"Close the casket," repeated the stranger, "and put it quietly back

into your pocket, where I feel persuaded it should never have been.

Try, if you please, to throw off your bewildered air, and act as

thought I were one of your acquaintances whom you had met by chance.

So! Touch glasses with me. That is better. I fear, sir, you must

be an amateur."

And the stranger pronounced these last words with a smile of peculiar

meaning, leaned back in his seat, and enjoyed a deep inhalation of

tobacco.

"For God's sake," said Francis, "tell me who you are and what this

means? Why I should obey your most unusual suggestions I am sure I

know not; but the truth is, I have fallen this evening into so many

perplexing adventures, and all I meet conduct themselves so

strangely, that I think I must either have gone mad or wandered into

another planet Your face inspires me with confidence; you seem wise,

good, and experienced; tell me, for Heaven's sake, why you accost me

in so odd a fashion?"

"All in due time," replied the stranger. "But I have the first hand,

and you must begin by telling me how the Rajah's Diamond is in your

possession."

"The Rajah's Diamond!" echoed Francis.

"I would not speak so loud, if I were you," returned the other. "But

most certainly you have the Rajah's Diamond in your pocket. I have

seen and handled it a score of times in Sir Thomas Vandeleur's

collection."

"Sir Thomas Vandeleur! The General! My father!" cried Francis.

"Your father?" repeated the stranger. "I was not aware the General

had any family."

"I am illegitimate, sir," replied Francis, with a flush.

The other bowed with gravity. It was a respectful bow, as of a man

silently apologizing to his equal; and Francis felt relieved and

comforted, he scarce knew why. The society of this person did him

good; he seemed to touch firm ground; a strong feeling of respect

grew up in his bosom, and mechanically he removed his wideawake as

though in the presence of a superior.

"I perceive," said the stranger, "that your adventures have not all

been peaceful. Your collar is torn, your face is scratched, you have

a cut upon your temple; you will, perhaps, pardon my curiosity when I

ask you to explain how you came by these injuries, and how you happen

to have stolen property to an enormous value in your pocket."

"I must differ from you!" returned Francis, hotly. "I possess no

stolen property. And if you refer to the diamond, it was given to me

not an hour ago by Miss Vandeleur in the Rue Lepic."

"By Miss Vandeleur of the Rue Lepic!" repeated the other. "You

interest me more than you suppose. Pray continue."

"Heavens!" cried Francis.

His memory had made a sudden bound. He had seen Mr. Vandeleur take

an article from the breast of his drugged visitor, and that article,

he was now persuaded, was a morocco case.

"You have a light?" inquired the stranger.

"Listen," replied Francis. "I know not who you are, but I believe

you to be worthy of confidence and helpful; I find myself in strange

waters; I must have counsel and support, and since you invite me I

shall tell you all."

And he briefly recounted his experiences since the day when he was

summoned from the bank by his lawyer.

"Yours is indeed a remarkable history," said the stranger, after the

young man had made an end of his narrative; "and your position is

full of difficulty and peril. Many would counsel you to seek out

your father, and give the diamond to him; but I have other views.

Waiter!" he cried.

The waiter drew near.

"Will you ask the manager to speak with me a moment?" said he; and

Francis observed once more, both in his tone and manner, the evidence

of a habit of command.

The waiter withdrew, and returned in a moment with the manager, who

bowed with obsequious respect.

"What," said he, "can I do to serve you?"

"Have the goodness," replied the stranger, indicating Francis, "to

tell this gentleman my name."

"You have the honor, sir," said the functionary, addressing young

Scrymgeour, "to occupy the same table with His Highness Prince

Florizel of Bohemia."

Francis rose with precipitation, and made a grateful reverence to the

Prince, who bade him resume his seat.

"I thank you," said Florizel, once more addressing the functionary;

"I am sorry to have deranged you for so small a matter."

And he dismissed him with a movement of his hand.

"And now," added the Prince, turning to Francis, "give me the

diamond."

Without a word the casket was handed over.

"You have done right," said Florizel; "your sentiments have properly

inspired you, and you will live to be grateful for the misfortunes of

to-night. A man, Mr. Scrymgeour, may fall into a thousand

perplexities, but if his heart be upright and his intelligence

unclouded, he will issue from them all without dishonor. Let your

mind be at rest; your affairs are in my hand; and with the aid of

Heaven I am strong enough to bring them to a good end. Follow me, if

you please, to my carriage."

So saying, the Prince arose and, having left a piece of gold for the

waiter, conducted the young man from the café and along the Boulevard

to where an unpretentious brougham and a couple of servants out of

livery awaited his arrival.

