ON THE RACK
1.
For the moment a new element had been introduced into the horror of the
little tableau. All eyes were fixed upon Quest, who had listened to the
Inspector's dubious words with a supercilious smile upon his lips.
"Perhaps," he suggested, "you would like to ask me a few questions?"
"Perhaps I may feel it my duty to do so," the Inspector replied gravely.
"In the first place, then, Mr. Quest, will you kindly explain the
condition of your clothes?"
Quest looked down at himself quickly. More than ever he realised the
significance of his dishevelled appearance.
"I travelled from number ten tower, just outside New York, on top of a
freight car," he said grimly. "It wasn't a very comfortable ride."
"Perhaps you will explain what made you take it, then?" the Inspector
continued.
Quest shrugged his shoulders.
"Here you are, then," he replied. "This morning I decided to make an
attempt to clear up the mystery of Macdougal's disappearance. I sent on my
secretary, Miss Laura, to make friends with the section boss, and Lenora
and I went out by automobile a little later. We instituted a search on a
new principle, and before very long we found Macdougal's body. That's one
up against you, I think, Inspector."
"Very likely," the Inspector observed. "Go on, please."
"I left the two young ladies, at Miss Lenora's wish, to superintend the
removal of the body. I myself had an engagement to deliver over her jewels
to Mrs. Rheinholdt here at mid-day. I returned to where my automobile was
waiting, started for the city and was attacked by two thugs near the
section house. I got away from them, ran to the tower house to try and
stop the freight, was followed by the thugs, and jumped out on to the last
car from the signal arm."
There was a dead silence. Quest began quietly to dust his clothes. The
Inspector stopped him.
"Don't do that," he said.
Quest paused in his task and laid down the brush.
"Any more questions?"
"Where is your automobile?"
"No idea," Quest replied. "I left it in the road. When I jumped from the
freight car, I took a taxicab to the Professor's and called for him, as
arranged."
"That is perfectly true," the Professor intervened. "Mr. Quest called for
us, as arranged previously, at ten minutes to twelve."
The inspector nodded.
"I shall have to ask you to excuse me for a moment," he said, "while I
ring up Number 10 signal tower. If Mr. Quest's story receives
corroboration, the matter is at an end. Where shall I find a telephone?"
"In every room in the house," Quest answered shortly. "There is one
outside in the passage."
The Inspector left the room almost immediately. The Professor crossed to
Quest's side. A kindly smile parted his lips.
"My dear Mr. Quest," he exclaimed, "our friend the Inspector's head has
been turned a little, beyond doubt, by these horrible happenings! Permit
me to assure you, for one, that I look upon his insinuations as absurd."
[Illustration: "MR. QUEST, YOUR ALIBI HAS BEEN FOUND WITH A BULLET IN HIS
BRAIN. I MUST PUT YOU UNDER ARREST."]
[Illustration: WHEN QUEST GOES TO THE SAFE TO PRODUCE THE JEWELS, HE FINDS
THEM MISSING.]
"The man has gone off his head!" Laura declared angrily.
"It will be all right directly he comes back," Lenora whispered, laying
her hand upon Quest's arm.
"If only some one would give me my jewels and let me go!" Mrs. Rheinholdt
moaned.
The door opened and the Inspector reappeared. He was looking graver than
ever.
"Quest," he announced, "your alibi is useless--in fact a little worse than
useless. The operator at Number 10 has been found murdered at the back of
his tower!"
Quest started.
"I ought not to have left him to those thugs," he murmured regretfully.
"There is no automobile of yours in the vicinity," the Inspector
continued, "nor any news of it. I think it will be as well now, Quest, for
this matter to take its obvious course. Will you, first of all, hand over
her jewels to Mrs. Rheinholdt?"
Quest drew the keys of the safe from his pocket, crossed the room and
swung open the safe door. For a moment afterwards he stood transfixed. His
arm, half outstretched, remained motionless. Then he turned slowly around.
"The jewels have been stolen," he announced with unnatural calm.
