Augustus N. Corman, M.D.Seattle, U.S.A."Doctor Corman requests an interview with you, sir," she said. "He is in the study." She cast a look he knew of old at Wallion and when he was quite close to her, she said in a low voice which he alone could hear: "I have seen him before, he went past the house both last night and this morning and looked up at the window. He speaks English with an American accent."Wallion nodded and laid a finger on his lips as Tom was about to speak. They both looked at the girl, who sat with her face buried in her hands; she seemed more ashamed than alarmed at having been caught ... a child's mortification. Wallion smiled grimly."Come along," he said, going into the study with Tom.A well-dressed man of middle stature, perfectly self-possessed and at his ease, stood near the table, hat in hand. He was apparently about forty years of age, with a broad forehead and dark brown, wavy hair and mustache, but the eyes behind the gold rimmed pince-nez were clear and blue like billows of the sea, steadfast and piercing; he bowed slightly, saying:"Good morning, Mr. Murner," in a strong, full voice, as, ignoring Wallion, he looked straight into Tom's face. The latter returned the greeting with a stiff inclination of the head."Good morning, Doctor Corman," he said in English ... "This is my friend and adviser, Mr. Wallion."The Doctor bowed again with perceptibly heightened interest."To what do we owe the honor of a visit from you?" Tom said with an effort.The Doctor's mustache concealed a faint smile of amusement."I have come to relieve you from a situation which is certainly as embarrassing as it was unexpected, Mr. Murner."His sonorous voice was calculated to break down any kind of opposition and to negative any doubts, as a physician's is wont to do in a sick room. Tom felt that the doctor knew all."I don't quite understand," he said haltingly.Doctor Corman waved his hat towards the smoking-room and said: "I have come to take the little lady back to her father. She has had adventures enough. The thing is settled.""Speak a little more explicitly," he said.The doctor removed his pince-nez and looked at him with his eyes half-closed, as is the way of people afflicted with short sight."Any further explanation between us would be superfluous. I have ascertained that Elaine Robertson is here. I am her guardian, appointed as such by reason of her father's dementia. As such I tender you my thanks for the shelter you have given her and I intend to take her away immediately; my motor is waiting."Wallion reflected for a while. He gave Tom a meaning look, for here undoubtedly was a step towards the solution of the problem. In any case the girl must go, for this aggressive and amazing doctor was certainly in the right."So you affirm that her father is out of his mind?" he asked; "will you not give us a little more information?""Do you know what 'Phantom-Mania' is?" answered the doctor. "Delusions about mysteries which are non-existent ... a fear of pursuers who are not there ... a love for sending messages and gifts which mean nothing. Only the overwrought brain of a neurotic girl can give credence to these. The actions of a weak-minded man or the whims and fancies of a nervous young woman ... both have a fictitious value.""The death of Victor Dreyel, the stab in the girl's arm, the attack in Captain Street and the theft of the wooden dolls were not delusions.""I am not concerned with what has occurred here. Elaine accidentally crossed the path of an unknown robber ... it is always the unexpected which happens and such contingencies are from the devil.""Is that all you have to say about it?""Yes, I know what I am talking about, Mr. Wallion, and I don't allow myself to be caught unawares. I am here in the capacity of William Robertson's medical adviser and Elaine's guardian, and I desire to see her at once." His tone had a touch of increased sharpness in it."One moment," said Wallion, "how did you get here?""That is very simple, as soon as Elaine started from Seattle on her imaginary quest, her father grew anxious and in a lucid moment confessed to me that he had acted on a delusion. I set off immediately to prevent the girl from doing anything foolish. My sister, Madame Nina Lorraine, is with me to look after things. The whole affair is a farce, but likely to end in a tragedy."Wallion laughed and looked straight at the doctor."Do you know," he said, "why Miss Elaine is in hiding here? Are you aware that the police are looking for her?"The doctor gave no answer. The door of the smoking-room slowly opened and Elaine stood on the threshold, pale and silent."What are you talking about?" she said in a monotonous tone. "I am here, take me home to father, Doctor Corman, I am so tired."Corman took her hand with an air of triumph and speaking over her bowed head he said: "There, you see, Mr. Wallion. What are you going to do?"Wallion replied: "I presume you and your sister are staying in some hotel?""Yes, at the Grand Hotel.""Miss Robertson is quite at liberty to go with you. For the present any further discussion is unnecessary, but what I said just now was meant as a caution to you, doctor, and you shall hear from me before you leave.""All right," said the doctor frigidly.Five minutes later Elaine Robertson had left No. 30 John Street, in Doctor Corman's company.CHAPTER VIIIONWARD TO THE UNKNOWNTom was raving. Everything had been done in such haste that his brain was in a whirl when he tried to look back upon recent events. Elaine's cold and hurried "Good-by" stung him like a thousand pin-pricks, and the doctor's voice echoed fiendishly shrill in his ears. Why had Wallion given in so quickly?The journalist did not stop to listen to Tom's excited inquiries. He made some hurried notes in his pocket-book and departed. It seemed as if he were pursuing some new train of thought. Had he got weary of the Elaine Robertson mystery after the unforeseen intermezzo? Half-an-hour later he sent the following telephone message: "Expect me at five o'clock. Tell Mrs. Toby to have dinner ready and inquire whether any one saw the girl leave the house. Further details later on." Then he rang off.* * * * *Shortly before five o'clock that same afternoon Wallion came to see Tom, who was sitting in his room, lost in melancholy reflections."We have hurled the bomb," he said, throwing a bundle of newspapers on the table, "but it has not exploded yet."He proceeded to unfold the evening paper and pointed to a column therein, headed:ASSASSINATION OF DREYEL. AN ACT OF REVENGE.Christian Dreyel also attacked and robbed.Two Works of Art stolen. Was it the actof a madman?"Now listen," said Wallion, laughing. "My colleague of the evening paper has been very energetic, the last paragraph is of most interest to us," and he began to read:"The unknown young lady who left Victor Dreyel's studio at the time of the murder has not made herself known; she is now said not to have been implicated. She may have been a casual customer come to fetch her photographs, or an acquaintance of the murdered man's, and on the presumption that she found him lying dead it was only natural that she should have declined to come forward as a witness, and her depositions would not, anyhow, have been more reliable than those of the porter's wife. It has been ascertained that the perpetrator was a man who set about his dastardly work with unusual—one may say, incredible—brutality, and the fact that his sole aim both in John Street and in Captain Street was to get at a certain statuette, a bit of carved wood of little value, proves that the scoundrel must have been a maniac, perhaps actuated by a feeling of revenge towards the Dreyels, who during their long residence abroad, etc., etc....""Well made up," said Wallion, stopping abruptly. "A wonderful mixture of truth and falsehood. Special stress must be laid on the fact that the girl in grey is done with, that she no longer counts. TheDaily Universalactually doubts the porter's wife being in her right senses; whereas theEvening Newsexhorts the unknown lady in any case to come forward and to affirm that she was out of it all! The chief point at present, however, is that, now the papers have taken it up, the girl in grey has vanished like smoke. I have just been to the Police Court and seen Ferlin, who was as subdued and crestfallen as a whipped hound, for he has been wild to catch her all the time. What would he have said if he had been here and seen the doctor drive away with her in his car? By-the-bye..." he looked inquiringly at Tom, who replied:"No, no one noticed Miss Robertson going away. She was dressed in black, and even the porter's wife had not curiosity enough to come up.""Good," said Wallion, rather relieved. He looked scrutinizingly at Tom Murner's downcast face and intuitively guessed what he was thinking of."Don't look so glum," he said. "I don't deny that Doctor Corman cropped up rather inopportunely, but I should never have dreamt of preventing him. All he said was perfectly clear and explanatory...""Explanatory?" said Tom, scornfully; "when he refused to give any information, pooh-poohing everything as if it were a fable?""Just so, Doctor Corman is an interesting personality, perhaps more interesting than you think. I have heard sundry details, so listen to what I am going to tell you. Corman and his sister arrived late on the evening of the first of August and went to the Grand. Therefore he came at the same time as Miss Elaine, whom he wanted to 'overtake'; they travelled in the same train from Gothenburg and in all probability on the same steamer from America. Do you understand that? During