It was a very crestfallen detective that presented himself at the Fluette home early Friday morning. I had counted so much upon unearthing the ruby myself, assured that through it I must certainly succeed in drawing some betrayal from the murderer, that its loss amounted to a thwarting of all my efforts. My feeling was that of one who has striven and failed—failed through a solitary act of gross carelessness.
But if I was dejected, I was no less determined. Only a little more than two days had elapsed since Felix Page met his untimely death; the body had not been interred yet; and I knew that I held in my hands the ends of a net which enveloped all the actors. One of them was guilty. My determination was to be no longer considerate through fear of wounding the innocent. I meant to draw in the lines of the net until everybody's position stood clear and unequivocal; but to that end I must be fortified with one more fragment of information. And here it was that I looked to Genevieve.
A neat-appearing maid admitted me, who seemed to be expecting my arrival, for she conducted me at once up-stairs, above the second story to the third, and to a room in the rear of the house. I wondered a bit at this; but I was more surprised than ever when the open door disclosed Miss Fluette instead of Genevieve. A good many startling experiences were in store for me that morning.
The maid closed the door and left us immediately. I began muttering some words expressive of my pleasure at seeing Miss Fluette able to be up and about; but something in her manner checked the speech. She had not even looked at me. In fact, I quite suddenly realized that she was studiously keeping her eyes averted from mine.
And again, she presented the appearance of one who has recently undergone a strenuous exertion. Her rich, red-gold hair was in disorder; she was breathing deeply, and her cheeks were flushed, though her movements were direct and full of purpose. Then, too, if a man may hazard the guess, I would have said that the lacey, beribboned dressing gown she wore hid her nightdress. The situation was most unusual.
When I entered the room she was standing on one side of the door, precisely as if she had moved aside to make way for me, meaning to depart as soon as I had entered. But she did not. Instead, the instant I crossed the threshold, she advanced quickly to the door. She turned the key, then withdrew it from the lock, and hastened to a chair on the side of the room farthest away from me.
I could not repress a smile—despite my amazement at these proceedings—when I realized that the chair was placed between us as an object of defence. She stood, very erect, behind it, her hand tightly holding the back. She was prepared with a weapon of offence, also. For now her right hand appeared, for the first time, from a fold of her gown; I was startled to see that it held a small, shining revolver. For the first time, too, her hazel eyes met mine, and they burned with a light which, considering the manner of my reception, I was not slow in ascribing to a state of mind bordering upon irresponsibility.
"So I am a prisoner," I said.
"You are," she replied. She clipped the words in an uncompromising way which promised that I was in for a bad quarter of an hour. Where in the world was Genevieve? I wondered. But Miss Belle went on at once, eying me steadily with a hard, stony look.
"I shall get to the point at once. It all depends upon you, whether or not you leave this room alive. It will be for you to choose, and I think you 'll choose the wiser course. I 'm in dead earnest."
She was, whatever her purpose; there was no gainsaying that. I was profoundly curious to learn what that purpose was.
"May I sit down?" I asked, calmly.
She made an impatient gesture with the hand that clutched the chair-back—the hand that held the door-key. But there were two keys in her grasp, I observed. The flowing sleeve of her dressing-gown disclosed a momentary glimpse of white, rounded arm.
"It's useless—useless for you to play for time. I want to know why you have permitted Royal Maillot to be railroaded tojail"—she flung the word at me—"and permitted asnakelike that creature, Burke, to go scathless.
"But, no, I don't care for your motives. You know Royal to be innocent. Between the two who were in that house Tuesday night—Royal, open, frank, and manly; Alexander Burke, sly, secretive, and a coward if ever there was one. What sort of intellect have you that it should make such a choice between these two? Bah! You're either base—in league with the criminals—or a fool."
She stopped for sheer lack of breath. She stood staring at me with all the dignity of an outraged queen, and for once in my life I was so astounded that I was at an utter loss for words. I sank into a nearby chair—without her permission—and for the second or so of the pause, my thoughts flew like lightning.
When Miss Fluette was carried from the Page library the previous day her condition promised a long siege of illness; Dr. De Breen had confirmed my own surmise with a declaration to that effect. Why, then, was she not at this moment in bed, with Genevieve caring for her? I had an engagement with Genevieve; she was expecting me at eight o'clock. Miss Belle's appearance indicated that she had prepared for this meeting with the utmost haste—she had probably risen and donned dressing-gown and slippers after I rang the doorbell. What, then, had she done with Genevieve?