Mrs. Rheinholdt pushed her way forward, wringing her hands.
"Stolen again?" she said. "Mr. Quest! Inspector!"
"They were there," Quest declared, "when I left the house this morning. It
seems probable," he added, "that the same person who is responsible for
this double tragedy has also taken the jewels."
The Inspector laid his hand heavily upon Quest's shoulder.
"It does seem as though that might be so," he assented grimly. "You will
kindly consider yourself under arrest, Quest. Ladies and gentlemen, will
you clear the room now, if you please? The ambulance I telephoned for is
outside."
The Professor, who had been looking on as though dazed, suddenly
intervened.
"Mr. French," he said earnestly, "I am convinced that you are making a
great mistake. In arresting and taking away Mr. Quest, you are removing
from us the one man who is likely to be able to clear up this mystery."
The Inspector pushed him gently on one side.
"You will excuse me, Professor," he said, "but this is no matter for
argument. If Mr. Quest can clear himself, no one will be more glad than
I."
Quest shrugged his shoulders.
"The Inspector will have his little joke," he observed drily. "It's all
right, girls. Keep cool," he went on, as he saw the tears in Lenora's
eyes. "Come round and see me in the Tombs, one of you."
"If I can be of any assistance," the Professor exclaimed, "I trust that
you will not fail to call upon me, Mr. Quest. I repeat, Inspector," he
added, "I am convinced that you are making a very grave mistake. Mrs.
Rheinholdt, you must let me take you home."
She gave him her arm.
"My jewels!" she sobbed. "Just as they had been recovered, too!"
"My dear lady," the Professor reminded her, with a faint air of reproach
in his tone, "I think we must remember that we are in the presence of a
graver tragedy than the loss of a few jewels."...
The ambulance men came and departed with their grim burden, the room on
the ground floor was locked and sealed, and the house was soon empty
except for the two girls. Towards three o'clock, Lenora went out and
returned with a newspaper. She opened it out upon the table and they both
pored over it.--
"WELL-KNOWN CRIMINOLOGIST ARRESTED FOR DOUBLE TRAGEDY!
"Sanford Quest, the famous New York criminologist, was arrested
at noon to-day, charged with the murder of his valet, Ross
Brown, and Miss Quigg, Salvation Army canvasser. The crime seems
to be mixed up in some mysterious fashion with others. John D.
Martin, of signal tower Number 10, offered by Quest as an alibi,
was found dead behind his tower. Quest claimed that he travelled
from the signal tower to New York on a freight train, leaving
his automobile behind, but neither machine nor chauffeur have
been discovered.
"Justice Thorpe has refused to consider bail."
"He's a guy, that Justice Thorpe, and so's the idiot who wrote this
stuff!" Laura exclaimed, thrusting the paper away from her. "I guess the
Professor was dead right when he told French he was locking up the one man
who could clear up the whole show."
Lenora nodded thoughtfully.
"The Professor spoke up like a man," she agreed, "but, Laura, I want to
ask you something. Did you notice his servant--that man Craig?"
"Can't say I did particularly," Laura admitted.
"Twice," Lenora continued, "I thought he was going to faint. I tell you he
was scared the whole of the time."
"What are you getting at, kid?" Laura demanded.
"At Craig, if I can," Lenora replied, moving towards the telephone.
"Please give me the phototelesme. I am going to talk to the Professor."
Laura adjusted the mirror to the instrument and Lenora rang up. The
Professor himself answered the call.
"Have you seen the three o'clock edition, Professor?" Lenora asked.
"I never read newspapers, young lady," the Professor replied.
"Let me tell you what they say about Mr. Quest!"
Lenora commenced a rambling account of what she had read in the newspaper.