the entire journey, therefore, he must have been more or less near her, but he did not reveal his identity until to-day; and—what is even more remarkable—he had not only bespoken rooms for himself and Madame Lorraine, but for Miss Elaine Robertson as well.""What is that you say?" interrupted Tom, half dazed; "I don't take it in. Do you mean to imply that the doctor and the girl acted in collusion?""Not at all. At first I thought so, but that is very unlikely. No, the doctor kept at a distance to see what she was up to. Wait a minute, I can see what you are thinking about; no, old man, the doctor is not identical with Victor Dreyel's murderer or the marauder of Captain Street. The latter I saw with my own eyes and his build was quite different; he was much shorter and thinner. Besides, the doctor only left the hotel for a few hours and could not possibly have been anywhere north of Gävle, but he has very frequently been out here. We must take care not to confound him with the miscreant unless we have incontestable proofs. So far he is immune. Note that the girl seemed to trust him, and was quite ready to go with him."At this juncture Tom again burst out into vituperation.Wallion listened unperturbed, but at last he spoke:"Why did I let her go? Because just when Corman turned up I recognized the difficulty of our position; we were not justified in keeping her here. When the girl showed herself willing to go with him, the affair was 'settled,' as the doctor expressed it. But it is not at an end yet."He sat down and seemed to be ruminating. After a while Tom heard him mutter to himself: "Anyhow, he is most interesting as a representative of a certain type.""Who? Doctor Corman?" interrogated Tom.Wallion vouchsafed no reply; he had suddenly grown taciturn, sullen, almost irritable, and soon after dinner he went out, taking Mrs. Toby back with him as her services were no longer required at No. 30, John Street. Tom remained alone in the little dwelling which now seemed to him gloomy and deserted, not to say haunted.* * * * *Next day came the long expected summons from the Chief Detective, which he obeyed with considerable misgivings, but the Chief received him very pleasantly, and the cross-examination was reduced to a few questions regarding his connection with Victor Dreyel, though he was asked to furnish a minute description of the famous wooden doll."Do you know Mr. Wallion?" the Chief finally inquired with a long, searching look at Tom."Yes," the latter replied. "It was through me that he came to take an interest in this business.""H—m! It's odd that he never published the results in theDaily Courier. Do you know whether he intends to continue his investigations?""No," answered Tom, not without a touch of annoyance, for it was a question he had been debating with himself all the morning."Well," said the Chief in a genial manner, "remember me to Mr. Wallion, and tell him, if he hears news that might lead to important results we shall be happy to coöperate with him."When Tom reached home he found Wallion sitting in his study, with the wooden doll on the table in front of him, and looking rather disconcerted. As Tom entered he said:"Look here, we forgot this thing when we gave Miss Elaine back her satchel, and she will know that we searched it."Tom proposed that it should be sent to the Grand at once."It is too late, Doctor Corman and the two ladies have gone to Gothenburg.""What? Already?""Yes, and they have booked their passages on the next boat to America ... it leaves on Thursday next week."Tom could see that Wallion had something up his sleeve by the dry way in which he spoke, and the suspicion caused him to look fixedly at his friend.Maurice Wallion sat still with his eyes half-closed, his hands in his pockets."Maurice," asked Tom impatiently. "What are you thinking about?""What did the Chief say?" was Walloon's retort.Tom repeated the conversation and gave his message.Wallion laughed. "Results?" he said. "There is only one way to get any 'results' in this affair.""What might that be?" queried Tom.Wallion opened his eyes very wide and said:"It is to allow Elaine Robertson and Doctor Corman to continue their journey unmolested.""Back to Seattle?""Yes, and to follow in their track to the same place."Tom clung to the arm of his chair for support; they looked at each other in silence for some minutes."Since Doctor Corman took Elaine under the shelter of his wing, there is only one place where this conundrum can be solved, and that place is a certain private 'Home' or asylum on the outskirts of Seattle.""But what about the other ... the murderer?""Something tells me that the police will never capture him here, but that he himself and the two dolls will be found at the journey's end."Wallion spoke with a sort of wistful longing. Tom could not refrain from looking at him earnestly; he began to think he had but half-known his friend so far. A craving for action took possession of him also; and when at last he grasped the portent of Wallion's look the "Problem-Solver" had come to a decision."At the end of the journey?" repeated Tom, in a voice which shook with excitement ... "Are you going?""I promised Christian Dreyel I would do my best," replied Wallion.The two men exchanged glances which furnished a sufficient answer to the perplexed thoughts of many clays. Great resolutions are not necessarily preceded by much talking."I shall go with you," said Tom."I knew you would," was Wallion's laconic reply.* * * * *The newspapers had not succeeded in stirring up any great interest in the Dreyel case, and when the novelty had worn off, they said no more about it. After Victor Dreyel's funeral, which took place on the Monday following, Wallion had a short conversation with Aspeland in the deserted studio. The Superintendent was reluctantly giving up his hopeless task and said somewhat bitterly:"Toroni is merely a name. We have done our utmost, but we can't put the bracelets on a shadow, and the search is at an end unless something new turns up."Wallion and Aspeland left the studio together, and the latter having locked up and given the keys to the porter, wended his way home."A symbolical proceeding," remarked Wallion to Tom a little later."Victor Dreyel has solved the great riddle and has gone 'home'; Aspeland found no clue, and he has gone 'home' ... it is our turn now, No. 13 Toroni."Wallion and Tom started for Gothenburg on the following Tuesday. Tom wished to defray the traveling expenses, but Wallion, after his work in England, was financially independent, and settled matters with these words:"War expenses have to be shared equally ... Danger and success likewise ... Is that clear to you now? Well then, off and away to the great unknown."PART II"THE WOODEN DOLLS"CHAPTER IXELAINE ROBERTSON'S STORY"Our second day on board and not a glimpse of either her or the doctor," said Tom, gloomily. "I begin to doubt their being on board at all."He and Wallion were standing on the promenade deck, leaning over the rails, and by chance no one else was there. For two days the gigantic propeller had been plowing its way through the surf. A fresh breeze was blowing and the sky stretched like a blue canopy from horizon to horizon across the ever rising and falling waves. The rhythmical thud of the machinery within the capacious interior of the boat reached them where they stood.Tom gazed at the endless amplitude of the ocean, and, obsessed by doubts when Wallion did not reply, at once continued. "After all what are we really here for? Who knows whether the solving of the mystery connected with those wooden dolls does, indeed, await us? We may have left it behind, and Elaine may have disappeared for ever."Wallion made a gesture as if lie had just awakened from sleep, and looked at his friend."Compose yourself," he said. "You don't suppose I should leave anything to chance? Certainly we did not see them come on board, but they are here. I have seen the list of passengers, and have had a chat with the purser; they have engaged two of the best upper deck cabins. Madame Lorraine and the girl are in number five and the doctor in number seven. As they keep so much to themselves, and even have their meals in the cabin, I fancy they are aware of our presence. I daresay they wonder—perhaps, not without reason, what our intentions are.""Yes, what must she think?" said Tom gravely. "What shall I say to her?""Say to her? Why tell her the truth, that I am going to Seattle on business for Christian Dreyel, and that you have come to keep me company. The promenade deck is free to all, and before this adventure has come to an end I shall have to thank my stars and yours that we were on the spot," said Wallion with much energy.He threw away his cigar and looked at his watch."It is time to dress for dinner; we may meet our interesting traveling companions in the dining-saloon.""Do you think so?""Yes, they will have to get the better of their ... shyness, shall I say? Otherwise one might think they were suffering from a guilty conscience."When they entered the luxurious, brilliantly-lighted saloon, the two men found themselves among the late comers. Tom took his seat with burning cheeks ... He had seen her again!Elaine Robertson sat at one of the tables at the farther end. She wore a simple but costly black evening dress, her head was bent but he thought that a slight blush mantled her cheeks also. Had she seen him? Doctor Corman, whose dark, Mephistophelian face expressed nothing in particular, sat on her left. On her right Tom noticed a bright, good-looking woman with thick, burnished golden hair, who at that moment, appeared to be putting