_The slayers_
"Let us try and see exactly how we stand," went on the Problem-hunter;
"up to now there has been a lot of vague talk about whirlpools, chaos,
wild beasts, and the like. Accurately speaking, we already have a
complete chain, with the Copper House at one end, and the mysterious
Gabriel Ortiz at the other. Two of the most important links in the
chain are Fayerling and Tassler. I might add a third: Rastakov, though
he is a subordinate, a sort of non-commissioned officer, so to speak,
who gets all the dirty jobs for his share. Now we will take this
extraordinary 'chain,' link by link, and sum up all we know about it.
Of its head, Ortiz, we are not yet in a position to say anything very
definite; most of our information about him dates from ten years back."
Wallion proceeded to give a brief outline of the story which he had
related to B.22, a few hours earlier.
"Baron Fayerling, the fashionable society man, with his Roumanian
property, is the next on our list," he continued; "he manages to invest
his money on the most extraordinarily favorable terms. He banks with
no fewer than six banks in Stockholm, two in Göteburg, and one in
Copenhagen, Malmö, Christiania, and Hälsingfors respectively.
"The grand total of his outstanding account rises and falls in a
very peculiar way: at the beginning of February he had no less than
12,000,000 kroner, at the end of the same month only half that amount,
and at the end of March only a paltry 100,000. Two weeks later, he paid
in on one day, 1,000,000 kroner to every one of his banking accounts,
making another sum of 12,000,000 kroner. And now, in July, his account
has reached the enormous total of over 20,000,000 kroner. Whatever kind
of business does he carry on? No one can say. I have myself verified
the names of eighty-four different persons, who have cashed the baron's
checks; of these, all except four were foreigners, and half of them
left Sweden afterwards, mostly bound for Russia or Finland. This influx
of people, all of whom received money, and sometimes a great deal of
it, from Fayerling, was largest at the beginning of March. Each man
paid a short visit to the baron's room at the hotel, and two of them
were shadowed the whole time by Rastakov. Three of them went out to the
Copper House.
"We mustn't forget to mention Tassler, whose interests are closely
allied to those of the baron. The Finno-Russian Import and Export
Company is a bona fide concern; you can go whenever you like to their
office in Drottning Street, and negotiate the buying or selling of
almost any conceivable thing, for, like most other modern business men,
Tassler deals in practically any goods, from clinical thermometers to
coffee, tea and cocoa. A small number of the articles in which they
deal are only to be found in the catalogue, but this is probably due to
the fact that their value fluctuates with the continual rise of prices.
"Tassler's banking-accounts are as unimpeachable as those of the baron,
and are deposited in much the same way. In one or two cases, I have
ascertained that these two men had concluded a deal in which there was
a genuine exchange of cash and goods; but, on the whole, I have not
been able to discover that the Agents of the Company, who are to be
found in all the large Scandinavian towns, carry on any business beyond
an incessant correspondence, on the firm's stamped writing paper, with
Messrs. Tassler and Fayerling.
"I have read through a whole pile of such letters; they are full of
lists of goods, and business terms. Sometimes if it is anything urgent,
they send telegrams. Tassler's agent in Göteburg did so when you
landed from the American vessel. One gets the impression of elaborate
machinery in full working-order, but it is not so easy to ascertain its
object, for, if it were to make money, Fayerling and Tassler would not
have a rag to their backs by this time.
"To put the thing in a nutshell, we see two gentlemen who allow
millions to flow out through a hundred different channels, but we
search in vain for the source of these millions or for the ultimate
aim of such lavish expenditure. If it were a question of the usual
spy-business, it would be easily understood, but neither Fayerling
nor Tassler nor any of their associates in and around the Copper House
appear to have the slightest connection with the belligerent powers.
No, there is something else in the wind--but what?