All the time the eyes of the two girls were fixed upon the mirror. They
could see the Professor seated in his chair with two huge volumes by his
side, a pile of manuscript, and a pen in his hand. They could even catch
the look of sympathy on his face as he listened attentively. Suddenly
Lenora almost broke off. She gripped Laura by the arm. The door of the
study had been opened slowly, and Craig, carrying a bundle, paused for a
moment on the threshold. He glanced nervously towards the Professor, who
seemed unaware of his entrance. Then he moved stealthily towards the
fireplace, stooped down and committed something to the flames. The relief
on his face, as he stood up, was obvious.
"All I can do for Mr. Quest, young lady, I will," the Professor promised.
"If you will forgive my saying so, you are a little over-excited just now.
Take my advice and rest for a short time. Call round and see me whenever
you wish."
He laid the receiver down and the reflection on the mirror faded away.
Lenora started up and hastily put on her coat and hat, which were still
lying on the chair.
"I am going right down to the Professor's," she announced.
"What do you think you can do there?" Laura asked.
"I am going to see if I can find out what that man burnt," she replied. "I
will be back in an hour."
Laura walked with her as far as the street car, and very soon afterwards
Lenora found herself knocking at the Professor's front door. Craig
admitted her almost at once. For a moment he seemed to shiver as he
recognised her. The weakness, however, was only momentary. He showed her
into the study with grave deference. The Professor was still immersed in
his work. He greeted her kindly, and with a little sigh laid down his pen.
"Well, young lady," he said, "have you thought of something I can do?"
She took no notice of the chair to which he pointed, and rested her hand
upon his shoulder.
"Professor," she begged, "go and see Mr. Quest! He is in the Tombs prison.
It would be the kindest thing any one could possibly do."
The Professor glanced regretfully at his manuscript, but he did not
hesitate. He rose promptly to his feet.
"If you think he would appreciate it, I will go at once," he decided.
Her face shone with gratitude.
"That is really very kind of you, Professor," she declared.
"I will send for my coat and we will go together, if you like," he
suggested.
She smiled.
"I am going the other way, back to Georgia Square," she explained. "No,
please don't ring. I can find my own way out."
She hurried from the room. Outside in the hall she paused, for a moment,
listening with beating heart. By the side wall was a hat rack with
branching pegs, from which several coats were hanging. She slipped quietly
behind their shelter. Presently the Professor came out of the room.
"My coat, please, Craig," she heard him say.
Her heart sank. Craig was coming in her direction. Her discovery seemed
certain. Then, as his hand was half stretched out to remove one of the
garments, she heard the Professor's voice.
"I think that I shall walk, Craig. I have been so much upset to-day that
the exercise will do me good. I will have the light coat from my bedroom."
For a moment the shock of relief was so great that she almost lost
consciousness. A moment or two later she heard the Professor leave the
house. Very cautiously she stole out from her hiding place. The hall was
empty. She crossed it with noiseless footsteps, slipped into the study and
moved stealthily to the fireplace. There was a little heap of ashes in one
distinct spot. She gathered them up in her handkerchief and secreted it in
her dress. Then she moved hurriedly towards the door and stepped quietly
behind the curtain. She stood there listening intently. Craig was doing
something in the hall. Even while she was hesitating, the door was opened.
He came in and moved towards his master's table. Through a chink in the
curtain she could see that he was stooping down, collecting some letters.
She stole out, ran down the hall, opened the front door and hastened down
the avenue. Her heart was beating quickly. The front door handle had
slipped from her fingers, and it seemed to her that she could hear even
now the slam with which it had swung to. At the gates she looked back.
There were no signs of life. The house still bore its customary
appearance, gloomy and deserted. With a sigh of relief, she hailed a
taxicab and sank back into the corner.
She found Laura waiting for her, and a few minutes afterwards the two
girls were examining the ashes with the aid of Quest's microscope. Among
the little pile was one fragment at the sight of which they both
exclaimed. It was distinctly a shred of charred muslin embroidery. Lenora
pointed towards it triumphantly.
"Isn't that evidence?" she demanded. "Let's ring up Inspector French!"
Laura shook her head doubtfully.
"Not so fast," she advised. "French is a good sort in his way, but he's
prejudiced just now against the boss. I'm not sure that this evidence
would go far by itself."
"It's evidence enough for us to go for Craig, though! What we have got to
do is to get a confession out of him, somehow!"
Laura studied her companion, for a moment, curiously.
"Taking some interest in Mr. Quest, kid, ain't you?"
Lenora looked up. Then her head suddenly sank into her hands. She knew
quite well that her secret had escaped her. Laura patted her shoulder.
"That's all right, child," she said soothingly. "We'll see him through
this, somehow or other."
"You don't mind?" Lenora faltered, without raising her eyes.
"Not I," she replied promptly. "I'm not looking for trouble of that sort."
Lenora raised her head. There was an immense relief in her face.
"I am so glad," she said. "I was afraid sometimes--living here with him,
you know--"
Laura interrupted her with an easy laugh.
"You don't need to worry," she assured her.
Lenora rose to her feet. She was quite herself again. There was a new look
of determination in her face.
"Laura," she exclaimed, "we will save Mr. Quest and we will get hold of
Craig! I have a plan. Listen."
2.
Craig's surprise was real enough as he opened the back door of the
Professor's house on the following morning and found Lenora standing on
the threshold.
"I am very sorry, Miss Lenora," he apologised. "The front door bell must
be out of order. I certainly didn't hear it ring. Mr. Ashleigh is in his
study, if you wish to see him."
Lenora smiled pleasantly.
"To tell you the truth," she said, "I really do not want to see him,--at
least, not just yet. I came to this door because I wanted a little talk
with you."
Craig's attitude was perfect. He was mystified, but he remained
respectful.
"Will you come inside?" he invited.
She shook her head.
"I am afraid," she confided, "of what I am going to say being overheard.
Come with me down to the garage for a moment."
She pointed to the wooden building which stood about fifty yards away from
the house. Craig hesitated.
"If you wish it, miss," he assented doubtfully. "I will get the keys."
He disappeared for a moment and came out again almost immediately
afterwards with a bunch of keys in his hand. He seemed a little disturbed.
"I am doing as you wish, Miss Lenora," he said, "but there is nobody about
here likely to overhear, and I have no secrets from my master."
"Perhaps not," Lenora replied, "but I have. The Professor is a dear," she
added hastily, "but he is too wrapped up in his scientific work to be able
to see things like men of ordinary common-sense."
"That is quite true," Craig admitted. "Mr. Ashleigh has only one idea in
his life.... This way, then, if you please, miss."
He opened the door of the garage, leaving the keys in the lock, and they
both passed inside. The place was gloomy and lit only by a single narrow
window near the roof. The only vehicle it contained was the Professor's
little car.
"You can say what you please here without the slightest fear of being
overheard, miss," Craig remarked.
Lenora nodded, and breathed a prayer to herself. She was nearer the door
than Craig by about half-a-dozen paces. Her hand groped in the little bag
she was carrying and gripped something hard. She clenched her teeth for a
moment. Then the automatic pistol flashed out through the gloom.
"Craig," she threatened, "if you move I shall shoot you."
It seemed as though the man were a coward. He began to tremble, his lips
twitched, his eyes grew larger and rounder.
"What is it?" he faltered. "What do you want?"
"Just this," Lenora said firmly. "I suspect you to be guilty of the crime
for which Sanford Quest is in prison. I am going to have you questioned.
If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear. If you are guilty, there
will be some one here before long who will extract the truth from you."
The man's face was an epitome of terror. Even his knees shook. Lenora felt
herself grow calmer with every moment.
"I am going outside to send a message," she told him. "I shall return
presently."
"Don't go," he begged suddenly. "Don't leave me!"
She turned around.
"Why not?"
He drew a step nearer. Once more the few inches of blue steel flashed out
between them.
"None of your games," she warned him. "I am in earnest, and I am not
afraid to shoot."
"I won't come any nearer," he promised, "but listen! I am innocent--I have
done nothing wrong. If you keep me here, you will do more harm than you
can dream of."
"It is for other people to decide about your innocence," Lenora said
calmly. "I have nothing to do with that. If you are wise, you will stop
here quietly."
"Have you said anything to Mr. Ashleigh, miss?" the man asked piteously.
"Not a word."
An expression of relief shone for a moment upon his face. Lenora pointed
to a stool.
"Sit down there and wait quietly," she ordered.
He obeyed without a word. She left the place, locked the door securely,
and made her way round to the other side of the garage--the side hidden
from the house. Here, at the far corner, she drew a little pocket wireless
from her bag and set it on the window-sill. Very slowly she sent her
message,--
"I have Craig here in the Professor's garage, locked up. If our
plan has succeeded, come at once. I am waiting here for you."
There was no reply. She sent the message again and again. Suddenly, during
a pause, there was a little flash upon the plate. A message was coming to
her. She transcribed it with beating heart:
"O.K. Coming."
The guard swung open the wicket in front of Quest's cell.
"Young woman to see you, Quest," he announced. "Ten minutes, and no loud
talking, please."
Quest moved to the bars. It was Laura who stood there. She wasted very
little time in preliminaries. Having satisfied herself that the guard was
out of hearing, she leaned as close as she could to Quest.
"Look here," she said, "Lenora's crazy with the idea that Craig has done
these jobs--Craig, the Professor's servant, you know. We used the
phototelesme yesterday afternoon and saw him burn something in the
Professor's study. Lenora went up straight away and got hold of the
ashes."
"Smart girl," Quest murmured, nodding approvingly. "Well?"
"There are distinct fragments," Laura continued, "of embroidered stuff
such as the Salvation Army girl might have been wearing. We put them on
one side, but they aren't enough evidence. Lenora's idea is that you
should try and get hold of Craig and hypnotise him into a confession."
"That's all right," Quest replied, "but how am I to get hold of him?"
Laura glanced once more carelessly around to where the guard stood.
"Lenora's gone up to the Professor's again this afternoon. She is going to
try and get hold of Craig and lock him in the garage. If she succeeds, she
will send a message by wireless at three o'clock. It is half-past two
now."
"Well?" Quest exclaimed. "Well?"
"You can work this guard, if you want to," Laura went on. "I have seen you
tackle much worse cases. He seems dead easy. Then let me in the cell, take
my clothes and leave me here. You did it before when you were trying to
hunt down those men in Chicago, and not a soul recognised you."
Quest followed the scheme in his mind quickly.
"It is all right," he decided, "but I am not at all sure that they can
really hold me on the evidence they have got. If they can't, I shall be
doing myself more harm than good this way."
"It's no use unless you can get hold of Craig quickly," Laura said. "He is
getting the scares, as it is."
"I'll do it," Quest decided. "Call the guard, Laura."
She obeyed. The man came good-naturedly towards them.
"Well, young people, not quarrelling, I hope?" he remarked.
Quest looked at him steadfastly through the bars.
"I want you to come inside for a moment," he said.
"What for?" the man demanded.
"I want you to come inside for a moment," Quest repeated softly. "Unlock
the door, please, take the key off your bunch and come inside."
The man hesitated, but all the time his fingers were fumbling with the
keys. Quest's lips continued to move. The warder opened the door and
entered. A few minutes later, Quest passed the key through the window to
Laura, who was standing on guard.
"Come in," he whispered. "Don't step over him. He is sitting with his back
to the wall, just inside."
Laura obeyed, and entered the cell. For a moment they were breathless with
alarm. A passing warder looked down their avenue. Eventually, however, he
turned in the other direction.
"Off with your coat and skirt like lightning, Laura," Quest ordered. "This
has got to be done quickly or not at all."
Without a word, and with marvellous rapidity, the change was effected.
Laura produced from her hand-bag a wig, which she pinned inside her hat
and passed over to Quest. Then she flung herself on to the bed and drew
the blanket up to her chin.
"How long will he stay like that?" she whispered, pointing to the warder,
who was sitting on the floor with his arms folded and his eyes closed.
"Half an hour or so," Quest answered. "Don't bother about him. I shall
drop the key back through the window."
A moment or two later, Quest walked deliberately down the corridor of the
prison, crossed the pavement and stepped into a taxicab. He reached
Georgia Square at five minutes to three. A glance up and down assured him
that the house was unwatched. He let himself in with his own key and
laughed softly as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. The
house was strangely quiet and deserted, but he wasted no time in looking
around. He ran quickly upstairs, paused in his sitting-room only to take a
cigar from the cabinet, passed on to the bedroom, threw Laura's clothes
off, and, after a few moments' hesitation, selected from the wardrobe a
rough tweed suit with a thick lining and lapels. Just as he was tying his
tie, the little wireless which he had laid on the table at his side began
to record the message. He glanced at the clock. It was exactly three.
"I have Craig here in the Professor's garage, locked up. If our
plan has succeeded, come at once. I am waiting here for you."
Quest's eyes shone for a moment with satisfaction. Then he sent off his
answering message, put on a duster and slouch hat, and left the house by
the side entrance. In a few moments he was in Broadway, and a quarter of
an hour later a taxicab deposited him at the entrance to the Professor's
house. He walked swiftly up the drive and turned towards the garage,
hoping every moment to see something of Lenora. The door of the place
stood open. He entered and walked around. It was empty. There was no sign
of either Craig or Lenora!...
* * * * *
Quest, recovered from his first disappointment, stole carefully out and
made a minute examination of the place. Close to the corner from which
Lenora had sent her wireless message to him, he stooped and picked up a
handkerchief, which from the marking he recognised at once. A few feet
away, the gravel was disturbed as though by the trampling of several feet.
He set his teeth. For a single moment his own danger was forgotten. A
feeling which he utterly failed to recognise robbed him of his indomitable
nerve. He realised with vivid but scarcely displeasing potency a weakness
in the armour of his complete self-control.
"I've got to find that girl," he muttered. "Craig can go to hell!"
He turned away and approached the house. The front door stood open and he
made his way at once to the library. The Professor, who was sitting at his
desk surrounded by a pile of books and papers, addressed him, as he
entered, without looking up.
"Where on earth have you been, Craig?" he enquired petulantly. "I have
rung for you six times. Have I not told you never to leave the place
without orders?"
"It is not Craig," Quest replied quietly. "It is I, Professor--Sanford
Quest."
The Professor swung round in his chair and eyed his visitor in blank
astonishment.
"Quest?" he exclaimed. "God bless my soul! Have they let you out already,
then?"
"I came out," Quest replied grimly. "Sit down and listen to me for a
moment, will you?"
"You came out?" the Professor repeated, looking a little dazed. "You mean
that you escaped?"
Quest nodded.
"Perhaps I made a mistake," he admitted, "but here I am. Now listen,
Professor. I know this will be painful to you, but give me your best
attention for a few minutes. These young women assistants of mine have
formed a theory of their own about the murder in my flat and the robbery
of the jewels. Hold on to your chair, Professor. They believe that the
guilty person was Craig."
The Professor's face was almost pitiful in its blank amazement. His mouth
was wide open like a child's, words seemed absolutely denied to him.
"That's their theory," Quest went on. "They may be right or they may be
wrong--Lenora, at any rate, has collected some shreds of evidence. They
hatched a scheme between them, clever enough in its way. They locked Craig
up in your garage and got me out of the Tombs in Laura's clothes. I have
come straight up to find your garage open and Lenora missing."
The Professor rose to his feet, obviously making a tremendous effort to
adjust his ideas.
"Craig locked up in my garage?" he murmured. "Craig guilty of those
murders? Why, my dear Mr. Quest, a more harmless, a more inoffensive,
peace-loving and devoted servant than John Craig never trod this earth!"
"Maybe," Quest replied, "but come out here, Mr. Ashleigh."
The Professor followed his companion out to the garage. Quest showed him
the open door and the marks of footsteps around where he had picked up the
handkerchief.
"Now," he said, "what has become of your man Craig, and what has become of
my assistant Lenora?"
"Perhaps we had better search the house," the Professor suggested. "Craig?
My dear Mr. Quest, you little know--"
"Where is he, then?" Quest interrupted.
The Professor could do nothing but look around him a little vaguely.
Together they went back to the house and searched it without result. Then
they returned once more to the garage.
"I am going back," Quest announced. "My only chance is the wireless. If
Lenora is alive or at liberty, she will communicate with me."
"May I come, too?" the Professor asked timidly. "This matter has upset me
thoroughly. I cannot stay here without Craig."
"Come, by all means," Quest assented. "I will drive you down in your car,
if you like."
The Professor hurried away to get his coat and hat, and a few minutes
later they started off. In Broadway, they left the car at a garage and
made their way up a back street, which enabled them to enter the house at
the side entrance. They passed upstairs into the sitting-room. Quest
fetched the pocket wireless and laid it down on the table. The Professor
examined it with interest.
"You are marvellous, my friend," he declared. "With all these resources of
science at your command, it seems incredible that you should be in the
position you are."
Quest nodded coolly.
"I'll get out of that all right," he asserted confidently. "The only
trouble is that while I am dodging about like this I cannot devote myself
properly to the task of running down this fiend of the Hands. Just one
moment, Professor, while I send off a message," he continued, opening the
little instrument. "Where are you, Lenora?" he signalled. "Send me word
and I will fetch you. I am in my own house for the present. Let me know
that you are safe."
The Professor leaned back, smoking one of Quest's excellent cigars. He was
beginning to show signs of the liveliest interest.
[Illustration: QUEST AND LAURA CHANGE CLOTHES SO THAT QUEST MAY MAKE HIS
ESCAPE.]
[Illustration: ONE OF THE CLUB'S BUTLERS TURNS IN A FIRE ALARM.]
"Quest," he said, "I wish I could induce you to dismiss this extraordinary
supposition of yours concerning my servant Craig. The man has been with me
for the best part of twenty years. He saved my life in South America; we
have travelled in all parts of the world. He has proved himself to be
exemplary, a faithful and devoted servant. I thought it absurd, Mr. Quest,
when you were suspected of these crimes. I should think it even more
ridiculous to associate Craig with them in any way whatever."
"Then perhaps you will tell me," Quest suggested, "where he is now, and
why he has gone away? That does not look like complete innocence, does
it?"
The Professor sighed.
"Appearances are nothing," he declared. "Craig is a man of highly nervous
susceptibilities. The very idea of being suspected of anything so terrible
would be enough to drive him almost out of his mind. I am convinced that
we shall find him at home presently, with some reasonable explanation of
his absence."
Quest paced the room for a few moments, moodily.
There was a certain amount of reason in the Professor's point of view.
"Anyway, I cannot stay here much longer, unless I mean to go back to the
Tombs," he declared.
"Surely," the Professor suggested, "your innocence will very soon be
established?"
"There is one thing which will happen, without a doubt," Quest replied.
"My auto and the chauffeur will be discovered. I have insisted upon
enquiries being sent out throughout the State of Connecticut. They tell
me, too, that the police are hard on the scent of Red Gallagher and the
other man. Unless they get wind of this and sell me purposely, their
arrest will be the end of my troubles. To tell you the truth, Professor,"
Quest concluded, "it is not of myself I am thinking at all just now. It is
Lenora."
The Professor nodded sympathetically.
"The young lady who shut Craig up in the garage, you mean? A plucky young
woman she must be."
"She has a great many other good qualities besides courage," Quest
declared. "Women have not counted for much with me, Professor, up till
now, any more than they have done, I should think, with you, but I tell
you frankly, if any one has hurt a hair of that girl's head I will have
their lives, whatever the penalty may be! It is for her sake--to find
her--that I broke out of prison and that I am trying to keep free. The
wisest thing to do, from my own point of view, would be to give myself up.
I can't bring myself to do that without knowing what has become of her."
The Professor nodded again.
"A charming and well-bred young woman she seems," he admitted. "I fear
that I should only be a bungler in your profession, Mr. Quest, but if
there is anything I can do to help you to discover her whereabouts, you
can count upon me. Personally, I am convinced that Craig will return to me
with some plausible explanation as to what has happened. In that case he
will doubtless bring news of the young lady."
Quest, for the third or fourth time, moved cautiously towards the window.
His expression suddenly changed. He glanced downwards, frowning slightly.
An alert light flashed into his eyes.
"They're after me!" he exclaimed. "Sit still, Professor."
He darted into his room and reappeared again almost immediately. The
Professor gave a gasp of astonishment at his altered appearance. His tweed
suit seemed to have been turned inside out. There were no lapels now and
it was buttoned up to his neck. He wore a long white apron; a peaked cap
and a chin-piece of astonishing naturalness had transformed him into the
semblance of a Dutch grocer's boy.
"I'm off, Professor," Quest whispered. "You shall hear from me soon. I
have not been here, remember!"
He ran lightly down the steps and into the kitchen, picked up a basket,
filled it haphazard with vegetables and threw a cloth over the top. Then
he made his way to the front door, peered out for a moment, swung through
it on to the step, and, turning round, commenced to belabour it with his
fist. Two plain-clothes men stood at the end of the street. A police
automobile drew up outside the gate. Inspector French, attended by a
policeman, stepped out. The former looked searchingly at Quest.
"Well, my boy, what are you doing here?" he asked.
"I cannot answer get," Quest replied, in broken English. "Ten minutes
already have I wasted. I have knocked at all the doors."
French smiled.
"You can hop it, Dutchie," he advised. "By-the-bye, when was that order
for vegetables given?" he added, frowning for a moment.
"It is three times a week the same," Quest explained, whipping the cloth
from the basket. "No word has been sent to alter anything."
The Inspector pushed him hurriedly in the direction of the street.
"You run along home," he said, "and tell your master that he had better
leave off delivering goods here for the present."
Quest went off, grumbling. He walked with the peculiar waddle affected by
young Dutchmen of a certain class, and was soon out of sight round the
corner of the street. French opened the door with a masterkey and secured
it carefully, leaving one of his men to guard it. He searched the rooms on
the ground floor and finally ascended to Quest's study. The Professor was
still enjoying his cigar.
"Say, where's Quest?" the Inspector asked promptly.
"Have you let him out already?" the Professor replied, in a tone of mild
surprise. "I thought he was in the Tombs prison."
The Inspector pressed on without answering. Every room in the house was
ransacked. Presently he came back to the room where the Professor was
still sitting. His usually good-humoured face was a little clouded.
"Professor," he began--"What's that, Miles?"
A plain-clothes man from the street had come hurrying into the room.
"Say, Mr. French," he reported, "our fellows have got hold of a newsie
down in the street, who was coming along way round the back and saw two
men enter this house by the side entrance, half-an-hour ago. One he
described exactly as the Professor here. The other, without a doubt, was
Quest."
French turned swiftly towards the Professor.
"You hear what this man says?" he exclaimed. "Mr. Ashleigh, you're fooling
me! You entered this house with Sanford Quest. You must tell us where he
is hiding."
The Professor knocked the ash from his cigar and replaced it in his mouth.
His clasped hands rested in front of him. There was a twinkle of something
almost like mirth in his eyes as he glanced up at the Inspector.
"Mr. French," he said, "Mr. Sanford Quest is my friend. I am here in
charge of his house. Believing as I do that his arrest was an egregious
blunder, I shall say or do nothing likely to afford you any information."
French turned impatiently away. Suddenly a light broke in upon him, he
rushed towards the door.
"That damned Dutchie!" he exclaimed.
The Professor smiled benignly.