"I'm sure it was Mary," exclaimed Ray positively. "I never did like the girl. She was sullen and vicious and would stop at nothing to get even with us for discharging her."
"Perhaps you are right," said Helen, "although it is hard to believe that a woman would do such a cruel thing to a mother. Just imagine how worried I was all the way to Philadelphia, only to find when I got there that no message had been sent, and Dorothy was perfectly well."
It was evening. The two women were sitting alone in the library on the second floor, Ray busy at her trousseau, Helen helping her with a piece of embroidery. The master of the house was absent, as usual. He had not come home to dinner, having telephoned at the last minute that he was detained at the club, a thing of such common occurrence since his return from South Africa that Helen had come to accept it as a matter of course. Indeed, things had come to such a pass that she rather welcomed his absence. She preferred the sweet, amiable companionship of her little sister to that of a man who had suddenly become exacting, over-bearing and quarrelsome.
"Why don't you let Dorothy come home?" asked Ray. "Then you wouldn't have this constant worry about her."
"I think I will, now that we are more settled and things are quieter. I wrote to auntie to-day that I might go to Philadelphia one day next week to bring her home. You are right. I shall not be happy until she's with me. I have such terrible dreams about her. If anything were to happen that child, I think it would kill me."
Ray nodded approvingly. Sympathetically, she said:
"Yes, dear. You'll feel better satisfied when she's with you. Besides she'll be a companion for you—especially when I'm married——"
Helen sighed and turned away her face so her sister should not see the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. Sorrowfully, she said:
"It will be terrible to lose you, dear. Of course, I'm happy over your marriage. It would be very selfish in me to want to stand in the way of your happiness. I'm sure I wish you and Wilbur every joy imaginable. But I shall certainly feel very lonely when you are gone."
The young girl looked closely at her sister. She realized that her sister was no longer the happy, contented woman she once was, and she readily guessed the cause. Helen had not taken her into her confidence, but she had ears and eyes. Living in the house in such close intimacy, she could not help noticing that the relations between the wife and husband were no longer what they had been. Guardedly she said:
"But you have Kenneth."
Helen sighed and was silent.
Ray looked up. More gently she said:
"Haven't you your husband, dear?"
Her sister shook her head. There was a note of utter discouragement and melancholy in her voice as she answered:
"He is seldom home—his club seems to have more attraction for him. I rarely see him except at breakfast time." She was silent for a moment, and then added quickly: "Would you believe that he hasn't been home a single night since the time I was called to Philadelphia?"
Ray opened her eyes.
"He's out all night?"
"Yes—all night. The other morning it was seven o'clock when he came home—and his dress suit and shirt looked as if he had been in a fight."
The young girl put down her work and looked at her sister in dismay.
"Sis!—what's the matter with Ken all at once?"
Helen made no reply, but covering her face with her two hands, burst into tears. Ray rose quickly and going over to where she was sitting, sat on the edge of the chair and put her arms about her. Soothingly she said:
"Don't cry, dear, don't cry. He will soon be himself again. His terrible experience on the steamer upset him dreadfully. His nervous system underwent such a shock that it has entirely changed his character. Wilbur says it is quite a common phenomenon. Only the other day he read in some medical book an article on that very subject. The writer says any great shock of that kind can cause a temporary disarrangement of the moral sense and perceptions. For example, a man who, under ordinary circumstances is a perfect model of a husband, with every good quality and virtue, may suddenly lose all sense of conduct and become am unprincipledroué. In other words, we have two natures within us. When our system is working normally we succeed in keeping the evil that's in us under control; but following any great shock, the system is disarranged, the evil gains the ascendancy, and we appear quite another person. This explains the dual personality about which Wilbur and I had an argument the other day. Don't you remember?"
Helen nodded. Sadly she said:
"I begin to think you are right. Certainly he has changed. If he had been like this when I first met him I should never have married him. It is not the Kenneth I learned to love." Bitterly, she added: "As he is now, I feel I dislike and detest him. Unless he soon changes for the better, I shall leave him. In self respect I can't go on living like this?"
Kissing her sister again, Ray rose and went back to her seat. Confidently, she said:
"Don't worry, dear. I'm sure everything will be all right soon. You see if I'm not right. By my wedding day—only three weeks away now—you'll think as much of Ken as ever——"
"I hope so, dear, but three weeks is a long time to wait——"
The young girl laughed.
"Why that's nothing at all. Just imagine Ken is ill or gone away from you on a visit for that length of time——"
As she spoke the door opened, and François entered with a silver salver, which he presented to his mistress.
