The house of the missing
Date: 2024-05-30T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories; Missing persons -- Fiction; Adventure stories

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Title: The house of the missing

Author: Sinclair Gluck

Release date: May 31, 2024 [eBook #73742]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: A. L. Burt Company, 1922

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/73742

Credits: Brian Raiter

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF THE MISSING ***

The House of the Missing
by

Sinclair Gluck

A. L. Burt Company

New York

Published by arrangement with Dodd, Mead & Company

Copyright, 1922, by The Inter-continental Publishing Corporation of New York

Contents

I | I Acquire a Friend
II | “The Shadow of the Web”
III | “That’s All We Know”
IV | Roving Commissions
V | Our First Clew
VI | The Girl in Gray
VII | The Famous Tea
VIII | Amateur Burglary
IX | The First Skirmish
X | Mrs. Fawcette is Indiscreet
XI | Black Friday
XII | Disaster!
XIII | Our Second Burglary
XIV | What We Found
XV | The Darkest Hour
XVI | The Final Attempt
XVII | Walk into My Parlor
XVIII | When in Rome——
XIX | Fast in the Web
XX | The Room of the Voices
XXI | Beating Back
XXII | Through the Outposts
XXIII | Within the Web
XXIV | The Web Is Torn
XXV | The Emperor
XXVI | The Final Surprise

to

My Sister
whose help and encouragement
brought it to a happy ending
this book is affectionately
dedicated

Chapter I.
I Acquire a Friend

High on the roof of the apartment house, in the darkness, the insatiable, ceaseless murmur of the city came hushed and muted to my ears. I leaned against the parapet, staring out over the glow of clashing lights below and letting the breeze touch my face with its gentle fingers. It had a soothing influence of which I was badly in need that night. For I had come to the end of two months of ceaseless search—and consistent, unvarying failure.

I had not dared to lose faith that somewhere down there, in that brimming human river, still existed the sweetest little sister a fellow ever had. It was possible even that one of the little dots now passing in the street far below knew where she was and what her fate had been. But I, who would have given the aching heart out of my body to find her, could not tell. I could only remember her sweetness; her little wide-eyed glances; her happy, bubbling laughter and her adorable innocence.

Perhaps fate had been envious of our happiness together, for it had played us the cruellest of tricks, wresting my little sister away to God knew what horrors and leaving me with a ceaseless, gnawing grief. My imagination is none too vivid, perhaps, at ordinary times, but during those two months I had had to school it rigidly. A mind that is balked of a great desire, turns on itself like a scorpion. But it did not help my search to picture scenes in which she might be the victim, scenes going on even at that moment and just around the corner perhaps. And madness lay that way, as I had long since had cause to realize.

Looking back, there on the roof, it seemed a weary waste of years since that morning, only two months before, when she came laughing, dancing into my studio to ask her favor. A Mrs. Furneau, whom I knew slightly, had offered to drive her into New York that day, to a luncheon party at the house of some friends and a matinée afterwards. Margaret was just seventeen, with an innocent, slender, childlike beauty that set me nearly crazy in my efforts to transfer it to canvas. She had come home for the summer holidays, and as usual her dainty wishes were my law. This party was to be a “Special treat, please!” So I had let her go.

I gazed down at the darkened city, and for the thousand-and-first time went wearily over the events of that terrible time, seeking for the faintest clew.

The first intimation that I had had of impending tragedy had come from Mrs. Furneau, the woman who had taken Margaret into New York. I had been working hard on a portrait and had hardly missed the child. But about seven o’clock, an hour after she should have been home, the telephone rang and a gasping voice came to me over the long-distance wire: “Is Margaret with you? Did she come home?”

Mrs. Furneau sounded nearly distracted, but I had managed to drag the details out of her at length. They had gone to the luncheon and then to the matinée in a party, she told me. A little after five, they had left the others and started for home in Mrs. Furneau’s car. Then, at 34th Street, Margaret had begged for ten minutes in which to do some shopping in one of the big stores near by. Mrs. Furneau had agreed to wait for her, and had pulled up in front of the store while Margaret got out and ran inside. And that was all!

Mrs. Furneau had waited for nearly half an hour, and then, as she could see that the store was closing for the night, had gone inside to look for her. Not finding her, she had returned to the car. But Margaret had not come out, according to Mrs. Furneau’s chauffeur. So she went back again and searched the nearly empty store thoroughly this time. But she could learn nothing—could find no one who had even seen the child. Margaret had certainly entered the store, for the older woman said she had watched her graceful figure until it passed through the revolving doors. But after that she had vanished!

Thinking that Margaret might have met and talked with friends or gone to another store in search of what she wanted, Mrs. Furneau had waited in the car for nearly an hour more. By that time all the stores were closed. And besides, Margaret was a considerate child and would never have stayed away so long of her own volition without telling her hostess. Mrs. Furneau became really frightened then and telephoned to me.

Half an hour later I met her in New York. She repeated the details of Margaret’s disappearance and we talked over possibilities, but there was no clew to work on, as to what could have become of my little sister. We called up all the friends she had in New York that I knew about, but could learn nothing. And there was very little that I could do that night. The store workers were scattered to the four winds by that time.

So I had given all the details of the disappearance to the police, and after sending Mrs. Furneau home—she was frightened and tired out—I went to a hotel myself, so that I could be close at hand if the police wanted me.

As long as I live the recollection of that night will be vivid in my memory. Hour after hour I paced the floor, stopping every ten minutes or so to ring up my house, only to learn from the frightened servants that there was no news. Margaret had not returned. And at last the gray dawn crept into the room and found me still fully dressed and still pacing back and forth.

The store opened at nine, and at that hour Mrs. Furneau, who had come into town again to help, joined me. We went through the store together and questioned the workers—door-men, floor-walkers, salesgirls—every one. But we could learn nothing. There was simply no trace of any kind.

And another hasty telephone call told me that there was no news of my little sister at home.

That night and morning had been the beginning of two months of fear that haunted me like the terrible figments of a nightmare. At first, the number of investigations that suggested themselves, among the people in the store and among Margaret’s friends, had kept my mind occupied and kept hope alive that nothing serious had happened to the child. Then there had been the hospitals to search and city officials to interview, to say nothing of social workers and charitable organizations. Mrs. Furneau spent days with me, helping in the search. But as time passed and we could learn nothing, despair settled on me like a choking cloud, and with it an unreasonable sense of resentment towards Mrs. Furneau for her part in it all. I did my best to conceal it; but her intuition must have told her that there was something wrong, and after a week or so she gave up the search and I continued my efforts alone.

But the days grew into weeks and the combined efforts of the police, the best detective agencies in the country, and every other agency that money and determination could press into the service, failed to find a shadow of a trace, until at length other crimes and an epidemic of disappearances among young Society girls distracted their attention and I continued the search alone.

Hope dies hard; and there was always the chance that the child might make her way home again, or that I might hear of her or from her in some roundabout way; for at least her body had not been found. But after two months of utterly unsuccessful search, almost continuous by day and night, I was pretty desperate now, standing up there on the roof of the building in New York in which I had taken an apartment.

Everything else had been dropped and I had moved to New York. I had been in queer places and seen queer sights during those eight weeks. I had pierced the outer, commonplace integument of a great city—the shifting scene of blank, reserved humanity that meets the casual eye—and had been caught up and swept nearly off my feet once or twice in the seething welter of passion and crime that swells and ebbs beneath the city’s impassive exterior.

But of the slip of a girl I sought and now almost dreaded to find I could learn—nothing.

Stretching away below me as I watched, the city crouched purring, like some great animal motionless and watchful. I hated it actively for what it had done to me, longing to tear out its secret by violence, if need be. But after a while sanity slowly returned and the momentary madness faded. I can only say in excuse that the gnawing anxiety of those two months must have somewhat undermined a pretty normal point of view.

But with returning sanity came a slow resolve. Up to now I had been seeking blindly, with no plan—no definite aim, no thought of the future. From now on I vowed that my life should be given up to the search; that nothing should interfere with it; that only death or success should put an end to it. The resolve brought me a curious sense of peace. That much I could do—even though it were all I could do. But that much should be done.

With the thought I turned away from the parapet to go to my rooms below and try to lay out some sort of a campaign for the future. As I turned a touch fell upon my arm and I found Larry standing beside me. In the dim light from the open doorway that led to the roof I could detect the half-veiled pity in his eyes.

I had acquired Larry a couple of weeks before, or rather had had him more or less thrust upon me, and had not regretted it.

Early in the search I bought a small light car and scoured the city night after night in it, in the hope of catching a glimpse of Margaret. One night I had been driving slowly along the Bowery. It was very late and the long, wide, cobbled street under the L structure was deserted. But as I came to a corner, Larry darted out of a side street, yanked open the rear door of the car and dropped into the obscurity of the tonneau behind me, with “For God’s sake, d‑r‑r‑rive on, sor. It’s half a dozen of them gangsters is after me!”

The sheer impudence of it took my breath away for a moment, and with the sudden natural impulse of a sporting chance for the hunted thing, I stood on the accelerator and whisked around a corner and out of sight before it came home to me that I was probably defeating the ends of justice. Then, too, there had been a quality of warmth and a hint of laughter in the rich brogue of the speaker that appealed to me and seemed to lift him out of the common run of malefactors.

Once committed, however, I turned a lot more corners and put a good bit of the city between us and his pursuers before I pulled into the curb and turned to have it out with my “fare.”

He forestalled me. He jumped to his feet at once. “Do but wait now, sor, and lave me have a look at ye!” said he.

Surprise and wrathful amazement kept me silent for a moment while he stared into my face. Then just as I was preparing to give him an extensive and unvarnished account of what I thought of him and his impudence, he slapped his thigh, and leaning forward took my hand and touched the top of his head with it, in a queer old-fashioned gesture.

“Faith, sor, I knew ut! You’re the man for me and I’m your man from this day forth. See now, tell me what it is you want in the world and I’ll get it ye. Ye have the look of a seeker, sor. Tell me what it is ye seek and I’ll find it. There now!”

I could not answer for a moment. The beggar was so impudent and so amazingly penetrating. Then I recovered my tongue and proceeded to give him a dressing down that I’m proud of even now, when I think of it. He listened without a word and with only an occasional wriggle of the body to show that some comment of mine upon his personal appearance had gone home. I wound up with the observation that I now proposed to take him and hand him over to the nearest policeman with a full account of our meeting.

“That’s it, sor!” he broke in, as I finished, “you’re the master for a lawless lad like me. I knew it from the fir‑r‑rst. An’ ye’ll not be for givin’ me up to thim cops at the latter end, afther the way ye’d made such a rescue an’ all. Faith, ’twas a small matther av a colleen av wan av thim gangsters, sor!”

He paused and looked at me with something of anxiety in his eyes. “See now, give me up to thim thin if ye must, sor. Thim bhoys is nothin’ an’ I’ll soon be quit of the pack of thim again. But ye’ll not be the sort that’s met with every day. An’—an’ I’d like fine to serve ye, sor!”

To tell the truth, I was puzzled. The man had been clever enough not to threaten me in return with the disclosure of my part in his escape, supposing I were to give him up. If he had, I should have handed him over at once. And at his first appearance there had been something of exultation mixed with his fear, so that I doubted in him any great depth of depravity for its own sake. Moreover, his first words about seeker and search had been a wild stab in the dark from an arrant braggart, but—they had struck home. God knows, I needed help in my search, and what right had I to refuse it, in however wild a guise it presented itself? The fellow was young, with the slimness of youth, but he was big-boned and powerful-looking and his eyes were bright with intelligence. He might prove a useful ally enough if he were sincere. For the moment I could only temporize.

“What do you mean by ‘serve me’? Do you think I want a chauffeur or what?” I demanded.

His answering look was full of reproach. At least his face was frank and open for any man to read, the emotions chasing each other across it like ripples of wind on a mountain lake. There was something attractive, too, about the youth and vitality and daring of his make-up.

“Faith, that’s not yerself, sor. Did I not tell ye there was the look of the seeker about ye? There’s lines of pain an’ fear an’ anxious nights and days in yer face, sor, an’ that’s God’s truth, beggin’ yer pardon, sor. I saw that at once. An’ I’d like foine to hilp ye to yer desire, the way we would be worrkin’ together on it. If there’s a bit of excitement about it, so much the better, sor. Have ye a ‘man’ already?”

“You know who I am, then,” I told him sharply; “that is evident.”

“I do not, sor,” he answered, triumph in his voice. “But I’m right then, sor?”

“Yes, you’re right,” I answered wearily. “Well—you’d better come home with me now and we’ll talk over what’s to be done with you.” I started the car again and so drove home with him.

I put the car away and then took him up to my study, set him down and fell to cross-examining him on his past life, with a view to getting a better line on the man himself from his way of answering. Some mix-up over a colleen had sent him out of Ireland as a boy and he had drifted to New York, that Mecca of the Irish. He told me frankly that his father had argued and occasionally beaten into him the conviction that the world owed him a living and a good one. In New York he had tried common labor, odd jobs and work as a shipping clerk, but had found no good living at any of them. So he had drifted into bad company and a manner of life that promised an easy existence, plenty of pickings, and above all, the excitement that his soul craved. The pickings had not been all he had hoped, it seemed. But there had certainly been plenty of excitement.

“So,” I told him calmly, “I’m to take you on here and install you, so that you can clean the place out in my absence, without even the trouble of breaking in!”

The hurt, resentful look on his face was enough to convince me. But he turned away and started for the door, his cap in his hand. “Faith, sor,” he answered quietly, “I took ye for a man of more—sinse, beggin’ yer pardon, sor. I’ll just be goin’, unless ye’d like to give me up still?”

“Come back here and turn out your pockets.”

He came slowly back to the table, a glint in his eye and rebellion latent in every line of him. I took a quick step forward. “On the table,” I told him quietly.

It was a sorry collection. Bits of string, a heavy clasp knife, a half-eaten sandwich, a letter or two from the old country made up the total with a few small coins.

“Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

“All right, put them back. I’m glad we’ve nothing to return to the rightful owners. Now come with me and I’ll show you your room. The first thing you’d better do is to take a bath.”

“By God, sor,” he said, and stopped, the blood flooding his face. “Ye’ll—ye’ll not regret it!” he added quietly, a moment later.

So I took him into my service, ostensibly as a valet, a nuisance which I did not want in the least, but actually for the aid his knowledge of the under-world might prove in my search. But before a week had passed I had learned to like the man for himself, for his cheery optimism, his courage and his faithfulness, also somewhat for his incurable laziness and bragging, though it would never have done to let him know it; and I spent most of our time together outlining the most unflattering views on his ancestry and personal habits.

We had already pulled out of some pretty tight corners together, but through it all he had stood by me, plucky, optimistic, for ever bragging and for ever ready for anything. To tell the truth he had pulled me back to a sane frame of mind more than once with his nonsense. But whether he knew this and did it on purpose or not I could not tell.

Up on the roof now, he stood beside me for a moment before he spoke.

“Well?” I demanded, sharply.

“There’s a gintleman to see ye, sor. Says his name is Bertrand Moore, or some such thruck as that. He gave me no cyard. I did tell him, sor, that ye would not be wishful to be disturbed. But he was all for seein’ ye, whether or no. Sure he folleyed me up here a ways, till I turned back to him. Shall I sind him about his business?”

With this he lapsed into silence, waiting calmly for directions. He was quite ready, as I knew, either to throw the visitor out bodily or to make him at home, whichever he was told. Aside from myself, matters of ethics did not trouble Larry in the slightest, and it was this quality in him that had brought back to me the power to laugh.

“What does he want? Do you know?” I asked.

“That I don’t, sor. There’s a lackadaisical air about him, an’ yet I’ve a notion he’s used to havin’ his way, sor. He wud not tell me more than just that he wanted to be seein’ ye, an’ see ye he wud!”

The name conveyed nothing to me, and it was not until I entered my small drawing-room and my visitor rose to his feet that I placed him. I had seen him once or twice hanging round the police station when my search had taken me there, and had also met him once at the house of some friends. I had put him down as a bit of a lounge lizard, his dress and manner of speech giving me that impression rather than his face. So, after shaking hands, I waited with some interest and secret amusement to learn what he wanted with me.

“How do you do, Mr. Clayton?” he began in his mincing voice. Then he glanced at Larry, who was hovering about in the background. “May I have—er—five minutes of your time—alone?”

“I suppose so,” I answered, smiling. “You can go, Larry. Sit down Mr.—Moore, isn’t it?”

Chapter II.
“The Shadow of the Web”

My visitor nodded and sank gracefully into a chair, leaning back negligently. But as soon as the door had closed on Larry he seemed to stiffen in a surprising manner, his negligence dropped from him and he leaned forward with a certain eagerness. There was a force about him now of which I had not been conscious before.

“Mr. Clayton,” he began, “I want to talk to you about your own affairs—and I can only hope that you will hear me out before you resent the apparent impertinence. I assure you that there is a reason—and a good one—for my action. Have I your leave to go on?”

I nodded shortly. “Let’s hear what’s on your mind,” I told him. “But I won’t guarantee not to resent any impertinence, as you call it,” I added grimly.

He bowed and smiled. “That’s only natural and to be expected,” he said. “But this is what I came to talk to you about.” He paused a moment as though to collect his ideas, and then continued quickly: “You have, I believe, spent the last two months searching for your sister. I believe that, to a certain extent, I can help you in this search, or, rather, that I can put you in the way of helping yourself—seeking at a greater advantage and perhaps to better purpose. If you care to listen to me, I will tell you what I have in mind. But before doing so, I am forced to ask you for a pledge of absolute secrecy. That is quite essential.”

He waited then, and I stared at him in growing amazement. Of all the queer rigmarole——

He saw my expression and smiled. “Sounds like something straight out of a melodrama, doesn’t it?” he said. Then the smile left his face and he went on soberly: “Nevertheless, I am very much in earnest. I was never more serious in my life than I am now, in assuring you that I believe I can help you and that the pledge of secrecy is quite essential. You will see why at once, if you give it. As you know nothing at all about me, I might add that such a pledge will bind you to nothing at all dishonorable, nor will it force you to connive at anything dishonorable by your silence.”

“Good Lord, man,” I broke out at this, “what kind of a bee have you got in your bonnet? You seem to be in earnest, but what’s all this talk about secrecy? If you know anything about my sister, for God’s sake tell it to me and have done. I’ve been disappointed so often——”

He shook his head, his face sobering instantly. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t,” he answered; “I’ve done my best, too. But there, give the pledge, man. It’s little enough to give and I know you’ll keep it.”

“Very well,” I said at last, “I’ll keep secret anything you tell me, provided—well, you understand. I’ll give you my word on that.”

He sat up, smiling again. “Good, I took you for a man of sense and I was right. The suggestion I have to make to you is, that if you allied yourself with a certain organization, you would be in a better position to pursue your search. The organization can help you in many ways, and your search itself will be of help to the others—the men affiliated with you.”

“And the organization?” I demanded.

“The organization is the Secret Service of the United States!” he answered quietly.

I sat and stared at him at this. And the longer I stared the more indignant I grew. The thing was preposterous on the face of it. In the first place, what had he to do with the detection of crime—this fastidious young fop? Secondly, how could I pursue my own search if I joined such an organization, presuming for a moment that I could do so? And lastly, how could my search be of any possible benefit to the United States? Still he seemed sane enough. There was an earnestness about him that bade me hesitate in my indignation even. And he must have some object in his proposal.

At last the funny side of it struck me and I laughed. “Well, one of us is crazy, I think, and I don’t think it’s I. Now will you tell me what grounds you have for making such a proposal—what possible use I would be to the Secret Service—and how on earth it would help me to join them?” I demanded.

He laughed in his turn. “I admit it sounds absurd,” he said, “but I think I can answer your questions to some extent. Under your pledge of secrecy I can at least tell you that I have the honor to be an operative of the Bureau of Investigation of the Department of Justice. That is one of my reasons for making you this proposal. Secondly, I am not alone in believing that you might be of great service to us at this time, even,” he added, smiling, “if you do give food, shelter and comfort, as we say, to a young gangster!”

I nodded grimly. “Is there anything else that you know about me?”

He laughed. “Yes, quite a lot. In fact, practically everything. I know that you have considerable independent means, that you are, or were, fairly successful as an artist—portrait painter; that your parents are dead; that you are an athlete; that in spite of prohibition you still buy bonded gin and whisky occasionally, by the case, and where you get it; that during your search for your sister you narrowly escaped getting mixed up in that Gerachty murder case; that you were in the room when the man was stabbed, and that you got out by a clever dodge of walking backward, so that when the police entered they thought you were just coming in; that you haven’t by any means given up the hope of finding your sister, and that——” Here I held up my hand and he stopped.

“You certainly have the advantage of me,” I told him. “Now suppose you proceed and tell me why you think the Department will help me in my search?”

He shook his head. “In spite of your pledge, I cannot tell you that, unless and until you decide to join. There is too much in the balance and I have pledges of my own to consider.” He leaned forward and spoke eagerly. “But listen. This is a bona fide offer and I am empowered to make it. You are mixing yourself up, or are trying to, in something far bigger than you have any idea of—something far too big for you to handle alone. Join us! You have got nowhere this way—that I happen to know. Indeed, if you had, almost certainly you would not be here to give me this interview. That much I will tell you. Come with me to-morrow and see the Chief and listen to what he has to say. Perhaps he will make things clearer than I have the right to. But you have nothing to lose and, I believe, everything to gain by joining us. Our Chief is in town for a few days. Will you come?”

I sat taking him in for a moment. “Well,” I answered at last, “I don’t believe you’re crazy anyhow, though the thing sounds absurd enough in all conscience. Moreover, I hate to spare even one day from my search, just because I have got nowhere, as you say. But I think I’ll take a chance and see this chief of yours, whoever he is.”

I broke off short because my visitor had got slowly and silently to his feet and was tiptoeing toward the window, where heavy curtains were drawn half-way back to let in the evening air.

As he passed me, he nodded and motioned me to go on talking, his lips forming the words “Go on!”

“What time do you want me to meet you and where?” I went on at random.

My visitor reached the window and snatched one of the heavy curtains aside. I caught a glimpse of a startled face—saw the face twist into a sudden, frightened snarl. Then Moore’s hand flashed to his hip as I got to my feet. The room rang with the crash of a revolver shot and I clapped my hand to the side of my head. I saw the intruder stumble forward into the room through the smoke, tearing with both hands at his chest, and then sink limply to the floor. A small metal object shaped something like a hammer-head dropped from his hand as he fell.

Glass was still tinkling on the floor from a broken picture behind me as my visitor slipped his revolver back in his pocket and stooped over the fallen man. “Good Lord, so soon?” I heard him whisper.

I stumbled over to him, speechless, as Larry came running into the room, a ludicrous look of apprehension on his face. It cleared a little when he saw me. Then a moment later he caught sight of the blood on the side of my face and came running over to me. “My God, sor, did he get you bad? I’ll tear the heart out av him.” He turned on Moore, and then for the first time caught sight of the man on the floor. Moore turned to me at the same moment.

“Did he get you? Not badly, did he?” He strode over to me. “Let’s have a look! No, just a scratch, thank goodness. Close call though.”

“Say, what the devil is it all about?” I began. “Who is this fellow, and what the hell did he get me with? I’ll swear there was only one revolver shot and that was yours.”

But Moore interrupted me. “Listen,” he said quickly. “That one is dead, I think, and a good job too. But you and I are also, or as good as dead, if a word of this gets into the papers. I want you to ’phone to police headquarters, if your head will let you, and ask for Captain Peters. Don’t talk to any one else on any account. When you get him, give him this address and tell him to come here at once. Give him no name, but tell him he’s wanted. Better wash out that wound first, though. Get rid of your man and keep his mouth shut, will you? I’m going to search this fellow.”

Whatever it was that had struck me, the wound on the side of my head was only a scratch. Larry, seething with indignation and curiosity, washed it out for me, keeping up a running fire of questions the while, to which I returned no answer. My visitor’s manner, to say nothing of my own narrow escape, had convinced me that the matter was serious, and the less Larry knew the less he could talk, though I doubted anything but his discretion. A few moments later I went to the telephone, leaving Larry in his room with orders to stay there and to keep his mouth shut in future, and leaving Moore still busy with his victim. My own head was seething with remonstrance and questions, to say nothing of a slight dizziness induced by the blow it had received. But I succeeded in getting Captain Peters and delivering my message. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, tell him!” came over the wire to me, followed by the crash of the receiver in its socket. Then I turned back to Moore and the thing he was searching.

He looked up as I gave him the captain’s message. “Thanks,” he said. Then, indicating the man on the floor, “Nothing at all on him except—this! What do you make of it? Be careful!”

I took the metal object that the intruder had dropped as he fell. But I could make nothing of it. It resembled nothing I had ever seen except that there was a projection about an inch long from the middle of it that might be a muzzle. It was made of blued steel and built to fit in the hand when half closed, so that the muzzle protruded between the second and third fingers.

“It’s some sort of an air revolver,” Moore explained; “but I’ve never seen anything just like it before. Maybe it’ll come in useful, though. Gad, I hope this fellow was alone!” he added.

“But who is he?” I demanded at last, “and how on earth did he get in here?”

“As to who he is,” Moore smiled, a little grimly, “you’ll find out all about that to-morrow—if he was alone. Otherwise you probably won’t live that long. As to how he got in: like a fool I misunderstood your man and followed him a little way toward the roof when he first started after you. He had left the door of the apartment open and this poor devil must have slipped in then. Your man turned back and showed me in here, but I suppose he must have hidden behind the curtain at once. The time was so short that I never thought to suspect anything or look for eavesdroppers, until I saw the curtain bulge a little in a way no summer breeze would move it. You saw the rest, and I’ll say it was a damned close thing at that, that he didn’t get the two of us. But come on, let’s get him out of this.”

Together we carried the man to a chair and sat him up in it. I put my ear to his chest, but the burnt hole in his coat and in the shirt beneath, through which bright red blood was still slowly oozing, was directly over the heart. The man was stone dead.

Moore stood looking down at him a moment. “Poor devil,” he said. “He was only a tool, but, none the less, I think he was here to finish my little business, and yours too, probably, after what I had told you.” He hesitated. “What’s more,” he went on, “it’s probably a good job for both of us that he’s dead. The only good Indian is a dead Indian, and this fellow is one of that breed.”

At this moment the bell rang and I went to the door. Coming just after the recent scene I had witnessed, the burly police captain who stood there gave me a twinge of uneasiness on Moore’s account, for I had taken a strong liking to my unconventional and quick-witted visitor. But the captain only nodded and passed in front of me through the hall, as I stood back, entering the room where Moore still hung over his victim, as though to wring the last bit of information out of him.

Moore nodded and spoke at once. “Captain Peters, I’m sorry to say I’ve killed this man. I caught him behind that curtain, and it was a close thing at that, as you can see by that picture over there and by this gentleman’s head.”

The police captain whistled and, striding over to the body, stared down at it for a moment. Then he turned back to Moore. “I don’t know him, do you?” he asked.

“No,” the other answered, “I don’t. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him before. But I want you to get a taxi and get him out of here at once, if you will. You can find him somewhere else; anywhere, you know. But keep the thing entirely out of the papers if you can, in any case. That’s important, as you can guess. Above all, captain, don’t let it get about that he had anything to do with me or with this gentleman or that he was killed in this building. If you do, my life will be a poor risk for any insurance company, though I guess it’s that already. You know enough about this business to know that! Will you fix it for me?”

“I’ll fix it,” the captain answered, laconically. He turned in my direction, “Who’s this?” he asked curiously.

“Meet Mr. Clayton, Captain Peters,” Moore answered, with a shadow of a wink at me for the style of introduction. “He’s not with us yet, but I believe he will be before long,” he added.

“Good enough!” said the captain and shook hands, his manner thawing considerably. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Clayton. Well, if you’ll ’phone for the taxi, I guess I can manage to get this downstairs by myself. I guess it will be better if neither of you gentlemen show yourselves.”

A few moments later the taxi arrived, and after putting a fresh coat on the body—one of Larry’s, by the way—and closing the eyes, we rang for the elevator. When the boy finally woke up and arrived at our floor, I had an opportunity to observe something of the quality that had brought the captain his rank. He marched into the elevator with his arm around the body, supporting it. He set it down on the seat and sat down beside it, and as the elevator door closed on the round, startled eyes of the operator, I heard the captain gruffly admonishing his charge, in the usual tone: “Come on now, you ain’t as drunk as all that.”

As soon as I rejoined Moore, he turned away from the window where he had been standing and, walking up to me, held out his hand.

“I’m sorry—damned sorry—that this happened here, Clayton. Of course I’m sorry that it happened at all, except that it’s one less to reckon with, and of course that bump on the head you got is at my door. But what you’ve seen to-night is a little—just a very little shadow of what you’re up against—if you only knew it. Now I must go. Be at 7th Avenue and 16th Street to-morrow at 3.30. There’s no need to mix you up with this yet until you make up your mind. And it will be best, I think, if we’re not seen together. Will you do it?”

“I’ll be there,” I told him.

“Right,” he answered. “Good-night. Don’t come out to the elevator with me. I’m going to walk down a few flights anyway,” and with a smile and a graceful wave of the hand that brought back his original simpering manner, he let himself out and was gone.

I called Larry at last and set him, sullen and rebellious, to picking up the pieces of the broken picture glass and to washing away the blood-stains on the floor. Then I sat down to ponder upon the events of the night and the new features they had introduced into my search.

Chapter III.
“That’s All We Know”

Next morning I had to deal with a suspicious and indignant Larry, with smoldering rebellion in every line of him. Nothing would convince him that the shot that broke the picture was not intended for me. In fact, I found him, just after breakfast, polishing up the revolver of his lawless days and whistling softly the while. I felt pretty certain that another such unconventional visitor as the man who had died at my feet would get a warm reception in my absence.

Larry had a grievance that morning; in fact, two of them. In the first place I told him that I was going to meet Moore, but had not told him why, nor what I was going to do. This was grievance number one, for up to now he had shared my plans.

But far greater than this was his grievance over the amazing metamorphosis of the graceful and negligent Moore. The glimpse Larry had caught of him, standing, smoking revolver in hand, over the dead man, had upset Larry’s calculations completely. He seemed to take it rather as a personal affront that this gentle soul should turn into a killer like that, behind his back. Perhaps the way Moore had ordered him out of the room afterwards had something to do with it.

However, I left him in charge of everything, and even commissioned him to wander about the city where his fancy led, to see whether he could pick up any clews. From a study of portraits and photographs, he had long since impressed my sister’s face on his memory, and he knew by heart the details of the dress she wore that day. This and his post in command of the fort, as it were, cheered him up a bit. I left him finally resigned and whistling over his revolver.

Personally, I felt considerably more cheerful that morning than I had felt for a long time. In the strain and fatigue of endless search, questing here, there, and wherever impulse led, I had had no time to brood over the fact that I was doing it alone. I had been in some pretty tight corners in my search, where, I believe now, only fixity of purpose had pulled me through.

I had not realized this at the time. But I am naturally rather of a peaceful disposition; I had my fill of fighting with the Lafayette Esquadrille during the war and had no desire for further excitement. So the new sense I had this morning of companionship, encouragement and backing waiting for me ahead put new heart into me. I felt somehow that things had taken a turn for the better in my quest. And I was filled with an even greater determination to see the thing through, however long it took and whatever happened. But for all this, I think it was as well that I could not see what lay ahead for me in the weeks to come.

I could find no one to meet me when I reached the rendezvous which Moore had designated. As I paused irresolute at the curb edge, a workman, lounging against a lamp-post and sucking on a dry cutty pipe, leisurely uncrossed his legs and sauntered up to me.

“Say, Mister, got a match on ye?” said he.

I handed him my box rather absently. But as he struck a match and stooped to light his pipe, he moved a little closer to me as though to shelter the flame. “Your cab’s across the way, sir,” he whispered. “At the corner, there. The driver knows.”

A moment later he straightened up and flipped away the match. “Much obliged, Mister,” he said. Then he handed me the box of matches and sauntered back to his lamp-post.

I moved across the street without looking at the man again. What I had seen of Moore and the man who had followed him the night before gave me no reason to believe that he and his associates would go in for a needless display of melodramatic secrecy. Therefore, if my arrival and destination seemed to them best kept secret, it was up to me to take the hint and fall in with their plans.

The car across the street was an ordinary taxi. As I came up to him the driver called, “Taxi, sir?” and reached back to open the door, quite in the natural manner.

“You know where to go?” I asked him.

He nodded. “Right you are, sir. Jump in!” he said, as though I had given him an address. A moment later we were speeding away. My new life and associations had begun.

Once started, I fell to wondering again as to why I had been sent for and how I could serve the ends of the Department, for of course the Department must have some definite object in view. I pictured the interview, imagining myself in some spick and span Municipal Office temporarily placed at the disposal of this distinguished visitor from Washington, chatting with some elderly gentleman of a curt and somewhat pompous mien. I was never more mistaken in my life!

We drove for ten or fifteen minutes, in and out among the little streets of Greenwich Village. Then suddenly the taxi pulled up in front of a little hotel below Washington Square, of which I had never even heard.

As I got out, the man glanced at the meter and raised his flag. “It’s sixty cents, sir,” he said casually.

Somewhat at a loss, I handed him a dollar bill. At that he dived into his pocket, picked out a dollar in change and presented it to me with a grin. He leaned forward as he did so. “Room 333, sir,” he said softly. Then, raising his voice: “All right, sir, I’ll be here at ten!”

A moment later he and his taxi had disappeared.

I entered the hotel, walked through the lobby, nodded to the elevator-boy and told him the third floor. And presently I was knocking at the door of Room 333.

It flew open and disclosed Moore, as immaculate as ever, but with an anxious look on his face which disappeared when he saw me. He reached out and pulled me into the room, shutting and locking the door again without wasting an instant.

“Thank goodness you got here all right. I was getting nervous. Now let me introduce you to the Chief.”

Instead of the pompous individual I had expected to meet, I found myself shaking hands with a big, genial fellow, with a jaw like the prow of a ship and a warm twinkle in his keen blue eyes. I took a liking to him at once.

“Well, sir,” he said, “glad to meet you—and glad you got here all serene. Mr. Clayton, isn’t it? Now let’s get to business.”

The room was an ordinary hotel bedroom and small at that. The Chief waved Moore and myself to seats on the bed and sat himself down somewhat cautiously in the only chair, which groaned under his bulk. He was still smiling, but his eyes were keen and cold, and I realized that the smile was purely automatic. He leaned forward in the groaning chair and made his points, as he talked, by tapping the forefinger of one hand in the palm of the other.

“Now, Mister Clayton,” he said, “Moore here suggested that you might be of use to us and I told him to bring you along, so that we could talk it over. You see, I am being frank with you, because I don’t suppose you imagined for a minute that this was a philanthropic proposition, eh?”

“No,” I told him bluntly, “neither on your side nor on mine.”

He laughed. “Well, we’ll call it a mutual benefit association. Anyhow, I know something about your search for the last two months and about you yourself, and your record in the war. Of course our men have had Miss Clayton on their minds. But that’s not entirely because of the dust you kicked up. There’s a bigger reason, too.”

“Bigger because it’s pretty nearly national,” Moore interjected softly.

The Chief nodded. “Yes, I might have put that differently. But my work comes first, you understand.”

“How do you think I can help you and help myself at the same time?” I asked him.

“I’m coming to that.” He broke off for a moment and glanced about the tiny green and brown bedroom. The glaring electrics in the central chandelier showed up every line of the grim, resourceful face with the grizzled hair above and the firm, heavy jaw. It was a face to inspire confidence certainly—if you happened to be on the same side with it. Otherwise it was distinctly a face to avoid.

“The fact is, Clayton,” he said suddenly, “that the Department is up against about the biggest thing in its history. German spies were pretty nearly as easy as picking cherries compared to this. And unless I’m very much mistaken, you’re up against exactly the same proposition. There’s the thing in a nutshell.”

“You mean——”

“I mean that if we can’t get anywhere with it—and we haven’t got far, I’ll admit—why your chances are pretty slim, working on your own. What’s more, if you should stumble on to something, the chances are one million to one that you’ll just get your throat cut for your pains. On the other hand, if you work for us—that is, if we work together on the proposition—why, perhaps we can help you in your search with our organization. And I believe you may be able to help us, or I wouldn’t have sent for you.”

“But what is this thing I’m—you’re up against?” I demanded.

The Chief scratched his head at this. “That’s just it. We don’t know—anything definite. However, I’ll tell you all there is to tell, and then you can make up your mind whether you’ll accept or not. I think Moore here told you that I’d like to have you working for me as an unofficial and fairly independent operative?”

“He was damned uncommunicative on the subject,” I answered.

Both the others laughed. “We don’t shout about our business from the housetops much,” said the Chief. “But this is a little of what we know. First of all, statistics. During the last six months no less than thirty girls have disappeared from the best families in and around New York—and not one of them has been traced.”

“Thirty-four, with the Schyller case,” said Moore softly.

“Exactly,” nodded the Chief. “Now, of course, girls are disappearing all the time, running away to go on the stage, eloping with the chauffeur, and so on. But very few of these are from the older, quieter families—the best families in the real sense. But the girls I’m talking about, of whom your sister was one, are practically all from the best families, all very young and all very prepossessing.”

The Chief broke off and ran his blunt fingers through his hair. “And, believe me, the pressure that’s been brought to bear on us to find them has turned my hair gray. But—we—haven’t—found—one!”

“Good God!” I began, but the Chief held up a warning finger and glanced at the door. I went on more quietly: “Do you mean to say it’s some sort of a gigantic gang of—of——” I couldn’t finish.

“White slavers? No-o, I don’t think so,” he answered. “Though I tell you, we don’t know.”

He paused at this and sat thinking for so long that impatience got the better of me, and I urged him to go on and tell me what they did know.

“Well, here’s the situation,” he said at last. “These girls have disappeared in New York, in Atlantic City, in Jersey towns and in Long Island, and two of them in Philadelphia. But most of them in New York. They have disappeared while shopping, while calling, while going to or coming from the theater, some of them on their way to hotels, and so on. Moreover, from what we can gather, it looks as if they actually were engaged in these innocent pursuits. I mean, these were not ostensible occupations to cloak escapades or elopements.

“Therefore the evidence points overwhelmingly to the fact that the disappearances were unwilling ones. So far as we can tell, none of the girls, or very few of them, were engaged in love affairs of a serious nature. So much for that.”

Suddenly the Chief made a wry face and the stubbly fingers ran through his hair rapidly two or three times. “As we haven’t been able to find out anything definite, we have had to fall back on deduction, which hasn’t taken us far. But perhaps we have learned something from it.

“You see, none of these girls were much in the public eye. At the time they disappeared, they were on the most ordinary and quietest of errands. But, in the vast majority of cases, the errands were planned at least two days in advance. That’s all we know.

“Perhaps that doesn’t tell us much and perhaps it does. It is possible, of course, that they were drugged in some way, by people on the watch in public places. I mean without regard to their identity. On the other hand, it looks as if most of the abductions must have been planned in advance, with a foreknowledge of the girls’ movements.

“You know as well as I do, that it isn’t so simple to drug and kidnap a person in broad daylight, or, at least, in a public place. These were not the type of girls to be easily drawn into a more secluded place with strangers, whether male or female, even if the girls were alone. Do you see what I mean?”

“You mean spies in their homes? Servants?” I began.

The Chief shook his head. “Not likely. Servants aren’t so well informed as all that, as a rule. No, the conclusion that’s just forced itself on me is that, unlikely as it may seem, the person or persons mixed up in this business belong to the same class of Society as the girls themselves.”

“But, good Lord, man—what—why——”

The Chief leaned forward suddenly, his jaw setting into flinty lines. “For example, what do you know about this Mrs. Furneau, who took your sister out to tea that day?”

I sat back and stared at him, my mind racing back to the night of Margaret’s disappearance. For an instant it fastened on the vague sense of resentment I had felt toward Mrs. Furneau for her part in the business. Then common sense prevailed.

“But what on earth could she have had to do with it? You don’t suppose she followed the child into the store? And how could she abduct her if she had? That was the most public of places,” I answered.

“Exactly,” said the Chief slowly; “if she ever went to the store at all!”

“But—but——”

“Did any one in the store actually see her? Did they remember and describe her?”

I shook my head. “But that doesn’t prove anything.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’m not trying to prove anything now. I’m trying to show you our line of deduction. But what do you know about the woman?”

“Very little. She was an acquaintance only. But many of her friends are above suspicion.”

“And the people where she took your sister?”

“I don’t know so much about them.” I stared at him in growing amazement. “But what could they have to do with it? You don’t mean to say that you think——”

“I don’t think anything. I’m asking questions. What did Mrs. Furneau’s chauffeur have to tell you?”

“Nothing more than she had to tell. He just corroborated the fact that Margaret had gone into the store.”

“H’m,” said the Chief. “But of course that doesn’t help much, one way or the other.”

“Do you mean to say you think it’s possible that Mrs. Furneau took the child to some house where she was kept a prisoner? And Mrs. Furneau invented all that business about the store? And her chauffeur was in it too?”

“I don’t know,” said the Chief. “But it’s a possible line of investigation, isn’t it? And it’s one that you haven’t touched? Now do you see where the Department might be of some help to you in your search?”

“But Mrs. Furneau—why, the Morrisons know her quite well. The thing’s out of the question.”

The Chief smiled slowly. “That’s the trouble with you amateurs. You go into an investigation like this with preconceived ideas—and all you look for is clews that fit in with those ideas. We suspect everybody until we can prove that they’ve had nothing to do with the affair. Do you see the difference?”

I nodded. “Well, I’ll try it.”

“Now here’s something else,” he went on. “We’ve come to the conclusion that, without a previous fairly intimate knowledge of the future movements of some of these girls, the abductions would have been impossible. We also deduce that they would have been very difficult, if not impossible, without actual acquaintanceship, in several cases at least. That places the gang, for I think it must be a gang, within certain high social limits.

“But during the time that these girls have been disappearing, there have also been a great many cases of addiction to drugs coming to light—and all these cases, without exception, have been highly placed socially. In fact, the Department began investigating the drug cases long before the abductions began. Many of the drug addicts are women. All the ones to whom I have reference are addicts of a peculiar kind. But almost without exception these addicts are men and women of importance and influence, either through position or wealth.”

“Can you connect them in any way with the abductions?” I asked.

“No. Not definitely. In fact, not at all, except by inference through the facts peculiar to both. But the very fact that we cannot get anything on any of these people, either the people who supply these drugs or the abductors, goes to prove that there is an extraordinary power and skill in organization behind each gang. Therefore, by inference, it may be the same organizer or group of organizers behind both. But, so far, we have not been able to connect the two things further than that, even by inference.”

Moore stirred in his place on the bed beside me and the Chief glanced up at him.

“There’s one other feature to it, sir,” he said. “I’ve been working on the abductions and nothing else. But they had a damned good try at picking me off. Clarke worked on the drug smuggling only—and——”

The Chief nodded. “Neither the one gang—nor the other, if there are two gangs, will hesitate at murder,” he said quietly.

“Good Lord, do you mean to say in this day and age——”

“This day and age is just about the same as any other day and age—because human nature doesn’t vary much,” he interrupted. “We were just about due for something new and startling in the criminal line, after this war, and it looks as if we’ve got it. I’ll tell you something more: we’ve had three highly trusted men on this job—two on the drugs, and Moore here, on the abductions. Moore has one or two leads started, though nothing very definite—and they tried to get him that night in your rooms. Of the other two operatives, one hasn’t been able to find out a thing—not a damned thing—and he’s a good man too. The other—this man Clarke, that Moore was talking about—has—disappeared.”

“But haven’t you traced him?”

“Traced him, nothing. He’s simply vanished into thin air. And, believe me, it’s no cinch for one of our men to disappear without our tracing him pretty quick. No, this gang is no slouch, I’ll say that for it.”

As I learned later on, a descent into slang was a sign of considerable feeling on the part of the Chief. But at this time his attitude struck me as a little unfeeling.

“Well,” I said, “it looks to me as if you were up against something pretty difficult. But do you mean that I can really be of some assistance to you in the business?”

“That’s it exactly. For this type of work, with this type of people, don’t you see that we’ve got to have operatives who have the social entry if we’re to get anywhere? Moore’s all right. But he can’t do it all alone. And besides, he won’t last long alone, probably, as you saw for yourself. Now if you join us in this work, you’ll be looking for your sister with the whole power of the Department back of you. But we want you to find her and bust up the gang, as much as you do yourself. There’s the situation. You’re fitted for the work, you’re vitally interested, and we can help each other. Afterwards, we’ll release you as soon as you like, if——” He left the sentence unfinished.

“If there’s anything left to release,” I added dryly.

“You’ve hit it exactly,” he smiled.

It did not take me long to make up my mind. I had nothing to lose and possibly everything to gain by joining the Department, if they were willing for me to continue my search in my own way. And working with the consciousness of a powerful organization back of me was infinitely preferable to doing it alone. I had expected that they might want me to work entirely under their direction, possibly in remote parts of the country. But the next words of the Chief set my mind at rest on that point.

“We want you to stay in New York and take up your life just where you left it off to-day. We want you to get back into Society and become a regular lounge lizard if necessary. And we want you to let the Department help you with hints when it can. But for the rest, you and Moore are to work together. It will be safer and better for both of you. Will you do it?”

“I’ll do it,” I told him.

The Chief got to his feet and held out a massive hand. “Right,” he said, “I’m mighty glad. And I think you’ve made a wise decision. Now I’ve got a lot of work to do. Moore has full instructions for you both. Anything else you want to know he can tell you. Wait here for ten minutes. Good-by and good luck!” With that he went to the door. Then he suddenly turned back to me again: “And by the way, Clayton!”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, smiling.

“Don’t talk about this business to anybody—anybody. Is that clear with you?”

“Quite clear,” I assured him.

“You’ll meet some of the other operatives perhaps. You’re almost sure to. But unless they come to you with the proper credentials for this job, which Moore will explain to you, don’t tell them things. There’s a reason.”

Moore interrupted. “Don’t you think, Chief, that we might tell him the reason?”

The Chief frowned. Then suddenly he made a wry face again. “All right, I suppose so. The fact of the matter is, Clayton, that for the first time in its history either we’ve had the rottenest of bad luck, or—there’s a leak somewhere in the Department. Now you understand.”

Without another word he strode to the door again and went out.

I turned to Moore and found him smiling whimsically.

“Nothing slow about your Chief,” I remarked.

He laughed. “Not so’s you could notice it!” Then he held out his hand. “Well,” he said, “I think you’re the sort of fellow I’d like to have with me in a real row. This is going to be a real row. Don’t make any mistake about that. But I believe we’re going to pull it off, eh?”

“I’ll give you mine on that,” I told him, and we shook hands.

Chapter IV.
Roving Commissions

After the Chief left, Moore gave me my instructions for that night. We were to leave the room separately. I was to get into the same taxi which I would find waiting and I was to pick up Moore at the corner of Waverley Place and Fifth Avenue.

I followed instructions, found the taxi waiting and told the man to drive to Washington Square. Five minutes later my driver stopped without being told and Moore jumped in beside me. The driver started off uptown at once.

Moore turned to me with a smile. “Well, I guess you’ll do. You caught the idea like a shot. Now let’s get to business, for we’ve got one heluva lot to talk about.”

“Fire ahead.”

“One of the first things I am to impress on you is the fact that from now on both our lives may depend upon eternal vigilance. A single false step, a single unguarded word or glance may easily mean—finish—for us. Stow that away in your brain and don’t forget it. Take it out and look at it every five minutes if you can.” He paused a moment. “I’m not fussy myself, Clayton. I’ve gone into this game for my own reasons. But this is the meanest-looking job I’ve ever tackled, and that’s the truth. And I don’t want to get bumped off before we’ve put the job through.”

“I’ll remember,” I told him, “and I’m just as eager to put it through as you are.”

“I know,” he answered. “Well, I want to tell you something about the plan for you and me, so far as we’ve mapped it out. The Chief told you his theory—that these abductions and the smuggled drugs are the work of the same gang. And he told you his reasons for believing that the gang is highly placed, or has members highly placed, socially.”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s where you and I come in. He wants us to work together. And he wants us to be regular lounge lizards, worming our way into all sorts of social circles, fast, slow and medium. His idea is that sooner or later we’ll run across something in the nature of a clew. And when that happens we’re to follow it up like grim death.”

“Seems pretty vague stuff to work on,” I observed.

“It is and it isn’t. As far as the girls are concerned, we haven’t anything very definite to go on until after the event—and then it’s too late, for they will have covered up their tracks, in their skillful way. But it’s different with the drug business. For there there ought to be something to work on, if we’re smart enough to see it. And if the Chief is right about it being the same gang, why that helps us with the other affair, do you see!”

“If he is right!” I said.

“Well, I think he is. Anyhow it seems reasonable and it’s about all we have got. But here’s another thing. We had a talk yesterday before you turned up, and the Chief agreed with me that it might be better for us not to know each other. I mean, of course, we may meet casually, but it’s highly probable that they have their suspicions about me as it is, and it’s no use dragging you down with me. For if we’re pretty thick, they’ll suspect you too if they suspect me. That business in your rooms that night looked bad, for I haven’t any other enemies that I can think of.”

