It was a good thing that the motor driver came back with them along the trail to Cobalt. There were times when the track branched deceptively, and they might have gone astray. It was he who shone his torch on the dusty earth and said, “This way. There’s the heart-shaped tread of the new tire I got on me back wheel.”
Also he enlivened a monotonous journey by his story of the coming of Neuburg to Cobalt.
There was that grim humor in it that Clementnaturally connected with the mountain of a man and the circumstances.
Henry Gunning had been in a billiard saloon, “half-canned,” as the driver said, with “bootleg” whiskey. He had been bragging violently about the millionaire he’d be in ten minutes after his marriage. Neuburg had just walked into the billiard dive and looked at him—or rather looked over his shoulder.
Gunning had crumpled at once, and, a thing of limp fear had followed Neuburg “like a dorg.—”
“Jist like er dorg. Neuburg never said a word, but that Gunning feller put his moral tail between his hypothetical legs and went out arter him. When they made the train he was still follering th’ big man—without a word.”
The driver also told them about the coming of Heloise. He had been in that, too. He had heard that she was inquiring for Gunning, and, as he had seen all that had happened, he had “greased” along to the hotel. But, of course, he had not been allowed to get near Heloise.
“A woman with a glacial face handed me the frozen mitt,” he explained. “She come down an’ saw me in the lobby, and said she was glad to hear what I tole her, an’ it was very interesting, an’ she’d make a note o’ it, an’ here’s a dollar fer yer trouble an’ good-by.”
That was how Heloise had been fenced off from the truth.
By the time the driver had finished they had tramped into the dawn. About them the land loomed gray and bleak, and full of up-shouldering masses of rock.
At the same time they gained a hope of being near homesteads, for the main trail was now broken by many branching tracks.
It was while they bent over one of these junctions that the next manifestation of Mr. Neuburg’s criminal efficiency developed.
A spurt of earth kicked up almost in their faces. And then another. They heard the snap of a pistol, and the “whit-whit” of bullets about them.
The driver sprang erect with an oath, but Clement caught him and flung him to the ground.
“Down on your tummy!” he snapped. “Crawl to cover under those rocks. There’s a man on that outcrop ahead, and he’s shooting to kill.”
As the three of them huddled to the earth under cover, there came a sparkle of light from the mound of rock ahead, and a bullet droned above them. At the flash, the driver darted his hand upward, fired every chamber of the five-shot revolver he carried. At once above his head the protecting rock splintered, and on a rock behind a bullet starred.
“Better not do that again,” said Clement, hugging cover.
“Shootin’meup,” breathed the driver as he reloaded. “I’ll teach him.”
“You won’t that way,” said Clement. “Not without damage to yourself. That must be the half-breed Siwash planted there to hold us away from Cobalt as long as possible. He’s up to all the tricks. We won’t be able to rush him, we’ve got to get him by guile.”
“I don’t care about guile as long as I can shoot him up.”
Clement who, in the broadening pallor of light, had been studying the ground, said crisply, “You shall. Stick your revolver round the farther end of your rock ... no more than your gun, if you value your arm, and when you’ve fired, whip it in sharp. No, don’t trouble to aim at anything. Ready. Now fire.”
The driver’s revolver spoke. Almost at once there was an answering sparkle from the rock-cliff, and the rock against which the revolver rested chipped into flecks of flying particles.
“Close up,” said the driver. “He’s getting his range pretty.”
“He is,” said Clement, who had asked the driver to fire so that he might study their opponent’s position. “Lucky for us his first shots were mere sighters. But now he’ll get anything of us that shows. Also he moves after every shot. We won’t get him by pot shooting. We’ve got to tackle this fellow with some of his own cunning. And we’vegot to do it quickly before the light gets too good?”
His mind, accustomed in the old days to trench warfare, sized up the situation quickly and accurately.
“Will you two crawl over to the left there? And, don’t forget, cover is life. I want you to get behind those rocks. When I give you the word, I want one of you to blaze at him and draw his fire. When he fires back, I want you both to loose off.... Can you fire with the left hand, Gatineau? Well, do, alternating your shots. I want that lad to be convinced that he has three men pinned here.”
“And you’re going to flank him?” said Gatineau.
“I’m going to try to do that.”
“Not a very safe job with a slim feller like that,” said the driver.
“I had some practice at it in France.... Great training ground, France. Also, I’ve done quite a lot of stalking. Anyhow, it’s our only chance if we’re not to remain here all day.”
The two men crawled across to their stations and Gatineau fired at Siwash. The shot was immediately answered, and as immediately a very hearty fusilade burst from the two behind their rocks. Clement chuckled at the ardor Gatineau and his companion put into the business. It wasa real early morning “hate.” Not three men but a file seemed to be in action.
But though Clement Seadon was grinning, he was also fulfilling his own part of the plan. Directly the attention of the man on the rock was occupied, he began to worm his way in a wide circle to the right. He had good cover, and he made excellent progress. He was also helped by the clever coöperation of his companions. They went one better than instructions. Instead of remaining in one place and firing from that, they worked steadily along the arc to the left, and Siwash—Clement was certain it was Siwash—in swiveling round to follow them, naturally turned his back more and more on Clement. They drew fire with all manner of tricks.
Meanwhile Clement made definite progress. The ground was rocky and made for stalking. In about half-an-hour he reached a position from which he could see the fellow as he moved stealthily from point to point. It was, as he had thought, Siwash.
Actually, at one time, he had Siwash’s legs and thighs at the mercy of his pistol, but though the chances were six to one on his hitting, he decided not to risk it. If he wounded the fellow he might not put him out, while it would betray the double game they were playing. When he fired he must do so with absolute certainty of putting an end to this pistol play.
All the same, he had to fire before he was ready. He had worked round to a fairly good position, when he saw no more than the hands of Siwash (the rest was covered) doing a peculiar thing. The hands seemed to be rolling a cigarette. The hands finished rolling the cigarette, and, with the utmost cunning, it was lighted. A broad puff of smoke rose up, and another, immediately drawing a spattering of shots from the men below. Siwash, hidden, puffed for a minute on the cigarette, then the hands appeared again, and Clement watched them fixing the wet butt of the smoke cleverly to the face of a rock. Siwash had calculated the draught well, for the lighted end gave off a thin thread of smoke, which occasionally became puffs, in the now advanced light of the growing day. Directly he had fixed up the cigarette, he appeared and began to slink away between the rocks.... Then Clement fired.
He had to fire. He recognized Siwash’s game at once. Siwash meant to hypnotize the men below with that cigarette smoke. With their eyes fixed on that, they would not notice the fellow was worming round them. The first intimation of his tactics they would get would be a shot from their exposed flank, and that shot would be aimed to kill. Clement recognized this in a flash, and fired.