"A letter for Madame."
Helen looked at the envelope and threw it down with a gesture of impatience. Crossly, she exclaimed:
"François, I do wish you'd be more careful. Can't you read. Don't you see the letter is addressed to Mr. Traynor?"
The valet nodded.
"Oui, madame. But as Monsieur is out I thought that possibly madame——"
Incensed more at the fellow's impudent air than by what he actually said, Helen lost her temper. Angrily, she exclaimed:
"Don't think. People of your class are not hired to think; they are paid to do as they are told. You've been very careless in your work recently. The next time it happens I shall have to tell you to find another place."
The valet smiled. An insolent look passed over his sallow, angular face. Dropping completely his deferential manner and fixing the two women with a bold, familiar stare, he said impudently:
"You needn't wait till next time. I'll quit right now,parbleu. It's a rotten job, anyhow."
Indignant, Helen pointed to the door.
"Go!" she cried. "The housekeeper will settle with you. Never let me see your face again."
The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and went toward the door. As he reached it, he turned round, a sneer on his face:
"You'll see me again all right, but ze circumstances may be different? My lady may not be so proud ze next time."
With this parting shot, he went away, and a moment later they heard him going up to his room to pack his things.
Ray turned to her sister. Reprovingly, she said:
"Weren't you a little severe with him?"
Helen shook her head. Quickly, she said:
"I never could bear the sight of the man. He is treacherous and deceitful. I'm not at all sure that he's honest. It was only after he'd been here some time that I learned he was formerly with Signor Keralio. That was enough to set me against him. Like master, like valet, as the saying goes, and it's usually a true saying. On several occasions lately I have noticed things that seemed suspicious. The fellow is more intimate now with Kenneth than I, his wife, have ever been. Only the other day I discovered them in earnest and intimate conversation. Directly I appeared they separated and François, instead of continuing to converse on terms of apparent social equality, was once more the fawning valet. I didn't take the trouble to ask Kenneth what it all meant. So many singular things have happened since his return, that this only adds one more to the list."
"May I come in?" said a voice.
Helen looked up quickly. It was Wilbur Steell who was standing at the door with his head half in the room, laughing at them. The two women had been so busy talking that they had not heard the sound of approaching footsteps. With an exclamation of joy Ray jumped to her feet and ran up to him.
"It's Wilbur—my precious Wilbur!"
Helen nodded approvingly, as she noticed the girl's enthusiasm. Certainly her sister had changed. She was hardly the cold, self-centered Ray of six months ago. With a smile she said:
"It's astonishing how a man can alter a girl—if he's the right kind."
The lawyer laughed.
"It works both ways. The right kind of woman can make a man change his ways—even a hardened old bachelor. Who could have guessed that I would ever fall in love?"
Helen sighed.
"What is love? We have it to-day; it eludes us to-morrow. A few weeks ago I thought I loved my husband better than any being in the world. To-day, I can hardly look him in the face. How do you account for it?"
Dropping into a chair, the lawyer look serious.
"I can't account for it, nor can I blame you. Kenneth has returned from South Africa a changed man. Whether the wreck and the loss of the diamonds affected his mind I do not know. Only a psychologist could determine that. But he is not the same. Where is he to-night?"
Helen threw up her hands.
"Do I ever know?" she exclaimed wearily. "I haven't seen him since morning, and don't expect to see him before breakfast to-morrow. He's at his club or drinking and carousing, or in some gambling house playing roulette. How do I know?"
"It is certainly a most singular case," said the lawyer meditatively. "Mr. Parker and I have gone carefully over his accounts at the Company's office. Everything is perfectly regular. There only remains the missing diamonds. We have detectives working on half a dozen clues but so far we have accomplished nothing. We have also gone to Washington to get the secret service men interested in the case on the ground that if the diamonds are here they were smuggled in and no duty was paid. But we found the secret service men busy following up counterfeiters. The country is being flooded with counterfeit $10 bills—a splendid reproduction, almost defying detection. It is believed that the plates and presses from which they are made are right here in New York and the whole secret service force is at work trying to run the counterfeiters to earth. This is why our diamond case is going so slowly. They are so busy following up the counterfeiters they have no time for us."
Ray, much interested, leaned eagerly forward.
"A counterfeit ten dollar bill, did you say?" she demanded.
