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"The Folded Paper Mystery," Collins Crime Club, London, 1930
FINLAY CORVETH hustled in the direction of theLackawanna terminal. When it was a question of getting the low-down on anything in Hoboken, he immediately thought of HennyFriend, big boss and proprietor of the Boloney Bar. Fin was notmore hard-hearted than the run of young men; he was genuinelysorry for his friend lying dazed and half sick amid the wreck ofhis poor belongings but... Gosh! what a situation was opening up!What a chance for a free-lance writer! Ought to make hiseverlasting reputation if he handled it right. He thrilled withthe possibilities of mystery and danger. "Dearer to me thanlife!" Nick Peters had muttered. Naturally, a woman wassuggested.
Fin took Hudson Street because it was less crowded thanWashington. He had not gone a hundred paces before he discoveredthat he was being followed. It was the first time in his life, sofar as he knew, that anybody had ever considered it worth whileto follow him. It gave you a feeling like no other. Not exactlyfear. Fin did not consider there was much danger of being shotdown in the open street. Just wants to see what I'm after, hetold himself.
And if there was a sensation of fear mixed with hisexcitement, he wasn't going to let anything on. He coolly stoppedin front of a small haberdasher's and made believe to admire thesatin ties in the window. His trailer could not stop, because thepavement was empty at the moment and there was no otherconvenient store window. Slowing down, the man passed behind Fin.Whereupon Fin went on and passing him, got a good look. A weirdforeign-looking cuss, tall and excessively lean; dressed in blackbroadcloth like the deacon of some outlandish church. Fin wasreminded of the portraits of Robespierre with his greenishcomplexion and lank black hair.
He wondered if this was the man who had struck down NickPeters, and anger made his throat tight. However, this one hadnot the look of a hired spy such as Nick had described; there wastoo much crazy fire in his sunken eyes. Perhaps this was theprincipal, then, the chief of Nick's enemies. Why go to Henny forinformation if the man himself was in his grasp? But if I grabbedhim without evidence I'd only make a fool of myself, thought Fin.I've got to beat him at his own game—lead him on.
The Boloney Bar is on River Street near the Lackawannaferries. There it functions exactly as in the old days, with itslong mahogany bar to pound the seidels on, brass foot-rail,sawdust- covered floor, and free-lunch counter displaying everyvariety of the delicacy which gave it its name. Behind the bar isa long range of mirrors covered with a film of soap as aprotection from fly specks. In the soap Ed Hafker, the chiefbartender, is fond of tracing toasts with a flowing forefinger,such as: Prosit! Here's How! Drink Hearty! Never Say Die!
Fin's trailer did not follow him inside, but remained watchingfrom across the street. The Boloney Bar is always crowded, formen will make a long pilgrimage nowadays to plant their elbows onthe veritable mahogany. Fin was well known there, and his friendsthe bartenders greeted him jovially as he passed down the line:"'Lo, Fin!... Howsa Boy?... What's the good word, Fin?... What'llyou have?"
To which Fin replied: "See you later, fellas. I'm lookin' forHenny."
"Well, you know where to find him."
Henny Friend's sanctum was in the corner room upstairs. Likeother magnates, his days were spent in "conferences." A diversecollection of humanity passed unobtrusively in and out everytwenty-four hours. The door was always locked. Fin knocked, andHenny's thick voice was heard from within.
"Who is it?"
"Fin Corveth."
"Half a mo', Fin."
When he was ready, Henny pressed a button and the latchclicked. As Fin entered, somebody left by another door. Hennynever allowed his callers to meet unless he had an object in it.A huge, toadlike hulk of flesh planted in an oversize chairbehind a desk, with an over-size cigar elevated from one cornerof his mouth. Notwithstanding his name, he was certainly Italian;swarthy, smooth, and expressionless. "Henny Friend" had beenadopted for professional purposes in a German community. Hisbrown eyes were as bright and hard as agate.
"Well, Kid, how's tricks?"
Fin wasted no time in beating around the bush. With his toughfriends he sported a tough accent. "I run into a damn queer storyup the street just now," he said. "I only got the half of it andI thought maybe you could piece it out."
"Well, shoot!" said Henny, leaning back in his swingchair.
On the way down Fin had naturally figured out what line hewould take; tell Henny the whole truth, but omit any reference tothe missing brass ball from Nick's bed.
"In my business I got all kinds of friends..." Fin began.
"Just like me," said Henny, with a fat chuckle.
"Sure! Well, up on Fourth Street, near Washington Square,there's a guy named Nick Peters has a little store where herepairs watches and jewelry. It's a real poor little place,that's what attracted me inside in the first place, I thoughtthere would be a story in it. He hasn't even got a safe, but hesays when anybody brings him a valuable piece to fix he tellsthem to come back for it the same night. The rest of the stuff heputs under his pillow.
"He's a foreigner, but of what kind I don't know. Never wouldtalk about himself. Lives all alone in a room back of his store.He's a damn good workman; I've watched him often; too good forthe cheap jobs he gets. When I asked him why he didn't go to workfor one of the big houses he said he made more on his own. Ireckon it's a fact, because he seems to have all he can do. Worksday and night. He's a good head, Henny; me and him has had many atalk together. He's what you call a philosopher."
"Yeah?" said Henny, good-humoredly. He cocked the cigar at asteeper angle.
"Well today, after I left the Three-Hours-for-Lunch Club," Finwent on, "I fluffed up there to have a talk with Nick, and Ifound the store closed and the blinds pulled down. The kids inthe street said he'd been closed all day. I didn't know what tomake of it, because that guy was always working. I went throughthe hall of the tenement house to try to get into his room at theback. The door opened in my hand, and, Gosh! Henny, when I lookedinside, the place was completely wrecked!"
Henny shrugged cynically, and flicked the ashes off hiscigar.
"It was like a madman had been let loose in there," Fincontinued. "The table was turned over, the shelves swept bare,and all Nick's stuff lying on the floor and trodden on. Icouldn't see Nick first off, but I smelled a sweetish smell onthe air. Chloroform. The store in front was just the same. Thefellow had even torn the paper from the walls and knocked holesin the plaster. Some of the boards of the floor had been pulledup. Certainly looked like a crazy man's work, because the watchesand bits of jewelry Nick had been repairing was scattered on thefloor with the rest.
"I heard a groan from the back room and run in there again. Ifound Nick lying on the floor between the bed and the wall. Hewas just coming to, and I laid him on the bed. He looked bad, allbruised and bloody about the head. Made me hot, I can tell you;such a good little guy, never harmed nobody. Well, I gave himwater to drink and washed his head. I found he wasn't hurt bad,but only knocked silly.
"When he was able to talk, either he couldn't or he wouldn'ttell me what the fellow was after. He said he must have come inby the window and chloroformed him while he slept. The windowopened on an air-shaft. Easy enough to climb up that way. Nicksaid when he came to in the morning the fellow was still there,looking. He snatched a brass ball offen the foot of the bed andcracked Nick over the head with it. That was all he knew. Thefellow must have let himself out into the hall then. As I toldyou, the door was unlocked when I came. That's the story."
"Yeah?" said Henny, coolly. "I'm sorry for the guy if he's afriend of yours; but what's remarkable about it? It happens ev'yday."
"There's two things funny about it," said Fin. "The fellowthat beat him up didn't take anything. The watches and jewelryand all was still lying around the place. And, secondly, Nick'sgoing to keep his mouth shut about it. Made me promise to keepaway from the police."
"What do you make out of that?" said Henny.
"This fellow was after something special," said Fin. "Nick leton as much, but he wouldn't tell me what. The fellow didn't getit because, as Nick said, he had it safely put away somewheresoutside."
"What do you come to me for?" asked Henny, with a hard look."Do you think I beat up this bozo?"
Fin affected to laugh heartily. Like many a lad with an openand honest face, he made it work for him when he had need of it."Quit your kidding!" he said. "I came to you because you knoweverything that happens this side of the river, or you can findout if you want."
Henny was silent for a moment or two, twisting the big cigarbetween his lips. "You better keep out of this, kid," he said atlast. " 'Sall right for me to tell you stories of what's past andgone. That don't hurt nobody. But you can't use this story. It'stoo new. The police would get on to it."
"How could they?" persisted Fin. "They don't know nothing andthey won't know. Nick Peters won't say a word, and I'll change itround like I always do. You know me, Henny. I treat it asfiction... Aw, there's a swell story in this," he went on,cajolingly, "and I need it for my Sunday article in theRecorder. Don't be a crab, Henny."
"Did this guy give you a description of the guy what hit him?"asked Henny.
Fin shook his head. "He couldn't see him good."
"Well, I'll ask around," said Henny, cautiously. "Go down andhave a drink and come back in fifteen minutes."
From the bar Fin could see Robespierre (as he termed him tohimself) still loitering in front of the bank across the street.That's all right, old fella, he thought; this joint has a door onthe alley!
When Fin was admitted to Henny's room for the second time, thebig man was not alone. Beside his desk sat a comely, well-dressedlad, like Henny, of Italian extraction, and, like Henny, with asmooth blank face and wary eyes. Quick work! thought Fin.However, he dissembled his excitement.
"This is my friend Tony Casino," said Henny. "Meet FinCorveth, Tony."
Fin shook hands. The Italian lad got up and sat down with abit of a swagger.
"Well, spill your stuff, Fin," said Henny.
Fin felt embarrassed in having to speak of burglary andassault in such company. However, he plunged ahead. "Fellow Iknow, a watchmaker, was beaten up today," he said. "I just wantedto get the rights of it."
Tony cocked an inquiring eye in Henny's direction.
"'S all right," said the latter, with a comfortable grin. "Finain't lookin' for revenge. He on'y wants the story. He's one ofthese, now, fiction-writers. He'll change the names and all."
Tony, assured there was no danger in it, swelled a little atthe idea of seeing his exploit in print. "Yeah," he said, with agreat air of unconcern, "that was my job, all right. I didn't aimto hurt the old Slovak, but it took longer than I figured tosearch the place, and he come out of the gauze before I was troo.So I hadda bump his bean. I didn't hurt him much." Tony spoke inan oddly husky voice for one so young, and dropped the words outof the corner of his mouth like a ventriloquist.
Fin held in his anger. It was no time to indulge privatefeelings. "Sure," he said, propitiatingly, "he wasn't hurt much.Who hired you to do the job?"
"I don't know the guy's name," said Tony, coolly, "and Iwouldn't tell it if I did. I seen him hanging around town once ortwice. He was a guy you wouldn't forget easy, and one night hecome into the bar downstairs. I seen him lookin' at me, and Iseen him askin' Ed who I was. So I let him buy me a drink. Afterwe had three or four we got friendly, and after he stalled aroundawhile he put it up to me—would I take on a little job fora hundred smackers paid down and a grand to follow."
Fin perceived that he need have no delicacy in discussingthese matters with Tony.
"I says sure I would," Tony went on. "Give me the dope. And hetold me a story how years ago a Slovak jeweler stole an emeraldoff him that belonged to his family, and disappeared. The guyfinally traced him here to Hoboken, and found him keeping alittle repair shop. He couldn't have the Slovak arrested, hesaid, because he didn't have no proof he stole the emerald, buthe'd give me a hundred smackers tosearch his place, and if Ifound the emerald and brought it to him, it would be worth agrand to me.
"Maybe it was all hooey. What did I care? I saw a hundred init, anyhow, and I took it on. I prospected around the joint and Ifound the Slovak hadn't no safe, so it looked like a cinch. Ifound I could get in easy through the cellar, and up the air-shaft to the window of his back room. He always left it opennights.
"I fixed on last night to pull it off. The Slovak worked latein his store ev'y night. I watched until he put his light out,then I waited an hour for him to go by-by and went in. I give hima whiff of chloroform to keep him quiet. Then I searched theplace. Cheese! I near pulled it down, lookin', because the NewYork guy told me if he had it he would hide it good. Well, Ididn't find no emerald at that. The rest of the stuff wasn'tworth lifting. I'm no small change artist... Well, you know therest," Tony concluded; "the Slovak come to while I was there, andI had to put him to sleep again."
"What did you hit him with?" asked Fin, casually.
"Didn't have nothing with me," said Tony, "so I unscrewed abrass knob offen the bed, dropped it in my handkerchief, andsoaked him with that."
"That was a neat one!" said Fin, with a grin that concealedmore than it expressed.
"Well, that's all," said Tony, with his conceited swagger. "Itold you there was nothing to it."
"Oh, I don't know," said Fin. "That was a good touch about theemerald. What like emerald was it, did he say?"
"It was in the shape of a heart, the guy said," answered Tony,"about so big." He measured an inch with thumb and forefinger."It was in two halves joined together with a gold band," he said,and there was a little ring in the top to hang it by. Been in hisfamily hundreds of years, he said. All hooey, I guess. Said I wasto bring it to him just as I found it if I wanted the grand."
"What like guy was this New York guy?" asked Fin.
Tony shook his head. "I won't furnish no description," hesaid. "It ain't professional."
Henny nodded in agreement.
"Have you seen him since last night?" asked Fin.
"Sure. I met him on the ferry-boatBergen this aft., asagreed. He was sore as hell too, not to get the emerald, but whatdid I care? I already had the hundred off him."
"Will you see him again?"
"Nah! Why should I?"
"It's a good story, all right," said Fin. "I'll have to fakeup what we don't know about it... What did you do with the brassknob after?" he asked, very carelessly.
"Cheese! I dropped it in me pocket and forgot all about it,"said Tony. "I found it there later, and I was for pitching it inthe river first off, but it made an elegant dropper without beingincriminating—get me?—so I kept it. Just about thattime I met Kid River, a pal of mine. He had a job over inManhattan tonight and he was looking for a nice dropper, so Igive it to him."
Fin quietly absorbed this piece of information. There wasnothing more he could say without showing his hand. He threw outa little smoke screen of flattery. "Cheese! Tony, you sure areone nervy kid! It's a treat to hear you! You must tell me somemore stories!" And so on.
Tony could take any amount of this. "Sure; any time you like,"he said, condescendingly.
The meeting broke up.
Fin made his way down to the bar alone. He accepted a beerfrom Ed Hafker, and they fell into idle talk across themahogany.
"Do you know a guy called Kid River?" asked Fin.
"Sure. He comes in here."
"I'd like to know him. I hear he's got a good story."
"I'll tell him when I see him."
"Know where he lives?"
"In the old tenement at Second and River. One block up."
"What's his right name?"
"You can search me. Everybody calls him Kid River."
Fin was in no haste to be gone. Ed must have one with himfirst.
Robespierre was still loitering across the street. Finnaturally supposed that this was the man who had hired TonyCasino. He silently addressed him over his beer glass: Whatwouldn't you give to know that the emerald heart was inside thebrass ball, old fella? Your man lifted it without knowing that helifted it!
THE old tenement house had a row of brokenletter-boxes in the vestibule but nobody troubled to put names inthem. The people who lived in this house gave little work to theletter-carrier. Fin as before, applied to the sidewalk childrenfor information.
"What floor does Kid River live on?"
Several voices answered at once, "Top floor front, left-handdoor."
Another said, "He ain't home."
"Is there anybody there?" asked Fin.
"Sure. His girl is home."
Still another voice volunteered: "They had a fight thisafternoon. I heard her hollerin'."
Fin made his way up four flights of dark and smelly stairs,and knocked at the designated door. It presently opened a crack,revealing part of a pale, pretty face not over-clean andunmistakably tear-stained.
"What you want?" she demanded, sullenly.
"Is Kid River home?" Fin asked, pleasantly.
"Nah!" she said, and made to close the door; but Fin hadinserted a toe in the crack.
"Aw, don't be a crab, sister," he said, with his mostinsinuating grin. "I ain't no bill-collector."
The girl took another look at Fin's mirthful blue eyes andwhite teeth, and opened the door wider. She bridled slightly, andput a hand to her hair. "What do youse want with Kid River?" sheasked, with a sniff.
"I just want to get a story out of him."
"A newspaper guy?" she asked, suspiciously. "Not exactly,"said Fin. "I write fiction for the Sunday papers and themagazines."
"Cheese! the Kid is popular this afternoon," she said, with asneer. "Youse are the second stranger that's been after him."
Fin pricked up his ears. "Who was the first?" he asked,carelessly.
"An old guy," she said, indifferently. "Real swelldressed."
This was certainly not Robespierre. A new factor in the case."Swell dressed?" he said. "Real swell or Hoboken swell?"
"New York swell," she answered. "Cheese! you want to know alot!"
"Always on the lookout for a story," said Fin, grinning."Whadda ya mean, New York swell?"
"Great big buy," she said; "pop-eyed. Had a white edge on hisvest, and a spiky mustache, and carried a cane."
"A cane!" said Fin, scornfully. "Go on!"
"That's what I said. And he had one of them single eyeglassestoo, but he didn't put it up, or I'd a give him the razz."
Thus Fin obtained a pretty good description of the man,whoever he might be. "What did you tell him?" he asked.
"Nottin'!" she said, quickly. "He was too fresh with his mygirl this, and my girl that, and pinching my arm and all. I hatean old freshie! I shut the door in his face and left himstanding!"
This sounded as if it might be true, and Fin breathed morefreely. Still he was anxious. It appeared there was to be a racefor the brass ball. He must make no mistakes!
"Thanks for the hint," he said, facetiously. "I see I gottawatch my step around here."
She gave him a sidelong look as much as to say that what was"fresh" in an old gallant might be something else from a youngone. "You can come in if you want," she said, leaving the door."It's a hell of a dump," she added, with youthful bravado. "I'vebeen accustomed to better."
She did not belie the room. A sordid setting for love's youngdream. To be sure, there was the view over the river, but it isdoubtful if they ever looked at it. The girl in her soiled andsleazy silk dress was of a piece with the room. Yet Fin had seenworse looking girls installed in splendor on Park Avenue. Therewas something touching in the way her half-grown brown haircurled at her neck. This one simply had not had any luck, hethought.
"You're worth better," he said.
She gave him an extraordinary look, half sullen, half wistful.To her Fin was like a creature from another world. She waswondering, without hope, if this might prove to be her PrinceCharming.
It made Fin uncomfortable. "Where is the Kid?" he asked, tocreate a diversion.
"Search me," she said, sullenly. "If I knew I wouldn't tellyou."
"Why not?"
"I don't know who you are. I'm not going to get him intotrouble."
"He don't seem to have treated you any too well," suggestedFin.
"That's all right. Wouldn't do me no good to have him sentup."
"Come on," said Fin, grinning. "On the level, do I look like acop?"
She shook her head.
"When will he be back?"
"I don't care if he never comes back!" she said, with apainful sneer.
"Has he left you flat?" asked Fin.
She made no answer, but her eyes filled with tears; however,they were tears of anger, not grief, Fin noted. He saw her thinhands clench.
"It's a dirty shame!" he said. "A good-looking girl likeyou!"
With a grievance on one side and plenty of sympathy on theother, it does not take two long to reach an understanding. Thegirl said, eagerly:
"I'd tell you where you could find him if you'd promise tohand him a stiff one for me."
"I'll do that," said Fin, quickly. He salved his consciencewith the assurance that most men would lie to a woman for noreason, whereas this was a matter of life and death.
"All right," she said. "He's on a job tonight; I don't knowwhere it is; but when he comes off a job he always goes to SheenyMoe's speakeasy. Sheeny takes the stuff off him and gives him ahide-out if he wants it. Sheeny's place is the last house onEssex Street by the tracks. An old shanty standing by itself.It's a bad neighborhood. Have you got the nerve to go there?"
"I reckon," said Fin, grinning.
"Some time near morning he'll come there... Knock him down,will you?" she said, passionately. "Knock him down and say,'That's for Milly, you skunk!' Will you? Will you?"
"Sure!" said Fin, grinning. "What's the guy look like?"
"He's your height," she said, "but slimmer. Walks with a kindof lope like a kangaroo... Here, I'll show you his picture."
From a drawer in the dresser she took a little photograph ofthe sort you get in a slot machine. It depicted two smiling,comely young faces pressed cheek to cheek, taken evidently beforethe rift appeared in the lute. Somehow the cheap photograph gaveFin a wrench. It would have been hard to explain. Well, he knewWhat it was to be young.
Handing it back he said, "Well, I must be Pulling myfreight."
"There's no rush," said the girl, wistfully. "You won't findthe Kid until near morning."
"I got other work to do, sister. So long."
"Will you come to see me tomorrow?" she murmured, lowering hereyes.
Fin lied blithely, "Surest thing you know!"
It was evident from her pale, downcast face that she was notdeceived. The young man was attacked by sudden compunctions. Shewas so pale, so listless in her movements.
"Have you got anything in the house?" he asked,diffidently.
She slowly shook her head.
"Oh, gee!" murmured Fin, compassionately. He was always broke,but he could spare a dollar to one who was hungry. He folded thebill up small and tucked it under the pillow on the bed. Itseemed more delicate to dispose of it that way. "So long, kid!"he cried. "Keep your dander up!" He scuttled downstairs,whistling to drive away painful thoughts... The poor kid! Thepoor kid! Didn't look a day over seventeen. How she would bloomout if somebody was good to her!
Fin hustled up Washington Street, seething with excitement. Hewas on his way back to see how Nick Peters was getting along. Hisspirits were alternately up and down. Well, he was still hot onthe trail of the brass ball; he hadn't done so badly for a novicesleuth. But, gosh! there were a thousand things that might happenbefore he got it safe in his hands. The trouble was, the damnthing was of so little apparent value. Kid River was going to useit for a blackjack tonight. After he had cracked his man on thebean, ten to one he'd throw it away. It was maddening.
It suddenly occurred to Fin it was dinnertime and he washungry as a hunter. Nick would need to be fed, too. He stoppedand looked up and down the street for the nearest delicatessenstore. When he stopped a man behind him stopped, and by that helearned he was being followed again. This was a man he had notseen before—a cagy individual with two sharp eyes in a faceas blank as a death mask. Private detective was written all overhim.
Where does he come in? thought Fin. Gosh! what's the use ofasking? There's an army of them! Is he after me or is he tryingto find Kid River through me? If it's Kid River, I'm a lap aheadbecause I know where to look.
Fin foresaw hot work during the coming night, and a mouse withcold feet scampered up and down his spine. It would provide thetest of his nerve that every young man dreads a little while hewelcomes it. He thought desirously of a gun he had hidden in thebottom of his trunk in New York, but he would not turn in histracks to fetch it, because it seemed important not to let histrailer know he had been spotted. So he kept on his way. Enteringa delicatessen store, he bought the makings of a supper for two,and carried it on to Nick Peters' without another glance behindhim.
The store contained literally nothing but Nick's workbench andstool, and a kitchen chair for waiting customers. During Fin'sabsence Nick had cleaned up as well as he was able, and one couldnever have guessed from his calm face that anything had happened.He was working under pressure to make up for the time he hadlost. He was wearing a black skull cap to hide the abrasions onhis bald poll. A gaunt little man with deep-sunken eyes, when hescrewed in the watchmaker's glass he had the look of a kindlygnome.
As Fin entered, Nick dropped the glass from his eye andglanced with strained intensity in the young man's face. Seeinginstantly that Fin had not brought back what he desired, he putback the glass and resumed work with a bitter half smile. He hadexpected nothing better.
Fin, reading that look, said, "Just the same, I've got aclue."
"What's that?" asked Nick, eagerly. He spoke excellentEnglish, but with an accent Fin had never been able toidentify.
"Lock up for half an hour and let's have some supper," saidFin. "You'll be needing it. I'll tell you everything while weeat."
Before they sat down in the rear room Fin took care to seethat the door on the hall was locked, and the window on theairshaft. He pulled down the blind to discourage spies. Nicklooked on at these precautions with his bitter smile.
"What matter if they come again?" he said. "The prize isgone."
"Sure," said Fin, "but we've still got our skins to save."
Nick shrugged apathetically. "You have," he said. "You areyoung. You got your life before you." His deep-sunken eyes dwelton the young man with wistful kindliness. "You're a good fellow,"he went on. "Keep out of this. Stay away from here."
"A fat chance!" said Fin, more moved than he cared toshow.
As they sat down toLeberwurst, salad, and rye bread,Fin said, with a touch of resentment, "You wouldn't tell meanything, but I found out a few things for myself." He describedthe lantern-jawed individual who had followed him away fromNick's place earlier.
"I know him," murmured Nick.
"If you know him, why don't you have him arrested?" saidFin.
"It's not so simple," said Nick.
"At first I thought he was back of it all," said Fin, "butlater I got on the track of one who seemed to have more sense.This one suspects there may be something in the brass ball." Findescribed the fat man. "I reckon he's the main guy."
Nick slowly shook his head.
"Then who is?"
"A great personage," murmured Nick.
Fin stared at him. "But you know this fat man?"
"I think I see sometime in this street, watching," said Nick."A new man. There are so many! I notice this one because he isAmerican. So I call him to myself, 'the American.' "
"Good God!" cried Fin, amazed. "So many of them! And allpitted against you!" He looked around the bare little room as ifseeking the answer. "What does it mean, Nick?"
The little watchmaker shrugged wearily.
"What's the connection between the fat man and Robespierre?"demanded Fin.
"No connection. There are two parties."
"Two parties!" echoed Fin.
"One look for the brass ball to save it," said Nick, coolly;"one to destroy it!"
"You're talking in riddles!" cried Fin. "Why should anybodydestroy a valuable emerald?"
"There is more in it than an emerald," said Nick, with hisquiet, bitter smile.
"Good Lord! why do you tantalize me with hints!" cried theexasperated Fin. "Why not tell me the rights of it?"
"I say no more," said Nick, pressing his lips together.
"How does a poor man like you come to be mixed up with a greatpersonage?" demanded Fin. "If you had this valuable emerald, whydo you live so poor?"
"It is not mine," said Nick. "I keep for somebody."
"Then you ought to let me go to the police. You needprotection here."
From the first, Nick had become agitated at any mention of thepolice. "No! No!" he said. "If you go to police you get in thenewspapers. I got to keep secret. For sixteen years I keepsecret."
"Can't you tell me?" said Fin. "I'm your friend. Don't youtrust me?"
"I trust you," said Nick with a quick warm glance. "You are agood fellow... But it is too dangerous. If the brass ball islost, there is no use. All better be forgotten."
"Maybe I'll get it back!"
Nick shook his head gloomily. "You not get it back. What is abrass ball? It will be thrown away."
"You might as well tell me," persisted Fin. "I'm in it up tothe ears already. They've spotted me. There's a man laying for meoutside now. Why not give me the satisfaction of knowing what I'mup against?"
"I will not tell you," said Nick, firmly. "If the emerald islost there is no use."
"But if I bring it back to you?" said Fin, eagerly.
Nick considered. "Yes," he said, "if you bring it back I tellyou the whole story—if you wish to risk your life."
"Risk!" cried Fin. "That's all that makes life worthliving!... All right, that's a go! You can depend upon it, I'lldo my damnedest!"
For a while they ate in silence. "Nick," said Fin,persuasively, "just answer me one question. Which party was itthat engineered the attack on you last night? The fat blackguardor the lean?"
"Truly, I do not know," said Nick.
"I think it was the fat one," said Fin, thoughtfully, "becausehe suspected there was something in the brass ball."
"Maybe so," said Nick.
As soon as they finished eating, Nick returned to his bench.Some of the watches had been damaged in being flung on the floorand he had extra work to do. Fin sat in the other chair, smoking,and they left the blinds up and the door open to suggest toanyone who might be watching that they had nothing to fear andnothing to conceal. While they talked a workman came in with hiswatch to be fixed, and another called for his.
Nick would answer no more questions. Instead, he resumed aconversation he had had with Fin before all this happened. Itdealt with his favorite theme—the future of man in theuniverse. Nick, who was no pessimist philosopher (though he hadgood reason to be, Fin thought) was obliged to concede that man'spresent situation in a partly mechanized world was bad; but hehad faith in the spirit of man. "When man perfect the machine,"he said, "he master it."
Fin marveled at such detachment; such sang-froid. Truly,courage chooses strange vehicles. The wizened little man with thewatchmaker's glass screwed into his eye, giving his consciousmind to philosophy and his unconscious to the watch he wasrepairing, was a first-class hero, he considered. Fin himself,thinking of actual men prowling in the street, was unable toconcentrate on man in the abstract.
As it drew on towards midnight Fin got up. "I've got to runover to New York," he said. "I hate to leave you here alone,Nick."
"I have a gun," said Nick, quietly. "I lock the windowtonight. They not catch me so easy again."
Nick arose, and their hands involuntarily shot out. Nick gaveFin's hand a little shake. The watchmaker's deep-sunken eyesdwelt on the young man with infinite feeling. Fin was never toforget that look.
"There is much I have not say to you," Nick said, quietly."Words so poor to express!... I just say this: I am lucky I haveyou for friend." Fin, deeply moved, turned away his head. "Don't,Nick, don't!" he mumbled. "You make me feel rotten... I want tosay you've given me something... something big!... I mean...something to measure up to... Hell! I can't say it right!"
Nick patted his shoulder, and then, when Fin thought all hadbeen said, he suddenly came out with a piece of vitalinformation: "Listen, my friend. In Miss Folsom's School atPompton Lakes there is a young girl who look to me foreverything. She is called Mariula Peters. She not know her ownname, her history. Unless I produce her heritage she must neverknow. The wolves are waiting to tear her!... I tell youbecause... well if my skull was not so thick tonight she have nofriend in the world. So I am scared for her. I ask you tobefriend her. She has noble nature."
"Gosh, Nick!" faltered Fin, pressing his hand. "I'll do myvery damnedest!... Why do you stay here alone?" he added, with akind of anger. "Go to a hotel; go any place where there arepeople; you would be safe among people."
Nick shrugged indifferently. "I safe enough here," he said."They know the prize not here now. It is you who will be indanger tonight."
MIDNIGHT. Fin supposed the private detective tobe at his heels, but made it a point not to look behind him. Hecrossed Washington Street and headed south, looking for a taxibound in the right direction. The busy main street was quiet now,and the cats were coming out. A cab came along and Fin jumped onthe running board, hoping there might be no other for histracker.
"Hudson Tunnels," he said to the driver, "and step on it!"
However, when he drove up to the entrance of the tunnels therewas another cab close behind him. Its occupant did notimmediately get out, but Fin had a glimpse of a masklike facethrough the front window. Fin descended to the upper level of thetunnel station and hung about, gaping at the magazines on thenewsstand, until he heard a warning cry from below announcing thedeparture of a train. Dropping his money in the box, he randownstairs. However, he was not so quick but the detectiveboarded the rear car as he made the front one.
Leaving the train at Christopher Street, Manhattan, Fin founda single taxi waiting at the station, and congratulated himself.Here's where I shake him! he thought. He got in, giving theaddress of his own hang-out in MacDougal Street. But thedetective was having the devil's own luck tonight. He found ataxi somewhere. As Fin unloaded at his own door, his pursuerturned the corner. Fin shrugged. Oh well, the night is young!
In his room Fin changed to an old suit badly in need of thepressing iron, and a battered felt hat that he could pull downwell over his eyes. He loaded the gun and dropped it in hispocket. He possessed no license to carry a gun, but under thepresent circumstances a man could not stick at that. He wasmighty thankful he had a gun.
As he reviewed in his mind all the curious facets of thiscase, none of which seemed to roatch Fin's thoughts turneddesirously toward his friend Amos Lee Mappin, the famous writeron crime. There would be the man to consult in such an emergency.And how he would enjoy getting his teeth into it! But I shan't goto him, Fin thought, hastily. His reputation would blanket meentirely. I must work this out on my own.
On the way back Fin employed every stratagem he could think ofto throw off his tracker, but it was all in vain. The detectivelanded in Hoboken at the same moment he did. His persistence wasuncanny. Fin began to be a little worried.
Always looking for a chance to shake him, Fin visited theresorts that were still open. In Meyers' he sat down in a cornerof the bar, since he still had time to spare. He could not seehis detective, but he had no doubt that the man could seehim.
Presently Fin got a shock. Looking through the archway intothe restaurant, he could see the end of a table where a noisyparty was supping. The host, an old rounder extraordinarily bigand fat, was directly in line with Fin's vision. At first theyoung man scarcely noticed him, but presently certain significantdetails stole on him: red cheeks, protuberant blue eyes, waxedmustache, dangling monocle.
"Gosh! it's the American!" thought Fin. "What's his gamehere?"
Immediately afterwards he got another shock. Within the bar,alongside the archway, there was a small table occupied by asingle figure—a queer, lean, writhen figure—peepingaround the arch at the supper party in the adjoining room. Inshort, Fin's Robespierre! His back was turned towards Fin, but anoise behind him made him jerk his head around nervously, and Finhad a glimpse of his green face distorted with anger and hatred.He did not spot Fin.
Fin instantly left the building. I don't know what it allmeans, he said to himself, but my job tonight is to find thebrass ball, and I can't afford to get mixed up in any freshcomplications.
The detective was waiting for him outside, and Fin soonreceived fresh evidence of his skill in tracking. He was able totake advantage of every bit of cover afforded by the desertedstreets, and it was but rarely that Fin got a glimpse of him. Finled him half the length of the town, turning many a corner, andfrequently doubling in his tracks. But the detective appeared tohave an uncanny faculty of forecasting what a hunted man woulddo, and he was never caught napping. At last Fin could waste nomore time. When he finally turned into Essex Street, it is true,he had not seen the man in half an hour, but he assumed that hewas still on the scent.
Essex Street begins back of Castle Hill, and runs downhillboth actually and figuratively until it loses itself among therusty tin cans and rubbish heaps of a former dumping-ground underthe Heights. The dumping-ground is bounded by a pool of stagnantwater, and beyond run the tracks of the belt railway. It is asfoul and ugly a spot as that waste where Childe Roland found theDark Tower. Nothing will grow there except, oddly enough, clumpsof gigantic sunflowers.
The last house stands out in the middle of the hummockydumping-ground. It appeared to have been constructed out of whatodds and ends might be found in such a place. New rooms had beentacked on at random as additional materials were collected. Thewhole straggling mass had a kind of sinister picturesquenessunder the night sky. It was surrounded by a crazy fence built ofdiscarded sheets of tin roofing, with a wooden gate in front. Nosound was to be heard from within and no crack of light appearedanywhere.
It was a clear, starry night, and after having been out for anhour Fin could see pretty well He looked about for the best pointof vantage. All he knew was that Kid River was coming to thishouse sometime toward morning. The most direct approach was downEssex Street, but the thief might have reasons for avoiding adirect approach. An examination convinced Fin that his man couldnot climb the tin fence anywhere without making an ungodlyracket, so he determined to watch the gate.
There was no lack of cover among the hummocks of ashes and thecast-off articles bestrewn over the dump. Fin hated to lie downin such a place; his nose wrinkled up at the sour smell that hungover it; however, he could not afford to be squeamish now.Looking for a hiding- place near the gate, he was greatlyastonished to stumble over a soft body. A man started up, cursinghim in a whine.
"Sorry, 'bo," said Fin. "I didn't see you lying there."
"What the hell are you looking for?" asked the man.
"The same as yourself, I reckon," said Fin, quickly, "a placeto lie down in."
"Well, it's free to all comers," said the man, mollified. "Youain't got a cigarette on you, have you?" he asked, eagerly.
Sure," said Fin producing a packet. "But hide the light. Wedon't want to bring anybody down on us."
"Hell! I wasn't born yesterday," said the other.
With the expertness born of long practice he lit a matchinside his coat and stuck his head down to it. When he got thecigarette going he cupped it within his hand so that not a sparkshowed. "Cheese! that's good!" he murmured. "That's a life-saver!"
Presently they saw a dim figure where the street ended in thedump. Flattening themselves behind a hummock of ashes, theywatched it. In another moment Fin recognized the squat figure ofthe detective. He came down to the gate of the shanty, stoodwatching and listening for a while, as if in uncertainty, andthen went back out of sight in the dark. But Fin did not supposehe had lost him.
"It's a bull!" muttered the man beside him, savagely. "Damntheir dirty hides!"
"Yeah," said Fin, sympathetically. "It's a nice thing if theywon't let a man sleep on the dump! If they chase us off the dump,where the hell else is left for a man to go?"
"You said it, fellow. Them people has got no bowels. Themlousy millionaires has got the whole earth fenced off fortheirselves; they won't even leave the dumps to the workers!"
Fin had the impulse to ask when he had worked last, butrestrained it. Full sympathy was his line. "Yeah," he said, "whatwe got to do is to join together and take what we want. Throw ascare into them pot-bellied millionaires!"
"That's what I say," returned the other, truculently. "Someday we'll show them where they get off at. We'll let themmillionaires sweat down their fat on the road gangs while we rideround in their Rolls-Royces and spit out of the window!"
Thus they conversed in great amity while the stranger smokedFin's cigarettes. "Cheese! you're a good fellow!" he said,warmly. "You're a man after my own heart!... You ain't got adrink on you, have you?"
"Wish to God I had," said Fin. The lower you go in the scale,he reflected, the easier it is to make friends.
After a while the man lay down and slept again, while Fincontinued his vigil. What queer sights the stars look down on! hethought. Nobody came out or went in at the gate he wasWatching.
Dawn was heralded by a loud crowing of cocks within theramshackle tin fence. Fin grinned to himself. This cheerful soundthat everybody associates with the clean countryside had a weirdeffect on the dump. Well, it's all one to a rooster, thought Fin.Daylight revealed the full hideousness of the place with itspiles of ancient rubbish. It was chilly, and an unwholesome steamwas rising from the stagnant water near by.
The sleeping man beside him, with his bristly face and ragged,dirty clothes, was of a piece I with the other cast-off articles.He was a small man in garments much too big for him; in age hemight have been anything between thirty-five and fifty-five. Finnoted with surprise his small hands and feet and delicatefeatures. Just a little different turn of fortune's wheel, hethought, and he would have been twirling a cane on Park Avenue.Fin perceived other derelicts lying here and there. So much thebetter, he thought; if it's a regular hang-out for tramps, Iwon't be conspicuous.
One by one these deplorable figures arose and shuffled awaywith shamefaced glances from side to side. No man can feel at hisease rising from a dump pile. The little fellow beside Fin openedhis eyes and looked at his partner of the night with strongcuriosity. At the sight of Fin's shaven chin and fairly goodclothes his camaraderie dried up. Feeling that he had been takenin, he arose, muttering:
"Aah, what the hell...!"
It did not suit Fin to be left alone on the dump, and he said,quickly: "Wait a minute. That's a speak-easy yonder."
"Sure, I know it is," returned the other. "Fellow I know saidhe'd buy me a drink if I waited till he come in the morning,"said Fin. "Stick around awhile and I'll get you in on it."
"Oh, all right," said the little man, wiping his mouth withthe back of his hand in anticipation. He sat down again.
They had a long wait. Conversation did not prosper by daylightbecause Fin did not look the part that he was trying to play, andthe little man was ill at ease. No sign of life showed outsidethe rambling shanty, but smoke started to issue from one of theleaning tin chimneys. Fin could not see the detectiveanywhere.
It was after eight before Kid River appeared. He came from thenorth, circling around the fence to reach the gate. Fin knew himfirst by the loping walk Milly had described; a moment later herecognized the weak, comely face of the photograph, with deeplines etched between nostrils and lips. Fin ran to intercept himbefore he should reach the gate. There was no time to parley withthe man, who might have a dozen friends in the shanty; he muststrike and strike quickly.
The instant Kid River saw Fin's eyes he knew what was comingto him. With a scared face he turned to run back the way he hadcome. Fin overtook him and, still running, struck him a blowunder the ear that toppled him forward on hands and knees. Finfell on his back, bearing him flat to the ground. Kid Riverstruggled weakly—he was a weedy lad—but made no loudoutcry.
"What's the matter with you? What's the matter with you?" hekept gasping, as well he might.
The thought flitted through Fin's mind: Anyhow, I'm keeping mypromise to Milly. Kneeling in the small of Kid River's back andkeeping a hand on his neck, he frisked his pockets with theother. He pulled out a little canvas bag which from the feel ofit contained rings and brooches. This was no good to him and heput it back. Kid River must have been astonished. A hasty pattingof the Kid's bony frame all over satisfied Fin that the brassball was not upon him. A sickening disappointment.
"The brass ball," he said. "The ball Tony Casino gave youyesterday. That's what I want. Where is it?"
"What the hell!... What the hell...!" stammered Kid River inwitless amazement.
"You heard what I said!" cried Fin. "Where is it?"
"I gave it to some kids in the street," gasped the Kid.
"You lie!" cried Fin, tightening the grasp on his neck.
"Honest! Honest!" stuttered Kid River. "I didn't know therewas anything special about it. I come over on the FourteenthStreet Ferry. I walked down Bloomfield. On the corner of Elevenththere was a bunch of kids playing duck on a rock in a lot there.I handed them the brass ball to pitch with because I didn't wantit found on me."
