So far as Jones was concerned, he was rather pleased with the turn of affairs. This was no time for love-making; no time for silly, innocuous quarrels and bickerings, in which love must indulge or die. Florence no longer rode horseback, and Norton returned to his accustomed haunts, where no one made the slightest attempt upon his life. In his present state of mind he would have welcomed it.
"What's the matter with Jim?" asked the night city editor, raising his eye shade.
"I don't know," answered the copy reader.
"Goes around as if he'd been eating dope; bumped into the boss a while ago and never stopped to apologize."
"Perhaps he's mapping out the front page for that Hargreave stuff," laughed the copy reader. "Between you and me and the gate post, I don't believe there ever was a man by the name of Hargreave."
"Oh, there was a chap by that name, all right. He's dead. A man can't swim three hundred miles in rough water, life-buoy or no. They ought to have funeral services, and let it go at that."
"But what was the reason for that fake cable from Gibraltar saying that Orts was alive? I don't see any sense in that."
"The man who pulled it off did. I think, for my part, that both Orts and Hargreave are dead, and that the man picked up by the tramp steamerOrientwas riding some other balloon."
"You're wrong there. The description of it proved that it was Orts' machine. Oh, Jim probably has got a man's-size yarn up his sleeve, but he's a long time in delivering the goods. He's beginning to mope a good deal. Woman back of it somewhere. Haven't held down this copy job for twelve years without being able to make some tolerable guesses. Jim's a star man. When he gets started nothing can stop him. He covered the Chinese Boxer rebellion better than any other correspondent there. I wonder how old he is?"
"Oh, I should say about thirty-one or two. Here he comes now. 'Lo, Jim!"
"Hello! Where's Ford? He gave me a ticket to the theater to-night, and I want to punch his head. What's drama coming to, anyhow? Cigarettes and booze and mismated couples. Can't they find good enough things out of doors? Oh, I know. They cater to a lot of fools who believe that what they see is an expression of high life in New York and London. And it's rot, plain rot. It's merely the scum of the boiling pot. Any old housewife would skim it off and chuck it into the slops. Life? Piffle!"
"What's the grouch?"
"Looking for the dramatic job?"
"No. I've just been wondering how far these theatrical managers can go without slitting the golden goose."
Norton sought his desk and began rummaging the drawers. He was not hunting for anything; he was merely passing away the time. By and by, when the time no longer served, he pulled his chair over to the window and sat down, staring at stars such as Copernicus never dreamed of. Ships going down to sea, ferries swooping diagonally hither and thither, the clockwork signs; but he took no note of these marvels of light.
"Not at home!" he muttered.
He had called, written, telephoned. No use. The door remained shut, Jones answered the telephone, and the letters came back. He began to think very deeply concerning the Perigoff woman. Had she played a trick? Had that fainting spell been buncombe for his benefit as well as Florence's? But he had not a shadow of a proof. The thing that puzzled him equally with this was that all attempts against his life had miraculously ceased; no safes thundered down in front of him, and no autos tried to carve him in two. The only thing that kept him active was the daily call of Jones by wire. Miss Florence was well; that was all Jones was permitted to say.
Restlessly Norton spurned his chair and walked over to the telephone booth. It was midnight. He might or might not be able to get Jones. But almost instantly a voice said, "What is it?"
"Jones?"
"Yes. Who is it?"
"Norton."
"Why, you called me up not ten minutes ago."
"Not I!"
"It was your voice, as plain as day."
"What did I want?" keen all at once.
The reply did not come immediately. "You are certain it was not you?"
"Wait a moment and I'll call the editor. He will prove to you that I've been here for an hour, and that this is the first call I've made. Some one has been imposing on you. What did they ask you to do?"
"You asked me to come down to the office at once, and I requested you to come to the house, and you said you could not. I declined to stir."
"What did you think?"
"Exactly what you're thinking—that they have come to life again."
"Jones, is Miss Florence awake?"
"No."
"Do you think there is any hope of having her understand what really happened?"
"I am only here to guard her. I can not undertake to read her thoughts."
"You're not quite in favor of a reconciliation?"
"Oh, yes, if it went no further. Young people are young people the world over."
"What does that mean?"
"That they would not create imaginary heartaches if they were not young. Better let things remain exactly as they are. When all these troubles are settled finally, the lesser trouble may be talked over sensibly. But this is not the time. There is no news. Good night."
Norton returned to his chair, gloomier than ever. With his feet upon the window sill he stared and stared and dreamed and dreamed till a hand fell upon his shoulder. It belonged to one of the office boys.
"Note f'r you, sir."
Norton read it and tore it into little pieces. Then he rose and distributed the pieces in the several yawning waste baskets which strewed the aisle leading to the city desk.
"I'm not wanted for anything?" he asked.
"No. Clear out!" laughed the night city editor. "The sight of you is putting everybody in the gloom ward."
Norton went down to the street. At the left of the entrance he was quietly joined by a man whose arm was carried in a sling. He motioned Norton to get into the taxicab. They were dropped in a deserted spot in Riverdale. On foot they went forward to their destination, which proved to be the deserted hangar of the aviator, William Orts.
"I want you to tell Jones that a tub and several divers are at work on the spot where he threw the chest. That's all. Now, doctor, rewind this arm of mine."
The amateur surgeon made a very good job of it; not for nothing had he followed fighting armies to the front.
"Did they find anything?"
"Not up to date. But we might if we cared to. They have left a buoy over the spot they're exploring. But just now it floats a quarter of a mile to the east of the spot."
"Who were the men in the motor boat that chased Jones?"
"Only Jones can tell you. Queer old codger, eh?"
"A bit stubborn. He wants to handle it without police assistance."
"And he's right. We are not aiming to arrest any one," sinisterly. "There can't be any draw to this game. Here, no smoking. Too much gas afloat."
Norton put the cigarettes back into his pocket. "What's the real news?" he demanded. "You would not bring me out here just to rebandage that arm. It really did not need it. Come, out with it."
"You're sharp."
"I'm paid to be sharp."
"I've found where the Black Hundred hold their sessions."
"By George, that's news!"
"The room above is vacant. A little hole in the ceiling, and who knows what might happen?"
"What do you want me to do?"
"Tell Jones. When the next meeting comes around I'll advise you. I've stumbled upon a dissatisfied member. So, buck up, as they say. We've got two ends of the net down, and with a little care we'll have them all. Now let me have a hundred."
Norton drew out a packet of bills and counted off five twenties.
"Why don't you draw the cash yourself?"
"It happens to be in your name, son."