“But look here,” I told him, “we’ll have to work together to some extent—compare notes and all that—and besides, I’m quite ready to stand in with you on the risk and that sort of thing.”

Moore shook his head and smiled. “Spoken like a pal,” he said. “But this is a business proposition, Clayton, and a tough one. And if we don’t work together, why that leaves you all the freer to step in and haul me out, if I get in a tight corner, don’t you see?”

I didn’t like it very much, but there was no point in arguing about it just then. He knew more about the game than I did, anyway. And I found out very soon how wise his decision had been.

“Then,” he went on, “although we’re not connected in any way in the public eye, we’ve got to fix up some method of getting in touch with each other at any time, on the instant and privately. Now this is what I doped out to that end. I thought I’d take a room or rooms somewhere near you. Perhaps I might take one in the same building, anyway in the same block, so that we had no street between. Then, with the aid of that young Irishman of yours, we ought to be able to lay a private wire between your room and mine. What do you think of it?”

I laughed at the reference to Larry. “Sounds all right to me,” I answered, “if you can get the room. They’re pretty hard to find nowadays. But that building I’m in seems to have quite a number of bachelor apartments. I don’t see that your being in the same building would connect us any, unless we blew into each other’s rooms when some one was watching. That private wire sounds good, but I don’t see how we’re going to lay it where it won’t be seen, or without being seen doing it.”

“Do it at night. That’s easy enough. But we will have to dope out some way so that it won’t be found, except on the wildest of bad luck. Of course they’re always making repairs and putting in telephones in those apartment houses, and we’ll have to watch out for that.”

“Did the Chief mention any particular sets in New York that he wanted us to go for? There are so many thousands of cliques and social groups that we might wander around for years without striking the right one. And then we might not know it for the right one if we saw it.”

“No. He left it pretty much up to us. But he did suggest leaning toward the faster semi-Bohemian sets as being more likely to indulge in drugs.”

Moore paused a moment. “Anyhow, Clayton, that’s the gist of it. Work all your introductions for all you’re worth. I thought at first that it might be well for you to change your name and begin all over again, on account of the gang knowing that you had lost your sister, and therefore suspecting you of being still on their trail. But that would mean giving up all your introductions and losing a lot of time, and also the possibility of running into people that you’d known before, which would make complications. So the Chief decided that it would be better to run the risk of their suspicion, because your principal value in the search is your actual and potential social entrée.”

“Did he map out any particular attitude he wanted me to take—sort of character line?”

“No. But he thought you might let it escape you that you had given up all hope of finding your sister, and that you were broken by it and letting yourself go to the dogs as the easiest way out. That would serve your ends both ways. For taking to drugs would be the most natural thing in the world for a man in your position, and before you could do that, you would have to get hold of the drugs. So that gives you a line to work on.”

“Pretty smart of the Chief, I think.”

“Oh, he’s no slouch. Now I’m going to bed. But before I go, take this.” He drew from his pocket a tiny golden panther strung on a black cord. “Wear it where you can get at it, but where no one else would see it or could pick your pocket for it. And if any one shows you one like it, trust him. It’s the symbol for this particular job. I won’t see you in the morning at all. But to-morrow night suppose you meet me upstairs in a little chop-suey joint in Broadway at 39th Street. The tables are screened off and no one will notice us. We can talk there in peace and quiet and make some more definite plans for keeping in touch with each other. In the meantime try to get started on the social stuff. Dig up all your old friends and start things going. Maybe that Mrs. Furneau might be a good one to start on. After all you don’t know much about her.”

Moore got up. “Well, meet me at that chop-suey joint, remember. Broadway at 39th at eight, and we’ll have another powwow. In the meantime, good luck!”

He gave me a quick handshake, rapped on the window of the cab and as the vehicle slowed up, flung open the door and slipped out. A moment later he had disappeared among the shifting pedestrians on the Avenue.

When I got back I found that Larry was disposed to consider his feelings hurt. The affliction took the form of an attitude of exaggerated servitude which was irritating in the extreme. He wanted as much disciplining as a puppy.

However, something occurred almost at once that brought him out of it with a bump.

I asked him whether anything had happened in my absence.

“No, sir,” he answered in the true butler manner. “Nothing of any moment, sir.” His English was excellent when he wanted to make it so.

“What do you mean—nothing of any moment?” I demanded curiously.

“Why, nothing, sir, nothing happened at all.” He bowed deferentially. “Have you breakfasted, sir?”

I felt like kicking him. “Drop it, Larry,” I told him. “I don’t know what’s biting you and I haven’t the time to bother to find out. But if you take my advice, you’ll drop that butler business, you ignoramus. Now get out of it.”

Larry departed and I went to my desk to look up the address of some of my one-time friends and to drop a line to Mrs. Furneau. A moment later I rang for Larry.

“How many times have I told you to leave my desk alone?” I demanded.

Larry scratched his head. “Sure, times and thin times,” he answered. “But faith, I haven’t so much as laid a finger on it.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. I left these papers under that folded map of New York. Now the papers are all mixed up and the paper-weight is on them. I found the map over here—and, by golly, you’ve even unfolded it and folded it up again the wrong way. What do you mean by it?”

Larry’s butler manner dropped from him now like a garment. “Faith, thin, sor, I haven’t so much as touched the desk, that I haven’t!” he declared earnestly. “Maybe you forgot, like, the way you left things.”

I shook my head and stood staring at him a moment. “Are you sure?” I demanded.

“Sure and sartin, sor. I haven’t touched it.”

“Well then, Larry, somebody else has!” I told him. “I thought you said nothing had happened. Who’s been here, anyway?”

“Not a soul, sor,” he answered quickly.

“Have you been here all the time yourself?” I demanded.

“Ivery minute, sor, except for a walk round yesterday afternoon and a trip to the corner last night, to lay in a bit of bread and meat like.”

I had never known Larry to lie about anything at all serious, and he was obviously speaking the truth this time. “All right, never mind, Larry. No harm done,” I told him. And again Larry took himself off, thoroughly crestfallen now.

But I stowed away another bit of news for Moore that night. For I was certain that my papers had been tampered with in my absence, although, fortunately, they were merely personal letters and bills.

I wrote to Mrs. Furneau, asking her whether she had heard anything at all in the way of possible clews, and whether I might call and talk things over with her once more, adding that I had practically given up hope. It went against the grain a little, in view of my earlier distrust, but perhaps she was as good a starting-place as any for my social career. And perhaps, in view of the Chief’s wild suspicion of her, she was a shade better than most people, as being at least remotely connected with Margaret’s disappearance.

Later in the day, I told Larry that the search was to continue and that Moore was going to help. I also told him that he was to let Moore in at any time and ask no questions, but that if he should happen to meet him outside in any way, he was not to know him at all.

Traces of the green-eyed monster became apparent in Larry at once. “Oh,” said he, “ ’tis himself will find her no doubt, when we could not. But I’m thinkin’ he’s a mysterious kind of a man altogether. Sure the next toime I let him in, I’ll be keepin’ an eye on him pretty close, the way he wouldn’t be bringin’ in some more of his murtherin’ friends.”

This would never do. “Now look here, Larry,” I told him, “this man Moore is my very good friend. And as such he’s your very good friend too. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, and don’t forget it. I can’t tell you as much about things as I’d like to at present, but I can tell you that this search is running us up against something pretty stiff—and Moore’s a mighty good friend to have in a pinch. If you don’t want to put the whole thing on the fritz, do just what I’ve told you to, and help Moore in any way possible. This is serious!”

Larry shifted from one foot to the other and then suddenly he grinned in a sheepish way. “Sure, I was only foolin’,” he said, and took himself off.

Never, from the beginning of our acquaintance, have I had any doubts of Larry.

At eight that night I met Moore and we compared notes over our dinner. I told him about finding that my papers had been disturbed, and also that I had written to Mrs. Furneau. Then he told me his news.

“Well, Clayton, I’ve taken a couple of rooms in the house that is back to back with your apartment house. It’s an old-fashioned place and I had no difficulty in getting the rooms. Unfortunately, as you’re way up on the eighth floor and I’m on the second in this place, we’ll have some trouble running that wire. I think as soon as we get through here we’d better get started on it. Then we can take care of the outdoor part of it later in the night.”

We were sitting in a sort of cubicle against the wall, shut off from the others like it by the high wooden backs of the seats. Each table was lit by a softly shaded electric globe, which threw little light beyond the table, and the rest of the room was but dimly lit.

In the middle of our conversation about our house-to-house wire, I looked up to order our coffee, and suddenly saw that the soft-footed Chinese boy was standing quite close to Moore, although beyond the end of the seat, so that I could only see his elbow. We had spoken in very low tones and I thought nothing about it at the time. But I had cause to remember that Chinese boy later on.

A few moments later we left the restaurant separately and made our way by separate routes to Moore’s new rooms, to begin work on our private wire. It seemed like making defensive preparations in advance before declaring war. For even after Moore’s warning I failed to realize fully that, with our murderous visitor that night and the subsequent search of my papers, if such it was, war had already been declared—and not by us.

Chapter V.
Our First Clew

The house in which Moore had taken his rooms was of the ordinary brown-stone type and had once been occupied, presumably, by a single family. Now, owing to changes in the neighborhood and ever-mounting rents, it had been split up into apartments.

The basement was occupied, he told me, by a grocer, his wife and two children. The first floor served as office and home for a young doctor, while the second floor had been subdivided into two smaller apartments of three rooms each, with a bathroom common to both, Of these two, the front apartment belonged to a returned soldier and his somewhat shrill-voiced French bride. Moore had rented the back part of this floor, consisting of a bedroom, a small kitchen and a living-room. The third floor was unoccupied, but was similar in design to the second.

The house was a large square one, each apartment on the second floor being self-contained and well-lighted, with the common bathroom between, lit only by a small shaft and skylight above. The door to Moore’s rooms was just at the head of the stairs and opened into his living-room. This room looked out on to the back garden, so called, as did his smaller bedroom beyond. His kitchen was the same width as the hall and was the continuation of it, but opened into his living-room and not into the hall, so that the rooms had a single door into the hall. This was fitted with a Yale lock.

The common bathroom was, of course, the difficulty and was probably the reason why he had found the rooms empty. With the somewhat embarrassing sociability of some old southern and a few old New York houses, this bathroom had three doors, one into the hall, one into the front flat, and one at the back, into what was now Moore’s bedroom. Of these, only the door into the hall was now in use, the other two being nailed up.

There was only one door-bell to the house, which rang in the basement, and for a small monthly gratuity the grocer’s wife or one of her numerous children opened the door for all visitors. The tenants had keys.

Moore got home first and was waiting at the front door of the house to let me in. He ushered me proudly into his living-room, furnished in seedy-looking plush and china ornaments that looked as if they had been manufactured by an absent-minded anarchist in his moments of relaxation. The door was open into his bedroom beyond, and the first thing I noticed was a lot of wire lying on the floor in there.

“What’s all that—the telephone?” I asked.

“Yes, I have put one instrument in already, and I have the batteries and the instrument for your end. We’ll put that in later. I’m a bit of an electrician and the job was an easy one. As for my own instrument, I’m going to keep it in my clothes closet and keep the closet locked, you see. It will have a buzzer, but not a loud one, so that you can get me when I’m here, but mostly I imagine I’ll be calling you up. You see, I’ll have to have a fashionable studio or something somewhere, to carry out my part of the dilettante lounge lizard. This place would never do as my official residence from a social point of view. But it ought to be handy as an ‘earth’ perhaps.”

“What’s the idea of keeping it in the closet?” I asked.

“Well, some one will have to clean the room, and I don’t want some estimable cleaning woman messing about with it. Trust nobody is our motto, old boy.”

“And my end of it?”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter so much. You can trust Larry, can’t you? We’ll put it in your bedroom, and you can tell Larry not to let any one else in there. How’s that?”

“That’s all right I should think,” I told him. “Now, suppose we go over to my rooms and finish the job on the other instrument, and then we can do the wiring later, when all’s quiet?”

“Right,” he said; “and, Clayton! I forgot to tell you that you have an account with the Guaranty Trust on which you can draw up to any amount not out of bounds of reason. Don’t forget that, because you may need it. You won’t need to itemize your expenses. I fixed that up with the Chief. Now let’s go.”

We spent an insane sort of a night. First of all we installed the other instrument, batteries and induction coil in my bedroom, with an additional buzzer in Larry’s room for safety. We had no trouble in getting the thing into working order.

But we decided that it was too early for the wiring, so Moore and I sat talking and smoking until about 2 a.m. I also called in Larry, and told him that if the buzzer rang at any time in my absence he was to drop everything else and answer it, and to follow Moore’s instructions to the limit.

Moore did another good bit of work that night all on his own too, for he won Larry over completely.

It was amusing to watch. He got me to call Larry in, and then he jumped to his feet, for the first time dropping his drawl and his affected manner. “Look here, Clayton,” he said, “we’re all in this together. Suppose you introduce me, like a good fellow?”

I played up of course, and introduced them in due form. Moore shook hands, smiling in a taking way he had. “Glad to meet you, Larry,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about you and how you’ve stood by Clayton here. Real friends aren’t so easily come by.”

Larry was covered with confusion, “Sure, sor,” he stammered, “I ain’t done much.” Then he turned fiery red.

“Nonsense! And look here, Larry. Clayton has let me in on this search of his, so the three of us are all in it together now. And I’m hoping that you’ll stand by me too, if the occasion arises. From what I’ve heard of you, I can’t think of a man I’d rather have in a pinch!” He held out his hand again.

Larry hesitated a moment, and then reached out and took it in a grasp of iron, his confidence suddenly returning with the sudden and obvious liking induced by Moore’s charm.

“I’ll do that same, sor,” he said simply.

Now I had not said a word to Moore about Larry’s distrust of him. But Moore must have sensed it, and my respect for my fellow-worker went up another notch.

It was some time after this that the melodramatic part of the evening began. Larry entered into the spirit of the thing. He ripped off the baseboard in my bedroom and ran the telephone wires along it to the window. Here, with a drill he bored a hole straight through the outside wall of the house and ran the wires out on to the fire-escape. Then he replaced the baseboard, so that not an inch of wire showed in the room itself. We put the instrument on a tiny table and put a big chair in front of it, and then nothing showed at all.

When this was finished we climbed out on to the fire-escape and prepared for the big task.

Luckily for us a rain-pipe ran straight down alongside the fire-escape to the ground. Moore had bought thousands of brads, and with these we fastened the double wire to the brickwork, getting the wire as nearly as possible behind the pipe and out of sight. But it was awkward work, leaning far out from the fire-escape and nailing the wire in behind like that.

This was not the worst of it, however. For we had to work in pitch darkness and without making a sound. We dared not flash a light, for fear we might be seen from one of the houses near by. And the tiny noise we made with the hammer kept us on the qui vive most of the time.

There was a funny side to it too. As we clambered lower and lower on the iron structure, we passed window after window of respectable apartment owners, now lost in slumber and “little dreaming” of the fell deeds that were going on just outside their windows. Once Larry slipped and swore under his breath in the most approved style, and I grabbed for him, shaking with laughter, and bade him keep quiet. Somehow, working with Moore lent the whole business a spice of melodramatic comedy that stood out in striking relief against the dark background of what came after. But our work that night, arduous as it was, was glamored with a humorous good-fellowship very welcome after six months of despairing anxiety.

We reached the ground without mishap, unrolling and tacking up the wire as we went. There we ran it along the base of the building against the ground and up to a wooden fence that divided the yard of the apartment house from the one next door. We covered it as well as we could with dirt so that it would not show.

We had little difficulty with the wire. The fence was a high affair made of wooden palings dovetailed together and finished off at the top with a flat board, about two inches wide, which extended out beyond the palings a little on either side. Larry ran the wires along the top of this fence, under the eave of this top board, where it could not be seen, until he reached the back fence. We climbed this and ran the wire along the side fence of the yard of Moore’s house and up to the house itself. But here we stuck. For while there was a rain-pipe near his bedroom window, there was no fire-escape to help us reach it. But Moore solved this problem. He went back the way we had come, climbed the fire-escape again to the eighth floor and let himself quietly out the front door of my apartment, shutting the door after him. Then he went round the block to the front door of his new abode, let himself in with his key and went up to his own rooms. He had an ordinary telephone here, and on this he called up the young doctor who lived on the floor below, begging that infuriated young man to hurry around to my apartment.

In the meantime I hurried back up the fire-escape and prepared to receive him.

As soon as the doctor had dressed and started on his visit, Moore descended and opened his front door with a skeleton key. He made his way to the doctor’s back windows, and, with the aid of Larry from below, managed to run the wire up to where it could be reached from his own window. At the same time Larry made a burglarious entry into the doctor’s rooms through the window, and after shutting the windows and leaving all tidy, he and Moore closed the doctor’s front door again and went on up to Moore’s rooms, where, with his drill, Larry brought the wire through the house wall and along under the footboard to the closet, connected it up and made a finished job of our telephone.

In the meantime I had hastily got out of my coat and vest, changed my canvas shoes for bedroom slippers, and had climbed into a dressing-gown and mussed up my hair. When the sleepy young doctor got there I was looking pale and interesting and suffering from a variety of afflictions obviously beyond his simple powers of diagnosis. I think he vacillated between appendicitis, galloping consumption and epileptic fits, but I must admit my descriptions of my symptoms was both confused and confusing. Finally, however, he gave it up, mentally washed his hands of the case, and prescribed a simple remedy which I recognized as something in the nature of a faith cure. He then advised me to consult a specialist and took his annoyed and sleepy departure. But I had kept him there for nearly an hour, and I knew that Moore and Larry must have finished their job.

Moore had insisted upon a bona-fide call, as otherwise, if we had sent the young doctor on a wild-goose chase, he would have become suspicious and looked for and possibly found traces of Moore’s presence in his rooms, which might have led to all sorts of complications. Anyhow, I never paid a doctor’s bill with a stronger sense of value received than when I paid his a little later.

Larry returned about dawn and, as the doorman knew him, got back to the flat again without difficulty.

Our telephone was completed without a hitch and was in running order, as I soon ascertained by ringing up Moore. Then we settled down to a well-earned sleep, Larry at least in a state of pleasurable excitement.

The following week marked the début of Moore and myself in the social game. Moore took a studio in Greenwich Village, furnished it superbly, dabbled in sculpture and invited his ever-growing circle of friends and acquaintances to come to tea, discuss art and view what he described to me as his atrocities.

For my part, I visited old friends in search of introductions in what I thought might be likely quarters and followed these up assiduously. Moore maintained his dilettante pose and went in for the milder forms of dissipations and indiscretions, doing his best to attain the appearance of evil without boring himself with the thing itself. I followed his advice and took to myself the pose of a disillusioned worldling of esthetic tastes.

Night after night we held long conversations over our telephone, comparing notes so as to avoid each other’s tracks as much as possible. In this way we seldom saw each other.

However, I came across his traces once or twice. In answer to a charming letter from Mrs. Furneau, I called and did my best to convince her that I had given up all hope of finding Margaret. I was cynical, disillusioned and self-centered to a point where I wondered how she could stand having me in the house.

However, she was most charming and sympathetic, introduced me to a number of her friends and invited me to become a regular caller at her pretty brown-stone house. She had a distinct charm of manner, arising from her perfect confidence in herself and her power to please, and I found her circle a wide one and promising for my purpose. Here one afternoon, much to my amazement, I overheard two feminine social butterflies discussing Moore.

“You know, my dear, he must have heaps of money to keep that place going—and he never works except at his sculpting, and I’m sure he never makes any money at that.”

“They say he’s fearfully dissipated,” cut in the other. “But I thought he was charming. Such a bored air and so perfectly self-possessed. He told me that I understood him as no one else did.”

“Yes, I dare say,” answered the first, unsheathing a claw. “He really needs some pure young thing like you to take him in hand and reform him. It’s such a pity to see him going to pieces like that.”

At this point I moved away, overcome by my emotions; but I repeated the whole conversation to Moore later on and advised him to seize his chance of reform if she gave it to him.

But it was about ten days after we first launched ourselves upon society that Moore got what he believed to be our first clew.

I had come home late from a small private dance, bewildered and bored by the shifting panorama of small intrigues and light love affairs impossible to avoid seeing.

I sat in my bedroom, slowly undressing and wondering what future lay ahead for these girls when some of their charm was gone, when I heard the familiar buzz of our private line. This must be something special, because we had already compared notes of our evening’s plans at dinner-time.

Moore’s voice was tense. “Hello, Clayton? Good! Damned glad you’re home. Old man, I think there’s something stirring at last!”

“Great! What is it?”

“Well, you know I went up to a party on Riverside Drive to-night. My host made his pile doing construction work for innocent and confiding suburban municipalities. Now I guess he’s trying to drown his memories in one of the finest cellars in New York and finding plenty of friends to help him. I never saw him before and I never want to see him again, except in the way of our business, but I got what I think is a clew there, and that’s the main thing.”

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“It was just before I left. I’d gone to one of the bedrooms used as a men’s cloak-room, to get my hat. The party had been pretty wild—one woman nearly had her clothes torn off her by our playful and animated host—and I was straightening up a bit when a young fellow blew in, looking for his hat.

“I’d already spotted him as a well-known young rip, with a lot more money than either wits or decency, and I’d been casually introduced to him in the early part of the evening. But now he fell on me like a long-lost friend. ‘Not a bad party, eh?’ said he. ‘But the women aren’t up to much. Too damned stand-offish for my taste. Only the same old booze, too. Gee, you oughta been on the party I was on th’ other nigh’. Say, I thought I was ’n heaven.’

“I tried to shake him off and get out of there, but he wasn’t having any. ‘Wai’ a minut’, I wan’ tell ya ’bout it,’ he said, in an injured tone, so I waited.

“He held a waving finger before me and went on: ‘I’ was like par’dise, I tell ya. I dunno what they gave us, but I was lost to the worl’ till the next mornin’. They kept me there all nigh’.’

“ ‘Where was it?’ I asked him.

“ ‘Damned ’finno. Somewhere out town. But ol’ Babylon and Corinth hadn’t a thing on that party. I paid $200 to go, an’ I wouldn’t ’a’ missed it for a thousand—girls an’ divans and strange things to drink that gave ya the most won’erful dreams, Gee, what a party! They tol’ me special that I wasn’t even to mention it, but that’s only a a’vertising dodge. Ya can’t fool me. That was one of the conditions. Made me swear not to tell before they’d take me!’ He went off into fits of laughter here.

“Some one else came in just then,” Moore continued, “and I noticed that the new-comer stared pretty hard for an instant at the young hopeful. I don’t know why. Anyhow this fellow had some more to say that convinced me he might be useful.”

“Sounds like drugs, doesn’t it?” I cut in.

“Wait,” Moore continued. “When this young fellow had stopped laughing I pumped him gently about the party.

“ ‘I dunno,’ he said, ‘what they gave us. Must ’a’ been some kind of drug, for I had a rotten head the next day.’

“I asked him again where it was.

“ ‘Search me,’ he answered. ‘They took me there in a closed car and brought me away in one. Mighta been anywhere a’most.’

“At this point,” Moore continued, “the fellow looked up and caught the new-comer’s eye and it seemed to sober him. He smiled in a sickly sort of a way and began a wild search for his hat. The other man went out right after that. But I had a good look at him, and I think I know who he is. Anyhow, the young rip wouldn’t talk any more—seemed scared and sobered—and I came away. But I got the young fellow’s address from him.”

“What’s your idea?” I asked.

“Why, follow him up and try to find out who asked him to the party. Then work it so that you or I get an invitation.”

“Sounds promising,” I said.

“You bet it does,” said Moore. “Anyhow, I’ll follow it up to-morrow. I’ll try to get in touch with the young rip and wheedle some information out of him. But I knew you’d want to know about it first. Besides, it’s as well to keep in touch with each other’s movements, I think. This young fellow lives on West 44th Street, in the Branscombe. I’ll go up there to-morrow afternoon.”

“Right. Good luck!” I answered with a good deal of feeling.

“Any news at your end?” Moore inquired.

“Not yet,” I told him reluctantly, and we rang off.

But, as you shall see, that night marked the end of the overture and the rising of the curtain on the first act of what was to prove a very serious drama.

Chapter VI.
The Girl in Gray

The following afternoon I had an engagement for tea with Mrs. Furneau. She had told me to come early, ostensibly because we were to have a quiet talk over some plans for amateur theatricals. But since our second meeting I had made a good deal of an effort to please her, and our friendship was on a more or less intimate basis at this time.

It had not been necessary to pretend to much admiration, for Mrs. Furneau was a charming woman. But where Margaret’s fate might be even slightly concerned I had none of the scruples I might otherwise have felt. Therefore, I had made my admiration for the lady more evident than was perhaps necessary, hoping for the time when our growing intimacy might give me the opportunity to question her suddenly about my sister and possibly learn something, if there were anything to learn, for my former suspicion of her had somehow faded, as I knew her better.

So, about half-past three, I pulled myself together, assumed a most cynical and disillusioned expression, and set forth for her house.

Our conversation that afternoon, before the arrival of her other guests, was of a more or less personal nature and consisted mainly of subtleties, of which the lady was a past mistress.

Once, however, she referred to the subject never absent from my thoughts: “Jack,” she said, after a pause and speaking a little wistfully, I thought, “have you really given up all hope of finding your sister?”

She reached out and touched my hand delicately, to soften the reminder if she could.

I nodded. “What’s the use? I’ve looked everywhere and it’s hopeless. Don’t let’s talk about it. Don’t worry about it, but let me go to the devil in my own way.” I smiled bitterly.

I glanced away from her, but when I looked back again her eyes were on me with a keenness of scrutiny that I had never seen before in them. There was a little furrow between her pretty brows too. But she contented herself with—“It doesn’t seem like you, somehow.”

“Perhaps not!” I retorted. “But when there isn’t a single shred of a trace to go on, what can I do?”

She hesitated a moment. “I didn’t ask just to hurt you. I expect Mrs. Fawcette here this afternoon, later on. It was at her house that I took Margaret to luncheon that wretched day, you remember. And I did not know whether you would rather see her again and perhaps question her further, or go away before she comes. She went away, you remember, soon after that, on one of her globe-trotting jaunts or something. And I thought, perhaps——”

“Oh, I don’t mind seeing her again, if that’s what you mean,” I answered, though I had never even thought of questioning Mrs. Fawcette very closely, except to verify the fact that Margaret had left with Mrs. Furneau a little after five. And I realized at that moment that perhaps I had been careless there.

“But as for questioning her again,” I added, “what’s the use?”

Helen Furneau shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I thought I’d tell you, anyway.”

“I appreciate that,” I told her.

“She’s a queer woman,” Mrs. Furneau went on. “She used to be ultra-conservative, before her husband died. But since she’s been wandering around the globe, with nothing in particular to occupy her, she’s taken on a crowd that even I would call queer. And I don’t believe anybody ever accused me of conservatism.” She laughed whimsically.

Naturally I pricked up my ears at that, though I don’t think I showed it. Anyway, I turned the conversation back to my charming hostess a moment later.

Presently the guests began to arrive. They were the usual mixed lot of artists and professionals, with a rich sprinkling of foreigners, for whom Helen Furneau had a particular penchant.

I was deep in cynical platitudes with a round-bodied and rat-eyed little cubist who looked as if he needed scrubbing, when Helen called my name.

She stood at my elbow and, turning, I found myself facing the loveliest girl I had ever seen. She was dressed in gray—clinging, filmy stuff—with a big gray floppy hat. I took that much in before Mrs. Furneau completed the introduction. Then the girl’s big gray eyes met mine gravely, lingered a moment taking me in, and fell away from mine with just a hint of shyness. She was obviously quite young and obviously out of place in that galère.

I was introduced in turn to her aunt, a fussy and voluble person, by all external signs; of the kind that rushes in and so forth. That over, I turned to the girl again with an inward sigh of relief. If I must talk to rat-eyed cubists for the sake of my search, there could be no harm in a few moments off duty in such obviously wholesome company.

During my introduction to her aunt, Miss Van Cleef had stood close to our hostess, and while I made the remark or two to her aunt which convention required, the girl was talking to Mrs. Furneau. She was speaking as I joined them.

“. . . most wonderful stuff I ever tasted. You must go and get them to give you some. They were funny people, though. I don’t believe I like them very——”

She stopped as I came up to them. Clearly she and my hostess were on the best of terms.

The three of us talked about nothing in particular for a moment, and then Mrs. Furneau hurried away to greet newer arrivals and I led the girl to a seat.

She came from Utica, I learned, had never been in New York before this visit to her aunt, and before long I had her embarked on a description of her impressions of the people she had met in her aunt’s circle. In the meantime I studied the lovely face. From the point of view of a painter of portraits the features were almost perfect. And with all the beauty of wide gray eyes, straight, delicate nose and crimson, sweetly curving lips, she had that added something—expression, spirit, feeling, call it what you will—that made the lovely features really beautiful. I could hardly credit her, even as I sat and watched her.

Presently she faltered and colored faintly and I drew my eyes hastily away. Then, more to cover the momentary embarrassment than anything else, I reverted to the remark which I had overheard.

“Won’t you tell me what was the most wonderful stuff you ever tasted?” I inquired.

She laughed gayly. “Oh, my aunt took, me to a funny party this afternoon, before we came here. There were all sorts of queer people there, and I—I didn’t care for it very much. But they gave me some of the most wonderful tea you can imagine. It almost reconciled me to the people for a while. I felt sort of dreamy, as though I loved the whole world. And then afterwards”—she laughed a little shyly—“I liked them all less than ever. There must have been something queer in it.”

My first thought was delight at the girl’s entire ingenuousness. But a moment later the full significance of her words came to me, and I realized that here might be the clew for which we had been searching for so long.

“How extraordinary!” I laughed. “But are you sure that it was the tea and not just a sudden mood?”

My companion shook her head. “No,” she answered positively, “I know the sort of mood you mean, But this was something much more distinct and engrossing. Why, for a little while everything seemed to expand or contract in the queerest way. I’m afraid I can’t explain very well. But everything there—all the people and even the things in the room—seemed to have delightful and wonderful qualities, and—— I’m afraid that doesn’t sound very coherent?” she broke off, laughing.

“It is quite coherent,” I responded, “though strange enough, surely. But——” I broke off and looked into her eyes.

“But what?”

I was silent a moment. “But I wonder,” I went on, “whether I might become socially impossible for a moment and say something serious?”

The lovely eyes met mine in frank surprise and inquiry.

“. . . and I wonder whether that sort of thing is good for one?” I finished.

She laughed. “That’s not very serious, Mr. Clayton. No, I don’t suppose that sort of thing is at all good for one. But you New Yorkers do not make that a criterion of your actions, surely?”

“Perhaps we do not!” I answered gravely.

“But that’s no reason why I shouldn’t?” she demanded, smiling. “There you go, trying to keep all the privileges for yourselves. I think I like New York and I want lots of privileges!”

I laughed. “Do you expect to be here long?” I asked.

“About a month, I think.”

“Well, you ought to see about enough of New York in that time. And I hereby extend you the freedom of the city with all its privileges. But I hope you will extend me one in return?”

At this moment her aunt bustled up to us. “Natalie, my dear, you must come and meet the Jordans. Such dear people and so unusual. Two of my best friends, you know.”

She turned to me, beaming. “You will excuse us, Mr. Clayton?”

Miss Van Cleef rose gracefully to her feet. In spite of a little momentary trick of shyness now and then, she was clearly a young lady with a good deal of natural poise. She turned to me for an instant, before following her aunt.

“And the boon you ask?” she inquired, laughing.

“Just to see something of you while you are here,” answered I gravely.

Again the lovely eyes met mine in surprise. I tried to make my glance express nothing more than a friendly interest, but it is possible that a little of my growing wonder and admiration showed for an instant.

“Natalie!” her aunt called her a little impatiently.

My companion colored adorably and dropped her eyes. “I—why, of course, if you—wish it,” she murmured.

An instant later she had joined her aunt. But I stood still, conscious of quickening pulses. And for an instant, before I was drawn into the general conversation about me, I forgot my mission there and the work I had set myself to do and became enmeshed in a day-dream, full of vague thoughts and fancies, leading I knew not whither.

But not for long. In the middle of a discussion on Freud, my hostess moved past me with a smile that held something of meaning in it, and I looked up to see her welcoming a tall woman, strikingly handsome, whose face I recognized at once.

But I should not have recognized her if her face had not been engraved on my memory by the force of association with tragedy. For I remembered Mrs. Fawcette as an ultra-conservative, conventional woman—a woman who was socially powerful and knew it, and one whose speech and attire were as conservative as her views. And now!

She wore a long flowing “art” gown of the most amazing shade of orange fading into lavender. She wore long green earrings, hanging nearly to her shoulder. Her chestnut hair, once so beautifully coiffured, now escaped in wisps from beneath her big, flopping hat, and from her head to her heels she was “of art, arty”!

But after a second glance I realized that the change in her attire was perhaps not the most striking change after all. The handsome face was still hard—still held something of dominance in its level glance—but the mouth had sagged a little, there were heavy lines under the eyes, the eyes themselves were less clear, and the whole face had deteriorated. It was much like approaching a house, handsome in the distance, only to find it deserted and falling into ruins on closer inspection.

As a portrait painter, I have naturally studied faces. But I have never before or since seen so great a change in a face without a definite cause to which the change could be ascribed. It was not a good face, at all events, of that I was very certain.

Mrs. Furneau smilingly signed to me to join her, and I was presently shaking hands with Mrs. Fawcette. Her manner was most cordial, but I did not feel that she was particularly glad to see me.

“I hear you have been round the world since last we met,” I told her.

“Oh, no! Just a fairly long stay in Egypt, a little off the beaten track.”

“What enthusiasm!” I remarked. “Life is a poor shabby thing at best, so I don’t see that it matters much where we spend it. But I dare say you enjoyed yourself?”

My manner was languid and my words evoked a glance of surprise from my hostess. But I imagine that she took it into her head that my attitude had some sort of a purpose—as indeed it had, though not the humorous one she suspected—for she smiled slightly and moved away.

Mrs. Fawcette had found a seat on a sofa while we were talking, and I sat down beside her without an invitation.

“Oh, yes, thank you, I enjoyed myself,” she answered a little sharply.

“How extraordinary,” I answered; “I thought that faculty was—dead, in most of us.”

She turned and stared at me, suspiciously. “Well, it isn’t dead in me, at all events!” she snapped; “although your remarks might imply that you think it ought to be!”

I was secretly delighted to find that she had so quick a temper. For I hoped that reaction might loosen her tongue, if there was anything to learn from her.

I sat up as though stung. “My dear lady, I had no thought of implying any such thing. If my words sounded discourteous I beg that you will pardon them. To tell you the truth, you may remember that I suffered a terrible loss some months ago, and I’m afraid that that has made me self-centered as well as costing me my own capacity for enjoyment. You remember?”

It seemed to me that my companion started slightly, and for an instant my heart stood still with a sudden fierce hope. But she answered smoothly enough:

“You poor man, of course I remember it. But surely you found your sister again. I have been away, you see, and——”

I shook my head. “No, I never found her—and now I am trying to forget.”

I glanced at my companion, but she was looking down at her hands. “You have stopped trying to find her?” she inquired, without looking up.

“What is the use?”

There was a moment’s silence.

Then: “I think, perhaps, you are wise!” said my companion. “After all, she probably ran away with some one and is quite happy.” She looked up at me at last. “And I am sure you will regain your capacity for enjoyment.”

Her glance lingered a moment, and for the first time I became aware of a queer fascination of which she seemed to have the power. She was undoubtedly a handsome woman, and her long, narrow eyes could express a great deal in a queer, elusive way.

“I feel that I am regaining it momentarily,” I answered. I could have taken her and cheerfully choked her for the callous way in which she had referred to my sister, fascination or no fascination, but that would not have advanced my cause at all. I was beginning to be suspicious of every one, and Mrs. Fawcette had been one of the last people to see Margaret.

She smiled into my eyes then, a strange, elusive smile that was yet vaguely repellent. “You are pleased to be facetious,” she said.

“Indeed, no. Of all interests a human interest is the keenest. And when that interest is beautiful——” I sighed.

I felt her hand touch mine for a fleeting instant. “Come,” she answered, “you must not flirt with me on such short acquaintance!” But she smiled into my eyes.

“And when our acquaintance is not so short?” I demanded.

She rose to her feet and I got up and faced her, “—If you will permit me to lengthen it,” I added.

She laughed provocatively. “Why, then we shall see what we shall see,” she answered.

She left me then, and presently I took leave of my hostess and came away. I had learned little or nothing either from Mrs. Fawcette or from any one. But I was anything but ill-pleased with my afternoon. For at least I had paved the way for a closer acquaintance with that rather dangerous-looking lady. And I had learned something of interest from the Girl in Gray. My pulses quickened again reminiscently at the thought and I shook myself impatiently. Such things and such thoughts were not for me until I had solved my problem and found Margaret.

Larry met me at my door in high excitement. “Sure ’tis glad I am you’re back agin, sor. That there private ’phone’s been ringing like mad fer the last hour. Ivery minute, Misther Moore wants to know are ye back yit. He must have something important to tell ye, sor. There! There it goes again.”

I gave my hat, stick and gloves to Larry and hurried into my bedroom. Yes, the tiny ’phone bell was ringing faintly.

“Hello, Moore? This is Clayton. You want me?”

“At last,” came Moore’s voice over the wire. “You bet I want you. Clayton, I believe we’re on the right track at last!”

“How’s that?”

“You remember my telling you about the young drunk I met up on Riverside Drive last night?”

“Of course!”

“Well, I went up to his place this afternoon—on West 44th Street—and found everything at sixes and sevens. There were a lot of young fellows of his type hanging around in the flat, to say nothing of three or four peroxide blondes, and his man was nearly in tears. It seems this chap can’t be found. He didn’t come home at all last night and they haven’t heard from him. In short, he has disappeared. He had appointments with a lot of them for the morning and afternoon and evening, and one of the beauties remarked tearfully that it wasn’t like Jimmy to break a date with a bit of fluff. But there it is. He’s gone. His valet was just about to get in touch with the police when I left.”

“What do you make of it?” I inquired.

“I’ll tell you, Clayton. Of course I may be wrong. The young rip may have been worse soused than he looked, and may be sobering up in some local police station. But I don’t think it was that. I didn’t like the way the other fellow looked at him in the cloak-room last night while he was talking about that party. The young fellow didn’t like it either. And he told me that he had been forbidden to talk about that party. I think that that had something to do with his disappearance. Of course all this is only guess-work, but it looks queer, doesn’t it?”

“Well,” I answered, “if he disappeared because he talked at that party and he disappeared last night, the people he offended and who gave the party must be fast workers.”

“That’s just it. If he has disappeared completely and doesn’t turn up, I think that’s the most probable explanation. And only a well-organized gang could work that fast. So it may be the same gang.”

“What about the other fellow? Did you trace him?” I asked.

“The man who overheard us? Yes. But I haven’t had a chance to talk to him or get acquainted yet. His name is Vining, as I thought, and he’s a young doctor with independent means. I guess he’s a better cocktail mixer than a surgeon. Has an office on West End Avenue. They say he limits his cases to attractive women. But every one agrees that he is clever.”

“I hope he’s not too clever for us!” I answered. “But we can’t tell much about it until we see whether the young man turns up or not. What do you think?”

“Well,” Moore answered, “I hate to lose time, but I suppose it’s no use jumping to conclusions. What’s your news?”

I told him what had happened to me that afternoon, including my own clew, which I believed I had found in the description of the tea which the Girl in Gray had had.

Finally we agreed to follow each his own line for the present, always keeping the other informed of the progress made. Indeed there was little else that we could do as yet.

Chapter VII.
The Famous Tea

In spite of the promise of recent events and the possible clews which Moore and I believed we had found, the next three weeks were uneventful. Uneventful, that is, from the standpoint of our quest, though eventful enough to me personally.

I was a languid and cynical guest at many high-brow and low-brow gatherings. I discussed Turgenieff, spiritualism, psycho-analysis, free love, and so forth at the one until my ears burned; and polo, the Dempsey-Carpentier match, women, politics and stocks at the other until I could start my tongue going and go away and leave it. But I made little progress and unearthed no fresh clews.

I did make a little progress, however.

For one thing, I cultivated the acquaintanceship of Mrs. Fawcette until it ripened into something much more intimate, though vague and undefined. She was, I found, an interesting woman, well-traveled and well-read, and, better still, with very definite views on most things. She had a clever gift of repartee, as I learned to my cost, for I found myself several times considerably beyond my depth and somewhat at a loss. Her views were strikingly, glaringly liberal, and although I attempted to match her in cynical disregard of the conventions of conversation, I think she suspected that my views were not quite so disillusioned and opportunistic as I tried to make them appear. At all events she seemed to take a secret delight in attempting to startle me, and succeeded better than, I hope, she guessed. But I got no news from her.

However, I formed a real friendship during those three weeks which meant far more to me, however little it might mean to our quest. For I arranged a second opportunity to meet and talk with the Girl in Gray, as I like to call her. And after that I obtained her permission, and that of her aunt, to call upon them. After that call and a theater party which I gave for them, we were good friends. It was my playtime, before the serious part of our quest began, and it meant more to me than I can express. Natalie Van Cleef took her many social experiences and the many strange specimens she met during her energetic aunt’s peregrinations with a ready sympathy and a sweet reserve that were inspiring to watch. She was welcome everywhere, as much for her lovely personality as for her beauty, but somehow she contrived to be a welcome addition to each circle without being exactly of it. She was essentially innocent without being ignorant, so that the unconventional moods and tenses with which she came into contact left her comprehending, at least in part, and yet quite untouched in her own sweet, calm, and slightly shy personality.

To me during those days she was like a breath of sea air in a crowded department store, or a bunch of roses on a tramp steamer, and before many days had passed she filled most of my waking thoughts and many of my dreams. We saw a good deal of each other and had many happy days together, days so happy, at least to me, that I can never think of them without a catch in the throat and a tightening of the hands, in view of what came after. For as our friendship ripened I grew to realize that her mind and spirit were as sweet and lovely and gracious as her person.

Moore accomplished little more than I did, during those three weeks. The young fellow from whom he had obtained his first hint of a circle of drug-takers de luxe had in truth disappeared, and being a wealthy young man of considerable social position, his disappearance became a nine-days’ wonder. But for all that, no trace of him was found, and Moore and I decided that our first surmise that his lack of reticence that night had been the cause of his disappearance was the correct one.

Moore did, however, get in touch with the young doctor who had overheard that conversation, and after a while succeeded in making his acquaintance. Vining apparently took to him at once, and when Moore carelessly mentioned the fact that he had independent means, which was lucky, because the public and the dealers were hardly sufficiently educated to appreciate his ideas on art, Vining contrived to see a good deal of him, aided and abetted by Moore himself.

Once or twice, Moore vaguely skirted the subject of his conversation that night with the young fellow who had disappeared, but Vining displayed a bland ignorance of any such conversation or of any place where such a party as the young man had described could be found.

However, Moore did not despair, but continued to cultivate the friendship, in his effeminate and lackadaisical way, until presently Vining knew all about his passion for new and outlandish sensations.

But events were shaping themselves for us both during those weeks, and the end of our period of inactivity came suddenly and at the same time to both.

A few days before Natalie planned to leave New York, Mrs. Furneau arranged a little luncheon to which I had the honor of being invited. Among others, the luncheon included Mrs. Fawcette, and I hope that I shall never be called upon to sit through a more trying two hours. For I had fallen almost unconsciously into the habit of being very much myself when Natalie and I were alone together, and my change of manner when talking to Mrs. Fawcette, and to Mrs. Furneau for that matter, must have been striking.

I caught Natalie looking at me once or twice in a puzzled way during the luncheon, but so far as the quest was concerned, it would have been more costly to strike a false or inconsistent note in their ears than in the ears of Natalie; so that I was forced to carry on a miserably cynical, disillusioned and world-weary conversation with my hostess and with Mrs. Fawcette, sick at heart all the time at the half-concealed surprise in Natalie’s eyes.

It had to be done now, but I regretted adopting such a pose in the first place.

It was a little better after luncheon, however. I had taken upon myself the position of an admirer of both my hostess and Mrs. Fawcette, but I contrived, with some difficulty, to have a word or two with Natalie away from the others. We had always been frank with each other and this conversation was no exception, although she was just a little cool at first.

“I’m—I’m very, very sorry that you are going away,” I told her.

“Are you? I should not imagine that anything would have the power to make you either very, very sorry or very, very glad.”

“Natalie!”

She looked down for a moment, and when she looked up again she was her usual friendly, frank self. “Well then, why do you talk in that disillusioned way? It isn’t a bit like you.”

I was silent. Then, taking a wild leap in the dark, I tried to be equally frank, whatever the consequences.

“Natalie, I know it isn’t like me. It isn’t even a real side of me. But I had to do it to-day, as I have had to do it before. There is a real and vital reason. And that is all I can tell you. Do you believe me?”

She looked up, laughing. Then, as her eyes met mine, her smile faded into a look of wonder. “Do you really mean that?” she demanded.

“I really mean just that,” I assured her earnestly; “and I really mean that I simply cannot tell you any more than that.”

“But—but—why, that is absurd. Why can’t you be yourself?”

I shook my head despairingly. “Natalie, I have told you the truth. I don’t lie much anyway; and our friendship means far too much to me for me to lie to you of all people. But I cannot tell you any more than that!”

She stared at me for a moment or two, and then I realized for the first time, perhaps, what a really wonderful girl she was. For her hand went out impulsively to my sleeve and the eyes she raised to mine were full of sincerity. “I believe you, then,” she said simply, “and your reason does not matter.”

I must have let some of my appreciation show in my eyes, for she flushed a delicious pink and dropped her own quickly. I leaned a little nearer to her: “And you see I can still be very, very glad about something!” I told her.

She changed the subject rather hastily.

“Do you remember my telling you about some wonderful tea I had had, just before our first meeting?” she asked.

I hastened to assure her that I did remember, although we had discussed that tea several times and wondered about its peculiar properties.

“Well, Mrs. Fawcette has promised me some more of it, and she is taking me there to tea this afternoon!”

“To the same place?” I asked. Her words filled me with a vague apprehension, perhaps because by now I hated the thought of associating her closely with anything that had to do with my quest.

“Yes, to the same place. Now what’s the matter?” she added, laughing.

“Well,” I answered, “frankly, I hate the thought of your taking drugs of any kind, however mild. You don’t belong in that crowd, Natalie.”

She laughed. “Oh, but I must have some more of that tea, if only to convince myself that there was nothing in it, and that my queer mood was only a mood.”

“Well, if you must go there, somehow I wish you’d let me go with you! I know it’s a funny request, and I don’t quite know why I don’t want you to go there without me—but I don’t!” I felt very young and awkward with that speech. But there was so little that I could tell her to warn her. And I did not trust either Mrs. Fawcette or her friends. I had seen something of them, and they were a queer crowd, to say the least.

Natalie looked up at me curiously. “You are in a funny mood to-day,” she said. “But if you want to come along, I should think Mrs. Fawcette would be delighted to take you!” It was unlike her, but I seemed to feel something of a challenge in her last remark.

Before I could answer, however, she had turned to that lady, who was sitting near by.

“Mrs. Fawcette,” she called gayly, “Mr. Clayton is dying to come to the tea with us this afternoon. Do you suppose you could manage to take him?”

Then I saw a queer thing happen. Mrs. Fawcette turned as though she had been stung and glanced first at me and then at Natalie, with a scarcely veiled intensity that left us startled in our turn. She did not answer for a moment, and Natalie was driven into further speech.

“I’ve been telling him about that wonderful tea we had there before, and he wants to come along and sample it. But of course if you’d rather not——” She glanced from Mrs. Fawcette to me in obvious embarrassment.

I thought Mrs. Fawcette had grown rather pale, but she answered now and readily enough: “You bad girl! I told you not to talk about that tea, or our host will be swamped with people coming to sample it and demanding where he got it. But if Mr. Clayton wants to come with us, I shall be delighted to include him in the party.” She avoided my eyes as she spoke. “He can see you home afterwards,” she added.

There was an almost venomous light in her eyes as she spoke. But if Natalie saw it she appeared serenely unconscious of the fact.

“Thank you,” she answered, “and I’m awfully sorry if I should not have talked to him about it.”

Naturally I did not feel very comfortable about my position in the party, but I was determined to go, and so made no demur to my somewhat left-handed invitation. And later, when we found ourselves in Mrs. Fawcette’s car on the way to her friend’s house, she seemed to wish to make amends by being very cordial to us both. But I did not much relish the look in her eye when it fell on Natalie all the same.

Our host was a Russian, an aristocrat and a card from the fallen house of cards that had been Russia, carried by the wind of that fall into a new country and a new circle.

Unlike most Russian aristocrat refugees, however, he seemed to have plenty of means. The house, just off Fifth Avenue in the Eighties, was beautifully if somewhat barbarically furnished, with a queer mixture of Occidental comfort in the shape of deep lounges and armchairs, and of Oriental splendor in many and rich hangings and cushions. The air of his rooms was heavy with perfume, and the man himself, with his pale skin, deep-set eyes and pointed beard, gave an impression of something equally exotic. We were the only guests and he welcomed us with almost effusive cordiality, myself included. But I did not take to him at all.

