 CHECKMATE Henry Blaine was allowed scant opportunity for reflection in the hour which intervened between his telephone message to Anita and the time of his appointment with her. Scarcely had he hung up the receiver once more when his secretary announced the arrival of Fafine Deschauset. Had not Blaine been already aware of her success with Paddington, as the scene in the park an evening or two previously denoted, he would have been instantly apprised by her manner that something of vital import had occurred. There was an indefinable change, a subtle metamorphosis, which was conveyed even in her appearance. Her delicate, Madonna-like face had lost its wax-like pallor, and was flushed with a faint exquisite rose. The wooden, slightly vacant expression was gone, and she walked with a lysome, conscious grace which he had not before observed, and the slow, enigmatic smile with which she greeted him held much that was significant behind it. You did not keep your appointment with me yesterday. Why, mademoiselle? Ask Blaine quietly. Because it was impossible, Monsieur, she returned. I could not get away. Madame, the wife of Monsieur Franklin, would not allow me to leave her children. This is the first opportunity I have had to come. And what have you to report, he asked, watching her narrowly. She shrugged her shoulders. Very little, Monsieur Blaine. Yesterday, the president of these three two airways, Monsieur Malo, called upon the minister, and remained for more than an hour. I could not hear their conversations. They were in the library. But just as Monsieur Malo was taking his departure, I passed through the hall and heard him say, You must try to persuade her, Mr. Franklin. You have more influence over her than anyone else. Even I, Miss Lawton, must really go away for a time. It is the only thing that will save her health. A reason. She can do nothing here to aid in the search for young Hamilton. And the suspense is killing her. Try to get her to take our advice and go away, if only for a few days. What did Dr. Franklin reply? I did not hear at all. I could not linger in the hall without arousing suspicion. Dr. Franklin agreed that Miss Lawton was ill and should go away, and he said he would try to induce her to go. That Monsieur Malo was undoubtedly right, and he was delighted that he took such an interest in Miss Lawton. She paused, and after a moment Blaine asked. And that is all? Yes, Monsieur. The French girl have turned as if to take her departure, but he stayed her by a gesture. You have nothing else to report? How about Paddington? He shot the question at her tersely, his eyes never leaving her face, but she did not flinch. Mr. Paddington, she replied demurely, I have nothing to tell you of him. You didn't try then to lead him on, as I suggested, to get him to talk about Miss Lawton, or the people who were employing him. You have not seen him? Mr. Blaine, I could not do that. She cried, ignoring his last question. I would do anything I could for Miss Lawton, but she would be the last to ask of me that I should lead a man on too, to make love to me in order to betray him. I would do anything that is possible to find out for Miss Lawton and for you, Monsieur, or that I can, by keeping my ears open in the house of the minister, but as to Monsieur Paddington, I will not play such a role with any man, even to please Miss Lawton. Yet you have been meeting him in the park. The detective leaned forward in his chair and spoke gently, as if merely reminding the girl of some insignificant fact, which he had presumably forgotten, and yet there was that in his tone which made her stiffen, and she replied impulsively, with a warning flash of her eyes. What do you mean, Monsieur? How do you know? I, I told you, I had nothing to report concerning Mr. Paddington. Nothing, which would be of any service to Miss Lawton, in the eighties, quite true. I, I did meet Mr. Paddington in the park, but it was simply an accident. And was the locket in the chain an accident too? That locket which you are wearing at the present moment, mademoiselle? The locket? Her hands strayed to her neck and convulsively clasped the bobble of cheap bright gold hanging there. What do you know of my locket, Monsieur Blaine? I know that Paddington purchased it for you two or three days ago, that he gave it to you that night in the park, and you allowed him to take you in his arms and kiss you. Stop! How can you know that? She stormed at him, stepping forward slightly, a deep flush dying her face. He did not tell you? You have had me watched, followed, spied upon. It is intolerable to think that I should be treated as if I were unworthy of trust. I have been faithful, loyal to Miss Lawton, but this is too much. I have not questioned Mr. Paddington. I know nothing of his affairs, but I like him. I admire him very much, and if I desire to meet him, to receive his attentions, I shall do so. I am not arming Miss Lawton, who has been my patron, my one friend in this strange, big country. Mr. Paddington does not know that I am working at Dr. Franklin's, under your instructions, and I shall never betray to him. The confidence Miss Lawton has reposed in me, but I shall do no more. It is finished, that I should be suspected. But you are not, my dear young woman, interposed blane mildly. It was not you who was followed, spied upon, as you call it. For Miss Lawton's sake, because she is in trouble, we are interested just now in Paddington's movements, and naturally my operative was not aware that it was to meet you, he went to the park. No, but—Vifine exclaimed—the colour had receded from her face, and a deathly white pallor had superseded it. She retreated a step or two, and continued defiantly. This afternoon I resign from the service of Dr. Franklin. I do not believe that Mr. Paddington is an enemy of Miss Lawton. Nothing shall make me believe that he, who is the soul of honour, of chivalry, would armour her, or cause her any trouble. And I do not like this work, this spying and treachery, and deceit. That is your profession, Miss Jur, not mine. I only consented, because Miss Lawton had been kind to me, and I desired to aid her in her trouble, if I could. But that ye, that I, should be suspected and watched, and treated like criminals—oh, it is insufferable! Today also I leave the Anita Lawton Club. You shall find someone else to play detective for you, you and Miss Lawton. With an indignant swirl of her skirts, she turned and made for the door, in a tempest of rage. But on the threshold his voice stayed her. Wait! Miss Lawton has befriended you, and now, because of a man of whom you know nothing, you desert her cause. Is that loyalty, mademoiselle? We shall not ask you to remain at Dr. Franklin's any longer. Miss Lawton does not wish unwilling service from any one. But for your own sake, go back to the club, and remain there until a position is open to you which is to your liking. You are a young girl in a strange country, as you say, and at least you know the club to be a safe place for you. Do not trust this man, Paddington, or anyone else. It is not wise. I shall not listen to you, she cried, her voice rising shrill and high pitch in her excitement. You shall not say such things, I miss your Paddington. He is brave and good, while you, you are a spy and easy-dropper, a delver into the private affairs of others. I do not know what this trouble may be which Miss Lawton is in, and I am sorry for her, that she should suffer. But I shall have nothing more to do with the case, nor with you, be sure. Au revoir! Hych! breathed Blaine to himself as the door closed after her with a slam. What a firebrand! She may not have actually betrayed us to Paddington in so many words, but it isn't necessary to look far for the one who warned him that he was being watched and put him on his guard, all unknowingly, that the whole scheme in which he is so deeply involved was in jeopardy. Oh, these women! Let them once lose their heads over a man, and they upset all one's plans. Blaine arrived promptly within the hour at the house on Belair Avenue, and Needalawton received him as before in the library. He observed with deep concern that she was a mere shadow of her former self. The slenderness which had been one of her girlish charms had become almost emaciation. Her eyes were glassily bright, and in the waxen pallor of her cheeks a feverish red spot burned. She smiled wanly as he pressed her hand, and her pale lips trembled, but no words came. My poor child! the great detective found himself saying from the depths of his fatherly heart, You are positively ill. This will never do. You are not keeping your promise to me. I am trying hard to, Mr. Blaine. I need a motion toward a chair, and sank into another with a little gasp of sheer exhaustion. You have never failed yet, and you have given me your word that you would bring Raymond back to me. I try to have faith, but with every hour that passes, hope dies within me, and I can feel that my strength, my will to believe, is dying too. I know that you must be doing your utmost, exerting every effort, and yet I cannot resist the longing to urge you on, to try to express to you the torture of uncertainty and dread which consumes me unceasingly. That my father's fortune is gone means nothing to me now, only give me back Raymond alive and well, and I shall ask no more. I hope to be able to do that speedily, Blaine returned. As I told you over the telephone, I have positive proof that he is alive, and a definite clue as to his whereabouts. You must ask me nothing further now. Only try to find faith in your heart, for just a few days, perhaps hours longer. You phoned Mrs. Hamilton as I suggested. Yes, she demurred at first, dreading the notoriety, and not appearing to believe in your ability as I do, but I simply refused to listen to her objections. Mr. Carlos called me up shortly afterward, and wanted to know if I would be able to receive him this afternoon on a matter connected with my finances. But I told him I had retained you to search for Raymond, and was expecting you at any moment. He seemed greatly astonished, and warned me of the, he called it, useless expense. He begged me not to be impatient, to wait until I had time to think the matter over, and consult himself and Mr. Malo, saying that they were both doing all that could be done to locate Raymond. And Mr. Rockamore was also, but I told him it was too late, and that you were on your way here. That was right. I am glad you told him. The fact that you have retained me to search for Mr. Hamilton will appear as a scoop in every evening paper which he controls now, and the more publicity given to it the better. You told me over the phone that Mr. Rockamore calls upon you every day. Yes, I try to be cordial to him, but for some reason which I can't explain, I dislike him more than either of the others. I don't know why he comes so often, for he says very little, only sits and stares at that chair, the chair in which my father died, until I feel that I should like to scream. It seems to exert the same strange uncanny influence over him as it does over me, that chair. More than once, when he has been announced, I have entered to find him standing close beside it, looking down at it, as if my father were seated there once more, and he was talking to him. I don't in the least know why, but the thought seems to prey on my mind, perhaps because the chair fascinates me, too, in a queer way that is half repulsion. You are morbid, Miss Lawton. You must not allow such fancies to grow, or they will soon take possession of you, in your weakened state, and become an obsession. Tell me, have you heard anything from the club girls we established in your Guardian's offices? Oh, yes! I had forgotten completely in my excitement and joy over your news of Raymond, vague though it is, that there was something important which I wanted to tell you. Since Margaret Heverman's dismissal, all my girls have been sent away from the positions I obtained for them, all except the Fiend des Choisées, and she resigned not an hour ago, remarked the detective rather grimly, supplementing the fact, with as many details as he thought necessary. Anita listened in silence until he finished. Poor girl, poor Fathene, what a pity that she should fancy herself in love with such a man as you described his Paddington to be. She must be persuaded to remain in the club, of course. We cannot allow her to leave us now. I feel responsible for her, and especially so, since it was indirectly because of me, or while she was in my service at any rate, that she met this man. If he is all that you say, she could never be happy if she married him. There's little chance of that. He has a wife already. She left him years ago, and runs a boarding-house somewhere on Hill