"I forgot," said Norton. "But what a chance for me! Nearly five thousand, all mine for a ticket to Algiers!"
A grunt was the only reply.
"I want you to tell me about the Perigoff woman."
"I know only one thing—that Braine is there every night."
"No!"
"The orders are for you to play the game just as you are playing it. When we strike, it must be the last blow. All this hide-and-seek business may look foolish to you. It's like that Japanese game called 'jo.' It looks simple, but chess is a tyro's game beside it. Can you find your way back all right?"
"I can."
"Well, you'd better be going. That's all the light I have, in this torch here. Got a lot to do to-morrow and need sleep."
Norton stole away with great caution. His first intention was to proceed straight to the city, but despite his resolution he found himself within a quarter of an hour gazing up at the windows of the Hargreave house. "Not at home!"
Quite unconscious of the fact, he was as close to death as any mortal man might care to be. The policeman suddenly looming up under the arc lamp proved to be his savior.
The lull made Jones doubly alert. He was positive that they were preparing to strike again. But from what direction and in what manner? He had not met the gift of clairvoyance so he had to wait; and waiting is a terrible game when perhaps death is balancing the scales. It is always easier to make an assault than to await it; and it is a good general who always finds himself prepared.
But it made his heart ache to watch the child. She went about cheerfully—when any one was in the room with her. Many a time, however, he had stolen to the door of her bedroom and heard the heart-rending sobs, a vain attempt being made to stifle them among the pillows. She was only eighteen; it was first love; and first loves are pale, evanescent attachments. It hurt now; but she would get over it presently. Youth forgets. Time, like water, smooths away the ragged places.
The countess called regularly. She was, of course, dreadfully sorry over what had happened. She had heard something about his character; newspaper men weren't always the best. This one was a mere fortune hunter; a two-faced one, at that. She was never more surprised in her life than when he threw his arms around her. And so on, and so forth, half lies and half truths, till the patient Jones felt like wringing her neck.
From his vantage point the butler smiled ironically. He could read the heart of the Perigoff woman as he could read the page of a book. The effrontery! And all the while he must gravely admit her and pretend when the blood rioted in his veins at the sight of her. But he dared not swerve a single inch from the plans laid down. It was a cup of bitter gall, and there was no way of avoiding the putting of it to his lips. She emanated poison as nightshade emanates it, the upas tree. And he must bow when she entered and bow when she left! Still, she had done him an indirect favor in breaking up this love business.
One afternoon Braine summoned his runabout and called up two physicians. When he was ushered into the deserted office of the first he sent his card in. The doctor replied in person. His face was pale and his hands shook.
"Good afternoon," said Braine, smiling affably.
The doctor eyed him like a man hypnotized. "You ... you wished to see me on some particular business?"
"Very particular," dryly. "My car is outside. Will you be so good as to accompany me?"
The doctor slowly went into the hall for his hat and coat. He left the house and got into the car with never a word of protest.
"Thinking?" said Braine.
"I am always thinking whenever I see your evil face. What devilment do you require of me this time?"
"A mere stroke of the pen."
"Where are we going?"
"To call on another physician of your standing," significantly. "It is a great thing to have friends like you two. Always ready to serve us, for the mere love of it."
"There's no need of using that kind of talk to me. You have me in the hollow of your hand. Why should I bother to deny it? I have broken the law. I broke it because I was starving."
"It is better to starve in freedom than to eat fat joints up the river. To-day it is a question of sanity."
"And you want me to assist in signing away the liberty of some person who is perfectly sane?"
"The nail on the head," urbanely.
"You're a fine scoundrel!"
"Not so loud!" warningly.
"As loud as I please. I am not forgetting that you need me. I'm no coward. I recognize that you hold the whip hand. But you can send me to the chair before I'll crawl to you. Now, leave me alone for a while."
The other physician had no such qualms of conscience. He was ready at all times for the generous emoluments which accrued from his dealings with the man Braine.
The Countess Perigoff was indisposed; so it was quite in the order of things that she should summon physicians.
There is a law in the state of New York—just or unjust, whichever you please—that reads that any person may be adjudged insane if the signatures of two registered physicians are affixed to the document. It does not say that these physicians shall have been proved reputable.
There were, besides the physicians, a motherly looking woman and a man of benign countenance. Their faces were valuable assets. To gain another person's confidence is, perhaps, among the greatest human achievements. A confidence man and woman in the real sense of the word. In your mind's eye you could see this man carrying the contribution plate down the aisle on Sunday mornings, and his wife Kate putting her mite on the plate for the benefit of some poor, untidy Hottentot.
On Tuesday of the following week Florence and Susan went shopping. The chauffeur was a strong young fellow whom Jones relied upon. If you pay a man well and hold out fine promises, you generally can trust him. As their car left the corner another followed leisurely. This second automobile contained Thomas Wendt and his wife Kate. The two young women stopped at the great dry goods shop near the public library, and for the time being naturally forgot everything but the marvels which had come from all parts of the world. It is as natural for a woman to buy as it is for a man to sell.
In some manner or other Florence became separated from Susan. She hunted through aisle after aisle, but could not find her; for the simple reason that Susan was hunting for her. It occurred to the girl that Susan might have wisely concluded the best place to wait would be in the taxicab. And so Florence hurried out into the street, into the arms of the Wendt family, who were patiently awaiting her.
The trusted chauffeur had been sent around to the side entrance by the major domo. The young lady had so requested, so he said.
Florence struggled and called for the policeman, who came running up, followed by the usual idle, curious crowd.
"The poor young woman is insane," said the motherly Kate, tears in her eyes. The benign Thomas looked at heaven. "We are her keepers."
"It is not true," cried Florence desperately.
"She has the hallucination that she is the daughter of the millionaire Stanley Hargreave." And Thomas exhibited his document, which was perfectly legal, so far as appearances went.
"Hurry up and get her off the walk. I can't have the crowd growing any larger," said the policeman, convinced.
So, despite her cries and protestations, Florence was hustled into the automobile, even the policeman lending a hand.
"Poor young thing!" he said to the crowd. "Come now, move on. I can't have the walk blocked up. Get a gait on you."
He was congratulating himself upon the orderliness of the affair when a keen-eyed young man in the garb of a chauffeur touched his shoulder.
"What's this I hear about an insane young woman?" he demanded.
"She was insane, all right. They had papers to prove it. She kept crying that she was Stanley Hargreave's daughter."
"My God!" The young man struck his forehead in despair. "You ass, she was Stanley Hargreave's daughter, and they've kidnaped her right under your nose! What was the number of that car?"
"Cut out that line of talk, young fellah; I know my business. They had the proper documents."
