Chapter IX.The First SkirmishTo my disappointment, there was very little in the desk. A few old letters, an invitation or two, some receipts and a couple of blank income-tax return forms were all that my first search revealed. But having come there with so much difficulty, I was determined to find it, if there were anything to be found, and going through the desk more carefully a second time disclosed something that might be more valuable. It was a tiny account book; I found it in a little hollow under the blotter.I studied it for a moment there in the silence, by the aid of my little torch, and presently received a shock. For it was half full of names, and these included several of the people whom I knew. After each name was a series of dates, followed by single figures, so that a single entry read something like this:Emily Horton:August 11—2.August 15—3.August 17—2, etc.Suddenly there was a tiny sound from the hall outside, and I instinctively switched off my torch and slipped the little book into my pocket. I turned toward the doorway, which lay in shadow. Then I became conscious that my heart was pounding heavily, for I could see that something was moving in the shadowy corner.“Hands up!”I was blinking in a glare of blinding light, from the suddenly illuminated chandelier, my hands high above my head, and staring into the unwavering muzzle of a large and efficient-looking automatic. The owner of the gun stood just inside the doorway, with two other men flanking him on either side—and a very determined and formidable trio they looked.In the pause that followed I had time to recognize Vining, from Moore’s description, as the man with the gun. I had also time to wonder what had become of my reënforcements in the shape of Larry. Obviously the next move was in either his hands or Vining’s, for I was effectually covered.“Drop one hand and take off that mask!” Vining snapped.I was silent and made no move.“Won’t, eh?” he snarled. “Don’t forget that I’m perfectly justified in killing you where you stand. Just a little pull on this”—he curled his finger suggestively around the trigger for my benefit—“and you’ll be very little trouble, my friend. Are you going to take it off?”The three men were just inside the door. But as Vining spoke he took a step forward into the room and toward me, and his companions came forward with him. The light switch was on the wall, just inside the door, and as Vining advanced I saw a hand steal through the doorway and along the wall in the direction of the switch. Then Larry’s black poll appeared and he beckoned me with his other hand, but he did not turn the switch at once.Vining swore. “—— him! Take that mask off and search him!” he said to his two satellites, who were standing, waiting for orders.I glanced at the two men and wondered. They were swarthy and foreign, with high cheekbones—distinctly Slavic. But as they stepped toward me, a great many things happened at once.For one thing, Larry came fully into view. He had a small rug in his hand. He stepped silently as close as he could to Vining and still reach the switch. Then at one and the same moment the rug sailed over Vining’s head, the light went out, my fist connected with one Slavic jaw, while with my other arm I caught the other assistant around the middle to act as a shield in case Vining’s gun went off. And Larry must have caught Vining from behind, for another loud crash from the other side of the dark room accompanied the bang with which my first victim brought up against the floor. I threw the second Russian down by means of the cross-buttock, with which simple expedient he did not seem familiar, judging by the way he literally fell for it. Then I stumbled over the first Russian and blundered into Larry in the doorway, and together we fled for the front door and the outside world, Larry chuckling richly under his breath.As we crowded through the front door, there came the roar of somebody’s revolver from the room behind us and a scream of pain—and Larry broke into open laughter.“Sure, sor,” he panted, as we fled down the last flight, “they’ll kill each other entirely if we do but lave thim to ut!”“Maybe,” I answered, “but they’ll rouse the whole place about our ears. We’ve got to get out of here—and quick!”The headlights of my car were burning faithfully down the street, and as we hurried toward it, I noticed another, larger car a little farther down, across the street and facing the other way. It had not been there when we came. As we came out from the shadow of the house next door a figure detached itself from the larger car and approached us slowly.