Street, I believe," Blaine replied. I don't fancy he'll add bigamy to the rest of his nefarious acts, but tell me of the other girls. They did not report to me. Poor little Agnes Olson was dismissed yesterday. She is a spineless sort of creature, you know, without much self-assurance or initiative, and I believe she had quite a scene with Mr. Carlos before she left. She was on the switchboard, if you remember, and as well as I was able to understand from her, he caught her listening in on his private connection. She reached the club in a hysterical condition, and I told them to put her to bed and care for her. I ought to be there myself, now, at work, for I have lost my best helper, but I am too distraught over Raymond to think of anything else. My secretary, the girl you saw there at the club and asked me about, do you remember, did not appear yesterday, but telephoned her resignation, saying she was leaving town. I cannot understand it, for I would have counted on her faithfulness before any of the rest. But so many things have happened lately, which I can't comprehend, so many mysteries and disappointments and anxieties that I can scarcely think or feel any more. It seems as if I were really dead, as if my emotions were all used up. I can't cry, even when I think of Raymond. I can only suffer. I know. I can imagine what you must be trying to endure just now, Miss Lawton, but please believe that it will not last much longer. And don't worry about your secretary. Emily Bernal will be with you again soon, I think. Emily Bernal, repeated Anita in surprise, you know, then? Yes, and strange as it may seem, she is indirectly concerned in the conspiracy against you, but innocently so. You will understand everything some day. What about the Irish girl, Loretta Murphy? President Malo's filing clerk? He dismissed her only this morning on a trumped-up charge of incompetence. He has been systematically finding fault with her for several days, as if trying to discover a pretext for discharging her, so she wasn't unprepared. She's here now having some lunch up in my dressing-room. Would you like to talk with her? I would indeed, he assented, nodding as Anita pressed the bell. She seemed the brightest and most wide-awake young woman of the lot. If anyone could have obtained information of value to us, I fancy she could. Did she have anything to say to you about Mr. Malo? I would rather she told you herself, Anita replied, hesitatingly, with the ghost of a smile. Whatever she said about him was strictly personal and of a distinctly uncomplementary nature. There is nothing spineless about Loretta. When the young Irish girl appeared in response to Anita's summons, her eyes and mouth opened wide in amazement at the sight of the detective. Oh, sir, it's you, she exclaimed. I was going down to your office this afternoon to tell you that I had been discharged. Mr. Malo himself turned me off this morning. I am not saying this to excuse myself, but it was honestly through no fault of mine. The old man, gentlemen, has been trying for days to get rid of me. I knew it, so I've been especially careful in my work, and cheerful and smiling whenever he appeared on the scene, like this. She favored them with a grimace, which was more like the impishly derisive grin of a street urchin than a respectful smile and continued. This morning I caught him mixing up the letters in the files with his own hands, and when he blamed me for it later, I saw that it was no use. He was bound to get rid of me in some way or another, so I didn't tell him what I thought of him, but came away peaceably, which is a lot to ask of anybody with a drop of Irish blood in their veins, in a case like that. However, I learned enough while I was in that office, of his manipulations of the street railway stock, to make me glad I've got a profession and am not sitting around waiting for dividends to be paid. If the people ever wake up, and the district attorney indicts him, I hope the goodness they put me on the stand, that's all. Why has he tried to get rid of you? Do you think he suspected the motive for your being in his employ? Ask Blaine when she paused for breath. No, he couldn't, for I never gave him a chance, she responded. He's a sly one, too. Padden about the office is like a cat, in his soft slippers, and he looks for all the world like a cat, with the sleek white whiskers of him. Excuse me, Miss Lawton, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but he's trying, the old gentleman is. I think he got suspicious of me, when Margaret Hefferman made such a bunch of her job, with Mr. Rockamore, and yesterday afternoon when Mr. Carles caught Agnes Olsen listening in. Oh, I know all about that, too. He got desperate. That's why he mixed up the files this morning, as an excuse to discharge me. How did you know about Agnes Olsen? asked Blaine quickly. Did she tell you? No, I heard it from Mr. Carles himself, returned Loretta with a reminiscent grin. He came right straight around to Mr. Malo, and told him all about it. And a towering rage he was in, too. Do you think the little devil sold us? He asked. Meaning no disrespect to you, Miss Lawton, if it was you he was talking about. For he added, she gets her girls into our offices on a whining idea of charity, and they all turn out crooked, spying and listening in and taking notes. Remember Rockamore's experience with the one he took? They exposed that innocent big-eyed mealymouth brat at Pennington-Lotten's. Suspects us? Hold your tongue for God's sake. Old Mr. Malo growled at him. I could one of him in there. A filing clerk. Then he had better get rid of her before she tries any tricks. Mr. Carles said, I believe that girl is deeper than she looks. For all her trust in way, I always did think she took the news of her father's bankruptcy. Too damn comely to be natural, even under the circumstances. Kick our protoge out, Malo, unless you're looking for more trouble. I'm not. What did Mr. Malo reply? Blaine asked. I don't know. His private secretary came into the office where I was just then, and I had to pretend to be busy to head off any suspicion from him. Mr. Carles left soon after, and I could feel his eyes barren into the back of my neck as he passed through the room. Mr. Malo sent for me almost immediately to find an old letter for him, from one of the files a two years ago, and it was funny, the suspicious, worried way he kept watching me. There is nothing else you can tell us, the detective inquired. Nothing out of the usual run happened while you were there. Nothing? Except that a couple of days ago, he had an awful row with a man who called on him. It was about money matters, I think, and the old gentleman got very much excited. Not a cent, he kept repeating louder and louder, until he fairly shouted, not one more cent will you get from me. The systematic extortion of yours must come to an end, here and now. I've done all I'm going to do, and yet better understand that clearly. Then the other man, the visitor, got angry too, and they went at it hammering tongs, at last Mr. Malo must have lost his head completely, for he accused the other man of robbing his safe. At that the visitor got calm and cool as a cucumber, all of a sudden, and began to question Mr. Malo. It seems from what I heard, I can't recall the exact words, that not very long ago the night watchman in the offices was chloroform and the safe ransacked, but nothing was taken except a letter. You're mad, the strange man said. Why in hell should anybody take a letter and leave packets at gilt-edged bonds and other securities lying about untouched? Because the letter happens to be one you would very much like to have in your possession, Paddington, the old gentleman said. Oh, I forgot to tell you that the visitor's name was Paddington, but that doesn't matter, does it? Do you know what it was, Mr. Malo went on? It was a certain letter, which Paddington Lawton wrote to me from Long Bay two years ago. Now do you understand? You're fool, said Paddington. You're fool to keep it. You gave your word that you would destroy it. Why didn't you? Because I thought it might come in useful someday, just as it has now, the old gentleman fairly whined. It was good circumstantial evidence. Yes, fine, Paddington said, with a bitter kind of laugh. Fine evidence for whoever's got it now. You know very well who's got it, cried Mr. Malo. You don't pull the wool over my eyes, and I don't mean to buy it back from you, either. If that's your game, you can keep it for all I care. It's served its purpose now, and you won't get another penny from me. Well, I wish you could have heard them then, Loretta continued with gusto. They carried on terribly. The whole office could hear them. It was as good as a play. The strange man Paddington denying right up to the last that he knew anything about the robbery, and Mr. Malo accusing him and threatening and bluffing it out for all he was worth. But in the end he paid the man some money, for I remember he insisted on having the check certified, and the secretary himself took it over to the bank. I don't know for what amount it was drawn. Why didn't you tell me that before, Loretta? asked Anita reproachfully. I mean, about the names Mr. Carlos called me, and his suspicions. I wished I'd known it a half an hour ago when he telephoned to me. That's why I didn't tell you, Miss Lawton, responded Loretta, with a flash of her white teeth. Mr. Blaine told me to report to him this afternoon, and I meant to. But he didn't tell me to talk to anyone else, even you. When you asked me to undertake this for you, you said I was to do just what Mr. Blaine directed, and I have tried to. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell you. But I thought I'd better not, at least until after I'd seen Mr. Blaine. I was sure that if I said anything to you about it, you would let Mr. Carlos see a resentment the next time he called. Then he and old Mr. Malo would get their heads together, and find out that their suspicions of all us girls were correct. You wouldn't want that. Miss Murphy is quite right, Blaine interposed. You must be very careful, Miss Lawton, not to allow Mr. Carlos to discover that you know anything whatever of that conversation, at least just yet. I'll try, but it will be difficult, I'm afraid. Anita murmured, I am not accustomed to, to accepting insult. Ah, if Raymond were only here. Wilkes, the butler, appeared at the door just then, with a card, and Anita read it aloud. Mr. Malo. Oh, gracious! Let me go, Miss Lawton, exclaimed Loretta. I've told you everything that I can think of, and if he sees me, it will spoil Mr. Blaine's plans, maybe. Yes, he must not find you here. The detective agreed hurriedly. I'll communicate with you at the club if I need you again, Miss Murphy. You have been of great service to both Miss Lawton and myself. When they were alone for the moment before the street railway president appeared, Blaine turned to Anita. You will try to be very courageous and follow whatever lead I give you, he asked. This interview may prove trying for you. Anita had only time to nod before Mr. Malo stood before them. He paused for a moment, glanced inquiringly at Blaine, and then advanced to Anita without stretched hand. If he had ever seen the detective before, he gave no sign. My dear child, he murmured unctuously. I trust you are feeling a little stronger this afternoon, a little brighter and more hopeful. Very much more hopeful. Thank you, Mr. Malo, returned the young girl steadily. I have enlisted in my cause the greatest of all investigators. Allow me to present Mr. Henry Blaine. Mr. Blaine, Malo repeated, bowing with supercilious urbanity. Do I understand that this is the private detective of whom I have heard so much? Blaine returned to salutation coolly but did not speak, and Anita replied for him. Yes, Mr. Malo, Mr. Blaine is going to find Raymond for me. Malo shook his head slowly with a mournful smile. Ah, my dear, he sighed. I do not want to dampen your hopes, heaven knows, but I very much fear that that will be an impossible task, even from one of Mr. Blaine's unquestioned renown. Still it is always possible to try, the detective returned, looking levelly into Malo's eyes. Personally, I am very sanguine of success. Everything is being done that can be of any use now, the other man observed hurriedly. Do I understand, Mr. Blaine, that Ms. Lawton has definitely retained you on this case? Blaine nodded, and Malo turned to Anita. Really, my dear, you should have consulted me, or some other of your father's old friends, before taking such a step. He expostulated. It will only bring added notoriety and trouble to you. I do not mean to underestimate Mr. Blaine's marvellous ability, which is recognized everywhere, but even he can scarcely succeed in locating Mr. Hamilton, where we, with all the resources at our command, have failed. Mark my words, my dear Anita, if Raymond Hamilton returns, it will be voluntarily of his own free will. Until, unless he so decides, you will never see him. It is too bad to have summoned Mr. Blaine here on a useless errand, but I am sure he quite understands the situation now. I do, responded the detective quietly. I have accepted the case. But surely you will withdraw. The older man's voice rose hilarically. Ms. Lawton is a mere girl, a minor in fact. I am over eighteen, Mr. Malo, interposed Anita quietly. Until your proper guardian is appointed by the courts, Malo cried, you are nominally under my care. Mine and others of your father's closest associates. This is a delicate matter to discuss now, Mr. Blaine. He added in calmer tones, turning to the detective. But since this seems to be a business interview, we must touch upon the question of finances. I know that the fee you naturally require must be a large one, and I am in duty bound to tell you that Ms. Lawton has absolutely no funds at her disposal to reimburse you for your time in trouble. Whatever fortune she may be possessed of, she cannot touch now. Ms. Lawton has already fully reimbursed me in advance, returned Henry Blaine calmly. That question need cause you no further concern, Mr. Malo, nor need you have any doubt as to my position in this matter. I am on this case, and I am on it to stay. I am going to find Raymond Hamilton. Paddington's on the run! Ross, the operative, announced to Henry Blaine the next morning, jubilantly. He left his rooms about an hour after I got back on the job, and went to Carlos's office. He only stayed a short time, and came out looking as black as a thundercloud. I guess the interview, whatever it was, didn't go his way. He went straight from there to Rockamore, the promoter. I pretended an errand with Rockamore too, and so got into the outer office. The heavy glass door was closed between, and I couldn't hear anything but a muffled growling from within. But they were both angry enough, all right. Once the stenographer went in, and came out again almost immediately. When the door opened to admit her, I heard Paddington fairly shout, It's your own skin you're saving you fool, as well as mine. If I'm caught, you all go. Carlos thinks he can bluff it, and Malo's a superannuated, pig-headed old goat. He'll try to stand on his reputation and cave in like a prick balloon when the crash comes. I know his kind. I've hounded too many of them to the finish. But you're a man of sense, Rockamore, and you know you've got to help me out of this for your own sake. I tell you, someone's on to the whole game, and they're just sitting back and waiting for the right moment to nab us. They not only learn every move we make, they anticipate them. It's every man for himself now, and I warn you, that if I'm cornered in this— Hold your tongue, Rockamore-ordered. Can't you see? Then the door closed, and I couldn't hear any more. The voices calmed down to a rumble, and in about twenty minutes I could hear them approaching the door. I decided I couldn't wait any longer and got outside just in time to give Paddington a chance to pass me. He seemed in good humor, and I guess he got what he was after—money, probably—for he went to his bank and put through a check. Then he returned to his rooms and didn't show up again until late afternoon, when he went away up Bel Air Avenue to the rectory of the Church of St. James. He didn't go in, just talked with the Sexton and the vestibule, and when he came down the steps he looked dazed as if he'd received a hard jolt of some kind. He couldn't have been trying to blackmail a minister, too, could he? Hardly, Ross. Go on. Blaine responded. What did he do next? Nothing. Just went back to his rooms and stayed there. It seemed as if he was afraid to leave—not so much afraid to be found, but as if he might miss something if he left. He even had his dinner sent in from a restaurant near there. Knowing him, I might have known what he was waiting for. He's always chasing after some girl or other. There was a woman in it, then, asked the detective quietly. You can bet there was, very much in it, sir, the operative chuckled. She came along while I watched—a tall, slim girl, plainly dressed in dark clothes, but with an air to her that would make you look at her twice anywhere. She hesitated and looked uncertainly about her, as if she were unfamiliar with the place and a little scary of her errand. But at last she made up her mind and plunged in the vestibule, as if she was afraid she would lose her courage if she stopped to think. For a few minutes her shadow showed on the window shades, beside Paddington's. They stood close together, and from their gestures he seemed to be arguing or pleading, while she was drawing back and refusing, or at least holding out against him. At last they fell into a regular third act clinch. It was as good as a movie. After a moment she drew herself out of his arms and they moved away from the window, and a minute or two they came out of the house together. And I tailed them. They walked slowly, with their heads very close, and I didn't dare get near enough to try to hear what they were discussing, so earnestly. But where do you suppose he took her? To the Anita Lawton Club for working girls. He left her at the entrance and went back to his own rooms, and he seemed to be in a queer mood all the way. Happy, and up in the air one minute, and down in the dumps the next. He didn't stir out again last night. But early this morning he went down to the office of the Holland American Line and purchased two tickets, first class to Rotterdam on the Brunhilde, sailing next Saturday, so I think we have the straight dope on him now. He means to skip with the girl. Saturday, two days off, muse Blaine. I think it's safe to give him his head until then, but keep a close watch on him, Ross. The purchase of those tickets may have been just a subterfuge on his part, to throw any possible shadow off the trail. Did you ascertain what name he took them under? J. Paddleford and Wife. Clever of him that, Blaine commented. If he really intends to fool this girl with a fake marriage and sail with her for the other side, he can explain the change of names on the steamer to her by telling her it was a mistake on the printed sailing list. Once at sea, without a chance of escape from him, he can tell her the truth, or as much of it as he cares to, and she'll have to stick—that type of woman always does. She might even come in time to take up his line and become a cleverer crook than he is. But we're not going to let that happen. We'll stop him right enough, before he goes too far with her. What's he doing now? Walking in the park with her. She met him at the gates, and Vaner took the job there of tailing them, while I came on down to report to you. Good work, Ross. But go back and take up the trail now yourself, if you're fit. And here, you'd better take this warrant with you. I swore it out against him several days ago, in case he attempted to bolt. If he tries to get the girl into a compromising situation, arrest him. Let me know if anything of importance occurs, meanwhile. As Ross went out, the secretary, Marsh, appeared. There's an elderly gentleman outside waiting to see you, sir, he announced. He does not wish to give his name, but says that he is a physician, and is here and answered to a letter which he received from you. Good! They pulled it off, then. We were only just in time with those letters we sent out yesterday, Marsh. Show him it once. In a few moments a tall, spare figure appeared in the doorway, and paused an instant before entering. He had a keen, smooth-shaven, ascetic face, topped with a mass of snow-white hair. Come in, doctor! invited the detective. I am Henry Blaine. It was good of you to come in response to my letter. I take it you have something interesting to tell me. The doctor entered and seated himself in the chair indicated by Blaine. He carried with him a worn, old-fashioned black leather instrument case. I do not know whether what I have to tell you will prove to have any connection with the matter you refer to in your letter, or not, Mr. Blaine. Indeed, I hesitated about divulging my experience of last night to you. The ethics of my profession. My profession has ethics, too, doctor, although you may not have conceived it. The detective reminded him quietly. Even more than doctor or priest, a professional investigator must preserve and violate the secrets which are imparted to him. Whether they take the form of a light under a bushel or a skeleton in a closet. And the cause of justice only may he open his lips. I hold safely locked away in my mind the keys to mysteries which, were they laid bare, would disrupt society, drag great statesmen from their pedestals, provoke international complications, even bring on wars. If you know anything pertaining to the matter of which I wrote you, justice and the ethics of your profession require you to speak. I agree with you, sir. As I said, I am not certain that my adventure, for it was quite an adventure, for a retired man like myself, I assure you, has anything to do with the case you are investigating. But we can soon establish that. Do you recognize the subject of this photograph? The doctor drew from his pocket a small square bit of cardboard, and Blaine took it eagerly from him. One glance at it was sufficient, and it was with difficulty that a detective restrained the exclamation of triumph which rose to his lips. Upon the card was mounted a tiny thumbnail photograph of a face, the face of Raymond Hamilton. It was more like a death-mask than a living countenance, with its rigid features and closed eyes, but the likeness was indisputable. I recognize it indeed, doctor. That is the man for whom I am searching. How did it come into your possession? I took it myself last night. The spare figure of the elderly physician straightened proudly in his chair. When your communication arrived, I did not attach much importance to it, because it did not occur to me for a moment that I should have been selected, from among all the physicians and surgeons of this city, for such a case. When the summons came, however, I remembered your warning, but I anticipate. Since my patient of last night is your subject, I may as well tell you my experiences from the beginning. My name is Alwyn, Dr. Horatius Alwyn, and I live at Number 26 Maple Avenue. Until my retirement, seven years ago, I was a regular practicing physician and surgeon, but since my breakdown, I suffered a slight stroke, I have devoted myself to my books and my camera, always a hobby with me. Well, late last night, the front doorbell rang. It was a little after eleven, and my wife and the maid had retired, but I was developing some plates in the dark room, and opened the door myself. Three men stood there, but I could scarcely see anything of their faces, for the collars of their shaggy motorcoats were turned up, their caps pulled low over their eyes, and all three wore goggles. Dr. Alwyn asked one of the men, the burliest of the three, advancing into the hall. I want you to come out into the country with me on a hurry call. It's a matter of life and death, and there's five thousand dollars in it for you, but the conditions attached to it are somewhat unusual. May we come into your office and talk it over? I led the way and listened to their proposition. Briefly, it was this. A young man had fallen and injured his head, and was lying unconscious in a sanitarium in the suburbs. There were reasons which could not be explained to me, why the utmost secrecy must be maintained, not only concerning the young man's identity, but the location of the retreat where he was in seclusion. They feared that he had suffered a concussion of the brain, possibly a fractured skull, and my diagnosis was required. Also, should I deem an operation necessary, I must be prepared to perform it at once. They would take me to the patient in the car, but when we reached our destination I was to be blindfolded and led to the sick-room, where the bandage would be removed from my eyes. I was to return in the same manner. For this service, and of course my secrecy, they offered me five thousand dollars. Although that would not have been an exorbitant sum for me to obtain, for such an operation in the days of my activities, it looked very large to me now, especially since some South American securities in which I had invested had declined. But I did not feel that it would be compatible with my dignity and standing to accept the conditions which were imposed. I was therefore upon the point of indignantly declining when I suddenly remembered your letter, and resolved to see the affair through. It occurred to me, while I was selecting the instruments to take with me, that it would not be a bad idea to also take my camera, and if possible obtain a photograph of the patient to show you. I managed to slip it into my vest pocket, unobserved by my visitors. Here it is. Dr. Alwyn took the instrument case upon his knee and opening it, produced what looked like a large, old-fashioned nickel-plated watch of the turnip variety. The doctor extended it almost apologetically. You see, he observed, it is really more a toy than a real camera, although it served admirably last night. I have had a great deal of amusement with it, pretending to feel people's pulses, but in reality snapping their photographs. It takes very small, imperfect pictures, of course, as you can see from the print there on your desk, and only one to each loading, but it can be carried in the palm of one's hand, and it uses a peculiarly sensitive plate, which will register a snapshot even by electric light. It had fortunately just been reloaded just before the advent of my mysterious visitors, and I resolved to make use of it if an opportunity offered. The curtains were tightly drawn in the car, and as the interior lights had been extinguished we sat in total darkness. I could not, of course, tell in which direction we were going, although the car had been pointed south when we left my door. We appeared to be travelling at a terrific rate of speed, and swung around a confusing number of curves. I tried at first to remember the turns and their direction, but there were so many that I very soon lost count. I think they took me in a roundabout way purposely to confuse me. I have no idea how long we drove, but it must have been well over two hours. At last we struck up a long upgrade, and one of my companions announced that we were almost there. They bound my eyes with a dark silk handkerchief, and a moment later the car swerved and turned abruptly in, evidently at a gateway, for we curved about a gravel driveway I could hear it crunching beneath the wheels, and came to a grinding stop before the door. They helped me out of the car, up some shallow stone steps, and across the threshold. I was led down a thickly carpeted hall and up a single long flight of stairs, to a door just at its head. We entered, the door closed softly behind us, and the bandage was whipped from my eyes. There was only a low nightlight burning in the room, but I made out the outlines of the furniture. There was a great bed over in the corner, with a motionless figure lying upon it. There's your patient doc, go ahead, my burly friend said, and accordingly I approached the bed, asking at the same time for more light. The young man was unconscious, and in answer to a question of mine, the attendant who had sat at the head of the bed as we entered, informed me that he had been in a complete state of coma since he had been brought there several days before. I remembered the description in your letter of the subject for whom you were searching, and I fancied, in spite of the bandages which swathed his head, that I recognized him in the young man before me. The lights flashed on full in answer to my request, and on a sudden decision I drew the watch camera from my pocket, took the patient's wrist between my thumb and finger, as if to ascertain his pulse, and snapped his picture. The result was a fortunate chance, for I did not dare focus deliberately, with the eyes of the attendant and the three men who had accompanied me, all directed at my movements. Then I gave the patient a thorough examination. I found a fracture at the base of the brain, not necessarily fatal, unless cerebral meningitis sets in, but quite serious enough. He was still bleeding a little from the nose and ears. I washed them out, and packed the ears with sterile gauze, leaving instructions that a specially prepared ice cap be placed at once upon his head and kept there. That was all which could be done at that time, but the patient should have constant watchful attention. He must either have suffered a severe backward fall, or received a violent blow at the base of the skull to have sustained such an injury. When I had finished, they blindfolded me again, led me from the room, and conveyed me home in the same manner in which I had come, with the possible exception that the car in returning seemed to take a different and more direct route. The journey appeared to be a much shorter one, with fewer twists and turns. The same three men came back to the house with me, entered my office, where the burly one turned over to me ten five hundred dollar bills. They left almost immediately, and although it was close on to dawn, I went into my dark room and developed the negative of the thumbnail photograph I had taken. The events of the night had been so extraordinary that when I did retire, it was long before I could sleep. In the morning I made a couple of prints from the negative, then took the five thousand dollars down and deposited it to my account in the bank. When I decided to come here, I ran over in my mind every moment of the previous night's adventure to catalog my impressions. The habit of years has made me methodical in all things, and I jotted them down in the order in which they occurred to me that I might not forget to relate them to you. Memory plays one sad trick sometimes, when one reaches my age. These notes may be of no assistance to you, sir, but they are entirely at your service. I am eager to read them, doctor. I only wish all witnesses were like you. My tasks would be lightened by half, Blaine said heartily. The elderly physician drew from his pocket a paper at which he peered painstakingly. I have numbered them. Let me see. Oh, yes. First the burly man walks with a slight limp in the right leg. Second, of the two men with him, all I could note was that one spoke with a decided French accent and had a hollow cough, tuberculosis, I think. The other, who scarcely uttered a word, was short and stocky and of enormous strength. He fairly lifted me into and out of the car when I was blindfolded at the entrance of the place they called a sanitarium. Third, the car had a peculiar horn. I have never heard one like it before. Its blast was sharp and wailing, not like a siren, but more like the howl of a wounded animal. I would know it again anywhere. Fourth, there is a railroad bridge varying near the house to which I was taken. I distinctly heard two trains thunder over the trestles while I was attending my patient. Fifth, I should judge the place to be more of a retreat for alcoholics or the insane than for those suffering from accident or any form of physical injury. A patient in some remote part of the house was undoubtedly a maniac or in the throes of an attack of delirium tremens. I heard his cries at intervals as I worked until he quieted down finally. Sixth, the bedroom where my patient is lying is on the second floor, the windows facing south and east. There was a moon last night and one of the curtains was partly raised. His door is just at the head of the stairs on your right as you go up, and the stairs are on a straight line with the front door. Therefore, the house faces south. Seventh, when we return to my home and were in my office, the burly man had to pull the glove off his right hand to get the wallet from his pocket in order to pay me my fee, and I saw that two fingers were missing. They had both been amputated at the middle joint. Also, when they were leaving, I heard the man who spoke with an accent address him as Mack. Mack is three-fingered Mack Alarney by the Lord. Lane started from his chair. Why did I not think of him before? Doctor, you have rendered to me and to my client an invaluable service, which shall not be forgotten. Mack Alarney is a retired prize-fighter, in close touch with all the political crooks and grafters in the city. He runs a sort of retreat for alcoholics up near Green Valley, and bears a generally shady reputation. Are you game to go back with me tonight for another call on your patient? You will be well guarded, and in no possible danger, now or for the future. I give you my word for that. I may need you to verify some facts. The doctor hesitated visibly. I am not afraid, he replied at last, but I scarcely feel that it is conformable with the ethics of my calling. I was called in, in my professional capacity. My dear doctor! The detective interrupted him with a trace of impatience in his tones. Your patient is one of the most widely known young men of the city. He was kidnapped, and the police had been searching for him for days. The press of the entire country has rung with the story of his mysterious disappearance. He is Raymond Hamilton. Good heavens! Can it be possible? The physician exclaimed. I assure you, sir, I had no idea of his identity. He was to have married Pennington Lawton's daughter, was he not? I have read of his disappearance, of course. The newspapers have been full of it. And he was kidnapped, you say? No wonder those ruffians maintained such secrecy in regard to their destination last night. Mr. Blaine, I will accompany you, sir, and give you any aid in my power in rescuing Mr. Hamilton. Good. I'll make all the necessary arrangements and call for you tonight at eight o'clock. Meanwhile, keep a strict guard upon your tongue and say nothing to any one of what has occurred. Have you told your wife of your adventure? No, Mr. Blaine. I merely told her I was out on a sudden night-call. I decided to wait until I had seen you, before mentioning the extraordinary features of the case. You are a man of discretion, doctor. Until eight o'clock then, you may expect me without fail. Dr. Alwyn left, and Blaine spent a busy half-hour making his arrangements for the night's raid. Scarcely had he completed them when the telephone shrilled. The detective did not at first recognize the voice which came to him over the wire, so changed it was, so fraught with horror and a menace of tragedy. Is that you, Miss Lawton? he asked half-unbelievingly. What is the matter? What has happened? I must see you at once, Mr. Blaine. I have made a discovery, so unexpected, so terrible, that I am afraid to be alone. I am afraid of my own thoughts. Please, please come immediately." I will be with you as soon as my car can reach your door," he replied. What could the young girl have discovered? Shut up there in that great lonely house. What new developments could have arisen in the case, which until this moment had seemed plain to him to the end? He found her awaiting him in the hall, with ash and face and trembling limbs. She clutched his hand with her small icy one, and whispered, Come into the library, Mr. Blaine. I have something to tell you. To show you. He followed her into the huge, somber, silent room, where only a few short weeks ago her father had met with his death. Coming from the brilliant sunshine without, it was a moment or two before his eyes could penetrate the gloom. When they did so, he saw the great leather chair by the hearth, which had played so important a part in the tragedy, had been overturned. Mr. Blaine. The girl faced him, her voice steadied and deepened pretentiously. My father died of heart disease, did he not? The detective felt a sudden thrill, almost a premonition, at her unexpected question, but he controlled himself and replied quietly. That was the diagnosis of the physician. The coroner's findings corroborated him. Did it ever occur to you that there might be another and more terrible explanation of his sudden death? A detective must consider and analyze a case from every standpoint, you know, Miss Lawton, he answered. It did occur to me that perhaps your father met with foul play, but I put the theory from me for lack of evidence. Mr. Blaine, my father was murdered. Murdered? How do you know? What have you discovered? He was given poison. I have found the bottle which contained it, hidden deep in the folds of his chair there. It was no morbid fancy of mine, after all. My instinct was right. No wonder that chair has exerted such a horrible fascination for me ever since my poor father died in it. See? With indescribable loathing, she extended her left hand, which until now she had held clenched behind her back. Upon the palm lay a tiny flat vial, with a pale, amber-coloured substance dried at the bottom of it. Blaine took it and drew the cork. Before he had time to place it at his nostrils, a faint but unmistakable odor of bitter almonds floated out upon the air and pervaded the room. Precious acid, he exclaimed, it has the same outward effect as an attack of heart disease would produce to a superficial examination. Miss Lawton, how did you discover this? By the nearest accident, I have a habit of creeping in here when I am more deeply despondent than