more difficult because they were of no set system at all––I
mean no one system, but a primitive conglomeration,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span>
probably evolved by Paddington himself, based on script
music and also the old childish trick of writing letters
shaped like figures, which can be read by reversing the
paper, and holding it up to the light.</p>
<p>“Just a minute, and we’ll look at the two notes, the
one you found in Brunell’s room in the deserted cottage,
and the other which came to me in the cigarette box
meant for Paddington, from Mac Alarney. Then we’ll
be able to see how they were worked out. And you’ll see
that though they look extremely meaningless and confusing,
they are in reality extremely simple.”</p>
<p>As he spoke, Blaine produced them from his desk
drawer, and spread them out before him.</p>
<p>“Before you examine them,” he went on, “let me explain
the musical script idea on which they are fundamentally
based, in case you are unfamiliar with it. The
sign ‘&’ before a bar of music means that music is written
in the treble clef––that is, all the notes following
it are above the central <i>C</i> on the piano keyboard.
Thus”––here he drew rapidly on a scrap of paper and
passed a scrawled scale over to the interested operative.</p>
<div class='figtag'>
<a name='linki_7' id='linki_7'></a>
</div>
<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='images/png308.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 367px; height: 75px;' /><br />
</div>
<p>“The dot on the line below the five lines which are
joined together by the sign of the treble clef is <i>C</i>. The
dot on the space between that and the first of the five
lines is <i>D</i>. The dot on the first line is <i>E</i>; on the next
space is <i>F</i>, and so forth, in their alphabetical order on
the alternating lines and spaces. Do you see how easily,
they could be used as the letters of words in a cryptogram,
by any one of an ingenious turn of mind? Of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span>
course, each bar––that is, each section enclosed by
lines running straight up and down––represents a
word. Now for the rest of it:</p>
<p>“Leaving the script music idea aside, and taking the
characters not so represented in the cryptogram, we find
that ‘3’ when viewed from the under side of the paper
will look very much like an English <i>E</i>; 7 like <i>T</i>; 9 like
<i>P</i>; 2 like <i>S</i>, and so forth.</p>
<p>“Try it. Here is the first note, the one you found.
Puzzle out the musical notes by their alphabetical
nomenclature from the key I just gave you on the scrap
of paper there; then hold the note up to the light, and
read the other letters from the under side. Try it with
both notes, and tell me what you find.”</p>
<p>Guy took the papers, and wonderingly spelled out the
letters represented by the musical notes, from the scale
Blaine had given him. Then turning the pages over, he
held them up to the light, an exclamation of absorbed
interest escaping from him.</p>
<p>The great detective watched him in silence, until at
last, with a glowing sense of achievement, Guy read:</p>
<p>“‘Beat it at once. You are suspected. Detective
on trail. Rite old address. I am sending funds as
usual. If caught you get life sentence. Pad.’”</p>
<p>Blaine nodded.</p>
<p>“Now, the other.”</p>
<p>“‘Patient still unconscious. Consultation necessary
at once to save life. Should he die advise Reddy what
disposition to make of body. Mac.’”</p>
<p>The last cryptogram proved the more easily decipherable,
and when the young operative had read it aloud,
he looked up with a glowing face.</p>
<p>“By George, it’s a world-beater! What put you
on the right track?”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span></div>
<p>“The last one. I realized then that they were afraid
the kidnaped man, Ramon Hamilton, who had been
grievously wounded, would die on their hands, and that
rather than face the results of such a contingency they
would attempt to obtain some obscure but experienced
medical aid, and in a way which would give the physician
no inkling of his patient’s identity or whereabouts. I
therefore sent out that circular letter to every doctor
in Illington, warning each one to come to me in the event
of his having received a mysterious summons. It
worked, as you know, and Doctor Alwyn responded.”</p>
<p>“Well, if you hadn’t been able to read the cryptogram,
sir, the Lord knows what would have happened!”</p>
<p>“And if you hadn’t trodden on the cat’s tail––”
Blaine suggested dryly.</p>
<div class='figtag'>
<a name='linki_8' id='linki_8'></a>
</div>
<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='images/png310.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 363px; height: 63px;' /><br />
</div>
<p>Guy glanced at him in sudden, swift comprehension.</p>
<p>“Why, look here, sir, I believe you knew that Emily
and her father were the two mysterious boarders at Mrs.
