A man in a suit hangs between a trestle and a train.QUEST JUMPS FROM THE SIGNAL TOWER ON TO THE FAST MOVING TRAIN.
QUEST JUMPS FROM THE SIGNAL TOWER ON TO THE FAST MOVING TRAIN.
Quest sits at a table, oblivious to the hands behind him.A PAIR OF MYSTERIOUS HANDS PLACE THE BLACK BOX ON QUEST’S TABLE.
A PAIR OF MYSTERIOUS HANDS PLACE THE BLACK BOX ON QUEST’S TABLE.
“I never meant to drop him,” he muttered. “I got mad at seeing Quest get off. That man’s a devil.”
“What are we going to do?” the other demanded hoarsely. “It’s a quiet spot this, but there’ll be some one round before long. There goes the damned signals already!” he exclaimed, as the gong sounded in the tower.
“There’s the auto,” Gallagher shouted. “Come on. Come on, man! I can fix the tire. If we’ve got to swing for this job, we’ll have something of our own back first.”
They crawled to the side of the road. Gallagher’s rough, hairy fingers were still trembling, but they knew their job. In a few minutes the tire was fixed. Clumsily but successfully, the great Irishman turned the car round away from the city.
“She’s a hummer,” he muttered. “I’ll make her go when we get the hang of it. Sit tight!”
They drove clumsily off, gathering speed at every yard. Behind, in the shadow of the tower, the signalman lay dead. Quest, half way to New York, stretched flat on his stomach, was struggling for life with knees and hands and feet.
Mrs. Rheinholdt welcomed the Inspector with a beaming smile as he stepped out of his office and approached her automobile.
“How nice of you to be so punctual, Mr. French,” she exclaimed, making room for him by her side. “Will you tell the man to drive to Mr. Quest’s house in Georgia Square?”
The Inspector obeyed and took his place in the luxurious limousine.
“How beautifully punctual we are!” she continued, glancing at the clock. “Inspector, I am so excited at the idea of getting my jewels back. Isn’t Mr. Quest a wonderful man?”
“He’s a clever chap, all right,” the Inspector admitted. “All the same, I’m rather sorry he wasn’t able to lay his hands on the thief.”
“That’s your point of view, of course,” Mrs. Rheinholdt remarked. “I can think of nothing but having my diamonds back. I feel I ought to go and thank the Professor for recommending Mr. Quest.”
The Inspector made no reply. Mrs. Rheinholdt was suddenly aware that she was becoming a little tactless.
“Of course,” she sighed, “it is disappointing not to be able to lay your hands upon the thief. That is where I suppose you must find the interference of an amateur like Mr. Quest a little troublesome sometimes. He gets back the property, which is what the private individual wants, but he doesn’t secure the thief, which is, of course, the real end of the case from your point of view.”
“It’s a queer affair about these jewels,” the Inspector remarked. “Quest hasn’t told me the whole story yet. Here we are on the stroke of time!”
The car drew up outside Quest’s house. The Inspector assisted his companion to alight and rang the bell at the front door. There was a somewhat prolonged pause. He rang again.
“Never knew this to happen before,” he remarked. “That sort of secretary-valet of Mr. Quest’s—Ross Brown, I think he calls him—is always on the spot.”
They waited for some time. There was still no answer to their summons. The Inspector placed his ear to the keyhole. There was not a sound to be heard. He drew back, a little puzzled. At that moment his attention was caught by the fluttering of a little piece of white material caught in the door. He pulled it out. It was a fragment of white embroidery, and on it were several small stains. The Inspector looked at them and looked at his fingers. His face grew suddenly grave.
“Seems to me,” he muttered, “that there’s been some trouble here. I shall have to take a liberty. If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Rheinholdt, I think it would be better if you waited in the car until I send out for you.”
“You don’t think the jewels have been stolen again?” she gasped.
The Inspector made no reply. He had drawn from his pocket a little pass-key and was fitting it into the lock. The door swung open. Once more they were both conscious of that peculiar silence, which seemed to have in it some unnamable quality. He moved to the foot of the stairs and shouted.
“Hello! Any one there?”
There was no reply. He opened the doors of the two rooms on the right hand side, where Quest, when he was engaged in any widespread affair, kept a stenographer and a telegraph operator. Both rooms were empty. Then he turned towards Quest’s study on the left hand side. French was a man of iron nerve. He had served his time in the roughest quarters of New York. He had found himself face to face with every sort of crime, yet as he opened that door, he seemed to feel some premonition of what was to come. He stepped across the threshold. No power on earth could have kept back the cry which broke from his lips.