"But you hadn't brains enough to inquire whether they were genuine or not! You wait!" shrilled the chauffeur. "I'll have you broken for this work." He wheeled and ran back to his car, to find Susan and the countess in a great state of agitation. "They got her, they got her! And I swore on the book that they never should, so long as I drove the car."
FLORENCE WAS PERMITTED TO WANDER ABOUT THE SHIP AS SHE PLEASEDFLORENCE WAS PERMITTED TO WANDER ABOUT THE SHIP AS SHE PLEASED
Susan wept, and the countess tried in vain to console her.
And when Jones was informed he frightened even the countess with the snarl of rage which burned across his lips. He tore into the hall, seized his hat, and was gone. Not a word of reproach did he offer to the chauffeur. He understood that no one is infallible. He found the blundering policeman, who now realized that he stood in for a whiff of the commissioner's carpet. All he could do was to give a good description of the man and woman. Word was sent broadcast through the city. The police had to be informed this time.
Late in the day an officer whose beat included the ferry landing at Hoboken said he had seen the three. Everything had looked all right to him. It was the motherly face of the one and the benign countenance of the other that had blinded him.
At midnight Jones, haggard and with the air of one beaten, returned home.
"No wireless yet?" asked Norton.
"TheGeorge Washingtonof the North German Lloyd does not answer. Something has happened to her wires; tampered with, possibly."
"So long as we know they are at sea, we can remedy the evil. They will not be able to land at a single port. I have sent ten cables. They can't get away from the wire. If I could only get hold of the names of those damnable doctors who signed that document! Twenty years."
Jones bent his head in his hands, and Norton tramped the floor till the sound of his footsteps threatened to drive the moaning Susan into hysterics.
"It is only a matter of a few days."
"But can the child stand the terrors?" questioned Jones. "Who knows that they may not really drive her insane?"
On board theGeorge Washingtonevery one felt extremely sorry for this beautiful girl. It was a frightful misfortune to be so stricken at her age.
"She is certainly insane," said one of the passengers, who had known Hargreave slightly through some banking business. "Hargreave wasn't married. He lived alone."
After the second day out Florence was permitted to wander about the ship as she pleased.
A good many of the passengers were mightily worried when they learned that the wireless had in some mysterious way been tampered with after the boat had made the open sea. It was impossible to put about. The apparatus must be fixed at sea.
EVERYONE FELT EXTREMELY SORRY FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRLEVERYONE FELT EXTREMELY SORRY FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRL
And when finally Norton's wireless caught the wires of theGeorge Washingtonhe was gravely informed that the young lady referred to had leaped the rail off the banks at night and had been drowned. She had not been missed till the following morning.
It was perfectly true that Florence had cast herself into the sea. It had not been an act of despair, however. On the contrary, hope and courage had prompted her to leap. The night was clear, with only a moderate sea running. At the time the great ship was passing the banks, and almost within hail, she saw a fishing schooner riding gracefully at anchor. She quite readily believed that if she remained on board theGeorge Washingtonshe was lost. She naturally forgot the marvel of wireless telegraphy. No longer may a man hide at sea.
So, with that quick thought which was a part of her inheritance, she seized the life buoy, climbed the rail and leaped far out. As the great, dark, tossing sea swooped up to meet her she noted a block of wood bobbing up and down. She tried to avoid it, but could not, and struck it head on. Despite the blow and the shock of the chill water she instinctively clung to the buoy. The wash from the mighty propellers tossed her about, hither and yon, from one swirl to another, like a chip of wood. Then everything grew blank.
Fortunately for her the master of the fishing schooner was at the time standing on his quarterdeck by the wheel, squinting through his glass at the liner and envying the ease and comfort of those on board her. The mate, sitting on the steps and smoking his turning-in pipe, saw the master lean forward suddenly, lower the glass, then raise it again.
"Lord A'mighty!"
"What's the matter, Cap'n?"
"Jake, in God's name, come 'ere an' take a peek through this glass. I'm dreamin'!"
The mate jumped and took the glass. "Where away, sir?"
"A p'int off th' sta'board bow. See somethin' white bobbin' up?"
"Yessir! Looks like some one dropped a bolster 'r a piller overboard.... Cod's whiskers!" he broke off.
"Then I ain't really seein' things," cried the master. "Hi, y' lubbers," he yelled to the crew; "lower th' dory. They's a woman in th' water out there. I seen her leap th' rail. Look alive! Sharp's th' word! Mate, you go 'long."
The crew dropped their tasks and sprang for the davits, and the starboard dory was lowered in ship shape style.
It takes a good bit of seamanship to haul a body out of the sea, into a dancing, bobtailed dory, when one moment it is climbing frantically heavenward and the next heading for the bottomless pit. They were very tender with her. They laid her out in the bottom of the boat, with the life buoy as a pillow, and pulled energetically for the schooner. She was alive, because she breathed; but she did not stir so much as an eyelid. It was a stiff bit of work, too, to land her aboard without adding to her injuries. The master ordered the men to put her in his own bunk, where he nearly strangled her by forcing raw brandy down her throat.
"Well, she's alive, anyhow."
FLORENCE STEALS OUT IN THE NIGHT TO JUMP OVERBOARDFLORENCE STEALS OUT IN THE NIGHT TO JUMP OVERBOARD
When Florence finally opened her eyes the gray of dawn lay upon the sea, dotted here and there by the schooners of the fleet, which seemed to be hanging in midair, as at the moment there was visible to the eye no horizon.
"Don't seem t' recognize nothin'."
"Mebbe she's got a fever," suggested the mate, rubbing his bristly chin.
"Fever nothin'! Not after bein' in th' water half an hour. Mebbe she hit one o' them wooden floats we left. Them dinged liners keep on crowdin' us," growled Barnes, with a fisherman's hate for the floating hotels. "Went by without a toot. See 'er, jes' like the banker's wife goin' t' church on Sunday? A mile a minute; fog or no fog, it's all the same t' them. They run us down and never stop. What th' tarnation we goin' to do? She'll haff t' stay aboard till th' run is over. I can't afford t' yank up my mudhook this time o' day."
"Guess she can stand three 'r four days in our company, smellin' oilcloths, fish, kerosene, an' punk t'bacco."
"If y' don't like th' kind o' t'bacco I buy buy your own. I ain't objectin' none."
The mate stepped over to the bunk and gingerly ran his hand over the girl's head. "Cod's whiskers, Cap'n, they's a bump as big's a cork on th' back o' her head! She's struck one o' them floats all right. Where's the arnica?"