I was not in the least frightened by her display of the pistol. To tell the truth, it was only with much difficulty that I kept from laughing. Still, I did so. The girl was plainly so overwrought that she was fairly frantic, and it would require the utmost circumspection on my part to keep her from precipitating matters before somebody came. The women folks, I fancied, would then need the assistance of a man; but for the present her condition demanded that I be at least considerate.
So I concluded to humor her.
"What is it you wish me to do?" I inquired, not forgetting my dignity.
She waved the insignificant weapon toward a writing desk.
"There are pens and ink and paper," she said, her voice tremulous with suppressed passion. "I want you to write down a plain, straightforward declaration that Royal Maillot is innocent, and then follow it with the reasons why you know him to be innocent—for you have those reasons. Doubtless it will include an exposure of the guilty; very well, this is the time for such a disclosure."
The amazing effrontery of the proposal made me gasp. Suppose I were to tell her that I believed her father to be the guilty man? Heavens and earth! Here was a pretty pass!
"Miss Fluette," I said at length, very gravely, "such a declaration from me would have no more weight than the sheet of paper itself. The matter is entirely out of my hands. Further than to procure the evidence necessary to convict the guilty, I have no influence whatever."
"So!" Her lip curled and her eyes flashed. "You would weave a rope about Royal's neck!"
"I would not," I emphatically disputed. "If Royal Maillot was instrumental in Felix Page's death, he was so innocently. He don't know now—"
She broke in, leaning with intense eagerness across the chair-back.
"Thenwhyis he in prison?" There was a note of triumph in her voice, as if she had me cornered.
"Miss Fluette," I replied earnestly, "will you listen to me for a few minutes? Believe me, there is no occasion for this desperate manner—"
"Iamdesperate."
"Perhaps. I understand your feelings; you and Mr. Maillot have my deepest sympa—"
She cut me short with a rap of the pistol upon the chair-back; I looked to see the thing go off.
"We don't want sympathy," she said through her teeth. "We want justice. And justice we 'll have. Go over there and write!"
She imperiously indicated the desk.
Was a man ever caught in such an absurd predicament! I was truly sober now. I was resolved not to commit myself to anything that would only make me ridiculous; but this passionate, high-strung girl had told only the truth when she warned me that she was in dead earnest. My dilemma was most perplexing—and irritating, too. Could she be made to understand that if I exposed my hand now, before the issue was ripe, that the disclosure might work irreparable injury? Would she comprehend that such a course would immediately drive the guilty inside their defences? Could she be made to see that it was better for her lover to endure a temporary inconvenience, than to be left in a position where he could never be freed from reproach? Perhaps so, but only by showing her where her father stood. I scarcely need point how impossible such a choice was. And in her present mood!
"Where is Miss Cooper?" I asked at last.
She abruptly clutched the hand that held the keys, so that they clicked together.
"Never mind," she flared at me, with a stamp of her foot. "Obey me."
"And if I don't?"
And now she levelled the pistol at me. She threw back her head and her lips curved.
"I 'll shoot," she announced, in a tense tone. "So help me, I 'll shoot."
"I 'll shoot," she announced in a tense tone, "so help me, I 'll shoot.""I 'll shoot," she announced in a tense tone, "so help me, I 'll shoot."
"I 'll shoot," she announced in a tense tone, "so help me, I 'll shoot.""I 'll shoot," she announced in a tense tone, "so help me, I 'll shoot."
For a moment we confronted each other, I utterly nonplussed, every line of the girl's figure breathing relentless determination.
"Miss Fluette," I tried to reason with her, "you are beside yourself. Pray don't do anything you 'll regret."
But she stopped me. Her voice was harsh and strained.
"Get up out of that chair. Do as I say."
Should I continue to humor her?—for further parleying was wholly out of the question. And if I wrote anything at all, it would doubtless have to pass her critical inspection—and also into her possession—before she would yield an inch.
I had to decide quickly. I started to shake my head, andbang!—the pistol blazed right into my face.
Heaven knows where the bullet went; I only know that it missed me. Next instant I was too busy to think about how narrow had been my escape. I sprang up agilely enough now, and was only just in time to catch the drooping figure before it fell. As I passed a supporting arm round her, her hair tumbled about her face and over her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, her brow was gathered in a frown, her lips were pinched and livid.
I acted rapidly. She had not fainted—was not wholly unconscious—for she was still putting forth a feeble effort to help herself. I eased her into the chair, behind which she had been standing and into which she now sank limp and silent. Her chin fell forward upon her bosom, and now and then her shoulders rose in a racking, gasping sob.
She let the still smoking pistol drop into my hand. Somewhere below I could hear Genevieve calling wildly and some one pounding away upon a door.