This had the ring of truth and Fin arose from the prostratefigure. "All right," he said. "If you're lying, I'll come backand smash you. I know where to find you."
Kid River, getting to his feet, cringed and gaped at him.
As Fin turned to go he saw the little scare-crow tramp sittingin the ashes, and likewise gaping at him with ridiculous hangingjaw. But his astonishment was not sufficient to make him forgetwhat he was waiting for.
"Hey! Where's the drink I was going to get?" he cried.
Fin pitched him a quarter. "There's the price of it," he said."And keep your mouth shut!"
Fin ran up Essex Street. At the corner of the first north-and-south street he came upon the detective loungingagainst some railings. Fin's hand instinctively went to his gun.The man gave him a hard look as he passed. However, there were anumber of people about, and he could not attack Fin, supposingthat to be his intention. But perhaps he knew that Fin had notsecured the prize.
Bloomfield was another of the north-and-south streets that ranthe whole length of the town. Eleventh Street crossed it severalblocks to the north. By this time of day all Hoboken was abroadand the sidewalks were thronged. Fin had no doubt but that thedetective was jogging along behind him. He refused to give theman the satisfaction of seeing him turn his head.
At the corner of Bloomfield and Eleventh Streets there was infact a vacant lot, and Fin saw the stones still in place that hadbeen used in the game of duck on the rock. The only children inview at the moment were three wizened boys of eleven or twelvesitting on a piece of heavy timber, blowing clouds of cigarettesmoke through their nostrils. Fin approached them. "How long haveyou been here?" he asked. "What is it to you?" answered one,impudently. "You don't own this lot."
"I don't aim to chase you," said Fin, mildly. "Was there afellow come by here a while ago and gave you a brass ball?"
"I think you're coocoo," answered the boy.
"He stole it off me grandmother's bed," said Fin. "It's wortha half a dollar to me to get it back."
The boys looked at one another in chagrin. "Cheese!" said one,"and we sold it for a dime!"
"Sold it!" said Fin, with a sinking heart. "Who to?"
"The rag, bone, and bottle man."
Fin silently cursed his luck. "Would you know him again?"
"Sure. He comes through here regular."
"Do you know where his hang-out is?"
"I know," said one boy. "What is it worth to you if we showyou?"
Dime apiece," said Fin. His heart rose again.
"Come on."
They set off up the street, the small boys surrounding Fin andscampering to keep up with his long strides. It was like Gulliverled by the Lilliputians. The boys' street-sharpened instinctssuggested to them that there was a mystery about the brass ball,and they kept glancing inquisitively into Fin's face, trying toread the secret.
"How did you know the guy give it to us?" one asked.
"I collared him," said Fin, "and forced him to tell."
"Cheese! It's funny the guy would swipe it off you only togive it to us!"
"Yeah," said Fin, smoothly, "he's bughouse. What they call,now, a kleptomaniac."
"Cheese!"
At Thirteenth Street two blocks farther north, the boys turnedto the left and led Fin to a point where the street ended againsta high board fence bounding the freight yards. There on the rightwas the junkyard heaped with its hopeless-looking impedimenta.Tucked into the corner where the two fences joined was a tumble-down store and dwelling displaying a few so-called antiques inthe dusty window.
"This here's the place," said Fin's conductor, "and there'sthe guy himself inside."
Fin distributed dimes all around, and entered the store. Heordered the boys to wait outside. The junkman and his wife were abrowbeaten pair who had obviously outfitted themselves from theirown stock. They cringed at the entrance of a well-dressedcustomer. Fin wasted no time.
"Those boys told me they sold you a brass ball awhile ago," hesaid.
At the suggestion that something in their possession might bevaluable, a cunning look appeared in the faces of the man andwoman. They sought to mask it under expressions of abysmalstupidity.
"I don't recollect it," said the man, dully.
"Well, let me see the stuff you just brought in on your cartand I'll look for myself," said Fin.
There was a side door from the store into the yard, and thejunkman's handcart with its row of cow-bells stretched betweentwo upright sticks, was visible just outside it. While Finwatched, the man went through the door and thrust his hand undera pile of bags in the cart. When he returned to the store he hadthe gleaming brass ball in his hand.
Fin's heart gave a great leap of joy. If it had been a ball ofpure gold it would not have meant so much to him. He had seen theother three balls on Nick Peters' bed; he knew what he waslooking for, and this was it. So furious was the coursing of hisblood that it dizzied him for a moment. Masking his excitement,he said, casually:
"Yes, that's it."
"You can have it back for five dollars," said the junkman.
Fin believed that this ball was worth a thousand times fivedollars, yes and a thousand times that again, but a man hates tohave an advantage taken of him. "Five dollars nothing, youswindler!" he said, indignantly. "I'll give you a dollar, andthat's four times what it's worth to you. If that don't satisfyyou, I'll fetch a cop and take it for nothing. It wasstolen!"
The junk dealer surrendered with a shrug. "All right, you canhave it for a dollar," he said.
Glancing over his shoulder, Fin saw the three small boysstaring in through the open door at the transaction—andbehind the boys the hard, wary face of the hired detective. Theman's eyes were fixed on the brass ball in the junk-dealer'shand. The sight administered a check to Fin's rising tide of joy.He said, quickly:
"Come into the back room. I don't want them to see me payingyou for it."
The back room served as living-quarters for the couple. Junkdoubtlessly has a demoralizing effect on those who deal in it;the place presented a hideously squalid aspect. Here the dollarand the brass ball changed hands. Fin had the blessed object inhis possession at last. He dropped it in his pants pocket with athrill of satisfaction.
This room had a door looking toward the back of the yard. Therailway fence ran alongside. Once he had his prize safe, Finsaid:
"That fellow outside is laying for me. Can I get out thisway?"
"It's nothing to me," said the junkman, surlily. He felt thathe ought to have had more than a dollar out of this curioussituation, whatever the rights of it might be. "The railwaydetectives will run you in if they see you," he added. "I'llchance them," said Fin, grinning.
He jumped for the top of the fence, hauled himself up, anddropped down on the other side. There was no one in sight in theyard. Suspecting that the junk-dealer would promptly sell him outto the detective, he ran with all his speed to the nearest gate.This gave on Fourteenth Street, one of Hoboken's principalthoroughfares. By good luck he picked up a taxi, and two minuteslater he was aboard a ferry pulling out of its slip, with hisprize in his pocket, and free of espionage at last.
Fin experienced a fine moment of exultation. He snatched offhis hat to let the river breeze cool his throbbing forehead.Unable to keep still, he walked up and down the deck, singing aninward paean: "I've done it! I've done it! I've done it!" Hepictured how beautifully Nick Peters' worn, grave face wouldlight up when he saw the prize. Fin felt like a king.
In thus dashing for the ferry he had yielded to a blindinstinct to shake off the dog that was sniffing at his trail. Ashe cooled down he began to perceive he had made an error intactics. What good was it to shake him off? As soon as it wasreported to his master (whoever he I might be) that Fin hadrecovered the brass ball, I what would he do? Simply lie in waitfor Fin outside Nick Peters' store. The young man's ebullientspirits subsided. He saw now that what he ought to have done wasto head straight for Nick's place in an effort to get therefirst.
Well, it was no use wasting his time in regrets. What he hadto do now was to study how to reach Nick in spite of them. Heremembered that Nick's store was in the first of a row of talltenement houses, the last one of which abutted on Hudson Street.These houses all belonged to the same estate. Suppose he enteredthe end house and made his way to Nick's place either through thecellars or over the roofs?
At Twenty-third Street, Manhattan, Fin merely changed to oneof the Lackawanna ferries, and returned to the other end ofHoboken. At the ferry terminal he took a taxi and had himself setdown near the house on Hudson Street that he intended to enter.Discovering that there was no communication through the cellars,he climbed to the roof. Here it was clear going over the parapetsto the house where Nick lived. In each house there was a doorgiving on the top of the stairs.
As he was about to descend through the last house, Fin wasstopped by a thought. Suppose the enemy to have three or four menon the job by this time, would they not be stationed in the hallsof the house? In that case Fin would be running directly into atrap. He recollected that the airshaft on which Nick Peters'window opened also served the house next door, and he determinedto go down through that house and endeavor to gain Nick's windowthrough the shaft. The decision undoubtedly saved his life.
Through a cellar window he reached the bottom of the airshaft. Over his head he saw that Nick's window was open. A heavyiron waste-pipe with joints at three-foot intervals enabled himto reach the sill. So Tony Casino had gone two nights before. Finthrew his legs over the sill and ducked his head under the raisedsash, The airshaft was a narrow one, and it ran up four morestories before opening to the sky. Consequently, it admitted butlittle light to Nick Peters' room, and for a moment Fin couldmake out nothing. An ominous silence hung over the place. "Nick!Nick!" he called softly. There was no reply. The bed faced himfrom across the room, and with growing horror he perceived thatthere was a motionless body upon it.
Springing across, he discovered his friend lying in a twistedposition, his face horribly contorted, the eyeballs starting fromhis head. A twisted cord was cutting deeply into his neck. Thebody was still warm; the deed must have been committed withinfive minutes. Fin was afflicted with an agony of self-blame. If Ihad only come straight here perhaps I could have saved him!
Whipping out his pocket-knife he cut the cord. Straighteningthe limbs of the body he climbed upon the bed and endeavored topromote artificial respiration. But his efforts were in vain.Nick's heart had stopped beating. His body was growing cold underFin's hands. Too late! Too late! he thought, despairingly.
He heard furtive sounds out in the stair hall of the house,and sprang to the door. The key was in it. As Fin laid a hand onit he found it was unlocked. He no more than got the key turnedwhen the handle was softly tried from the other side.
The young man paused in the center of the room, distraughtwith grief and irresolution. What shall I do? What shall I do?His friend was dead beyond recall, and the instinct of self-preservation moved strongly within him. If they know I'm in here,they'll soon cut off my escape by the airshaft. Like a flash hewas out of the window again. Gaining the cellar of the nexthouse, he ran up to the roof three steps at a time.
WHEN Fin, flying blindly from the scene of themurder, found that he had reached the ferry terminal withoutbeing followed, he paused to try to take stock of the situation.But his brain was spinning like a teetotum; it was impossible forhim to think clearly. He was shocked, upon looking into themirror of a slot-machine, to catch a glimpse of his own face.Pale, haggard, and wild-eyed; no wonder people in the street hadstared.
Under the circumstances an honest man's first impulse is tocommunicate with the police. But Nick Peters, when the firstattack was made on him, had been so desperately averse to seekingthe aid of the police, he must have had a good reason for it. Finfelt that he owed it to his dead friend to find out what hisreason was before going counter to his wishes. On the other hand,if he delayed notifying the police it would leave him open tograve censure if not to the suspicion of having murdered the manhimself. He could decide nothing.
In addition to the confusion of his thoughts, his heart washeavy with grief for the loss of his friend, and the self-accusation still rang in his ears— "If I had acted withbetter judgment I might have saved him!"
In his helplessness the young man remembered Amos Lee Mappin.At such a moment the thought of that humane, cool-minded man waslike a ray of light in impenetrable gloom. Of all men living,Mappin, the expert in crime, the high-minded gentleman, was thebest qualified to advise in such a crisis. Fin made up his mindto consult him before taking any other step. How thankful he washe had such a friend.
He took the tube to Manhattan and a taxi to Mappin'sapartment. Taxis during the last twenty hours had taken all hismoney, but he reflected that he could certainly borrow from hiswell-to-do friend in such an emergency. Mappin lived in one ofthe big apartment houses overhanging the cliffs bordering theEast River. In addition to the luxuries common to such houses,this one provided its tenants with a yacht-landing in thebasement. You approached the building through a slum, but thewindows of Mr. Mappin's vast living-room on the twentieth floorcommanded a panorama embracing the whole river between theQueensboro' and the Williamsburg bridge.
Fin found his friend serenely breakfasting out on his loftybalcony in a flowered dressing-gown. Mr. Mappin was a small man,always beautifully turned out in a style that held a true linebetween the conspicuous and the common. He had a neat roundbelly, a round bald head, and he wore round spectacles with thingold rims. It was his passion to treat himself—and hisfriends—to the best in life, and he had the means tosatisfy it; good pictures, fine bindings, incomparable wines andcigars. A dilettante in the fine old sense. He wrote for the loveof writing. His infrequent books did not sell by the hundreds ofthousands, but they were instinct with a grace and wisdom thatmade them prized by the discriminating the world over. Mr. Mappinwas a bachelor.
He exclaimed in dismay at the sight of his young friend'swhite face and staring eyes. "Good God! Finlay, what's thematter? You look as if you hadn't slept for a week."
"Matter enough," muttered Fin.
"Have you breakfasted?"
Fin shook his head. "Can't stop to eat now."
"You must eat," said Mr. Mappin, firmly.
"Let me tell you..."
"Not a word until I have ordered your breakfast."
Mr. Mappin pressed a button that summoned Jermyn. Jermyn,naturally, was thene plus ultra among gentlemen'sgentlemen, and he was a good deal more beside; he was counted afriend by his master's friends. He greeted Fin cheerfully.
"A quick breakfast for Mr. Corveth, Jermyn, please," said hismaster. "Fruit, bacon and eggs, fresh coffee."
When Jermyn had retired Mr. Mappin said: "Bring a chair outFinlay, and fire away. You will excuse me if I go on eating. Foodchills so quickly in the open air."
Fin sat down, and pressed his aching head between his hands inan effort to bring some order into his thoughts. He desired totell a plain and concise tale. He began to talk.
Now Mr. Mappin prided himself upon never being taken aback bylife, but on this occasionsavoir faire deserted him. Finhad not uttered half a dozen sentences before the older an laiddown his knife and fork and stared.
"Good God!" he muttered. "Amazing!... Amazing!"
It was an immense relief to Fin to get it all off his chest.Mr. Mappin was a wonderful listener. He grasped a situation withhalf a word. Upon finishing his tale Fin could have wept withgratitude and weariness and sheer heartbreak, but breakfastappeared in the nick of time to give him fresh courage.
Mr. Mappin had Jermyn spread the meal inside, so that whileFin ate he could walk up and down and question him. He said herequired leg action to induce his wits to work properly. Maybethat was why he had provided himself with a living-room fiftyfeet long. His questions went unerringly to the heart of thematter.
"First of all," he said, briskly, "you must get rid of thisnotion that you are to blame for Nick Peters' death. That ismerely weak-minded. Suppose you had gone directly to his store,what would have happened? They would expect you to go theredirect. They were certainly laying for you. They would have gotyou and Peters both, and would have recovered the brass ball intothe bargain."
Fin began to feel better. "Why did they kill Nick before hegot the brass ball back?" he asked helplessly.
"To prevent him from telling you its secret," Mr. Mappinanswered, instantly. "Have you got it?"
Fin handed it over. The little man weighed it and studiedit—just a common brass ball that had ornamented a cheapbedstead, but it made their hearts beat fast. It had a hole inthe bottom where it had been screwed to the bed. Mr. Mappinthrust the point of an orange stick into the hole and delicatelyprobed it.
"Three-eighths of an inch thick," he murmured. "One can feelthe hard object inside. It has been wrapped in something toprotect it." He pointed out a line showing where the ball hadonce been sawed in two, then brazed together again and buffed tohide the joining. "An expert worker in metals did it," heremarked. "Probably Peters himself... I'll open it while youeat."
Fin, however, leaped from the table. They adjourned to thesmall room that Mr. Mappin called his "shop." He built shipmodels in his hours of ease. His present work, a quaint galleonof the sixteenth century, complete down to the last tiny detail,rested upon chocks, waiting to receive her rigging. All the toolsthat they required were on hand here. Mr. Mappin screwed thebrass ball between the jaws of a vise and started to saw alongthe faint line that marked the previous joining, stopping oftento turn the ball that the saw might not damage its contents. Finlooked on with a fast-beating heart.
The two halves finally separated, and they saw a little cottonbag lying within. When Mr. Mappin ripped the stitches, the greatemerald slipped out on his palm, and a sigh of satisfactionescaped them both. So far so good. It was not a single emerald,but two matched halves set in gold and put together to form alocket There was a gold ring in the top to hang it by. Upon beingheld to the light it was seen to be opaque. A marvelous jewel!Magical green fire gleamed from its depths.
"This in itself would provide the girl with a handsome dowry!"said Mr. Mappin holding it up by the ring to flash in thesunlight.
"Never mind the emerald!" said Fin, breathlessly. "See what'sinside!"
Mr. Mappin found the hidden spring, and the locket opened onhis hand. Within it lay a square of white paper folded up small.Mr. Mappin himself forgot the emerald then. It clattered to thebench unheeded while he opened up the paper with tremblingfingers. Fin looked over his shoulder, his eyes fairly startingfrom his head.
A groan of disappointment broke from them both. The paper wasblank. Mr. Mappin turned it over and back again. Blank on bothsides!
"O God! what a sell!" cried Fin.
Mr. Mappin said nothing.
"They have over-reached us!" cried Fin.
"That's impossible!" said Mr. Mappin, sharply. "We are thefirst to see it."
"Well, we're sold, somehow."
"Perhaps not," said Mr. Mappin, thoughtfully ; "it may not beso blank as it seems!"
"What!"
"We can't stop to make tests now. Murder will not wait."
He locked the emerald and the paper in his safe.
WHILE Fin resumed his breakfast, Mr. Mappinpaced back and forth, smoking a cigar. "Did Peters give you noclue to his nationality?" he asked.
Fin shook his head.
"I suspect that the whole head and front of our problem liesin that," murmured the older man, thoughtfully. "It is clear fromhis reference to 'the American' that this is a foreign intriguewhich has been imported to our shores. Tony Casino referred toPeters as 'the Slovak.' There may be a hint there."
"What is a Slovak?" asked Fin.
"Strictly speaking, it's a Hungarian Slav. But as the word isused in the streets it might refer to a member of any of theBalkan peoples. Peters is no doubt the Americanization forbusiness purposes of some unpronounceable foreign patronymic. Hisreal name may have been Petrovich, Petrovsky, or Pitescu."
He asked Fin a score of questions tending to clarify the storyand divest it of non-essentials. "Then the matter stands thus,"he said at last; "the emerald heart contains the heritage of thegirl who goes to school in Pompton. According to Peters it is avery great heritage, but the girl does not know anything aboutit, and now Peters is dead. If we can't solve the riddleourselves, we will have to look for the answer either from theman known as 'the American' or the one you term 'Robespierre.'"
"What shall we do first?" asked Fin.
"Do!" cried Mr. Mappin in exasperation. "We will have tonotify the police!... Was ever a good citizen put in such aposition before? Nick Peters foresaw that it would be fatal todivulge the facts of this case prematurely... But there's no helpfor it. One cannot compound with murder. We must go to thepolice. It's heartbreaking!"
"Couldn't we send them an anonymous notification?" suggestedFin.
"Too dangerous! They might bring the crime home to you then...Besides, I must visit the scene. All the evidence is there. Imust look it over before the police mess it up."
"It's not safe for you to go there," said Fin. "The murdereris still hanging about."
"Why me any more than you?"
"Oh, I'm of no importance to the world," said Fin.
"I confess I don't like it," said Mr. Mappin, a littlewaspishly. "I'm not of the stuff that heroes are made of. Butthere's no help for it."
"You must arm yourself," said Fin.
"Bless you, I don't own a gun," said Mr. Mappin, with a ruefulsmile, "and if I did I wouldn't know what to do with it."
"Well, I have one on me," said Fin.
Mr. Mappin continued to pace the room, thoughtfully rollingthe cigar between his lips. "I have it!" he cried at last. "Wewill notify the police, but we'll say nothing about the brassball or the emerald. You went to call on your friend yesterday.You found his place had been broken into and he had been beaten.He forbade you to notify the police. Today, when you went back tosee how he was, you found him foully murdered. He never took youinto his confidence and you have no idea what lies behind it all.This is almost the truth, and it is what you must tell thepolice."
Fin nodded.
"You see," Mr. Mappin went on briskly; "it all hangs together;it exactly coincides with the story you told Henny Friendyesterday afternoon. Your interest in the case is merely that ofthe free-lance writer looking for copy. If we say nothing aboutthe emerald we may be sure that the murderers will not. Neitherwill Henny Friend, nor Tony Casino, nor Kid River give us away,for good reasons of their own. It is possible that the boys inHoboken or the junk-dealer may break into the newspapers withtheir story, but there will be no support for it; we'll simplylaugh it down."
"I get you," said Fin.
"I hope under the circumstances we may be said to be justifiedin keeping a part of the truth from the lawful guardians of thepeace," said Mr. Mappin, with a sly twinkle in his eye. "However,justified or not, I mean to take the responsibility."
"The police will never solve the murder by their own efforts,"suggested Fin.
"So much the better," said Mr. Mappin, dryly. "If it turns outthat we have to seek the solution of the mystery through theAmerican or Robespierre we want them to have full liberty ofaction. We couldn't get anything out of them if they were lockedup... But as a matter of fact," he went on, "we have to lay barethe motives for the crime before we can hang it on anybody."
"It is hard to have to let them go," said Fin, I somberly.
"We are only giving the murderers rope enough to hangthemselves with," said Mr. Mappin. "Understand, since I amdeliberately hampering the police in their investigation, it isup to me to see that justice is done in the end. I pledge myselfto that."
"I'm not worrying," said Fin. "I know justice will stand adarn sight better chance with you than with the police."
"Swallow another cup of coffee," said Mr. Mappin, brisklymaking for the door. "I'll get into my clothes."
In a remarkably short space of time he returned wearing adouble-breasted gray suit of French flannel, a tie like nobodyelse's tie, and a distinguished Panama hat. Fin, whose style asyet was somewhat sprawling and immature, always sighed over theeffect that Mr. Mappin was able to create; it was neither tooyouthful nor too aged; it was right.
"Let's go," he said. "I've been thinking about the best mannerof notifying the police. I suggest we let Jermyn telephone themafter we have gone."
Jermyn entered the room to announce that a taxi waswaiting.
"Jermyn," said his master, "Mr. Corveth has run into a verystrange and tragic affair over in Hoboken. I cannot stop to tellyou the particulars now, but we are going to need your help inthe matter, and I'll inform you later... What time have you?"
"Nine thirty-three, sir," said Jermyn, consulting hiswatch.
"One minute fast," said Mr. Mappin, glancing at his owntimepiece.
Jermyn made the correction.
"Say twenty-five minutes to reach Hoboken by tunnel," Mr.Mappin went on, "and ten or twelve minutes for me to look overNick Peters' premises—to delay longer would not only bedangerous, but awkward to explain. Jermyn, at ten-ten precisely Iwant you to call up Police Headquarters in Hoboken and informthem that a man known as Nick Peters has been murdered at...Write down the address for him, Finlay."
Jermyn accepted this startling order with a matter-of-factnod.
"Should we be delayed anywhere en route I'll call you up," Mr.Mappin went on. "The police will naturally ask who is speaking,and you are to say that it is Amos Lee Mappin speaking from a paystation, and that they will find me on the premises when theycome. That will obviate the necessity of answering any furtherquestions over the phone."
Mr. Mappin made Jermyn repeat this after him. He and Fin thendescended in the elevator. During the drive he continued todiscuss the case from various angles.
"There must be no camouflage or deception about this visit,"he said. "We will drive directly to the door of Nick Peters'store. I assume we will find it locked. You will leave me waitingthere while you try to get in through the cellar as you didbefore. In my opinion there is no danger of finding any of thegang inside the place now. You see, when you ran away from therethey could not foretell what you would do. The chances werestrongly in favor of your bringing the police back with you, andthey could not afford to be caught inside.
"The attack on Nick Peters yesterday was not made at random,"he went on. "My guess is that his enemies hired rooms in theneighborhood, probably immediately across the street, where theycould watch their man at all hours. If, as I suppose, they wereinterrupted by your entrance this morning, and if they have notdared return to Nick Peters' room, I hope we may find somevaluable bits of evidence lying about."
The arrival of a taxicab in that humble street created a stirof interest, and the elegant figure of Mr. Mappin was regarded assomewhat of a phenomenon by the younger inhabitants. Theygathered around, taking him in open-mouthed from the expensivePanama to the smart black brogues. As expected, the two friendsfound the door of Nick's store locked and the blinds pulled downinside the door and the window.
A lad volunteered: "Nick Peters he opened up early thismorning, but he closed up later. I ain't seen him go out,though."
"Did you see anybody go in?" asked Mr. Mappin.
"Not that I took notice of."
Fin descended into the cellar and climbed up to Nick's windowby the drain-pipe in the airshaft, just as he had done earlier.This time when he threw his legs over the sill he took his gunhis hand as a precaution. However, all was quiet inside.Everything looked exactly as it had when he left the room twohours before; the still body on the bed that gave Fin's breast afresh wrench of grief; the door into the hall locked, and the keyin the lock. He closed the window and fastened it, to guardagainst an attack from the rear. There were no possible hiding-places in the two bare rooms except under the bed, and Fin madesure of that.
Crossing the store, he admitted Mr. Mappin by the street doorand locked it after him to keep out the populace, whose curiositywas rapidly rising to fever heat.
"I'm just as glad to see a crowd gathering," said Mr. Mappin,dryly. "It helps to insure our safety."
"Well, the police will be here in ten minutes or so, anyway,"said Fin.
"A lot can happen in ten minutes," remarked Mr. Mappin.
At first glance the store looked just as it had when Finbrought the supper in on the night before. But one littleindication after another began to appear. Mr. Mappin made Fin sitdown in the customers' chair against the wall so as not todisturb anything. His eye was as bright and quick-darting as aterrier's. He was getting such an obvious satisfaction out of theexercise of his faculties that he felt impelled to apologize toFin.
"I do not forget that it is your friend who lies dead in thenext room," he said, soberly, "but this—this is what I havewished for all my life, a chance to demonstrate my theories."
"That's all right," said Fin. "It's lucky you're here."
The watchmaker's glass was found lying on the floor outsidethe workbench, which had also served Nick for a counter. Nearerthe bench lay Nick's fountain pen, which had been stepped on andpartly flattened. Mr. Mappin examined it regretfully.
"I suppose it would not be honest to carry off any of theevidence," he said. "But I could use this! I could use this!"
Suddenly he perceived that Fin was carrying a pen of the samepattern. "I'll replace it later," he said, taking it. He put iton the floor and made Fin step on it. He compared the two damagedpens, and replacing Nick's pen on the spot where he had found it,put Fin's in his pocket.
On the bench or counter lay a little pad that Nick had used inissuing receipts. On it he had started to write: "Received frombearer one gold watch, Bauer make number 62,3..." The writingended with a splutter of ink. Beside the pad lay the watchreferred to. The back of the case had been removed, and there wasthe maker's name and number—Bauer, 62322.
Mr. Mappin made a note of it. "A Swiss watch of mediocrequality," he remarked. "It has been carried for at least twentyyears. It would be difficult to trace the sale now."
In the doorway leading to the bedroom he found one of the listslippers that Nick Peters had been accustomed to wearing. Itsfellow lay a few feet farther along, and the black skull-cap hadrolled off the bed. The bed showed indications that a strugglehad taken place there, but how much of the disturbance was due toFin's efforts to resuscitate his friend it was impossible now totell.
"I wish I could have seen him before you straightened himout," Mr. Mappin said, regretfully, "but of course you did theright thing." On the bed he found the cord with which Nick Petershad been strangled. "I suppose I must leave this to the police,too," he said, with a sigh.
In addition to the mark left by the cord, Mr. Mappin foundother signs on the body; a contusion on the back of the head, aslight abrasion on the forehead, marks of ink about the nose. Hethen hastily examined the floors of both rooms with a magnifyingglass.
"Nick Peters, like most male housekeepers was not veryparticular about sweeping," he said. "But the most I can tell isthat there were two men concerned in the crime. The actualmurderer, who was no doubt known to Nick, sent in an accompliceahead who was a stranger to the watchmaker. This man offered Nickthe watch to repair, and, as he was making out the receipt,struck him over the head with a blackjack, and Nick fell with hisface on the bench unconscious.
"I take it the first man left the store, because I cannot findhis tracks in the rear room. The actual murderer then entered. Itwas he who picked up Nick under the arms, dragged him into thebedroom, flung him on the bed and strangled him. The method ofstrangling is reminiscent of the Thuggee cult among the Hindus.It is also common in Spain. On the bed a measure of consciousnessreturned to Nick, and he put up a vain struggle. The murderermust have been interrupted in the very act by your approach,because, as you see, everything was left where it fell."
"That's good work," said Fin, gloomily, "but it brings us nonearer to the actual murderer!" (If only I had been a minutesooner! he was thinking.)
"Well, one must make a beginning," said Mr. Mappin,mildly.
He subjected the dead man's clothes to a further and mostpainstaking search. In the end an exclamation of triumph escapedhim as he held up a tiny triangular fragment of glass he hadrecovered from inside Nick's vest.
"If we have luck," he cried, "we will hang our man withthis!... I must keep this," he added, with a deprecating smile."It's such a little piece!"
Among the dead man's meager effects there was not a scrap ofwriting, not a keepsake, no personal belongings of any sort thatmight give a clue to his past life. Nick had evidently made apractice of destroying everything of the kind.
While Mr. Mappin was still searching there was a knock at thedoor of the store, and an official-sounding voice was hearddemanding admission. Peeping around the blind, Fin saw auniformed policeman with two men in plain clothes, and made hasteto admit them. He again locked the door to keep out thecrowd.
The two plain-clothes men flashed their badges with thefamiliar gesture, and the principal one introduced himself asDetective-Sergeant Ellis, his companions as Detective Dahl andPatrolman Engel. All three were businesslike and very neatlydressed. But all had the hard and covert expression customarilyaffected by policemen, and the candid Fin disliked them at sight.However, one has to take policemen as one finds them, hereflected. It never occurred to him they might be other than theyseemed.
Ellis was a well-built man of forty-five or so with a slightcast in one of his black eyes. Dahl was about the same age, acharacterless, self-colored type, evidently accustomed to playingthe part of number two. Engel, the patrolman, was a stalwart,stupid-looking lad who kept his blue eyes fixed on Ellis as if hereceived all his impulses from that quarter.
Mr. Mappin introduced himself and Fin. The Detective-Sergeant's bearing was respectful. He appeared to be familiarwith Mr. Mappin's reputation as a writer. Leading the way intothe back room, the latter began his story.
"This poor fellow's name is Nick Peters. He is, as you see, arepairer of watches and jewelry in a small way. He was anacquaintance of Mr. Corveth's—that is to say, Mr. Corvethused to drop in on him occasionally for the sake of his talk,which was intelligent and interesting. He appeared to, beentirely alone in the world. Yesterday afternoon Mr. Corvethfound him lying on the floor in a stupor. He had been beaten andthe place partly wrecked, but apparently nothing had been stolen.Peters forbade Mr. Corveth to notify the police, but gave noexplanation of what was behind the attack..."
During this recital Mr. Mappin and Ellis were standing side byside, looking down on the bed; Fin was a little behind them, withDahl and Engel on his right. Fin was struck by a peculiar flickerin Ellis's eyes when they turned on Mr. Mappin. The detective-sergeant appeared not to be listening to the story atall, but to be pursuing a line of thought of his own. He seemedto be laboring under an inner excitement. His expression made Finvaguely uneasy. Before he could act, Ellis interrupted Mr. Mappinwith a coarse sneer.
"A likely story!"
Mr. Mappin's eyebrows ran up into two little peaks ofastonishment. He stared.
Ellis threw off the decorous mask. He laughed brutally. "It'sclear you croaked the guy yourself," he said. "Or this otherfellow did. Or the both of you!"
No insult offered to himself could have affected Fin likethis. To hear his friend abused brought a red blur in front ofhis eyes. Still he did not perceive the truth. He had knownpolicemen to act in this manner. "That's a lie!" he cried,loudly. "A damned silly lie! Everybody knows who Mr. Mappinis!"
The patrolman whipped out his club. "Shut your mouth," hecried, "or I'll bean you!"
"Don't you touch me," shouted Fin, "or I'll..."
Mr. Mappin laid a restraining hand on his arm. The little manhad recovered his self-possession. "Don't aggravate the officers,Finlay," he said, with a marked dryness of tone. "They are onlydoing their duty."
Like a flash Fin perceived the truth. These were not officersat all. The shock of the discovery paralyzed him for a moment. Hecould not command his features like Mr. Mappin. "Wh—what!Wh—what!" he stammered.
"Let us discuss this matter quietly," said Mr. Mappin,smoothly.
His coolness did not please the brutal Ellis at all, whowanted to provoke a noisy row in order to save his own face."Take them along! Take them along!" he shouted.
When he laid rough hands on the unresisting Mappin, Fin sawred again. His hand flew to his hip pocket. Instantly the othertwo men leaped on him and bore him to the floor. After a hardstruggle Fin's gun was taken from him. It was a weird scenethere, with the dead man lying on the bed. Mr. Mappin stoodperfectly quiet. Whenever he could make himself heard above theracket he kept adjuring Fin not to resist. His words finallyreached the young man, and he stopped struggling. He was allowedto get to his feet. Still trembling with anger, he looked to Mr.Mappin for further orders.
"Stick up your hands!" commanded Ellis. "Search him, you two,"he said to the others.
Fin obeyed, and they patted his body all over. Ellis did thesame to Mr. Mappin.
"He hasn't got it on him," growled Dahl. "Same here," saidEllis. "Well, you couldn't expect it... We'll make 'em tell whereit is," he added, with an ugly grin. "Take them out!"
"Just a moment," said Mr. Mappin, calmly. "Let us discuss thismatter." Fin understood that he was simply playing for time.
"Aah, shut up!" shouted Ellis, with the utmost ferocity. "Runthem out into the car, boys!... If you try to put up a fight,you, we'll beat you to a pulp!"
They were hustled through the store and out on the sidewalk.There were a couple of hundred gaping people gathered there bythis time, and Fin marveled at the boldness of the plot. Did theythink they could get away with this in the open street in broadday? However, it soon turned out that it was not so bold a schemeas it looked.
There was a closed car, with engine running, waiting at thecurb. Mr. Mappin suddenly addressed the crowd in a loud, clearvoice: "These men are not police! That is not a police car, asyou can see. They are trying to carry us off! Will you stand forit?"
But the police uniform and the spurious badges overawed thecrowd. When Ellis and Dahl drew guns and Engel brandished hisclub, the onlookers cringed. To a man they sided with thesupposed police and began to jeer at their victims.
"Say, that's a new one, all right!... You're all wet, SirHarry... Ain't he the cute little fellow!... A ride will do himgood...!"
It was Fin's first experience of the inhumanity of a mob, andit bewildered him. He was accustomed to having people like him.Meanwhile they were being hustled toward the curb. A feeling ofdespair seized on him.
"If they get us into the car we're lost!" he cried.
"Then resist! Resist with all your might!" cried Mr.Mappin.
He suddenly lashed out with his fists like a little bantam-weight. Ellis, cursing, aimed a furious blow at his head with thebutt of his revolver. Fin, wrenching himself free of the man whoheld him, flung himself between the two, and caught the blow onhis upraised arm. But at the same moment Engel brought his clubdown with smashing force on Fin's skull from behind, and allturned foggy before the young man. He did not quite loseconsciousness, for he heard a clanging bell up the street, and heheard Mr. Mappin's voice clear and controlled to the end:
"Here come the police—the real police! Now you'll seewho's right!"
Elliset al dropped their victims as if they had beenred hot, and sprang for the car. The car leaped into motion, andknocking aside the onlookers who were in its path, turned thecorner of Hudson Street on two wheels and disappeared.
THE Nick Peters case provided a twice-nine-days'wonder to Hoboken and the five boroughs of greater New York, notto speak of the rest of the country. The murder itself was aninsignificant one and might never have got into the newspapers;but the attempted kidnapping of a prominent citizen like Amos LeeMappin by men masquerading as the police—this was new, andit immediately raised the case to the dignity of a first-classsensation.
Day after day it held the left-hand corner of the front page,and kept the tabloid photographers busy; and during this timethere was always a little crowd standing outside Nick Peters'closed store, staring at the curtained windows with blank eyesand open mouths. Fin Corveth wondered what such people did withthemselves when there was no murder going, and how they ate ifthey never worked.
What with hourly newspapers, radio, and news reels, Mr. Mappinand Fin found themselves famous before dinner-time. Thereafterthey were followed whenever they ventured out If they got a quietmoment on the streets, somebody would recognize their oft-photographed faces and the cry would go up:
"There they go!"
"Who?... Who?"
"Amos and Finlay!"
"Gee! Lemme get a good look at them!"
"Don't mind us," Mr. Mappin would say, dryly; but the sarcasmwas always wasted.
Mr. Mappin bore this state of affairs with dignifiedunconcern, but Fin found it rather exciting to be blocked by asquatting photographer whichever way he turned. There were solidadvantages, too. It was wonderful the way his stuff sold duringthese days, and the prices he got for it. He even received anoffer from the movies, but as it came from a concern of doubtfulsolvency, he disregarded it. Mr. Mappin dryly advised him not toplan his budget on the basis of his increased income.
In the newspapers Mr. Mappin and Fin appeared alternately asthe heroes and the villains of the piece. They were subjected toendless and repeated inquisitions from the police, through all ofwhich they emerged with flying colors, because they stuckexclusively and exactly to the truth—so far as theydivulged it. What they did not wish to have known they held theirtongues about, and as the police had no other line on what laybehind it all, they were never able to bring it out. The clues ofthe watch, the broken fountain pen, and the stranger's card lednowhere.
The absence of the brass ball from the foot of Nick Peters'bed was never noticed, because souvenir-hunters promptly stolethe other three. The two friends had one moment of seriousanxiety when the three small boys of Bloomfield Street and thejunk-dealer came forward with their story of the young man whowas searching for a brass ball. When Fin was confronted withthem, they instantly identified him. Fin did not deny theirstory, but only laughed at it heartily. "Ridiculous!" he said.Luckily, there were a hundred wild stories, rumors, and hoaxes incirculation at the same time. This story seemed to lead tonothing, and after providing a day's sensation it wasforgotten.
In addition to the curiosity-seekers who followed them about,Mr. Mappin and Fin found themselves under keen surveillance atall times. It was impossible to tell whether the spies were inthe employ of the police or of "the American" or of"Robespierre"—probably they were of several sorts. At anyrate, the two friends went quietly about other business,disregarding them. At this time they took no overt steps of theirown to solve the mystery.
"Let the excitement die down," said Mr. Mappin. "We can donothing while the searchlights are playing on us."
The police never stumbled on the track of "the American" or of"Robespierre." They did bring out that a dark man with a cast inone eye (this no doubt was the kidnapper who had called himselfEllis) had hired a front room across the street from Nick Peters'store, presumably for the purpose of watching the intendedvictim. He had had a number of male visitors, but descriptionsfurnished by the neighbors failed to tally with either of thestriking personages in the case. Clearly Ellis and his helperswere only three more tools in the pay of the real criminals, butwhich side had hired them it was impossible to say.
During this time Fin looked up Tony Casino. "Well, Tony," hesaid, "so the old Slovak got bumped off, after all."
"Yeah," said Tony, warily. "I wasn't in on that."
"I know you wasn't," said Fin. "Musta been that guy that hiredyou to search his place. What like guy was he, Tony?"
"Nottin' doin'," said Tony.
"Aw, come across," said Fin, cajolingly. "You can see by thepapers that I'm not in with the police. They got to take theirchance with this case. Me, I just want to work it out for thestory in it. I protected you, ain't I?"
Tony finally yielded to persuasion. "He was a tall, skinnyguy," he said. "Looked like a crazy preacher. AnotherSlovak."
This piece of information only plunged Fin into a deeperperplexity. If it was "Robespierre" who had hired Tony, how hadthe general learned about the brass ball so quickly? Thatquestion remained unanswered.
While condemned to a state of inaction, Mr. Mappin was deeplyconcerned about the situation of the girl in boarding-school whohad lost her only friend when Nick Peters was killed. His chieffear was that the mistress of the school might break into printwith some story that would reveal the girl's whereabouts to themurderers. Each morning he sighed with relief when he failed tofind any item in the newspapers originating in Pompton Lakes.While they were so closely watched, he hesitated to make any movein the girl's direction.
As the days passed and the mystery remained as much of amystery as ever, the police felt obliged to find a scapegoat tosave their faces. Police are much the same the worldover—excellent fellows in the main, but frequently forcedinto a false position by the unpopularity of their trade. In thisparticular case Mr. Mappin frankly admitted to Fin that they weregetting a raw deal. They probably suspected that the author washolding something out on them, but they were no match for him.Was not his brother an Assistant Secretary of State?