“Your mask, Larry,” I warned him, taking off mine at the same time.I paid no particular attention to the man from the other car until he reached us. It was too dark for me to see his face, and too dark, I hoped, for him to see mine. For as we met he glanced at us closely and then, without a word, turned and hurried back to his car.I caught Larry’s arm. “By gad, that looks like more of them. Jump in quick!” I told him.I was in the driving seat with Larry tumbling in behind me before the stranger reached his own car. But just as I slipped in the clutch something whistled between Larry and me, and a section of glass from my wind-shield leaped into the air and fell on the hood.“Head down, Larry,” I shouted, as we gathered speed. Then I looked back.The other car was drawn across the road, with the front wheels on the sidewalk, in the act of turning. It looked enormous in the dim light, and I could see that it had more than one occupant, though how many I could not tell. Another bullet whistled over our heads, perilously close, but there came no sound of an explosion.“Air-guns again, Larry,” I shouted, above the roar of my open cut-out. “If we’re to save our skins we’ve got to shake them.”Fortunately Park Avenue, when we reached it, was clear for the moment and we drove across, heading for Fifth. Larry looked back this time, for I had to watch the wheel.“They’re at Park now, sor,” he shouted. “They’re stuck in the thraffic, I—no, sor, they’re through—and coming like the wind!” he added.I was pretty sure of being able to shake them off, for my little car could do sixty easily, being well engined and heavily built, and that was as fast as any car would dare go under any circumstances, in the city, I thought. But Larry had a better idea.“Tis a big, long cyar, they have, sor. ’Twill take them long to turn corners, I’m thinkin’,” he shouted.By the time we reached Madison Avenue the big car was about a hundred feet behind us and gaining rapidly. Again the street was clear luckily, and I swung round the corner to the right on two wheels. The pursuing car turned more slowly, as Larry had surmised, and by the time I turned east again, it was just getting into speed on Madison Avenue.I was well down the block toward Park Avenue again when the long hood swung round the corner of Madison, and it looked very much as if we could get away by constantly turning corners.But we were both of us mad to count on our luck holding so long, for at Park Avenue I met a phalanx of three cars abreast, going south, and by the time I was able to turn south on Park Avenue, the big car was close behind. Fortunately there was one car between, for our pursuers again took long in turning.As it turned into Park behind us, Larry looked back again. “There’s three of them in the car, sor. Must be their lucky number.” At all events Larry was always a cheery companion.But now I did not dare turn out again, they were too close. By reckless driving that brought a shout from more than one other car, I managed to keep my lead and even to lengthen it by passing another car. But as we swept up on the viaduct around the Grand Central, the big car nosed its way back to third place again.Larry leaned close to me. “Can you make a left-hand turn, sor?” he asked eagerly. “Can ye get to Third Avenue?”“What for?”“I’ve an idea, sor. I think we can give thim a lesson if you can get to the L.”I had no idea what Larry had up his sleeve, and I had to watch my driving too closely to find out. Besides, by the time we dipped down to Fourth Avenue again, at 40th Street, the pursuing car had crept still closer, so I had no chance to turn either way.The traffic was thinning out, too, and remembering the recklessness of our pursuers, I felt the skin crawling on the back of my head, where I expected a better-aimed bullet almost any moment.However, either they had grown more cautious or they had made certain that they could catch us without difficulty, for as far as I know they did not fire again.At 34th Street I had a stroke of luck. I got across just before the traffic cop blew his whistle, and while I do not suppose that would have stopped our pursuers, there was another car in between which pulled up and obliged them to stop to avoid a collision.The traffic cop called after me, but I was much too busy to pay attention at the moment. “We’ve beat them, sor, we’ve beat them. Now where, sor?” cried Larry.