"When I began my investigations, I evolved two different theories. The
first was, that this was an organization for gun-running. It was a fact
that Fayerling had been somehow implicated in the infamously famous
expedition which attempted to smuggle explosives across the northern
boundary into Finland, but was quashed by the Swedish authorities, and
its promoters mysteriously dispersed. The equally famous motor-launch
'Nelly,' which attempted to cross the Gulf of Bothnia with a cargo
of modern rifles, was seen a week previously cruising off the Copper
House. But I could not obtain sufficient proof; and, above all, I was
soon convinced that neither of such incidents could be more than a
detail, a mere trifle, in Fayerling's daily program. I could see that
he only goes in for big things. Thereupon, I started a fresh theory:
that the whole affair was a federation to assist various political
fugitives and conspirators in the technical part of their plans, such
as forging passports, protecting them against counter-espionage,
financing their journeys, purchasing weapons ... in short, a kind
of revolutionary stock-jobbery. As a matter of fact, hundreds of
revolutionaries and the like, with weapons and 'red' literature, were
smuggled into Russia by way of Stockholm, at the beginning of this
year. It would certainly be an interesting interpretation of the
activities of the Finno-Russian Import and Export Company!
"But that explanation proved inadequate also: its aims were far too
limited. Fayerling and Tassler were obviously interested in the Russian
Revolution, but even after a revolutionary Government came into power
in Petrograd, their mysterious work continued with unabated vigor,
directed by the still invisible Gabriel Ortiz. I felt quite at a
loss....
"Then, all of a sudden, a period of inactivity set in; it started
some weeks ago. No more streams of unknown visitors, no more of that
colossal expenditure ... absolute stagnation! I noticed that Fayerling
was beginning to get fidgety; about once a day, usually rather late,
he would hold a long conversation on the telephone, after which he
regularly countermanded certain orders, and substituted new ones.
I felt sure that Ortiz must be at the other end of the line during
these talks, but I found it impossible to verify this. It was soon
evident that some new plan was afoot, and I determined to redouble
my watchfulness. One day my assistant, Robert Lang, overheard in the
street a conversation between the baron and Tassler in which the latter
alluded several times to 'Tarraschin's memorandum.' This gave us a
fresh idea.
"Do you know what 'Tarraschin's memorandum' is?
"It has only once been referred to publicly, and that was by a
Bulgarian journalist, who had got into some trouble over a newspaper
controversy. He referred to 'Tarraschin's memorandum' as 'a bomb
which, if it came into the right hands, would annihilate Europe.'
The document must have been drawn up in Moscow immediately after the
March revolution, and Prince Tarraschin was the originator of it. It
contained a complete plan to destroy the Revolution and reinstate the
Tsar, and practically all the best-known names of the Russian 'ancien
régime' would be irrevocably compromised if the document came to light.
Strangely enough, or perhaps, naturally enough, Prince Tarraschin died
at the end of March, before his plan had gone further than the paper
on which it was written, and the whole thing seemed to have died out
altogether.
"This is where Bernard Jenin comes in, and at the same moment,
Fayerling's attitude of suspense ends as though by magic! I see a
person, simply known as B.22, told off to escort Jenin; I see Rastakov
keeping an eye on them both; earnest consultations take place in the
baron's apartments. To my surprise, I learn that this Bernard Jenin
is in possession of nothing less than the Tarraschin document, and I
gather that there is a plot to rob him of it.
"Then, having for a month past played the silent part of an unseen
spectator, I decide to step in!
"I saw Rastakov go straight from the baron's room to that of Jenin,
and I put a spoke in his wheel. I warned Jenin to look out carefully
for a better hiding-place, and safer friends; he hardly said a word,
but simply vanished. I wondered which way he had gone, but I could not
follow him, because it became necessary for me, once for all, to take
up a definite attitude as regarded the baron. I now learn for the first
time, that Jenin dashed off to the Copper House, that Rastakov promptly
followed him, and that they have, in all probability, murdered him
there."
* * * * *
Maurice Wallion told his story rapidly, and almost without a pause. The
silence which succeeded it lasted so long that it began to get on Leo's
nerves. It seemed to him as though the mere fact of having listened to
this fantastic tale brought with it some sort of responsibility--an
awakening sense of duty.
"Do you think, too, that Jenin is dead?" he asked, just to break the
silence.
