"Oh, yer did, hey," leaning his arms on the fence. "Well, Jim Hobart was the name he giv' me. That's my house, which is why I happen to know what his name was. Something queer about that fellar, I reckon, but 'tain't none o' my business. You ain't a detective, or nothin' like that, are yer?"
"Nothing at all like that," West laughed, although interested. "Why? Did you think the police might be after him?"
"Not for anything I know about, only he skipped out mighty sudden. Paid me a month rent, and only stayed there three days. That looks sorter queer. Then Sunday that fellar what committed suicide out south—I read about in the papers—came to see him in a car. I got a boy workin' in his factory; that's how I come to know who the guy was. The next night Hobart, an' them with him, just naturally skipped out. So I didn't know but what the police might want him for something."
"I don't know anything about that. I just called on a private matter.Where did he go to?"
"Hell, man, I didn't even know he was goin'."
"Who did he have with him here—a family?"
"A woman 'bout his age I should say, an' a younger one. I didn't see 'em only from the window; didn't get no sight o' the girl's face at all, but could tell the way she walked she was young. They didn't have nothin' with 'em; that's all my stuff in the house there."
Feeling the uselessness of trying to learn anything more, West thanked him, and returned to the taxi.
"Back to the Club," he ordered briefly, and settled into his seat to think.
The information thus gained had been small enough, yet sufficient to stimulate his belief that he was at least upon the right trail. The sudden departure of this man Hobart, and the fact that no young children were in the family, were important items to consider. Coolidge then had not visited this cottage to aid a widow and orphans. There had been some other object in his call. The girl must have known and understood the real purpose; that was why they both acquiesced so readily to his remaining outside in the car. It was part of their mutual plan to thus leave him in ignorance. Yet they had made a mistake in taking him along at all. This error alone gave him now an opportunity to unravel the riddle. But did it? What did he know? Merely that Coolidge had not gone to this house on an errand of charity; that the occupant called himself, temporarily, perhaps, Jim Hobart; that his family consisted of two women, undescribed except as to age; and that all three had mysteriously disappeared together. He might take it for granted that this disappearance was caused by the death of Coolidge, but, they had left no trail, no inkling as to where they had gone. He might suspect this sudden vanishing had direct connection with the crime he was endeavouring to solve, but he possessed absolutely no proof, and, apparently, any further movement on his part was completely blocked.
More puzzled than ever, although now fully convinced that murder had been committed, West could do nothing but wait the reappearance of Sexton. The latter arrived promptly on time, but, much to West's disappointment, merely nodded his head negatively to the general inquiry as to whether or not he had made any discoveries. The early hour enabled the host to secure a secluded table in the dining room, but there was no effort at conversation until after the meal had been ordered. Then West told his story. The retelling of these incidents of the afternoon, coupled with Sexton's evident interest in the narrative, and the questions the man asked, caused the discoveries made to assume a greater importance than before. His listener seemed to sense the situation clearly.
"It wasn't no mistake, your goin' out there, sir," he said, confidently. "What we know now gives us something to work on anyhow, an' it's just what I thought—that trip Sunday led up to this killin', an' something happened while they was in there to stir Miss Natalie all up. Now we got to find this fellow—what did you say his name was, sir?"
"Hobart—Jim Hobart; that is he was known by that name there."
"And you say he has simply dropped out o' sight?"
"That's true; never left a clue behind him."
"Well, sir, I'm not quite so sure about that. You listen to me, sir. I walked out to Fairlawn from the car-line, an' come in across the fields to the house. I didn't have no good excuse for goin' back there, sir, an' was sorter afraid to meet up with Miss Natalie. She might have thought I was just spyin' 'round. But I didn't have no need for being afraid, for it seems she'd driven into town about noon, an' hadn't got back. There wasn't nobody but the servant around the place, sir. Do you remember Lizzie, the second maid—sorter full face, an' light hair?"
West nodded, wondering what all this might be leading to.
"Well, she an' I always hit it off together, an' I talked with her quite a bit. She's goin' to quit too, because of something what happened, so it was safe enough to question her. She told me, sir, that Miss Natalie had a telephone call this morning that took her into the city. Lizzie she went to the 'phone when it rang, an' it was a man's voice. He wouldn't leave no message, but insisted on speaking to Miss Natalie. Lizzie had to call her down from upstairs."
"Did the girl overhear the conversation?"
"Not so as to make very much out of it, sir. She was sorter interested, the man's voice being strange, and hung around in the hall listening, but about all she could make out was what Miss Natalie said. It seemed like he was givin' her some kind of address, which she didn't exactly understand, an' so she repeated it after him two or three times to be sure."
"What was the address?"
"238 Ray Street, sir."
"You are certain of that?"
"That was what Lizzie said; she was pretty positive, sir; an' then about an hour later, Miss Natalie ordered her car, an' drove into town."
"Alone?"
"Yes, sir; it was the electric she took."
West remained silent, tapping with his knife on the table. This might prove important, and he could not afford to ignore the information. While to his mind it was hardly likely Hobart had called the girl, yet the possibility remained.
"I never heard of a Ray Street," he said at length, "but of course, theremay be one. Oh, Charlie," he stopped a waiter passing. "Bring me up aCity directory, will you. You will find one in the office down stairs.Tell the Secretary Captain West wishes it and will return it at once."
The first course had been served when the man returned with the book, placing it on a chair next West, who immediately deserted his soup to inspect the volume.
"Ray Street," he said doubtfully, fingering the pages. "There is no such street here, Sexton. Are you sure you got that right?"
"That's what she said, sir; I made her say it over twice."
"Ray Street; wonder if it could be spelled with a W? By Jove, it is—Wray! Here we have it, only five blocks long, extending from Conway to Grogan. Rather tough section I should judge."
"I don't know, sir. I never heard of any of those streets before. How do you get there?"
"By car you mean? Well, let's see on the map. Oh yes, that's plain enough; Milwaukee Avenue to Gans, and then walk east three blocks. It wouldn't do any harm to take a look around there either. Perhaps that is where Hobart went; he might have been the one calling Natalie. Rather a wild guess, but it will give us something to do. What number was it?"
"238, sir."
"Good; we'll try our luck after we finish dinner; there will be a couple of hours of daylight yet. Are you game, Sexton?"
"Quite so, sir."