He saw Siwash jerk and dive forward out of sight. He thought he had hit, but did not waste time speculating on the matter. He nippedforward rapidly to close with the brute. He had covered half the distance when he heard a shout, and saw the detective Gatineau on the ground where Siwash had fallen and disappeared. Gatineau stood upright, but drew no shot. Clement discarded cover and ran, scrambling over the rocks to join him.
He reached the spot, found Gatineau, but no Siwash. There was blood on the ground leading away through the rocks. Clement was about to ask questions when, with a loud “Got it, Steve,” the driver scrambled into sight. He had a large automatic in his hand as well as his own revolver.
“Say, you got him pretty,” shouted the driver. “But where is that bad man?”
“We saw him go down ‘smash!’ when you fired,” explained the detective. “He shot right into sight before dropping out of it; his gun dropped out of his hand, hit that rock there and went bouncing down to the foot of the outcrop.... I guess you hit him powerful. I came up here quick to get him if he wasn’t done, while the driver went for the gun.”
“An’ I got the gun, but you didn’t get that bad man.”
“He must be a pretty sick man, anyhow,” said Gatineau, pointing to the blood. “He can’t be far off.”
They followed the trail. It wormed in and out of the rocks, and against some of them was a smearof blood. Then suddenly, across an open space ringed with rocks, they lost it. Siwash had evidently staunched the flow before he had crossed this place. They stared at the rocks, the hard surface of which showed no footprints. They could see no sign of movement.
“He might be at any point of the compass there,” said Clement. “We might hunt all day for him, and not find him.... And we don’t particularly want to find him.”
“No, the sooner we get to Cobalt the better,” agreed Gatineau. “And his teeth are drawn anyhow. We can lodge information at the town and the police there can deal with him—if he remains hereabouts to be dealt with. We’d better get along.”
It was another hour and a half before they reached Cobalt. Here they learned that the tactics of Mr. Neuburg had accomplished all that that villain desired. Heloise and the companion Méduse Smythe had left. They had taken tickets to North Bay. By this time they were already beyond North Bay and any telephone message that could be got there.
They had vanished into the maze of cross lines that radiated from that railway junction.
The journey from Cobalt to North Bay wasmade on one of those skeleton motor trolleys railway men use to get from place to place. It was the only means of making the journey.
It was swift and thoroughly uncomfortable. They had to cling tight to the center handrail as they rocked and swung through a primitive country of bare rocks and skeleton like, burnt-out forests. Clement, bone-tired from his heavy and sleepless night, was saved from pitching onto the ballast several times by the grip of the motorman or Gatineau.
At North Bay, they had to walk across goods yards through groups of men to get to the station offices. This walk, slight though it was, seemed to have so curious an effect on Clement that he behaved entirely out of the normal. He refused to go on with Xavier Gatineau.
The little detective hesitated for a moment, puzzled, and Clement said quietly, “Go in—I must stay outside, for a reason.” In a louder voice he cried, “I’ll put these suitcases in the baggage room, and make inquiries there.”
Mystified at this strange behavior, Xavier Gatineau went into the station superintendent alone. When he came out half an hour later he expected Clement to be missing from the platform, but he was still there. His eye that caught Gatineau’s said, “Well?”
“The ladies have gone south,” said the little detective. “They’ve gone to a place called Orillia.It’s a junction town. They can break off from there anywhere—back to Montreal, or to the West, or even down to the States.”
He gave his information in a matter-of-fact tone. He was astonished, in fact, horrified, when Clement Seadon said in a loud voice, “Orillia! I see it; it’s like them. They are banking on us rushing straight west to Sicamous, the dogs! While we scamper west, the meeting between Miss Reys and Gunning will happen at Orillia, or near it. Good God, it’s a neat blind. But, thank heaven, we have your organization behind us; that’s saved us; well steal a march on them to Orillia.”
Xavier Gatineau was completely mystified as well as aghast at this attitude. He was aghast that this stupid fellow should talk so that all the world could hear. He was mystified, because, unless Clement Seadon had suddenly lost his senses, this dash to Orillia was obviously not at all the thing to do.
“I also found out——” he began.
“You found out the next train to Orillia?” said Clement loudly.
Gatineau named the time of the train, trying not to feel that this young man was a fool. The young man exploded.
“Absurd! We can’t wait all that time. We must find a quicker way of getting there.”
“There isn’t a quicker way,” said the detective tartly.
“We’ve got to find one. We must take another of those motor trolleys.”
“No good. There isn’t one.”
“But, my dear man, wecan’twait hours,” shouted Clement, showing his anxiety with his waving hands. “Do you realize what may happen in those hours?” He began to stamp up the platform in his agitation.
“It can’t be helped,” snapped Gatineau, forced to follow him. “We’ve just got to wait.”
Waving his hands, arguing, Clement reached the end of the platform. He turned and shot a glance along it. He still waved his arms angrily, but in an even tone he said,:
“Think I’m acting like a looney, Gatineau? There’s a reason. Tell me anything more you’ve found out, quick.”
“I’ve found out that Neuburg and Gunning pulled out from here to the west. That means the meeting place won’t be in Orillia, but somewhere west, in Sicamous, likely.”
“Of course,” said the astonishing Clement.
“But you said....”
“More than that, I howled it,” said Clement still making wild gestures. “I wanted somebody to hear it. That thick-set man over there. He’s been shadowing me ever since we left the motor-trolley. Now play up, my lad....” He made agesture of resignation, and said aloud, “All right, then, I suppose there is nothing more for it but to wait. But it’s awful—ghastly.... What shall we do?”
“There is a hotel here, we might get a sleep.”
“Ah! And a bath. I want one. We’d better get reservations to Orillia first, though,—save the rush at the end. Come along.”
As they went to their hotel, Gatineau made a point of crossing the road in front of a great shop window. He chuckled.
“Yes, he’s following us, that attentive friend of yours. It’s probably that Joe Wandersun. He’s the only one unaccounted for.”
“What’s his game?”
“Easy. He’ll sleuth us to our rooms, then he’ll wire brother Neuburg somewhere west that we’re here and following hotly the blind trail to Orillia. You played him princely, Mr. Seadon. We’ll settle him.”
“How?”
“Leave it to me. All I ask you to do is to dawdle about in the lobby of the hotel for five minutes before going to your room. I want to get out of the back to be ready when he comes out of the front door again.”
Clement was shrouded in bath towels when the little detective came back to the hotel. He was all smiles, and sat beaming at Clement as he fanned his young bald head with his hat.