"One can think anything, when one knows nothing," replied Wallion
gravely. "I would rather have no theory than one which can be proved
to have no foundation. But that Jenin, as soon as I have rescued him
from one danger should run straight into another--that he should turn
up so apparently unnecessarily at the Copper House, right in the
middle of the hornets' nest, seems so senseless, that Lona Ivanovna's
revolver-shot only puts the finishing touch to the story! The only
thing that really puzzles me is why Sonia Bernin should have cried out:
'Sergius!'"
"Where do you suppose Tarraschin's document can have got to now?"
"Possibly into Lona Ivanovna's, or more accurately, into Andrei
Bernin's hands. At any rate, Rastakov did not get hold of it."
"How can you be sure of that?"
"In this way: if he had been able yesterday to report the discovery of
the document to the baron, and he in his turn to Ortiz, they would have
not made such a frantic search amongst all my belongings later in the
evening. They would have held all the trumps in their hands, and would
have considered me comparatively harmless. But instead of that, they
have turned my room at the office topsy-turvy, and have tried to do the
same thing here, to find that paper, and that assures me that Rastakov
has not discovered it at the Copper House--yet!"
"That seems probable," Leo agreed; "so you knew how they had ransacked
your office?"
"Yes, Robert Lang telephoned it. But they carried off nothing more
important than a photograph of Sonia Bernin."
"They didn't even get that!" cried Leo, triumphantly. "Look what I
have! I got there first!"
There was such simple pride in the young man's look and words, that the
Problem-hunter burst out laughing, and gave him a hearty slap on the
back.
"Ah, now you are playing tricks on me," said he; "it's the Finger of
Destiny, or the Master Mind, or whatever else you like to call it. It
is quite evident that we two must coöperate!"
"Yes, we _must_ do something," declared Leo, who had certainly never
shown himself so decided in the whole of his life. "I am glad you
summoned me home from California. We mustn't let things slide: we must
keep a sharp look-out on what is going on at the Copper House."
The Problem-hunter looked pleasantly surprised at the reiterated "we
must," and began to think that this young fellow had something in him
after all.
"You heard what I said about Ortiz," said he warningly. "Don't imagine
that the Man in the Whirlpool is a myth, and can be abolished in half
an hour. He exists, and he is dangerous."
"Dangerous!" exclaimed Leo, coloring a little in his excitement. "With
you to back me, who can call a man from the other side of the world,
without saying a word to him! I know nothing of Ortiz, but at any rate,
he has got you for an enemy!"
It was plain to see that the young man, like almost all those who met
Wallion, had surrendered unconditionally to his suggestive personality.
The calm voice and the keen eyes inspired Leo with unlimited
confidence, and, at this moment, his mobile, rather undecided face took
on a look of the journalist's, with his determined mouth and chin.
Wallion, who was watching him, took up his tumbler quickly to hide a
smile, and said: "Unfortunately, though we know nothing about Ortiz,
he knows all about us. He has the advantage of us there. But he and his
satellites are suffering from one drawback: there are too many of them.
'A chain is no stronger than its weakest link.'"
"And it's just that link we have got to find," cried Leo.
"Yes, that's exactly what I was trying to do yesterday afternoon,
while I was keeping Fayerling's counterspies at arm's length. I found
that the man we know under the pseudonym of B.22, who escorted Bernard
Jenin to Stockholm, has in some way incurred the baron's suspicions. I
profited by this, and managed to fall in with B.22."
Here the journalist looked at his watch, and broke off: "I say, how
time has flown! It is past six already!"
He extinguished the lamp, and they could see a glimmer of daylight
between the thick curtains, which he now flung open. Waves of bright
sunshine streamed into the room, and when the window was opened a
refreshing morning-breeze blew softly in on their heated faces. They
both inhaled it with enjoyment, and Wallion said: "Another day! I
wonder if Gabriel Ortiz slept last night--not without dreaming, I'll
wager. As long as there is a doubt about Tarraschin's memorandum ...
but who knows, everything may be cleared up in an hour's time!"
