In the morning I returned to the office, for I could hardly expect my partner to carry on the business alone very much longer. He was extremely interested in the mystery because of my connection with it and also because he knew Ruth personally, and asked me what progress we had made so far. I told him all the various facts that McKelvie had dug up and he looked very grave when he learned the truth about Dick's pretended suicide. We were still discussing the matter when McKelvie called me on the phone to say that he had word from Chicago and would like me to hear what Dick's friend had to say.
"What is it, a new clue?" asked my partner curiously.
I repeated McKelvie's communication, saying that I was sorry to have to abandon him again, but that I would be back as soon as I could get away.
My partner clapped me on the shoulder. "That's all right, old man, you need not feel obliged to get back. I'll worry along somehow without you," he said kindly, adding with a laugh, "besides, you're worse than useless any way with this business uppermost in your mind. You'd be apt to make a bear out of a bull market," and his eyes twinkled.
So I drove to McKelvie's house and found him in his living-room talking to an old-young man of some thirty odd years, whose hair was quite gray and whose skin had a peculiar dead look, as though he had spent a part of his life shut away from the sunlight.
"Mr. Davies," said McKelvie when he had introduced me, "James Gilmore is a friend of Dick Trenton, and he has come from Chicago in answer to my request to relate to us what he knows of young Trenton's movements."
James Gilmore nodded. "If you have no objections I'm going to begin further back a bit so that you will understand how I came to be mixed up in this affair. Ten years ago I was a teller in the Darwin Bank. I was twenty-one, ambitious, and eager to make as much money as my pals. My salary was small, but the son of one of the directors, Philip Darwin, who was just a few years older than myself, took a fancy to me and told me that he could help me to make all the money that I wanted. I was young and foolish and I trusted him. I took money from the bank and gave it to him to speculate with, money that he feared to take himself, though I blame only myself for my folly. I did not have to steal, for, in a measure, I knew the risk I ran. But he was such a smooth fellow, and being the son of a director he declared that he could prevent any chance inspections, and I would have the money to replace long before an accounting was made. I believed him, and two days after I had given him the money we had an unexpected visit from the inspectors, and I was caught short. I went to Darwin for the money, but he shrugged his shoulders and said that the market had gone against him and that that was a risk that I had to stand. There was nothing to do but face the music, for, of course, his part in the affair never came to light at all."
James Gilmore broke off to add with bitter emphasis, "He was the son of a rich man, and I was poor, and so I paid for what he gained, for I have since learned that he made money on that deal and kept it all, damn him!
"Well, I got ten years, since it was my first offense," he continued presently in a quieter tone, "and when I got out last March I vowed vengeance upon him. I found out what he was doing and where he spent his evenings, and one night in the beginning of April I ran across a chap whom I had met in Sing Sing. He told me that he had been hired by a man to quarrel at cards with some boy whom this man was trying to ruin. The place was one of the resorts that Darwin attended and the scheme sounded like the sort of thing he would be capable of, so I asked this fellow, Coombs, if I could sit in at the game, and he answered. 'Yes, just drop in and I'll say you're a pal of mine.'
"That night I repaired to a private room in the rear of the gambling den and took a seat in a corner until Darwin and the boy had come in. They were disguised, but Coombs gave me the wink, and instinct, a feeling of antipathy, told me that the older man was Darwin, although I did not really see his face, for the light was bad. When I joined them, Darwin frowned, not because he recognized me (there was no danger of that—ten years in jail make a difference in a man), but because he wanted no one interfering with his plans. We began to play, and then Coombs, as per orders, cheated, cheated so openly it was a farce. But the boy had been drinking and he hadn't the wit to see that he was being made a fool of. He accused Coombs of double dealing, and Coombs jumped up and made for him with his chair, whereupon Darwin pulled out a gun and fired two shots in rapid succession. The first one bowled Coombs over, but I sensed what was coming and the second shot went over my head as I ducked. However, I dropped to the floor, deeming discretion the better part of valor. Then I saw Darwin press the pistol into the boy's hand, firing another shot as he did so and exclaiming, 'You've done for him, Dick, but don't worry, I'll get you away, never fear.'
"A terrific pounding ensued on the door at this moment and calls and yells came from the main room. Darwin sprang for the light and extinguished it, and seeing my chance I, too, sneaked away by the rear entrance just as the inner door gave way. I didn't want to be accused of having killed Coombs, and I knew that I could not implicate Darwin, since at no time had I seen his face. I was an ex-convict, and he a prominent and wealthy man. It was my word against his. What chance had I of using my knowledge to account?
"The murder of Coombs came out in the paper, and there was quite a to-do over it, and fearing that someone might recall that I had been there lately, and that I also knew Coombs, I lit out for the West. In September I drifted to Chicago, and having found a job, looked for a boarding-place. I found a very respectable home and there made the acquaintance of a handsome young fellow who called himself Richard Trenton. I wondered about him, since he seemed above his surroundings, but never was really intimate until I happened into his room to borrow a book that he had offered to lend me and found him at his desk writing the name Philip Darwin over and over on a sheet of paper.
"I was stunned for the moment, and then I found voice to say, 'You know him, too?'
"'Yes,' he said bitterly. 'Do you?'
"I nodded. 'Yes, I ought to know him. I served ten years in jail on his account,' I said.
"'Tell me about it,' he demanded.
"When I was through he sat for a while in silence and then he said, 'He has harmed me, too, but only in taking advantage of my own folly,' and then he told me the story that Philip Darwin had concocted for his benefit, a story which he, Dick Trenton, was too drunk to have been able to contradict. He had quarreled with a man and had pulled out a gun and killed the fellow and Darwin, like an angel of mercy, had got him away and saved him from the chair.
"When I heard that I let out a yell and told him the truth. He was mad then, mad enough to kill, and he swore he would go back to New York to have it out with Darwin. Then suddenly he seemed to recall something and just collapsed, and when I urged him to go and revenge himself, all he did was to shake his head.
"'He forced my sister to marry him to save my life.' he said hoarsely, clenching his hands. 'I must free her first and then—he shall pay.'
"Under those circumstances things were different, so we concocted a letter and sent it to Darwin, telling him we had proofs of his perfidy, and he must promise to let his wife divorce him at once or face the consequences. As soon as he got the letter there came a telegram from him, saying that his lawyer, who was in his confidence, was on his way to Chicago to confer with us. Well, we awaited the lawyer's arrival, and he came to the house and asked for Trenton. He was a red-whiskered, red-haired fellow called Cunningham, and he asked us for proofs of what we knew.