Barnes turned to his locker and rummaged about, finally producing an ancient bottle and some passably clean cloth used frequently for bandages. Sometimes a man grew careless with his knife or got in the way of a pulley block. With blundering kindness the two men bound up the girl's head, and then went about their duties.
For three days Florence evinced not the slightest inclination to leave the bunk. She lay on her back either asleep or with her eyes staring at the beams above her head. She ate just enough to keep her alive; and the strong black coffee did nothing more than to make her wakeful. No one knew what the matter was. There was the bump, now diminished; but that it should leave her in this comatose state vastly puzzled the men. The truth is she had suffered a slight concussion of the brain, and this, atop of all the worry she had had for the last few weeks, was sufficient to cause this blankness of the mind.
The final cod was cleaned and packed away in salt, the mudhook raised, and the schoonerBettyset her sails for the southwest. Barnes realized that to save the girl she must have a doctor who knew his business. Mrs. Barnes would know how to care for the girl, once she knew what the trouble was. There would be some news in the papers. A young and beautiful woman did not jump from a big Atlantic liner without the newspapers getting hold of the facts.
"A YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL WOMAN DID NOT JUMP FROM A BIG ATLANTIC LINER WITHOUT THE NEWSPAPERS GETTING HOLD OF THE FACTS""A YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL WOMAN DID NOT JUMP FROM A BIG ATLANTIC LINER WITHOUT THE NEWSPAPERS GETTING HOLD OF THE FACTS"
A fair wind carried theBettyinto her haven, and shortly after Florence was sleeping peacefully in a feather bed, ancient, it is true, but none the less soft and inviting. In all this time she had not spoken a single word.
"The poor young thing!" murmured the motherly Mrs. Barnes. "What beautiful hair! Oh, John, I wish you would give up the sea. I hate it. It is terrible. I am always watching you in my mind's eye, in calm weather, in storms. Pieces of wrecks come ashore, and I always wonder over the death and terror back of them."
"Don't y' worry none about me, Betty. I never take no chances. Now I'm goin' int' th' village an' bring back th' sawbones. He'll tell us what t' do."
The village doctor shook his grizzled head gravely.
"She's been hurt and shocked at the same time. It will be many days before she comes around to herself. Just let her do as she pleases. Only keep an eye on her so that she doesn't wander off and get lost. I'll watch the newspapers and if I come across anything which bears upon the case I'll notify you."
But he searched the newspapers in vain, for the simple fact that he did not think to glance over the old ones.
The village took a good deal of interest in the affair. They gossiped about it and strolled out to the Barnes' cottage to satisfy their curiosity. One thing was certain to their simple minds: some day Barnes would get a great sum of money for his kindness. They had read about such things in the family story paper. She was a rich man's daughter; the ring on the unknown's finger would have fitted out a fleet.
Florence was soon able to walk about. Ordinary conversation she seemed to understand; but whenever the past was broached she would shake her head with frowning eyes. Her main diversion consisted of sitting on the sand dunes and gazing out at sea.
One day a stranger came to town. He said he represented a life insurance company and was up here from Boston to take a little vacation. He sat on the hotel porch that evening surrounded by an admiring audience. The stranger had been all over the world, so it seemed. He spoke familiarly of St. Petersburg, Vladivostok, Shanghai, as the villagers—some of them—might have spoken of Boston.
There were one or two old-timers among the audience. They had been to all these parts. The stranger knew what he was telling about. After telling of his many voyages he asked if there was a good bathing beach near by. He was told that he would find the most suitable spot near Captain Barnes' cottage just outside the village.
"An' say, Mister, seen anythin' in th' papers about a missin' young woman?" asked some one.
"Missing young woman? What's that?"
The man told the story of Florence's leap into the sea and her subsequent arrival at the cape.
"That's funny," said the stranger. "I don't recollect reading about any young woman being lost at sea. But those big liners are always keeping such things under cover. Hoodoos the ship, they say, and turns prospective passengers to other lines. It hurts business. What's the young girl look like?"
Florence was described minutely. The stranger teetered in his chair and smoked. Finally he spoke.
"She probably was insane. That's the way generally with insane people. They can't see water or look off a tall building without wanting to jump. My business is insurance, and we've got the thing figured pretty close to the ground. They used to get the best of us on the suicide game. A man would take out a large policy to-day and to-morrow he'd blow his head off, and we'd have to pay his wife. But nowadays a policy is not worth the paper it's written on if a man commits suicide under two years."
"You ain't tryin' to insure anybody in town, are you?"
"Oh, no. No work for me when I'm on my vacation. Well, I'm going to bed; and to-morrow morning I'll go out to Captain Barnes' beach and have a good swim. I'm no sailor, but I like water."
"THE POOR YOUNG THING," MURMURED THE MOTHERLY MRS. BARNES"THE POOR YOUNG THING," MURMURED THE MOTHERLY MRS. BARNES
He honestly enjoyed swimming. Early the next morning he was in the water, frolicking about as playfully as a boy. He had all the time in the world. Over his shoulder he saw two women wandering down toward the beach. Deeper he went, farther out. He was a bold swimmer, but that did not prevent a sudden and violent attack of cramps. And it was a rare piece of irony that the poor girl should save the life of that scoundrel who was without pity or mercy. As she saw his face a startled frown marred her brow. But she could not figure out the puzzle. Had she ever seen the man before? She did not know, she could not tell. Why could not she remember? Why must her poor head ache so when she tried to pierce the wall of darkness which surrounded her mentally?
The man thanked her feebly, but not in his heart. When he had sufficiently recovered he returned to the village and sought the railway station, where the Western Union had its office.
"I want to send a code message to my firm. Do you think you can follow it?"
"I can try," said the operator.
The code was really Slav; and when the long message was signed it was signed by the name Vroon.
The day after the news came that Florence had jumped overboard off the banks, Vroon with a dozen other men had started out to comb all the fishing villages along the New England coast. Somewhere along the way he felt confident that he would learn whether the girl was dead or alive. If she was dead then the game was a draw, but if she was alive there was still a fighting chance for the Black Hundred. He had had some idea of remaining in the village and accomplishing the work himself; but after deliberation he concluded that it was important enough for Braine himself to take a hand in. So the following night he departed for Boston, from there to New York. He proceeded at once to the apartment of the countess, where Braine declared that he himself would go to the obscure village and claim Florence as his own child. But to insure absolute success they would charter Morse's yacht and steam right up into the primitive harbor.
When Vroon left the apartment Norton saw him. He was a man of impulses, and he had found by experience that first impulses are generally the best. He did not know who Vroon was. Any man who called on the Countess Perigoff while Braine was with her would be worth following.