usual, and sitting for a while in my father's chair, it calms and comforts me, almost as if he were with me once more. I was sitting there just before I telephoned you, thinking over all that had occurred in these last weeks, when I broke down and cried. I felt for my handkerchief, but could not find it, and thinking that I might perhaps have dropped it in the chair, I ran my hand down deep in the leather fold between the seat and the side and back. My fingers encountered something flat and hard, which had been jammed away down inside, and I dug it out. It was this bottle. Mr. Blaine, does it mean that my father was murdered by that man whose voice I heard, that man who came to him in the night and threatened him? I'm afraid it does, Miss Lawton, Henry Blaine said slowly. When you hear that voice again and recognize it, we shall be able to lay our hands upon the murderer of your father. CHAPTER XVII of the Crevice by William J. Burns and Isabel Ostrander This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE RESCUE Precisely at the hour of eight that night, a huge six-cylinder limousine drew up at the gate of No. 26 Maple Avenue, halfway down the block, well in the shadow of the trees which gave to the avenue its name, two more cars and a motor ambulance had halted. Dr. Alwyn, who had been excitedly awaiting the arrival of the detective, was out of his door and down the path almost before the car had pulled up at his gate. Within it were three men, Blaine himself and two others, whom the doctor did not know. Henry Blaine greeted him, introduced the operatives Ross and Sorachi, and they started swiftly upon their journey. The doctor was plainly nervous, but something in the grim, silent, and air of his companions imparted itself to him. The lights in the interior of the car had not been turned on, nor the shades lowered, and after a few tentative remarks which were not encouraged, Dr. Alwyn turned to the window and watched the brightly lighted cross- streets dart by with ever-increasing speed. Once he glanced back and started, casting a perturbed glance at the immovable face of the detective as he remarked, Mr. Blaine, are you aware that we are being followed? Oh, yes. Give yourself no uneasiness on that score, doctor. They are two of my machines, filled with my men, and a Walton ambulance for Mr. Hamilton. We will reach Mac Alarney's retreat in an hour now. There will be a show of trouble, of course, and we may have to use force. But I do not anticipate any very strenuous opposition to our removal of your patient, when Mac is convinced that the game is up. No harm will come to you at any rate. You will be well guarded. The doctor drew himself up with simple dignity, quite free from bombast or arrogance. I am not afraid, he replied quietly. I am armed, and am fully prepared to help protect my patient. Armed, the detective asked sharply. For answer, Dr. Alwyn drew from his capacious coat pocket a huge old-fashioned pistol and held it out to Blaine. The latter took it from him without ceremony. A grave mistake, doctor. I am glad you told me in time. Fire arms are unnecessary for your own protection, and would be a positive menace to our plans for getting your patient safely away. Gun play is the last thing we must think of. My men will attend to that, if it comes to a showdown. The doctor watched him in silence as he slipped the pistol under one of the side seats. If his confidence in the great man beside him faltered for the moment, he gave no sign, but turned his attention again to the window. They were now rapidly traversing the suburbs, where the houses were widely separated by stretches of vacant lots, and the streets deserted, and but dimly lighted. Soon they rattled over a narrow railroad bridge, and Dr. Alwyn exclaimed, By George, this is the way we went last night. With all my careful thought, I forgot about that bridge until this moment. Minutes passed. Long minutes which seemed like hours to the overstrained nerves of the doctor while they speeded through the open country. All at once, from just behind them, came a hideous wailing cry which swelled in volume to a screech and ended abruptly. Dr. Alwyn grasps Blaine's arm. The motor-horn! he gasped. The car I was in last night! The detective nodded shortly, without speaking, and leaning forward stared fixedly out of the window. A long, low-body limousine appeared, creeping slowly up, inch by inch, until it was fairly abreast of them. The curtain at the window was lowered, and the chauffeur sat immovable, with his face turned from them as the two cars whirled side by side along the hard glistening road. Blaine leaned forward and pressed the electric bell rapidly twice, and there began a curious game. The other car put on extra speed and darted ahead, their own shot forward and kept abreast of it. It slowed suddenly, and made as if to swerve in behind. Blaine's driver slowed also until both cars almost came to a grinding halt. Three times these maneuvers were repeated, and then there occurred what the detective had evidently anticipated. The curtain in the other car shot up, the window descended with a bang, and a huge burly figure leaned halfway out. Henry Blaine noiselessly lowered their own window, and suddenly flashed an electric pocket-light full in the heavy, drowled face, and purpled with inarticulate rage. Is that your man? he asked quickly. The one with the three fingers! Yes, that's the man! whispered the doctor hoarsely. That's Mack Alarney. Blaine pressed the electric bell again, and their own car lunged forward in a spurt of speed which left the other hopelessly behind, although it was manifestly making desperate efforts to overtake and pass them. Do you suppose he suspected our errand? the doctor asked. Suspected! Lord bless you, man, he knows. He had already passed the two open cars full of my men and the ambulance. He'd give ten years of his life to beat us out and reach his place ahead of us tonight, but he hasn't a chance in the world unless we blow out a tire, and if we do, we'll all go back in the ambulance together what's left of us. Even as he spoke, there came a swift change in the even drone of their engine, a jarring, discordant note, slight but unmistakable, and a series of irregular, thudding knocks. And as a cylinder's missing, sir. Ross turned to the detective and spoke with eager anxiety. We'll make it on five. The quiet confidence in Blaine's voice, with its underlying note of grim, indomitable determination, seemed to communicate itself to the other men, and no further word was said, although they all heard the thunder of the approaching car behind. The doctor restrained with difficulty the impulse to look backward, and instead kept his eyes sternly fixed upon the trees and hedgerows flying past, more sharply defined shadows in the lesser dark. Then, all at once, the shriek of a locomotive burst upon his ears, and the roar and rattle of a train going over a trestle. The railroad bridge! he cried excitedly. We're there, Mr. Blaine! The noise of the passing train had scarcely died away, when from just behind them the hideous shriek of Mac Alarney's motorhorn rose blastingly three times upon the night air, the last fainter than the others, as if the pursuing car had dropped back. He's beaten. He couldn't keep up the pace, much less better it, Blaine remarked. Those three blasts sounded a warning to the guards of the retreat. It was probably a signal agreed upon in case of danger. We're in for it now. They swerved abruptly between two high stone gate posts, and up a broad sweep of gravel driveway. Lights gleamed suddenly in the windows of the hitherto darkened house, which loomed up gaunt and squarely defined against the sullen sky. Your men, in the other cars! Dr. Allyn stammered, as they came to a crunching stop before the door. Will they arrive in time to be of service? Mac Alarney will reach here first. My men will be at his heels, returned Blaine shortly. They held back purposely, acting under my instructions. Come on now! He sprang from the car and up the steps, and the doctor found himself following, with Ross and Surachi on either side. The driver turned their car around, and ran it upon the lawn, its searchlight trained on the circling drive, its engine throbbing like the throat of an inpatient horse. In response to the detective's vigorous ring, the door was opened by a short, stocky man, at sight of whom the doctor gave a start of surprise, but did not falter. The man was clad in the white coat of a hospital attendant, beneath which the great, bunchy muscles of his shoulders and upper arms were plainly visible. Hello, Al," exclaimed Blaine briskly. The veins on the thick bull-neck seemed to swell, but there was no sign of recognition in the stolid jaw. Only the lower lip protruded, as the man set his jaw, and the little, close-set, poor-sine eyes narrowed. You were a rubber at the half-muster bass the last time I saw you, went on the detective smoothly, as he definitely inserted his foot between the door and the jam. You remember me, of course. I'm Henry Blaine. My friends and I have come here to-night on a confidential errand, and I'd like a word in private with you. The man, he called Al, muttered something which sounded like a disclaimer. Then he caught sight of the doctor's face over Blaine's shoulder, and a spasm of black rage seized him. Oh, it's you, is it? You snitch, damn you! I'll do for you for this." He lunged forward, but Blaine, with a strength of which the doctor would not a moment before have thought him possessed, the ex-rubber, and flung him backward, advancing into the hall at the same time, while his two operatives and the doctor crowded in behind him. Al, staggered, regained his balance, and came on in a blind rush, bull-neck lowered, long monkey-like arms taught and rigid for the first blow. Blaine set himself to meet it, but it was never delivered. At that instant, the whirring roar of a high-powered car, un-muffled, sounded in all their ears, and a second machine drew up at the steps. Its single passenger flung himself out and bounded up to the door. What in hell does this mean, he bellowed? Didn't you hear my horn? He stopped abruptly in sheer amazement, for Blaine had turned, with beaming face and outstretched hand. MacGillarney, he exclaimed, thank the Lord you've come. This thick-skulled boob wouldn't give me time for a word, and every minute is precious. Come, where I can talk to you, quick. Then as if catching sight of the car in which MacGillarney had come, for the first time his eyes widened, and he seemed struggling to suppress an outburst of mirth. Great guns! Is that your car, yours? Do you mean to tell me it was you I was playing with back there on the road? When I flashed the light in your face I was sure you were Donnelly. As he uttered the name of the chief of police, MacGillarney involuntarily stepped backward, and a wave of startled apprehension swept the amazement from his face, to be succeeded in turn by the primitive craftiness of the brute instinct on guard. And what may you be wanting here, Mr. Blaine? He demanded warily. To beat the police to it, Blaine replied in a gruff whisper, adding as he jerked his thumb in the direction of the waiting owl. Get rid of him. We haven't got a minute, I tell you. The police! repeated the other man sharply. Sure, I passed two cars full of plain-clothes bulls, with an ambulance trail on them. You can go now, owl. Without giving the burly proprietor of the retreat, time to discover him for himself, Blaine pulled the astonished doctor forward. Here's Dr. Alwyn, whom you brought here last night. The police trailed you and got his number, but fortunately when they began to question him, he smelled a rat in the whole business and came to me. They told him a man named Paddington had double-crossed you. But, of course, I knew that was all wrought. The minute I doped it out. You've got a fortune under your roof this minute and you don't know it, Mac. That's the best joke of all. You're entertaining an angel, unawares. Say, what are you getting at, Mr. Blaine? Mac Alarney's brows drew close together and he stared levelly from beneath them at the detective's exultant face. That young man with the fractured skull in the corner room upstairs, the one you brought Dr. Alwyn to attend last night, when you know who he is, you're going up in the air. I don't know who brought him here or what flim-flam line of talk they gave you, but it's a wonder you haven't guessed from the start who he was, with the papers full of it for days. Of course they must have given you a lot of money to get him well and hush it all up, when you were able to pay the doctor here five thousand dollars. But whatever they paid, it's a drop in the bucket compared to the reward they expected to get. Mac, it's