Next I got the keys from Miss Belle's yielding fingers, and soon had the door to the room open. The cries and pounding had ceased, and I surmised that the troop of maids and other servants chattering on the lower stairs and in the second story hall had been attracted to their source. Then a hope came to me that the shot had passed unnoticed.
Well, it transpired that Genevieve was locked in a room on the second floor, much to the amazement of the servants, none of whom, I was thankful to learn, had heard the shot. Genevieve had, though, or I was very much mistaken in the cause of her vigorous effort to attract attention and her present frenzied appeals for some one to break down the door.
"Oh, please, please, don't wait for the key," she was importuning them. "Break in the door—only hurry!"
"Everything's all right, Miss Cooper," I called. A little cry of relief came from beyond the closed portal. "I have the key," I added.
The second key which Miss Fluette had held was the one, and I had the bolt shot in a jiffy. Genevieve ran straight to me and threw herself into my arms.
Whatever it was she meant to say in her first overjoyed transport, remained unsaid; for I unceremoniously clapped a hand over her mouth, picked her up and carried her bodily back into the room, and slammed the door upon the gaping servants.
"They don't know," I said. "Go up-stairs to Belle; she has fainted. The explosion was accidental, and no one was hurt." I was still holding her close in my arms. "God bless you!" I whispered at her ear. And then—
Well, even the exigencies of a memoir do not require that I should set down what occurred then. Genevieve, her cheeks aflame, broke from my embrace and ran out of the room. I heard her light steps upon the stairs, and then the door to the room which had come near being the scene of a tragedy, opened and closed.
Almost at once a summons came from the up-stairs room for Miss Belle's maid. The rest of the servants were dismissed, and Genevieve signalled over the balusters for me to wait.
A very old man, cheerfully garrulous, who announced that he was the butler, took me downstairs.
"The drawing-room—living-room—or if you're of a mind to smoke, sir, Mr. Fluette's study." He indicated each of the rooms mentioned with a little flourish of the hand.
Although I am not a smoker, the word "study" arrested my attention. I indicated my preference. The old man instantly clapped a hand to one ear, and, leaning toward me, shouted into my face, "Hey?" So I decided the matter for myself by striding down the hall to where a door stood invitingly open.
Now perhaps you may consider it to have been the first duty of a traditional detective to take advantage of this opportunity, and perhaps you may be right. However, I believe I can assert, with some measure of authority, that a man in my profession may be a man of principle and honor and still succeed. I believe I may go even further: honest, straightforward conduct and upright dealing, by winning the confidence and respect of those with whom he holds intercourse, will carry a detective farther along the road to success in a given undertaking than any other means he may adopt. Honesty, in my calling as in all others, is the best policy.
But there are certain subtle impressions, often difficult to define, which are more potent than foot-prints and thumb-marks. A man's words, for example, are often of far less importance than his manner of uttering them. A man's personality is the stamp by which he declares his status among his fellows, and everybody is entitled to scan it that he may weigh and consider and judge. Hence a man's surroundings bear a thousand tokens of his character; for him to try to obliterate them, to keep them hid, is not to be frank and open, and that in itself invites suspicion.
My sole object in entering Alfred Fluette's study, therefore, was prompted by a hope that I might absorb something of its atmosphere. I did not know the man. Here was the place where he spent his leisure hours, where he unbent and became his normal self. It were indeed strange if I failed to gain some concept of his character.
I leaned against a window-casing, and surveyed the room with much interest. From the appearance of the books on the shelves—they were worn from use, but their coating of dust evidenced neglect—I gathered the idea that the master of the house had once been a bookish man, but that of late he had grown away from such pursuits. Here and there on the wide-topped writing-table were letters and papers in neat piles, while other letters and papers were heaped up and scattered about in the most careless disorder. The ink-well and blotting-pad were scrupulously tidy, but he never troubled to clean his pens after using them, or even to place them in the pen receiver.
To me, all this argued a man whose moral forces were undergoing a slow but certain deterioration; and with a man in Alfred Fluette's position, and with his responsibilities, the possibilities were manifold and ominous. His conscience still had a voice to raise in protest against meddling with his niece's heritage; but he remained deaf to the voice. He could stoop to villainy; but he was not so callous to wrongdoing but that the stooping hurt. Alfred Fluette needed a jolt—somebody to bring him up with a short turn—and I resolved, having the means, to be the one to do it.
As my glance roved hither and thither about the room, it was suddenly arrested and held.