The usual clumsy propaganda directed against Mappin andCorveth began to appear in the press. It whipped up interest inthe case, and of course the reporters ate it up; that was theirbusiness. It was possible by inference to build up quite a strongseeming case against the pair. Even supposing their story to betrue, there was a good deal that called for explanation. Why hadCorveth, upon discovering the body, run to Mappin instead of tothe police? And why had Mappin himself insisted on visiting thescene of the murder before the police were notified? It wassimply unbelievable that Nick Porters, having had his placebroken into and himself nearly killed the day before, should haveforbidden Corveth to notify the police. And so on. And so on.
The attempted kidnapping offered a stumbling-block to thisindictment. The police had been excessively annoyed by thisincident and would have liked to deny that it ever happened.Unfortunately, there were about two hundred eye-witnesses. It wasnow suggested that Mappin himself had artfully staged thepretended kidnapping in order to divert attention from his realactivities.
The dear credulous public, so easy to lead in any direction,swallowed it whole, and feeling began to run high against Mappinand Corveth. Some of the newspapers asked editorially why theywere not arrested. One night when they appeared together at thetheater they were hissed. Fin was wildly indignant, but Mr.Mappin merely smiled in a disillusioned manner.
"Put not your trust in democracies," he said.
As a matter of fact, the incident provided him with theopportunity he had been waiting for. He sat himself down thatvery night and wrote a study of the Nick Peters case in his mostbrilliant manner.
It was not precisely untruthful, yet it was far from candid.Call it a superb piece of special pleading. Mr. Mappin led hisreaders just the way he wished them to go. He seemed to provethat the murder was the result of a feud among foreigncommunists. As such it scarcely concerned good Americans. It washis judicious use of the term Bolshevist that did the trick.Nothing can stand against that. Let the Bolshevists do each otherin, he seemed to say.
Of course there was nobody clever enough to cross lances withthe brilliant author ofMurder in High Places, The FinerPoints of Murder, The Psychology of Homicide, etc. in his ownchosen field, and Mr. Mappin's view prevailed. As soon as thearticle appeared in theNew York World the factitious caseagainst Mappin and Corveth collapsed; moreover, Nick Petersdisappeared altogether from the public prints and was never heardof again. Mr. Mappin, who had his private sources of information,learned that the police dropped the whole thing with a sigh ofrelief the same day.
"Now," he said to Fin, "it is time for us to get busy."
"Well, you do the headwork and I'll be the legs of thecombination," said Fin. "I suppose the first thing we have to dois to find 'the American,' and 'Robespierre' again."
"I don't expect we'll have to look very hard," returned Mr.Mappin, dryly. "Unless I miss my guess, they will shortlyreappear in our lives... You see, we have the secret."
MR. MAPPIN was not at a loss for an expedient tothrow their spies off the track when the proper time came. Hesent Fin with a letter to his attorneys, whose offices were inthe Equitable Building. This prominent and prosperous firmoccupied an extensive corner suite and, as Mr. Mappin knew, therewas a rear entrance for the convenience of the partners inescaping from too-importunate clients. Fin, while his sleuth-hounds waited in the main corridor, was shown out this way.
Having escaped from the building unseen, according toinstructions he hired a "drive yourself" car, and proceededthrough the Holland Tunnel and across the Hackensack meadows onhis way to Pompton Lakes. It was a mellow September day with asky like an inverted turquoise bowl; Fin's heart was lifted up bythe sight of the open country and the prospect of adventure.
He found Miss Folsom's school at the end of a secluded sideroad. It enjoyed a fine site on high ground overlooking a prettylake nestling among the Ramapo hills. The buildings consisted ofa large wooden mansion built in the fancy style of 1897,surrounded by several cottages all painted buff, the whole groupsuggesting an Orpington hen with her chickens. A driveway linedwith stiff maples, all exactly alike, wound up the hill. Theplace had the deserted air characteristic of schools during thelong vacation, and Fin found himself pitying the girl who wasobliged to remain there when all her companions had fled.
He inquired for Miss Folsom at the door of the silent house.The maid looked at him dubiously. "Have you an appointment?" sheasked.
Fin was obliged to admit he had not.
"Is it important?"
"Oh, decidedly!" said Fin.
"I'll see," she said, leaving him.
Presently she returned to say that Miss Folsom would be down"in fifteen or twenty minutes." Fin marveled at the ways ofheadmistresses. The president of the Steel Trust himself, hethought, would scarcely have the crust to send out such amessage. He failed to take into account that it was the hour whenladies of a certain age retire for a siesta.
Finding the drawing-room stuffy, he was tempted out throughthe open door. Behind the house there was a flower-garden gaywith zinnias, marigolds, phlox. Beyond it on the highest point ofthe hill stood a rustic summerhouse embowered in vines. Guessingthat it commanded a fine prospect of lake and hill, he strolledin that direction.
He discovered that the summerhouse was tenanted by a tall girlof sixteen, all doubled up in an impossible graceful attitudeover a book. She was at the stage of "letting her hair grow out,"but she was one who could not look awkward at any stage. Herlowered face was half hidden behind a screen of fair curls. Shehad not heard him approach. Guessing that this was the object ofhis trip to Pompton, Fin studied her with the keenest curiosity.His vanity was slightly disappointed, because sixteen seemedscarcely old enough for him, still he could not have imagined amore charming picture. He decided not to speak of his erranduntil after he had talked with the headmistress.
"Hello!" he said.
She jerked her head up with a look of resentment. She wasprettier than he had expected. She was more than pretty. She wasat that miraculous moment when the child becomes a woman. She hadintense blue eyes of the sort that are generally termed violet,and a complexion of such delicacy as to lend her a look of almostunearthly beauty. A very uncommon girl. The sight of that proudface, expressing such a capacity for pain, struck a sort of acheinto Fin's breast that remained there.
"I suppose I should apologize for intruding," he said.
After a brief regard her look of surprised hauteur melted inan enchanting smile. "Oh, it's not my privacy in particular," shesaid. "You may come in."
He was accepted. There was something quite splendid in the wayshe brushed aside formalities. Like a great lady. Fin was gladthen that she was only sixteen years old. He thought: She's tooyoung for any girl-and-fellow nonsense. I can make friends withher as naturally as if she were a boy. He overlooked the factthat his heart was beating faster than normally. He sat down.
"Must be pretty rotten being left at school in the summer," hesaid, for an opening.
She considered this. "It is rather," she agreed, "but I'maccustomed to it. They don't bother me much in summer."
"Who don't?" asked Fin.
"Oh, you know—teachers and all that stuffy kind ofpeople."
He laughed. "Sure! I know."
After that all trace of stiffness disappeared. As Mariula saidafterward, it was one of those wonderful friendships that startwith a bang. As for Fin, he decided she must have had a fairygodmother at her christening, who had exorcised self-consciousness. She appealed direct to the natural, spontaneous,effervescent side of the young man that generally had to berepressed in the business of getting on in the world.
"How do you pass the time?" he asked.
"Oh, in reading and dreaming," she said. "I suppose you thinkI'm very silly," she added, with a glance through her wonderfulcurved lashes.
"Not at all," said Fin. "I'm not one of these sensiblepeople."
"I didn't think you were," she said. "There's a sort of acrazy spark in your eye."
They laughed comfortably.
"I used to dream I was a general moving armies around," saidFin. "I never mentioned it to anybody before."
"Nice of you to tell me first," she said, offhand. "I dreammostly of people. Gracious, intelligent people. Sort ofcompensation. You don't find them in schools."
"Well, don't expect too much of the world when you get out,"warned Fin. "All the stuffy people are not in school!"
"I suppose not," she said. "However, I can stand it if I canfind one or two who act human."
"Oh, we can provide that," said Fin, grinning.
"I have to bottle myself up most of the time," said Mariula."The only one I can really let myself go with is my guardian, andI don't see him very often. He is the only person there isbelonging to me. That's why I have to stay here all summer."
This was said with a laugh, but it increased the ache in Fin'sbreast. She knew nothing of Nick Peters' death, and he must bethe one to deal her that blow. He wondered at the relationbetween them. The shabby little watchmaker and the flower-likeyoung lady! Like everything else about this case, it wasinexplicable. Nick may have been one of nature's gentlemen, buthe could never have given her that high-bred air.
"What are you reading?" he asked.
"I always carry two books," she said, smiling, "one to readand one to show. For some reason everything that's fit to read isforbidden to girls. Luckily, there's a bookcase full of men'sbooks in the drawing-room, or I don't know what I'd do. Goodnessknows how they ever got to this female place. Nobody reads thembut me. When I take a book out I put another in its place so thegap won't show. I'm reading my way inch by inch along the shelveslike a bookworm... At present I'm reading a book calledFountains in the Sand. Do you know it?"
Fin was obliged to confess that he did not.
"The fountains seem to have been rather dirty puddles,"Mariula went on, "but I like books of travel better than any.Don't you? I would put up with anything if I could travel. Haveyou ever traveled?"
"Only in dreams," said Fin.
"Just like me," she said, with her enchanting smile.
"Yet you don't look exactly like an American girl," heventured.
"I have never been out of America," she said. "But I suppose Iam of foreign descent, because Nicky is... Nicky is myguardian."
"Of what country?" asked Fin.
"I don't know," she said, blushing. This was evidently a soresubject, and so she made light of it. "Nicky never mentioned. Ihave no more background than Topsy. My family history begins withme."
"How romantic!" said Fin.
"Yes," she said, "if you are not tied down by awkward factsyou can indulge in the wildest flights of fancy."
Fin's sympathy drew her out. She said with a laugh: "It's easyto talk to somebody right out of the blue."
"Can't you remember your father and mother?" he asked.
She shook her head, making the bright hair dance. "They diedwhen I was a baby. Nicky and Lina adopted me, and gave me theirname. For a long time I thought they were my father andmother—I couldn't have had kinder ones—but graduallyI got to know they were not. We never talked about it."
"Then how did you know?" asked Fin.
"Oh, by a sort of instinct, I suppose... From watching othermothers with their children. Lina was too respectful toward me.She never smacked or scolded me. I suppose she spoiled me verymuch."
"Lina was Nicky's wife, I take it."
"Yes, she died when I was seven. Up to that time I was ashappy as a child could be. We lived in a little house in a placecalled Hollis. There were tall locust trees in the yard, withfragrant creamy blossoms in May... Well, she died before I wasold enough to understand what I was losing, and Nicky had to putme in a school. I have been in different schools ever since."
"Hard on you," murmured Fin.
"Oh, I'm used to it!" she said, philosophically. "What I don'tlike I make believe isn't there. I'm good at it... Nickyapologizes to me for the schools because he says they are cheapschools, but such as they are I know he denies himself everythingto keep me there... Nicky is poor. He comes to see me veryseldom. I believe it's because he thinks he isn't grand enough,and that makes me savage. He has some ridiculous notion of makinga lady of me." She laughed merrily, but the dark-lashed eyes werehaunted. "What's the good of being a lonesome lady?"
"You're dead right," said Fin. There was a hard lump in histhroat. By God! he vowed to himself, I will try to make up to youa little of what you have missed!
He realized that he wasn't making the task ahead of him anyless difficult by putting it off. "Aren't you curious to knowwhat I'm doing here?" he asked.
"Well, I didn't like to ask," she said, smiling. "I was afraidyou might vanish into thin air."
"I'm a pretty solid phantom," said Fin. "One hundred seventy-five pounds."
"Your manly voice reassured me," said Mariula. "Phantoms havesuch squeaky voices."
"You seem to know!"
Before he could get any further the maid appeared in thedoorway, announcing that Miss Folsom was waiting in the drawing-room. Her tone suggested that it was an unheard-of thing to keepsuch a personage waiting, and Fin had no choice but to getup.
Mariula, rising, offered her hand to Fin in the forthrightmanner of a great lady, and said: "Good-by, Mr. Unknown. It'sbeen so nice to talk to you."
"We'll have other talks," said Fin, meaningly.
She smiled, almost pityingly one might have said: "Ah, youdon't know them!" she said.
Fin left her quickly. There was a quality in her smile thatalmost brought the tears to his eyes. At the same time hercourage and honesty made his whole heart glad. Nick Peters hadnot been wrong about her.
He found Miss Folsom in the overstuffed drawing-room, a tall,frigid lady, wearing an elaborately-dressed wig of chestnut hair.A smile of conventional sweetness was fixed in her face, for itwas the season when she interviewed parents. But the smile fadedat sight of Fin, who was obviously too young to have a daughterof boarding-school age.
"What can I do for you?" she asked, coldly. "I have come tosee you about Mariula Peters," said Fin.
"Ah!" said Miss Folsom, with a sharp look. "Her board issomewhat in arrears."
"It shall be paid tomorrow," said Fin. "I suppose you haveread of her guardian's death?" Miss Folsom, strangely enough,appeared not to have read of it. "Her guardian dead?" she echoed,with raised eyebrows. "How should I have read it? I don't studythe obituary columns."
"Well," said Fin, staring in his turn, "it has not beenconfined to the obituary columns."
"I don't understand you," said Miss Folsom, stiffly. "Mr.Peters... And then comprehension began to break upon her. Herface turned a queer mottled hue and her withered hands trembled."Nicholas Peters... Nick Peters... Good Heavens! Do you mean totell me that this was the Nick Peters who was murdered!"
"The same," said Fin.
Her reaction was not at all what he expected. "Oh, how I havebeen deceived!" she cried. "He was represented to me as areputable business man! I addressed him in care of the HanoverNational Bank!"
"What has that got to do with it?" said Fin.
Miss Folsom wrung her hands. "A tradesman in a poor meanneighborhood!" she cried. "Hoboken!Hoboken! An humblewatch-repairer! Why, the child is less than a nobody!"
This sort of thing was new to Fin. "Is that all it means toyou!" he said, hotly.
It is doubtful if she heard him. "Oh, what a blow! What ablow!" she cried.
Fin wondered if she were still thinking about her bill. "Iassure you Mariula does not lack friends," he said, stiffly. "Allbills will be paid..."
"Don't talk to me of bills," she interrupted, with an attemptto recover the dignity of the headmistress. "I am thinking of thereputation of my school!" She partly broke down again. To beconnected with a low, brutal murder like this! It's unfair! It'sunfair! To think that this should happen to me! The girls will becoming back in a fortnight. It is sure to leak out! I shall beblamed..."
"Good Lord, madam!" cried Fin. "You didn't commit themurder!"
"How could I have let myself be so deceived!" she mourned.
"I reckon it was because you wanted his money," said Fin,grimly.
She paid no attention. "The child must leave here instantly,"she cried. "You must take her away with you."
Fin had not foreseen this contingency. His heart sank. "Madam,what are you saying?" he protested.
"Instantly! Instantly!" she repeated.
"But I'm a bachelor," stammered Fin. "I have made noarrangements to have her cared for..."
"That's nothing to me. You must take her away."
"Give me a day or two...
"Not an hour! I do not intend to be left with her on myhands!"
Fin's face turned red and his resolution stiffened. "Allright," he said, shortly, "I'll take her. You're not fit to betrusted with anybody's daughter!"
Miss Folsom was already pressing the bell,
When the servant appeared she said, "Where is MariulaPeters?"
"In the summerhouse, 'm."
"Send her here."
The maid went out.
A rush of compassion for the unfortunate girl overcame Fin'sanger for the moment. "She does not know yet that Nick Peters isdead," he said, pleadingly. "Let me break it to her gently. Giveme a few moments alone with her."
Miss Folsom merely smiled disagreeably.
So they waited, the elderly woman pacing up and down,struggling to conceal her ugly feelings under a cold sneer, andFin staring at her with fiery eyes that expressed all he wouldnot allow his tongue to utter to a woman. Though she affected toignore it, she could not bear the young man's look, and shepresently left the room.
She came back, accompanied by the wondering Mariula. Thegirl's face lighted up at the sight of Fin.
"Oh, have you got anything to do with me?" she cried, eagerly."Are you a friend of Nicky's?"
Fin took her hand. "A friend of Nicky's and a friend ofyours," he said. "I hope you will accept me as such."
"Why, of course I will!" she said, instantly. Then hersensitive nature was warned by a premonition of disaster. "Whatis wrong?" she faltered.
Fin retained her hand. "Bad news, Mariula," he said, simply."Nick Peters is dead."
No sound escaped from the girl. She lowered her head and thecurved lashes lay on her cheeks. Fin, watching, saw her breastrise and catch, again and again as she fought back the sobs. Sheclung desperately to his hand. I ought to have told her while wewere alone together, he thought. That horrible woman makes itworse for her.
"You will go and pack your trunk while this gentleman waitsfor you, Mariula," said Miss Folsom, coldly. "You are leavingwith him."
Mariula raised a white, dismayed face. Her eyes lookedenormous. It was of Fin she was thinking, not of herself. "Is sheforcing you to take me?" she demanded. "I have no claim onyou."
"No! No!" said Fin, quickly. "I am your friend. I want to takecare of you. I promised Nick that I would."
Mariula turned and ran from the room.
When she returned, carrying her satchel, the tragic face wasquite composed. In her little silken skirt and jacket and plainhat she had more than ever an air of distinguished breeding. Finsuspected that she had given tone to the whole school. It waslittle wonder that Miss Folsom had been deceived as to her socialstatus. The young man's heart was freshly touched by the way sheslipped her hand through his arm and looked in his face.
"I am ready," she said.
"You are sure you're not afraid to come with me?" whisperedFin.
"Afraid!" she said, with a level glance at Miss Folsom."Leaving this place is like getting out of prison!"
"This is what I might have expected," remarked Miss Folsom,acidly.
"Come on," said Fin. "We have nothing to say to her!"
"I will have the trunk put in the back of your car," said MissFolsom, "though, since the bill has not been paid, I should bejustified in holding it."
"You will receive a check tomorrow," said Fin. He thought hesaw a way of getting back at the lady. "Mariula has very powerfulfriends," he added.
The suggestion found its mark. "Who are they?" demanded MissFolsom. "If they are willing to acknowledge her I might..."
Mariula squeezed Fin's arm. "Don't leave me here!" shewhispered.
"Not for a million dollars!" said Fin.
It was Mariula herself who unconsciously administered thecoup de grâce to the headmistress. "It's terrible to haveto live with a person like that," she whispered to Fin.
Miss Folsom overheard, and turned slightly greenish. She couldthink of no retort; she only bit her lip. Fin and Mariula leftthe house without the formality of good-bys.
In the car the tragic girl, still putting a bold face on it,said with a smile: "Here I am going away with you, and I don'teven know your name!"
"Finlay Corveth, commonly known as Fin or Fish."
"Where are we going, Fin?"
"Blest if I know, my dear. We'll call up Mr. Mappin from thefirst pay station for instructions."
Tears gathered in Mariula's eyes and rolled one by one downher pale cheeks. She struggled hard to master them, essaying tosmile and to match Fin's jesting tone. "It's like an elopement,isn't it Fin?... Only, there's nobody after us!"... The big tearscontinued to gather and to fall in silence.
Fin's breast was wrenched by the sight. "Cry! Cry!" hebesought her. "Don't try to hold it back. Cry out loud!"
"If only I could be sure that you wanted me!" shewhispered.
Such a rush of emotion overmastered the young man that he wasforced to pull up at the side of the road. "Listen, kid," hesaid, huskily. "The moment I laid eyes on you I fell in love withyou. See? With all my heart!... I never had a sister. I love youthe way a fellow ought to love his sister, but rarely does. Forever and ever. Get that? for ever and ever!"
With a little cry of relief Mariula hid her face on hisshoulder and wept unrestrainedly. "Oh, now I can cry!" shemurmured... "Oh, my darling Nicky! If I could only have seen himbefore he went away!"
The tears gathered in Fin's eyes, too. He scowled fiercely asa young man does, and blew his nose into his handkerchief withone hand while he patted Mariula's shoulder with the other. "Fireaway! Fire away!" he said. "Let it all come out! You'll feelbetter for it!"
Half an hour later they drew up in front of a drugstore.Mariula remained sitting in the car while Fin went in totelephone. When Mr. Mappin heard his story he whistled inastonishment or dismay, and no suggestion was immediatelyforthcoming.
"I suppose I cannot bring her to your place," said Fin.
"There's a man watching in the street," said Mr. Mappin.
"What if I hired a motor-boat," suggested Fin, "and broughther to the yacht-landing in the basement. I could get her intothe house that way without being seen from the street."
"No good," said Mr. Mappin, gloomily. "I have been aware forseveral days that the doorman in this house was spying onme."
"Good God!" exclaimed Fin. "Why do you stand for it? Why don'tyou have him fired?"
"That wouldn't do me any good," returned Mr. Mappin, calmly."I feel safest when I know where the spies are."
"Then what am I to do?" said Fin.
"I will arrange something," said Mr. Mappin. "Call me up inhalf an hour."
Fin drove on across the meadows and through the tunnel, andcalled up from another pay station in lower Manhattan.
"Take Mariula to thePennsylvania Hotel," said Mr.Mappin, "and meet my sister, Mrs. Gherardi, there. My sistercannot take Mariula into her house, because she has a dozenchattering servants and a hundred gossiping friends. But she willstay with her tonight, and tomorrow will find her another and abetter school."
Fin's heart sunk. "But, Mr. Mappin," he protested, "how can weleave the poor girl among strangers when she is grieving so forthe loss of her friend?"
A series of odd snorts came over the wire. "Hm!... Ha!...Well!" Mr. Mappin always affected to be annoyed when his feelingswere touched. "Well, anyway, let me sleep on it," he said,finally. "Perhaps I shall think of something better beforemorning."
About this time that band of the faithful who made a point ofgoing over to Hoboken every week to see "After Dark," discoveredthat a new bit had been added to the show without announcement.In the barroom scene, and later in the Germania Garden scene, aragged newsboy was introduced mutely offering a bundle of rumpledpapers. He had not a line to speak, but the wistful beauty of thegirl who played the bit made an instant hit. Nearly every nightshe got a round of applause all to herself.
None of the company were informed of the circumstances exceptMr. Christopher Morley, the impresario, and a discreet lady namedAngela Dare, who played the second lead in "After Dark." Mariula,rechristened Mary Dare for the time being, was brought forward asthe latter's sister. She instantly became the darling of thecompany, but they could not spoil her, because self-consciousnesshad been omitted from her composition. After Miss Folsom's schoolher new life was like heaven, she confided in Fin.
Fin, too, found the arrangement an admirable one. As one ofthe press representatives of the show he enjoyed the freedom ofthe stage at all hours, and was able to see his young friend atevery performance without exciting remark. On the occasion oftheir first meeting behind the scenes they pretended to makefriends all over again. Mariula, like most of her sex, was a bornconspirator.
THE Foundry is an old brick building of apleasing quaintness of design, faintly German in flavor. Itstands on River Street, facing the Hoboken steamship piers andthe broad stream beyond. At this time it had not been alteredfrom its original state beyond what could be accomplished bysweeping and scrubbing. No mere scrubbing could really clean up aplace in which the grime of decades of iron-founding wasingrained. As fast as one layer of dirt was removed, anotherslowly exuded. Walls and rafters were covered by innumerablecoats of whitewash which flaked down like snow; and the windowsbore a sulphurous patina that had so far refused to yield tosoapsuds. Nevertheless, the members of the Three-Hours-for-LunchClub loved their unconventional clubhouse. It in was in keepingwith the spirit of the organization.
Inside, the building spread out in a most unexpected andinveigling fashion. A great central hall with a gallery allaround, and the mighty traveling crane still hanging overhead;and room after room of different sizes and shapes, and all ondifferent levels. The members never tired of conducting visitorsthrough the endless, empty rooms, running up and down the oddsteps, and climbing the casual ladders while they pointed out thefuture library, the billiard-room, the private dining-room etc.,etc. There was a purer pleasure in planning these improvementsthan in possessing them.
The affairs of the Three-Hours-for-Lunch Club and the HobokenTheatrical Company were inextricably commingled, and the twoorganizations shared the Foundry between them. In the rear therewas an odd little separate building like a tower, connected withthe main structure by a sort of bridge. The upper part wasallotted to the press department, and here Fin Corveth had hisown particular hang-out, where he worked by snatches at all hoursof the day and night.
The bridge had an inexhaustible fascination for him. Itcommanded, only a few yards away the rear of a wide block oftenement houses with rank above rank of windows—kitchenwindows. In warm weather all these windows were flung up, andparticularly at dusk, when the lamps were first lighted, anybodycrossing the bridge might share in vicarious intimacy with ahundred households. Within those windows people laughed andcursed and whistled and cried; they ate and fought and kissed andyawned and scratched themselves, all with inimitablenaturalness.
All those households invisible to one another were within theview of one standing on the bridge, like God. Fin, a littleabashed, would not linger on the bridge, for fear his motivesmight be misunderstood, but merely in passing across it hereceived a grand sense of the richness of life and of his kinshipwith all mankind.
It was the occasion of one of the club lunches. Somebody hadpresented the Foundry with a set of elaborately carved andlacquered Chinese Chippendale for the dining-room. This wasarranged at the rear of the wide gallery upstairs, Partlyinclosed by handsome screens that matched the furniture; and inthe little room thus formed a small company was gathered for theusual midday rites. They were drinking cocktails while theywaited for a guest. A cold collation had been sent in from theContinental around the corner.
The contrast of the elegant furniture with its rudesurroundings tickled the fancy of the members. They rejoiced insuch humorous incongruities, and the Foundry was full of them.Over on the other side of the gallery the costume department ofthe Theatrical Company functioned amid a fascinating confusion offilmy garments and colorful accoutrements. Downstairs the stageproperties of the same concern made a quaint litter in everycorner, including such diverse objects as the furnace from thelast act of "Where the Blue Begins," the hideous dragon that madetoo brief an appearance in the "Black Crook," and the famouslocomotive from "After Dark," which had been brought over fromthe theater for a little touching-up after a run of two hundrednights.
Among those present, the principal figure was naturally thatof Mr. Christopher Morley, who modestly describes himself asstewardin perpetuum to the Three-Hours-for-Lunch Club,but is really the whole works. It is impossible to imagine ameeting without Chris. He is the mercury that causes manydisparate elements to fuse. With his opulence of physique andtemperament he seems to belong to a younger age than ours. Hisheartiness, his nimble play with words, his penchant for thetheater, all stamp him as a belated Elizabethan.
He was flanked at the moment by Captain Felix Reisenberg andCaptain David Bone. The Three-Hours-for-Lunch Club has alwaysenjoyed a generous infusion of salt which goes far to explain itsvigor. Besides the two doughty skippers there were present formerChief-Engineer William McFee, and Mr. Oliver Perry, the eminentyachtsman. For the rest poetry was represented by Bill (Endymion)Benét; architecture by Frank Abbott; belles-lettres by Amos LeeMappin; and philosophy or whatever you like by Don Marquis, thefather of Archie and the Old Soak. There were one or two othersless well known, and the company was completed by Fin Corveth,very attentive to the jests and ready with applause and laughter.Such, as he conceived it, was his function amid a gathering ofwits.
The conversation had to do with crime. The club, naturally hadtaken a special interest in the case of Nick Peters, since two ofthe members had been so closely connected with it, and had even,at least by implication, been accused of the murder. This was thefirst meeting since the case had fizzled out, and Mr. Mappin hadto submit to a good deal of joshing.
"Amos, you were always crying for a little murder of your own,and when we provided it you let it die on your hands! How come?How come?"
"It was unworthy of you to put it off on the Bolsheviki.That's Rotary Club stuff. We expected something more originalfrom you."
"Sure! As criminologist in extraordinary to the Three-Hours-for-Lunch Club you have failed to measure up to youroffice."
All this made Fin uneasy. How they would open their eyes ifthey knew the truth!" he thought. He longed to drop a hint thatthe case was far from being dead, but of course his lips weresealed. As for Mr. Mappin, he merely raised his glass to thelight and squinted through it with a smile.
When they were tired of the subject, Chris said: "Where's yourguest, Frank? I can't hold out much longer."
"We don't have to wait for him," said Abbott; "he's not thesort of fellow you have to stand on ceremony with."
"Well, we'll give him one cocktail more," said Chris,proceeding to fill the glasses.
"Who is your guest, Frank?" asked another.
"A real character," said Abbott; "one of a race that isdisappearing from the earth. A soldier of fortune. His job is toproduce two wars where only one grew before. But he says thebankers are taking the bread out of his mouth. War follows thecoupon nowadays."
"What's his name?"
"General Diamond."
"Ha!" said Chris. "I wish I had thought of that first."
"Where did you pick him up, Frank?"
"He came into the office with a letter from somebody who hadhad a letter from somebody, and so on; one of these chain lettersof introduction. He flattered me by asking if I had any littlewar that I wanted carried on. I had no war to give him, but westarted a beautiful friendship. After several meetings it cameout that one of the dreams of his life was to attend a session ofthe Three-Hours-for-Lunch Club, so I told him to come along."
A moment or two later the stairs creaked, and everybody said,"Here he comes!"
Looking down the gallery, they saw a massive figure risinginto view at the end; a figure of truly heroicproportions—length, breadth and thickness. He approached ata lively gait, slapping his feet on the board floor. Fin caughtMr. Mappin's eye. His lips shaped the words, "It's 'theAmerican.' " Mr. Mappin got it.
The man's appearance was much changed, but it was impossiblefor such a one to disguise himself completely. Fin, being young,was one great gulf of astonishment inside, but Mr. Mappin hadfewer illusions; his face was as bland as a baby's. Fin wasstruck with awe at the speedy fulfillment of his friend'sprophecy. What a man he was! Fin copied his bland air as best hecould.
While General Diamond hastily swallowed a couple of cocktailsand was introduced all round, Fin had a good opportunity to sizehim up. As befitted his present character, the General was nowcultivating a rough-and-ready style—baggy tweed suit,thick-soled shoes, and immense fawn-colored wide-awake that hetossed aside with a flowing gesture. The spiked mustache and themonocle had disappeared; in his cheeks a hardy tan replaced thepurple flush of high living; but the hard, protuberant blue eyeswere unchanged. While he exchanged persiflage with his hosts hiseyes traveled around, taking everything in. Fin stiffenedinwardly. A dangerous man!
They seated themselves around the table, apparently athaphazard, but Fin observed that Mr. Mappin maneuvered for theseat at the General's left and got it. In his unobtrusive way Mr.Mappin was laying himself out to be agreeable. For a man who gaveit out that he lacked physical courage, Mr. Mappin was doingpretty well, Fin thought. The elegant little man and the hugesoldier of fortune made a curious contrast sitting side byside.
It was not at all difficult to draw out General Diamond. Likemany clever schemers before him, he talked all the time to keeppeople from observing too much. There was a gobbling note in hisbass voice which seems to be characteristic of the braggart.Munchausen probably talked that way. Fascinating place nameslarded his conversation: Essequibo; Orinoco; Amazonas.
"Yaas," he said, "I know the Amazon better than I do Broadway.Made four trips from Ecuador into Brazil by the headwaters, andback again. Once I was acting as scout for a Peruvian force whichhad been sent to clean up a nest of head-hunters. I was really incommand of the hunch, but technically I had to defer to somedusky don who got the honor while I drew the pay. We were campedon a sandbank in the Maranon near the mouth of the Huallaga, andjust as it was growing dark I was walking about to stretch mylegs after a long day in the canoe, when I came across a track orfurrow in the sand that I give you my word was nearly a yardwide. Anaconda. I confess it took even my well-seasoned breathaway.
"I got my Winchester and a lantern, and I followed that track.None of the Peruvians would accompany me when they saw the sizeof it. I followed it until I came upon the monster sleeping inthe sand about a hundred feet from the water. Gentlemen, he waspiled in a mound of coils higher than my head. In his thickestpart he was bigger round than I am in my thickest part. It waslike an obscene nightmare. Holding the lantern above my head, Iwalked around and around him, looking for his head. Finally Ifound it. I fired point-blank and then ran to get between him andthe river. He came at me, hissing like a locomotive. It was themost awful sight I ever hope to see. My heart turned to water,but I stood my ground, and the anaconda was more terrified than Iwas. He only wanted to escape. As I blocked his way he turnedaside, and when I headed him off on that side he turned to theother. There we were dodging back and forth like a couple of boysplaying prisoners' base. But I kept pumping lead into himwhenever I saw a chance, and finally he collapsed and expired inthe sand with frightful struggles. I had nearly blown his head topieces. In the morning we straightened him out and I paced himoff... Fifty-six feet, gentlemen!"
A low whistle of astonishment went around the table. "Somesnake!" they said, politely, and, "Some liar!" they thought.
"It was the biggest anaconda ever known!" said the General,impressively.
"My God!" said Mr. Mappin, agitatedly polishing his glasses."I hope you saved the skin, General."
The General spread out his big hands deprecatingly. "I did mybest," he said, "but what could you expect amid the hardships ofa campaign in the jungle? I sent the skin out by a returningconvoy, but it never arrived. It was a year later before I gotout myself, and the bearers said my snakeskin had been eaten byants. I expect the truth of it is, they chucked it in theriver."
"What a loss to science!" murmured Mr. Mappin. "Go on,General, do!"
The General proceeded to tell how the headhunters hadeventually wiped out the Peruvian detachment. He alone had beenspared, and was adopted into the tribe, who looked on him as asort of superman because of his size. However, as he was unableto bring himself to share in eating the Peruvians, a coolnessarose and he was obliged to fly for his life. After unparalleledhardships he succeeded in reaching the nearest Braziliansettlements, six hundred miles away.
Other stories followed; of guerrilla warfare in the Gran Chacoand fighting along the disputed boundary between Guatemala andHonduras. Boundary disputes seemed to be the General's specialty."You can get up a boundary dispute 'most anywhere," he said, witha grin.
Mr. Mappin listened to all this with an expression of innocentwonder that was highly flattering to the story-teller. TheGeneral had undoubtedly come to the Three-Hours-for-Lunch Clubfor the express purpose of scraping acquaintance with Mr. Mappin,and he was charmed by his success. He gobbled with self-satisfaction. Fin, watching from across the table, thought: Well,if he's playing a deep game, Mr. Mappin is playing a deeperone!
One of the General's best stories dealt with the chase andfinal capture of Rosati, a famous Macedonian brigand. Hedescribed how he had painstakingly collected evidence of theman's crimes in the face of a hostile countryside, and hadeventually convicted Rosati, though he was the hero of thepeasantry. "Now that's what I call detective work," said Mr.Mappin, turning to his fellow-members. "You had better elect theGeneral in my place."
"Hey! what's that?" asked the General, who did not understandthe allusion.
"The club has passed a vote of censure on me because I felldown on the Nick Peters case," said Mr. Mappin, blandly. "Theywant an official detective who will add luster to theorganization, and so I am recommending you for the post."
"No! No! No!" said the General, wagging his hand. "I am not inyour class, Mr. Mappin. I have read your books, sir."
"But I am only a theorist, General, whereas you have had theadvantage of experience in the field!"
The compliments flew back and forth. Finally Mr. Mappin said,casually, "By the way, what is your opinion of the Nick Peterscase, General?"
Fin held his breath while he waited for the answer.
The General never turned a hair. "Oh, I know no more than anyother newspaper-reader," he gobbled. "But with all due respect,Mr. Mappin, I think you were mistaken in ascribing the murder toforeign plotters. To me it bears all the marks of the nativethug. It seems that Nick Peters did quite an extensive businessin his small way. Well, it evidently occurred to some local badman that being a Slovak, Nick would have his hoard concealedunder the floor or somewhere, and he went after it, that's all.Not finding it the first time, he came back again, and in therage of his disappointment he strangled the poor Hunk."
Fin glanced with inward horror at the General's powerfulhands. Were those the hands?
"But how about the three men who attempted to carry off me andCorveth?" said Mr. Mappin.
"Oh, those were the murderer's friends," said the General."They would only have taken you for a ride. There was evidentlysome evidence in there they didn't want you to stumble on."
"Very likely you are right," said Mr. Mappin, sadly. "Iconfess I was completely baffled. The newspaper article, ofcourse, was simply to save my face."
"The case wasn't worthy of your talents," said theGeneral.
"I'd like to talk it over with you further," said Mr. Mappin."Will you lunch with me at my apartment tomorrow?"
Fin gasped at the little man's daring.
"I should be delighted!" said the General.
Leaving the Foundry in a body, they waited for taxicabs on thesidewalk below. The General, who was describing how he had raisedthe Riffs in rebellion in 1910, was still the center ofattention. Suddenly he stumbled in his speech, and Fin saw himchange color unpleasantly. He instantly recovered himself andwent on with his story, but Fin, following the direction of hisglance, was in time to see a lean, black-clad figure slink behindone of the stone posts that marked the gateway to the steamshippiers across the street. So it appeared there was one man eventhe fire-eating soldier was afraid of. From the excessiveblandness of Mr. Mappin's face Fin guessed that he had observedthe incident. Fin's heart beat fast.
Mr. Mappin carried Fin over to New York in his taxi. "Gosh!"said Fin when they were alone. "For a timid man you have yournerve about you!"
"I am a timid man," said Mr. Mappin, plaintively. "I hateexcitement! But I can't stop now."
"That old boy would murder us as easily as he'd turn over inbed!"
"Of course he would."
"Yet you ask him home!"
"He won't do it there," said Mr. Mappin. "Too difficult tomake a getaway. Much safer to shoot us down in the street."
"Gosh!" said Fin again.
"It's because I'm afraid that I must seem to make friends withhim," said Mr. Mappin. "I have to keep an eye on him. I hope youwill see me through this, Finley."
"What the hell!" growled Fin. "This is my case, isn't it?"
Mr. Mappin patted his shoulder. "You had better come live inmy house," he said, "so I won't seem to be sending for you everytime I have the General there."
"I'll move up tonight," said Fin.
"The General is a practical man," Mr. Mappin went on,thoughtfully. "He will not try to put us out of the way until hethinks we are dangerous to him. Our job must be to satisfy him weare harmless."
"But he knew you were lying when you let on you had given upthe case."
"Quite so. On the other hand, it would have aroused hissuspicions if I had exposed too much of my hand. I'll feed himmore tomorrow."
"You saw 'Robespierre' watching him—or us?"
"Yes," said Mr. Mappin. "I will now engage McArdle to watchour watchers. We will see what we can learn about these worthies.We must try to make friends with 'Robespierre,' too. He's a moredangerous man than the General. Much, much more dangerous."
"Why?" asked Fin.
"Well," said Mr. Mappin, "according to my observations, theGeneral is working for money, but 'Robespierre,' like his greatprototype, is working for an idea!"
IT was a far cry from a furnished room south ofWashington Square to the unobtrusive luxury of Mr. Mappin'sapartment; however, luxury is never incongruous, and Fin acceptedhis translation with a sigh of content. This is what I was madefor, he told himself; this suits me.
He had been bidden to lie late. When he awoke he had only tostretch his hand to the bell button, whereupon Jermyn enteredwith the morning papers and a cup of ambrosial coffee. Jermyn,who possessed his master's entire confidence, was Mr. Mappin'sonly servant.
He bade Fin a cheerful good morning. "Breakfast at nine-thirty, sir. Please ring again when you're ready, and I'll comedraw your bath. Or perhaps you would prefer a shower?'
Fin had only to raise himself a little in order to look outover the river. "Jermyn," he said, with a serious air, "this istoo good to be true!"
"I wish you could stay here always, sir," said Jermyn. "Mr.Mappin enjoys having you so."
"No, no, Jermyn!" said Fin. "It would soften my fibers!"
Jermyn laughed discreetly. "About the bath, sir... ?"
"I'll take the whole works," said Fin.
A couple of hours later Mr. Mappin and Fin were in theformer's workshop with the much-creased square of white paperpinned to a drawing-board before them. So far it had refused toyield its secret. A square of about seven inches; a thin, hand-made paper very tough and resilient. Not made in America, Mr.Mappin had said. The only blemish on its white surface was ablack dot near one corner. A magnifying glass revealed that ithad been made with a lead Pencil.
The two friends had approached that dot from every angle. Finopined that, after all, it might have been made by accident, butMr. Mappin would not have it so.
"The whole thing has been too carefully prepared to admit ofany accident," he said. "That dot is our key if we only knew howto apply it."
Since the commonest sorts of sympathetic ink yield theirsecret to heat, they had first tried holding the paper over theflame of an alcohol lamp, but without results.
Mr. Mappin produced quaint bits of information from out-of-the-way corners of his richly-stored mind. "The oldest formula ofall is to write with milk and let it dry," he said. "The writingmay then be deciphered by dusting a colored powder over thepaper. A certain amount of it will stick to the dried milk."
He had plenty of dry pigments at hand that he used in paintinghis little ships. They had tried dusting vermilion over thepaper, but none of it stuck.
"Then it must be an acid which will only yield its secret toanother acid," he said.
"Do you know the formula?" asked Fin, eagerly.
"My dear fellow!" said Mr. Mappin, ruefully. "There are ahundred formulas!... In the Indian Mutiny, when General Saleswished to advise his superior officer of his danger, he wrote adispatch in rice water with the single word 'iodine' for a clue.When iodine was applied to the paper it turned the writing brightblue.
"That's only one," he went on; "the old books are full ofrecipes for making sympathetic ink. If you write with solution ofSaturn, as they used to call it—we know it under its morematter-of-fact name of acetate of lead, and treat it withsulphuret of potassium, the writing turns brown. Or you can writeinvisibly with a solution of gold in hydrochloric acid and turnit purple with tin in the same acid. Or nitrate of bismuth whichyields its secret to an infusion of nutgalls. Or iodine again. Ifyou write with colorless iodine it will turn brown under a washof chloride of lime. And so on,ad lib. Any chemist couldthink up a new one."
"Good God I" said Fin. "How would we know where to begin?"
"Ay," said Mr. Mappin, "that's the rub. If we applied thewrong acid it would be at the risk of destroying the messageforever!"
"If there is a message," said Fin.
"There must be a message," said Mr. Mappin. "Nobody would goto all that trouble to hide a blank piece of paper."
"If we daren't experiment, we're licked before we start!"cried Fin.
"I wouldn't say that," said Mr. Mappin, cautiously. "I have anidea it is not acid writing at all, but some other device.Something that would account for the pencil dot."
"Well, what the devil are we going to do?" said Fin,helplessly.
Mr. Mappin, sunk in a deep study, did not answerimmediately.
There was a tap at the door, and Jermyn's voice was heardsaying: "Telephone from downstairs, sir. General Diamond iscalling."
Mr. Mappin jerked his head up. "Ask him to come up," he said.He glanced sideways at Fin with a curious grin. "Let us see whatwe can extract from him," he said.
Fin gaped at him.
They locked everything in a drawer, and, furthermore, lockedthe door of the shop behind them. Mr. Mappin dropped the keys inhis pocket.
"But what are you going to do?" demanded Fin, breathlessly."What line are you going to take? Give me the dope so I can playup to you."
"I'm going to confide in the General," said Mr. Mappin, withhis peculiar smile.
"Confide in him!" echoed Fin, in dismay. "Confide in ananaconda!"
Mr. Mappin chuckled noiselessly. "Oh, I j shall only confide afew things that he knows already," he said, dryly.
A moment or two later General Diamond, clad in the same shaggybrown homespun suit, came striding into the big living-room,slapping his feet on the floor in his characteristic fashion. Hewas of the lusty type that can grow fat without sacrificingvigor. He must have weighed near three hundred pounds, but everyounce of it was instinct with strength and energy. It was hardfat. A rhinoceros of a man, thought Fin, and with the same wickedlook in his eye.
Notwithstanding the hearty camaraderie that issued from hislips, the General's eye was both wicked and watchful. He did notknow what awaited him in Mr. Mappin's apartment, and he was readyfor anything. He could not be sure yet whether or not they wereon to him. Fin was forced to respect the man. It must haverequired courage of the first order to venture alone into hisenemies' stronghold in such a state of uncertainty.
"How are you? How are you?" he cried, sailing in. "Certainlyis good of you to have me here, Mr. Mappin. How are you, Corveth?Mighty glad to see you again."
"Corveth is stopping with me," said Mr. Mappin. "We areengaged in a very delicate operation, and I want him right athand."
"That sounds interesting," said the General.
"I'll tell you about it later," said Mr. Mappin. "First I wantto show you my view." He led the way out on the balcony.
The General raised his hands in a kind of benediction."Superb! Superb!" he cried. "You may say all you like about thebeauties of nature, but there's nothing so inspiring as a broadview of the works of man! Ships, bridges, docks, and towers!"
When he had exhausted his enthusiasm they came in forcocktails. "By God! Mr. Mappin, you've got a comfortable dugouthere!" cried the General. "Luxury and good taste! It makes an oldcampaigner envious!"
"Anybody can buy comfort," said Mr. Mappin, deprecatingly,"but adventurous spirits are rare. We envy you your adventures,General."
"Well, in one way I have it on you," said the General. "I canappreciate your comforts better than you can because you've neverbeen right down to hard pan... Take this beautiful room, forinstance, it recalls to my mind by force of contrast a certainmoment during the winter of 1919 in Russia."
"Were you serving in Russia, General?"
"Yaas. I was a kind of liaison officer with one of the Whitearmies... We were licked and licked again. The Whites were alwayslicked. It was an error of judgment on my part. Imagine winter inthe heart of Russia. It was like the end of the world after thesun had gone out. An army of ten thousand men and almost as manyrefugees and camp-followers streaming blindly across the frozenplains. No proper clothes, no shelter, no food. On one occasion Istole the commander's potatoes at the point of mygun—However, that's another story.
"The whole army had to cross a deep river filled with runningice by a single narrow bridge. While we were still huddling ourway across, the Red cavalry came up. They simply made a ringaround that struggling mob and shot them down, laughing. Hundredsthrew themselves into the river and were drowned. Dead bodiesheaped the bridge from rail to rail. Of those who remained on thewrong side of the river only the strongest got across."
"Of whom you were one?" put in Mr. Mappin.
"Yes, sir, I don't hesitate to admit that I crossed thatbridge on the necks of weaker men." The General tossed off hiscocktail. "And none too soon," he went on. "While a third of hisforce was still on the wrong side, our commander blew up thebridge."
"Good God!" said Mr. Mappin.
"Well, he had to sacrifice a third of his men in order to drawoff with the other two-thirds," said the General.
"What a ghastly experience!" said Mr. Mappin.
"It served me right," said the General. "I don't deserve anysympathy. A man of sense has no business to be fighting on thewrong side."
"Well, have another cocktail, General."
"Thanks. I get your point, sir."
"I expect you had many adventures during the Great War,General," said Mr. Mappin.
"Oh, yaas, yaas," said the General, carelessly.
"In France?"
"O God, no! Mr. Mappin. France offered no field for a man ofmy peculiar talents... But around the edges of the greatconflict, the doubtful areas, that was where profitablenegotiations might be carried on—South Russia, China,Persia, North Africa."
"I get you," said Mr. Mappin.
In the dining-room to which they presently repaired GeneralDiamond did full justice to the excellent meal that Jermyn putbefore them. It was better than the commander's potatoes, heaverred. Even while he ate he managed to relate snatches of hisadventures, ranging from Archangel to Tierra del Fuego. Fin'sfeelings toward the old scoundrel were curiously mixed. Quick-witted, humorous, and cynical, he put on such a good show it wasimpossible not to feel a sneaking fondness for him. But as soonas you began to like him that dull, wicked eye pulled you upshort. Remember Nick Peters! it seemed to say.
Upon returning to the living-room the General was somewhat inadvance, and Mr. Mappin whispered to Fin: "Sit with your back tothe windows and watch his face. I must not appear to do so."
Down at the end of the big room stood a vast davenportupholstered in a gay chintz and facing the French windows thatopened on the balcony. Mr. Mappin waved his guest to the place ofhonor in the corner, and the General spread himself among thedown cushions with a groan of satisfaction.
"To hell with Russia!" he said.
Mr. Mappin sat beside him on the davenport and Jermyn placed astand before them bearing coffee, liqueurs, and cigars. Fin,according to instructions, sat down facing them. He was very gladto have his own face out of the light during grim comedy thatfollowed.
And now by your leave, General," said Mr. Mappin, lighting acigar, "Pm going to relate our little adventure."
"I am all ears!" said the General.
"Corveth and I are working on the Nick Peters case."
"What!" said the General, with a well-simulated start. "Ithought that had been given up."
"Not by me," said Mr. Mappin. "That newspaper article I wrotewas simply to befog the real issue. I could do nothing as long aswe were being watched and followed and questioned by thepolice."
"Ah, you're a deep one!" said the General, jocosely. But Finwas aware of a tenseness behind. The big man did not know whatwas coming next. He was ready to spring.
"As soon as I heard you talk yesterday," Mr. Mappin went on,"I made up my mind that you, with your experience, were the veryman to help us... that is, if you are free?"
"Free as air," said the General, with a wave of his hand..."Did my remarks on the case give you a lead?" he asked,innocently.
"No," returned Mr. Mappin, coolly. "You were 'way off!"
"What!"
"It was natural," Mr. Mappin explained, politely, "since youare unaware of the facts of the case. The true facts have notbeen published."
"You amaze me, sir!"
A grim comedy! While they sat with their liqueurs and cigars,conversing so urbanely, Fin could feel lightnings in the air. Asingle wrong word or look would transform the fat man into a wildbeast. Fin regretted that he had not a pistol in his pocket; theGeneral had, undoubtedly. But it had not occurred to him to armhimself against a luncheon guest. Fortunately, the General,sprawling among the cushions, was in an awkward posture forattack. I could jump on his stomach before he could draw, thoughtFin.
"The man who first attacked Nick Peters," Mr. Mappin went on,"was after an emerald pendant. He tore up the place, looking forit. When Peters came to, the thief snatched a brass ball off thefoot of the bed and cracked him over the head with it. Theemerald was hidden in that ball. The thief carried it awaywithout knowing that he had it!"
"Good God! What a story!" murmured the General.
"The brass ball passed from the hands of the first thief to asecond thief," resumed Mr. Mappin; "and from the second thief tosome boys who sold it to a junkman. Corveth recovered it by aclever piece of work."
"And you have it?"
"We have it safe."
"I suppose the emerald is worth a fortune."
"They were not after the emerald."
"What was it, then?"
"I don't know," said Mr. Mappin. "Nick Peters refused to tellCorveth what was behind it all unless he brought back the brassball. If it was lost the whole thing had better be forgotten, hesaid. When Corveth brought him the brass ball he was dead."
"Well! Well! Well!" said the General.
Fin took note of the slight breathlessness in his voice. Underhis suave air he was violently agitated. He might well be. He hadhis features under perfect control—except his eyes. Joy andsuspicion contended there. He dared not let himself believe thatMr. Mappin was playing directly into his hands.
"We opened the brass ball," Mr. Mappin went on, "and theemerald, which was in the form of a locket. Inside it..."
"Well?" said the General, excitedly.
"There was a blank piece of paper."
"My God!"
Fin saw that this was trumped-up surprise. He knew well enoughthat the paper was blank. "It probably carries some sort of amessage in invisible ink," said Mr. Mappin. "If I can find theright acid I'll bring it to light."
The General started up. "No! No! Mr. Mappin," he cried. "Don'tput an acid to it! You'll destroy it!"
That's genuine; anyhow, thought Fin.
"Then what am I to do?" said Mr. Mappin, plaintively. "Willyou help me?"
"Why, sure!" cried the General, with a crooked grin. "This isthe most interesting case I ever..."
"I ought to warn you that it is dangerous," interrupted Mr.Mappin. "The men who want this emerald or this paper sodesperately, know that we have it. Corveth and I find ourselvesfollowed everywhere."
"So!" said the General. "Have you ever had a glimpse of theprincipal?"
"How can we tell?" said Mr. Mappin. "The faces of the spieschange continually."
"He must be rich," remarked the General... "Are you willing toshow me the emerald and the paper you found in it?"
"Why, of course!" said Mr. Mappin. "If you're going to help usyou must see the evidence. They're in my safe-deposit vault. Idare not keep them here. I'll have them here when you comeagain."
"Now, look ahere, Mr. Mappin," cried the General, with heartyconfidence, "don't you go to tamper with that paper until we knowwhere we are. We must have better information. As I see it, thereare two lines for us to take. We must watch the men who arewatching you, and get behind them and find out who is hiringthem."
Fin smiled inwardly at the idea of intrusting this job to theGeneral.
"Are you willing to stand for the expense?" asked theGeneral.
"Surely! Any legitimate expense!" said Mr. Mappin.
"Good! Then the second thing to do is to investigate NickPeters' antecedents. They called him a Slovak. That only meansthat he came from one of the countries in south-eastern Europe.Well, I know those countries. I speak their dialects. There's aBulgarian revolutionary committee right here in New York. BesideCzechoslovakian clubs and Jugo-Slavs. I know them all and theyknow me. You couldn't have come to a better man than me. I willmix among them, and it will be a funny thing if I can't find outwho this Nick Peters was and what sort of a secret he washiding."
"Splendid!" cried Mr. Mappin.
The dangerous comedy proceeded.
Soon the General heaved himself out of the davenport. "I'llstart to work this very afternoon," he said. "I'll keep in touchwith you. You just leave this to me for a while."
When the door closed behind him, Mr. Mappin sank back into thedavenport and mopped his bald head. "My God! what an ordeal!" hemurmured. "I am trembling like a leaf!"
Now that the danger was past, Fin himself was a little shaky,but he would not confess it. He poured Mr. Mappin a stiff drinkof Scotch.
"Fin," said the latter, sipping it, "I vow if I come throughthis alive I'll stick to my books hereafter. I am not fitted bynature to perform in the General's field. The sheer bulk of themonster overwhelms me!"
"You hid it damned well," said Fin.
"Thank you, my boy, thank you... Well, what have we gained byit? You were watching his face."
"In the first place," said Fin, "his fright when you suggestedtreating the paper with acid was perfectly genuine. He is as muchafraid of having the message destroyed as we are."
"Good!" said Mr. Mappin. "Then we won't tamper with anyacids... What else?"
"He is not yet satisfied that this is not, well, just what itis, a deep-laid scheme to entrap him."
"We could hardly expect anything else," said Mr. Mappin. "TheGeneral is not exactly a greenhorn... That means we must go onand better our performance. We must appear to take him furtherinto our confidence. O my God! my stomach turns over at theprospect of facing him out again! However, there's no help forit. Give me another drink... Will you see me through, Fin?"
"I can stand it if you can," said Fin.
EVERY detail of that last talk with Mariula wasetched on Fin's recollection as with an acid. It washeartbreaking to remember her sweetness when he had lost her. Herdelicate beauty was rendered more piquant by the ragged clothesshe wore in her stage part. Seated on a trunk backstage with hercheeks grimed, a boy's cap pulled over one eye and under her armthe ragged papers she never put down, fearing to mislay them, shemade him laugh with the most delicious pleasure—and swallowhard. Her life of semi-conventual seclusion made her seem youngerthan she was. She was in no hurry to grow up.
In his anxiety to have it appear that their relation wasmerely a casual one, Fin had never visited her at the boarding-house where she lived with Miss Dare, nor did he ever accompanyher to and from the theater. Their only meetings took placebackstage. As far as Fin knew, there were no spies inside thetheater, and he had hoped that their friendship was completelyunknown to those who followed him about outside.
Nearly an hour elapsed between Mariula's first and secondappearance in the play, and this was Fin's innings. She wouldwait for him sitting on this empty trunk behind the scenes. Atintervals during the play the lid of the trunk was slammed downto imitate the closing of a door off-stage; that was why it wasthere. Fin would happen along as if by accident, and while theactors spoke their lines and the house laughed, clapped, hissed,and otherwise comported itself in the obstreperous fashionexpected of an "After Dark" audience, the two of them sittingside by side confided to each other in whispers all that hadhappened during the past twenty-four hours.
From the first Fin's guard had been down with Mariula. Hepersuaded himself she was only a child and there was no penaltyattached to loving a child. Having reached the great age oftwenty-five himself, he was a little ashamed of letting stuffypeople see how completely he could play the kid with her; so helowered his voice when there were others about, and they held intheir foolish laughter until they nearly burst. Mariula'ssupposed childishness covered everything. It was blessed to lovea child; he told himself there was nothing to be got out of itand no ritual to be observed. On both sides it was as free as thewind blowing. Fin never realized how deep it went until he wasstabbed by her loss.
This particular performance was a midweek matinee and Mariulahad not expected him. How enchantingly she lowered her lashes andsmiled and made room for him on the trunk.
"I wouldn't let myself hope you were coming," she whispered,"but just the same I was listening for the squeak of the stagedoor... What do you think, Fishy darling? I can't keep it in! Mr.Morley has promised me a speaking part in the next show!"
"Lovely!" said Fin. He did not add that he thought theimpresario knew a good thing when he saw it. Nothing likecynicism must be allowed to breathe upon the lucent Mariula.
"It's going to be a Civil War play," she went on, "and I'm tobe a drummer boy. A real veteran is to teach me to drum."
"Like pretty Polly Oliver," murmured Fin.
"Who was she?"
He sang under his breath:
"I cannot live single, and false I'll notprove;
So I'll 'list for a drummer boy and follow mylove!"
"Pooh!" said Mariula. "I don't think much of her!... I'll be areal drummer boy and drum for my side. A real boy. It's more funto be a boy, anyway."
"Girls are nicer," said Fin.
"You may think so because you're a big softy. You can't seethrough them."
"Is that so?"
"I wish you'd promise me never to commit yourself with a girlwithout giving me a chance to look her over first."
Fin laughed delightedly. Mariula didn't mind.
"Of course it doesn't matter much when you're young," she wenton. "It's much the same being a girl or a boy. But think ofgrowing up to be a miss. That's what I dread."
"Misses have gone out of fashion," said Fin; "except with theMiss Folsoms and that lot."
"The old-fashioned kind has," said Mariula; "like Eliza in theplay. That's why she's so funny and dear. But the modern ones areworse. It makes me tired the way they begin to wiggle when a mancomes around."
"Only the second-raters," said Fin. "The first-raters don'twiggle. They make the men wiggle."
"I'll think that over," said Mariula. "Some of your funnysayings are quite sensible."
"Go on!" said Fin. "That's taffy."
"I only said some of them."
"Of course," said Fin, "I would much rather have you just asyou are for ever and ever."
"Why?" she asked, curiously.
"Because you like me now. We are a great comfort to eachother..."
Mariula gave his hand a little squeeze.
"...But when you finish growing up you'll be somebody elseagain. You may not like me then."
"Well, if you think I'm that kind of a person," she said,affronted, "I'm not going to swear any oaths."
"It will be a sad day for me when you become a young lady,"Fin went on. "I'll have to share your society with dozens offellows then. And as a competitor I'm a washout. I have noadvertising value, no ballyhoo. You will overlook me in thecrowd."
"When you talk like that it's just a kind of false modesty,"said Mariula, calmly. "I don't pay any attention to it."
How Fin wanted to hug her.
She soon climbed down from her high horse. "Listen, FinnyTribe," she said, giggling, "and I'll tell you something funny.There's a new boarder come to Mrs. Balcomb's and his name is Mr.Goldfogle. Isn't that priceless? If you say it rapidly toyourself the funniest combinations come out. Try it!"
Fin tried it, and Mariula tried it.
"Listen," she went on. "All the other boarders call him Mr.Old Fogie, of course. That was foreordained."
"What?" said Fin.
"Foreordained," she faltered. "Isn't that right?"
"Absolutely," said Fin. "But it startled me from those infantlips."
"Oh, go on!" she said. "Pay attention to what I'm tellingyou... I've got a better name for him. I call him the dear littleOgo-Pogo, after the song. And listen! Mr. Ogo-Pogo is bow-leggedin one leg only. It's unique! Look! he walks like this." Mariulaillustrated with two fingers on her knee, and they rocked insilent laughter.
When she got her cue and jumped down from the trunk, she said,offhand, "Coming over tonight, Fish?"
"Sure!" said Fin. "I've got a press story to get out." Theymaintained a fiction that it was business brought him to thetheater.
"I'll see you then." She hesitated a moment. "I wish we livedin the same house," she said, with a sigh.
"Maybe we will," said Fin.
As she went around the corner of the set she looked back athim with her luminous smile. That was his last sight of her.
At half past seven Fin and Mr. Mappin were beginning dinner inthe latter's apartment when Jermyn entered to say that Mr.Corveth was wanted on the telephone. Jermyn looked rather queerand Fin said:
"Who is it?"
"Didn't give any name, sir. A lady. Seems very agitated."
"O Lor! what have I been and done now!" said Fin, lightly.
It was Miss Angela Dare. So extreme was her distress she couldscarcely articulate. "Oh, Mr. Corveth... Mary... gone!"
"What!" cried Fin.
"Gone!... gone!" she repeated.
"When? Where?" cried Fin, with a terrible sinking of theheart. "For God's sake tell me a plain story!"
Miss Dare succeeded in pulling herself together. "I had arehearsal with Mr. Rich this afternoon. I took her home after thematinee and returned to the theater. She never goes out in thestreets alone. While I was at the theater somebody telephoned tothe house in my name and told Mary to meet me in Hudson Park. Shewent out and... and she never came back!"
"O my God!" groaned Fin. "I'll be right over!"
"What is it?" cried Mr. Mappin, running out into the hall.
Fin pressed his bursting head between his hands. "Thosebeasts!" he muttered. "Mariula... they've got her!" He snatchedup his hat.
"Eat a bite as you go," urged the practical Mr. Mappin.
"It would choke me!" cried Fin, making for the door.
"I'll follow you in a few minutes," Mr. Mappin called afterhim.
In a taxicab Fin tore downtown and through the Tunnel,suffering agonies of impatience. As he ran into the theater awild hope filled his breast. Perhaps she had come back! A glancein Miss Dare's face destroyed it. The poor woman was trying tomake up before her mirror with the tears running down her cheeks.The entire company was distraught, but as good troupers they hadto go on with the show.
Miss Dare could add but little to her story. A woman hadcalled up the boarding-house at six o'clock and, representingthat she was speaking for Miss Dare, had asked the servant totell Mary to meet her in Hudson Park, so they could get a littlefresh air before dinner.
"Has anything been done?" cried Fin.
"I went to the park to look for her," faltered Miss Dare.
"Why didn't you call me up before?"
"We were hoping every moment she would come back!"
Fin ran to the nearest police station. As soon as he had toldhis story the lieutenant at the desk said:
"Yes, we know about that."
"Where is she?" cried Fin.
"Oh, I can't tell you that, mister. All I know is that at six-fifteen this evening a boy came out of Hudson Park and reportedto Patrolman Clausen that he had seen a young girl hustled into ablack sedan car at the corner of Hudson and Fifth. The car wentnorth in Hudson."
"What measures have been taken?"
"We can't do nothing without a complaint," said thelieutenant, blandly. "You can't place no reliance in what themkids tell you."
At this point ex-Senator Corwin, Mr. Mappin's attorney,arrived, and took full charge of the search for Mary Dare. Bythis means both Mr. Mappin's name and Fin's were kept out of it.Thus they avoided reviving the Nick Peters' case and dragging thewhole thing through the press again. Miss Dare appeared asMariula's sister and nearest relative, and Fin with his breakingheart was relegated into the background.
No means that could possibly aid in finding the girl wasneglected. The police were aroused to action and an army ofprivate detectives engaged. The police of other cities werenotified. The news of the kidnapping was announced in the pressand broadcasted by radio. Before midnight the net was spread overthe entire country—but nothing fell into it.
The black sedan was said to have borne an Illinois license,and the police were in possession of the number. Two telephoneconversations with Chicago proved that the plates were falseones. The kidnappers must have had other license plates inreserve, for no abandoned cat was found. The only clue to theirdestination was furnished by a guard in the Holland Tunnel, whostated that at 6:30 that night he had been forced to warn aspeeding black sedan bearing an Illinois license plate. As thecar had slowed up at the sound of the whistle, he had not takenits number. This merely indicated that the child had been carriedto New York, catch basin for so many crimes.
Fin spent the entire night walking the streets in a fog ofpain and despair. He could never give any clear account of wherehe went. At one time he found himself at 168th Street, and somehours later he was stopped by the Battery sea wall. His onlyobject was to read the license plates of all the cars that passedhim. He was dimly aware of the uselessness of such a quest, buthe had to be doing something. Occasionally he hired taxis to gethim over the ground quicker, but he soon had to get out and walkagain. It was impossible for him to sit still even in a speedingcab.
The last editions of the evening papers and the first editionsof the morning papers, which quickly followed, alike informed himthat there was no news.
At eight o'clock in the morning he staggered into Mr. Mappin'sapartment, a haggard ghost of himself. Old Jermyn led him in withthe tact and tenderness of a woman and sat him down withouttormenting him with questions. Jermyn put food before him and heate, and immediately fell asleep with his head on the table.Jermyn let him stay there.
When he awoke, a couple of hours later, Mr. Mappin was lookingat him compassionately. "Is there any news?" asked Fin,hoarsely.
Mr. Mappin mournfully shook his head.
"There wouldn't be!" muttered Fin. "They've got her!... Andit's all my fault!" he cried, brokenly. "I must have led them toher! I should have stayed away from her!"
"Now come, old fellow!" said Mr. Mappin, patting his shoulder."It's bad enough without tormenting yourself uselessly... Ourenemies may have known long ago that Mariula was at MissFolsom's. Why couldn't they have followed Nick on one of hisvisits to the school?"
"If the General's hand is in this, the error of judgment wasmine," Mr. Mappin went on, pacing up and down the dining-room."If he knew of the existence of Mariula he knew we had taken herunder our protection. I ought to have included the child in thestory I told him. My not saying anything about her would make himsuspicious of us. Half measures are always fatal!"
"Why should they carry her off just at this time?" groanedFin.
"That I cannot tell," said Mr. Mappin, gravely. "But I amconfident they will not harm the child."
"Why?" said Fin.
"Because the secret they are after is still locked in oursafe."
Fin was too wretched to follow his reasoning. "They've gother! They've got her!" he groaned, beating the table with hisfist. That fact obscured everything.
"It was providential that we decided to keep the child inignorance," Mr. Mappin went on. "She knows nothing of the emeraldor of the paper it contained. She has never heard of the Generalor the other. That may be the means of saving her life now."
Fin could take no comfort from his words. "The General iscoming here to lunch today," Mr. Mappin reminded him.
Fin scrambled to his feet, breathing hard. This appointmenthad been made for several days, but he had forgotten it. "Justlet me get at him!" he said, hoarsely. "I don't care how big heis!... The foul brute! To strike at a child!"
"Easy! Easy!" warned Mr. Mappin. "We don't know that theGeneral did it."
"He's capable of it!"
"Quite so. But that's no proof."
"I couldn't keep my hands off him if I were to see him," saidFin, brokenly.
"Sure, sure!" said Mr. Mappin, soothingly. "You keep out ofthe way and I'll receive him." Fin almost quarreled with hispatron then. "You mean you will pretend to be friends with thatbeast!" he cried.
"What I have started I will carry through," said Mr. Mappin,firmly. "It would be fatal to let him see that we suspect him ofhaving a hand in this."
"What's the use?" cried Fin. "What's the use of anything, whenMariula is gone!"
"We will get her back again," said Mr. Mappin. "And we willwin her inheritance for her, too."
"What will you say to him?" asked Fin.
"I will frankly let him see our distress. I'll tell him thewhole story of the child. I'll ask his help in finding her."
"What a ghastly farce!" sneered Fin.
Just the same, it's the best way of getting her back safe,"said Mr. Mappin, firmly.
Fin was too done up to oppose him further. He dropped back inthe chair and pressed his head between his hands. After a momentor two the thought of the danger to his friend penetrated hispain-befogged understanding. "You can't receive him here alone,"he said, raising his head. "That would be too easy for him."
"Jermyn will be here," said Mr. Mappin.
"Jermyn and you together would be no match for the General.The chance would be too good for him to lay you both out andransack the place at his leisure."
"That will not happen," said Mr. Mappin. "We will both bearmed."
Fin resumed his weary, aimless plod, plod through the streets,glancing at the numbers on the automobiles and searching thefaces of the passers-by. So many streets, so many cars, so manypeople, there was no end to them. Millions of windows, and behindone of them Mariula was confined. He had taken a horror of thetown which spread to infinity before him whichever way he turned.How could one poor pair of legs cover it? Yet he could not stopwalking. It was like a nightmare from which there was noawakening.
The frequent editions of the newspapers kept him informed asto the progress of the search elsewhere. No news!
He returned to Mr. Mappin's after dark in a state ofexhaustion. His patron was out. Jermyn put food before him again,but he could not eat now.
"Was that beast here today?" he muttered.
Jermyn nodded.
"What happened?"
"Nothing, sir. Mr. Mappin told him of the trouble you were in,and he appeared to be most sympathetic. As soon as they finishedeating he hurried away to see what he could do."
"Laughing in his sleeve," muttered Fin; "laughing in hissleeve! He's making a monkey of Mr. Mappin!"
Just then the telephone rang. Fin sprang up, but halfway tothe door he stopped.
"You answer it, Jermyn," he faltered. "I'm not up to it."
After a murmur in the hall a loud cry came from Jermyn: "Mr.Fin! Mr. Fin! Good news!"
Fin quickly found the strength to snatch the receiver out ofhis hand. "Yes? Yes?" he said, breathlessly.
It was Miss Dare. She was now as inarticulate with joy as shehad been heretofore with grief. "Oh, Fin! Fin!... Mary!... She'sback!"
"Where?" cried Fin.
"At the theater!"
"She's all right?"
"Oh, quite! quite! She's making up to go on."
"Who found her?"
"Nobody. She was brought back in a car just like she was takenaway."
"Where was she taken?"
"Oh, I can't tell it all over the phone."
"Sure! Sure! I'll be right over."
"No! Mary says please don't come until after the show. She'safraid you'll break her up."
"Oh... all right," groaned Fin. "Damn the show!... You're sureshe'squite all right, Angie?"
"Oh, quite! She says she was well treated. She's the calmestone among us over here."
"Oh!... Take care of her until I get there!"
"Don't you worry about that! The whole company is guardingher."
Fin hung up with a groan. Three hours to wait! However, hefell right there on a sofa in the hall and slept like a dead man.Jermyn covered him with a rug.
MR. MAPPIN and Fin rode over to Hobokentogether. Fin was jumping with impatience. He had telephonedagain, and Mariula was all right, but he could not rest until hesaw her with his own eyes.
"How can we best take care of her from this time on?" he said."There's no longer any reason for keeping her in hiding."
"I've been thinking about that," said Mr. Mappin, in his calmway—but he was perhaps not as calm as he made out. Hepolished his glasses frequently. "If as a result of this uproarMariula's connection with Nick Peters becomes known to thepublic, there is no further reason for keeping her under cover...But I'm hoping we may keep that secret. In that case she mustcontinue to be known as Mary Dare, and should go on playing herpart in 'After Dark.' "
"I shan't know a moment's peace," muttered Fin.
"Think it out," urged Mr. Mappin, soothingly. "Where could wefind a safer place for her? It would be impossible to turn thesame trick twice. In the Rialto Theater she has the whole companyto watch over her. Moreover, I will get McArdle to supply me withone of his best men who will always be armed. Chris can give thisman a walking part in the show, and he can board at Mrs.Balcomb's. Thus he can have Mariula under his eye at all timeswithout making the child conscious that she is under guard."
"I wish I could have the job," said Fin.
"Sure!" said Mr. Mappin. "But you agree, don't you, that itwould quadruple our difficulties to take Mariula into the housewith us. It would be a dangerous place for her. We have thesecret there that is the main object of our enemies."
"You are right," muttered Fin... "But I wish I could be withher!"
When they got to the theater the show was over. According tocustom, the set had been struck and the curtain raised, and asthey entered the empty house they saw a throng on the stage, allpressing around Mariula, perched on her trunk—actors,policemen, newspaper reporters, and such of the general public ashad been able to get by the doorkeepers. All the women weretrying to embrace Mariula, and all the men were asking herquestions. Mr. Mappin and Fin made their way through the boxes.The first person they ran into on the stage was Chris Morley.
"There's been a riot ever since she came on the scene!" criedthe warm-hearted impresario, laughing and wiping his eyes. "Godknows how we got through the show!"
Fin made no attempt to address Mariula. They exchanged apoignant glance, and he dropped into the background. What a lotshe understands! he thought. He watched her wonderingly. She hadremoved her make-up and was dressed for the street. She was palefrom strain, nevertheless she kept the too-affectionate women atarm's-length and answered the men's questions intelligently. Whois this strange lost girl? Fin asked himself for the hundredthtime. Where did she get such poise? She has been nowhere and seennothing.
He heard her tell her story. "This woman came up to me in thestreet and started talking. She was a nice-looking woman and Ididn't want to be rude. So I let her talk. I didn't notice theautomobile standing by the curb until she swept me into it quickas a wink and slammed the door."
"Didn't you scream?" asked a voice.
"I'm sorry," said Mariula, apologetically. "I ought to havescreamed, but I couldn't. I always get quiet when I'mfrightened... I wasn'tvery frightened," she went on,"because the woman didn't seem to want to harm me. I thought shemust be a little cracked. I thought perhaps she had lost adaughter and just snatched up the first girl she saw. You read ofsuch things in the paper.
"She pulled down the blinds inside the car," Mariula went on,"so I couldn't see where we were going. But I heard the roar ofthe Tunnel as we passed through it. We went fast. The womandidn't say much, but her manner was kind enough. After a longdrive, more than an hour I should say, we stopped. It was dark bythat time and I could see very little. It was a house standing byitself among trees. There seemed to be nobody living in it butthis woman and her servants. I planned to make friends with theservants as soon as she was out of the Way. We had supper. Shetalked all the time."
"What did she say?" asked some one.
"Nothing in particular," said Mariula. "It was silly talk, theway a person talks to a young child. She was always trying tosmooth me down. But I wouldn't have anything to do with her. Toeverything she said I just answered, 'You had no right to take meaway from my friends.' But you couldn't pin her down to anything.Her talk wandered. She was certainly cracked. After supper shetook me up to a bedroom and locked me in it. The windows werevery high above the ground, and there was nothing to climb downby, so I thought I had better wait quietly until morning.
"All day today it was just the same. I never got a chance tospeak to the servants alone. The woman was always coming to theroom, trying to make friends in her crazy way, but I wouldn't. Atlast when it got dark she suddenly said, 'All right, I'll takeyou back.' And back we came. She put me out at Hudson and FifthStreets, just where she had snatched me up, and the car whiskedaway like lightning."
Fin heard her repeat this several times with slightamplifications. She is not telling the whole story, he thought,anxiously.
Meanwhile Mr. Mappin had been consulting with Chris. Themanager now made his voice heard above the babel. "Please, ladiesand gentlemen, I must ask you to clear the stage. Mary has toldyou everything she knows. She must be allowed to go home andsleep."
The crowd, shepherded by Mr. Morley, moved very reluctantlytoward the stage door.
Mr. Mappin joined Fin. "We are to go on ahead to Mrs.Balcomb's," he said. "Chris will bring her."
They waited for Mariula in her own room. Even the faithfulAngela Dare was excluded from this interview, for they dared nottell her all they knew. Fanciful tales concerning Mariula werecirculated among the "After Dark" company; Mr. Mappin didn't mindas long as they were far enough away from the truth.
Mariula cast herself headlong into Fin's arms and burst intotears. "Oh, my blessed Fin! my blessed, blessed Fin!" she gasped."I can cry on you! You are my wailing wall!"
"Sure! Sure!" said Fin, laughing and crying both. "Let it allcome! You kept a stiff upper lip too long!"
But Mariula soon dried her eyes and decorously retreated fromFin's knee. "What a fool you must think me," she said, suddenlythe maiden. "I always cry when the trouble's over."
"You didn't tell them the whole story?" Fin said,anxiously.
Mariula shook her head. "I told enough for the newspapers,"she said, coolly. "It is horrible to think of everything aboutyou being talked over on the street corners."
"Hear! Hear!" said Mr. Mappin, suddenly. "I wish more peoplefelt like that!"
"Besides," Mariula went on, "I felt I ought to tell you andMr. Mappin before I told anybody else. You know more about methan I know myself."
"Very little," said Mr. Mappin.
"Tell us more about this woman," said Fin, eagerly. "What wasshe like?"
"A youngish, prettyish kind of woman," said Mariula. "Nothingin particular. She wasn't really a lady. There was a man in thecar, too. A rough-looking fellow. He never opened his mouth thewhole way. He was just there to control me if I struggled. Shetold me so. I said I wouldn't struggle if she sat between us,because I couldn't bear to have him touch me. I wasn't so awfullyafraid then. The woman wasn't bad to me. Only kept looking at meso strangely."
"Go on," said Fin, breathlessly.
A shudder went through Mariula's slender frame. "There wasanother man in that house, "she said. "That is what I didn't tellthem. I heard him whispering with the woman behind the door. Myinstinct told me that he was back of it all. The woman and I hadsupper together, but the door into the hall was open and I knewhe was listening there. She made out that she was a friend of mydead mother's and had a hunger to see me, but she couldn't comeopenly because of her enemies, so she had yielded to a suddenimpulse to carry me off.
"But this was all acting, of course—and not very goodacting, either. I know my mother never had any friends likethat! The woman was just trying to find out how much Iknew about myself. I told her right away I knew nothing, but ofcourse she didn't believe me. She talked and talked and tried ina hundred ways to entrap me, but she couldn't, because I reallydid know nothing. She kept asking me about an emerald pendant andwhat had become of it, but I told her that was news to me. Andall the time pretending that she loved me so. It wasdisgusting.
"After a long time she went out into the hall to the man. Icould hear them whispering there. They got excited and I caught aword or two. I think she was telling him that I knew nothing, andhe was saying I was only fooling her. Afterward I heard her sayquite plainly: 'You promised me you wouldn't hurt her! Youpromised me!' Oh, I was afraid then!... The man ran into theroom. He was like a horrible picture. A tall thin man dressed inblack. His body twisted..."
"'Robespierre,' by God!" murmured Fin.
"...His hair hung over his face and his eyes glared at me. Hehad a silk scarf in his hands and I thought... I thought he wasgoing to strangle me with it like poor Nicky..."
"What's that?" cried Fin, sharply.
"Oh, you wouldn't tell me," she said. "But I soon found out.Everybody in Hoboken knew."
"Go on!" he said, hoarsely.
"He jabbered at me in some foreign language, then English. Itwas about the emerald pendant. I could only say: 'I don't know! Idon't know! I don't know!' The silk scarf fascinated me. Icouldn't keep my eyes off it..." She paused.
"What happened?" gasped Fin.
"The telephone saved me," she said, simply. "I heard it ring,and a moment after the woman ran in and whispered something inhis ear. It made him stop. His face turned quite green.
"'It's too late,' he said, looking at me. 'She has seen menow.'
"'But if you send her back unharmed they can do nothing toyou,' she said. She was so excited she forgot to whisper. 'It's atrap! It's a trap!' she kept saying.
"He said, 'I'll make sure of that!' and he ran right out ofthe house. I heard the door slam.
"I never saw him again. The woman slept in the room with methat night. I couldn't sleep. In the morning I knew he had comeback, but nobody told me. The woman said it was all right. Shesaid it wasn't safe for them to take me back by daylight, but assoon as it grew dark they would. She seemed quite pleased aboutit. She wasn't a bad sort. Sure enough, when it got dark they putme in the car and brought me back."
"What does it all mean?" cried Fin, springing up. "I can'tmake sense of it!"
"A feud between our two adversaries," said Mr. Mappin,soberly. "It is the only hypothesis that fits the facts... One iscunning, one savage. Suppose the cunning one caused informationof Mariula's whereabouts to be conveyed to the savage one, hopingto profit by the result in two ways. Luckily the savage wasinformed of the trick in time."
"Very likely! Very likely!" cried Fin. "They are capable ofit! They must both be arrested now. Such brutes can't be allowedto remain at large."
"That is the decision we have to make tonight," said Mr.Mappin, gravely. "Easy enough to arrest them with the informationin our hands. But dare we risk the chance that the secret ofMariula's identity may be lost in the subsequent confusion?"
"Who could take the responsibility for such a decision!" criedFin, clapping his hands to his head.
"One thing is clear," said Mr. Mappin, "we can no longer sportwith Mariula's fate while she remains in ignorance. We must tellher everything we know now."
He told her. Mariula listened in still amazement. "An emeraldpendant, mine?" she murmured. "A secret about me that men arefighting over? What does it all mean?"
Mr. Mappin shrugged. "That is what we must find out."
"Which is it to be?" Fin demanded, agitatedly. "Shall we dropthe whole thing and enjoy a little peace and quietness once more,or shall we go on until we have discovered the truth?"
There was nothing of the child about Mariula then. Sitting onthe edge of the bed, leaning against one arm, she lowered herhead with the familiar gesture, letting the bright hair screenher eyes. "I think," she said, slowly, "we must go on. I'm sureyou and Mr. Mappin can take care of me." She flung the hair outof her eyes. "How can a person stop when he has once started athing?" she asked. "It would torment us as long as we lived."
"So be it," said Mr. Mappin. "We will guard you well, mydear."
AT breakfast Mr. Mappin tossed a typewrittensheet across the table to Fin. "First report from the McArdleAgency," he said. "These fellows are damned ingenious."
