A reddening zone in the East silhouetted the serrated line of the
distant elevated structure, as Shirley walked along the gray street, his
thoughts busy with the possibilities of applying his new certainty.
He had reached Sixth Avenue, and was just passing one of the elevated
pillars when a black touring car crept up behind him. The clanging bell
and the grinding motors of an early surface car drowned the sound of
the automobile in his rear. Suddenly the big machine sprang forward at
highest speed. A man leaned from the driver's seat, and snatched the
grip from his hand.
The motorman, cursing, threw on the emergency brake, in time to barely
graze the machine with his fender as it shot across the street before
him.
Shirley's view was cut off, until he had run around the street-car--then
he beheld the big automobile skidding in a half-circle, as it turned
down Fifth Avenue. It was too far away to distinguish the number of the
singing license tag.
“Much good may the bricks do them! Perhaps they will help to build the
annex necessary up the river, when these gentry go there for a long
visit.”
Shirley laughed at the joke on his pursuers, and turned into a little
all-night grill for a comforting mutton chop of gargantuan proportions,
with an equally huge baked potato. He was a healthy brute, after all
his morbid line of activities! Later, at the Club, he submitted to the
amenities of the barber, whose fine Italian hand smoothed away, in a
skilful massage, the haggard lines of his long vigil. As he left the
club house for William Grimsby's residence he looked as fresh and
bouyant as though he had enjoyed the conventional eight hours' sleep.
“You are this Montague Shirley?” was the querulous greeting from the
old gentleman, when he was admitted to the drawing-room. “You kept me in
anguish the entire night, with your silly words. The telephone bell
rang at intervals of half an hour until dawn: I may have missed some
important business deal by not replying What do you mean? Is this some
blackmail game?”
“No, sir. It has to deal with blackmailing, however--but not for my
profit.”
“Explain quickly. I am a busy man. My motor is waiting now to take me to
my office.”
“Look here, Mr. Grimsby, at this memorandum book,” said Shirley, holding
forward the list which he had copied from the joy-party article in the
theatrical paper. “With some friends of yours, you held merry carnival
to Venus and Bacchus at an all-night lobster palace not long ago. Have I
the right names?”
“This is rank impertinence. How dare you? Get out of my house.”
“Not so fast, my dear sir, until you understand my drift. Throughout
Club circles you and Mr. Van Cleft, with these other cronies are
sarcastically referred to as the Lobster Club. Did you know that?”
Grimsby's face was purple with angry mortification, but Shirley would
not be gainsaid. “I am acting in this matter as a friend of Howard Van
Cleft,” he continued. “Your three friends have met their deaths at the
hand of a cunning conspirator. Last night, white I talked with you on
the telephone, young Van Cleft was receiving advice over another wire
from a person who pretended to be William Grimsby--advising him to hush
the matter up and drop the investigation. But--Captain Cronin the
famous detective--has received a tip that the number of victims would be
increased very soon--frankly, now: do you want to be the fourth?”
Grimsby's face changed to ashen gray, as he timidly clutched Shirley's
sleeve.
“Then cooperate with me. You understand now the nature of this villain's
work: to rob and assassinate his victim in the company of a girl, so
that this would endeavor to hush the scandal, without reporting it to
the police. His progress is unchecked, and afterwards he would have
untold opportunity for continuing a demand for hush money on the
surviving relatives. May I count on you to help?”
“You may count on me to leave the city within the next two hours.”
“Good! But I want to have you disappear so quietly that this cunning
unknown will not know of it. He is watching your house now, without a
doubt.”
Grimsby strode to the window, with his characteristic limp, and drew the
heavy curtains aside, to peer out nervously.
“No one is in sight.”
“The man is as unseen in his work as a germ. But he is not unheard: he
uses the telephone to locate his victims, that is why I advised you to
let your instrument ring unanswered.”
“I'll do what I can, if I can keep out of more danger. An old man craves
life more than a young one. I fought through the Civil War and brought
a medal from Congress and this wounded knee out of it, Mr. Shirley. I
didn't fear anything then, but times have changed!”