After a few moments of general conversation, Mrs. Fawcette rose to her feet, smiling. “Droga,” she called to him—he was talking to Natalie—“I have brought something to show you. I am sure that the young people will excuse us for a moment!”

Before I had recovered from my amused surprise at the somewhat crude method of classifying me with Natalie, Ivanovitch, our host, had risen to his feet with a smile and a bow and followed Mrs. Fawcette through a pair of heavy curtains into a room beyond.

Natalie and I turned and stared at each other. “Well!” she laughed. Then her smile faded and she touched my arm. “But I’m glad you came,” she whispered. “I don’t think I like it here very much; I thought there were going to be a lot of people. At least, I thought that was what Mrs. Fawcette said.”

“Natalie, dear,” I whispered, “don’t come here again without me! Promise!”

I was very much in earnest, and the “dear” slipped out before I knew it, but fortunately she did not seem to notice it. “You are growing very dictatorial, sir!” she answered. “But all the same I don’t believe I do like it here. I’m glad you came.”

A moment later the curtains parted and the others rejoined us. There was nothing to be learned from our host’s expression, for his face was a beautiful blank. But I thought Mrs. Fawcette bore traces of either temper or fear, and possibly both.

But that was all that happened. We had tea, and I must say it was wonderful tea. But it was just tea and nothing more, of that I am certain. The conversation was general and interesting enough, and if Natalie was disappointed she naturally could not show it.

For my part, I went very much out of my way to be pleasant to the Russian, although not too obviously, I hope. And presently, after the tea-things had been cleared away by a slant-eyed servant, I drew him into a discussion on the war and its ultimate effect upon his country, while the two women talked clothes or something. I laid myself out to be both sympathetic and entertaining. At all events, the moment came when I felt justified in asking him to give me the pleasure of taking him to lunch the following day, and he accepted readily enough. If there was anything to be learned from him I was determined to make an attempt to learn it. And I believed that Natalie’s first statement about the tea was correct. She was exceedingly healthy and not given to violent moods.

Afterwards, Mrs. Fawcette had to hurry home to dress for a dinner engagement, and I took Natalie back to her aunt’s house.

When our taxi pulled up in front of the house it was nearly dinner-time, and we both had engagements. But I detained her for a moment longer.

“Listen, Natalie! Will you do me a very big favor?” I asked her, as we mounted her aunt’s steps.

She threw me a smiling glance of inquiry.

“It is a big favor,” I warned her. “And this is it: Will you promise to tell me before you go there again for any more of that wonderful tea?”

Natalie looked at me in wonder. “How funny you are to-day,” she said at last. “Don’t you like Mrs. Fawcette or Ivanovitch?”

“Not very much, I confess. But I like the idea of that drugged tea even less, Natalie. Promise, please!”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve got to go and dress, you importunate man,” she laughed, “so—I’ll promise. Though I haven’t the slightest idea why I should.”

At all events, I went down her aunt’s front steps treading on something much less substantial.

Chapter VIII.
Amateur Burglary

Next morning, which was Thursday, at breakfast, Larry smashed a cup and saucer, burned his hand and almost established a reputation for nerves.

He was giving me my breakfast at the time and had a cup of hot coffee in his hand. My question was mild enough, too.

“Larry,” I asked him, “where could I buy a kit of burglar’s tools?”

Larry stared. “D’ye mean jemmies an’ that, sor?”

“That’s just what I mean!”

Larry stared. “Sure, d’ye think I’d be usin’ them, thin?”

“On the contrary, Larry,” I told him calmly, “I want to use them myself. You see, I intend to become a burglar.”

It was then that Larry dropped the coffee-cup, burning his hand rather badly.

I waited until he had finished hopping around the room, and until the really remarkable richness and variety of his profanity had exhausted itself. Then I told him a little about my plans for that afternoon.

The night before, after seeing Natalie home, I had gone to a dinner and theater party, and had not reached my own flat until the small hours. Nevertheless, I found Larry waiting up for me, with the news that Moore wanted to speak to me the moment I came in. I don’t know how much Larry guessed of our relations and plans, but he seemed content to obey orders and ask no questions. And he and Moore were on the best of terms by now.

Moore answered at once when I rang him.

“Listen, old fellow,” he said. “There’s some really big news for you. I have had another talk with Vining. I took him out to dinner last night and gave him a really good time, and I think he has thawed out at last. At any rate, he admitted that he could take me to a wonderful party if he wanted to.

“I had told him,” Moore went on, “that my one object in life was a new and unique sensation, and of course when he admitted that he could give me one, I deviled the life out of him to do it. Well, Clayton, he finally consented!”

“Great stuff,” I told him.

“I wanted to go to it to-morrow night. But he couldn’t manage that. He’s going out of town to-morrow. However, he promised to take me the night after. That’s Friday night. But I am to be blindfolded, to travel in a closed car and to pay $200 for the privilege. Pretty steep, eh?”

“It ought to be some party,” I remarked.

“You’d think so,” Moore continued. “Now I’ve been thinking the thing over and I can’t believe that a gang like that will give me the slightest chance to learn where I am going or how I got there. They couldn’t afford to. And they’re probably too clever to fool.

“That leaves two other courses open to us. We can try to find out beforehand approximately where they are going, and you can pick me up on the way and follow on. Or you can attempt to follow me from the start. But if they are the clever rogues I think they are, the latter will not be easy.”

“Nor the former, for that matter,” I remarked.

“Perhaps not,” Moore replied. “But now that we know definitely that Vining is mixed up with some gang, even if it isn’t the one we are looking for, I think we can take more definite steps to find out more about him. And he’s to be away to-morrow afternoon.”

“Search his rooms,” I said.

“Exactly,” said Moore. “What do you say?”

“Do you think he’s at all suspicious of you, Moore?”

There was silence for a moment. Then Moore’s voice came more slowly over the wire. “Damn it, Clayton, I can’t be sure. Of course he seems perfectly friendly now. But he did change a bit suddenly. However, that’s probably only my imagination.” Moore hesitated. “He certainly wouldn’t loosen up at all at first.”

“Well then, listen. I don’t believe that it’s worth while your taking a chance of running foul of him. Did he tell you of his own free will that he was going out of town to-morrow?”

“Yes, made quite a point of it. But, of course, I was disappointed at not going to the party sooner.”

“Well, if he’s at all suspicious of you and he’s as clever as you say he is, maybe he’s counting on your doing that very thing!”

“What? Searching his rooms? Clayton, you’ve got a head on you!”

“It’s just possible,” I answered. “So I think it would be better if I go. Then if I’m caught, he’ll take me for a burglar and not suspect you necessarily. I’ll take Larry with me, and if they’re planning to surprise me, maybe I’ll give them a surprise in return. Besides, if he does try to ambush me, we’ll know that he is suspicious of you.”

So Moore agreed to this plan, if rather reluctantly, and gave me Vining’s address. He told me something else, too, that strengthened my conviction that it would be unwise for him to go. He was pretty sure, though not certain, that he was being followed. We discussed this rather disturbing news for a while, I told him my own news and we rang off.

Some of this I explained to Larry. And then and there Larry made a suggestion which I was convinced would be of great value to me.

“Sure, sor,” said Larry, “I’d burgle Dublin Castle itself wid the loikes of yerself. But I hate to burgle a house where they mebbe know you’re comin’.”

“Can’t be helped, Larry. We’ve got to take that chance!”

“Well, sor, mebbe we could get away from the loikes av thim, anyhow. But if this Vining is such a clever lad, he must be a real dangerous customer, sor?”

“Shouldn’t be surprised, Larry.”

“Well, then, mebbe ’twould do ye no good to get away from him, if he was to see yer face. Mebbe he’d get ye in the long last, in any case.”

“That’s another chance we’ve got to take, Larry!”

Larry scratched his head. “Well, sor, in me spare toime I’ve been dippin’ into some of these detecative shtories. ’Tis enough to make ye laugh, some av thim is, but there was one lad, a gintleman cracksman he called himself, that had some bright ideas. And one av thim was that he wore a mask.”

“Been keeping in touch, have you, Larry?” I laughed. “But that’s a damned good idea, all the same. Go to one of the theatrical make-up stores in the West Forties this afternoon and get two of them. Then buy a kit of tools. Then go to Vining’s house and look over the lay of the land. He lives on the second floor.” And I told him the address.

“Finally, Larry,” I added, “meet me with your kit at 59th Street and Lexington Avenue at nine o’clock to-night, and do not bring a gun. If we’re going to have to injure any one, we’ve got to do it quietly. For we can’t afford any kind of publicity. That’s all, Larry.”

Natalie and I went for a ride in the Park that Thursday morning, and for a few hours I forgot my quest. Perhaps I will be accused of lack of feeling for that. But I loved and longed for my little sister none the less because Natalie had come into my life.

Only, I had led a curiously uneventful life, up to that time, aside from my experiences in the war; my knowledge of women was limited to social amenities and books; the light loves of the average young sower of wild oats had never appealed to me; and so I had to struggle against a very torrent of dammed-up longing and emotion now that I had met Natalie.

For I was wildly, hopelessly in love with her. We had only known each other for some three weeks, I know, but the thing had come on me like a very flash of revelation, and was unmistakable and not to be denied.

They say that women are aware of these things. If she knew that I loved her, she at least did not show it, by word or look. And, of course, after a friendship of only three weeks, I had done my best to hide my feelings until I could give her a chance to “get used to me,” as I expressed it to myself.

She was very lovely that morning. The sun vied with the wind in tormenting me by playing hide-and-seek in her wayward masses of hair. Her beautiful face radiated health and happiness, so that passers-by turned and watched her brazenly. And ever the lovely eyes looked into mine, clear, innocent and friendly, until laughter and badinage died on my lips and I rode beside her tongue-tied and almost blind with longing to take her into my arms, there in the sunlight, and tell her that she meant the past, the present, the future and all life to me.

Perhaps she guessed. For she talked on at random and more rapidly than usual, until I recovered some show of casual companionship, and presently she told me that she was tired and asked me to take her home.

But at her door she left me with lowered eyes and only a faint “Good-by,” so that, for some reason, I left her house happier than I had ever been in my life.

By the time I had bathed and dressed for my lunch with Ivanovitch, something of the mood of the morning had passed and I was back in the spirit of my quest again.

I called for him in my little car and took him to an inn out on the Peekskill road. It is a beautiful place, that inn, and I think the Russian enjoyed himself, although I could not supply him with anything to match his wonderful tea. But I’m not so sure that he enjoyed the drive. He struck me as something of a hothouse product, and I drive rather fast.

By the time we got there I had schooled myself to a line of subtly degrading conversation to spring on him, more in keeping with his tastes, I hoped. It succeeded better than I expected.

I discovered that the precious Mr. Ivanovitch followed my lead with extraordinary alacrity. In his subtle and charming way he gave vent to a series of the nastiest remarks that I have ever listened to. It would have been a real pleasure to throw him over the balcony of the inn, into the gorge some fifty feet below. But I had more than my personal tastes to consider in that interview.

I did my best to convince him that I shared his views and his tastes. I took a leaf from Moore’s book, and admitted that I had run through pretty well the entire gamut of sensations with the exception of drugs, and that I was too lazy to go in search of those. Finally, I admitted quite frankly that I had heard of some wonderful tea that he had served at his house and begged him to tell me whether it was really as captivating as it had been called.

But Ivanovitch was cautious. He told me that I had had some of that tea the preceding afternoon and that it was merely good tea.

So I let the matter drop entirely, and talked about Russia and other general subjects until it was time to take him home.

At his door, however, I tried once more. “Well, Monsieur, I have to thank you in turn”—he had expressed himself as pleased with his entertainment—“for a delightful luncheon, and I can only hope that you will give me another opportunity to enjoy your society. You are a man of the world, Monsieur,” I laughed; “and I hope, too, that if you run across something new in this weary round of nights and days, you will let me share it with you!”

He bowed, smiling his cynical smile. “Who knows, perhaps I may yet be able to introduce you to a new sensation, my dear Mr. Clayton.”

And with that we parted.

There had been something about his smile that I did not entirely like. But I did not like the man at all, anyway, and I put it down to the fact of his alien temperament. At all events, if he, too, knew anything about the famous revels of which we were beginning to learn, I had made a fair start to learn more through him.

The real event of the day began when I met Larry at nine o’clock. He was at the appointed place promptly on time, and I could see by his slightly increased girth that he had brought the kit of tools with him. I myself was dressed in my oldest clothes and looked as much like a burglar as possible, so that if Vining saw me he would not connect me with Moore or think it more than a coincidence. With nothing more than a nod and a smile, Larry jumped into the car and we proceeded to Vining’s home, parking the car down the street a little way.

The house was one of those high, narrow, brown-stone fronts in the Sixties. Originally it had had a basement and steps leading up to the first-floor front door. But, like many of these houses, it had been converted into apartments, the steps had been torn down and the basement entrance was now the front door. The latter was set in, in a little vestibule, the entrance was overshadowed by the steps of the house next door, and forcing an entrance, Larry said, was child’s play if we didn’t get caught.

Larry had found out through local stores that Vining lived alone, as a rule, and that his apartment was cared for by a woman who came in by the day, so that once we reached his rooms we were in little danger of detection. But the difficulty was forcing the lock on the front door without attracting attention.

Vining lived on the second floor. His windows were dark. But there were lights in the apartment on the first floor although there were none in the basement, so that we were in constant danger of detection as we stood in the little entrance.

However, Larry began fishing under his coat and calmly made ready to force the lock. I confess that I was uncomfortable. This was taking the law into our own hands with a vengeance—and if we were caught, I could not take the law into my confidence. Then, too, if any one came along while we were searching Vining’s rooms and saw the forced lock, there would be a hullabaloo at once.

“Wait a minute, Larry,” I said, “there are some children coming. I’ve got a better idea, I think.”

There were letter-boxes for each apartment in the vestibule and a push button underneath each letterbox. We stood quietly waiting until the children had come, laughing and calling, nearly opposite us. Then I pressed all the bells.

I waited a moment, and then sure enough I heard the latch lifted. “Quick, Larry,” I whispered. “Slip something into the door to hold it open.”

He slipped one of his tools under the door at the bottom, so that the latch could not close again, and then I drew him back into the shadow of the steps next door.

We waited a few moments and presently we heard a window raised overhead. The children were still calling in the street, and a woman’s voice floated down to us, faintly: “Drat those children!” Then the window was closed with a bang.

Larry drew closer to me. “Say, have you done this before, sor?” he demanded.

We waited for perhaps ten minutes, But nothing happened and no one came to the front door, either from inside the house or from the street. Then Larry slipped quietly forward, pushed open the door, picked up his jemmy and stood waiting for me. “Come on, sor,” he whispered, “ ’tis now or never!”

I followed him into the house.

Now I had told Larry that there was just a possibility either that they were waiting for us or that they might return and catch us. On that account I had arranged that we should not stick together after we got into the apartment, but that he should drop behind a little and follow me. As soon as he was inside, he was to hide somewhere where he could watch me, to act, if necessary, as surprise reënforcements. What I had heard of Vining had made me skeptical as to the ease with which his rooms could be searched, especially if there were anything there for him to conceal.

There was a light in the entrance hall, but everything was quiet. We passed through it and up the first flight of stairs. My heart was in my mouth. However, the stairs creaked hardly at all, and we reached the dark hall one flight up with very little noise.

Larry had called with a parcel for an imaginary tenant earlier in the evening, and had not only marked in his memory the stairs that creaked, but had also ascertained that Vining’s door would be comparatively simple to open.

As it lessened the chance of people coming in and catching us, we mounted the second flight at once. We were almost in darkness, I could see nothing, and the necessity for speed coupled with the need for making absolutely no sound had me, at least, keyed up to a pretty high pitch.

We were half-way up the second flight, on our hands and knees fortunately, and maneuvering a creaky step, when a door opened in the hall just below us, letting out a flood of light. Fortunately it came from a chandelier high up in the room beyond and did not reach the spot where we stood. But it was nervous work, standing, or rather crouching, with one knee in the air, while that woman put out her light, locked the door and proceeded down the stairs to the front door.

A moment later we stood in the dim hall in front of Vining’s door and donned our masks.

I stood and waited while Larry let go of my hand and stooped down. I heard a little scraping sound, a chink as of metal striking metal and then a sharp crack, that sounded as loud as a big gun in the silent hall. We stood still for a moment, but nothing happened.

“There you are, sor,” came Larry’s cheerful whisper. “You go ahead and I’ll foller and hide.”

So, with a little electric torch in one hand and the other held out blindly before me, I crept into the darkness that was, presumably, Vining’s entrance hall.

After a moment I heard the front door close softly behind me, and then I ventured to use the torch.

Have you ever gone into a strange house and tried to make out the lay of the land with a pocket torch? The torch shows up only one tiny spot at a time, and when you have swept it all over one article of furniture and made out its general dimensions, you have forgotten everything else!

However, I found my way through the tiny hall and into a room on the left, which appeared to be a sitting-room. This room was dimly lit with a faint radiance that filtered in from the street below, and I was able to make out the distribution of the furniture. One of the first things I noticed was a desk in the far corner by the window, and I decided that that was my goal. Larry was still at my heels.

“Open up that desk, Larry,” I whispered. A moment later I heard the snap of the lock. “Now follow me while we search the rest of the place first.” We went back into the tiny, pitch-dark hall again.

The front door was at right angles to the outside hall. The little entrance hall was also at right angles to the outside hall and ended almost at once in an alcove with a sofa and some chairs in it. But we found that another and narrower hall, the entrance to which was hidden by a heavy curtain, passed back inside the flat for its entire length. The dining-room, kitchen, bathroom and two bedrooms led off it in turn, and the hall ended in a window at the back of the house. A third bedroom lay to the right of the hall at the back. As it was a corner house all these rooms had windows.

We found nothing, that is, nothing of any importance to our search. One of the rooms showed evidences of recent feminine occupancy. But there was no one in the apartment—that was certain.

A good deal relieved, I returned to the front hall, stationed Larry in the alcove there, and made my way to Vining’s desk in the front room.

Chapter IX.
The First Skirmish

To my disappointment, there was very little in the desk. A few old letters, an invitation or two, some receipts and a couple of blank income-tax return forms were all that my first search revealed. But having come there with so much difficulty, I was determined to find it, if there were anything to be found, and going through the desk more carefully a second time disclosed something that might be more valuable. It was a tiny account book; I found it in a little hollow under the blotter.

I studied it for a moment there in the silence, by the aid of my little torch, and presently received a shock. For it was half full of names, and these included several of the people whom I knew. After each name was a series of dates, followed by single figures, so that a single entry read something like this:

Emily Horton: | August 11—2.
| August 15—3.
| August 17—2, etc.

Suddenly there was a tiny sound from the hall outside, and I instinctively switched off my torch and slipped the little book into my pocket. I turned toward the doorway, which lay in shadow. Then I became conscious that my heart was pounding heavily, for I could see that something was moving in the shadowy corner.

“Hands up!”

I was blinking in a glare of blinding light, from the suddenly illuminated chandelier, my hands high above my head, and staring into the unwavering muzzle of a large and efficient-looking automatic. The owner of the gun stood just inside the doorway, with two other men flanking him on either side—and a very determined and formidable trio they looked.

In the pause that followed I had time to recognize Vining, from Moore’s description, as the man with the gun. I had also time to wonder what had become of my reënforcements in the shape of Larry. Obviously the next move was in either his hands or Vining’s, for I was effectually covered.

“Drop one hand and take off that mask!” Vining snapped.

I was silent and made no move.

“Won’t, eh?” he snarled. “Don’t forget that I’m perfectly justified in killing you where you stand. Just a little pull on this”—he curled his finger suggestively around the trigger for my benefit—“and you’ll be very little trouble, my friend. Are you going to take it off?”

The three men were just inside the door. But as Vining spoke he took a step forward into the room and toward me, and his companions came forward with him. The light switch was on the wall, just inside the door, and as Vining advanced I saw a hand steal through the doorway and along the wall in the direction of the switch. Then Larry’s black poll appeared and he beckoned me with his other hand, but he did not turn the switch at once.

Vining swore. “—— him! Take that mask off and search him!” he said to his two satellites, who were standing, waiting for orders.

I glanced at the two men and wondered. They were swarthy and foreign, with high cheekbones—distinctly Slavic. But as they stepped toward me, a great many things happened at once.

For one thing, Larry came fully into view. He had a small rug in his hand. He stepped silently as close as he could to Vining and still reach the switch. Then at one and the same moment the rug sailed over Vining’s head, the light went out, my fist connected with one Slavic jaw, while with my other arm I caught the other assistant around the middle to act as a shield in case Vining’s gun went off. And Larry must have caught Vining from behind, for another loud crash from the other side of the dark room accompanied the bang with which my first victim brought up against the floor. I threw the second Russian down by means of the cross-buttock, with which simple expedient he did not seem familiar, judging by the way he literally fell for it. Then I stumbled over the first Russian and blundered into Larry in the doorway, and together we fled for the front door and the outside world, Larry chuckling richly under his breath.

As we crowded through the front door, there came the roar of somebody’s revolver from the room behind us and a scream of pain—and Larry broke into open laughter.

“Sure, sor,” he panted, as we fled down the last flight, “they’ll kill each other entirely if we do but lave thim to ut!”

“Maybe,” I answered, “but they’ll rouse the whole place about our ears. We’ve got to get out of here—and quick!”

The headlights of my car were burning faithfully down the street, and as we hurried toward it, I noticed another, larger car a little farther down, across the street and facing the other way. It had not been there when we came. As we came out from the shadow of the house next door a figure detached itself from the larger car and approached us slowly.

“Your mask, Larry,” I warned him, taking off mine at the same time.

I paid no particular attention to the man from the other car until he reached us. It was too dark for me to see his face, and too dark, I hoped, for him to see mine. For as we met he glanced at us closely and then, without a word, turned and hurried back to his car.

I caught Larry’s arm. “By gad, that looks like more of them. Jump in quick!” I told him.

I was in the driving seat with Larry tumbling in behind me before the stranger reached his own car. But just as I slipped in the clutch something whistled between Larry and me, and a section of glass from my wind-shield leaped into the air and fell on the hood.

“Head down, Larry,” I shouted, as we gathered speed. Then I looked back.

The other car was drawn across the road, with the front wheels on the sidewalk, in the act of turning. It looked enormous in the dim light, and I could see that it had more than one occupant, though how many I could not tell. Another bullet whistled over our heads, perilously close, but there came no sound of an explosion.

“Air-guns again, Larry,” I shouted, above the roar of my open cut-out. “If we’re to save our skins we’ve got to shake them.”

Fortunately Park Avenue, when we reached it, was clear for the moment and we drove across, heading for Fifth. Larry looked back this time, for I had to watch the wheel.

“They’re at Park now, sor,” he shouted. “They’re stuck in the thraffic, I—no, sor, they’re through—and coming like the wind!” he added.

I was pretty sure of being able to shake them off, for my little car could do sixty easily, being well engined and heavily built, and that was as fast as any car would dare go under any circumstances, in the city, I thought. But Larry had a better idea.

“Tis a big, long cyar, they have, sor. ’Twill take them long to turn corners, I’m thinkin’,” he shouted.

By the time we reached Madison Avenue the big car was about a hundred feet behind us and gaining rapidly. Again the street was clear luckily, and I swung round the corner to the right on two wheels. The pursuing car turned more slowly, as Larry had surmised, and by the time I turned east again, it was just getting into speed on Madison Avenue.

I was well down the block toward Park Avenue again when the long hood swung round the corner of Madison, and it looked very much as if we could get away by constantly turning corners.

But we were both of us mad to count on our luck holding so long, for at Park Avenue I met a phalanx of three cars abreast, going south, and by the time I was able to turn south on Park Avenue, the big car was close behind. Fortunately there was one car between, for our pursuers again took long in turning.

As it turned into Park behind us, Larry looked back again. “There’s three of them in the car, sor. Must be their lucky number.” At all events Larry was always a cheery companion.

But now I did not dare turn out again, they were too close. By reckless driving that brought a shout from more than one other car, I managed to keep my lead and even to lengthen it by passing another car. But as we swept up on the viaduct around the Grand Central, the big car nosed its way back to third place again.

Larry leaned close to me. “Can you make a left-hand turn, sor?” he asked eagerly. “Can ye get to Third Avenue?”

“What for?”

“I’ve an idea, sor. I think we can give thim a lesson if you can get to the L.”

I had no idea what Larry had up his sleeve, and I had to watch my driving too closely to find out. Besides, by the time we dipped down to Fourth Avenue again, at 40th Street, the pursuing car had crept still closer, so I had no chance to turn either way.

The traffic was thinning out, too, and remembering the recklessness of our pursuers, I felt the skin crawling on the back of my head, where I expected a better-aimed bullet almost any moment.

However, either they had grown more cautious or they had made certain that they could catch us without difficulty, for as far as I know they did not fire again.

At 34th Street I had a stroke of luck. I got across just before the traffic cop blew his whistle, and while I do not suppose that would have stopped our pursuers, there was another car in between which pulled up and obliged them to stop to avoid a collision.

The traffic cop called after me, but I was much too busy to pay attention at the moment. “We’ve beat them, sor, we’ve beat them. Now where, sor?” cried Larry.

“We’ll twist about a bit, Larry, and try to throw them off the scent entirely,” I answered.

At 32nd Street I turned west. Then, at Madison, having plenty of time, I made a left-hand turn, going south again, as I imagined that they would immediately expect me to go north.

After that I twisted in and out, gradually working south until I reached Broadway and Union Square. Here I turned east, intending to run down to Third Avenue and so run north, and as I passed Lexington Avenue, a long, black hood shot out and made for my rear wheels, and it was only by stepping on the accelerator that I avoided the nastiest kind of a turnover smash-up. Either our pursuers were mind-readers or it was the worst of bad luck.

The other car swung in behind us at once, and in order to avoid being overtaken then and there, and probably shot at close quarters, I made a quick right-hand turn into Third Avenue, ran along beside a street car and shot in front of it, perilously close to an L pillar.

I intended to make another right-hand turn almost at once, but Larry had another idea. “Now we’re here, sor, shtick to the L. Ye can wind in and out until we get to the Bowery, and then—then Oi’ll finish thim, or me name ain’t Larry Malloy!”

My own idea was to trust to my luck and try turning corners again. But Larry seemed so sure of his plan that I decided to risk it, although, if I had realized its bloodthirsty nature, I might have hesitated.

The others were held up for a moment or two behind the street car and before they could catch us again, I had turned into the broad open sweep of the Bowery, the scene of my first meeting with Larry.

I slowed up a little and looked back. The pursuing car was half a block behind and overtaking us rapidly.

“This is as good a place as another, sor,” said Larry grimly. “Duck yer head as much as ye can and lave thim catch us. Most like they’ll try to come up alongside, and that’s what I’m afther.” He was fumbling with his kit of tools under his coat, and a moment later I caught the dull flash of light from a heavy, blue-steel jemmy.

The whole street was deserted before us as the other car came purring up behind. We were on the car tracks and doing about thirty-five miles an hour. The other car must have been doing at least forty-five or fifty.

Sure enough it came up close behind and then nosed out on to the north-bound car tracks, evidently with the idea of running up alongside. But as I turned out to the left, Larry rose suddenly in his seat, turned half round, and I saw his arm flash back with the jemmy in it. There came a clatter of glass from the pursuing car, a wild scream, and then the most horribly roaring crash that I have ever heard.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw the jemmy fly true to the wind-shield and through it, just as the car turned out. It must have caught the driver squarely in the face, for the car kept straight on its diagonal course.

My last sight of it, looking back, was a huge car, reared up with its front half-way to the top of a badly buckled L pillar, its front axle bent almost double, so that wheels clasped the pillar and a limp body, hanging head downward, across the hood.

For sheer horror I very nearly pulled up. But people were hurrying to the crash from all directions, more than one police whistle was blowing, and Larry was plucking at my sleeve.

“There,” he said, “that’ll tache ’em a lesson to come murtherin’ honest citizens!”

But there was an awe in his voice none the less. For death had come very suddenly to the men behind us there.

We turned off into a side street presently, and so, driving slowly and cautiously, made our way home again. But Larry and I did not talk much on the way back.

I let him put the car away, while I went on to my rooms alone. To my amazement it was only ten-thirty, though I felt as though I had lived through a week at least since I left that afternoon. I was rather shaky. I had seen death many times in the war, but somehow the circumstances had been more natural and inevitable then.

When I reached my sitting-room I sat down in front of the table to rest a moment before telephoning my news to Moore. Larry had left a couple of letters where I could see them, and the sight of one of them set my thoughts leaping into another channel. I had never seen her handwriting before, but somehow I knew from whom that pale blue envelope, addressed in a dainty sloping hand, had come.

I opened it quickly. It was dated the same day and must have been written and mailed that morning.

“Dear Mr. Clayton,

“A promise is a promise, in spite of the conventions. Mrs. Fawcette is giving a luncheon party for me to-morrow (Friday), and has promised that Mr. Ivanovitch will be present. Better still, he is to supply something very wonderful in the way of a new drink, though whether it is to be some more of ‘that wonderful tea’ or not I do not know.

“If you would care to come to ordinary tea at my house, or, rather my aunt’s house, to-morrow afternoon, about four o’clock, I will tell you all about it, as I promised.

“Sincerely yours,

“Natalie Van Cleef.”

I pulled some paper toward me and wrote her a somewhat longer reply, accepting the invitation. I even took the risk of begging her in a more or less veiled way to be careful. When the letter was finished, I took it out and put it down the hall shute myself. Then I went back to look at my other letter. But from the events of the evening to the dainty missive that lay open on my desk was a gap that brought the former into lurid relief, while lending them also a touch of unreality. It did not seem possible, there in my quiet rooms, with that dainty letter before me, that I had just returned from a flight for my life that ended in death for some one.

Presently I glanced at the other letter. It was in a plain envelope and was typewritten.

Here it is:

“Dear Clayton,

“RTIEZQVLOTKGGDXGNZETHLXLDTIZZTSGZZGFSXYTKQENKTCTW.”

For a moment I took it for a practical joke. Then I remembered a simple cipher which Moore had arranged with the Chief, and I carried the note in to where the Underwood typewriter stood in my study. First, I took a sheet of paper and, counting from the first letter of the keyboard, top row, left, I put down on the paper the numbers, reading left to right and from the top row down, which corresponded to the letters.

Thus the first letter, R, was the fourth letter in the first row. So I put down 4. The next letter, T, was the fifth letter in the first row, so I put down 5. The next letter, I, was 8, E was 3, Z was 20, etc.

Reading in this way, I got:

4, 5, 8, 3, 20, 1, 23, 19, 9, 5, 18, 15, 15, 13, 21, 15, 25, 20, 3, 5, 16, 19, 21, 19, 13, 5, 8, 20, 20, 5, 12, 15, 20, 20, 15, 14, 12, 21, 6, 5, 1, 3, 25, 18, 5, 22, 5, 2.

By an ordinary alphabetic table, which I had prepared, with A as 1, B as 2, C as 3, etc., I found that these numbers represented the following letters:

D, E, H, C, T, A, W, S, I, E, R, O, O, M, U, O, Y, T, C, E, P, S, U, S, M, E, H, T, T, E, L, O, T, T, O, N, L, U, F, E, R, A, C, Y, R, E, V, E, B.

Reading these backward, I got the message:

BEVERYCAREFULNOTTOLETTHEMSUSPECTYOUMOOREISWATCHED.

Separated into words:

“Be very careful not to let them suspect you. Moore is watched.”

When I had finished taking in the full meaning of this message, which undoubtedly came from the Chief, I realized, with a new sense of confidence, that the Secret Service was not only back of us, but keeping closely in touch.

Then I went to call up Moore. He answered the ’phone at once, and listened without a word while I told him of our adventures that night and the finding of the little book. When I had finished he whistled softly.

“Look here, Clayton,” he said, “this thing is getting pretty serious. They had a whirl at me to-day. At least, somebody did their best to run over me twice this afternoon. I think we had better meet for once, if you can manage to get to me without being followed and I can get to you. I think you’d better bring Larry too. This is what I’ve doped out. You and Larry take a taxi and drive slowly through the Park from 59th Street and Fifth Avenue toward the 72nd Street gate, West Side. On the way you’ll stop and pick me up on an open space, if I am walking bareheaded. If not, do not stop, even if you see me. If I do not turn up or if my hat is on, it will mean that I have been followed, so don’t worry. But I think I can shake them off in the open. Will you do that?”

“Of course I will,” I told him. “What time?”

“About 2.30. Then, if we don’t meet, come back to your rooms and call me at about four. I’ll be waiting.”

“All right, Moore, old man. I’ll do that. Good-night!”

“Good-night.”

So we rang off, and after slipping Vining’s little notebook under the blotter on my table, I went to bed, telling Larry to see that our front door was locked and the chain was up. But I did not get to sleep very quickly.

Chapter X.
Mrs. Fawcette is Indiscreet

The next morning, Friday, I woke and lay for a moment drowsily wondering as to the cause of a sort of vague excitement of which I was conscious. Then recollection of the events of the previous evening returned, and I jumped out of bed and yelled for Larry and my bath. Although it went against the grain with me, at first, Larry had quietly but firmly taken to himself the duties of valet, housemaid, cook and butler. As a general factotum he was a marvel of usefulness, but at first I had objected violently to being waited on hand and foot. Larry, however, had taken these rebuffs quite calmly and had gone his own sweet way, looking after my clothes, running my bath-water and bringing me tea in bed in the morning, and I had gradually drifted into this sort of a sybaritic existence through sheer laziness. Once or twice he had even tried to help me on with my clothes, but I had to draw the line somewhere, and he finally gave that up.

Larry came in grinning as usual. He had a small tray in his hand, with a cup of tea and some bread and butter on it. For a short time in his early career he had been valet to an Irish lordling, and old habits stuck, it seemed.

“Take that tea away, Larry,” I told him. “Is my bath ready? And what the hell do you mean by letting me sleep so late, you Irish billygoat? What time is it?”

Larry’s face fell, not at the name I called him—he was used to that—but at the fate of the tea. But he set the tray down beside the bed.

“Sure, sor, ’tis just gone eight an’ yer bath’s waiting for ye. Do but take a drop of the tay, an’——”

I reached for a book and Larry promptly dodged, grinning. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I demanded again.

“An’ why would I do that same, sor? Sure, if ’twasn’t wishful to be disturbed ye was, ’tis the whole library would ’ave come me way.”

“Well, you unmitigated scoundrel, I want breakfast in ten minutes, or you’ll answer for it,” I told him. “And after that I want to talk to you, so don’t go sneaking away to talk to your little lady friend on the next floor.”

This, as I expected, was a bolt from the blue for Larry, because I believe he had no idea that I knew of his growing attachment and increasing encounters with a pretty little English maid from the flat above. At any rate he grinned sheepishly and withdrew, taking the tea with him. For once, a retort of any kind was lacking.

I stripped and plunged into a cold tub, and in fifteen minutes was seated at one of Larry’s inimitable breakfasts, wondering what I should do without him, if anything should come of his attachment to the girl upstairs. Moore had ways of his own of finding things out, and he had told me of Larry’s conversations on the stairs. One of Moore’s maxims was: “Where there’s a woman, there’s trouble.” But neither of us took Larry’s attachment very seriously; there had been too many of them. Moore only feared that he might become too expansive concerning our affairs. But that I never even considered. You must trust somebody, and Larry had shown himself entirely trustworthy.

He stood by until I had taken the edge from my appetite, and then I turned upon him. “Now then, Larry,” I said briskly, “pull up a chair and sit down. We’ve got some plans this afternoon that you’re in on, and I can’t have you making a mess of them.”

Larry grunted. “Twas something else I made a mess of last night, sor,” he remarked. “An’ small thanks I get——”

“Sit down!” I roared. “And shut up!”

Larry sank into a seat, grinning feebly.

“Now,” I began, after a moment, “you and Moore and I are to have a council of war this afternoon. I’ll tell you this much, Larry. Moore is being followed and we’ve got to be careful. His idea is that he should walk through the Park, and that you and I should take a taxi and pick him up in some open space, where his shadow can’t get close to him. What do you think of the plan? You see, they don’t suspect me as yet.”

Larry pricked up his ears at this. “Who’s ‘they,’ sor?” he demanded. “Was it that pasty lad with the gun last night?”

“He and his friends, Larry—and a lot of friends he seems to have. But I think, Larry—I hope—that they may know something about my sister.”

“By gorry, sor, gimme the address again—but sure, don’t I know it?—and I’ll have the heart out av him, ’Tis meself will wring the truth out av the dog, if I have to sthrangle him.”

I held up my hand. “Wait a bit, Larry. Do you suppose, if that would do any good, I wouldn’t have done it long ago? The trouble is he may know nothing. Besides, it’s a far bigger thing than just one man, and it’s the whole concern we’re up against. Now I’ve told you more than I should, and if you breathe a word to any one of this, my goose is cooked. Get that well in your thick head right now. Not one single word, Larry!”

“Sure, I know well how to hold me tongue, if that’s all,” he said.

“Right!” I answered. “Now, what do you think of the plan?”

Larry thought for a moment. “Tis well enough, sor,” he answered presently. “But if they see him get in our taxi they’ll likely have a cyar handy and follow.” He was silent again, the effort of thought wrinkling an ordinarily smooth brow. “But I had a pal for a while, sor. He is living at the country’s expense at the moment, sor. But we used to meet on the quiet in the Park. He was being followed and I wasn’t. So he would go for a walk through the open part, to be sure he was alone, and then make for that bunch av trees an’ bushes round about the little resteront near Sivinty-second Street and Fifth Avenoo. I was waiting there with a closed taxi, and away we wint before ye cud say knife.” He paused. “Maybe that wud be better, sor?”

“Good idea, Larry. I’ll call up Moore as soon as I’ve finished. Now bring me the paper. I’m going out this morning, but I’ll be back for lunch at one, and we’ll start right after lunch. We’re to meet him at 2.30. That’s all, Larry.”

Larry picked up the paper and laid it beside me. “There it is, sor,” he remarked dryly, pointing to the third column.

This is what I read:

ANOTHER FATAL MOTOR SMASH

Mystery Car collides with L Pillar
and two are killed

“The Bowery last night was the scene of another fatal motor-car smash-up, due, apparently, to the usual cause—reckless driving. A large touring-car, going probably at about sixty miles an hour, collided with an L Pillar. Two men were thrown out and instantly killed.

“Some mystery attaches to the case. No eye-witness of the accident can be found. But Joe Cschlenzki, a news-vendor, states that the car passed him a moment before the crash, going like the wind.

“There were three occupants of the car at the time of the accident. All three were men. The driver escaped death, probably by bringing up against the steering-wheel. He was unconscious when found, and was seriously hurt, being badly cut about the face, and probably suffering from internal injuries.

“The impact must have been terrific, both from the noise and from the fact that the big car had climbed half-way up the pillar and hung at an angle of 45 degrees.

“But the accident presents still more curious features. Strangely enough, the car bore New York number plates, but investigation by the police showed that the corresponding license had been issued to John Havenbier, of Yonkers, whose car, a different type, is quite intact.

“When this fact was discovered, the police tried at once to get in touch with the sole survivor of the accident. But here again they were baffled. At the time of the accident, and before the ambulance arrived, a passing car, a large closed limousine, drove by and offered to rush the injured man to the Manhattan Hospital. The offer was accepted by the police and the man was lifted into the car. But later inquiry at the hospital showed that no one was admitted to that hospital last night. The police have inquired at all the other hospitals also, but without result. Apparently the third victim has disappeared completely. The police did not take the number of the second car, and none of the bystanders appear to have noticed it.

“The bodies of the other two occupants furnished no clew as to their identity, as their clothes contained no papers of any kind. There were no marks on the clothing.

“Owing to the unusual nature of the accident and the mystery surrounding the wrecked car and its occupants, the police suspect foul play. It is believed that the fatal smash may have been due to a struggle going on in the car itself at the time of the accident. An inquest will be held this afternoon.”

That was all. I looked up to find Larry gazing at me in his droll, half-apologetic way. “What d’ye think of ut, sor?” he asked.

I thought a moment. “Larry, I think it’s bad,” I told him. “I never thought any of them would survive a smash like that, did you?”

“Oi did not, sor.” Larry shook his head.

“Well, one of them has, Larry. And he is probably back with his friends by now. Vining knows where, most likely. What’s more, he probably knows our license number. Good-night! Maybe we’d better move, and get rid of the car too. But it’s too late for that. They could trace me easily enough. The license is registered.” I was thinking aloud.

“Tis doubtful if they was getting near enough for the loike av that, sor,” Larry observed. “An’ if he did see it, loikely the smash druv it out av his head.”

“Maybe, Larry; I hope so, anyhow. Well, you’d better stick around here this morning. Don’t let anybody in. And if any one calls and asks questions, you don’t know a thing, but call Moore and get his instructions after they’ve gone. He’ll be in all morning.”

With that I left the table and went to call Moore myself. I told him of Larry’s suggestion about our meeting, and he approved of it at once. We arranged to pick him up at 2.30 outside the Park Casino near 72nd Street. Then I rang off. Time enough to talk to him about the escape of one of our victims when I saw him.

I had promised to take Mrs. Furneau for a drive that morning. We started about ten. She was in a frivolous and entertaining mood, and told me that she had informed Mrs. Fawcette of her engagement to drive with me. I thoroughly enjoyed the drive, and it was after twelve o’clock when I reached my apartment again. To my surprise, my latch-key was not in the usual pocket, and after a short search I rang the bell, fuming.

To my amazement, however, no one came.

I was furious. I had distinctly told Larry to stay home that morning and it seemed that he had disobeyed orders.

I waited a few moments, ringing again at intervals, in the thought that he might be washing up and have his hands full. But after about five minutes I went back and rang for the elevator, to question the operator, idly running through my pockets as I waited.

Almost at the same moment that the elevator reached my floor, my fingers closed on my latch-key, in my vest pocket. How it got there I have no idea.

“Did my man go out?” I asked the boy. “There does not seem to be any one there.”

“No, sir, not that I know of. Haven’t you got your key?”

“Yes, I just found it,” I told him. “Has any one been here for me?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you been running the elevator all morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“That’s all right, sir.” The door slammed and the elevator went down again.

I turned back to my front door and fitted the key in the lock.

I was vaguely uneasy, and it was that, perhaps, that caused me to open the door very softly, close it again as softly and stand listening a moment. There was no sound in the place, but after a moment or two I became aware of the fact that there were faint traces of a lingering perfume in the air, a scent highly feminine and vaguely familiar. What on earth could it mean? I wondered. For, so far as I knew, no woman had crossed my threshold since I took the apartment. Perhaps Larry——

I walked down the hall and into my living-room. It seemed to me, as I advanced, that there were sounds of hasty movement just before I reached it. But at first glance the room seemed to be unoccupied and nothing appeared to be disturbed.

Then I looked again more carefully, and I noticed that the curtain in front of my window was swaying slightly, although the window was closed. It was exactly the same curtain, incidentally, behind which my earlier visitor—and Moore’s victim—had hidden himself. The scent of perfume was stronger here, however, and I was pretty sure that the curtain concealed a woman this time.

I began to whistle suddenly and strode into the room. I picked up some papers on the table and flung them down again. Then I broke into speech: “Confound that boy, anyway,” I muttered.

After a moment I left the room and tramped down the hall to Larry’s room. There was no sign of him anywhere. I found his revolver, ready loaded, slipped it into my pocket, tramped down the hall, opened the front door again and slammed it—from the inside. Then I tiptoed silently back to the living-room door, keeping out of sight, and waited. I felt that it was as important to find out what my unconventional visitor wanted there as to find out her identity. But what had become of Larry puzzled me more. It was so unlike him to disobey orders.

For perhaps five minutes there was absolute silence in the room outside of which I stood. Then at last I heard a faint rustle and the swish of skirts. This was followed by the crackle of papers. I stepped into the doorway, revolver in hand. A woman it was. She had her back to me and was bending over my table, running through the papers and letters on it with quick, nervous fingers. Suddenly she turned her head a little and I started and slipped the revolver into my pocket. My unconventional visitor was Mrs. Fawcette.

The blood rushed to my head. It was too much of a coincidence. It was to Mrs. Fawcette’s house that Margaret had gone that terrible day. It was Mrs. Fawcette’s friend that served drugged tea to—I winced—beautiful young visitors. It was common knowledge that the woman herself took drugs, though no one knew exactly what. And now she was here, searching my rooms.

For a moment I wondered whether I could startle her and perhaps frighten the truth out of her. But I decided that she was far too clever a woman for that. Besides, the whole thing was too big, and it would be better for our search if I could disarm her obvious suspicion instead. I leaned against the doorpost and coughed quietly. I could at least hear what she had to say.

My visitor whirled about with a suppressed scream, her face as white as chalk and her eyes black and wide with terror. “You!” she cried.

“My dear Mrs. Fawcette,” I answered, bowing. “This is awfully sweet of you. But I’m afraid that it is a little indiscreet.”

One hand flew to her heart and she leaned back against the table. For a moment I thought that she was going to collapse. But she conquered her momentary faintness and forced something approaching a smile.

“You frightened me so,” she gasped. “When—when did you come back?”

“Just now,” I answered. “I’m terribly sorry if I frightened you. But I was so surprised to see you, you know. And what in the world has become of my man?”

She hesitated and glanced around the room wildly for an instant as though searching for a chance to escape.

“I—I don’t know. I found the front door was open and I came in to find you. But there was no one here at all.”

“I see,” I answered gently. “Now won’t you sit down and tell me what I can do for you? Surely we’re too old friends for you to be so frightened now?” I paused. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, would you?” She raised a trembling hand to her mouth and her eyes searched my face. “It’s not the fright you gave me,” she ventured at last, in a low tone, “it’s the—way you found me.”

As I stepped to the decanter and poured her out a stiffish drink of whisky I reflected that this was coming to the point with a vengeance. The woman certainly had nerve and wits, for all her fright. I wondered what sort of a tale she could possibly give me. But she was equal to the occasion.

“Well, what about the way I found you?” I smiled, as I handed her the drink.

She drained the whisky at a gulp, and some of the color came back to her face. I took her arm and helped her to a chair, and although she hesitated for an instant and drew back, she sank into it finally and seemed grateful. The interview promised to be interesting.

“You see,” she answered, “it’s an old story, really, and one of which I am terribly ashamed. That is why you startled me so.”

“Don’t tell me if you’d rather not,” I answered gently.

“Oh, but I must,” she insisted. “I must make you understand or I don’t know what you will think. You see, when I was a young girl I was very nervous. It is a failing that takes strange forms sometimes, as you probably know. With me it took the form of wanting to—wanting to—take—other people’s things—sometimes.” She dropped her eyes.

“Kleptomania?” I ventured.

She nodded. “I thought I had conquered it entirely,” she went on. “But finding myself alone, in here—the apartment so silent—and—and everything—brought it back, I’m afraid. So you found me picking over the things on your desk, hardly knowing what I did. But—I didn’t take anything!” she concluded piteously.

“My dear lady,” I answered heartily, “I don’t care whether you did or not. You’re welcome to anything there is there,” I finished, laughing.

She drew a long breath at that, looking at me closely the while, however. “Oh—you are—good to me!” she breathed. “But I knew that you would be.” She rose slowly to her feet and looked up into my face. “May I—may I go—now?” she finished pathetically.

“But of course,” I answered, “if you must. But why go so soon? You haven’t told me why you came yet.”

She walked slowly toward the door into the hall, and I followed a step or so behind her. But she did not answer until she had reached the front door and I had opened it for her. Her head was bent. “Can’t you guess?” she murmured.

I took her hand gently and pressed it. “Then you must not go,” I urged. “Come back!”

But she drew her hand away. “No, not now. You frightened me. I——”

“Some other time perhaps?” I ventured.

She rang for the elevator. We stood together in silence waiting for it. But just before the car reached my floor she looked up into my face. “Perhaps!” she murmured.

If it was acting, like the rest, the glow in her eyes was the most consummate part of the whole performance.

But the elevator door slammed and I returned to my empty rooms to sit down and cogitate, while my visitor presumably repaired to her luncheon with Natalie and Ivanovitch.

My papers had been disturbed, but I could not find that anything except a little card-case with a few calling cards in it—and I might have mislaid that—was missing. However, her visit was serious enough, if she were connected with the gang, as it showed that I was at last suspected. In my anxiety over Larry, however, I forgot Vining’s note-book and did not look to see whether it was still there. And events followed each other so rapidly after that, that I did not think of the little book again until several days later.

I had been sitting thinking for some ten minutes perhaps, when the front door slammed again, and in a moment Larry burst in, grimy, disheveled and wild of eye. “Thank God,” he cried as soon as he saw me. “I guessed it was a frame-up, sor, and I thought, maybe, they’d done for ye, sor, with me not here to look after—that is, I——”

“What happened, Larry?” I answered sharply. “Out with it. I’m all right.”

“There wuz a woman, sor,” he stammered, looking comically indignant. “She come to the door and rang the bell, and when I answered she grabbed my sleeve and says, ‘Oh, come wid me. Please, come wid me! I think some one is being hurt!’ ”

His imitation of an agitated woman was supremely funny, but it was too serious a matter for laughter. “Go on,” I nodded.