"This carriage," said he, "is at your disposal; collect your baggage

as rapidly as you can make it convenient, and my servants will

conduct you to a villa in the neighborhood of Paris where you can

wait in some degree of comfort until I have had time to arrange your

situation. You will find there a pleasant garden, a library of good

authors, a cook, a cellar, and some good cigars, which I recommend to

your attention. Jerome," he added, turning to one of the servants,

"you have heard what I say; I leave Mr. Scrymgeour in your charge;

you will, I know, be careful of my friend."

Francis uttered some broken phrases of gratitude.

"It will be time enough to thank me," said the Prince, "when you are

acknowledged by your father and married to Miss Vandeleur."

And with that the Prince turned away and strolled leisurely in the

direction of Montmarte. He hailed the first passing cab, gave an

address, and a quarter of an hour afterward, having discharged the

driver some distance lower, he was knocking at Mr. Vandeleur's

garden-gate.

It was opened with singular precautions by the Dictator in person.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"You must pardon me this late visit, Mr. Vandeleur," replied the

Prince.

"Your Highness is always welcome," returned Mr. Vandeleur, stepping

back.

The Prince profited by the open space, and without waiting for his

host walked right into the house and opened the door of the salon.

Two people were seated there; one was Miss Vandeleur, who bore the

marks of weeping about her eyes, and was still shaken from time to

time by a sob; in the other the Prince recognized the young man who

had consulted him on literary matters about a month before, in a club

smoking-room.

"Good-evening, Miss Vandeleur," said Florizel; "you look fatigued.

Mr. Rolles, I believe? I hope you have profited by the study of

Gaboriau, Mr. Rolles."

But the young clergyman's temper was too much embittered for speech;

and he contented himself with bowing stiffly, and continued to gnaw

his lip.

"To what good wind," said Mr. Vandeleur, following his guest, "am I

to attribute the honor of your Highness's presence?"

"I am come on business," returned the Prince; "on business with you;

as soon as that is settled I shall request Mr. Rolles to accompany me

for a walk. Mr. Rolles," he added, with severity, "let me remind you

that I have not yet sat down."

The clergyman sprang to his feet with an apology; whereupon the

Prince took an armchair beside the table, handed his hat to Mr.

Vandeleur, his cane to Mr. Rolles, and, leaving them standing and

thus menially employed upon his service, spoke as follows:

"I have come here, as I said, upon business; but, had I come looking

for pleasure, I could not have been more displeased with my reception

nor more dissatisfied with my company. You, sir," addressing Mr.

Rolles, "you have treated your superior in station with discourtesy;

you, Vandeleur, receive me with a smile, but you know right well that

your hands are not yet cleansed from misconduct. I do not desire to

be interrupted, sir," he added, imperiously; "I am here to speak, and

not to listen; and I have to ask you to hear me with respect, and to

obey punctiliously. At the earliest possible date your daughter

shall be married at the Embassy to my friend, Francis Scrymgeour,

your brother's acknowledged son. You will oblige me by offering not

less than ten thousand pounds dowry. For yourself, I will indicate

to you in writing a mission of some importance in Siam which I

destine to your care. And now, sir, you will answer me in two words

whether or not you agree to these conditions."

"Your Highness will pardon me," said Mr. Vandeleur, "and permit me,

with all respect, to submit to him two queries?"

"The permission is granted," replied the Prince.

"Your Highness," resumed the Dictator, "has called Mr. Scrymgeour his

friend. Believe me, had I known he was thus honored, I should have

treated him with proportional respect."

"You interrogate adroitly," said the Prince; "but it will not serve

your turn. You have my commands; if I had never seen that gentleman

before to-night, it would not render them less absolute."

"Your Highness interprets my meaning with his usual subtlety,"

returned Vandeleur. "Once more: I have, unfortunately, put the

police upon the track of Mr. Scrymgeour on a charge of theft; am I to

withdraw or to uphold the accusation?"

"You will please yourself," replied Florizel. "The question is one

between your conscience and the laws of this land. Give me my hat;

and you, Mr. Rolles, give me my cane and follow me. Miss Vandeleur,

I wish you good-evening. I judge," he added to Vandeleur, "that your

silence means unqualified assent."

"If I can do no better," replied the old man, "I shall submit; but I

warn you openly it shall not be without a struggle."

"You are old," said the Prince; "but years are disgraceful to the

wicked. Your age is more unwise than the youth of others. Do not

provoke me, or you may find me harder than you dream. This is the

first time that I have fallen across your path in anger; take care

that it be the last."