The curtains of the window which looked out on to the street, were drawn, and the light was none too good. It was sufficient for him, however, to see without difficulty the details of a ghastly tragedy. A few feet away from the door was stretched the body of the secretary-valet. On the other side of the room, lying as though she had slipped from the sofa, her head fallen on one side in hideous fashion, was the body of Miss Quigg, the Salvation Army young woman. French set his teeth and drew back the curtains. In the clearer light, the disorder of the room was fully revealed. There had been a terrible struggle. Between whom? How?
There was suddenly a piercing shriek. The Inspector turned quickly around. Mrs. Rheinholdt, who had disregarded his advice, was standing on the threshold.
“Inspector!” she cried. “What has happened? Oh, my God!”
She covered her face with her hands. French gripped her by the arm. At that moment there was the sound of an automobile stopping outside.
“Keep quiet for a moment,” the Inspector whispered in her ear. “Pull yourself together, madam. Go to the other end of the room. Don’t look. Stay there for a few moments and then get home as quick as you can.”
She obeyed him mutely, pressing her hands to her eyes, shivering in every limb. French stood back inside the room. He heard the front door open, he heard Quest’s voice outside.
“Ross! Where the devil are you, Ross?”
There was no reply. The door was pushed open. Quest entered, followed by the Professor and Craig. The Inspector stood watching their faces. Quest came to a standstill before he had passed the threshold. He looked upon the floor and he looked across to the sofa. Then he looked at French.
“My God!” he muttered.
The Professor pushed past. He, too, looked around the room, and gazed at the two bodies with an expression of blank and absolute terror. Then he fell back into Craig’s arms.
“The poor girl!” he cried. “Horrible! Horrible! Horrible!”
Craig led him for a moment to one side. The Professor was overcome and almost hysterical. Quest and French were left face to face.
“Know anything about this?” Quest asked quickly.
“Not a thing,” the Inspector replied. “We arrived, Mrs. Rheinholdt and I, at five minutes past twelve. There was no answer to our ring. I used my pass-key and entered. This is what I found.”
Quest stood over the body of his valet for a moment. The man was obviously dead. The Inspector took his handkerchief and covered up the head. A few feet away was a heavy paper-weight.
“Killed by a blow from behind,” French remarked grimly, “with that little affair. Look here!”
They glanced down at the girl. Quest’s eyebrows came together quickly. There were two blue marks upon her throat where a man’s thumbs might have been.
“The hands again!” he muttered.
The Inspector nodded.
“Can you make anything of it?”
“Not yet,” Quest confessed. “I must think.”
The Inspector glanced at him curiously.
“Where on earth have you been to?” he demanded.
“Been to?” Quest repeated.
“Look in the mirror!” French suggested.
Quest glanced at himself. His collar had given way, his tie was torn, a button and some of the cloth had been wrenched from his coat, his trousers were torn, he was covered with dust.
“I’ll tell you about my trouble a little later on,” he replied. “Say, can’t we keep those girls out?”
They were too late. Laura and Lenora were already upon the threshold. Quest swung round towards them.
“Girls,” he said, “there has been some trouble here. Go and wait upstairs, Lenora, or sit in the hall. Laura, you had better telephone to the police station, and for a doctor. That’s right, isn’t it, Inspector?”
“Yes!” the latter assented thoughtfully.
Lenora, white to the lips, staggered a few feet back into the hall. Laura set her teeth and lingered.
“Is that Ross?” she asked.
“It’s his body,” Quest replied. “He’s been murdered here, he and the Salvation Army girl who was to come this morning for her cheque.”
Laura turned away, half dazed.
“I’d have trusted Ross with my life,” Quest continued, “but he must have been alone in the house when the girl came. Do you suppose it was the usual sort of trouble?”
Inspector French stooped down and picked up the paper-weight. Across it was stamped the name of Sanford Quest.
“This yours, Quest?”
“Of course it is,” Quest answered. “Everything in the room is mine.”
“The girl would fight to defend herself,” the Inspector remarked slowly, “but she could never strike a man such a blow as your valet died from.”
Once more he stooped and picked up a small clock. It had stopped at eleven-fifteen. He looked at it thoughtfully.
“Quest,” he said, “I’ll have to ask you a question.”
“Why not?” Quest replied, looking quickly up.
“Where were you at eleven-fifteen?”