On the writing-table, among a thousand and one odds and ends, was a memorandum calendar. It was in nowise different from scores of other calendars; the date displayed was to-day's, and in the blank space below, written in a large, firm handy appeared a notation.
But this memorandum contained a most peculiar word. Somehow, as my eye encountered it, a thrill ran through me. I could not define it; the thrill was without perceptible meaning, but I felt that the odd word should tell me something. The word was so odd, in fact, that I feared I could not remember it. So I copied it upon the back of an envelope, thus:
TSHEN-BYO-YEN.
Immediately under it had been written: "10 o'clock."
Further speculation on the matter was interrupted by Genevieve coming down-stairs. I stepped into the hall when I heard her, and she at once joined me. We went into the living-room.
Her beautiful eyes were round with wonder, her sweet face filled with concern; but before I entered into any explanations, I turned to her and held out my arms.
"First," I whispered, "I want to know whether it is real."
She caught her breath sharply; the color came quickly to her cheeks, a tender light to the blue eyes. She put her hands confidently into mine.
"What has happened to you?" she asked, standing away from me and staring with perplexed solicitude at the testimony of Stodger's barbarous surgery. I had forgotten all about the red-hot poker.
"A mere scratch—a nothing," I made light of it. "I 'll tell you all about it when the time comes. There are too many other things to be disposed of first."
"But—you have been wounded," she persisted, now thoroughly alarmed. And so I had to tell her about the night's adventure, which I did, for the most part shamefacedly enough.
It was a delight to watch the different expressions flit across her lovely countenance, to see them mingle and blend and give way to others—wonder, amazement, awe, horror, terror—I can't begin to name them all. A score of times she interrupted me, but it was always a welcome interruption.
"Stodger 's a trump," I concluded. "Think of him jumping up from a sound sleep and throwing himself into the thick of the fray, without one second's hesitation."
"Y-e-s," she agreed, but there was no enthusiasm in her tone. Then she turned warmly upon me.
"I 'm thinking, though, that you 've been gifted with mighty little sense, Knowles Swift, to have acted so recklessly. The very idea of a sane man creeping through that dark hall and up those dark stairs, and plunging into he knew not what!" She eyed me severely.
"But I did know," I protested meekly. "It was theétagère"
There was a solemn rebuke in the slow shaking of her head. "A man swears so," she sighed, "when he does anything awkward, like that."
I remained discreetly silent.
However, she was too much exercised over my "wound"—as she persisted in calling the scratch on my cheek—and the loss of the ruby to encourage any levity. Honestly, at that moment I cared not a whit for the ruby. Besides, there were consolations which I need not record. Itwasreal—very, very real; and I was the happiest man in the world.
Genevieve was also curious to learn—and very naturally so—what had transpired between Belle and me.
"How is she now?" I parried. I had concluded that when Miss Belle was again her normal self, she would rather have our little episode forgotten.
"Calm as a graven image," was the reply. Grief and anxiety trembled in Genevieve's voice. "But it is a stony, deathlike sort of calm that gives me the creeps. The poor girl is distracted. She wants to be alone; she sent me to you."
"Shesent you," said I, with quick interest. This struck me as being rather curious.
"Oh, I know Belle," said Genevieve. "She probably said some very bitter things to you; now she 's sorry."
I trusted that the impulsive young lady was experiencing some pangs of remorse; but before I confided anything, I learned how Genevieve came to be locked in Belle's room.
Early in the morning Belle had grown quite tranquil, but insisted upon talking. To humor and soothe her, Genevieve, during their talk, asserted that I could be depended upon to save Royal. She also mentioned that I was expected to call.
After breakfast Genevieve had fallen asleep, through sheer weariness. Belle must have risen cautiously, determined to treat with me herself. Her impulsive decision was manifestly arrived at after I rang the bell, because she had had no time to dress.
Soon after, Genevieve had awakened with a start, to find herself locked in and the bell-button dug out of its socket. She could not summon the servants without creating an uproar. She soon surmised something of what Belle had in mind, but never, until she heard the muffled report of the pistol, had she dreamed that the frenzied girl contemplated anything so desperate and rash.
Well, I softened the matter as much as I could for Miss Belle, making it very clear that I realized from the start that she was not responsible, and that I had been most of the time engaged in calming her and trying to persuade her to return to her room. I even stretched a point about the shooting; I feared that Genevieve would never forgive her for that. I said it had occurred—without intent—while I was struggling with her; which, after all, was perhaps not far from the truth.
"Why should Miss Belle have any reason for despising Alexander Burke?" I asked during our conference, for the girl's patent abhorrence of the fellow stuck in my mind.