Quinlan’s, all the time! You said it was significant that
you hadn’t been able to trace the number of the taxicab
in which they had run away from the neighborhood!
There never was a taxicab in all Illington which couldn’t
be traced by its number! You knew, of course, that
that story of Mrs. Quinlan’s was a fake, and then when
I told you of the two concealed people there, you had it
all doped out! Oh, why didn’t you tell me?”</p>
<p>“Because I didn’t want you to precipitate matters
just then, Guy,” the detective responded, kindly.
“The house was watched––they couldn’t get away.”</p>
<p>“That’s a good one!” Young Morrow looked his
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span>
self-disgust. “Hire operatives on your staff, sir, and
then have to set others to tail them, and see that they
don’t get into trouble! Heavens, what an idiot I am!
I’ve found out one thing, though, from those cryptograms”––he
pointed to the cipher notes on the desk.
“Music’s a cinch! I can read it already, and I’m going
to start in and learn how to play on something or other,
the first chance I get! There’s a fellow next door to
Mrs. Quinlan’s with a clarinet––” He paused, and his
face sobered as he added: “But I forgot! I sha’n’t
be there any more.”</p>
<p>Before Blaine could speak, there was a knock upon
the door, and Marsh entered with hurried circumspection.
There was a look of latent, shocked importance
upon his usually impassive face, and he carried in his
hand a newspaper which was still damp from the press.</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon, sir, but I thought you would
want to know at once. There’s been a murder! Paddington,
the private detective, was found in the Rhododendron
Alley, just off the Mall in the park, stabbed to
the heart!”</p>
<p>Henry Blaine took the paper and spread it out upon
the desk before him, as Guy Morrow, with a soft, low
whistle, turned away. The “extra” imparted little
more than the secretary’s announcement had done.
There was no known motive for the crime, no clue to
the murderer. When found, the man had been dead for
some hours.</p>
<p>“Well, sir,” observed Guy at last, when the secretary
had withdrawn, “one by one they’re getting away from
us––and by the same route. First Rockamore, now
Paddington!”</p>
<p>Blaine looked up with a grim smile.</p>
<p>“Putting a woman wise to anything is like lighting a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span>
faulty time-fuse: you never can tell when you’re going
to get your own fingers blown off! But tell me something,
Guy. What was that tune you whistled a moment
ago, when Marsh came in with the news? It had a
vaguely familiar ring.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that?” asked the operative, with a sheepishly
guileless air. “It was just a bit from an English
musical comedy of two or three years back, I think.
It’s got a silly-sounding name––something like
‘There’s a Boat Sails on Saturday––’”</p>
<p>Blaine’s wry smile broadened to a grin of genuine
appreciation, and rising, he clapped the young man
heartily on the shoulder.</p>
<p>“Right you are, Guy! And it won’t be our job to
search the sailing lists. You may not always be able to
see what lies under your nose, but your perspective is
not bad. Hell has only one fury worse than a woman
scorned, that I know of, and that is a woman fooled!
We’ll let it go at that!”</p>
<p>The evening had already grown late, but that eventful
day was not to end without one more brief scene of vital
import. Marsh presently reappeared, this time bearing
a card.</p>
<p>“‘Mr. Mallowe,’” read Blaine, with a half-smile.
“Show him in, Marsh, and have your men ready. You
know what to do. No, Guy, you needn’t go. This interview
will not be a private one.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine!” Mallowe entered pompously and
then paused, glancing rather uncertainly from the detective
to Morrow. It needed no keen observer to note
the change in the man since the scene of that morning, at
Miss Lawton’s. He had become a mere shell of his former
self. The smug unctuousness was gone; the jaunty
side-whiskers drooped; his chalk-like skin fell in flabby
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span>
folds, and his crafty eyes shifted like a hunted animal’s.</p>
<p>“Mr. Blaine, I had hoped for a strictly confidential
conference with you, but I presume this person to be
one of your trusted assistants, and it is immaterial now––the
matter upon which I have come is too pressing!
Scandal, notoriety must be averted at all costs! I find
that a frightful, a hideous mistake has been made, and
I am actually upon the point of being involved in a conspiracy
as terrible as that of which my poor friend Pennington
Lawton was the victim! And I am as innocent
as he! I swear it!”</p>
<p>“You may as well conserve your strength and your
strategic ingenuity for the immediate future, Mr. Mallowe.