“It was easy as fallin’ off a wall,” he grinned. “That feller went straight to the station telegraph and filled in a blank. He didn’t even look round. Here’s the blank.”
“Good Lord!” cried Clement. “How did you get that?”
“Our work, we have the pull there.”
“What an ass,” said Clement. “He ought to have known better than to use the C.P.R. lines.”
“Couldn’t help himself. Look at the address, Banff in the Rockies; we’re the only cable company to serve it. Also, he thinks he’s well covered. Read it.”
The wire read:
“Banff Springs Hotel.“Arthur Newman,“Our party reached North Bay from Cobalt. Learned of business in Orillia. We go there next train.“Nimmo Bates.”
“Banff Springs Hotel.
“Arthur Newman,
“Our party reached North Bay from Cobalt. Learned of business in Orillia. We go there next train.
“Nimmo Bates.”
“Nimmo Bates,” said Clement. “I’ll swear that’s Joe Wandersun.”
“Why not,” smiled Gatineau, “since Arthur Newman is Adolf Neuburg?”
“That’s true,” agreed Clement. “Well, this bears things out. The meeting place is in the west, at Banff probably instead of Sicamous. In fact it’s lovely. Banff and its beauty will beidyllic for a—a lovers’ reunion. Also it is near Sicamous, and they can get away from it, as they can get into it, easily. The ladies will be able to work round behind us and reach there?”
“Easy,” said Gatineau.
“Then we go to Banff. Meanwhile there is this fellow Nimmo, or Joe.”
“I’ll fix Joe,” said Gatineau grimly.
“But there’s this telegram. Neuburg will expect reports from Orillia....”
“Nope!” said Gatineau.
“But of course he will, this telegram....”
“That telegramisn’tthe one that was sent.”
“Eh?” gasped Clement.
“This is the one I sent.”
He handed Clement a carbon duplicate which went:
“Banff Springs Hotel.“Arthur Newman,“Our party reached North Bay from Cobalt. Think business better done Montreal. We go there next train.“Nimmo Bates.”
“Banff Springs Hotel.
“Arthur Newman,
“Our party reached North Bay from Cobalt. Think business better done Montreal. We go there next train.
“Nimmo Bates.”
“That quiets brother Neuburg, see?” grinned Gatineau in the face of Clement’s perplexity. “It tells brother Neuburg we’ve muddled the trail and cut back to headquarters at Montreal. Quite natural. You see, like you, I figured Neuburg’d wantreports, and he can get them from Montreal.”
“Can he? How?”
“The Chief will see to that. I’ve sent all facts to him, he’ll send reports to Arthur Newman that will keep Neuburg purring. Trust The Chief, he’s a bear. Of course Nimmo Bates will sign ’em. Meanwhile we go comfortably to Banff.”
Clement roared with laughter.
“Well, of all the calm, foreseeing, clever little devils.... It’s a dazzling idea, Gatineau. Neuburg will be certain we’re at a loss in Montreal, will think he has plenty of time, while all the time we are overhauling him.”
“That’s it,” agreed the little detective. “The only thing that worries me is will the girl—Miss Reys—figure according to plan. I mean if she has any sense she’ll be suspicious at all this roundabout traveling, this chopping and changing of plans.”
“I hope she will be,” said Clement. “But I’m afraid she won’t. She doesn’t know the country; her companion does. She’s bound to follow blindly. And then anything can be put down to the erratic movements of Gunning.”
“She’ll find him too erratic, I’m thinking,” said Gatineau wisely.
“I’m hoping that, too,” said Clement.
Both had the sleep they needed, and a meal, and went to the railway station in good fettle. Under Gatineau’s instructions, Clement suddenly turnedfrom the platform and entered the booking hall as though making for the street.
The man who had shadowed him from the hotel did not hesitate for a moment, but trailed after him. In the middle of the booking hall the hand of Xavier Gatineau came down on his shoulder, and he swung round to find the muzzle of an automatic within six inches of his solar plexus. He started to put up his hands.
“What’s the game?” he snarled.
“I want you, Nimmo Bates,” said Gatineau. “I want you in connection with the jewel robbery on theEmpress of Prague. Cut out the rough stuff, Joe, and go quietly.”
As Joe Wandersun stared amazed, three large railway policemen slipped out of the office.
“Take him along, boys,” said Gatineau. “The Chief will give you instructions in Montreal.”
As the police hustled the half-dazed rogue away, Gatineau went to the booking window.
“Say, Jim, got those reservations for Banff on the next westbound? Good.... She’s on time, I hope.”
From North Bay to Winnipeg on the run to Banff, Clement was occupied mainly by monotony and his own anxious thoughts regarding Heloise. But at Winnipeg they picked up the trail again. Gatineau heard news from Montreal, and both saw the man with his arm in a sling—Siwash Mike.
There was actually nothing fresh concerning the ladies, it was obvious that they had doubled on their tracks in the tangle of railways south of North Bay; that was the first item Gatineau offered as they sat at lunch in the Alexandra Hotel.
“Is that bad news?” asked Clement.
“Well, no,” said the little detective. “They’re coming along here all right.”
“I like the positive sound of that,” smiled Clement. “Youarepositive?”
“Sure. They’ll follow this big rough neck Neuburg, an’ Gunning.”
“And Neuburg and Gunning?”
“Gone through to Banff.”
“Well, that’s as we expected. Miss Reys willjoin them there—or rather all of us. We’ll be of the pleasant company, too.”
“Sure,” said Gatineau reflectively.
“Well, then,” said Clement, “all this being as we thought, would you mind telling me what the bad news is?”
“Hey?” cried the little detective, looking up from the soup that is called gumbo.
“You have the ‘how-can-I-break-it-gently’ air. Out with it.”
“It’s Neuburg,” said Gatineau quietly.
“Neuburg?”
“Heisthe murderer.”
“Well, we’ve always felt fairly certain of that,” said Clement, after the first twinge of horror had run through him. “You mean, the matter is now decided?”
“As certain as we can be from the facts on hand. I’ve just read a message from The Chief. He’s sure. He’s been looking at those old descriptions provided by the Oregon police. Adolf Neuburg is Albrecht Nachbar, wanted for murder by U. S. A.”
“Queer that he should be alliterative in alias,” said Clement. “Arthur Newman.... Why has he used those initials again, I wonder?”
“Criminals do strange things,” said the detective. “It’s a kink in him, I suppose. P’raps Neuburg has a fancy those initials bring luck—that’s the sort of thing one finds in rogues. Or, it may be an easy way to keep his gang together; his A andN may be so characteristic as to guard against forgery.”
“And it may, after all, be mere cleverness. Many people would not credit him with the daring of using names so similar, and be put off the trail.... But the fact is that Neuburg is Nachbar.”