“We’ll twist about a bit, Larry, and try to throw them off the scent entirely,” I answered.At 32nd Street I turned west. Then, at Madison, having plenty of time, I made a left-hand turn, going south again, as I imagined that they would immediately expect me to go north.After that I twisted in and out, gradually working south until I reached Broadway and Union Square. Here I turned east, intending to run down to Third Avenue and so run north, and as I passed Lexington Avenue, a long, black hood shot out and made for my rear wheels, and it was only by stepping on the accelerator that I avoided the nastiest kind of a turnover smash-up. Either our pursuers were mind-readers or it was the worst of bad luck.The other car swung in behind us at once, and in order to avoid being overtaken then and there, and probably shot at close quarters, I made a quick right-hand turn into Third Avenue, ran along beside a street car and shot in front of it, perilously close to an L pillar.I intended to make another right-hand turn almost at once, but Larry had another idea. “Now we’re here, sor, shtick to the L. Ye can wind in and out until we get to the Bowery, and then—then Oi’ll finish thim, or me name ain’t Larry Malloy!”My own idea was to trust to my luck and try turning corners again. But Larry seemed so sure of his plan that I decided to risk it, although, if I had realized its bloodthirsty nature, I might have hesitated.The others were held up for a moment or two behind the street car and before they could catch us again, I had turned into the broad open sweep of the Bowery, the scene of my first meeting with Larry.I slowed up a little and looked back. The pursuing car was half a block behind and overtaking us rapidly.“This is as good a place as another, sor,” said Larry grimly. “Duck yer head as much as ye can and lave thim catch us. Most like they’ll try to come up alongside, and that’s what I’m afther.” He was fumbling with his kit of tools under his coat, and a moment later I caught the dull flash of light from a heavy, blue-steel jemmy.The whole street was deserted before us as the other car came purring up behind. We were on the car tracks and doing about thirty-five miles an hour. The other car must have been doing at least forty-five or fifty.Sure enough it came up close behind and then nosed out on to the north-bound car tracks, evidently with the idea of running up alongside. But as I turned out to the left, Larry rose suddenly in his seat, turned half round, and I saw his arm flash back with the jemmy in it. There came a clatter of glass from the pursuing car, a wild scream, and then the most horribly roaring crash that I have ever heard.I glanced over my shoulder and saw the jemmy fly true to the wind-shield and through it, just as the car turned out. It must have caught the driver squarely in the face, for the car kept straight on its diagonal course.My last sight of it, looking back, was a huge car, reared up with its front half-way to the top of a badly buckled L pillar, its front axle bent almost double, so that wheels clasped the pillar and a limp body, hanging head downward, across the hood.For sheer horror I very nearly pulled up. But people were hurrying to the crash from all directions, more than one police whistle was blowing, and Larry was plucking at my sleeve.“There,” he said, “that’ll tache ’em a lesson to come murtherin’ honest citizens!”But there was an awe in his voice none the less. For death had come very suddenly to the men behind us there.We turned off into a side street presently, and so, driving slowly and cautiously, made our way home again. But Larry and I did not talk much on the way back.I let him put the car away, while I went on to my rooms alone. To my amazement it was only ten-thirty, though I felt as though I had lived through a week at least since I left that afternoon. I was rather shaky. I had seen death many times in the war, but somehow the circumstances had been more natural and inevitable then.When I reached my sitting-room I sat down in front of the table to rest a moment before telephoning my news to Moore. Larry had left a couple of letters where I could see them, and the sight of one of them set my thoughts leaping into another channel. I had never seen her handwriting before, but somehow I knew from whom that pale blue envelope, addressed in a dainty sloping hand, had come.I opened it quickly. It was dated the same day and must have been written and mailed that morning.“Dear Mr. Clayton,“A promise is a promise, in spite of the conventions. Mrs. Fawcette is giving a luncheon party for me to-morrow (Friday), and has promised that Mr. Ivanovitch will be present. Better still, he is to supply something very wonderful in the way of a new drink, though whether it is to be some more of ‘that wonderful tea’ or not I do not know.“If you would care to come to ordinary tea at my house, or, rather my aunt’s house, to-morrow afternoon, about four o’clock, I will tell you all about it, as I promised.