Chapter X.Mrs. Fawcette is IndiscreetThe next morning, Friday, I woke and lay for a moment drowsily wondering as to the cause of a sort of vague excitement of which I was conscious. Then recollection of the events of the previous evening returned, and I jumped out of bed and yelled for Larry and my bath. Although it went against the grain with me, at first, Larry had quietly but firmly taken to himself the duties of valet, housemaid, cook and butler. As a general factotum he was a marvel of usefulness, but at first I had objected violently to being waited on hand and foot. Larry, however, had taken these rebuffs quite calmly and had gone his own sweet way, looking after my clothes, running my bath-water and bringing me tea in bed in the morning, and I had gradually drifted into this sort of a sybaritic existence through sheer laziness. Once or twice he had even tried to help me on with my clothes, but I had to draw the line somewhere, and he finally gave that up.Larry came in grinning as usual. He had a small tray in his hand, with a cup of tea and some bread and butter on it. For a short time in his early career he had been valet to an Irish lordling, and old habits stuck, it seemed.“Take that tea away, Larry,” I told him. “Is my bath ready? And what the hell do you mean by letting me sleep so late, you Irish billygoat? What time is it?”Larry’s face fell, not at the name I called him—he was used to that—but at the fate of the tea. But he set the tray down beside the bed.“Sure, sor, ’tis just gone eight an’ yer bath’s waiting for ye. Do but take a drop of the tay, an’——”I reached for a book and Larry promptly dodged, grinning. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I demanded again.“An’ why would I do that same, sor? Sure, if ’twasn’t wishful to be disturbed ye was, ’tis the whole library would ’ave come me way.”“Well, you unmitigated scoundrel, I want breakfast in ten minutes, or you’ll answer for it,” I told him. “And after that I want to talk to you, so don’t go sneaking away to talk to your little lady friend on the next floor.”This, as I expected, was a bolt from the blue for Larry, because I believe he had no idea that I knew of his growing attachment and increasing encounters with a pretty little English maid from the flat above. At any rate he grinned sheepishly and withdrew, taking the tea with him. For once, a retort of any kind was lacking.I stripped and plunged into a cold tub, and in fifteen minutes was seated at one of Larry’s inimitable breakfasts, wondering what I should do without him, if anything should come of his attachment to the girl upstairs. Moore had ways of his own of finding things out, and he had told me of Larry’s conversations on the stairs. One of Moore’s maxims was: “Where there’s a woman, there’s trouble.” But neither of us took Larry’s attachment very seriously; there had been too many of them. Moore only feared that he might become too expansive concerning our affairs. But that I never even considered. You must trust somebody, and Larry had shown himself entirely trustworthy.He stood by until I had taken the edge from my appetite, and then I turned upon him. “Now then, Larry,” I said briskly, “pull up a chair and sit down. We’ve got some plans this afternoon that you’re in on, and I can’t have you making a mess of them.”Larry grunted. “Twas something else I made a mess of last night, sor,” he remarked. “An’ small thanks I get——”“Sit down!” I roared. “And shut up!”Larry sank into a seat, grinning feebly.“Now,” I began, after a moment, “you and Moore and I are to have a council of war this afternoon. I’ll tell you this much, Larry. Moore is being followed and we’ve got to be careful. His idea is that he should walk through the Park, and that you and I should take a taxi and pick him up in some open space, where his shadow can’t get close to him. What do you think of the plan? You see, they don’t suspect me as yet.”Larry pricked up his ears at this. “Who’s ‘they,’ sor?” he demanded. “Was it that pasty lad with the gun last night?”“He and his friends, Larry—and a lot of friends he seems to have. But I think, Larry—I hope—that they may know something about my sister.”“By gorry, sor, gimme the address again—but sure, don’t I know it?—and I’ll have the heart out av him, ’Tis meself will wring the truth out av the dog, if I have to sthrangle him.”I held up my hand. “Wait a bit, Larry. Do you suppose, if that would do any good, I wouldn’t have done it long ago? The trouble is he may know nothing. Besides, it’s a far bigger thing than just one man, and it’s the whole concern we’re up against. Now I’ve told you more than I should, and if you breathe a word to any one of this, my goose is cooked. Get that well in your thick head right now. Not one single word, Larry!”“Sure, I know well how to hold me tongue, if that’s all,” he said.“Right!” I answered. “Now, what do you think of the plan?”Larry thought for a moment. “Tis well enough, sor,” he answered presently. “But if they see him get in our taxi they’ll likely have a cyar handy and follow.” He was silent again, the effort of thought wrinkling an ordinarily smooth brow. “But I had a pal for a while, sor. He is living at the country’s expense at the moment, sor. But we used to meet on the quiet in the Park. He was being followed and I wasn’t. So he would go for a walk through the open part, to be sure he was alone, and then make for that bunch av trees an’ bushes round about the little resteront near Sivinty-second Street and Fifth Avenoo. I was waiting there with a closed taxi, and away we wint before ye cud say knife.” He paused. “Maybe that wud be better, sor?”