"Trenton did the talking, and he said that he could prove that it was Darwin who had fired the pistol, that he could produce several witnesses to that effect, that he had been investigating the thing for months. All this was pure bluff, of course, but the old chap came off his high horse and said that his client had deceived him and that under the circumstances he had nothing more to say. He would return to New York and advise that Mrs. Darwin be allowed her divorce and after that why he had no objections if we saw fit to punish Darwin.
"Seeing that we had won over the lawyer, we waited eagerly for news of the divorce proceedings, but in the beginning of October there came a long letter from Darwin. He explained that his lawyer had called on him and that in view of the fact that we had the proofs he was willing to grant Mrs. Darwin the chance to divorce him, but there was one difficulty in the way of that. Mrs. Darwin did not want a divorce, and he thought it was best for Dick to come to New York to see him personally before any actions were taken. Then Dick could talk to his sister and matters could be arranged to the satisfaction of all parties. If this was agreeable Dick would find him home at eleven-thirty on the night of October seventh.
"Well, we talked it over, and as Mrs. Darwin's letters had always been very cheerful and never held any complaint about her married life, why, we were in a quandary, for, of course, we couldn't expect Darwin to denounce himself to her. So the upshot was that Dick telegraphed that he would confer with Darwin. I told him to go armed, as I didn't trust Darwin around the corner, and Dick promised, though he said with a laugh that he knew where Darwin kept his pistol, and it would be easier to borrow that than to try to buy a new one.
"I saw him off, and then on the evening of the eighth I read about the murder in the papers. Right away I jumped to the conclusion that Dick had fired the shot, but when I read further I was amazed to see that the murder was the result of a quarrel between husband and wife and that Dick hadn't been there at all. I wondered why he didn't send me word, and then two days later I saw an account of his suicide in the papers. I couldn't quite figure it out, and finally decided that he had arrived too late to prevent the tragedy and drowned himself in a fit of grief."
James Gilmore shook his head in a perplexed way. "And now this gentleman tells me that Dick didn't commit suicide, and I understand it less than ever. There is one thing sure. He's not in Chicago. The police got your message, and after combing the city went to his boarding-place for information, and that's how I caught on that someone was looking for news of Dick. I said to myself, 'You're the boy to give it,' and here I am."
"And I am much obliged to you, I am sure," said McKelvie. "You have helped me immensely. And now that we may be absolutely sure that no mistake has been made, take a look at this picture and tell me whether you recognize it."
He handed Gilmore a photograph of Dick, an old one, not the one which he had blackened for Mrs. Blake, and Gilmore nodded quickly.
"Sure that's Dick Trenton, all right, except that he was wearing a very full beard when I met him. He told me he grew it as a disguise, but that he intended to shave it off the moment he reached New York. He said his sister would disown him if he looked like Daniel Boone."
McKelvie nodded, and I added, "He evidently kept his word, since he had only a stubble when he pretended suicide, poor boy."
"When you discover where he is, let me know," said Gilmore, rising. "Take my word for it, he is somewhere in this burg. Well, I must be going. There are some of my pals I want to look up before I go back to Chi. I'll keep my top eye open, and if I get a hint I'll let you know."
"I wish you would. Thank you again," said McKelvie, escorting Gilmore to the door.
When he returned his eyes were shining. "Well, that was worth-while news," he said smiling.
"It certainly was, providing he hasn't—" I said with a gesture.
"We won't spoil it by dwelling on that fact. Remember what I said last night. Stay for luncheon and then give me the benefit of your services as chauffeur. I know you will want to go with me, for I am going to ask Mr. Cunningham what advice he gave his client about this most interesting affair."
After a luncheon, to which I did full justice, McKelvie flipped over the pages of the city directory and studied the section devoted to Cunninghams.
"That's rather peculiar," he said. "He has no office in the city. If he is a lawyer, where does he conduct his practice? Something wrong, somewhere. Come on. We'll get him at his apartments."
We drove to 84th Street and inquired for Cunningham.
"Mr. Cunningham? He's not at home," replied the switchboard operator in the hallway of the fashionable apartment house.
"Do you mean that he is out of town?" asked McKelvie anxiously.
"Oh, no. He'll be back at five, I guess. That's the time he usually comes in when he's in the city," said the girl, bestowing a fetching smile upon my companion.
McKelvie improved the acquaintance. He returned the smile. "Is he away very much?"
"Yes, quite a bit."
"Thank you, and you need not mention that I was asking about him. He might not like it," remarked McKelvie.
"You said it. He's closer than a clam about himself," she returned with a little toss of her head.
"Our friend Cunningham was once quite attentive in that quarter," explained McKelvie with a laugh as we drove away. "So much I learned when I first came here, and so I proceeded to make friends with Jane."
"Where to?" I inquired, laughing. "Home?"
"No, the Darwin Bank. I have a mind to see whether our lawyer friend, who has no office, possesses a sufficient capital to live on his income. Mr. Trenton is the best man to apply to I guess, since I have already learned that Cunningham keeps an account at his bank."
When we arrived at the bank I sent my card in, and we were admitted at once to Mr. Trenton's private office.
"What is it, Carlton?" he asked fearfully.
"Good news," I replied, "which I should like you to convey to Ruth" (I had ceased visiting her at her own request), and I told him Gilmore's story.
Mr. Trenton beamed on McKelvie when I had finished the tale. "My dear sir, this is all your doing. How can I ever thank you? You have lifted a great load from my mind, and I can think of him with great pity now instead of horror in my heart."
He bowed his head and I was glad he did not know that Dick was alive. It was far better that he think his son drowned than that he know that Dick was somewhere in New York, afraid to come home.
"Mr. Trenton," said McKelvie presently, "I came here primarily to obtain some information. Philip Darwin had an account here, did he not?"
"Raines can tell you," Mr. Trenton replied, ringing for the head cashier.
I nodded to the young man as he entered, for we were acquainted and Mr. Trenton introduced him to McKelvie, adding, "And Mr. Raines, you have my authority to tell Mr. McKelvie whatever he desires to know."
"I'm at your service, Mr. McKelvie," responded Raines, with a cordial smile.
"I wish to know whether Philip Darwin has a bank balance here and if so how much," said McKelvie, getting down to business at once.
"He closed out his account on the sixth of October," replied Raines. "I'm not likely to forget it, since it was the very next night that he was murdered."
"And the amount of his balance was—" repeated McKelvie.
"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I gave him the money myself."
"Did he take it in gold or notes?" asked McKelvie.
"In bills of large denominations, so that it did not make such a very large package to carry. He put it into a small bag and took it away himself."
McKelvie took a turn around the room and then asked abruptly, "Does a Mr. Herbert Cunningham, who lives on 84th Street, bank here?"
"Yes. He's a red-whiskered chap, is he not?"