The sinking sun was still above the sky-line of the buildings fronting on Milwaukee Avenue, when the two men alighted at the intersection of Gans Street. West hardly took the adventure seriously, being more influenced by curiosity than any other motive, but Sexton was deeply in earnest, in full faith they were upon the right trail. Doubtful as he was, West had neglected no precautions. The map assured him that they were invading a disorderly section of the city, where to be well-dressed would only invite suspicion, and might lead to trouble. To avoid this possibility, he had donned his most shabby suit, and wore a cap largely concealing his face. In one pocket of his jacket within easy reach lay hidden his service revolver loaded, and he had induced Sexton to accept a smaller weapon in case of emergency.
Gans Street was not inviting, the saloon on the corner being flanked by several small factories. The brick side-walk was in bad condition, and littered with junk of all kinds, while the road-way was entirely uncared for, and deeply rutted from heavy traffic. Half way down the block, was a tannery, closed now for the night, but with its odour yet permeating the entire atmosphere. Altogether, the scene was desolate and disagreeable enough, but the street was deserted of pedestrians, the factory doors tightly closed for the night.
The two men pressed their way through along the narrow passage, finding less obstruction as they advanced, the second block being composed entirely of houses, largely of the tenement type, and apparently principally populated by children. Wray Street, once attained, was of an entirely different character, being lined with homes, usually humble enough outwardly, yet the throughfare was clean, and the small yards had generally an appearance of neatness in marked contrast to its surroundings. 238 was a three story brick, on the corner, the second story evidently utilized for living purposes, and the ground floor occupied as a saloon. The upper story exhibited no signs of occupancy, the windows unwashed, and two of them boarded up. The saloon possessed a fairly respectable appearance, the lettering across the front window proclaiming it as "Mike's Place," and seemed to be doing some business, several entering and departing by way of its hospitable door, while the two lingered in uncertainty opposite. Standing there idly however did not appeal to West.
"Well, let's go over," he said impatiently. "There is nothing to be learned here."
It was an ordinary bar-room, and their entrance apparently aroused no special interest. Besides the man behind the bar, a rather rough looking foreigner, a Pole in West's judgment, three customers were in the place, two with feet upon the rail talking with the drink dispenser, and, one at a small table moodily contemplating a half emptied stein of beer. There were three other tables in the room, and the Captain with a swift glance about, drew out a chair and sat down, his action being imitated by Sexton. The bar-tender came forward around the end of the bar, while the man nearest shifted his position slightly so as to look them over, conversation instantly ceasing. Something indefinable in the fellow's attitude, and steady stare, gave West a feeling of hostility, which was not dispelled by the gruff greeting of the bar-tender.
"Well, what is it you fellers want?"
"A stein apiece, and a sandwich—you serve them, don't you?"
"Sure; ham or beef?"
"Ham."
There was no cordiality, no welcome in either manner or speech. It was plainly evident the proprietor of the saloon felt no enthusiasm over his unknown customers. The eyes of the two men met understandingly, but the few words exchanged between them were entirely foreign to the situation. Mike came back with the beer and sandwiches, pausing this time to wipe off the table, as an excuse for speech.
"You guys live 'round here?" he asked gruffly, "Don't remember ever seein' yer in here before."
"No," returned West indifferently, looking directly into the hard face. "I'm a smoke inspector, an' we just dropped in on our way back to the office. Why?"
"Oh, nuthin'; only we don't get much trade outside the neighbourhood. I wish ter hell ye'd get after that tannery; can't hardly breathe here sometimes."
"That's what we were looking after; had some complaints lately."
"Sure, I been kickin' 'bout it for a month. You fellers have another beer on me."
He walked back toward the bar, pausing an instant to whisper a word to the taller man who still stood there staring moodily at the table. What he said apparently determined action, for the fellow addressed, crossed the room to where West and Sexton sat, deliberately pulled up a vacant chair, and joined them.
"Bring me another, Mike," he ordered. "That is, if these gents don't object to my joining 'em awhile."
West smiled pleasantly, glad the man had taken the initiative, thus naturally opening up a way for asking certain questions. Whatever his own immediate object might be in thus scraping an acquaintance made no difference. It would doubtless develop in time, but meanwhile here was the opportunity sought to discuss the affairs of the neighbourhood. Yet the subject must be approached with due caution. The very indifference of the bar-tender coupled with the evident desire of this hanger-on to form an acquaintance, served to reveal the real nature of "Mike's Place." Plainly enough strangers were viewed with suspicion, and this was no ordinary saloon, catering to whatever trade drifted within its doors. More than likely it was rather a thieves' hang-out, ever suspicious of the activity of the police.
Yet this fellow bore no outward semblance to the common conception of the under-world. Nor did his actions or words exhibit any motive other than ordinary good-fellowship. He was well dressed, easy of manner, with an exceptionally intelligent face, blue eyes meeting West's gaze frankly, a carefully trimmed moustache, with white teeth good humouredly showing when he smiled, and threads of grey in his hair. His very appearance invited confidence and comradeship, while his outspoken words increased this impression.
"Excuse my butting in," he explained genially. "But it's damn dull around here tonight. Nobody to talk with but a couple o' bums. You see I don't belong around here; just dropped in for a bit of business with Mike."
"I see," admitted West, puzzled, and wondering how far he dared venture."You can get lonelier in a big city than anywhere else."
"You bet you can. I like some one I can talk to; some guy with ideas. You see I run a broker's office down town, an' its pretty blame slow around a dump like this—you get me?"
"Sure; this seems to be a pretty quiet place."
"Quiet! Hell! it isn't always so quiet. I've dropped in here when it was lively enough, believe me. But tonight it's the limit. Fact is I come up for a little excitement, as much as anything else, but must have struck an off night. You're a smoke inspector, Mike says?"
West nodded.
"Know Fred Karvan, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes; friend of yours?"
"Used to be; we were kids together down on the southside. He's got a pretty soft job now; stands in strong with the City Hall, they tell me. Mean to drop in and see him some of these days."
"You'll find him a mighty good fellow," asserted West to whom the name was entirely unfamiliar.
"Well, I'm not so sure about that. He's got pretty stiff the last few years they tell me. But then you work under him, and ought to know. Head of your department, isn't he?"
"Yes, but I only meet him in a business way, of course."
