CHAPTER XVIIACROSS THE POTOMAC
Aftergetting his special story on the wires, Dick had only time for a hasty meal at a down-town restaurant. Then he hurried over to theStaroffice, and was soon at work in the city room. About half past nine his chief sent for him.
“This is the busiest Saturday night we’ve had in years,” grumbled Colonel Byrd. “You know Dr. Gibson, superintendent of St. Elizabeth’s, don’t you?” Dick nodded assent. “Well, go over there as quick as you can and see if you can get him to talk. Word has just come in that two of the criminally insane have escaped and are still at large terrorizing the neighborhood. Get all the details, for it is local news and we will feature it.”
St. Elizabeth’s, The U. S. Government Hospital for the Insane, is on Nichols Avenue beyondAnacostia. Anacostia, one of the most beautifully situated suburbs of Washington, is on the Eastern Branch of the Potomac, and directly across from the Navy Yard. The scenery in that vicinity is very fine, and from the extensive grounds about the Insane Asylum there is a wonderful view of the winding Potomac, with Washington and its environs in the distance.
At no time an accessible place even in summer, on that stormy night it was a fearful journey to the Government Reservation; and Dick prepared for his trip with no great alacrity.
Some hours later he stopped, footsore and weary, at the intersection of Sheridan Road and Nichols Avenue and sought shelter from the storm on a porch of a vacant house. He had not only interviewed Dr. Gibson, but, joining one of the searching parties, had been present at the capture of the two escaped lunatics. The pursuit and capture would make a readable story, so, well satisfied with his night’s work, he waited patiently to catch the last carto Washington, which left at eight minutes past one o’clock. It lacked fifteen minutes of that time, so, pulling his coat collar up about his ears, he made himself as comfortable as circumstances permitted.
While waiting, his eyes, grown accustomed to the darkness, discerned a solitary figure coming toward him from Anacostia. When opposite Dick the newcomer paused and, screening himself from the storm behind one of the porch pillars, struck a match. Holding it in the hollow of his two hands, he lighted his pipe. As the tiny flame flared up his face was visible. Dick, too amazed to speak, drew back deeper in the shadow of the friendly porch. With growing curiosity, he watched the slender figure glide rapidly up Nichols Avenue. What was Alfred Clark doing in that neighborhood after midnight?
Dick hesitated. It was obviously his duty to return to theStarwith his story, but a certain furtiveness in Clark’s movements caused all doubt to vanish. Throwing his duty to the winds, he pulled his soft hat low on his head,scrambled down the steps, and turned up Nichols Avenue.
Dick picked his way carefully along the frozen and slippery sidewalk, keeping Clark in view, but not getting close enough to let him suspect that he was being shadowed. On and on they went, past the entrance and the extensive grounds of St. Elizabeth’s, past the few straggling houses marking the outskirts of the little village, and into the more desolate country beyond.
After about twenty minutes’ walking, Clark turned into a lane on his right, and going some distance in the direction of the Potomac River, he suddenly leaped a fence and struck off across country. It was not very easy to follow him in the more open fields, and Dick, fearful of being discovered, dropped far behind. On reaching the top of a slight rise in ground he was dismayed to find that Clark had disappeared. He glanced about him in every direction, but save for himself the field was deserted.
Cursing himself for going on so wild a goosechase, he started forward in the direction he judged Clark might have gone. But his hopes fell when, after trudging along for ten minutes, he found no trace of his quarry. Thoroughly discouraged, he rested for a moment against a rail fence before retracing his way to Anacostia. As his eyes traveled over the low, rolling country, he noticed three trees forming a triangle standing in a field a quarter of a mile away. His heart gave a bound; at last he knew where he was. He could not be mistaken. He hurried over to the trees; yes, he was right, they were the tall poplars which he himself had named “The Three Sisters.” He was on land belonging to Allan Dorsey. While he had accompanied Allan there in the summer, he had never been there in winter or at night. Allan Dorsey, whose paintings were known the world over, had purchased the deserted farm because of the magnificent views which stirred his artist soul. He would work for days at a time in solitude, and only Dick was privileged to come and see him on rare occasions.
