"It is really remarkable, if you will permit me to say so." Snaith was
studying his host's face intently. "Higgins, poor fellow, had his faith
shaken to the foundations. This Anisty must be a clever actor as well
as a master burglar. Having cursed Higgins root and branch, he got his
second wind and explained that he was--Mr. Maitland! Conceive Higgins'
position. What could he do?"
"What he did, I gather."
"Precisely."
"And Anisty?"
"Once loosed, he knocked Higgins over with the butt of a revolver,
jumped out of the window, and vanished. By the time the butler got his
senses back, Anisty, presumably, was miles away ... Mr. Maitland!" said
Snaith sharply.
"Yes?" responded Maitland, elevating his brows, refusing to be startled.
"Why," crisply, "didn't you send the constables from Greenfields,
according to your promise?"
Maitland laughed uneasily and looked down, visibly embarrassed, acting
with consummate address, playing the game for all he was worth; and
enjoying it hugely.
"Why.... I.... Really, Mr. Snaith, I must confess--"
"A confession would aid us materially," dryly. "The case is perplexing.
You round up a burglar sought by the police of two continents, and
listlessly permit his escape. Why?"
"I would rather not be pressed," said Maitland with evident candor;
"but, since you say it is imperative, that you must know--" Snaith
inclined his head affirmatively. "Why ... to tell the truth, I was a
bit under the weather last night: out with a party of friends, you
know. Dare say we all had a bit more than we could carry. The capture
was purely accidental; we had other plans for the night and--well,"
laughing shortly, "I didn't give the matter too much thought, beyond
believing that Higgins would hold the man tight."
"I see. It is unfortunate, but ... you motored back to town."
It was not a question, but Maitland so considered it.
"We did," he admitted.
"And came here directly?"
"_I_ did."
"Mr. Maitland, why not be frank with me? My sole object is to capture a
notorious burglar. I have no desire to meddle with your private
affairs, but.... You may trust in my discretion. Who was the young
lady?"
"To conceal her identity," said Maitland, undisturbed, "is precisely
why I have been lying to you."
"You refuse us that information?"
"Absolutely. I have no choice in the matter. You must see that."
Snaith shook his head, baffled, infinitely perturbed, to Maitland's
hidden delight.
"Of course," said he, "the policeman at the ferry recognized me?"
"You are well known to him," admitted Snaith. "But that is a side
issue. What puzzles me is why you let Anisty escape. It is
inconceivable."
"From a police point of view."
"From any point of view," said Snaith obstinately. "The man breaks into
your house, steals your jewels--"
"This is getting tiresome," Maitland interrupted curtly. "Is it
possible that you suspect me of conniving at the theft of my own
property?"
Snaith's eyes were keen upon him. "Stranger things have been known. And
yet--the motive is lacking. You are not financially embarrassed,--so
far as we can determine, at least."
Maitland politely interposed his fingers between his yawn and the
detective's intent regard. "You have ten minutes more, I'm sorry to
say," he said; glancing at the clock.
"And there is another point, more significant yet."
"Ah?"
"Yes." Snaith bent forward, elbows on knees, hat and cane swinging,
eyes implacable, hard, relentless. "Anisty," he said slowly, "left a
tolerably complete burglar's kit in your library."
"Well--he's a burglar, isn't he?"
"Not that kind." Snaith shook his head.
"But his departure was somewhat hurried. I can conceive that he might
abandon his kit--"
"But it was not his."
"Not Anisty's?"
"Anisty does not depend on such antiquated methods, Mr. Maitland; save
that in extreme instances, with a particularly stubborn safe, he
employs a high explosive that, so far as we can find out, is
practically noiseless. Its nature is a mystery.... But such
old-fashioned strong-boxes as yours at Greenfields he opens by ear, so
to speak,--listens to the combination. He was once an expert, reputably
employed by a prominent firm of safe manufacturers, in whose service he
gained the skill that has made him--what he is."