“Good idea, Larry. I’ll call up Moore as soon as I’ve finished. Now bring me the paper. I’m going out this morning, but I’ll be back for lunch at one, and we’ll start right after lunch. We’re to meet him at 2.30. That’s all, Larry.”Larry picked up the paper and laid it beside me. “There it is, sor,” he remarked dryly, pointing to the third column.This is what I read:ANOTHER FATAL MOTOR SMASHMystery Car collides with L Pillarand two are killed“The Bowery last night was the scene of another fatal motor-car smash-up, due, apparently, to the usual cause—reckless driving. A large touring-car, going probably at about sixty miles an hour, collided with an L Pillar. Two men were thrown out and instantly killed.“Some mystery attaches to the case. No eye-witness of the accident can be found. But Joe Cschlenzki, a news-vendor, states that the car passed him a moment before the crash, going like the wind.“There were three occupants of the car at the time of the accident. All three were men. The driver escaped death, probably by bringing up against the steering-wheel. He was unconscious when found, and was seriously hurt, being badly cut about the face, and probably suffering from internal injuries.“The impact must have been terrific, both from the noise and from the fact that the big car had climbed half-way up the pillar and hung at an angle of 45 degrees.“But the accident presents still more curious features. Strangely enough, the car bore New York number plates, but investigation by the police showed that the corresponding license had been issued to John Havenbier, of Yonkers, whose car, a different type, is quite intact.“When this fact was discovered, the police tried at once to get in touch with the sole survivor of the accident. But here again they were baffled. At the time of the accident, and before the ambulance arrived, a passing car, a large closed limousine, drove by and offered to rush the injured man to the Manhattan Hospital. The offer was accepted by the police and the man was lifted into the car. But later inquiry at the hospital showed that no one was admitted to that hospital last night. The police have inquired at all the other hospitals also, but without result. Apparently the third victim has disappeared completely. The police did not take the number of the second car, and none of the bystanders appear to have noticed it.“The bodies of the other two occupants furnished no clew as to their identity, as their clothes contained no papers of any kind. There were no marks on the clothing.“Owing to the unusual nature of the accident and the mystery surrounding the wrecked car and its occupants, the police suspect foul play. It is believed that the fatal smash may have been due to a struggle going on in the car itself at the time of the accident. An inquest will be held this afternoon.”That was all. I looked up to find Larry gazing at me in his droll, half-apologetic way. “What d’ye think of ut, sor?” he asked.I thought a moment. “Larry, I think it’s bad,” I told him. “I never thought any of them would survive a smash like that, did you?”“Oi did not, sor.” Larry shook his head.“Well, one of them has, Larry. And he is probably back with his friends by now. Vining knows where, most likely. What’s more, he probably knows our license number. Good-night! Maybe we’d better move, and get rid of the car too. But it’s too late for that. They could trace me easily enough. The license is registered.” I was thinking aloud.“Tis doubtful if they was getting near enough for the loike av that, sor,” Larry observed. “An’ if he did see it, loikely the smash druv it out av his head.”“Maybe, Larry; I hope so, anyhow. Well, you’d better stick around here this morning. Don’t let anybody in. And if any one calls and asks questions, you don’t know a thing, but call Moore and get his instructions after they’ve gone. He’ll be in all morning.”With that I left the table and went to call Moore myself. I told him of Larry’s suggestion about our meeting, and he approved of it at once. We arranged to pick him up at 2.30 outside the Park Casino near 72nd Street. Then I rang off. Time enough to talk to him about the escape of one of our victims when I saw him.I had promised to take Mrs. Furneau for a drive that morning. We started about ten. She was in a frivolous and entertaining mood, and told me that she had informed Mrs. Fawcette of her engagement to drive with me. I thoroughly enjoyed the drive, and it was after twelve o’clock when I reached my apartment again. To my surprise, my latch-key was not in the usual pocket, and after a short search I rang the bell, fuming.To my amazement, however, no one came.I was furious. I had distinctly told Larry to stay home that morning and it seemed that he had disobeyed orders.I waited a few moments, ringing again at intervals, in the thought that he might be washing up and have his hands full. But after about five minutes I went back and rang for the elevator, to question the operator, idly running through my pockets as I waited.Almost at the same moment that the elevator reached my floor, my fingers closed on my latch-key, in my vest pocket. How it got there I have no idea.“Did my man go out?” I asked the boy. “There does not seem to be any one there.”“No, sir, not that I know of. Haven’t you got your key?”“Yes, I just found it,” I told him. “Has any one been here for me?”“No, sir.”“Have you been running the elevator all morning?”“Yes, sir.”“All right. Sorry to have bothered you.”