Fin read:
Being assigned to pick up any or all of themen who are trailing Mr. Amos Lee Mappin, and trace them back totheir employers, I did not show myself around Mr. Mappin'sresidence, but took up a stand at First Avenue and Fifty-secondStreet, where anybody leaving the said house would have to passme. My partner (No. 19) let his cab stand across the street fromMr. Mappin's with the flag down, so nobody could hire him.
Mr. Mappin issued out at 2:30 yesterdayafternoon, and was immediately picked up by a man with a blackmustache who was loitering against the railings at the end of thestreet. Mr. M. hailed a taxi from the regular rank in front ofthe house, and the black-mustached man got one at the cornerwhere it had been waiting for him. They passed through Fifty-first Street, and my partner picked me up and we followed.
Mr. Mappin already knows where he went, soI need not describe it. He returned home at 3:45. Shortlyafterward the black-mustached man was relieved by a fellow withsandy hair. The black-mustached man then hailed a taxi in FirstAve. leaving his own taxi stand there, and was driven south. Mypartner picked me up as before and we followed him to No. —West Forty-second Street. I followed him inside the building andup in the elevator to the offices of the L'Aiglon Agency where heis employed.
This is a pretty shady concern. They let itbe known in a discreet way that they will take anything thereputable agencies turn down, so they have plenty of business. Anoperative who was formerly employed by our agency and got intotrouble is working there now. I knew he was crazy to make goodwith us again, so I got in touch with him at his home last night,and I told him I was after the name of the man who was having Mr.Mappin watched. After some talk he agreed to get it for me.
This morning I met him in Forty-secondStreet, as agreed, and he told me that the name of the client whowas having Mr. Mappin watched was General Diamond; address,Hotel Madagascar.
Number Four.
Mr. Mappin had in the meantime finished reading anothertypewritten page. "Report number two from the same operative," hesaid, handing it over.
Fin read:
I had no trouble picking up General Diamondat the Madagascar. I understand he's already known to Mr. Mappin,so I needn't describe him. He's well known around the hotel.Seems to want to establish himself in his present character andmakes friends with everybody. But all his friends are recentones. He seems to have turned up there about a month ago. Furtherback than that I have not yet been able to trace him.
He makes out he has no regular business andhangs around the lobby most of the time, but I notice that hedoes a lot of telephoning from the booths. It is impossible totrace such calls. I engaged a room almost directly opposite hisand squared the chambermaid. When I satisfied her who I was, sheleft the door of his room unlocked as if by accident, and I wentin there and made a search while the General was having lunchwith some of his chance acquaintances.
He is evidently an old hand, because Ifound no letters or papers or proofs of identity of any sort. Hebrought with him to the hotel a leather suitcase, a new steamertrunk, and an old-fashioned leather-covered trunk, small and muchworn. No marks on it. You could see where the different labelshad been soaked off. The suitcase and the steamer trunk wereunlocked and empty, and all the stuff in the bureau, closet,etc., was just what a man of his sort would carry. No marks onanything but laundry marks.
The leather-covered trunk was locked, butit was a simple kind of lock. I opened it with a piece of wire,and locked it after me again. This trunk contained four outfitsfor a complete disguise, also a make-up box and several colors offalse hair. The outfits were for (a) a fashionable gentleman, (b)a general's uniform, (c) another military uniform, (d) worn,rough clothes as for a workman. I was unable to give theseclothes a detailed examination, because I could only allow myselfabout half an hour while he ate. But I will enter the room againif desired.
I made notes of the two uniforms and lookedthem up in the library later. The General's uniform is Peruvian.The other, which was badly worn and stained, I could not find inany of the illustrated books, but it came closest to the Russianones.
Number Four
Mr. Mappin handed over a third report withoutcomment.
Having received further instructions to tryto pick up a party who had been seen following General Diamond ontwo occasions, I got my man on Forty-second Street today. TheGeneral come out about 10:30 and this other fellow was laying forhim in the street. He is known to Mr. Mappin, so I won't describehim. The name he goes under is Nipperg. The General turns westand this Nipperg takes after him. He's a clumsy tracker and theGeneral soon gets on to him and is scared. The General goes intoa lunchroom, though he just had his breakfast, and after a whilehe come out and returned to the hotel again. Nipperg hung aroundfor awhile and then he made up his mind the General wasn't comingout, so he hopped on a Fourth Avenue car bound south. I was onthe platform. At Grand he changed to an eastbound car and finallyentered a house at — East Broadway.
This is a long-established rooming-housekept by Mrs. Caroline Emmett for professional men who have tolive on the East Side. A very respectable house. I watched itfrom under cover for a couple of hours, and while I was waiting Itelephoned the office from a drugstore for another man, andNumber 11 joined me. Nipperg come out again about one, and aftereating his dinner in a restaurant took a taxi uptown. I left itto Number 11 to trail him while I entered the rooming-house.
The landlady was a talkative woman and Ilearned everything she knew easy. It was she who told me theman's name. He rents her best room from her, second floor front.She don't like him much because, though he's lived with her neara year, she can't find out anything about him. She thinks he'ssome kind of an anarchist and I reckon she charges him double forit. He never speaks to anybody in the house and has novisitors.
I made out to be looking for a room, andhired the one over Nipperg. He has his own telephone in there. Imade a hasty search of his room, but he's another wise one. Nowriting left about anywhere. There was a couple of familyphotographs, but the photographers' names and addresses had beenscratched off. They looked foreign. There was a tin dispatch boxlocked with a brass padlock that I could not open without bustingit. I can make a key for it later if desired.
Nipperg come in late and startedtelephoning. By putting my ear to the floor I could hear himtalking, and I judged it was some foreign language by theinflections. Even if I knew the language I couldn't hear what hesays, because he talks too cautious. He has a dial phone whichmakes it impossible to trace local calls.
Number 11 reported to the office that helost Nipperg in a traffic jam in Thirty-seventh Street. The waythe streets are it is impossible to prevent this sometimes. Whenthey got out of the jam he was still following Nipperg's taxi,but the man was no longer inside it. But we know his hang-out nowand can pick him up any time. I'll try to make up to him insidethe house, but can't promise certain results, because the thinghe's most suspicious of is anybody trying to make friends withhim.
Number Four
Mr. Mappin's comment on these reports was, "Interesting, butnot very instructive."
He led the way into the living-room. Lighting a cigar, hepaced thoughtfully up and down the long room, while Fin droppedinto an easy chair with a cigarette.
"It's the best espionage money can buy," said Mr. Mappin,still referring to the reports, "but it won't get us anywhere.All espionage is useless when the watched man is on hisguard—it is worse than useless, because he can drop falseclues for his spies... No, we must rely on our own efforts,Finlay."
"Shall you try to get in touch with 'Robespierre'—orNipperg, as he calls himself?" asked Fin.
Mr. Mappin slowly shook his head. "I see nothing to be gainedby it. The man is armed with suspicion like a porcupine withquills... The General is still our best bet."
"He's suspicious, too."
"Yes, but he is also conceited. He is willing to fraternizewith us because he is sure he can overreach us in the end.Overconfidence may betray him."
Mr. Mappin took a turn up and down. "On the other hand, it isquite on the cards that the General may overreach me," heresumed. "Nobody is infallible. It bothers me a good deal. We aretoo dependent on the General. We ought to have other linesout—collateral lines."
"Have you anything to suggest?" asked Fin. "I've been thinkingof the woman who carried off Mariula. Seems to have been a well-disposed sort of woman, though weak. It isn't likely she knowsthe whole plot, but we might get something out of her. We mighteven induce her to betray Nipperg."
"How can we find her?"
"That won't offer insuperable difficulties," said Mr. Mappin."We will question Mariula more closely... In the meantime," headded, coolly, "I have asked the General to come and stop with usfor a few days."
"What!" cried Fin.
"Well, he gave me an opportunity to do so, and it fitted invery well with my plans."
"Would you be able to sleep while that ruffian was here in theapartment?"
"All the bedroom doors have very good locks on them," said Mr.Mappin blandly. "...He'll be here at lunch-time, bag andbaggage."
"I'd like to have a look inside that leather-covered trunk ofhis."
"So should I," said Mr. Mappin. "I hope he doesn't bringit."
"Why?"
"One has such ridiculous scruples! I couldn't possibly open itin my own house, but if he leaves it outside I shouldn'tmind."
"What do you suppose is his object in coming here?" askedFin.
"He hopes to get a chance to steal the precious paper."
"Well, we can easily block that."
"If we wish to do so," said Mr. Mappin, quietly.
Fin stared, not quite getting his drift. Mr. Mappin did notenlighten him then.
"Have you studied the paper again?" asked Fin.
"No," said Mr. Mappin. "Having examined it thoroughly, thereis nothing to be gained by looking at it again. I have depositedthe result of my examination with my subconscious, which Willprompt me at its own good time."
"Eh?" said Fin.
"Man's subconscious," Mr. Mappin went on, smiling, "is his ownbest oracle. Ask of your subconscious and it shall be given you.Every man has a subconscious, but few know how to use it. Most ofus rely on reason, a very imperfect faculty. Your reason tellsyou what you want it to tell you, but your subconscious is neverdeceived."
"I don't quite get you," said Fin.
"Well, to put it in the vernacular," said Mr. Mappin, with awider smile, "I am waiting for a hunch."
"Oh!" said Fin.
"At the same time," Mr. Mappin went on, "you must not neglectto feed your subconscious with every bit of informationavailable... This paper was presumably prepared by Mariula'sparents, who died when she was an infant. Tragic deaths areindicated. It is hardly questionable but that their deaths werebrought about by the same evil influence that is now trying torecover the paper. That would make it about sixteen years old. Itry to project myself back into that time. The beginning of theGreat War, when man's inventive faculty was enormously stimulatedby the desire to wipe out his fellow-men..."
Mr. Mappin fell into a study, and Fin, leaving him alone withhis subconscious, drifted out on the balcony. A hum high in aircaused him to throw his head back. He saw an airplane so far awaythat it appeared like an insect busily spitting out letters ofsmoke against the blue. Forward and back and around and back,spreading its flat tail, working as real birds never work. Theresult of its labors drifted lazily across the sky:
DRINK SARVIS
As Fin watched idly, Mr. Mappin came to his elbow. "Ah, a sky-writer," he said.
"Effective way of advertising," said Fin.
"It is as long as people will look up," said Mr. Mappin. "ButI notice they are getting accustomed to it."
Suddenly Fin's wrist was caught in a nervous grip. "By Gad!"said Mr. Mappin, excitedly. "By Gad! he's given me an idea! Thoseflowing letters, that line which must not be broken. I believe Ihave it, Finlay!"
"What is it? What is it?" cried Fin.
"Years ago when I was young," said Mr. Mappin, "a certain firmof famous pill-makers who covered the earth with theiradvertising used to hand out blank pieces of paper—justlike that which we have in our safe, just like it! And each had adot on it, too. That was to show you where to start. You touchedfire to the dot and a spark began to travel through the paperspelling out the words, 'USE MINCHIN'S PILLS.'"
"Hey?" said Fin staring.
"Come on! Come on!" said Mr. Mappin, pulling at his wrist."Let's try it!"
Jermyn was warned not to admit anybody to the apartment. Theyshut the windows of the shop to keep any vagrant breeze frominterfering with operations, and spread the precious square ofpaper on the workbench. Mr. Mappin's usual calm had deserted him.His spectacles glittered, and his well-kept hands trembled alittle.
"Something black should be put under the paper," he said,breathlessly, "so the letters will show up better."
Fin fetched a book for the purpose. "Should I put a match toit?" he asked.
"A spark is better. Blow the ashes off your cigarette andtouch the lighted cone to the dot.
Fin started to obey, but his hand hung suspended. "I hate todo it," he said. "Suppose we destroy it."
"If we are wrong it will only scorch a little hole in thepaper."
Fin touched the point of his lighted cigarette to the dot.Instantly there was a little sputter and a spark began to eat itsway through the paper, up and back again and around, the sameevolutions of the sky-writer on a miniature scale. The letter Btook shape.
"Thank God, we have it! We have it!" cried Mr. Mappin.
They watched the moving spark with fascinated eyes. Itprogressed like a little creature with a gentle hissing sound; adisembodied intelligence shaping human letters and words. It hadall the effect of a spirit voice speaking of the unknown, and thetwo watchers were filled with awe.
MR. MAPPIN threw open the windows of hisworkshop. With a common impulse the two men leaned their elbowson the bench and let the river breeze cool their damp foreheads.It was a relief to forget the cause of their excitement for amoment. Far below them the river panorama ceaselessly unrolleditself; tugs, lighters, rowboats, and boys in swimming;millionaires' speedboats scuttling downstream to the landing atTwenty-sixth Street. A little to their left the Queensboro Bridgeflung itself high across the stream, while immediately in frontlay the point of Blackwells Island—or Welfare Island, asthey call it now. (Welfare! with those ugly prisons!) The wholescene was bathed in the sparkling sunshine of a Septembermorning.
"Well, it's nice to see that business is going on as usual,"remarked the older man.
Finally he recalled himself to the matter in hand. "Let thesewords impress themselves on your mind," he said to Fin, pointingto the paper, "and I'll destroy it. Now that we have read itssecret, there's no object in keeping it... Besides, the Generalwill be here shortly."
"I couldn't forget those words if I wanted to," said Fin."Don't you need the paper for a copy?"
"I've already made a copy to fool the General, and from thatI'll make a better one."
"'Behind Dazbog's House,'" murmured Fin. "We solve one puzzleonly to find ourselves faced with another. Of all the houses inthe world, which is Dazbog's?"
"I don't think it's a house at all," said Mr. Mappin,thoughtfully.
"Eh?" said Fin.
"I think the message has a figurative meaning. It is obviouslymeant as a guide to the spot where something is hidden. Butbehind a house! A house is such a large object. At what pointbehind it would you start looking and how far behind? I cannotbelieve that anybody would take all that trouble to give such avague direction."
"Then what does it mean?" said Fin. "Who is Dazbog?"
"Well, I have heard of one Dazbog," said Mr. Mappin. "In theancient Slav mythology Dazbog was the god of fire. Dazbog'sHouse, therefor, may conceivably refer to some fireplace orstove. When you say behind the fireplace or behind the stove, youhave an explicit direction."
"By God! yes!" cried Fin. "But where? Where?"
"Ah, that we have to find out," said Mr. Mappin. "Presumablythe General knows. We must try to make him lead us to it."
"How?" said Fin.
"I propose to make a perfect copy of the paper, hidden messageand all—only, of course, the message will be a differentone. We will then give the General a chance to steal it and willtry to find out what use he makes of it."
"But you don't know any of the circumstances," objected Fin."How can you fake up a message that won't give the snap away assoon as the General reads it?"
"I can but try," said Mr. Mappin, blandly. "Logic must aid me.The real message indicates a house. Now what is there that iscommon to all houses in all parts of the world?"
Fin could only shake his head, and Mr. Mappin proceeded toanswer his own question. "A kitchen."... I propose to let mymessage read, 'Under Kitchen Floor.'"
"Sounds good to me," said Fin, grinning.
"I have a friend that I can trust who is a chemist," said Mr.Mappin. "I will go to him at once. If the General comes before Iget back, make my apologies."
Mr. Mappin, fully accoutered in hat, gloves, and stick, wentout, and for the next two hours Fin mooned restlessly about theapartment, unable to settle down to anything. It was cruelly hardto be condemned to inaction at such a moment. The differentfactors in the situation turned and shifted in his head like thebits of colored glass in a kaleidoscope: Nick Peters; Mariula;the emerald pendant; General Diamond; Nipperg and Nipperg'swoman; Dazbog's House; what could be hidden behind it of suchimportance that even the superb emerald was as nothing beside it?Mariula again...
Fin violently shook his head and went out on the balcony tolook at the view. He had a young man's healthy distrust ofuseless brooding, but he could not stop it. Always his thoughtscame back to Mariula. There was such a rare quality about herthat even had her lot been cast along the most humdrum lines hewould have feared for her, because fate always seems to threatenthe rare and the lovely ones. Actually, however, the girl wassurrounded by dangers that made him tremble. And there wassomething else that tormented him. As the possibilities loomedgreater and greater he feared that the outcome, whatever it mightbe, was going to part him from Mariula. How could a poor devillike himself expect to share in such great matters?
The sound of the General's gobbling voice at the door of theapartment drove away these gloomy fancies. Here was somethingdefinite to fight against. The General brought a sense of dangerwith him that braced Fin's nerves. He, went out in the hall tomeet him.
"Ha, Corveth!" cried their guest, with the ample smile inwhich his hard eyes took no part. "Grand weather, my boy! Muchtoo fine a day for the young fella to be hanging round thehouse."
Nothing he would enjoy better than to split my skull! thoughtFin, looking at those evil eyes. It bucked him up. "Morning,General!" he said, grinning. "I just stayed in to greet you."
"Damn decent of you," gobbled the General. "Damn decent of Mr.Mappin to ask me here."
Apparently he had brought nothing but a suitcase with him."You travel light," said Fin.
"Well, I didn't want you fellas to think this was avisitation," said the General. "Left my trunks at the hotel."
"Not at all," said Fin. "Mr. Mappin is very glad to have youhere for extra protection. This spying business is getting on hisnerves. He suspects that even the doormen in the house and theelevator boys are in the pay of those scoundrels."
"That's bad! That's bad!" said the General, with heavyconcern.
Mr. Mappin himself returned at this moment, and the Generalgobbled fresh greetings. At the same time his eyes were sharpwith curiosity. "Any developments?" he asked, as they all enteredthe living-room.
Mr. Mappin gloomily shook his head. "I've just taken the paperto a friend of mine who is a chemist," he said, with slyintent.
In spite of self-control, the General changed colorunpleasantly. "By God! I hope you didn't let him tamper with it!"he cried.
"He refused to experiment without having some clue to theformula," said Mr. Mappin.
"That's what I told you!" cried the General... "By the way,"he added, "you said you'd show me the paper."
Mr. Mappin took the much-creased square from his pocketbookand handed it over. "Nothing much to see," he said. Fin knew thisto be merely a piece of plain paper with a pencil dot on it.
They were standing within one of the French windows. Mr.Mappin on one side and Fin on the other watched the General's fathands while they held the paper. They trembled ever so slightly.Well, it must have been maddening to come so close to the secretwithout possessing it. Fin was reassured by these signs ofexcitement. We are a lap ahead of him, he thought. He doesn'tsuspect that this is a trick paper.
The General took a tiny rule from his vest pocket and measuredthe paper. Fin saw him silently counting the creases in it.Planning to make one to leave in its place, he thought.
The paper was handed back. "Aren't you afraid to carry thisthrough the streets unattended?" asked the General.
"No one would expect me to do such a thing," said Mr. Mappin,blandly. "I thought there was safety in that... However, Iconfess I was nervous," he added. "I shan't do it again." Theyseated themselves.
"Have you made any progress?" asked Mr. Mappin.
"Well, I have and I haven't," said the General, heavily."Nothing definite yet. Not what I hoped for."
Mr. Mappin looked his question.
"I've had a glimpse of your enemy," said the General—"ofour enemy, may I say? He calls himself Nipperg, and he lives in arooming-house on East Broadway. Tall, lanky fellow with his hairin his eyes; looks as if he might be toting a bomb in eachpocket."
Fin concealed his surprise. The General was certainly a shrewdplayer. He always made the unexpected move. "Sure!" cried Fin."I've had a glimpse of that fellow two or three times."
"Well, if you ask me, you've done pretty well, General," saidMr. Mappin, blandly.
The General wagged his hand, deprecatingly. "I have no ideawhat his game is," he said. "Nor have I been able to open upanything concerning Nick Peters. None of the Slav circles I am intouch with ever heard of Nick Peters. Whatever his game was, heplayed a lone hand. Nipperg likewise."
"How can we approach him?" asked Mr. Mappin.
"We can't," said the General, bluntly. "At least, not openly.He has the look of a madman to me. One of these nihilists whowould blow all creation to hell, and himself with it, at the dropof the hat."
"Good gracious!" said Mr. Mappin.
"Not openly," the General said for the second time, withmeaning.
"What do you suggest?" asked Mr. Mappin. "Well, I might seizehim on the street and fetch him here," said the General,casually. "I'd make sure, on the way, that he wasn't carrying anyexplosives."
"Seize him on the street!" cried Mr. Mappin. "Easy enough,"said the General, coolly. "I'd load him in a motor-boat and bringhim to the yacht-landing."
"What for?" gasped Mr. Mappin.
"Once we got him here we could force him to tell all heknows," said the General, with a truly fiendish grin.
What's his game? thought Fin. He doesn't want Nipperg to tellwhat he knows. And then the answer flashed beforehim—Nipperg would be murdered there, before he could openhis mouth, and Mr. Mappin fatally compromised. It was a settledpolicy with the General to let others bear the brunt of hismurders. Mr. Mappin evidently reached the same conclusion. "No!No! No!" he said, waving his hands.
"Why not?" asked the General, with a falling face.
"My interest in this case is purely that of an investigator,"said Mr. Mappin, piously. "There is a limit to the lengths I amwilling to go. My private home must not be dragged into it."
"Well, if you've anything better to suggest," said theGeneral, a little sulkily.
"I'll think it over," said Mr. Mappin.
Jermyn announced luncheon.
After the meal the General announced with many apologies thathe had an engagement to keep, and he presently departed,energetically slapping his feet. Mr. Mappin and Fin looked ateach other.
"He's gone to prepare the paper that he means to leave for theone he steals," said the latter.
"Quite!" said Mr. Mappin, with a dry smile. "And I'm going toget the paper that I mean to let him steal. The chemist promisedto have it ready for me at three."
"It's a curious game," said Fin.
"When he gets our paper we must be prepared to watch everymove," Mr. Mappin went on. "While I'm out I'll arrange to haveplenty of men planted up and down First Avenue, and in the sidestreets."
"Intelligent men are hard to find in a pinch," said Fin,dubiously. "He may give us the slip, anyhow."
"Oh, surely," said Mr. Mappin, philosophically. "We can onlydo what we can."
"It's matinée day," said Fin, very offhand, but with adelicious warmth stealing around his heart. "I'll just run overto Hoboken to see if everything is all right."
THE three men did not come together again untilthey sat down to dinner. While they ate, General Diamond relatedhis further experiences in Amazonas and on the Orinoco. Hegobbled and gesticulated with his fork and shook all over withlaughter at his own jokes. It was all very friendly and jolly,but Fin was conscious of a strain. He knew that Mr. Mappin had inhis pocketbook a paper that was ready to yield its false messageto the touch of a spark, and he suspected the General had anotherfalse paper inhis pocketbook.
In the living-room later the General, while his thick fingerstoyed with a delicate liqueur glass, related anecdotes of wilddays in our own country. "Most folks think that the West wascleaned up sixty or seventy-five years ago," he said. "But itain't so. There was plenty of fun going in Colorado right up tothe last days of the century. Yaas, I mind I was in Gunnison andthere was a girl there, an actress in the local theater and afriend of mine, and she was put on trial for half shooting afella's hand off. It was a big sensation.
"She had a good case, too," he went on, "that fella ought tohad both his hands shot off for what he was doing with them, butyou know how it is with the law. The case seemed to be goingagainst her and my friend got sore. She pulled her gun andstarted to clean out the courtroom. It's the truth! Judge,lawyers, constables, jury, and spectators! She cleared the roomand decided the case in her own favor."
"Good gracious!" said Mr. Mappin.
"Of course I helped her some," the General added, modestly,"but I didn't want to spoil a good story, so I kept myself out ofit. It made her famous."
It might have been considered a big jump from Gunnison,Colorado, to the business in hand, but the General cleared itneatly. "Speaking of actresses reminds me of your little friendover in Hoboken," he said. "I didn't neglect her business when Iwas out today. Went to see an old pal who's in the paper businessnow and got him to tell me a lot about paper. If you'll let mehave another look at that paper, Mr. Mappin, maybe I can tell youwhere it was made."
"Why, surely," said Mr. Mappin, producing his pocketbook.
All Fin's faculties sprang to attention. The General studiedthe paper closely. Suddenly he affected to find that the lightwas not good enough where he sat. He looked around him and,heaving his body out of the settee, walked rapidly to a tall lampat the back of the room. It was about ten paces away, and whilehe was taking them his back was turned to the other men.
Fin followed him up as quickly as possible, because he did notwant the General to think they were careless of the paper. Whenhe reached him the General was attentively studying it under thefloor lamp, but there was a button on his vest undone, and Finwas very sure he had slipped Mr. Mappin's paper inside on his wayto the lamp and had abstracted another that he had ready.
His face was almost too innocent. He continued to study thepaper, holding it this way and that, turning it over. Finally heshook his head sadly. "I guess it takes more than one day tolearn about paper-making," he said. "This tells me nothing." Hereturned it to Mr. Mappin.
"We might ask your friend here to look at it," suggested Mr.Mappin, mildly.
"Good idea!" said the General.
By-and-by, Mr. Mappin noticing that the General's cigar hadgone out, offered him a fresh one, but the General held up hishand in negation.
"To tell you the truth, Mr. Mappin, your cigars are too goodfor me, sir. An old campaigner is accustomed to a coarser weed."He felt of all his pockets. "I'm all out of my own sort," hesaid. "If you'll excuse me for five minutes I'll run down to thestreet and get some."
"Let Jermyn go," said Mr. Mappin.
The General wouldn't hear of it. "It will do me good tostretch my legs after so hearty a meal," he said.
Fin thought, This is where he is counting on making a get-away.
But, as usual, the General surprised him. "If you'd like abreath of air, come along with me, Corveth," he said.
"Sure," said Fin.
On the way the General took Fin's arm and kept up an amiableflow of anecdote. Fin's flesh crawled with repulsion at histouch, but he had to submit to it. In the cigar store the Generalbought a handful of the sort he favored and lighted one. As theywere leaving he affected to be struck with a suddenrecollection.
"Half a moment, Corveth; there's a pal I ought to call upwhile I think of it."
Along one side of the store there was a row of four telephonebooths, none in use at the moment. The General entered the firstone and shut the door. This was like a challenge thrown in Fin'steeth, but what was he to do? If he had entered the adjoiningbooth the General would only have lowered his voice and chuckledat him. Fin felt frantic in his helplessness. Suddenly a crazyplan popped into his head. At any rate, it would do no harm totry it.
He entered, not the adjoining booth, but the one at the otherend of the row, and dropped his nickel in the slot. To theoperator he said in a curt, hard-boiled voice:
"This is detective Finlay, New York police. Get me the numberasked for from booth number one and what he says over thewire."
The girl said in a scared voice, "Sorry, we're not allowedto..."
Fin caught her up quickly. "Step on it, girl!" be rasped. "Aman's life depends on this!"
The scared voice faded. Fin had to wait for a whole minute,quivering with impatience. The General came out of his booth andcast a sharp look at him through the glass. Whereupon Fin grinnedat the receiver in a foolish fashion, and made believe to betalking. The scared voice came back.
"He called for Mott Haven 0109. A man called Harvest answered.He told him to tell Mike to meet him at Harvest's place betweeneleven and twelve tonight."
A surge of gratitude made Fin's voice warm. "Thanks, sister.Tell me your name and I'll..."
"Oh, we're not allowed..." said the voice more scared thanever, and the connection was broken.
Fin came out of the booth with the same foolish smile."Thought I'd call up a girl while I was waiting," he said to theGeneral. "I kinda hate to do it from Mr. Mappin's."
"Sure," said the General, sympathetically. "Did you date herup?"
"Sure," said Fin.
They retraced their steps to the apartment house. Fin couldfeel almost friendly toward the General now because he had gotthe better of him. He wondered what excuse the General would maketo get out again later.
The answer was forthcoming shortly before eleven. They werestill sitting in the living-room when there was a ring at thedoor-bell and Jermyn presently entered with a telegram for theGeneral. A snort of disgust escaped from that worthy when he readit.
"It's too bad this should come just now," he said. "A pal downin Baltimore has sent for me. A phosphate ship has come in thereand the captain has a communication that I must receive inperson... It has to do with Peruvian matters," he added,mysteriously.
"We'll be sorry to have you go," said Mr. Mappin, blandly.
"I'll take the sleeper down," said the General. "Then I cancome back in the morning."
He finished the story he was telling, and followed it withanother before he arose. "Well, I'd better amble over to thestation," he said, "or all the lowers will be gone... This ismore traffic than an upper berth will bear," he added, pattinghis belly complacently.
Mr. Mappin laughed politely. His spectacles glitteredbrilliantly. Fin reflected that eyeglasses were a great help to aman in concealing his true feelings.
When the General and his suitcase went down in the elevatorMr. Mappin said, "The rest is up to McArdle's men."
"Not altogether," said Fin, grinning. "I've got a line on himmyself." He described the incident in the cigar store.
"Good boy! Good boy!" said Mr. Mappin, patting his shoulder,while Fin swelled with gratification.
They made haste to consult the telephone-book, and discoveredthat one William Harvest sold cigars and stationery at 125 WilsonStreet. His phone number was Mott Haven 0109.
"Well, in the words of the General, I'll amble up there," saidFin.
Mr. Mappin looked dubious. "Hadn't you better let me telephoneto McArdle for a man to help you?" he suggested.
This was not at all to Fin's taste. "It would double therisk," he protested. "I got the brass ball back all bymyself."
"All right," said Mr. Mappin. "After all, this is your case...Don't take any unnecessary risks," he went on. "You cannot hopeto overhear what passes between the General and this Mike. Theimportant thing will be to learn what becomes of Mike when heleaves the General. Keep in touch with me by phone as well as youare able."
Fin changed to his old clothes and set out.
Mott Haven lies along the north bank of the Harlem River. Onceupon a time it promised to be a fine suburb, but the capriciouscity in its progress northward jumped over it, leaving only asluggish and forgotten backwater among the yards of two greatrailways. It is not a pretty place at midnight.
Fin dismissed his taxi at the Manhattan end of the bridge andwalked across. The oily black tide swirled underneath, suggestingsuicides, wharf rats, and river pirates.
Before he got to Wilson Street he was warned of what to expectby the dirty looks the policemen gave him when he asked the way.It proved to be only half a street; that is to say, a single rowof crazy little tenement houses, some of brick, some of wood,facing endless railway sidings across the way. A furtive-lookingplace, much too quiet for the city, and Fin hesitated at thecorner. It was cold and the houses were shut up tight. The onlyhumans in sight were two men standing under a gaslight, shouldershunched, hands in pockets, aimlessly shifting from one foot tothe other. Fin thought, Why do they stay there if they've gotnothing to say to each other?
However, there was no help for it. He turned up his collar,thrust his hands in his pockets, and slouched by them. He wasaware of being examined sharply, but they did not take theirhands from their pockets. Impossible to tell if they were picketsof the General's or mere street-corner loafers. Fin was sure hehad not seen them before.
Here and there along the row were meager little stores allclosed now until he came to number 125, where a light stillburned. The little stationery-cigar store was of a type wellknown to older New York. Such was its anxiety to display itswhole stock, you could scarcely see into the store through theclutter in the show-window. Fin wondered how it made a living insuch a poor neighborhood until he saw the little sign reading,"Letter Boxes Rented." Thus the proprietor advertised that he waswilling to act as go-between in any sort of shady business. He'sgot a first-rate stand for that, thought Fin.
As far as it was revealed to the street, the store was empty.Perhaps the General and Mike were already conferring in the backroom. However, Fin doubted if the General had had time to getthere yet. He had first to give his pursuers the slip. There wasone feature of this ugly street that Fin strongly approvedof—the strings of freight cars on the sidings provided aperfect observation post.
He proceeded for a block further, cut across the street in thedark, climbed over the couplings of the first string, and cameback behind it, peeping between each pair of cars until he foundhimself opposite the little stationery store again. Here he tookup his stand between two cars. On so dark a night there was nopossibility of his being seen. Peeping out, he found that the twoloafers were gone from under the lamppost. No matter, he thought,they couldn't possibly have seen him cross the street below.
It never occurred to Fin that so excellent a point of lookoutmight have been preempted. Heheard the blow on his ownhead that he never felt. For the time being it endedeverything.
WHEN his senses returned, Fin found himselflying between the freight cars on the spot where he had fallen.His first blind terrified impulse was to roll clear of the rails,though there was little danger of those cars being moved atnight. He lay on the ground, shivering and nauseated, tryingdesperately to gather his wits together. His first consciousfeeling was one of thankfulness that he had any wits to gather.It was more than he might have expected. Fin didn't want to dieuntil Mariula grew up.
He got to his feet and leaned against the car. His head hadgrown too small to hold its contents. The pressure was terrific.However, upon gingerly feeling of his bruised crown, it appearedto be whole. His thoughts as they became clearer were verybitter. What a fool to walk directly into their trap! He found hehad been stripped of watch and money, but this, of course, wasonly to make it appear that he had been set upon by footpads. Hewas not deceived.
The little stationery store was dark now, and he went awayfrom there. Whatever had happened, the birds had flown long ago.He did not venture out on the street until he had come to the endof the string of cars. His sense of direction was somewhatconfused and a long time passed before he stumbled on the HarlemRiver again. The dawn was breaking then. He crossed the bridgeand had to walk to 125th Street before he picked up a taxi.
The sun was up when he got home. He borrowed money from thenight watchman to pay his taxi. Upstairs, Mr. Mappin was sooverjoyed to see him able to navigate under his own power that hepooh-poohed Fin's confession of failure.
"What the deuce, my boy," he said, patting him on the shoulderjust as if he had come flushed with triumph. "It might havehappened to anybody. It's only in stories that the heroinvariably gets his man. We ordinary fellows have to take plentyof kicks among our ha'pence."
Fin began to feel better. Mr. Mappin wanted him to go to bed,but he refused. "I've got to be doing something else in order toforget this bonehead play," he muttered.
While they were at breakfast the first mail brought more badnews. Number Four reported that while he was eating his dinnerthe night before, Nipperg had suddenly paid his bill and fledfrom the house on East Broadway. Something had alarmed thatqueasy soul. He had been heard to tell the taxi-driver to takehim to Grand Central, but that was a stall, of course. The plainfact was that Number Four had lost him.
They had no more than read his report when McArdle himselfcalled up to say that Number Seven had phoned from Baltimore tosay that General Diamond had given him the slip. Numbers Sevenand Nine had trailed him to the Pennsylvania Terminal, and whileSeven was buying a ticket, Nine had seen him aboard the train.Seven followed him aboard a minute or two later, but in themorning there was no General. This was scarcely news to Mr.Mappin. McArdle asked for further instructions.
"Call off all your dogs for the present," said Mr. Mappin,with the utmost good humor. "I am planning a new campaign." Hereturned to his breakfast with unimpaired appetite.
"You seem to take it pretty well," grumbled Fin.
"I dwell on the bright side of the picture," said Mr. Mappin."We are relieved of the General's society."
"He may come back today," said Fin. "He has gall enough."
"He won't come back as long as he thinks he has stolen oursecret."
"When he discovers he's fooled he may come back with abullet."
"No," said Mr. Mappin, calmly. "The General is ever apractical man."
"We gained nothing by having him here," said Fin,gloomily.
"I wouldn't say that," returned Mr. Mappin. "I have securedhis trunks."
"What!" cried Fin. "How?"
"By a piece of rather sharp practice, I am afraid," said Mr.Mappin, with a deprecatory Wave of his hand. "But one cannot betoo particular with the General."
He refused to specify further. "Let us go over to see Mariulathis morning," he said, to divert Fin.
Two hours later the three friends were sitting in the last rowof the Old Rialto Theater while a rehearsal was taking place onthe stage. In the obscurity under the balcony Mariula slipped herarm through Fin's, and the young man sat silent and blissful, allhis troubles forgotten. Nothing had been said about the events ofthe night before, but Mariula divined that he had need ofcomfort. Amid the somewhat jaded atmosphere of a morningrehearsal she was as fresh and fragrant as a sweet-pea blossom,Fin thought.
In the daylight which filtered through various apertures theold theater, so jolly when the footlights were on, showed itsage. They were rehearsing the old play that was to succeed "AfterDark" in due course. It was called "The Blue and the Gray," or"War is Hell"—the subtitle undoubtedly a Morleyanembellishment. It was a first rehearsal and the worried-lookingactors, one eye on their typed parts and the other on thedirector, moved stiffly back and forth on the stage likeautomatic chessmen at the voice of command. In the medley ofspoken lines, directions, and arguments nobody could have madehead or tail of what was going on.
The director sat on a temporary platform set up in the middleof the auditorium, with a table in front of him and his minion,the stage manager at his side. Other actors and hangers-ongenerally were scattered in couples and little groups among theseats, whispering together when the stage manager was lookingelsewhere, and eating sandwiches. The impresario, Mr. Morley,warm and dishevelled, moved here and there, always followed by alittle train of satellites seeking instructions. When the poetcould get a few seconds to himself he scribbled lyrics for thenew show on the back of a grimy envelope. Under such difficultiesmust the Muse of the theater function.
Away at the back under the balcony the three friends whisperedsoftly together to avoid attracting the irascible eye of thedirector. Mr. Mappin was questioning Mariula with a view toestablishing the location of the house where she had been keptprisoner—endless patient questions that elicited a nuggetof information every once in so often.
Mariula said when the kidnapping car issued from the Tunnel onthe New York side it turned sharply to the left and never madeanother turn until they almost got to their destination, an hourlater.
"That's important if you can be sure of it," said Mr. Mappin."It indicates that you were carried due north. An hour's swiftdriving you said, with only a few pauses for traffic lights.
You were evidently carried up the western edge of the islandto Inwood or across the Harlem River to one of the villagesbeyond."
Mariula added that when they were almost there they had turnedsharp to the left again, had climbed a steep hill on second gear,had made several more turns, and had then descended a driveway tothe house door. She had heard the brakes squeak.
"That helps narrow it down," said Mr. Mappin. "Not many housesare built below the level of the street."
Mariula described the house as well as she was able. She hadhad but two brief glimpses of it in getting out of the car andgetting in again. It was an old-fashioned stone house she said,with wooden trimmings painted yellowish-grayish. It had a fancywooden veranda running around the back. Everything about theoutside was pointed—pointed front door, pointed windows,steep pointed gables.
"Excellent!" said Mr. Mappin. "You have exactly described thedomestic Gothic style so fashionable in the 'sixties and'seventies. And yellowish-grayish was the favorite color for trimin those days... How about the inmates of the house?" he went on."You needn't say anything about the man, because we know him. Hecalls himself Nipperg. But can you give me a better descriptionof the woman?"
Fin felt a little shiver go through Mariula. Evidently thishad been a much more terrible experience to her than her pridehad allowed her to confess. He pressed her arm warmly against hisribs.
"It's hard to describe her," said Mariula, "she was so usual-looking. I think she had been a pretty girl, but she wasbeginning to run together. She looked as if she were sorry forherself. She dressed in a showy way that made her look worse thanshe was."
Questioning was interrupted at this point by an explosion ofprofanity from the director on his little platform. This wasregarded as part of the routine of rehearsal. Perfect silencedescended upon the theater for a moment or two, then thewhispering recommenced like mice behind the wainscot.
"You were confined in an upper room all day long," Mr. Mappinresumed. "What did you see from the windows?"
"Not much," said Mariula. "The windows of my room looked tothe front—that is, toward the drive we had come down in thecar. This drive turned among the trees and disappeared. The treeswere very thick and I could not see where it went. Everything hadbeen allowed to grow as it liked. It was almost like a wildwoods."
"And what was behind the house?"
"I couldn't see," said Mariula... "But wait," she added. "Icould hear trains passing; behind the house and lower down. Manytrains."
"Ha!" said Mr. Mappin. "Now we're getting warm! If you werecarried north those must have been the New York Central trainsalong the river."
"Yes," said Mariula, "there must have been a river behind thehouse, because at night when it was very quiet I could hear thelittle waves lapping."
"Were they freight trains or passenger trains?" asked Mr.Mappin, with glittering eyeglasses.
"Why... what's the difference?" said Mariula.
"Freight trains are pulled by steam locomotives. They moveslowly with heavy puffing, said Mr. Mappin. "And the cars rattleand jerk... Passenger trains are pulled by electric engines. Theymove swiftly and make no sound above a low rumble."
Fin imitated both sortssotto voce.
"Perfect!" said Mariula, with a clap of her hands. "I can hearthem now... There were both sorts. And many of them."
"Then we have it!" said Mr. Mappin, with solemn satisfaction."You were carried above the Harlem River because the freighttracks and the passenger tracks divide at Spuyten Duyvil. But notfar above, because you were only an hour on the way. It must beRiverdale." He stood up and buttoned his double-breastedjacket.
"Where you going?" asked Fin.