You’ll need both,” Blaine returned, coolly. “If
you’ve come here to make any appeal––”</p>
<p>“I’ve come to assert my innocence!” the broken man
cried with a flash of his old proud dignity. “I only
learned this evening of the truth, and that those scoundrels
Carlis and Rockamore had implicated me! How
a man of your discernment and experience could believe
for a moment that I was a party to any fraudulent––”</p>
<p>Blaine pressed the bell.</p>
<p>“There is no use in prolonging this interview, Mr.
Mallowe!” he said, curtly. “All the evidence is in my
hands.”</p>
<p>“But allow me to explain!” The flabby face grew
more deathlike, until the burning eyes seemed peering
from the face of a corpse.</p>
<p>Two men entered, and at sight of them, the former
pompous president of the Street Railways of Illington
plumped to his fat, quaking knees.</p>
<p>“For God’s sake, listen! You must listen, Blaine!”
he shrieked. “I am one of the prominent men of this
country! I have three married daughters, two of them
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span>
with small children! The disgrace, the infamy of this,
will kill them! I will make restitution; I will––”</p>
<p>“Pennington Lawton had one daughter, unmarried,
unprovided for! Did you think of <i>her</i>?” asked Blaine,
grimly. “I’m sorry for the innocent who must suffer
with you, Mr. Mallowe, but in this instance the law must
take its course. Lead him away.”</p>
<p>When the wailing, quavering voice had subsided behind
the closing door, Henry Blaine turned to young
Morrow with a weary look of pain, age-old, in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Unpleasant, wasn’t it?” he asked grimly. “I try
to school myself against it, but with all my experience, a
scene like this makes me sick at heart. I know the
wretch deserves what is coming to him, just as Rockamore
knew when he unfalteringly sped that bullet––just
as Carlis knew when he heard his own voice repeated
by the dictagraph. And yet I, who make my living,
and shall continue to make it, by unearthing malefactors;
I, who have built my career, made my reputation,
proved myself to be what I am by the detection and
punishment of wrong-doing––I wish with all my heart
and soul, before God, that there was no such thing as
crime in all this fair green world!”</p>
<hr class='major' />
<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span>
<a name='CHAPTER_XXI_CLEARED_SKIES' id='CHAPTER_XXI_CLEARED_SKIES'></a>
<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
<h3>CLEARED SKIES</h3>
</div>
<p class="dropcap" ><span class="dcap">Just</span> as in autumn, the period of Indian summer
brings a reminiscent warmth and sunshine, so
sometimes in late winter a day will come now and
then which is a harbinger of the not far-distant springtide,
like a promise, during present storm and stress, of
better things to come.</p>
<p>Such a day, balmy and gloriously bright, found four
people seated together in the spacious, sunny morning-room
of a great house on Belleair Avenue. A young
man, pale and wan as from a long illness, but with a
new steadiness and clarity born of suffering in his eyes;
a girl, slender and black-robed, her delicate face flushing
with an exquisite, spring-like color, her eyes soft and
misty and spring-like, too, in their starry fulfillment of
love that has been tried and found all-sufficing; another
sable-clad figure, but clerically frocked and portly; and
the last, a keen-faced, kindly-eyed man approaching
middle-age––a man with sandy hair and a mustache
just slightly tinged with gray. He might, from his
appearance and bearing, have been a great teacher, a
great philanthropist, a great statesman. But he was
none of these––or rather, let us say, he was all, and
more. He was the greatest factor for good which the
age had produced, because he was the greatest instrument
of justice, the crime-detector of the century.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span></div>
<p>The pale young man moved a little in his chair, and
the girl laid her hand caressingly upon his blue-veined
one. She was seated close to him––in fact, Anita was
never willing, in these later days, to be so far from
Ramon that she could not reach out and touch him, as
if to assure herself that he was there, that he was safe
from the enemies who had encompassed them both, and
that her ministering care might shield him.</p>
<p>Doctor Franklin noted the movement, slight as it was,
and cleared his throat, importantly.</p>
<p>“Of course, my dear children,” he began, impressively,
“if it is your earnest desire, I will perform the
marriage ceremony for you here in this room at noon
to-morrow. But I trust you have both given the matter
careful thought––not, of course, as to the suitability
of your union, but the––I may say, the manner of it!