“Before I knew where I was at, sor, I was down two flights of stairs wid her, in frunt av that empty flat below there. She had the key of the door and I follered her in widout a thought. ‘Why, ’tis impty,’ says she. ‘So it is,’ says I. ‘What do we do next?’ ”

Larry paused. “Then she grabs me arm again. ‘I know I heard some one scream in here,’ says she. ‘Won’t you hilp me search the place?’ She was a grand, handsome woman, sor, beautifully dressed, and I thought no harm at all. ‘That I will,’ says I, and we set out together, she clinging on to my arm. The place was as empty as me hand, sor, and thick wid dust. ‘There’s no feetmarks,’ says I, wondering. ‘There is not, then,’ says she. ‘But ’twas in here I heard it, I’m sure of that.’

“Presently she opens a door,” Larry went on. “ ’Twas all dark inside, sor. ‘Phwat’s in there?’ says she. ‘I don’t know,’ says I, holding back. ‘Well thin, go an’ see,’ says she, an’ I went, sor!”

Larry paused indignantly, and I stifled my growing desire to laugh, with difficulty. “Well?” I demanded.

“Sure, sor, no sooner was I inside than she shut the door on me. An’ it was black as yer hat. ‘Phwat’s that for?’ I asked her. But she didn’t answer and I felt for the knob, sor; the door was locked!”

At this I broke into shouts of laughter. And the hurt, indignant look on his face set me off again worse than ever every time I tried to collect myself.

“Well?” I asked him at last.

“Sure, sor, I called to her. ‘Let me out!’ I says. ‘Get out yerself!’ she says and laughed at me. Then I heard her running down the hall, and next minute the outside door shut.”

“Well, Larry,” I gasped, between spasms of laughter, “you are an easy mark! How did you get out finally?”

“Bruk out a panel at last and shot the bolt back. But it was hot work in that closet. What do you suppose she wanted, sor?”

“Did you leave the door open—our front door—when you started out with her?” I asked him.

Larry scratched his head and suddenly he pulled a long face. “Now I come to think av ut, I belave I did, sor.”

“I believe you did too, Larry,” I laughed.

“Has she been in here, sor?” he asked more anxiously, glancing about the room.

“She has that!” I told him.

For once Larry was completely crestfallen. “Faith, sor, I’ll never belave a woman again!” he said.

Chapter XI.
Black Friday

I sent Larry to get some lunch ready, and in the interval went over my papers again to be sure that nothing else was missing. I had nothing that could possibly involve me in the eyes of the gang, as I had long since destroyed the Chief’s letter and I decided that Mrs. Fawcette’s visit must have been entirely fruitless. But a vague uneasiness sent me on a further search for the card-case, and when Larry arrived with the lunch I questioned him about it.

“Twas there yesterday, sor. Maybe ye wud have slipped it into a pocket, the way ye wud be lavin’ a cyard on wan av thim ladies, sor. For ’tis not here now.”

“I can see it isn’t, thank you very much,” I told him, “And it’s not in a pocket either, I’ve looked.”

Larry grinned. Then, as he circled the table, his stubby hands full of dishes, his eyes lost their sparkle and his face settled into painful lines of thought.

“Sor,” said he, “what way did that—lady—know I was by mesilf here this morning? Was she a friend av yer honor?”

“She was, Larry. That is to say, an acquaintance.”

“Well, what way she did know I was by mesilf——”

“Good Lord, how do I know, Larry? No, wait a minute. Yes, I do know. Mrs. Furneau told her, Larry. Why?”

“I wondered was she spyin’ on ye, sor. That’s all.” A look of comical indignation swept over his face again. “But she’s a dangerous woman, sor,” he told me earnestly.

I laughed. “All women are dangerous to you, Larry. But you’re perfectly right. Never mind, though. There’s no harm done.”

“I’m not so sure about that, sor,” said Larry.

What with listening to Larry’s views on women in general and Mrs. Fawcette in particular, while I ate lunch, it was nearly two o’clock before I had finished. Larry consumed a little more time, clearing the table, and with one thing and another, we did not leave the apartment until well after two.

We decided to leave the little car in the garage and take a taxi instead. We found one without difficulty, and at two-thirty we were in the park and on our way to the 72nd Street Gate. As we approached the Park Restaurant there, Larry stuck his head cautiously out of the window, as being less likely to be recognized than I. A moment later he was pounding on the glass to attract the driver’s attention.

The taxi drew up, Larry flung the door open, and in a moment Moore and I had gripped hands again. The pleasure of that handshake brought home to me the fact that I had missed him badly of late.

Larry told the driver to take us around the Park a couple of times and, as we picked up speed again, Moore gripped my arm.

“Gad, it’s good to see you again, Clayton,” he cried, “but I have not time to tell how good, old man. For I’m hoping big things of to-night. I believe this is our chance to round up the lot of them. And we’ve a lot to talk over first.”

I nodded. “Go ahead then,” I told him.

“All right. First, about to-night then. Vining is coming for me at seven. I thought at first of letting Captain Peters in on the whole thing. But he’d want to have a lot of plain-clothes men around here, easily recognized as detectives. And Vining is nobody’s fool. Of course he may suspect me. His turning up like that and catching you in his house looks like it. But that might be a coincidence, or he might have one of his faithful henchmen watching his house—it’s quite on the cards when a man plays the sort of a game he seems to be playing—and the watcher may have seen you and Larry go in and sent for Vining. At any rate, there’s nothing but coincidence to connect me with you or your search of his house. And his suspicion is a chance we’ve got to take.”

“Pretty desperate position for you if he does suspect you,” I pointed out.

Moore laughed. “No worse than lots of others we’ll have to take in this business. It’s all part of the game. But here’s my idea. The thing we want to accomplish to-night is to discover the location of this hang-out, where they give these parties. If we do that, we can round up the gang at our leisure afterwards. I’ll be blindfolded and probably won’t have the faintest idea where they’re taking me. So I want to know whether you’ll follow and find out where they do take me. Of course it’s a bit risky——”

“Sure,” I answered, in Larry’s best colloquial style, “I’m running a helluva lot of risk following you, after you’ve poked your head into the lion’s mouth like that.”

“Well, then,” Moore went on, “Vining’s coming at seven, and I think you ought to be hanging around in the neighborhood by six-thirty at the latest, in case he comes a little early. You ought to have a high-powered car—rent one if necessary—and have it well out of sight. I’ll try to keep Vining for a moment or two—give him a drink or something—and that’ll give you time to get ready after you see him. Better get a good driver or drive yourself.”

“That’s easily fixed. Larry can see to the car this afternoon.”

“Good. Now here’s another thing. I’ll tell you frankly that I’m afraid of Vining. He’s a gifted criminal, and I’m not at all sure that he’s not playing with us. Anyhow, I thought it best to tell him about my diggings near you. I told him that they were usually occupied by a little lady friend, now on tour, and suggested that he call for me there, as I would be in that neighborhood. I did that for this reason. I thought that if anything went wrong at the last minute, I could get Larry here on the telephone, and he could get in touch with you at once, as you’ll be just around the corner waiting with your car. Then you could come in and we could capture Vining anyhow, if it came to that. We might be able to get some information out of him. I know enough about him to hold him all right.”

“That means that you stay in from six o’clock on, Larry,” I observed, “no matter how many ladies in distress come to the door.”

Larry squirmed and Moore looked at me inquiringly. “What’s all that?” he demanded.

So, with a keen enjoyment of Larry’s speaking countenance, I told Moore the story of Mrs. Fawcette’s unconventional visit, winding up with the news of the luncheon that day given for Natalie.

Moore was silent for a while after I had finished my yarn, and the gravity of his expression made me vaguely uneasy. “What do you think of it?” I demanded at last.

“Clayton, I think it’s bad,” he answered, finally. “In the first place, I hate the thought of that girl trailing with that bunch, especially after what you have told me about her”—he gave me a fleeting grin—“but the Mrs. Fawcette proposition is worse—I mean, searching your place. It looks as if they know all about us.”

“Well, if Mrs. Fawcette is in the gang, along with Ivanovitch and Vining and these others we’ve run across, why, it would be easy enough for them to trace me through my car license number, supposing that bloodthirsty driver of theirs got the number and was well enough, after the smash, to tell his rescuers about it.” I broke off and stared at Moore in amazement. “Then they could trace me and send Mrs. Fawcette to search my rooms. But, great Scott, that’s too much of a coincidence, Moore. We’ve got nothing to connect Mrs. Fawcette and Ivanovitch with Vining; not a thing. They don’t even belong to the same stratum of society.”

Moore shrugged his shoulders. “Well, as far as that goes, it doesn’t really affect the main issue much. To-night’s the night, and we’ve got to locate that gang. It’s too late to turn back now anyway, even if we wanted to—which I don’t. How about it?”

“I’m with you, of course,” I answered. “But I hate letting you get into the hands of that bunch all alone.”

Moore laughed. “It’s got to be done, Clayton. I’ll be all right. I’ll be talking to you bright and early to-morrow, most likely with a splitting headache. In the meantime, I think you’d better trail me until we get to our destination, wherever that is, hang around a bit, to be sure that we haven’t stopped for a moment only and gone on again, and when you’re satisfied that you’ve found the place, beat it back here again and lie low until I get back. Then we’ll get in touch with Captain Peters and round ’em up with his help. How does that strike you?”

“All right,” I answered. “But I still don’t like your going alone.”

“Jealous, eh?” answered Moore. “Well, I guess it’ll be some party!” And we all laughed.

The rest of that jouncing taxi ride was passed in conjectures and a few final arrangements for that night. I told Moore about the little book which I had found in Vining’s desk. I had intended to bring it with me and show it to him. I had left it on my table for that purpose. But I had not noticed it and had forgotten it in the excitement of Mrs. Fawcette’s visit! We left Moore, finally, at the Plaza, and when we had shaken hands and he had turned away, my last sight of him was a view of his well-groomed back, slipping girlishly through the revolving doors. He never forgot his pose for a moment, except when he was alone with us.

I dismissed the taxi a few blocks from the house of Natalie’s aunt, after dropping Larry with instructions to hire the car. Then, as it was getting on for four o’clock, I set out to walk to my appointment for tea with Natalie. On the way I kept a careful look-out for pursuit. But after turning several corners I was convinced that no one was following me.

The sight of the house was enough to set my heart pounding, and I bounded up the steps and rang the bell with my mind suddenly flooded with delight at the thought of seeing her. But I was in for a disappointment.

“Miss Van Cleef has not yet returned, sir,” the butler told me. “But I believe that Mrs. Trevor is at ’ome. I’ll go and inquire, sir, if you’ll come in.”

Yes, Mrs. Trevor was at home. I waited about five peaceful minutes and then Natalie’s aunt, like a full-rigged ship in a heavy sea, came rolling and plunging into her drawing-room and joined action.

She was a busy fighter too. Heavy broadsides on the subject of the latest dance, the latest book or the latest play thundered about my ears, interspersed with a lighter but more galling fire of social chit-chat and personal questions from the fighting tops, I was not particularly worried at first, because her aim was poor, and in my anticipative state of mind most of her shots went wide. Besides, I knew that the arrival of reënforcements in the shape of Natalie would put her to rout. That was one of the rules of warfare.

But as time passed and Natalie did not come I began to get restive. Finally, I sadly upset the enemy’s morale by letting her catch me looking at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was ten minutes to five!

I turned back to my hostess and stared at her. Natalie had never been more than ten minutes late for an appointment. Now she was nearly an hour late—and at her own house. As I stared at Mrs. Trevor, my heart went down—down—and my mind whirled into a seething rout of terrible anxiety. I must have turned white, for my hostess’s social manner fell away from her like a garment and the human woman in her stood forth.

“Mr. Clayton! What’s the matter? Are you ill? Tell me!”

I pulled myself together as well as I could. “No, no, I’m all right, Mrs. Trevor. I’m all right. Just a stitch or something. But I wonder what has become of Miss Van Cleef? She was to be home at four o’clock. Do you know whether she was going on anywhere ease after the luncheon at Mrs. Fawcette’s?”

Mrs. Trevor stared at me, the shadow of a smile about her mouth. “Why, no, I don’t think so. I’m sure she wasn’t. I’ve been wondering myself what can have become of her. But I dare say she’ll turn up in a moment or so now. Has—has it been such a terribly long wait?”

I made amends for my rudeness then, assuring her that the afternoon had been delightful, and presently she ordered tea and I sat and talked about everything under the sun, the while I consumed tasteless nothings with a very dry mouth. For I was terribly anxious.

But time passed, the minute hand of the little Louis XV. clock on, the mantelpiece moved relentlessly on toward six o’clock, and Natalie did not come. Until at last I could wait no longer, whether I wanted to or not; for I had to keep my appointment with Moore.

By the time I left, Mrs. Trevor had grown anxious herself, and as the butler let me out, I heard my hostess calling Mrs. Fawcette’s number into the telephone.

All the way back to my apartment I kept trying to reassure myself. They had gone for a drive and the car had broken down. Natalie had met an old friend and had forgotten the time. There had been a fire near by. Anything might have happened to delay her. But it did no good. Mrs. Fawcette was a dangerous woman. I had plenty of evidence that she was mixed up with some sort of an organization outside the law. And Natalie had been in her house. However, I could do nothing about it until my affair of that night with Moore was settled.

I reached home at a quarter past six. Larry met me at the door with the news that a high-powered Bengal car, with an expert driver, was waiting for me around the corner, and that a comfortable old lounge suit and Larry’s own revolver, freshly oiled and loaded, were waiting for me on my bed. Efficiency was Larry’s middle name. Thank the Lord he could reason as well as play the fool.

I changed in five minutes, arguing with Larry the while. Romance was rampant in Larry, and he could not understand anybody who started out on an adventure without packing a gun. “Come now, sor, do but slip it in yer pocket. ’Tis maybe not likely ye’ll want it, but if ye do, ye’ll want it terrible bad. See, sor, it fits snug——”

“Get out with you, Larry, this isn’t the Wild West. Besides, I can’t afford to have the entire population about my ears, as they would be if I began shooting the thing off. I’m not coming to blows with any one to-night, anyway.”

Larry shook his head sadly. “Well, sor, I wish ye’d take it,” he said. In this instance and in another one, later, Larry’s instinct was a good deal better than my judgment.

Just before I left the apartment I rang up Mrs. Trevor. But Natalie had not returned and I started with a heavy heart. Last of all, I warned Larry to stay near the telephone, to answer Moore if he called. Then I sallied forth to speak to the driver of the Bengal.

I found him where Larry had told him to wait and arranged with him that he should park the car just round the corner from Moore’s house and lounge on the corner, where he could keep an eye on both me and the house. From his grin, I imagine that he thought I was planning an abduction. But he did what he was told.

I stationed myself in the window of a corner drug-store, across the street from the car, and waited, keeping a sharp eye on Moore’s house.

It was a long wait. Seven o’clock came and passed, with the driver of the Bengal kicking his heels on the opposite curb and I lounging about the drug-store and staring down the inquiring glances of an anemic-looking drug clerk. At seven-ten I bought some cigars that I did not want. At seven-thirty I bought and drank one of the most horrible soft drinks that I have ever encountered. And at seven-forty-five I began to get desperate.

However, I waited until eight o’clock before I ventured out of the shelter of the store. The street was deserted except for a limousine drawn up near an apartment house at the other end of the block. I walked slowly towards Moore’s house, signaling to my driver to stay where he was.

In front of the house I hesitated for a moment or two. Then I rang Moore’s bell. There was no answer. I rang again. Still no answer. So at last I opened the door with the duplicate key Moore had given me and mounted the familiar stairs to his apartment.

Arrived at his door, I knocked several times. But apparently his rooms were empty, and I was just turning away in indecision when I remembered that I had a key to his front door also.

His living-room was very much as I remembered it. But it was quite empty. Things were going wrong with my plans that day with a vengeance.

“Moore!” I called. “Oh, Moore!”

There was no answer, and I circled his center table and started for the door of his bedroom beyond, where the telephone was, with the thought of calling up Larry to find out whether Moore had sent him a message to the effect that there had been some change in the plan.

As I passed the table I noticed a half-sheet of note-paper lying on the blotter. My name was at the top of it and I snatched it up and read it.

“Dear Clayton,

“They have just driven up outside. Three of them. I am going with them if necessary because I daren’t give the game away by delaying them an hour. It’s 5.30 now. I’ll try to leave this where you will find it. They’re at the door now. Perhaps you can follow.

“Moore.”

Below his signature was another line, written so hastily that it looked hardly the same handwriting:

“Look at the wires!”

I slipped the note into my pocket and ran into his bedroom. The telephone was intact, but at the back of the clothes closet in which he kept it I found two wires evidently cut from the reel left over from the original installation, running up the wall and through a tiny hole in the ceiling. They were roughly joined to the two wires of our telephone.

Our line had been tapped!

I hesitated for a moment and read his note again. The appeal for help in that sentence, “Perhaps you can follow,” set me raging with anger and dismay. They had been playing with us all along, then. They knew all our plans. That was why they had come early probably. And now Moore was helpless in their hands.

The wires that tapped our line evidently ran into the empty flat above. So, in the faint hope of learning something further, I locked Moore’s door again and mounted the stairs with rising anxiety and anger. It is no pleasant thing at any time to realize that you have been played with as a mouse is played with by a cat. I firmly believed now that this same gang had been responsible for Margaret’s disappearance. And now Moore was in their hands and—possibly—Natalie. For it was no good blinking the facts. And they had been laughing at us—playing with us—all the while.

I never stopped to think whether the door of the vacant flat might be locked. I was prepared to break it down anyway, for I was past the stage of trying to keep up appearances and work in the dark, and I never stopped to wonder whether there might be other people in the house who would have something to say about what was going on—the young doctor, for instance.

Instead, I went up to the door and tried the handle cautiously. For there might be a watcher in there still. To my amazement, the door gave under my hand and swung open, and I stepped as silently as I could into a pitch-dark room.

I stood for an instant trying to peer into the darkness. But I could see nothing, and I released the handle of the door and began to feel my way along the wall toward where the window should be.

Then I stopped and stood motionless.

The door had closed softly behind me.

I listened for a moment, and sudden panic took me by the throat, for the room was alive all around me. There were faint rustling sounds from two or three directions, though I could not place them exactly in the now complete darkness. And I knew instinctively that I had walked into a trap. But before I could make any plan I was blinking in a glare of light and looking into the muzzle of a revolver, in the steady hand of Vining. A quick glance, as my hands went up, revealed two other men, one on either side, closing in on me. Vining laughed at my expression.

“This is kind of you, Clayton,” he drawled at last. “And no mask on this time. Well, well, truss him up, you fellows, and I’ll whistle for the car.” He addressed me again: “My poor friend, this kind of thing is really not in your line. Why, you made no better showing than the redoubtable Moore, here.”

I glanced aside and behind him. Against the farther wall, bound and gagged, lay Moore.

Chapter XII.
Disaster!

I stood motionless, my hands above my head, staring at Moore and taking in the situation. Then I became aware that Vining was speaking again.

“Wait a minute,” he was saying. “You, Felix, whistle for the car from the window there, while I keep this fool covered.” Then he went on to me: “You thought you’d mix yourself up with something that didn’t concern you, didn’t you? Well, you’re going to get your fill of that before we’re through with you. I had already made arrangements to dispose of you, my dear Clayton, but when we took your friend Moore into custody, I happened to find his note to you, and I added a word or two myself, as I thought it as well to dispose of you both at the same time. Your efforts to interest yourself in us were amusing for a while. But they have gone far enough.”

I paid no particular attention to this tirade. One of the other men had been struggling with the rusty fastenings of the window, and now he got it up and stuck his head out and whistled. I glanced toward Moore. He had twisted his head so that he could see me, and as I caught his eye he contrived to signal with his head for me to get out. His generosity was the last straw. On a sudden my rage boiled over and I went completely berserk. Vining’s second companion, a thin, dark-visaged fellow, stood almost beside me, and I dropped my hands, swung round to him and let him have it on the point of the jaw. He went down full length, with a crash that shook the house.

Vining gave a shout and started for me, reversing and clubbing his revolver as he came, while the other fellow, who had just drawn his head in the window, ran forward, crouched and flung himself at my legs.

Vining caught the look in my eye and swerved aside just before he reached me, so that I had time to bark my knuckles on the bullet head of the third man. It spoiled his tackle, but his shoulder struck my legs and we went down together. I saw Vining coming for me again, and as I went over backwards, I contrived to catch his accomplice by the shoulders and hoist him over my head. Vining’s blow with the butt of the revolver must have fallen on the man’s back, for I felt the thud of it and the fellow gave a yell of pain. In an instant I had wriggled free and struggled to my feet. Vining had jumped back and was waiting for me, his gun pointed again and murder in his eye. Nevertheless, madness still held me, I ducked my head a little and went for him. Then the revolver went off almost in my face. My last conscious recollection was the heat of it on the top of my head.

When I regained consciousness I was in total darkness. I sat up, hanging on to a splitting head with both hands and trying to recall what had happened to me. A moment later I discovered that the back of my head was wet and sticky. From somewhere in the house there was an uproar of voices and trampling feet. I got up, felt about me, and finally located first the door and then the wall switch. The lights flared on and showed me an empty room. My assailants were gone and they had taken Moore with them.

For a moment or two I confess that I felt overwhelmed with a sense of sheer disaster. Moore was gone to goodness knew what fate—and I had done nothing to help him. And Natalie——

Then came the reflection that at least they had not taken me with them too. I was still free and still able to act on Moore’s behalf. And by this time Natalie might have reached her aunt’s house safe and sound.

A little reflection convinced me that they had left me behind because Vining’s shot had been heard. Probably the driver of their car had joined them, and the three men had carried out Moore and the dark-visaged victim of my first blow between them, unless the latter had regained consciousness. They might have even had to fight their way out through a crowd. That also probably explained the present commotion in the house, which was steadily drawing nearer. Then my heart leaped with hope. Perhaps Vining had been captured and Moore freed!

The door into the hall was closed but not locked. As I opened it a roar of voices swept up to meet me from the hall below.

I walked to the stairs and then staggered slowly down them, my hands to my head. The lower hall was full of people, including two policemen. They were all talking excitedly. But there was no sign of either Moore or Vining. I must have been a pretty object, having smeared blood from my head over most of my face, for when they caught sight of me, there was a shout of surprise and then an open-mouthed silence. I staggered on down to them unassisted.

“Officer,” I called weakly, “I have been robbed and nearly murdered. I live just around the corner. Take me home, will you? Then I’ll tell you all about it. I need a doctor.”

Instantly the official spirit asserted itself. “Clear out of here, all of you!” shouted one of the policemen to the indignant crowd. The other came up a step or two and took my arm. “Easy now, sir, and what’s your address, did you say?”

I told him my address very quietly, and we passed on and out of the house, through a crowd that looked to me as big as Times Square on election night. At the corner the crowd was still following us, in spite of the efforts of the other policeman to disperse it. But the car I had hired was still waiting. I signaled to the driver and he opened the door for us. “Drive us round a bit,” I told him, “and then take me home. I want to lose this crowd.” Then I and the two stalwart but puzzled cops entered the car and drove off amid a small cheer. I never have understood why a man who is fool enough to get himself hurt deserves a cheer in the minds of the casual crowd.

I had a relapse as soon as we got into the car, and by the time we drew up at my apartment and they had practically carried me in, I had about convinced them that I was too sick to be questioned for the present.

Larry met us at the door in answer to my ring. He gave a shout of rage at the sight of my face. But he picked me up, the whole six-foot odd of me, and carried me into my room as gently as a mother carries a child. Poor Larry, I hated to fool him like that, but the cops had to be fooled too.

I lay back on the bed and spoke in a feeble voice. “Larry, fetch a doctor, will you? Or wait, you’d better tie this up yourself.” Then I turned to one of the policemen. “Officer, I’m afraid I can’t tell you much. Three men I have never seen before signaled to me as I was passing in my car and asked me to help them. They had a car pulled up in front of that house and were standing beside it. They told me that two people had been overcome with gas and they needed help to carry them out. I never thought that it might be a trap. Then when I got upstairs they tried to rob me, and when I resisted, one of them shot me. That’s all I know. I—I——” and as a conclusion to my speech, I fell back in as good an imitation of a faint as I could contrive.

Larry leaned over me at once, and as he did so I whispered, “Get rid of them.”

Then he straightened up again. “By God, they’ve pretty nigh done for him, the blackguyards!” he cried. “ ’Tis a docther he needs, and he’ll talk no more to-night, gentlemen. It might kill him.”

From under lowered lids I could see the two cops glance at each other. I stirred a little. “Larry,” I called faintly, “thank the officers in a fitting manner for bringing me home and—and—beg them to come back in the morning. I’ll tell them—the details—then.” I closed my eyes again.

Larry turned on the two cops. “Why ain’t ye catchin’ the fellas that done this thing?” he demanded. “He’s told ye all he knows an’ he’s a dyin’ man this minut. I’ve to dress his head before he dies on me hands.” Then he reached into his pocket, brought out some bills, from which he selected two and presented one to each of the cops. “There now, come back in an hour if ye like. Maybe he can talk then,” and Larry darted out of the room.

The two stood irresolute for a moment. One of them took out a notebook and wrote in it. And after a glance at each other they went out. I heard one of them talking to Larry for a moment and then the outside door closed on them. A moment later Larry came back with a basin of hot water and some cloths.

While he was bandaging my head, I told him what had happened. The bullet had creased me—that is, it had grazed my skull under the skin for an inch or so and come out again. The wound was nothing that would not heal up in a day or two. But my news was very serious indeed, and Larry, who had taken a great liking to Moore, was full of indignation and threats of vengeance.

However, we had little time allowed us for making plans for the future.

I had just finished telling Larry of my fears concerning Miss Van Cleef as he pressed down the last bit of adhesive plaster on the back of my head. I sent him to call up her aunt’s house and find out whether the girl had returned or not. But before he reached it, the telephone bell rang. Larry answered, and after a word or two that I could not catch, came running in to me, his face long with apprehension.

“Sure, sor, ’tis thot Captain Peters on the wire. He wants to speak to ye and says there’s not a minut to spare.”

I hurried into my study and sitting down at my desk, took up the receiver. “Hello, Captain Peters. This is Clayton speaking.”

“Hello, Clayton,” came the police officer’s gruff voice over the wire. “I’ve just heard that there was a row up at our friend’s place this afternoon and you got hurt. What happened?”

“They got him,” I answered. “Got clear away with him as far as I know, and nearly got me. They know all about us.”

“That’s bad—bad,” answered the captain. “But there’s worse to follow. You’ve got to get out of there at once, sir. At once. I just learned that there’s a charge against ye and they’re coming after ye to-night. Some matter of a burglary. Your card-case was found in the burgled house of a man named Vining. If they ever get ye in jail they’ll keep ye there, or maybe they’ll do ye in on the way. Better get out and lay low right away.”

“But, great Scott, Captain, can’t you——”

“I cannot, sir. I haven’t the power in any case, and they’re big, powerful men ye’re up against. Even the Chief could not save you from arrest once the warrant is issued. Better get out, sir.”

“Well, then, can you get in touch with our Chief—Moore’s Chief—and tell him the news, Captain?”

“I can that, sir, and I will!”

“One thing more, Captain. Are they going to arrest Larry?”

“Your man, sir. No, I don’t think so. The warrant is only for ye yerself. But they may take him in as an accessory after the fact, if they don’t find ye—or even if they do get ye.”

“But can’t you prevent that, Captain? I’ve got to have a base somewhere. I think they got Miss Van Cleef to-day, too. If Larry stays here, and I can reach him by ’phone, it will help some.”

“Better not risk it then, sir. Take him with ye. And the two of ye go into hiding. I’m risking a lot to tell ye this, but get out quick. They’re likely on the way for ye now.”

“All right, Captain,” I answered. “Tell the Chief immediately everything about Miss Van Cleef, too, will you?”

“I will that, sir. Good-by!” and the captain rang off.

Events were moving too fast for me, and I sat at the desk for a moment, my aching head reeling with the thousand and one details of it all and the thousand and one dangers that faced me. But there was no time to lose.

I shouted to Larry to pack a bag for himself and one for me. “We’re getting out of here at once,” I told him. “The police are after us both. That is, we are getting out if you want to come. There’s no warrant for your arrest, but there is for mine.”

“By gad, sor, thot’s bad,” Larry shouted back from the other room. Then I heard him chuckle, “Shall I take me little kit o’ tools?”

“Of course take it. Do you want them to find it?”

A moment later we were both packing like mad. We threw a few things into a couple of bags, and then with a last look around we closed the door of my apartment behind us for an indefinite period, and turned our faces toward the cold world, or, at least, toward the elevator which was to take us into the cold world. I always kept a considerable amount of cash available, so that at least we had money.

Events that day had gone as badly as they possibly could go. I was desperately worried about Moore and about Natalie also, although she might simply have been delayed in getting home. But somehow Larry’s chuckle had changed the trend of my thoughts, and I faced the prospect of venturing forth into hiding with a good deal of elation. I was free and comparatively undamaged. And if Moore could not be rescued by a man with the whole weight of the Secret Service behind him, then something was wrong. Anyway, when there was work to be done, even bombing reluctant Germans, I had always appreciated the opportunity of something stirring and immediately forgotten to worry about the event.

But our first glimpse of the outside world was a good deal warmer than either of us cared about.

We were just approaching the front door when a police patrol wagon drew up in front of it outside. Of course it was quite dark by this time, but the arc light on the corner showed me the patrol wagon and several policemen besides the driver. I hesitated an instant, but two policemen jumped down at once and approached the entrance and there was nothing to do but put a bold face on it and walk out.

“Come on, Larry,” I muttered. “If they stop us we’ll bolt in opposite directions and meet at ten o’clock in the Times Square drug store.” And so we sallied forth.

We walked out calmly enough, looking the two policemen casually in the eye, and they stepped back to let us pass. But when we reached the sidewalk I looked back, like a fool, and one of them had his eye on us. The other was talking to the elevator attendant and I suddenly realized that he was probably being told that I had just passed him.

I glanced away at once, and my eye suddenly fell on the car that Larry had hired that afternoon, still standing where I had left it. I found out afterwards that Larry had hired it for the entire evening, and the driver figured that if he stuck around he could claim pay for that time, as I had not dismissed him. It was questionable ethics, as he must have believed me to be nearly killed and very unlikely to want him again, but I blessed him for it.

“There’s the car, Larry. Jump in!” I told him quickly. As we approached it, there was a shout from behind us in the doorway.

“To the Grand Central!” I shouted to the driver, “and go like the devil.”

We tumbled into the car as the driver stepped on his starter. Fortunately the engine started at once, and he slipped in his first gear and the clutch almost immediately, so that we were already moving when the first cop reached the car. “Here,” he yelled. “Stop, you! I want to talk to you!” And he jumped on to the running board.

I leaned toward him. “Sorry. No time. Got to catch a train. Jump down before you get hurt!”

We were out from the curb now and picking up speed. But the cop had plenty of pluck. Instead of answering he fumbled for his whistle and put it to his lips. At the same moment my fist shot past his arm to the side of his jaw, and he released his hold and fell backward, rolling over and over in the street. I hated to do it, but we had no time for argument.

There came another shout from behind, together with a startled exclamation from our own driver, who had turned and seen the blow. He threw out his clutch and put on his brake as police whistles began to ring out behind us, together with the clatter of competent policemen’s brogues.

Larry leaned forward, and the driver started and gave a gasp as he felt a cold muzzle nuzzling into the tenderest part of his neck. “Put in that clutch and step on her,” urged Larry, “or I’ll blow hell out of you and drive her myself.”

Unlike the cop, the driver did not stop to argue. He threw in his clutch and stepped on the accelerator at once, and we whisked round a corner with a patrol wagon manned by excited cops and shrilling whistles so close behind that they could have reached out and touched us. Once in the straight we drew away from them fast, however. A moment later we turned into Broadway going south.

“Go on,” urged Larry, “step on her, you —— ——”

The patrol wagon turned into Broadway a full block behind us, shrilling and clanging madly. Fortunately we had joined and then passed some other cars, and the two traffic cops we passed had no idea which car to stop. The first one tried to stop us all, but our driver, with the fear of death on him, whisked round and past him. Of course the other cars stopped, blocking the road and effectually preventing the patrol wagon from passing either. The second cop merely stared.

“Up a side street, quick!” I yelled to our driver. And as we turned out of Broadway I looked back to see the vibrating patrol wagon still trying to get past the jam.

“Go over to Eighth,” I told the driver, “and then downtown to Broadway and on down to Times Square. Make it snappy. Here’s fifty dollars for yourself alone for this night’s work, and if they ever catch you, tell them that we are a desperate gang of thugs and threatened your life.”

And I fell to laughing, and leaning over, stuffed the bills into his pocket.

“But—but what’s it all about, sir?” asked the driver tremulously, over his shoulder.

“It’s a mistake, lad, that’s all. But I can’t stop to straighten it out now, see? However, I don’t think any harm will come to you about it, even if they did get your number.”

“But this afternoon——”

“That was more of it,” I told him. “But I can’t explain it now. Drop us at Times Square and get back to the garage, and if you really want to help us out a little, tell the police, if they catch you, that you dropped us at the Grand Central.”

The driver was silent at that, and nothing more was said until he slowed up alongside of the Times Building. Then he turned and leaned toward me. “Grand Central it is, sir,” he said. “I guess I know a gentleman when I see one.”

But I wonder how much the fifty dollars had to do with his flattering opinion.

Chapter XIII.
Our Second Burglary

Larry and I went in one entrance to the Times Building and out the other. I led him across the street and into Seventh Avenue, turning south. Already I was beginning to have the feeling of a hunted criminal and to fear the bright lights.

“Now then, Larry,” I explained, “they’ve seen us like this. And I think we’d better buy some different clothes. What do you think?”

“That’s right, sor. It’s old clothes for us and maybe a couple o’ days’ beard—and lose these bags somewhere as soon as may be.”

We walked along Seventh for a block or so until we came to a second-hand store with a fat little Jew sitting, like the proverbial spider, in the doorway. The moment he saw us coming he jumped to his feet and walked us into his parlor, oozing what was meant for bluff good-fellowship at every pore.

I told him that we had decided to take a job together with a construction gang, and we wanted clothes that would wear better than those we had on. I offered to swap him the clothes we had for the kind we wanted. And there I made a mistake.

“Vant ta change close?” he cried. “Get into the back room there, quick. I’ll take care of ye fine.”

We moved back to the rear of the shop and the Jew hustled us into a filthy little room in which he evidently both slept and ate his meals. A moment later he joined us with several old suits of rough-looking workmen’s clothes and some worn, heavy boots—also a couple of rough army shirts. “There you are, my friendths. Change quickly. You’re in safe hands.”

Larry and I picked out a couple of suits and changed into them and the army shirts very rapidly, paying very little attention to our Jewish friend. The boots were harder, but we presently found a couple of pairs that fitted us fairly well. Then we shifted our few personal belongings and our money to our new clothes and tossed the old ones we had taken off to the Jew. “There you are, Isaac,” said Larry. “There’s the best two suits you ever had in your shop and you’re getting ’em for nothing.”

The Jew rubbed his hands together. “Oh, no, my friends, you make a joke,” said he. “Those good suits are twenty-fife tollars apiece, if you leave the old clothes you take off. Oddervise they are thirty-five tollars each.” He paused, smiling. “The boots and shirts I gif you for only tventy tollars!”

We turned and stared at him. Instantly he began to retreat toward the door, still smiling uncertainly. “You pay me or I call the bolice!” he cried. “I don’t sell no disguises fer nodding.”

That little Jew never knew what struck him. Larry leaped in the air and pounced on him as a cat pounces on a mouse. The little man had time for only a frightened gasp before he was pinned to the floor, his eyes starting from his head as Larry throttled him.

“Ye wud, wud ye, ye little Judas,” Larry cried, shaking him. “I’ve a mind to kill ye this minute and set fire to your damned shack. Shall I kill him, sor?” he asked, twisting his head to wink at me.

I hesitated. “Perhaps you’d better,” I said. “No, wait a minute. Maybe he’ll be useful to us. We can come back and kill him later. Let him up, but hold on to him.”

Larry lifted the little man to his feet and he instantly fell on his knees again. “I vas only choking, sir. The clothes are for noddings. Only let me go, and go away. I’ll say nodding to no one that you came here.”

“All right,” I answered. “Let him go, Larry. But remember,” I added, “that if you ever breathe a word to any one of our having been here, one or both of us will come back here and kill you sure. We’ve murdered nine men already this year, and you’re not a man anyway.” Then we went out. The Jew’s face as we left was the touch of comedy we both needed.

We walked on down Seventh Avenue, planning the future as we went. I decided that it would be better for us to take separate rooms in separate boarding houses, somewhere down around 10th or 11th Streets, west of Sixth Avenue. It is, or was at that time, a forsaken backwater of a district, whither the flotsam and jetsam of spent lives seemed to drift, and where one seemed in New York but no longer of it. Thither drifted old maids, widows in straitened circumstances, drunkards slowly dying, remittance men of kindred vices, and the poorer element of Americans new to the city—often fresh from the farm or the small western town.

And late as it was, we had no difficulty in finding rooms. Larry hired himself a little hole on the ground floor on 11th Street, with a tiny window, no wider than his head, opening into an air-shaft. I found a place in 13th Street a couple of flights up and a little larger than his, but unostentatious enough. However, they were both fairly clean rooms, and both houses had telephones. We insisted upon that. Of course we had to pay in advance.

Larry gave his name as Tom O’Dowd and I gave mine as Michael Swift. Then, when we had stowed our bags away, we went out and walked a little, exchanged telephone numbers, and I arranged with Larry that he should make it a point to stay in the house from ten to twelve every morning and from six to midnight every night. The rest of the time he could do as he pleased, taking care to keep out of sight of possible police search. For I warned him that, in view of the high influences evidently back of the attempt to arrest us, they would not give up the search for us in a hurry.

We parted and went to bed without further incident that night. And that was a good thing, for if two men ever needed a rest we did. I was weak from loss of blood anyway, and I had had enough excitement that day to satisfy any one.

But the moment my head touched the pillow I began worrying about first Natalie and then Moore and it was long before I got to sleep. All that I had accomplished so far, it seemed, was to bring peril to two more people, instead of finding Margaret. But I was in a pretty low frame of mind that night.

The next morning, however, things looked very different. The breakfast they brought up to my rooms—for I explained that I had been knocked down in the street, through my newness to traffic—was better than I expected. And I was enjoying it thoroughly—until I opened the paper. Then the breakfast was forgotten. For the front page had a full account of the strange disappearance of Miss Van Cleef and the hue and cry that had been raised on account of it.

The police were at fault as usual, and the paper I had, which happened to be anti-Tammany, waxed almost hysterical over the great number of recent disappearances and the helplessness of the police. The greater part of the article was confined to this sort of thing.

About the only piece of news of value to me was the fact that Natalie had been last seen when she left the house to start for Mrs. Fawcette’s luncheon. She had, it seemed, arrived at the house, but a little later had complained of a severe headache and had had a taxi called and started for home in it. Nothing had been seen of her since. Mrs. Fawcette was prostrated at the news and had canceled all her social engagements. She was quoted as feeling almost responsible in a way for the girl’s disappearance.

This was a daringly artistic touch in which I thought I recognized Mrs. Fawcette’s peculiar brand of humor. For nearly an hour I prowled around my room, shaking with rage and anxiety. It is anything but pleasant to know that some one you love is in danger—terrible danger perhaps—and be utterly helpless. I knew that Mrs. Fawcette was at the bottom of Natalie’s disappearance. But I had not the faintest shadow of a proof. Nor had I any idea as to where the girl might be.

But after a while I came to a decision. I was morally certain that Mrs. Fawcette knew about the girl’s disappearance. Therefore I must try somehow to get some information through Mrs. Fawcette. I could not get this directly, for I was wanted by the police, and Mrs. Fawcette had stolen the card-case that involved me in the burglarious entry into Vining’s rooms. But it was possible that I might be able to find out something in her house or through her servants. And suddenly my heart gave a leap. Perhaps Natalie was still there, imprisoned in the woman’s house. Mrs. Fawcette had canceled all her social engagements!

I could do nothing until midnight, however. That was certain. But then, knowing the interior of the house, downstairs at least, as I did, it would be very bad luck indeed if Larry and I, or I alone, could not get into the house and out again without being caught. I had no scruples in taking Larry, if he wanted to come, because I knew that if we got into trouble with the police, I could clear him finally through the Chief.

Before everything else, however, it was necessary to make sure that the Chief in Washington knew the details of all that had happened up to date. My experiences the night before had given me such an uneasy sense of the omniscience of our opponents that I had asked Captain Peters to communicate with the Chief himself, to make doubly sure that the message was not intercepted, but I had my own report to make in any case.

I had memorized the letters on the Underwood in the order in which they were arranged, and after a laborious hour I turned a pretty full account of Natalie’s disappearance, Moore’s capture and my own adventures and suspicions into code, including my new address. Then I picked up my cap, which concealed my bandaged head, and sallied forth to send it off as a special delivery letter.

Fortunately nothing happened. I felt a good deal like a criminal, and crossed corners to avoid passing in front of policemen. One or two of them seemed to look at me closely, which may have been my imagination or may have been due to my workman’s clothes. But none of them stopped me.

It was a curious sensation, however. I had a feeling of insecurity that sent cold chills up my back once or twice and I was exceedingly glad to get back to the house. Being wanted by the police seems exciting and warming in the story-books; but I would never recommend anybody to try it on that account. I did not like it at all! Then, too, if I had been arrested, with Moore gone, the fat would have been in the fire.

I mailed my letter and got safely back to the house. Then I called up Tom O’Dowd, alias Larry Malloy.

“Is that yersilf, sor? Sure it’s me that has been on the anxious seat the morning through.”

“It is, Tom. And forget that ‘sir,’ will you? It’s a fine thing to have one workman calling another workman sir, isn’t it!”

There was a pause. “ ’Twouldn’t do at all, sor,” said Larry.

I laughed. “There you go again. Now listen, Tom. Business is good, for I’ve found a little job of work for the two of us to-night. It’s at a lady’s house in the Seventies. ’Tis the house of the lady you saw yesterday at noon. I want you to meet me to-night at the corner of 14th Street and Seventh Avenue, in the little saloon there, and bring your tools with you. Do you understand?”

There was a silence.

“Hello, Tom?”

“Yis, sor —I mean, Mike. What sort of a job would it be this time?”

“I’ll tell you when I see you.”

“What’s the address, Mike?”

I told him, laughing.

“And what toime should I meet you?”

“Make it ten o’clock sharp, Tom.”

“All right. I’ll be there. Good-by,” and he rang off.

I ordered lunch in my room, and after the landlady had explained with some heat that there would be an extra charge for having it served that way, I got it. When luncheon was over I settled down and tried to read a magazine. But it was hopeless. My thoughts would not keep themselves on the story but kept chasing each other round and round, until I gave it up as a bad job. Finally, I decided that a good rest would be in order, in view of the possibility that I would be up most of the night, and the certainty that I would need my wits about me. So I lay down, and after half an hour or so fell asleep.

It was well after eight o’clock when I woke up, ravenously hungry. I had a latch-key, so I left the house quietly without seeing any one. I slouched into a little quick-lunch restaurant on Sixth Avenue and, sitting with my cap on, put away a large-sized meal. I borrowed a paper from the waiter and sat reading it and smoking, with my back to the street, until about ten minutes to ten. Then I set out to meet Larry. My head was still rather painful, but the autumn air was fresh and invigorating, and the thought of action was an unfailing stimulus. In any kind of affair that requires patient watching I am a hopeless failure. For the thought of Natalie’s fate drove me nearly wild to do something, although my plan promised a slim enough chance of learning any news of her.

Larry was sitting in the little back parlor of the saloon, immersed in a much-thumbed copy of the Police Gazette. I slouched up to his table and sat down, banging on the top of it for the waiter. I had a two-days’ beard by now and my hands were as dirty as they could get in the time allowed them. So I had little fear of being picked up and arrested for the burglary.

“Lo, Mike,” said Larry, looking up. “Phwat’s new wid ye?”

“Hell—nothin’!” I answered, and then to the waiter: “Gimme a beer.”

The waiter looked me over curiously until I caught his eye. Then he shuffled hastily away. Larry leaned over the table. “Drink yer beer and let’s git out av ut, sor, I don’t like the waiter. He moight be a stool-pidgeon.” He winked. “This is a bit of a hang-out fer the gangsters around here, d’ye disremember, sor?”

Larry and I had witnessed a bloodthirsty and noisy gun fight there some weeks before, but I had forgotten the details, except that the aim had been poor and the battle comparatively bloodless.

However, we drank our beer and then strolled out, turning north along Seventh Avenue. Presently we boarded a Seventh Avenue car, and stood out on the front platform until we got off at 55th Street.

We turned east on 55th, and Larry led me into a doorway and up a flight of stairs into a little pool room with only a couple of pool tables in it.

“This place is all right,” he whispered. “ ’Tis an old joint of mine. Now we can sit down and palaver fer a bit. ’Tis too early to start anything yet.”

We found two chairs and sat watching the game. “Don’t you think we ought to look the place over from the outside first?” I asked him.

Larry grinned. “Sure, what wud Oi be doin’ the whole blessed afternoon?” he demanded.

I stared at him. “Do you mean to say——”

“Asy now, sor,” he grinned. “Sure, ’twas no risk at all, at all, to be slouchin’ by the house a few toimes. An’ I had a bit av luck, sor. A woman druv up in a taxi wid a big trunk. I helped the taxi driver up the stairs with ut, and then had a good look out the back windows while the woman was payin’ him off. ’Twas but two doors away from the house we’re afther, an’ I got the lay av the land. You lave the gittin’ in to me, sor. ’Twill be as asy as kiss yer hand.”

“Maybe, Larry,” I whispered. “But we want some idea of who’s in the place, too. I think we’d better get as close as we can and keep an eye on the house for an hour or so. We don’t want to run into the whole pack of them. And maybe we can get an idea of what they’re up to also.”

“ ’Tis a good notion, sor. Let’s go.” And we tramped out again.

Mrs. Fawcette’s house was in the middle of the block between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. It was a brown-stone house with two sets of double doors up a flight of stone steps and a heavy iron grille leading into the basement. To me it looked absolute madness to attempt to break in. But I had a good deal of faith in Larry by this time. So I was principally intent on watching the house and getting an idea as to how many of Mrs. Fawcette’s friends we would find there.

However, although we stationed ourselves near by in an area, keeping a sharp lookout for passing policemen, and watched for more than an hour, no one either went in or came out. And Larry was getting as impatient as I was.

Presently he touched me on the shoulder. “Oi have a plan, sor,” he whispered. “Do but folley me close and mebbe we can tell more about what is goin’ on in there. Wait a minute, sor. I bought this fer you to-day. Do but take it now, and if ye need it, use it. ’Tis better to kill than be killed. And they’ll stop at nothin’, what Oi’ve seen av thim.” He slipped a revolver into my hand. “ ’Tis loaded and ready, sor,” he finished.

Larry came out of the area, glanced sharply up and down the street and then walked calmly away from Mrs. Fawcette’s house. There was a big apartment house about five doors down and on the same side of the street, with a tradesmen’s entrance running back along the side of it. Larry made a bee line for this entrance, with me at his heels, and turned into it. Fortunately there was no one in sight at the time and we made our way quietly to the rear of the place.

It was pitch dark back there and I brought up against Larry with a sudden bump. “Quiet now, sor,” he whispered. “Here’s the wall and here’s a barrel to stand on, for ’tis a high one. Up you go.” He grabbed my arm. “Wait! Throw me coat over ut first.”

I’ve climbed some walls in my day, but that one was the worst. It was at least ten feet high and covered with glass at the top. The barrel we had to stand on was a tin ash-can that rattled if you looked at it. And we both had to jump from it to reach the top of the wall. It separated the apartment yard from the one next door.

However, I threw Larry’s coat over the top to protect my hands from the glass, and we scrambled over somehow, dropping on to a border of soft earth on the other side. Larry managed to bring his coat down with him.

Then, in single file, and moving as quietly as we could, we crossed yard after yard, scaling the fences as we came to them. Fortunately they were a good deal easier than the first one.

For twenty minutes or so we kept up this scrambling and dropping, sneaking past lighted windows with our hearts in our mouths, and expecting every minute to have some one throw up one of the blank windows above us and yell for the police. Finally, when we were both puffing and blowing, and I, at least, was hopelessly lost, Larry caught my sleeve.

“ ’Tis the house, sor,” he whispered. “And here is where we’re going in.”

I stared up at the house. Every window was dark and I could hear no sound from inside. “But, great Scott, Larry,” I whispered, “where are all the servants?” For I knew that Mrs. Fawcette had three at least.

“Gone, sor. Dismissed this morning. The lot av thim. I asked a housemaid who knew some av thim. Asked her who lived there, and what wid passin’ the toime av day, she told me that, too.”

“Well, there’s somebody there at all events, for one of the front windows upstairs is lighted.”

Then Larry gave me a fright. He chuckled and then whistled very gently. And before I could even tell him to shut up, there was a soft footfall behind us and some one blundered into us in the darkness. I grabbed the newcomer at once and felt for his throat, but Larry pulled my hands away. “Tis all right, sor. ’Tis a friend of mine,” he chuckled. “Well, Tim, phwat’s the news?”