"I'll motor over to the Newark flying-field and engage a planefor a couple of hours," he answered. "It ought not to bedifficult to spot that house from the air. You stay here and takeit easy. I'll pick you up some time this afternoon."
"Righto!" said Fin.
Mr. Mappin went out softly, and Fin slumped down in his seatand relinquished all care. How utterly delicious it was just tolook at Mariula!
"Make me some more imitations, Finny Tribe," she whispered,cajolingly. "If there's anything I love, it's imitations!"
Fin obliged with a whole zoological garden—muted, ofcourse. But when he got as far as the wart-hog, Mariula uttered asnort that caused the stage director to turn around squarely inhis chair and glare in their direction. So they were forced tobehave.
"Berenice is going to be wonderful in this part," saidMariula. "With those big eyes of hers. No one would believe shecould be such a cat?"
"Is she?" said Fin, idly.
"Absolutely. And the worst of it is, you never can get back ather, she looks so hurt. The only thing that would make Berenicenatural is a good hard slap."
"Well, give it to her," said Fin. "I'm with you."
"If we only lived in a state of nature!" said Mariula, with asigh.
"That means undressed," said Fin, teasingly.
"It's not what I mean," said Mariula, with dignity. "I meanbehaving naturally. As it is, the sly ones profit by all therules for good behavior."
"Hear! Hear!" said Fin, sleepily.
"You never came over last night," remarked Mariula.
"I had to help the chief entertain a guest."
"Oh."
In his perfect sense of well-being a numbness began to stealover Fin. With Mariula beside him filling all his senses, it wassweeter than music. He floated away.
"Why, you're nodding!" she said. "My poor Fishy! I don'tbelieve you went to bed at all last night!"
"Didn't," murmured Fin.
"What were you doing?"
"Business of the chief's," he murmured. (And of yours, hemight have added, but did not.)
"Poor darling!" she whispered. "Put your head down on myshoulder and snatch forty winks. I won't be called for until thesecond act and they may not reach it at all today."
Fin was in no condition to resist anybody. While he was stillprotesting she gave his head a little pull and it sank on hershoulder. This was not sleep; it was enchantment.
AT one o'clock the entire company adjourned tothe Foundry, around the corner, where a picnic lunch was had inby Mr. Morley. Such amenities did wonders in smoothing theprickly path of theatrical relations. Even the director becamehuman for the time being. Chris Morley had a special affinity forpicnics; they suited his large and careless style. He insisted onmixing mighty pitchers of shandygaff, a drink that will beforever associated with his name. Nobody quite shared hisenthusiasm for it, but nobody would have hurt his feelings bysaying so.
Mariula belonged to the light-hearted, slangy, hard-workingcrowd without being exactly of it. In spite of all outsideinfluences, she remained her individual self. Even Mr. Morleytreated her with an affectionate and half-quizzical deferencethat set the style. Why was it? Fin asked himself. Far fromexpecting it, Mariula was inclined to resent the way theyconspired to look after her. He speculated on the mysteriousnature of personality.
They returned to the theater after lunch and rehearsal resumedits snail-like course. Fin and Mariula sat under the balcony,whispering and smothering their laughter. Time was nothing tothem.
At three Mr. Mappin turned up with his spectacles shining. Inresponse to their questions he said: "Yes, I found the house.Pointed gables, thick woods, and all. There is but the one houseanswering to that description anywhere along the river, so I wassaved any uncertainty. I thought Finlay and I might motor upthere now, and prospect around the neighborhood from groundlevel."
Mr. Mappin's taxicab was waiting outside the theater. They hada fifteen-mile drive before them. Fin wondered if he would everreach the point where he could drive around in taxicabs all daywithout watching the meter.
As they roared through the Tunnel, Mr. Mappin said, "Have younoticed that we are not being followed today?"
"I didn't pay any attention this morning," said Fin.
"It is very convenient," said Mr. Mappin. "I hope it maycontinue. When we find that we are being followed again, we willknow that the General has discovered the trick we played onhim."
"The hiding-place we are all looking for may not be in Americaat all," said Fin.
"Quite," said Mr. Mappin, "but it makes little difference inthese days of quick communications. We could reach any part ofEurope by ship and plane within a week."
Money is as good as Sindbad's magic carpet, thought Fin.
They sped up Eleventh Avenue, across the railway yards atThirty-third Street, through Hell's Kitchen, and up San Juan Hillinto fashionable West End Avenue, and so into upper Broadway, allwithout turning a corner. They dipped into the Manhattanvillevalley, and climbed Washington Heights beyond, where theinterminable miles of apartment houses put Fin to sleep again inthe corner of the cab.
He was awakened by the grinding of the gears. "This isMariula's hill!" he exclaimed, sitting up.
"Yes," said Mr. Mappin. "Riverdale lies at the top of it...One of those curious misnomers that nobody notices."
Presently Mr. Mappin ordered the driver to slow down. "We arecoming to the place," he said. "I took careful bearings from thesky." They were then traveling northward on a street thatfollowed the slope of the high hill overlooking the Hudson. Newwinding streets had been cut down the hill toward the water andsuburban houses were rising here and there.
"Great changes hereabouts in fifteen or twenty years," saidMr. Mappin. "The place we are looking for is one of the last ofthe old estates to escape subdivision. I can't conceive how itcame into Nipperg's possession."
They came to an old-fashioned stone wall on the left-handside, with a dense growth of trees beyond it. There was a formalgateway with a neatly kept driveway winding down out of sightamong the trees.
"This is the place," said Mr. Mappin. "One could not possiblybe mistaken, you see... I want you to get acquainted with thewoman who lives there," he went on, in some embarrassment. "Weknow that she is left much alone, and Mariula said she was sorryfor herself. That... er... may make your task easier. It is notvery scrupulous, perhaps, but..."
Fin's heart warmed toward his gentlemanly little friend."Nobody would think of that but you," he said. "Don't worry. I'llplay fair."
They went on for a furlong, and then by Mr. Mappin's ordersturned around and came back slowly. As they passed the gateway awoman somewhat showily dressed was approaching it from the otherside.
"There she is," said Mr. Mappin. "Observe the justice ofMariula's description. A pretty woman, she said, who wasbeginning to run together."
"No time like the present," said Fin. "You'd better let meout."
"We'll just turn the first corner out of sight," said Mr.Mappin. He offered Fin a neatly folded packet of new bills. "Takethis," he said. "I don't know what your expenses may run to. Hirea lodging in the neighborhood if it seems advisable."
Fin got out in the side street, and the taxi went on. When heturned back into the main road he saw the woman three or fourhundred yards ahead of him, walking in the desultory manner ofone who is merely killing time. If she was as bored as she seemedto be, there would be no difficulty in scraping acquaintance, Finjudged, but he was in no haste to overtake her. No use riskingeverything by a false start.
She turned up one of the side streets and made a circuitthrough the newer part of Riverdale, gazing idly at the bigexpensive houses. In the course of it she became aware that shewas being followed. Let's see how she takes it, thought Fin. Shedid not increase her pace, but put on a more elaborate air ofboredom. He grinned inwardly. Maybe she comes out every day inthe hope of an adventure, and has never had one yet, he thought.She was young enough to give a certain zest to the affair.
She finally came back to the road above the river and headedhomeward. In a spot where this road turned around a projection ofthe hill a thoughtful municipality had placed a bench commandinga wide view. She seated herself upon it with a highly self-conscious air. This was as good as a direct invitation, and Finslid into the seat beside her. She affected to be absorbed ingazing at the panorama below.
"Beautiful view," said Fin.
She startled and bridled with an indignant glance, but not tooindignant. Her eyes confessed that she found him attractive.
"I hope you don't mind my speaking to you," he said, withbecoming humility. "You seemed to be lonely just like me."
"I am not accustomed to it," she said, stiffly. "I can seethat," said Fin, cunningly. "I don't see any harm in it if afellow is respectful." She began to unbend. "I'm not narrow-minded," she said, "but a girl has to be careful."
"I suppose she has," said Fin. "I never thought of it thatway."
"You never meet strangers around here," she said.
Fishing for information! thought Fin. "Well, I like to walk,"he said, "and I always look for the out-of-the-way streets to getclear of the automobiles."
"Few men have the time for it," she said.
"I know," said Fin. "I'm a writer, so I don't have to keepoffice hours."
She melted completely then. "A writer! How wonderful!"
"Oh, I don't know," said Fin.
"I think it's marvelous to write!"
Gosh! what a fool! thought Fin. "I must get her on a morenatural basis or I can't keep this up!"
"What do you write?" she asked.
"Stories... Do you live around here?"
"Yes," she said. "In the old house behind the trees down thestreet."
"I saw the entrance as I came along. I wondered what was inthere."
"Maybe you thought it was a cemetery," she said, with a forcedlaugh.
"Oh no!" said Fin, politely. "Have you got any family?"
"Only a husband and he's away mostly."
"Gee!" said Fin. "If he travels I should think you'd soonerhave an apartment."
"I would," she said. "But he won't let me."
"Ain't that tough!" said Fin. "He must be a funny fella."
"He's a foreigner."
"Is that so? What kind?"
"A Russian."
"No! Can you talk Russian?"
"No."
"How long you been married?"
"Six years."
"It must be funny for an American girl to be married to aRussian."
"Well, it's no treat," she said, with pinched nostrils.
By this time Fin had pretty well taken her measure. A lonely,discontented woman, it was clear he had happened along at thewell-known psychological moment. Well, he had a genuinelyfriendly feeling toward her because she had been kind to Mariula,and might even have been instrumental in saving the child. If inreturn he could get her out of Nipperg's clutches it would be allto the good. Besides, her excitement in this encounter with agood-looking young man had brightened her eyes and made her lipslook youthful. That helped, too.
They talked on according to the well-established ritual ofsuch meetings. She was alternately languishing and haughty. Thiswas what Fin called second-rate tactics, but he could hardlyobject to a show that was being put on for his benefit. She wasclearly enjoying herself. It was charming to see how the cloud ofboredom lifted from her pretty face. Every woman is entitled tosome diversion, Fin thought.
By-and-by they got to the point of exchanging names. "Mrs.Nipperg," she called herself; "Daisy," she added, with a veryself-conscious glance down river. Fin countered with "RonaldShay," which he thought had a writerish sound. She enlarged uponthe married state under a thin disguise of sarcasm. "Are youmarried?" she asked.
"No," said Fin.
She seemed disappointed.
Finally she said she had to go, but this was merely a lead forFin to dissuade her. Which he did. Another half-hour passedbefore she actually arose. Still she lingered.
"Can I call you up?" asked Fin.
"Oh no!" she said, startled. "It's a silent phone."
"But you can give me the number."
"I wouldn't dare," she said, with a nervous giggle.
"Can't I call sometime?"
"No indeed!" she said, in a real panic. "You must never dothat!"
"Gosh!" said Fin. "Don't you have your friends in when he'saway?"
"He wouldn't allow it," she murmured. "Why don't you have 'em,anyhow—when he's gone?"
"The servants. They're Russian like him. They'd tell."
"He must be one of these regular old-fashioned husbands!"
"I think he's crazy," she murmured, bitterly. "Well, anyhow,I'm glad they let you out sometimes," said Fin.
"Yeah, they think my spirit's broke," she said, with asneer.
"Why don't you show them?" said Fin. "After all, this ain'tRussia."
"Maybe I will," she said, darkly.
"Will you be taking a walk tomorrow?" he asked, offhand.
This was the cue for her elaborate hauteur. "Maybe," she said,pulling a curl out from under her hat.
"I'll walk around this way just on the chance," said Fin."Same time."
"Oh, don't put yourself to the trouble," she said, walkingaway with swaying hips, but the backward glance she sent him waspromising.
Fin grinned fatuously as the young man is supposed to do insuch cases, but privately he was thinking: Hm! this affair don'tneed any speeding up from me. I'll have to be the four-wheelbrakes!"
THERE was still an hour or so of daylightremaining that Fin desired to put to advantage before he left theneighborhood. What he wanted most was to have a look at Nipperg'shouse, and he considered walking along the railway tracks below,but gave up the idea on account of the risk of exposing himselfto observation from the house. Suddenly he remembered having seena public boathouse near the Riverdale station as he turned in bythe upper road. He determined to hire a rowboat, and proceededdownhill for that purpose.
It was a calm evening, cool enough to make the thought ofexercise agreeable. The sun was hanging low over the Palisades,and the steamboats were beginning to appear in their nightlyprocession upriver. Frequent trains ran swiftly along the shore.Fin took off his coat and applied himself to the oars with afeeling of satisfaction. A fellow doesn't get enough chances touse his back, he thought.
He rowed upstream against the ebbing tide. Gradually the patchof woods opened up, revealing the little old-fashioned villa inits midst. It was built on a natural shelf about halfway up thehill. There was a terrace of grass in front of it, and what hadonce been gardens falling away toward the tracks below; but thegardens were neglected and overgrown. The main building was ofstone, to which had been added an incongruous wooden wing. Abovethe house and on both sides of it was the thick growth of woodscutting it off from the view of its neighbors.
On the north side there was a wild ravine with a streamfalling through it. The whole place had a stark and secret look,like a survival from simpler times.
At first Fin could distinguish no sign of life, but as herowed slowly by, a man appeared at one side of the bare houseand, passing slowly across the terrace, disappeared at the other.Fin was too far away to distinguish his features, but the figurewas impressed on his mind by a peculiar-looking skull-cap with avisor that he wore. Looks like a guard, he thought, idly.
He rowed on out of sight without pausing, and after a fewminutes he came back again, loafing down with the tide. Again ashe passed, he saw the man appear on one side of the house anddisappear on the other. Now he was sure it was a guard. Lucky forme I didn't try prospecting around the place, he thought. Whatthe dickens does Nipperg want guards for?
Fin landed at the Riverside float where he had hired the boat,and passed over a gangway into the boathouse to pay for it. Therailway tracks were immediately outside the windows. As heglanced through, his attention was sharply arrested by the figureof a workman walking up the track, a big man in earth-stainedcorduroys, carrying a spade over his shoulder. It was the way hegave slightly at the knees and slapped his feet on the groundthat struck Fin. He looked again and was sure. It was theGeneral. He was disguised by a shapeless felt hat and a sweepingblack mustache; he might conceivably have been taken for anItalian if they ever came so big; but it was the General, allright, and Fin's head whirled under the shock of hissurprise.
He quickly changed his plan of action. There were refreshmentson sale in the boathouse, and he made out he had come in to getsomething to eat. With his hands full of sandwiches and cakes hegot in his boat and pulled upriver again. It was growing dark nowand he had some difficulty in keeping his man in view, though herowed close to the railway embankment. His heart beat fast withhope. If his luck held, he saw a chance of wiping out his failureof the night before.
At Nipperg's place Fin lost his man altogether. Putting hisback to the oars, he made the skiff jump through the water. Butin two hundred yards he had not overtaken the walker and he wassure then that the General had left the tracks below Nipperg'splace and started to climb up. This was what Fin had expected.The General was aiming to turn the tables on Nipperg, it seemed,and spy upon the spy. Well, two can play at that game, thoughtFin.
At the point where the ravine came down to the river there wasa culvert under the railway tracks. Fin waited awhile until itwas perfectly dark, and then easing his skiff through, beached iton the other side and tied the painter to a fencepost. He had toclimb this fence to enter Nipperg's property. He made his way upthe stony side of the ravine, carefully feeling his way in thedark, and pausing every few steps to listen. It was only seveno'clock, and he was still within the city limits, but in thiswild spot he felt as if he had left the world.
Somewhere above his head he heard a curious sound that hecould not interpret—a sort of gentle squeaking. Suddenlythere was a soft thud overhead, and earth and stones rolled downand over his feet. Fin turned cold with fear, for it was like ablow aimed at him out of the dark. He made a hasty detour to theright to escape the thing, whatever it was. All became quietagain.
He rose over the edge of the ravine and found himself in theovergrown garden below the house. A tangle of blackberry canescaught at his ankles. A hundred yards above him he could see thepointed gables against the sky. No light showed on this side.Down in the river the Albany night boat was making its dignifiedway upstream jeweled with a thousand lights, its pistons sighingwith every stroke. This belonged to the world that Fin had left.The beating of his heart quieted down and he resolved to find outthe cause of the sound that had so startled him. He continued todetour to the right in order to get above it.
The thickly growing trees that marked the edge of the ravinerose before him. When he got among them he proceeded with extracaution, feeling the way before him with exploring hand and foot.Upon stopping to listen he could hear nothing but the distantvoice of the city—the trucks, the trolleys, the steamboatwhistles, subdued away up here to a mere breath of sound.Suddenly his foot struck something hard, and upon feeling for ithe found a plank laid upon the ground. Investigating further, hefound it to be one of a line of planks laid end to end like atrack. Guessing that this had something to do with what hadstartled him, he flattened himself on the ground a couple ofpaces away to wait and see.
After awhile he heard the curious soft squeaking, and again hewas afraid because he did not know what it was. When the wheelstruck the first plank he suddenly recognized the sound, and hisbreast was lightened with relief. He had to suppress the desireto laugh then. Nothing more mysterious than a wheelbarrow! Itpaused for a moment, and a flashlight was turned on a few yardsaway. A new and more acute fear filled Fin, but it was too lateto move; he lay still.
The flashlight was fastened to the front of the wheelbarrow toshow the track, and it passed by Fin without revealing hispresence to the man who was behind it. The barrow was loaded witha single big sack standing upright. The man was not the General.After he had gone by Fin made out the odd-shaped cap with thevisor against the reflected glow of the flashlight. Nipperg'sguard.
The barrow stopped again, and presently Fin heard the thud ofearth as the sack was emptied, followed by a scrambling sound asthe clods and stones rolled down the steep side of the ravine.Questions loomed big in his puzzled mind. What was the manexcavating? And why did he have to wait until after dark here inthe seclusion of his own place?
In order to see what became of the man on his way back Fincrept to the point where the planks began at the edge of thetrees, and lay down again. Nipperg's man presently returned,pulling the wheelbarrow after him. He could feel his way with hisfeet now, and the flashlight was turned off. He went off up thehill in the direction of the house.
Fin followed with infinite care. He had it in mind that theGeneral was watching these mysterious operations from somehiding-place, and he did not want to run into him. It wasevidently one of the old garden paths he found himself upon, forthe way was pretty clear. When he had got within a stone's-throwof the house he heard the wheelbarrow coming with another load,and retreated into the shadow of the trees.
When the man came back uphill, Fin was able to follow him bythe sound to a point immediately under the wooden wing. Here heput the wheelbarrow down. This wing stuck out from the mainbuilding on the left-hand side as Fin faced it. He detoured stillfurther to the left. Progress was slow because tonight he meantto make doubly sure that the General had not occupied this pointof vantage before him.
However, there was nobody there. He snaked himself through theweeds at the end of the house, and peeped around the corner ofthe foundation. By this time the man had gone with another load,and he had a long wait. He lay still, trying to extend his sensesall around him like feelers, to guard against surprise. Fromunder the house he could hear the faintest sounds of digging. Sothere was another of them.
The man came back with the wheelbarrow. As he set it down hemurmured to his unseen companion, "Are you ready withanother?"
The answer came from below, "Half a moment." Whereupon Finreceived another great shock of surprise, for he recognizedGeneral Diamond's gobbling accents. Impossible to mistake thatvoice. So the spade over his shoulder had not been merecamouflage. What does it mean? Fin asked himself in a daze. Wasit possible, after all that had happened that Nipperg and theGeneral were working together? It knocked all their theories ofthe case into a cocked hat.
Fin heard slight sounds of scrambling and panting, and whenthe General spoke again, it was evident he had heaved himself outinto the open air. "I'm tuckered out," he muttered. "I ain't gotthe figure for this mole work."
"I'll spell you for a while," whispered the other man.
"Nah," muttered the General, sullenly. "I'll do the digging...Just let me get my breath."
After a silence he said: "You ought to grease that wheel. Iheard you coming a long way off."
"It don't make no difference," said the other. "It's Paul'snight out, and there's nobody in the house but my old woman andthe missus. The missus she never comes to this part of the housein the evening."
"That's all right," growled the General. "I'm not taking anychances. You grease it tomorrow."
After a moment he asked, "Where's Nipperg tonight?"
"Damned if I know," returned the other. "We never know whenhe's coming until he comes."
"Suppose he comes now?"
"My woman will stamp on the floor over your head," answeredNipperg's man. "It's all right. If he comes all we got to do islay some boards over the hole, and a pile of leaves. He'll be offearly in the morning."
From this it was evident to Fin that the General and Nippergwerenot working together. Evidently the General hadbribed Nipperg's man to betray his master. This was a morecredible explanation, and Fin was relieved. His heart began tobeat faster as the real truth of the situation shadowed itselfbefore.
From the sounds that reached him it was evident the Generalwas letting himself down into his hole again. "I have to dig aregular goddam cave," he grumbled, "in order to get throughmyself. It would be a cinch if I could only pull up the kitchenfloor!"
The kitchen floor!
"We couldn't conceal that," said the other man. "You neverknow when Nipperg will take a fancy to nose around inside."
"Pass down the spade, Mike," said the General from below.
So this was Mike! As in a lightning flash
Fin saw the whole truth. This was the house where themysterious secret was hidden. Or at any rate the General believedthat it was. Under the kitchen floor! It was Mr. Mappin's fakemessage that had started all this digging.
Fin stole away without waiting to hear any more. Let them dig!Let them dig! he thought. Let the General sweat off some of hissurplus fat! It was too rich a joke. He felt as if he must laughor strangle.
After making a wide circuit, he ran down the old garden path,chuckling. He struck into the woods beyond the place where theplanks led in, and knowing that the man with the wheelbarrow wasfar behind him now, let himself slip down the side of the ravine,careless of the stones he displaced. Casting off his boat, hepushed it under the culvert, and applied himself to the oars. Hischest was puffed out with triumph. I've got it! rang like a songin his inner consciousness. After his humiliating failure of thenight before it was very sweet.
It was still something short of nine o'clock when he burstinto Mr. Mappin's apartment with his story. His friend solemnlypolished his glasses while he listened.
"Well, I'll be damned!" he said. "I'll be eternally damned!Nipperg has it in his own house and he can't find it!"
"Well, the General thinks so," said Fin.
"The General must know," said Mr. Mappin. "He wouldn't wagethis whole expensive campaign on a guess." He adjusted hisglasses. "If I were a proper criminologist," he went on, with aquizzical grin, "I would make out that I knew all the time. But Icannot deceive you Finlay... I'll be damned!"
He sent Fin off to bed to make up some of his lost sleep. Butpresently he came to the door of Fin's room with his spectaclesglittering.
"Finlay," he said, solemnly, "this clears up one point thathas bothered us from the beginning."
"What's that?" asked Fin, sitting up in bed.
"Why, if Nipperg's confidential man has been in the General'spay all the time, it explains how the General learned so soonabout the brass ball."
"Sure!" said Fin... "and Nipperg is the murderer!" he added,scowling.
"Looks like it," said Mr. Mappin, mildly. "But you go to sleepnow."
IN the morning Mr. Mappin stuck his head insideFin's door to bid him lie in bed until noon. He had to do alittle preliminary spade-work he said, before they made theirnext move together. So Fin turned over and went back tosleep.
After an early lunch the two of them set out for Riverdale inanother taxi. There were no loiterers in the street below, and noother car undertook to follow them. It appeared that Mr. Mappinhad been making inquiries among old friends for one who mightknow something of the history of Riverdale, once the countryretreat of wealthy New Yorkers. He had been furnished with anaddress, and they were on their way to look it up.
Fin was somewhat surprised when they drew up before one of thecheaper apartment houses that line Broadway in Kingsbridge. Withits chain stores on the street level, the up-to-the-minute youngwives doing their shopping, and the extremely new childrenroller-skating on the pavements, it did not seem a likely placeto obtain information as to bygone days. However, "You never cantell," remarked Mr. Mappin.
The door of the four-room apartment, second floor rear, wasopened to them by a little old gentleman somewhat threadbare asto clothes, but with charming manners. An air of having seenbetter days lent a grace to his white hairs. This was Mr. HaroldNewbold, of whom they were in search. Mr. Mappin understood sucha one perfectly.
"Are you in the real-estate business?" he asked.
The old gentleman turned pink with gratification. "Why...yes!" he said. "Come in, gentlemen. You must excuse me if Iappear a little surprised. I have been somewhat inactive inbusiness lately. May I ask you who gave you my name?"
"An old friend who used to live in Riverdale," said Mr.Mappin. Mr. Newbold led the way into a little parlor, like itsowner, well bred and shabby. A fragile old lady bowed andretired.
"When Kingsbridge and Riverdale were still country villages Idid a very nice little business in real estate," said Mr.Newbold. "I represented the old families in the neighborhood...But one by one they moved away," he went on, smiling, "and thewar finished the real-estate business. When the boom started upafterward it seemed to require a new type of man. And so yousee..."
"It is the common fate," said Mr. Mappin. "You are fortunatein having preserved your chief treasure." He glanced toward theinner room.
Mr. Newbold was intensely gratified. They bowed to each other."What can I do for you?" he asked.
"It is very simple," said Mr. Mappin. "I was coming down theHudson in a friend's yacht a few days ago, and I happened tonotice an old neglected estate among the new developments ofRiverdale."
"Ah, you mean Slav Castle," said Mr. Newbold. Fin pricked uphis ears.
"Slav Castle? How odd!" said Mr. Mappin.
"A popular name that has been applied to the old place," saidMr. Newbold. "Please go on."
"Well, I merely thought there might be an opportunity indeveloping the place, and I called to inquire if it could bepurchased."
"I'm afraid not," said Mr. Newbold. "At any rate, not at abargain. Others have noticed, like yourself, what an opportunityit presents, and several offers have been made to the owner. Sofar he has refused to sell."
"Who is the owner?" asked Mr. Mappin. "A person named Nipperg.Quite a mysterious character. Nobody in Riverdale is acquaintedwith him. In fact, he is never seen around the place. All thosewho inquire are received by his wife, who merely says the placeis not for sale at present. It is all the more strange because Ihappen to know it is mortgaged up to the hilt. A heavy burden.One wonders why they should continue to carry it when they seemto get so little out of it. I understand that none of the ladiesof Riverdale have ever called on Mrs. Nipperg."
"Nipperg, I presume, is a Slav," suggested Mr. Mappin.
"He may be," returned Mr. Newbold. "I really don't know. Theplace was called Slav Castle long before he became the owner. Ithas a very curious history, sir."
This, of course, was the point at which Mr. Mappin had beenaiming. "Really!" he said. "You pique my curiosity. Do tell methe story... May I offer you a cigar, sir?"
Mr. Newbold accepted it thankfully, and the two gentlemenlighted up and settled themselves comfortably, one on each sideof the radiator. It was clear Mr. Newbold enjoyed nothing betterthan telling a story.
"It is the old Howland place," he began. "Before the war itwas owned by Miss Lavinia Howland, the last of her family, whohad refused all temptations to sell. However, like other personswith a small, fixed income, she was cruelly pinched at theoutbreak of the war and the result was, she had to offer it forsale at a time when there were no buyers. She made a sale evenmore difficult by the restrictions she put upon it."
"What were those?" asked Mr. Mappin.
"A buyer was obliged to agree not to subdivide the propertyfor twenty-five years, and not to cut down any trees."
"Ah," said Mr. Mappin, "such amiable eccentricities werecommoner formerly."
"I see you understand, sir," said Mr. Newbold, with alook.
"Pray go on, sir."
"In the end a buyer was found who agreed to her restrictions.This was a young foreign gentleman, a Mr. Duborov."
"Ah, Slav," said Mr. Mappin.
"Yes; that was how the place got its name. He was reputed bythe neighbors to be a count in his own country, but I do not knowthat he ever laid claim to such a title. He got the place for alow figure and paid cash for it. In the beginning he wascertainly well supplied with money. He put the house in goodorder, furnished it handsomely, and he and his wife establishedthemselves there with an unusual retinue of servants of their ownrace."
"It was the many servants, perhaps, who got them the name ofbeing of noble blood," suggested Mr. Mappin.
"Undoubtedly," Mr. Newbold agreed... "They lived entirely tothemselves," he went on. "To all who ventured to call they werepolitely not at home. An exceedingly handsome and aristocraticyoung couple said to be passionately in love with each other andto have been exiled from their own country by the war, you canimagine the crop of legends that sprang up around them, bothromantic and sinister."
"Such as..." prompted Mr. Mappin.
Mr. Newbold shrugged. "Well, for one thing," he said,"somebody remembered that in looking at the house Mr. Duborov hadpaid particular attention to the cellar. It appeared he wanted anold-fashioned cellar without any windows or other openings on theoutside. From that, as you can readily imagine, the neighbors hadeverything buried in that cellar from human bodies to treasuresof gold."
"What other stories?" asked Mr. Mappin. Mr. Newbold shrugged."Oh, they were called German spies, of course, though they wereobviously not German. One hardly listened to such gossip."
"A strange tale!" said Mr. Mappin.
"I have not yet come to the strangest part, sir."
"Do go on."
"It was said that they had been married but a short time," Mr.Newbold resumed, "and while they were living in that house theirfirst child was born to them."
Mr. Mappin's spectacles glistened. "When Would that be?"
Fin's heart was already beating fast when the answer came."About sixteen years ago."
"Of which sex was it?"
Fin knew the answer before it came. "A girl."
"And what did they call her?... You see how interested Iam."
"The child was christened in the house by a priest or pastorof their own faith," said Mr. Newbold. "Consequently theneighbors learned nothing. Somebody had sufficient curiosity toconsult the Bureau of Vital Statistics, and there it was learnedthat the child had been christened Mariula Duborov..."
Fin sprang out of his chair in uncontrollable excitement. Itwas the first real clue... the first clue! All the blood seemedto rush to his head. Both the elder gentlemen looked at him inastonishment, and he immediately recollected himself."My—my foot went to sleep," he stammered, blushing.
"Walk around and stamp on it," said Mr. Newbold, kindly.
"Do continue, sir," said Mr. Mappin.
"Now comes the tragic part," said Mr. Newbold. "The youngfather and mother disappeared."
"Disappeared!" echoed Mr. Mappin.
"Oh, I do not mean that they were made away with!" Mr. Newboldhastened to add. "Presumably they left of their own free will,leaving the infant in the care of the nurse and other servants.Indeed, a story was circulated later to the effect that they hadbeen seen driving away in a car with sad and tearful faces.However that may be, they never came back again. The householdwas so well screened from observation, you see, that nobody knewjust when they had gone. It was just realized by degrees thatthey were no longer there."
"How strange!" murmured Mr. Mappin. "What happened next?"
"For a month or two all went on as before. The servants seemedto have plenty of money to carry on with. Then it was noticedthat the establishment was being cut down. The servants seemed todrift away one by one. By-and-by it began to be rumored that thenurse was living there alone with the infant. She was said tohave been seen weeping in a heartbroken fashion while shetrundled it up and down the veranda."
"How did she get food?" interrupted Mr. Mappin.
"Oh, the tradespeople called as usual. But their orders hadfallen away to almost nothing. That was how they kept tab on thehousehold. About this time the young woman was seen taking thechild into the Subway, and it was reported she was supportingherself by carrying small objects downtown to the pawnshops. Shecould speak very little English."
Once more Fin's feelings got the better of him. "My God! Whata frightful situation for her!" he cried.
"Your young friend has a tender heart," said old Mr. Newbold,beaming at him kindly.
"Quite," said Mr. Mappin dryly... "How did it all turnout?"
"Oh, quite a pretty ending," said Mr. Newbold, innocently. "Itseems the young woman picked up a follower, a beau of her ownrace, a superior sort of young workman. He married her and cameto live in the house with her and the baby. Nobody knew, ofcourse, where or how they had met."
"If unhappy innocence could always find a champion!" murmuredMr. Mappin.
"Yes, yes," said Mr. Newbold.
"Do you remember this man's name?" asked Mr. Mappin.
"Petrovich or Petrovsky or some such name," said Mr. Newbold."A Slav name that suggested Peter."
"And then what happened?" asked Mr. Mappin. "For a while theygot along all right. A circumstance of this time that I recallwas reported by a doctor who was called in to attend the baby forsome minor ailment. He said she had a heart-shaped emeraldhanging around her neck that was worth a fortune. That was oneobject that had escaped the pawnshop."
"So?" said Mr. Mappin. "And then?"
"It began to be reported around that the couple had beenthreatened by ruffians of their own race," said Mr. Newbold. "Idon't know if there was anything in it or not. They lodged nocomplaint with the authorities. However it may be, one day theywere found to be gone and the house shut up, and they've neverbeen seen since. Not any of them."
"Strange!... Strange!" murmured Mr. Mappin. "Was noinvestigation ever made?"
"It was to nobody's interest to make an investigation. Mr. andMrs. Duborov had no friends. On the other hand, they left nodebts behind them. People just wondered and talked, and after awhile they forgot about it. But when the house was broken into,the Riverdale Association took action."
"So the house was broken into," said Mr. Mappin.
"Yes, it was discovered that tramps from the railway hadforced an entrance into the empty house and had partly wreckedit."
"How did they know it was tramps?" asked Mr. Mappin,mildly.
Mr. Newbold spread out his hands. "Who else would break thingsup out of sheer vandalism?"
"What did the Riverdale Association do?"
"They advertised for the owners, but without result. They thenengaged a respectable couple to live in the house rent free, andprotect it."
"I see," said Mr. Mappin. "Where does Nipperg come into thestory?"
"Oh, he first turned up while the caretakers were in thehouse," said Mr. Newbold, "and offered to rent it from theAssociation. But they couldn't take rent for something that wasnot theirs, of course. You see, it was a peculiar situation.Moreover, I understand that this Nipperg made an unpleasantimpression. He wasn't considered a desirable addition to thecommunity, and they declined his offer."
"But he got the house eventually?"
"Yes. When it was sold for taxes a couple of years later hebought it in. He paid a good price, too, though he didn't startliving there until he married some years later. Everything aboutthe place is cloaked in mystery! It is Riverdale's House ofMystery!"
Mr. Mappin joined with Mr. Newbold in sympathetic exclamationsof wonderment and mystification. The old gentleman had nosuspicion that his caller had any concern in the matter beyondthat of any listener to a strange tale.
When the subject appeared to be exhausted Mr. Mappin said:"Mr. Newbold, I want you to keep an eye on that property for me.But do not let it be known that you have a client who isinterested."
"You may depend on me, sir," said the gratified oldgentleman.
Mr. Mappin took out his pocketbook and abstracted several ofthe crisp bills of high denomination that always seemed to be ontap. He offered them to Mr. Newbold. "Pray accept this as yourretainer, sir."
The old gentleman turned pink to the crown of his head. "Mydear sir! My dear sir!" he protested. "Nothing that I can do foryou is worth such a sum as this!"
"Take it! Take it!" said Mr. Mappin, adding, quite truthfully,"I assure you I have often paid more for services of less valueto me."
"You overwhelm me, sir," murmured Mr. Newbold, in a flutter ofpleasurable excitement. One could see in his eye the joy withwhich he anticipated showing this windfall to the old lady in thenext room. "Please give me your name and address."
"No," said Mr. Mappin. "I don't want my name to appear in it.You just keep your eye on the situation, and I will communicatewith you from time to time."
"You can depend upon me, sir... You can depend on me,"stammered the old gentleman.
They finally succeeded in bowing themselves out. On the stairsMr. Mappin grumbled, half ashamed of his own emotion: "Hm! Ha!One of the rare occasions when one can do a little good with thefilthy stuff!"
In silence they lined up on the curb to wait for a taxi. Mr.Mappin looked at Fin, and Fin looked at Mr. Mappin. Theyunderstood each other. The older man glanced at his watch. "It isalmost time for you to meet your lady friend."
"I'll walk up the hill," said Fin.
"I won't attempt to advise you how to deal with her," Mr.Mappin went on, with an embarrassed smile; "I expect that yourexperience in that direction is greater than mine.And youknow what we have to do next!"
Fin nodded with compressed lips.
"Take your time!" Mr. Mappin said, earnestly. "Consider everystep before you take it! Remember the secret is still in ourpossession. If it has eluded them all these years, it is notlikely they will stumble on it within the next day or two."
"I get you," said Fin.
A taxi drew up at the curb, and their hands instinctively shotout toward each other and gripped. It was the only expression offeeling they permitted themselves. Mr. Mappin drove away.
SHE came sauntering up to the bench with anelaborate affectation of indifference. "Oh, you're here!" shesaid, almost insultingly. Yet it was clear that she had gottenherself up with particular care to please.
Fin was used to such tricks. "Sure! What did you expect?" heasked, grinning.
The grin displeased her. "I can't stay out today," she said,stiffly.
"Well, sit down while you're here," he said, moving over tomake room.
"It's too near the house. Somebody might see."
"Then let's go some place else."
A demon of perversity seemed to possess her. "That would beworse," she said, scornfully. "Walking through the streets withyou! It would start all the old cats in town whispering."
"Well, you don't know them," said Fin, thoughtlessly.
"Why shouldn't I know them?" she demanded.
"I mean," he said, correcting himself, "what do you care aboutthe old cats? Whatever you did or didn't do, they would have itin for a good-looking girl like you."
She lowered her lashes and a slow color crept under her rouge.Fin guessed that, though she was a pretty woman, she had not hadmuch admiration from men, and it was balm to her soul.
"Where can we go?" he said, standing up.
She said, "Let's stay here," and sat down.
Fin never reminded a woman of her inconsistency. He sat down,too. He felt a little sorry for her, her tactics were so poor.That's not the way to get a fellow going, sister, he wanted totell her; but he knew it only made matters worse to try to behonest with such a one, so he laid himself out to play thecheerful fool.
"I dreamed about you last night, kid."
"Yes, you did!" she said, scornfully.
"Yeah, on the level. Seems I was down by the railway yonder,and a freight train come along and there was you sitting on aflat car all dressed up like the Queen of the May, with strawsticking in your hair."
"Straw in my hair!"
"Yeah. You know, coocoo, sort of. Maybe it's Ophelia I'mthinking of. Anyhow, you looked swell. You were holding a cat-tail in your hand for a what's-this, you know, what queens alwayshold."
"A scepter?"
"Yeah, a scepter. So I swung on by the handrail and they mademe king because I could play the jew's-harp. Seems they wantedmusic for dancing. But the gang all got splinters in their feetfrom the car floor, and had to walk home on their hands. You andme flew back to the castle in a tri-motored plane."
Daisy was melting fast. "Crazy!" she said, with a sidelonglook.
"Sure!" said Fin. "It runs in all the old families." Heconcluded with an obligato on an imaginary jew's-harp.
There was method in his idiocy. He turned it off and on as theoccasion seemed to demand. Daisy still affected to scorn him, butit carried no conviction. On the contrary, a helpless look hadcome into her eyes that suggested he had laid a spell upon her.Fin recognized the symptoms. It won't do her any harm if I playfair he told himself. "Brr! It's cold!" he said, after a while."We won't be able to meet out-of-doors much longer."
"Who said we were?" said Daisy, bridling. "I bet it's cold inthat old house of yours in the winter," said Fin.
"What do you know about that house?" she asked,suspiciously.
"Only what you told me."
"Well, it is cold," she said, spitefully, "and I'm fed up withit."
"How do they heat the dump?" asked Fin, in his scatterbrainedstyle.
"Hot air."
"Pretty good," he said, laughing.
"No, I mean it," she said. "There's an old-fashioned hot-airfurnace, and it's out of order. It sends coal gas through thehouse."
"Why don't Nipperg have it fixed?"
"He won't let anybody go into the cellar."
"What!" said Fin.
"I mean," she said, hastily, "he's too close to spend themoney."
"Haven't you got any stoves to help out?" he asked.
"Only the kitchen stove, and that don't do the rest of thehouse any good."
Fin thought. Nothing valuable would have teen hidden in thekitchen, because that part of the house is built of wood. Aloudhe asked, idly, "Any fireplaces?"
"All the rooms have fireplaces," said Daisy, "but my husbanddon't like to burn the wood." Dazbog's House must refer to thefurnace, thought Fin. "Have you ever looked at the furnace?" heasked.
"No," said Daisy.
"Aren't you allowed to go in the cellar?" he asked, slyly.
No answer.
"Gosh!" said Fin. "What do you suppose he's got hid downthere?"
"Nothing at all," she said scornfully, "it's just his crazyway."
"I bet I could fix it," he said. "I know furnaces."
She laughed. "Do you think you'd ever be let in the frontdoor, not to speak of down cellar?"
"I'll charm them, honey," he said, grinning. "Yeah!" she saidwith a painfully curling lip. "What is charm to a lot ofHunkies?"
"I'll show you," he said, boldly. "I'll call tomorrowaft."