“Here is my plan, then,” continued Shirley, his lips twitching with
sub-strata amusement, “I want to impersonate you, when you leave, so
that this man tries to send me after the other three. Don't interrupt,
let me finish--You will say that it is impossible to deceive any one at
close range. Surely, it does sound melodramatic, like a lurid tale of
a paper back novel. But I have studied the photographs of your friends.
You and I bear the closest resemblance of any in the group. Your weight
is about the same as mine--your shoulders are a trifle stooped and
you walk with a curious drag of your left foot. Your hair is white
but thick: the contour of our faces is quite similar, and so with dry
cosmetics, some physical mimicry, and the use of a pair of horn-rimmed
glasses like yours I can make a comparatively good double. The only
exposure to the sharp eyes of your enemies will be, first, when I
substitute myself for you and take your automobile back home; second,
when I go down to the theatrical district, to visit a well-known tearoom
where I learn you are a frequent guest. There the wall tables are
shrouded by decorations, and I shall keep in the shadow and talk as
little as possible. Behind those dark glasses, and entering the place
with your peculiarly spotted fur coat, I will resemble you more than you
believe. If to add to the illusion, I show hospitable prodigality with
drinks for the others, it is probable that their observation will be
less analytical. Then, third in the line of activities, I will go to the
theatre, sit in a darkened box, and let them take me where they will in
whatever automobile turns up. Thus you see my campaign.”
“How much do I have to pay you?”
“I might have expected that,” was the laughing retort. “You are noted
for the fortunes you waste on stupid show girls, while times are hard
with you in your offices where young and old men struggle along to
support honest families. Have no fear, Mr. Grimsby, my income is enough
for my simple wants. I am entering this hunt for big game, just as I
have gone to India and East Africa, for jungle trophies. It will not
cost you a nickel.”
“I had better contribute a little,” began Grimsby, embarrassed, as he
drew out a check-book. But Shirley negatived with emphasis.
“How about your servants? Can you trust them with the secret?”
“They have been with me for twenty-five years or more. My wife is in
California, and the rest of the servants, except two maids and a butler,
up at my country home on the Hudson.”
“Fine: then, in two hours from now, meet me at the Hotel Astor, where I
have rooms, in the name of Madden. Bring down an extra suit of clothes,
and an extra overcoat, for I want to wear your fur one, which I see
there on the davenport. On the downward trip instruct your chauffeur
to drive your car up to your country place, as soon as he has made the
return trip from the hotel. You will be there before he gets up, on the
country roads and he will be none the wiser. Goodbye, Mr. Grimsby.”
At the club Shirley made some necessary disposition of his private
matters, for he knew this case would run longer than a day. From
his rooms he sent a note by messenger to his theatrical friend, Dick
Holloway, which read simply.
“Dear Holloway:--The experiment with the movies won the blue ribbon. I
have a new plan on foot. You can help me in this, as well. I want you to
engage for me a beautiful, clever and daring actress, afraid of nothing
under the sun or moon, and absolutely unknown on Broadway. No amateurs
or stage-struck heiresses or manicurists: you are the one impresario who
can fill my bill. I will call at your office in fifteen minutes, so have
the compact sealed by then. Who finally won the loot, last night?
Your friend, Montague Shirley.”
The manager was forced to go through the note twice, to make sure that
his senses were not leaving him. Then he turned in the chair, toward
the unusual young woman who sat in his private office, observing with
mingled amusement and curiosity the fleeting expressions upon his face.
“In view of your mission in America, this may interest you,” was his
amused comment, as he handed her the missive. “It is from the most
curious man in New York.”