“Call off your friend first,” came a hoarse whisper. “Sure, ’tis a grip like a bear he has. But there’s no news at all, lad. Not a soul has gone in or come out since ye left this afternoon. I was watching out front till eleven. Then the block watchman came prowling around and I come on back here. While I wuz waitin’ I took the liberty av just liftin’ out thim bars fer ye, just to kape me hand in, like.”

Larry chuckled again. “Tis a good friend ye are, Tim. But now do ye be gettin’ away out av ut an’ lave it to us. Good-night.”

“Good-night,” came the hoarse whisper, and the stranger departed as noiselessly as he had come.

“Come on, sor,” whispered Larry. He took my hand and led me up to the house until I could reach out and touch the wall. He seemed to be quite able to see in the dark, for I heard him fumbling with something for only a moment and then his hand caught mine again. “Sure, ’tis all done for us, sor. The windy’s open now. Step over the sill and feel for the floor with yer fut. And make no sound now for the love av Mike.”

So I stepped into the house, closely followed by Larry. Once in, he turned and closed the window behind us. “And now, sor,” he whispered, “we’ll just be going through the place from cellar to garret. Do but watch yer feet!” And suddenly a little beam of light flashed, dancing about me. The search was on.

Chapter XIV.
What We Found

Larry’s tiny electric torch showed us a small basement room, evidently used as a laundry. An unlocked door led from it into the kitchen, an old-fashioned one and very large. And after listening at the door for a moment we explored this room also. The fire was out and the ashes were quite cold, and the coolness of the air in the room indicated that no fire had been lit in it that day, or, at least, late that day.

Evidently the housemaid’s tale to Larry about the discharge of the servants was correct, and we explored the rest of the basement with more confidence that we were alone in it. It was quite deserted.

Presently, off the hall-way running the entire length of the basement floor, we found the stairs leading up to the floor above. Larry put up a restraining hand here, and we paused listening for several minutes and peering up into the darkness. But aside from the tiny creaks and soft thuds always to be heard at night in an old house, the floor above was as silent as the basement. I could hear my own heart thumping away as I listened.

At last Larry gave the signal and we began to creep silently upward. A board snapped suddenly underfoot and we both stopped and listened for a while, but nothing happened, and presently we started on again, raising and putting down each foot with infinite care until we stood in the big, carpeted hallway above, staring cautiously about us.

Larry had put out his torch when we started up the basement steps. But in the upper hall enough light filtered in from near-by arc-lights in the street to show us the dim outlines of furniture already familiar to me from several visits to Mrs. Fawcette’s house.

It was an eerie sensation standing there at night and in darkness, on such a search, in this hall which I had only known as a guest, when it was bright with lights and color and noisy with laughter and the babble of voices. But the object of my search and my anxiety over Natalie swept over me again, and I reached out in the darkness and touched Larry’s arm impatiently. He turned and put his lips against my ear.

“There’s nobody on this floor, I think,” he whispered. “But we’ll give a look round on the chance, sor. ’Tis a bad thing to lave any one at the back av ye, to cut off yer retrate maybe.”

We crept along the hall, peering into darkness that was, as I knew, drawing-room, dining-room, morning-room and study. But they were all deserted. We knew that there was some one in the house, in all probability, because of the light we had seen from the front. But evidently we had not many people to deal with, at any rate.

As before, we halted, listening, at the foot of the stairs which led up to the next floor. It was well after midnight by now and the street outside, and indeed the whole city, had grown quiet, but in spite of the stillness we could hear no sound from above.

“Come on, sor,” whispered Larry, and hand in hand we crept up the thickly carpeted stairs, keeping close to the wall where the steps were less likely to creak. And as we advanced the black darkness that was the upper hall seemed to creep down and envelop us like an intangible cloud.

But in spite of the sinister element with which my imagination endowed the darkness, the bedrooms, bathrooms and the library on that floor also were silent and untenanted. And with the urge of a growing impatience to have done with our search and be gone, we mounted another well-carpeted flight as silently as before.

As our heads topped this floor level, Larry’s hand gripped my arm suddenly. A thin line of light glowed from beneath a door a little way up the hall, toward the front of the house. Larry brought his lips close to my ear again. “ ’Tis the light we saw from the front, sor!” he whispered, so softly that I only just caught the words. “We’ll creep up and listen, try the handle and then, maybe, fling open the door. You’ll be ready, sor?”

I pressed his arm in assent and Larry started to lead the way down the hall. Then another plan occurred to me. I caught his arm and leaned close to him. “How about searching the rest of the house first?” I whispered. The recollection was still vivid of the way I had messed up the affair in Moore’s house, by walking into a trap, and I thought it would be as well to know whether there were others besides the inhabitants of that one room. My idea was based on reason which was well enough, I thought, but again Larry’s instinct was better.

He turned back, however, and we went through the rooms on the top floor above, without finding anything or any one. Then we descended and went through the rooms on that floor. The last one, next to the room with the light, had another door leading into it, beneath which the light showed, and it was in this room that Larry had the bad luck to fall over a small footstool, making a noise which a person in the next room could not fail to hear if he or she were awake. He had fallen to one knee, but he got up again quickly, smothering a curse, and we stood waiting tensely in the darkness.

We could hear no sound from the next room, but suddenly the door we faced was flung open from within and a man stood framed in the light, crouching a little.

He was a big fellow, nearly filling the doorway. He said something that sounded like Russian in a quavering voice, peering into the darkness as he spoke. Then suddenly, before either of us could move, he vanished.

I dashed into the doorway and the room beyond, with Larry close at my heels. The big fellow had his hand on the wall opposite and was just turning away from some instrument there. As I entered I heard a sound like the buzzer which is used to call messengers. I was vaguely conscious that the man held a revolver in my direction as he turned toward me, but I was so intent upon reaching him without loss of time that the fact hardly registered. At any rate, he had no time to fire it, for I was almost on him as he turned.

My fist caught him between the eyes and he dropped with a groan, the revolver falling limply from his hand. Larry was on him like a flash, pocketing his gun. Then I turned to look at the rest of the room.

In the far corner stood Natalie, her eyes wide with terror and her hands tied behind her. There was no recognition in her eyes—only blind apprehension.

“Natalie!” I cried, “Natalie! For God’s sake, what have they done to you?”

The lovely eyes stared at me, and slowly bewilderment first and then recognition dawned in them. Then, with a little cry, she staggered toward me, bound as she was, and into my arms. “Oh,” she cried, “I knew you’d come. I knew you’d come for me!”

I held her close for just an instant. Then I turned. Larry was trussing up the fallen Russian in a business-like way, with the man’s own necktie, and gagging him with their combined handkerchiefs. “Your knife, quick, Larry,” I whispered, for the ache in my throat at the sight of her would not let me speak aloud.

In an instant Larry was on his feet, and a moment later Natalie’s hands were free. She flung her arms around my neck and pressed her lovely face against my shoulder, weeping softly. “It—it has been—awful—waiting for you,” she sobbed.

Larry touched my arm. “We must get out av it, sor,” he whispered. “Twas a signal he gave!”

At his words Natalie straightened herself, shuddering, and then drew away from me a little shyly. We all listened. An automobile brake screamed suddenly, either in front of the house or very near.

Without a word Larry dashed out into the hall. An instant later he was back again. “Comin’ in here, sor,” he whispered. “Two av thim. ’Twas his signal, likely.”

Natalie moaned and swayed against the wall. “Oh, don’t let them get me again!” she begged, her hands outstretched. Red marks scarred the white wrists.

And suddenly all desire left me to get out of there before the newcomers reached us. Somebody was going to get a lesson that night, I determined.

I ran and closed the two doors. Then I guided Natalie into the far corner and placed her on a chair, putting her hands behind her as though tied. I ran to the wall and tore down the instrument there, spreading the wires well apart and tucking them far back into the hole in the plaster which the instrument had left.

There was a couch in the room, and my next move was to roll the Russian under it and out of sight. “Behind the door, Larry!” I whispered. As he took up his position, where the door opening into the hall would conceal him, I ran to the fireplace, picked up a poker that lay in it, and darted back to Larry. “Get the second man as he comes in,” I whispered; “I’ll take care of the first one!” Then I ran back to Natalie and stood facing her, my back to the door.

I had just taken up my position when the door was flung open and two men rushed into the room. There was a babble of Russian, the two evidently taking me for the gagged and bound watcher, as I had hoped. Then I drew my revolver, turned and covered the first man, just as the poker descended upon the head of the second. The latter dropped without a sound.

“Oh!” gasped Natalie. “That’s—that’s the man who struck me. He—he struck me!” she repeated, like an incredulous child.

“Throw up your hands!” I told him savagely.

The man’s hands went up over his head with a certain airy grace. “And, pray, who are you?” he demanded calmly, in a slightly mincing voice, and in excellent English. “He was at the luncheon,” Natalie gasped. “Mrs. Fawcette introduced him to me and he took me in to the next room to show me some pictures. Then something pricked my arm, and when I woke up I was here—and—and he struck me!”

“Search him, Larry!” I cried.

Larry produced a long, slender sheathed knife from the inside of the man’s trouser band, and a small instrument, the duplicate of the air-revolver Moore had taken from the stranger he shot in my room. Then I threw my own revolver on the couch and started for the airy and well-dressed newcomer.

It was not a pretty sight. But I don’t believe Natalie minded that side of it much. The Russian knew something about boxing, and he evidently knew what was coming when I started for him, for he put up his hands in the most approved style. My own hands were still raw and sore from the encounter in Moore’s house the day before, and they were almost devoid of flesh on the knuckles when I got through with the Russian. But I’m sure I did not mind that; for I left him raw and bleeding, lying in the corner, his clothes torn and his face unrecognizable. Even then I only refrained from dragging him to his feet again for some more because Natalie cried out in pity. “And that’ll teach you to strike women, you swine!” I told him at last. But the Russian only moaned.

Larry went to the bathroom on that floor and came back with some face towels. We gagged both men with their own handkerchiefs and neckties, in some novel and effective way which Larry seemed to have at his finger-tips. Then we rolled the other fellow out from under the couch. And we tied the hands of all three of them with the towels. Larry darted out of the door and down the stairs, and presently he was back again with some cord, evidently torn from the curtains on the first floor.

“This’ll kape thim apart, sor,” he observed. And together we tied the three of them, one on the couch, one in a chair and one on the bed in the next room. Then I turned to Natalie.

“Did anybody else hit you?” I asked her grimly.

“Oh, no,” she breathed. “That’s enough, p-please! Look at your poor hands.” There is a Viking spirit in every woman, however gently reared; for her eyes were shining in spite of the pity in them.

“ ’Twas a glorious fight, sor,” breathed the delighted Larry. “But he’s marked you pretty bad. Come away now and wash yer face, sor. ’Tis no sight for a lady!” Then I realized that the man had got home some pretty fair blows before he went under. He was no coward; I’ll say that for him.

Natalie followed us into the bathroom. She seemed quite recovered and insisted upon washing my face for me, by the light of Larry’s electric torch—a ridiculous proceeding, none the less sweet for that, and one which relieved my mind a good deal. She had not been badly ill-treated if she could recover so quickly.

It was a risk remaining there, but I could not go into the street covered with blood as I was and the risk had to be taken. Besides, it did not seem probable that more of them would turn up that night.

“Tell me everything, Natalie,” I begged, as she bathed my face and hands.

“That was all, Jack,” she whispered. “They did not ill-treat me very much. But some one was watching me every minute and they would not even let me feed myself. What do you suppose they wanted with me? Do you think they were going to hold me to ransom? I haven’t much money. And what happened to Mrs. Fawcette? Is this her house?”

“Yes, this is her house. She’s in the thing, Natalie. If I had only been sure, I could have warned you more fully. But I didn’t like that drugged tea from the start. Tell me, you say they would not let you feed yourself?”

“No. They kept my hands tied. They said they did not want me to kill myself with the knife. That scared me more than anything. Why should I kill myself, Jack?”

I lowered my eyes to hide the red mist that swam in them. I found myself aching to get back to the other two specimens of Russian manhood and give them a dose of the same medicine. I turned away toward where they lay and Larry sensed my thought, for he caught at my arm. “Not now, sor,” he whispered; “we must get the gyurl out av ut, remember.”

I was ashamed and stood waiting quietly until they had finished with my face and hands. Then Larry went out with a muttered word or two about seeing if the coast was clear. I caught Natalie’s hand in mine and kissed it. “Thank God, we found you,” I whispered.

There was a thistle-down touch on my hair, and I looked up to find the lovely parted lips close to mine and the long lashes slowly sinking over the lovely eyes.

A moment or two later Larry coughed close behind me. He seemed to be chuckling about something. I looked at him and he became preternaturally grave. “ ’Tis time we were goin’, sor,” he remarked.

Together we walked to the head of the stairs, leaving the light still on in that one room and the three Russians prone where we had tied them. We dared not light any of the electric lights in the house, but with the aid of Larry’s torch we managed to guide Natalie’s feet until we reached the ground floor.

Here we paused while Larry fumbled with the bolts, and having, at length, got the door open, stuck out a cautious head to see if the coast was clear. He came back to us at last.

“The cyar they come in is gone,” said he, “and there’s nought in sight but a taxi down in front of that apartment house. Shall I call it?”

“We’ll walk down to it, Larry,” I told him, and we sallied forth together.

There was no one in sight in the street as we left the house, closing the door behind us, but as we drew abreast of the taxi, a man who had been getting a light from the driver detached himself from the shadow of the car and shambled away. I went up to the driver and gave him Natalie’s address. He stared at me curiously, for I must have been a pretty sight, but he merely nodded and signed for us to get in.

“Don’t come with me, Jack,” Natalie whispered; “I’ll be all right now. I have a key in my pocket still; I just looked. And you must get home. Why, you might be arrested!”

This event was a good deal more probable than she guessed, and I knew it would be wiser, now that she was out of danger, to let her go alone and get home before the main streets were also deserted and the police began to inspect all passers-by. But some instinct made me hesitate, in spite of the need, on Moore’s account, to keep my freedom.

“The lady’s roight, sor. They’d be sure to pick you up in that condition. Sure, I’ll see the lady safe home mesilf.”

In spite of the wiser instinct, my duty to Moore flooded my mind again and—I have cursed myself countless times for it—I agreed, for I knew she would be safe with Larry, and he was a far better hand than I at avoiding the police.

I turned and held out my hand to Natalie. “All right,” I said. “Some day I’ll be able to tell you why it is better so, Natalie.”

If she was disappointed she did not show it. “That’s right. And come, please, in the morning, or to-morrow afternoon.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, for I could at least telephone to her in the morning. I stooped and kissed her hand. A moment later the door slammed and the taxi started. A faint “Good-night” floated back to me, and they were gone.

As the taxi passed down the street, the man who had been talking to the driver started off at a shambling run and passed around the corner in the same direction that the car had taken. I stopped in my tracks for a moment, wondering. But I could hardly expect to explain the vagaries of such night prowlers, and anyway Larry was with her, and there was nothing I could do, in spite of a sudden vague anxiety at the sight of the running man. I had to get home the quickest way; for it was very late already.

Fortunately I found another taxi at the corner and ten minutes later let myself into my new home. My thoughts were full of Natalie on the ride, and she still filled my mind as I opened my bedroom door, switched on the light and closed the door behind me.

But as I turned back to the room again, the heavy curtains in front of the window parted once more and a man stepped into the room. “Hands up, Clayton,” he said. And I stood like a dunce and stared into the steady muzzle of a revolver.

Chapter XV.
The Darkest Hour

“Wait,” said the new-comer after a moment. “Don’t try anything foolish!” For I had drawn myself together a little, with the idea of risking a dash at him. I stood still, my hands above my head, and waited.

“Around my neck,” the stranger went on quickly, “you will observe a little gold chain. And hanging from it there is a tiny golden panther. Have you the mate to it?”

I stared at him. Then I slowly lowered my hands. “I have,” I told him.

“Let’s see it!”

My little symbol, which Moore had given me, hung from a cord around my own neck. I fished inside my shirt, found it and held it out to him.

He stepped forward and glanced at it. “Good,” he said, and flung his revolver on my bed. “Now we can talk.”

I sat down rather weakly. “Who are you, anyway? And why the hold-up?”

“The Chief sent me to replace Moore,” he answered. “And as to the hold-up, look at yourself in the glass. You don’t look much like the Society man I expected to see.”

I sat still and looked him over for a moment or two. He was tall and raw-boned and his clothes hung on him in straight lines, like a flag on a still day. A New England type, I thought. But the face was cosmopolitan. It was a long, shrewd face, thin and deeply lined. The eyes were steel blue and set rather close to a thin, aquiline nose. But there were whimsical, mirthful lines radiating away from them, and the mouth held humor and strength both. A man of devious ways, I thought, but a good fellow and a good friend probably. I smiled suddenly.

“Well, I’m damned glad you’ve come, anyway, I’ll tell you that much. I’ve been about as busy as any man ought to be for the last three days. And I seem to have made a pretty thorough mess of things.” I leaned forward. “What’s your name?”

“Pride,” he answered, and we shook hands gravely. Then he got up. “The first thing I’m going to do, my dear Clayton,” he said briskly, “is to dress your hands and face. You’ll be a nice-looking object for a day or two, anyway. But if we don’t put something on that face of yours, you’ll be scarred for life. Besides, the sooner it heals, the sooner you’ll cease to be a marked man, eh? For I don’t suppose you got that little lot climbing trees or hitching behind wagons. So turn out your medicine chest.”

“I haven’t a thing here,” I told him. “And that can wait. I want to hear your news and tell you mine.”

He got up, reached for his hat and stalked to the door. “See you in ten minutes. I’m going out for some bandages.” And he was gone.

Evidently he was used to having his own way.

He came back presently, though how he got into the house the first time or the second I have no idea to this day. But he set nonchalantly to work on me, and while he dressed and bandaged me up, I told him everything that had happened to Moore and to myself up to date, including the rescue of Natalie and the fact that I had sent Larry home with her.

When I had finished he chuckled in a taking way. “Guess it’s a good job I held you up, Clayton. My face would likely be bent up a bit by now, if I’d stepped from behind that curtain of yours without a gun and without an introduction, eh? But I think you’ve done some pretty good work, myself.”

“What’s your news? Has the Department done anything or discovered anything further?” I asked him.

“You bet we have. And the news is bad. The Chief told you that this was the biggest thing that the Department ever tackled. Well, it’s bigger than that. It’s so damned big, Clayton, that the Chief’s about desperate.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Why, the ramifications of the thing extend into the highest circles. And we’re running up against snags and opposition that set the old man about wild. The fact of the matter is, the gang has a hold in some way or other on a lot of people who should be helping us to run them to earth. He has set the entire Secret Service to work on it. And to-day,” he paused to let his works sink in, “he is having a session with the President!”

“Wow,” I said, “it’s as big as that, is it? I know it’s been a damned sight too big for Moore and me so far.”

“Of course,” he went on, “we’ve accomplished something. We know that the headquarters of the gang are here in New York somewhere. And we know something about their methods. We also know that they’ve corrupted or intimidated some of the police officials here. That’s why we daren’t call on the police until we have something pretty definite to go on!”

“What about their methods?”

“Well, there’s a lot of money back of the organization for one thing. And money is power wherever officials can be corrupted, and that’s pretty near everywhere. But when they get a little higher up they have subtler and even more effective methods. They deliberately encourage the use of drugs among people who can help them, and then, being the only source of supply available, they dictate about what they please to those people. For you know what a man with a drug habit will do for some more of the same.”

“But what’s it all about?” I demanded. “What’s it all for? And where do they get the money and the drugs?”

He shook his head. “We don’t know,” he answered. “We imagine that some one is trying to build up an immense and hidden power in this country. It may be that we are dealing with a new form of Bolshevism. And we know that they must have acquired an immense amount of money from the sale of drugs to wealthy addicts of their own making. But nobody knows where they get the drugs, what the drugs are exactly, or how they get them into the country.”

“But what about these girls? What have they got to do with——”

My visitor grinned. “The Chief’s got a novel hypothesis for that, Clayton. He believes that the girls are used as decoys in some way. But I don’t think much of it myself, for he can’t explain why we haven’t found any of them. You see, up to the time of his disappearance, Moore sent in regular reports each day on what you and he had accomplished. There was a lot in those reports about some wonderful parties or other. And the Chief has it doped out that the girls are forced to take a hand in giving these parties. But they couldn’t give parties like that at the same place more than once or we’d get to know about it. And if they moved the girls from place to place, they’d be seen and rescued. I think he’s off on that. I don’t believe there’s any connection between the drugs and the girls. But then the Chief is pretty often right.”

“They could move the girls in closed cars at night without its being noticed,” I ventured.

“What—thirty-six of them? It would be like a school treat. And I don’t suppose they’d be any quieter than a school treat if they saw a chance of freedom.”

“Well,” said I, “this party business is the only thing I’ve run across that even approaches being a clew, and I’m going to follow it up until I prove or disprove it.”

Pride nodded. “That’s what the Chief wants you to do, and that’s what I’m here to help you to do. For my personal opinions don’t count. But now listen, Clayton. The Chief wants you to know that he thinks you and he too have been under-estimating this thing—under-estimating the skill of the other side. He told me to warn you particularly not to trust to the ignorance of any of that bunch of Russians you got mixed up with, without being pretty sure that you have a card up your sleeve in case you get caught.”

“I don’t trust them, man. But what can I do? I’ve got to get to one of those parties. And if they find out who I am, or know all the time, why I’m out of luck, that’s all. But I’m not going to let Moore stay in their hands without trying to follow along and get him out. You see that, don’t you?”

“I sure do,” he answered. He paused a moment. Then he reached into his side pocket and brought out two little articles done up in tissue-paper. “Guess the Chief thinks a good deal of you, Clayton. Anyhow, he’s sent you a curiosity that very few operatives are allowed to carry. This is a ring, fashioned after those which the gentle and affectionate Borgias were said to employ. You press it on the inside and a tiny needle sticks out of the snake’s head in front and does for any one it touches. It does for them so quickly, too, that they never know what struck them. The inventor presented it to the Chief.”

He handed me a curiously carved gold ring, the loop the body of a snake, and the snake’s head, a cobra’s spread hood, the crest part of the ring. I took it in a gingerly fashion. “What on earth does he want me to do with this?”

“Wear it. And when you get in a tight place, use it. It is locked now so that it can hurt no one. But holding it in a flame for two seconds melts the lock. Then, if you lift that little catch with your thumb and press the back of the ring, it will kill instantly any one whom the front of the ring touches. And that’s that.”

“What’s the other little plaything?” I asked him dryly.

He drew a flat steel box about two inches in diameter from its wrappings and held it between his finger and thumb like a conjurer. “This, my friends, is one of the finest, strongest and most reliable steel files ever produced. It is called ‘the burglar’s friend indeed,’ is packed in a neat box which will fit any gentleman’s vest pocket, and is guaranteed for the life of the holder and longer. I offer it to you for a mere pittance. Namely, your guarantee not to use it to break out of jail.”

“I won’t pay that much,” I laughed. “Not with the police after me as they are at present.”

“All right, take it for nothing. Anyhow, I guess we can prevent your going to jail. The Chief has given you and me a free hand. And he’ll dope out some way to help us deal with the police situation. He’s coming to New York himself.”

“By gad, I wish he would,” I answered. “I’d feel a lot easier in my mind. I hate to think of Moore.”

“Never mind, we’ll get him out between us,” Pride answered. “And now I think we’d both better go to bed. It looks like I’ll have an active day to-morrow, and you want to get a good rest so that your face will heal up and you’ll be able to get out and about again.”

“All right. Where are you living?”

“Next door. I’ll be in in the morning. So long!” And he was gone.

I stowed away the two diverse weapons which the Chief had sent me, in my pockets where I could lay my hands on them. Then I went to bed. And I only remember my head hitting the pillow, for I was dog-tired. Besides, I was a good deal relieved to have reënforcements present and on the way. I had already realized, in a vague way, that the thing I was up against must be pretty huge and pretty cleverly organized. It was no sort of a proposition for one man to tackle.

Pride woke me the next morning. He had a paper with him, and he sat commenting drolly on the news of the day, while I bathed and ordered my breakfast. My face and hands were pretty sore that morning and I was not very good-tempered, but Pride did not seem to mind that. And presently my own temper improved.

I interrupted his soliloquy finally. “Look here, can’t we get hold of Captain Peters or somebody and have this charge against me quashed?” I demanded. “How can I get out and do anything in these duds and with the police looking for me?”

He shook his head. “Can’t be done, Clayton. You see, if we exercise pressure and have you cleared, the police force are bound to know about it. We know that some of the officers at least are hand in glove with this gang, though we don’t know which ones. And then they’d know at once—the gang, I mean—that you were either part of the Secret Service or under its protection.

“Then you’d be a worse marked man than you are now. You couldn’t do a thing then. For we know that they have organized an intelligence service that’s damned near as good as our own. They know every move we make almost as soon as we make it. We’ve had ample proof of that, though they don’t know the details of course. The Chief has his suspicions as to the leak in the Department and I don’t believe it will last much longer. But until it stops, clearing you through the Secret Service would be just about the same as signing your death-warrant, unless you went right away and gave the case up entirely, and we don’t want you to do that.”

“All right,” I answered, making a wry face. “I’ll be hunter and hunted at the same time for a while longer then.”

There was a little pause. “By the way, Clayton, have you called up your man this morning?”

“No, by Jove, I haven’t. Why?”

“Well, this is a so-called afternoon paper, although it’s only about eleven o’clock now. But I’m surprised they haven’t any news in it of the return of the girl you rescued.”

I stared at him. “Why should they?”

“Well, let’s call him up anyway, shall we? I want to meet him.”

His words made me vaguely anxious, and I dressed quickly and went downstairs to the ’phone. I called Larry’s house and asked to speak to Tom O’Dowd. Evidently it was his landlady at the other end, for the answer was short and to the point. “He’s not here—and he ain’t been here sence yestiddy. Nice goings on fer a respectible house!”

“Do you mean to say he didn’t come home last night?” I shouted.

“He did not!” the woman shouted back and slammed up the receiver.

I started back to Pride with a horrible sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. It would be too rotten luck if anything had happened to the two of them on the way home.

But before I reached my room I turned back to the telephone and called up Mrs. Trevor’s house, whither I had directed the taxi with Natalie and Larry. Mrs. Trevor herself answered the ’phone.

“Hello, Mrs. Trevor. This is Clayton speaking. May I speak to Miss Van Cleef?” I inquired.

Mrs. Trevor’s voice was at once tearful and resentful. “Surely, Mr. Clayton, you know that Natalie can’t be found?”

“My God,” I shouted, “didn’t she get home last night?”

“She did not. Get home last night? Why, what do you mean? Have you seen her?”

“Seen her? I should say I have seen her. I——” and then common sense returned. “But I may have been mistaken,” I added lamely. It would be a nice state of affairs if I told Mrs. Trevor about finding Natalie and started that lady off denouncing Mrs. Fawcette before our plans were ready.

Mrs. Trevor’s voice was wildly excited now. “Tell me what you mean, Mr. Clayton. Tell me at once please. I——”

And then I was inexcusably rude to a lady. I hung up without a word more. For no matter what I told the lady, it would only start her off on some tack or other that would be likely to interfere with our plans. And Natalie had to be found, and found at once.

As I entered my room, Pride started up from his chair. “She did not get home at all!” he shouted.

“That’s right,” I answered. “I’ve made a mess of it again. And this time—I can’t think—I can’t think what it will mean to her. I—I can’t think about it at all. It will drive me mad!”

He came over to me at that. “Steady, old man. We’ll find her again. I have a hunch we’re going to clear up this whole business in a few days. And then——”

“A few days!” I groaned. “Man, what’s happening to her now?” I flung myself on the bed. “God, if they’ve captured her again, those swine! Man, can’t we do something? Can’t we get in touch with Captain Peters and have Mrs. Fawcette’s house raided? They may be still there and we may be able to find out something from them. Suggest something, will you, for God’s sake!” I was nearly beside myself. “And what about Larry?” I shouted. “He’s probably done for by this time. And I dragged him into this thing.”

“Quiet, old man. Quiet!” Pride came over and put his hand on my arm. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ll take a look around the Fawcette house and see what’s doing. And I’ll wire the Chief the latest developments. But for the rest we’ll just have to wait.”

I pulled myself together then. “All right,” I answered quietly. “Sorry. But I may as well tell you that Miss Van Cleef is to be my wife, even though she may not know it yet.”

Pride whistled. Then he got up. “I’ll go now and see who’s in the house still. I may be able to find out something.” And he hurried out of the room.

“Don’t run into a trap there,” I called after him. And then I turned away and fell to pacing the floor, back and forth, back and forth, to get a grip on myself. But it was a long time before I could even make an attempt to think clearly and plan ahead.

It was a weary wait. I had lunch in my room and in the afternoon tried to sleep a little. But it was no go; and the afternoon was the longest I have ever spent. It was well after dark when Pride came back. He stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at me.

“They got them,” he said bluntly, “both of them.” He came over and laid his hand on my shoulder. “The house is empty and Mrs. Fawcette appears to have skipped. She has told the papers that she is ‘out of town.’ I traced the taxi and found that it must have been in the hire of the gang. Probably one of their men driving it. For a cop on night duty reported a disturbance and several shots in the Park last night, between one and two o’clock. And afterwards a taxi shot past him, going like the wind. He got the number, traced it and found that no such license had been issued. It was a black car with an unusually long body.”

“That’s the one,” I answered wearily. I stared at him. “What on earth shall we do now?”

He swung a chair briskly into place in front of my table and sat down. “Draw up a chair, light a smoke and I’ll tell you,” he answered. “For there’s only one thing, that I can see, left to do.” He held out his hand. “And cheer up, old man. This is the darkest hour. And that always comes before the dawn, you know.”

Chapter XVI.
The Final Attempt

I fumbled for a cigar, keeping my head down so that he would not see my face, for I was pretty close to the breaking-point. I sat down opposite him and waited, shading my face with my hand and trying to fix my thoughts on what he was about to say. It was hard to do even that.

“Listen, Clayton,” he said, after a moment or two. “I went to see what I could find about Miss Van Cleef this afternoon, because you were so vitally interested. But I had little hope of learning anything. This gang is much too cute to leave any traces behind them.

“But in the meantime I have other news for you. I have received powers from Washington that no police officer, whatever his other affiliations or sympathies, would dare ignore or disobey.

“But those powers will only be of use to us when we learn who the people are against whom we can direct them. We’ve got to find the headquarters of this gang and break it up. Individual rescues are all right, of course, but, as you have seen, they don’t accomplish much. You see, knowing what she did, the gang had to recapture Miss Van Cleef, whether they wanted to or not.

“Now, as I see it,” Pride went on, leaning back in his chair and stroking a bony chin, “the only clew we have to the whereabouts of their headquarters is based on the assumption that these girls are used as decoys. If that is the case, they are probably located in the house where these orgies are given. That means a big house and big parties, several of them. And that means publicity—in town.”

I started up. “You mean that the headquarters is somewhere out of town?”

“Exactly,” he nodded. “They could not give more than one or, at most, two parties of that nature and on such a scale without the police and the newspapers getting wind of it.”

“Well, then——”

“Well, then, it means that if we searched or investigated all the houses of any size near New York which are within the radius of a two-hour run in a high-powered car, we would be at the job for months, we would warn them well in advance and they would skip and set up their establishment elsewhere.”

“They would have to take the girls with them.”

Pride dropped his eyes. “Not necessarily,” he said, in a low voice. “They could get more.”

I felt as though I were struggling in the grip of a nightmare. “My God! do you mean—murder?”

Pride gave an impatient gesture. “How can I tell, man? This is a big gang and a fearless one—and utterly unscrupulous. They are after power, it seems. They have a lot of it now. And they might not let a thing like that stop them.”

I got up and began to pace the floor. “Well, then,” I demanded childishly, “what are we going to do about it? What are we going to do about it?” The helpless feeling of the early months of my search returned, magnified a hundred times. “My God, what kind of a Secret Service and police force have we got, anyway!”

Pride hesitated. “That’s not quite fair, Clayton,” he answered at last, gravely. “We’ve done some pretty good work in the past. But we are working under the disadvantage of a certain amount of publicity. The gang got at one of our members or more and learned all about us long before we knew they existed. And we’re trying to find them, not they us.”

“I know,” I answered, dropping into a chair. “I beg your pardon. I had no business to say that. But these last weeks—and now to-day——”

“That’s all right. I don’t blame you.” Pride paused a moment. “But here’s what I’m getting at. If we can locate this gang we can round them up and run them in without any formality. And if we get them we’ll keep them. But we’ve got to find them first. And the only way I can think of to find them is to get taken to one of their parties.”

I laughed. “We’ve tried that,” I said.

“We’ve got to try it again, then.”

“How?” I demanded.

Pride leaned forward. “You got pretty thick with that Russian, Ivanovitch, wasn’t it, who served that doped tea?”

“I tried to, but I don’t know how well it worked.”

“Is there anything to connect you in his mind with the Department? Was he at Mrs. Fawcette’s the day Miss Van Cleef was captured?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“Was he one of the men who turned up when you rescued her?”

“No, he wasn’t!”

“Do you think the men who came that night recognized you?”

“I don’t see how they could. They might have described me to Mrs. Fawcette or Ivanovitch himself, however.”

“Well,” Pride answered, “it’s only a chance, of course. But if Ivanovitch is hand in glove with Mrs. Fawcette and Vining, he’ll know about their having you arrested. So, if you go to see him, he’ll probably try again to have you arrested. If he doesn’t do that, it’s a fair presumption that he does not suspect you. Then you can try to get him to take you on one of the parties. I’ll have you followed, adequately this time, and follow you myself. It will be pretty poor work if they give us the slip again.”

“Well,” I said, “I’ll try it. I’ll try anything. You can be sure of that. But can’t you have these birds followed anyway? Has Vining been followed, shadowed all the time? And Ivanovitch? And Mrs. Fawcette?”

Pride smiled. “Followed! I should say they have. But we’ve had to use police plain-clothes men. They lost track of both Vining and Mrs. Fawcette the day Moore was captured. Since then I’ve called off the man I had watching Ivanovitch because I did not want him to know that he was under suspicion and they’re too clever for these plain-clothes men.”

“Well, isn’t there any one else suspected? Isn’t there any one else we could follow?” And suddenly I remembered the little book I had found in Vining’s desk. I had left it under the blotter on my table. “Look here, I have something, I think!” and I told him about that little book and the names in it.

When I had finished, Pride gave me a droll look. “Is there any other little detail you have omitted to mention?” he asked dryly. “That book may be absolutely invaluable to us. What was in it exactly?”

I told him of the names and the numbers after them. “What could they mean?” I asked.

“Might mean anything. Members and dues, perhaps, in some club. But the names themselves would tell us something. Where is the book?”

I told him and received another droll look. “Well, if there was anything important in it, you don’t suppose it’s there now, do you?” he asked. “But I’ll get in there and see. I’ve got to get into your apartment anyway.”

“What for? Oh, for my clothes, of course.”

“Exactly. You can’t call on Ivanovitch in those duds.”

I got up again. “When do I go to see him?” I demanded.

“Why not drop in to-morrow afternoon? That will give me time to get your clothes and to plant a man in the house perhaps. At any rate it will give me time to arrange about having you closely followed. Wait—I’ll drive you there myself. The car has been loaned you by a friend who is out of town and I’m your friend’s chauffeur. That is, if he asks. What do you think of that plan?”

“Oh, it sounds all right,” I answered. “It’s action, anyway. But I wish I could get my hands on those brutes.”

Pride smiled and was silent for a moment. Then he glanced up suddenly. “Look here, Clayton,” he said, “I’m going to play fair with you. I think we’ve been underestimating this gang all along. I think any such attempt as this would be underestimating them. But I’m banking on one thing. I’m banking on my own powers to trace you. For I think it’s quite possible that he’ll take you with him on a party if you ask him to. But not because he does not suspect you. I think he and the rest of the gang know all about you. But I also think that they underestimate us. And I think that they are afraid of you as long as you are at liberty.”

I stared at him in amazement. “But then what’s the use of my going there?”

“Because, as I say, I think he’ll play his wits against ours. I think, for the sake of getting you under lock and key, in their hands, he’ll try to kidnap you, ostensibly to go on a party, and trust to shaking off any pursuit you may have arranged.”

I whistled. “Oh, that’s what you’ve had up your sleeve. I’m to be the bait, eh?”

He nodded gravely. “That’s it exactly, Clayton.”

“Well,” I laughed, “if he agrees to take me, it’s up to you! But, by gad, I’d be glad to go anyway. If I ever get to their hang-out and get loose, I’ll make things warm for them.”

Pride rose to his feet. “That’s what we’ve been doing all along—what you’re doing when you say that. You’re not giving them credit for much brains and they’ve got plenty. Look at the way they had Miss Van Cleef guarded and the arrangements for calling for help. It wasn’t long in coming either. No, if they get you there, you won’t be in any condition to do much damage. Be sure of that.”

“Unless I can make them underestimate me. They ought to have a pretty poor opinion of me now, after the mess I’ve made of things.”

Pride laughed. “Well, I’m going up to your place now. You’d better go to bed and get a good night’s rest. Your face isn’t anything to look at yet. But it will be better in the morning and your head is about healed.” He opened the door. “Good-night and don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he went out.

I spent the rest of the evening up to midnight alternately sitting down and trying to read or walking the floor. Before I went to bed I put some stuff Pride had brought me on my face and hands. It had wonderful healing qualities and I was already beginning to look more like a human being, so that I hoped to look at least respectable by morning.

True to his promise, Pride turned up after breakfast the next morning. He was carrying a suit-case, which he flung on my bed. He grinned at me and banged down into one of the landlady’s plush horrors with which my room was furnished.

“There’s your clothes, my lad. And a sweet time I had getting them. There’s a cop still in charge of your apartment, and the landlord up there is nearly crazy because all of his tenants are leaving on account of the disgrace. The cop put up an argument about my taking your things, and I did not want to tell him who I am because Lord knows he may be hand in glove with these birds. But I got Captain Peters on the wire finally, and the poor cop fairly groveled. But—your little book is strangely missing.” He treated me to another of his droll glances. “I dare say your friend Mrs. Fawcette got away with that too, along with your card-case.”

“All right,” I told him. “Don’t rub it in. What’s the program now?”

“Well,” he answered, “here’s my idea. I’m going out presently to hire a big car. I’m not going to get it from the Police Department of course, because they would spot the license. Then I’ll take your suit-case with me and pick you up near by here.

“It will be a closed car and you will have to contrive to change your clothes on the way, because you can’t call on Ivanovitch in those duds, and you can’t walk out of this house in your good ones. It would give the landlady heart failure.

“When you’ve changed, I’ll drive you to his house, and you can make a casual call and broach the subject of a party. I’ll wait outside for you, and you can tell him that the car belongs to a friend who has gone out of town and lent it to you while he’s away.”

I assented, and we left it at that. The rest of the morning and over our lunch we discussed the best method of supplying additional tracers, in case Ivanovitch agreed to take me and Pride failed to follow the car we went in. Pride decided to have two police cars in readiness and a couple of motorcycle cops also, to make doubly sure.

As the time approached for us to start, I felt my spirits rising a little with the thought of action. And when at last I was struggling to change into a stiff shirt and a frock-coat in the confines of Pride’s hired limousine, kneeling on the floor most of the time, I began to feel nearly normal again, in spite of a terrible anxiety about Natalie and Moore and Larry.

I was ready, with my workman’s clothes neatly packed in the suit-case and the latter under the seat, by the time we reached the house of Ivanovitch. Pride was driving himself and was attired in the usual chauffeur’s livery. He pulled up nearly in front of the house and even got down and opened the door for me. “Good luck!” he whispered as I mounted the steps.

To my delight, Ivanovitch’s slant-eyed servant told me that his master was at home and he would inquire whether he was disengaged. A moment later he was back again. “Walk after me, sar. My master will look at you.”

“I’ll bet he will!” I thought, and followed the Jap or whatever he was. A moment after he left, Ivanovitch appeared.

“Well, Mr. Clayton! This is charming of you! I have thought of you so often lately” (I grinned to myself, staring at him), “and wondered what had become of you! I have been intending to try to locate you!”

Could all this be coincidence? I wondered. Or was the man laughing at me? It was impossible to tell from his glittering and quite meaningless smile.

“That’s mighty nice of you!” I told him. “But if you tried to find me,” I added, laughing, “you did not succeed very well.” I saw no reason why two could not play at the game of double meanings.

He shook his head. “No, but this is even better, you see. For you have come to me!”

He had me there. “Yes,” I answered, “I have been bored with a lot of irritating details of which life seems to be made up nowadays, and I thought of you at once as an antidote. So here I am!”

He bowed. “As kind as ever! Let me give you a cocktail, shall I? I have something rather special which I think will surprise you.”

If this was meant to get me to display hesitation about accepting his booze, it failed. “I don’t know anything I’d like better,” I answered, “if you’ll join me. I can’t have you bothering to mix a drink for me alone.”

He gave me a swift, noncommittal glance. “But of course I’ll join you,” he answered, and went away to mix the drinks.

When he returned, we fell into an animated conversation over the cocktails, which were excellent, and presently he asked me of his own volition whether I had found anything like the type of entertainment in which I had expressed an interest to him.

“Not a thing,” I told him. “And, frankly, that’s a minor reason for looking you up again. I hoped you might have heard of something new and amusing, such as this modern Baghdad ought to offer, if one could only find it.”

He laughed. “Your coming to me to-day is certainly a coincidence, my friend. For I am going to just such an entertainment this very night.”

I leaned forward eagerly. “Can you take me with you?” I urged. “I assure you, you will save my life if you do!”

“Hardly that,” he laughed, shaking his head. “But of course I can take you, if you have the—er—price, as I think you call it. The admission fee is 200 dollars.”

“Phew!” I whistled. “Is that a season ticket?”

“No, that is for one evening. And I think you will find,” he added, turning away to the tray, “that one evening will go a long way. Everything else will seem tame to you afterwards.”

I thought that the conversation was taking a distinctly gruesome tone; but of course I did not tell him so. “I must go home and dress then,” I told him. “What time do we start and where do I meet you?”

He laughed again. “Come, come, there is no need to dress, I am going as I am. We have a long drive ahead of us, and we shall have to start in an hour at the latest. Besides that, I am not going to let you leave again, now that you have come at last!”

I swallowed that too. “All right. If you’re sure it’s all right to go like this. But I have not that much money on me. I’ll have to go and cash a check.”

“Give me your check and I shall pay for your admission. That will be all right, my friend. And now let us talk about Europe. I am sick to death of the crudity of this country and it is a real pleasure to talk with one who has traveled and knows other countries also. Do you not find your country crude?”

I assured him heartily that my country bored me to death, lacking as it did any really artistic preception of the refined possibilities of vice. And we went on like that for some time. But presently it began to get dark outside. I got up, went to his desk and drew him a personal check for 200 dollars. He took it, rose and rang for his servant.

“Get the car ready, Niko,” he told the Jap, “and see that it has plenty of gas. I shall drive it myself to-night. This gentleman is going with me.”

The servant glanced at me impassively. “Very well, sar,” he told his master and vanished, silently.

“Wait a minute,” I ventured. “I have a car out here myself. Why not go in mine? It is comfortable, fully enclosed and has plenty of gasoline.”

Ivanovitch shook his head, smiling his meaningless smile. “You do not understand, my friend,” he answered. “I must take you in a special car. There is much secrecy about this club; except to members the whereabouts of it are quite unknown. And as the type of entertainment is not exactly approved by the laws of your country, they must remain unknown. No, I shall be obliged to insist upon your accepting the hospitality of my car.” He paused and walked to the window. “And as you will not need your car, you will wish to dismiss it, n’est-ce pas? I shall send Niko.”

“Oh, don’t trouble,” I answered casually; “I have some instructions to give the driver. I’ll tell him now.” And I walked into the hall.

But when I had the front door open, I found Ivanovitch at my side. And he proceeded to accompany me down the steps to where Pride was sitting in full regalia in the hired limousine.

“How charming is the evening air,” Ivanovitch observed suavely.

“Tom,” I said pleasantly, as we came up to Pride, “this gentleman is taking me for a ride to-night, so I won’t need you any longer. I should be glad if you would see my man before you go home and tell him to get the place cleaned up, and,” I laughed, “to follow my instructions a little more closely this time. Tell him, too, that I shall probably not be home to-night!” I turned to Ivanovitch for confirmation and he nodded.

“Tell him to expect you when he sees you,” he laughed.

I was beginning to dislike Ivanovitch.

Chapter XVII.
Walk into My Parlor

Ivanovitch had been looking at the so-called Tom, but he turned away and Pride gave him a swift, comprehensive look. He turned to me.

“Excuse me, sir, but you spoke of seeing Mr. Jenkins to-day, sir. Something about an option?”

“By Jove, yes,” I answered, wondering what on earth Pride had in mind. “I’ll have to take that up before I leave.” I turned to Ivanovitch. “It’s a little matter of business that I can attend to in half an hour. Will that delay you too much?”

I could see that the Russian did not like it, but he could not say so. “If you must, you must,” he answered. “But we should be starting now. You will be as quick as possible?”

“I certainly will,” I answered gayly. “I would not miss this for all the real estate in the world.”

I jumped into the car. “Make for Times Square, Tom,” I directed Pride. “Back in half an hour or less, Ivanovitch.”

Ivanovitch nodded a little glumly as Pride slipped in the clutch. “Very well,” he called after us.

Pride tore around a couple of corners and pulled up in front of a drug store. Then he jumped down and opened the door of the car like a man in a hurry. “Man, man, I’ve got some quick telephoning to do. Damn it, we may not be able to get what we need from the police in so short a time. I’m going in to telephone now. In the meantime, have you got that ring and that file?”

I struck my forehead with my open palm. “I certainly belong to the Sherlock Holmes class,” I told him. “They are in my other clothes in the bag.”

Pride laughed. “Well, hurry up and get them out while I’m telephoning. I don’t want to wait here too long, after what you said about Times Square. He might stroll around here.”

I got the bag out from under the seat, found the ring and file and slipped the former on my finger and the little box containing the latter into a handy pocket. But after the bag was packed and stowed away again and all neat and tidy, I lit a match and held my deadly ring so that the snake’s head was in the flame for three or four seconds.

It was some time before Pride appeared. And when he did come out, it was with a very long face. He came up and opened the door of the car, as though asking for orders.

“Hell,” he said softly; “it took me nearly twenty minutes to locate Peters, and he cannot get more than one motor-bike cop up here in the time. He’s going to try to get a police car stationed near the house to pick you up also, but he seemed doubtful. We’d better get back anyhow. I’ll probably be able to follow you myself.”

“All right,” I answered; “but the Russian is wise to us, I think. He knows, or else there’s an awful lot of coincidence in most of his remarks. Never mind. We’ve got to find the place, and this is a chance.”

Pride jumped into the driving seat, and a few moments later we were back in front of the Russian’s house. As he opened the car door for me he asked: “You haven’t got a gun on you, have you?”

I told him I hadn’t.

“That’s right. It will only be taken away from you and it would simply confirm their suspicions. Now good luck, old man. The die is cast.”

A horn tooted softly just behind us and we turned. A big limousine was waiting to get in front of the door. The man driving it was Niko, Ivanovitch’s servant. Pride jumped into the driving seat of our car and pulled away at once, saluting without another word. I turned and went up to the door.

Ivanovitch himself let me in. “Ah, you’re back again in time. I’m glad; for I should have had to go without you. However, I’ve telephoned about you, and they are expecting you. Now let us go, shall we?”

“Expecting me, are they?” I thought. “That makes it nice.”

Ivanovitch picked up his coat and hat from a chair and held the front door open for me, and together we went down to the car. Niko had disappeared, but, to my surprise, another man sat in the driving seat. Naturally I looked him over pretty sharply. And then I started in my turn, For the face of Ivanovitch’s new driver was quite familiar to me. He was one of the two men who had been with Vining the day he caught me burgling his flat!

A wave of feeling went through me as I stepped into the car. It was compounded of hope and delight. I hoped the man would not recognize me because of the mask I wore that night. But I was tremendously elated. For here was final proof positive that I was on the right track. Vining and Ivanovitch, Mrs. Fawcette and the rest of the bunch of Russians were all in the same gang then. And the orgies of Vining’s stories to Moore must be the orgies of Ivanovitch’s stories to me. At last I was on my way to the headquarters of the gang.

Ivanovitch stepped in after me and closed the door. As he sat down beside me he laughed softly. “I thought afterwards that it would be so dull for us both if I drove,” he observed. “So I sent for the chauffeur after all. You see, some one would have to ride with you anyway, to be sure you did not look out to find how and whither we were going.”

“What a mystery!” I laughed. “It’s like the Arabian Nights.”

“Ye‑es,” he drawled; “quite like, indeed.”

The car started smoothly away from the curb, and Ivanovitch leaned forward and pressed a button half concealed by the rug rack. To my amazement, shutters tolled silently up over all the windows and we were in total darkness. A moment later an electric globe flashed on overhead and I turned to find the amused eyes of my guide on me. “Neat, isn’t it?” he inquired.