Raymond Hamilton you've got upstairs. Blaine stepped back himself, as if the better to observe the effect of what he manifestly seemed to believe would be astounding news, and clumsily and cautiously the other tried to play up to his lead. Raymond Hamilton, he echoed, you're a crazy Blaine, you don't know what you're talking about. You'd better believe I do. See this photograph? He held a tiny thumbnail picture before Mac Alarney's amazed eyes. The doctor took it last night at the bedside of the young man upstairs, when you thought he was feeling his pulse. That watch of his was in reality a camera. With a roar the burly man turned upon the erect, unshrinking figure of the gray-haired doctor, but Blaine halted him. Not so fast, Mac. If it hadn't been for him you'd be in the hands of the police now, remember, and they've only been waiting to get something on you, as you know. You can't blame Dr. Alwyn for being suspicious, after all the mysterious fuss you made bringing him here. I know Raymond Hamilton well, and I recognize his face the instant it was handed to me. I'm on the case myself. Miss Lawton, the girl he's going to marry, engaged me. I might have come and tried to take him away from you, so as to cop all the reward myself. But as it is, we'll split fifty-fifty. Unless the police get here while we're wasting time talking. Man, don't you see how you've been done? You can bet your life I do. That is, if the man I've got upstairs is the guy you think he is, he added, in an afterthought of cautious self-protection. The acid of the hint that Paddington had betrayed him to the police had burned deep, however, as Blaine had anticipated, and he walked blindly into the snare laid for him. I'll tell you all about how he came to be here later. And I'll fix them that tried to pull the wool over my eyes. Now, for the love of heaven, Mr. Blaine, tell me what to do with them before the bulls come. Thank God they can search the rest of the place and welcome. I've got nothing here but half a dozen souses and two lightweight's training. That's all right. You're safe if we can get him away without loss of time. That ambulance you saw don't belong to the police. It's mine. I saw them first, a way back in the outskirts of the city, and I ordered it to drop behind and take the shortcut up through Wheel Barrow Lane. It's waiting now under the clump of elms by the brook up the road a little. You know the spot. Bring him down and we'll take him there in my car. You come, too, of course, and Al, and help load him into the ambulance. Then Al can come back if you don't want to trust him, and you can go on with us back to the city. Where are you going to take him? asked Mac Alarney warily. You can't hide him from them in town. Who's talking about hiding him, Blaine demanded, with contemptuous impatience. Your brain must be taking a rescuer, Mac. We'll go straight to Miss Lawton, deliver the goods, and get the reward, before they beat us to it. It'll be easy to explain matters to her. She won't care much about the story as long as she's got him again alive, and at that you've only got to stick to the truth, and I'm right there to back you up in it. Any fool could realize that you'd have produced him and claimed the reward, if you had known who he actually was. Whoever brought him here gave you the wrong dope, and you fell for it, that's all. For the Lord's sake, hurry. You're right, Mr. Blaine. It's the only thing to do now. I fell for their dope, all right. But they'll fall harder before I'm through with them. Let me your two men here. There's no use having any of mine except Al, get wise. You and the doctor wait in the car, and we'll bring him out. Blaine motioned to his operatives, with a curt wave of his hand, to follow Mac Alarney, and turning, he went out of the door and down the steps to his car, with the doctor at his heels. You don't suppose that he saw through your story? Do you, Mr. Blaine?" The latter queried in an anxious whisper, as they settled themselves to wait with what patience they could muster. Could that suggestion of his have merely been a ruse to separate your assistance from you? The detective smiled. Hardly, doctor, it's part of my profession, to have made a study of human nature, and Mac Alarney's type is an open book to me. Added to that, I've known the man himself for years, in an offhand way, I've got his confidence, and now that he realizes he is in a hole, he's a child in my hands, even if he thinks for the moment, that as a detective, I'm about the poorest specimen in captivity. Steady now, here they come. The large double doors have been thrown wide open, and Mac Alarney, the burly owl, and the two operatives appeared, bearing between them a limp, unconscious, blanket-swabbed form. As they eased it into the backseat of the limousine, Blaine flashed his electric pocket-light upon the sleeping face. I knew I wasn't mistaken, he whispered exultantly to Mac Alarney and the doctor. It's young Hamilton, all right. Now let's be off. The others crowded in, and they whirled down the drive and out once more upon the wide-state road, in the opposite direction to that in which they had come. A bear half-mile away, and they came abruptly upon the ambulance, screened by the clump of naked elms at the side of the road. You get in first, doctor, ordered Blaine significantly. You've got to look after your patient now. As the doctor obeyed, Mac Alarney, with a shrewd gleam in his eyes, turned to the detective. I think I'd better ride with him, too, Mr. Blaine. He observed. You don't know who you can trust these days. Your ambulance driver may give you the slip. All right, Mac," Blaine assented, with bluffhardiness. We'll both ride with him. Did you think I'd try to double-cross you, too? I can't blame you, after the rotten deal that's been handed to you. But we won't waste time arguing. Here's the stretcher. Come on, shove him in. The doctor had been wondering when the day-nu-maw of this adventure would be. Now it came without warning, with a startling suddenness which left him dazed and agape. The inert body of his patient was laid carefully beside him, and he glanced out of the ambulance door in time to see Mac Alarney dismiss his burly assistant and turn to enter the vehicle. His foot was already upon the lowest step, when the doctor saw Blaine raise his hand to his lips. A short, sharp blast of a whistle pierced the air, and in an instant a dozen men had sprung out of the darkness, and leaped upon the two surprised miscreants. Then ensued a struggle, brief but awful to the onlooker in its silent grim ferocity, as the two separate knots of men battled each other about their central orbit. The scuffle of many feet on the hard-packed road, the mutter of curses, the dull thud of blows, the hoarse, strangulated breathing of men fighting against odds, to the last ounce of their strength, came to the doctor's startled ears in a confused babble of half-suppressed sound, with the purring drone of the two engines as an undertone. A minute and it was all over. The thick-set owl went down like a felt ox, and Mac Alarney wavered under an avalanche of blows and crumpled to his knees. Handcuffed and securely bound, the two were bundled into Blaine's waiting car. Paddington never double-crossed me, groaned Mac Alarney, before the door closed upon him. But you did, Blaine, just as I meant to get him. I'll get you. I've felt for your damn scheme, and since you've got the goods on me, I suppose I'll go up. But God help you when I come out. I can wait. It'll be the better when it comes." But the others, queried the doctor, as he and Blaine, with the injured man between them, settled down into the ambulance for the slow, careful journey back to the city. That third man who came for me last night, the one with the French accent, and the cough, and the rest who are in this kidnapping plot, will you get them, too? Ross and Sriracchi are enough to guard Mac Alarney and Al on their way to the lock-up. The detective responded quietly. The others will go up to the sanitarium and clean the place out. They'll get French Louis all right, and as for the rest who are concerned in this, Dr. Alwyn, be sure that I intend to see that they get their just desserts. And it is said that you have never lost a case, the doctor remarked. I shall not lose this one. Blaine spoke with quiet confidence, unmixed with any boastfulness. I cannot lose. There is too much at stake. Late that night Anita Lawton was awakened from a tortured, feverish dream by the violent ringing of the telephone bell at her bedside. The voice of Henry Blaine, fraught with a latent tension of suppressed elation, came to her over the wire. Miss Lawton, I shall come to you in twenty minutes. Please be prepared to go out with me in my car. No? Don't ask me any questions now. I will explain when I reach you." His arrival found her dressed and restlessly pacing the floor of the reception room in a fever of mingled hope and anxiety. What is it, Mr. Blaine? She cried, seizing his hand, and pressing it convulsively in both of hers. You have news for me. I can read it in your face. Raymond? Is safe, he responded. Can you bear a sudden shock now, Miss Lawton? After all that has gone before, can you withstand one more blow? Oh, tell me. Tell me quickly. I can endure everything if only Raymond is safe. I found him to-night, and brought him back to the city. I have come to take you to him. But why? Why did he not come with you? Does he not realize what I have suffered? That every moment of suspense, of waiting for him, is an added torture? He realizes nothing. Blaine hesitated and then went on. It is best for you to know the truth at once. Mr. Hamilton has suffered a severe injury. He is lying almost at the point of death, but the physicians say he has a chance—a good chance—for recovery. Rather to his where he can receive expert care and attention, how he came by his shattered skull, he has a fracture at the base of the brain. We shall not know until he recovers sufficient consciousness to tell us. At present he is in a state of coma, recognizing no one, nothing that goes on about him. He will not rouse to hear your voice. He will not know of your presence. But I thought that it would comfort you to see him, to feel that everything is being done for him that can be done. Ah, yes! she sobbed. Take me to him, Mr. Blaine. Thank God! Thank God that you have found him! Just to look upon his dear face again. To touch him. To know that at least he still lives. He must not die now. He cannot die. The God who has permitted you to restore him to me would not allow that. Take me to him. So it was that a few short minutes later, Henry Blaine tasted the first real fruit of his victory, as he stood aside in the quiet hospital room and with dimmed eyes beheld the scene before him. The wide white bed, the silent, motionless, bandaged swath figure upon it, the slender, dark-robed, kneeling girl, only that, and the echo of her low-breathed sob of love and gratitude, his own great fatherly heart swelled with the joy of work well done, of the happiness he had brought to his spirit all but broken, and a sure, triumphant premonition that the struggle still before him would be crowned with victory. CHAPTER XVIII. You are ready, Miss Lawton? Nerves steady enough for the ordeal? Ask Blaine the following morning. I am ready. Anita's voice was firm and controlled, and there was the glint of a challenge in her eyes. A wondrous change had come over her since the previous day, with the rescue of the man she loved, and the certainty that he would recover, all the latent, indomitable courage and fighting spirit which had come to her as a heritage from her father and which had made of him the ruler of men and arbiter of events which he had been arose again within her. The most crushing weight upon her heart had been lifted. Hope and love had revivified her, and she was indeed ready to face the world again, to meet her enemies, the murderers and traducers of her father, and to give battle to them on their own ground. In a few moments a man will enter this library, a man whom you know well. You will be stationed behind the curtains at this window here, and you must summon all your self-control to restrain yourself from giving any start or uttering a sound of surprise which would betray your presence. While I talk to him I want you to try with all your might to put from your mind the fact that you know him, to not let his personality influence you in any way or his speech. Only listen to the tones of his voice, listen, and try to recall that other voice which you heard here on the night of your father's death. If in his tones you recognize that voice, step from behind those curtains and face him, if not, then you must be absolutely sure that you do recognize