“On tower Number 10 of the New York Central, scrapping for my life,” Quest answered grimly. “I’ve reason to remember it.”
Something in the Inspector’s steady gaze seemed to inspire the criminologist suddenly with a new idea. He came a step forward, a little frown upon his forehead.
“Say, French,” he exclaimed, “you don’t—you don’t suspect me of this?”
French was unmoved. He looked Quest in the eyes.
“I don’t know,” he said.
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For the moment a new element had been introduced into the horror of the little tableau. All eyes were fixed upon Quest, who had listened to the Inspector’s dubious words with a supercilious smile upon his lips.
“Perhaps,” he suggested, “you would like to ask me a few questions?”
“Perhaps I may feel it my duty to do so,” the Inspector replied gravely. “In the first place, then, Mr. Quest, will you kindly explain the condition of your clothes?”
Quest looked down at himself quickly. More than ever he realised the significance of his dishevelled appearance.
“I travelled from number ten tower, just outside New York, on top of a freight car,” he said grimly. “It wasn’t a very comfortable ride.”
“Perhaps you will explain what made you take it, then?” the Inspector continued.
Quest shrugged his shoulders.
“Here you are, then,” he replied. “This morning I decided to make an attempt to clear up the mystery of Macdougal’s disappearance. I sent on my secretary, Miss Laura, to make friends with the section boss, and Lenora and I went out by automobile a little later. We instituted a search on a new principle, and before very long we found Macdougal’s body. That’s one up against you, I think, Inspector.”
“Very likely,” the Inspector observed. “Go on, please.”
“I left the two young ladies, at Miss Lenora’s wish, to superintend the removal of the body. I myself had an engagement to deliver over her jewels to Mrs. Rheinholdt here at mid-day. I returned to where my automobile was waiting, started for the city and was attacked by two thugs near the section house. I got away from them, ran to the tower house to try and stop the freight, was followed by the thugs, and jumped out on to the last car from the signal arm.”
There was a dead silence. Quest began quietly to dust his clothes. The Inspector stopped him.
“Don’t do that,” he said.
Quest paused in his task and laid down the brush.
“Any more questions?”
“Where is your automobile?”
“No idea,” Quest replied. “I left it in the road. When I jumped from the freight car, I took a taxicab to the Professor’s and called for him, as arranged.”
“That is perfectly true,” the Professor intervened. “Mr. Quest called for us, as arranged previously, at ten minutes to twelve.”
The inspector nodded.
“I shall have to ask you to excuse me for a moment,” he said, “while I ring up Number 10 signal tower. If Mr. Quest’s story receives corroboration, the matter is at an end. Where shall I find a telephone?”
“In every room in the house,” Quest answered shortly. “There is one outside in the passage.”
The Inspector left the room almost immediately. The Professor crossed to Quest’s side. A kindly smile parted his lips.
“My dear Mr. Quest,” he exclaimed, “our friend the Inspector’s head has been turned a little, beyond doubt, by these horrible happenings! Permit me to assure you, for one, that I look upon his insinuations as absurd.”
Several people stand around looking shocked.“MR. QUEST, YOUR ALIBI HAS BEEN FOUND WITH A BULLET IN HIS BRAIN. I MUST PUT YOU UNDER ARREST.”
“MR. QUEST, YOUR ALIBI HAS BEEN FOUND WITH A BULLET IN HIS BRAIN. I MUST PUT YOU UNDER ARREST.”
Quest and the Inspector look into an empty safe.WHEN QUEST GOES TO THE SAFE TO PRODUCE THE JEWELS, HE FINDS THEM MISSING.
WHEN QUEST GOES TO THE SAFE TO PRODUCE THE JEWELS, HE FINDS THEM MISSING.
“The man has gone off his head!” Laura declared angrily.
“It will be all right directly he comes back,” Lenora whispered, laying her hand upon Quest’s arm.
“If only some one would give me my jewels and let me go!” Mrs. Rheinholdt moaned.
The door opened and the Inspector reappeared. He was looking graver than ever.
“Quest,” he announced, “your alibi is useless—in fact a little worse than useless. The operator at Number 10 has been found murdered at the back of his tower!”
Quest started.
“I ought not to have left him to those thugs,” he murmured regretfully.
“There is no automobile of yours in the vicinity,” the Inspector continued, “nor any news of it. I think it will be as well now, Quest, for this matter to take its obvious course. Will you, first of all, hand over her jewels to Mrs. Rheinholdt?”