“But it is all marvelous,” I answered in a delighted tone. “Judging by the efficiency of your preparations, these must be a wonderful lot of evenings. How long a drive is it, if you can tell me so much?”

He shook his head, smiling still. “Not even that, my friend. I am sure you would not give us away; but you see we make a rule to trust no one, and we stick to it. It’s a pretty good plan, don’t you think so?”

“Yes, indeed,” I answered. “But then you must be one of the organizers or officers or charter members, or whatever you call it?”

Ivanovitch did not seem to take to that question. At all events he did not answer it. And we drove along for some time after that in silence. Presently, however, he started another topic of conversation and we chatted pleasantly enough.

From the very start I had done my best to get a general idea of the direction we were taking by noting the corners we had turned indicated by the swaying of the car this way or that. It seemed to me that we were going east and south. But owing to stops and very gentle starts which might have been turns to left or right, I could not be certain. Besides, I had to pay some attention to what I was saying to my host. He grew more animated as we talked, and kept me busy making intelligent replies. It almost seemed as though he wanted to prevent me from taking any note of our progress.

I did notice one thing, however. In the course of our tide, there came a hollow quality in the sound of the traffic round us at about the same time that we began to pull up along grade. This continued until we had topped it and dropped down a decline of about the same length, as near as I could tell. And I knew what that meant. It meant that we had crossed one of the bridges over the East River and were passing through Brooklyn.

But there, as one generally does in Brooklyn, I lost finally my sense of direction altogether and turned my attention entirely to Ivanovitch.

He talked on agreeably for half an hour or so. By this time I noticed that practically all sounds of traffic had ceased. The car we were in was a powerful one and very silent running, so that it was easy to detect the sound of any passing vehicle.

A little later, Ivanovitch gave me a swift but fleeting glance and leaned forward, taking a speaking tube from its hook. He spoke into it for a moment or two, and I cursed my ignorance of Russian. But the car immediately slowed up a good deal and we rode along almost silently.

“Please do not talk now,” Ivanovitch said to me. “You see, there is always the danger of being followed, and this necessitates taking certain precautions, So we will listen for a time, if you don’t mind.”

He reached up and opened a little shuttered window in the back of the tonneau. First he looked out and then he turned his head sideways to listen.

I was in a fever of excitement. All through the ride I had been playing, in the back of my mind, with the thought of seeing Natalie again, of finding Moore and Larry, and possibly even finding and rescuing my little sister. But now at this new move my mind flew to Pride and the importance of his successful pursuit; for I had not the slightest idea where we were. And in the bottom of my heart I was satisfied now that Ivanovitch knew who I was and was simply taking me to this party to get me into safe hands. It had all been too easy. Therefore the only hope lay in Pride being able to trace me successfully and get me out of it along with the others. For I had little confidence in my chances of getting out of it by myself, once they had me there in their hands and probably badly outnumbered.

I got up silently back of my host and managed to catch a glimpse out of the corner of the open window over his head. But it was pitch dark outside now. There were no street lights where we were, and I could see nothing at all. “Anybody there?” I whispered, and tried to edge Ivanovitch away from the window.

He turned swiftly and shut the window. “My friend,” he said in his even tone, “you will be entirely silent, if you please. And do not attempt to look out of the window again, eh?”

Something touched me and I looked down. The Russian’s hand held a small nickel-plated revolver, and the muzzle of it was nosing the lowest button of my vest. “Sorry,” he added, smiling, “but we must take precautions, you see. You will be careful?”

I laughed. “Well, this is getting to be a melodrama all of a sudden, isn’t it? All right. Don’t shoot. I’ll be good.”

At my first word the Russian’s face lost its mask of good-humor for the first time. The lips drew back from even white teeth and the eyes narrowed into a vicious scowl. “You will be good—and silent,” he observed. “Not another word!”

I let my mouth sag open, staring at him in simulated amazement. But the man’s cold eye had killing in it, and I did not venture to speak again. He turned away, opened the little window again and put his ear to it. He listened for a long minute. Then he clapped the window shut and took up the speaking tube. For some reason, probably to annoy me, he spoke in English this time.

“Alexandre! We are being followed. Give the signal!”

Then he leaned back again, stowed away his revolver and turned to me with his former cold smile.

“I must apologize, my dear Clayton, for being a little insistent,” he said, his eyes full of malicious amusement. “But, you see, we have to take precautions, and as long as you talked I could not hear. However, our friends back there have a little surprise in store for them that will probably discourage them for some time. So we can now resume our pleasant conversation.”

“I confess,” I answered lightly, “that your manner of asking for silence seemed a little abrupt, but it was certainly efficient. Of course, if I had realized what you wanted, I would have been silent without all that display of force.” I tried to seem startled and aggrieved rather than resentful.

To some extent I think it worked, for he looked at me curiously, with a shadow of doubt in his eyes. But he visibly swept it aside a moment later and began to talk again.

For my part, while I listened to him with half an ear, I was listening as keenly as I could for any evidence of pursuit. Nothing happened for several moments, however, and I was just beginning to wonder whether the whole thing had been planned by him to see whether I knew of any pursuit and would rise to the bait, when the chauffeur suddenly blew three long melancholy blasts on his Klaxon. A moment later he repeated the signal.

I found Ivanovitch staring at me keenly. I looked back at him in inquiry. “Is that the signal?” I whispered.

“That is the signal. Presently you shall see an example of efficient organization.”

The Klaxon signal blew again at this moment, and the driver kept it up at regular intervals for perhaps five minutes. But presently the usual interval passed without a signal, and instantly Ivanovitch opened the rear window and seized my arm.

“Come and see,” he said, his voice exultant and vicious.

I went to the window and looked back into the darkness. I could make out the faint sound of another car following ours.

And as I watched there came a sudden blinding flash in the road only some twenty yards behind us followed by a deafening roar.

We must have passed over the spot only a few seconds before. The explosion was followed by the screech of brakes hastily applied. But they were not applied quickly enough, for as our own car quickened its speed, I heard another clanging crash behind us. It was evident that we had been outwitted again.

I turned to find Ivanovitch’s ironical eyes on me.

“Pretty neat, eh?” he inquired. “Whoever our friends are there behind us, they will not follow us again in a hurry, do you think so?”

I pulled myself together and tried to push out of my mind the thought of Pride lying back there in the road, maimed and bleeding.

“But great Scott,” I cried, “what did you do? Blow up the road?”

“Exactly.”

“But people will find the hole in the road and investigate? And they will find the wrecked car and the people in it?”

“Oh, no!” Ivanovitch shook his head. “They will find neither one nor the other, my friend. There is a very capable gang of men back there where that explosion took place. In an hour they will have the occupants of the car in a safe place, the car itself out of the way and the road mended—for it is only a dirt road, you know.”

He took out his cigarette case, offered me a cigarette, and when I refused it, took one himself and lit it with a perfectly steady hand. “People who interfere with us,” he remarked, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air, “do so at their peril, my friend.”

“I agree with you perfectly,” I laughed. “Why, I had no idea such things happened in this day and age.” I paused. “But I hope those people who were following us did not have any other cards up their sleeves!”

The Russian’s head came round with a jerk and he stared at me for a long moment before he answered. “What other cards could they have?” he asked at last, and I did not like the silky tone of his voice at all.

“I’m blessed if I know,” I laughed. “But that was pretty close to murder back there, and the sensation of aiding and abetting a murder is a new one to me.” I caught his eye. “I imagine it takes a while to get used to it, eh?”

I saw the angry veins swelling on the man’s forehead, and for a moment I regretted taunting him. I had plenty of enemies as it was. But his voice was even enough when he answered. “I don’t suppose he was hurt much,” he said, “and he should have been minding his own business instead of following us.”

His use of the singular in speaking of the occupant of the wrecked car took my breath away for a moment. Either it was a queer coincidence or the man was uncanny. I tried to pull myself together and ask him a question about how the road had been blown up, but before I could do so, the driver blew four short blasts on his Klaxon and the car began to slow up. Ivanovitch turned on me.

“If you will turn your back,” he said, “I will blindfold you and tie your hands behind you. The one is necessary to prevent your seeing where you are—the other to prevent your lifting the bandage. You will be freed as soon as you are inside.”

For a moment I had a wild impulse to spring on him and throttle him; for I felt the toils closing on me. But an instant’s reflection convinced me that such a move would be the worst kind of a mistake. There was probably plenty of help within call and we might be found any moment. The only thing was to submit and with as good a grace as possible.

I laughed and turned my back to him at once, putting my hands behind me.

“Go ahead,” I said.

Ivanovitch gave a dry chuckle, the first time I had heard him laugh at all, and tied my hands very swiftly. A moment later a silk handkerchief covered my eyes and was drawn tight. I was quite helpless.

I felt the car stop and heard some one open the door. “This way,” said Ivanovitch, and I stepped out. Judging by the freshness of the air we were well out into the country and somewhere quite close to the sea, for the tang of it was strong.

Some one took my arm on either side, and I stumbled forward for perhaps a hundred yards over what I took to be a dirt road. But in a little our footsteps began to echo and I knew that we were under cover. There was a strong smell of gasoline and oil now—so strong that I would have been willing to swear that we were in a garage. And, judging by the echo of our footsteps, the building was quite a large one. On the way I was conscious of swift and gentle hands touching me lightly here and there, and I smiled grimly, remembering Pride’s remark about carrying a gun.

My guides slowed up presently, and I stepped down a little. Then I was led to a seat. A moment later a door banged and we began to descend.

I felt exactly as though I were in a nightmare. I knew that I had come out of the car on to the level ground. We had got into what was obviously an elevator, and yet the thing was going down instead of up. Of that I was certain. Moreover, my guides were entirely silent, and it was an eerie sensation to know myself helpless in the hands of my enemies, and wait blind and tied for their first move.

The air grew damper and damper, with the queer moldy smell of vaults and tunnels below ground. But after perhaps two minutes of very gradual descent the elevator stopped and I was led out.

And now came the queerest thing of all; for I was guided up to a step, lifted over it and placed in another seat, and then, with a gruff word from Ivanovitch, found myself moving, horizontally this time and at a considerable rate of speed. The same damp moldy air blew in my face now, so that I was certain that we were still well under ground. But the trip went on and on for at least five minutes and the little car—for it swayed enough to show me that it was small—still kept up a good speed. The crackle of a spark and a brilliant light through my bandage told me that it was electrically driven.

When we did stop at last I was completely bewildered. But I had sense enough to keep my ears open still, so that I was fully aware of being guided into another elevator and shot upward again—this time much more quickly, or so it seemed.

And presently the elevator stopped, I walked for a few yards and halted again. I heard Ivanovitch speak in a low voice and heard the sound of shuffling feet retreating. Then some one fumbled with the cords at my wrists and in a moment I was free.

“You can remove the bandage now,” I heard Ivanovitch say, and with a great surge of relief I raised my hands and swept the blindfold from my eyes.

Chapter XVIII.
When in Rome——

When my eyes had grown accustomed to the soft glow of electric lights, I saw that I stood, alone with Ivanovitch, in a small room delicately furnished in blue and gold. A gilded iron grille behind my guide showed where the elevator had descended again. The Russian’s eyes were fixed on me in an amused inquiry.

“Well,” he said presently, “shall we proceed?”

“We have arrived then?” I inquired. “What a beautiful room!”

“Yes, we have arrived. But this is just an anteroom. Now you must tell me how you would prefer to spend the evening.”

“Spend the evening?”

“Exactly. There are rooms devoted to the god of chance, which I think you will find amusing—and unusual. There is an entertainment, which we might call a play, although it differs from any stage production that you have seen in the West. There is a banquet, with viands and wines which I think you will find strikingly unusual, and there are—the gardens.”

I stared at him. “Man, how can I tell?” I demanded. For so many entertainments meant a greatly decreased chance of finding Natalie or Margaret. “Won’t you be my guide? I am sure that anything which you recommend will be well worth seeing.”

“Seeing?” laughed Ivanovitch. “We appeal to all the senses, my friend.” He looked at me amusedly. “But I think that the banquet is Roman to-night and I believe that a good deal of pains has been taken with it. If I might make a suggestion, I should say, go to the banquet first and then, if you are not too sleepy”—he broke off, laughing—“go to the entertainment or to the gardens, unless you are fond of gambling. You must be hungry by now, anyway.”

“The banquet by all means then!” I laughed. “And afterwards——”

“What you will,” Ivanovitch interrupted. “But let me make one little point clear to you before we part for the present. You will meet and talk with beautiful women, probably. It is possible that their costumes might lead you to jump to conclusions which would be entirely erroneous. They are young ladies and are to be treated as such.”

I bowed to hide the joy in my eyes. Who could these beautiful young ladies be, if not the girls who had disappeared of late? And if they were so treated, perhaps no harm had come to Natalie and Margaret.

I looked up to find his eyes fixed on me intently. “As to the gardens,” he went on, “that is another matter altogether. After the banquet you can go to the gardens and sport with the—nymphs—if you wish. And in the gardens, restrictions on the guests are—conspicuous by their absence. You see,” he added, in a drawl, “the young lady attendants here are—er—given garden duty, so to speak, when they do anything, or attempt to do anything, displeasing to the management. So—most of them behave.”

Some saving sense told me that his words were in the nature of a taunt, intending to enrage me and make me disclose my hostility. So I turned away to hide my anger and glanced about the room appreciatively.

“It all sounds very attractive,” I said.

Ivanovitch stared at me for a moment. “Well,” he remarked, after the pause, “I will arrange to have you shown to your room to dress for the banquet. After that, perhaps we shall see each other and I can help you choose further. But if not, you only have to make your wishes known to your companion. When you are dressed, the attendant will conduct you to the banquet hall. Look around you and choose your partner for dinner without hesitation. Whoever you select, you will find her an agreeable companion.”

The cold-blooded wickedness and cruelty underlying the man’s whole attitude made my gorge rise, and it was all I could do to keep from taking him by the throat and squeezing the life out of him. But there was too much at stake for any such move as yet, and I simply nodded. “How delightful!”

Ivanovitch turned away with a little smile and pressed a button on the wall. A door opened at once and a young Chinese boy entered and bowed. “This gentleman will go to the banquet,” said Ivanovitch. “Take him to his apartment and assist him to dress.”

Then he turned to me. “Well, farewell for the present, Mr. Clayton,” he said. “Enjoy yourself. But then, I am sure you are doing that already!” And with this parting shot he waved his hand, opened another door and disappeared.

I turned and stared at the young Chinaman. “You please to stlep this way, sar?” he inquired at once, moving toward the door through which he had come.

Now mostly all Chinamen look alike to me. But this boy’s face seemed vaguely familiar. I looked him over closely, and suddenly I recalled the evening after my visit to the Chief and a little dinner in a Chinese restaurant on 39th Street with Moore. Either this was the boy who had served us that night, or Chinamen were more alike even than I had supposed. Had they been watching us, then, from the very first?

For a moment a sense of complete helplessness swept over me. What was the use of fighting against such an organization? Then I shook it off savagely and nodded to the Chinese boy to proceed.

He led me through a short corridor, decorated in the same blue and gold. We came out into a huge hall, vaulted, beautifully carpeted and lined with life-sized and beautiful, if somewhat daring, paintings. There were handsome lounges and chairs also, and a big oak refectory table in the middle. The vaulted ceiling was a mass of delicately carved and intricate woodwork. The effect was bizarre and sensuous to a degree.

Between the paintings on the walls there were many doors. My guide made for one of these and threw it open with a bow. “Your room, sar. Please to enter.”

I stood still for a moment, conscious of a rustle and murmur of voices all around me, although the hall itself was deserted. Then I preceded the Chinese boy into a small bedroom, delicately and quite tastefully furnished. But here, too, gorgeous hangings which covered the walls and a huge divan with a multitude of rich cushions created an atmosphere both sensuous and languorous. The effect was as clever as it was difficult to define.

Laid out on the bed was a sort of costume, but before I could look at it, the boy opened another door leading out of my room into a tiled room with a sunken bath. “When you have bathed, sar, I will help you to dless,” he said woodenly.

With a short laugh I passed him and entered the bathroom, and he shut the door after me. Evidently no mental effort or personal initiative was required here. I could have imagined how this must have appealed to a certain type of super-rich young man. I was only surprised that the young Chinese boy had not offered to give me my bath.

When I returned to the other room he was still waiting. I had put on my clothes again, a fact which did not seem to please him.

“Excuse me, sar, you not need that clothes. The entire costume is here, sar.”

I was faced with a dilemma. If I took off all my clothes, they might cart them off somewhere. And I would have a fine chance of escaping from the place dressed as a Roman Senator. The first cop who saw me would run me in. On the other hand, if I refused to wear the costume, I would give the impression that I was not entering into the spirit of the thing—was not a very serious reveler.

But the first risk was the greater, I decided. “Look here,” I said, “have I got to wear that thing? Because if so, I’ll stay away from the banquet. I dare say I can get a sandwich somewhere else, eh?”

“Oh, no, sar. You can wear that clothes if you desire. It is more customary to wear the costume, sar, it is all!”

“Well, then, I’ll go as I am, I think. Lead on, Macduff.”

With a bow he led the way into the hall again. We passed silently down the length of it. At the end the Chinese boy waited until I had come up with him. Then he turned to the wall and pressed a button or something, for the big doors facing us rolled silently open, and I stood looking in upon a strange scene indeed.

The room into which I looked was a huge one, at least fifty feet square and with a high-arched ceiling. Around all four sides of it huge pillars rose to the roof. Their sides were set with innumerable sconces, and in these flared hundreds of great torches, furnishing the only light in the room. Curiously enough, however, there was little smoke, and what there was must have been drawn through the ceiling in some way, for even the upper air was not very smoky.

But I was more interested in the scene immediately before me. In the flickering glare of the torches, which left the corners of the room in dense shadow, I saw that a huge low table ran around three sides of the room, and that between this table and the pillars a series of divans, covered with many cushions, were occupied by couples, numbering perhaps twenty-five, or about fifty people in all. But in addition there were many divans vacant, or occupied by girls only.

The space between the pillars and the walls of the room, about ten feet wide, was vacant except for an attendant here and there, and served as a sort of corridor to the different divans. It was dim in this corridor, for the torches were all on the sides of the pillars toward the center of the room, but I could see that the space between the pillars and the walls ran all the way around the room. And with one or two exceptions, which I did not at first notice, the people there were dressed entirely in the Roman costume. And a very beautiful costume it is.

The scene was perfect in every detail, even to the languorous music, serving as an undertone to conversation. I might have been gazing upon a banquet given to commemorate the appointment of Caligula’s pet horse as Prime Minister. In my morning coat and gray trousers I hesitated in the doorway, convinced, for a moment, that my appearance would bring down upon me the displeasure of Rome. Then the boy touched my arm.

“Please to follow the corridor, sar, and select the young lady with whom you will dine. It is velly simple, sar.” Then he turned away and the big doors closed behind me.

I was in for it and I walked, somewhat timidly, along the corridor to my right, glancing this way and that. Whenever I came to a girl alone, her eyes met mine frankly. But deep in the eyes of nearly all of them lay repulsion and fear rather than a welcome. All of them, without exception, were beautiful.

Fury at this abominable captivity, if such it was, surged up in me then. I stamped along, hardly knowing what I was doing, longing for the power to bring the organizers of such a place to book and set the pathetic captives free. And suddenly my eyes met those of a girl whose expression attracted my attention. Her face conveyed the impression of great personal dignity, but beneath this there struggled a desperate appeal, tragic in its intensity. She was reclining on one of the lounges, and she was alone.

I passed between two of the pillars and addressed her quietly. “May I dine here with you?”

She made room for me at once. “It will give me great pleasure,” she answered, with an obvious effort.

Instantly an attendant, dressed in a short toga, appeared beside us and began to heap the table with dishes and wines. Until he was gone I contented myself with glancing at the strange scene about me. And it was lucky that I did so, for in passing, my eye happened to fall on the pillar immediately back of my companion. And in the side of it, at about the height of a man’s head, I saw a tiny horizontal slit, perhaps three inches long and half an inch high. It disappeared at once, leaving the face of the pillar smooth, but in the instance before it disappeared, I was certain that I had caught the glint of human eyes fixed on me.

The girl leaned close to me suddenly, and in terror lest she should appeal for my help and get herself into trouble through the watcher, I began to compliment her upon her beauty, adding some drivel about its effect upon my own heart, which I thought the watcher might consider suitable for the occasion and the part I was supposed to be playing. The watcher was too close and the music too distant and too soft to attempt to warn her, then or later.

The glance, at once hopeless and disdainful, which the girl gave me was a bitter thing to swallow, but I swallowed it for the good of us both and the others. Besides, the attendant was forever hovering near us, and I did not dare hazard even a glance out of keeping with my part.

The rest of that banquet is not a pleasant memory, and I will not describe it in detail. After that first glance my companion responded with a kind of desperate gayety to my clumsy attempts to flirt with her. But a good deal of the time we watched the animated scene before us, eating and drinking automatically.

The center of the floor was clear, and in this space between the tables daring but beautiful dance followed dance in a whirl of shimmering and sensuous color and movement. With one exception I knew no one of the men there and none of the girls. The exception, I saw with a start, was a very well known Senator. But I did not know him personally and my presence meant nothing to him.

In spite of myself, the barbarous languor and sensuousness of the scene began to set strange visions running through my brain before long, and I sat up and turned to look at my companion. But there was nothing but despair in her eyes. I knew that, on such a quest, nothing but a drug of some kind could so turn my thoughts. But evidently I alone had been drugged, in spite of the fact that I had tasted the food carefully and drunk very sparingly of the wine. After that I neither ate nor drank anything at all, in spite of the persistent urging of both my companion and the attendant who served us.

As time passed, one or two of the men around me became over-attentive to their companions. But evidently anything of that kind was barred here at least, for they were instantly and firmly, though courteously dissuaded by the attendants waiting on them.

Presently one or two men rose from their places and staggered, assisted by their companions, toward the big doors. Evidently they had had more to drink than was good for them. They were all men of an educated and cultivated type, and I could hardly believe that human nature could sink so low among my own kind. But hopes and plans were racing through my brain, too. And the sight of these men gave me an idea.

As gradually as I could, I began to feign drunkenness, laughing a little foolishly back into the disdainful and desperate eyes of my companion. And presently I staggered to my feet.

“C’mon,” I said; “let’s get out of this.”

She rose at once and took my arm, and, leaning on her a little I made a devious course through the big doors, opened for us by an attendant, back into the hall again.

“Where is your room?” asked the girl.

Before I could answer, the Chinese boy appeared at my elbow and bowed. I stared at him and laughed foolishly. “Don’ bob about so, my boy. He shouldn’t, should he?” I appealed to my companion.

“This way, sar,” said the boy. He preceded us and flung open a door, and a moment later we were back in the room originally assigned to me. Then he went out and closed the door.

The girl guided me to the divan at once, and I sank back on it, still laughing. “Tha’s a goo’ girl,” I said. “Pu’ some pillows unner my head, will you, dear?”

With a flame of disgust in her eyes the girl stooped and, gathering some cushions, began to arrange them under my head. As her face came close to mine I whispered very softly, “Don’t jump. Are we watched?”

For an instant she grew rigid and her eyes met mine with a wild hope and appeal in their depths. Then she went on arranging the pillows under me. “Yes,” she whispered, so softly that I only just caught the word.

“Tha’s right, my dear,” I said, and smiled at her fatuously, “I’m goin’ sleep. Wanna stick aroun’?”

“Shall I sing to you?” she inquired.

“Sure, tha’ll be fine. Go ahead,” and I arranged myself more comfortably and partly closed my eyes.

Under my lids I watched the girl go to a shelf and take down a guitar, selecting it from among a number of other musical instruments there. She came back and, sitting on the divan beside me, began to sing softly. I closed my eyes altogether then, luxuriating in the beauty of the song she sang. For her voice was lovely. But presently I began to breathe more deeply in the hope that she would take the hint and go.

And after a time there was a soft movement beside me, and under half-closed lids I saw her rise, replace the guitar, turn down the light to a glow and steal silently out of the room. I lay perfectly still and waited.

For what seemed to be an interminable time I lay quietly, not daring to open my eyes fully. It was probably only about an hour, although it seemed more like a week. But I soon had cause to rejoice that I had waited so long, for, although I had heard no sound, a sudden light on my eyelids told me that some one had turned up the light in my room again. I was lying with my back to the room now, and so I ventured to open my eyes a little. Of course I could not see who stood in the room at my back directly. But fortunately the hangings on the wall in front of me were of that Indian type of material which is inset with tiny bits of looking-glass. And presently, in one of these I caught a momentary glimpse of the miniature face of my new companion. It was Mrs. Fawcette! And she was approaching the couch on which I lay!

But she never reached it for suddenly the light in the room faded out altogether, there was a stifled scream and the sound of a scuffle, carried on wordlessly.

It was too much for my self-control. I turned over on the couch. My door was open and I saw a group of silent struggling figures framed in it for an instant against the light, now dim, in the big hall beyond. Then the door closed.

I jumped to my feet, groped my way to the door and flung it open, rushing out into the hall beyond. It was entirely deserted.

After a moment of hesitation I turned and staggered back to my room again, muttering drunkenly. I did not dare to start on a search yet, in any case, and what chance had I of finding my abrupt visitors in such a maze?

The door of my room had closed behind me. When I opened it, I found my light burning dimly as before. I went back to the divan, lay down on it and, still grumbling to myself, pretended to go to sleep again. At least they had treated me only as a guest as yet. So there was still a chance that I might escape. But before that I was determined to find out more about the place, the conditions under which it was run and, above all, the people running it.

So I lay quietly and waited, and presently I began to snore softly. And after a long time the light in my room slowly faded and went out altogether, leaving me in total darkness. This much at least was a good sign, I thought.

Chapter XIX.
Fast in the Web

My watch had a luminous dial, and after waiting half an hour or so, snoring softly now and then, I ventured to look at it. It was only ten-thirty!

That wait was the most trying time I have ever spent. I lay in the darkness, only daring to shift my position a very little now and then, for the better part of three hours, before I dared even consider making a move. Probably all the men at the banquet were snoring by this time. But what about the others, at the other entertainments? And did the people who ran the place ever go to bed? The evidence of efficiency they had shown did not lead me to think so.

During that wait I did not dare let myself think of the words of Ivanovitch about the gardens. Neither my sister nor Natalie was present at the banquet. I was certain of that, for I had looked at every girl in the room very carefully, as opportunity offered. Nor was either of them among the dancers. That left the entertainment, the gambling-rooms and the gardens. And of the last I dared not think.

But I had plenty to think about. Up to the time of my parting from Ivanovitch in the little anteroom I was convinced that he, and therefore the rest of the gang, knew all about me. And the appearance of Mrs. Fawcette in my room bore out this view. But if this was the case, why had they allowed me to go unmolested so long? And why had Mrs. Fawcette been seized and carried away as soon as she got to me?

They were questions which seemed impossible to answer, but I kept on trying, for I was convinced that an answer to either of them would go a long way toward determining my next move.

Had I a friend in the place? Was that the explanation? Were they merely playing with me? Had Mrs. Fawcette got into trouble with them and come to me for help? Or was it possible that they really did not suspect me, and that the words of Ivanovitch were only in the nature of coincidences? Mrs. Fawcette might have been looking for some one else altogether when she came into my room.

At all events I could not now depend upon Pride having traced me, although there was still a hope that the motor policeman had not been caught in the crash and had been able to follow on to our destination. If anything was to be done immediately to locate where I was, so that we could trace the place and break it up, I had to do it and do it to-night. And the only way to do that, that I could see, was to escape from the house somehow, make my way back to town and retrace my steps with reënforcements.

But in spite of the need for action, the fatigue of long days of intense excitement broken by very little sleep got at me, lying motionless there in the darkness, and for a time I dozed off. It may be that the drug which I had most certainly been given, although in very small quantities, had something to do with it.

It was only a doze, however, and some inward monitor must have been on guard, for at one-thirty, the time I had planned to begin my search, I woke up with a start and looked at my watch.

I was still in complete darkness. And the room and the house too seemed silent with the silence of the dead. I could hear no sound at all. Nevertheless the silence seemed to have an eerie quality. It seemed not the silence of rest and forgetfulness, but the silence of motionless watchfulness. Such tricks will the imagination play at such a time.

I, too, lay quiet and listened for what seemed a long time. But it was only a quarter to two when I finally rose, as noiselessly as I could, from the bed and tip-toed to my door.

I listened again for a moment before I tried the handle, and in that moment I took, with a good deal of quiet satisfaction, another precaution.

I released the little safety catch on the ring which Pride had given me and which I still wore.

I knew that I was in very great danger in that house; that the people about me had no scruples about murder. For this night at least it would be dog eat dog, then, and I too would kill if necessary.

My door was not locked. I opened it very, very slowly without a sound and stepped silently out into the big hall. The lights here had been lowered, only a globe here and there creating a sort of dim twilight in the place. It was quite deserted.

Down the length of the hall I crept, keeping close to the wall and treading as softly as I could. It was so quiet that I could hear the quickened thumping of my own heart.

My one hope was to reach the gardens, because they meant the outside world and escape, perhaps. I knew that there was practically no hope of getting out by the way I had entered, for I had no revolver with which to hold up the operators of the elevators and would almost certainly be discovered anyway. But in the back of my mind there was also the hope of being able to see Natalie or Margaret or both, if only for a moment, and hearten them with the news that release was on the way, or at least that we had found them.

The big doors into the banquet hall were closed and I did not dare attempt to open them, for fear of the noise they might make. On the other hand, it was to be supposed that most of the small doors opening off the hall were bedrooms like my own, and there was nothing to be gained by entering them, occupied as they probably were by the patrons of the place in drugged slumber.

The only other door I knew about was the door into the passage which led to the blue and gold anteroom and the elevator, two doors from my own bedroom, and that was no use to me.

Finally, I decided to circle the hall once at least, in search of a larger door, before I tried the smaller ones. For there must be some other way out of the hall, I thought.

It was a weird sensation, creeping along in the half light, avoiding the furniture and scanning the walls, while twenty or thirty life-sized and very life-like unclad nymphs and dryads gazed down upon me from the walls. In the dimness they seemed to sway a little and to follow me with their eyes, and I did not want to be seen by any one just then.

I found two doors, wider than the others, at last. One of them was locked. But to my delight the other gave under my hand. I opened it very softly and looked through—into total darkness.

At first I could hear no sound. And the place gave the impression of some size. I mean, I was not conscious of that sense of resistance that one meets in opening the door of a cupboard or clothes closet in the dark. But it might be steps either up or down. I would have given a good deal for Larry’s electric torch at that moment.

I put forward a tentative foot and found solid, level, carpeted floor. I stepped forward into the darkness and closed the door behind me. And at that moment I heard the first sound of another living being since I had started on my search. The sound was a very faint sob, some way off, but distinguishable in the utter silence about me.

For a moment I stood still in complete darkness and listened. Then I put out my hands cautiously and encountered walls on either side, showing me that I was in a passage of some kind. And so, with my fingers following the walls, I advanced, stepping very slowly and feeling out each step before I took it, lest I stumble or fall on a stairway either up or down.

And as I advanced, the sound of sobbing grew louder, although it was still hushed and faint, as though coming to me through some solid medium. The sound came from straight in front of me.

Every now and then, as I progressed, I waved one hand in front of me slowly as a precaution against running into something. And it was lucky that I did so, for presently my questing fingers came up against something solid, and I came to a halt. Investigation showed me that it was a door. There were still walls on either side of me. I was in a cul-de-sac.

I tried the handle very softly. The door was locked.

And as I stood there, wondering what to do next, another stifled sob came to my ears. Some one was crying beyond the locked door in front of me. I could hear it clearly now, and with it the sound of some one turning restlessly on a couch or a bed.

I listened for several minutes, hoping that the person beyond the door would give some clue to her identity. For it was obviously a woman. And as I listened I was filled with pity for the heart-broken woman caught in such a place. It seemed probable that it was Mrs. Fawcette, after what I had seen. And a sudden impulse came to me to find out without disclosing my own identity. It seemed very unlikely that she would give me away, after the way I had seen her treated. Nor would any other woman in trouble there be likely to raise an alarm.

I leaned closer to the door and called, very softly, “Mrs. Fawcette?”

Instantly the sobbing ceased and there was dead silence. Then, after a moment, I heard the rustle of clothing and the sound of timid feet approaching the door. Again there was silence. And then:

“Please, who is there?” came to me in a young girl’s voice.

My heart stopped beating for an instant and then galloped on again, and I lowered myself to my knees and pressed my mouth to the keyhole.

“Margaret!” I whispered softly. “Is that you, dear?”

There was a little gasp behind the door and a quick movement. “Oh, who is that? Who are you?”

“It’s your brother, darling!” I answered hoarsely. “It’s Jack! For God’s sake tell me, what have they done to you?” I fumbled at the knob. “Can you open the door?”

“No, I’m locked in. Oh, Jack! Jack! You’ve found me! I knew you would! Oh, take me away from here! Take me home again!”

“I will, dear, I will! God knows I will! But not yet. I’ve got to get help first. Tell me, what have they done to you?”

There came a little sob. “Nothing, Jack, until to-night. They’ve been pretty good to me, because they say that if I cry it will spoil my looks. They’ve made me dance twice and wouldn’t let me wear hardly any clothes. But no one has been rude to me, or anything—until to-night——”

“What happened to-night, dear?” I demanded hoarsely.

“They—they beat me. They tied my hands to a pillar and tied up my mouth and beat me. Oh, Jack, take me home!”

Such black rage surged up in me at that, that I could only kneel there on the floor, shaking with it. I could not answer her for a while.

“Who did it—and why?” I croaked at last.

“Two of the men-servants tied me up—and—a Russian named Ivanovitch beat me. I guess it wasn’t a very hard beating, Jack, dear, but I’ve never been hit before. And it—it sort of—hurt my pride so.”

“Why did they do it?” I whispered.

“They—they told me,” came the girlish whisper, “that I was not to go near the banquet hall to-night, but to stay in my room. But I thought it might be because there was some one coming that I knew, and I took the risk and crept out and tried to look in. But they caught me and beat me and brought me here. And they told me that next time they would send me to the gardens. Oh, Jack, I can’t bear it! Can’t you open the door and take me home?”

“Not yet, darling. God knows, I’d take you now if I could. But I’m all alone here and I could not get you out with me. I don’t know whether I can get out myself. Tell me about the gardens. Do you know how to get to them?”

“Oh, Jack, it’s awful! All the girls they have captured here seem nice. But the ones in the gardens are not nice at all. And they tell us that if we disobey or try to escape, they’ll send us to the gardens. So we don’t dare do anything.”

“Do you know how to get to them from here? Could I get out that way?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jack. When we’re not locked in our rooms they guard us all the time. And I’ve only been from my room to the dressing-room of the theater and to the banquet hall once. They let us sit out on an enclosed porch, too, every day. But they won’t let us talk to each other much. Oh, Jack, when will you come for me?”

“To-morrow if I can, dear. Next day at the latest. Do just what they tell you, dear, until then, won’t you? And keep a stiff upper lip. It won’t be long now until we’re home again together. Have—have you seen another girl come here lately? Her name is Natalie Van Cleef and she comes from Utica. She’s very pretty, with gray eyes and brown hair and lovely features. Have you seen her?”

“Oh, yes, Jack, I think so! They brought a girl like that here yesterday. And she is terribly frightened. They must have maltreated her or something. I think she is going to the banquet hall, but they locked her up to-night. Do you know her?”

“Yes—I know her,” I answered hoarsely. “Do you think you could tell her that there is help coming, without running any risk yourself?”

“I’ll try, Jack. I’ll do my best. Oh, I knew you’d come if I kept on hoping and believing. It’s been terrible. But I shan’t be afraid any more, now I know you’ve found me. Only, hurry, Jack, won’t you?”

“I’ll hurry, darling, be sure of that. But act just as usual, won’t you, dear? Don’t give them any warning, by your manner, that there is anything up. And don’t let Miss Van Cleef change her manner either, if you get a chance to talk with her. A lot depends on that, dear. We must not warn them.”

“I’ll be careful, Jack. Are you going now?” There was a little break in her voice that nearly made me break down. But I knew that the only hope was to get away and bring help. I could not rescue her alone, without any idea of my whereabouts or how to get out of the place. And I was afraid of making things still harder for her if I tried anything like that.

So with a last few words to hearten her and a sobbed little farewell in response, I turned away from the door and retraced my steps cautiously, feeling along the walls until I reached the lighted hall again. I was filled with joy at the unexpected stroke of luck in finding Margaret so soon. The nightmare of uncertainty about her was over at last, although the task of freeing her remained.

There was nothing for it now but to try all the doors. But the one nearest me was the other larger door, and in passing I tried the handle again. The door was unlocked!

I could have sworn that it was locked when I tried it before, but it was possible that some one had passed through it since and left it unlocked, or that I had not turned the handle far enough before.

Anyway it was open now, and I crept through, testing the floor before me with a questing foot. Here, too, there was complete darkness. And I was in another passage similar to the other.

Both the larger doors out of the hall were in a corner of the hall farthest from the banqueting room. But they were in different walls and consequently were at right angles to each other. This passage, too, extended straight ahead, so that I was going at right angles to my previous course and farther from Margaret at every step. But whither it was leading me I could not tell.

This passage differed from the other one. For as I crept along my fingers encountered more than one door. I tried them all and found all of them locked; so that, for the present, I determined to follow the passage to the end, as the easiest course, as there was no choice among the doors.

And presently my eyes were rewarded with the sight of a faint crack of light close to the floor ahead of me. It seemed to come from beneath the door of a dimly lit room at the end of the passage.

I stood still and listened. Not a sound came to me here, however, and if the room ahead of me had an occupant, he was either asleep or keeping very quiet; for I could hear nothing.

Taking every possible precaution against noise, I crept slowly forward, until at last my hand closed on the knob of the door from beneath which the light came. I turned it and it gave. And very cautiously I opened the door.

I was looking into an absolutely empty room. Not a stick of furniture or carpet broke the dead white of the walls or the brown of the polished wooden floor. There was not even a molding on the walls. The only thing in the room was a light bracket in the center of the ceiling in which a single electric globe shone. But on the other side of the room was another door.

Leaving the door behind me open for a means of retreat, I stepped silently across the polished floor and tried the handle of the door beyond. It was locked. I made very certain of that before I gave up trying it.

The only thing to do, then, was to select a door, this one or one of the doors back in the passage, and attempt to cut out the lock by means of the little file which Pride had given me. The door in front of me was a heavy one. Stooping down, I saw that the light from behind me shone on a heavy brass bolt in the crack between the door and the jamb.

If I tried this door, I would have to be working in the light too; for I had seen no switch on the walls.

Perhaps one of the doors in the passage would be safer. Perhaps, too, the air under one of them might be a little fresher than under the others, indicating a way outdoors. I stooped down and sniffed at the bottom of this door. But the same heavy, perfumed air met my nostrils as pervaded the entire place.

I turned back again to the other door then, and suddenly I stopped in my tracks and stood motionless. The door through which I had come was closed.

It might have blown shut, of course. I stepped silently forward and tried the handle, my heart in my mouth. This door, too, was locked. I was trapped! They had been watching me! I had been played with all the time!

I stood motionless, my heart swelling with the bitterness of defeat when victory had seemed so near. And as I stood there, the light above me dimmed and went out, flashed on again, dimmed again and flashed three times, finally remaining steady.

And then suddenly a voice spoke at my elbow: “Well, Clayton, have you enjoyed your evening?”

I whirled around. There was no one there!

Chapter XX.
The Room of the Voices

Struck dumb with amazement, I stood like a rat in a trap, and waited patiently for some explanation of the voice I had heard. But when it came again, a moment later, I could not repress a start of amazement and awe, for, though I was alone in the room, the voice seemed to come from only a couple of feet in front of me.

“I asked you whether you had enjoyed your evening?”

If it was ventriloquism, it was the most marvelous example of it that I had ever heard. And I put out my hands helplessly, with the wild thought of some arrangements of mirrors behind which the speaker was sheltered. But there was nothing there; nothing but the empty room.

“You do not answer?” came the voice again. “Well, it does not matter. We have done our best to make you at home at all events. And now there is a little reckoning to pay.”

Though the voice was chilled and dehumanized in a queer way, I thought I recognized the intonation. It was Ivanovitch again. In a moment he confirmed this.

“I thought we should meet again to-night, my friend, although you have not made any effort to find me. But it does not matter. We are forced to dispose of you, my dear Clayton, in any case. But you are to be greatly honored. Our Chief will speak with you himself in a moment. I believe he intends to give you the choice of the manner in which you will leave us. That is a great concession, my friend. I hope you appreciate it.”

“I don’t know whether you can hear me or not,” I answered in a loud voice. “But I wish to goodness you’d appear. What on earth is all this nonsense about anyway? I felt a little faint and came out of my room in search of an attendant. And I’ve been looking for one ever since. And why am I locked in?”

Then close to my ear I heard a laugh, the weirdest sound in the world when there was no one there. “I can hear you perfectly, my dear fellow, and you are as amusing as ever. If you searched for an attendant, surely you found one, eh? And I meant to ask you—did you enjoy your little chat with your sister?”

Standing motionless in the room, I ground my teeth, but tried to give no outward sign that the shot had gone home. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ivanovitch, but this joke has gone far enough. Let me out, will you?”

I knew that it was hopeless, although I was determined to try to the end. But hope nearly left me when he spoke again.

“Come, come, Clayton, this is too bad of you! Why do you suppose the child was beaten to-night, if not to attract your attention and make you talk, so that we could verify our impressions of you? And why do you suppose the door into this passage was locked the first time and so conveniently unlocked the second, if not to guide you here? But enough of this nonsense. Our Chief is here now and will speak to you. It will be better if you listen.”

Again I stood and waited, and this time there came to may ears a voice that struck chill to my heart in spite of me. For it was as inhuman, as cold, as relentless as the sea. Of one thing I was certain, it was the voice of a man, but a man far removed from the usual run of mortals. There was an immense pride in it and an immense sense of power. But to my straining ears it did not sound the voice of a man who was entirely sane.

“Clayton,” it said, “I have heard much of you of late—too much. You have interfered with my affairs unwarrantably and to my inconvenience. Therefore you are to die.” There was a little pause here. “One of my lieutenants has begged me for your life, however, and while I will not grant that, you may choose the manner of your death. In a moment or so you will be asleep. When you wake one of my lieutenants will see you and hear your wishes. That is all.”

The voice ceased and left me standing alone in a bare room, fear and despair in my heart and cold sweat on my face. For there was a power of doom, of finality, about this voice that carried more terror and more conviction than my waning courage could stand.

But it did not matter. For though I was entirely alone and I could detect no change in the room nor in the air I breathed, my thoughts drew inward slowly, the walls of the room seemed to withdraw to an immeasurable distance, and in a moment my legs gave way under me and I sank to the floor. For a little more, consciousness of my surroundings seemed to flicker dimly, and then I plunged into the darkness of complete oblivion.

I have no exact means of telling how long it was before I came to my senses again. I only know that one moment I was not, and the next I was dimly aware of myself. I was in complete darkness now, but the air of my room was fresh with the out-of-doors.

I turned my head slowly. Then I sat up. My thoughts were suddenly extraordinarily clear and I felt no pain of any kind. Evidently the gas, or whatever it was with which they had put me to sleep, had no bad after-effects. At all events I felt none.

I was suddenly aware that I was looking through a barred window and that the stars shone through it. And with this sight came the realization of a queer feature of this place into which I had ventured. For since I had entered it, this was the first window I had seen. With some difficulty, for I was a little weak, I struggled to my feet and caught hold of the bars to look out. There was no glass in the window and the night air came through it, cool on my face. I took in deep breaths of it. And suddenly the despair which had settled about my heart with returning consciousness lifted a little. At all events I was still alive and had my ring.

I felt for it. It was still on my finger and the safety catch was still open. It was lucky that I had not stabbed myself with it in falling.

Then I began to explore the place.

It was a small bare room, with one door of heavy metal bars. There was only one window and there was no furniture of any kind. Of course the door was locked, but I fumbled in my pocket and found a match, lighting it to have a look at the lock. For my little file was in my pocket, of course.

Suddenly I regretted lighting the match. It might have been seen and I wanted time, for I had determined at once to saw through the thinner bars of the window.

I felt in my pocket. The little box containing the tiny file was gone!

It was the cruelest blow of all, and for a moment, I confess, I gave way to despair. Then slowly courage returned, and I strode to the door again. The lighted match had shown me a queer scene between the bars of my door and I wanted to have another look at it, if only to keep my mind occupied while I waited for death. For at last I felt that I was to die.

By the flickering light of the match I saw a strange thing indeed. The room beyond was a much larger one. It had two windows in it, but it was entirely unfurnished except for the extraordinary contrivance in the center of the floor.

Lighting one match after another, I made out the general aspect of this contrivance. But I was very far from being able to explain it. Clearly it had to do with electricity, for six thick iron pillars standing about eight feet high were equipped with heavy wires which ran to a big machine set against the wall and boxed in.

But these pillars were in a circle about ten feet in diameter, and it was the queer affair at the center of this circle that drew my attention most. By the light of several matches I made out that it was some sort of cylinder, about three feet in diameter, open at the top and bottom, and with a hinged doorway about a foot wide. This cylinder was about eight feet high, and both the cylinder and the door in it seemed to be made out of some sort of semi-opaque material that looked like Venetian glass.

A network of wires ran to it from the six pillars and seemed to be welded into the surface of it. It looked for all the world like some sort of an electrical bath, I thought.

But my last match burned my fingers before I could make out anything further about it, and I sat down to wait for what was to come with as much resignation as I could muster. At all events I still had my ring. And if I could not escape, I could perhaps take some toll from my enemies before I died. I said my enemies, but it was Ivanovitch that I wanted to kill. The veneer of civilization is thin, I found, for after what he had done to Margaret I could contemplate killing him in cold blood quite calmly.

And it was Ivanovitch who came!

The first hint I had of the presence of any one besides myself was the sudden glare of electric lights in the room beyond the cell in which I stood. I went softly to the barred door and looked through it. Two men had just entered through a door at the other side of the larger room. As they came from behind the glass cylinder I saw that one of them was Ivanovitch. The other, a lowering fellow with the face of a peasant, I had not seen before.

In the bright light I took a hasty glance at my surroundings while they came toward me. And I started with surprise, for all of the house I had seen was built with the very height of luxury, and here the floors and walls were of rough stone! Was I in the same house at all?

But I had time for no close inspection, for Ivanovitch walked straight up to my door, pressed a switch at the side of it and flooded my own cell with sudden light. “Well, Clayton,” he began, with his cold smile, “the best of friends must part, and you and I are no exception, it seems. I have come to find out your wishes in the matter.”

I stared back at him, my mind working like lightning. This was my last chance, of that I felt sure, and if I were still to win out, I must meet guile with guile. It was my only hope, faint as it was.

I went slowly up to the door and took hold of the bars. “My God, Ivanovitch,” I cried in a broken voice, “what have I ever done to you, that you should want to kill me?”

The man gave a bark of a laugh and the peasant with him looked up and leered at my tone. “I have nothing against you, man,” he laughed. “But the Emperor has. You have interfered with his plans—and that is very dangerous.”

“The Emperor!” I cried weakly.

Ivanovitch glanced over his shoulder. “Merely a fancy of our Chief’s, Clayton. Come, how do you wish to die?”

“I can’t believe you mean that, Ivanovitch. Surely there is some way that I can get you to spare my life!” I said: “I have money and will give it all to you. I will join your organization, anything.”

He laughed again. “We are singing a different tune now, eh?” He took from his pocket one of the air revolvers that I had seen before and fitted it into the palm of his hand. Then he turned to the other and spoke to him in Russian. The fellow straightened up with another leer, drew a heavy revolver from his pocket and pointed it at me. Then he leaned back against the wall again, crossing his feet.

Ivanovitch drew a key from another pocket and fitted it into the lock of my door. My heart leaped with hope, but I still turned upon him a woebegone face and shrank back into the cell as though in terror.

The door swung open. “Come out,” said Ivanovitch contemptuously. “I won’t hurt you—either now or later. But I have orders to show this little plaything to you and see if you prefer that way. Come out, I say!”

I drew away from the far wall of my cell and crept through the doorway like a dog with his tail between his legs. Nevertheless, the Russian retreated before me, keeping his distance warily. When the door of my cell had closed behind me I drooped against the wall of the outer room and stood waiting. “What—what are you going to do to me?” I begged. I hated myself in doing it, but it was for the sake of the others, and I had shown my hand too often in the past. To quiet his fear of me was my only hope of getting near him. The other Russian was still covering me with the heavy revolver, and Ivanovitch left me and went to the boxed-in machine. He pulled over a switch or something on the side of it—and instantly the room was filled with a blinding glare of light. But such light! It glowed now green, now purple, now crimson, until I half closed my eyes to shut out the brightness of it. It came from the cylinder in the center of the room, and the latter glowed iridescent with all the colors of the spectrum, like a living thing from some celestial sphere. I could only look at it for a moment, and the others too were shading their eyes. At the same time I was conscious of an intense heat from the cylinder.

I was dimly aware that Ivanovitch was speaking. The other man handed him the cap he wore, and Ivanovitch stepped forward and flung it into the top of the cylinder. Then he stepped over and turned off the switch again and the glare faded slowly and went out.