a serious question to the Doctor."Madame Lorraine," remarked Wallion. "I wonder if she was making any inquiries about us?"The doctor's face turned in their direction, and he gave his interlocutor a curt answer; for, if he had noticed their presence he certainly did not show it. Tom fidgetted with impatience."Don't worry," said Wallion, "we shall naturally get into conversation with them, and don't keep staring their way; there are plenty of other people to look at."Tom hardly heard him. Wallion continued talking and presently Tom became interested."Look at that little man at the small table, on the left there in the corner—the one that looks like an Assyrian,—how does he strike you?"Tom followed the direction indicated by Wallion and quickly discovered the individual mentioned.He was a man with narrow shoulders who ate and drank with philosophical complacency, and without speaking to any one. His appearance was calculated to attract attention, his raven black, wavy beard was parted down the middle and formed a sort of shiny chest-protector under the sickly, thin-lipped mouth, above which was a long, straight nose, starting from an abnormally high, arched forehead of triangular shape, fringed by untidy, unkempt black locks, while his eyebrows resembled streaks of soot."Who is he?" asked Tom, "a Persian philosopher?""No, in the list of passengers he figures as a Greek antiquary; his name is Ricardo Ferail, which does not in the least sound like Greek.""He seems to interest you?""He does, I should rather like to see him run," replied Wallion absently; "but do look at Madame, I believe she is scolding."Madame Lorraine had moved closer to Doctor Corman, and was talking earnestly to the Doctor who several times shook his head.Some of those sitting near began to notice them, and Madame stopped talking with an angry shrug of her ample white shoulders.At that moment something very strange occurred. The Greek antiquary, whose heavy eyelids had until now been cast down on his plate, suddenly raised his dark, velvety orbs and turned them towards Elaine with a sinister, dreamy look. Elaine started visibly as if she had come into contact with some loathsome object, and presently she got up hurriedly, said something to the Doctor and left the saloon.Corman and his sister exchanged glances and followed her; all three disappeared, but the Greek continued his meal with the same indolent serenity. As Tom was also about to get up, Wallion said: "Sit still, there's no hurry.""But I want to speak to her," replied Tom, "I don't understand what is going on here, but she looks sad and depressed, and once for all I must speak to her.""All right," retorted Wallion, "but couldn't you wait a few minutes?""And suppose they should retire to their cabins again?" said Tom vexed."They won't this time," said Wallion, "that would be a very bad policy, and the Doctor is a thorough diplomat ..."A quarter of an hour later Tom and Wallion again came up on deck with fairly buoyant expectations. They had not long to wait for their mysterious fellow-passengers. Doctor Corman came out of the saloon with hands outstretched as if he had only just recognized them."What a surprise!" he cried, "the world is very small; so there was some truth in what my sister heard: that the famous Maurice Wallion was on board. We should have met before if the two ladies had not been so sick." He shook them warmly by the hand and talked incessantly as if to make up for the cool and over-hasty leave-taking in John Street."So delightful, gentlemen, such a charming surprise ... we can travel in company.""Yes," said Wallion, "as far as Seattle let us hope."The doctor's expression of polite surprise, which was undeniably only a mask, became more marked."As far as Seattle?" he repeated in an entirely indifferent tone."Yes," replied Wallion smiling, "the last time we met I promised that you should hear from me before you left Sweden. We called once or twice at your hotel at Gothenburg, but never had the luck to find you in, so we were obliged to put off asking for the little elucidation we require, until now."The doctor's eyes became sharper behind his pince-nez."Your journey to Seattle seems to have been quite a sudden plan?""As sudden as Dreyel's death, Doctor Corman, which makes an explanation all the more needful."The doctor gave a mocking smile, and said, "Well, my curiosity is beginning to be aroused; let us go into the saloon." He led the way, and before he realized where he was, Tom found himself bowing before Elaine Robertson, whose fearless, serious eyes looked into his. She was sitting beside Madame Lorraine on a sofa in the corner. Tom had an uncomfortable suspicion that this meeting had been pre-arranged.The doctor introduced his sister, and the usual civilities were exchanged. Madame was stout, unusually fair and good-looking, a little over thirty, with sea-green, sleepy eyes and carmine lips; she looked at the two men with the bold curiosity of a woman of the world but said nothing. Tom took a seat by Elaine and asked:"Are you not surprised to see us here?""No," she said. "I knew you were on board.""Don't you wonder what brought us here?""Well, perhaps ... why should I, though?" she broke off with a smile. "We were bound to meet on the way, were we not?""Of course, if one's destination happened to be the same," he replied.Just then Doctor Corman's voice was heard from above their heads: "And only think, Elaine, what a surprise, these gentlemen are going to keep us company as far as Seattle."She breathed hard, her dark eyes gazing into the far distance. Turning to Tom, she asked eagerly: "Is that so?"He nodded assent and turned for confirmation to Wallion, who drew up a chair and joined them. The Doctor sat down by his sister, folded his arms with an air of interested expectation and said pleasantly: "Well, now let us have the little explanation you seem to think so necessary, Mr. Wallion.""After what occurred in Stockholm the necessity should be patent," replied Wallion. "I consider it my duty to inform you that I am traveling at the request of Christian Dreyel to get a little light upon the mystery of those wooden dolls, and, as we are convinced that it can be obtained only from William Robertson, we desire to see your father in person, Miss Robertson, and rely upon Doctor Corman's assistance."Elaine never moved but listened with strained attention. The Doctor was going to speak, but Wallion continued:"Yes, the information you gave us at our former meeting was most valuable, but even for 'Phantom-Mania' there must be some tangible reason, and it is this reason or cause we wish to discover. Is there anything in William Robertson's life to account for the death of Dreyel or the vile attack upon his cousin?""You think there is?" said the Doctor very deliberately."It is my firm conviction."In a still more leisurely tone the Doctor said:"Elaine, would you mind telling these gentlemen how you found your father?""No," she answered promptly, with what might have been taken for a sigh of relief. She looked at Wallion and said: "All along I have been anxious to tell you all I knew. There isn't anything I want to keep back ... but a great deal ... oh, such a great deal that I don't understand."Tom was quite surprised at her evident eagerness, and it had a similar effect upon Wallion. She no longer looked at any one in particular, but was pale and nervous, as if she feared the opportunity might slip away from her, and began her story at once, in a low, subdued voice:"My father was born in Sweden, for William Robertson is only an alteration of his Swedish name, which he has not used for the last thirty years. The name he bore during his boyhood in Sweden is no longer remembered. The narrow-minded and proud relations who forced him to leave his native land are all gone.""They forced him?" interposed Wallion."Yes," she went on. "Perhaps it is not such an unusual story. His father was a lawyer and wanted his son to become one also. At Upsala he got among the artists, discovered that he had a talent for sculpture, neglected his studies and evil rumors came to the ears of his father. They led to a crisis which ended in his leaving the country precipitately. He has never done wrong to any one, never deceived or slandered others as they have slandered him. He came over to the United States, broken down, without means and, though a well-educated University man, was by turns reporter on a 'gold' paper, barman, steward on a fruit-ship, and lastly a tramp. Then he went out West, and was stableman on a wheat-farm until he became foreman. The owner of the farm, Mr. Bridgeman, took an interest in him, and one day, happening to see a sketch my father had made—a pastoral idyll—sent it to a paper in San Francisco, which accepted it, and, in a few years' time, my father became a popular, well-paid draughtsman. That was his best time. He married Violet Seymour and settled in San Francisco. I was born on January 10, 1898." Here she paused.The siren over their heads sent a deafening signal out into the night, and was answered by another in the offing. When all was quiet, Elaine again took up the thread of her story:"On New Year's Day, 1902, my father accidentally came across two Swedes whom he had known from childhood. They were the cousins Dreyel, Victor and Christian, and they told him they were just going to Alaska. At that time Klondyke had not the same old lure, but gold had been discovered in the sand on the shores of the Seward peninsula in 1898, and the two Dreyels met a Scotchman, Sandy MacCormick by name, who professed to know quite a new place for digging the precious metal. When my father heard their glowing promises he, too, was seized with the gold-fever and resolved to join them. He begged my mother to remain in San Francisco, and promised her he would return within a twelvemonth. Then, with the two Dreyels and MacCormick, he set off for Alaska.""Aha!" ejaculated Wallion, whose eyes were glittering, "you won't object to my jotting down a few notes, will you?"Almost unconsciously she bent her pretty head in assent and went on:"That was the last my mother saw of him. In the autumn of the same year terrible news reached us, and though I was only five years old I can remember the beautiful, pale face of my mother on the morning she was found dead in her chair. Something awful must have happened up there in Alaska, but how we got the message or what it was I don't know, only that it was too much for my mother's weak heart. Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeman took me to live with them, and what I have been telling you now was told me by Mr. Bridgeman, but my father's fate was never mentioned. I took it for granted that he was dead. The Bridgemans were kind, superior people; they gave me all they could, and I was devoted to them. But Mrs. Bridgeman—auntie—died when I was sixteen, and Mr. Bridgeman the year following—strange to say of the same complaint—inflammation of the lungs. I succeeded in getting a situation as typist in a business-house in Sacramento.""Did the Bridgemans leave you anything?" asked Tom."No, the farm was entirely in the hands of the railway company, owing to bad harvests for two years in succession. I obtained a better post after a time in an office in Seattle, but did not get on there; one of the directors, Mr. Dixon, who had been advertising for an expert stenographer for his office at Seattle, fortunately chose me, after making the most minute enquiries, from among a hundred applicants, and I have been eighteen months in his employment. Mr. Dixon is one of the leading men of business in Seattle and has, among other things, a wide-spread import connection, while he owns a wharf and several hotels on the coast for summer visitors. He is exacting, but kind and helpful, and he showed great interest in my father's fate. He offered to assist me to send out a search party, but nothing came of it. In November last year..." Elaine leant back on the sofa and closed her eyes, but after a short rest she continued with trembling voice:"In the beginning of November last year I saw my father again after fifteen years. I found him in a way which you might think beyond belief. One of Mr. Dixon's hotels had been burned down; there were difficulties about the insurance and, as Mr. Dixon was away, it was part of my duty to furnish the reporters with certain details, and that was how my name came to be in all the local papers. A few days later a white-haired, bent, fever-stricken man walked into the office. He wept for joy, and could hardly articulate my name ... that man..." She looked up, her eyes full of tears ... "that man was my father! He had seen my name in the papers but, scarcely dared believe his eyes, and it was almost ghastly to see his childish delight, for he was completely broken down and was living in the greatest poverty in one of the most squalid quarters in Seattle ... I have shown you his photograph. I had to look after him like a child, and I soon began to notice that he was no longer in full possession of his senses. I could only vaguely surmise that he had returned from Alaska towards the close of the year 1902, ruined and in despair; that when he heard that my mother was dead and I had gone, no one knew where, he was stricken down with a sharp attack of brain fever, and five months later dismissed from the hospital, a wreck both physical and mental. I dare not even think of the life he must then have led for nearly fifteen years, sunk in melancholy brooding, a lonely wanderer from place to place. I could never prevail upon him to tell me what had happened up there in Alaska, the region of gold and death, which had been the primary cause of his misery and my mother's death; but it must have been something awful, indescribable and terrible, for every question I asked made him shudder, and, at times, when I could see in his eyes that some dread recollection had risen in his mind, he became nearly wild with despair or unreasoning fury, and after such attacks he rarely spoke for days together. More serious symptoms then appeared. He adhered to the idea that spies were on his track; he used to burn paper as a spell, and shut himself up in his room and busy himself with some mysterious work, the nature of which I found out only by slow degrees. He used to carve little wooden figures which he called his dolls, his guardians, and he said:'Don't you see they watch over certain secrets. They are the dead waiting.'"His undue excitement made me very anxious, and when Mr. Dixon became aware of that I was obliged to tell him everything. He was greatly touched and made me consult Doctor Corman, who at once pronounced my father to be suffering from 'Phantom-mania.'""And that in the worst form," corroborated the Doctor. "I immediately took William Robertson under my own personal observation in my Home, and my diagnosis revealed maniacal tendencies; as frequently happens, he was perfectly sane with regard to the details of every-day life."A long silence ensued. Then Wallion asked:"And what is your own impression, Miss Robertson, for you would scarcely undertake a journey from Seattle to Stockholm for the purpose of carrying out a sick man's fancy?""I hardly knew what to think," she replied shivering. "A feeling sometimes comes over me that eventually ... that my father...""That your father? ... What? ..." queried the doctor."I don't rightly know," she stammered. "But if you had seen the look in my father's eyes when he bade me go and bring back the two wooden figures he had secretly sent to the two Dreyel cousins, if you had heard his tearful appeal, you would understand me better. It was one evening early in July that he persuaded me to undertake the journey. 'It is a matter of life or death to your father, Elaine,' he said, 'you must tell them that Toroni has discovered the secret, and you must bring back the wooden dolls, but take good care of them; go alone and speak to no one.' At that moment I thought him not responsible for his words and actions, but I went. I felt that I was fulfilling a duty—abstract, but imperative—I can't express myself more clearly. My father gave me one of the dolls as a sort of pattern.""And which, I am afraid, we forgot to give you back," said Wallion, laughing."I never want to see it again," she answered, with another shiver. "I have told you all I know of the abominable transactions which prevented my getting the dolls, and you know more than I do.""Only another question or two," said Wallion. "How did your father know the addresses of the two cousins?""I believe he was in correspondence with an Information Bureau in Stockholm. Just before being taken to the asylum he indulged in an enormous amount of letter writing to various places.""Had he told you to send that telegram provisionally to Dreyel from Gothenburg?""Yes ... as a warning; he said that every hour might be fatal.""Extraordinary!" remarked Wallion, looking at Doctor Corman. "Under these circumstances do you really believe the appearance of the assassin to have been accidental?"The doctor shrugged his shoulders and said nothing."Anyhow, you followed the young lady about," said Wallion with some asperity. "You believed there was danger.""Danger only to this extent, that she had started almost without means, and without protection," retorted the doctor drily. "Forgive me for referring to such a trifling fact, Elaine; your hurried journey was more like an attempt to escape, wasn't it?"Elaine had risen, she put both hands up to her head and said wearily: "I have a bad headache, and am so tired I think I must go in."She staggered and leant heavily on Tom's arm. Madame Lorraine rushed to the girl's aid and lovingly took her in her arms."My darling," she said fondly, "you have overexerted yourself, and you must go in and rest."All had risen from their seats. With a wan smile Elaine bade them "Good-night," and obediently went in with Madame Lorraine. When the two ladies had gone there was a gloomy silence for a time, broken at last by Doctor Corman."As you see, her nerves are overwrought. I am sorry to have interrupted the interesting recital so abruptly, but, no doubt, you observed that my statement regarding William Robertson's condition was confirmed. Do you still consider your journey to Seattle necessary?""A journey begun should never be abandoned," said Wallion sententiously, fixing his eyes upon him.The doctor threw back his head and laughed, showing his big white teeth. "All right ... I admire your energy, I promise to do what I can to hasten the result ... au revoir!" He bowed and departed."Oh, excellent Doctor!" murmured Wallion. "I'll give you an opportunity to keep your promise. Let us go into the smoking-room, Tom."On the upper deck the Greek antiquary passed close to them and then disappeared like a shadow into the darkness.
Augustus N. Corman, M.D.Seattle, U.S.A.
"Doctor Corman requests an interview with you, sir," she said. "He is in the study." She cast a look he knew of old at Wallion and when he was quite close to her, she said in a low voice which he alone could hear: "I have seen him before, he went past the house both last night and this morning and looked up at the window. He speaks English with an American accent."
Wallion nodded and laid a finger on his lips as Tom was about to speak. They both looked at the girl, who sat with her face buried in her hands; she seemed more ashamed than alarmed at having been caught ... a child's mortification. Wallion smiled grimly.
"Come along," he said, going into the study with Tom.
A well-dressed man of middle stature, perfectly self-possessed and at his ease, stood near the table, hat in hand. He was apparently about forty years of age, with a broad forehead and dark brown, wavy hair and mustache, but the eyes behind the gold rimmed pince-nez were clear and blue like billows of the sea, steadfast and piercing; he bowed slightly, saying:
"Good morning, Mr. Murner," in a strong, full voice, as, ignoring Wallion, he looked straight into Tom's face. The latter returned the greeting with a stiff inclination of the head.
"Good morning, Doctor Corman," he said in English ... "This is my friend and adviser, Mr. Wallion."
The Doctor bowed again with perceptibly heightened interest.
"To what do we owe the honor of a visit from you?" Tom said with an effort.
The Doctor's mustache concealed a faint smile of amusement.
"I have come to relieve you from a situation which is certainly as embarrassing as it was unexpected, Mr. Murner."
His sonorous voice was calculated to break down any kind of opposition and to negative any doubts, as a physician's is wont to do in a sick room. Tom felt that the doctor knew all.
"I don't quite understand," he said haltingly.
Doctor Corman waved his hat towards the smoking-room and said: "I have come to take the little lady back to her father. She has had adventures enough. The thing is settled."
"Speak a little more explicitly," he said.
The doctor removed his pince-nez and looked at him with his eyes half-closed, as is the way of people afflicted with short sight.
"Any further explanation between us would be superfluous. I have ascertained that Elaine Robertson is here. I am her guardian, appointed as such by reason of her father's dementia. As such I tender you my thanks for the shelter you have given her and I intend to take her away immediately; my motor is waiting."
Wallion reflected for a while. He gave Tom a meaning look, for here undoubtedly was a step towards the solution of the problem. In any case the girl must go, for this aggressive and amazing doctor was certainly in the right.
"So you affirm that her father is out of his mind?" he asked; "will you not give us a little more information?"
"Do you know what 'Phantom-Mania' is?" answered the doctor. "Delusions about mysteries which are non-existent ... a fear of pursuers who are not there ... a love for sending messages and gifts which mean nothing. Only the overwrought brain of a neurotic girl can give credence to these. The actions of a weak-minded man or the whims and fancies of a nervous young woman ... both have a fictitious value."
"The death of Victor Dreyel, the stab in the girl's arm, the attack in Captain Street and the theft of the wooden dolls were not delusions."
"I am not concerned with what has occurred here. Elaine accidentally crossed the path of an unknown robber ... it is always the unexpected which happens and such contingencies are from the devil."
"Is that all you have to say about it?"
"Yes, I know what I am talking about, Mr. Wallion, and I don't allow myself to be caught unawares. I am here in the capacity of William Robertson's medical adviser and Elaine's guardian, and I desire to see her at once." His tone had a touch of increased sharpness in it.
"One moment," said Wallion, "how did you get here?"
"That is very simple, as soon as Elaine started from Seattle on her imaginary quest, her father grew anxious and in a lucid moment confessed to me that he had acted on a delusion. I set off immediately to prevent the girl from doing anything foolish. My sister, Madame Nina Lorraine, is with me to look after things. The whole affair is a farce, but likely to end in a tragedy."
Wallion laughed and looked straight at the doctor.
"Do you know," he said, "why Miss Elaine is in hiding here? Are you aware that the police are looking for her?"
The doctor gave no answer. The door of the smoking-room slowly opened and Elaine stood on the threshold, pale and silent.
"What are you talking about?" she said in a monotonous tone. "I am here, take me home to father, Doctor Corman, I am so tired."
Corman took her hand with an air of triumph and speaking over her bowed head he said: "There, you see, Mr. Wallion. What are you going to do?"
Wallion replied: "I presume you and your sister are staying in some hotel?"
"Yes, at the Grand Hotel."
"Miss Robertson is quite at liberty to go with you. For the present any further discussion is unnecessary, but what I said just now was meant as a caution to you, doctor, and you shall hear from me before you leave."
"All right," said the doctor frigidly.
Five minutes later Elaine Robertson had left No. 30 John Street, in Doctor Corman's company.
CHAPTER VIII
ONWARD TO THE UNKNOWN
Tom was raving. Everything had been done in such haste that his brain was in a whirl when he tried to look back upon recent events. Elaine's cold and hurried "Good-by" stung him like a thousand pin-pricks, and the doctor's voice echoed fiendishly shrill in his ears. Why had Wallion given in so quickly?
The journalist did not stop to listen to Tom's excited inquiries. He made some hurried notes in his pocket-book and departed. It seemed as if he were pursuing some new train of thought. Had he got weary of the Elaine Robertson mystery after the unforeseen intermezzo? Half-an-hour later he sent the following telephone message: "Expect me at five o'clock. Tell Mrs. Toby to have dinner ready and inquire whether any one saw the girl leave the house. Further details later on." Then he rang off.
* * * * *
Shortly before five o'clock that same afternoon Wallion came to see Tom, who was sitting in his room, lost in melancholy reflections.
"We have hurled the bomb," he said, throwing a bundle of newspapers on the table, "but it has not exploded yet."
He proceeded to unfold the evening paper and pointed to a column therein, headed:
ASSASSINATION OF DREYEL. AN ACT OF REVENGE.Christian Dreyel also attacked and robbed.Two Works of Art stolen. Was it the actof a madman?
"Now listen," said Wallion, laughing. "My colleague of the evening paper has been very energetic, the last paragraph is of most interest to us," and he began to read:
"The unknown young lady who left Victor Dreyel's studio at the time of the murder has not made herself known; she is now said not to have been implicated. She may have been a casual customer come to fetch her photographs, or an acquaintance of the murdered man's, and on the presumption that she found him lying dead it was only natural that she should have declined to come forward as a witness, and her depositions would not, anyhow, have been more reliable than those of the porter's wife. It has been ascertained that the perpetrator was a man who set about his dastardly work with unusual—one may say, incredible—brutality, and the fact that his sole aim both in John Street and in Captain Street was to get at a certain statuette, a bit of carved wood of little value, proves that the scoundrel must have been a maniac, perhaps actuated by a feeling of revenge towards the Dreyels, who during their long residence abroad, etc., etc...."
"Well made up," said Wallion, stopping abruptly. "A wonderful mixture of truth and falsehood. Special stress must be laid on the fact that the girl in grey is done with, that she no longer counts. TheDaily Universalactually doubts the porter's wife being in her right senses; whereas theEvening Newsexhorts the unknown lady in any case to come forward and to affirm that she was out of it all! The chief point at present, however, is that, now the papers have taken it up, the girl in grey has vanished like smoke. I have just been to the Police Court and seen Ferlin, who was as subdued and crestfallen as a whipped hound, for he has been wild to catch her all the time. What would he have said if he had been here and seen the doctor drive away with her in his car? By-the-bye..." he looked inquiringly at Tom, who replied:
"No, no one noticed Miss Robertson going away. She was dressed in black, and even the porter's wife had not curiosity enough to come up."
"Good," said Wallion, rather relieved. He looked scrutinizingly at Tom Murner's downcast face and intuitively guessed what he was thinking of.
"Don't look so glum," he said. "I don't deny that Doctor Corman cropped up rather inopportunely, but I should never have dreamt of preventing him. All he said was perfectly clear and explanatory..."
"Explanatory?" said Tom, scornfully; "when he refused to give any information, pooh-poohing everything as if it were a fable?"
"Just so, Doctor Corman is an interesting personality, perhaps more interesting than you think. I have heard sundry details, so listen to what I am going to tell you. Corman and his sister arrived late on the evening of the first of August and went to the Grand. Therefore he came at the same time as Miss Elaine, whom he wanted to 'overtake'; they travelled in the same train from Gothenburg and in all probability on the same steamer from America. Do you understand that? During the entire journey, therefore, he must have been more or less near her, but he did not reveal his identity until to-day; and—what is even more remarkable—he had not only bespoken rooms for himself and Madame Lorraine, but for Miss Elaine Robertson as well."
"What is that you say?" interrupted Tom, half dazed; "I don't take it in. Do you mean to imply that the doctor and the girl acted in collusion?"
"Not at all. At first I thought so, but that is very unlikely. No, the doctor kept at a distance to see what she was up to. Wait a minute, I can see what you are thinking about; no, old man, the doctor is not identical with Victor Dreyel's murderer or the marauder of Captain Street. The latter I saw with my own eyes and his build was quite different; he was much shorter and thinner. Besides, the doctor only left the hotel for a few hours and could not possibly have been anywhere north of Gävle, but he has very frequently been out here. We must take care not to confound him with the miscreant unless we have incontestable proofs. So far he is immune. Note that the girl seemed to trust him, and was quite ready to go with him."
At this juncture Tom again burst out into vituperation.
Wallion listened unperturbed, but at last he spoke:
"Why did I let her go? Because just when Corman turned up I recognized the difficulty of our position; we were not justified in keeping her here. When the girl showed herself willing to go with him, the affair was 'settled,' as the doctor expressed it. But it is not at an end yet."
He sat down and seemed to be ruminating. After a while Tom heard him mutter to himself: "Anyhow, he is most interesting as a representative of a certain type."
"Who? Doctor Corman?" interrogated Tom.
Wallion vouchsafed no reply; he had suddenly grown taciturn, sullen, almost irritable, and soon after dinner he went out, taking Mrs. Toby back with him as her services were no longer required at No. 30, John Street. Tom remained alone in the little dwelling which now seemed to him gloomy and deserted, not to say haunted.
* * * * *
Next day came the long expected summons from the Chief Detective, which he obeyed with considerable misgivings, but the Chief received him very pleasantly, and the cross-examination was reduced to a few questions regarding his connection with Victor Dreyel, though he was asked to furnish a minute description of the famous wooden doll.
"Do you know Mr. Wallion?" the Chief finally inquired with a long, searching look at Tom.
"Yes," the latter replied. "It was through me that he came to take an interest in this business."
"H—m! It's odd that he never published the results in theDaily Courier. Do you know whether he intends to continue his investigations?"
"No," answered Tom, not without a touch of annoyance, for it was a question he had been debating with himself all the morning.
"Well," said the Chief in a genial manner, "remember me to Mr. Wallion, and tell him, if he hears news that might lead to important results we shall be happy to coöperate with him."
When Tom reached home he found Wallion sitting in his study, with the wooden doll on the table in front of him, and looking rather disconcerted. As Tom entered he said:
"Look here, we forgot this thing when we gave Miss Elaine back her satchel, and she will know that we searched it."
Tom proposed that it should be sent to the Grand at once.
"It is too late, Doctor Corman and the two ladies have gone to Gothenburg."
"What? Already?"
"Yes, and they have booked their passages on the next boat to America ... it leaves on Thursday next week."
Tom could see that Wallion had something up his sleeve by the dry way in which he spoke, and the suspicion caused him to look fixedly at his friend.
Maurice Wallion sat still with his eyes half-closed, his hands in his pockets.
"Maurice," asked Tom impatiently. "What are you thinking about?"
"What did the Chief say?" was Walloon's retort.
Tom repeated the conversation and gave his message.
Wallion laughed. "Results?" he said. "There is only one way to get any 'results' in this affair."
"What might that be?" queried Tom.
Wallion opened his eyes very wide and said:
"It is to allow Elaine Robertson and Doctor Corman to continue their journey unmolested."
"Back to Seattle?"
"Yes, and to follow in their track to the same place."
Tom clung to the arm of his chair for support; they looked at each other in silence for some minutes.
"Since Doctor Corman took Elaine under the shelter of his wing, there is only one place where this conundrum can be solved, and that place is a certain private 'Home' or asylum on the outskirts of Seattle."
"But what about the other ... the murderer?"
"Something tells me that the police will never capture him here, but that he himself and the two dolls will be found at the journey's end."
Wallion spoke with a sort of wistful longing. Tom could not refrain from looking at him earnestly; he began to think he had but half-known his friend so far. A craving for action took possession of him also; and when at last he grasped the portent of Wallion's look the "Problem-Solver" had come to a decision.
"At the end of the journey?" repeated Tom, in a voice which shook with excitement ... "Are you going?"
"I promised Christian Dreyel I would do my best," replied Wallion.
The two men exchanged glances which furnished a sufficient answer to the perplexed thoughts of many clays. Great resolutions are not necessarily preceded by much talking.
"I shall go with you," said Tom.
"I knew you would," was Wallion's laconic reply.
* * * * *
The newspapers had not succeeded in stirring up any great interest in the Dreyel case, and when the novelty had worn off, they said no more about it. After Victor Dreyel's funeral, which took place on the Monday following, Wallion had a short conversation with Aspeland in the deserted studio. The Superintendent was reluctantly giving up his hopeless task and said somewhat bitterly:
"Toroni is merely a name. We have done our utmost, but we can't put the bracelets on a shadow, and the search is at an end unless something new turns up."
Wallion and Aspeland left the studio together, and the latter having locked up and given the keys to the porter, wended his way home.
"A symbolical proceeding," remarked Wallion to Tom a little later.
"Victor Dreyel has solved the great riddle and has gone 'home'; Aspeland found no clue, and he has gone 'home' ... it is our turn now, No. 13 Toroni."
Wallion and Tom started for Gothenburg on the following Tuesday. Tom wished to defray the traveling expenses, but Wallion, after his work in England, was financially independent, and settled matters with these words:
"War expenses have to be shared equally ... Danger and success likewise ... Is that clear to you now? Well then, off and away to the great unknown."
PART II
"THE WOODEN DOLLS"
CHAPTER IX
ELAINE ROBERTSON'S STORY
"Our second day on board and not a glimpse of either her or the doctor," said Tom, gloomily. "I begin to doubt their being on board at all."
He and Wallion were standing on the promenade deck, leaning over the rails, and by chance no one else was there. For two days the gigantic propeller had been plowing its way through the surf. A fresh breeze was blowing and the sky stretched like a blue canopy from horizon to horizon across the ever rising and falling waves. The rhythmical thud of the machinery within the capacious interior of the boat reached them where they stood.
Tom gazed at the endless amplitude of the ocean, and, obsessed by doubts when Wallion did not reply, at once continued. "After all what are we really here for? Who knows whether the solving of the mystery connected with those wooden dolls does, indeed, await us? We may have left it behind, and Elaine may have disappeared for ever."
Wallion made a gesture as if lie had just awakened from sleep, and looked at his friend.
"Compose yourself," he said. "You don't suppose I should leave anything to chance? Certainly we did not see them come on board, but they are here. I have seen the list of passengers, and have had a chat with the purser; they have engaged two of the best upper deck cabins. Madame Lorraine and the girl are in number five and the doctor in number seven. As they keep so much to themselves, and even have their meals in the cabin, I fancy they are aware of our presence. I daresay they wonder—perhaps, not without reason, what our intentions are."
"Yes, what must she think?" said Tom gravely. "What shall I say to her?"
"Say to her? Why tell her the truth, that I am going to Seattle on business for Christian Dreyel, and that you have come to keep me company. The promenade deck is free to all, and before this adventure has come to an end I shall have to thank my stars and yours that we were on the spot," said Wallion with much energy.
He threw away his cigar and looked at his watch.
"It is time to dress for dinner; we may meet our interesting traveling companions in the dining-saloon."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes, they will have to get the better of their ... shyness, shall I say? Otherwise one might think they were suffering from a guilty conscience."
When they entered the luxurious, brilliantly-lighted saloon, the two men found themselves among the late comers. Tom took his seat with burning cheeks ... He had seen her again!
Elaine Robertson sat at one of the tables at the farther end. She wore a simple but costly black evening dress, her head was bent but he thought that a slight blush mantled her cheeks also. Had she seen him? Doctor Corman, whose dark, Mephistophelian face expressed nothing in particular, sat on her left. On her right Tom noticed a bright, good-looking woman with thick, burnished golden hair, who at that moment, appeared to be putting a serious question to the Doctor.
"Madame Lorraine," remarked Wallion. "I wonder if she was making any inquiries about us?"
The doctor's face turned in their direction, and he gave his interlocutor a curt answer; for, if he had noticed their presence he certainly did not show it. Tom fidgetted with impatience.
"Don't worry," said Wallion, "we shall naturally get into conversation with them, and don't keep staring their way; there are plenty of other people to look at."
Tom hardly heard him. Wallion continued talking and presently Tom became interested.
"Look at that little man at the small table, on the left there in the corner—the one that looks like an Assyrian,—how does he strike you?"
Tom followed the direction indicated by Wallion and quickly discovered the individual mentioned.
He was a man with narrow shoulders who ate and drank with philosophical complacency, and without speaking to any one. His appearance was calculated to attract attention, his raven black, wavy beard was parted down the middle and formed a sort of shiny chest-protector under the sickly, thin-lipped mouth, above which was a long, straight nose, starting from an abnormally high, arched forehead of triangular shape, fringed by untidy, unkempt black locks, while his eyebrows resembled streaks of soot.
"Who is he?" asked Tom, "a Persian philosopher?"
"No, in the list of passengers he figures as a Greek antiquary; his name is Ricardo Ferail, which does not in the least sound like Greek."
"He seems to interest you?"
"He does, I should rather like to see him run," replied Wallion absently; "but do look at Madame, I believe she is scolding."
Madame Lorraine had moved closer to Doctor Corman, and was talking earnestly to the Doctor who several times shook his head.
Some of those sitting near began to notice them, and Madame stopped talking with an angry shrug of her ample white shoulders.
At that moment something very strange occurred. The Greek antiquary, whose heavy eyelids had until now been cast down on his plate, suddenly raised his dark, velvety orbs and turned them towards Elaine with a sinister, dreamy look. Elaine started visibly as if she had come into contact with some loathsome object, and presently she got up hurriedly, said something to the Doctor and left the saloon.
Corman and his sister exchanged glances and followed her; all three disappeared, but the Greek continued his meal with the same indolent serenity. As Tom was also about to get up, Wallion said: "Sit still, there's no hurry."
"But I want to speak to her," replied Tom, "I don't understand what is going on here, but she looks sad and depressed, and once for all I must speak to her."
"All right," retorted Wallion, "but couldn't you wait a few minutes?"
"And suppose they should retire to their cabins again?" said Tom vexed.
"They won't this time," said Wallion, "that would be a very bad policy, and the Doctor is a thorough diplomat ..."
A quarter of an hour later Tom and Wallion again came up on deck with fairly buoyant expectations. They had not long to wait for their mysterious fellow-passengers. Doctor Corman came out of the saloon with hands outstretched as if he had only just recognized them.
"What a surprise!" he cried, "the world is very small; so there was some truth in what my sister heard: that the famous Maurice Wallion was on board. We should have met before if the two ladies had not been so sick." He shook them warmly by the hand and talked incessantly as if to make up for the cool and over-hasty leave-taking in John Street.
"So delightful, gentlemen, such a charming surprise ... we can travel in company."
"Yes," said Wallion, "as far as Seattle let us hope."
The doctor's expression of polite surprise, which was undeniably only a mask, became more marked.
"As far as Seattle?" he repeated in an entirely indifferent tone.
"Yes," replied Wallion smiling, "the last time we met I promised that you should hear from me before you left Sweden. We called once or twice at your hotel at Gothenburg, but never had the luck to find you in, so we were obliged to put off asking for the little elucidation we require, until now."
The doctor's eyes became sharper behind his pince-nez.
"Your journey to Seattle seems to have been quite a sudden plan?"
"As sudden as Dreyel's death, Doctor Corman, which makes an explanation all the more needful."
The doctor gave a mocking smile, and said, "Well, my curiosity is beginning to be aroused; let us go into the saloon." He led the way, and before he realized where he was, Tom found himself bowing before Elaine Robertson, whose fearless, serious eyes looked into his. She was sitting beside Madame Lorraine on a sofa in the corner. Tom had an uncomfortable suspicion that this meeting had been pre-arranged.
The doctor introduced his sister, and the usual civilities were exchanged. Madame was stout, unusually fair and good-looking, a little over thirty, with sea-green, sleepy eyes and carmine lips; she looked at the two men with the bold curiosity of a woman of the world but said nothing. Tom took a seat by Elaine and asked:
"Are you not surprised to see us here?"
"No," she said. "I knew you were on board."
"Don't you wonder what brought us here?"
"Well, perhaps ... why should I, though?" she broke off with a smile. "We were bound to meet on the way, were we not?"
"Of course, if one's destination happened to be the same," he replied.
Just then Doctor Corman's voice was heard from above their heads: "And only think, Elaine, what a surprise, these gentlemen are going to keep us company as far as Seattle."
She breathed hard, her dark eyes gazing into the far distance. Turning to Tom, she asked eagerly: "Is that so?"
He nodded assent and turned for confirmation to Wallion, who drew up a chair and joined them. The Doctor sat down by his sister, folded his arms with an air of interested expectation and said pleasantly: "Well, now let us have the little explanation you seem to think so necessary, Mr. Wallion."
"After what occurred in Stockholm the necessity should be patent," replied Wallion. "I consider it my duty to inform you that I am traveling at the request of Christian Dreyel to get a little light upon the mystery of those wooden dolls, and, as we are convinced that it can be obtained only from William Robertson, we desire to see your father in person, Miss Robertson, and rely upon Doctor Corman's assistance."
Elaine never moved but listened with strained attention. The Doctor was going to speak, but Wallion continued:
"Yes, the information you gave us at our former meeting was most valuable, but even for 'Phantom-Mania' there must be some tangible reason, and it is this reason or cause we wish to discover. Is there anything in William Robertson's life to account for the death of Dreyel or the vile attack upon his cousin?"
"You think there is?" said the Doctor very deliberately.
"It is my firm conviction."
In a still more leisurely tone the Doctor said:
"Elaine, would you mind telling these gentlemen how you found your father?"
"No," she answered promptly, with what might have been taken for a sigh of relief. She looked at Wallion and said: "All along I have been anxious to tell you all I knew. There isn't anything I want to keep back ... but a great deal ... oh, such a great deal that I don't understand."
Tom was quite surprised at her evident eagerness, and it had a similar effect upon Wallion. She no longer looked at any one in particular, but was pale and nervous, as if she feared the opportunity might slip away from her, and began her story at once, in a low, subdued voice:
"My father was born in Sweden, for William Robertson is only an alteration of his Swedish name, which he has not used for the last thirty years. The name he bore during his boyhood in Sweden is no longer remembered. The narrow-minded and proud relations who forced him to leave his native land are all gone."
"They forced him?" interposed Wallion.
"Yes," she went on. "Perhaps it is not such an unusual story. His father was a lawyer and wanted his son to become one also. At Upsala he got among the artists, discovered that he had a talent for sculpture, neglected his studies and evil rumors came to the ears of his father. They led to a crisis which ended in his leaving the country precipitately. He has never done wrong to any one, never deceived or slandered others as they have slandered him. He came over to the United States, broken down, without means and, though a well-educated University man, was by turns reporter on a 'gold' paper, barman, steward on a fruit-ship, and lastly a tramp. Then he went out West, and was stableman on a wheat-farm until he became foreman. The owner of the farm, Mr. Bridgeman, took an interest in him, and one day, happening to see a sketch my father had made—a pastoral idyll—sent it to a paper in San Francisco, which accepted it, and, in a few years' time, my father became a popular, well-paid draughtsman. That was his best time. He married Violet Seymour and settled in San Francisco. I was born on January 10, 1898." Here she paused.