"Sure; but that is the way you get to know them best. Been a soldier, haven't you?"
"Yes, but what made you think that?" in some surprise at the unexpected query. The man laughed, lighting a cigar carelessly.
"Oh, it has not been so long since, that the evidence is obliterated.I've got a habit of noticing things. The way you sit, and square yourshoulders told me you'd been in uniform; besides you're the right age.Get across to France?"
"Had over a year there," wondering what the fellow could be angling after. "You didn't get in?"
"No; I was over the limit. I was thinking you might be interested in looking over a collection of war relics Mike has got stowed away here somewhere. He had two boys over there, and I reckon they must have put in most of their time gathering up souvenirs. Anyhow they brought back the greatest collection of war junk I've ever seen. Say, Mike, what did you do with those war relics the boys sent home?"
The fellow addressed leaned over the bar, his face glowing with sudden interest.
"They vas in the back-room, all spread out. Why you ask? The gentlemen would see them, what?"
"Yes; this one was a soldier himself. Maybe he can tell more about them than the boys could. How is it? You fellows like to see the things?"
West hesitated for just an instant, his eyes turning unconsciously toward Sexton, who had not spoken. He felt no suspicion, merely a vague doubt as to what this invitation might conceal. Yet it had all been natural enough, and promised an opportunity for him to learn something more of the place. An accident might reveal the very discovery he was eagerly seeking. Besides there could be no danger; both he and Sexton were armed, and apparently the invitation was innocently extended. To refuse to accept would be churlish.
"Certainly," he said at last, quaffing the last of his beer and rising to his feet. "It will be nothing new to me, I imagine, but we'll have a look."
The other man, who had been leaning against the bar, had disappeared, while the fellow at the table had seemingly fallen asleep. Mike came forward with a bunch of keys in his hand.
"I keep dot room locked," he exclaimed gruffly, "for some beoples run off with all dings they get their fingers on. Hey, you, Carl," and he roughly shook the sleeper into semi-consciousness, "wake up, and see to the bar awhile. I've got some business. Whoever comes, you keep them here—understand. All right, gents."
The three stood close behind him as Mike inserted the key, and opened the door. It was already growing dusk without, and the tightly closed room, with shade drawn at the single window, was so dark that West could scarcely discern its shape and contents. Mike, without hesitation, stepped within, his great bulk blotting out whatever view there was.
"Come right in, gents," he insisted. "Von minute, an' I turn on the light."
West never understood why he responded so recklessly to this invitation, and advanced without hesitation. He had no suspicion of any trick, no conception of being in any danger. He stepped in directly behind the leader, and Sexton followed. An instant later, the door closed, with the sharp click of a night latch, and Mike flashed on the light. As he did so, he wheeled about, and shot one mighty clinched fist straight into West's face. This was done so suddenly, so unexpectedly, the man attacked found no opportunity to even throw up a hand in self-defence. The giant Pole flung his whole weight into the crashing blow, and the ex-soldier went down as though struck by a pole-ax. For an instant, he realized that Sexton was in a fierce struggle; that his assailant stood poised above him ready to land again if he moved; then consciousness left him entirely.
He woke up, sitting in a chair, his hands bound to the arms with strips of cloth. For a moment everything about seemed tinged with yellow, the various objects in sight vague and shapeless. It hurt him to move his head, and his mind functioned dully. He could not think, or bring back to memory a recollection of what had occurred. Yet slowly the mist cleared and the objects about him assumed natural form. He was in a room of some size—not the one in which he had been attacked he felt sure—fitted up with a long table, and a number of chairs. There was no other furniture; the walls were bare, and only a small rag rug partially covered the floor. At first he perceived no other occupants; only as, painfully, he finally twisted his head to the right, his eyes distinguished two men seated against the wall. The sight of their faces restored instantly his memory of what had occurred. The Pole rested back, with feet on the table and eyes closed, but the other—the younger man—was watching him closely, an unlighted cigar gripped in his teeth.
"So, you've come out of it," the latter said unpleasantly. "I'd begun to think Mike had handed you a real knock-out that time. Ready to answer a few questions?"
West, his brain clearing rapidly, sat up straighter in the chair, determined to play out his part the best he could.
"Perfectly ready," he replied struggling to control his voice. "Only I should like to know what all this means? Why attack me?"
"You'll find that out soon enough, Captain; but first I'll do the questioning."
"Not until I know one thing, at least—what has become of the man who was with me?"
"Well, I might as well tell you," carelessly. "He got hurt; the fool compelled me to hit him with a gat; so he's out of it, and you might as well come through clean—that guy isn't going to help you any."
"You mean you killed him?"
"Well, he's out of the game; that's enough. And as for you, your best play right now is to talk up straight." He laughed sneeringly, "Unless you want to call up your friend Karvan, at the City Hall, you know. Hell, but you was easy!"
"Easy?"
"That's what I said. I knew you all right when you first blew in, only I wasn't quite sure. Just had a glimpse of you once before. I naturally guessed your smoke-inspector stunt was a sham. So, I ran that Fred Karvan stuff in on you. You ate it up, which gave you clean away, for I never knew any guy of that name. Do you see the point, Captain West?"
"Yes, I see all that plainly enough, but it does not explain the attack on me. You evidently know my name, and this assault has been deliberately made. Why? What have you against me? I have never seen either of you before."
"Perhaps I'll tell you when you explain. What brought you into this neighbourhood. Hunting some one, wasn't you?"
"Not exactly."
"Oh, don't lie; that will bring you nothing, West. You were sticking your nose into a private matter which does not concern you in any way. That's right, isn't it? Very well, you've had your lesson, and now it is simply up to you to either drop this thing, or else take another. It's up to you how far we go. Now listen. I believe it was merely curiosity that brought you here. That's true, isn't it?"
"Largely, yes."
"You suspected something, and wanted to find out if it was so. Well, you came into a bad neighbourhood. We are not nice to your kind around here. What really caused your seeking me?"
"I do not know that I did," West answered honestly. "In fact I haven't the slightest idea who you are."
The other laughed.
"So you are as green as that. Then I'll give you the information. My name is Hobart, Jim Hobart. I am the guy you were looking for?"
"Yes," West admitted, seeing no reason to refuse an answer.
"I thought so, although darned if I know how you ever located me here. However, the sooner we come to some understanding, the better. What do you know about me?"