“Sincerely yours,“Natalie Van Cleef.”I pulled some paper toward me and wrote her a somewhat longer reply, accepting the invitation. I even took the risk of begging her in a more or less veiled way to be careful. When the letter was finished, I took it out and put it down the hall shute myself. Then I went back to look at my other letter. But from the events of the evening to the dainty missive that lay open on my desk was a gap that brought the former into lurid relief, while lending them also a touch of unreality. It did not seem possible, there in my quiet rooms, with that dainty letter before me, that I had just returned from a flight for my life that ended in death for some one.Presently I glanced at the other letter. It was in a plain envelope and was typewritten.Here it is:“Dear Clayton,“RTIEZQVLOTKGGDXGNZETHLXLDTIZZTSGZZGFSXYTKQENKTCTW.”For a moment I took it for a practical joke. Then I remembered a simple cipher which Moore had arranged with the Chief, and I carried the note in to where the Underwood typewriter stood in my study. First, I took a sheet of paper and, counting from the first letter of the keyboard, top row, left, I put down on the paper the numbers, reading left to right and from the top row down, which corresponded to the letters.Thus the first letter, R, was the fourth letter in the first row. So I put down 4. The next letter, T, was the fifth letter in the first row, so I put down 5. The next letter, I, was 8, E was 3, Z was 20, etc.Reading in this way, I got:4, 5, 8, 3, 20, 1, 23, 19, 9, 5, 18, 15, 15, 13, 21, 15, 25, 20, 3, 5, 16, 19, 21, 19, 13, 5, 8, 20, 20, 5, 12, 15, 20, 20, 15, 14, 12, 21, 6, 5, 1, 3, 25, 18, 5, 22, 5, 2.By an ordinary alphabetic table, which I had prepared, with A as 1, B as 2, C as 3, etc., I found that these numbers represented the following letters:D, E, H, C, T, A, W, S, I, E, R, O, O, M, U, O, Y, T, C, E, P, S, U, S, M, E, H, T, T, E, L, O, T, T, O, N, L, U, F, E, R, A, C, Y, R, E, V, E, B.Reading these backward, I got the message:BEVERYCAREFULNOTTOLETTHEMSUSPECTYOUMOOREISWATCHED.Separated into words:“Be very careful not to let them suspect you. Moore is watched.”When I had finished taking in the full meaning of this message, which undoubtedly came from the Chief, I realized, with a new sense of confidence, that the Secret Service was not only back of us, but keeping closely in touch.Then I went to call up Moore. He answered the ’phone at once, and listened without a word while I told him of our adventures that night and the finding of the little book. When I had finished he whistled softly.“Look here, Clayton,” he said, “this thing is getting pretty serious. They had a whirl at me to-day. At least, somebody did their best to run over me twice this afternoon. I think we had better meet for once, if you can manage to get to me without being followed and I can get to you. I think you’d better bring Larry too. This is what I’ve doped out. You and Larry take a taxi and drive slowly through the Park from 59th Street and Fifth Avenue toward the 72nd Street gate, West Side. On the way you’ll stop and pick me up on an open space, if I am walking bareheaded. If not, do not stop, even if you see me. If I do not turn up or if my hat is on, it will mean that I have been followed, so don’t worry. But I think I can shake them off in the open. Will you do that?”“Of course I will,” I told him. “What time?”“About 2.30. Then, if we don’t meet, come back to your rooms and call me at about four. I’ll be waiting.”“All right, Moore, old man. I’ll do that. Good-night!”“Good-night.”So we rang off, and after slipping Vining’s little notebook under the blotter on my table, I went to bed, telling Larry to see that our front door was locked and the chain was up. But I did not get to sleep very quickly.
To my disappointment, there was very little in the desk. A few old letters, an invitation or two, some receipts and a couple of blank income-tax return forms were all that my first search revealed. But having come there with so much difficulty, I was determined to find it, if there were anything to be found, and going through the desk more carefully a second time disclosed something that might be more valuable. It was a tiny account book; I found it in a little hollow under the blotter.
I studied it for a moment there in the silence, by the aid of my little torch, and presently received a shock. For it was half full of names, and these included several of the people whom I knew. After each name was a series of dates, followed by single figures, so that a single entry read something like this:
Suddenly there was a tiny sound from the hall outside, and I instinctively switched off my torch and slipped the little book into my pocket. I turned toward the doorway, which lay in shadow. Then I became conscious that my heart was pounding heavily, for I could see that something was moving in the shadowy corner.