On the other hand, Vroon recognized the reporter instantly and with that ever-ready and alert mind of his set about to lure the young man into a trap out of which he might not easily come.
Norton decided to follow his man. He might be going on a wild-goose chase, he reasoned; still his first impulses had hitherto served him well. He looked care-worn. He was convinced that Florence was dead, despite the assertions of Jones to the contrary. He had gone over all the mishaps which had taken place and he was now absolutely convinced that his whilom friend Braine and the Countess Perigoff were directly concerned. Florence had either been going to or coming from the apartment. And that memorable day of the abduction the countess had been in the dry goods shop.
Vroon took a down-town surface car, and Norton took the same. He sat huddled in a corner, never suspecting that Vroon was watching him from a corner of his eye. Norton was not keen to-day. The thought of Florence kept running through his head.
The car stopped and Vroon got off. He led Norton a winding course which at length ended at the door of a tenement building. Vroon entered. Norton paused wondering what next to do, now that his man had reached his destination. Well, since he had followed him all this distance he must make an effort to find out who he was and what he was going to do. Cautiously he entered the hallway. As he was about to lay his hand on the newel post of the dilapidated stairs the floor dropped from under his feet and he was precipitated into the cellar.
This tenement belonged to the Black Hundred; it concealed a thousand doors and a hundred traps. Its history was as dark as its hallways.
When Vroon and his companion, who had been waiting for him, descended into the cellar they found the reporter insensible. They bound, blindfolded, and gagged him.
"Saunders," said Vroon, "you tell Corrigan that I've a sailor for him to-night, and that I want this sailor booked for somewhere south of the equator. Tell him to say to the master that this fellow is ugly and disobedient. A tramp freighter, whose captain is a bully. Do you understand me?"
"I get you. But there's no need to go to Corrigan this trip. Bannock is in port and sails to-night for Norway. That's far enough."
"Bannock? The very man. Well, Mr. Norton, reporter and amateur detective, I guess we've got you fast enough this time. You may or may not come back alive. Go and bring around a taxi; some one you can trust. I'll dope the reporter while you're gone."
Long hours afterward Norton opened his aching eyes. He could hardly move and his head buzzed abominably. What had happened? What was the meaning of this slow rise and fall of his bed? Shanghaied?
"Come out o' that now, ye skulker!" roared a voice down the companionway.
"COME OUT O' THAT NOW""COME OUT O' THAT NOW"
"Shanghaied!" the reporter murmured. He sat up and ran through his pockets. Not a sou-markee, not a match even; and a second glance told him that the clothes he wore were not his own. "They've landed me this time. Shanghaied! What the devil am I going to do?"
"D'ye hear me?" bawled the strident voice again.
Norton looked about desperately for some weapon of defense. He saw an engineer's spanner on the floor by the bunk across the way, and with no small physical effort he succeeded in obtaining it. He stood up, his hand behind his back.
"All right, me bucko! I'll come down an' git ye!"
A pair of enormous boots began to appear down the companionway, and there gradually rose up from them a man as wide as a church door and as deep as a well.
"Wait a moment," said Norton, gripping the spanner. "Let us have a perfect understanding right off the bat."
"We're going to have it, matey. Don't ye worry none."
Norton raised the spanner, and, dizzy as he was, faced this seafaring Hercules courageously.
"I've been shanghaied, and you know it. Where are we bound?"
"Copenhagen."
"Well, for a month or more you'll beat me up whenever the opportunity offers. But I merely wish to warn you that if you do you'll find a heap of trouble waiting for you the next time you drop your mudhook in North America."
"Is that so?" said the giant, eying the spanner and the shaking hand that held it aloft.
"It is. I'll take your orders and do the best I can, because you've got the upper hand. But, God is witness, you'll pay for every needless blow you strike. Now what do you want me to do?"
"Lay down that spanner an' come on deck, I'll tell ye what t' do. I was goin' t' whale th' daylights out o' ye; but ye're somethin' av a man. Drop the spanner first."
Norton hesitated. As lithe as a tiger the bulk of a man sprang at him and crushed him to the floor, wrenching away the spanner. Then the giant took Norton by the scruff of his neck and banged him up the steps to the deck.
"I ain't goin' t' hurt ye. I had t' show ye that no spanner ever bothered Mike Bannock. Now, d' know what a cook's galley is?"
"I AIN'T GOIN' T' HURT YE""I AIN'T GOIN' T' HURT YE"
"I do," said Norton, breathing hard.
"Well, hike there an' start in with peelin' spuds, an' don't waste 'em neither. That'll be all fer th' present. Ye were due for a wallopin' but I kinda like yer spunk."
So Jim stumbled down to the cook's galley and grimly set to work at the potatoes. It might have been far worse. But here he was, likely to be on the high seas for months, and no way of notifying Jones what had happened. The outlook was anything but cheerful. But a vague hope awoke in his heart. If they were still after him might it not signify that Florence lived.
Meantime Braine had not been idle. According to Vroon the girl's memory was in bad shape; so he had not the least doubt of bringing her back to New York without mishap. Once he had her there the game would begin in earnest. He played his cards exceedingly well. Steaming up into the little fishing harbor with a handsome yacht in itself would allay any distrust. And he wore a capital disguise, too. Everything went well till he laid his hand on Florence's shoulder. She gave a startled cry and ran over to Barnes, clinging to him wildly.
"No, no!" she cried.
"Now what, my child?" asked the sailor.
She shook her head. Her aversion was inexplicable.
"Come, my dear; can't you see that it is your father?" Braine turned to the captain. "She has been like this for a year. Heaven knows if she'll ever be in her right mind again," sadly. "I was giving her an ocean voyage, with the kindest nurses possible, and yet she jumped overboard. Come, Florence."
The girl wrapped her arms all the tighter around Barnes' neck.
An idea came into the old sailor's head. "Of course, sir, ye've got proof thet she's your daughter?"
"Proof?" Braine was taken aback.
"Yes; somethin' t' prove that you're her father. I got skinned out of a sloop once because I took a man's word at its face value. Black an' white, an' on paper, says I, hereafter."
"But I never thought of such a thing," protested Braine, beginning to lose his patience. "I can't risk sending to New York for documents. She is my daughter, and you will find it will not pay to take this peculiar stand."
"In black an' white, 'r y' can't have her."
Braine thereupon rushed forward to seize Florence. Barnes swung Florence behind him.
"I guess she'll stay here a leetle longer, sir."
Time was vital, and this obstinacy made Braine furious.
He reached again for Florence.
"Clear out o' here, 'r show your authority," growled Barnes.
"She goes with me, or you'll regret it."
"All right. But I guess th' law won't hurt me none. I'm in my rights. There's the door, mister."
"I refuse to go without her!"
Barnes sighed. He was on land a man of peace, but there was a limit to his patience. He seized Braine by the shoulders and hustled him out of the house.
"Bring your proofs, mister, an' nothin' more'll be said; but till y' bring 'em, keep away from this cottage."
And, simple-minded sailor that he was, he thought this settled the matter.
That night he kept his ears open for unusual sounds, but he merely wasted his night's rest. Quite naturally, he reckoned that the stranger would make his attempt at night. Indeed, he made it in broad daylight, with Barnes not a hundred yards away, calking a dory whose seams had sprung a leak. Braine had Florence upon the chartered yacht before the old man realized what had happened. He never saw Florence again; but one day, months later, he read all about her in a newspaper.
Florence fought; but she was weak, and so the conquest was easy. Braine was kind enough, now that he had her safe. He talked to her, but she merely stared at the receding coast.
FLORENCE FOUGHT BUT SHE WAS WEAK AND SO THE CONQUEST WAS EASYFLORENCE FOUGHT BUT SHE WAS WEAK AND SO THE CONQUEST WAS EASY
"All right; don't talk if you don't want to. Here," to one of the men, "take her to the cabin and keep her there. But don't you touch her. I'll break you if you do. Put her in the cabin and guard the door; at least keep an eye on it. She may take it into her head to jump overboard."
Even the temporarily demented are not without a species of cunning. Florence had never seen Braine till he appeared at the Barnes cottage. Yet she revolted at the touch of his hand. On the second day out toward New York she found a box of matches and blithely set fire to her cabin, walked out into the corridor and thence to the deck. When the fire was discovered it had gained too much headway to be stopped. The yacht was doomed. They put off in the boats and for half a day drifted helplessly.
Fate has everything mapped out like a game of chess. You move a pawn, and bang goes your bishop, or your knight, or your king; or she lets you almost win a game, and then checkmates you. But there is one thing to be said in her favor—rail at her how we will, she is always giving odds to the innocent.
Mike Bannock was in the pilothouse, looking over his charts, when the lookout in the crow's nest sang out: "Two boats adrift off the port bow, sir!" And Bannock, who was a first-class sailor, although a rough one, shouted down the tube to the engine room. The freighter came to a halt in about ten minutes. The castaways saw that they had been noted, and pulled gallantly at the oars.
There are some things which science, well advanced as it is, can not explain. Among them is the shock which cuts off the past and the countershock which reawakens memory. They may write treatise after treatise and expound, but they never succeed in truly getting beyond that dark wall of mystery.
At the sound of Jim Norton's voice and at the sight of his face—for subconsciously she must have been thinking of him all the while—a great blinding heat-wave seemed to burn across her eyes, and when the effect passed away she was herself again. A wild glance at her surroundings convinced her that both she and her lover were in danger. "Keep back," whispered Jim. "Don't recognize me."
"They believe that I've lost my mind, and I'll keep that idea in their heads. Sometime to-night I'll find a chance to talk to you."
It took a good deal of cautious maneuvering to bring about the meeting.
"They shanghaied me. And I thought you dead! It was all wrong. It was a trick of that Perigoff woman, and it succeeded. Girl, girl, I love you better than life!"
"I know it now," she said, and she kissed him. "Has my father appeared yet?"
"I KNOW IT NOW," SHE SAID, AND SHE KISSED HIM"I KNOW IT NOW," SHE SAID, AND SHE KISSED HIM
"No."
"Do you know anything at all about him?" sadly.
"I thought I did. It's all a jumble to me. But beware of the man who brought you here. He is the head of all our troubles; and if he knew I was on board he'd kill me out of hand. He'd have to."
Braine offered Bannock $1,000 to turn back as far as Boston; and as Bannock had all the time in the world, carrying no perishable goods, he consented. But he never could quite understand what followed. He had put Florence and Braine in the boat and landed them; but when he went down to see if Braine had left anything behind, he found that individual bound and gagged in his bunk.
When Jones received the telegram that Florence was safe, the iron nerve of the man broke down. The suspense had been so keenly terrible that the sudden reaction left him almost hysterically weak. Three weeks of waiting, waiting. Not even the scoundrel and his wife who had been the principal actors in the abduction had been found. From a great ship in midocean they had disappeared. Doubtless they had hidden among the immigrants, who, for little money, would have fooled all the officers on board. There was no doubt in Jones' mind that the pair had landed safely at Madrid.
As for Susan, she did have hysterics. She went about the room, wailing and laughing and wringing her hands. You would have thought by her actions that Florence had just died. The sight of her stirred the saturnine lips of the butler into a smile. But he did not remonstrate with her. In fact, he rather envied her freedom in emotion. Man can not let go in that fashion; it is a sign of weakness; and he dared not let even Susan see any sign of weakness in him.
So the reporter had found her, and she was safe and sound on her way to New York? Knowing by this time something of the reporter's courage, he was eager to learn how the event had come about. When he had not had a telephone message from Norton in forty-eight hours, he had decided that the Black Hundred had finally succeeded in getting hold of him. It had been something of a blow; for while he looked with disfavor upon the reporter's frank regard for his charge, he appreciated the fact that Norton was a staff to lean on, and had behind him all the power of the press, which included the privilege of going everywhere even if one could not always get back.
As he folded the telegram and put it into his pocket, he observed the man with the opera glasses over the way. He shrugged. Well, let him watch till his eyes dropped out of his head; he would only see that which was intended for his eyes. Still, it was irksome to feel that no matter when or where you moved, watching eyes observed and chronicled these movements.
Suddenly, not being devoid of a sense of dry humor, Jones stepped over to the telephone and called up her highness the Countess Perigoff.
"Who is it?"
He was forced to admit, however reluctantly, that the woman had a marvelously fine speaking voice.
"It is Jones, madam."
"Jones?"
"Mr. Hargreave's butler, madam."
"Oh! You have news of Florence?"
"Yes." It will be an embarrassing day for humanity when some one invents a photographic apparatus by which two persons at the two ends of the telephone may observe the facial expressions of each other.
"What is it? Tell me quickly."
"Florence has been found, and she is on her way back to New York. She was found by Mr. Norton, the reporter."
"I am so glad! Shall I come up at once and have you tell me the whole amazing story?"
"It would be useless, madam, for I know nothing except what I learned from a telegram I have just received. But no doubt some time this evening you might risk a call."