"But,"--Maitland cast about at random, feeling himself cornered,--"may
he not have had accomplices?"
"He's no such fool. Unless he has gone mad, he worked alone. I presume
you discovered no accomplice?"
"I? The devil, no!"
Snaith smiled mysteriously, then fell thoughtful, pondering.
"You are an enigma," he said, at length. "I can not understand why you
refuse us all information, when I consider that the jewels were yours--"
"Are mine," Maitland corrected.
"No longer."
"I beg your pardon; I have them."
Snaith shook his head, smiling incredulously. Maitland flushed with
annoyance and resentment, then on impulse rose and strode into the
adjoining bedroom, returning with a small canvas bag.
"You shall see for yourself," he said, depositing the bag on the desk
and fumbling with the draw-string. "If you will be kind enough to step
over here--"
Mr. Snaith, still unconvinced, hesitated, then assented, halting a
brief distance from Maitland and toying abstractedly with his cane
while the young man plucked at the draw-string.
"Deuced tight knot, this," commented Maitland, annoyed.
"No matter. Don't trouble, please. I'm quite satisfied, believe me."
"Oh, you are!"
Maitland turned; and in the act of turning, the loaded head of the cane
landed with crushing force upon his temple.
For an instant he stood swaying, eyes closed, face robbed of every
vestige of color, deep lines of agony graven in his forehead and about
his mouth; then fell like a lifeless thing, limp and invertebrate.
The _soi-disant_ Mr. Snaith caught him and let him gently and without
sound to the floor.
"Poor fool!" he commented, kneeling to make a hasty examination. "Hope
I haven't done for him.... It would be the first time.... Bad
precedent!... So! He's all right--conscious within an hour.... Too
soon!" he added, standing and looking down. "Well, turn about's fair
play."
He swung on his heel and entered the hallway, pausing at the door long
enough to shoot the bolt; then passed hastily through the other
chambers, searching, to judge by his manner.
In the end a closed door attracted him; he jerked it open, with an
exclamation of relief. It gave upon a large bare room, used by Maitland
as a trunk-closet. Here were stout leather straps and cords in ample
measure. "Mr. Snaith" selected one from them quickly but with care,
choosing the strongest.
In two more minutes, Maitland, trussed, gagged, still unconscious, and
breathing heavily, occupied a divan in his smoking-room, while his
assailant, in the bedroom, ears keen to catch the least sound from
with-out, was rapidly and cheerfully arraying himself in the Maitland
grey-striped flannels and accessories--even to the grey socks which had
been specified.
"The less chances one takes, the better," soliloquized "Mr. Snaith."
He stood erect, in another man's shoes, squaring back his shoulders,
discarding the disguising stoop, and confronted his image in a
pier-glass.
"Good enough Maitland," he commented, with a little satisfied nod to
his counterfeit presentment. "But we'll make it better still."
A single quick jerk denuded his upper lip; he stowed the mustache
carefully away in his breast pocket. The moistened corner of a towel
made quick work of the crow's-feet about his eyes, and, simultaneously,
robbed him of a dozen apparent years. A pair of yellow chamois gloves,
placed conveniently on a dressing table, covered hands that no art
could make resemble Maitland's. And it was Daniel Maitland who studied
himself in the pier-glass.
Contented, the criminal returned to the smoking-room. A single glance
assured him that his victim was still dead to the world. He sat down at
the desk, drew off the gloves, and opened the bag; a peep within which
was enough. With a deep and slow intake of breath he knotted the
draw-string and dropped the bag into his pocket. A jeweled cigarette
case of unique design shared the same fate.
Quick eyes roaming the desk observed the telegram form upon which
Maitland had written Cressy's name and address. Momentarily perplexed,
the thief pondered this; then, with a laughing oath, seized the pen and
scribbled, with no attempt to imitate the other's handwriting, a
message:
_"Regret unavoidable detention. Letter of explanation follows."_
To this Maitland's name was signed. "That ought to clear him neatly, if
I understand the emergency."