“Hands up!”
I was blinking in a glare of blinding light, from the suddenly illuminated chandelier, my hands high above my head, and staring into the unwavering muzzle of a large and efficient-looking automatic. The owner of the gun stood just inside the doorway, with two other men flanking him on either side—and a very determined and formidable trio they looked.
In the pause that followed I had time to recognize Vining, from Moore’s description, as the man with the gun. I had also time to wonder what had become of my reënforcements in the shape of Larry. Obviously the next move was in either his hands or Vining’s, for I was effectually covered.
“Drop one hand and take off that mask!” Vining snapped.
I was silent and made no move.
“Won’t, eh?” he snarled. “Don’t forget that I’m perfectly justified in killing you where you stand. Just a little pull on this”—he curled his finger suggestively around the trigger for my benefit—“and you’ll be very little trouble, my friend. Are you going to take it off?”
The three men were just inside the door. But as Vining spoke he took a step forward into the room and toward me, and his companions came forward with him. The light switch was on the wall, just inside the door, and as Vining advanced I saw a hand steal through the doorway and along the wall in the direction of the switch. Then Larry’s black poll appeared and he beckoned me with his other hand, but he did not turn the switch at once.
Vining swore. “—— him! Take that mask off and search him!” he said to his two satellites, who were standing, waiting for orders.
I glanced at the two men and wondered. They were swarthy and foreign, with high cheekbones—distinctly Slavic. But as they stepped toward me, a great many things happened at once.
For one thing, Larry came fully into view. He had a small rug in his hand. He stepped silently as close as he could to Vining and still reach the switch. Then at one and the same moment the rug sailed over Vining’s head, the light went out, my fist connected with one Slavic jaw, while with my other arm I caught the other assistant around the middle to act as a shield in case Vining’s gun went off. And Larry must have caught Vining from behind, for another loud crash from the other side of the dark room accompanied the bang with which my first victim brought up against the floor. I threw the second Russian down by means of the cross-buttock, with which simple expedient he did not seem familiar, judging by the way he literally fell for it. Then I stumbled over the first Russian and blundered into Larry in the doorway, and together we fled for the front door and the outside world, Larry chuckling richly under his breath.
As we crowded through the front door, there came the roar of somebody’s revolver from the room behind us and a scream of pain—and Larry broke into open laughter.
“Sure, sor,” he panted, as we fled down the last flight, “they’ll kill each other entirely if we do but lave thim to ut!”
“Maybe,” I answered, “but they’ll rouse the whole place about our ears. We’ve got to get out of here—and quick!”
The headlights of my car were burning faithfully down the street, and as we hurried toward it, I noticed another, larger car a little farther down, across the street and facing the other way. It had not been there when we came. As we came out from the shadow of the house next door a figure detached itself from the larger car and approached us slowly.
“Your mask, Larry,” I warned him, taking off mine at the same time.
I paid no particular attention to the man from the other car until he reached us. It was too dark for me to see his face, and too dark, I hoped, for him to see mine. For as we met he glanced at us closely and then, without a word, turned and hurried back to his car.
I caught Larry’s arm. “By gad, that looks like more of them. Jump in quick!” I told him.
I was in the driving seat with Larry tumbling in behind me before the stranger reached his own car. But just as I slipped in the clutch something whistled between Larry and me, and a section of glass from my wind-shield leaped into the air and fell on the hood.
“Head down, Larry,” I shouted, as we gathered speed. Then I looked back.
The other car was drawn across the road, with the front wheels on the sidewalk, in the act of turning. It looked enormous in the dim light, and I could see that it had more than one occupant, though how many I could not tell. Another bullet whistled over our heads, perilously close, but there came no sound of an explosion.
“Air-guns again, Larry,” I shouted, above the roar of my open cut-out. “If we’re to save our skins we’ve got to shake them.”
Fortunately Park Avenue, when we reached it, was clear for the moment and we drove across, heading for Fifth. Larry looked back this time, for I had to watch the wheel.