“Lord! I wish Allan were there instead ofin Paris,” thought Dick. “He’d give me a high ball for the inner man, and a dry suit for the outer one.” He shivered in his damp clothes. “May the foul fiend seize that Clark! I wonder where in thunder he went to.”
As if in answer to his unspoken question, an idea flashed into his head. The studio! By Jove! that was it; and yet, what in the name of Heaven was Clark doing in so deserted and forsaken a place?
There was but one way to find out and suiting the action to his thought, Dick walked in the direction of the old barn which had been converted into a roomy and up-to-date studio. It stood some distance from the “Three Sisters,” hidden from view by a grove of trees.
Dick cautiously approached the building. There was no sign of life or human habitation. The heavy, old-fashioned wooden shutters were tightly closed, but as Dick bent and placed his ear against the wide door, he distinctly heard the sound of several voices. Certain now that he was on the right track, and hiscuriosity at fever heat, he paused to think over the situation.
The rain and sleet had stopped some time before, and the wind was dying down. Suddenly he thought of the skylight Allan had built into the roof of the barn to obtain a better light. If he could climb up there he could see all that was going on inside the studio. To think was to act with Dick; his blood was up and he was determined to see the adventure through, whatever the consequences. Taking off his coat and shoes and hiding them behind a large bowlder, he proceeded to climb a tree whose limbs stretched out close to the roof of the barn. He hated to trust his weight to the slender limb, but there was no other way to accomplish his object. So, putting his trust in Providence, he crept along until just parallel with the chimney, then dropped lightly as a cat to the shingled roof.
Very gingerly and softly he crawled forward on hands and knees to the skylight. Gently he ran his hand over the portion of the glass frame nearest him. Joy of joys; one of thepanes of glass was out, and his hand passed through the opening and touched the large Holland shade which was drawn over the inside of the skylight. Light was visible around the edges of the shade; that was all he could discover. He pulled out his penknife and gently cut an opening in the green shade, and applied his eye to the hole.
Seated directly beneath him around a table were four masked men. Their voices carried distinctly in the closed room to where he crouched above them. To his great surprise they spoke in Italian, a language with which he was fairly familiar, having studied it with a view to going into the Consular Service.
The smallest man of the four placed a square box in the center of the table.
“Draw,” he said briefly. “The one who gets the marked card is accepted by the Brotherhood as its Avenger.”
One by one four hands were slipped inside of the small opening in the end of the box and silently withdrawn, holding a card at which each glanced indifferently. Dick could not tellfrom their quiet movements which had drawn the fatal card. The leader rapped softly on the table before speaking.
“Our plans are now perfected,” he said. “There can be no failure. In this country of the free we, children of the Camorra, can wreak its vengeance upon those who have thwarted our society. The Grand Duke Sergius has seen fit to hound certain of our members who have come within his power. The Brotherhood has decreed his death. The Grand Duke, the President, the great men of this country, and the Diplomatic Corps will be assembled five days from now to attend the dedication of the Lincoln Memorial. No better opportunity could be found. The means, I leave to the fortunate holder of the marked card. Remember—the Place and the Hour.”
Dick could hardly believe his ears. The Camorra! Surely he was in some mad dream. So bewildered was he that he missed a few sentences, but his wandering attention was attracted by the excited gestures of the masked man who sat facing the leader.
“You ask for an explanation,” said the latter. “For that you must apply to Giovanni Savelli. The Trevor affair is in his hands. But are you not his direct agent?”
The man’s answer was spoken in so low a tone that Dick, not catching what he said, bent far over the skylight, forgetful of the frailness of the structure. Glass and frame gave way beneath his weight, and, with a resounding crash, Dick fell forward into space.