"Why are you looking out into the street?"
"To see if the house is watched."
"And is it?"
"Fortunately not. We are lucky."
"How odd you look! One might think you were waiting for somebody.
What's up?"
"I am expecting B.22. He was to be here at about seven."
Leo jumped up. "B.22 coming here?"
"Yes, the poor chap is scared stiff, and is inclined to betray Ortiz
to save his own skin. I have promised to help him, as soon as he has
made a full confession, though I doubt whether he will prove a very
creditable witness...."
The door-bell rang; Wallion went to answer it, and a man came
in hurriedly, holding a newspaper in his hand. It was the young
journalist, Robert Lang, and he was so much out of breath that he could
not speak for a minute, but handed the paper to his Chief with a silent
gesture.
"You are out early," remarked Wallion coolly, though he already guessed
the truth.
"No," retorted Lang hastily, "say rather, too late! Wallion, they have
forestalled us again--B.22 is dead!"
"Dead!" echoed Leo and the Problem-hunter together. The latter, to
whom Lang had handed the paper, glanced through it, and came to an
underlined paragraph, which he read aloud:
'SUDDEN DEATH IN THE STREET LAST NIGHT.'
"'About eleven o'clock last night, a middle-aged and rather poorly
dressed man was found dead upon one of the benches in the Railway Park.
The man, who was apparently one of the many unknown strangers who are
so frequently to be met with in Stockholm at the present time, seems to
have died quite suddenly, no doubt in consequence of a heart-attack.
Nothing was found in his pockets, except a card upon which was written
in red ink, "B.22." It is therefore impossible to identify him. He was
dressed....'" A brief description followed. Wallion threw down the
paper, and asked:
"Is the _Morning Post_ the only paper that gives the news?"
"Yes," replied Lang; "it must have been one of their reporters who came
across him."
"Have you verified the report?"
"Yes, the dead man is B.22, there's no doubt about that."
"No," said Wallion slowly; "no doubt about it. We might have expected
it. Poor wretch! the Whirlpool has sucked him in!"
"He makes the third," said Leo, looking much disturbed. "We _must_ give
notice to the police now!"
Wallion, who was standing with his head bent, now looked up.
"The third, if Bernard Jenin is really dead," he said. "But how can
the police help us? What's the good of bringing an accusation against
one Gabriel Ortiz, when no one has any idea where to find him? Or to
arrest Fayerling or Tassler, against whom we have not a shadow of
proof? Or to tell the fantastic history of Tarraschin's memorandum
which none of us has seen? Go to the police, if you like--and in
a week's time we shall be scoffed at as the most arrant liars and
slanderers in Europe, and that is saying a good deal in this year of
grace 1917!"
"But--aren't we right?" asked Leo, amazed.
"We haven't the _right_ to be right, as long as we can't _prove_ that
we are! And you see, they have robbed us of our proof before we could
take advantage of it."
"What shall we do, then?"
The Problem-hunter's gray eyes began to sparkle with indomitable
energy. He spoke rapidly, but in such a tone that every word was
impressed upon their minds.
"Lang, you go straight off to Lawyer Burchardt as soon as his office is
open, and inform him on Mr. Grath's behalf that the Copper House is not
for sale. You may tell the lawyer, under the seal of secrecy, as much
of the truth as is necessary. After that, wait for further instructions
from me."
Robert Lang looked at Leo.
"Yes," said he quickly; "it's quite correct, I have no intention of
selling the Copper House to those people."
"And you, Mr. Grath," continued Wallion, "are presumed to be locked
up in your bedroom at the present minute, fast asleep at the Copper
House. It's a grand position, at the very center of all that's going
on. So, catch the first train out to Karkby, and get back to your room
the same way you left it--as long as nobody sees you doing it!"
Leo drew a deep breath.
"But supposing anyone saw me in Stockholm last night?"
"Nobody would have dreamed that you would be here, and that fellow
outside my door had quite enough to do to look after himself."
"And what about you? what are you going to do?"
"I am coming with you to the Copper House!"
_Part II--The Twentieth of July_