With these words, motioning the clergyman to follow, Florizel left

the apartment and directed his steps toward the garden gate; and the

Dictator, following with a candle, gave them light, and once more

undid the elaborate fastenings with which he sought to protect

himself from intrusion.

"Your daughter is no longer present," said the Prince, turning on the

threshold. "Let me tell you that I understand your threats; and you

have only to lift your hand to bring upon yourself sudden and

irremediable ruin."

The Dictator made no reply; but as the Prince turned his back upon

him in the lamplight he made a gesture full of menace and insane

fury; and the next moment, slipping round a corner, he was running at

full speed for the nearest cab-stand.

[Here, says my Arabian, the thread of events is finally diverted from

"The House with the Green Blinds." One more adventure, he adds, and

we have done with "The Rajah's Diamond." That last link in the chain

is known among the inhabitants of Bagdad by the name of "The

Adventure of Prince Florizel and a Detective."]

THE ADVENTURE OF PRINCE FLORIZEL AND A DETECTIVE

Prince Florizel walked with Mr. Rolles to the door of a small hotel

where the latter resided. They spoke much together, and the

clergyman was more than once affected to tears by the mingled

severity and tenderness of Florizel's reproaches.

"I have made ruin of my life," he said at last. "Help me; tell me

what I am to do; I have, alas! neither the virtues of a priest nor

the dexterity of a rogue."

"Now that you are humbled," said the Prince, "I command no longer;

the repentant have to do with God and not with princes. But if you

will let me advise you, go to Australia as a colonist, seek menial

labor in the open air, and try to forget that you have ever been a

clergyman, or that you ever set eyes on that accursed stone."

"Accursed, indeed!" replied Mr. Rolles. "Where is it now? What

further hurt is it not working for mankind?"

"It will do no more evil," returned the Prince. "It is here in my

pocket. And this," he added, kindly, "will show that I place some

faith in your penitence, young as it is."

"Suffer me to touch your hand," pleaded Mr. Rolles.

"No," replied Prince Florizel, "not yet."

The tone in which he uttered these last words was eloquent in the

ears of the young clergyman; and for some minutes after the Prince

had turned away he stood on the threshold following with his eyes the

retreating figure and invoking the blessing of Heaven upon a man so

excellent in counsel.

For several hours the Prince walked alone in unfrequented streets.

His mind was full of concern; what to do with the diamond, whether to

return it to its owner, whom he judged unworthy of this rare

possession, or to take some sweeping and courageous measure and put

it out of the reach of all mankind at once and forever, was a problem

too grave to be decided in a moment. The manner in which it had come

into his hands appeared manifestly providential; and as he took out

the jewel and looked at it under the street lamps, its size and

surprising brilliancy inclined him more and more to think of it as of

an unmixed and dangerous evil for the world.

"God help me!" he thought; "if I look at it much oftener I shall

begin to grow covetous myself."

At last, though still uncertain in his mind, he turned his steps

toward the small but elegant mansion on the riverside which had

belonged for centuries to his royal family. The arms of Bohemia are

deeply graved over the door and upon the tall chimneys; passengers

have a look into a green court set with the most costly flowers, and

a stork, the only one in Paris, perches on the gable all day long and

keeps a crowd before the house. Grave servants are seen passing to

and fro within; and from time to time the great gate is thrown open

and a carriage rolls below the arch. For many reasons this residence

was especially dear to the heart of Prince Florizel; he never drew

near to it without enjoying that sentiment of home-coming so rare in

the lives of the great; and on the present evening he beheld its tall

roof and mildly illuminated windows with unfeigned relief and

satisfaction.

As he was approaching the postern-door by which he always entered

when alone, a man stepped forth from the shadow and presented himself

with an obeisance in the Prince's path.

"I have the honor of addressing Prince Florizel of Bohemia?" said he.

"Such is my title," replied the Prince. "What do you want with me?"

"I am," said the man, "a detective, and I have to present your

Highness with this billet from the Prefect of Police."

The Prince took the letter and glanced it through by the light of the

street lamp. It was highly apologetic, but requested him to follow

the bearer to the Prefecture without delay.

"In short," said Florizel, "I am arrested."

"Your Highness," replied the officer, "nothing, I am certain, could

be further from the intention of the Prefect. You will observe that

he has not granted a warrant. It is mere formality, or call it, if

you prefer, an obligation that your Highness lays on the authorities."

"At the same time," asked the Prince, "if I were to refuse to follow

you?"