“That’s all right, sir.” The door slammed and the elevator went down again.I turned back to my front door and fitted the key in the lock.I was vaguely uneasy, and it was that, perhaps, that caused me to open the door very softly, close it again as softly and stand listening a moment. There was no sound in the place, but after a moment or two I became aware of the fact that there were faint traces of a lingering perfume in the air, a scent highly feminine and vaguely familiar. What on earth could it mean? I wondered. For, so far as I knew, no woman had crossed my threshold since I took the apartment. Perhaps Larry——I walked down the hall and into my living-room. It seemed to me, as I advanced, that there were sounds of hasty movement just before I reached it. But at first glance the room seemed to be unoccupied and nothing appeared to be disturbed.Then I looked again more carefully, and I noticed that the curtain in front of my window was swaying slightly, although the window was closed. It was exactly the same curtain, incidentally, behind which my earlier visitor—and Moore’s victim—had hidden himself. The scent of perfume was stronger here, however, and I was pretty sure that the curtain concealed a woman this time.I began to whistle suddenly and strode into the room. I picked up some papers on the table and flung them down again. Then I broke into speech: “Confound that boy, anyway,” I muttered.After a moment I left the room and tramped down the hall to Larry’s room. There was no sign of him anywhere. I found his revolver, ready loaded, slipped it into my pocket, tramped down the hall, opened the front door again and slammed it—from the inside. Then I tiptoed silently back to the living-room door, keeping out of sight, and waited. I felt that it was as important to find out what my unconventional visitor wanted there as to find out her identity. But what had become of Larry puzzled me more. It was so unlike him to disobey orders.For perhaps five minutes there was absolute silence in the room outside of which I stood. Then at last I heard a faint rustle and the swish of skirts. This was followed by the crackle of papers. I stepped into the doorway, revolver in hand. A woman it was. She had her back to me and was bending over my table, running through the papers and letters on it with quick, nervous fingers. Suddenly she turned her head a little and I started and slipped the revolver into my pocket. My unconventional visitor was Mrs. Fawcette.The blood rushed to my head. It was too much of a coincidence. It was to Mrs. Fawcette’s house that Margaret had gone that terrible day. It was Mrs. Fawcette’s friend that served drugged tea to—I winced—beautiful young visitors. It was common knowledge that the woman herself took drugs, though no one knew exactly what. And now she was here, searching my rooms.For a moment I wondered whether I could startle her and perhaps frighten the truth out of her. But I decided that she was far too clever a woman for that. Besides, the whole thing was too big, and it would be better for our search if I could disarm her obvious suspicion instead. I leaned against the doorpost and coughed quietly. I could at least hear what she had to say.My visitor whirled about with a suppressed scream, her face as white as chalk and her eyes black and wide with terror. “You!” she cried.“My dear Mrs. Fawcette,” I answered, bowing. “This is awfully sweet of you. But I’m afraid that it is a little indiscreet.”One hand flew to her heart and she leaned back against the table. For a moment I thought that she was going to collapse. But she conquered her momentary faintness and forced something approaching a smile.“You frightened me so,” she gasped. “When—when did you come back?”“Just now,” I answered. “I’m terribly sorry if I frightened you. But I was so surprised to see you, you know. And what in the world has become of my man?”She hesitated and glanced around the room wildly for an instant as though searching for a chance to escape.“I—I don’t know. I found the front door was open and I came in to find you. But there was no one here at all.”“I see,” I answered gently. “Now won’t you sit down and tell me what I can do for you? Surely we’re too old friends for you to be so frightened now?” I paused. “Can I get you a drink?”“Oh, would you?” She raised a trembling hand to her mouth and her eyes searched my face. “It’s not the fright you gave me,” she ventured at last, in a low tone, “it’s the—way you found me.”As I stepped to the decanter and poured her out a stiffish drink of whisky I reflected that this was coming to the point with a vengeance. The woman certainly had nerve and wits, for all her fright. I wondered what sort of a tale she could possibly give me. But she was equal to the occasion.“Well, what about the way I found you?” I smiled, as I handed her the drink.She drained the whisky at a gulp, and some of the color came back to her face. I took her arm and helped her to a chair, and although she hesitated for an instant and drew back, she sank into it finally and seemed grateful. The interview promised to be interesting.“You see,” she answered, “it’s an old story, really, and one of which I am terribly ashamed. That is why you startled me so.”“Don’t tell me if you’d rather not,” I answered gently.“Oh, but I must,” she insisted. “I must make you understand or I don’t know what you will think. You see, when I was a young girl I was very nervous. It is a failing that takes strange forms sometimes, as you probably know. With me it took the form of wanting to—wanting to—take—other people’s things—sometimes.” She dropped her eyes.“Kleptomania?” I ventured.She nodded. “I thought I had conquered it entirely,” she went on. “But finding myself alone, in here—the apartment so silent—and—and everything—brought it back, I’m afraid. So you found me picking over the things on your desk, hardly knowing what I did. But—I didn’t take anything!” she concluded piteously.“My dear lady,” I answered heartily, “I don’t care whether you did or not. You’re welcome to anything there is there,” I finished, laughing.She drew a long breath at that, looking at me closely the while, however. “Oh—you are—good to me!” she breathed. “But I knew that you would be.” She rose slowly to her feet and looked up into my face. “May I—may I go—now?” she finished pathetically.“But of course,” I answered, “if you must. But why go so soon? You haven’t told me why you came yet.”She walked slowly toward the door into the hall, and I followed a step or so behind her. But she did not answer until she had reached the front door and I had opened it for her. Her head was bent. “Can’t you guess?” she murmured.I took her hand gently and pressed it. “Then you must not go,” I urged. “Come back!”But she drew her hand away. “No, not now. You frightened me. I——”“Some other time perhaps?” I ventured.She rang for the elevator. We stood together in silence waiting for it. But just before the car reached my floor she looked up into my face. “Perhaps!” she murmured.If it was acting, like the rest, the glow in her eyes was the most consummate part of the whole performance.But the elevator door slammed and I returned to my empty rooms to sit down and cogitate, while my visitor presumably repaired to her luncheon with Natalie and Ivanovitch.My papers had been disturbed, but I could not find that anything except a little card-case with a few calling cards in it—and I might have mislaid that—was missing. However, her visit was serious enough, if she were connected with the gang, as it showed that I was at last suspected. In my anxiety over Larry, however, I forgot Vining’s note-book and did not look to see whether it was still there. And events followed each other so rapidly after that, that I did not think of the little book again until several days later.I had been sitting thinking for some ten minutes perhaps, when the front door slammed again, and in a moment Larry burst in, grimy, disheveled and wild of eye. “Thank God,” he cried as soon as he saw me. “I guessed it was a frame-up, sor, and I thought, maybe, they’d done for ye, sor, with me not here to look after—that is, I——”“What happened, Larry?” I answered sharply. “Out with it. I’m all right.”“There wuz a woman, sor,” he stammered, looking comically indignant. “She come to the door and rang the bell, and when I answered she grabbed my sleeve and says, ‘Oh, come wid me. Please, come wid me! I think some one is being hurt!’ ”His imitation of an agitated woman was supremely funny, but it was too serious a matter for laughter. “Go on,” I nodded.“Before I knew where I was at, sor, I was down two flights of stairs wid her, in frunt av that empty flat below there. She had the key of the door and I follered her in widout a thought. ‘Why, ’tis impty,’ says she. ‘So it is,’ says I. ‘What do we do next?’ ”Larry paused. “Then she grabs me arm again. ‘I know I heard some one scream in here,’ says she. ‘Won’t you hilp me search the place?’ She was a grand, handsome woman, sor, beautifully dressed, and I thought no harm at all. ‘That I will,’ says I, and we set out together, she clinging on to my arm. The place was as empty as me hand, sor, and thick wid dust. ‘There’s no feetmarks,’ says I, wondering. ‘There is not, then,’ says she. ‘But ’twas in here I heard it, I’m sure of that.’“Presently she opens a door,” Larry went on. “ ’Twas all dark inside, sor. ‘Phwat’s in there?’ says she. ‘I don’t know,’ says I, holding back. ‘Well thin, go an’ see,’ says she, an’ I went, sor!”Larry paused indignantly, and I stifled my growing desire to laugh, with difficulty. “Well?” I demanded.“Sure, sor, no sooner was I inside than she shut the door on me. An’ it was black as yer hat. ‘Phwat’s that for?’ I asked her. But she didn’t answer and I felt for the knob, sor; the door was locked!”At this I broke into shouts of laughter. And the hurt, indignant look on his face set me off again worse than ever every time I tried to collect myself.“Well?” I asked him at last.“Sure, sor, I called to her. ‘Let me out!’ I says. ‘Get out yerself!’ she says and laughed at me. Then I heard her running down the hall, and next minute the outside door shut.”“Well, Larry,” I gasped, between spasms of laughter, “youarean easy mark! How did you get out finally?”“Bruk out a panel at last and shot the bolt back. But it was hot work in that closet. What do you suppose she wanted, sor?”“Did you leave the door open—our front door—when you started out with her?” I asked him.Larry scratched his head and suddenly he pulled a long face. “Now I come to think av ut, I belave I did, sor.”“I believe you did too, Larry,” I laughed.“Has she been in here, sor?” he asked more anxiously, glancing about the room.“She has that!” I told him.For once Larry was completely crestfallen. “Faith, sor, I’ll never belave a woman again!” he said.
The next morning, Friday, I woke and lay for a moment drowsily wondering as to the cause of a sort of vague excitement of which I was conscious. Then recollection of the events of the previous evening returned, and I jumped out of bed and yelled for Larry and my bath. Although it went against the grain with me, at first, Larry had quietly but firmly taken to himself the duties of valet, housemaid, cook and butler. As a general factotum he was a marvel of usefulness, but at first I had objected violently to being waited on hand and foot. Larry, however, had taken these rebuffs quite calmly and had gone his own sweet way, looking after my clothes, running my bath-water and bringing me tea in bed in the morning, and I had gradually drifted into this sort of a sybaritic existence through sheer laziness. Once or twice he had even tried to help me on with my clothes, but I had to draw the line somewhere, and he finally gave that up.
Larry came in grinning as usual. He had a small tray in his hand, with a cup of tea and some bread and butter on it. For a short time in his early career he had been valet to an Irish lordling, and old habits stuck, it seemed.
“Take that tea away, Larry,” I told him. “Is my bath ready? And what the hell do you mean by letting me sleep so late, you Irish billygoat? What time is it?”
Larry’s face fell, not at the name I called him—he was used to that—but at the fate of the tea. But he set the tray down beside the bed.
“Sure, sor, ’tis just gone eight an’ yer bath’s waiting for ye. Do but take a drop of the tay, an’——”
I reached for a book and Larry promptly dodged, grinning. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I demanded again.
“An’ why would I do that same, sor? Sure, if ’twasn’t wishful to be disturbed ye was, ’tis the whole library would ’ave come me way.”
“Well, you unmitigated scoundrel, I want breakfast in ten minutes, or you’ll answer for it,” I told him. “And after that I want to talk to you, so don’t go sneaking away to talk to your little lady friend on the next floor.”
This, as I expected, was a bolt from the blue for Larry, because I believe he had no idea that I knew of his growing attachment and increasing encounters with a pretty little English maid from the flat above. At any rate he grinned sheepishly and withdrew, taking the tea with him. For once, a retort of any kind was lacking.
I stripped and plunged into a cold tub, and in fifteen minutes was seated at one of Larry’s inimitable breakfasts, wondering what I should do without him, if anything should come of his attachment to the girl upstairs. Moore had ways of his own of finding things out, and he had told me of Larry’s conversations on the stairs. One of Moore’s maxims was: “Where there’s a woman, there’s trouble.” But neither of us took Larry’s attachment very seriously; there had been too many of them. Moore only feared that he might become too expansive concerning our affairs. But that I never even considered. You must trust somebody, and Larry had shown himself entirely trustworthy.
He stood by until I had taken the edge from my appetite, and then I turned upon him. “Now then, Larry,” I said briskly, “pull up a chair and sit down. We’ve got some plans this afternoon that you’re in on, and I can’t have you making a mess of them.”
Larry grunted. “Twas something else I made a mess of last night, sor,” he remarked. “An’ small thanks I get——”
“Sit down!” I roared. “And shut up!”
Larry sank into a seat, grinning feebly.
“Now,” I began, after a moment, “you and Moore and I are to have a council of war this afternoon. I’ll tell you this much, Larry. Moore is being followed and we’ve got to be careful. His idea is that he should walk through the Park, and that you and I should take a taxi and pick him up in some open space, where his shadow can’t get close to him. What do you think of the plan? You see, they don’t suspect me as yet.”
Larry pricked up his ears at this. “Who’s ‘they,’ sor?” he demanded. “Was it that pasty lad with the gun last night?”
“He and his friends, Larry—and a lot of friends he seems to have. But I think, Larry—I hope—that they may know something about my sister.”
“By gorry, sor, gimme the address again—but sure, don’t I know it?—and I’ll have the heart out av him, ’Tis meself will wring the truth out av the dog, if I have to sthrangle him.”
I held up my hand. “Wait a bit, Larry. Do you suppose, if that would do any good, I wouldn’t have done it long ago? The trouble is he may know nothing. Besides, it’s a far bigger thing than just one man, and it’s the whole concern we’re up against. Now I’ve told you more than I should, and if you breathe a word to any one of this, my goose is cooked. Get that well in your thick head right now. Not one single word, Larry!”
“Sure, I know well how to hold me tongue, if that’s all,” he said.
“Right!” I answered. “Now, what do you think of the plan?”
Larry thought for a moment. “Tis well enough, sor,” he answered presently. “But if they see him get in our taxi they’ll likely have a cyar handy and follow.” He was silent again, the effort of thought wrinkling an ordinarily smooth brow. “But I had a pal for a while, sor. He is living at the country’s expense at the moment, sor. But we used to meet on the quiet in the Park. He was being followed and I wasn’t. So he would go for a walk through the open part, to be sure he was alone, and then make for that bunch av trees an’ bushes round about the little resteront near Sivinty-second Street and Fifth Avenoo. I was waiting there with a closed taxi, and away we wint before ye cud say knife.” He paused. “Maybe that wud be better, sor?”
“Good idea, Larry. I’ll call up Moore as soon as I’ve finished. Now bring me the paper. I’m going out this morning, but I’ll be back for lunch at one, and we’ll start right after lunch. We’re to meet him at 2.30. That’s all, Larry.”
Larry picked up the paper and laid it beside me. “There it is, sor,” he remarked dryly, pointing to the third column.
This is what I read:
ANOTHER FATAL MOTOR SMASHMystery Car collides with L Pillarand two are killed“The Bowery last night was the scene of another fatal motor-car smash-up, due, apparently, to the usual cause—reckless driving. A large touring-car, going probably at about sixty miles an hour, collided with an L Pillar. Two men were thrown out and instantly killed.“Some mystery attaches to the case. No eye-witness of the accident can be found. But Joe Cschlenzki, a news-vendor, states that the car passed him a moment before the crash, going like the wind.“There were three occupants of the car at the time of the accident. All three were men. The driver escaped death, probably by bringing up against the steering-wheel. He was unconscious when found, and was seriously hurt, being badly cut about the face, and probably suffering from internal injuries.“The impact must have been terrific, both from the noise and from the fact that the big car had climbed half-way up the pillar and hung at an angle of 45 degrees.“But the accident presents still more curious features. Strangely enough, the car bore New York number plates, but investigation by the police showed that the corresponding license had been issued to John Havenbier, of Yonkers, whose car, a different type, is quite intact.“When this fact was discovered, the police tried at once to get in touch with the sole survivor of the accident. But here again they were baffled. At the time of the accident, and before the ambulance arrived, a passing car, a large closed limousine, drove by and offered to rush the injured man to the Manhattan Hospital. The offer was accepted by the police and the man was lifted into the car. But later inquiry at the hospital showed that no one was admitted to that hospital last night. The police have inquired at all the other hospitals also, but without result. Apparently the third victim has disappeared completely. The police did not take the number of the second car, and none of the bystanders appear to have noticed it.“The bodies of the other two occupants furnished no clew as to their identity, as their clothes contained no papers of any kind. There were no marks on the clothing.“Owing to the unusual nature of the accident and the mystery surrounding the wrecked car and its occupants, the police suspect foul play. It is believed that the fatal smash may have been due to a struggle going on in the car itself at the time of the accident. An inquest will be held this afternoon.”
ANOTHER FATAL MOTOR SMASH
Mystery Car collides with L Pillarand two are killed
“The Bowery last night was the scene of another fatal motor-car smash-up, due, apparently, to the usual cause—reckless driving. A large touring-car, going probably at about sixty miles an hour, collided with an L Pillar. Two men were thrown out and instantly killed.
“Some mystery attaches to the case. No eye-witness of the accident can be found. But Joe Cschlenzki, a news-vendor, states that the car passed him a moment before the crash, going like the wind.
“There were three occupants of the car at the time of the accident. All three were men. The driver escaped death, probably by bringing up against the steering-wheel. He was unconscious when found, and was seriously hurt, being badly cut about the face, and probably suffering from internal injuries.
“The impact must have been terrific, both from the noise and from the fact that the big car had climbed half-way up the pillar and hung at an angle of 45 degrees.
“But the accident presents still more curious features. Strangely enough, the car bore New York number plates, but investigation by the police showed that the corresponding license had been issued to John Havenbier, of Yonkers, whose car, a different type, is quite intact.
“When this fact was discovered, the police tried at once to get in touch with the sole survivor of the accident. But here again they were baffled. At the time of the accident, and before the ambulance arrived, a passing car, a large closed limousine, drove by and offered to rush the injured man to the Manhattan Hospital. The offer was accepted by the police and the man was lifted into the car. But later inquiry at the hospital showed that no one was admitted to that hospital last night. The police have inquired at all the other hospitals also, but without result. Apparently the third victim has disappeared completely. The police did not take the number of the second car, and none of the bystanders appear to have noticed it.
“The bodies of the other two occupants furnished no clew as to their identity, as their clothes contained no papers of any kind. There were no marks on the clothing.
“Owing to the unusual nature of the accident and the mystery surrounding the wrecked car and its occupants, the police suspect foul play. It is believed that the fatal smash may have been due to a struggle going on in the car itself at the time of the accident. An inquest will be held this afternoon.”
That was all. I looked up to find Larry gazing at me in his droll, half-apologetic way. “What d’ye think of ut, sor?” he asked.
I thought a moment. “Larry, I think it’s bad,” I told him. “I never thought any of them would survive a smash like that, did you?”
“Oi did not, sor.” Larry shook his head.
“Well, one of them has, Larry. And he is probably back with his friends by now. Vining knows where, most likely. What’s more, he probably knows our license number. Good-night! Maybe we’d better move, and get rid of the car too. But it’s too late for that. They could trace me easily enough. The license is registered.” I was thinking aloud.
“Tis doubtful if they was getting near enough for the loike av that, sor,” Larry observed. “An’ if he did see it, loikely the smash druv it out av his head.”
“Maybe, Larry; I hope so, anyhow. Well, you’d better stick around here this morning. Don’t let anybody in. And if any one calls and asks questions, you don’t know a thing, but call Moore and get his instructions after they’ve gone. He’ll be in all morning.”
With that I left the table and went to call Moore myself. I told him of Larry’s suggestion about our meeting, and he approved of it at once. We arranged to pick him up at 2.30 outside the Park Casino near 72nd Street. Then I rang off. Time enough to talk to him about the escape of one of our victims when I saw him.
I had promised to take Mrs. Furneau for a drive that morning. We started about ten. She was in a frivolous and entertaining mood, and told me that she had informed Mrs. Fawcette of her engagement to drive with me. I thoroughly enjoyed the drive, and it was after twelve o’clock when I reached my apartment again. To my surprise, my latch-key was not in the usual pocket, and after a short search I rang the bell, fuming.
To my amazement, however, no one came.
I was furious. I had distinctly told Larry to stay home that morning and it seemed that he had disobeyed orders.
I waited a few moments, ringing again at intervals, in the thought that he might be washing up and have his hands full. But after about five minutes I went back and rang for the elevator, to question the operator, idly running through my pockets as I waited.
Almost at the same moment that the elevator reached my floor, my fingers closed on my latch-key, in my vest pocket. How it got there I have no idea.
“Did my man go out?” I asked the boy. “There does not seem to be any one there.”
“No, sir, not that I know of. Haven’t you got your key?”
“Yes, I just found it,” I told him. “Has any one been here for me?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you been running the elevator all morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“That’s all right, sir.” The door slammed and the elevator went down again.
I turned back to my front door and fitted the key in the lock.
I was vaguely uneasy, and it was that, perhaps, that caused me to open the door very softly, close it again as softly and stand listening a moment. There was no sound in the place, but after a moment or two I became aware of the fact that there were faint traces of a lingering perfume in the air, a scent highly feminine and vaguely familiar. What on earth could it mean? I wondered. For, so far as I knew, no woman had crossed my threshold since I took the apartment. Perhaps Larry——
I walked down the hall and into my living-room. It seemed to me, as I advanced, that there were sounds of hasty movement just before I reached it. But at first glance the room seemed to be unoccupied and nothing appeared to be disturbed.
Then I looked again more carefully, and I noticed that the curtain in front of my window was swaying slightly, although the window was closed. It was exactly the same curtain, incidentally, behind which my earlier visitor—and Moore’s victim—had hidden himself. The scent of perfume was stronger here, however, and I was pretty sure that the curtain concealed a woman this time.
I began to whistle suddenly and strode into the room. I picked up some papers on the table and flung them down again. Then I broke into speech: “Confound that boy, anyway,” I muttered.
After a moment I left the room and tramped down the hall to Larry’s room. There was no sign of him anywhere. I found his revolver, ready loaded, slipped it into my pocket, tramped down the hall, opened the front door again and slammed it—from the inside. Then I tiptoed silently back to the living-room door, keeping out of sight, and waited. I felt that it was as important to find out what my unconventional visitor wanted there as to find out her identity. But what had become of Larry puzzled me more. It was so unlike him to disobey orders.
For perhaps five minutes there was absolute silence in the room outside of which I stood. Then at last I heard a faint rustle and the swish of skirts. This was followed by the crackle of papers. I stepped into the doorway, revolver in hand. A woman it was. She had her back to me and was bending over my table, running through the papers and letters on it with quick, nervous fingers. Suddenly she turned her head a little and I started and slipped the revolver into my pocket. My unconventional visitor was Mrs. Fawcette.
The blood rushed to my head. It was too much of a coincidence. It was to Mrs. Fawcette’s house that Margaret had gone that terrible day. It was Mrs. Fawcette’s friend that served drugged tea to—I winced—beautiful young visitors. It was common knowledge that the woman herself took drugs, though no one knew exactly what. And now she was here, searching my rooms.
For a moment I wondered whether I could startle her and perhaps frighten the truth out of her. But I decided that she was far too clever a woman for that. Besides, the whole thing was too big, and it would be better for our search if I could disarm her obvious suspicion instead. I leaned against the doorpost and coughed quietly. I could at least hear what she had to say.
My visitor whirled about with a suppressed scream, her face as white as chalk and her eyes black and wide with terror. “You!” she cried.
“My dear Mrs. Fawcette,” I answered, bowing. “This is awfully sweet of you. But I’m afraid that it is a little indiscreet.”
One hand flew to her heart and she leaned back against the table. For a moment I thought that she was going to collapse. But she conquered her momentary faintness and forced something approaching a smile.
“You frightened me so,” she gasped. “When—when did you come back?”
“Just now,” I answered. “I’m terribly sorry if I frightened you. But I was so surprised to see you, you know. And what in the world has become of my man?”
She hesitated and glanced around the room wildly for an instant as though searching for a chance to escape.
“I—I don’t know. I found the front door was open and I came in to find you. But there was no one here at all.”
“I see,” I answered gently. “Now won’t you sit down and tell me what I can do for you? Surely we’re too old friends for you to be so frightened now?” I paused. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Oh, would you?” She raised a trembling hand to her mouth and her eyes searched my face. “It’s not the fright you gave me,” she ventured at last, in a low tone, “it’s the—way you found me.”
As I stepped to the decanter and poured her out a stiffish drink of whisky I reflected that this was coming to the point with a vengeance. The woman certainly had nerve and wits, for all her fright. I wondered what sort of a tale she could possibly give me. But she was equal to the occasion.
“Well, what about the way I found you?” I smiled, as I handed her the drink.
She drained the whisky at a gulp, and some of the color came back to her face. I took her arm and helped her to a chair, and although she hesitated for an instant and drew back, she sank into it finally and seemed grateful. The interview promised to be interesting.
“You see,” she answered, “it’s an old story, really, and one of which I am terribly ashamed. That is why you startled me so.”
“Don’t tell me if you’d rather not,” I answered gently.
“Oh, but I must,” she insisted. “I must make you understand or I don’t know what you will think. You see, when I was a young girl I was very nervous. It is a failing that takes strange forms sometimes, as you probably know. With me it took the form of wanting to—wanting to—take—other people’s things—sometimes.” She dropped her eyes.
“Kleptomania?” I ventured.
She nodded. “I thought I had conquered it entirely,” she went on. “But finding myself alone, in here—the apartment so silent—and—and everything—brought it back, I’m afraid. So you found me picking over the things on your desk, hardly knowing what I did. But—I didn’t take anything!” she concluded piteously.
“My dear lady,” I answered heartily, “I don’t care whether you did or not. You’re welcome to anything there is there,” I finished, laughing.
She drew a long breath at that, looking at me closely the while, however. “Oh—you are—good to me!” she breathed. “But I knew that you would be.” She rose slowly to her feet and looked up into my face. “May I—may I go—now?” she finished pathetically.
“But of course,” I answered, “if you must. But why go so soon? You haven’t told me why you came yet.”
She walked slowly toward the door into the hall, and I followed a step or so behind her. But she did not answer until she had reached the front door and I had opened it for her. Her head was bent. “Can’t you guess?” she murmured.
I took her hand gently and pressed it. “Then you must not go,” I urged. “Come back!”
But she drew her hand away. “No, not now. You frightened me. I——”
“Some other time perhaps?” I ventured.
She rang for the elevator. We stood together in silence waiting for it. But just before the car reached my floor she looked up into my face. “Perhaps!” she murmured.
If it was acting, like the rest, the glow in her eyes was the most consummate part of the whole performance.
But the elevator door slammed and I returned to my empty rooms to sit down and cogitate, while my visitor presumably repaired to her luncheon with Natalie and Ivanovitch.
My papers had been disturbed, but I could not find that anything except a little card-case with a few calling cards in it—and I might have mislaid that—was missing. However, her visit was serious enough, if she were connected with the gang, as it showed that I was at last suspected. In my anxiety over Larry, however, I forgot Vining’s note-book and did not look to see whether it was still there. And events followed each other so rapidly after that, that I did not think of the little book again until several days later.
I had been sitting thinking for some ten minutes perhaps, when the front door slammed again, and in a moment Larry burst in, grimy, disheveled and wild of eye. “Thank God,” he cried as soon as he saw me. “I guessed it was a frame-up, sor, and I thought, maybe, they’d done for ye, sor, with me not here to look after—that is, I——”
“What happened, Larry?” I answered sharply. “Out with it. I’m all right.”
“There wuz a woman, sor,” he stammered, looking comically indignant. “She come to the door and rang the bell, and when I answered she grabbed my sleeve and says, ‘Oh, come wid me. Please, come wid me! I think some one is being hurt!’ ”
His imitation of an agitated woman was supremely funny, but it was too serious a matter for laughter. “Go on,” I nodded.
“Before I knew where I was at, sor, I was down two flights of stairs wid her, in frunt av that empty flat below there. She had the key of the door and I follered her in widout a thought. ‘Why, ’tis impty,’ says she. ‘So it is,’ says I. ‘What do we do next?’ ”
Larry paused. “Then she grabs me arm again. ‘I know I heard some one scream in here,’ says she. ‘Won’t you hilp me search the place?’ She was a grand, handsome woman, sor, beautifully dressed, and I thought no harm at all. ‘That I will,’ says I, and we set out together, she clinging on to my arm. The place was as empty as me hand, sor, and thick wid dust. ‘There’s no feetmarks,’ says I, wondering. ‘There is not, then,’ says she. ‘But ’twas in here I heard it, I’m sure of that.’
“Presently she opens a door,” Larry went on. “ ’Twas all dark inside, sor. ‘Phwat’s in there?’ says she. ‘I don’t know,’ says I, holding back. ‘Well thin, go an’ see,’ says she, an’ I went, sor!”
Larry paused indignantly, and I stifled my growing desire to laugh, with difficulty. “Well?” I demanded.
“Sure, sor, no sooner was I inside than she shut the door on me. An’ it was black as yer hat. ‘Phwat’s that for?’ I asked her. But she didn’t answer and I felt for the knob, sor; the door was locked!”
At this I broke into shouts of laughter. And the hurt, indignant look on his face set me off again worse than ever every time I tried to collect myself.
“Well?” I asked him at last.
“Sure, sor, I called to her. ‘Let me out!’ I says. ‘Get out yerself!’ she says and laughed at me. Then I heard her running down the hall, and next minute the outside door shut.”
“Well, Larry,” I gasped, between spasms of laughter, “youarean easy mark! How did you get out finally?”
“Bruk out a panel at last and shot the bolt back. But it was hot work in that closet. What do you suppose she wanted, sor?”
“Did you leave the door open—our front door—when you started out with her?” I asked him.
Larry scratched his head and suddenly he pulled a long face. “Now I come to think av ut, I belave I did, sor.”
“I believe you did too, Larry,” I laughed.
“Has she been in here, sor?” he asked more anxiously, glancing about the room.
“She has that!” I told him.
For once Larry was completely crestfallen. “Faith, sor, I’ll never belave a woman again!” he said.