The thief rose, folding the telegraph blank, and returned to the
bedroom, taking up his hat and the murderous cane as he went. Here he
gathered together all the articles of clothing that he had discarded,
conveying the mass to the trunk-room, where an empty and unlocked
kit-bag received it all.
"That, I think, is about all."
He was very methodical, this criminal, this Anisty. Nothing essential
escaped him. He rejoiced in the minutiae of detail that went to cover
up his tracks so thoroughly that his campaigns were as remarkable for
the clues he did leave with malicious design, as for those that he
didn't.
One final thing held his attention: a bowl of hammered brass, inverted
beneath a ponderous book, upon the desk. Why? In a twinkling he had
removed both and was studying the impression of a woman's hand in the
dust, and nodding over it.
"That girl," deduced Anisty. "Novice, poor little fool!--or she
wouldn't have wasted time searching here for the jewels. Good looker,
though--from what little _he_"--with a glance at Maitland--"gave me a
chance to see of her. Seems to have snared him, all right, if she did
miss the haul.... Little idiot! What right has a woman in this
business, anyway? Well, here's one thing that will never land me in the
pen."
As, with nice care, he replaced both bowl and book, a door slammed
below stairs took him to the hall in an instant. Maitland's Panama was
hanging on the hat-rack, Maitland's collection of walking-sticks
bristled in a stand beneath it. Anisty appropriated the former and
chose one of the latter. "Fair exchange," he considered with a harsh
laugh. "After all, he loses nothing ... but the jewels."
He was out and at the foot of the stairs just as O'Hagan reached the
ground floor from the basement.
"Ah, O'Hagan!" The assumption of Maitland's ironic drawl was
impeccable. O'Hagan no more questioned it than he questioned his own
sanity. "Here, send this wire at once, please; and," pressing a coin
into the ready palm, "keep the change. I was hurried and didn't bother
to call you. And, I say, O'Hagan!" from the outer door:
"Yissor."
"If that fellow Snaith ever calls again, I'm not at home."
"Very good, sor."
Anisty permitted himself the slightest of smiles, pausing on the stoop
to draw on the chamois gloves. As he did so his eye flickered
disinterestedly over the personality of a man standing on the opposite
walk and staring at the apartment house. He was a short man, of
stoutish habit, sloppily dressed, with a derby pulled down over one
eye, a cigar-butt protruding arrogantly from beneath a heavy black
mustache, beefy cheeks, and thick-soled boots dully polished.
At sight of him the thief was conscious of an inward tremor, followed
by a thrill of excitement like a wave of heat sweeping through his
being. Instantaneously his eyes flashed; then were dulled.
Imperturbable, listless, hall-marked the prey of ennui, he waited,
undecided, upon the stoop, while the watcher opposite, catching sight
of him, abruptly abandoned his slouch and hastened across the street.
"Excuse me" he began in a loud tone, while yet a dozen feet away, "but
ain't this Mr. Maitland?"
Anisty lifted his brows and shoulders at one and the same time and
bowed slightly.
"Well, my good man?"
"I'm a detective from Headquarters, Mr. Maitland. We got a 'phone from
Greenfields, Long Island, this morning--from the local police. Your
butler----"
"Ah! I see; about this man Anisty? You don't mean to tell me--what? I
shall discharge Higgins at once. Just on my way to breakfast. Won't you
join me? We can talk this matter over at our leisure. What do you say
to Eugene's? It's handy, and I dare say we can find a quiet corner. By
the way, have you the time concealed about your person?"
Anisty was fumbling in his fob-pocket and inwardly cursing himself for
having been such an ass as to overlook Maitland's timepiece. "Deuced
awkward!" he muttered in genuine annoyance. "I've mislaid my watch."
"It's 'most one o'clock, Mr. Maitland."
Flattered, the man from Headquarters dropped, into step by the
burglar's side.