“They’re at Park now, sor,” he shouted. “They’re stuck in the thraffic, I—no, sor, they’re through—and coming like the wind!” he added.
I was pretty sure of being able to shake them off, for my little car could do sixty easily, being well engined and heavily built, and that was as fast as any car would dare go under any circumstances, in the city, I thought. But Larry had a better idea.
“Tis a big, long cyar, they have, sor. ’Twill take them long to turn corners, I’m thinkin’,” he shouted.
By the time we reached Madison Avenue the big car was about a hundred feet behind us and gaining rapidly. Again the street was clear luckily, and I swung round the corner to the right on two wheels. The pursuing car turned more slowly, as Larry had surmised, and by the time I turned east again, it was just getting into speed on Madison Avenue.
I was well down the block toward Park Avenue again when the long hood swung round the corner of Madison, and it looked very much as if we could get away by constantly turning corners.
But we were both of us mad to count on our luck holding so long, for at Park Avenue I met a phalanx of three cars abreast, going south, and by the time I was able to turn south on Park Avenue, the big car was close behind. Fortunately there was one car between, for our pursuers again took long in turning.
As it turned into Park behind us, Larry looked back again. “There’s three of them in the car, sor. Must be their lucky number.” At all events Larry was always a cheery companion.
But now I did not dare turn out again, they were too close. By reckless driving that brought a shout from more than one other car, I managed to keep my lead and even to lengthen it by passing another car. But as we swept up on the viaduct around the Grand Central, the big car nosed its way back to third place again.
Larry leaned close to me. “Can you make a left-hand turn, sor?” he asked eagerly. “Can ye get to Third Avenue?”
“What for?”
“I’ve an idea, sor. I think we can give thim a lesson if you can get to the L.”
I had no idea what Larry had up his sleeve, and I had to watch my driving too closely to find out. Besides, by the time we dipped down to Fourth Avenue again, at 40th Street, the pursuing car had crept still closer, so I had no chance to turn either way.
The traffic was thinning out, too, and remembering the recklessness of our pursuers, I felt the skin crawling on the back of my head, where I expected a better-aimed bullet almost any moment.
However, either they had grown more cautious or they had made certain that they could catch us without difficulty, for as far as I know they did not fire again.
At 34th Street I had a stroke of luck. I got across just before the traffic cop blew his whistle, and while I do not suppose that would have stopped our pursuers, there was another car in between which pulled up and obliged them to stop to avoid a collision.
The traffic cop called after me, but I was much too busy to pay attention at the moment. “We’ve beat them, sor, we’ve beat them. Now where, sor?” cried Larry.
“We’ll twist about a bit, Larry, and try to throw them off the scent entirely,” I answered.
At 32nd Street I turned west. Then, at Madison, having plenty of time, I made a left-hand turn, going south again, as I imagined that they would immediately expect me to go north.
After that I twisted in and out, gradually working south until I reached Broadway and Union Square. Here I turned east, intending to run down to Third Avenue and so run north, and as I passed Lexington Avenue, a long, black hood shot out and made for my rear wheels, and it was only by stepping on the accelerator that I avoided the nastiest kind of a turnover smash-up. Either our pursuers were mind-readers or it was the worst of bad luck.
The other car swung in behind us at once, and in order to avoid being overtaken then and there, and probably shot at close quarters, I made a quick right-hand turn into Third Avenue, ran along beside a street car and shot in front of it, perilously close to an L pillar.
I intended to make another right-hand turn almost at once, but Larry had another idea. “Now we’re here, sor, shtick to the L. Ye can wind in and out until we get to the Bowery, and then—then Oi’ll finish thim, or me name ain’t Larry Malloy!”
My own idea was to trust to my luck and try turning corners again. But Larry seemed so sure of his plan that I decided to risk it, although, if I had realized its bloodthirsty nature, I might have hesitated.
The others were held up for a moment or two behind the street car and before they could catch us again, I had turned into the broad open sweep of the Bowery, the scene of my first meeting with Larry.