He studied the downcast lashes, as she read the letter. Hers was a
face which had stirred a continent, yet he had never met her until this
memorable day. She might have been twenty-three years old--and again,
might have been three years younger or older. Rippling red-gold waves
of hair separated in the center of her smooth brow to caress with a soft
wave on either side the blooming cheeks, whose Nature-grown roses were
unusual in this world-weary vicinity of Broadway. A sweet mouth with a
sensuous smile at one corner, and a barely perceptible droop of pathos
at the other, lent an indescribable piquance to her dimpled smile. The
blue orbs which raised to his own with a Sphinxian laugh in their
azure depths thrilled him--Holloway, the blase, the hardened theatrical
manager, flattered and cajoled by hundreds of beautiful women on the
quest of stage success!
Adroitly veiled beneath the silken folds of the clinging gown, redolent
with the bizarre artistry of a Parisian atelier, was the shapely
suggestion of exquisite physical perfection which did not escape the
connoisseur glance of Holloway.
“He is a literary man: I know that from the small, yet fluent writing,
and the cross marks for periods show that he has written for newspapers
and corrected his own proofs--He is unusually definite in what he
desires and accustomed to having his imperious way about most things. In
this case, he is easily pleased--merely perfection is his desire.”
“Shirley is generally prompt, and is apt to breeze in here any second
now, with his two hundred pounds and six feet of brawn and ginger. I
wonder--”
“Why do you suppose such a paragon is desired by your friend? Who is he?
What is he like, not an ordinary actor--” and the wondrous eyes darkened
with a curious thought.
“My dear lady, no one has discovered the mental secrets of Montague
Shirley. He apparently wastes his life as do other popular society men
with much money and more time on their hands. Yet, somehow, I always
feel in his presence as one does when standing on the bow of an ocean
liner, with the salt breeze whizzing into your heart. He is a force of
nature, yet he explains nothing: a thorough man of the world; droll,
sarcastic, generous and I believe for democracy he is unequaled by any
Tammany politician: he knows more policemen, dopes, conductors, beggars,
chauffeurs, gangsters, bartenders, jobless actors, painters, preachers,
anarchists, and all the rest of New York's flotsam and jetsam than any
one in the world. He is always the polished gentleman, and yet they take
him man for man.”
“What does this unusual person do for a living?”
“Nothing but living!”
Her interest was naturally undiminshed by this perfervid tribute, and
she clapped her dainty hands together with sudden mirth.
“You know why I came here, and why to you, Mr. Holloway. You know who I
am, and although I answer none of those exorbitant terms except that I
am not known by sight along your big street Broadway, why not recommend
me for the position?”
“But you, of all people!” Holloway's face was a study in amazement. “You
can't tell what wild project he has in view. Shirley is a wild Indian,
in many things you know--just when you least expect it. I have known him
a dozen years.”
He paused to weigh the matter, and his sense of humor conquered. He
roared with mirth, which was joined in more sedately by the unknown
girl. “That settles it. You couldn't start on your campaign in a better
way. You shall be the Lady of Mystery in this story! I will not breathe
a hint of your identity to Shirley, and no one else knows, of course.
What a ripping good joke: I'm glad you came here the first hour after
your landing in New York.”
“What shall I call myself? I have it--a romantic name, which will be
worth laughing over later--let me see--Helene Marigold. Is that flowery
enough?”
“Shirley will be sure you are an actress when he hears that. Mum is
the word, may you never have stage fright and never miss a cue--Here he
comes now!”
The criminologist rushed into the office impetuously, dropping his bag
on the floor, and doffing his hat as he beheld the pretty companion of
Holloway.
“On time to the minute, as usual, Shirley. Your note came, and I
followed your instructions. Let me present to you your new star, Miss
Helene Marigold, who just disembarked on the steamer from England this
morning. You have secured a young lady who is making all Europe sit up
and rub its eyes. I believe I have at last found a match for you, Prince
of the Unexpected!”
Shirley held forth his fervent hand, and was surprised at the almost
masculine sincerity with which the delicately gloved fingers returned
the pressure. He looked into the blue eyes with a challenging scrutiny,
and received as frank an answer!
Dick Holloway indulged in an unobserved smile, as he turned to look out
of the window, lost for the nonce in mirthful speculation.