Quest drew the keys of the safe from his pocket, crossed the room and swung open the safe door. For a moment afterwards he stood transfixed. His arm, half outstretched, remained motionless. Then he turned slowly around.
“The jewels have been stolen,” he announced with unnatural calm.
Mrs. Rheinholdt pushed her way forward, wringing her hands.
“Stolen again?” she said. “Mr. Quest! Inspector!”
“They were there,” Quest declared, “when I left the house this morning. It seems probable,” he added, “that the same person who is responsible for this double tragedy has also taken the jewels.”
The Inspector laid his hand heavily upon Quest’s shoulder.
“It does seem as though that might be so,” he assented grimly. “You will kindly consider yourself under arrest, Quest. Ladies and gentlemen, will you clear the room now, if you please? The ambulance I telephoned for is outside.”
The Professor, who had been looking on as though dazed, suddenly intervened.
“Mr. French,” he said earnestly, “I am convinced that you are making a great mistake. In arresting and taking away Mr. Quest, you are removing from us the one man who is likely to be able to clear up this mystery.”
The Inspector pushed him gently on one side.
“You will excuse me, Professor,” he said, “but this is no matter for argument. If Mr. Quest can clear himself, no one will be more glad than I.”
Quest shrugged his shoulders.
“The Inspector will have his little joke,” he observed drily. “It’s all right, girls. Keep cool,” he went on, as he saw the tears in Lenora’s eyes. “Come round and see me in the Tombs, one of you.”
“If I can be of any assistance,” the Professor exclaimed, “I trust that you will not fail to call upon me, Mr. Quest. I repeat, Inspector,” he added, “I am convinced that you are making a very grave mistake. Mrs. Rheinholdt, you must let me take you home.”
She gave him her arm.
“My jewels!” she sobbed. “Just as they had been recovered, too!”
“My dear lady,” the Professor reminded her, with a faint air of reproach in his tone, “I think we must remember that we are in the presence of a graver tragedy than the loss of a few jewels.”…
The ambulance men came and departed with their grim burden, the room on the ground floor was locked and sealed, and the house was soon empty except for the two girls. Towards three o’clock, Lenora went out and returned with a newspaper. She opened it out upon the table and they both pored over it.—
“WELL-KNOWN CRIMINOLOGIST ARRESTED FOR DOUBLE TRAGEDY!“Sanford Quest, the famous New York criminologist, was arrested at noon to-day, charged with the murder of his valet, Ross Brown, and Miss Quigg, Salvation Army canvasser. The crime seems to be mixed up in some mysterious fashion with others. John D. Martin, of signal tower Number 10, offered by Quest as an alibi, was found dead behind his tower. Quest claimed that he travelled from the signal tower to New York on a freight train, leaving his automobile behind, but neither machine nor chauffeur have been discovered.“Justice Thorpe has refused to consider bail.”
“WELL-KNOWN CRIMINOLOGIST ARRESTED FOR DOUBLE TRAGEDY!
“Sanford Quest, the famous New York criminologist, was arrested at noon to-day, charged with the murder of his valet, Ross Brown, and Miss Quigg, Salvation Army canvasser. The crime seems to be mixed up in some mysterious fashion with others. John D. Martin, of signal tower Number 10, offered by Quest as an alibi, was found dead behind his tower. Quest claimed that he travelled from the signal tower to New York on a freight train, leaving his automobile behind, but neither machine nor chauffeur have been discovered.
“Justice Thorpe has refused to consider bail.”
“He’s a guy, that Justice Thorpe, and so’s the idiot who wrote this stuff!” Laura exclaimed, thrusting the paper away from her. “I guess the Professor was dead right when he told French he was locking up the one man who could clear up the whole show.”
Lenora nodded thoughtfully.
“The Professor spoke up like a man,” she agreed, “but, Laura, I want to ask you something. Did you notice his servant—that man Craig?”
“Can’t say I did particularly,” Laura admitted.
“Twice,” Lenora continued, “I thought he was going to faint. I tell you he was scared the whole of the time.”
“What are you getting at, kid?” Laura demanded.
“At Craig, if I can,” Lenora replied, moving towards the telephone. “Please give me the phototelesme. I am going to talk to the Professor.”
Laura adjusted the mirror to the instrument and Lenora rang up. The Professor himself answered the call.
“Have you seen the three o’clock edition, Professor?” Lenora asked.
“I never read newspapers, young lady,” the Professor replied.
“Let me tell you what they say about Mr. Quest!”