McKelvie nodded. "Can you give me the amount of his balance?"
"I'll get it for you in just a moment." Raines left the room and McKelvie continued to pace the floor.
"What do you suppose Philip did with all that money?" asked Mr. Trenton.
"That's what I'm going to find out," returned McKelvie. "I have an idea I know where it is."
"According to Cunningham, Darwin lost it on Wall Street," I said.
"Yes, and according to Orton Darwin was a cautious speculator. I'll wager the secretary was the better judge of Darwin's character. Orton's shrewd for all that he's a wretched creature. No, that money did not go into Wall Street, and I'm going to locate it in just a moment. Well?" as Raines came in again.
"Cunningham's balance is ten thousand dollars," returned Raines.
"Any increase lately?" asked McKelvie.
"No, just a steady decrease," answered the cashier.
"Has he a strong box?"
"Yes, he has."
"May I examine its contents?" inquired McKelvie.
Raines looked at Mr. Trenton.
"It's all right. I'll come along, too," and Mr. Trenton rose.
"By the way, Mr. Raines," said McKelvie, "I should like this investigation conducted as inconspicuously as possible. I'm a rich eccentric who wants to hire a strong box, if anyone asks any questions."
"All right, sir. Whatever Mr. Trenton says goes. I'll meet you downstairs with the key," replied Raines.
Mr. Trenton conducted us through the bank corridor to the rear of the building and down a flight of stone steps to the entrance to the vault. The guard swung open the heavy door with a "good-afternoon, sir," to Mr. Trenton, and we entered the fireproof room where the safe deposit boxes were kept and paused before the one marked Cunningham.
When Raines came in he inserted the master key in the lock and opened the deposit box. Inside was a smaller tin cash box and when he lifted the lid, for it was unlocked, we saw that it was crammed with bills. Raines' eyes opened wide with amazement, and if McKelvie hadn't caught the box it would have fallen from his nerveless fingers.
"Mr. McKelvie," he said in a strange voice, pointing to the contents of the box, "those are the bills I gave to Philip Darwin!"
"I thought as much," said McKelvie seriously. "Lock up this box again. Until we can prove that Cunningham has no right to the money, we cannot confiscate it. Thank you very much, Mr. Trenton, for your kindness in allowing me this privilege, and I'd be much obliged if you will say nothing to anyone about our discovery. You'll excuse us if we hurry along?"
Mr. Trenton nodded and we hastened out, leaving the president and the cashier to lock up the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in Cunningham's strong box.
"So Cunningham has the money," I remarked as we drove toward Stuyvesant Square. "Can it be he murdered Darwin, and then helped himself to the bills. The cash box in the safe was found empty," I added.
McKelvie smiled grimly. "Oh, no, he didn't steal the money. I don't believe it was ever in the house on Riverside Drive, but we will make our friend explain its presence in his strong box just the same. It should be an interesting account, to say the least," he ended sarcastically. "Call for me here at five and we'll hear what he has to say."
I pondered McKelvie's meaning as I returned to the office. The explanation should be interesting he had said. I agreed with him, yet after all it could have no direct connection with the murder, since Philip Darwin had never taken the money home. But how did McKelvie know this latter fact? Was he merely theorizing, or did he know more than he had told me? He had not appeared surprised when we discovered that the lawyer had the money, for he had even hinted that he knew where it was.
I determined to ask him what other information he had upon this point when I called for him at five o'clock, but at four-thirty, as I was making ready to leave, he phoned me to postpone our visit. His voice was so high-pitched with excitement that my questions vanished from my mind as if by magic, and all I could exclaim was, "What is it? What has happened?"
"Our friend Cunningham will have a pretty job on his hands explaining away all the facts I have gathered against him to-day," he exulted. "He's no more a lawyer than I am, Mr. Davies!"
"Not a lawyer!" I repeated.
"No. He's not registered, and he cannot practise law in New York City! I'm going to look up one or two more details before we call upon him. Be at the house at quarter to eight, please, providing, of course, that you desire to accompany me."
"McKelvie, if you dare to go to 84th Street without me, there's going to be trouble between us," I warned and he laughed gayly as he rang off.
Though I was impatient to interview Cunningham, it was almost eight-thirty before we arrived at 84th Street, for on the way we had a blowout and the garage attendant was the slowest specimen of his type that I had ever had the misfortune to encounter.
Cunningham himself, debonair and genial as usual, admitted us into his apartment and invited us into what he designated as his smoking-room. It was a medium-sized room furnished in good taste, and as I sank into the depths of a luxurious arm-chair and accepted the cigar he offered me I felt assured that Cunningham could reasonably explain away the doubts which I had lately entertained toward him. Yes, the personality of the man and the soothing influence of that rare cigar had combined to make me as eager to hear him justify himself as before I had been anxious to prove him the murderer of his friend.
But McKelvie was not so easily won over. He accepted a chair and a cigar, it is true, yet I knew well that he was waiting as a person does at chess for the next move of his adversary.
"It is very pleasant to have you gentlemen call upon me," said Cunningham, breaking the silence. "Have you come in a friendly or an antagonistic spirit, Mr. McKelvie?"
"I have come with an open mind," responded McKelvie quietly.
"Explain yourself, please." Cunningham leaned back and puffed leisurely at his cigar.
"In an investigation of the sort that I am conducting one stumbles upon many queer things." McKelvie paused to draw a long puff and to blow a series of rings toward the ceiling. "As these smoke rings cross and recross each other and finally merge together, so do the trails in this case cross and recross each other until they all come together in the final solution. To distinguish the truth from the myriad bypaths of coincidence and false testimony is quite an art, I assure you, for I do not believe in doing any man an injustice. Therefore, I have come here to-night to give you a chance to explain certain curious facts which have come to my knowledge."
Cunningham bowed. "I thank you for the consideration, and I shall do my best to satisfy you."
McKelvie laid aside his cigar. "Are you a lawyer, Mr. Cunningham?" he asked bluntly.
If he thought to startle the man facing us so calmly McKelvie was mistaken in his estimate of the lawyer's character. Cunningham removed his cigar from his mouth, contemplated its lighted end for a moment, and then replied simply, "I am not registered in New York, if that is what you mean."
"Then may I ask by what right you constituted yourself Mr. Darwin's lawyer, and acted as Mrs. Darwin's counsel at the inquest?" continued McKelvie imperturbably.
Cunningham grinned sardonically. "I fancy that my estimate of the police coincides with yours, Mr. McKelvie," he said. "They got the idea, from Orton possibly, that I was Darwin's lawyer. They asked me to attend the inquest. I assumed the position they thrust upon me. What would you?" he shrugged whimsically. "It was no time to explain the complicated relation between us. As far as Mrs. Darwin is concerned, I did not advise her. In fact, I did not even see her until she entered the study."