“The Chief is sure; he sends along warning to be mighty spry in dealing with the feller. He’s a tough nut, is Neuburg.”
“I’ve already learned it,” said Clement dryly. “Was the crime a bad one?”
“Real bad. I kept my mouth shut about it until we could be sure—but it was real bad. The feller he killed was a rich dude in Oregon. There was some sort of crazy bucket-shop deal that this feller—his name was Roberts—was interested in.”
“Did Nachbar or Neuburg appear in the deal?”
“He did not.... I see what you mean. His tactics appear to have been the same as now. He didn’t show up in the open, he merely played the part of a disinterested adviser to this rich man’s orphan. Fact is, nobody noticed Neuburg, or Nachbar as he was then, until Roberts died.”
“And he died—how?” Gatineau looked at him quickly.
“He went out on a shooting trip——”
“Yep,” said Gatineau. “That appears to be his method in these things.... Gets people into the wilds. Well, Roberts goes shooting into thewilds and there is a hell of an accident. His gun bursts and he is killed outright.”
“Andwasit an accident?”
“At the inquest it was. That was the verdict. But when people began poking round they found it wasn’t. I needn’t go into it all, and, in fact, I have only the outline of the business, but the things that came out were these. First, a big, solid block of cash was missing. Second, Nachbar was linked up with that missing cash. Then people began to hunt for things.
“First, they got no change out of Nachbar. He produced letters and papers by the boxful to show that his dealings with Roberts were straight—forgeries, no doubt, but good ones, especially since the victim was a dead ’un—you can bettcher life Nachbar was sound on this. He’s the real brainy bad man, all right, all right. Things were kind of tied up until a fellow from the American Department of Justice began to find the trail of the murder. He found out that Nachbar had been in the district where Roberts was shooting, at the very time of the murder.”
Clement was rather startled. “That sounds rather crude for a criminal of Neuburg’s propensities,” he said.
“Nope, it wasn’t crude. He traveled by a different railway system to a different valley. He didn’t even go near Roberts’s camp. But this detective, who was nosing round, found that he had stayedat a hotel in a neighboring valley for a week end shoot, that he had gone off, early in the morning of Saturday, the day of Roberts’ death, that he went out shooting without a guide, and though nobody could tell the direction he went, he had time to go somewhere close to where Roberts’s body was found.”
“There were other clues of course?”
“They began to come down in a blizzard, once they started. Roberts’s actions had been unusual on that day. First, he had made his plans to go out shooting to the west with a couple of guides. Then, early, he had got a special delivery letter. After reading that letter, he changed his plans, went out shooting alone, and went east—that is, towards the hotel where Nachbar was staying. His body was found about half-way between.”
“But didn’t all this come out at the inquest?”
“The inquest was on a man accidentally killed. These points were passed over as interesting, but not relevant.”
“But the letter—if it made an appointment——?”
“That letter was never found. It wasn’t on him when his body was brought in. Everything on him down to his bootlaces was impounded by the Court, but no special delivery letter was found. Some one had taken that letter from his body after his—apparently—lonely death.”
“It must have been signed for? Didn’t the postoffice know anything about it?”
“Nachbar wasn’t the one to slip-up over a detail like that. It had been sent from Roberts’s home district in a faked name—couldn’t be connected with Nachbar or the hotel where he was staying for his shoot. Still, it was a link. And on top of that it was found the gun that killed Roberts—wasn’t his.”
“What!” cried Clement in a startled tone.
“No, it wasn’t his. It looked like his. It was just the sort of Winchester magazine rifle he used, but the dealer found the number and proved it wasn’t his. Some one must have swopped guns with him—while he was out, apparently, alone. And the gun he got in exchange for his own was a gun meant to burst and kill, an’didburst an’ kill.”
“Devilish!” cried Clement. “And his own gun—was that traced?”
“Did you think it would be? No, it wasn’t. It was proved that Neuburg had also left his hotel carrying a Winchester magazine—easy to effect a change, you see, an’ when he came back with the same sort of gun on his shoulder nobody had reason to suspect it was Roberts’s gun—then. Moreover, when Neuburg’s rooms were searched, it was found that he had kindly left an identical Winchester rifle behind—an’ it wasn’t Roberts’s.”
“An alibi. He could swear that this gun was thegun he used on that murderous weekend.—Has the burst gun been traced?”
“No. But, of course, it is only a detail. It is obvious that Neuburg or Nachbar did that murder, though full facts have to be proved.”
For a moment they sat silent, and Clement, anyhow, was appreciating the full meaning of this revelation. Roberts’s murder, Heloise Reys’ case—how they ran parallel. Roberts was a victim because of his wealth—Heloise Reys was possessed of a million pounds. Nachbar kept in the background as far as Roberts was concerned. He was an advising friend; Neuburg played the same rôle to Heloise Reys. Roberts had been lured into the wilds; Heloise Reys was, even now, being lured into the wilds. Roberts was killed by a secret, brilliant “accident;” Heloise Reys ... Clement shivered. He stared at Gatineau.
“I told you,” said the little detective, “because I think it best to know exactly the ways and methods of this brute.”
“I understand,” said Clement. “And then there is the brighter side, too. It is certain that Neuburg is Nachbar. He’ll be arrested. When?”
“The Chief tells me he is getting a move on already,” said the little detective, and Clement caught a hint of hesitation.
“Does that mean that Nachbar won’t be arrested at once?”
“Not at once.”
“But—but that’s incredible. He’s a murderer, and you can arrest murderers without warrant, surely?”
“We can—if we’re dead positive they’re murderers.”
Clement gave vent to a gesture and an exclamation of despair.
“See here, Mr. Seadon,” broke in Gatineau. “Don’t you condemn the police in a hurry. Recollect that, keen as we may be, we can’t go about arresting folk off-hand. We’ve got to be sure we ain’t running innocent men into jail—an’ disgrace. This is complicated. It’s an old crime. We don’t know whether the American police have dropped it, or caught their man, or have definite news that proves Neuburg isn’t the feller we think he is. Until we can be sure we daren’t move. We’ve got to get in touch with the U. S. A. before we can hold him.”
“That’s logical, I suppose, but it is also rather terrible. And it will take—how long?”
“A few days at least.”
A few days! Clement stared at the little detective: what might not happen in a few days?
“She’s got us anyhow,” said Gatineau, reading his thoughts.
“Yes, she’s got us, and it lies with us to keep Neuburg or Nachbar so that he won’t have time to do anything—critical. But I confess I’m rather fearful, Gatineau.”
And a little later in the day, things appeared even more disturbing.