The siren over their heads sent a deafening signal out into the night, and was answered by another in the offing. When all was quiet, Elaine again took up the thread of her story:
"On New Year's Day, 1902, my father accidentally came across two Swedes whom he had known from childhood. They were the cousins Dreyel, Victor and Christian, and they told him they were just going to Alaska. At that time Klondyke had not the same old lure, but gold had been discovered in the sand on the shores of the Seward peninsula in 1898, and the two Dreyels met a Scotchman, Sandy MacCormick by name, who professed to know quite a new place for digging the precious metal. When my father heard their glowing promises he, too, was seized with the gold-fever and resolved to join them. He begged my mother to remain in San Francisco, and promised her he would return within a twelvemonth. Then, with the two Dreyels and MacCormick, he set off for Alaska."
"Aha!" ejaculated Wallion, whose eyes were glittering, "you won't object to my jotting down a few notes, will you?"
Almost unconsciously she bent her pretty head in assent and went on:
"That was the last my mother saw of him. In the autumn of the same year terrible news reached us, and though I was only five years old I can remember the beautiful, pale face of my mother on the morning she was found dead in her chair. Something awful must have happened up there in Alaska, but how we got the message or what it was I don't know, only that it was too much for my mother's weak heart. Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeman took me to live with them, and what I have been telling you now was told me by Mr. Bridgeman, but my father's fate was never mentioned. I took it for granted that he was dead. The Bridgemans were kind, superior people; they gave me all they could, and I was devoted to them. But Mrs. Bridgeman—auntie—died when I was sixteen, and Mr. Bridgeman the year following—strange to say of the same complaint—inflammation of the lungs. I succeeded in getting a situation as typist in a business-house in Sacramento."
"Did the Bridgemans leave you anything?" asked Tom.
"No, the farm was entirely in the hands of the railway company, owing to bad harvests for two years in succession. I obtained a better post after a time in an office in Seattle, but did not get on there; one of the directors, Mr. Dixon, who had been advertising for an expert stenographer for his office at Seattle, fortunately chose me, after making the most minute enquiries, from among a hundred applicants, and I have been eighteen months in his employment. Mr. Dixon is one of the leading men of business in Seattle and has, among other things, a wide-spread import connection, while he owns a wharf and several hotels on the coast for summer visitors. He is exacting, but kind and helpful, and he showed great interest in my father's fate. He offered to assist me to send out a search party, but nothing came of it. In November last year..." Elaine leant back on the sofa and closed her eyes, but after a short rest she continued with trembling voice:
"In the beginning of November last year I saw my father again after fifteen years. I found him in a way which you might think beyond belief. One of Mr. Dixon's hotels had been burned down; there were difficulties about the insurance and, as Mr. Dixon was away, it was part of my duty to furnish the reporters with certain details, and that was how my name came to be in all the local papers. A few days later a white-haired, bent, fever-stricken man walked into the office. He wept for joy, and could hardly articulate my name ... that man..." She looked up, her eyes full of tears ... "that man was my father! He had seen my name in the papers but, scarcely dared believe his eyes, and it was almost ghastly to see his childish delight, for he was completely broken down and was living in the greatest poverty in one of the most squalid quarters in Seattle ... I have shown you his photograph. I had to look after him like a child, and I soon began to notice that he was no longer in full possession of his senses. I could only vaguely surmise that he had returned from Alaska towards the close of the year 1902, ruined and in despair; that when he heard that my mother was dead and I had gone, no one knew where, he was stricken down with a sharp attack of brain fever, and five months later dismissed from the hospital, a wreck both physical and mental. I dare not even think of the life he must then have led for nearly fifteen years, sunk in melancholy brooding, a lonely wanderer from place to place. I could never prevail upon him to tell me what had happened up there in Alaska, the region of gold and death, which had been the primary cause of his misery and my mother's death; but it must have been something awful, indescribable and terrible, for every question I asked made him shudder, and, at times, when I could see in his eyes that some dread recollection had risen in his mind, he became nearly wild with despair or unreasoning fury, and after such attacks he rarely spoke for days together. More serious symptoms then appeared. He adhered to the idea that spies were on his track; he used to burn paper as a spell, and shut himself up in his room and busy himself with some mysterious work, the nature of which I found out only by slow degrees. He used to carve little wooden figures which he called his dolls, his guardians, and he said:
'Don't you see they watch over certain secrets. They are the dead waiting.'
"His undue excitement made me very anxious, and when Mr. Dixon became aware of that I was obliged to tell him everything. He was greatly touched and made me consult Doctor Corman, who at once pronounced my father to be suffering from 'Phantom-mania.'"
"And that in the worst form," corroborated the Doctor. "I immediately took William Robertson under my own personal observation in my Home, and my diagnosis revealed maniacal tendencies; as frequently happens, he was perfectly sane with regard to the details of every-day life."
A long silence ensued. Then Wallion asked:
"And what is your own impression, Miss Robertson, for you would scarcely undertake a journey from Seattle to Stockholm for the purpose of carrying out a sick man's fancy?"
"I hardly knew what to think," she replied shivering. "A feeling sometimes comes over me that eventually ... that my father..."
"That your father? ... What? ..." queried the doctor.
"I don't rightly know," she stammered. "But if you had seen the look in my father's eyes when he bade me go and bring back the two wooden figures he had secretly sent to the two Dreyel cousins, if you had heard his tearful appeal, you would understand me better. It was one evening early in July that he persuaded me to undertake the journey. 'It is a matter of life or death to your father, Elaine,' he said, 'you must tell them that Toroni has discovered the secret, and you must bring back the wooden dolls, but take good care of them; go alone and speak to no one.' At that moment I thought him not responsible for his words and actions, but I went. I felt that I was fulfilling a duty—abstract, but imperative—I can't express myself more clearly. My father gave me one of the dolls as a sort of pattern."
"And which, I am afraid, we forgot to give you back," said Wallion, laughing.
"I never want to see it again," she answered, with another shiver. "I have told you all I know of the abominable transactions which prevented my getting the dolls, and you know more than I do."
"Only another question or two," said Wallion. "How did your father know the addresses of the two cousins?"
"I believe he was in correspondence with an Information Bureau in Stockholm. Just before being taken to the asylum he indulged in an enormous amount of letter writing to various places."
"Had he told you to send that telegram provisionally to Dreyel from Gothenburg?"
"Yes ... as a warning; he said that every hour might be fatal."
"Extraordinary!" remarked Wallion, looking at Doctor Corman. "Under these circumstances do you really believe the appearance of the assassin to have been accidental?"
The doctor shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.
"Anyhow, you followed the young lady about," said Wallion with some asperity. "You believed there was danger."
"Danger only to this extent, that she had started almost without means, and without protection," retorted the doctor drily. "Forgive me for referring to such a trifling fact, Elaine; your hurried journey was more like an attempt to escape, wasn't it?"
Elaine had risen, she put both hands up to her head and said wearily: "I have a bad headache, and am so tired I think I must go in."
She staggered and leant heavily on Tom's arm. Madame Lorraine rushed to the girl's aid and lovingly took her in her arms.
"My darling," she said fondly, "you have overexerted yourself, and you must go in and rest."
All had risen from their seats. With a wan smile Elaine bade them "Good-night," and obediently went in with Madame Lorraine. When the two ladies had gone there was a gloomy silence for a time, broken at last by Doctor Corman.
"As you see, her nerves are overwrought. I am sorry to have interrupted the interesting recital so abruptly, but, no doubt, you observed that my statement regarding William Robertson's condition was confirmed. Do you still consider your journey to Seattle necessary?"
"A journey begun should never be abandoned," said Wallion sententiously, fixing his eyes upon him.
The doctor threw back his head and laughed, showing his big white teeth. "All right ... I admire your energy, I promise to do what I can to hasten the result ... au revoir!" He bowed and departed.
"Oh, excellent Doctor!" murmured Wallion. "I'll give you an opportunity to keep your promise. Let us go into the smoking-room, Tom."
On the upper deck the Greek antiquary passed close to them and then disappeared like a shadow into the darkness.