Lenora commenced a rambling account of what she had read in the newspaper. All the time the eyes of the two girls were fixed upon the mirror. They could see the Professor seated in his chair with two huge volumes by his side, a pile of manuscript, and a pen in his hand. They could even catch the look of sympathy on his face as he listened attentively. Suddenly Lenora almost broke off. She gripped Laura by the arm. The door of the study had been opened slowly, and Craig, carrying a bundle, paused for a moment on the threshold. He glanced nervously towards the Professor, who seemed unaware of his entrance. Then he moved stealthily towards the fireplace, stooped down and committed something to the flames. The relief on his face, as he stood up, was obvious.
“All I can do for Mr. Quest, young lady, I will,” the Professor promised. “If you will forgive my saying so, you are a little over-excited just now. Take my advice and rest for a short time. Call round and see me whenever you wish.”
He laid the receiver down and the reflection on the mirror faded away. Lenora started up and hastily put on her coat and hat, which were still lying on the chair.
“I am going right down to the Professor’s,” she announced.
“What do you think you can do there?” Laura asked.
“I am going to see if I can find out what that man burnt,” she replied. “I will be back in an hour.”
Laura walked with her as far as the street car, and very soon afterwards Lenora found herself knocking at the Professor’s front door. Craig admitted her almost at once. For a moment he seemed to shiver as he recognised her. The weakness, however, was only momentary. He showed her into the study with grave deference. The Professor was still immersed in his work. He greeted her kindly, and with a little sigh laid down his pen.
“Well, young lady,” he said, “have you thought of something I can do?”
She took no notice of the chair to which he pointed, and rested her hand upon his shoulder.
“Professor,” she begged, “go and see Mr. Quest! He is in the Tombs prison. It would be the kindest thing any one could possibly do.”
The Professor glanced regretfully at his manuscript, but he did not hesitate. He rose promptly to his feet.
“If you think he would appreciate it, I will go at once,” he decided.
Her face shone with gratitude.
“That is really very kind of you, Professor,” she declared.
“I will send for my coat and we will go together, if you like,” he suggested.
She smiled.
“I am going the other way, back to Georgia Square,” she explained. “No, please don’t ring. I can find my own way out.”
She hurried from the room. Outside in the hall she paused, for a moment, listening with beating heart. By the side wall was a hat rack with branching pegs, from which several coats were hanging. She slipped quietly behind their shelter. Presently the Professor came out of the room.
“My coat, please, Craig,” she heard him say.
Her heart sank. Craig was coming in her direction. Her discovery seemed certain. Then, as his hand was half stretched out to remove one of the garments, she heard the Professor’s voice.
“I think that I shall walk, Craig. I have been so much upset to-day that the exercise will do me good. I will have the light coat from my bedroom.”
For a moment the shock of relief was so great that she almost lost consciousness. A moment or two later she heard the Professor leave the house. Very cautiously she stole out from her hiding place. The hall was empty. She crossed it with noiseless footsteps, slipped into the study and moved stealthily to the fireplace. There was a little heap of ashes in one distinct spot. She gathered them up in her handkerchief and secreted it in her dress. Then she moved hurriedly towards the door and stepped quietly behind the curtain. She stood there listening intently. Craig was doing something in the hall. Even while she was hesitating, the door was opened. He came in and moved towards his master’s table. Through a chink in the curtain she could see that he was stooping down, collecting some letters. She stole out, ran down the hall, opened the front door and hastened down the avenue. Her heart was beating quickly. The front door handle had slipped from her fingers, and it seemed to her that she could hear even now the slam with which it had swung to. At the gates she looked back. There were no signs of life. The house still bore its customary appearance, gloomy and deserted. With a sigh of relief, she hailed a taxicab and sank back into the corner.
She found Laura waiting for her, and a few minutes afterwards the two girls were examining the ashes with the aid of Quest’s microscope. Among the little pile was one fragment at the sight of which they both exclaimed. It was distinctly a shred of charred muslin embroidery. Lenora pointed towards it triumphantly.
“Isn’t that evidence?” she demanded. “Let’s ring up Inspector French!”
Laura shook her head doubtfully.
“Not so fast,” she advised. “French is a good sort in his way, but he’s prejudiced just now against the boss. I’m not sure that this evidence would go far by itself.”
“It’s evidence enough for us to go for Craig, though! What we have got to do is to get a confession out of him, somehow!”
Laura studied her companion, for a moment, curiously.
“Taking some interest in Mr. Quest, kid, ain’t you?”