"Ring up the instant she returns. Did she say what train?"
"No, madam," lied Jones, smiling.
He hung up the receiver and stared at the telephone as if he would force his gaze in and through it to the woman at the other end. Flesh and blood! Well, greed was stronger than that. Treacherous cat! Let her play; let her weave her nets, dig her pits. The day would come, and it was not far distant, when she would find that the mild-eyed mongoose was just as deadly as the cobra, and far more cunning.
The heads of the Black Hundred must be destroyed. Those were the orders. What good to denounce them, to send them to a prison from which, with the aid of money and a tremendous secret political pull, they might readily find their way out? They must be exterminated, as one kills off the poisonous plague rats of the Orient. A woman? In the law of reprisal there was no sex.
Shortly after the telephone episode (which rather puzzled the countess) she received a wire from Braine, which announced the fact that Florence and Norton had escaped and were coming to New York on train No. 25, and advising her to meet the train en route. She had to fly about to do it.
HE HAD PUT FLORENCE AND BRAINE IN THE BOAT AND LANDED THEMHE HAD PUT FLORENCE AND BRAINE IN THE BOAT AND LANDED THEM
When Captain Bannock released Braine, he had been in no enviable frame of mind. Tricked, fooled by the girl, whose mind was as unclouded as his own! She had succeeded in bribing a coal stoker, and had taken him unawares. The man had donned the disguise he had laid out for shore approach, and the blockheaded Bannock had never suspected. He had not recognized Norton at all. It was only when Bannock explained the history of the shanghaied stoker that he realized his real danger. Norton! He must be pushed off the board. After this episode he could no longer keep up the pretense of being friendly. Norton, by a rare stroke of luck, had forced him out into the open. So be it. Self-preservation is in nowise looked upon as criminal. The law may have its ideas about it, but the individual recognizes no law but its own. It was Braine whom he loved and admired, or Norton whom he hated as a dog with rabies hates water. With Norton free, he would never again dare return to New York openly. This meddling reporter aimed at his ease and elegance.
He left the freighter as soon as a boat could carry him ashore. The fugitives would make directly for the railroad, and thither he went at top speed, to arrive ten minutes too late.
"Free!" said Florence, as the train began to increase its speed.
Norton reached over and patted her hand. Then he sat back with a sudden shock of dismay. He dived a hand into a pocket, into another and another. The price of the telegram he had sent to Jones was all he had had in the world; and he had borrowed that from a friendly stoker. In the excitement he had forgotten all about such a contingency as the absolute need of money.
"Florence, I'm afraid we're going to have trouble with the conductor when he comes."
"Why?"
He pulled out his pockets suggestively. "Not a postage stamp. They'll put us off at the next station. And," with a glance in the little mirror between the two windows, "I shouldn't blame them a bit." He was unshaven, he was wearing the suit substituted for his own; and Florence, sartorially, was not much better off.
She smiled, blushed, stood up, and turned her back to him. Then she sat down again. In her hand she held a small dilapidated roll of banknotes.
"I had them with me when they abducted me," she said. "Besides, this ring is worth something."
"Thank the Lord!" he exclaimed, relievedly.
So there was nothing more to do but be happy; and happy they were. They were quite oblivious to the peculiar interest they aroused among the other passengers. This unshaven young man, in his ragged coat and soiled jersey; this beautiful young girl, in a wrinkled homespun, her glorious blond hair awry; and the way they looked at each other during those lulls in conversation peculiar to lovers the world over, impressed the other passengers with the idea that something very unusual had happened to these two.
The Pullman conductor was not especially polite; but money was money, and the stockholders, waiting for their dividends, made it impossible for him to reject it. The regular conductor paid them no more attention than to grumble over changing a twenty-dollar bill.
So, while these two were hurrying on to New York, the plotters were hurrying east to meet them. The two trains met and stopped at the same station about eighty miles from New York. The countess, accompanied by Vroon, who kept well in the background, entered the car occupied by the two castaways.
In the mirror at the rear of the car Norton happened to cast an idle glance, and he saw the countess. Vroon, however, escaped his eye.
"Be careful, Florence," he said. "The countess is in the car. The game begins again. Pretend that you suspect nothing. Pretty quick work on their part. And that's all the more reason why we should play the comedy well. Here she comes. She will recognize you, throw her arms around you, and show all manner of effusiveness. Just keep your head and play the game."
"She lied about you to me."
"No matter."
"Oh!" cried the countess. She seized Florence in a wild embrace. She was an inimitable actress, and Norton could not help admiring her. "Your butler telephoned me! I ran to the first train out. And here you are, back safe and sound! It is wonderful. Tell me all about it. What an adventure! And, good heavens, Mr. Norton, where did you get those clothes? Did you find her and rescue her? What a newspaper story you'll be able to make out of it all! Now, tell me just what happened." She sat down on the arm of Florence's chair. The girl had steeled her nerves against the touch of her. And yet she was beautiful! How could any one so beautiful be so wicked?
"Well, it began like this," began Florence; and she described her adventures, omitting, to be sure, Braine's part in it.
She had reached that part where they had been rescued by Captain Bannock when a thundering, grinding crash struck the words from her lips. The three of them were flung violently to one side of the car amid splintering wood, tinkling glass, and the shriek of steel against steel. A low wail of horror rose and died away as the car careened over on its side. The three were rendered unconscious and were huddled together on the floor, under the uprooted chairs.
Vroon had escaped with only a slight cut on the hand from flying glass. He climbed over the chairs and passengers with a single object in view. He saw that all three he was interested in were insensible. He quickly examined them and saw that they had not received serious injuries. He had but little time. The countess and Norton would have to take their chance with the other passengers. Resolutely he stooped and lifted Florence in his arms and crawled out of the car with her. It was a difficult task, but he managed it. Outside, in the confusion, no one paid any attention to him. So he threw the unconscious girl over his shoulder and staggered on toward the road.
It was fortunate that the accident had occurred where it did. Five miles beyond was the station marked for the arrest of Norton as an abductor and the taking in charge of Florence as a rebellious girl who had run away from her parents. If he could only reach the Swede's hut, where his confederates were in waiting, the game would then be his.
After struggling along for half an hour a carriage was spied by Vroon, and he hailed it when it reached his side.
"What's the trouble, mister?" asked the farmer.
"A wreck on the railroad. My daughter is badly hurt. I must take her to the nearest village. How far is it?"
"About three miles."
"I'll give you twenty dollars for the use of that rig of yours."
"Can't do it, mister."
"But it's a case of humanity, sir!" indignantly. "You are refusing to aid the unfortunate."
The farmer thought it over for a moment. "All right. You can have the buggy for twenty dollars. When you get to the village take the nag to Doc Sanders' livery. He'll know what to do."
"Thank you. Help me in with her."
Vroon drove away without the least intention of going toward the village. As a result, when Florence came to her senses she found herself surrounded by strange and ominous faces. At first she thought they had taken her from the wreck out of kindness; but when she saw the cold, impassive face of the man Vroon she closed her eyes and lay back in the chair. Well, ill and weak as she was, they should find that she was not without a certain strength.
In the meantime Norton revived and looked about in vain for Florence. He searched among the crowd of terrified passengers, the hurt and the unharmed, but she was not to be found. He ran back to the countess and helped her out of the broken car.
"Where is Florence?" she asked dazedly.
"God knows! Here, come over and sit down by the fence till I see if there is a field telegraph."
They had already erected one, and his message went off with a batch of others. This time he was determined not to trust to chance. The shock may have brought back Florence's recent mental disorder, and she may have wandered off without knowing what she was doing. On the other hand, she may have been carried off. And against such a contingency he must be fortified. Money! The curse of God was upon it; it was the trail of the serpent, spreading poison in its wake.
By and by the countess was able to walk; and, supporting her, he led her to the road, along which they walked slowly for at least an hour. They might very well have waited for the relief train. But he could not stand the thought of inactivity. The countess had her choice of staying behind or going with him. He hated the woman, but he could not refuse her aid. She had a cut on the side of her head, and she limped besides.
They stopped at the first farmhouse, explained what had happened, and the mistress urged them to enter. She had seen no one, and certainly not a young woman. She must have wandered off in another direction. She ran into the kitchen for a basin and towel and proceeded to patch the countess' hurts.
The latter was extremely uneasy. That she should be under obligation to Norton galled her. There was a spark of conscience left in her soul. She had tried to destroy him, and he had been kind to her. Was he a fool or was he deep, playing a game as shrewd as her own? She could not tell. Where was Vroon? Had he carried Florence off?
An hour later a man came in.
"Hullo! More folks from the wreck?"
"Where's the horse and buggy, Jake?" his wife asked.
"Rented it to a man whose daughter was hurt. He went to the village."
"Will you describe the daughter?" asked Norton.
The countess twisted her fingers.
The farmer rudely described Florence.
"Have you another horse and a saddle?"
"What's your hurry?"
"I'll tell you later. What I want now is the horse."
"What is to become of me?" asked the countess.
"You will be in good hands," he answered briefly. "I am going to find out what has become of Florence. Is there a deserted farmhouse hereabouts?" he asked of the farmer.
"Not that I recollect."
"Why yes, there is, Jake. There's that old hut about two miles up the fork," volunteered the wife. "Where the Swede died last winter."
"By jingo! I'm going into the village and see if that man brought in the rig."
"But get my horse first. My name is James Norton, and I am on theBladein New York. Which way do I go?"
"First turn to the left. Come on; I'll get the horse for you."
Once the horse was saddled, Norton set off at a run. He was unarmed; he forgot all about this fact. His one thought was to find the woman he loved. He was not afraid of meeting a dozen men, not while his present fury lasted.
And he fell into an ambush within a hundred yards of his goal. They dragged him off the horse and buffeted and mishandled him into the hut.
"Both of them!" said Vroon, rubbing his hands.
"I know you, you Russian rat!" cried Norton. "And if I ever get out of this I'll kill you out of hand! Damn you!"
"Oh, yes; talk, talk; but it never hurts any one," jeered Vroon. "You'll never have the chance to kill me out of hand, as you say. Besides, do you know my face?"
"I do. The mask doesn't matter. You're the man who had me shanghaied. The voice is enough."
"Very good. That's what I wished to know. That's your death warrant. We'll do it like they used to do at the old Academy; tie you to the railroad track. We shall not hurt you at all. If some engine runs over you heaven is witness we did not guide the engine. Remember the story of the boy and the cat?" with sinister amiability. "The boy said he wasn't pulling the cat's tail, he was only holding it; the cat did the pulling. Bring him along, men. Time is precious, and we have a good deal to do before night settles down. Come on with him. The track is only a short distance."
"Jim, Jim!" cried Florence in anguish.
"Never you mind, girl; they're only bluffing. They won't dare."
"You think so?" said Vroon. "Wait and see." He turned upon Florence. "He is your lover. Do you wish him to die?"
"No, no!"
"We promise to give him his freedom twelve hours from now on condition that you tell where that money is."
"Florence!" warned Norton.
Vroon struck him on the mouth. "Be silent, you scum!"
"It is in the chest Jones, the butler, threw into the sound," she said bravely. And so it might be for all she knew.
Vroon laughed. "We know about where that is."
"Florence, say nothing on my account. They are not the kind of men who keep their word."
"Eh?" snarled Vroon. "We'll see about that." He glanced at his watch. "In half an hour the freight comes along. It may become stalled at the wreck. But it will serve."
Norton knew very well that if need said must they would not hesitate to execute a melodramatic plan of this character. It was the way of the Slav; they had to make crime abnormal in order to enjoy it. They could very well have knocked him on the head then and there and have done with him. But the time used in conveying him to the railroad might prove his salvation. Nearly four hours had passed since the sending of the telegram to Jones.
They bound Florence and left her seated in the chair. As soon as they were gone she rolled to the floor. She was able to right herself to her knees, and after a torturous five minutes reached the fireplace. She burnt her hands and wrists, but the blaze was the only knife obtainable. She was free.
THEY BOUND FLORENCE AND LEFT HER SEATED IN THE CHAIRTHEY BOUND FLORENCE AND LEFT HER SEATED IN THE CHAIR
Jones arrived with half a dozen policemen. Vroon alone escaped.
The butler caught Florence in his arms and nearly crushed the breath out of her. And she was so glad to see him that she kissed him half a dozen times. What if he was her father's butler? He was brave and loyal and kind.
"They tied him to the track," she cried. "Look at my wrists!" The butler did so, and kissed them tenderly. "And I saved him."
Jones stretched out a hand over Florence's shoulder. "When the time comes," he said; "when the right time comes and my master's enemies are confounded. But always the rooks, never the hawks, do we catch. God bless you, Norton! I don't know what I should have done without you."
"When a chap's in love," began Norton, embarrassedly.
"I know, I know," interrupted Jones. "The second relief train is waiting. Let us hurry back. I shan't feel secure till we are once more in the house."
So, arm in arm, the three of them went down the tracks to the hand-car which had brought the police.
And now for the iron-bound chest at the bottom of the sea.