Genevieve's expression became all at once very grave. For a moment she sat silent, toying with a plait of her skirt; then she looked up at me, saying soberly:
"It is one of the things that I shouldn't talk about. Still—I don't know," she faltered. "It is Burke alone who has roused her resentment." Then she decided.
"I will tell you this much: She overheard a conversation between him and her father. It filled her with loathing for the fellow—that and—and something else."
"I shall not try to force your confidence, my dear girl," I said. "Tell me only what you think you ought."
"Belle trusts me implicitly," she said simply.
"And I want her to continue to. The something else that makes her loathe him—are you free to speak of that?"
"It's nothing; it's ridiculous." She laughed nervously. "He has tried to make love to her.Ugh!" She shuddered at the idea.
"The dickens he has!"
Such a thought had never entered my head; it was impossible to imagine that slippery rascal in the role of an ardent lover. His blood was as cold as a fish's. But now I understood the fellow's animus toward Maillot; his hatred was inspired by jealousy. Belle had never spoken of the matter to Maillot—mortification was potent to hold this confidence in check—but he had instinctively distrusted and disliked Burke in return.
I could not bring myself to confide in my lovely coadjutor my convictions respecting her uncle. I learned that he had left the house that morning at an hour unusually early for him, and I thought at once of the queer memorandum on his calendar. He was still very much worried, declared Genevieve, and when at home kept more and more to himself as time went by. Mrs. Fluette was asleep after the night's ordeal with her daughter.
"If Royal were free to come after her," said Genevieve, not without some bitterness, "he could carry Belle away this very minute; there would be nobody to say him nay. Poor boy!"
"It is more than likely that he shall soon," I offered in dubious comfort. And then we got down to the purpose of my call.
"Do you know where your aunt and uncle were married?" I asked.
"Yes. It was in a little town in Ohio—"
"Merton," said I.
"That's it! But how did you know?"
I smiled at her surprise. "It's Felix Page's birth-place; the rest was inference."
She waited with ill-concealed curiosity for what was to follow. I found it necessary to hold her hands—both of them—while I told her.
"Would you mind making a journey there?—at once—to-day?"
Her eyes opened wide; even her sweet lips parted; but she waited.
And now I found it really essential to put my arm around her and draw her to me—she was too agitated to hear otherwise what I had to say. I hastened to explain how impossible it was for me to leave the city just at the time, what with my anxiety to recover the ruby and the necessity of keeping in close touch with Burke.
"I require only one more piece to complete the answer to our riddle," I affirmed,—I really thought so at the time,—"and you can get it for me. Don't bother your aunt; she will keep back all essentials, anyway. Your uncle and aunt and Felix Page all came from the same town, and there you can find plenty of old gossips who can—they 'll be only too willing to—give you all the information you want. They 'll give you more; but we can winnow the wheat from the chaff after you get back. Do you feel equal to such an undertaking?"
The proposal appeared to overcome her. She considered for a time, then turned to me, her eyes dancing, her cheeks flushed.
"Yes," she said, with bated breath. "I can't do Belle any good; she only wants to be alone. What do you want me to do?"
"Dig up every scrap of family history that you can—the Pages', the Fluettes', and the Coopers'; especially as they affect one another. Being a Cooper yourself, the task should be easy for you; you are compiling a family-tree, you know."
Genevieve gave me a sly look, and retorted:
"'When first we practise to deceive'—"
"Oh, no," I assured her. "If you do your work thoroughly, you certainly will have a complete family-tree. So there 's no deception about it."
Well, it was finally settled that she would go, and that she would report the result of her journey to me as soon as possible.
She then elicited a confession of my inability to solve the cipher—which confession was yielded up to the accompaniment of an exceedingly sour smile.
"That old house is a hoodoo," I said bitterly. "I have failed in everything I ever undertook inside its walls. The rest of the chase will be pursued on the outside."
"And you did n't even find the little daisy what-you-may-call-'ems—the originals, I mean?" She meant the crazy designs on the cipher.
"I did not."
Genevieve laughed.
"Wait till I get back. I mean to have a try at our cryptograph. If the daisies are in the old Page place, I 'll find them."
"They 're there, all right. I 'm sure you 're welcome to try—if you 'll let me assist in the search."
She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. "Hmf! A lot of assistance I can look for fromyou." Her tone was emphatically disparaging. "No, I 'll find them by myself. But I 'd be afraid to stay—for long—alone in that empty house."
I cared not in what capacity I served, just so I might be with her.
After making me promise that I would have the scratch on my face attended to at once, she sent me away.