the voice, that you could swear to it under oath in a court of justice, realizing that it will probably mean swearing away a man's life, if you are not sure, remain silent. I understand, Mr. Blaine. I will not fail you. I could not be mistaken. The voice which I heard here that night rings still in my ears. Its echo seems yet to linger in the room. Her gaze wandered to the great leather chair which had been replaced in its usual position. Now that you have restored Raymond to me, I want only to avenge my father, and I shall be content. To be murdered in his own home, poisoned like a rat in a trap, I shall not rest until the coward who killed him has been brought to justice. He will be, Miss Lawton. The trap has been baited again and unless I am greatly mistaken, the murderer will walk straight into it. There is the bell. I gave orders that you were to be at home to no one except the man I expect, and that he was to be ushered in here immediately upon his arrival, without being announced. So take your place now, please, behind the curtains. Do not try to watch the man. Only listen with all your ears, and above all do not betray yourself until the proper moment comes for disclosing your presence. Without a word Anita disappeared into the window-seat, and the curtains fell into place behind her. The detective had only time to step in the shadow of a dark corner beside one of the tall bookcases when the door was thrown open. A man stood upon the threshold, a tall, fair man of middle age, with a small blonde moustache, and a monocle dangling from a narrow black ribbon about his neck. From the very correct gardenia in his buttonhole, to the very immaculate spats upon his feet, he was a careful prototype of the Piccadilly exquisite, a little faded perhaps, slightly effete, but perfect in detail. He halted for a moment, as if he too were blinded by the swift change from sunshine to gloom, then advancing slowly, his pale, protruding eyes wandered to the great chair by the fireplace, and lingered as if fascinated. He approached it, magnetized by some spell of his own thoughts weaving, until he could have stretched out his hand and touched it, a pause, and with a sudden swift revulsion of feeling he turned from it in a sort of horror and went to the center-table. There he stood for a moment, glanced back at the chair, then quickly about the room, his eyes passing unseeingly over the shadowy figure by the bookcase. Then he darted back to the chair, and thrust his hand deep into the fold between the back and seat. For a minute he felt about with frenzied haste until his fingers touched the object he sought, and with a profound sigh of relief he drew it forth, a tiny, flat vial. He glanced at it casually, his hand already raised toward his breast-pocket, then he recoiled with a low, involuntary cry. The vial was filled with a sinister, blood-red fluid. At that moment Blaine stepped from behind the bookcase and confronted him. "'You have succeeded in regaining your bottle, haven't you, Mr. Rockamore?' he asked significantly. Are you surprised to find within it the blood of an innocent man?' Rockamore turned to him slowly, his dazed, horror-stricken eyes protruding more than ever. "'Blood!' he repeated thickly, as of scarcely understanding, then a realization of the situation dawned upon him, and he demanded hoarsely, "'Who are you? What are you doing here?' "'My name is Blaine, and I am here to arrest the murderer of Pennington Lawton,' the detective replied. His dominant tones ringing through the room. "'Blain, Henry Blain!' Rockamore stepped back a pace or two, and a sneer curled his thin lips, although his face had suddenly paled. "'I've heard of you, of course, the international meddler. What sort of sensation are you trying to work up now, my man, by such a ridiculous assertion? Pennington Lawton murdered why all the world knows that he died of heart disease. All the world seldom knows the truth, but it shall in this instance return Blaine trenchantly. Pennington Lawton was murdered, poisoned by a draft of prusic acid. "'You're mad!' Rockamore retorted insolently. He tossed the incriminating little vial carelessly on the blotter of the writing desk, and when he turned again to the detective, his face, with its high, thin, hooked nose, and close-drawn brows, was vulture-like in its malevolent intensity. "'You don't deserve serious consideration. If you make public such a ridiculous statement, you'll only be laughed at for your pains. I shall prove it. The murderer's midnight visit, his secret conference with his victim, did not proceed unwitnessed. His motive is known, but his act was futile. It came too late.' "'This is all very interesting, no doubt, or would be if it could be credited. However, I cannot understand why you have elected to take me into your confidence.' Rockamore was livid, but he controlled himself sufficiently to speak with a simulation of contemptuous boredom. "'I came here to see Miss Lawton, in response to an urgent call from her. I don't know by what authority you are here, but I do know that I do not propose to be further annoyed by you. "'I am afraid that you will find yourself very seriously annoyed before this affair comes to an end,' Mr. Rockamore said plain. Miss Lawton's butler summoned you this afternoon by my instructions, and with gratifying promptness you came and did just what I expected you would do. Betrayed yourself irretrievably in your haste to recover the evidence which now will hang you.' The other man laughed harshly, a discordant, jarring laugh which jangled on the tense air. "'Your accusation is too absurd to be resented. I knew that Miss Lawton herself could not have been a party to this melodramatic hoax.' Blaine walked to the desk before replying, and, taking up the crimson tinged vial, waited in his hand. "'You did not find the poison bottle which you yourself thrust in that chair the night Pennington Lawton died, Mr. Rockamore, because his daughter discovered it and communicated with me,' he said. "'She anticipated you by less than twenty-four hours. We have known from the beginning of your nocturnal visit to this room. Every word of your conversation was overheard. It's no use trying to bluff it. We've got a clear case against you. You and your clear case be damned!' the other man cried, his tone shaking with anger. "'You're trying to bluff me, my man. But it won't work. I don't know what that devil you mean about a midnight visit to the Lawton. The last I saw of him was at a director's meeting, the afternoon before his death.' Then why has that chair, the chair in which he died, exerted such a peculiar sinister influence over you? Why is it that every time you have entered this room since, you have been unable to keep away from it? Why, this very hour, when you thought yourself unobserved, did you walk straight to this chair and place your hand deliberately upon the place where the poison bottle was concealed? Why did you recoil? Why did that cry rise from your lips when you saw what it contained? I touched the chair inadvertently. While I waited for Miss Lawton's appearance, and my hand coming accidentally in contact with a hard substance, mere idle curiosity impelled me to draw it out. Naturally I was startled for the moment when I saw what it was. The man's voice deepened hoarsely, and he gave vent to another sneering, vicious laugh. As the echo died in the room, Blaine could have sworn that he heard a quick gasp from behind the curtains of the window-seat, but it did not reach the ears of Rockamore. The latter continued, his voice breaking suddenly, with a rage at last uncontrolled. I could not, of course, know that that little bottle of red ink was a cheap theatrical trick of a Montamanc, a creature who is the laughing-stock of the press and public in his idiotic attempts to draw sensational notoriety upon himself. But I do know that this effort has failed. You have dared to plant this outrageous, purile trap, to attempt to ensnare me. You have dared to strike blindly in your mad thirst for publicity at a man infinitely beyond your reach. Your insolence ceases to be amusing. If you try to push this ridiculous accusation, I shall ruin you, Henry Blaine. No man is beyond my reach who has broken the law. The detective's voice was quietly controlled, yet each word pierced the silence like a sword-thrust. I have been threatened with ruin, with death, many times by criminals of all classes, from defaulting financiers to petty thieves, but I still live, and my fortunes have not been materially impaired. I do not court publicity, but I cannot shirk my duty because it entails that, and in this case my duty is plain. You, Bertrand Rockamore, came here secretly by night, to try to persuade Mr. Lawton to go in with you on a crooked scheme, to force him to, by blackmail if necessary, on an old score. Failing in that, you killed him, to prevent the nefarious operations of yourself and your companions from being brought to light. You're mad, I tell you, roared Rockamore. Whoever stuffed you with such idiotic rot as that is making gammon of you. That conversation is a chimera of some disordered mind. If it isn't merely part of a deliberate conspiracy of yours against me, you'll suffer for this, my man. I'll break you if it is the last act of my life. Such a conference never took place, and you know it. Come, Lawton, be sensible. Half a loaf is better than no bread," Blaine quoted slowly. There is no blackmail about this. It is an ordinary business proposition. It's a damnable crooked scheme, and I shall have nothing to do with it. This is final. My hands are clean, and I can look every man in the face and tell him to go where you can go now. You remember that, don't you, Rockamore? Blaine interrupted himself to ask sharply. Do you also recall your reply? How about poor Herbert Armstrong, his wife? It's a lie, a damned lie! cried Rockamore. I was not in this room that night. Such a conversation never occurred. Who told you of this? Who dares accuse me? I do. A clear, flute-like voice, resonant in its firmness, rang out from behind him as he spoke, and he wheeled abruptly to find Anita standing with her slender form outlined against the dark, rich velvet of the curtains. Her head was thrown back, her eyes blazing, and as she faced him she slowly raised her arm and pointed a steady finger at the recoiling figure. I accuse you, Bertrand Rockamore, of the murder of my father. It was I who heard your conversation here, here in this room. It was I who found the vial which contained the poison you used when your arguments and threats failed. I am not mistaken. I knew that I could never be mistaken if I heard that voice again, shaken as it was that night with rage and defiance and fear. I knew that I should hear it again some time, and all these weeks I have listened for it until this moment, Mr. Blaine, this is the man. Anita, you have lost your mind! With the shock of the girl's appearance, a steely calm had come to the Englishman, and although a tremor ran through his tones, he held them well in leash. My poor child, you do not know what you are saying. As for you, he turned and looked levelly into Blaine's eyes. I am amazed that a man of your perception and experience should for a moment entertain the idea that he could make out a case of capital crime against a person of my standing, solely upon the hysterical, pseudo-testimony of a girl whose brain is overwrought, this midnight conference, which you so glibly quote, is a figment of her distraught mind. Or, if it actually occurred, a fact of which you have no proof, Miss Lawton admits, by the word she has just uttered, that she did not see the mysterious visitor, but is attempting to identify me as that person merely by the tones of my voice. She has made no accusation against me until this moment, yet since her father's death she has heard my voice almost daily for several weeks. Come, Blaine, listen to reason. Your case has tumbled about your ears. You can only avoid serious trouble, for both Miss Lawton and yourself, by dropping this absurd matter here and now. It is true that I did not recognize your voice before, but I have not until now heard it raised an anger as it was that night began Anita, but Blaine silenced her with a gesture. And the bottle of Prusik Acid which was found yesterday, hidden in the chair, where just now you searched for it, he demanded sternly, the incontrovertible evidence, proved last night by an autopsy upon the body of Pennington Lawton, which shows, that he came to his death by means of that poison, how do you account for these facts, Rockamore? I do not propose to account for them, whether they are facts or not, returned the other man coolly. Since I know nothing whatever about them they are beyond my province. Unless you wish