Clement Seadon and the detective had made their way through the underground passage that leads from the great hotel to the railway station. They were to catch the train west to Banff. They were emerging into the booking hall when Gatineau caught hold of the Englishman’s arm.
Instinctively Clement looked ahead.
Seen through the glass swing-doors of the passage a young man passed towards the platform walking swiftly. He was a slim, lithe young man with a dark, aquiline face. And he had his right arm in a sling. There was no mistaking the curious lilting walk, as there was no mistaking the features of the man.
“Good God!” said Clement “Siwash Mike! Siwash here—why?”
“Nottrailing us anyhow, I guess,” said Gatineau.
“How can you say that?”
“He hasn’t the air—an’ then, he’s got a grip in his hand. He is going to catch the westbound to join brother Neuburg at Banff.”
“Perhaps,” said Clement, remembering how they had been tricked before. “But why is he in Winnipeg?”
“That’s easy,” said the detective. “He probably got in here over the other railway north of Cobalt, and has changed onto our line for Banff. But we’d better watch him.”
They followed the half-breed cautiously, and saw him follow the crowd up the steps of Platform 6. There was no doubt that he was watching the westbound. Like a flash Gatineau didnotgo up the steps of Platform 6. He nipped up the steps of Platform 4. They arrived on the railway level just in time to see Siwash gain the platform. They took cover, and across the station watched him. They seemed astonishingly close, but it was obvious that he was not suspicious; he did not throw a glance their way.
Almost at once Clement said, “There is something more in this than merely catching the westbound, Gatineau. He’s waiting near the exit—for some reason.”
“He’s waiting for somebody, I guess,” said Gatineau. “Somebody who is stopping off the Montreal train.”
Clement’s heart jumped. Somebody who was stopping off from the transcontinental train—who could that somebody be? Heloise? Certainly his heart fluttered. Perhaps after all this was the end of the chase. It was more than likely Siwash had received some message from Neuburg at Winnipeg—he’d know how and where to pick one up, and that message had warned him to meet thistrain and Méduse and Heloise who came by it. He thought that quite likely, and then Gatineau said, “But why that grip?”
Yes, that was a puzzle. If he was meeting some one, why carry baggage for a journey?
With its loudly clanging bell the great train steamed slowly into the station. Both men watched the half-breed with the keenest attention. He stood there quite passively as the passengers thronged out of the cars. He watched them indolently as they passed him in a stream. Then with an air of casualness he picked up his grip and strolled towards the train.
“Damn,” grunted Clement. “Nothing at all. He’s just going to board the train. Look here, we must look slippy, too, if we are to travel by her also.”
He picked up his own grip, began to move out to cross the intervening rails and platforms to the train. Gatineau said suddenly, “Hold on—ain’t that long scarecrow of a feller interested in our pal?”
Clement shot a look towards the train. He saw a tall man moving aimlessly after Siwash. Clement did not recognize this fellow until suddenly he caught a flash of a skinny leg and arm as the fellow dodged between the passengers, and he had an abrupt twinge of memory. Where the devil had he seen that scarecrow before?
Gatineau caught his arm and lugged him behind a stack of baggage.
Siwash had walked up to the car in which his seat was reserved. He handed his grip to the black porter, and then, after pretending to mount into the car, had turned back as though to take one last look at Winnipeg. In that moment he swept the whole of the platform with a searching glance—fortunately he kept his eyes on his own platform. Satisfied that there were no watchers, he turned and stared straight at the skinny man. The skinny man was by his side in a moment.
There was a swift talk between the twain. The skinny one listening attentively, and nodding his head as if he understood. Then Siwash took a paper from his pocket, and the other stretched out his long and skinny arm. And at that gesture, memory came to Clement. He remembered acutely such an arm stretching out from a small window clutching at the pistol hand of Siwash. “Heavens!” he breathed. “The fellow from the glue factory—from the Sault Algonquin at Quebec. Another of the beasts on the spot.”
The guards were shouting “All aboard.” Siwash turned and sprang into his car, while the skinny man strode towards the exit. Clement picked up his bag and went in the same direction.Gatineau cried softly, “Say, we can’t monkey about; we’ll miss that train.”
“I’m going to,” said Clement grimly. “I want to find out why that fellow is here.”
“But——”
“And I don’t like him being here,” said Clement. “I’m not going to leave anybody here to wait for Miss Reys unless I know the exact why and the wherefore of his waiting.”
Gatineau was by his side now; he was smiling. “Yep, I rather want to look at that paper myself. Say, if you catch hold of this grip I’ll trail that lad. Best be me—he may have recollections of your outline.”
An hour later Gatineau rejoined Clement in the lounge of the hotel. “That’s the sort of job that makes a feller ashamed to draw his pay,” he grinned, as he sat down. “Easy—made me cry, it was so easy!”
“You’ve got that paper?”
“No, sir; I’m not little Xavier miracle worker yet. But I’ve got him located. He’s in a rooming house in the dark areas off Portage Avenue—room 163 is his number. And he hasn’t the slightest fear that evil men like us are here and interested in him. Walked all the way to his dive without so much as a look round.”
“That’s good; that means that Siwash don’t know we’re here either. He’s gone off to Banffand Neuburg without a suspicion. Well, what next?”
“We just go an’ call on our lean friend—he calls himself Jean Renadier, he’s a French-Canadian all right, though he says he comes from Montreal, not Quebec. I’ve got a man there spotting for me already, one of our local men, an’ I’ve arranged with the police to pull him on theEmpress of Praguerobbery charge—in silence. Shall we go?”
They went. On the way Gatineau told his plan: “I’ve arranged that we tackle him first, so that he don’t have any chance of destroying any paper. Then when we’ve got him, we call in the police. We’ll just walk up to his room, see? I’ll go in an’ you stay outside, because the sight of you might make him do things to his papers. When I’ve got him you can come in. Is that good?”
The spotter outside the rather dingy rooming house told them that Renadier had not left the building. As they went into it, he drew in, ready to help effect the arrest. Walking in boldly, and with a casual, “Renadier—room 163, ain’t he?” from Gatineau, they were able to mount to the man’s room as though they were friends of his. It was high up in the building, and at the dark end of a corridor. Gatineau softly tried the handle, found the door yielded, strode boldly in, shutting the door behind him—for the man must not catch a glimpse of Clement.
He went in, and there was silence.
Clement heard Gatineau say something, and then the silence came down. It was a curious silence, intense, deep—disturbing. It seemed to draw itself out. It became full of significance. Clement pressed close to the door, listened—nothing! What was happening? Why did not Gatineau give some signal? Why should there be this appalling quiet in that room? It was uncanny, it was unreal—it was ugly.
He bent down in a sudden anxiety and put his ear to the keyhole. Nothing! There was no sound from the room. The room was apparently dead, vacant—a tomb.
He put his hand on the door. As he did so, two sounds came from the room, two soft sounds.
One was a soft knock—it might have been the heel of a boot kicking against the carpeted floor. The other was a slow, animal sound, low, guttural, choking.
With a spasm of fear Clement dashed open the door.
An amazing sight met his eyes.
Gatineau was stretched full length on his back. He was moving nervelessly, struggling feebly. Squatting over him was a tall, inexpressibly gaunt man. This fellow crouched over the detective’s chest with an almost stolid calm. His long, leanarms were stretched downward. His thin, knotty hands were about Gatineau’s neck. He was carefully and calmly throttling the life out of the little detective.
Clement caught one glimpse of the preoccupied face before it turned upon him. The face of this calmly murderous man was utterly transfigured with fear—fear that, somehow, did not interfere with the efficient labors of killing a man. Then the eyes turned to him as he charged forward. The fear in the fellow’s face leaped to an absolute panic at the recognition of Clement—and yet the fellow acted with an astounding calm.
He simply fell flat. He made no attempt at active resistance; he simply fell flat upon Gatineau. Then, as Clement jumped forward, he rolled, quick as lightning, towards him. It was unexpected. Clement in his stride could not check. His foot caught the lank, rolling body, and he pitched forward. As he fell, the other leaped to his feet, and jumped to the door. Clement had shut the door, and he caught at the handle. That gave Clement time to grab at him. As he fell, Clement twisted as he had often done on the football field. He did not try to recover, he let himself go, while trying to fall as near the door as possible. He succeeded enough to enable him to get his hand to the tall man’s ankle. He grabbed and held. He braced himself to resist.
The fellow was astonishing. He did notstruggle. For a perceptible instant he stood there at the half-open door, staring down at the man who held his ankle. The look of devastating fear on his face was appalling. Clement had never seen any man so afraid. In that flash—it was no more than a single breath—he felt that the fellow was theirs—he was nerveless with fear. Then the lank man kicked him.
He kicked with his free foot coolly and deliberately—an astonishing kick when Clement recalled the sheer fright on the fellow’s face. So unexpected was it that Clement had only time to half-check the drive of the heavy boot with a quick-flung hand—and then his head rang and he saw a million stars.
After that, confusion. The lank man wrenched himself free and was running. Clement, dazed, tried to get up to go after him. He was knocked sideways by some one rushing by. It was only when he managed to get into the dark passage—that somehow seemed to be misty (but that was that fellow’s boot)—that he realized that the man who had bowled him over was Gatineau. He saw Gatineau running along the passage before him. Gatineau was groggy but determined. Rather groggy himself, he ran after Gatineau.
He had to trust to Gatineau. He couldn’t see the lean man, but Gatineau seemed to know. Gatineau went upstairs instead of down. Gatineau rushed across a roof landing instead of goingthrough one of three doors, and flung himself headlong on to a fourth door. That burst wildly open under his charge, letting in a bewildering flash of daylight. They were on the roof. Then Gatineau was running across the leads, and Clement after him—and, yes, there was the lank man running ahead.
The lank man rushed to the edge of the roof, started back, looked round with his incredibly fearful look, then dodged at a right angle. Gatineau could not check in time to head him off. But Clement could. He cut across the fellow’s path, and, like a fox, the fellow tried to double again. He dodged round a stack, and found Gatineau ready for him, pivoted, and ran for the parapet. He scrambled on to the parapet, and stood swaying, staring about him for a loophole of escape. Between him and the next roof was a ten-foot alley, but the other roof was lower, and he seemed to think it was a chance. Clement did not; he yelled, “Stop that, you fool. You’ll kill yourself.”
It was too late. The fellow had braced himself, had leaped. He went through the air in a way that showed he was no jumper. He seemed to hang in the air for an eternity. Then his feet came down on the parapet on the opposite side. For a breathless moment he hung there, clawing wildly, as though seeking to grasp support from the very air; then his balance went, he sagged backwards,fell, went out of sight with an uncanny abruptness.
“My God!” cried Clement. “My God!” He felt physically sick. Gatineau had no time for sentiment. He was already running downstairs. He wanted to get to the man before the crowd.
Clement Seadon and Xavier Gatineau left Winnipeg by the next west-bound. Gatineau’s throat was a little sore, and Clement’s soul was more than sick at the death of the man who had played a part in his captivity in the gluemaker’s at Quebec; but apart from this they were little the worse for their experience—and little to the good either.
The lank man had fallen into a narrow yard between the houses, and his fall had not been noticed. Gatineau had got to him before anybody else. He had secured all the papers on the poor dead body, and had then seen to it that not only were the police informed, but that the matter was to be kept quiet for the present.
All they had found on the man was a number of letters making it plain that he was Louis Penible, a glue manufacturer of the Sault Algonquin, Quebec. There was also a single telegram signed A. N. bidding him travel at once to Winnipeg, where he would be met by “some one.” This telegram was sent off from North Bay. “Before we caught Joe,” said Gatineau. “It looks as thoughNeuburg was summoning all his forces to hand rather than anything else.”
The only other piece of paper—the piece that had cost the wretched man his life, the piece Siwash had handed him at the station—was merely a plain sheet containing the address of the rooming house where he had died, and an address, “A. N., c/o Mrs. Wandersun, Sicamous.”
“Beyond telling us that Neuburg has gone on to Sicamous—is not stopping on at Banff—it seems a small thing to have brought about a man’s death,” said Clement.
“It might have been a big thing,” said Gatineau. “It might prove to be a big thing now. Neuburg has one man less, that may be useful to us. It is useful, too, because, so far as we can see, we have the whole gang under our eyes now—two arrested, the steward and Joe, one dead and the rest at Sicamous or traveling to it. We know where we are.”
But they did not know very much. They knew nothing about the whereabouts of Heloise Reys and her evil companion; they had no inkling concerning the plot Neuburg, the master-mind, had devised—save that it was concerned with a great deal of money, and with the luring of the victim into the wilds—just as it had been in Roberts’s case.
They passed across the rolling monotony of the prairies thinking the matter out. They passed through Calgary, a vivid, gold-washed town amidfoothills that seemed to cup the sunlight. They heard news of Neuburg and Gunning going on before them, but no other news.
From Calgary they climbed to the fairy ramparts of the Rocky Mountains, austere, snow-cowled, promising immensities and mysteries beyond. They mounted, step by step, the “benches” of the foothills, besides the breathless azure of the shining Bow River. Then abruptly the gate of the mountains was above them, silent, stark, sheer brooding as their train roared through The Gap, and then they were at Banff.
They went by car to the wonderful hotel perched like Aladdin’s palace on a spur amid mighty spurs. It was a peerless place. For the staging of a love scene one might have gone to the ends of the earth and not have found a better setting. The exquisite beauty of the surroundings called to the emotions—and yet Neuburg had rejected this spot and had gone on to Sicamous after but the shortest stay! Why? Clement thought the answer to that unspoken question must be an ominous one.
The Chief had been good at his word. He had sent word along the line, and the C. P. R. people at the hotel were ready for Gatineau. They had a thick bundle of telegrams and reports waiting for him—a bewildering bundle, for it included all Neuburg’s wires to his underlings, Nimmo Bates (that is, Joe Wandersun) at the Place Viger Hotel, Montreal, where (thanks to the cunning of The Chief)he was supposed to be staying with Siwash Mike, and others. It contained the wires Neuburg had received, and it contained reports from The Chief himself, from the agent at Sicamous, and others. A truly awesome mass of paper.
“I think I’ll let you disentangle the story,” grinned Clement. “The very bulk of it frightens me, and I guess you are more used to it than I am.”
“Sure,” smiled Gatineau. “I’ll go through this and knock some sort of connected report out of it. You go an’ try a dip in the swimming pool, Mr. Seadon, an’ leave it to me.” He was running lightly through the duplicates of the telegrams. “Hullo! One moment, Mr. Seadon; here’s one to Méduse Smythe at Winnipeg—that must be to await her coming.”
“What does it say?”
“It tells her to come on here and await orders; it is initialed A. N.”
“Here?” said Clement.
“Yes, sir,” said the hotel manager, who was with them. “Miss Smythe and Miss Heloise Reys are coming to stay here. There is a suite booked for them.”
“And yet Neuburg and Gunning have gone on to Sicamous,” said Clement. “What does that mean? What is behind that move?”
Clement had his plunge in the hot sulphur poolunder the slope of a snow-tipped mountain, and, refreshed, went back to Gatineau in the manager’s office. Gatineau grinned at him.
“I guess I’ve made a connected yarn out of this jig-saw all right. In the first place, let me tell you that our dangerous pal Neuburg, Newman, or Nachbar, seems to be fairly certain that he has been given a new lease of life—has days on his hands in fact.”
“What makes you think that?”
“First place, he had booked here for himself and Gunning for an indefinite number of days. Then, quite suddenly, he decided to go off to Sicamous. He sent telegrams to various people—one to meet Siwash at Winnipeg, one to Nimmo or Joe Wandersun at Montreal, and another to sister Méduse—telling of the change. And the reason he feels safe is that you and I are definitely marooned in Montreal. The Chief has played the game as I expected he would. His fake wires coming, apparently, from Nimmo (who we know is in jail) are gems. We are apparently standing baffled in Montreal, hunting about for the trail. One can read between the lines that Neuburg is sure of that—f’r instance the mere fact that he wires to Nimmo at the Place Viger Hotel shows he thinks it all right. Again, his wire to Siwash confirms this. He tells Siwash to come on to Sicamous,notBanff. He also tells Siwash to meet Louis the gluemaker of Quebec on such and such a train atWinnipeg and tell him there is no need to stand by and watch trains forusyet—that was evidently why he was sent for—but to meet Méduse when she arrives and do as she tells him. Oh, Neuburg is certain that we are out of the running for the time being, and it’s because of that, he’s gone off to Sicamous.”
Clement thought for a moment. “Yes, that sounds logical,” he admitted. “With us close up on his heels he would have to rush things. Probably his first plan to checkmate us was a lover’s meeting in this place of lovers. There would have been a—an affectionate reunion, and then, if we were threatened, the pair would have been spirited away. And what would have happened to Heloise Reys when they were lost?”
His face contracted with pain. It was only after a moment that he went on.
“However, what would have happened doesn’t matter. The plan’s changed. He had gone to Sicamous to prepare a more elaborate and a more certain plot—we can take that as certain. And—and the women follow after us?”
“Sure they do that,” put in Gatineau. “They are a day or more behind. As I thought, they did dodge about in that tangle of railways by North Bay for the express purpose of throwing us off the trail. Then they hit the main line behind us, and started west in earnest. They’ll stop off atWinnipeg to pick up news from Neuburg, an’ then they’ll come straight on here.”
“That’s a point that baffles me!” admitted Clement. “Why come here? Why not go straight on to Sicamous?”
“The rest of the story explains something of that. I should say he wants time to be sure he’s got his plans perfect. According to the reports from our Sicamous man, he’s been acting rather strangely at that end. Our feller at Sicamous has sent on train letters, so his statements are full. Neuburg and Gunning arrived in due course at Sicamous station, but instead of going to Gunning’s shack on the lake, they stayed the night at Joe Wandersun’s house—where, of course, Mrs. Wandersun is living.”
“Next morning Neuburg went down to the lakeside and overhauled the big motor boat that Joe uses on the lake, but instead of going in it, the three—the woman as well—came to the station and caught a train for Revelstoke. Revelstoke is the nearest considerable town; they have to travel back towards Banff to reach it. Our agent at Sicamous is a real live man; he ’phoned through to one of our fellows at Revelstoke and caught the same train as Neuburg. Reaching Revelstoke, the trio did some shopping—shadowed by our men. The proceedings were ordinary enough, save that they seemed to show a strange passion for buying medical things. Also, Neuburg, giving Gunning theslip, went into a store where mining outfits are soldand bought several high-explosive cartridges and a quantity of fuse.”
Clement made an exclamation at those words. He stared at the little detective, who said, “No, I don’t see what it signifies, but it is a matter worth noting. But there is something queerer to come. The woman and Gunning went off to dinner in a hotel. Neuburg did not go with them. Instead he went off by himself and found, because he was looking for it, an obscure sort of hash joint. He sat down and ordered a meal. Our fellow who was shadowing him walked in casually and got into a table nearby. Apparently there was nothing odd about Neuburg’s choice, but presently a young, smart-looking feller pops into this joint and sits down at Neuburg’s table. Neuburg was reading a paper by this time, an’ paid not the slightest attention. Soon, though, they got into conversation, just like two strangers. What they said, of course, our feller couldn’t hear, but it didn’t appear to amount to much; soon, too, Neuburg paid his bill and went out with a ‘Well, good-day, stranger. Glad to have become acquainted. I shall certainly try those creeks of yours for red fish.’
“Our feller guessed that Neuburg would go back to the other two—anyhow he risked it. He followed the smart young stranger instead, when he left the hash joint later. This feller sneaked round several blocks, as though he didn’t want peopleto know where he’d been, and in the end he entered the Grand Dominion Consolidated Bank. In there he went behind the counter, hung up his hat and settled down to work.He was one of the employees.”
There was a very significant pause. Both men looked at each other, and both men were thinking the same thoughts. They were recalling that Neuburg as Nachbar had worked through a bucket shop in his plan for robbing Roberts of Oregon. He was working through a bank now—not, of course, that the famous bank was acting as his confederate, but that the smart young man was. This fellow had no doubt figured in the bucket shop at Oregon, and had managed to worm his way into the bank at Revelstoke to further Neuburg’s ends—since, obviously, the master rogue had planned well ahead.
As Clement reflected on this point he reached for a telegraph form, and at once wrote the following to The Chief at Montreal:
“Find out what interests Heloise Reys has in Revelstoke Branch Grand Dominion Consolidated Bank. Neuburg has confederate there.”
“That may bring something,” he said, as he handed the message to Gatineau. “If Miss Reys has any money in that bank it must have beentransferred from the head office at Montreal. The Chief will be able to find out, eh?”
Gatineau said, “Sure,” added a code number to the message, and had it sent off at once. Then he went on with his story.
“After this business Neuburg met the other two in the hotel, and they all went back to Sicamous, where they loaded their purchases into the big motor boat. They didn’t, as our man thought they would, go on up the lake then, but went back to Mrs. Wandersun’s house. It was about one o’clock at night when Gunning and Neuburg actually left for his shack. A railwayman, who had been on watch, woke our feller, and he just had time to see them sneak off in the dark. They took an awful lot of additional packages with them, loading them secretly—a regular sort of moving day, our man writes, as though they were going to stay in the wilds for a hell of a time. The two men only got into the boat, and then, strangely, the boat left, not under power, but rowed.”
“That was Neuburg covering himself up,” said Clement. “Nobody saw or heard him leave, nobody can connect him with—with anything that might happen up at Gunning’s shack in the wilds. I suppose that’s all there is so far.”
“That’s all,” agreed Gatineau. “We know their movements to a dotted ‘i,’ an’ we know Miss Reys is coming on here. I suppose we had best just wait around until she comes?”
“Yes,” said Clement, “there seems nothing else to do at the moment. We must wait for a wire from The Chief about that money, anyhow. But I confess I don’t like waiting. Certainly Miss Reys appears to be coming here, but with these brutes, with that demoniac intelligence of Neuburg’s working against us, I am fearful. Who can say what sudden turn events might take, and—and what terrible crime might be committed without our being able to interpose?”
Clement Seadon was manifestly uneasy. Not barring the path which led from Heloise to the archscoundrel at Sicamous made him feel safe. Not even the exquisite beauty of this delightful place could tranquilize him. He felt that some slip, some chance warning to Neuburg, might bring a calamity. Neuburg, that monster, with his cold, quiet, and uncannily placid intelligence, would act like a flash. He was, Clement felt, being so desperately driven that he would not hesitate to act desperately to attain his ends.
There was no doubting the fiend’s terrible capacity. Clement was sure that, in some way, Neuburg had already arranged to get control of Heloise’s money—or some of her money—through this bank, and his confederate in the bank, atRevelstoke. He had already his evil fingers on that loot. All that he needed was to secure Heloise to make his control of her money complete. And, at a crisis, he would stop at nothing to secure Heloise—that meant her silence—in order to get that money.
Her silence. Clement shuddered. He saw, again, the mental picture of how Neuburg, as Nachbar, had secured the silence of Roberts of Oregon. The dead cannot give evidence.
Clement tried to quiet his nerves by going for a long tramp through the deep spruce woods that clung to the sides of the austere mountains, but half-way through it he became panicky and hurried back to the hotel in case he might miss some crucial message.
There was no message. He had to wait hours before anything came. Then it came from Sicamous. That message, however, was significant enough for those who could get an inkling of the ominous riddle behind it.
The agent at Sicamous reported that a young, dark-faced, slim man with his right arm in a sling had arrived at Sicamous. He had gone to Mrs. Wandersun’s shack. He called himself Lucas, and looked like a halfbreed.
“Siwash on the spot,” commented Clement.
The next fact was that a wire had come through from Méduse Smythe at Winnipeg, saying she was coming straight through to Banff. Immediatelyon receipt of this, things happened. The man Lucas—despite his bad arm—went off up the lake in a canoe, apparently to Gunning’s shack. On his return there was a bustle. Mrs. Wandersun, in the language of the agent, flacked about like a worried hen.
She had run down to the station and had sent off a train letter to Heloise Reys—to await arrival at Banff—and also another to Méduse Smythe.
Having got rid of these letters, Mrs. Wandersun immediately prepared herself for a journey. That done, she bounced into her neighbor’s shack with a lamentable story of a friend taken dangerously ill up the lake. She said she had wired to his relatives, and she thought they were coming on. She said she was going to her sick friend with the young man Lucas to run the power boat for her, and she asked her neighbors if they would mind telling anybody who might arrive before Lucas returned, that he was coming back from the sick man in order to take them up to him.
Having impressed this upon her kindly friends, she got into the motor boat with Lucas, and went up the lake. Lucas had not returned yet. The agent had not pressed his inquiries for fear of stirring up suspicion.
Clement had listened to the reading of this report with a face grim and white. When it was finished he said, “This seems to be the first movein the definite plot. Once she arrives in Sicamous, Heloise Reys will be spirited away into the wilds. You can see how they have planned it. Nobody but Lucas is to take her there; they don’t want outsiders to figure in this.”
“An’ it seems to me that they don’t want anybody—even Miss Reys—to get there before they are ready for her,” said Gatineau.
“Yes, that seems likely.—Now the letters.”
The one addressed to Heloise Reys was a simple letter stating that Henry Gunning had returned to Sicamous and had gone along the lake to his home. The letter said that Gunning was quietlike, and not quite his usual self. He said he was going to rest up for a while as he felt sort of seedy. The writer concluded by giving directions how to find his shack, and declared himself ready to do all in his power to help Miss Reys. He signed himself—Joe Wandersun.
“Joe Wandersun!” cried Gatineau. “Well, I’m gormed! How did he write that when he’s snug in jail at Montreal?”
“He didn’t write it. It’s a forgery.”
“You mean his wife forged that——?”
“His wife—no. Remember Roberts, man, and how forgery apparently played its part in that case. The same capable scoundrel forged this.”
“Neuburg?”
“Neuburg or Newman or Nachbar, or whatever you like to call him. Forgery is part of his game.And there’s another point. You see it contains a hint of Gunning’s illness—illness is also part of this devil’s game.”