I had not proceeded far toward town when I discovered that somebody was dogging my steps.
It required some little time for me to determine that my shadow was one of the "Japanese"; for it was a most intangible and elusive shadow. Whatever else I might think of these worthies, I could not deny that their ability to hang on a man's trail, and at the same time keep themselves well-nigh invisible, amounted positively to genius. With all my doubling back and lurking in doorways around corners, the fellow never came up to where I could get a good view of him.
Of course it occurred to me that here was a chance to attempt a capture. But was it? The fellow was so slippery and artful that I risked a greater chance of losing him altogether. And then, to capture one of the quintet—or whatever their number might be—would more likely than not merely serve as a warning for the ring-leader of the crowd. Doubtless I could drag nothing at all from the fellow, even though I did succeed in laying hands upon him. If he had been set to watch me he would continue to do so unless I scared him away. I resolved to let him alone for the time being; but the first thing I did after reaching Dr. De Breen's offices was to ring up headquarters and request the Captain to send a man to get on my shadow's trail.
The doctor gave me a bad half-hour. The instant he was through I hurried to a window to learn how events were progressing in the street. Before I had time to ascertain whether my shadow was still on duty, or whether the Central Office man had showed up, my whole attention was absorbed by the appearance of two familiar figures on the opposite side. They were Mr. Fluette and Alexander Burke, walking along together in the most intimate manner imaginable.
I glanced at my watch; it still lacked a minute or two of ten, the hour Mr. Fluette had jotted on his calendar along with the extraordinary memorandum. Inasmuch as he and his strangely chosen companion were moving rapidly, it was a reasonable assumption that he was even then on his way to keep his engagement.
For a moment I stood irresolute. I was very anxious to follow the twain to the rendezvous, while at the same time I did not want to lose my shadow. I glanced eagerly up and down the street, studying the hurrying crowd on the walk, but could not see him anywhere. Then I hurried out to the elevator, and within the next minute was dropped to the ground floor.
I was obliged to walk fast to get within range of Fluette and Burke again—not an easy thing to do among the crowd—but still I could see nothing of my headquarters man, nor of the Jap. And right then I perceived the last mentioned. He had manifestly only at that instant caught up with the speculator and his companion—though why I had failed to see him before I can't imagine—and he was evidently addressing one or the other, or both of them.
It seemed to me that the fellow was trying to make his presence as inconspicuous as possible. He strode stolidly along, close behind them, looking into the shop windows and apparently not noticing the two men at all. Yet I knew that he was talking to them. I could tell by the surprised way with which both Fluette and Burke swung round and stared at him.
I quickened my steps. Yes, the Oriental was talking, and talking volubly. And, if I might judge by the consternation and anger reflected in the faces of his two auditors, his message was anything but welcome. That is to say, Alfred Fluette's strong features showed these emotions, while, as always, it was difficult to read what was going on behind Burke's impassive mask. Still it was pretty plain that the secretary was utterly at his wits'-end.
At last the three stopped at a corner, where they moved up close to the building to avoid the rush of pedestrians. I dared not draw near enough to hope to hear any of their conversation; I could do no more than watch from a distance, trusting to their absorption to keep them oblivious of my proximity.
Both were now excitedly questioning the Jap, who seemed to be wholly unmoved by their agitation. Presently Fluette turned angrily upon Burke. From his manner it was not difficult to imagine that he was soundly berating the secretary, who, whenever he could make himself heard, was just as plainly attempting to present some extenuating argument.
The entire episode was perplexing enough, but what immediately ensued caught me unawares. Without the least warning the trio separated, each hurrying away in a different direction. At this critical juncture a voice said, right at my ear:
"Shall I stick to Burke?—or follow one of the others?"
I jerked my head round to confront Fanshawe, the man detailed to keep Burke under surveillance. I had not observed him before—not surprising, since he had just caught up with me—but I welcomed his presence now.
"Stay with your own man," I shot at him, and turned to look for the Jap. He was gone.
To make the account of this discomfiting episode as brief as possible, I shall say, merely, that out of the three men whom we were watching, two of them walked away from under our very noses without our having the slightest idea in which direction they went. How did they do it? The momentary diversion occasioned by Fanshawe's arrival, the brief distraction of our attention, had been sufficient. He lost track of Burke, and I never had so much as another glimpse of the Jap.
We had the assistance of another headquarters man, too. The one for which I had telephoned showed up immediately after Fanshawe addressed me. The last-named skurried away to find Burke, while Pennington, my other colleague, and I devoted our efforts to catching the Jap.