Lenora looked up. Then her head suddenly sank into her hands. She knew quite well that her secret had escaped her. Laura patted her shoulder.
“That’s all right, child,” she said soothingly. “We’ll see him through this, somehow or other.”
“You don’t mind?” Lenora faltered, without raising her eyes.
“Not I,” she replied promptly. “I’m not looking for trouble of that sort.”
Lenora raised her head. There was an immense relief in her face.
“I am so glad,” she said. “I was afraid sometimes—living here with him, you know—”
Laura interrupted her with an easy laugh.
“You don’t need to worry,” she assured her.
Lenora rose to her feet. She was quite herself again. There was a new look of determination in her face.
“Laura,” she exclaimed, “we will save Mr. Quest and we will get hold of Craig! I have a plan. Listen.”
Craig’s surprise was real enough as he opened the back door of the Professor’s house on the following morning and found Lenora standing on the threshold.
“I am very sorry, Miss Lenora,” he apologised. “The front door bell must be out of order. I certainly didn’t hear it ring. Mr. Ashleigh is in his study, if you wish to see him.”
Lenora smiled pleasantly.
“To tell you the truth,” she said, “I really do not want to see him,—at least, not just yet. I came to this door because I wanted a little talk with you.”
Craig’s attitude was perfect. He was mystified, but he remained respectful.
“Will you come inside?” he invited.
She shook her head.
“I am afraid,” she confided, “of what I am going to say being overheard. Come with me down to the garage for a moment.”
She pointed to the wooden building which stood about fifty yards away from the house. Craig hesitated.
“If you wish it, miss,” he assented doubtfully. “I will get the keys.”
He disappeared for a moment and came out again almost immediately afterwards with a bunch of keys in his hand. He seemed a little disturbed.
“I am doing as you wish, Miss Lenora,” he said, “but there is nobody about here likely to overhear, and I have no secrets from my master.”
“Perhaps not,” Lenora replied, “but I have. The Professor is a dear,” she added hastily, “but he is too wrapped up in his scientific work to be able to see things like men of ordinary common-sense.”
“That is quite true,” Craig admitted. “Mr. Ashleigh has only one idea in his life…. This way, then, if you please, miss.”
He opened the door of the garage, leaving the keys in the lock, and they both passed inside. The place was gloomy and lit only by a single narrow window near the roof. The only vehicle it contained was the Professor’s little car.
“You can say what you please here without the slightest fear of being overheard, miss,” Craig remarked.
Lenora nodded, and breathed a prayer to herself. She was nearer the door than Craig by about half-a-dozen paces. Her hand groped in the little bag she was carrying and gripped something hard. She clenched her teeth for a moment. Then the automatic pistol flashed out through the gloom.
“Craig,” she threatened, “if you move I shall shoot you.”
It seemed as though the man were a coward. He began to tremble, his lips twitched, his eyes grew larger and rounder.
“What is it?” he faltered. “What do you want?”
“Just this,” Lenora said firmly. “I suspect you to be guilty of the crime for which Sanford Quest is in prison. I am going to have you questioned. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear. If you are guilty, there will be some one here before long who will extract the truth from you.”
The man’s face was an epitome of terror. Even his knees shook. Lenora felt herself grow calmer with every moment.
“I am going outside to send a message,” she told him. “I shall return presently.”
“Don’t go,” he begged suddenly. “Don’t leave me!”
She turned around.
“Why not?”
He drew a step nearer. Once more the few inches of blue steel flashed out between them.
“None of your games,” she warned him. “I am in earnest, and I am not afraid to shoot.”
“I won’t come any nearer,” he promised, “but listen! I am innocent—I have done nothing wrong. If you keep me here, you will do more harm than you can dream of.”
“It is for other people to decide about your innocence,” Lenora said calmly. “I have nothing to do with that. If you are wise, you will stop here quietly.”
“Have you said anything to Mr. Ashleigh, miss?” the man asked piteously.
“Not a word.”
An expression of relief shone for a moment upon his face. Lenora pointed to a stool.
“Sit down there and wait quietly,” she ordered.
He obeyed without a word. She left the place, locked the door securely, and made her way round to the other side of the garage—the side hidden from the house. Here, at the far corner, she drew a little pocket wireless from her bag and set it on the window-sill. Very slowly she sent her message,—
“I have Craig here in the Professor’s garage, locked up. If our plan has succeeded, come at once. I am waiting here for you.”
“I have Craig here in the Professor’s garage, locked up. If our plan has succeeded, come at once. I am waiting here for you.”
There was no reply. She sent the message again and again. Suddenly, during a pause, there was a little flash upon the plate. A message was coming to her. She transcribed it with beating heart:
“O.K. Coming.”
“O.K. Coming.”
The guard swung open the wicket in front of Quest’s cell.
“Young woman to see you, Quest,” he announced. “Ten minutes, and no loud talking, please.”
Quest moved to the bars. It was Laura who stood there. She wasted very little time in preliminaries. Having satisfied herself that the guard was out of hearing, she leaned as close as she could to Quest.
“Look here,” she said, “Lenora’s crazy with the idea that Craig has done these jobs—Craig, the Professor’s servant, you know. We used the phototelesme yesterday afternoon and saw him burn something in the Professor’s study. Lenora went up straight away and got hold of the ashes.”
“Smart girl,” Quest murmured, nodding approvingly. “Well?”
“There are distinct fragments,” Laura continued, “of embroidered stuff such as the Salvation Army girl might have been wearing. We put them on one side, but they aren’t enough evidence. Lenora’s idea is that you should try and get hold of Craig and hypnotise him into a confession.”
“That’s all right,” Quest replied, “but how am I to get hold of him?”
Laura glanced once more carelessly around to where the guard stood.
“Lenora’s gone up to the Professor’s again this afternoon. She is going to try and get hold of Craig and lock him in the garage. If she succeeds, she will send a message by wireless at three o’clock. It is half-past two now.”
“Well?” Quest exclaimed. “Well?”
“You can work this guard, if you want to,” Laura went on. “I have seen you tackle much worse cases. He seems dead easy. Then let me in the cell, take my clothes and leave me here. You did it before when you were trying to hunt down those men in Chicago, and not a soul recognised you.”
Quest followed the scheme in his mind quickly.
“It is all right,” he decided, “but I am not at all sure that they can really hold me on the evidence they have got. If they can’t, I shall be doing myself more harm than good this way.”
“It’s no use unless you can get hold of Craig quickly,” Laura said. “He is getting the scares, as it is.”
“I’ll do it,” Quest decided. “Call the guard, Laura.”
She obeyed. The man came good-naturedly towards them.
“Well, young people, not quarrelling, I hope?” he remarked.
Quest looked at him steadfastly through the bars.
“I want you to come inside for a moment,” he said.
“What for?” the man demanded.
“I want you to come inside for a moment,” Quest repeated softly. “Unlock the door, please, take the key off your bunch and come inside.”
The man hesitated, but all the time his fingers were fumbling with the keys. Quest’s lips continued to move. The warder opened the door and entered. A few minutes later, Quest passed the key through the window to Laura, who was standing on guard.
“Come in,” he whispered. “Don’t step over him. He is sitting with his back to the wall, just inside.”
Laura obeyed, and entered the cell. For a moment they were breathless with alarm. A passing warder looked down their avenue. Eventually, however, he turned in the other direction.
“Off with your coat and skirt like lightning, Laura,” Quest ordered. “This has got to be done quickly or not at all.”
Without a word, and with marvellous rapidity, the change was effected. Laura produced from her hand-bag a wig, which she pinned inside her hat and passed over to Quest. Then she flung herself on to the bed and drew the blanket up to her chin.
“How long will he stay like that?” she whispered, pointing to the warder, who was sitting on the floor with his arms folded and his eyes closed.
“Half an hour or so,” Quest answered. “Don’t bother about him. I shall drop the key back through the window.”
A moment or two later, Quest walked deliberately down the corridor of the prison, crossed the pavement and stepped into a taxicab. He reached Georgia Square at five minutes to three. A glance up and down assured him that the house was unwatched. He let himself in with his own key and laughed softly as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. The house was strangely quiet and deserted, but he wasted no time in looking around. He ran quickly upstairs, paused in his sitting-room only to take a cigar from the cabinet, passed on to the bedroom, threw Laura’s clothes off, and, after a few moments’ hesitation, selected from the wardrobe a rough tweed suit with a thick lining and lapels. Just as he was tying his tie, the little wireless which he had laid on the table at his side began to record the message. He glanced at the clock. It was exactly three.
“I have Craig here in the Professor’s garage, locked up. If our plan has succeeded, come at once. I am waiting here for you.”
“I have Craig here in the Professor’s garage, locked up. If our plan has succeeded, come at once. I am waiting here for you.”