A ceremony without a social function, without the customary
observances which, although worldly and filled
with pomp and vanity, nevertheless are befitted by usage,
in these mundane days, to those of your station in
life, seems slightly unconventional, almost––er––unseemly.”</p>
<p>“But we don’t care for the pomp and vanity, and the
social observances, and all the rest of it, do we, Ramon?”
the girl asked.</p>
<p>Ramon Hamilton smiled, and his eyes met and held
hers.</p>
<p>“We only want each other,” he said quietly.</p>
<p>“But it seems so very precipitate!” the clergyman
urged, turning as if for moral support to the impassive
figure of Henry Blaine. “So soon after the shadow of
tragedy has crossed this threshold! What will people
say?”</p>
<p>A little vagrant breeze, like a lost, unseasonable butterfly,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span>
came in at the open window and stirred the filmy
curtain, bearing on its soft breath the odor of narcissus
from the bloom-laden window-box.</p>
<p>“Oh, Doctor Franklin!” cried the girl, impulsively.
“Don’t talk of tragedy just now! Spring is so near,
and we love each other so! If he––my dear, dead
father––can hear, he will understand, and wish it to
be so!”</p>
<p>“As you will.” The minister rose. “I gave you
your name, Anita. I consecrated your father’s soul to
Heaven, and his body to the dust, and I will give his
daughter in marriage to the man he chose for her protector,
whenever it is your will. But, Mr. Blaine, what
do you say? You seem to have more influence over
Miss Lawton than I, although I can scarcely understand
it. Don’t you agree with me that the world will
talk?”</p>
<p>“I do!” responded Henry Blaine fervently. “And
I say––let it! It can say of these two children only
what I do––bless you, both! Sorrow and suffering
and tragedy have taken their quota of these young
lives––now let a little happiness and joy and sunshine
and love in upon the circumspect gloom you would still
cast about them! You ministers are steeped in the
spiritual misery of the world, the doctors in the physical;
but we crime-specialists are forced to drink of it to
its dregs, physical, mental, moral, spiritual! And there
is so much in this tainted, sin-ridden world of ours that
is beautiful and pure and happy and holy, if we will but
give it a chance!”</p>
<p>Doctor Franklin coughed, in a severely condemnatory
fashion.</p>
<p>“Now that I have learned your opinion, in a broad,
general way, Mr. Blaine, I can understand your point
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span>
of view in regard to that young criminal, Charles Pennold,
when at the time of the trial you used your influence
to have him paroled in your custody, instead of
being sent to prison, where he belonged.”</p>
<p>“Exactly.” Blaine’s tone was dry. “I firmly believe
that there are many more young boys and men in
our prisons, who should in reality be in hospitals, or in
sheltering, uplifting, sympathetic hands, than there are
criminals unpunished. And you, with your broadly,
professionally charitable point of view, Doctor,” he
added with keen enjoyment, “will, I am convinced, be
delighted to know that Charley Pennold is doing splendidly.
He will develop in time into one of my most
trusted, capable operatives, I have no doubt. He has
the instinct, the real nose, for crime, but circumstances
from his birth and even before that, forced him on the
wrong side of the fence. He was, if you will pardon
the vernacular, on the outside, looking in. Now he’s
on the inside, looking out!”</p>
<p>“I sincerely trust so!” the minister responded
frigidly and turned to the others. “I will leave you
now. If it is your irrevocable desire to have the ceremony
at noon to-morrow, I will make all the necessary
arrangements. In fact, I will telephone you later, when
everything is settled.”</p>
<p>“Oh, thank you, Dr. Franklin! I knew you wouldn’t
fail us!” Anita murmured. “Don’t forget to tell Mrs.
Franklin that she will hear from me. She must surely
come, you know!”</p>
<p>When the door had closed on the minister’s broad,
retreating back, Ramon Hamilton turned with a suspicion
of a flush in his wan cheeks, to the detective.</p>
<p>“If I’d gone to any Sunday school he presided over,
when I was a kiddie, I’d have been a train-robber now!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span>
he observed darkly. “I’m glad you lit into him about
young Pennold, Mr. Blaine. He started it!”</p>
<p>“But think of the others!” Anita Lawton turned
her face for a moment to the spring-like day outside.
“Mr. Mallowe dead in his cell from apoplexy, Mr.
Carlis imprisoned for life, Mac Alarney and all the rest
facing long years behind gray walls and iron bars––oh,
I know it is just; I remember what they did to my
father and to me; and yet somehow in this glorious sunshine
and with all the ages and ages just as bright,
spreading before me, I can find charity and mercy in my
heart for all the world!”</p>
<p>“Charity and mercy,” repeated Ramon soberly.
“Yes, dearest. But not liberty to continue their
crimes––to do to others what they did to us!”</p>
<p>A spasm of pain crossed his face, and she bent over
him solicitously.</p>
<p>“Oh, what is it, Ramon? Speak to me!”</p>
<p>“Nothing, dear, it’s all right now. Just a twinge of
the old pain.”</p>
<p>“Those murdering fiends, who made you suffer so!”
she cried, and added with feminine illogicality: “I’m
<i>not</i> sorry, after all, that they’re in prison! I’m glad
they’ve got their just deserts. Oh, Ramon, I’ve been
afraid to distress you by asking you, but did you tell
the truth at the trial––all the truth, I mean? Was
that really all you remember?”</p>
<p>“Yes, dear,” he replied a trifle wearily. “When I
left Mr. Blaine’s office that day, I was hurrying along
Dalrymple Street, when just outside the Colossus Building,
a boy about fifteen––that one who is in the reformatory
now––collided with me. Then he looked up
into my face, and grasped my arm.</p>
<p>“‘You’re Mr. Hamilton, aren’t you?’ he gasped.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span>
‘Oh, come quick, sir! Mr. Ferrand’s had a stroke or
something, and I was just running to get help. You
don’t remember me, I guess. I’m Mr. Ferrand’s new
office-boy, Frankie Allen. You was in to see him about
ten days ago, don’t you remember?’</p>
<p>“Well, as I told you, ’Nita dearest, old Mr. Ferrand
was one of my father’s best friends. His offices were in
the Colossus Building, and I <i>had</i> been in to see him
about ten days before––so in spite of Mr. Blaine’s
warning, I was perfectly unsuspecting. Of course, I
didn’t remember his office-boy from Adam, but that fact
never occurred to me, then. I went right along with the
boy, and he talked so volubly that I didn’t notice we
had gotten into the wrong elevator––the express––until
its first stop, seven floors above Mr. Ferrand’s.
They must have staged the whole thing pretty well––Carlis
and Paddington and their crew––for when I
stepped out of the express elevator, there was no one in
sight that I remember but the boy who was with me. I
pressed the button of the local, which was just beside
the express––there was a buzz and whirring hum as if
the elevator had ascended, and the door opened. As I
stepped over its threshold, I felt a violent blow and
terrific pain on the back of my head, and seemed to fall
into limitless space. That was all I knew until I woke
up in the hospital where Mr. Blaine had taken me after
discovering and rescuing me, to see your dear face bending
over mine!”</p>
<p>“One of Paddington’s men was waiting, and hit you
on the head with a window-pole, as you stepped into the
open elevator shaft,” Blaine supplemented. “It was
all a plant, of course. You only fell to the roof of the
elevator, which was on a level with the floor below.
There they carried you into the office of a fake company,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span>
kept you until closing time, and got you out of the building
as a drunkard, conveying you to <a name='TC_10'></a><ins title="Was ''MacAlarney's'' in the original text">Mac Alarney’s</ins> retreat
in his own machine. Nobody employed in the
building was in their pay but the elevator man, and he’s
got his, along with the rest! Paddington’s scheme
wasn’t bad; if he’d only been on the square, he might
have made a very brilliant detective!”</p>
<p>“How terrible his death was!” Anita shuddered.