“You see?” he said to me, pointing to the thing.

I looked at the floor within the cylinder where the cap must have fallen. There was nothing there.

“It is a quick and painless death,” laughed Ivanovitch. “And it has its advantages from our standpoint also, for it leaves no trace!”

I sank down on the floor against the wall. “My God, you can’t kill me like that. You can’t kill me so soon. Only give me a chance, man! I’ll do anything you say!”

Ivanovitch was losing patience. He strode over to me. “If you do not choose the manner of your death and choose now, into that cylinder you will go by force. The Emperor has promised you the choice of your death, and it is his whim to keep his promises. If you do not choose, why——” He shrugged his shoulders. “But if you choose now, you can die in any way you please: drugs, shooting, this machine, drowning, suffocation, what you will. Now choose!”

“I will not choose,” I cried. “Give me a little time, only a little time——”

Ivanovitch ripped out an oath and stooped over me. He caught me under the arms and lifted me to my feet, and at the same moment I brought up my hand and pressed the face of the ring into his wrist sharply.

He jumped back with a snarl and fumbled at the pocket into which he had slipped the air revolver. Then his hands flew to his throat, and into his face came a terrible look of comprehension. I saw that he was struggling to speak, and stepped forward just as the other Russian straightened up with a glance of sudden suspicion and raised his heavy revolver.

“Come and help me,” I said breathlessly, for Ivanovitch had begun to sag at the knees. “Something has happened to Ivanovitch!”

The man came forward at that in a shambling run to look at his master, lowering the revolver as he ran. He came to my side, still trying to see the face of Ivanovitch. When he saw it he put out his hand to help me support him, and with a quick movement I pressed the top of the ring into the back of his hand too. He snatched it away, but he was slower of comprehension; for his hands went to his throat, and he stood swaying for a moment before he turned to me. I dropped Ivanovitch on the floor at that and caught at the big revolver. But there was little need. An instant longer the fellow swayed in my grasp, and then he, too, crumpled at the knees and fell, his face contorting into a mask of feat and agony.

I turned back to Ivanovitch. The man lay where I had dropped him, his eyes glazing, but with the light of consciousness and comprehension still in them. As I watched I saw this light gradually fade out of them, and suddenly they rolled up under the lids and his quivering body lay still. I turned back to his servant. He, too, was still quivering, but as I looked, a last tremor went through him and he also lay still. I was alone. And in that moment I knew that the fates were with us and that we should succeed.

But there was much to be done yet. Others might come at any moment and I had still to escape.

I stooped over the body of Ivanovitch, found the air revolver and slipped it into my pocket. Then, leaving them where they lay, I walked to the door of the room, switched out the lights, opened the door and went out. I had walked out under the open sky!

In the faint starlight I could make out the shadowy forms of trees and bushes all around me. A little way off loomed the bulk of a huge house. I turned away from it, leaving the path that connected it with the stone house in which I had been imprisoned, and struck off through the trees to find a way out.

There was light enough to see faintly where I was walking and to make out the outlines of things close at hand. But I was afraid of detection by some guard who might be prowling about the place, and I stuck closely to the shadow of the trees wherever I could. And at last, keeping in a straight line, by looking over my shoulder at the bulk of the house as long as I could see it, I came to the thing I sought. It was a brick wall, at least ten feet high and perfectly smooth.

Close by, however, a big tree stretched its branches over the wall. If I could climb it I could let myself down on to the top of the wall and so drop down on the other side.

I went to the tree and looked up, and at the same moment a hand fell on my shoulder and a voice spoke at my ear. The words were Russian and I could not understand them. But the man’s presence and action were clear enough and this was no time for parley. I turned quickly and struck him in the face with the hand on which I wore the ring. He gave a hoarse cry and staggered back, and I swung myself up into the tree and began to climb.

By feeling my way carefully I managed to get out on a limb that overhung the wall. My weight made it sag until I could step off on to the wall. Here with the limb still in my hands I looked down.

The ring had not yet lost its effectiveness; for in the starlight I could make out the body of a man, prone on the ground beneath me, his face turned up to the sky.

And so I released the branch, scrambled down the outer side of the wall until I was hanging by my hands, and let go, landing with a thud on the soft ground at the foot of the wall.

I was free!

Chapter XXI.
Beating Back

Almost as soon as my feet touched the ground I struck straight out from the wall which stretched away on either hand, for I had a wholesome respect for the people I had left behind me there. The Chief—or Emperor as Ivanovitch had called him—was doubtless waiting for the latter’s return with news of me, and it would not be long, probably, before the deaths of Ivanovitch and his assistant were discovered. To be frank, there was a quality of cold and deadly chill in the tones of the man who had spoken to me in the room of the voices that filled me with an urgent desire to put a lot of country between myself and him.

I seemed to be in some kind of an orchard now, and the grass, while it was wet and pretty long, made decent walking, and silent. The night was clear and dark and I could make out the dim bulk of the trees without much trouble, so that I made pretty good going.

By locating the North Star in the sky, I made out that the wall where I left it ran west by southeast. My own direction at right angles to it was about northeast, so that I was going away from town. I knew nothing about my surroundings, of course, nor what obstructions I should find, so, for a time, I kept on in as nearly as possible a straight line. I might be on either side of the Island or in the middle for all I knew.

But it was possible that we had followed a winding course in coming to the place, and I might not be so far from town and from reënforcements after all. And presently the urge came to me to strike off to the northwest, and later bear around to the southwest again and so encircle the place and at least find myself going in the direction in which New York lay. For at present I was going away from it all the time.

About the same time I struck a wall running at right angles to my course and made out, in the dim light, dense woods on the other side of it. So I turned to the right and followed the wall, keeping close to it, so that I could climb it and plunge into the woods at the first sign of pursuit.

And presently the trees about me thinned, the land ahead fell away and I came to the top of a bluff. I looked down some sixty or seventy feet to a long white beach, deserted in the starlight, and saw the white line made by little breakers. Far in the distance shone the lights of the Connecticut coast. I was somewhere on the north shore of the Island; and, judging by the bluff, I was a long way from town; somewhere out beyond Port Jefferson, I thought.

Then I had a shock. My eye swept along the line of the beach and I realized suddenly that it was not deserted. To my left, and, as I judged, about opposite the house from which I had escaped, I made out the dim outline of a smack pulled part way up on the sand. I could dimly discern the moving figures of men about it and the murmur of voices came softly to my ears. But the boat carried no lights nor did the men about it.

On impulse, I made my way along the top of the bluff until I came almost opposite to where the boat lay. Here my progress was stopped by a sort of gully running inland a little way, and I lay down on the bluff to watch, keeping my head down so that it could not show up against the sky-line. These people might be picnickers or almost any one. But, on the other hand, they were close to the house I had left and I did not intend to take any chances. They might also be bootleggers, in which case they would hardly be pleased to see me.

Presently the men about the boat drew away from it in a mass and came up the beach toward me. They seemed to be carrying heavy burdens.

They came forward steadily, and I was just getting ready to beat a retreat when I realized that they were drawing into single file and preparing to advance into the gully. I wriggled forward a little and looked down again. The men moved slowly forward in single file for a matter of twenty yards or so. Then, one by one, they disappeared!

Of course I could not see very clearly. But they certainly went into the gully and they certainly did not come out either at the top or at the mouth! And presently the gully was empty!

It was too much for my nerves, and I made a mental note of the location of the gully in connection with the sweep of the beach, for possible future use, and prepared to beat a retreat. I had more pressing business than the solution of this mystery.

I made my way back to my friendly wall, turned about and headed straight inland. If I kept on in a straight line, taking my direction roughly from the stars, I was bound to come to a road sooner or later.

And so it proved. But I covered a lot of ground and surmounted a lot of obstacles before I came to that road. I had to strike across several farms, negotiate a brook and beat off the interested approaches of a large black dog before I struck a little side road, running in the general direction I wanted. I followed this for miles as it seemed. But at last it turned south a little and presently ran into another larger road, running about northeast by southwest.

This road, too, was deserted. So far I had encountered not a soul, which was not difficult to understand, as it must have been about four o’clock in the morning. But the thought of the time made me realize suddenly the danger of being caught anywhere near the house when dawn came. It was late in November and would not be light until after seven. But it would be light enough to see long before that.

So, keeping close to the edge of the road and as much as possible in the shadow, I set out to put a lot of distance between myself and the house of orgies.

The night was pretty cold and I had no hat and no overcoat. The frock-coat I wore was little protection, and I had been thoroughly chilled both in my prison and in my wait on the bluff. So I set myself to run to get warm as well as to make better speed.

I broke into a sort of dog-trot, not difficult to keep up for a considerable time and fairly efficient in covering ground rapidly. And so, keeping in the shadow and resting every now and then, I proceeded in the general direction of New York for the better part of an hour.

But I felt as if the entire population of the world had been wiped out by some catastrophe; for there was no living thing about me anywhere. I met no one and saw no one. There was not even a light in the few houses I passed. And the muffled beat of my own feet on the soft dirt road was the only sound in my ears. At last I heard an asthmatic coughing behind me, with the unmistakable chug of a Ford engine. I drew into the shadow of a tree and waited. It might be pursuit. But somehow I did not connect the thought of a Ford with my late hosts. At any rate I determined to take a chance, and as the little car drew closer I stepped into the middle of the road, so that the lights shone on me, and held up my hand.

At first the driver tried to go around me. But I jumped in front again and prevented that maneuver, so that he was forced to draw up, his engine buzzing like a swarm of angry bees in the silence.

“What do you want, anyhow?” came an angry, suspicious voice.

“For heaven’s sake, man, give me a lift, will you?” I answered. “My car broke down back there in the wilds hours ago, and I’ve been tramping this road ever since trying to find my bearings and get back to town. Can you set me down somewhere near a railway station?”

The driver pressed down his pedal a little and the car drew closer. “Is this some kind of a hold-up?” he demanded in an angry voice. “Because if it is, you’ve come to the wrong shop. If you can get any money out of me I’d like to know where you find it.”

“It’s not a hold-up,” I laughed. “It’s a yell for help. I don’t want to spend the entire night on your delightful countryside.” I set the catch on my ring as I spoke.

My new acquaintance grunted. “Get in, and get a move on,” he said ungraciously. “One of my patients thinks she’s sick and I’ve got to go and tell her she ain’t. And I want to get back and get some sleep myself.”

With a sigh of relief I climbed into that wheezing little Ford. The mystery of my ungracious reception was explained. For if any man has a right to be bad-tempered it’s a small-town doctor.

As long as I live I shall bless that doctor and his car. He took me miles on my way and, I suspect, some little distance out his own, although he would not admit it and was grumpy and disagreeable to the last. But he went to the trouble of setting me down at a railroad station, which was all that I wanted. And I bade his grumpy back good-night with my heart in my voice.

For on my way I had talked to him about the place from which I had come and had learned exactly what I wanted to know.

I told him that I had broken down a long way back and had wandered about in the woods. I pretended that I had run against the wall about the house of orgies, and asked him about that. I described the beach and the bluff I had seen and asked him about that, and between the two he was able to tell me where I must have been.

“You must have struck the old Rutherford place. There’s a kind of recluse lives up there now. Bought the place when old man Rutherford died. They say he’s a foreigner, but nobody knows anything about him. Lives by himself and sends a Chink lad down to the village to get a little food now and then. But he doesn’t keep a car, they tell me. No one ever sees him about these parts, and they say that he never goes out of his grounds. The Rutherford place is——” and he told me the exact location in relation to the main road and the small towns about.

“Is there a garage anywhere near his place?” I asked, as it was a safe enough question in view of my earlier story that I had broken down.

The doctor laughed. “Queer thing your asking,” he grunted. “They do a lot of talking about that garage.”

“Why? What do they say?”

“Oh, there’s a lot more cars come there than there are people in the neighborhood, and the folk about here believe that there’s some sort of smuggling going on from there. The town constable went and looked the place over, though, and it seemed all right.”

I asked him where it was and he laughed again. “That’s a funny thing too,” he said. “For it isn’t on the main road at all. It’s on a side road. Funny place for a garage, the people about here think, but it seems to have plenty of business.” And he told me exactly where it was. Here’s a health to that doctor, and may he graduate to a large practice in the city entirely composed of wealthy hypochondriacs.

When I got to the station I decided that matters were too serious to take any further chances by going it alone. When I had said good-bye to the doctor I found the ticket office and woke up the night clerk. He stared at me as if I were a ghost, but the sight of a bill changed the tenor of his thoughts and he consented readily enough to let me use his telephone, while he yawned and stretched behind me.

And then began the most maddening half hour of my life. I had a telephone before me and I got the first operator almost at once, and gave her the number Captain Peters had told me to call in case of emergency. But that’s all the good it did me. I must have sat there for half an hour, prodding the operator and listening in despair for an answer from beyond.

It came finally, however, and it was Captain Peters himself who answered. The fates were with me at last, I thought.

“Hello, Peters. This is Clayton——” I began.

“Thank God!” came a bellow over the wire. “Where are you and where is Pride? I tell you, the town has been turned upside down looking for the two of you.”

“I’m out on Long Island, in the railroad station at ——. But between you and me I wish I was somewhere else—nearer town, for example. I don’t think the air of Long Island agrees with me. Can you send for me? There’s no train till morning.”

“Send for you! I’ll come and get you. Listen, if the air out there is chilly, go to the police at —— on —— Street and tell Collins, the lieutenant there, that I sent you and that you are to be locked up there till I come. I’ll ’phone him at once. And I’ll be there in an hour. Will you do that?”

“I’ll do just that and I’ll do it now. Only get a move on, Peters. There’s no time to lose!” I hesitated. “Better bring some men with you, eh?”

“That will have to wait till morning. I can do it by ’phone anyway. I’ll see you in an hour. Good-by,” and he rang off.

When I turned away from the ’phone I showed the clerk another bill. “Look here, I’m going to start out to walk to Jamaica, see? But some of my friends may turn up, I don’t know, and if they do, you tell them where I’ve gone so that they can come after and pick me up, will you?”

“I sure will, mister,” he said, and pocketed the bill.

But my precaution was too late. As I came out of the station a car was rounding the corner a block ahead. I walked quickly in the direction of the police-station, for I knew roughly where it was from Captain Peters’ directions, but after the car passed me I looked back. It had stopped and two men were getting out of it. They glanced in my direction, hesitated, and then hurried into the station, while a third got out of the car and looked after me.

It was getting light now and I kept glancing over my shoulder as I walked. I quickened my pace too, for the police-station was some little distance away. And presently the two men ran out of the railroad station and jumped into the car and the third man followed them. Their car headed in the other direction. It started almost at once, but instead of striking straight ahead it pulled out across the road as though to turn. And I broke into a frank run, covering the ground to that police-station just as fast as I could put down my feet.

I made it too; I got there just ahead of that car, but even then I had a narrow escape, for they drove up on the sidewalk behind me, and I only escaped being run over by leaping aside. It was my recent friends all right, there could be no doubt of that.

Something sped past my ear a moment later and went “spat” against the wall of the police-station. I did not stop to argue. I burst into that station-house as if the devil was at my heels.

There was a police sergeant at the desk, and he jumped to his feet when he saw me.

“I’m Clayton,” I gasped. “Did Captain Peters ’phone you? They’re after me and they’re just outside. They took a shot at me. Where’s the lieutenant?” I jumped the barrier and went round to his side. “Where’s Collins?”

Whatever criticism may be leveled at the police, they’re good men in an emergency, all of them. “Get behind the desk, sir. It’s all right. You’re safe now. Yes, the captain ’phoned. Collins isn’t——”

He broke off, for at that moment the door burst open and three men came in. One of them I recognized at once as Vining. The others looked like New York men about town. Vining gave me one quick glance. And the concentrated determination in it made me realize that I was as near death at that moment as I had ever been.

“Get out your gun! I haven’t got one!” I whispered to the sergeant just before Vining spoke.

“Good! That’s the man! Good-evening, Sergeant!” He took a step or two in our direction. “I want that man with you. I have been after this fellow for a long time for robbing my flat. But he’s as slippery as an eel. However, I’m glad you caught him at last. I have a warrant for his arrest, and I’ll take him with me now if you please.”

I saw the sergeant’s hand steal under the desk and close on the butt of a heavy police revolver.

“That’s right, sir,” he answered. “He’s just given himself up. I was going to lock him up when you came in. Just got orders to do so. He’ll be here when you want him, sir.”

Vining came a step closer, laughing. “But I want him now, Sergeant: I’m not going to take any more chances on his getting away. I want him where I can watch him myself.”

The sergeant’s hand reached out and fell on the bell on his desk, “Can’t do that, sir. I have orders to lock him up.”

Vining stepped back a pace, as though in astonishment and disappeared behind one of his companions. He reappeared again just as a door opened to his left and a couple of sleepy constables stumbled into the room.

“Well,” said Vining, “let’s have a good look at him to make sure.” He came a step closer, his hand flashed up and the light glinted on the metal object he held. I ducked sideways, but not quite quick enough, for there was a dull thud and a sickening pain shot through my shoulder.

In a daze I heard the sergeant shout, and the next minute heard the roar of his heavy revolver. I heard a scream of pain and the noise of shouting and heavy feet as I sank down on the floor; for my knees seemed to give out under me suddenly. Then, with the uproar of some sort of a fray still in my ears, blackness descended on me for the second time that night.

When I came to myself again I was in a police cell. The sergeant was bending over me. My eyes wandered vaguely for a moment, and then I managed to make out two other familiar faces. The first was that of the doctor who had given me the lift earlier in the night. The other belonged to my old friend Captain Peters.

I managed to summon a grin, in spite of the racking pain in my shoulder. “Pretty busy night, Captain!” I murmured. Then I glanced at the sergeant. “Did you get any of them?”

The sergeant grinned—a wide, wholesome grin. “I did that, sor. I got the one that shot you. He’s in the next cell. The other two surrendered. They’re cooling their heels beyond!”

Captain Peters strode forward to lean over me. “The doc. here says you can travel all right. Feel well enough, sir?”

I turned and stared at the doctor. He grinned back at me. “Fine tale you told me to-night, young man,” he laughed. “But I seem to have been on the right side, anyway, in giving you a lift. I half suspected you were fleeing from justice! Feel well enough to get up?”

I had been shot in the left shoulder. I put out my right hand and caught hold of the sergeant and so struggled to my feet. “Feeling first-rate now,” I told them. “Haven’t had much sleep lately, which probably explains why I went off like that.” I glanced at the sergeant. “If you’ve got Vining in the next cell, you’d better put a pretty good guard over him. He’s a slippery customer, let me tell you!”

Captain Peters slipped his hand under my good arm. “Can you come away with me now? There’s no time to lose.”

I turned quickly. “Right you are, Captain. I had forgotten for a moment. Good-night, Sergeant! Good-night, Doctor.”

And so we left the station-house and went out into the morning, I feeling a little weak and sick, but confident at last that we had the knowledge for which we had been searching so long, and that it was now only a matter of hours before our work would be completed.

Captain Peters’ big police car burned up the miles to New York, while I lay back in the tonneau, nursing my bandaged shoulder as well as I could from the jolting, leaning on the captain a little and relating to him everything that had happened that night. He wanted me to wait until we got to town and tell the story to the Chief first. For he had wired him as soon as he got my telephone message. But, with my aching shoulder and the strain I had been through, I refused to wait. I alone knew the whereabouts of the house where Natalie and Margaret, and probably Moore, Larry and Pride, were imprisoned, and my life had been threatened too often that night for me to keep that vital information to myself any longer than I had to.

So he was in possession of the whole story before he reached the city. And by the time we did reach it I was sound asleep. The captain inspired confidence. The search, at last, was over. And if I was to be in at the death, as I was determined to be, I would need all the sleep I could get, while the Chief and Captain Peters made the necessary preparations.

Chapter XXII.
Through the Outposts

When I awoke it was broad daylight. I lay for a moment in the daze of intense fatigue and the temporary befuddlement that follows very deep sleep. I glanced about me at bare stone walls, a barred window and a door made of heavier iron bars, and suddenly I was conscious of a deadly chill at my heart. Where was I?

Then memory returned, and the terror at my queer surroundings was surmounted by an intense anxiety to be up and doing. What had happened to Natalie and Margaret, to Moore and Pride and Larry, while I had been lying asleep? What might not be happening to them now?

I sat up with a jerk that sent a fierce twinge of pain through my shoulder and brought a gasp out of me, and at the same moment I realized that some one was calling my name, fumbling at the bars of my door the while.

“All right, Mr. Clayton! Just a moment, sir!”

I stared at the opening door. And I cannot express my relief at the sight of a stout and powerful member of New York’s finest, with a tray of food in his hands.

“What’s that?” I demanded. “And where’s Captain Peters? And how did I get in here, anyhow?”

“The captain will be here in ten minutes, sir. He just ’phoned to have you waked. And he said to tell you that he hoped you’d eat something. You’re in the Tombs, sir. We carried you in last night, for all the world like a dead man.”

I sat up on the edge of my cot and stared at the tray he held. I did not much relish the thought of being in the hands of the police, after what Peters had said about not being able to prevent my arrest earlier. If some of the police were in the Emperor’s pay, the food on the tray might finish me and my work once and for all. Then I remembered who had brought me here and confidence returned. Captain Peters would have been sure of the men he left in charge of me.

So I took the tray and fell to on the breakfast, and finding the policeman of a talkative turn of mind, I encouraged him with an occasional affirmative or a nod if my mouth was full, for I was in a hurry. The food was all cut up, which was a good thing, as my left arm was bound tight against my side. But I could make shift with the right hand all right.

“The captain should be here directly, sir. He had a gray-haired gentleman with him when he came before. Would that be any one from Washington, maybe? Would there be something doing?” He broke off and stared at me inquiringly.

“How do I know?” I laughed.

The policeman scratched his head. “Well, sir, he said to tell you to be ready in ten minutes if possible, if you want to go with them. But he thought it would be better to let you sleep through and not go wherever they’re going. Would there be any chance of going with you, sir? Did you fall, maybe, and break your arm?” And he gazed at me blandly, but with a twinkle in his Irish blue eyes.

“What else?” I inquired, and pushed the tray away from me, for I had taken the edge from my appetite and anxiety had returned. “But as for your going with us, that will be for Captain Peters and maybe the gray-haired gentleman to decide.”

For I guessed that the latter was the Chief—my Chief.

“Well, sir——” he began, and rose suddenly to his feet, grabbed the tray and edged toward the door.

I looked up and the next moment was shaking hands with the Chief, while Captain Peters grinned in the background. The Chief’s big frame and bigger personality seemed to fill the little cell, although neither the captain nor I are small men. I was glad to see him, I can tell you. And my anxiety died a little. Capable men had the thing in hand now.

“Well done, Clayton!” the Chief was kind enough to say as he shook my good hand. “Peters was all for letting you sleep, after what you have been through. But I knew that you would want to be in at the death. And that won’t be long now, after what you have found out. The captain here has told me all about it.”

“I would have called the captain out if he had let me sleep!” I answered, and the Chief laughed while the captain looked puzzled.

“We put you in here for safe keeping,” my Chief went on. “I don’t know of any safer place. But I’d like to hear the whole story from you again if you can tell it in five minutes. Our plans are made now, and we are merely waiting for a couple of police cars before we start. How’s the shoulder?”

“First-rate, sir. Here goes then,” and I started at the beginning when Pride and I drove up to the house of Ivanovitch the preceding afternoon and told him everything that had happened to me since. When I had finished the story he nodded. “Peters had it as straight as a die. But it’s as well to have the details confirmed in a case of this magnitude. Eh, Peters?”

The captain laughed. “It is that, sir. But I listened pretty carefully. I’ve come across some queer tales in my time. But Mr. Clayton here has them all beat.” He turned to me. “You had better join the police, Mr. Clayton, for a quiet life. I never ran across anything like it.”

“Would you tell me the plans you have made, sir?” I asked. “I know these customers pretty well now.”

“Certainly.” He drew a little closer and lowered his voice. “From your description of the place, they must have a pretty big staff of men there, so I am not taking any chances. I have a force of fifty plain-clothes men, some of them police patrolmen and some Secret Service operatives. I have called in all the men I could lay my hands on at such short notice. That is, the men that I could rely on with certainty. And Captain Peters here vouches for the policemen.

“It’s about four o’clock in the afternoon now. The fifty men are taking the 4.30 train from the Pennsylvania in plain clothes, and will get off at the ——— station, after changing at Jamaica. They will wait there till we arrive. You and Peters and I and possibly another operative will go down by car, meet the men outside the ——— station and lead them to the place. What do you think of the plan?”

I thought for a moment. “Are we going in one car or two, sir?”

“Why, I don’t know. Two, I think, because it will be easier to conceal ourselves. You see we cannot take you by train for fear you might be recognized. We don’t want to warn them and give them a chance to skip out. You were killed last night in ——— police station, by the way. Did you know that? It’s in the afternoon papers.”

I grinned. “That was a mighty good idea, sir. Unless they followed Captain Peters’ car. I have a good deal of respect for them.”

“There was nobody about when you left the station-house. And you were carried in here and might as well have been a corpse.”

“That’s right. But I would suggest two cars, sir. They blew up Pride and wrecked him, you see, and they may try that again. And there won’t be many of us to fight them off if they stop us. But if the other operative and I go ahead in the first car, we can spring the trap, if there is one. Then, if you keep a safe distance, you can get by all right. Of course I don’t know where they blew Pride up last time. But I don’t see how it could have been on a main road.”

“No, we’ll stick to the main roads anyway. But your idea is a good one. I think if Peters is willing, he and the other operative had better go in the first car and you and I in the second. Then if we get through you know the way and I can, perhaps, plan the attack. But I don’t think we will be molested. I have commandeered two cars, both of them limousines. And I don’t think that they will suspect either car, especially if no one except the driver is visible. I will drive mine and you can lie down out of sight in the back. Peters can drive the other and the operative can lie down in the back. How’s that?”

“All right, sir. But keep well behind the other car. I mean keep a safe distance, so that they can’t catch us both in the same trap. They’re a wonderfully organized gang,” I laughed. “I don’t believe I’m timid about it, but I want to get our friends out of the clutches of that gang.”

There was a rap on the iron plate guarding the lock on my door. There was a policeman standing there.

“The cars are here, sir,” he said.

“Come on,” said the Chief, “there’s no time to waste.” And together we filed out of my second police cell.

We passed through dreary corridors, where policemen on duty stared at us curiously, when Captain Peters was not looking, and so out into the open street. Two big limousines were pulled up before the door.

A man was lounging near one of them, keeping a sharp look-out up and down the street. He straightened up when he saw us and opened the door of the first car. With a nod Peters stepped into it and the lounger mounted after him. The car pulled away from the door and started slowly up the street and away.

The Chief opened the door of the other car and motioned me into it. He followed me and closed the door, nodding to the liveried driver. “We’re riding together for the present. Both drivers are men of our own. We will rendezvous just outside Jamaica. But we’re going there by different routes.”

I was filled with exultation at the thought that we were starting on our final journey to clean up the work that had occupied my every thought for the better part of a year. But I was far from feeling that the task before us was a simple one.

“Have you made any definite plan of campaign for when we get there?” I asked the Chief presently.

He nodded. “Yes, I have, Clayton. This is a tricky business and I know it. I have no great confidence that a gang as well organized as the one we have to deal with is ignorant of our movements or yours for that matter. They have too many spies about.

“On the other hand,” he went on, “I am pretty certain that they know nothing about the men who are to meet us at the station. That was all arranged in code over the telephone. So, while there is a chance that they will try to hold us up before we get there, I do not believe that they will do so, because they will think we are weak in numbers and they can finish us better on their own grounds. I’m banking on that to get through.

“When we do get there, I think the garage is our best means of approach. If we can get into the garage and overpower the guard, we ought to be able to take them by surprise. And we’ll have plenty of men. Frankly, Clayton, after what you and Peters have told me of this gang’s resources, I’m afraid that if we surround the place and try to take it by frontal attack, they’ll try to cover up their traces and get away. We have no idea how many other ‘earths’ they may have; I mean, underground exits.” He paused. “And we want to round up the whole gang.”

“That seems like a good plan,” I answered. “Those men I saw on the beach may have been getting in by some other entrance.”

“Exactly. I think we’ll try the garage, anyway,” he concluded.

We left it at that and fell to speculating about Moore and Pride, and whether they were still alive. I was equally worried about Larry. But they had less quarrel with him, perhaps.

We reached the rendezvous in good time. But the other car, which had started ahead of us on a shorter route, was not there. The Chief looked a little anxious, I thought. But we waited practically in silence for an hour or so before he voiced his anxiety.

“Well, Clayton, no traffic jam could have held them up this long. Unless the car has broken down, which isn’t likely, they’ve been picked off in some way. I think we had better go on alone, eh?”

“Right you are, sir,” I answered; “I think so, too.”

My big, grizzled companion leaned forward and opened the window. “Heldt,” he said, “I was going to drop you here, but I’ll take you along if you want to come, as the other car hasn’t turned up. What about it?”

“Sure, sir,” the driver answered. “Why wouldn’t I come along?”

The Chief laughed. “All right. I’m going to sit in front with you and tell you the road, and Clayton here will stay out of sight in the back.”

He got out and stepped up on the front seat with the driver, and I settled down on the back seat, curling up on it so that I would not be visible from outside the car. And so we started.

For the better part of an hour we drove along smoothly and with some speed. For the most part I kept out of sight, but now and then, when my position became too cramped to be borne any longer, I sat up and turned over, snatching a passing glimpse out of the windows to see where we were.

My shoulder pained me a good deal in the cramped position in which I was forced to lie. But it was in a good cause, I thought, and I was quite willing to put up with a little discomfort.

In a way, however, I think that sore shoulder saved all our lives. We had swung into a long level stretch of road with trees growing thick and close to it on either side, when I decided to turn again. I knew that we had taken the toll road through the center of the Island and that we were still on it, but in settling down on the seat again I glanced out of the back window of the limousine, and as I did so a man stepped out from the trees into the road behind us and waved his hands above his head in the direction in which we were going.

I jumped up and snatched open the window in front. “Step on it! Speed up, man, for God’s sake! Hit her up. They’ve seen us and signaled.”

Automatically the driver threw open his cut-out and the big car jumped ahead, leaping under us like a spurred horse. An instant passed and then there came a flash and a roar from just behind us, and the glass of the back window tinkled down on to the seat where I lay. I jumped up and looked back. A great hole like a shell crater spanned the road behind us.

Suddenly I saw three little stars appear like magic in the glass of the side windows. “Keep low!” I shouted and ducked down in the seat. Bullets were splintering the woodwork and whipping through the windows all about me. I could not see the Chief from where I lay and I imagined that he had ducked too. But I could see the driver and see the blood oozing from his neck. There must have been twenty men pumping lead at us, and the experience took me back to France with an unpleasant distinctness.

But for all his wound and the whipping bullets, the driver kept the car steady; we fled down that road like a wounded buck, and after a moment or two we were clear of them. I saw the Chief lean back in his seat and reach over to take the wheel. He had been waiting with his arms outstretched to grab it if they got the driver, Heldt.

The car slowed down a little. “I’m all right, sir,” I heard the driver announce. “Just scratched me, that’s all. Straight ahead, sir?”

“Straight ahead,” answered the Chief and turned. “All right, back there, Clayton?”

“All right, sir. Never touched me. How about you?”

“Nice hospitable lot of friends you’ve got, Clayton. No, they didn’t touch me either. But it’s about time we got that gang. Blowing up a main road like that. They’ve got a nerve!” Clearly the Chief’s sense of law and order was absolutely outraged, and I chuckled to myself in the back seat. I was not sorry to have him get a taste of what I had been up against.

After that we kept a pretty sharp look-out, both before and behind us. But they seemed to have staked their hopes on getting us in the road back there, for we continued our journey unmolested. Fortunately they had not succeeded in hitting any of the tires.

We got to the railroad station and pulled up in front of it without further adventure. But I confess I was disappointed to find it almost deserted. I expected to find a huge crowd of men waiting for us.

The Chief got down and hurried into the station. Through the window I could see him in consultation with a man who looked like a traveling salesman. Presently he came out again. “All right, Clayton,” he called. “We’ll leave the car here. Come along if you feel up to it.”

Heldt and I got down and walked over to the Chief and his companion. “This is Foster, Clayton. One of my right-hand men. Meet the other,” he added to the stranger.

“Glad to meet you, Clayton. Pretty fine bit of work you’ve done. I heard all about it. Well, it’s getting dusk. It’ll be dark in half an hour. Guess we’d better start, eh, sir? The men are ready for us.”

I was a little bewildered, but I turned with the others and started off down the road on foot, without the faintest idea of where I was going.

Presently we turned off into a little side road and then off again in among a little group of trees. And here, sitting in rows on fallen trees or standing talking quietly together in groups, loomed up what seemed like a regular regiment of men. We had all the reënforcements now that heart could desire.

Chapter XXIII.
Within the Web

We waited quietly in the woods until darkness fell. None of us spoke above a whisper, and there was no lighting of matches or anything else to draw attention to us. But no one passed by in the road outside except a party of young people in a broken-down Ford, and our nerves survived that ordeal.

But at last it grew too dark in the woods to see your own hand in front of your eyes, and then the Chief gave the signal and we stumbled out of our hiding-place as silently as we could.

We turned to the right, and the men strung out behind us in a long single file, walking close to the edge of the road and making little noise. The road was deserted for the most part, but when a car or a wagon passed, the men faded into the shadows like a band of Red Indians and no one noticed us.

We came to a cross-roads presently and turned to the left into a much smaller road. Here the Chief slowed our pace considerably. And presently he turned back and issued some instructions in a whisper, and two of the men turned off and plunged into the dense woods about us. The Chief came up and touched my arm.

“The house is over there,” he whispered. “Foster knows this country around here like a book. I sent those two men to reconnoiter it. The garage is a few hundred feet ahead of us. We’re going to spread out now and surround it.”

I stood with him in the starlit road, for the night was moonless though clear, and watched the men file past me like so many ghosts and disappear into the darkness ahead and on either side of us. And presently the Chief and Foster and I were alone in the road.

“Come along,” he whispered, and we walked ahead.

As I tramped along in the darkness my heart lightened considerably. The goal was close at hand now and I felt pretty certain that they would not foresee an attack on the garage. They knew that I had escaped, and they knew that I knew the location of the house. But running into the doctor and learning of the suspicious garage was pure chance and they could not know about that. So I felt pretty secure that we were not walking into another trap. For I hated to think of our fate, even so many of us, if they caught us down in that tunnel.

Presently a building loomed up ahead of us and a little back from the road. It was a garage, with the familiar red gasolene pump standing outside it. A single dim light flickered through the open doors.

“This is no place for a garage,” whispered Foster. “I didn’t even know that there was one here. It hasn’t been here very long. I’m sure of that, I’ve only been away from these parts about a year.”

Suddenly the Chief spoke out in his natural voice, even raising it a little. “Well, by the Lord Henry, here’s a garage! What do you know about that? Boys, we’re in luck!”

He stepped forward quickly into the doorway and we followed his lead, uttering exclamations of surprise. There were two men lounging in chairs at the back of the garage, but there were no cars in it. They sprang up when we entered and they seemed anything but glad to see us.

The Chief tramped down the length of the place toward them with us behind him. “Hey, you fellows,” he called, “I’ve got a broken-down car back in the main road a ways. Can you come and take a look at it?”

The two men looked at each other. Then one of them, a surly, dark individual, shook his head. “Naw, not to-night. We’re just going off. Bring it around in the morning.”

The Chief was close to them now and they backed away from him a little, as a guilty man always will before a stranger who is accosting him. “But say,” he answered, “you’re not going to leave us in the lurch like that, are you? It’s only the pump chain’s broken. Here, wait a minute, I brought it along to show you.”

He dived into his pocket and brought out a very serviceable-looking revolver. “Throw up your hands!” he roared at them. “Don’t move!”

At the sight of the revolver, one of the men had started to make a dive toward the side of the garage. But at the Chief’s words he halted in his tracks. “Tie em up, you fellows,” the Chief added.

One after the other, Foster bound and gagged the two swearing, foul-mouthed men, while I helped him as well as I could with my single available hand, using odds and ends of rope we found about the garage and part of the men’s overalls. Then we laid them down side by side, and not too gently, on the floor against the wall.

That done, the Chief took out a pocket torch and walked over to the wall toward which the dark fellow had made his move when first held up. We followed him.

For a long time the Chief studied it in the little glow of his torch. Then he walked back to the men. “Where’s the button, you?” he demanded. “If you want to get off light, you’d better show us.”

The fellows on the floor merely stared at him, and presently the Chief rejoined us and fell to studying the wall again. “See that tiny crack there?” he asked me, flashing his pocket torch up and down the wall slowly. “That’s where the elevator comes up, I fancy. But I have no idea how to open it. There must be a bell or a button or something around here somewhere. It probably opens from the other side.”

For a little longer the Chief searched. Then he went to the door and, standing framed in it, waved his arms. In a moment he turned back to us and in his wake filed in his silent satellites until the garage was full of them. It was exactly like a scene in a play.

“Now, you fellows, get up against this wall,” he said, “where you’ll be out of sight from here.” He was standing in front of the wall with the cracks in it. The men filed over and leaned against the same wall. The Chief turned back to the wall again, leaned down and pulled a little wire lying on the floor. I had seen it, but had taken it for a little bit of loose copper wire. When the Chief pulled it, however, I saw that it ran into the wall through a tiny hole. “Pretty clever, eh?” he inquired. “Hope they haven’t got some regular signal that they give.”

But the fates were with us now; for after a wait of perhaps two minutes, there was a little jar from behind the wall, and suddenly two sections of it swung out on hinges like a double door. It was through this door that I must have passed the night before.

Within, I caught a glimpse of a startled face as the Chief jumped through and into the elevator. The operator grabbed the lever and the elevator shot down again with the two in it. We crowded into the doorway and looked down. And a moment later it came up again, revealing the operator on his back on the floor and the Chief with one hand on his throat and the other on the lever.

As the elevator stopped, the Chief jerked the man to his feet and threw him out into the garage, where a dozen or so of willing hands laid hold of him. The man was clearly terrified out of his wits. And a moment later I got my first and last sight of the Third Degree as it is practised.

“Let him go,” said the Chief. He walked over close to the man. “Who’s below?” he bellowed at him suddenly.

The man shook his head and the Chief’s fist shot out and caught him full in the face, stretching him flat on his back. The Chief leaned over and jerked him to his feet again, almost as soon as he touched the floor. “Who’s below?” he bellowed again.

The fellow broke down at that. “No one, sir. So help me God, there’s only me on duty to-night at this end. Don’t hit me again, sir!”

There came a strangled sound from the floor behind us, and I turned to see the two men we had tied up, lying purple in the face and making the most horrible faces at our new captive. The latter saw them too and he broke down completely. First, he tried to make a dash for the door. But we easily headed that off. Then he fell on the floor at the Chief’s feet. “My God, sir, don’t let none of them get at me. My heart never was in this dirty business, sir. S’help me God, it wasn’t!”

“All right,” answered the Chief. “Come along with us and show us the way, and we’ll see what can be done for you later on.”

It was a fairly sickening sight. For the man’s terror was abject, surrounded as he was by such an army of enemies, there in the dim garage. I was glad when the first car-load of us, including the Chief, the former operator and myself, stepped into the more brightly lighted elevator and started on our journey into the nether regions.

“This is the place all right,” I whispered to the Chief. “It’s exactly the same smell. Hope they don’t drown us out down there like rats in a trap. It’s a long tunnel.”

The Chief laughed. “I don’t think there is much danger of that. We haven’t given any one a chance to give the alarm yet. And if it had been given, this fellow would be a lot less anxious to come with us,” and he indicated the late elevator operator. “I’m banking on that.”

The elevator was a simple one to operate. But the Chief let the former operator take charge of it again as soon as we had started, only directing two of his men to keep a tight hold on the man and another to keep him covered. But there was little fight or trickery left in that fellow.

Just before the car stopped I spoke to the Chief again. “Are the others coming after us?”

“One more load,” he answered. “I’m sending Foster up again. The others are going into the woods to surround the house and cut off any attempt at breaking out. That’s why I sent out two scouts to look over the land. But I think you and I had better keep on with this, eh?”

“I’d hate to miss it,” I answered. A moment later the elevator stopped.

We stepped out into a brightly lighted room, the top of which was of rough wood shored up with heavy beams. The walls were of unpainted planks. Ahead of us stretched a long tunnel about ten feet high by eight feet wide, lit at intervals by small electric bulbs. The floor of it carried a narrow-gauge track. The air was dank and cool, as I well remembered.

The elevator went up to the surface again under the charge of Foster, and the Chief turned to the operator. “Where’s the car?” he demanded.

“At the other end, sir,” whimpered the fellow.

“Is it automatic or operated by hand?”

“Automatic electric, sir. But if I signal for it, the operator at the other end will have to send it. He’ll be on the look-out for us, then. Shall I signal it, sir?”

“How long a ride is it?” demanded the Chief.

“About three hundred yards, sir.”

“All right, signal for it,” answered the Chief.

I would have hesitated about sending that signal. But I felt that the thing was in more capable hands than my own and I said nothing.

The man leaned over a table which stood beside the little platform for passengers on which we were standing and pulled down a buzzer on the wall behind it—a buzzer similar to the one with which the signal for help had been given from the house of Mrs. Fawcette.

After the sound of it had died away in the clammy, silent air of the tunnel, we stood and waited expectantly. But the second load of men arrived in the elevator before anything was visible in the tunnel. Foster was not with this second lot, having remained above to direct the men who were to surround the house.

Again we settled down to silence and then, far off in the tunnel, a little car became visible, gliding steadily towards us. It drew closed and closer until we could see that it had accommodation for about eight passengers, in four parallel seats. But it was quite empty. Just before it reached us there was a click and a flash of blue light, and the little car slowed down and stopped at the platform in front of us. It made a most eerie impression on me.

“Now,” said the Chief, turning and looming over the crowd of us as he drew himself up, “you and I, Blake, are going to make the trip with this fellow”—he indicated the operator—“and then you’ll come back with him and get another car-load, and so on until we all reach the other end. In the meantime, I’ll keep guard down there. Not more than two or three can go this first time or we’re likely to set up a scare when we get there.” He turned to me, “I’d like to have you go along, Clayton, this time, but there’ll be at least two men to watch and you’ve only got one arm.”

I could not put up an argument against that, and presently the Chief and the man we had captured, together with Blake, one of the Secret Service men, mounted the little car and started on their crucial journey.

My heart was in my mouth as the car gathered speed, slid into the tunnel and grew steadily smaller in the distance, finally rounding a curve and disappearing from sight.

And it was a long and anxious wait, standing huddled together in that dank, silent, underground place, straining our ears for the sound of shots from down the tunnel, while I at least pictured the Chief as killed or captured at the other end and the alarm given.

It had taken the little car about five minutes to come to us the first time, after the operator had signaled for it, so I allowed twelve minutes as the maximum time it should take for it to get back to us again, if all went well. But the minutes dragged along and there was still nothing in sight down the length of the tunnel.

At last, when fifteen minutes had passed and we were still anxiously waiting, I turned to the men about me and addressed them in a low voice. “Look here, you fellows,” I said, “now that the Chief is not here, I do not know who is in command among you. But I feel pretty sure that something has gone wrong at the other end. Are you willing to follow me into the tunnel on foot and try to reach the Chief? He may be in desperate need of our help while we are waiting here.”

For a moment or two they stared at each other. Then one of them spoke up, crowding forward to my side: “I’m with you, sir, let’s go ahead and try to reach him!” He stared at the others and a number of them murmured their assent.

“Right!” I said. “Come on, then. But be sure to walk in the middle of the track. I think that car is run with a battery, but it may be some sort of a third rail affair. Are you ready?”

And I stepped down into the tunnel and started to walk briskly along it.

I did not look back at once, for I could hear the others behind me, but after a moment I glanced over my shoulder. They were strung out along the track in single file. And I set my face to the walk and the work ahead with a confident mind and did not look back again.

It was a longer walk than I had expected. The car must have been able to develop a considerable speed. But after we had trudged along for perhaps ten minutes or so, stooping down now and then to avoid low places in the roof, we rounded a corner and saw another platform like the one we had left, twenty or thirty yards ahead of us. I broke into a run and the others came pounding after me. And as I drew near enough to take in the details of what lay ahead, I gave a shout and put on every bit of speed that I could muster.

The other platform was similar to the one we had left and the little car was stationary in front of it. The operator we had captured was sprawled half in and half out of it. Blake lay face down in the tunnel, and on the platform beyond the Chief rolled this way and that, in the grip of one of the biggest men I have ever seen, The light glinted on the Chief’s revolver, still in his hand, but his opponent had that wrist in his grip, while the Chief had reversed the position with his other arm and held the fellow’s other wrist. They had been struggling there for nearly fifteen minutes when we came, and it has always been a mystery to me how the Chief held out so long in the grip of so powerful a man. But he did hold out and so saved the situation and probably all our lives into the bargain.

I did not wait to parley, but scrambled up on the platform between the car and the end of the tunnel. The Chief was on his back, with his opponent on top of him. I stooped down, slipped the revolver out of the Chief’s fingers and brought it down with all my force on the back of the big man’s head. He relaxed at once and the Chief heaved him off and struggled painfully to his feet. Then he held out his hand. “Good man, Clayton,” he said quietly, “I was nearly done for. I won’t forget this.”

“Nonsense, you saved us all by hanging on so long,” I answered. “Now what, sir? The men are all here behind me.”

The Chief shook himself and instinctively settled his clothes on him. “He had a grip like a bear!” he muttered. “Guess I’m getting old!” Then to me he added, “Let’s get as many men as we can cram into the elevator and go up and clean up with them. I’m getting mad! Come on, men!”

At the back of the platform another larger elevator stood empty and waiting. Two of the men fell on the big fellow and tied him up securely. The first operator we had captured was stone dead with a bullet through the middle of his head. We left him where he lay. Blake, too, was dead and we lifted him onto the platform. There were about twenty of us in all, and by squeezing tightly together we managed to crowd into this larger elevator. Then the last man closed the door and the Chief began to experiment with the mechanism. It was quite a simple one, and after a moment we started smoothly upward to our final goal. It was a moment big with tension and I think we all felt it.

“Listen now, men,” said the Chief, soon after we started. “This is a case of no parley and no quarter. We’ve got to work fast and take them all by surprise, for we’re dealing with men who stop at nothing. Understand, all of you?”

There was a murmur of assent.

“And another thing,” he added. “There are a lot of women ahead, as some of you know. You’ll have to be mighty careful where you shoot! But otherwise, do not hesitate to shoot.”

There was another murmur and then we rode on in silence.

Chapter XXIV.
The Web Is Torn

Presently the bottom of a door appeared, and a moment later the car stopped of its own accord. We held our breaths, listening.

Then the Chief slid the iron grille of the elevator softly out of the way and fumbled at the door beyond. We could hear no sound from the other side of the door, and at last the Chief pushed it quietly open and we poured out in a body into the little blue and gold lobby. I had been in it only the night before, but the time seemed months ago as I glanced quickly around. It was deserted.

“Which way to the main hall?” whispered the Chief; for the lobby had several doors leading out of it.

I walked over to the little door through which I had passed before and softly opened it. The corridor beyond was empty too.

The Chief and his men crowded in behind me. “Get your guns ready now!” whispered the former. “Lead on, Clayton!”

I quickened my pace, reached the door that led into the main hall and softly opened it, sticking my head cautiously around the corner. The big hall, with its vivid and somewhat indelicate paintings, was deserted also, and the lights were turned low, as I remembered them last. The last man into the big hall closed the door behind him.

“The banquet room is there,” I whispered, pointing it out to the Chief. “And the room of the voices is beyond there. That’s the blind corridor I told you about,” I added, pointing toward the far corner of the hall. “I think the others are sleeping-rooms.”

The Chief stepped silently around the center table and down the hall, with us close behind him. He laid hold of the big doors into the banqueting hall. As he did so, a small door opened behind us, and I turned in time to catch sight of a startled Chinese face peering around the door which led into the blind corridor where I had talked with Margaret. Before I could make any sign the face disappeared. The next instant the lights went out and we were in complete darkness.

Then the Chief flung open the big doors, and we surged forward.

But the Chief and his men halted on the threshold, staring in momentary amazement at the strange scene before them. And I too drew up and stared over their shoulders, for I could not believe at first that this was the same room in which I had dined only the night before. The pillars, running around the room and forming a sort of corridor on all four sides of it, were still there. But instead of being apparently solid as I remembered them, they now seemed to be formed of some semi-transparent material, through which bright lights in their interiors made a brilliant but diffused glow in the room.

Otherwise the place was entirely changed. The big open space enclosed by the pillars, and which had formerly held the divans, had now been converted in some way into a shallow lake. In the middle of this lake floated a huge and really wonderful reproduction of an Egyptian royal barge at anchor. The water was only a couple of feet deep and servants, waiting on the diners on the barge, were wading back and forth between the barge and the corridor formed by the pillars. Even the skin of these men had been browned and they were clad in loin-cloths only.