He paused, and then leaned forward and said pointedly as he eyed McKelvie coolly, "You have asked me if I'm a lawyer. Yes, I am in this way. I have studied law and was ready for my bar examinations when the death of an uncle in a foreign country left me wealthy. I had to go abroad to secure my inheritance, and when I returned I had no desire to restudy for those examinations. So you see, I am a lawyer without a sheepskin, but, nevertheless, Philip Darwin had more confidence in my judgment than in that of the men who legalized his affairs. I have given him legal advice, yes, as between friend and friend, because I was his confident and he asked me for it, but I have never attempted to practise law in New York City or elsewhere. If you doubt my statement you are at liberty to verify it."
"I don't doubt you, Mr. Cunningham," responded McKelvie quietly. "I know you haven't practised law. I was merely trying to get the connection between you and Darwin, since you know so many of his affairs and represented him in a legal capacity when you went to Chicago to see Dick Trenton."
A slight tremor of Cunningham's eyelids was the only indication that the shot had told, but he replied as coolly as ever, "Not in a legal capacity. He sent me because I was acquainted with the details of the affair and understood merely that I was to find out how much real proof the boy had. What Darwin called me in his telegram I do not know, since I did not see it."
"How do you know he sent a telegram?" queried McKelvie.
"Is this the third degree, Mr. McKelvie?" asked Cunningham, frowning.
"No, Mr. Cunningham. I know it sounds very much like it," apologized McKelvie, "but it isn't meant to be. You have shown a disposition to aid us before, and you will help me immensely by making certain matters clear. Will you answer a few more questions?"
The frown cleared. "Certainly. Glad to assist you. Fire away," Cunningham returned indulgently. "And I don't mind saying that Darwin told me he had sent a telegram when he asked me to go out to Chicago for him."
"What advice did you give Darwin when you returned from Chicago?"
"I told him that the boy had a strong case and advised him to write and request Dick himself to see Mrs. Darwin and arrange for the divorce. Whether he followed my advice or not I don't know."
"For your information let me say that he did follow that advice, that Young Trenton came to New York and, without apparent cause, committed suicide. Whether there was an interview between them or not I cannot of course say positively," was McKelvie's astonishing reply. Why was he permitting Cunningham to remain in ignorance of our latest discovery concerning Richard Trenton?
"I'm very sorry to hear this," murmured Cunningham. "I should hate to think that my advice had brought him to such an end."
McKelvie changed the subject as abruptly as he had introduced it. "You said you had charge of Darwin's securities. What made you keep them?" his eyes on the other man's face.
"He was a very peculiar man and hated responsibility. I have cared for his securities and valuables for many years."
"Are you also caring for the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars that he drew from the bank and that is now reposing in your strong box?"
Cunningham looked annoyed, and then laughed cynically.
"Nothing escapes you, does it?" he sneered, then in a different tone, "No, that money is mine. A year ago I loaned Darwin enough to cover a slump in the market and thus saved him his fortune. I told him I was in no hurry for it, but as I've remarked more than once, he was peculiar. He came to me on the sixth and handed me the cash. I asked him what I should do with all that money in that shape and told him I'd prefer a check. He said that I'd given him cash and he felt better returning it in kind. And so he left it. I was going to add it to my bank account, but I'm going on a trip shortly and decided the cash would be useful to me. Therefore I put it in my strong-box for safe keeping."
"Thank you very much. Sorry to have disturbed you," said McKelvie, rising.
"Answers satisfactory?" asked Cunningham with a wry smile.
"Quite."
"And how much nearer to the solution have I carried you?" Cunningham continued with great politeness.
"Unfortunately I have remained static. Your answers though satisfactory as far as you yourself are concerned, have not helped me a particle toward solving my problem. I shall have to resort to desperate measures, I'm afraid," responded McKelvie, smiling rather oddly.
"Desperate measures, eh? That sounds like business. Before you undertake this work, honor me by drinking to your ultimate success," returned Cunningham. "My man is away, so if you will pardon me a moment I will get the whisky and soda."
The moment Cunningham left the room, McKelvie to my astonishment, sprang to the heavy portieres through which our host had passed and looked out. Then he drew back and walking swiftly to a door at the side of the room, he opened it and darted within.
Wondering what he was up to, I rose and followed him to this doorway and looked into the room beyond. To my surprise it was a bedroom, extravagantly but exquisitely furnished in gold and blue, a woman's boudoir, but I had no time to fix the details in my mind, for at this moment McKelvie came toward me hurriedly from his search of the dressing-table.
With a final comprehensive glance, and a whispered, "I thought I heard his step in the hall," McKelvie closed the door silently while I retreated to my chair and sank into its comfortable depths, none too soon. With a clink of glasses, Cunningham entered through the portieres. He glanced at us rather suspiciously, I thought, but McKelvie was contemplating the ceiling as he puffed his discarded cigar, and I was deep in the pages of a book, what book I have no idea.
Cunningham set the tray he carried on the table and poured out the whisky, allowing us to help ourselves to the soda. Then we raised our glasses and drank to the toast Cunningham had proposed, though I noticed that McKelvie merely touched his glass to his lips and set it down untasted.
"I never drink whisky," he said quietly, as Cunningham raised his brows in interrogation.
"Is there anything else I can offer you?"
"No, thank you. I appreciate your efforts in my behalf. Good night, Mr. Cunningham," and McKelvie bowed, a trifle too deeply to be really sincere.
"Good night, Mr. McKelvie," responded Cunningham, returning the bow. Then he offered his hand to me. "Good night," he said again as we left.
"What on earth were you doing in that bedroom?" I inquired as we parted at McKelvie's door. "By the way, it was rather an odd room—for a bachelor."
"Did you remark the gold and blue? Rather a familiar combination, eh? Here's the true significance of that very charming room."
Holding up his hand, he dangled before my eyes a tiny yellow satin sachet bag embroidered in blue, a satin sachet whose fragrance was the fragrance of Rose Jacqueminot!
Cunningham and the fragrance of Rose Jacqueminot! Cunningham and a yellow satin sachet embroidered in blue!
These words kept pounding in my brain and though I went over them in the light of the facts which we had gleaned, I could see no plausible reason for Cunningham's having committed that murder. He could have no possible motive for wanting to harm Ruth since he did not know her, nor could I believe, despite the gold and blue room, that he was in love with Cora Manning. He had evidently never called on her at Gramercy Park or her landlady would have described him to us, and it was not likely that being engaged to Lee, Cora Manning would have received the advances of other men, at least so I judged from the manner in which Ruth had spoken of her.
Cunningham's explanations, too, had been eminently satisfactory, and had cleared him even in McKelvie's eyes, as far as I could judge last night. Besides, it wasn't as though Cunningham were the sole possessor of one of those sachets.
McKelvie was in much the same position as that robber in "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves," of which I used to be fond in my childhood days, that robber who led his chief to the cross-marked house only to discover that all the neighboring houses were also cross-marked. As a clue, then, the fragrance of Rose Jacqueminot and the yellow satin sachet were as useless as the robber's chalk-mark.
It might also be that Cunningham's use of that particular fragrance, and his acquaintance with a woman who also affected yellow satin sachets embroidered in blue, was one of those coincidences that often occur in life, where truth is in many cases stranger than fiction.
As McKelvie had truly remarked, the trails crossed and recrossed until the right one was lost to view in the labyrinth of paths. As I looked back over the facts we had learned I was amazed to find how little real progress we had made toward the solution. It was all conjecture and except for Dick's ring, we had no clues which could rightly be termed such. And when it came to suspects, Lee and Dick and Cunningham ran a close race, though the greatest amount of evidence pointed toward Dick, since McKelvie was inclined to hold Lee guiltless, and Cunningham had no adequate motive.
About two o'clock McKelvie called at the office and found me alone.
"Can you spare me a few minutes?" he inquired, as he glanced at the work on my desk.
"I should say so," I returned quickly, pushing aside my papers. "Anything new?"
"No, I've come to the end of my tether—"
"You don't mean that you're giving up the case?" I interrupted, dismayed.
He laughed. "Giving up the case when it's just becoming exciting? You don't know me, Mr. Davies," he cried, and his voice was exultant, his eyes fairly dancing. "I was going to say that I have reached the point where skirmishing in the dark is no longer satisfactory. I'm coming out in the open and I'm going to fight him with the plan of campaign spread out for him to read."
"You think that is wise?"
"Yes, decidedly so. I'm going to let him know I'm after him, and then we'll watch him struggle to escape my net," he declared.
"Then you know who the criminal is?" I asked.
"No. I suspect, but I have no proof," he replied. "Ah, he's a clever devil, that fellow, and we're just beginning to break below the surface in this affair. Here's my scheme."
He drew from his pocket a folded sheet, opened it, and handed it to me with the remark, "I've distributed copies of that around the city."
I looked at the sheet, which still smelled strongly of the printer's ink, and saw that it was a hand-bill offering a reward of one thousand dollars for any authentic information which might lead to the discovery of the present whereabouts of Lee Darwin, last seen about four o'clock at the corner of Twenty-fifth Street and Third Avenue, on the afternoon of October the eighth. There followed a description of the young man, accompanied by his photograph and the added announcement that the reward would be paid by Graydon McKelvie, at No. — Stuyvesant Square.
"Ought to bring results, eh? When some six million people become interested in finding him we ought to locate him in short order."
"What makes you think he is in New York?" I inquired.
"Wilkins returned yesterday morning and reported that Lee never went South at all. There is no trace of his having gone there. So I started Wilkins at this end again. Last night when I got back from Cunningham's, Wilkins was waiting for me. He had discovered that Lee had taken a taxi as far as Third Avenue and Twenty-fifth Street. After that he vanished completely. So the presumption is that he is still in the city."
"In the city and in hiding," I mused. "Yet you said the night we chased the criminal, that in accusing Lee you were putting the true culprit off his guard by making him think you had no interest in him. That would imply Lee's innocence, yet what other possible motive could he have for disappearing?"
"There are two reasons for his disappearance, as far as I can see. One is the assumption that he is the criminal. This reason, as you remarked, I have discarded. Lee did not kill his uncle. I'll tell you why I make this assertion." He rose abruptly and took a turn around the room, then halted in front of me again. "You saw and heard him at the inquest? How did he impress you, as regards his character, I mean?"
"He struck me as being a rather passionate, quick-tempered chap, one who also possessed the power of self-control. He has a frank face and clear eyes. Also I've heard Mr. Trenton say in discussing him that he is a fine, upright boy, and that he liked him very much indeed," I replied.
"Passionate and quick-tempered," repeated McKelvie. "Is he the type to commit murder in cold-blood?"
"No. In a moment of passionate anger, yes, but not in cold-blood," I returned with conviction.
"Just what I decided from the first, and as this murder was premeditated, that let's him out. Now for the second reason for his disappearance. He was engaged to Cora Manning, yet he denied knowing her. When the coroner showed him the handkerchief he was in mortal dread that he would recognize it as hers. Therefore he knew something of what took place in the study, in which Miss Manning was involved. Or, perhaps, he knew of her intended visit to the Darwin home. However that may be, he knew something of importance. He left the inquest before all the evidence was brought in, therefore he was in ignorance of the verdict when he returned to the Club. Nevertheless he was a menace to the criminal's plan to implicate Mrs. Darwin, for Lee would come forward and tell what he knew the moment he learned of Mrs. Darwin's predicament. What does the criminal do then? He decoys Lee from the Club with a telegram, and keeps him a prisoner somewhere in the city, to prevent him from giving evidence."
"What a fiend the man must be!" I exclaimed. "But how did he know so quickly that Lee was a menace to him. The papers were hardly out by that time," I added.
"Because he was at the inquest, and he deduced danger to himself from Lee's actions," replied McKelvie. "That is, of course, he must have been there to act so promptly since he has no confederate, I am sure. There were any number of extra persons in the room. He could easily form one of the curious, or disguise himself as a reporter, or any other character that happened to occur to him. He is daring enough to have impersonated the District Attorney himself."
I agreed. "But, in that event, when the man realizes you are after Lee because you need his evidence, for of course he will see your reward, won't he murder the boy to get rid of him? He seems to be capable of any outrage."
"Unfortunately that is a risk I shall have to run. Now that I am persuaded that the criminal is holding Lee a prisoner I've got to rescue him, since the murderer is not likely to hamper himself with the boy overlong—if he hasn't done away with him already. We have wasted much valuable time following a false lead. Well, it can't be helped now, and there is nothing to be gained by crying over spilt milk. Wilkins is combing the East Side and I hope to have news in a few hours. From now on it's a fight to the finish," he ended, exultantly. "I have shown the criminal my hand. I want Lee, and the man I'm ultimately going to get will do his best to balk me—if he can."
"Here's to our side," I said, catching his enthusiasm. "And remember that I want to be in on anything that happens."
"Right. I won't forget you."
But he did, for I heard nothing further from him during the remainder of the afternoon, which I spent in an endeavor to pin my mind to market quotations which I considered merely trivial beside the problem that was worrying me, and when I called his house that evening Dinah reported that he had gone out and she had no idea when he would return. Disappointedly I sought my favorite chair and my pipe, offering Mr. Trenton a cigar, which he declined. He had been to see Ruth that afternoon and as usual after such a visit he was very disheartened. I tried to cheer him, but with little success, since my feelings coincided so accurately with his own and I could ill bear the thought of Ruth in that dreadful place day after day, with no hope of release. I finally turned in, determined to forget my troubles in oblivion. But I could not sleep. Over and over I reviewed the case, particularly the latest phases of it, and wondered if Dick's ring in the secret room, where it certainly had no business to be, might not serve as a clue upon which to secure Ruth's release. Then my mind wandered to Lee and the girl of the perfume, to Cunningham and the gold-and-blue room, until gradually it seemed to me that a delicious fragrance pervaded the room, and I drifted into the land of dreams.
And in that sleep I dreamed a weird and awful dream. I thought I stood in the secret room behind the safe, which somehow resembled the gold-and-blue room in Cunningham's apartment, and as I stood there breathing the fragrance of Rose Jacqueminot a man dashed by me and entered the study. He had a pistol in his hand and as he fired at Darwin, whom I could see dimly in the distance, I heard a woman shriek. Then the man came back, dragging a girl by the arm, and as he went by me he dropped Dick's ring at my feet, and turned toward me such a face as I hope never to see even in my dreams again. It was the face of a demon distorted by passion, and it bore no resemblance to anyone I knew, or rather, it was a composite of those concerned in the case, for he had Dick's eyes, Lee's nose and chin, and Cunningham's red hair. A moment I looked into his mad eyes and then I saw him raise his arm and fire at the girl and I realized with horror that she was Ruth. With a cry I flung myself toward him—and woke with my arms around my pillow.
I sat up and passed my hand dazedly across my brow and then suddenly I was broad awake and listening intently to the sound that had startled me, the sound of my door opening stealthily. I peered through the darkness but could discern nothing.
I waited a moment, but hearing no further sound reached under my pillow for my revolver, for I knew I wasn't dreaming now, noticing by my radium-faced watch that it was close to midnight. Then as I became conscious of another presence in the room, the light was switched on without warning, and I flung out my arm, covering the man who stood there before me.
He was a rough-looking customer in an ugly, worn blue suit, and his cap was pulled low over his brow. His face was unshaved, his lips were coarse, his nose was thick, his eyebrows bushy, and the eyes beneath were sunken and dull, a dead black in color.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded, holding the pistol in line with his heart.
But he did not reply except by a chuckle, and I flung down the pistol with the cry, "McKelvie!"
"I'm glad I pass muster," he said, chuckling again, but I could only stare at him in genuine amazement. Except for that chuckle I should never have known him!
"Here," he said, flinging a bundle on my bed, "get into those things as fast as you can, and meet me in your library. We have no time to waste, but I knew you would never forgive me if I left you out of this."
As soon as he was gone I attired myself in the battered old suit of brown which he had provided, and clapped a greasy cap upon my head. Then I surveyed myself in the mirror and turned away disappointedly. I was disreputable enough in all conscience, but no one would have taken me for anyone else but Carlton Davies, grown somewhat seedy in appearance. How did McKelvie do it?
In the library I found McKelvie talking to Jenkins, the latter clad in bathrobe and slippers, as though he had just been dragged from his room.
"Ready?" asked McKelvie, as I entered, and when I nodded he turned again to Jenkins. "Stay out in the hall beside the phone and don't go to sleep. If I do not phone you by one o'clock, call Headquarters and tell them to rush some men to Hi Ling's curio shop. You understand?"
"Yes, sir," answered Jenkins, blinking.
"Don't fall asleep, as it may mean our lives," repeated McKelvie impressively.
"No, sir. I'll stay awake. You can depend on me, sir," said Jenkins in a hurt tone.
"Yes, I know I can," returned McKelvie. "Come on, Mr. Davies."
McKelvie swung toward me and then began to laugh. "You're far too clean. They'd spot you for a fake in a moment."
He took what looked like a box of lampblack from his pocket and applied it to my face. As we hurried down the hall I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My face was a dirty gray, sallow, unshaved. I smiled as I followed McKelvie into the outer hall.
"Ever read Gaboriau?" he asked as we crept stealthily down the stairs.
"Yes."
"Then you know the advice that Lecoq gave his men when they wanted to disguise themselves. 'Change the eye,' he said. 'The eye is the important factor in disguise.' He was right and I have spent some time practising the maxim. Try to look stupid and your eyes will deaden. Not that way," and he caught my arm as I made for the lobby. "The back entrance for ours unless we want to land in a cell at the police station."
We sneaked out into the back yard, around the building, and out into the street, where a motor car was waiting.
"All right, Wilkins. Full speed ahead," said McKelvie as we got in. With a jerk we were off toward the Park.
"Now," I demanded, "what's it all about?"
"You've got your pistol with you?" he asked, and when I answered in the affirmative, he went on, "Don't use it unless I give you leave. The less shooting the better for us, I expect."
"Is it Lee?" I inquired.
"Yes. My offer of reward hustled things up a bit." McKelvie leaned forward and called out, "Faster, Wilkins. We'll never make it at this rate."
"He's in danger, then," I said, as we tore around corners and down side streets to avoid the cops.
"Yes. But let me begin at the beginning. Wilkins got onto the track of a mysterious taxi that had been seen on Mott Street about four-fifteen the afternoon of October the eighth, and while he was hanging around one of those Chinese joints, he saw two toughs lounging down Pell Street, and evidently discussing the reward, since one of them was waving the hand-bill in the other's face. Wilkins followed them into an eating-house and by securing a table next to them, overheard their conversation. It seemed that they had identified Lee as the young man they had kidnapped and they were weighing the respective merits of giving their information to me or blackmailing the 'old man,' as they called whoever had hired them. The younger tough was for telling me, but the older one seemed to think they could make more from the 'old man.' Whereupon the younger one declared that the old fellow was stingier than hell and reminded his companion that Hi Ling had tipped them that the young man was to disappear that night, after the boss's visit at one o'clock. When the men separated Wilkins followed the younger one and by many judicious hints and the added compensation of some money and promised immunity from the police, he got the rest of the story.
"This fellow and his companion had been hired to kidnap a young chap and they had deposited him in Hi Ling's back shop in an upstairs room. There was something the young man knew that the 'old man' wanted to learn so much, he had gathered from the Chinaman who kept the shop. In other words, Lee knew something of the murder and the criminal wanted to find out just how much, or else he wanted to keep Lee from giving evidence. It doesn't matter which. The main fact remains, that he is holding the boy a prisoner.
"Well, when he realized that through my efforts I was bound to learn where Lee was, since he did not trust the toughs, he gave orders that when he had paid the boy his customary visit at one o'clock, they were to get rid of Lee for him. One more murder wouldn't disturb his conscience very much, I guess. Our only chance lies in getting there ahead of the criminal."
"How do you know it's not a trap?" I asked.
"I've provided for that by my orders to Jenkins. If it's a trap the police will have to rescue us, that's all. I feel conscience-stricken, lugging you into what may turn out to be a fight for life," he added.
"You needn't. I wouldn't have missed it for anything," I returned. "But why don't you surround the place with the police right away?"
"Do you know where we are going?" he asked curiously.
"To Chinatown, I should judge," I answered.
"Exactly. They keep scouts on the watch at those places, which are respectable without and—hells within. The moment they saw the sight of a uniform Lee Darwin would disappear and no one would ever learn what had become of him. Days later an unrecognizable corpse would be dragged from the river."
I shuddered. What a horrible end for the boy if we should fail to reach him in time!
At this juncture the car stopped with a jerk at the corner of Mott and Hester streets, and we piled out.
"Wait here for us. If we do not come by one-thirty, you can go home," said McKelvie.
The man turned off his engine and settled himself to wait, and the next moment we were hurrying toward Pell Street. Then we turned another corner and modifying our pace, lounged carelessly toward the back entrance of Hi Ling's curio shop.
Remembering Lecoq's advice I tried to look dull and stupid as McKelvie opened the door. We stepped inside the shop and faced the Chinaman seated behind a counter at the rear of the room. He was a fat old Chinaman and he gazed at us stolidly as he smoked his pipe.
In a coarse voice McKelvie asked whether the "old man" had come, saying he had sent us to stay with the prisoner until his arrival.
The Chinaman looked at us unblinkingly for five steady minutes, then he waved his pipe toward a rear door. We shuffled toward it as fast as we dared, and I for one, expected that every minute he would call us back and question us more closely. But he did not move and we gained the doorway and saw before us, in the flickering light of a gas-jet from above, a staircase, steep, narrow, dirty. This we climbed and found ourselves in a small entry with a door at the back. Stealing to this door, McKelvie listened intently for a moment, then drew his revolver and tried the door softly. It was locked. Shifting the gun to his left hand he took out a long, narrow steel instrument, which he inserted in the lock. As the door yielded silently, he stole into the room and I followed him closely.
I did not hear but I knew he had closed the door behind us, and then his flash glowed and the disk of light darted here and there over the black interior of the room, or, rather, hole, in which we found ourselves. It was empty save for a narrow cot, on which lay an inert figure, apparently asleep. We moved closer to the cot and McKelvie let the disk of light rest upon the face of the man before us.
It was Lee Darwin, I could not be mistaken, but he looked as though he were in the last stages of some terrible disease. His form was quite wasted, his eyes were mere sunken hollows in his ghastly face, and his cheekbones stood out prominently where the flesh had fallen away. I contemplated him in horrified silence, until a touch on my arm recalled me to action.
"I'm afraid he's too far gone to walk," whispered McKelvie. "We'll have to carry him. The main thing is to get him out before the criminal arrives. I don't think the old Chink will give us much trouble."
Silently McKelvie bent over Lee and shook him into consciousness. The boy opened his haggard eyes, stared at the flash, then shuddered away from McKelvie's restraining hand.
"Go away," he said feebly. "I have nothing to tell you. Nothing, I say."
"Mr. Darwin," said McKelvie soothingly, "it's all right. We only want to help you get away."
Lee turned toward the sound of the voice, a dawning wonder in his eyes, then as the sense of McKelvie's words penetrated his dulled brain and the sound of McKelvie's rich voice fell like balm on his spirit, which had been harassed for days by harsh voices and coarse threats, he put out his hand and pushed aside the flash which McKelvie still kept focused on his face.
"Help me—get up," he said.
In the darkness we helped him to his feet and got him out into the corridor, where he collapsed again. So we lifted him by his head and feet and carried him down the stairs.
When we reached the bottom we looked across into the placid face of the old Chinaman contemplating us fixedly from the doorway!
"Lord," McKelvie muttered low, as we set Lee down upon the lowest step. "He's evidently in the game, too. No wonder he was so obliging about letting us pass, since there probably is no outlet yonder," and he jerked his head toward the top of the stairs.
He pulled out his gun and leveled it at the Chinaman. "Now then, Hi, or whatever your name is, just raise your arms above your head and back into that room, or you'll get a taste of this," and he tapped his revolver menacingly, but the Chinaman only continued to regard us placidly, with no change of expression on his yellow countenance.
McKelvie spoke to me in an undertone. "He knows darn well I won't shoot, damn him, since it would bring the house about our ears. I have a better plan. I'll take Lee on my back and you can give yonder Chinaman a punch in the jaw. Then we'll make tracks for the door. Once we get outside we'll be fairly safe, for these Chinamen don't want a row with the police if they can avoid it."
He slipped his automatic back into his pocket, and while he slung Lee over his shoulder, I swaggered up to the Chinaman.
"Better let us pass, bo," I said roughly in character, to gain time. "You might get hurt, Chink."
Again that stolid indifference, as though to him we did not exist, which made my blood boil and gave my arm an added impetus. The next moment the Chinaman was sprawling on the ground and we had gained the other room. With my cap pulled well over my face I was making tracks for the door to get it open for us to pass, when I heard a yell from McKelvie.
"Duck!" he cried, and as I obeyed I heard something whizz over my head and a hatchet buried itself in the wall ahead of me. I turned sharply and grappled with a lithe, yellow-clad figure that had sprung at me from the side of the room.
In tense silence we struggled, each striving to reach the other's throat, and as we fought I caught a glimpse of some heavy metal object on a stand near one corner of the room. Warily, inch by inch, I forced my adversary back until he fell against the stand, losing his balance and almost carrying me with him. With an effort I kept my feet, freeing my arm with a sudden movement, and as he swayed clutching at me, I grasped the metal candlestick and brought it down upon his head. His fingers loosened from my arm and he went down with a sickening thud.
Then, panting, I turned to look for McKelvie. He was standing in the opposite corner, shielding Lee's unconscious form, with his gun covering the old Chinaman whom I had first knocked out and who had succeeded in joining the fray again, and now stood as stolidly as ever beside a third Chinaman, who lay prostrate on the floor.
I advanced to McKelvie's side and as I did so I glanced again at the prostrate Chinaman. To my horror he was not as insensible as I had at first supposed. One arm was drawn back and he was on the point of hurling a murderous looking hatchet at McKelvie's head.
"Look out," I yelled, but McKelvie had seen him too.