I slowed up a little and looked back. The pursuing car was half a block behind and overtaking us rapidly.
“This is as good a place as another, sor,” said Larry grimly. “Duck yer head as much as ye can and lave thim catch us. Most like they’ll try to come up alongside, and that’s what I’m afther.” He was fumbling with his kit of tools under his coat, and a moment later I caught the dull flash of light from a heavy, blue-steel jemmy.
The whole street was deserted before us as the other car came purring up behind. We were on the car tracks and doing about thirty-five miles an hour. The other car must have been doing at least forty-five or fifty.
Sure enough it came up close behind and then nosed out on to the north-bound car tracks, evidently with the idea of running up alongside. But as I turned out to the left, Larry rose suddenly in his seat, turned half round, and I saw his arm flash back with the jemmy in it. There came a clatter of glass from the pursuing car, a wild scream, and then the most horribly roaring crash that I have ever heard.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw the jemmy fly true to the wind-shield and through it, just as the car turned out. It must have caught the driver squarely in the face, for the car kept straight on its diagonal course.
My last sight of it, looking back, was a huge car, reared up with its front half-way to the top of a badly buckled L pillar, its front axle bent almost double, so that wheels clasped the pillar and a limp body, hanging head downward, across the hood.
For sheer horror I very nearly pulled up. But people were hurrying to the crash from all directions, more than one police whistle was blowing, and Larry was plucking at my sleeve.
“There,” he said, “that’ll tache ’em a lesson to come murtherin’ honest citizens!”
But there was an awe in his voice none the less. For death had come very suddenly to the men behind us there.
We turned off into a side street presently, and so, driving slowly and cautiously, made our way home again. But Larry and I did not talk much on the way back.
I let him put the car away, while I went on to my rooms alone. To my amazement it was only ten-thirty, though I felt as though I had lived through a week at least since I left that afternoon. I was rather shaky. I had seen death many times in the war, but somehow the circumstances had been more natural and inevitable then.
When I reached my sitting-room I sat down in front of the table to rest a moment before telephoning my news to Moore. Larry had left a couple of letters where I could see them, and the sight of one of them set my thoughts leaping into another channel. I had never seen her handwriting before, but somehow I knew from whom that pale blue envelope, addressed in a dainty sloping hand, had come.
I opened it quickly. It was dated the same day and must have been written and mailed that morning.
“Dear Mr. Clayton,“A promise is a promise, in spite of the conventions. Mrs. Fawcette is giving a luncheon party for me to-morrow (Friday), and has promised that Mr. Ivanovitch will be present. Better still, he is to supply something very wonderful in the way of a new drink, though whether it is to be some more of ‘that wonderful tea’ or not I do not know.“If you would care to come to ordinary tea at my house, or, rather my aunt’s house, to-morrow afternoon, about four o’clock, I will tell you all about it, as I promised.“Sincerely yours,“Natalie Van Cleef.”
“Dear Mr. Clayton,
“A promise is a promise, in spite of the conventions. Mrs. Fawcette is giving a luncheon party for me to-morrow (Friday), and has promised that Mr. Ivanovitch will be present. Better still, he is to supply something very wonderful in the way of a new drink, though whether it is to be some more of ‘that wonderful tea’ or not I do not know.
“If you would care to come to ordinary tea at my house, or, rather my aunt’s house, to-morrow afternoon, about four o’clock, I will tell you all about it, as I promised.
“Sincerely yours,
“Natalie Van Cleef.”
I pulled some paper toward me and wrote her a somewhat longer reply, accepting the invitation. I even took the risk of begging her in a more or less veiled way to be careful. When the letter was finished, I took it out and put it down the hall shute myself. Then I went back to look at my other letter. But from the events of the evening to the dainty missive that lay open on my desk was a gap that brought the former into lurid relief, while lending them also a touch of unreality. It did not seem possible, there in my quiet rooms, with that dainty letter before me, that I had just returned from a flight for my life that ended in death for some one.
Presently I glanced at the other letter. It was in a plain envelope and was typewritten.