"Don't you do it!" she said, instantly becoming panicky."Don't you dare to do it! If you was ever to come there I'd denyyou to your face! You don't know... you don't know..."
"Don't know what?"
She lowered her head. "Well, never mind," she said, sullenly."Don't fool with things you don't know about, that's all."
"Aw, Daisy," he said, cajolingly, "I gotta come. We can't goon just meeting on this bench."
That helpless glance fluttered to her face. "I told you therewere three servants to spy on me," the sullen voice said; "twomen and a woman. How can you get around that?"
"I'll put something over on them," said Fin. "That's myspeciality, putting things over."
"All the putting over in the world can't get around the factthat I'm Nipperg's property," she said, bitterly.
"Just wait and see," said Fin. "You should introduce me asyour relation. Have you got a brother?"
"Yes," she muttered. "He'd be about your age. But I haven'tseen him in ten years. I don't know where he is."
"So much the better. Does Nipperg know you have abrother?"
"Yes."
"Has he ever seen him?"
"No."
"Good! Then it's all set! Nipperg could hardly do less thanask me to stop awhile!" Fin of course, had no intention ofletting Nipperg see him. All the testimony was to the effect thatNipperg never showed himself around Riverdale by day.
"It's too dangerous," whimpered Daisy; "I couldn't get awaywith it."
"You don't have to," said Fin. "That's my job."
"How would you explain how you found me?"
"Easy. Where were you living when Nipperg married you?"
"In a boarding-house on East Seventeenth Street."
"That's all I need... What's your brother's name?"
"Bill Zell."
Fin thought, Mustn't get my aliases mixed.
When darkness began to gather they were still sitting there,heads close together, careless of the cold. Fin had not realizedthe fatal power of sympathy from one of the opposite sex,consequently he was a little appalled suddenly to discover howfar they had got. After he had been listening to the tale ofNipperg's neglect for an hour he said:
"How did you come to fall for this bird in the beginning?"
"I was down on my luck," she muttered; "ready to jump at anychance."
"Yeah," said Fin, "I reckon many a girl gets caught that way.Why don't you leave him now?"
"Got no place to go. He made me drop all my friends when Imarried him."
"He certainly is a lulu!"
"And I got no money," she went on. "He never gives meany."
"Gee! that's tough!"
"I'm afraid of him," she murmured. "He would kill me if heknew. And those Hunkies would help him do it. They have alwayshated me."
"He's only trying to terrorize you," said Fin. "It's a jealoushusband's regular line."
She shook her head. "You don't know him. It's in hiseye—you can't mistake it—the killing look."
Fin knew that this was only too true. It brought danger near.He drew a long breath to steady himself. "You'll have to get someother fellow to help you out," he said, lightly.
The look of breathless eagerness she gave him made him long totake to his heels. He had had to fly from that look before."Would... would you?" she murmured.
He faced it out. "Sure!" he said, boldly.
"Young fellows never have any money," she said, in tones ofscorn, while her eyes wistfully searched his face to see if hewas in earnest.
"I'm no exception," said Fin, "but I have a friend who hasplenty."
"Would he help you out?"
"Sure! To any extent."
"He must be a friend!" she murmured, incredulously.
"One of the best!"
She lowered her eyes. "Do you... do you really care?" shewhispered.
This was like a cold shower upon Fin. He knew he could notkeep up the part of the rapturous lover unless his heart was init, and after a moment's hesitation he resolved to tell thetruth. "Sure I'm crazy about you," he said. "But if you mean thereal knock-down-and-drag-out kind of love, why, no! I wouldn'tlie to you."
She moved a little away from him. "Then what did you want tomake up to me for?" she demanded, breathing fast. "Why are youhanging around me?"
"Aw," said Fin, "every time you cross eyes with a pretty girl,does it have to be for life? We're not living in the dark agesany more!"
"You'd better go away from me," she muttered.
However, he perceived in her stormy glances that he had notlost any ground. On the contrary, a repulse had caused her toincline even more strongly toward him. Such is human nature.
"Sure, if you mean that," said Fin, threatening to go.
"I didn't mean it," she murmured, unhappily.
He sat down again. He was sorry for her, but he couldn't letthat stop him. She was only a pawn in the game. And, anyhow, hethought, she'll be amply repaid later for any slight hurt shetakes.
"How did we get to be so serious?" Fin rattled. "It's allwrong! All wrong! ... Listen, did you ever hear the story of thelittle Welshman who was married to a woman three times his size?One day she took after him with the rolling-pin and he crawledunder the bed, which was the only place he knew where shecouldn't follow. She stood beside the bed, shaking the rolling-pin and yelling: 'Come out of that! Come out of that and I'lllearn ye!' But Davy he pounded his fist on the floor and heyelled out: 'No, by Cot! I will be master in my own house! I willnot come out!'
"Huh!" said Daisy, bridling elegantly. "You don't hateyourself, do you?"
Fin whooped with laughter. That was a corner turned on twowheels.
"I don't see anything so funny," said Daisy.
"You must excuse me, honey," said Fin, wiping his eyes. "Ijust got to laugh. It's a nervous affection, as the circus mansaid every time he stuck his head in the lion's mouth."
"Oh, you!"
FIN spent part of the following morning inlaying in an outfit for the part of Bill Zell. In his mind's eyehe saw Bill as a breezy young sport who had had a bit of lucklately, and to carry this out he bought a plum-colored suit witha fine green stripe, a green ensemble comprising shirt, tie,handkerchief, and socks, and a purplish Fedora described by thesalesman as "our dregs-of-wine model." For a finishing touch hehad a pair of freckled pigskin gloves turned down over the hands.The whole effect was exceedingly sprightly.
All this preparation was perhaps unnecessary, but it helped towork Fin up to the point of what was, when he stopped to think ofit, the hardest thing he had ever had to do in hislife—viz., to march up to Nipperg's door and ringthe bell. He well knew with what joy Nipperg would blow him topieces if he caught him inside. Fin was going armed, to be sure,but what was one gun against three or four?
It was about three o'clock when he turned in at the formalgateway, whistling and swinging his arms. As soon as he starteddown the winding driveway the trees closed in behind him, givinghim the feeling that he had lost touch with all his kind. Thedriveway was neatly kept, but the trees pressing up close oneither hand and arching overhead were choked with a dense wildgrowth of creepers and briers, almost like a green wall. Awkwardif I had to make a dash through that, thought Fin.
When the sharp-gabled house opened up before him he was almostsuffocated by the beating of his own heart. Such a strange oldhouse, so secret and shabby, standing there enveloped in its ownatmosphere like something separated by a half a century from ourlife. In that house Mariula had first seen the light; in thathouse her parents had mysteriously deserted her; under that houselay the terrifying secret of her identity.
It stood in the middle of a narrow lawn with the dense growthpressing up close all around except at the back where theneglected gardens went down. On the left-hand side there was averanda disappearing behind: on the right was the wooden wingpartly screened from this side by a tall growth of ragged shrubs.There was no sign of life about the place. Fin made haste topress the bell before his courage failed him altogether.
The door was opened by a woman short and squat as a worker inthe fields. She had a dull, heavy face of the Slav type. "What doyou want?" she demanded of Fin, scowling. She spoke goodEnglish.
Fin grinned in vacant good nature, according to the characterhe had assumed. "Mrs. Nipperg live here?" he asked, briskly.
"What do you want of her?" grumbled the woman. "She don't seeno canvassers."
Fin laughed and slapped his thigh. "Canvasser! That's good!That's good! Why, I'm her brother! You just tell her it's BillZell and see what she has to say."
The woman looked him up and down with insolent deliberationand closed the door in his face. This was disconcerting. Supposeshe never came back, what a fool he would look!... What a crazyscheme this was anyhow, he thought, with a sinking heart. Heshook the thought away. He whistled between his teeth, and takingout a cigarette tapped it on the back of his hand and lit it withan air. After all, it was a great help to be Bill Zell and nothimself.
While he waited on the step a man appeared to the left andstood some twenty paces away, staring at him with dull animosity.Fin recognized the visored cap and stiffened himself. So this wasMike. It was possible he was the man who had hit him over thehead in the railway yard, but even so he could scarcely have hada good look at him in the dark. Fin faced him out, grinning. Hehad the stupid little eye of a bear. Fin was thankful to see nosign of recognition there. After a prolonged stare Mikedisappeared the way he had come. Pleasant household, thoughtFin.
Soon the door opened beside him. "You can come in," the womanmuttered, sullenly.
Fin's heart leaped up. He threw away the cigarette. The housewas more spacious inside than one might have expected. He entereda wide dim hall that ran through to the other front. It waspaneled and ceiled throughout with a dusty blackish wood sofantastically carved and molded there was not a square footwithout its ridges and bumps. Gothic gone mad. At the back rosean elaborate heavy stairway lighted on the landing by a mullionedwindow filled with little panes of purple and green glass thatcast a nightmare glow on the scene. It smelled cold and stuffy.There was no furniture except a single carved black chest like afuneral casket.
The Slav woman moved through the dimness without a sound. Finsaw that she was wearing felt slippers. She stood by an open doorand jerked her head inside. "In there," she said.
It was a dining-room, stark and foreign-looking, very littlefurniture. In here there was plenty of light from a pair ofFrench windows opening on the front drive, light which showed upevery stain on the sad-colored walls. It was one of the roomsMariula had described.
"Hello, sis!" cried Fin, heartily.
She came running to him with little steps, and caught him bythe elbows. Tears of pure nervousness were running down hercheeks. "Oh, Bill!... Oh, Bill!" she stammered.
Fin gave her a brotherly kiss. "Gee! it's great to see you!"he cried. "You're not changed any. What you crying for?"
"Oh, I'm so glad to... it's so long..." she murmured.
He relaxed a little. After all, it was not such bad acting.She put her tears to good use. "You never wrote," he said.
"I didn't know where..."
"I know," said Fin. "All my fault. I was down on my luck, andI hated to let anybody know it." The Slav woman passednoiselessly through the room, and out by a door near the otherend, leaving it slightly ajar. She was listening, of course.Daisy did not miss it, for she said in a voice meant tocarry:
"How did you ever find me, Bill?"
"Oh, that was no trouble when I set out to do it," said Fin."I went to that boarding-house where you used to live onSeventeenth Street, and the woman told me you had married andmoved up to Riverdale. So I come up here and asked around at thestores, and somebody soon told me." Meanwhile he moved to thepantry door and coolly closed it. "Oh, don't do that!" whisperedDaisy, trembling. "She'll only tell him when he comes."
"Sure," said Fin. "That's why I did it. It's a natural thingto do. If we let them spy on us without saying anything, theywould suspect we were playing a game."
"You got to get out of here!" she said, a little wildly. "Ican't stand it. If you don't go I'll tell them!"
Fin was not alarmed by this threat. It was too late to tellthem now. He had perceived before this that Daisy was the sort ofwoman who cannot resist a man's dominance. He had mastered hernow, just as Nipperg had mastered her years before, and she wouldhave to do what he told her.
"Come, pull yourself together!" he said, peremptorily.
She obeyed, though she still complained. "What good is it?"she whimpered. "They'll never leave us alone for a minute!"
"Watch me bluff 'em, kid," said Fin, airily. "I ain't got inmy stride yet."
"You can't do anything against a man like Nipperg. He ain'thuman... I'll suffer for this when he comes."
"Well, if it gets too bad I'll help you get away from here,"said Fin, coolly. "That's understood."
His eye was on the pantry door. It opened a crack and he wenton in Bill Zell's hearty voice without a pause, "You're prettywell fixed here, eh, sis?"
She instantly fell in with his changed tone. "We haven't gotmuch furniture," she said. "He don't buy any because we're goingto sell here soon."
Fin took a package of chewing-gum from his pocket. Gum wasnaturally a part of Bill Zell's equipment. To chew a good wad ofit helped to produce the slatternly style of speech he affected."Have some?" he said to Daisy.
Daisy chewed also.
"But at that," Fin went on, still for the benefit of the earat the pantry door, "there ain't many folks in New York City hasa whole house to themselves. I bet the place is worth a pot ofmoney. Let's take a look around, sis."
Daisy protested with mute, terrified eyes, but Fin had nomercy on her. It was necessary for him to get the lay-out of thathouse. "Come on, let's take a look around," he said.
She followed him apathetically out into the hall. "What's thegood of it?" she muttered.
"It's a natural thing to do,' returned Fin. "I got to makethem think I feel at home here, ain't I?"
On the other side of the hall was a suite of two drawing-roomswith bay windows opening on the encircling veranda. Strange,oppressive rooms filled with rich old-fashioned furnishingsslowly falling to pieces as a result of dampness and neglect. Thewood veneer was peeling off the handsome cabinets, the draperieswere rotting where they hung; rats had gnawed great holes in theupholstered chairs. Apparently the windows had not been opened inyears; the smoke from thousands of railway engines had depositeda sulphurous film on the panes.
"All this stuff came with the house," remarked Daisy,indifferently. "I never come in here."
Mariula's family possessions! Fin thought, looking around himwith extraordinary interest. Suddenly he bethought himself thathe must not neglect to play the part of Ronald Shay for Daisy'sbenefit.
"Gee! what a dump!" he murmured, sympathetically.
Tears of self-pity came into her eyes.
When they returned to the hall they found the Slav womanhanging about, making an absurd pretense of dusting while shewatched and listened. Dusting was obviously not in her line.
"Let's take a look upstairs," said Fin.
Near the foot of the stairs they passed a door on the sameside as the dining-room. "What's in here?" he asked.
"His study," said Daisy. "It's locked."
May be valuable evidence in there, thought Fin. Must getin.
The woman followed them upstairs and disappeared through adoor on the right. "That's her room," murmured Daisy.
She showed him into the room over the dining-room, acheerless, sordid chamber without curtains or pictures, andhaving two tall old-fashioned beds with torn canopies. It had twowindows looking out on the drive, and Fin guessed that this wasthe room where Mariula had spent the night. There was a thirdwindow at the end which looked out on the eaves of the kitchenwing. The peak of the roof concealed all view of the river. Belowthe window the roof was carried out over a porch which no doubtprotected the kitchen door. Possible way to get out in a hurry,Fin's subconsciousness registered.
They looked into other bedrooms, some meagerly furnished, somecompletely bare, and returned downstairs again. The Slav womanwas hanging about in the lower hall.
"What's your name, sister?" he asked, flippantly.
"Nastya," she muttered.
Fin winked at Daisy, as much as to say, Well named!
"Bet there's an elegant view from the back of the house," hesuggested.
Daisy nodded indifferently.
"Let's take a look outside."
She fetched a coat to put around her shoulders, and they wentthrough the front door.
After the ugly spell that rested on that house the blue skywas like a benediction. Fin breathed deep to clear his lungs ofthe poisoned air.
"Don't see how you can stand it," he said to Daisy.
She shrugged helplessly.
They strolled around the veranda. Fin's object was to discoverif there was any opening into the cellar from the outside. Theyhad not gone far before they ran into Mike on his knees, clippingthe edge of the grass with a big pair of shears—a hollowpretense like his wife's dusting indoors.
"What's the gardener's name?" Fin asked Daisy, audibly.
"Mike," she murmured.
Fin walked up to him. "H'are ya, Mike!" he said in Bill'sloud, hail-fellow style. "I'm Daisy's brother. Reckon we'll beseeing each other often now."
The man muttered unintelligibly and bent lower over hisshears. Fin laughed and returned to Daisy. "Quite a crab, ain'the?" he said, loud enough to carry. "But at that I bluffed him,"he added,sotto voce.
Daisy glanced at him, biting her lip, both terrified andadmiring.
Having stopped to admire the view up and down the wideriver—it bucked Fin up to see normal human fellows likehimself paddling canoes and driving speed-boats—theystepped off the veranda and continued around the house. Fin sawthat the lower floor was built almost flush with the ground,consequently there could be no cellar windows. He remembered thishad been given as one of the reasons why the Slav nobleman hadbought the house.
However, there was one opening which perhaps led into thecellar. It was a rectangular hole about one foot by two at thebase of the main block of the house, near the point where thekitchen wing jutted out. The hole was with a stout galvanizedwire mesh. Fin could not guess what its purpose might be, and hedared not ask for fear of arousing suspicion. Mike was closebehind them.
Only a few steps farther along was the spot where Fin hadfound the two men excavating under the kitchen. The place was nowso cunningly hidden under leaves and gravel no one could haveguessed it was there. To the north of the kitchen wing was theold stable. The doors were open and Fin could see the black sedanthat had once figured so prominently in the news. It bore anordinary New York license now. The sound of their voices broughta man to the door, another Slav, younger and better-looking thanMike, but with an evil cast in his eye.
"That's the other one," murmured Daisy. "His name isPaul."
Having rounded the wing and passed the kitchen porch, Findiscovered another oblong opening in the base of the main housewhich presumably led into the cellar. Coal dust on the ground infront of it revealed the purpose to which this hole was put. Itwas closed with a heavy iron door which discouraged any chance ofgetting in that way. I've got to find the cellar stairs inside,Fin told himself.
Back in the dining-room with Daisy, he affected to shiver."Gosh! it's cold in here!" He glanced at the fireplace. "Is thereany wood to make a fire?"
"Please, no," murmured Daisy, imploringly. "Please gonow."
Fin ignored her plea. "I'll fetch it," he said, moving towardthe pantry door.
Daisy gasped at his temerity. "Let Mike... let Mike!..." shestammered in terror.
"Oh, I don't mind," said Fin, affecting a loud cheerfulness.Privately he winked at Daisy. "Just watch me," he whispered."It's wonderful what a little gall will do."
Daisy was too terrified to follow him. She remained in thedining-room.
As he entered the pantry he was just in time to see the whiskof the Slav woman's skirt through the kitchen door. He followed.The kitchen was a squalid room with a heap of unwashed dishes inthe sink, and old clothes flung over the chairs. There were twoother doors in the same wall with the pantry, and one of them,Fin knew, must lead to the cellar stairs. Mike was in the room.He and his wife glowered at Fin, breathing hard, and it was clearthey longed to leap on him like animals and bear him down; butFin's very boldness confused them. "It's cold in the dining-room," he said, with his loud vacant laugh. "Show me where thewood is and I'll make a fire."
The man and the woman hesitated and glanced at each other. Finsaw he had them guessing. Probably he was the first who had everdared to storm Nipperg's castle, and they were uncertain how toact. They were thinking that if it was true he was Daisy'sbrother, Nipperg might order them to propitiate him.
Finally the man bestirred himself. "I'll fetch wood," hegrowled. Taking a heavy, old-fashioned key from his pocket, hemoved toward the middle one of the three doors.
"I'll help you," said Fin, cheerfully.
"Stay here," growled Mike, with a black scowl over hisshoulder.
Fin obeyed, not wishing to push the matter too far all atonce. He moved toward the stove, thrusting his hands in hispockets and whistling between his teeth. "Nice and warm outhere," he said offhand. The woman scowled at the floor.
Mike opened the door and clumped down the stairs beyond. Fin'seyes followed him desirously. How he wanted to have a look atthat cellar! The key was in the door. How could one getpossession of it long enough to have a duplicate made? With aduplicate key he could await his own opportunity for entering.Modeling-wax was what you needed to take an impression. An idealeaped into Fin's brain. Wax? Why not chewing-gum, then? Hismouth was full of it!
His next acts were purely instinctive. He started violently,and turned a scared face towards the pantry door. "Who's that?"he murmured. It worked. The woman glided like a snake into thepantry and on into the dining room. With one hand Fin took thegum out of his mouth and flattened it against the door frame; hehad the key ready in the other. After pressing it into the gum,he returned it softly to the door, and carefully peeled off thegum with its precious imprint. All this was a matter of three orfour seconds. As Fin turned his back on the door Mike started tomount the stairs.
There was a small box of matches on the table. It was notfull. Fin slipped the gum in on top of the matches and droppedthe box in his pocket. When Mike came through the door Fin waslighting a cigarette. The woman entered from the pantry at thesame moment, and gave Fin a furious glance of suspicion. ButFin's face was as bland as a baby's.
Nothing was said. Mike locked the cellar door and put the keyback in his pocket. He carried the wood into the dining-room, Finfollowing, and dropping it on the hearth, retired. Fin knelt downto make a fire, thankful for the diversion that permitted hisfast-beating heart to quiet down. It had been a breathlessmoment. Daisy was gazing at him in a kind of scared wonder.Clearly she thought he was a superman, and at the moment Fin wasrather inclined to agree with her.
He wanted to leave then, since he had got all he could hope toget that day. But having ordered the fire, he felt obliged tostay on for a while and make believe to enjoy it. They pulled uptwo of the uncomfortable dining-chairs and sat down upon them.The pantry door had been left open a crack.
They might hear in the pantry, but they could not see becausethe door opened the wrong way; and it was clear from Daisy'sself-conscious manner that she considered Fin might now evince alittle ardor to make up for all he had made her suffer. Hepretended to be oblivious, and began to tell her the imaginaryadventures of Bill Zell since he had lost touch with his sister.Fin got more fun out of the story than his listener.
"...After that I enlisted in the navy. That's the life for ayoung feller. You don't have to worry about being laid off. A mancan let down for a while in the navy and enjoy hisself withoutworrying about the future. It's a grand bunch in the navy, too.Them fellers ain't on the make, get me? and all being in the sameboat and all, they're friendly, as you might say; they stand byeach other. As for the girls, boy! There's nothing like it! It'salways a case of sail away in a few days, so neither has anystrings on the other. It's wonderful how a girl will let herselfgo with a sailor!..."
When he felt that he could do so without arousing suspicion inthe pantry, Fin got up to go. Out in the hall there was a momentor two when they were free from observation, and Daisy partlybroke down.
"Take me with you," she begged, clinging to Fin. "If Nippergcomes home tonight I haven't the nerve to face him!"
"Steady, kid!" said Fin. "I haven't made any arrangements yet.Just give me a day or two!"
"But Mike will tell him a story that will drive him wild! Ican't face it!"
"Listen, kid. You're foolish to let Mike get away withanything like that. I'll give you something on Mike that willmake him eat out of your hand!"
She looked her startled question.
"Listen," Fin went on. "As soon as I'm gone you have a talkwith Mike. See? Start friendly. Tell him you lead a dog's lifehere, and if he said anything to Nipperg that would stop mycoming any more it would be just too bad. See?"
"What does Mike care?" she muttered.
"Wait a minute!... When he turns ugly you just mentioncasually that if he makes any trouble for you, you'll have totell Nipperg about the big fellow that comes to seehimevery night just after dark."
"What!" gasped Daisy.
"Tell Mike you don't want him to lie about me," Fin went on."He'll have to tell Nipperg I was here, because Paul saw me. Butlet him tell it in such a way it won't make trouble. He can saythat I looked like you. See?"
"But Nipperg will see for himself..."
"Bless your heart, kiddo, I'm not going to let Nipperg see me.I'll call afternoons... Now get this straight: A great big manwho came with a spade over his shoulder. You can say you werestanding out on the veranda night before last and you saw himcome up from the direction of the railway tracks. And last nightyou heard his voice behind the kitchen. A kind of a gobblingvoice."
"But who is it?" faltered Daisy. "And what do you know aboutit?"
Fin reflected that Daisy was committed too far to let him downnow. So he coolly refused to answer her questions. "Can't tellyou now, kid. Just wait till I get you out of this dump. You trythis on with Mike, and it will work like a charm. I'm notsupposed to know anything about it. See?"
"But... but..." stammered Daisy.
Fin asked for the private telephone number. She gave it to himin a daze.
"I'll call you up at three tomorrow," said Fin. "Stick aroundwhere you can hear the bell... So long, kid!"
AT the appointed hour next day Fin called upNipperg's house from a pay station in Riverdale. In his variouspockets he had a false key for the cellar door; also a short-handled hammer, a couple of cold chisels, and a flashlight. Hehad no settled plan in his mind, but trusted to luck to providehim with an opportunity to use his tools.
Mr. Mappin had said that the mysterious hole into the cellarcovered with a wire mesh was undoubtedly the air inlet to thefurnace. All old-fashioned hot-air furnaces had one, he said, andthey were always placed on the west or north side of the housewhere the cold winter winds came from. This one faced north. Butwhen Fin suggested it might make a good way of entering thecellar, Mr. Mappin had shaken his head.
"You could easily cut out the wire mesh with a proper tool,"he said, "but inside you'd find yourself in a big galvanized pipeleading to the base of the furnace. You couldn't cut or break outof that without raising a racket that would arouse the wholehouse."
So Fin had determined to concentrate on the cellar stairs.
Daisy's frightened voice came over the wire. "Hello!" criedFin. "How's every li'l' thing today?"
"All right," she faltered.
"Was Nipperg home last night?"
"Yes."
"Had you told Mike what I said to tell him?"
"Yes."
"Did it work all right?"
"Yes."
"Did Nipperg cut up rough over my call yesterday?"
"Not so much," she said, hesitatingly. Fin guessed that theSlav woman was within hearing of the phone.
"Well, did he leave this morning at the usual time?"
"Yes."
"He isn't there now?"
"No."
"All right. Then I'll fluff down to see you."
"Oh!" breathed Daisy in a voice that expressed both terror andlonging.
Fin had no intention of entering into an argument on thesubject, so he hung up.
Five minutes later he was ringing the bell. As soon as thedoor opened he perceived that there was a great change in theatmosphere today. Nastya was trying to smile at him in a friendlyfashion. Her sullen features found a good deal of difficulty inaccommodating themselves to it. "Good day," she said. "Comein."
"Hello, Nastya!" he cried, in Bill Zell's breezy style. "Howsagirl! Buttered side up today, eh? It suits you!" In the dining-room there was actually a good fire burning. "Hello, sis!" hecried. "Gee! that's a swell rig you got on! Ain't it nice to havea family to visit."
Daisy smiled bleakly.
Nastya passed through the dining-room into the pantry andclosed the door behind her. This was just a little too good to betrue, and Fin's instincts took alarm. He felt he ought to have alook at what these people were doing in the kitchen, and hecoolly opened the door and followed Nastya. She was sayingsomething to Mike in their own tongue. Both faces were convulsedwith rage and fear. Mike made an attempt to smooth his featuresout and to grin. "Good day! Good day!" he said, nodding his headrapidly. But his little pig eyes were sharp with hatred.
"I just wanted to give you a cigar I brought," said Fin,producing it. "Here, smoke up!"
Mike accepted it, nodding and grinning.
On his way back through the pantry Fin thought: I've thrown ascare into them, all right. But there's nothing so dangerous as athoroughly scared man. Watch out for a bullet in the back!
Daisy was less frightened than on the day before, but herbrows were stormy, and Fin needed no perspicacity to see that hehad a difficult interview before him. However, he was confidentof his ability to handle Daisy. He closed the pantry door behindhim and also the door into the hall on the pretext of keeping theheat in the room. Thus they were safe from spies for themoment.
"Nipperg seemed to take it all right?" he said.
"So-so," she, said sulkily. "Mike didn't make any trouble, butNipperg was suspicious, anyhow. He would be... He said if youcame again today to ask you to stay to dinner," she added, with asour smile. "So he could meet you."
"That was brotherly," said Fin, grinning, "It's too bad I gotanother engagement."
There was a silence, and then she burst out, bitterly: "Whatdo you come here for, anyway? It isn't me you're after."
Fin took a look at her angry face and decided that franknesswas his best line. "Well, that's right," he said, coolly. "But atthat, I didn't lie to you. Everything I said to you goes. See?"She was disconcerted by this attitude. "What do you mean bythat?" she demanded.
"I promised you I'd get you out of this dump," said Fin, "andI stand by that."
"I don't know that I want to go now," she retorted, stormily."Anyhow, Nipperg is crazy about me in his own way. That'ssomething."
"Sure," said Fin, "and he'll cut your throat in the end.That's his way!"
The angry woman turned pale.
Fin relentlessly pursued his advantage. "If he don't land youbehind the bars first," he added, grimly.
"Behind the bars!" she faltered.
"Well, murder is his line, isn't it?" he said. "I reckon youknow what an accessory is."
She stared at him in speechless terror.
"He has already forced you to kidnap a girl," Fin went on,"and it was only by the grace of God that he didn't kill her herein this room before your eyes."
Daisy began to shake. "You... you know that, too?" shegasped.
"Sure I know it," said Fin. "And a lot more besides."
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"I haven't got time to go into that now," said Fin. "You stickby me and I'll stick by you."
"What do you want here?"
"I want to get into the cellar," he said. "And you've got tohelp me."
Daisy looked more frightened than before. "O my God! What isdown there?" she gasped, staring at the floor as if she expectedthe horror to rise through it. "What is the matter with thishouse? Nipperg has already dug the cellar from end to end!"
"Steady!" whispered Fin with an uneasy glance toward thepantry door. An ill-timed fit of hysteria would wreck everything.He took her hand. "Get a grip on yourself, kid," he said,sympathetically. "God knows it's natural you should feel thatway! Come over here and sit in front of the fire. I'm your friendand I'm on the level. Look at me and you'll see." Slowly sheraised her tormented eyes to his. What she read there reassuredher. She became calmer.
As on the day before, they sat down on two stiff chairs beforethe fire. The untidy remains of Daisy's lunch still lay on thetable behind them. Outside, a boisterous east wind, the precursorof rain, was threshing among the branches and rattling the oldwindowpanes.
"Oh, I wish it would stop blowing!" murmured Daisy, nervously."Often I wish I was dead!"
"I was your friend before I ever saw you," said Fin,encouragingly. "Because you were kind to that girl. It was partlyowing to you that she escaped."
"You know her, then?" said Daisy, surprised.
"Why, sure!" said Fin. "What did you think?"
"I don't know what's behind it all," she said, helplessly. Thetears began to roll silently down her cheeks.
Fin was moved by a genuine pity for the weak, pretty woman whocould resist no outside influence, either bad or good. Any manwho might get hold of Daisy could make her do whatever hecommanded, he reflected. Was that her fault?
"It's going to be all right," he said, soothingly. "Just assoon as I get what I'm after, I'll take you away from here...'Most any place else would be an improvement on this," he added,grinning and glancing around the dismal, dirty room. "But as amatter of fact, if you do the right thing you're going to findpowerful friends. We'll put you where Nipperg can never find you,even if he's free to look. We'll find you a job if you want towork, and in any case you'll be..."
Fin in his efforts to soothe Daisy had his shoulder turnedtoward the pantry door. Daisy was facing it. He got his firstwarning from her face. A choked cry escaped her. Fin sprang up,and his hand instinctively closed on the back of his chair for aweapon. He had no time to draw his gun.
The pantry door had opened without a sound, and he saw Nippergin the act of snaking his body around the frame, his stainedfangs showing and his green eyes blazing with hate. He was moredeadly than a black leopard crouched to spring. He had a gun inhis hand.
Fin slung the chair and Nipperg fired. The chair saved Fin bya hair's-breadth. It collided with Nipperg as he pulled thetrigger and his bullet ploughed into the floor. Nipperg sprawled,helplessly entangled with the chair. Fin could have shot himthen, but he had not the instinct of a killer. His first thoughtwas of escape, his second of Daisy. If he left her behind,Nipperg would certainly kill her.
Seizing her wrist, he yanked her toward the other door. As hebanged it open Nipperg shot from the floor. They got out of rangein the nick of time. The gross figure of Mike was crouchingbetween them and the front door, his features fixed in an inhumangrin. He was not armed, but he had the strength of an ox. Fin sawthat even if he shot him, Nipperg would be upon them before hecould get the heavy door open. So he pulled Daisy to the stairs.They flew up on wings. As they rounded the landing Nipperg shotfrom the dining-room door. His bullet went through one of thegreen panes with a musical tinkle. They ran for Daisy's bedroom.Fin slammed the door shut, and thankfully turned the key.
"Oh!" gasped Daisy. "We're trapped in here!"
Fin pointed to the end window with a hardy grin. His blood wasracing. "Open it quietly," he said. "Get a hat and coat." Heremained listening at the door.
Presently Nipperg rattled it like a madman, and Fin steppedaround the frame. "Bring up the ax!" Nipperg yelled down to Mike."I have them safe."
"Oh, come on, come on!" whispered Daisy from the open window,sick with terror.
"Wait till we get Mike up on this floor," whispered Fin.
He presently heard him lumbering up the stairs. "Nipperg!"cried Fin. "Can you hear me? Watch that man! He's sold you out toGeneral Diamond. The two of them are digging under the kitchenfloor every night!"
He heard a snarl like an animal on the other side of the door,then Mike's voice roaring: "It's a lie! a lie! He's trying totrick you!"
Fin did not wait for the outcome of this argument, but ran forthe window. Daisy had dressed herself in hat and coat. There wasno time to take more. They slid down the steep part of the roofto the flatter roof of the porch. Fin could hear the dull blowsof the ax on the bedroom door. Paul ran out of the garage, butFin drew his gun, whereupon Paul ran back and was not seen again.It was an easy matter to slide down the porch posts to theground. Inside the kitchen, Nastya set up a squall.
"There they go! There they go!"
The dull blows from inside the house ceased. Fin seizedDaisy's wrist and ran with all his might for the tangled wall ofgreen at its nearest point. Putting up an arm to shield his face,he plunged into it regardless, dragging Daisy after him.Scratches and tears were nothing to them at such a moment. Finknew that the boundary of Nipperg's place was not far on thisside, perhaps two hundred feet. Soon they were scrambling over alow stone wall. On the other side was a well-kept property; abelt of trees, a sloping lawn.
In the middle of the lawn stood a handsome new house. No onewas in sight about it. Fin debated whether he dared apply at thehouse for refuge, but decided against it. It would take too longto explain their predicament. He ran diagonally up the lawntoward the entrance gates, pulling Daisy. His heart sank when hegot out in the street and looked up and down. Not a soul insight; not a car.
Straight ahead of them a street ran on up the hill for two orthree hundred yards and dipped down on the other side. Down atthe bottom of that hill lay the busy principal street ofKingsbridge and safety. They ran on with pounding hearts.
"You're doing fine!" Fin said to Daisy, grinning. "It's nocinch to run uphill!"
As they rounded the top of the hill the black sedan turnedinto it at the bottom. Paul was driving it; Nipperg inside. Fingrunted with discouragement. All around were fine houses standingin their own grounds, but scarcely anybody in view. Where couldthey apply for shelter from a madman's bullets? There was a carparked across the street, but it was pointing the wrong way.
"We'll have to take cover and shoot it out," he muttered.
Just at that moment a taxicab turned in front of them and drewup at the curb. A man and woman were coming down the walk fromone of the houses to take it. The two couples arrived at the cabsimultaneously. Fin acting from blind instinct, violentlyshouldered the man out of the way, pitched Daisy through the opendoor, and climbed after her. He pressed the muzzle of his gunagainst the chauffeur's ribs.
"Step on it, kid," he said, hoarsely. "My finger istrembling!"
The chauffeur laughed. He was that type. "'S all right withme, boss," he said, and the car leaped down hill.
"Hey! Hey!" cried the man on the sidewalk in an outragedvoice. But nobody regarded him.
Fin could see the grin in the back of the chauffeur's cheek,and his heart warmed toward that hard guy. "You won't lose bythis, fellow," he said. "I'll pay the meter, and a damn goodbonus besides, if you can keep ahead of that black car behindus."
"Okay," said the chauffeur, coolly. "Don't let your heads showin the back window."
"He won't shoot if we can get where there are plenty ofpeople," said Fin.
They catapulted down the steep hill. Daisy fell over againstFin in a faint. He callously propped her up in her own corner sohe could have his arms free. As they neared the bottom of thehill he said:
"Turn downtown. The thicker the better."
The taxi turned the corner into Broadway, just escaping acapsize and no more. They made the first traffic light by a hair,and bowled over the Harlem River bridge. Evidently the driverknew exactly what his car would do. Fin congratulated himself.The Slav could hardly be so good a driver. Looking back throughthe window, Fin saw that the black car had taken a chance and runby the red light. They had gained nothing yet. Daisy returned toher senses and began to cry helplessly.
"Buck up! Buck up!" said Fin. "There are plenty of cars aroundus. Nipperg will never dare use a gun here." Approaching theintersection of Dyckman Street, they saw that the light was aboutto turn against them. "Shall I run by it?" asked thechauffeur.
"No," said Fin. "This is as good a place as any to see whathe'll do."
They stopped. Looking back, Fin saw that the black sedan wasthe third car behind them. As soon as it stopped Nipperg jumpedout. Fin drew his gun, but Nipperg was ostentatiously showingempty hands. His ugly, convulsed face appeared at the window.With scarcely a glance at Fin's gun, he addressed himself toDaisy.
"Come out of that!" he snarled. "You're my wife. You can't getaway from me."
Daisy's eyes were closed. She moaned in an extremity ofterror.
"What do you say, kid?' Fin asked her, grimly. "It's up toyou!"
There was a terrific silence in the taxi. People in thesurrounding cars were staring curiously at the scene. Fin heldhis gun too low for them to see it. Finally the taxidriversaid:
"Light's turning, boss."
"Quick!" said Fin. "Do you want to get out?"
"No," whispered Daisy.
"Drive on," said Fin.
It was the critical moment. Nipperg hesitated, and lookedaround at the press of cars. His face became inhuman with balkedrage. They started to move. "I'll get you!" snarled Nipperg. Whenhis own car moved up he swung himself on the running-board. Daisywas at the point of collapse.
They sped on downtown; Washington Heights, Manhattanville,Morningside, Central Park. Fin chose this crookeder route, hopingby some chance to shake off the following car. But luck refusedto favor them. As they approached the center of the city theblack sedan was still clinging like a dog at their heels. It wasthe most crowded hour of the afternoon.
Then Fin's thoughts took a new turn. Nipperg had chosen tofollow Daisy instead of stopping to guard his place. When it cameto the test there was something human in this madman. All right!It was all to Fin's advantage. He guessed that Mike and Nastyawould never dare to face Nipperg's return with that incriminatinghole under the kitchen. Hence the house would be unguarded atthis moment. Gosh! if I could only get back ahead of Nipperg!thought Fin. If I could only get back!
As they ran out of the Park their chauffeur said, "I'll beable to shake them in the traffic all right."
"Don't try it," said Fin, brusquely. "I got a better idea now.Lead him into the side streets in the Grand Central districtwhere traffic is all piled up now. This is his own trick I'mtrying to turn against him. I want to slip out without his seeingme, and let him go on following you and the girl."
The chauffeur glanced around in his surprise. "Hell! Ain't yourunnin' away with the girl?" he said. "I don't get this."
"Not exactly," said Fin, grinning. "I can't tell you the wholestory now. You're all right, anyhow. I'm grateful to you."
"Oh, that's all right," said the chauffeur. "I liked your facebetter'n hisn."
"Listen," said Fin. "You want to keep this guy in the blackcar guessing as long as you can. I don't care how long you drivearound. I'm good for it. But if you happen to lose him, or if hefinds out the trick and gives up the chase, then you drive thegirl to the Vandermeer Hotel. She has the money to pay you."
"Okay, boss."
Fin gave Daisy half his roll.
"Oh, don't leave me!" she whimpered. "Listen, Kid," he saidpatiently. "This is easy! You go to the Vandermeer and engage aroom. You'll be as safe there as in a castle. Nipperg couldn'tpull anything in a joint like that. There's a telephoneswitchboard and bellboys in every corridor. Register as MissDaisy Zell. As soon as you get in your room call up my friend Mr.Mappin, and tell him everything that has happened. He'll tell youwhat to do. I'll call you up myself when I can get to a phone."He wrote down the telephone number.
They had to turn many a corner back and forth across townbefore Fin saw the opportunity he was looking for. It came inWest Forty-third Street, which was filled with cars and trucksfrom curb to curb. They crawled through at a snail's pace, oftenstopped by a block ahead. The black sedan was four or five carsbehind them. During one such stoppage Fin saw that the viewbehind was blocked by a big express truck delivering a load ofgoods at the curb. Opposite the taxi door was the rear entranceto a big department store.
He opened the door, and pressing Daisy's hand, made it in sixjumps. Since he could not see Nipperg, he was pretty sure Nippergcould not see him. The procession of cars moved on again. Hewaited inside the store far enough back not to be seen. Presentlythe black sedan passed by, Nipperg sitting beside Paul now,writhing with impatience and squinting ahead. He had notdiscovered the trick.
After he had gone by, Fin ran in the other direction for GrandCentral station. At this hour there were frequent suburbantrains. If he had the luck to catch an express for Riverdale, hewould get there half an hour before Nipperg, even supposing hestarted right back. Fin was a wild-looking figure, hatless andscratched from the thorns; but it was nothing to him how he wasstared at so nobody tried to stop him. He still had key, hammer,cold chisels, and flashlight in his various pockets.