to bring ruin upon yourself, an unwelcome notoriety in possibly an official inquiry into her sanity upon Miss Lawton, you will not repeat this incredible accusation. Only my very real sympathy for her hasn't abled me to listen with what patience I have to the unparalleled insolence of this charge. But you are going too far. I see no necessity for further prolonging this interview, and with your permission I will withdraw. Unless, of course," he added sneeringly, you have a warrant for my arrest. To Anita's astonishment, Henry Blaine stepped back with a slight shrug and Rockamore, still with that sarcastic glir upon his lips, bowed low to her and strode from the room. You, you let him go, Mr. Blaine? she gasped incredulously. You let him escape. He cannot escape. Blaine smiled a trifle grimly. I'm giving him just a little more rope, that is all, to see if he will help us secure the others. His every move is under strict surveillance. For him there is no way out, save one. And that way? asked Anita. The detective made no reply. In a few minutes he took leave of her and proceeded to his office, where he spent a busy day, sending cables in cipher, detailing operatives to many new assignments, and receiving reports. Late in the afternoon replies began to come into his cable-grams of the morning. Whatever their import, they quite evidently afforded him immense satisfaction, and as the early dusk settled down, his eyes began to glow with the light of battle, which those closest to him in his marvellous work had learned to recognize when victory was in sight. Srirachi noted it when he entered to make his report, and the glint of enthusiasm in his own eyes brightened, like burnish steel. I relieved Ross at noon, as you instructed me, sir. He began, in the vestibule of Mr. Rockamore's apartment house. It was a good thing that I had the six-cylinder car handy, for he surely led me a chase. Ten minutes after I went on duty, Rockamore came out. Jumped into his automobile, and after circling the park, he turned south, zig-zagging through side streets as if to cut off pursuit. He reached south-end ferry, but hovered about until the gates were on the point of closing. Then his chauffeur shot the car forward. But before I could reach him, Cregan stepped up with your warrant. I'm sorry, sir, I heard him say as I came up. I'm to use this only in case you insist on attempting to leave the city, sir. Mr. Blaine's orders. Rockamore turned on him in a fury, but thought better of it, and after a minute he leaned forward with a shrug, and directed his chauffeur north again. This time he tried the great western station, but Liebler was there waiting for him. Then the North Illington branch depot, Schmidt, was on hand. As a forlorn hope he tried the Tropic and Orient steamship line, one of their ships goes out to-night, but Norris intercepted him. At last he speeded down the boulevard and out on the eastern post road, but Carney was on the job at the toll gate. He gave it up, then, and went back to his rooms, and Ross relieved me there, just now. The lights are flaring in the windows of his rooms, and you can see his shadow. He's pacing up and down like a caged animal. All right, Srirachi, go back and tell Ross to have one of his men telephone to me at once, if Rockamore leaves his rooms before nine. That will be all for you, to-night. I've got to do the rest of the work, myself. At nine o'clock precisely, Henry Blaine presented himself at Rockamore's door. As he had anticipated, he was admitted at once, and ushered into the Englishman's presence, as if his coming had been expected. I say, Blaine, what the devil do you mean by this game you're playing? Rockamore demanded, as he stood erect and perfectly poised upon the hearth, and faced the detective. A faint, sarcastic smile curved his lips, and in his pale eyes there was no hint of trouble or fear, merely a look of tolerant, half-contemptuous amusement. Immaculate in his dinner-coat and fresh boutonniere, his bearing superb in his ease and condescension, he presented a picture of elegance. Blaine glanced about the rich sombre den before he replied, I'm not playing any game, Mr. Rockamore. Why did you try so desperately to leave the city? The Englishman shrugged. A sudden whim, I suppose. Would it be divulging a secret of your profession, if you informed me why one of your men did not arrest me, since all had warrants on the ridiculous charge you brought against me this morning, of murdering my oldest and closest friend? I merely wanted to assure myself that you would not leave the city until I had obtained sufficient data with which to approach you, the detective responded, imperturbably. I have come to-night for a little talk with you, Mr. Rockamore. I trust I am not intruding. Not at all. As a matter of fact, after today's incidence I was rather expecting you. Rockamore waved his unbidden guest to a chair and produced a gold cigarette case. Smoke? You perhaps prefer cigars? No? A brandy and soda? Thank you, no. With your permission I will get right down to business. It will simplify matters for both of us, if you are willing to answer some questions I wish to put to you. But of course there is no compulsion about it. On the other hand it is my duty to warn you that anything you say may be used against you. Fire away, Mr. Blaine! Rockamore seated himself and stretched out his legs luxuriously to the open wood fire. I don't fancy that anything I shall say will militate against me. I was an idiot to lose my temper this morning. But I hate being made game of. Now the whole situation merely amuses me. But it may become tiresome. Let's get it over. Mr. Rockamore, you were born in Staffordshire, England, were you not? Near a place called Hansworth? The unexpected question brought a meditative frown to the other man's brow. But he replied readily enough. Yes, at Hansworth Castle, to be exact. But I can't quite gather what bearing that insignificant fact has upon your amazing charge this morning. You are the only son of Gerald Cecil Rockamore, third son of the Earl of Stafford. The detective did not appear to have heard the protest of the man he was interrogating. Precisely, but what? There were then four lives between you and the title, Blaine interrupted Tursley. But two remain, your father and grandfather. Your uncles died, both of sudden attacks of heart disease. And curiously enough both deaths occurred while they were visiting at Hansworth Castle. That is quite true. The cynical banter was gone from Rockamore's tones and he spoke with a peculiar hushed evenness as if he waited on guard for the next thrust. Lord Ashfrith, your father's oldest brother and next in line to the old Earl, was seated in the gun room of the castle sipping a brandy and soda and carving a peach stone. Twenty minutes before you had brought the peaches in from the garden and eaten them with him. He was showing you how, in his boyhood, he had carved a watch charm from a peach stone, and you were close at his side, when he suddenly fell over dead. Two years later your uncle Alaric, heir to the Earl Dome since his older brother was out of the way, dropped dead at a hunt breakfast. You were seated next to him. Are you trying to insinuate that I had anything to do with these deaths? Rockamore still spoke quietly, but there was a slight tremor in his tones, and his face looked suddenly gray and leaden in the glow of the leaping flames. I am recalling certain facts in your family history. When your uncle Alaric died he had just set down his cordial glass, which had contained a peach brandy. An odd coincidence, wasn't it, that both of these men died with the odor of peaches about them? An odor which incidentally you had provided in both cases. For it was you who suggested the peach brandy as a cordial at the hunt breakfast, and induced your uncle to partake of it. It was a coincidence, as you say. I had not thought of it before. The Englishman moistened his lips nervously, as if they suddenly felt dry. Uncle Alaric was a heavy, full-blooded man, and he had ridden hard that morning, contrary to the doctor's orders. I suggested the brandy as a bracer, I remember. An unfortunate suggestion, wasn't it, Blaine asked significantly. The other man made no reply. There was another coincidence. The detective pursued relentlessly. The brandy and soda, which Lord Ashforth was drinking at the moment of his death, was naturally a pale amber color. So was the brandy which your uncle Alaric drank as he died, and prusik acid is amber color too. Mr. Rockamore, Lord Ashforth was carving a peach stone when the end came, and the odor of peaches clung to his body. Your uncle Alaric partook of peach brandy, and the same odor hovered about him in death. Prusik acid is redolent of the odor of peaches. Rockamore started from his chair. I understand, but you are attempting to establish, by the flimsiest of circumstantial evidence, he sneered. But you are away beyond your depths, my man. May I ask where you obtain this interesting but scarcely valuable information? From Scotland Yard by Cable to-day. Blaine rose also, and faced the other man. An investigation was started into the second death upon the Earl's request, but it was dropped for lack of evidence. About that time, Mr. Rockamore, you decided rather suddenly, and for no apparent reason, to come to America, where you have remained ever since. Mr. Blaine, if I were in the mood to be facetious, I might employ your American vernacular, and ask you to tell me something I don't know. Come to the point, man, you try my patience. In view of recent developments, I am under the impression that Scotland Yard would welcome your reappearance on British soil, but I fear that will be forever impossible, Blaine said slowly, just as you were beside your uncles when each met his end, so you were beside Pennington Lawton when death came to him. That has been proved. Just as Brandy and Soda and Peach Brandy are amber-colored, so are Scotch Highballs, which you and Pennington Lawton were drinking. No odor of peaches lingered about the room, for Miss Lawton had lighted a handful of josticks in a vase upon the mantel earlier in the evening, and their pungent perfume filled the air. But the odor of peaches permeated the room when the tiny bottle which you hid in the folds of the chair was uncorked. The odor of peaches rose above the stench of mortifying flesh when the body of your victim was exhumed late last night for a belated autopsy. The heart would have revealed the truth had there been no corroborative evidence, for it was filled with arterial blood, incontrovertible proof of death by prusic acid poisoning. There was a tense pause, and then Rockamore spoke sharply, his voice strained to the breaking point. If you are so certain of my guilt, Blaine, why have you come to me secretly here, and now? What is your price? I have no price, the great detective answered simply. Then why do you not arrest me at once? Why this purposeless interview? Because, Blaine paused, and when he spoke again, a solemn hush almost of pity had crept into his tones. You come of a fine old line, Mr. Rockamore, of a splendid race. Your grandfather, the aged Earl, is living only in the past, proud of the record of his forebears. Your father is a soldier and statesman, valuable to the nation. His younger brother, Cedric, has achieved deserved fame and glory in the Boer War. There remains only you. For the sake of the innocent who must suffer with you, I have come to you tonight, that you may have an opportunity to prepare yourself. In the morning I must arrest you. My duty is plain. As he uttered the words, the crave and fear which had struggled through the malicious sneer on the other man's face faded as if an obliterating hand had passed across his brow. Any look of indomitable courage and resignation took its place. There was something akin to nobility in his expression, as he turned to the detective, with head proudly erect and shoulders squared. I thank you, Mr. Blaine, he said simply. I understand. I shall not fail them, the others. You have been far more generous to me than I deserve. And now, good night, you will find me here when you come in the morning. But in the morning Henry Blaine did not carry out his expressed intention. Instead he sat at his desk, staring at the headlines in a paper spread out before him. The honourable Bertrand Rockamore had been found dead on the floor of his den, with a bullet through his head. He would never allow his man to touch his guns, and had been engaged in cleaning one of them, as was his custom, in preparation for his annual shooting trip to Florida, when in some fashion it had been accidentally discharged. I wonder if I did the right thing, mused Blaine. He had the courage to do it after all. Blood will tell in the end.