"Nothing."
"Is that so! You knew my name when I spoke it. It was the Coolidge matter that sent you hunting me. Oh, hell, you might as well cough up, West, for I've got your number. You thought the girl was here, didn't you?"
"I had reason to believe she came here."
"I see; how did you gain that news?"
"A conversation by telephone was overheard."
"Now we are getting down to facts. And this comprises your entire information, doesn't it? Let's check up. You connected me with the case because you were with the uncle and her on their call Sunday. You discovered in some way that I had since disappeared from that neighbourhood. Then you accidentally got on to this telephone call, and decided to run me down. Some cute little detective, I'll say. But what's the object? What is it you are trying to connect me up with? What possible cause can you have for butting in on this affair?"
"I told you before; merely curiosity."
"And who was the guy with you?"
"An old servant of the Coolidge family."
"It was mere curiosity in his case also, I presume?"
"So far as I know, yes."
Hobart smiled, showing his teeth cruelly.
"West," he said slowly, "you are a damned good liar, but I am about to spike your gun. Go on out Mike, and send in the first witness."
The two men sat silently watching each other, Hobart pretending a carelessness he was far from feeling, uncertain as to West's real purpose. The latter realized now the true seriousness of his position, yet this only increased his belief in the reality of the crime. Previously his mind had harboured doubts, but the very fact that Hobart would resort to such desperate methods was ample proof of his apprehension of danger. If Percival Coolidge had committed suicide, this fellow would surely have nothing to fear; he could safely ignore any efforts to trap him; indeed would possess no suspicions along that line. It was his own guilty conscience which drove him to desperation. Coolidge had been murdered, and this man was either guilty of the crime, or else knew the one who was, and had personal reasons for protecting the party.
These thoughts took possession of his mind and were convincing. He no longer questioned but what he was on the track of crime, yet his thought at that moment concentrated more vividly on his own personal peril. How could he escape? What was he about to be confronted with? Nothing around him afforded inspiration. He was bound helplessly; Sexton had disappeared, whether dead or a prisoner, he did not know; the walls of the room exhibited no signs of weakness, while Hobart eyed his every movement coldly, evidently enjoying his predicament. Apparently the man comprehended the nature of his thought.
"Perfectly useless, West," he said carelessly. "This place was constructed for the purpose, and you are not the only one who has tested its strength. You will get out when I say so, and not before."
"Do you intend to say so?"
"Well, that depends," shrewdly. "Not if your release means my taking any chances. But frankly, I do not believe it will. So far as I can see you possess no particular interest in this matter—only the attraction a young fellow always feels in a pretty woman. Have I got that doped out right?"
"To an extent at least."
"Yes, to a very large extent. Of course, curiosity also played a part, while everybody possesses a sneaking desire to do a detective act. Miss Coolidge filled you up with a lot of bunk; she was good looking, and you fell for it. Certain things happened that you failed to understand, so you rather naturally jumped to the conclusion that some crime was being concocted. That was what brought you here. Now I take it that, ordinarily, you are a man of some sense. Consequently I mean to try to get you to drop the whole affair, as being none of your business. If you agree to this, I accept your pledge, the door opens, and you go free; otherwise—" he waved his hand expressively.
"Otherwise what?" asked West quietly.
"I will see that you are removed from all temptation; my plans are too important to be interfered with by a meddlesome fool."
"But you can scarcely expect me to give such a promise?"
"Well, I don't know about that. It doesn't pay to be too obstinate. You have been in the army, I understand; then you are aware there is a harsh side to life, a way to make or break men. All right, now I've got the power; I can keep you locked up here; I could even kill you if necessary. You are utterly helpless. There is an argument worth your consideration. But I will give you yet another which may have even more weight."
"What?"
The door opened quietly, and then closed, leaving Natalie Coolidge standing there in the light, her eyes slightly frowning as she looked silently at the two men.
"The lady, of course," explained Hobart, rising to his feet, "you will, at least, be gentleman enough to accept her word!"
She waited, seemingly unable to quite grasp the situation, or realize the part she was called upon to perform, but as West failed to respond, finally asked a question.
"What is it, Jim? You sent for me?"
"Yes, as a last resort. You recognize this man?"
"Of course," indifferently; "what is he doing here?"
Hobart laughed.
"It seems the fellow hasn't taken his dismissal very seriously, Natalie," he explained, "and remains very much interested in your affairs. That covers the principal known facts in the case."
"You mean he followed me here?"
"He was on the trail, but just for what particular purpose I have failed to learn; the lad is a bit close mouthed, but it looks to me as though he was in love with you."
The girl smiled, tossing her head as she stepped forward.
"In love with me," she echoed. "That is a joke, yet I had some such suspicion when I told him to quit the job. He acted like a fool then, and began to question me as though he had a right. It was that being engaged business most likely."
"Sure; he thought he had you copped, fortune and all, and it looks to me like he needs another jolt to put the idea entirely out of his head. That is what I brought you in for. I'll explain first just how it happened. This army guy blew in here before dark, along with another fellow, Sexton, who used to be a servant out at Fairlawn—you know him?"
"Yes; he was discharged yesterday."
"I was standing by the bar talking with Issy, and I was sure I knew this lad's face. I was stumped a bit at first where I had seen him; then all at once it came to me—he was the guy sitting out there alone in the automobile over on Arch Street. I knew then what he was over here for, and got to talking with him. He give himself away the first thing, and that is why we got him up in this dump."
"How did he know I was here?"
"Some of your precious help out there heard you talk to me over the 'phone, and passed it on."
"And what does he want? What do these men want?"
"Well Sexton don't want much of anything—he's knocked out; the fool made a fight, and had to be hit; and, as to this bird, I rather think he was just naturally nosing around out of curiosity, and because he was stuck on you. I don't figure he is anything to be afraid of, but I am not going to have the fellow gum-shoeing around. I'll take his word to get out, and stay out; otherwise he and I are going to have a little seance of our own. That's all there is about it."
West had said nothing, watching the others, and waiting to choose some course of action. His mind was confused, uncertain, yet he found encouragement in Hobart's statement of the case. The fellow felt no serious fear of him; had no suspicion as yet that anyone believed Percival Coolidge murdered. The probability was that not even the girl dreamed of such a thing. Whatever her connection might be with this man, she must be innocent of so foul a crime. If he could only speak to her alone; bring to her the truth; reveal to her the real character of this man Hobart, there would be no doubt of the result. In spite of the strange situation he yet retained faith in the girl; she had been deceived, led astray in some manner, but his first impression of her true nature still controlled his thought. He could only believe her a victim of scheming villains, driven by circumstances to play a part utterly foreign to her character. His only hope of learning the facts from her own lips, or of re-establishing her faith in him, lay in a moment's conversation alone. His mind instantly leaped to this conclusion, and his eyes met her own. They were wide-open, full of curiosity yet not unkind. He spoke swiftly.
"That sounds fair enough, Hobart," he said quietly, taking the chance as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "I am not hunting trouble in any way, or seeking to butt in where I am not wanted. Your guess as to my purpose in coming here is about right. I had no other object but to be of some service to this young lady. If I can talk with her a moment alone, and thus assure myself as to her wishes, I'll give you any pledge you want, and forget all about the affair. Is that satisfactory?"
"Alone, you said? You want to see her alone?"
"Absolutely; no other arrangement will answer. I want her to talk freely; to answer my questions with no interference."
Hobart glanced toward his companion inquiringly, evidently inclined to deny the request.
"Hell, you don't want much," he said rather gruffly. "What do you think about this proposition, Natalie?"
The girl smiled, her eyes still on West's face.
"Fair enough," she admitted as though the whole matter was a joke. "The man can do me no harm, and I am willing enough to be interviewed. It looks like the easiest way out."
His mood changed, influenced, no doubt, by her confidence in the result.
"All right, if you say so. It is my guess you are equal to the job. How much time do you want, West?"
"Ten or fifteen minutes. I want to get down to the bottom of this thing."
"Oh, you do, hey? Modest as ever, I see. Well, here's luck to you. You needn't be afraid of the guy, Natalie; we got his gat before we brought him up here, and if he makes any break, I'll be out in the hall ready to take a hand. You're still for it?"
"Yes," indifferently, seating herself on a convenient chair. "We might as well talk it out now as any time. You go on, Jim, and leave it to me."
Hobart was not entirely satisfied, hesitating as he lit a fresh cigar, his keen eyes watchful of them both. However, it was plain to be seen the girl had made her decision, and he evidently knew her well enough to realize the uselessness of revolt.
"All right, then," he replied finally, turning to the door. "Suit yourself, only watch your step. Anyhow, I'll be within calling distance, if this guy gets gay."
"Don't worry about that," a flash of anger in her eyes. "I am no baby,Jim Hobart. Go on now, and leave Captain West to me."
He closed the door behind him, and the two were alone in the room. No sound reached them from without, not even an echo of Hobart's footsteps in the hall. West looked across at the girl, who sat motionless, her eyes shaded by long lashes, and ringless fingers clasped in her lap. She appeared indifferent, uninterested, scarcely aware of his presence. He wondered if Hobart was listening at the door; what had become of Mike, and whether Sexton was alive or dead. For the moment he could scarcely make himself realize the true situation. His silence served to arouse her interest, for she suddenly lifted her head and looked at him.
"Well," she said soberly. "You have something to ask?"
"Much—yes; but first, are we alone?"
"Certainly—why?"
"This man Hobart, you are sure he is not listening at the door?"
She glanced about; then laughed.
"Little good that would do him; there is no key-hole, no chance for sound to penetrate. We are quite alone, Captain, and you are perfectly free to say whatever you please."
"But even then, is this wholly fair?"
"What do you mean?"
"I came here," he explained earnestly, "with no bad intention; no desire to injure any one, Miss Coolidge; my only thought the possibility of being of some service to you."
"That is very interesting, I am sure. I am quite grateful."
"Then I am going to ask you a favour. Release my hands and feet. You need not be afraid; I give my pledge to make no attempt at escape while we are together. Will you do this?"
The girl neither answered, nor hesitated, but crossed the room swiftly, her hands seeking the lashings about his wrists. Her movement thrilled him, and his blood leaped at the soft touch of her fingers.
"Really, I did not realize you were tied into the chair," she exclaimed indignantly. "Hobart is a fool to do such a thing. Why, what has caused him to become so frightened? Tell me, Captain West, how all this occurred?"
"You know nothing?"
"Only what has been said since I entered the room. Mike simply told me they had a man here who Hobart thought was a detective, and he wanted me to come in a moment. I came, and found you. Now, please, what does it all mean?"
She slipped back to her seat again, her eyes on his face, as he arose and stretched his limbs to restore circulation. To his quick glance her face expressed only sympathy, and innocent interest. Any doubt he may have felt as to the sincerity of the girl vanished instantly; whatever of crime was concealed here, she had no suspicion. He could tell her the whole story without fear.
"I'll try and explain, Miss Natalie," he began rather lamely, "although perhaps, you may not wholly understand the motives which have prompted me. This, of course, is really no business of mine, and the only thing that has involved me is the deep interest I have felt in you."
"In me! why that is rather interesting. It was to serve me you came here?"
"At least I thought so. Shall I make it more definite? No doubt you are aware that you are an unusually pretty woman. Well, at least, I think so for one, and our first meeting, with its subsequent adventures, was romantic enough to shake me out of a commonplace existence. In fact, I became quite deeply interested in you."
"Why really, Captain," she interrupted, slightly puzzled. "I perhaps do not fully comprehend to what you refer. Do you mean there was something between us? Some special intimacy?"
"Oh, no; not that; probably no dream of what was occurring in your mind. Yet the circumstances of our meeting were peculiar; they rendered a very brief acquaintance into what promised to become a real friendship."
"How do you mean?"
"Surely you cannot have forgotten so soon," he exclaimed in surprise at her attitude, seating himself once more and facing her determinedly. "I came to you in response to a strange advertisement; you trusted me so completely as to introduce me to your friends as your fiancé, and later confided to me the special trouble you were in. I pledged you my assistance, and it was surely very natural that, under these circumstances, I as a young man, should have become rather deeply interested—"
"In both the case, and the girl."
"Yes; so much so, indeed, that even when I was rather harshly dismissed, I could not accept it without a protest. I had grown to feel that this was not a mere business arrangement between us. Do you understand now?"
"I can see it from your stand-point. But nevertheless, I am surprised,Captain West. You—you mean you actually fell in love with me?"
"I felt a very, very deep interest in you," he admitted gravely, "a greater interest than I have ever felt in any other woman. That is my sole excuse for becoming involved in your affairs. I could not bear to see you make a mistake it might be in my power to prevent."
"What mistake?"
"Well, first of all, trusting in this man Hobart."
She laughed, her eyes glancing up quickly into his face.
"And why now, please? Remember your confession; I may think this only jealousy."
"You are not so silly as that," earnestly. "Moreover, I may as well be perfectly frank. I did confess an interest in you, and in a measure, I still feel eager to serve you in every possible way; but you have changed so greatly, Miss Natalie, that my confidence in you has been severely tried."
"You no longer believe?"
"I hardly know; I fail utterly to understand you of late; you seem an entirely different girl. For one thing, you have deliberately deceived me."
"Indeed! in what?"
"In your visit to Arch Street with Percival Coolidge. That was no mission of charity to a poor widow and children."
"What then?"
"An arranged conference with this fellow Hobart. He rented that cottage for no other purpose, and left it the next day. You made a mistake when you took me along."
She straightened up slightly in the chair, yet spoke rather indifferently, her voice cold.
"No doubt I did," she said tersely. "Indeed I have already discovered, Captain West, that I made an even greater mistake when I first took you into my service. You have proven altogether too inquisitive. Now I will be plain with you. Whatever need I once supposed I had for your services ended with the explanation I received in that Arch Street cottage. I told you so very distinctly after our return home. You recall that interview, no doubt?"
He bowed, waiting for her to go on.
"You were then and there dismissed from my service. That should have been sufficient. I knew nothing of your silly feeling of personal interest in me; nor did I realize any occasion for discussing with you the reasons causing me to change my plans. You were my employee, and I discharged you; that was all. It is true Percival Coolidge took me to that cottage to have certain mysterious things explained, and they were explained to my complete satisfaction."
"By Hobart?"
"Yes."
"You knew the fellow before?"
She hesitated slightly, although there was no perceptible change in the answering voice.
"For several years; he was in my father's employ; the—the whole trouble originated in a joke, and—and was quite amusing, once I understood. Of course, after that, I had no further need for you. Why did you persist in annoying me?"
West hesitated an instant, his mind struggling with the situation. Was she honest, truthful, in this statement? Could he say anything which would change her viewpoint? She must have been deceived by these men, yet how could he expose them so she would comprehend? He was so little certain of the facts himself, that he had nothing but suspicion to offer.
"Why do you not answer, Captain West?"
The girl's eyes were clear, insistent, a little amused; they somehow aroused his determination.
"I will endeavour to make you understood, Miss Natalie," he explained slowly. "I would not have you feel that I deliberately pushed myself into this affair. When I left Fairlawn after your dismissal, I had no thought of ever seeing you again. I have already told you the interest I had felt in you up to that time, but your abruptness during our last interview, left me angry, and with no inclination to seek your presence again. You can scarcely blame me for such a feeling?"
"No," she confessed. "I—I was so excited and nervous I was not very nice."
"You certainly hurt me. I departed with a sense of wrong rankling, and no desire to come back. But fate intervened. You know, perhaps, that I overheard the shot which ended the life of Percival Coolidge, and I was the first to discover his dead body. This made no particular impression on me at the time. I supposed it a case of suicide, and so bore witness at the inquest. The whole matter would have ended there; but the next day you discharged Sexton also, and the man sought me out at the Club."
She leaned forward, her lips parted, a new light in her eyes.
"He told you something? He made you suspicious?" she asked breathlessly.
"He caused me to see the affair from a somewhat different point of view—a point of view which, I confess, revived my interest in you. I began to believe you had been deceived, and your treatment of me arose through a misunderstanding; I thought you a victim, and that I would be a cad if I failed to stand by you. We put this and that together, carried out some investigations quietly, and arrived at a definite conclusion."
"What investigations?"
"In the field where the body was found first," West went on steadily, but no longer looking at her, "tracing the different tracks through the clover. Then I looked up that cottage in Arch Street, and thus learned about Hobart. Somehow he seemed to fit into the picture, and your mysterious visit there made me anxious to interview the man. He had left no address however, just faded out of sight suddenly, which increased suspicion. Then, when we were completely baffled, Sexton learned about your conversation over the telephone."
"How? Was he at the house?"
"Yes; he went out at my suggestion."
"And heard me repeat this number?"
"It makes no difference how he got the information; we knew you were coming here this afternoon, and jumped at the conclusion that you were going to meet Hobart for some reason."
"Very bright, I am sure," and there was a tone of relief in her voice."And that is your whole story, I suppose? What does it amount to?"
"Not very much, perhaps."
"And the two of you came out here seeking to learn my business, to pry into my personal affairs. That was not a very gentlemanly act, Captain West, and I hardly see how you can justify yourself."
"I had two purposes," he insisted, "either of which justify. I felt it a duty to locate this man Hobart; and also to warn you of the danger you were in."
"Warn me!" she laughed scornfully. "That is ridiculous enough surely. I have a perfectly good reason for being here, but I am not accountable to you in any way for my movements. A duty you say—a duty to locate this man? A duty to whom?"
"To the State, if no one else," he answered gravely. "Percival Coolidge did not commit suicide; he was murdered."
"Murdered!" she came to her feet with utterance of the word. "You cannot think that!"
"I know it, Miss Natalie; the evidence is beyond question; he was murdered in cold blood."
"But by whom? for what purpose?"
"These points are not yet determined; I am only sure of the crime."
"Yes, but—but you suspect Jim Hobart. Isn't that true? You came here seeking him—yes, and me. You even think I know how this death occurred. You—you connect it with my fortune."
"No, Miss Natalie," he protested stoutly, moved by her agitation. "The cause is a mystery, and who did it equally mysterious. The evidence thus far unearthed is all circumstantial."
"Then why did you come out here searching for Hobart?"
"Because of his strange meeting with Percival Coolidge the very day of his death; because his sudden disappearance furnished the only clue."
"And that is all the knowledge you possess, absolutely all?"
"Yes; I am no more than groping in the dark. My main object in coming was to put you on your guard."
"You have repeated these suspicions to no one else? The Police?"
"To no one. Only Sexton and I have even talked the matter over. We are both too loyal to you to ever say a word which might be to your injury."
She suddenly held out her hand, and he took it, conscious of the firm clasp of her fingers.
"I thank you, Captain West," she said sincerely, "and believe your purpose was honourable. You have told me frankly all you suspect, and doubtless you have reasons. You have simply made a mistake, that is all. Percival Coolidge was not murdered; he killed himself because he had muddled my affairs, and knew he was about to be discovered. You have got upon a wrong trail. Will you accept my word for this, and drop the whole matter here?"
West was almost convinced, but not quite; the explanation had not been sufficiently explicit.
"This man Hobart—who is he? What connection does he have with your affairs?"
She hesitated slightly, yet her eyes did not fall, or her apparent cordiality change.
"Mr. Hobart," she explained, "I have known for years. I told you before he was once in my father's employ. Now he is a private detective, and was employed on my case, before I advertised for you. I thought then he was not accomplishing anything, but at our interview Sunday, all was cleared up."
"In the presence of Percival Coolidge?"
"Yes; he was given a week in which to straighten matters. That was why he killed himself."
"But why is it necessary for you to meet Hobart in a place like this—a veritable thieves' den?"
She shrugged her shoulders, releasing his hand.
"He has not completed his work, and does not think it best for us to be seen together. I know him so well I am not at all afraid, even here. Is that all, Captain West?"
"It seems to explain everything," he admitted, yet far from satisfied.
"And you will drop the whole affair?" she asked anxiously.
"If I say yes—what?"
"You will be released from here of course, and the whole misunderstanding forgotten."
"And otherwise?"
"I have no means of knowing what the men intend to do. They will accept your pledge, I am sure."
"Possibly, but I am not so sure I will consent to give such a pledge."
"Then you do not accept my word; do not believe what I have told you?"
"Not that exactly, Miss Natalie; I could have faith in your word, except that I believe you to be mistaken, deceived. Hobart is not square; he is using you for his own ends. Under these conditions, I would be a coward to give such a promise, and leave you helpless in this man's power."
"You intend then to refuse?"
"I do; I'll fight it out."
She stared at him, scarcely believing her own ears, her lips parted, a look of angry fright in her eyes.
"You are a fool, Captain West," she burst forth at last, unable to hold back the words. "I have done my best for you, and you spurn that. Now look out."
She stepped backward, still fronting him, and, with hand behind her, rapped sharply on the panel of the door.
The change in the girl was so pronounced, her action so impetuous, as to leave West startled and silent. The thought came to him instantly that she was not the innocent victim he had supposed. Her words, and movements expressed disappointment, rather than regret. She was angry at his choice, ready to withdraw from him all sympathy, all assistance. Her plea had failed, and the woman had become a tigress. Then she must have been endeavouring to deceive him; as deeply interested as these others—in getting him safely off the trail of this crime. It was a hard lesson, one that instantly turned all his theories upside down, but the truth came to him with blinding, sickening force—she was as guilty as Hobart; they were both working to the same end, endeavouring to get him safely out of the way. They would accomplish this with lies if possible, if not then with force. It was for no other purpose he had been granted this interview alone—in the hope that he might thus be deceived by her. Now he saw through the trick.
These thoughts swept West's brain in a sudden flash of revelation, but he had no chance to act; to denounce her, to make a single movement, before the door opened swiftly, and Hobart slipped eagerly into the room. The first glance the fellow had of the prisoner, standing erect and unbound, must have deceived him into believing the girl had succeeded in her quest.
"So you've set him free," he exclaimed. "The fellow has come to his senses, has he?"
"No, he has not," she snapped with temper darkening her eyes. "I was not afraid of him, so I let him loose, but he's made me no promise. Now it is up to you; I'm done."
She slipped out through the opening, and Hobart leaned against the door, pushing it shut behind her, his scowling eyes watching West intently.
"So, that is how it stands, is it, my man?" he growled threateningly."You even refuse to accept the word of the lady, do you?"
"Those are very nearly the facts," West replied steadily. "Then I told her I thought she must be mistaken; now I believe she was sent here for no other purpose but to deceive me. If I ever had any doubt of a crime, it has vanished since this interview."
"What crime?"
"Murder; the killing of Percival Coolidge. Is that plain enough, Hobart? I want you to understand. I am fighting this case from now on in the open; it is going to be man to man."
"What the hell do you mean, you cur?"
"I'll tell you," went on West coldly, determined now to so anger the fellow as to bring the whole matter to a climax, reckless of the consequences. "I charge you with murder. I haven't the proof, but I'll get it; I do not know the object, but I'll find out."
"You fool! you'll never get away from here. My God, you must be crazy!"
"Never was saner in all my life, Hobart. I am a soldier, and am taking a soldier's chance. Now listen. I feel no particular interest in the death of Percival Coolidge. In my judgment the world is just as well off with him dead as alive. But what this means to Natalie Coolidge is another matter entirely."
"She told you—"
"Yes, she told me—a lie. That is what hurts; what makes me ready to take any chance to put you where you belong. You have lied to her, deceived her, made her your accomplice in crime. I'm fighting for a woman, because she has got no one else to fight for her."
"Oh, I see; in love, hey—with her, or her money?"
"With neither so far as I know," frankly. "She is a woman helpless in your hands; that is sufficient."
"But, hell, she hasn't any use for you—didn't she tell you so?"
"Quite plainly—yes. But that is no excuse for any man to play the coward. I am not afraid of you, Hobart, or your gang. You got me before by treachery; I was not looking for trouble. But now I am. I am going through that door, and if you try to stop me you are going to get hurt."
The fellow grinned, one hand thrust into the outer pocket of his coat, his eyes narrowed into ugly slits.
"You think so! You haven't a weapon on you, West, and if you take a step, I'll put you out of commission. I know how to handle your kind, you big bluffer. What I want to know is what you have got in your head, for, believe me, I don't take any stock in this woman stuff. Are you after the coin?"
"What coin?"
"Well, maybe a slice of old Coolidge's boodle. There's enough of it for all hands to have a dip. How does that hit you?"
"Sounds interesting at least," admitted West, so earnestly as to attract the other's attention. "But let's talk it over among ourselves—who is listening there?"
Hobart glanced behind at the nearly closed door. It was for only a second he was off guard, yet that was enough. With one leap forward, West struck, his clinched fist smashing against the side of the fellow's jaw. It was a wicked, vicious blow, with all the propelling force of the body behind it, and Hobart went down stunned, crashing the door tightly shut as he fell. Once he strove blindly to reach his feet, tugging madly at the weapon in his pocket, but West, feeling no mercy, and wide awake to the fact that any shooting would mean a call for help, struck again, sending his groggy opponent flat, and unconscious. It was all the swift work of a minute, and there had been no noise to arouse alarm. Hobart had not even cried out; the only audible sounds being the sharp click of the door, and the dull thud of a falling body.
West emptied the man's pockets, slipping two revolvers into his own; then stood for an instant motionless, staring down into the white upturned face. He had followed the impulse of the moment; had struck savagely; knowing it was his only chance. Thus far he had done well; but what next? He was conscious of but one thought, one purpose—to escape from this house, unpledged and still free to act. Yet how could this be accomplished? He had no plan, no knowledge even of his surroundings, of what lay beyond the walls of this room. His eyes swept the bare interior, seeing nothing to inspire hope. Hobart had said this room was practically a prison, and it looked it—the walls bare, and unbroken, and a rough single cot. All possibility of egress lay in the closed door, and a narrow window high up in the opposite wall, also tightly shut, and shaded by a heavy curtain.
His hand tried the door cautiously; the knob turned easily enough, but there was no yielding to his pressure. The lock was evidently on the outside, and he could discover no key-hole, no possibility of operating it from within. Then, besides in all probability, a guard would be posted outside in the hall, waiting for some signal from Hobart. West glanced again at the recumbent figure, bending over to make sure of his condition, then, gripping a chair, silently crossed the room.
There was not a minute to lose. He knew that he must choose quickly whatever course he pursued. Any instant Hobart might recover consciousness, and gain assistance by a rap on the door; indeed his confederates without might not wait for the signal. The silence within, the length of time, might arouse suspicion. The only chance lay in immediate action. Standing on the chair West found the window had been securely nailed into place, but this had been done so long ago, it was quite possible for him to work the nails loose, yet it required all his strength to press up the warped sash sufficiently far to enable him to gain a view outside. It was not encouraging. Evidently he was upon the third floor, at the rear of the building, looking down into a cluttered up back yard. His eyes could scarcely distinguish what was below, as the only glimmer of light came from a far distant street lamp at the end of an alley, the faint rays creeping in through holes in the fence. Yet one black shadow seemed to promise the sloping roof of a shed directly below; but even with that to break his fall, it was a desperate leap.
He stared into those uncertain depths, endeavouring to measure the distance, deceived by the shifting shadows, afraid of what lay hidden below. For the moment he forgot all that was behind him, his whole mind concentrated on the perils of so mad a leap into the dark. The awakening came suddenly, the chair jerked from beneath his feet, his body hurled backward. He fell, gripping at the window seat, so that he was flung against the support of a side wall, able to retain his feet, but not to wholly ward off a vicious blow, which left him staggering. Half blinded, West leaped forward to grapple with the assailant, but was too late. Hobart rushed back out of reach of his arms, and rapped sharply on the door panel. It opened instantly, and big Mike, closely followed by another man, pushed forward into the room. West was trapped, helpless; one man pitted against three. He backed slowly away, brushing tack the dishevelled hair from his eyes, watching them warily, every animal instinct on the alert.
Mike took one comprehensive glance at the scene, at the overturned chair, the half-open window, the trapped man crouching motionless against the further wall. The meaning of it all was plain, and his bar-room training gave quick insight as to the part he was to play. He spoke gruffly out into the dark of the hall behind him, an order to some one concealed there; then shut the door tightly, and faced West, his head lowered like a bull about to charge. West understood; he was locked in to fight it out—three against one. Hobart was nearest to him, his face swollen and red, his eyes ugly slits, with teeth snarling between thin lips. The fellow laughed sneeringly, as their glances met.
"Now we'll take care of you, Captain," he taunted. "Never mind his guns, Mike; there's not a load in either of them. Give the guy what he is looking for. Come on you terriers!"
But West did not wait. There was only one chance, and he took it—to carry the fighting to them. He had no doubt of the emptiness of his guns, and hurled one straight at Hobart's head, leaping forward with the other clutched in his hand straight at Mike, who had scarcely time to fling up one hand in defence. The thrown weapon missed its mark by a narrow inch, striking the wall behind, and falling clattering to the floor, but the other broke through the big saloon-keeper's guard, and sent him reeling to his knees, a gush of blood reddening his hair. Again and again West struck him, driving him prone to the floor before the other two dragged him away, wrestled the weapon from his hand, and closed with him in a desperate death grapple.
What followed he never could relate. He was mad with fury of the fight. A mere animal defending life with every means at hand, caring nothing for either wound or hurt so that he won out in the end. Mike was out of it, but the two grappling him fought like wild cats, rough barroom fighters, resorting to any tactics to disable their opponent. Yet it was this that saved him. Crazed as he was, madly as his brain whirled in the fierce struggle, his long training held supreme—he knew how to fight, remembered instinctively every trick and guard. Again and again his clinched fist reached its mark, and slowly he broke away from clutching hands, and regained his feet. It was a terrific struggle, but luck, as well as skill, was with him. The next he knew, out of the red ruck, was that he had Hobart by the throat, jammed against the wall, with fingers clinched in the throat. Then he saw the other coming, a dim, shapeless thing, that he kicked at viciously. The boot must have landed, for he was suddenly free to strike the purple face fronting him, and fling the helpless rocking body in a huddled mass on the floor.
By God, it was over with; he had won breathing space, a chance to see what was about him. Yet that was all. The fellow he had kicked was already up, doubled from the pain of the blow, but with mad eyes glaring at him. Hobart had struggled to his knees, cursing fiercely as he swept the blood out of his eyes. They would both be on him again in a minute, more desperate than ever, and the door was locked—there was no chance there. The window! Ay! there was the window. Death either way, yet a chance; and he was man enough to take it. He leaped on the chair, and clambered up; he heard Hobart swear, and felt the grip of a hand on his dangling leg; kicked himself free, and was on the ledge. He never looked below, or took time to poise for the leap. Heedless, desperate, scarcely realizing what he was doing, he flung his body out over the edge, and fell.