But the deck of the barge itself presented a scene of very real though almost indescribable beauty. There were many girls, lightly clad, reclining on the cushions arranged about low tables on the deck. The men beside them were also lightly clad in Egyptian costumes, many of them, though some were in conventional evening dress. But the barge itself was a mass of rich hangings and cushions and tapestries and rugs, many of them trailing in the water, while the low tables were massed with dishes and flowers. A small orchestra, in Egyptian costume and equipped with queer Egyptian instruments, was seated in the bow of the barge. The latter had a huge silken lateen sail, and from the cross-arm which upheld this sail big pendent lamps, fashioned like flowers, cast a bright rosy light on the deck below, making it seem like fairyland. Queer barbaric strains from the little orchestra floated to our ears on the perfume-laden air. Even the water of the tank had the big green leaves and huge white blossoms of hundreds of water-lilies floating on its glinting surface.

While I was still half-enchanted by the real beauty of the scene, the Chief stepped forward to the edge of the tank.

“Hands up and stop where you are!” he shouted, and leveled the two revolvers he held.

The queer music in the air died out in a sudden discord. And at the same moment there came the whine and thud of bullets about us and a man beside me shrieked once and fell, writhing.

“Scatter!” shouted the Chief over his shoulder to us, for we were bunched together in the doorway and offered a beautiful target. Then, while the girls on the barge shrieked and shrieked, cowering down among the rich hangings, there followed a battle wildly confused and confusing.

Some of our men slid along the walls of the banqueting hall with the idea of surrounding the place. Others dashed back into the dark main hall, their guns spitting vicious flames, while they hugged the walls to be out of the light from the luminous pillars. The doorway was cleared in an instant, the Chief and I ducking behind two of the pillars to shelter our backs while we covered the servants.

But there were fifteen or so of these brown-skinned attendants, some of them in the corridors and some in the water. And when they realized that they had only a few men to deal with, they suddenly broke and scattered in all directions. The Chief and I sent shot after shot in their wake, bringing two of them down and whipping up the waters of the tank into tiny fountains that set the lily pads to rocking wildly. But the rest of those in the water clambered out into the corridor, ahead of our men who had started to encircle them, dashed through doorways and disappeared. The servants in the corridors had already vanished.

I left the Chief and ran back into the darkness of the main hall to see how things were going there, keeping close to the wall as I went. Heads, dimly visible in the reflected light from the banquet room, were popping out of doorways and revolvers spat and cracked from all directions, while direct and ricochet bullets whined and screamed up and down the place incessantly. Some of the heads took our bullets back with them, but our men were falling too. With the uproar of the firing, the smoke of it and the groans and cries of the wounded, it was hard to get a clear idea in the confusion of how things were going. But presently I saw that our men were fighting their way slowly forward, flinging open the doors off the hall as they came to them and rushing through. And being far better marksmen than our enemies, they caught and killed the Chinamen and Russians in the different rooms like rats in a trap.

Through an open door I caught a glimpse of one such duel. In the dim-lit room crouched a Chinaman, his yellow, snarling face upturned and his hand flung back with a knife glinting in it, then the darting flames of two shots from a corner just within the door seemed to transfix him. And as I watched, the yellow face stiffened into a ghastly grin, the knife fell to the floor and the huddled figure slowly collapsed, as one of our men stepped out into the hall again, methodically reloading his gun. The Chief’s forces were all picked men, and they gave a wonderful exhibition of fearless determination and devotion to duty that night.

Finding that we were getting the best of things in the main hall, I turned back to the banqueting room. As I reached the big doorway I saw that firing had now broken out here too, bullets whipping up the water here and there, and some of them whining through the doorway into the main hall and placing us between two fires.

Some of the servants had returned with guns and were popping out from behind the pillars on the far side of the room, firing at the Chief and his men. I joined the Chief behind the pillar and took stock of the situation as well as I could in the confusion. I was in a frenzy of anxiety, for our opponents were poor shots, as an occasional scream from the barge testified—and I could not tell whether Natalie and Margaret were among those cowering girls exposed to the flying bullets.

In a moment, however, I saw that the Chief’s men were holding their own and were gradually carrying out an encircling movement around both sides of the room. I felt pretty sure that our men in the hall were getting the best of it. So I jumped forward to the edge of the tank, and in spite of a warning shout from the Chief, I stepped down among the wildly rocking lily pads and spouting little geysers, where bullets whipped up the water, and started wading toward the barge, firing as I went, whenever I saw a leg, an arm or a head behind one of the far pillars.

It was an exciting walk while it lasted, for the bullets were screaming perilously close. But our foes were the worst kind of marksmen, and presently I reached the barge untouched and stepped up on to a low gangway at the side and thence to the deck.

Immediately in front of me lay a girl, bare of limb and wearing the Egyptian girdle about her waist and the cobra head-dress. Silk panels, now tumbled about her, hung from the girdle. As I stepped on to the deck she raised a lovely face, drawn with terror, and saw me.

“Oh, Jack, Jack!” she cried. “Take me away!”

It was Natalie!

I jumped forward, the revolver still in my one good hand, and, kneeling down, caught her up to me. As I did so the firing died down suddenly and other girls near by raised their heads and began to stare about them in terror. In the girl next to Natalie I recognized my companion of the evening before. Her eyes flashed sudden recognition and then swerved to the girl I held. And I determined to leave Natalie in her charge until our work was done.

I stooped and kissed Natalie and then, thank God, I looked up again quickly. For immediately behind her another woman had seen us, and I found myself staring into the face of Mrs. Fawcette. But she was not looking at me. She was looking at Natalie. And at the moment I saw her, she drew a small revolver from her girdle and slowly raised it until it pointed at the back of the unconscious girl I held. My companion of the night before saw it too and screamed suddenly.

There could be no mistaking the bitter determination in the woman’s face. But there was no time to draw Natalie aside and face her myself. And almost of its own volition the gun in my hand roared out behind Natalie’s back.

With a sobbing cry, Mrs. Fawcette slowly fell back on to the deck, her face upturned now and her eyes on mine.

I released Natalie and set her gently down. Then I stepped over her and went up to Mrs. Fawcette, my mind one blind question and my heart sick at the futile tragedy of it.

She stared up at me as I stooped above her. “You shot me!” she whispered wonderingly. “You!” she moaned faintly. “And only last night I tried to save you!”

I went down on my knees beside her. “Why did you try to shoot Natalie?” I demanded desperately.

“Why? What else could I do?” She stared at me for the moment. Then a very bitter smile set her face in grim lines. “Kismet!” she murmured.

A moment later her body straightened into a rigid bow and fell limp again. And I could only lean down and close the staring eyes; for she was dead.

After the tribute of a silent regard of the woman I had killed, I turned away, sick at heart over what I had had to do, and sought Natalie. The other girl, I found, had taken Natalie into her arms. Fortunately the latter had been very close to unconsciousness when I set her down and had seen nothing of what had happened.

“Stop here quietly,” I whispered, “I’ll come back for you both!” and with that I jumped down into the water again and waded over to where the Chief was already gathering his men. For here in the banqueting room the battle was over and we had conquered.

“Hurry up, Clayton,” cried the Chief. “We’re waiting for you.”

The firing in the main hall had died out also, and now the place was almost silent, except for the frightened sobbing of some of the girls on the barge and the moaning of our own wounded. No quarter had been asked or given on either side, but we had been able to rescue some of our own men and bind up their wounds.

Some one had found the switch and the lights in the main hall were on full. The place was a shambles. Dead men, in queer, contorted attitudes, their faces pale, sunken and ghastly in the bright light, lay scattered about the walls. The walls themselves were seamed with bright slashes from flying bullets and the naked nymphs still simpered down on us, though their bodies were tattered and torn. The hardwood floor was a welter of blood in streaks and half-congealed pools. The room was not a pretty sight.

We had lost over half our number, a hasty count showing eleven men killed or badly wounded. Most of the others had flesh wounds, although the Chief and I had escaped scot-free. But we had certainly accounted for a much greater number of our enemies. At all events they seemed to have had enough, for the present at any rate. After we had taken stock of our losses, the Chief stepped forward and faced the eight or nine of us left.

“You, Johnson, and you,” he said, “stay here and keep an eye on those girls. Keep the men on the boat where they are. We’ll want them later. The rest of you scatter and clean the place up. Break down the doors and explore the whole house. Let the others in too, as soon as you can find the way out. They must be just outside by now. If you hear me whistle, come back here on the run. But if you can find the head of the gang, take him alive. I want that man.”

He turned to me.

“Come on, Clayton. Let’s round up that Emperor of theirs. You all right?”

“Not a scratch, sir.”

He came closer, putting his hand on my shoulder for an instant. “You did the only thing, lad, I saw it all. Don’t look so down in the mouth about it. Any one would have done the same. Come on, let’s go!” and that was the only time the Chief and I discussed the death of Mrs. Fawcette.

The others had scattered in all directions, and in a moment the place was a bedlam with the crash of blows and the crack of splintering wood, as the men set themselves to break open locked doors.

One man found a staircase leading up from a small door in the main hall, and started up into the darkness to explore the floor above. But the Chief and I made for the corridor that led to the room of the voices, kicking or jemmying open the doors we passed, and making as sure as we could that we left no enemies behind us to take us in the rear.

Evidently the place was a regular labyrinth. But the most curious feature of it was the fact that we found no windows anywhere. The inhabitants must have lived eternally in an artificial light or in darkness.

The door opening into the room of the voices was closed but not locked, and I flung it open. The room was bare as I remembered it, and I strode across to the door beyond, followed by the Chief. This second door was locked, but the Chief set to work on it at once with his jemmy.

And then suddenly the tool slipped out of his hand and clattered on the floor, and he put out his hand to the wall for support. At the same moment he seemed to grow dim before my eyes, receding into a tiny figure.

With a yell of “Gas!” that was little more than a croak in my ears, I summoned every bit of strength I had left and jumped for the Chief, catching him about the shoulders and sending him spinning in the direction of the open door through which we had just passed. I followed him and we both fell to our knees in the middle of the room; but he must have realized the danger by now, for he managed somehow to drag himself on his hands and knees as far as the open door and through it. I also succeeded in rolling after him and out of the room, with one last effort kicking the door shut behind me. Then we lay motionless and panting until our wits and strength gradually returned and we were able to sit up and stare at each other.

“The Emperor again!” I gasped weakly.

“Couple of fools, we are!” grumbled the Chief in reply. “But I won’t forget that, Clayton. That’s twice you’ve pulled me out of a nasty mess. Wow, but that was some gas. You can’t even smell it!”

I got slowly to my feet.

“Let’s try that staircase,” I said. “We can’t get through this way.”

After a moment the Chief, too, struggled to his feet and we made our way laboriously back down the corridor to the main hall. Fortunately the effects of the gas wore off very quickly, and by the time we reached the hall we were both practically ourselves again.

There was no one in the main hall as we entered it. But the doors to the banqueting room were still open and I could see our two men still on guard in there. The Chief and I started to cross the hall, making for the little door that led to the staircase to the floor above, but we were not to explore that floor just then, for while we were still in the middle of the hall, part of the wall at the far end of it suddenly flew open in two sections with a crash, and the Chief and I turned to find a crowd of swarthy, jabbering men pouring into the room.

“More of them!” shouted the Chief. “Come on, Clayton.”

He jumped forward to the big table in the middle of the hall, overturned it and swung it round to form a barrier between us and our oncoming enemies, just as the latter caught sight of us.

I fell on my knees beside him and drew my revolver. The newcomers set up a yell and started for us, and quickly the Chief put his whistle to his lips and blew it for all he was worth, at the same time opening fire with the revolver in his other hand.

Chapter XXV.
The Emperor

During the next few seconds we put in the hottest bit of work of the entire evening.

They came very close to rushing us at the start. I have a confused recollection of a mass of murderous-looking ruffians bearing down on us, firing as they came, while the table behind which we were sheltered cracked incessantly with the smack of their bullets.

My own revolver was full again fortunately, and the Chief’s seemed to be also, for we shot into the crowd of them again and again, bringing a man down with almost every shot.

But they kept on, and when they reached the table my revolver was empty. I jumped to my feet and dashed the butt of it between the eyes of a big Russian. His face streamed blood at the blow and he leapt back with a yell of pain, bearing back the men behind him. At the same moment the Chief got his second gun into action and fired past me as fast as he could work the trigger, his shots seeming to follow one another in a steady stream.

For a moment they fell back and I crouched down behind the table again, fumbling in my pocket for fresh cartridges and cursing my clumsy fingers. Then there was a yell from behind me as the two guards from the banquet room rushed up, and four revolvers began to stream death over our shoulders into the huddled mass of men ahead of us. A moment later other revolvers began to crack from the different doorways, as the Chief’s forces came running back to the hall in response to his whistle.

And suddenly the men ahead of us broke and dashed, yelling, from the open doorway into the corridor which led to the room of the voices, leaving eight or ten of their numbers silent and motionless, or still convulsed with agony, on the floor in front of us.

Revolvers were still cracking near at hand, however, and I looked beyond our fallen foes and realized suddenly that I was gazing out into the night. The two sections of the wall that had opened inward like folding doors disclosed a short wide hallway beyond them. And beyond that was what looked like the original wide front door of the house. Two or three of the enemy were still sheltering behind the edges of this doorway, and firing, not at us but out into the night. Beyond them I could see the dark outlines of trees. And in among these trees I could make out the occasional spitting flash of a revolver. Evidently our reënforcements had arrived, had met with resistance and had driven the Emperor’s forces in upon us.

This time the Chief was mad clear through. “Get back to that room, you two, and guard those girls,” he shouted. Then he raised his revolvers, which he had managed to reload somehow, and began calmly picking off the men in the doorway.

At the same moment our fellows outside, who had heard the Chief’s whistle, decided to rush the place. For there came a crescendo of shots from closer at hand, and suddenly the last of the defenders of the doorway pitched forward on his face and the little hallway was full of our men.

“Come on, you men, clean this place up!” yelled the Chief. “Shoot them down and shoot to kill. We’ve lost enough men over this business!” He pointed into the corridor. “After them!” he shouted.

As I remarked once before, I think, the Chief was a good man to have on one’s side, but a bad opponent. He certainly looked dangerous enough at this moment, for his gray hair was streaked with blood from a scalp wound, his coat was torn and bloody in two places on the shoulders, where bullets had grazed him above the edge of the table, and his eyes blazed with energy and anger, while his mouth was a mere slit in a grim and formidable jaw.

I stepped over to him. “The gas!” I shouted. “Don’t let our men——”

Instantly he jumped for the corridor, blowing his whistle as he went. I followed at his heels.

But there was little need. We met the Chief’s forces returning, awe writ large on their faces. And down the hall beyond them, the open door into the room of the voices disclosed a number of our late enemies lying huddled on the floor of that deadly room in the same attitudes in which they had fallen as the gas overcame them. It seemed that the first one of our men who had followed them into the room to investigate, had been overcome by the gas himself and had been hauled out again by a couple of venturesome companions, holding their noses by way of a safeguard. By the time we reached him he had fully recovered again. For once the Emperor had played into our hands, it seemed.

As soon as the Chief had assured himself that the men in the room of the voices were not playing ’possum, he directed six or eight of his now numerous forces to dash into the room, haul out the enemy one by one and tie them up. That done he turned back to me again.

“Come on, Clayton, we’ll tackle that staircase now—and we’ll take a couple of others with us, while the rest of them finish cleaning up the place.”

He blew his whistle then, and the men, some of whom had scattered again, gathered around him. “Now, you men, finish the job and capture every one else you find alive, unless they put up a fight. We’ve broken the back of this business and there’s no need for any more bloodshed. Keep an eye out for prisoners too. They may have some of our friends still locked up here. I want a couple of you to join those fellows in the dining-room there and take those men into custody. Tie them up if necessary. And tell the girls that they can go and get dressed if they want to. Burke and Tallman, I want you to follow me. That’s all. The rest of you go to it.”

With that we started back across the hall again, followed by two of the Chief’s men, and made our way to the foot of the little staircase leading to the floor above. Looking up that little staircase, there was nothing but a velvety blackness to be seen, and I confess that the effect was not inviting.

However, we did not stop to talk about it, but, with the Chief and me in the lead, started up the stairs into the silence and darkness above. The men with us had torches, and they took these out and flashed them ahead of us, showing up the walls of a narrow corridor at the top of the staircase. As we mounted higher we could see that many closed doors led off this corridor, doors heavily built and with a certain forbidding quality, although the latter may have been only my imagination.

At any rate we passed into the corridor without incident, and the Chief set the two men with us to breaking down the doors as we came to them.

On this floor too, rooms, intersecting passages and unexpected entrances formed a positive maze, leading a man sometimes far afield and sometimes back to his starting-place, none the wiser. However, if one of the men with us was away exploring for more than a moment or two, the Chief blew his whistle and guided him back again. But for the first few moments it seemed as though we were the only living things on that floor.

However, we had a stroke of luck at last. One of the Chief’s men was struggling with a small, heavy and heavily secured door a little way along a side passage, when I heard a commotion in that direction which set my blood racing. For there was no mistaking the rich brogue of that bitterly denunciatory voice.

“Do but let me out av ut, ye divils,” I heard in tones almost tearful with rage, “and I’ll tache ye. Do but lave me get my hands on ye——”

I jumped forward and joined the man at the door. “Larry,” I called, “is that you?”

There came a distinctly audible gasp from behind the door. “Shur, sor, is that yersilf? I thought it was thim dirty knav—— But did they get ye, too, sor? Can ye let me out to ye and we’ll go after thim together.”

“Hold on, Larry,” I answered, stifling a strong desire to burst out laughing, partly with relief to find him alive and partly at his simple philosophy, “hold on and we’ll get you out of it in a minute. We’ve taken the place and all’s well.”

A moment or two later the lock snapped and the door swung open, and a wild-eyed, wildly disheveled and almost naked Larry burst out upon us.

In a rushing spate of words he told us that they had as good as tortured him to glean the facts about myself and my connection with the Secret Service. But there was little that he did know and he had not told that. However, he had been locked up ever since they took him, and he had seen no one of our friends in the place. He was painfully apologetic about Natalie, but I deferred that explanation until our work was over. And with Larry in our wake we took up our search again. I had a warm glow in my heart, though, to find that nothing had happened to the beggar, for I was fonder of Larry than I had realized until after his capture.

At the end of the original corridor we found a heavy door, and beneath the edge of it a steady light was shining. We came upon it suddenly, as the corridor took a sharp turn at this point.

When the Chief saw the light he held us back by putting out his arms. One of the men flashed his torch on to the lock, and we saw that the key was in the door and on our side. But the sight of the light made us hesitate for a moment.

Then, suddenly, I leaned over to the Chief and whispered in his ear. “Chief, this must be just about over the room of the voices. We turned to the left once, you know, and then to the right again. And we’ve gone just about that far.”

“By Jove, you’re right,” the Chief whispered back. “Well, here goes, anyway!” And he stepped forward, tried the handle gently and then abruptly flung open the door.

Our eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and the bright light revealed by the open door blinded us for a moment. But as we grew accustomed to the glare we realized that we were staring into a regular laboratory. Glass jars, retorts, burners, queer-looking glass vessels and huge metal tanks something like those used for compressed air lined the walls on all four sides. And there were other types of apparatus with which I was totally unfamiliar.

But we had no time and no inclination for studying the inert contents of the room. For in the center of the floor stood a figure, impassively facing us, that struck a distinct chill to my heart at least. And by the way the others stopped in their tracks, I imagine they felt the same.

It was the figure of a man, tightly bandaged from neck to foot in black silk, so that only the face showed. But such a face!

Without the eyes, the thin, pallid countenance, hairless and deeply lined, seemed to express an abysmal melancholy, but a melancholy that held no human warmth. The mouth was thin and wide, the nose high arched and almost hooked, and the cheekbones unusually high. The face shadowed forth, to me at least, standing, staring in the doorway, inhuman composure, inhuman cruelty out of sheer indifference rather than sensuality, and an inhuman weariness.

But beneath heavy brows looked out eyes that caused the rest of the strange countenance to pale into insignificance. They were pale blue eyes, I think, and they had the flat quality of unglazed china. But in their depths leapt and glowed a strength, a force and a relentless ambition and conscious power that kept us standing there like a pack of children.

The pale eyes swept over us slowly, lingering on my face and then slowly swerving to the Chief. In that moment eye to eye I confess I felt an absurd desire to find a hole somewhere, crawl into it and pull it in after me. For the man’s gaze was positively hypnotic. But the moment his eyes left mine for the Chief, I tore my own eyes away from his face to his body and so broke the spell.

Each limb was wrapped tightly in spiral turns of soft black silk, and the same individual material and arrangement swathed his body. But limbs and body were slight enough and this style of dress enhanced this smallness. A moment after his eyes left mine he spoke—and we stood silent like children and listened.

“Ah, ——,” he said slowly, addressing the Chief by name, “so you have found me. Clayton was a good man for you because he is—fortunate. If it had not been for his good fortune and the fact that I was—badly served, the positions would certainly have been reversed—and before long. However, you have broken into my poor house and—I must leave it. Have you anything to say to me before I go?”

The Chief took a step forward, and I saw him shake himself roughly as though to throw off the effect of the man’s personality. “We’ll talk about that presently,” he said roughly. “Do you surrender?”

A slow smile crept over the face of the man before us, a smile so utterly mirthless and inhuman that I instinctively drew back at the sight of it. “Surrender?” he answered slowly. “I shall never do that, to you or any man. But I have been badly served here, and I am fatigued with the dense stupidity of man. To-night I am—going elsewhere—but not with you. Have you anything further to say?”

The Chief drew his revolver and pointed it at the still figure. “Throw up your hands!” he shouted hoarsely, “or I’ll shoot you down like a dog!” And it seemed to me that the Chief’s voice shook a little in spite of him But no words could ever fully describe the inhuman quality and the amazing sense of power which emanated from this black figure, standing quietly before us. It was no wonder that Ivanovitch and Vining, two such dissimilar types, had been willing to serve this so-called Emperor of theirs. I do not blame the Chief in the least, for I felt just the same, only probably more so.

The man in black slowly folded his arms, smiling slightly. “Shoot, then,” he laughed. “It will be amusing!”

The muscles tightened all over my body in anticipation of the coming shot. But for some reason the Chief stood there, staring at the figure, and pointing his revolver still, but making no apparent attempt to pull the trigger.

The Chief told me afterwards that he had hesitated out of sheer curiosity and a desire to take the man alive and learn more about his plans. Perhaps that is true, or perhaps this Emperor succeeded in hypnotizing his enemy and rendering him powerless to shoot. I know that I would have hesitated to shoot, in his place, out of sheer respect for power.

But there was one member of our party who had suffered at this man’s hands and who was actuated by no such scruples. There was a little pause, as I have said, and then suddenly Larry leapt forward, slipped the revolver out of the Chief’s hand and sent three shots in quick succession into the figure before us.

The banging of the revolver echoed in the room, to the accompaniment of a crash of falling glass, and the figure disappeared as though it had dissolved into thin air. We had been staring into a rimless, skillfully arranged mirror. The man with whom we had been talking had been close beside us in the room on the other side of a screen and had projected his voice in some way to come from the vicinity of the mirror.

All this we realized far quicker than it takes to tell it. And with a roar of rage the Chief dashed into the room, with us at his heels. At the same moment there came a hollow, contemptuous laugh from the side of the room and a door opened and closed again quickly.

Without waiting to call directions to his men this time, the Chief dashed for this door and attempted to snatch it open. It resisted his efforts, and I stepped back a little so that he could open it with his jemmy. But the Chief was too much in earnest to stop even for that. He too stepped back. And then he flung himself at that door like a full-back two yards from the goal.

One of the panels gave way with a loud crack and the Chief stuck his hand through the hole left by the panel and unlocked the door from the other side.

“Come on,” he shouted, and he jerked open the door and flung himself through it, with me close behind him. Then he cried out and I heard the thud of a heavy fall. The next moment I realized that there was no floor in the darkness beneath my feet.

I began to tumble head over heels down a flight of stairs in the darkness, bringing up against a door at the bottom with a bang that shook the breath out of me. And it seemed to me, during that fall, that every time I touched a step it was either on my head where the bullet had creased me, or on my wounded shoulder. I know that it was the shoulder that hit the door at the bottom first.

The Chief had come to a stop just before me. Indeed he partly broke my fall. He jumped to his feet at once and started fumbling with this second door, but in spite of his haste I could hear him chuckling to himself over my few well-chosen remarks about those stairs and that door.

A moment later there came another crack and this second door flew open like the first. I rolled out into the open air, beneath the open sky, and jumped to my feet.

The Chief caught my arm. “There he goes,” he shouted. Then he started to run into the night.

Sure enough, in the starlight I could make out a figure walking quickly away from us. At the Chief’s shout it began to run. And taking a long breath I began to run also.

The man ahead ran on for perhaps a hundred feet or so and then suddenly darted into the doorway of a low stone building. As the Chief and I drew closer, I gave a sudden shout, for I remembered that low building only too well. It was the place in which I had been imprisoned and in which I had killed Ivanovitch and his satellite.

We had gained rapidly on the figure ahead during that run, and the latter had had to pause to get the door open, so that we were close behind him when he finally disappeared into the building. He slammed the door in our faces, but it did not lock. We got it open almost at once, and as it swung outward, a dazzling glare sprang up from the middle of the room beyond. The cylinder there had suddenly flashed into dazzling fire.

I shaded my eyes as well as I could from the glare, and presently I realized that a man was crouching in a corner by the big machine which operated the cylinder. But the glare held us stationary on the threshold for a moment, and while we hesitated, the man by the machine darted forward and flung open the side of the cylinder which opened toward us. In the bright light I could see the swathed black silk about the slender limbs.

Before the searing heat that sprang out at us the Chief and I shrank back a step or two. At the same moment the man we pursued sent forth a wailing shriek that I shall remember as long as I live and suddenly leapt through the opening into the heart of the cylinder.

For an instant our straining eyes saw him glow suddenly red and almost transparent, in a bower of leaping, licking flames. Then we turned hastily away. When we looked back again, only the glowing cylinder and the searing heat remained.

As the miserable man leapt into the cylinder there had come a rush of feet from behind us. And I recovered from the shock of such a terrible death to the consciousness that some one was plucking at my arm.

“Clayton! Clayton! And you, Chief! For God’s sake come away! Come out! Quick!” It was Moore’s voice.

We turned and stumbled out of the building in response to the urgency in Moore’s tone. But we had taken hardly three steps from the door when there came a tremendous flash of light, followed by a roar that seemed to shake the world. With it, something crashed against my chest and I fell to the ground.

“Chief,” I called faintly, “get Natalie——” and then darkness swooped down upon me.

I have a vague recollection of regaining at least partial consciousness some time later. I seemed to be lying full length on a couch in a brightly lighted room, and I was struggling in some way with a racking, searing agony in my chest. It seemed to me, too, that Natalie was kneeling beside me, her lovely face pressed close to mine.

But it was only a vague impression before I plunged back and down again into terrible, endless darkness.

Chapter XXVI.
The Final Surprise

It seemed to me that I was struggling up through miles of deep blue water that gradually turned to lighter emerald. Huge sea monsters swam lazily about me, staring with curious, lackluster eyes. I fought on, in a panic to rise above them, and broke surface at last with a splash. But when I opened my eyes I was lying in a narrow white bed in a hospital room. An old man with a long beard bent over me, and beside him stood a nurse clad in white.

I stared at the old fellow curiously and he nodded at me.

“Feeling better, eh?” he asked.

I tried to fill my lungs with air, but desisted hurriedly at the stab of pain that shot through me. “What’s the matter with me?” I demanded.

The doctor laughed. “Nothing much. You’ve got five broken ribs and a broken breastbone. You’ve got a bullet wound in the shoulder that you neglected shamefully and another in the scalp. Otherwise you’re as healthy as possible.” He shook his head. “You’ve had the narrowest kind of a narrow escape, young man. You’ll pull through now if you take care. But no jumping about and no hasty movements until those ribs grow together again. We put you straight on the operating table and that’s all done with.” He turned to the nurse. “He’ll do now, nurse.”

The girl drew him aside and whispered a moment, and presently the doctor returned to my side.

“There are about nineteen people outside waiting to see you. If I let one or two of them in, will you keep quiet and be careful?”

“I sure will,” I told him.

He turned away and spoke to the nurse again. “Not more than two,” I heard him say. Then they both went out.

I lay waiting in a fever of impatience. But in a moment the door opened again and I was able to feast my eyes on the two prettiest girls in New York, even if I dared not hug them.

There were a few preliminary remarks on both sides which need not be repeated here. And then I put a question.

“Peggy, dear, did they treat you pretty well? Are you all right again?”

“Oh, yes, Jack.” Margaret nodded brightly. “They frightened me a good deal, and once they beat me, as I told you, but that was all. They didn’t mistreat us much because they said that we had to keep our looks.”

I groaned, and in spite of myself my eyes sought Natalie’s face. She met my glance frankly. “I’m all right too, Jack,” she answered, and with that answer a great content settled over my heart. They had been through a terrible experience. But they would both forget!

When the first excitement of our meeting had worn off a little, which it speedily did under the watchful and reproving eye of the nurse, I begged the two of them to sit down and tell me some of the news that I wanted to hear.

So they drew up chairs, possessed themselves of one of my hands apiece and prepared to be interrogated.

“First of all, I want to know how they captured you in the first place, Margaret?”

My little sister made a face, wrinkling up her little nose until she looked entirely adorable. “Why, I went into that store, you know, to buy you a present. I had only been there a minute when that Mr. Vining came up to me and said that Mrs. Furneau had sent him for me. He said that Mrs. Furneau had had to move her car away from the front of the store and that she would have trouble with the police unless she went away very soon. He had been passing and she had sent him in, after describing me to him.

“Of course I didn’t suspect anything, and when he led me out the side door into a side street, I looked around for Mrs. Furneau’s car. But he was talking all the time and he led me up to the door of a car before I ever looked. Then before I could turn back or ask any questions, he pushed me into the car, another man grabbed me and put his hand over my mouth and the car started. They kept me bound and gagged and blindfolded all the time until finally they untied me in that terrible house. Ever since then I’ve been dancing for them at their parties. But they treated me pretty well, except for that one night. And I knew you’d come for me sooner or later.”

I turned to Natalie. “Will you ever forgive me for sending you off in that taxi?” I asked her.

Her smile was answer enough. “Poor Larry,” she answered. “He did his best that night. But the taxi stopped in the Park and two men yanked open the doors before I even knew what was going on. Your man got his revolver out and fired at one of them a couple of times, but the man on the other side knocked it out of his hand and they climbed into the taxi and dragged him out. I tried to get out and run away, but another man caught me, picked me up and bundled me into another car. Then they tied me up and gagged me and took me to that awful place. I saw your sister almost at once, but of course I did not know she was your sister until afterwards. Oh, Jack——”

But at this point the nurse came up and kindly but firmly informed them that they must go. Margaret stooped over and kissed me, and, in spite of a stifled giggle from Margaret, Natalie did the same. A moment later they were gone.

I was not allowed to see any one the rest of that day, nor the next, owing to a rise in temperature, induced, according to the doctor, by my first visitors.

But on the third day I was much better, and the doctor informed me that arrangements had been made to move me to my own apartment, where I was to be put in charge of a trained nurse. Mrs. Furneau took charge of the moving, accompanied by Natalie, Margaret and Moore, but I had no chance to talk to them till later, as I was pretty tired after the trip.

The day after the move, however, Moore came in to see me and we shook hands with expressions of mutual esteem. I guess we were pretty glad to see each other again.

After the first few remarks, Moore plunged into an account of his adventures after he had been captured that day. It seemed that he, too, was taken straight to the house on Long Island and put through a sort of Third Degree in the room of the voices. It must have been pretty bad, for he did not want to talk about it much. But I found out that the Emperor would ask him a question, and when Moore refused to answer, they turned on some other sort of gas and put him to sleep, waking him up, violently sick, and questioning him again.

When they realized at last that they could get nothing out of him, they told Moore, who was pretty well all in by that time, that the next time the gas was turned on he would not wake up at all. But just before they turned it on, and while Moore was bracing himself for the end, his tormentors asked him casually whether he knew anything about mechanics and electricity.

Grasping at a straw, Moore admitted that he was an electrical engineer. Whereupon he was put to sleep by the kind of gas used on me, but woke up again to find himself in a cell in the same building in which they had locked me up. Later, they let him see part of the apparatus which worked the cylinder, although he was never allowed to study the thing sufficiently to get a clear understanding of the nature of the fierce rays.

However, he was able to make certain adjustments that were needed, and he was retained as the house electrician after that. A few days later he was allowed, under supervision, to make the electrical preparations for a Japanese fête. He was loose in the building with his guard the night we attacked. His guard was killed at the start and Moore lay low until things quieted down. Then he came out to try to find me, saw us start for the room of the cylinder and ran after us to warn us, for he had discovered the electrical arrangement for blowing up the little stone house in case of an attack. It had been a bar from one of the windows of that house that had crushed in my ribs.

But, Moore said, no one had been able to find any trace of the man Clark, who had disappeared early in the search, of the young man about town who had given Moore his first clew that night on Riverside Drive, nor, finally, of Pride. Nor has anything ever been learned of these three.

The loss of Pride was a bitter blow to all of us. The man gave up his life, I believe, to trace me that night, probably putting up a fight after his car smashed up and getting killed in the process. None of us will ever forget him. Whatever death he died, I know and we all know that it was a good death. All honor to him and may he sleep soundly. The Chief and Moore and I have lost a friend that we can never replace.

Later, when the earlier report of my death had been contradicted, I had other visitors, and I began to learn more about what had happened after the big drug raid, as the papers called it.

The whole country rang with the affair for a while, as every one will remember. But owing to the importance of the people who were at the house that night, or who were found to be connected with the gang, and the position of many of the girls who were rescued, very few of the details got into the papers. The little book I took from Vining’s flat was found among the Emperor’s papers. The names in it, mostly of persons in high social positions, referred to people whom the Emperor had got into his toils, through drugs, and to whom he had been supplying drugs regularly, to keep them under his thumb. The numbers after their names referred to supplies of these drugs.

The girls in the gardens, of whom there were some ten or twelve, were young Russian girls, smuggled into this country, and were mostly peasants. I never heard what became of them.

As for Mrs. Fawcette, she was taken to her town house and quietly buried from there. Nothing more was ever said about the manner of her death, although the others know now.

The girl who was my dinner companion that first night in the Emperor’s house came to visit me too. And since then she has become a close friend of Margaret’s and mine, as have some of the others whom Margaret saw at that house.

The Secret Service alone knew of the extent of the organization which that strange man, the Emperor, had built up about him. After the smash, the mortality, through suicide, among men and women prominent both socially and politically, was simply appalling. But the Department of Justice kept its own counsel and no one else ever knew how many of these people were connected with the Emperor’s organization, and how many were simply his victims who had become drug addicts and had committed suicide when the supply was cut off. And of course some of such deaths may have been coincidences. I am not intending to imply that any one who died suddenly at that time was necessarily involved. But it is certain that many such people were.

There were many other details, however, which we were all curious to know. And after some difficulty, Moore at length succeeded in persuading the Chief to come to a little dinner at my apartment. This was after I was well enough to sit up.

When the night finally came, there were quite a lot of us gathered around my table. Of course Natalie, Margaret, Moore and Larry were there and the Chief. But in addition we had invited Natalie’s aunt and Mrs. Furneau. I had long since explained to the former the reason for my rudeness over the telephone.

Natalie had given me permission to announce our engagement that night at the dinner. I had done so, and relaxed nerves and the lifting of the cloud of the last few months had made them all pretty noisy and inconsequential over their congratulations to me. But after Larry had set the coffee on the table and had at last consented to take a chair between Margaret and me, for he worshiped my little sister and positively became her slave, we settled back in our seats and waited for the Chief’s story. I started him off with a question.

“Chief,” I said, “we’re all pretty anxious to get at the truth of this queer thing we’ve been up against. But what I want to know more particularly is what idea the man had, why he called himself an Emperor, why he dabbled in drugs, and why he stole the girls and ran that place at all. It seems to me that he was running his neck into a noose for nothing.”

The Chief laughed.

“Well, I’ll tell you most of the details that we have learned about the man and his gang, and you can draw your own conclusions.

“In the first place, he was a Russian aristocrat who turned renegade to his class under the Bolshevik régime, and was given command of a big commune somewhere in Eastern Russia after the defeat of Kolchak. We have traced him back that far, through one of his men whom we captured. The fellow would not talk at all until we assured him that this Emperor of his was dead. And even then we had to drag the details out of him. The Emperor, as he called himself, seems to have had a tremendous personality. My own view is that he was mad.”

“Was the whole thing the dream of a madman then?” asked Natalie.

“Perhaps so, Miss Van Cleef,” answered the Chief. “But there was a lot of method in his madness, I’ll say that for him.

“It seems that he was a traitor to every one but himself. He was a man of immense wealth before the Revolution. He saw the Revolution coming and salted a good deal of his wealth away in the form of valuable drugs, jewels and minerals. It seems that he had extensive connections in Siberia before and after the Revolution, and he had built up a considerable trade in opium smuggled into China. He had also refined the manufacture of synthetic drugs to an extent that had never been equaled, importing them from Germany and refining them. Besides all that, he was a mechanical and electrical engineer of no mean order.

“When the Revolution came, he retained his liberty by joining the Bolsheviki, even, apparently, gaining a high place in their councils. Later he came to America, either with affiliations with the Bolsheviks or actually as their accredited agent, for the purpose of bringing about a Bolshevik Revolution in this country.”

“Great Scott,” I said, “was that what he was after?”

The Chief laughed. “Wait. It seems that that was only part of it. From what we can learn from his papers and from the men he had under him, his dream was a greater dream than that.

“He had no intention of acting as an agent of the Bolsheviks. He was a man who believed implicitly in the inherent wickedness of mankind—that every man and woman has his or her price—and he set himself, on that assumption, to obtain a power which should eventually rival that of Napoleon. And,” the Chief added, leaning forward in his seat, “he had gone quite a respectable way toward realizing his dream!”

We stared at him in genuine amazement this time.

“Yes,” the big man went on. “He had two methods, desire and intimidation. He came to this country originally with immense wealth in his possession or at his disposal. He brought a big stock of drugs with him, which we have found, by the way. And since then he had been importing synthetic drugs into this country from Germany in large quantities.”

“I noticed an article on that subject in The Times some time in November,” I interrupted. “I noticed it because it told of the amount of synthetic drugs being smuggled to America from Germany.”

“Yes,” the Chief nodded. “The Germans perfected the manufacture of synthetic drugs during the war and they keep our hands full. But this man did not use, nor intend to use, his drugs merely to gain wealth. He had a bigger motive. It was power he wanted, colossal power, and he was in a fair way toward getting it when we finally stopped him.

“He bought that house out there on Long Island, refitted it with all kinds of luxuries and electrical devices, and prepared to sit back in his web and wait for his victims. His gang was already organized, and at least four of his principal lieutenants were men—or women—with a good social entrée. These acted as decoys and brought the influential people, with whom the Emperor wanted to get in touch, to the man’s parties. Here they were given a wonderful time and were skillfully and thoroughly drugged. To give real parties of that kind he had, of course, to secure beautiful women—hence his method of kidnaping beautiful girls——” and the Chief bowed very handsomely to Natalie, who flushed and returned the courtesy prettily.

“Just there is where the man’s personality came in. Sometimes he would talk to his victims about life as it is to-day, and his idea of what it should be and could be if a few resolute men made up their minds to make it so. And in this way he actually enlisted quite a number of persons, mostly women, in his scheme for establishing a modern Utopia in these United States, with every man making his own laws and a free-and-easy life, love and religion for every one.

“Of course he had no such idea in his mind, except perhaps at first, with himself as head or Emperor. But he got these people eating out of his hand—Mrs. Fawcette was one of them—and they brought others. And among the others were often men of real power and influence whom the Emperor succeeded either in enlisting in his cause, blackmailing or drugging. If they were men in important political positions, he got secrets out of them and then blackmailed them. Or he threatened to destroy their public lives for them unless they did as he wanted.

“But his safest and most effective method was to drug his victims so subtly and with such skillfully prepared drugs that they acquired the drug habit and the drug hunger before they were aware of it. Then, as he was the only source of supply, they would do anything he told them to, to get some more of the same.”

“But surely,” Moore interrupted, “you don’t believe that he could have got away with anything like that for long, do you, sir?”

The Chief shook his head, “I don’t know, Moore,” he answered. “Nobody would have dreamed that Napoleon could get away with what he did get away with. And immense wealth means immense power in the world of to-day, as the history of Hugo Stinnes in Germany shows. Without a doubt this Emperor was a little mad—perhaps more than a little. But who can say where genius ends and madness begins? And the man was an organizing genius, an electrical genius, an executive genius in his power over men, had a genius for making money and was an expert chemist. What is more, he had a big vision, such as it was. And that is everything.

“From the rambling versions I have been able to get out of the few of his men who were left alive, he intended to make his power practically absolute in this country by the underground methods I have told you. Then, according to one man, he intended to make himself Emperor of the World. That was the little plan he had up his sleeve!”

We all laughed. But when I glanced at the Chief’s face I was amazed to see that his smile was perfunctory. Evidently he did not take this Russian’s crazy ambition quite as lightly as we did. “He was about the most dangerous customer I’ve run up against in my career, anyway!” he added, a moment later.

“Tell me, Chief,” I asked him, “how did he manage to run a place like that without somebody getting on to it? I’ve been wondering about that. I should think local people would have noticed all the activity involved in running such a ménage. Think of the supplies and the power he used for that big house and that huge staff.”

The Chief laughed. “That puzzled me for a while too. But he was too clever for that. All his supplies were brought in by lighter from New York and unloaded on the beach at night. You saw one party at it. He brought coal that way too. And he had a big dynamo brought from New York in the same way for his electric power. He sent a man to the village for a few small supplies every little while as a blind.”

“How did he get his supplies, then, into the house?”

“By another underground passage, up that little gully you saw his men disappearing into. We stopped that hole the night we made the raid. It was cleverly concealed with growing bushes and brush. But they aren’t yet through exploring the place, and we expect to find many other ‘earths’ before we get through. Acting as an agent for the Bolshevik Government gave him practically unlimited men to work for him, and there was little danger of their talking. These Russians are too good conspirators for that and so are the Chinese he had brought with him. They thought that that house was the headquarters of the future Bolshevik Government in the United States. The Emperor was a wonder at making people believe what he wanted them to believe.”

“Funny there were no windows in the place.”

The Chief smiled. “That was clever, too,” he answered, “He had had an inner shell put in the house, so that the windows showed from the outside but showed no lights. It gave the house a deserted appearance, which was just what he wanted.”

“By the way,” I asked, “what became of that other car that started out with us?”

Both the Chief and Moore laughed outright at this. “Well,” said the former, “there’s been a little feeling about that. It seems that they had only gone a block or two when they were overtaken by a motor-cycle cop. He told them that I had sent him with instructions that they were to proceed at once to Coney Island, as the meeting place had been changed. What’s more, they went. They waited awhile, and by the time they suspected that something was wrong and came back, you and I had gone on. We never caught the cop either.”

“I never heard what happened to the other fellows outside that night,” said Moore.

“Oh, they had a pretty warm time. Those fellows that tried to blow us up on the way down came back and reported their failure, and the Emperor stationed them outside the house to wait for us. But of course he thought there were only the three of us. When our men came in touch with them there was a battle-royal, the end of which we saw from the big hall. It’s a good thing that they drove those fellows in, or our men might have been a much longer time getting in to us.”

“What became of Vining?” I asked him presently. “Is he going up for trial soon?”

The Chief stared at me and shook his head slowly. “He’s gone up for trial already,” he said gravely. “One of the fool cops out there in —— told him that we had rounded up the gang and that the head of it was dead. And the next morning they found Vining hanging by his own belt from the bars of his window. We had enough evidence to send him to the chair ten times over anyway. He took the easier way.”

The rest of the general conversation that night was of a more personal nature. The Chief had to leave early and we all trooped out to the elevator to wish him God-speed. He is a great man, and somehow I feel that I am destined, perhaps, to work with him again, before I die, although the thing seems improbable enough. Perhaps what Moore told me that night just before he left may have something to do with my feeling.

I had left the others in the sitting-room, intending to take Natalie and her aunt home later on. I had walked out to the elevator to say good-night to Moore there. But before he rang the bell he turned and faced me, smiling a little.

“Clayton,” he said, “I’ve got a confession to make to you. I knew Margaret quite a while before I knew you!”

“What!—where?” I demanded.

“In town,” he answered. “I met her several times at the house of a school friend of hers with whom she was staying. And, old man, I made up my mind that she was the only girl in the world for me!”

I could only stare at him with my mouth open and he hurried on.

“You see, when she disappeared I had been out of the army for some time and I was looking around for a job. I have independent means and I was taking my time, but when I heard about Margaret I hurried down to Washington and began pulling wires. You see I was in the Intelligence Department in the Service. And finally I got the Chief to take me on. I knew that you were doing all you could to find her outside, and I thought I’d try to find her that way, for I knew that the Department was up in the air about the number of girls that had disappeared.

“I did not say anything about it to you then, because I could not bear to talk about her and I saw no need. But later, when I realized the danger you were in, I got the Chief to agree to offer to take you on. The rest you know.” He hesitated. “But I wanted you to know, because——”

I held out my hand to him. “It’s up to her of course, but I don’t know any one I’d rather have for a brother-in-law,” I told him.

The grip Moore gave my hand caused me to open and shut it two or three times to see whether anything was broken. But a moment later he turned to me with a wry grin.

“Old man,” he said, “I’ve got some other news for you that may explain the fact that the Chief did not laugh much to-night when we were discussing the Emperor’s chances. It’s mean news too.”

I stared at him. “Mean news?”

He nodded. “You remember that night in the little stone house, just before it was blown up? I was just behind you when that fellow jumped into the blazing cylinder, do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” I told him.

“Well, you fellows turned away. But I didn’t. And I saw something that you didn’t—something that I have told to nobody except the Chief as yet. But I think—and he thinks—that you are entitled to know it too. And I have his permission to tell you. The man who jumped into the cylinder turned an agonized face in my direction for a moment just before he disappeared. And, Clayton, it was not the Emperor!”

“What!” I shouted.

Moore shook his head. “I saw the Emperor—twice. It was the Emperor you talked to, for the Chief has described him to me. But the man who died in the cylinder was not he. It was his body servant. The Emperor made up all that rigmarole about leaving the earth, or whatever it was. And he hypnotized his servant into going to his death for him, to put us off the track. I’ve seen the servant too, and I recognized him.”

“But then—where is he?”

Moore shook his head again. “Got away somehow. Nobody knows how. But he’s free. His gang is broken up for some time to come, but the man himself is still at large. The Chief is scouring the place for him, but so far without success. That’s why he looked grave to-night. And—I don’t blame him.”

“We’ve failed after all then.”

Moore smiled and nodded toward the room we had left. “Hardly that,” he said. “But—the man who calls himself Emperor has probably taken an unaccountable dislike to both of us. And—I wanted you to know. That’s all.”

“Thanks,” I told him simply. And with that Moore took his departure. He was leaving for Washington the next day.

There are just a few words to add.

Natalie and I were married the following spring. And in the autumn Margaret came to live with us, having spent her summer with old friends. Of course Larry, who had simply refused to listen to suggestions as to finding a better job for him, had been placed in practical command of our household as soon as Natalie and I settled down.

Moore gave up his work with the Secret Service about the time of my marriage, got himself a position with a firm of consulting engineers in New York, and took to running in to see us two or three times a week. Of course I am only a brother and these things are hidden from me. But although Margaret goes out a good deal and has many friends, she always seems to be at home when Moore calls. I hope I’m right!

Of the Emperor, whom Moore and I often discuss, we have heard nothing more. He was never captured, so far as we know. But he has never been heard from since that night.

Possibly he’s gone back to Russia, or some place equally distant. I hope so!

The End

Transcriber’s Note

The following changes have been made to the published text to correct what are believed to be unambiguous printer’s errors.

- “le’s” has been changed to “let’s” (Ch. XVIII).

- “ananswered” has been changed to “answered” (Ch. XXIII).

Any other seeming errors have been left unaltered.

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Table of Contents

- The House of the Missing
- Contents
- Chapter I. I Acquire a Friend
- Chapter II. “The Shadow of the Web”
- Chapter III. “That’s All We Know”
- Chapter IV. Roving Commissions
- Chapter V. Our First Clew
- Chapter VI. The Girl in Gray
- Chapter VII. The Famous Tea
- Chapter VIII. Amateur Burglary
- Chapter IX. The First Skirmish
- Chapter X. Mrs. Fawcette is Indiscreet
- Chapter XI. Black Friday
- Chapter XII. Disaster!
- Chapter XIII. Our Second Burglary
- Chapter XIV. What We Found
- Chapter XV. The Darkest Hour
- Chapter XVI. The Final Attempt
- Chapter XVII. Walk into My Parlor
- Chapter XVIII. When in Rome——
- Chapter XIX. Fast in the Web
- Chapter XX. The Room of the Voices
- Chapter XXI. Beating Back
- Chapter XXII. Through the Outposts
- Chapter XXIII. Within the Web
- Chapter XXIV. The Web Is Torn
- Chapter XXV. The Emperor
- Chapter XXVI. The Final Surprise
- Transcriber’s Note
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE