When Stephen W. Harker of Harker & Pentecost returned from Pittsburgh,
where he’d been “planting” for a nice little Gasoline Substitute
Swindle (stock selling, of course—that was his department) and had sat
in for an hour with Pentecost, getting the details of the extraordinary
Haworth device and the elaborate scheme his partner had evolved for its
exploitation, he vehemently refused to have anything to do with it. Not
for by George and all hell was he going to put his head in a noose like
that when he had a nice safe little business that was raking it in as
fast as he wanted it.
“You got me going once when you had the firm into that damned Folsam
affair—you know the one—came out his wife had hit him with something in
his tea. You’d got a grip some way so you could hold it back an’ play
it. I dipped in with you an’ no complaint at the time. But now I’ll
tell you _that_ was too close for me and this time you’re going to jump
plumb into the middle of the shake-off! You must be dippy! They’ll get
you sure! Anyways, you can count me good an’ out.”
Pentecost sat toadlike, silent, regarding Harker with bulging,
half-closed eyes.
“Now hook to this,” Harker went on; “if the turn is against you and
they’re fixing you for the clamps, I back your play to ooze out of
anything. But I get loose teeth if I mix in with those little sports
that look like raspberry tarts to you. Now this Haworth layout—it
looks to me like a frolic with the undertaker; but if you like it for
yourself, go to it!”
“I’ve gone to it,” Pentecost murmured in a careless sort of way; “and I
play it under the firm name.”
“But my God—wait! That gets _me_ in!”
“Why, so it does!”
“What are you doing, dragging me into a play whether I want it or not?”
“Can that!” Pentecost flashed sudden fire for an instant. “Do you think
I planned this damned firm to keep you under glass?”
There was a short pause and Pentecost’s blaze-out subsided.
After a while Harker spoke in another tone, now petulant and pleading.
“You going to jam me up against that layout an’ nothing to say?”
“You can make your getaway now.”
“Jump the firm?”
“Why not? In that case, jump while the jumping’s good.”
Harker, on that, said no more. He’d go a long way before dropping the
partnership. It wasn’t alone losing the tidy and “classy” business
as it was now run through Pentecost’s putting it on a straight-play
basis, but even more than that he appreciated the association with this
marvelous operator. It gave him the feeling of trailing along with a
giant, a super-sharp, a past master of crookedness. He gave the matter
of the Haworth enterprise deep thought, and by noon of the following
day had decided to play in on it, saying to himself that he’d bar
worrying by putting his trust in Pentecost.
On the afternoon of the same day that Mr. Harker declared himself in
on the West Roxbury undertaking, both members of the firm embarked on
a steamer of the Metropolitan Line for Boston. The boat was the _North
Land_ and this line was the “all-the-way-by-water” route, the steamers
after traversing Long Island and Block Island Sounds and Buzzards Bay,
passing through the Cape Cod Canal into Barnstable Bay, and thence
through Cape Cod and Massachusetts Bay into Boston Harbor.
It was the fourth day after Pentecost’s visit to the Cripps mansion and
the firm was proceeding to Boston as agreed, in order to discuss with
Haworth various points of the contract—the amount to be paid down, the
delivery of the machine, and other matters connected with the sale—so
that the papers could be drawn up ready for signature on the day the
option expired.
Mr. Pentecost had already accomplished a great deal, having got in
reports from his men (if it was ordinary business you’d call them
correspondents) in all the large cities, and also having come to the
determination to carry on the thing himself in such of those towns as
he finally selected, instead of selling to the central agency or bureau
handling this class of material,—a bureau which he found to be run by
“pikers,” mortally afraid to pay big money for big chances. In addition
to this, it was safer not to trust them in so ticklish a business. So
he had it all laid out, and his own men were already where he wanted
them or on the way. He’d sent a couple of his choicest “trusties” over
to Boston the day before. Of course the main work was going to be there.
The taking of a steamer instead of going by rail, and also the
selection of this particular line, were both essential to Mr.
Pentecost’s scheme; and the same thing made it imperative that,
following their interview with Haworth, they return to New York by
the same boat on which they went over. So important was this latter,
indeed, that had they been unable to secure return accommodations
on the _North Land_, Pentecost would have postponed the trip until
both the going and returning could have been accomplished on the same
steamer—he did not care which of the two running on this route it was.
Awhile after the _North Land_ left—they must have been about running
out into the Sound at Hell Gate—Mr. Pentecost went to the purser’s
window to make inquiries about the tickets for the return trip (he had
left the matter to be adjusted when he came on board, merely having
been informed by telephone that the reservations had been made), and
after finishing with the business remarked jovially to Mr. Lawson (the
purser) that that was a damn good picture of a locomotive he had on the
wall there behind him. It represented, lithographed in color, a giant
locomotive hauling a night express on the New York Central, and so
realistically coming toward you that your first impulse was to make one
grand hurdle for your life. The purser, pleased at the appreciation,
for he had a fad on locomotives (a fact which Pentecost had obtained
from the comprehensive report on the steamer and its officers turned in
by one of his men), said it was a pretty good one, but he thought the
one they got out the year before beat it.
The conversation resulted in Mr. Pentecost’s being invited into the
office, and when business at the window permitted the purser showed him
other views of locomotives.
Pentecost didn’t stay long. He knew enough not to drive an entering
wedge too far.
By evening they had a slight acquaintance with several of the officers,
and Pentecost had made a most favorable impression on the head waiter
as well—this latter through the poignant influence of an extraordinary
tip; and along toward nine-thirty or ten o’clock the purser, with
whom he was chatting over cigars, introduced him to Captain Snow, who
happened along just then, and the three talked about the canal.
Pentecost made many intelligent inquiries on the subject and Harker
came along and listened in with great interest. So that the total
result of the voyage was most satisfactory from Pentecost’s point of
view. With no hint of pushing or forcing themselves they had a fairly
good traveler’s acquaintance with the captain, the purser, and several
minor officers of the _North Land_, as well as the head waiter and
one or two of the deck hands of whom they’d asked questions. Also the
chief engineer, to whom they’d been turned over on expressing a wish
to have a look at the “power plant,” as they called it. Pentecost had
made this engine room move in order to bring it in casually that they
were especially interested in machinery—almost their business, you
might say. Indeed, that they were even then on their way to Boston to
negotiate for the purchase of the rights in a most ingenious mechanical
contrivance, though they weren’t positive of being able to get it. Held
at so high a figure. But an extraordinary thing in its way.
* * * * *
The _North Land_ backed into her berth at India Wharf, Boston, shortly
after 8 o’clock the next morning, and Messrs. Harker & Pentecost were
driven to the hotel they were in the habit of patronizing when there
(except at such times as they preferred to have their presence in that
town unobserved), and went to the room which had been reserved by wire.
Alfred Harker, son of the senior partner, who’d come over on the train
that left New York at midnight (there’s an “Owl” in each direction you
know), had been waiting for them there since about half-past six in the
morning.
After breakfasting together and going over a few matters, the three
came down into the hotel office and sat there smoking and chatting. One
of the house managers came along. An assistant manager, I believe he
was. His name was Tate.
He greeted Pentecost and Harker by name, and Alfred (who hadn’t been
there before) was introduced.
“Boston on business?” Mr. Tate inquired, pleasantly.
“That’s it,” said Pentecost; “rather an odd business, too.”
“Not so much the _business_ that’s odd,” put in Harker, “but what it
brings us up against. Maybe you can give us a pointer or two. We’re
trying to buy a mechanical device—invention, you know—from the queerest
duck you ever saw, out Roxbury way.”
“Queer, eh?”
“Just bordering on the lunatic fringe,” Pentecost took it up, “but a
crackerjack on mechanics. Got a lot of strange devices in his shop out
there; most of ’em no earthly use but marvels of ingenuity, nearly
every one. Went out there to see ’em a few days ago—Sunday it was. In
fact, it was a Sunday paper put me on to it. Full-page write-up about
the chap—pictures of him and all that.”
“Oh yes,” Tate put in. “I saw it—I mean the heading—that’s all I read.
Something about a hermit, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“Has some ingenious things, you say?”
“Remarkable! No idea I’d find anything we wanted when I saw the
tumble-down place; but, if you’ll believe it, he had one of the most
novel inventions I ever laid eyes on; in fact, just the kind of thing
we’re after. Exploiting’s our business, you know. I got an option on it
and we’re over here to get the thing if we can.”
“What’s the man’s name—I forget?”
“Haworth—Charles Michael Haworth, if you want it all. I suppose you
can’t tell us anything about him?”
But aside from having caught a glimpse of that heading Mr. Tate had
never heard of the man. He assured them, though, that he was going to
make inquiries, and if he got hold of anything he’d certainly let them
know. They thanked him, and not long after that the three went out and
took a carefully selected taxi for West Roxbury.
I don’t want you to get the idea that there were any loose ends about
what these super-sharps were doing—not for one half of one per cent.
They figured the play to a hair. In this case they had Tate cribbed for
a witness.
* * * * *
Although the day set for the visit of Harker, Pentecost, and Alfred
to the mansion on Torrington Road was not one of Mrs. Temple’s days
_in_ according to custom, but was branded by the calendar as a Friday
(which was one of her days _out_) the old woman was there just the
same. Since the appearance of Mr. Pentecost at the house nearly a week
before she had been obsessed by the feeling that he was working up
some treacherous plot against the trusting young fellow in her charge,
and she was determined to be on hand to keep a watch on the vicious
brute if he came to the house again—as she had no doubt whatever that
he would.
But Haworth had taken note of this tendency of Mrs. Temple’s to be
present irrespective of her days in and finding her there on this
particular morning he had sent the old woman on an errand which would
keep her away for some time. So when the party arrived at the house it
was he who opened the door.
Mr. Pentecost greeted him and introduced his partner, Mr. Harker, and
Mr. Alfred Harker, after which Haworth ushered them into the room on
the left. It was all peculiarly quiet and subdued. Few words were
spoken, and those that were, in lowered voices. Pentecost took notice
of Haworth’s improved appearance—his quiet, steady voice and the
absence of the tortured look and the “drowning-man” stare.
After the four were seated there was a brief pause. They seemed
weighed down by some sort of oppressive restraint that could almost be
described as funereal.
It was Harker senior who finally began the conversation, endeavoring,
with an allusion to Boston’s climate, to establish a commonplace
atmosphere—though one hardly more cheerful; and Harker junior hastened
to his assistance with a reference to his surprise at so rural a
section being in the heart of the town. He supposed Roxbury—or was it
Jamaica Plain?—might be so considered.
Pentecost turned them to business, remarking that there wasn’t any time
to throw away, and that the first thing was to go down and inspect
the machine under consideration, so that the Harkers could get a
clear understanding of it. Before they did this, however, he would
appreciate information as to the whereabouts of the talented old lady
he had seen there on his previous visit. Haworth explained that Mrs.
Temple had been dispatched on an errand to East Boston and would have
to wait there about three hours before the foundry people could get her
the article he’d ordered. Pentecost inquired how much time the journey
to East Boston and return would normally require. Haworth thought, with
the walk necessary when she got there, it might roughly be put at two
hours.
“How long ago did she leave?” Pentecost inquired.
“About twenty minutes.”
“An hour and forty minutes left,” and he glanced at his watch.
“Four hours and forty minutes, if she waits there three,” corrected
Alfred.
“As you say—if she waits there three,” was Pentecost’s muttered
rejoinder.
The four men spent over an hour in the planked-up room, various sounds
of clanking machinery and low-toned conversation issuing therefrom.
When they finally completed their investigations and were coming
out, Mr. Pentecost expressed the wish to see others of Mr. Haworth’s
inventions; so the young man, after lighting Mr. Harker and Alfred to
the stairway, took him to the large room where he kept his working
models. In this way Pentecost got the opportunity of speaking with
Haworth alone.
There were a number of matters relative to the exploitation of the
invention in the planked-up room that he wished to arrange with the
young man personally. Nothing in all this was a secret from Harker, who
understood that it would be better for Pentecost to arrange matters
with Haworth personally, afterward turning over the results, as you
might say, to his partner.
In the course of this interview in the model room Pentecost spoke
earnestly for some time. Haworth’s rejoinders were short and quiet, but
it was perfectly evident that what he said, he meant.
After several matters had been gone over, Pentecost turned his
attention to the inventions he had come in there to see, for his wish
to look them over wasn’t altogether a blind. Eventually he came upon
one that suited the purpose he had in view. It showed great ingenuity,
and it was not patented—two most desirable points.
When the two men came upstairs they found Mr. Harker and Alfred seated
at the table in the room on the left, working on the rough draft of the
proposed agreement. A sound and businesslike contract with Haworth was
of the utmost importance to the firm.
They’d been discussing the matter for some time when Pentecost stopped
them with a quick motion of his hand and sat listening. After a moment
he glanced at his watch. The time was nineteen minutes after twelve.
“Gave us four minutes longer than I figured,” he muttered in an
undertone.
“Mrs. Temple?” from Alfred in a whisper.
Haworth, amazed, incredulous, started up to investigate, but Pentecost
indicated that he’d like to attend to it himself. Tiptoeing to the
swing door of the butler’s pantry at the farther end of the room, he
stood close to it, listening for a second, then suddenly pushed it open
and went out, the door closing itself after him. Sounds like the moving
of furniture came from the kitchen, and Pentecost soon reëntered as
though nothing unusual had taken place. Instead, though, of sitting
where he’d been before, he pushed a chair close to the door into the
big entrance hall, which door he opened a few inches, and sat in such
a position that he could command a view of the main stairway at the
farther end of the hall.
“Shall I go on?” Alfred inquired after a moment.
“Why not?” said Pentecost.
Alfred read the draft of the contract, and when he came to the blank
left for the amount that Haworth was to get when the agreement was
signed, he stopped and looked at Pentecost. The latter said that Mr.
Haworth had consented to allow the matter to stand over till the day
of signing—nine days from then. However, he would say before witnesses
that it would be a figure satisfactory to Mr. Haworth after considering
certain facts which he, Pentecost, would then be in a position to give
him. “He’s willing,” and Pentecost said it appreciatively, “to allow us
that much more time to feel out the market.”
He then went on to tell them that, as a result of a discussion they’d
just had in the basement, Mr. Haworth had agreed to another matter to
be included in the contract. It was to the effect that, in case the
negotiations for the purchase of the invention were successful, Mr.
Haworth would sign for a term of five years, to work exclusively for
the firm of Harker & Pentecost, on such inventive undertakings as they
should designate, receiving as compensation a salary of six thousand a
year.
Harker was struck with astonishment at this, but in an instant realized
the importance of the stipulation to the firm. Alfred, too, was
surprised—though he showed no sign of it. Neither need have troubled
to hide his feelings, as Haworth cared nothing about them one way or
another.
Alfred was beginning to put away the papers in his document case, when
Pentecost spoke of wishing to suggest a method for safeguarding the
secrecy of this unpatented mechanism when they had occasion to refer
to it in any way, orally or in writing. His idea was that they allude
to it as “The Machine,” and in case some allusion to the mechanism was
necessary, they should use for that purpose, _as a blind_, some other
of Mr. Haworth’s inventions, preferably an apparatus on which a patent
_had_ been allowed. “Letters may fall into the hands of outsiders,”
Mr. Pentecost explained. “Telegrams and telephonic communications are
of necessity known to various persons, and personal conversations are
quite liable to be overheard. By using the name and description of some
other device these dangers may be eliminated and we will understand
what is meant.” He happened to come upon one of Mr. Haworth’s earlier
inventions that would very well answer the purpose—a combination gas
and compressed-air engine, really a most ingenious thing. They could
speak of this as “The Machine” or as “The Gas and Air Engine,” and
allude to its construction when necessary. He was very desirous of
having this blind used in the contract—for contracts frequently have to
be made public and this would make everything safe.
This ended the discussion of the contract. But Pentecost, turning to
Haworth, said there was an important matter that he rather hated to
speak of, but with an extra-hazardous operation like this it was vital.
“What is it?” Haworth asked, slightly apprehensive.
“I’m going to ask you to give that admirable old lady of yours a
vacation.”
Pentecost was taking care to turn away from the slightly open door to
the hall while speaking. “You must see, Mr. Haworth,” he went on in a
lowered voice, “that it won’t do to have her about for the next ten
days. The machine,—by that I mean the one we’re taking—is going to be
exposed at the time of its ‘delivery’—perhaps before. She knows it’s in
that room down there; you can’t touch _her_ with any decoy. She may not
understand machinery, but she’d give it away to others who did.”
Haworth was silent for a moment. A great ache gripped his throat, and
he finally spoke in a voice that he couldn’t quite control: “You don’t
know how—how true she’s been—how kind! Why she—she’d do anything for
me!”
“Yes, my friend, and there’s where she’d play particular hell with us!
That old dame’s no fool. And the trouble is, she’s got the idea there’s
something going on here and she’s all set to protect you from it.”
“Yes, yes—she’d do that!” Haworth murmured, huskily.
“Not _would_—is now!”
The young man looked at him suddenly.
Pentecost nodded. “In the butler’s pantry there a few minutes ago,” he
went on; “slid back into the kitchen as I was going to the door. When
I got out there she was hustling up the back stairway. I shut the door
at the bottom of the stairs and balanced a table against it. You’ll
hear it fall if she tries to push the door open. Only way she can get
down is by the main stairway out here. Don’t think she’d care to try a
window.”
Haworth was so amazed he couldn’t speak.
“You must see what this means to our end of it,” Pentecost went on.
“We’ve got to put up big money in advance and incur enormous expenses
before there’s any return, and here’s this old lady in a position to
wreck the whole damned layout if she can get her nose into it—and
that’s what she’s working for.”
“What—what do you want me to do?”
“Keep her out of the house until the machine’s delivered.”
The young man was silent, staring uneasily before him. In a moment or
two Pentecost resumed: “I admire that old lady and I’ve got things laid
out for her later where she’ll come in delightfully. But for eleven
days she’ll have to disappear—or we must. It’s one or the other, Mr.
Haworth. We can’t risk money on a chance like that.”
Haworth nodded. “I’ll attend to it!” he said, hoarsely.
“Right. And there’s only one thing more to speak of—the butler.”
“Butler——” Haworth repeated, surprised.
“The old lady’s going. You ought to have some one here to attend to
you. Also, we’d like a man in the house to look out for our interests.
Why not combine the two? A butler—a general servant—who’ll take care
of you, and on our side see that no one tampers with the lock of that
small room in the basement, and a few little things like that.”
“Will you send some one?”
“Not quite that, Mr. Haworth. I know just the man for the job, but I’d
like you to get him yourself and leave us out of it.”
“But I—I don’t know. I never had any experience in——”
“Perfectly easy to manage. This young butler I speak of is booked with
a first-class employment agency on Forty-fifth Street.”
“New York?”
“Yes, West Forty-fifth. You can write them to send him over. Fellow’s
name is Dreek—James Dreek—and if he isn’t out on a job they’ll put him
on the next train.” (Pentecost very well knew “James Dreek” wasn’t out
on any job, though not from the employment agency, with which concern
he’d been more than careful never to have any dealings whatever.)
“Dreek can manage the whole place for you—see that our side of it is
protected at the same time.” He got out a pocketbook and took a card
from it. “Here we are; this is the agency.”
“But I——What shall to say to this—this agency?”
“Here, I’ll do it for you and you can sign it. Got a machine here?
Typewriter?”
Haworth shook his head.
“Oh well, wait. Sign your name at the bottom of a blank sheet and I’ll
type a letter in above it when I get back to the hotel.”
For some reason Haworth trusted this man implicitly, and after writing
his name at the bottom of a blank sheet, held it out to him. But
Pentecost didn’t take it.
“Haven’t you got a large envelope or something I can put it in?” he
asked. “Just to keep it clean till I get to the hotel?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Haworth, looking about on the table.
“Couldn’t you slip it into that large flat book there?”
“Why no! that’s my——Oh!” He seemed to recollect something and opened
the book, which was an illustrated catalogue of machinists’ tools, and
placed the sheet of paper on which he’d written, between the leaves.
“Shove an envelope with it, there’s a good fellow. The kind you use for
letters.”
Haworth did this and passed the book to Pentecost, who thus got the
stationery he wanted without touching it himself or having anyone else
touch it after it left Haworth’s hands.
Pentecost said, as he and the two Harkers were preparing to go: “Keep
it from the old lady that Dreek comes here on our recommendation.”
“I will,” said Haworth.
“We’re coming back in ten days—expiration of option you know—and can
take delivery at that time if the machine’s ready by then.”
“It’s ready now.”
Pentecost looked at him with a peculiar glint in his droop-lidded eyes.
“Then you plan to make delivery on that date?” he asked.
“My God, yes! if I’ve got to wait that long!”
Pentecost regarded the young man absently for an instant, then, with
the Harkers, turned away, and the three went down the steps to the
waiting taxi.
* * * * *
The firm, with Alfred, had a late luncheon at the hotel, and then
Pentecost left the others and walked a few blocks—or what would have
been a few blocks in a rectangular city—to one of the largest dealers
in “rebuilt” typewriting machines. He asked to see some of the less
expensive models, and the salesman brought several, placing them on a
table along the side of the wall of the showroom. As it was a busy
hour, he left Pentecost to try the lot at his leisure, and went to the
customers who were waiting to be served.
Pentecost sat down and began trying the machines in a manner indicating
to anyone who noticed that he was somewhat of a novice. But though he
was awkward and slow, it didn’t take him long to discover which of the
three instruments displayed the most irregularities in its output; and
thereupon he quietly gave it a few extra characteristics, slightly
bending a couple of the type bars and filing away a part of two or
three of the printing faces with the nail blade of his pocket knife.
After a sharp glance about the place to assure himself that he wasn’t
under observation, he took the signed sheet of paper and envelope from
the large thin book in which Haworth had placed them, handling these
things with small pieces of blotting-paper folded once and slipped over
the edges, so that for the second time that day he avoided contact with
them.
The sheet of paper was thus inserted in the machine he had selected
(and doctored), and he proceeded to type a letter on it in the space
above Haworth’s signature. His inexperience with the typewriting
business was still in evidence, for he was constantly stopping to erase
or print over, or forgetting to shift for the next line.
There’s only time to give you an example, here and there, of this man’s
extraordinary methods of constructing his defenses. He worked far
deeper than along the line of the obvious, for his highest satisfaction
was to put up barriers against what had never been thought of by police
departments, but which he conceived as possible.
After finishing the letter, addressing the envelope, sealing it and
affixing a postage stamp by the same blotting-paper method of handling
(the moistening of stamp and envelope being his only “touchdowns”—but
no system of tongue-prints has as yet been devised), he bought the
machine he had been using for nineteen dollars, and took it with him.
The sealed letter he had slipped into a larger envelope, again making
use of the blotting-paper hold.
Walking to the corner of Court and Sudbury Streets, which wasn’t far,
he stopped and, taking out his handkerchief, mopped at his left eye,
as if he’d got a cinder in it. At once a man who had been following
came and stood at the corner near, but without giving any sign of
recognition. It was a busy corner, so that a man more or less stopping
there wouldn’t attract attention. Even at that early stage a “trusty”
was on the job in case anyone was putting a shadow on him.
The signal was “all clear,” and Pentecost turned west and strolled up
beyond the State House to Bullfinch Place. His man, following, joined
him in this quiet neighborhood.
Pentecost put the large envelope in his hands.
“Letter inside, stamped and addressed. Get it into the nearest letter
box to the house and before eight to-night,” he said, speaking rapidly.
“And _keep your hands off it_. Rip open the outside envelope, and let
the one inside slide into the box. Here’s a typewriter in this package;
take it out and polish it up. Clean all the marks off it. Wrap it up
again without touching it. Do you get that? If you put one finger on
it after you polish it off it’s you for the chair. The machine’s for
Haworth. Take it to him yourself. Tell him I thought he might like to
learn to use it. You stand by and get him to try it—tell him you’ve got
to change it if not satisfactory. I want his hands on it.”
“I get you!”
And the two sauntered carelessly away in different directions.
* * * * *
When the firm of Harker & Pentecost, together with the son of the
senior partner, boarded the _North Land_ late that afternoon for the
return trip to New York, they greeted their steamer acquaintances of
the previous night pleasantly, though in a manner indicating that
they’d had a rather strenuous day of it. Mr. Pentecost alluded to his
intention of turning in early. Alfred was introduced to the purser and
one or two others as occasion arose, and the three were about for a
while, chatting with one and another of the officers.
Beside the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost and Alfred, there were two men
on board the _North Land_ who were closely associated with the firm,
although giving no evidence thereof. Their business on this trip was to
make close observation of certain points and circumstances connected
with the steamer and its crew, particularly in the passage through the
canal and the docking of the boat on reaching New York the following
morning; which business was faithfully attended to, as was also the
matter of their making the reservation of the two cabins they were
occupying on this voyage for the trip out of Boston ten days later, so
that the firm should have no appearance whatever in that transaction,
these rooms being 202 and 204 on the hurricane deck—the name of which
tends to foster the idea that it was high up among the clouds, whereas
there were two decks above it, the promenade and the boat.
The firm members made not the slightest effort to push themselves;
they were seen here and there; and after an early dinner together,
Pentecost, passing the pilot house, greeted Captain Snow, and the two
exchanged a few words through the open window. He very soon left,
saying he was going to bed, but hoped to be on board a week later, as
he had further business in Boston about then.
Instead, however, of turning in, he slipped down to the fantail, a
small deck at the stern just below the promenade. Passengers seldom
went there—and, indeed, weren’t allowed on that deck while the steamer
was docking or leaving, for the crew worked from there, and it was
cumbered with hawsers and chains, capstans, bitts, and other machinery
for handling the ship. When she was under way, however, the chains
across the passage were taken down. One of his men was on the fantail
when Pentecost got there, but no sign of recognition passed between
them. The other man was in the forward part of the boat, moving
unobtrusively about to see where officers and crew were stationed as
the steamer negotiated the canal, which she was about to do. Both men
on the fantail made the closest observations possible as she slid
quietly through, the passage occupying something like thirty-five
minutes, for they had her down to less than half speed. It was dusky
twilight when the _North Land_ entered the canal, and quite dark as she
emerged at the other end. And when she _did_ emerge and swung out into
the shimmering and light-dotted open of Buzzards Bay, Pentecost went at
once to his cabin, slipping forward by the outside starboard passage,
to the door of the saloon lobby, and from there up the stairway to the
promenade deck, thus keeping it nicely in the shade as to what part of
the ship he’d come from.
The week that followed was one of hard work for Mr. Pentecost,
arranging for the execution of his extraordinary plan of
campaign—assembling the parts, as you might say, arranging for “the
market” in most of the large cities, instructing his men, and all the
while perfecting his defensive system to cover any possible contingency.
For Haworth, after he had finished with the very painful task of asking
old Mrs. Temple to remain away from the house until the machine he’d
sold was crated and taken away, the waiting wasn’t so hard as it had
been, for now he was uplifted by the realization that at last he’d be
able to come to the rescue of the one who was dearer to him than his
life.
* * * * *
Early one evening, soon after the Harker & Pentecost visit I’ve just
been telling you about, he went to see her. He’d been keeping away for
weeks—months, it seemed to him—in order to spare her the trying ordeal
with Augustus—his drunken and bestial abuse, his threats of violence,
that were sure to follow his visits. But now he wanted her to have the
comfort of knowing that help was coming—that it would be here in a few
days. And it was something he wanted to say to her in person—say with
his mouth and lips and eyes and heart and entire being—not convey in
the form of a letter, a cold series of words which in themselves meant
next to nothing. Making as sure as possible of a time when Findlay
wasn’t there or likely to be, he went to the little cottage.
It was a precious visit for them both, though her cough and emaciation
and strange pallor with the feverish scarlet flush made his heart stop
beating when he first saw her. But it was from that—from the terrible
thing it meant—that he could now be the one to save her. And he told
her about the invention he was going to sell for a great deal of money,
and how after that everything would be done for her—everything—the most
wonderful medical care and the most beneficial place in the world. He
was magnificently happy in telling her this, and she was quietly elated
with him, rejoicing to the utmost of her small strength. But before her
happiness could be completed she had to ask if he would be with her,
and be made confident that he would. He assured her that it was so,
that though he might not be able to go with her when she went, because
of the business he would have to finish up, he would come as soon as he
could possibly do it—the very minute he could get away.
* * * * *
The steamer _North Land_ upon which the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost
had already made two trips—one over and one back—made fast to the
India wharf in Boston on the tenth morning after their former visit to
Haworth, which brought it to the 30th day of August—the expiration date
of the option. The voyage had been quiet and uneventful, the partners
not pushing themselves in the least, though enjoying brief chats with
some of the officers and having cigars with Captain Snow and one or two
others in his cabin after dinner.
When they were asked how it was coming out about the invention they
were trying to get hold of—the one they’d referred to on the last trip
over—Mr. Pentecost gave them some further particulars about young
Haworth and his extraordinary genius; and as there seemed to be quite
a little interest in the matter, he briefly described what it was they
were trying to get hold of—a combination gas and compressed-air engine.
He spoke, too, of an idea they had of trying to get the young inventor
on a contract to work under their direction for five years.
Alfred was waiting for them at the hotel (the one at which they
stopped before), having, as he had on the former visit, come over
by a night train. A heavy mail awaited the firm at the office, with
several telegrams from various places and two or three large envelopes
registered, all of which had been attended to by Miss Dugas, their
office stenographer, who had notified the “correspondents” (as you
might call them) in various cities to send letters and telegrams to
Boston as per instructions; and because you know the letters and
telegrams so sent were bogus, the trick being one among many items
in Pentecost’s establishment of their “open work” presence in town,
it needn’t lead you to imagine that a single envelope of the lot
contained only blank paper. Each one had in it an apparently important
business communication relating to one of the three or four legitimate
promotions that the firm operated as decoys; and if traced to its
source a man or woman would be found who was trying to buy stock in one
of their straight companies, or wanting an agency, or with an invention
to sell, or that sort of thing. Pentecost left two or three of the best
of these letters lying about the room for the chambermaid to turn in
at the hotel office when he left. Also, he went to the hotel telegraph
desk and asked for a repeat on one of his wires.
After breakfast in the restaurant the three men retired to their room
and went into a low-voiced conference for perhaps half an hour.
Then Pentecost went down to the hotel desk, there making inquiry
as to a reliable trucking concern that could handle a heavy piece
of machinery he wanted hauled from West Roxbury to one of the
freight stations for Jersey City. Proceeding by taxi to one that the
information clerk looked up for him, he arranged for one of their heavy
trucks and a moving apparatus and plenty of men to call for the machine
on the following day, giving them an order on Haworth and full shipping
instructions. Having done this, he rejoined the Harkers.
And about twenty minutes before eleven the three came out of the hotel
and, entering a large car which had been waiting for them, were driven
away. No slipping out on the quiet. All open and aboveboard.
Harker rang the bell at the mansion, and James Dreek opened the door.
He was an ideal servant in both appearance and behavior. When Harker
inquired if Mr. Haworth was at home, Dreek asked what names he should
give, and upon being told—with the further information that they’d come
by appointment—he begged pardon and showed them in at once, saying Mr.
Haworth was expecting them.
The great entrance hall showed a marked change since their visit of
ten days before. Several worn chairs stood about and a long table was
pushed up against the north wall—doubtless stuff that wouldn’t sell and
had been stored in other rooms or the attic. But the most noticeable
thing in the place was a huge edifice in the form of a crate, measuring
something like five feet in height. Between the slats and timbers of
this enormous cage could be seen machinery of heavy build, and such
parts as were discernible plainly indicated to a person of sufficient
mechanical enlightenment that it was an engine of some kind.
Pentecost walked over to the great slatted box and glanced at what
was visible within, then followed the two others of his party, who
had gone into the room on the left,—the door of which James Dreek was
holding open for him.
Haworth was shaking hands with Harker and Alfred as he entered, and he
did the same with Pentecost as he approached; and as the latter asked
him how he was feeling, the faint smile that meant so much lighted his
face for an instant as he answered in a low voice, “Rather worn-out
waiting, Mr. Pentecost.”
“We had to take all the time the option allowed us, Mr. Haworth, but
we’re here within the limit and can go on whenever you say the word.”
“Consider the word said,” was Haworth’s quiet answer.
Upon which Mr. Harker took the papers from a document case and tossed
them on the table.
The contract, though not long, took some little time to go through,
for Harker was at pains to explain each point; and you could see that
Haworth was growing restless and was eager to come to the clause
dealing with the amount of money which the firm was to pay him.
When Harker—it was toward the end—read out that the amount to be paid
to the party of the first part upon the signing of this contract was
the sum of fifteen thousand dollars, and was going on with slight
acceleration of speed to the next clause, Haworth said, very quietly:
“Wait a minute, please. That’s a mistake.”
“Mistake? How so?” from Harker—simulating surprise.
“You said fifteen thousand. It should be forty-five.”
What might be called a telling pause followed, the idea being that the
partners were struck dumb with astonishment.
“Forty-five what?” Harker finally managed to inquire.
“Thousand,” Haworth answered in his gentle voice.
“Where in God’s name did you get the notion that we are going to give
you such a figure as that? Why you’re crazy! We never agreed to any
such ridiculous price—never in this world!”
“Excuse me. Your partner”—indicating Pentecost—“said the amount would
be one that was satisfactory to me. That’s the one that is. I’ve found
I need it.”
“Mr. Haworth”—Harker spoke with quiet and pleading earnestness—“let’s
be reasonable about this. The amount you name is far beyond what we’re
able to pay. We couldn’t touch it. If that’s the figure you’re going
to insist on, it’s only a dirty waste of time for us to go on talking.
We’re through—and the whole thing stops right here!”
“No—it doesn’t stop! I know the idea’s good—you wouldn’t be here if it
wasn’t—and if you can’t give me as much as that, I can find someone who
will!”
The two super-sharps of the firm, born gamblers both, were entirely
aware that Haworth meant precisely what he said, no thought of bluffing
having a place in his system. They argued about it for some little
time—which is to say, Harker did, for Haworth said nothing, merely
shaking his head a little now and then in refusal of some offer or
suggestion; and when Harker, driven to his last play, stated that all
the money they’d brought with them was twenty-five thousand, the young
man merely asked him how long it would take to get the rest.
“Then you won’t accept this twenty-five?” Harker’s tone had now a
definite finality in it, carrying the idea that he was giving Haworth
his last chance. But the young man shook his head again.
It was here that Pentecost, who hadn’t joined in the discussion,
came forward. He said he had one proposal to make. It was quite true
the firm had brought only twenty-five thousand, but he himself had
in his possession the sum of ten thousand, which he’d intended using
in the liquidation of a stock transaction. But he was so anxious to
have the deal go through that he would add this ten thousand to the
firm’s twenty-five, and they would then be able to offer Mr. Haworth
thirty-five thousand in cash, and in addition to that would agree to
pay him or whomsoever he might designate as his agent, an amount equal
to one-fifth of whatever profit they were able to make on the handling
of the enterprise.
I’m giving you this little episode in some detail because it was
certainly odd to see such a simple, almost childlike person as
Charles Michael Haworth putting it all over a brace of about the most
consummate swindlers that ever adorned the criminal contingent, and
doing it without an idea that he was making any play at all.
As to this new proposition of accepting one-fifth share of the profits
in place of ten thousand of the cash price which he had fixed upon, he
considered it a few moments and then turned to Pentecost.
“Will you attend to this yourself?” he asked.
“Yes—I will.”
The young man sat looking steadily at Mr. Pentecost for some little
time, his calm penetrating gaze seeming to search for something. Then
he turned away and indicated that he would agree to the arrangement
proposed.
Harker had been fuming to himself over his partner’s enormous offer,
but Pentecost, with a peculiar twist of his hand as he looked at his
wrist watch, put it across to him that the game was so fixed they
couldn’t lose. Harker’s experience with this same signal in former
operations led him to infer that it didn’t matter what they paid, as
they’d get it back. He took out his fountain pen and wrote into the
contract the thirty-five thousand and the one-fifth share of profits.
After both parties to the agreement had duly written their names, James
Dreek was called in to sign as one witness, with Alfred Harker as the
other, thus making the thing complete and duly executed. It was in
duplicate—one copy for Haworth, the other for the firm.
After the signing, with only a wait until Dreek had left the room,
Mr. Harker, with some difficulty, got out the bunch of money from the
document case and passed it over to Alfred. At the same time Pentecost
approached the table, and saying, “There’s mine,” tossed a roll of
bills on it. This payment in cash had been insisted on by Haworth from
the very beginning.
Alfred counted out the thirty-five thousand, which was in century
notes, on the table. The separate piles of a thousand each were deftly
stacked in one, and this was pushed nonchalantly across the table to
Haworth. He fussed with it rather helplessly a moment.
“Like to have ’em riffled again with the brakes on?” Alfred was an
expert bill shifter and had snapped ’em off like the flutter of a
humming bird’s wings.
“Yes, please.” Haworth watched intently while the lightfingered youth
dealt each bill off the pack so slowly and carefully that it could be
seen and noted as it fell on the pile before him.
When the recount was finished, Haworth muttered a “thank you,” and
signed the receipt which Harker, mumbling something about its being “a
cash transaction, you know,” pushed over to him.
At that moment, Pentecost, turning from the money count, caught sight
of James Dreek going through the swing door into the butler’s pantry at
the farther end of the room.
“How the hell did _he_ get here?” Pentecost demanded in a sharp,
rasping whisper the instant the door swung to.
“Who?” Haworth asked with a glance about.
“That young butler of yours. He had his lamps on that stack of yellows
on the table.”
“You got him in yourself,” Haworth answered, “to sign as a witness.”
“He went out again!” (Still in the guttural whisper.) “We waited for
that before we slid the boodle out on the table.”
“You said he was all right, didn’t you?”
“All the same, you want to be a little careful with that bunch of
money!” And he moved noiselessly to the door which had closed after
Dreek’s exit, and listened with his ear close against it.
Appearing to be no more than half satisfied, he returned to the others
and for an hour they discussed various points such as Haworth’s wishes
regarding future payments, the taking of the machine the next day by
the trucking firm, and the actual time of what was referred to by them
as “delivery of the goods.” These things settled, Pentecost expressed
the wish to take a look around the basement. Haworth went with him to
the place where the planked-up room had been. Not only was it no longer
there, but no evidence existed of its having been there. The timbers
and flooring above the place where it had been built in showed no nail
marks or abrasions of any kind and were grimy and darkened by age.
Having examined the place and its vicinity with the utmost care, using
for this the small electric torch he always carried, Pentecost led the
way into what had been the machine shop, and closed the door. There he
went over several important matters which he preferred to discuss with
Haworth alone. They conversed earnestly for a while, and then left the
basement together by the door opening to stone steps leading up to the
grounds at the rear of the house.
Mr. Pentecost made a surreptitious examination of this door and the
route by which they reached it, while Haworth was setting the lamp on
the cellar stairs, after extinguishing it. The two then went out to the
old barn not far in the rear, and looked about there for a while. After
that they went toward the house again.
Haworth had been carrying the big bunch of money in his clothes all
this while, part in one pocket and part in another, and Pentecost,
appearing to notice this for the first time, begged him to go in and
put it somewhere where it would be safe. He said he’d walk about a bit
for the air and would be with him in a few minutes. So Haworth left him
and went in.
Pentecost now gave the house (outside) and its surroundings his full
attention, especially as to the windows of the room on the left with
their vine-covered shutters, and the character of the ground and
shrubbery beneath them. It took him but a few moments to get all the
information he needed as to the walls and foundation and roof overhang,
together with other details that might come in, and lastly he took a
look at the great elm trees in front and the “lay” of the ground in the
rear.
He reëntered the house by the basement door through which he and
Haworth had come out, and James Dreek was waiting for him in a corner
of the cellar.
“Old woman?” Pentecost asked in a whisper.
“Outside,” was the answer. “Watches all day from a distance. Nights in
the bushes close under the side windows.”
“We can use her!” And he gave Dreek whispered directions, after which
he rejoined the others in the room on the left.
Harker and Alfred were ready to go—indeed eager to, for it hadn’t been
an easy quarter of an hour for them. They rose rather suddenly when
Pentecost came in, and the three moved toward the door murmuring the
ordinary phrases of leave-taking.
Haworth had taken the bulky bunches of money out of his pockets and put
them together on the table, and as Pentecost and the two Harkers saw
him last he was standing there with one hand resting on them. He made
no move to go with them to the door.
* * * * *
Besides the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost and Alfred, there were on board
the steamer _North Land_ when she left the India wharf that same
afternoon, a number of persons who were more or less concerned in
the business of the firm, yet, as you need hardly be told, giving no
indication that such was the case. Not only were cabins 202 and 204 on
the hurricane deck occupied by Pentecost’s men as before, but 200, 201,
203, and 205 were also held, though only two of these were occupied.
Thus, if you should happen to examine a chart of the boat, you would
see that the firm commanded both port and starboard approaches to the
fantail.
And also as on the return voyage eight days before, the partners
appeared to be pretty well fagged out, although it didn’t prevent their
being about for a while and chatting pleasantly with their steamer
acquaintances, letting it be known (but not until inquiry was made)
that they’d succeeded in purchasing the rights to the extraordinary
device of which they’d spoken, and what was more, had got a contract
with the young inventor himself giving them his services for five years.
Again they had an early dinner together in the restaurant and sat on
the boat deck for a while, smoking cigars. Along toward half-past seven
or a quarter to eight they sauntered forward, pausing at the large
windows of the pilot house and greeting the captain. He asked them to
come in and have a look at the canal—which the steamer was even then
slowing down to enter. They accepted the invitation, and sat watching
the shores on each side until it grew so dark—for the night was
overcast—that only faint and blurred outlines could be distinguished.
Some ten or twelve minutes before they reached the western end of the
canal, Pentecost rose lazily, made an effort to conceal a yawn, and
bade the captain good night. He was rather done up with the day in
Boston, he said, and really couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.
Having thus excused himself, he went below, leaving Harker there to
see the ship come out into the Bay, which he claimed to be desirous of
doing.
Shortly after this the steamer slid silently by the village of Buzzards
Bay, its many lights twinkling about a mile to the north, for it
wasn’t situated directly on the canal; and a little later passed out
into the open waters of the Bay itself; and on that, in obedience to
the “full speed ahead” ring from the wheel-house, broke into her normal
stride again, heading out toward Block Island Sound.
About this time, when the _North Land_ had been clear of the canal for
something like eight or ten minutes, Mr. Harker’s attention appeared to
be suddenly arrested by something below on the forward deck.
“Well, doesn’t that beat the——” He broke off and stood staring down.
“Anything wrong?”
“Not exactly wrong—only he was telling us just now he was so completely
done up he’d got to go to bed!”
“Your partner, you mean?”
“Yes, Pentecost! And now he’s gone into conference with a young lady!
Over there on the left. See?”
Harker was pointing to a man near the port rail, whose back was turned
to them and who was in animated conversation with a person who, in the
dim light, appeared to be an attractive young lady.
Captain Snow laughed a little.
“So he has,” he said. “Well, it’s never too late for that!”
“There’s truth in what you say,” Harker admitted, and thereupon changed
the subject. “New Bedford light we see over there?” he asked.
“No. That’s Bird Island. Five points starboard.”
“What’s that one you’re aiming for?”
“Dead ahead you mean?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a fairway buoy—Buzzards Bay Buoy they call it. We change the
course there for Nigger Ledge.”
Most likely you picked it up when I mentioned that it was only the
back of the gentleman on the forward deck that could be seen from the
pilot house, and naturally it was the said back that resembled Mr.
Harker’s partner; and that was all that did. The man wasn’t Pentecost
at all, for the good and sufficient reason that that gentleman had
jumped off the steamer fifteen minutes before. It was one of his gang
of “trusties,” brought along for the purpose, with about the same build
as himself, entirely similar hat and clothing, and well matched hair
and back of head, so far as could be seen. The young woman with him was
Miss Mary Finch Dugas, their office stenographer, who was occasionally
sent out on an operation where the utmost precaution was necessary.
* * * * *
A short time before the _North Land_, gliding noiselessly at about
fifty-five turns (less than half speed) through the still waters of the
canal, reached the vicinity of Buzzards Bay village, (which is at the
farther end of it as you go from Boston) Mr. Pentecost had left the
pilot house in the manner described to you a moment ago, gone below to
the hurricane deck, and hurried aft on the starboard outside passageway
until he reached the fantail deck at the stern. Alfred was waiting for
him there in the dark. He had fixed a knotted rope so that it hung
over the stern rail nearly to the water, the upper end made fast to a
stanchion.
The two waited silently in the gloom until they could hear the raucous
clanging of the warning bell on the drawbridge, which commenced its
clatter when the great draw swung up into the air, and kept it going
until it was down in place again. This was the Bourne highway bridge
and in a couple of minutes the steamer was passing through. A moment
after that, while the bell was still ringing and the passengers on the
decks above watching the draw slowly descend, Pentecost, who had hold
of the rope, clambered over the rail and lowered himself to the level
of the main deck, which was the next one below. This deck was closed in
at the stern, but he got a foothold on the ribbon piece and from there
let himself down into the water without the least noise. It was so
quiet, with the steamer slipping along at scarcely more than steerage
way, that a splash might have attracted attention if the bell on the
draw should stop ringing. The overhang of the counter made him safe
from the propellers, and the water kicked up by them amounted to very
little. He was whirled around two or three times, but it didn’t even
duck him. A few strokes brought him to shore. But he didn’t come up
on the banks till the _North Land_ was going through the draw of the
railroad bridge, a little further on, for there were lights along the
shore of the canal, and he wasn’t taking any chances.
Coming up on the low flat that bordered the waterway at this place,
he quickly found the marks of an old road through it, and followed
this with the aid of his flashlight which he quickly undid from its
waterproof wrappings. He hardly needed it though, as of course he’d
been over every inch of the ground. Coming to the embankment of the
bridge approach, he still kept to the cart tracks which turned along
the side of the embankment and then climbed it, bringing him out on the
Bourne Road at a point nearly opposite the Soldier’s Monument.
Pentecost stood there a moment, dripping with water, and looking
sharply down the road. It was hardly thirty seconds before a large
closed car hove in sight, coming rapidly up the slope toward the
bridge. A white handkerchief fluttered for an instant from the
right-hand rear window (behind the driver), and instantly Pentecost ran
out in the road and, waving his own handkerchief, signaled the car to
stop. As soon as the car came to a standstill Pentecost called out to
the driver, begging pardon for delaying him, etc., but stating that he
was in a desperate hurry to get to Boston and asking if he could tell
him where there was a garage. The chauffeur told him there was one on
the right as he went toward the village—some distance up the road.
At this point the man in the car, who’d been listening to the talk and
also regarding Pentecost with what appeared to be astonishment (the
road was well lighted here), opened the door and asked if there’d been
an accident.
“Not at all,” said Pentecost; “that is, I did take a tumble into the
water. But that’s of no consequence. My trouble is to get to Boston in
the shortest possible time—life and death matter—I’ll try the garage up
the road—and thank you very much.”
“Why see here!” called out the stranger as he climbed out of the car.
“You take this machine—just came down in it from Boston—my place in
Bourne—across the bridge—walk it in six minutes!... You’ll take him
back won’t you?” addressing the man at the wheel. And then to Pentecost
as he passed close to him and put something in his hand while he
continued speaking, “It’s a hired car you know—he’s got to go back
anyway!”
The matter was quickly arranged, and the driver stimulated toward
doing his best in the way of speed by the promise of a quite enormous
bonus if he made it inside of eighty minutes.
You may as well know (perhaps you’ve already guessed it) that this
was one of Pentecost’s men who hired the car in Boston and came down
in it to Buzzards Bay, waiting in the village on some pretext until
the _North Land_ reached the railroad bridge over the canal, and then
starting for the highway bridge where Pentecost was to stop him. It
was a crumpled wad of paper he’d put into Pentecost’s hand, with the
number 2026 written on it—the same being the number of the chauffeur’s
operating license.
The chauffeur, on the other hand, was a stranger. This for reasons
that’ll come in later. I can say this now,—that he earned the bonus
offered for speed; they were negotiating the streets of Jamaica Plain
in a trifle under the seventy-five minutes. Pentecost stopped him at
the corner of Centre and Greenough Streets, and after settling the bill
and the bonus, turned east and walked rapidly up Greenough. As soon,
however, as the sound of the car assured him that it was at a safe
distance, he retraced his steps and kept on to the west or southwest,
eventually coming to a little-used lane well beyond Torrington Road,
from which, by crossing a long-abandoned vegetable garden, he could
approach the Cripps mansion from the rear.
* * * * *
And now, just so you can keep the run of things as they come along, I’m
going back a few days in order to show you how it happened that old
Mrs. Temple was concealed in the bushes under one of the windows of the
room on the left, at the very moment that Hugo Pentecost, after his
plunge from the steamer into the Cape Cod Canal and the rapid drive in
an automobile to the Roxbury district of Boston, was cautiously making
his way toward the rear of the mansion.
The old woman had been greatly relieved to notice a striking
improvement in Mr. Haworth’s condition almost immediately after the
first visit of Mr. Pentecost to the house, although she feared it was
due to trickery by which the scoundrel (which she was sure he was)
would in some way do him injury. The doctor she’d left word for at the
drug store called the same evening and said there was nothing seriously
wrong with him, and did no more than prescribe a tonic, nourishing
food, and a complete rest.
As the days passed and nothing transpired, Mrs. Temple felt less and
less uneasiness, and it was nearly a week before things began to happen
that revived her anxiety. They began on the morning of the fifth day
after the Pentecost visit, and the first of them was the sending of her
by Mr. Haworth on a most unusual errand—one that took her to some sort
of foundry place in East Boston. And he told her if they didn’t have
the kind of pulley wheel described in his letter, she must wait until
they could get it for her.
Her smoldering suspicions instantly burst into flame, yet she couldn’t
refuse to go.
It was a long journey and her imaginings of what might befall Mr.
Haworth while she was away came near to making her turn back without
doing the errand at all. She finally reached the office of the foundry
and delivered the letter, but when they told her that they hadn’t the
pulley wheel there but would send to the warehouse for it, she answered
without an instant’s hesitation that she couldn’t wait, but would come
another time. The men in the office called her attention to the fact
that Mr. Haworth had said in the letter that she would wait for the
pulley.
“Well, I ain’t a-goin’ to!” she muttered hurriedly as she disappeared
through the door.
Arriving home something like an hour later, Mrs. Temple approached the
mansion from the rear. She had worked herself into a frenzy of fear
that Mr. Haworth was in danger, and she wanted to investigate without
being seen. Finding herself at last in one of the rear passages of the
house, she stood listening. Low voices could be heard from somewhere in
the front.
With the utmost caution she made her way across the kitchen and through
the butler’s pantry to the swing door opening into the room on the
left. But the conversation within suddenly ceased and she began a hasty
retreat. Hearing the door she’d just left swing open again (it had a
very decided creak) she made for the servants’ stairway—which opened
off the kitchen.
There was a door at the bottom of these stairs which Mrs. Temple
hastily closed after her as she fled, and when she paused at the
top she heard the thud of heavy objects being shoved against it and
realized that she was trapped; for the only other way down was the main
stairway to the entrance hall, which was in plain sight if anyone took
the trouble to look. And she very well knew that some one would take
that trouble. She’d heard his voice in the room on the left in the
brief second she was at the swing door.
So she’d have to stay there until the gang of criminals and thugs, as
she classified the men in the front room with Haworth, was gone. She
brought a chair to the top of the main stairway and sat there, ready at
the first alarming sound to rush down and fight like a wildcat, or run
for the police, or do anything to rescue and protect the one to whom
she was so desperately devoted. But no cry of distress reached her—only
the low murmur of subdued voices.
It was early afternoon (she’d been waiting somewhere near two hours)
when she saw the men come out into the entrance hall below her. There
were three of them—the Pentecost creature with two confederates. Of
course they were confederates. What else could they be?
Haworth came out with them. She heard the taxi the men had waiting for
them drive away, and she saw Mr. Haworth return to the room on the
left. At this she crept noiselessly down the main stairway and back
through the rear hall. But she’d hardly more than reached the kitchen
when Haworth came in through the butler’s pantry and stopped at the
door.
“Oh, you came back?” he said.
“I hope ye ain’t a-goin’ ter take it hard, Mr. Haworth,” the old woman
begged, “but I couldn’t no more wait there an’ you left here alone with
them thugs or card sharps or whatever they be, than I could fly! I knew
they’d be comin’ the minute ye sent me away like that an’ told me to
wait—an’ how could I, Mr. Haworth—how could I stay settin’ there in
that factory place, not knowin’ what might be happenin’ to ye?”
“No matter, Mrs. Temple.”
“Yes, Mr. Haworth, that was all; an’ I was worryin’ the life clean out
o’ me. Terrible warn’t no name fur it! I couldn’t tell ye!”
“You did it for me, Mrs. Temple, and you’ve always been doing things
for me. Please don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
The old woman’s trembling hand made two or three fumbles for her apron
before she realized that she wasn’t wearing one, and a tear or two ran
unmolested down her withered cheek.
“And—I—I’ve got to ask you,” he went on, hesitatingly (and then came
another of the frightful things that were to alarm her on this fearsome
day)—“I’ve got to ask you to do something more for me, Mrs. Temple.”
She looked up, staring at him with apprehension in her tear-wet eyes.
And he went on to tell her how it seemed best that she should stay away
from the house for a few days—just until one of his inventions was
crated and out of the way—something very important that had to be kept
secret, as there was no patent—so just a few days——
“Mr. Haworth,” she interrupted, “do please listen to me! Ye mustn’t
have no more to do with them creatures. They ain’t right, Mr. Haworth;
they’re crooked an’ treach’rous, every one o’ ’em—awful men! That
Pentecost, he wouldn’t stop at nothin’—nothin’ in the world! Don’t let
’em in here again—don’t do it, Mr. Haworth! I beg ye won’t do it!”
“But I must, Mrs. Temple. They’ve bought one of my machines.”
The old woman was struck silent for an instant.
“Be they goin’ to pay ye money for it?”
“Yes.”
“You mean money right down?”
“Yes,—it’s got to be that way.”
A pause. Then: “Mr. Haworth, there’s some trick! Ef them jailbirds pay
you money down they’ll rob it away from ye! They’re a-goin’ to git you
some way—they wouldn’t be here if they wasn’t. I’ve seen spellbinders
like them be—yes, an’ had to do with ’em too! Don’t turn me away now.
Wait till after I’ve got ’em out an’ then I’ll go! Not now—not now, Mr.
Haworth. You ain’t no person to cope with such as them.”
The young man stood looking at Mrs. Temple’s face, unable to speak.
Suddenly he turned away and uttering a broken “I can’t—I can’t——You
must go!” he turned and fled from the room.
* * * * *
For the following few days Mrs. Temple’s anxiety concerning the
unknown danger she considered Haworth to be in overshadowed the
lacerated feelings that naturally followed the poor soul’s expulsion
from the house. No particle of blame could attach to him, for was he
not under the malign influence of a gang of criminals and in no way
responsible for what he did? This she felt, and her heart harbored no
bitterness—though it had been cruelly hurt. She must find out in some
way what villainy these human sharks were planning, though for the
present nothing was possible but to keep close watch on the house.
The very next night after her dismissal by Mr. Haworth she saw a young
man who hadn’t been there before, emerge from the darkness into the
faint light that fell from a front window across the portico (she was
watching from behind bushes quite near), and after ringing the bell,
pass in at the front door. The roller shades—cheap affairs that the
second hand dealer had agreed to put in in place of the old velvet
curtains he was taking away—hadn’t been pulled down since she left, so
she could see in. The stranger was being shown about by Mr. Haworth,
who had evidently expected him, and seemed to be given charge of things
as though he was a servant. That was it! The scoundrels had got Mr.
Haworth to send her away and take a man in her place. So now they had a
confederate right there in the house with him!
The old woman, desperate in her helplessness, made up her mind to get
assistance. She’d go to the police in the morning and they’d arrest
this man. Wasn’t it their business to protect people? If not, what
_was_ their business, she’d like to know!
Early the next morning she hurried to the Jamaica Plain district, and
as soon as she saw a patrolman, plunged into an excited account of the
situation. But the old woman’s story seemed to border on the grotesque.
From what he could gather the officer figured that she’d lost her
job and they’d got a butler to take her place, with the result that
the poor creature had gone dotty about it, thinking the man was some
sort of a crook. He couldn’t find that she had any grounds for such a
suspicion, but to quiet her he took down the address and said he’d keep
an eye on the place. Mrs. Temple became almost hysterical, begging him
not to stop with just keepin’ an eye on it, but to come over an’ arrest
the man,—to please do _somethin’_ for mercy’s sake—if he didn’t there’d
be some terrible thing happenin’ to some one. But the patrolman told
her he couldn’t make an arrest until some crime or misdemeanor had been
committed. She finally realized that it was useless to waste further
time with him and hurried back to keep watch again from the outside,
and do what she could alone. That’s what she did from then on.
During the day she hung about at some distance, keeping herself well
out of sight, but always at places where she could see who entered
the mansion and who left it. When darkness set in she stole to some
overgrown shrubbery close to the house on the south side, and was able
to see what was happening within, if the lights were on.
For a week the old woman remained on watch until late at night and
returned to her vigil early in the morning, bringing with her in a
paper bag what little food she needed. During this time she saw Mr.
Haworth leave the place a number of times, which was a little unusual,
but he doubtless had business in town or elsewhere; also men having the
appearance of being mechanics drove up in a car one day and were in
the house until nearly five o’clock; and she discovered, on reaching
her nearer station in the evening, that a heavy piece of machinery was
standing crated in the great entrance hall, presumably having been
brought up from the basement. The butler fellow appeared to be taking
care of Mr. Haworth in a surprisingly competent manner. What a relief,
she thought, if the machine in the hall should be taken away and the
crooked gang that bought it never show up again!
* * * * *
But this growing hopefulness on the part of Mrs. Temple served only to
make the shock more violent when, on the morning of the tenth day after
their former visit, the very bunch of swindlers she dreaded drove up
to the mansion and were admitted to the house. She had known it would
happen!
During the whole day, from the time they came, the old woman hardly
took her eyes off the mansion, not even for long enough to open the
little package of bread and cheese she’d brought. After they entered,
nothing more could be seen of them until early in the afternoon, when
Mr. Haworth appeared with Mr. Pentecost, walking around from the back
and going across to the old barn in the rear. After that she saw Mr.
Pentecost alone, making an examination of the windows, the grounds,
even the old elm trees near the house. He finally disappeared into the
mansion at one of the rear doors, and a short time after that the three
came out at the front portico and drove away in the big car which had
been waiting since their arrival in the morning.
The moment it was dark enough for her to approach the house she made
haste to her place among the tangled shrubbery close under the side
windows. The room on the left was absolutely dark, but by listening
intently she could hear voices in a further room, and it was an
unspeakable relief when she recognized Mr. Haworth’s among them. He
seemed to be giving directions to the young accomplice (there wasn’t a
doubt in her mind as to his being one) that the gang of scoundrels had
got into the house as a butler.
She’d been there but a short time, close under one of the side windows
of the room on the left, when the sound of carefully lightened
footsteps reached her ears. Soon the forms of two men could be made
out in the darkness coming along the flagged path from the rear and
passing quite near her as they went toward the front of the house. They
appeared to be carrying some heavy object and went around the corner
with it to the front.
Mrs. Temple crawled cautiously through the high weeds and bushes to a
place where she could see them again and more distinctly, for the light
was on in the big entrance hall, and struck through the two narrow
windows—one at each side of the door—across the front portico. This
with its columns reflected enough light to enable her to make out what
they were doing.
They had put a ladder (which must have been what they were carrying)
against the vine-covered wall at one side of the front window of the
room on the left, up which one of them had climbed, and were working
at something which seemed to be under the thick growth of creeper,
carefully disentangling the vines, unwinding, drawing out, and securing
them at one side, never cutting or breaking. The leaves in particular
they appeared to be handling with the utmost care, and it wasn’t until
they had slowly and with all possible precaution pulled one of the
window shutters out of the tangled mass that had covered it as it stood
opened back against the wall, that she suddenly realized what it all
meant.
They were closing the blinds! Closing them! Such a thing hadn’t
been done in all the years she’d been there! It could mean but one
thing—something was going to happen in the house that no one must see!
She was horrified, aghast, unable to move.
It took the men a long time to free both shutters and tie the vines
back so they’d be supported. But finally she saw they were coming down
and gathering up some cords and tools from the ground. It would be the
side windows next—the blinds there were open and overgrown in the same
way as the front one—and she’d be directly in their path as they came
around the corner. So she crawled out from among the bushes and hobbled
away a little distance in the darkness. Her rheumatism was bad from her
being out on the damp ground so much.
But the men didn’t stop at the side windows. Instead they went back to
the rear of the house, passing along the flagged path by which they
came, carrying the ladder and what tools they’d brought with them.