"Yes—it is a remarkable counterfeit. You would not know it from a good one. Only an expert can tell the difference. But all these crooks overreach themselves. Clever as they are, they usually leave some mark which betrays them. For example, in printing this bill which bears the head of Lincoln, they have spelled his first name 'Abrahem'—in other words, the engraver made an 'e' when it should have been 'a.'"
Ray jumped up, quite excited. Her eyes flashing, she cried.
"Isn't that strange! I have a new $10 bill, and I noticed to-day the queer spelling of Abraham. Wouldn't it be funny if I had one of the counterfeits?"
The lawyer smiled.
"It wouldn't be funny; it would be a tragedy, considering that in a short while from now I am to pay your bills. Where is the bank note?"
"I'll run up and get it. It's in my purse."
When she had disappeared, Steell turned to his hostess and said:
"Have you seen Signor Keralio lately?"
"Hardly—you know I dismissed him from the house."
The lawyer sat thoughtfully drumming his fingers on the table. Musingly, he said:
"Somehow I have a hunch that that fellow knows something about the diamonds. Does Kenneth ever see him?"
"I asked him the other day. He said he did not."
"That's strange!" exclaimed the lawyer. "It was only yesterday morning that I saw them together in a taxicab."
"Where?" demanded Helen, surprised.
"Away uptown. I had business up in the Bronx. I was driving my car and was near 200th street and going north when suddenly I had to steer to one side to allow a taxicab to pass. There were two men in it. I just chanced to glance inside and, to my surprise, I recognized your husband and Keralio."
"What time was that?"
"Very early—about nine o'clock."
"What direction?"
"They were coming south."
"Then he must have been with Keralio all night, for he didn't come home."
The lawyer was silent. Certainly here was a mystery which needed more detective talent than he possessed to clear up. Yet he would not rest until it was solved. To-morrow he would get Dick Reynolds busy, and they would go to work in earnest. The first thing to find out was what took Keralio and Kenneth to the Bronx.
"Does Keralio live in the Bronx?"
"I don't know," said Helen.
"I'll find out," said the lawyer, grimly.
At that moment Ray returned, holding out a new ten-dollar bill.
"I was right," she cried. "The name Abraham is spelled with an 'e.' Do you really think this is a counterfeit?"
The lawyer took the bill and examined it critically.
"I have no doubt of it," he answered. "There are other indications—the general appearance, the touch of the paper. Where did you get it?"
For a moment the young girl was puzzled.
"Let me think. Where did I get it. Oh yes, I know. François gave it to me."
"François!" exclaimed Helen.
The lawyer started and looked up in surprise.
"François, your brother-in-law's valet?"
"Yes—I wanted a $20 bill changed to pay for some things that came home from the store, and he went out and brought me some old bills and this new one."
The lawyer gave vent to a low, expressive whistle.
"François gave it to you, eh? Where is Francois?"
"I discharged him to-day for insolence," said Helen.
"He's gone!"
"Yes—he went shortly before you came in."
The lawyer jumped to his feet, a look of exultation on his face. Quickly, he said:
"Didn't you say that this François was formerly with Signor Keralio?"
"Yes—he was with him for years."
The lawyer gave a wild whoop of joy.
"Then we've got it—at last."
"Got what?" cried the women.
"A clue—a clue!" cried the lawyer, excitedly. "Can't you see it? François is hand in glove with Keralio—the master rogue who is making this counterfeit."
"What do you propose to do?"
"Find where Keralio lives—then, perhaps, we'll find the lost diamonds."
"This way," whispered Dick, as he darted swiftly from door to door, "keep close behind me, and stick to the wall, or he'll see you."
But François was so utterly fagged after his long walk from the Elevated road, carrying his heavy suitcase, that he worried about nothing save his own discomfort. Unable to find a taxi, he had been compelled to tramp the entire distance, and the fatigue of it had made him peevish. He could have saved himself at least a mile if he had taken a more direct road, but Keralio's orders were explicit. He must always follow a circuitous route so as to throw possible pursuers off the scent. There was no disobeying the orders of the chief, so on he trudged, looking neither to right nor left, up one street, down another, now crossing an empty lot, now darting through a narrow alley, through the wastes and dreariness of Bronxville.
As he approached his journey's end, he accelerated his pace, going along so fast that it was as much as Dick and Steell could do to keep up with him. The night was dark and foggy, and at times they could not see him for the mist. But as he came within the glare of each lamp post, they could make out his lithe figure, scurrying along as if the devil himself were at his heels.
"Let's get up closer," gasped Dick, who was winded from the long chase. "I guess their den is in this neighborhood. He'll slip in somewhere and we'll lose him if we keep so far away."
"No—he may see us," whispered Steell cautiously. "We can make him out all right."
They increased their pace a little. The valet was less than two blocks away, and once he actually stopped and looked around as if to see if he was followed. Quickly Steell and Dick darted under a doorway, and, seeing nothing to arouse his suspicion, François went on.
The lawyer was taking no chances to-night. It was too good a game to spoil. That they were on the right trail at last he was morally certain. Ray's experience had given him the first clue. After that it was easy. For two days Dick had shadowed the valet, and seen him changing crisp $10 bills in half a dozen different places. The lawyer could have had him arrested at once, but he was after bigger game. It was not enough to arrest François. He was only the tool. They must get the man higher up, the man who employed him. That man, the lawyer felt equally confident, was Keralio. He was the master counterfeiter. The first step to take was to find out where the counterfeiting was done, where Keralio had his plant, and the only way to do this was to follow the valet to his master's secret den.
For several days they had shadowed the Frenchman constantly, until to-night they were rewarded by seeing him start with a suit case in the direction of the Bronx. They quickly gave chase, the lawyer confident of results. It was not part of his plan, however, to hurry matters or do things prematurely. To-night they would merely reconnoiter. They would content themselves by watching the premises, seeing who came and went, and trying to obtain a glimpse of the interior. If the evidence was incriminating enough to make a raid successful, it would always be time enough to call in the police. Keralio, he was also well convinced, had something to do with the missing diamonds, and possibly the present investigation would throw some light on the mystery surrounding Kenneth himself. He had made no mention of his suspicions to Helen, but he could not help feeling that in some way, yet to be discovered, his old comrade had become involved with a band of crooks. How otherwise explain his acquaintance with Keralio, an utter stranger of dubious antecedents. How explain the loss of the diamonds? The explanation Kenneth had given was decidedly fishy. Parker did not believe a word of it—in fact, frankly expressed, his opinion was that his vice-president had disposed of the gems. Had he himself not seen Kenneth driving about the Bronx with Keralio at an impossible hour? Had not Helen discovered François conversing on intimate terms with his master? It all looked decidedly bad; only time could unravel it all. It was a fearful thing to suspect a man of Kenneth's standing, but everything pointed to his being involved in a vast network of crime.
He was aroused from his reflections by an exclamation of warning from his companion.
"Quick—there he goes!" whispered Dick.
The valet had suddenly made a sharp turn to the right, and was lost to view. But quick as he was, Dick was quicker. The young man was a little ahead of the lawyer, and, putting on a spurt of speed, he reached the corner just in time to see the Frenchman and suitcase disappear into a grimy, dilapidated looking tenement at the end of a blind alley.
"We've run the fox to earth," whispered Steell exultantly.
"Could any melodrama wish for a more appropriatemise-en-scène?" grinned Dick.
"Come opposite, and find out what we can see from the outside."
Crossing the street they took up positions in the shadow of a doorway.
The house which the Frenchman had entered was all dark and apparently tenantless, except on the top floor where lights could be faintly seen behind hermetically sealed shutters. Straining his ears, Steell thought he could hear the steady hum of machinery in motion. With an exclamation of satisfaction, he turned to his companion:
"We've got 'em, Dick, we've got 'em. Do you hear the presses going?"
The young man listened. The sound was plainly audible, but it was a muffled sound, as if the walls and windows were padded with mattresses to prevent any sounds of the operations within from reaching inquisitive, outside ears.
"Let's go upstairs," whispered Steell.
Recrossing the road, they entered the house and began to grope their way up the narrow, winding staircase. They could make only slow progress, not only because of the absence of light, but owing to the rotten condition of the stairs. Indescribably filthy and littered with all sorts of rubbish and broken glass, in some places the boards had broken through entirely, leaving gaping holes, which were so many dangerous pitfalls. Twice the lawyer came near breaking his neck.
At last they reached the top, both out of breath from the long and perilous climb.
"Hush—there it is!" whispered Dick pointing at the end of a narrow hall to a door from underneath which issued a faint glimmer of light.
Cautiously, noiselessly, treading on tiptoe, the lawyer and his companion crept along the passage until they came to the door. They listened. There was not a sound. Even the hum of machinery which they had heard in the street, had ceased. Could the inmates have taken alarm?
All at once they heard people talking. Instantly, Steell recognized the voice of Keralio. He was questioning someone, no doubt the valet. They listened.
"Well, did you carry out my orders?"
"Oui, monsieur, ze last of ze ten-dollar bills has been passed. I have ze money here."
"I did not mean that," broke in Keralio impatiently. "I mean as regards the child——"
"Oui, monsieur. Didn't you receive my telegram. I brought the child from Philadelphia yesterday evening."
Steell, puzzled, turned to his companion.
"What child are they talking about?" he whispered.
"I have no idea. Some more mischief they're up to, I guess."
Again Keralio's voice was heard asking:
"Where is Handsome to-day? I told him to come. Why isn't he here?"
"He's drinking again, monsieur. When he's drunk you can't do anything with him. He's getting ugly about ze diamonds."
Steell nudged his fellow eavesdropper.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered. "He spoke of diamonds!"
Keralio was heard bursting into a peal of savage laughter.
"Getting ugly is he? What does he want?"
"He says you promised him half of ze proceeds when ze diamonds were sold, and that now you are trying to do him out of it—— He says he's sick of ze whole thing and will squeal to ze police unless you do ze right thing."
Straining every nerve to hear, Steell glued his ear to the door.
Keralio burst out fiercely:
"Squeal, will he, the dog? I'd like to know what will become of him when the final reckoning's paid. Will he tell the police that he was a drunken adventurer in the South African mining camps before his twin brother, Kenneth Traynor, arrived at Cape Town? Will he tell the police that he set the steamer afire, murdered his own brother, and, profiting by the extraordinary resemblance, returned to New York, passing himself off as the man who went away. No, he won't tell all that, will he? But I will. Did you bring the money? Let me see it."
The talking suddenly ceased, and was followed by a deep silence. Steell, staggered at this unexpected revelation, almost stumbled in his eagerness to hear more. Turning to his companion, he exclaimed in a horror-stricken whisper:
"My God! Did you hear that? It's even worse than I feared. They've done away with Kenneth. That man at the house is an impostor!"
"An impostor?" ejaculated Dick. "Impossible. Don't we all know Kenneth when we see him?"
"Nothing's impossible!" rejoined the lawyer hurriedly. "Kenneth had a twin brother—the resemblance was so extraordinary as children that no one knew them apart. The brother disappeared years ago. They thought him dead. Kenneth must have come across him in South Africa. This brother killed him and took his place. It's all clear to me now. We're in a den of assassins!"
Inside the conversation began again.
"Hush! Listen!" whispered Steell.
The voice of Keralio was once more raised in angry tones.
"Didn't I tell you that I wanted the child brought here at once?"
"Oui, monsieur, but I could not. I had ze rest of ze money to get rid of and ze suitcase to carry. I will bring her in a taxi to-morrow."
"Where is she?"
"Safe in the care of the woman who runs my boarding house."
"When did you bring her from Philadelphia?"
"Yesterday afternoon."
"Did you have any trouble?"
"Non, monsieur. I didn't even have to go to ze house, although I had a plausible story all ready. I was going to say that Mrs. Traynor had sent me to fetch Miss Dorothy because her mother wanted her home for ze coming marriage of Miss Ray. But it wasn't necessary to lie about it. I found ze child playing in ze street near the house. I merely told her her mamma wanted her to come home, gave her some candy, and she followed me willingly enough."
"By this time the alarm has been given."
"Sans doute, monsieur. They probably telegraphed Mrs. Traynor last night that ze child was missing——"
The voices again stopped. Steell, his face white, and fists clenched, turned to his companion:
"Good Heavens, Dick, did you hear that? They've kidnapped Mrs. Traynor's little girl—no doubt, with the idea of demanding ransom. Thank God, we're in time to frustrate that crime——"
"Hush!" exclaimed his companion. "Listen!"
Keralio proceeded:
"Now you understand what you are to do. You bring the child here to-morrow morning. Meantime, I have already written in a disguised hand to Mrs. Traynor telling her that her child is safe—for the present, and that if she wants to see her she must come here to-morrow afternoon. I warned her that if she communicated with the police or informed any of her friends, the child would be put to death before it would be possible to effect a rescue. That ought to bring her here——"
"Would monsieur go as far as to kill——"
"Why not," demanded Keralio fiercely. "I permit nothing to stand in the way of my will. That woman can save her child's life, but she must pay the price I ask. She shall learn what it costs to dismiss me from her house——"
The valet was heard to chuckle as he said:
"I don't love her any too much myself. She discharged me from her employ the other day so haughtily I felt like a whipped cur."
Again there was silence, followed by a muffled hammering.
"They're taking the printing press apart," whispered Dick, who through the keyhole, had managed to get a glimpse of machinery. "If we don't act quickly, they'll get away with all the evidence. Hadn't we better go and call the police?"
For answer, the lawyer put his fingers to his lips with a warning gesture, and beckoning the young man to follow, retraced his steps on tiptoe along the narrow, dark hall and down the filthy, winding staircase. Not a word was spoken by either man until they reached the street. Once in the open air, the lawyer turned and said:
"Dick, we've uncovered as black a plot as was ever hatched in hell. If we don't queer the game and put them all in the chair it won't be my fault. We can't bring poor Kenneth back to life, but we can and will revenge his cowardly murder. It will be a positive joy to me to see that arch-scoundrel Keralio electrocuted."
"What do you propose to do?" asked his companion. "Hadn't we better call Mrs. Traynor on the telephone and warn her before it's too late?"
The lawyer was silent for a few moments. Then meditatively, he said:
"No, that would be a mistake. No doubt, by this time, she has received Keralio's anonymous letter. She is probably frantic with anxiety over the news of her child's disappearance, and will respond eagerly to any clue that promises to take her to her child. If we warned her she would pay no heed. She might pretend to, but only to pacify us. Afraid that punishment might be visited on the child, she would obey the warning not to talk, and she will come here to Keralio's flat to-morrow at the time the letter stated. Of course, she has no idea Keralio wrote the letter. But even if she had, it would make no difference. I know her. She would run any risk to save her child."
"I think you're right," replied Dick, "but how, then, will you help her? There is no knowing what Keralio's object is in enticing her here—you can be sure it's nothing good."
"Precisely—that's why we, too, must be on hand, together with a strong force of detectives. We'll get them all. There will be no possible escape. We'll surround the house with men. They'll be caught like rats in a trap."
The lawyer turned to go.
"Where are you bound now?" asked Dick.
"To police headquarters!"
"There—take a little water—you're much better now!" said the nurse, soothingly.
The patient swallowed greedily the cooling drink handed to him, and, tired even by that small effort, fell back on his pillows exhausted.
"Where am I?" he inquired of the comely young woman, who in neat service uniform, hovered about the bed.
"You're in St. Mary's Hospital."
"In New York?" he queried.
"No—San Francisco——"
He was too weak to question further, but his hollow blue eyes followed her as she moved here and there, attending skilfully and swiftly to the duties of the sick room. Presently he made another venture:
"Have I been ill long?"
"Yes—very long."
"What's the matter?"
"Concussion of the brain, pneumonia and shock. You are much better now, but you mustn't talk so much or you may have a relapse."
He asked no more, but passed his hand over his brow in a bewildered sort of way. Presently, he began again:
"Does my wife come to see me?"
The nurse stopped in her work and looked at him curiously. In surprise, she exclaimed:
"Your wife! Have you a wife?"
It was his turn now to be surprised. In somewhat peevish tone he said:
"Of course I've a wife—everyone knows that."
"What's her name?"
"Helen—Helen Traynor." Enthusiastically, he added: "Oh, you'd just love my wife if you only knew her. She's the sweetest, the most unselfish——"
The nurse looked at him curiously.
"So your name is Traynor, is it? We've tried to find out for a long time. But there were no marks on your clothes when you were picked up. We did not know who you were and so have not been able to communicate with any of your friends. We guessed you were a man of social position by your hands and teeth, and we knew your name began with a T because of the monogram on the signet ring on your finger."
"Pick me up?" he echoed. "Where did they pick me up? What has happened? Was it an accident?"
"You were found unconscious, drifting in the ocean, clinging to a spar, and were brought here by a sailing vessel. You had a fracture of the skull and you were half drowned. It is supposed that you were one of the passengers of theAbyssinia, which took fire and went down two days after leaving Cape Town, but as several passengers and officers whose bodies were never found also had names beginning with T, it was impossible to identify you."
As he listened, the vacant, stupid expression on his face gradually gave place to a more alert, intelligent look. Indistinctly, vaguely, he recalled things that had happened. Slowly his brain cells began to work.
He remembered cabling to Helen from Cape Town telling her of his sailing on theAbyssinia. He recalled the incidents of the first day at sea. The weather was beautiful. Everything pointed to a good voyage. Who was traveling with him? He could not remember. Oh, yes, now he knew. François, his valet, and that other queer fellow he had picked up at the diamond mines—his twin brother. Yes, it all came back to him now.
Why had he gone to the diamond mines? Yes, now he knew—to take back to New York the two big stones found on the Company's land. He had them safe in a belt he wore round his waist next to his skin. The second night out he went to bed about midnight and was fast asleep when suddenly he heard shouts of "Fire! Fire!" Jumping up and looking out of his cabin he saw stewards and passengers running excitedly about. There was a reddish glare and a suffocating smell of smoke. Quickly he buckled on the belt with the diamonds, and, slipping on his trousers, went out. The electric lights had gone out. The ship was in complete darkness. From all sides came shouts of men and screams of frightened women. It was a scene of utter demoralization and horror. He was groping his way along the narrow passage, when, suddenly, out of the gloom a man sprang upon him, and, taken entirely by surprise, he was borne to the deck before he had time to defend himself. He could not see the man's face and thought it was one of the passengers or sailors who had gone mad, but when he felt a tug at his belt where the diamonds were, he knew he had to do with a thief. He fought back with all his strength, but he was unarmed, while the stranger had a black jack which he used unmercifully, raining fearful blows on his head. The struggle was too unequal to last. Weak from loss of blood, he relaxed his grip, and the thief, dealing one fearful parting blow, tore away the belt and disappeared. His life blood was flowing away, he felt sick and dizzy, but just as the thief turned to run he managed to get a glimpse of his face. Now he remembered that face—it was the face of his twin brother—the man he had rescued from starvation on theveldt.
Yes, it all came back to him now, like a horrible nightmare. What had happened since then? How could he tell, since all this time his mind had been a blank? Helen, no doubt, believed him dead. Mr. Parker and all the others thought he had gone down with the ship. But what of his valet, François, and his cowardly, murderous brother—were they saved? If so, the thief had the diamonds, and had probably disposed of them by this time. Perhaps there might still be time to capture the would-be assassin and save the gems for the Americo-African Company. Brother or no brother, he would have no more pity on the unnatural, miserable cutthroat. The first step was to let his friends know where he was. He must telegraph at once to Helen.
Yet, on second thought, it would not be wise to do that. If Helen really believed him dead and was now mourning his loss, it might be almost a fatal shock if suddenly she were to receive a telegram saying he was alive. Such shocks have been known to kill people. A better plan would be to get well as soon as possible, leave the hospital, and go to New York. Once there, he could go quietly to his office and learn how matters were.
The days passed, the convalescent making speedy progress toward recovery, and in a few weeks more he was able to leave the hospital. Making himself known quietly to a San Francisco business acquaintance, he was quickly supplied with funds and immediately he turned his face homeward.
The long, overland journey was tedious and exhausting, especially in his present weakened condition, and even those who knew him well would hardly have recognized in the pale emaciated looking stranger with ill fitting clothes and untrimmed full growth of beard who emerged from the train at the Grand Central Station, the carefully dressed, well groomed Kenneth Traynor who, only a few months before, had sailed away from New York on theMauretania.
The noise and turmoil of the big metropolis, in striking contrast to the quiet and seclusion of the sick room in which he had lived for so many weeks, astonished him. The crowds of suburbanites rushing frantically for trains, elbowing and pushing in their anxiety to get home, the strident hoarse cries of newsboys, the warning shouts of wagon drivers as they drove recklessly here and there at murderous speed, the blowing of auto horns, the ceaseless hum and roar of the big city's heavy traffic—all this bewildered and dazed him. At first he did not remember just in what direction to turn, whether he lived in the East or West side, uptown or down. But as he got more accustomed to his surroundings, it all came back to him. How stupid—of course he had to go downtown to 20th Street. Once more he was himself again. Hailing a taxi, he started for Gramercy Park.
Conflicting emotions stirred his breast as he drew near his home. What joy it would be to clasp Helen once more in his arms. How delighted she would be to see him! Then he was filled with anxiety, a sudden feeling of dread came over him. Suppose some misfortune, some calamity had happened during his absence! Helen might have met with some accident. Baby might have been ill. The worst might have happened. He would never have heard. Perhaps he was only going home to find his happiness wrecked forever.
The driver made his way with difficulty down Fifth Avenue, threading his way in and out the entanglement of carriages and automobiles, until, after a ten minutes' run, turned into Gramercy Park and pulled up short on the curb of the Traynor residence.
Eagerly Kenneth put his head out of the window and scanned the windows for a glimpse of the loved one, but no one, not even a servant, was visible. The house looked deserted. His misgivings returned. Stepping out hastily, he paid the driver, and, running up the steps, rang the bell.
Roberts, the faithful old butler, who had been in the family service for years, came to open. Seeing a rather shabbily attired person outside, he held the door partly closed and demanded, suspiciously:
"Who is it you wish to see?"
Irritated at the manner of his reception, Kenneth gave the door a push that nearly knocked the servant over. Angrily, he exclaimed:
"What's the matter, Roberts? Didn't you see it was me?"
The butler, who had recovered himself, and now believed he had to do with a crank or some person under the influence of liquor, again barred the way. Trying to push the unwelcome visitor out, he said soothingly:
"Come now, my good man, you've made a mistake. You don't live here."
Struck almost speechless with amazement at the brazen impudence of one whom he had always regarded as a model servant, Kenneth turned round as if about to make a wrathful outburst. As he turned, the light from the open door fell full on his face and now for the first time Roberts saw the visitor's features. With a startled exclamation the man fell backward. For a moment he was so surprised that he could not speak. Then, in an awe-stricken whisper, he cried:
"Who are you?"
For a moment Kenneth thought the man had suddenly become insane. For his own servant not to know him was too ridiculous. At that moment he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of the hat stand. Ah, now he understood. The beard and emaciated face had made quite a difference—no wonder the man failed to recognize him. Breaking into laughter he exclaimed:
"No wonder you didn't recognize me, Roberts. I have changed a little, haven't I? I've grown a beard since I saw you last and been through a regular mill. But you know me now don't you—I'm your long lost master."
The servant shook his head. Still closely scrutinizing Kenneth's face as if greatly puzzled, he said:
"You're not my master, sir. Mr. Kenneth Traynor left the house some ten minutes before you arrived."
Kenneth stared at the man as if he thought he had gone clean out of his mind.
"I went out ten minutes before I arrived," he echoed. "What kind of nonsense is that, Roberts?"
"I didn't sayyouwent out," replied the servant, beginning to lose his patience. "I said Mr. Kenneth Traynor went out. You are not Mr. Kenneth Traynor."
"Then who in the name of heaven am I?"
"I haven't the remotest idea," retorted the man. Condescendingly, he went on: "I admit you look a little like the master." Impatiently he added:
"You must excuse me. I want to close the door."
Instead of obeying the hint to withdraw, Kenneth strode further into the house, the protesting and indignant butler at his heels.
"You must really go," said the servant.
Kenneth turned around.
"Roberts—don't be a fool. Don't you know me? I know why you don't recognize me. You all think me dead, but I'm very much alive. I did not go down on theAbyssinia. I was picked up and taken to San Francisco and have been in a hospital there ever since. I have just come home. Where's my wife?"
The butler stared and stood motionless, as if not knowing what to make of it.
"But you came home long ago."
"Who came home?"
"You did."
"No, I didn't. I've been in San Francisco all the time. How could I be here if I was sick in a San Francisco hospital?"
"Then who is the other Mr. Traynor?"
Now it was Kenneth's turn to be surprised.
"The other Mr. Traynor?" he echoed stupefied.
"Yes—the gentleman who looks more like you than you do yourself. He arrived here a month ago. We all took him for you."
For the first time a light broke in on the darkness. Who was the person who looked so like him that he could successfully impersonate him? Who could it be but the man who left him for dead on theAbyssiniaafter murderously assaulting him? Suddenly a horrible thought came to him. Grasping the butler's arm he exclaimed:
"My wife? Is she well?"
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Traynor's quite well."
"And Dorothy?"
"Quite well, sir."
"Thank God!"
The servant hesitated.
"That is—sir—Miss Dorothy——"
"Out with it, man. Out with it."
"Mrs. Traynor's being greatly worried sir, lately. Miss Dorothy was at her aunt's in Philadelphia——"
"Yes, yes——"
"Someone's run away with Miss Dorothy. She's been kidnapped."
"My God!"
"But Mrs. Traynor has a clue. She got a letter yesterday, saying where the child was. She wouldn't confide in any of us and she left here only half an hour ago to go to the place."
Again Kenneth was seized by panic.
"Gone to a kidnapper's den. Great God! She's running a terrible risk. Where has she gone? I'll go to her."
"I don't know, sir, but Mr. Steell may know——"
"Ah, that's right. I'll go and see Steell."
Not waiting to say more he rushed down the steps, and, hailing another taxi, went off at full speed in the direction of Wilbur Steell's office.