ACCORDING to Fin's theory, Mike and Nastya wouldhave decamped the instant after Nipperg left. Not knowing howsoon their master might be back, they had probably slid down theravine and escaped by the railway tracks. He could not be sure ofthis; however, he boldly entered the place by the main gate. Assoon as he was out of sight of the street he took out hisgun.
Standing at the edge of the lawn, gun in hand, he surveyed thehouse window by window. It showed no sign of life. He hailed thesilence. No face appeared anywhere. Keeping close to the trees,he moved first to the right, then to the left until he could seecompletely around the house. Nothing showed. The garage was openand empty.
Finally he ventured to try the kitchen door. Finding itunlocked, he went in. The moment he saw the kitchen he knew theyhad gone. There was a heap of their belongings—orNipperg's—on the floor, and a trail of dropped articlesthrough the dining-room. Obviously they had snatched up what theycould, and had fled. A deathlike silence held the house in itsspell.
Hesitating no longer, Fin unlocked the cellar door. He stoodon the top step and locked it behind him, turning the key so thatit could not be pushed out by another key. Switching on hislight, he descended the stairs. That cellar was an obscene spot.The heavy air pressed on the lungs, suggesting imaginary horrors.It smelled of dead earth which had never known the sun. The floorhad been dug up from end to end and the dirt heaped anywhere,making it look like a little rifled graveyard, or a battlefieldwrecked by miniature shells.
It extended under the entire house excepting the kitchen. Onceit had had a cement floor which had been taken up bit by bit andheaped down at the far end. With no power available but the humanarm, Fin pictured the immense labor involved. And all fornothing.
The foundation walls were of rough field stone, evidently verythick. Once they had been kept whitewashed, but no fresh coat hadbeen applied in many years, and most of it had flaked off. On hisleft as he stood at the foot of the stairs was a coal-bin partlyfilled; on his right the old-fashioned furnace with its immensecold-air pipe leading from the base up to the opening that Finhad marked outside, and a whole crop of smaller heating fluesspringing from its head like the tentacles of an octopus andleading in every direction to the different rooms.
The furnace was Fin's goal. It was built in a shallow pit soclose to the foundation wall that amid the mess of pipesspringing from it he found it difficult to worm his body behindit. So much the likelier hiding-place, he thought. The baseactually touched the wall, consequently there was nothing"behind" it but the wall, and the hiding place must be there.
With his light he went over the stones inch by inch. After allthese years there was nothing to indicate they had ever beendisturbed. With his hammer he tapped them one after another,listening carefully. None gave off a hollow sound. Finally heattacked the mortar with his chisel. Reflecting that a manworking there would likely choose a spot about the level of hiseyes, he started at the top. Cement had been mixed with themortar, he discovered, and it was almost as hard as the stoneitself. His heart sunk. It would be a couple of hours' job toloosen even one stone.
However, he kept on trying the mortar one place after another.Finally at a tap of the hammer his chisel sank in half an inchand the loose sand trickled down. Fin's heart set up a thickbeating that made his throat tight. Exploring with his chisel, hefound that the mortar surrounding one big stone in the center ofthe space behind the furnace was of a softer sort, everywhereelse hard.
Fin fell to sweating and trembling. He had been through somuch! But the hammer and the chisel never stopped, and acontinuous cascade of loosened mortar rattled down on the hollowbase of the cold air pipe on which he was standing. Soon at a tapof the hammer the chisel sank in up to its head. There was ahollow space behind the stone. He had to stop for a moment towipe his face and get a grip on himself.
In a short while he had the stone loosened in its place, butcould not yet get a purchase on it to draw it out. Suddenly hisarm was arrested by a sound from above. The front door bangedopen and two pairs of footsteps strode into the house,reverberating loudly on the floor overhead. He heard Nipperg'svoice speaking angrily in his own tongue. Fin had become soabsorbed in what he was doing, he had completely forgotten thedanger from this source. His first feeling was one of grindinganger. Five minutes more would have been enough! It seemed as ifchance were deliberately sporting with him. Silently andhelplessly he cursed his luck.
Overhead, Nipperg was shouting for Mike and Nastya. He cameout into the kitchen; he returned and went upstairs. Paul waswaiting in the hall. Fin could no doubt have escaped from thecellar at that moment; but with success all but in his grasp hesimply could not leave the place. Any risk was preferable tothat. There was no reason why Nipperg should come down cellar atthat moment, he told himself, and he could keep tab on him by thesound of his footsteps. If he watched his chance he could escapelater. It was dark by this time. It was always easier to get outof a house than to get in.
Nipperg, cursing his treacherous servants, came out into thekitchen again, followed by Paul, and left the house. The backdoor slammed. Taking off his coat, Fin spread it under his feetto deaden the sound of the falling mortar, and softly set to workonce more.
In a few minutes he found he was able to work the loosenedstone out of its place. Drop-ping hammer and chisel in hispocket, he laid the stone on the ground to one side. He cast hislight into the hole with a trembling hand. Suppose, after all,there was nothing there. But it revealed a little iron box ofantique design neatly fitted into its place, and quiet descendedon him. There lay treasure.
Taking it out and laying it on the ground in front of thefurnace, he knelt down to examine it. A little iron chest aboutnine inches square, deeply rusted but solid still. He did notneed to be told that it was of immense age. It was cunninglywrought of thin strips of iron woven together basket fashion, thecorners heavily reinforced. A medieval treasure chest inminiature. It locked with a key, but the key was not in the hole.Fin did not trouble about that. His cold chisel would do thetrick.
While he was turning it over, he was startled to hearNipperg's furious voice apparently issuing from the furnace. Aninstant later he realized that it was coming down the cold-airpipe. Nipperg was outside. He had discovered the excavation underthe kitchen and he was mad with rage. Fin put on his coat, notknowing when he might have to make a dash for it.
Nipperg stormed into the kitchen, cursing alternately inEnglish and in his own tongue. Paul was trying to soothe him.Suddenly he rattled the cellar door with the greatest violence."Damn him! he's taken the key!" he yelled.
And then Fin heard the words that caused his heart to standstill. "By God! the key's inside! There's somebody downthere!"
There was a silence, then Paul's scared voice saying: "It'snot Mike. Mike has gone and taken his things."
Fin's backbone stiffened. After all, he thought, they can onlycome down the stairs one at a time and the light will be behindthem. I have six bullets in my gun. He waited at the foot of thestairs, gun in hand, and the little chest pressed against hisribs.
One of the panels of the door was split with a crash. Nipperghad evidently driven his heel through it. A stream of savagevituperation poured down.
"Look out!" yelled Paul. "He'll shoot... You don't know howmany there are!"
Nipperg quieted down. "I'll fix them!" he said, with a maniaclaugh. "Watch that door and shoot the man who opens it!"
He ran through the house. Fin heard him enter the locked roomat the foot of the stairs. In a few seconds he was back,laughing.
A frightful cry escaped from Paul. "My God! What are you goingto do!"
"Quiet, you fool!" snarled Nipperg. "I'm not going to blow thehouse up. It's only gas."
At the same moment a small hard object was pushed through thehole and came bumping down the steps.
"Stop up the hole with paper," said Nipperg. Fin heard thething hissing on the ground. All his blood seemed to turn towater. To be suffocated like a rat in its hole! His head whirledaround. He dropped his gun and struggled to get the flashlightout to find the thing. But it caught in his pocket. He retreatedto the farthest side of the cellar, sobbing for breath. Alreadyhe felt himself choking.
The thing did not explode. It only fizzed out, rolling thisway and that on the earth. Fin leaned against the wall with thesweat running down his face, looking at death in the dark. Butwhen he caught, or imagined that he caught the first deadly whiffin his nostrils, the blind instinct of self-preservation leapedinto play. Air was his need. Dropping the iron box, he flung hisarms around the big galvanized pipe and yanked at it madly. As hefelt it give, he yelled to drown other sounds:
"Let me out! Let me out!"
No doubt Nipperg laughed heartily.
The pipe parted at a joint and the middle section came away inFin's arms. He laid it on the ground. The upper part was firmlyfastened and braced. He dived into it and scrambled through,working knees and elbows until his face pressed against the wiremesh at the top. Ah! how sweet the air of Heaven tasted in hislungs!
His panic passed away. He managed to get out hammer andchisel, and spreading his knees to keep from slipping back, cutthe wire with light swift strokes. It yielded easily to thechisel. He cut around three sides and pressed it up out of hisway. As he was about to drag himself through the hole heremembered the iron box.
It took nerve to return to that deathly hole. He hesitated,trying to work himself up to it. Finally he filled his lungs andlet himself slide. Holding his breath, he searched franticallyaround the floor with his hands. They touched cold iron. Hethrust the box inside his buttoned coat. He had to let the gungo. Not until head and shoulders were thrust far up the pipe didhe dare to breathe again. A minute later he was lying on theground outside in an ecstasy of relief and thankfulness. Life!Life! Life! Until that moment he had never known how precious itwas.
It was quite dark by this time. When he got up he saw a lightin the kitchen window, and could not forbear taking a glanceinside before he turned away. The hideous Nipperg was watchingthe cellar door like a cat at a mouse hole. The smashed panel wasstuffed with newspaper, and Paul on his knees was pressing stripsof paper into the crack all round with the blade of a knife.
Fin gave them his blessing so to speak, and ran down the oldgarden path with a thankful heart. As he slid down the side ofthe ravine he realized that he was shaking in every limb andactually babbling to himself in the reaction that had overtakenhim. "A damn close shave! A damn close shave, old fellow!"Laughing weakly, he sat down for a moment to pull himselftogether.
Climbing to the railway tracks, he turned toward the Riverdalestation, a furlong distant. A fluttering newspaper in the ditchgave him a wrapping for his precious iron box. As he came withinradius of the station lights he realized that he was covered withdirt and blood. What did it matter so long as he had his prize?People are quick to stare at anything that departs from thenormal; fortunately, they are less quick to interfere.
A train came in. It was bound in the wrong direction, but hegot on. Anything to put distance between him and that place. Hegot out at Yonkers and learned on the other side of the tracksthat there would be an express for Grand Central in five minutes.He called up Mr. Mappin while he waited.
"Well, I've got it," he said, in a voice that tried to beoffhand, but was choking with excitement.
"Got what?" came the startled question back.
"I don't know what it is because it's locked up in an ironbox."
"Where are you?"
"Yonkers... Listen, Chief, if you were to give the police aquick tip now they might nab Nipperg in his own house. He'strying to asphyxiate me in the cellar."
"What?"
"Oh, I squeezed out on him," said Fin, chuckling.
"I'll do that," said Mr. Mappin.
"But listen," Fin went on. "If he slips through their fingers,Mariula ought not to be allowed to appear tonight. The man willbe maddened by disappointment. He might..."
"Quite," said Mr. Mappin. "That occurred to me as soon asDaisy told me her story. So I went over to Hoboken and gotMariula. She is here with me in the apartment."
"Thank God!" said Fin. "Where's Daisy now?"
"I put her on a train for Chicago at her own desire," said Mr.Mappin. "Friends of mine there will take care of her for thepresent."
"Here comes my train," said Fin. "Home in half an hour."
That was a dramatic homecoming. When Fin's key turned in thelatch, Mariula, Mr. Mappin, even Jermyn came running to the door.Mariula's face of joy turned to dismay when she looked athim.
"Oh, Fishy!" she cried, clasping her hands. "What have youbeen through?"
"Just a pipe," he said, airily. "I dusted it out for the firsttime in fifty years or so!"
"Don't joke! Are you hurt?"
"Hurt!" he cried. "I'm the livest man in New York! I'm bornanew. I'm just an hour old!"
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind now. Look what I've got!" He held out his uncouthpackage in its newspaper.
"Bring it in here!" cried Mr. Mappin, leading the way into thedining-room with shining spectacles. "Put it on the table wherewe can all see it."
Fin put it down and the newspaper fell away, revealing therusty little treasure chest, ancient and secret-looking. Itbrought the dim past into that elegant room; it belonged to aruder and more exciting world than ours. A cry of astonishmentwent around the table, and Fin was repaid for all he had beenthrough.
"Oh!" said Mariula. "How quaint! It looks a thousand yearsold!"
"About half that," said Mr. Mappin, with a collector'senthusiasm. "Fifteenth-century work. A perfect miniature! It's amuseum piece!"
Fin produced his hammer and chisel. "Sure," he said, dryly,"but let's see what's inside it."
"The lock is probably unique," protested Mr. Mappin. "What apity to smash it!"
"Where would we get a modern locksmith to open it?" saidFin.
"You're right," said Mr. Mappin. "Go ahead."
Fin sat down and took the little chest between his knees,while the others looked on in strained suspense. His littlehammer was obviously inadequate, and Jermyn fetched him a heavierone from the kitchen. It was only a sort of toy chest, and adozen strokes loosened the cover. Fin put it back on thetable.
"Open it," he said to Mariula. "It's yours!"
She put her hand out, almost afraid to look, and slowly liftedthe cover. Inside they saw a bag made of antique crimson velvetmuch stained by mold. Upon it lay a white envelope, likewisewarped and stained by the damp. It bore no superscription.Mariula hesitated.
"Open it! Open it!" urged Mr. Mappin. "It is certainly foryou."
Mariula's slim fingers trembled. The envelope contained adouble sheet of notepaper folded once. Owing to its outerprotection, it was in a better state of preservation. She readit, starry-eyed with excitement. "It is from my father," shemurmured. Lifted quite out of herself, she pressed the paper toher lips. "I do not quite understand it," she said, passing it toMr. Mappin.
"This is your father's testament," he said, gravely, afterreading. "Don't you see, it establishes your identity beyond allquestion." He passed it to Fin.
There were some curious marks at the top, followed by severallines of writing in a distinguished hand, and signatures. Finread:
Above are the fingerprints of my infantdaughter Mariula. She is my only child and heir.
ConstantineConstantinovich.
Witnessed by:
OlgaMaria
Lina Maximova
Meanwhile Mariula was fumbling with the cord that drew theneck of the velvet bag. When it refused to yield she lifted thebag clear of the little chest. In so doing the ancient fabricparted and a golden crown rang on the dining-table.
They fell back with cries almost of fear, and stared at it insilence. So much is symbolized for men by thecrown—sovereignty, war, treason andassassination—that their senses reeled. Moreover, thiscrown had a character of its own. A wide band of soft yellow golddecorated with innumerable leaves of thin gold, laurel leavesfolded upon each other all around the circle, it bore noresemblance to the conventional crown with its points and jewels.It was older and simpler than other crowns.
Mr. Mappin was the first to break the silence. "I expectedsomething of the sort," he said, huskily.
"I don't want it!" cried Mariula, rebelliously. As for Fin, hesaid nothing. His heart was heavy.
Finally Mr. Mappin ventured to pick it up. "This is older thanthe casket," he said. "I should say that it dated from the ninthcentury. Notice how strong the Byzantine influence is... Howbeautiful! How beautiful!" he murmured. "Wherever it belongs, itis one of the great treasures of earth!"
"But where did it come from?" cried Fin. "If any such crownhas been lost you ought to have heard of it?"
Mr. Mappin shrugged. "Who could keep track of all the changesand upheavals during the past sixteen years," he said. "More thanone crown has been lost."
"Then we have not yet discovered the secret!" cried Fin.
"Oh, the rest is easy," said Mr. Mappin. "All we have to donow is to advertise our find."
"Advertise it?"
"Surely. Let us call in the reporters and show it to them.Allow them to photograph it. A golden crown a thousand years old!That ought to be news!"
"But if the whole story comes out it will make complications,"said Fin, scowling. "It will give the murderer a chance toescape."
"The whole world will not be big enough to hide him now," saidMr. Mappin, gravely. "However, let us not tell the whole story.It is our secret. We have a right to withhold a part of it forthe moment. Let us show them the crown and refuse to tell wherewe found it. Mystery will increase its news value. The story willbe flashed over all six continents, and within twenty-four hourswe are bound to learn the history of this crown and thecircumstances of its disappearance." He addressed Mariula with asmile. "What do you say, Princess?"
She started, and glanced at him with immense scared eyes. Thena deep flush overspread her delicate face. "You decide," shemurmured.
"Very well. If I call up the newspaper offices at once, we canget it in the morning editions."
THE story of the ancient crown duly appeared inthe morning newspapers with photographs. At the breakfast tableMr. Mappin, Mariula, and Fin passed the different versions fromhand to hand. Mariula's name was not mentioned in connection withthe affair. Mr. Mappin said:
"I expect the police will interest themselves in this. Wecannot refuse to answer their questions. I had better go call onthe Commissioner before he sends for me."
Fin was left to keep the reporters at bay. No furtherinformation was to be given out for the present, and Mariula wasnot to be exhibited.
Two hours later Mr. Mappin returned, bringing word thatNipperg had slipped through the hands of the police the nightbefore. However, they promised an arrest within twenty-fourhours. Mr. Mappin and Fin exchanged a smile. They had becomeaccustomed to this formula during the early days of the NickPeters case. "How about General Diamond?" asked Fin. "Oh, he'sstill at the Madagascar," said Mr. Mappin, dryly. "His conscienceis clear. He is in a rage, I am told, over the loss of histrunks. I have agreed to reimburse the hotel for any damages hemay be able to collect."
The three friends were in the living-room, talking thingsover, when Jermyn entered, looking rather queer.
"What is it?" asked Mr. Mappin.
"General Diamond is calling, sir."
"Well, of all the nerve!" cried Fin.
"But how characteristic!" murmured Mr. Mappin. "Ask him tocome up, Jermyn."
Mariula retired to her own room. "The best way to getinformation out of the General," suggested Mr. Mappin, "is not toappear to require any."
"I'll let you do the fishing," said Fin.
A moment later the hearty slap of the General's feet was heardin the hall. He charged in, gobbling: "Good morning, gentlemen!Good morning! Good morning!" But on this occasion he did notshove out the fat hand. The excessively dry expression of Mr.Mappin's face may have warned him. "So your labors have beencrowned with success!" he went on. "Heartiestcongratulations!"
"Thanks," said Mr. Mappin; and, "Thanks," said Fin,grinning.
"We have really all been working toward the same end," saidthe General, affably. "Unfortunately, the strictest secrecy hadbeen enjoined upon me, and so I was under the necessity ofdeceiving you."
"Oh, don't speak of that now," said Mr. Mappin, with a wave ofthe hand.
There was a polite silence. Each gentleman was waiting for theother to give him a lead. Mr. Mappin had the advantage because hewas on his own ground. He had the air of waiting for the Generalto explain the object of his call.
"Of course you know a great deal more than you gave out to thepress," said the General, jocosely.
"Of course," said Mr. Mappin, matching his roguish smile.
"Why were you so guarded with the press?"
"I don't get you, sir."
"I mean, why did you say nothing about Mariula?"
"Queen Mariula," suggested Mr. Mappin, with delicateemphasis.
The General swallowed hard. "Queen, of course," he said,bowing. "I was not aware that she had assumed the title."
"She has not done so," said Mr. Mappin, equally polite. "Butof course it is hers when she wants it."
"You and I know that, sir," said the General, "but the worldwill require legal proof. The other governments of Europe willhave to be satisfied before extending recognition, and... er...the present incumbent..."
"Your employer?" ventured Mr. Mappin, slyly.
"Yes, my employer will certainly demand proofs of heridentity."
"We have them, sir," said Mr. Mappin, blandly.
"But the girl's father and mother are dead," said the General,spreading out his hands; "her nurse is dead; the nurse's husbandis dead. How can you produce legal proof of her identity?"
"The late King Constantine with admirable foresight inclosedit in the chest with the crown."
"Proof of what nature?" asked the General, eagerly.
"I will produce it at the proper moment," said Mr. Mappin,dryly.
The General's eyes bolted. He was beginning to grow angry."But surely as King Alexander's representative I have a right toknow what it is!"
King Alexander! thought Fin. There's the first lead. Who thehell is Alexander? He ran over in his mind all the crowned headshe knew, but no Alexander was forthcoming.
"Certainly," said Mr. Mappin, with dry politeness, "wheneverit suits you to show your credentials."
The General bit his lip. "A birthmark I presume, or somethinglike that," he said, sarcastically.
"Oh dear, no!" said Mr. Mappin, with an amused smile."Birthmarks are entirely out of date as a means ofidentification."
The General was losing his usual aplomb, and he knew it. Withan effort he recovered a semblance of good-humor. "But why don'tyou bring the Queen forward, sir?" he asked.
"No reason in particular," said Mr. Mappin. "I don't want toproceed too fast, that's all... Why should I bring herforward?"
"When the news of the finding of the crown reaches Kuban therewill be a revolution," said the General, impressively.
Kuban! thought Fin; there was the cat out of the bag! From hisschool days he remembered the little triangular country based onthe Black Sea. Tinted green it always was on the old maps.
Mr. Mappin never changed a hair. "Of course Alexander's regimeis at an end," he said, carelessly, "but why should there be arevolution?" The General turned evasive. "Well, it's not for meto say, sir. The event must speak for itself."
"Quite!" said Mr. Mappin. He refused to be drawn.
"Have you any objection to showing me the crown?" asked theGeneral, presently. "A man is naturally curious to see the thinghe has been searching for so long."
"No objection whatever," said Mr. Mappin. He left theroom.
As soon as he was gone the natural man peeped out. "Where didyou find it, Corveth, hey?" the General asked, with an eagernesshe could not conceal. "There's no harm in telling me, isthere?"
"I guess not," said Fin, grinning. He was not averse toenjoying a little triumph at the fat man's expense. "I found itin Nipperg's cellar." The General's face fell. "But my agentsreported to me that the cellar had been dug up from end toend!"
"So it had. The crown was not buried under the floor, but inthe wall."
"How did you stumble on the spot?"
"I was led to it," said Fin. "The clue was in the seeminglyblank piece of paper we showed you. After you left we discoveredthat when you touched a spark to the pencil dot, the messagewrote itself in fire. Mariula's father must have dabbled inchemistry."
The big man looked pretty sick. In spite of iron self-controlhis eyes rolled painfully. How he would enjoy strangling me!thought Fin. "Yaas, I have heard so," said the General.
Mr. Mappin returned, bearing the crown. The General looked atit in bitter chagrin. He did not offer to take it in his hands."So that's what it's like!" he said.
"Irrespective of its historical significance!" remarked Mr.Mappin, "the mere workmanship is marvelous!"
"Well, it's supposed to have had a heavenly origin," said theGeneral.
"Yes?"
"Don't you know its history?"
"No," said Mr. Mappin, coolly. "Only that it is the crown ofKuban." (And you just told me that, he might have added.)
"It's called the crown of St. Karel. St. Karel was the gazebowho Christianized Kuban a thousand years ago and became theirpatron saint. They say he went up to the top of a mountain topray and when he opened his eyes the crown was lying on theground before him. To this day the peasants will show you theprint of his knees up there. That crown is the holiest thing inKuban. The people believe that the fate of their country is boundup in it."
"'Is' bound up in it?" said Mr. Mappin, quickly. "Then theydon't know it's ever been lost?"
"No," said the General. "Though there have been rumorsflying."
"How could Alexander reign without it?"
The General merely shrugged.
"I suppose he's been putting off his coronation on one pretextor another until he could recover the crown?"
The General said nothing. His failure to answer was answerenough.
Mr. Mappin retired to put the crown away again.
"What's the old fox's next move?" the General muttered toFin.
"I don't know," answered Fin, grinning. "He keeps his owncounsel."
When Mr. Mappin came back the General said, somewhat surlily:"Just the same, you ought to let the world know that Mariula hasbeen found, too."
"Why?" said Mr. Mappin.
"If Alexander is overthrown and there's no other royalclaimant on deck, the Reds will take the opportunity to set up arepublic. That's what happened before."
"There is something in that," said Mr. Mappin, thoughtfully."Well... in an hour or two all necessity for secrecy will be overand we'll give the whole story to the press."
Fin thought: He means he'll give out the story as soon as hefishes it out of you, old fruit!
"In an hour or two?" echoed the General, anxiously.
"Nipperg," murmured Mr. Mappin, meaningly.
"Ah, you want to nab him first, I see."
The old game of fence between these two, thought Fin, with theadvantage, for the moment, on the chief's side.
"If Alexander is eliminated you'll be out of a job, General,"said Mr. Mappin.
The General affected to laugh heartily, but his expression wasfar from a merry one. "Sure! Sure!" he said. "It's the fortune ofwar. Johnny must seek a new master!"
Mr. Mappin neither accepted nor rejected the impliedsuggestion. "I don't understand why King Constantine was obligedto fly from Kuban in 1914," he said. "There were no popularupheavals as early as that. I suppose I read about it at thetime, but I've forgotten."
The General was anxious to propitiate him now. "There was somuch happening in the world then that the affairs of little Kubanpassed unnoticed," he said. "No news got out of the country atall. Kuban came in on the side of the Allies. King Constantinehad just married a Russian princess. Unfortunately, his countrylies adjacent to Turkey, and at the outbreak of war the Turkssimply overran it. It was the Turks, not the Reds, who forcedConstantine to fly. Constantine was a popular monarch. Hisdynasty had ruled Kuban for two hundred years."
"What happened in Kuban after he left?" asked Mr. Mappin.
"As the war went on," the General continued, "the Turks hadall they could do nearer home, and they were gradually forced towithdraw their armies from Kuban. That provided the Reds with anopportunity to seize the government and proclaim a republic. Theynever had any real hold, because the people were monarchist atheart and devoted to the ruling family. But in the absence of theking and his only brother the royalists had no leader. Therepublic only lasted eight or ten months."
"Who overthrew it?"
"The king's brother, Alexander."
"Mariula's uncle," murmured Mr. Mappin. "By this time theBolshevist revolution had taken place in Russia," the Generalwent on, "and the Tsar and his family were no more. However,South Russia, as you may remember, was strongly White in itssympathies. Several powerful White armies were operating there,and Alexander applied to the leaders for aid. The Whites wantedKuban for a base, so they marched in and put Alexander on thethrone as regent-dictator. The Reds, who were cut off from theirnorthern comrades, fell with scarcely a struggle."
"And then followed the White terror," put in Mr. Mappin.
"How did you know that?" asked the General, staring. "Thecensorship..."
"I didn't know it," said Mr. Mappin. "But it always didfollow."
"I'm afraid your sympathies incline toward the Reds, sir,"remarked the General.
"Not at all, sir," returned Mr. Mappin, blandly. "Neither Rednor White. Pink. Please go on."
"Alexander then sent word to his brother in America that theway was clear for his return," resumed the General, "andConstantine started for Kuban, accompanied by the young QueenOlga Maria, who refused to be separated from her husband.Unfortunately, as they crossed the border into Kuban they wereset upon by a party of Red sympathizers and foully murdered. Theactual details have never been established."
"That is not exactly the popular version of what happened, isit?" suggested Mr. Mappin, mildly.
"Oh, I see," said the General, without turning a hair, "youhave heard the monstrous story that it was Alexander himself wholured his brother and sister-in-law back to Kuban and had themmurdered."
"No, I never heard it until now," said Mr. Mappin.
The General looked a little foolish. "Well, that story was setin circulation by the Reds to divert attention from themselves,"he said, hastily. "I can assure you there is not a word of truthin it, sir."
"Still, Alexander did become king as a result of his brother'sdeath," Mr. Mappin pointed out.
"He could not avoid it, sir. The country required a stronghand at the helm!"
"That's what they all say," murmured Mr. Mappin.
"Alexander is a hard man," said the General, enthusiastically."I may even say ruthless. The times demand it. But he is the soulof honor! I would stake my own honor on his!"
Mr. Mappin's spectacles twinkled. "Constantine must have hadsome suspicion of what awaited him," he suggested, "because heleft his two most precious possessions in America—his babyand his crown."
"You should have seen Alexander as I have seen him," said theGeneral, earnestly. "Crushed with grief, sir! Crushed with grief!The anniversary of Constantine's death has been appointed anational day of mourning in Kuban. The whole court goes intoblack. Special services are held in the cathedral, which the kingattends in person, though not otherwise a religious man..."
"Now come, General," said Mr. Mappin, persuasively; "it isagreed that Alexander's goose is cooked. Why bother to stick upfor him any longer. You and I are practical men."
The General executed a rapid right-about-face. "You're right,sir," he said laughing, heartily. "After all, I'm only a plainsoldier of fortune. I worked for Alexander and I got my pay. Iowe him nothing further. Thank God, I'm an American citizen! Idon't have to lose any sleep over Kuban!"
"Bravo!" cried Mr. Mappin, very dryly indeed... "Some timeafter Constantine's murder Nipperg appeared in America," heprompted.
"Yes. Nipperg is an agent of the Reds' central committee,"said the General. "It was rumored in Kuban that Constantine hadcarried the crown of St. Karel out of the country, and had notbrought it back. It was also rumored that Olga Maria had bornehim a child in America. Nipperg was sent over here to find outwhat there was in it. The Reds considered that a child ofConstantine's and the holy crown were greater obstacles to theirsuccess than Alexander."
"And Nipperg was to destroy both if found."
"Certainly. In the beginning he was well supplied with fundsand he was able to buy Constantine's residence when it came intothe market. Latterly the Reds have lost interest in Kuban. Asimple, pastoral people devoted to the monarchical idea, they arenot considered worth bothering about. So Nipperg has been keptpretty short. But he is a perfect fanatic, as you have seen. Heis determined to set up a republic in Kuban if he has to do itsingle-handed. No doubt he sees himself as President. But henever succeeded in finding either the crown or the child."
"And Alexander sent you over?" suggested Mr. Mappin.
"Oh, that was quite recently," said the General. "KingAlexander had had many agents before me. They spent his money anddid nothing. But I produced results. I succeeded in locating thesupposed daughter of Constantine, and in learning that the secretof the crown's hiding-place was said to be contained in anemerald pendant that Nick Peters had hidden. Nipperg found NickPeters through following me, and in his savage fury killed theman and ruined all my work."
"Have you any proof of that?" asked Mr. Mappin.
"No proof I could take into court," said the General. "But thefact is self-evident, isn't it?" Mr. Mappin nodded non-committally. "How did you learn that the emerald contained the secret?" he asked.
"Oh, by a little sleuthing," said the General, vaguely.
"I suggest that you received a hint before you left Kuban,"said Mr. Mappin.
"No, sir!" protested the General, virtuously.
"I suggest that Constantine and Alexander had had a meeting,"persisted Mr. Mappin, "and that Constantine, trusting in hisbrother, had partly revealed the secret—or possibly one ofhis servants betrayed him to Alexander. Who can ever knownow?"
"Impossible!" cried the General.
"Then how did you know that the blank paper would yield itssecret to the touch of a spark?"
"I didn't know it until Corveth told me just now."
"Then how came you to start digging under Nipperg'skitchen?"
The General puffed out his cheeks and blew helplessly. Hiseyes rolled. That voluble man was silenced for the nonce. Fintook a grim satisfaction in the sight.
But the fat blackguard was not yet licked. All his life hiseffrontery had served him, and he called upon it now. He spreadout his hands and hung his head in a touching gesture ofsurrender. "You have me, sir," he said. "You have me! ... I amobliged to confess that I did receive a hint in Kuban. Fact is, Icouldn't bring myself to give Alexander away. The habit ofloyalty is too strong in an old soldier like me."
"Hum!" said Mr. Mappin.
Suddenly the General started as in horror of a thought thathad just come to him. He dramatically struck the back of his handagainst his brow. "My God!" he cried. "You are right! Alexandermust have been privy to the death of Constantine. I see it allnow! I took the King's story at face value. I never paused tothink the matter out. I am a man of action!"
Mr. Mappin's expression was a treat as he listened to this."In case you found the child and the crown," he asked, quietly,"what were your instructions?"
"To bring them back safely," protested the General, piously."I swear it!"
Mr. Mappin said nothing, but only rose and helped himself to afresh cigarette. There was an air of finality about the simpleaction which suggested to Fin that having got all he wanted outof the General, the chief was now ready to show his hand. Theatmosphere of the pleasant room was tense. The General wasanxiously studying Mr. Mappin out of the corner of his eye.
"The damned bloody villain!" he cried. "You have opened myeyes, sir. I won't work for him another hour! I'll cable himinstantly saying that our relations are at an end!" His voicebroke touchingly. "As I told you, sir, my instructions were toguard the child and keep her safe if I was able to prove heridentity. I took it at face value, and that is why, as soon as Iread the story in the papers this morning, I came to offer thelittle queen my homage and my services."
Mr. Mappin still said nothing, and the General's eyes boltedlike those of an animal at bay. As his morale weakened he madethe common mistake of laying it on too thick. "Such a littlequeen!" he gobbled, unctuously. "The situation appeals to a man'stenderest instincts! Use me in whatever capacity you see fit,sir. With my knowledge of Kuban and the Kubanians I can be ofvery real assistance to you..."
A hot anger flared up in Fin. The damned hypocriticalscoundrel! he thought. I can't stand much more of this!
At last Mr. Mappin began speaking. "Well, I think the hardestpart is over, General," he said, with a sort of steelyaffability. "Mariula has the crown, and, as you said yourself,the crown of St. Karel is all-powerful in Kuban. I am really verymuch obliged to you for all the information you have furnished."He paused to let this sink in. "It is good of you to offer toaccompany us to Kuban," he resumed, with deadly quietness; "but Ifear you will be detained in New York by your own affairs."
Fin's heart suddenly began to thump.
The General was panting a little, too. "New York... my ownaffairs!" he echoed. "I don't get you, sir."
Mr. Mappin pressed a bell beside the window frame. When Jermynanswered it he asked, "Have the two gentlemen come?"
"They're waiting in the dining-room, sir."
"Show them in."
The General, with a surprising celerity in one so fat, heavedhimself out of the settee, and, turning, anxiously watched thedoor. The instant the two entered, he recognized them for plain-clothes men and his face turned livid. As they came around one side of the settee to greet Mr. Mappin, he edged away on theother. Seeing clear space before him, he made a dash for thedoor. One of the detectives took two steps to the rear, shot outa foot, and the General came down with a shock that made all Mr.Mappin's ornaments rattle. It was like the collapse of arhinoceros. In a twinkling the two had him handcuffed. Jerkinghim to his feet, they thrust him in a chair.
"What does this mean!" he gobbled, puffing and blowing."Outrage!... Outrage!"
Mr. Mappin said to the detectives: "I promised theCommissioner to deliver the murderer of Nick Peters to you. Therehe is."
"It's a lie!" bellowed the General.
One of the detectives moved closer to him with a hard smile,and he shut up like the closing of a door. In an adventurous lifeit was obviously not his first encounter with the police.
The suddenness of the dénouement caused Fin's head to spin. Hehad believed Nipperg guilty of the murder. He wanted to send up acheer. Up to the last moment he had feared that this slipperyscoundrel might escape them. Fin was not generally vindictive,but he regretted now that electrocution provided such a mercifulend.
"You've got no proof," muttered the General. "General," saidMr. Mappin mildly, "they say that every murderer makes onemistake. How could you hope to escape doing so? You are aremarkably vigorous man in most respects, but your eyes arebeginning to fail, as is customary at our age. You cannot readprint without glasses. You are careless with your glasses and youpossess several pairs. When you flung Nick Peters on his bed andbent over him, you had a pair of glasses in the breast pocket ofthe rough workman's coat you were wearing.
"In the struggle that took place on the bed one of the lenseswas broken, and a small piece of glass dropped down inside ofPeters' clothes. I found it there. You made your mistake in notthrowing away the broken glasses. I found them in the old coatwhen I opened your little leather trunk. When I put the piece Ihad together with the remaining pieces they made a perfectwhole... I have other evidence, but that will do for the moment.You may take him away, gentlemen."
The General had nothing to say. So complete had been hisconfidence in his own cleverness he had no reserve with which tomeet the blow. He broke up before their eyes, and Fin in veryshame looked out of the window. The detectives led him out,sagging and stumbling as if his legs were no longer capable ofsupporting that triumphant paunch.
An hour later word came from the police that an unknown man,presumably the much-wanted Nipperg, had committed suicide byleaping from an upper floor of the Vandermeer Hotel. This was thelast place in town where the police had expected to find him. Inhis pocket there was a newspaper clipping telling of thediscovery of the ancient crown, also the photograph of a woman onwhich was written "Daisy."
The man had approached a telephone operator in an uppercorridor, asking for the room of Miss Daisy Zell. When informedthat Miss Zell had checked out, he refused to leave, but wentfrom room to room, trying the doors. The operator sent for ahouse detective, and upon his approach the stranger had runthrough a room that was being cleaned and had leaped through thewindow, taking the glass with him. Mr. Mappin was asked to cometo the police station to identify the body.
That evening the three friends were sitting in the big living-room, discussing their future plans, when Mr. Mappin wascalled to the telephone. Left alone together, Fin and Mariulabecame miserably self-conscious. The crown of golden laurelleaves lying on the table seemed to have destroyed at one strokethe happy, candid, thoughtless relation that had existed betweenthem from the first. She glanced at him timidly.
"Why do you look so queer?" she murmured. "Reason enough,"muttered Fin.
"What are you thinking about?"
"I was thinking," he said, with a stiff smile, "that five daysago I fell asleep with my head on a queen's shoulder!"
"What of it?" said Mariula, stoutly.
"Well... it makes a fellow feel queer!"
"I won't be a queen," said Mariula, stormily, "if it's goingto change my friends!"
"I reckon we've started something we can't stop now," saidFin, gloomily.
"But even if I was a queen I'd still be me inside, wouldn'tI?"
"Sure! But you wouldn't belong to yourself any more. You wouldalways have to think first before letting yourself go."
"Oh, this is terrible!" cried Mariula.
He laughed briefly at the sight of her dismayed face. "That'sa funny way to take the queen business."
"If I have to be a queen," said Mariula more firmly, "youshall be a nobleman. You shall be the greatest nobleman in mycountry. The one who sets the king or the queen on the throne issupposed to be greatly rewarded. It was always so inhistory."
Fin shook his head. "I can't see it. There is something comicin the idea of a ready-made nobleman nowadays. I haven't got thecrust for it."
"You just have notions about noblemen," said Mariula. "Iexpect they're exactly like anybody else. Look at me. I'm nodifferent. It's just your notions."
"Well, I feel as if I belonged in this low-life country," saidFin, stubbornly.
"Maybe I won't be a queen for long," she said, hopefully. "Thelast remaining thrones are insecure, they say."
But Fin wouldn't have this, either. "Nothing doing!" he said."We'll organize this kingdom and start it right!"
The corners of Mariula's lips turned up. "You do it, Fishy,"she said.
Fin picked up the crown gingerly. "Gosh!" he murmured. "Youread about crowns, and sometimes you see them in glass cases, buta fellow never expects to handle one. Certainly makes you feelqueer. Think of the dozens of royal pates this has rested on!...Excuse me! I didn't mean any disrespect to your forefathers."
"That's all right," said Mariula. "They were no better thananybody else's."
He looked at her somberly. He was thinking that if crowns werestill being worn, he knew of one head beautiful enough to bearone. "Say," he said, diffidently, "let me try it on youonce."
"Oh no," said Mariula, startled. "Not until I am sure I havethe right."
"Just while we are alone here together," coaxed Fin. "Let mebe the first one to see it. No one will know."
"It's too big," said Mariula, weakening.
"I'll soon fix that."
She was wearing a silk scarf knotted on one shoulder. Heuntied it and, twisting it, bound it around her forehead like afillet. He then placed a big renaissance chair against the drawncurtains of old brocade, and seated her there. Standing beforeher, holding the crown high in his two hands, he lowered it uponher bright hair.
"I'm the blooming archbishop," he chuckled. But when he stoodback to observe the effect, the jokes died on his lips. He wasstartled by the fitness of the crown. That little head was madeto bear it. The sight of the pale, fine maiden, her hands on thearms of the chair, her head up, and the consciousness of a prouddestiny in her eyes, suddenly swept him off his base. All at oncehe understood the inner meaning of the old stories of our race.He dropped clumsily on one knee.
"What is it you ought to say?" he mumbled, with a sheepishgrin. Then the words came: "Hail, Majesty!"
Mariula looked at him with a kind of horror. "Oh, Fishydarling, get up!" she murmured, tremulously. "You really frightenme!"
He rose, and she cast herself in his arms most unqueenlike."Fishy, promise me you'll see me through this dreadful time!" shebegged. "Promise me! Promise me!"
"Sure, I'll see you through," he said, scowling. "Who said Iwasn't going to see you through? Who the deuce has got a betterright to see you through than me?"
Her head dropped on his shoulder, and the golden laurel leavesscratched his neck. He plucked off the crown and laid it on thetable behind them. "Buck up, old kid!" he said, patting hershoulder. "We're going to get some sport out of this. Think ofthe fun we'll have razzing the royal show after businesshours."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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