“And how unexplainable! No one ever found out who
stabbed him, there in the park, did they?”</p>
<p>Blaine did not reply. He knew that on the day following
the discovery of the murdered man, one Franchette
Durand, otherwise Fifine Déchaussée, had sailed
for Havre on the ill-fated <i>La Tourette</i>, which had gone
to the bottom in mid-ocean, with all on board. He knew
also that an hour before the French girl’s last tragic
interview with Paddington, she had discovered the
existence of his wife, for he himself had seen to it that
the knowledge was imparted to her. Further than that,
he preferred not to conjecture. The Madonna-faced
girl had taken her secret with her to her swiftly retributive
grave in the deep.</p>
<p>Blaine rose, somewhat reluctantly. Work called him,
and yet he loved to be near them in the rose-tinted high
noon of their happiness.</p>
<p>“I’ll be on hand to-morrow, indeed I will!” he promised
heartily, in response to their eager request.</p>
<p>“To-morrow! Just think!” Anita buried her
glowing face in her lover’s shoulder for an instant, and
then looked up with misty eyes. “Just think, if it
hadn’t been for you, Mr. Blaine, there wouldn’t be any
to-morrow! I don’t mean about your getting my
father’s money all back for me––I’m grateful, of
course, but it doesn’t count beside the greater thing you
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span>
have given us! But for you, there would <i>never</i> have
been any––to-morrow.”</p>
<p>“That’s true!” The young man’s arm encircled
the girl’s slender waist as they stood together in the
glowing sunlight, but his other hand gripped the detective’s.
“We owe life, our happiness, the future, everything
to you!”</p>
<p>And so Henry Blaine left them.</p>
<p>At the door he turned and glanced back, and the
sight his eyes beheld was a goodly one for him to carry
away with him into the world––a sight as old as the
ages, as new as the hour, as prescient as the hours and
ages to come. Just a man and a maid, sunshine and
happiness, youth and love!––that, and the light of undying
gratitude in the eyes they bent upon him.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr class='pb' />
<div class='figtag'>
<a name='linki_9' id='linki_9'></a>
</div>
<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='images/illus-cvr.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 251px; height: 384px;' /><br />
<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 251px;'>
Transcriber’s Note: Image of the original Book Cover.<br />
</p>
</div>
<hr class='pb' />
<div class="trnote">
<p><span style='font-weight:bold'>Transcriber’s Notes:</span></p>
Archaic and variable spelling, as well as inconsistency in hyphenation, has been preserved as printed in the original book except as indicated in this text with a solid black line under the change. Hover the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="like this">appear</ins>.
<p>Missing and extra quote marks, along with minor punctuation irregularities, were silently corrected. However, punctuation has not been changed to comply with modern conventions.</p>
<p>A List of Illustrations was added and illustrations have been moved, when necessary, so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph.</p>
<hr class='invis' />
<p><span style='font-weight:bold'>The following changes were made to the text.</span></p>
<hr class='invis2' />
<p><a href='#TC_1'>Page 33</a>: Was “insignficant” in the original text (keep me informed of everything that occurs, no matter how <span style='font-weight:bold'>insignificant</span> or irrelevant it may seem to you to be.)</p>
<p><a href='#TC_2'>Page 48</a>: Was “rococco” in the original text (where the mushroom growth of the new city sprang up in rows of <span style='font-weight:bold'>rococo</span> brick and stone houses)</p>
<p><a href='#TC_3'>Page 96</a>: Was “Déchausée” in the original text (When the young stenographer had departed, Fifine <span style='font-weight:bold'>Déchaussée</span> appeared.)</p>
<p><a href='#TC_4'>Page 96</a>: Was “Déchausée” in the original text (If he makes any further attempt to talk with you, Mademoiselle <span style='font-weight:bold'>Déchaussée</span>, encourage him, draw him out.)</p>
<p><a href='#TC_5'>Page 171</a>: Was “d’ you” in the original text (What <span style='font-weight:bold'>d’you</span> s’pose brought him back?)</p>
<p><a href='#TC_6'>Page 205</a>: Was “Lawnot” in the original text (he took the telephone receiver from its hook and called up Anita <span style='font-weight:bold'>Lawton</span> at her home)</p>
<p><a href='#TC_7'>Page 233</a>: Was “offce” in the original text (three men came back to the house with me, and entered my <span style='font-weight:bold'>office</span>, where the burly one turned over to me ten five-hundred-dollar bills.)</p>
<p><a href='#TC_8'>Page 261</a>: Was “busines” in the original text (There is no blackmail about this––it is an ordinary <span style='font-weight:bold'>business</span> proposition.)</p>
<p><a href='#TC_9'>Page 279</a>: Was “<i>in loco parentis</i>” in the original text (Do not I and my friends stand <span style='font-weight:bold'>in <i>loco parentis</i></span> to her?)</p>
<p><a href='#TC_10'>Page 314</a>: Was “MacAlarney’s” in the original text (and got you out of the building as a drunkard, conveying you to <span style='font-weight:bold'>Mac Alarney’s</span> retreat in his own machine.)</p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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