"One of those Japs has been shadowing me all morning, Pennington," I advised him. "He 's as shifty and evasive as a fox. Fall half a block behind me, and if he shows up again give me a signal and close in. I want him."
But he did n't show up.
It was humiliating to be outwitted by the Oriental—it was the second time for me, too; it would be calamitous to lose Burke. The day dragged along, and when each succeeding minute brought no news of him my anxiety increased by leaps and bounds. Before nightfall, every available man in the department was scouring the city for the ex-secretary.
Subsequent events, however, showed that we might have spared ourselves all the trouble and worry; for one more pertinacious even than Fanshawe clung to Alexander Burke's heels all that day and night.
I found time during my purposeless running to and fro to learn that Alfred Fluette had arrived at his brokers' offices in Quincy Street shortly after ten, where he remained until the Board of Trade closed, and that Genevieve had left on an afternoon train for a brief visit with relatives in Merton, Ohio. Fluette had failed in his engagement; Genevieve had kept hers.
Some time after dark I boarded a Sheridan Park car, and rode out to the Page place; I don't now know why, unless it was because of the disastrous turn affairs had taken, and that I hoped, in this dismal, dispiriting environment, to find a balm for my depressed feelings.
It was only that morning, in the midst of a blinding snow-storm, thoroughly disheartened by the loss of the ruby, that Stodger and I had left the old house; but as I approached it that night, it bore every appearance of having been abandoned for years instead of only a few hours. No smoke curled from the chimneys; no light gleamed at any of the windows. In its white setting of snow, it loomed silent and spectral.
In the afternoon I had turned the keys over to Mr. Page's lawyer, and how I hoped to effect an entrance—if I had any such intention at all—I have long since forgotten. It may have been because it was here that I first met Genevieve, that I came mooning through the cold and snow. She was gone upon a journey; I knew that I could not see her for days; and perhaps I thought to find some companionship in the more intimate associations clustered about the dreary spot. At any rate, here I was. And I saw nothing else for me to do than to turn round and go back to town again.
However, I started to enter the gate. Next instant I stopped short. The snow bore other tracks besides Stodger's and mine—tracks pointing toward the house instead of away from it. They were fresh, made since the snow ceased.
I advanced a little farther into the yard, where the tracks had not been obliterated by pedestrians on the sidewalk, and soon comprehended that they had been made by two men. Were they in the house now? And if so, who were they? What errand could be so pressing that it would bring anybody here on such a night?
My indifference and discouragement fell away from me in a flash. Cautiously I followed the trail up to the front steps, where at first I fancied it disappeared upon the porch. Still I could not see a glint of light, nor did the most attentive harkening favor me with the slightest sound.
It occurred to me while I stood pondering on the porch that, after all, Mr. White—Felix Page's lawyer—might have been responsible for the tracks in the snow. It was possible that he had sent somebody to look after the place; a caretaker, perhaps, who would stay here until a disposition could be made of the property.
But this idea no sooner occurred than it was dismissed. All at once I noticed that one pair of foot-prints, instead of mounting the porch steps, had turned to one side. They led off to the east, and disappeared round the wing in that direction. The two persons had not come in company; the first, I presently concluded, had carried a key, and the second had been following him. There were no retreating impresses to indicate that either had departed.
I tiptoed to the front door and turned the knob. The door did not yield. Then for the first time I recalled the window which our housebreakers had forced the night before; unless the latch had been repaired during the day, it would be an easy matter to gain access to the dining-room, which was located in the western wing.
Now it was the eastern wing or gable which sheltered the library, the conservatory, and Mr. Page's bedroom, and it was thither the second man's foot-prints led. I followed them round the corner of the house.
From their appearance it was easy to trace all the mysterious intruder's movements. Evidently after the door had closed behind the first arrival, Number Two had stood for some time at the east end of the porch. Then he had moved toward the same end of the house, pausing at every window and trying the sash to ascertain whether it was fastened. Turning at the corner, he had proceeded along the side of the house, still testing the windows and bestowing particular attention upon the glass conservatory. This was true of every window as far as the bedroom, at least; beyond that I did not explore. Just as I drew opposite the first of the bedroom windows I came to an abrupt halt.
There was a light in the room.
Nor was this all. Some person was in the room, too, and by the silhouette on the blind I could see that he was industriously applying himself to some task, the nature of which I could not determine. The longer I watched the shadow on the blind, the more puzzled I grew. I could imagine no occupation that would account for such singular actions.
The shadow was a man's; I could distinguish that much. He appeared to be bending over something, while his hands flew hither and thither, as if they were performing a quick-step upon a piano. But no sound of music came from the lighted room.