Quest’s eyes shone for a moment with satisfaction. Then he sent off his answering message, put on a duster and slouch hat, and left the house by the side entrance. In a few moments he was in Broadway, and a quarter of an hour later a taxicab deposited him at the entrance to the Professor’s house. He walked swiftly up the drive and turned towards the garage, hoping every moment to see something of Lenora. The door of the place stood open. He entered and walked around. It was empty. There was no sign of either Craig or Lenora!…
Quest, recovered from his first disappointment, stole carefully out and made a minute examination of the place. Close to the corner from which Lenora had sent her wireless message to him, he stooped and picked up a handkerchief, which from the marking he recognised at once. A few feet away, the gravel was disturbed as though by the trampling of several feet. He set his teeth. For a single moment his own danger was forgotten. A feeling which he utterly failed to recognise robbed him of his indomitable nerve. He realised with vivid but scarcely displeasing potency a weakness in the armour of his complete self-control.
“I’ve got to find that girl,” he muttered. “Craig can go to hell!”
He turned away and approached the house. The front door stood open and he made his way at once to the library. The Professor, who was sitting at his desk surrounded by a pile of books and papers, addressed him, as he entered, without looking up.
“Where on earth have you been, Craig?” he enquired petulantly. “I have rung for you six times. Have I not told you never to leave the place without orders?”
“It is not Craig,” Quest replied quietly. “It is I, Professor—Sanford Quest.”
The Professor swung round in his chair and eyed his visitor in blank astonishment.
“Quest?” he exclaimed. “God bless my soul! Have they let you out already, then?”
“I came out,” Quest replied grimly. “Sit down and listen to me for a moment, will you?”
“You came out?” the Professor repeated, looking a little dazed. “You mean that you escaped?”
Quest nodded.
“Perhaps I made a mistake,” he admitted, “but here I am. Now listen, Professor. I know this will be painful to you, but give me your best attention for a few minutes. These young women assistants of mine have formed a theory of their own about the murder in my flat and the robbery of the jewels. Hold on to your chair, Professor. They believe that the guilty person was Craig.”
The Professor’s face was almost pitiful in its blank amazement. His mouth was wide open like a child’s, words seemed absolutely denied to him.
“That’s their theory,” Quest went on. “They may be right or they may be wrong—Lenora, at any rate, has collected some shreds of evidence. They hatched a scheme between them, clever enough in its way. They locked Craig up in your garage and got me out of the Tombs in Laura’s clothes. I have come straight up to find your garage open and Lenora missing.”
The Professor rose to his feet, obviously making a tremendous effort to adjust his ideas.
“Craig locked up in my garage?” he murmured. “Craig guilty of those murders? Why, my dear Mr. Quest, a more harmless, a more inoffensive, peace-loving and devoted servant than John Craig never trod this earth!”
“Maybe,” Quest replied, “but come out here, Mr. Ashleigh.”
The Professor followed his companion out to the garage. Quest showed him the open door and the marks of footsteps around where he had picked up the handkerchief.
“Now,” he said, “what has become of your man Craig, and what has become of my assistant Lenora?”
“Perhaps we had better search the house,” the Professor suggested. “Craig? My dear Mr. Quest, you little know—”
“Where is he, then?” Quest interrupted.
The Professor could do nothing but look around him a little vaguely. Together they went back to the house and searched it without result. Then they returned once more to the garage.
“I am going back,” Quest announced. “My only chance is the wireless. If Lenora is alive or at liberty, she will communicate with me.”
“May I come, too?” the Professor asked timidly. “This matter has upset me thoroughly. I cannot stay here without Craig.”
“Come, by all means,” Quest assented. “I will drive you down in your car, if you like.”
The Professor hurried away to get his coat and hat, and a few minutes later they started off. In Broadway, they left the car at a garage and made their way up a back street, which enabled them to enter the house at the side entrance. They passed upstairs into the sitting-room. Quest fetched the pocket wireless and laid it down on the table. The Professor examined it with interest.
“You are marvellous, my friend,” he declared. “With all these resources of science at your command, it seems incredible that you should be in the position you are.”
Quest nodded coolly.
“I’ll get out of that all right,” he asserted confidently. “The only trouble is that while I am dodging about like this I cannot devote myself properly to the task of running down this fiend of the Hands. Just one moment, Professor, while I send off a message,” he continued, opening the little instrument. “Where are you, Lenora?” he signalled. “Send me word and I will fetch you. I am in my own house for the present. Let me know that you are safe.”
The Professor leaned back, smoking one of Quest’s excellent cigars. He was beginning to show signs of the liveliest interest.