There was a spat from McKelvie's gun, the hatchet went flying backwards and the Chinaman rolled over, howling with pain and rage. The momentary diversion, however, had served the other Chinaman in good stead. Before I could reach him he had glided to a counter, lifted a clapper and struck upon a gong. The next moment the Chinks came pouring in about us like rats from their holes.
I managed somehow to reach McKelvie's side before the onslaught began, and together we kept our backs to the corner where Lee lay huddled. Then McKelvie raised his pistol and deliberately shot out the light. After that, confusion reigned. I could hear the scuffle of feet, an occasional flash from McKelvie's gun, and a scream of agony as the bullet tore its way through soft flesh, followed by a quick report from my automatic, which I had drawn even though he had given me no leave, then again the shuffle, shuffle of feet, while we warded off blows and tried to keep our unseen enemies at a distance.
And then into the midst of this turmoil a high pitched voice cut like a knife. It was not a Chinaman's voice. It was a refined, cultivated, but distinctly American voice, and it seemed to me that I had heard its intonation before at some time.
Querulously it demanded a light, and as someone lighted the gas the Chinamen fell away from before us. We were battered and bruised, McKelvie and I, but otherwise unhurt, and we still stood with our backs to Lee Darwin, protecting him from the assault of his foes.
In the flickering light of the one poor burner I could see that the room was filled with Chinamen, or perhaps I mistook shadows for the reality, since though they remained inactive they shuffled about in the background, passing and repassing each other continually. Then a man stepped forward into the limelight and I saw the owner of that cutting voice.
With arms folded and head thrust forward, he stood and glared malevolently at McKelvie, and I beheld with astonishment the bent old figure and the white hair and beard shining like silver in that light. Though he took no notice of me, still I could feel his antagonism and wished for a moment that he would cast aside the heavy blue glasses he wore and give me a chance to see his eyes.
"So," he said, in that high-pitched voice, sarcastically strident in its intonation, "you thought to get ahead of me, eh? You thought I was such a fool that I wouldn't prepare for your visit, eh? There are a few people still left who have more brains than you think, Mr. McKelvie."
McKelvie returned his empty gun to his pocket very coolly, and then laughed softly.
"Stand aside and let Hi Ling take that boy. Then I will settle with you, Mr. Detective," went on the old man, unfolding his arms and thrusting a hand into the pocket of the long coat he wore.
McKelvie laughed again. "Come and get him, you murderer," he said, quietly.
With a snarl of rage the man flung out his arm and fired. I saw McKelvie draw aside quickly and then bite his lips as his left arm fell limply at his side. With a curse I leaped forward, but McKelvie pulled me back just as there arose a banging on the outer door and a shrill whistle sounded clear and loud outside.
There was a cry of "Police, the Police" and with an oath the old man fired again, at Lee, and then he shot up tall and extinguished the light. Pandemonium was let loose. There was a scurry of feet, the banging of a door, yells and execrations, hoarse cries, men's voices shouting loudly, and then something struck me on the head. I fell heavily to the ground, and as I did so a flash was thrust into my face and I heard Jones' voice exclaim as from a great distance, "Mr. Davies, by all that's holy," and then blackness descended upon me.
I came to myself with the sensation that someone was pouring red-hot liquid down my throat. I sat up, gasping, to find Jones bending over me with a brandy flask in his hand.
"All right?" he asked.
Recollection swept over me. "Where's McKelvie?" I managed to reply.
"Yonder." Jones nodded his head toward the chair where McKelvie sat, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
His clothes were torn, his face was smeared with blood, and his left arm had been recently bandaged, but he wore the expression of a conqueror, as he commanded the doctor to cease fussing over him and to look after Lee, who was still unconscious.
Then I realized that we were no longer in the curio shop, but in McKelvie's living-room, and that Lee was lying upon a couch, as motionless and rigid as a corpse.
The doctor ordered that the boy be put to bed, and McKelvie told Jones to ring for Dinah. When she came in presently, wrapped in an old kimona and with her woolly wig more belligerent than ever, McKelvie asked her to get a room ready. Then the doctor and Jones carried Lee from the room.
"What happened after I went down?" I asked, feeling the lump on my head. "I remember hearing Jones, and that is all."
"I'm ashamed to acknowledge that when I knew that the police were actually in the room, I fainted," he replied with a grin. "When I came to myself, those Chinamen who could get away had vanished, and with them the old man. I'd have given ten years of my life to get a glimpse of his eyes behind those glasses. I have a feeling that once having seen them I should never forget them."
"So he got away," I said.
"Oh, yes, Jones of course knew nothing about him, and when I was in a condition to explain, the fellow was far away. The police searched for him, but without avail. So I told them not to bother and ordered Jones to bring us here." He sat back with a smile, but I could see that his arm was giving him pain. "It was a great fight and the best part was that we were able to rescue Lee."
"Yes," I replied. "I should very much like to hear his story. By the way, that vindictive old man didn't shoot him, did he?"
"No, I don't believe he more than grazed him, if he hit him at all. Naturally he was trying to prevent us from taking the boy away from there."
"He had no trouble recognizing you," I continued. "Has he seen you before?"
"Doubtless. A man of his caliber would acquaint himself with his adversaries for safety's sake. He saw me the night we chased him in the study, and what is more, I made no attempt to disguise myself to-night when he stood there looking at me. That's why he tried to kill me. I read his purpose though and waited until he had flung out his arm to fire, and then I moved aside, but not quite out of range, as you saw," and he glanced at his arm. "But here is Jones. What does the doctor say?"
"He'll pull him around. That black woman of yours is certainly a trump. She's making him some broth. The boy's starved," answered Jones, then he looked at us and grinned. "It's a good thing for you fellows that I happened to be at Headquarters to-night, when your man called us, Mr. Davies. I twigged what was up and had the dope in a second, so I was able to get to you in time."
"I'm eternally grateful to you, Jones, and so is Mr. Davies," returned McKelvie, holding out his hand, which Jones accepted with a sheepish smile. "But for you we might be occupying the river by now."
"Don't say any more," expostulated Jones, as I added my share of gratitude. "It's all part of the job. Well, doctor?"
"He's coming on fine. He's got a good nurse. I'll be around in the morning to have another look at him," said the doctor. "And now my advice to you, sir," turning to McKelvie, "is to get to bed and let that arm have a chance to recover. That was a nasty flesh wound you got. Come along, Jones."
"I'll be around again, too," said Jones, "to hear that young man's story. I don't know what all this has to do with the murder, but his tale should be interesting, to say the least."
We agreed and then went upstairs, where we got rid of our rags and had a good wash. Then McKelvie loaned me a pair of pajamas and a bed, which had never been more welcome to my throbbing head.