Here it is:
“Dear Clayton,“RTIEZQVLOTKGGDXGNZETHLXLDTIZZTSGZZGFSXYTKQENKTCTW.”
“Dear Clayton,
“RTIEZQVLOTKGGDXGNZETHLXLDTIZZTSGZZGFSXYTKQENKTCTW.”
For a moment I took it for a practical joke. Then I remembered a simple cipher which Moore had arranged with the Chief, and I carried the note in to where the Underwood typewriter stood in my study. First, I took a sheet of paper and, counting from the first letter of the keyboard, top row, left, I put down on the paper the numbers, reading left to right and from the top row down, which corresponded to the letters.
Thus the first letter, R, was the fourth letter in the first row. So I put down 4. The next letter, T, was the fifth letter in the first row, so I put down 5. The next letter, I, was 8, E was 3, Z was 20, etc.
Reading in this way, I got:
4, 5, 8, 3, 20, 1, 23, 19, 9, 5, 18, 15, 15, 13, 21, 15, 25, 20, 3, 5, 16, 19, 21, 19, 13, 5, 8, 20, 20, 5, 12, 15, 20, 20, 15, 14, 12, 21, 6, 5, 1, 3, 25, 18, 5, 22, 5, 2.
4, 5, 8, 3, 20, 1, 23, 19, 9, 5, 18, 15, 15, 13, 21, 15, 25, 20, 3, 5, 16, 19, 21, 19, 13, 5, 8, 20, 20, 5, 12, 15, 20, 20, 15, 14, 12, 21, 6, 5, 1, 3, 25, 18, 5, 22, 5, 2.
By an ordinary alphabetic table, which I had prepared, with A as 1, B as 2, C as 3, etc., I found that these numbers represented the following letters:
D, E, H, C, T, A, W, S, I, E, R, O, O, M, U, O, Y, T, C, E, P, S, U, S, M, E, H, T, T, E, L, O, T, T, O, N, L, U, F, E, R, A, C, Y, R, E, V, E, B.
D, E, H, C, T, A, W, S, I, E, R, O, O, M, U, O, Y, T, C, E, P, S, U, S, M, E, H, T, T, E, L, O, T, T, O, N, L, U, F, E, R, A, C, Y, R, E, V, E, B.
Reading these backward, I got the message:
BEVERYCAREFULNOTTOLETTHEMSUSPECTYOUMOOREISWATCHED.
BEVERYCAREFULNOTTOLETTHEMSUSPECTYOUMOOREISWATCHED.
Separated into words:
“Be very careful not to let them suspect you. Moore is watched.”
“Be very careful not to let them suspect you. Moore is watched.”
When I had finished taking in the full meaning of this message, which undoubtedly came from the Chief, I realized, with a new sense of confidence, that the Secret Service was not only back of us, but keeping closely in touch.
Then I went to call up Moore. He answered the ’phone at once, and listened without a word while I told him of our adventures that night and the finding of the little book. When I had finished he whistled softly.
“Look here, Clayton,” he said, “this thing is getting pretty serious. They had a whirl at me to-day. At least, somebody did their best to run over me twice this afternoon. I think we had better meet for once, if you can manage to get to me without being followed and I can get to you. I think you’d better bring Larry too. This is what I’ve doped out. You and Larry take a taxi and drive slowly through the Park from 59th Street and Fifth Avenue toward the 72nd Street gate, West Side. On the way you’ll stop and pick me up on an open space, if I am walking bareheaded. If not, do not stop, even if you see me. If I do not turn up or if my hat is on, it will mean that I have been followed, so don’t worry. But I think I can shake them off in the open. Will you do that?”
“Of course I will,” I told him. “What time?”
“About 2.30. Then, if we don’t meet, come back to your rooms and call me at about four. I’ll be waiting.”
“All right, Moore, old man. I’ll do that. Good-night!”
“Good-night.”
So we rang off, and after slipping Vining’s little notebook under the blotter on my table, I went to bed, telling Larry to see that our front door was locked and the chain was up. But I did not get to sleep very quickly.