It would be impossible to say how long I stood there, the snow nearly to my knees, fascinated by the remarkable antics of that shadow. Then of a sudden the hands ceased flying. The man straightened and became motionless, as if startled by some unexpected sound.
Well, perhaps within the next second he knew what had alarmed him; I 'm sure that I did not. The shadow flashed away from the blind. Then my scalp tingled and the blood seemed to freeze in my veins.
From within the room there came a most unearthly cry. It was weird, terrifying, utterly unlike anything I had ever heard—save once. For it was a repetition of the wild, inhuman note that had thrilled me when I first dashed open the bath room door the previous night.
The terrible cry was not immediately repeated, but for a while the utmost confusion prevailed within. I could hear furniture knocked and slammed about, a tumult of stamping, scraping feet, and once—for the briefest moment—another shadow was projected upon the blind.
It was a hideous, squat, dwarfish shadow. Two long gorilla-like arms were upraised in an abandonment of fury. Then came that awful, blood-curdling scream again, and the shadow's owner seemed to plunge headlong forward.
Another crash followed. The light was suddenly blotted out. The silence was once more absolute.
It was Friday afternoon when Genevieve started on her mission; the following Wednesday morning I received a telegram from her announcing that she would be home that same afternoon. The interim was so uneventful that my note-book mentions only two incidents as being worthy of preservation.
Late Friday night the welcome news came to headquarters that Alexander Burke had been found. He appeared at his lodgings shortly before midnight, looking wretchedly ill and exhausted. Saturday morning a physician was called in, and the whilom secretary was not able to appear upon the streets again until Tuesday. Then it was observed that a change had come over the man. His impassivity had been penetrated at last; it could no longer hide a nervousness and apprehension which kept his head perpetually pivoting in backward glances across his shoulder.
I smiled with satisfaction when Fanshawe told me this.
"Stay with him," I said; "it makes no difference whether or not he knows that you are always close behind him. In fact, I want him to know it; I want to break that man, and I will."
The other incident referred to was a meeting I succeeded in securing between Maillot and Miss Belle—memorable for me as being the first occasion upon which I was favored with a glimpse of Mrs. Fluette.
Sunday afternoon mother and daughter drove up to headquarters in the family carriage. Although the girl had been tactful enough to eschew a heavy veil and sombre apparel, it was plain to be seen that the event was almost too great an ordeal for even her proud and dauntless spirit.
Belle descended from the carriage hesitantly, and then stood looking about with an air of such helpless terror that I approached—I had previously resolved to keep myself effaced during the visit—and conducted her into the Captain's private office, where Maillot was waiting. She gave me an embarrassed, beseeching glance, and murmured a barely audible "Thank you." No more was said. She faltered an instant on the threshold, then, sobbing, rushed in. I made haste to close the door and rejoin Mrs. Fluette.
This lady was slight and frail, with hair as white as snow, and about her there hung an intangible something which gave me the impression that she was a woman who had suffered much. Although I strove to speak cheerfully of the prospects of Maillot's early release, her manner was quite discouraging to all my overtures. When she spoke at all it was only in the faintest of monosyllables—usually with her eyes avoiding mine. She looked at me, when at all, shyly, started at every unusual sound, and trembled during the whole time she sat in the Captain's big easy-chair.
At the end of the allotted half-hour—I was n't very particular over the number of minutes—Mrs. Fluette's increasing nervousness and impatience moved me to rap upon the private-room door. Belle emerged, her cheeks white and her eyes swollen with weeping. The poor girl pressed my hand when I helped her into the carriage—clung to it despairingly, to be exact—and the tears again gushed to her eyes.
"This is killing me!" she moaned. "Oh, it is! it is! I can't stand it much longer."
"Courage, Miss Fluette," I undertoned assuasively. "Everything is working for the best, believe me."
Ah, but was it? I could not say the words with much assurance. They drove away, two sad, harassed women.
Touching again upon Wednesday afternoon, I was pretty sure that the Fluette carriage would meet Genevieve at the station—very likely with Belle, or possibly Mrs. Fluette. In anticipation of this contingency I had sent a note to the house with the request that she find an excuse to meet me at the earliest possible moment, for I was all impatience to hear her report.
But Genevieve had anticipated also. She arrived armed with a commission from the Ohio cousin, the performance of which would brook no delay. So I had a minute alone with her downtown. She had been thoughtful enough to record a detailed statement of her investigations; it lies before me now as I write; and I shall condense from it those portions that are essential to advancing this chronicle.