"I will not conceal from your Highness that a considerable discretion

has been granted me," replied the detective with a bow.

"Upon my word," cried Florizel, "your effrontery astounds me!

Yourself, as an agent, I must pardon; but your superiors shall dearly

smart for their misconduct. What, have you any idea, is the cause of

this impolitic and unconstitutional act? You will observe that I

have as yet neither refused nor consented, and much may depend on

your prompt and ingenuous answer. Let me remind you, officer, that

this is an affair of some gravity."

"Your Highness," said the detective humbly, "General Vandeleur and

his brother have had the incredible presumption to accuse you of

theft. The famous diamond, they declare, is in your hands. A word

from you in denial will most amply satisfy the Prefect; nay, I go

further: if your Highness would so far honor a subaltern as to

declare his ignorance of the matter even to myself, I should ask

permission to retire upon the spot."

Florizel, up to the last moment, had regarded his adventure in the

light of a trifle, only serious upon international considerations.

At the name of Vandeleur the horrible truth broke upon him in a

moment; he was not only arrested, but he was guilty. This was not

only an annoying incident--it was a peril to his honor. What was he

to say? What was he to do? The Rajah's Diamond was indeed an

accursed stone; and it seemed as if he were to be the last victim to

its influence.

One thing was certain. He could not give the required assurance to

the detective. He must gain time.

His hesitation had not lasted a second.

"Be it so," said he, "let us walk together to the Prefecture."

The man once more bowed, and proceeded to follow Florizel at a

respectful distance in the rear.

"Approach," said the Prince. "I am in a humor to talk, and, if I

mistake not, now I look at you again, this is not the first time that

we have met."

"I count it an honor," replied the officer, "that your Highness

should recollect my face. It is eight years since I had the pleasure

of an interview."

"To remember faces," returned Florizel, "is as much a part of my

profession as it is of yours. Indeed, rightly looked upon, a Prince

and a detective serve in the same corps. We are both combatants

against crime; only mine is the more lucrative and yours the more

dangerous rank, and there is a sense in which both may be made

equally honorable to a good man. I had rather, strange as you may

think it, be a detective of character and parts than a weak and

ignoble sovereign."

The officer was overwhelmed.

"Your Highness returns good for evil," said he. "To an act of

presumption he replies by the most amiable condescension."

"How do you know," replied Florizel, "that I am not seeking to

corrupt you?"

"Heaven preserve me from the temptation!" cried the detective.

"I applaud your answer," returned the Prince. "It is that of a wise

and honest man. The world is a great place and stocked with wealth

and beauty, and there is no limit to the rewards that may be offered.

Such a one who would refuse a million of money may sell his honor for

an empire or the love of a woman; and I myself, who speak to you,

have seen occasions so tempting, provocations so irresistible to the

strength of human virtue, that I have been glad to tread in your

steps and recommend myself to the grace of God. It is thus, thanks

to that modest and becoming habit alone," he added, "that you and I

can walk this town together with untarnished hearts."

"I had always heard that you were brave," replied the officer, "but I

was not aware that you were wise and pious. You speak the truth, and

you speak it with an accent that moves me to the heart. This world

is indeed a place of trial."

"We are now," said Florizel, "in the middle of the bridge. Lean your

elbows on the parapet and look over. As the water rushing below, so

the passions and complications of life carry away the honesty of weak

men. Let me tell you a story."

"I receive your Highness's commands," replied the man.

And, imitating the Prince, he leaned against the parapet, and

disposed himself to listen. The city was already sunk in slumber;

had it not been for the infinity of lights and the outline of

buildings on the starry sky, they might have been alone beside some

country river.

"An officer," began Prince Florizel, "a man of courage and conduct,

who had already risen by merit to an eminent rank, and won not only

admiration but respect, visited, in an unfortunate hour for his peace

of mind, the collections of an Indian prince. Here he beheld a

diamond so extraordinary for size and beauty that from that instant

he had only one desire in life: honor, reputation, friendship, the

love of country, he was ready to sacrifice all for this lump of

sparkling crystal. For three years he served this semi-barbarian

potentate as Jacob served Laban; he falsified frontiers, he connived

at murders, he unjustly condemned and executed a brother-officer who

had the misfortune to displease the Rajah by some honest freedoms;

lastly, at a time of great danger to his native land, he betrayed a

body of his fellow-soldiers, and suffered them to be defeated and

massacred by thousands. In the end, he had amassed a magnificent

fortune, and brought home with him the coveted diamond.

"Years passed," continued the Prince, "and at length the diamond is

accidentally lost. It falls into the hands of a simple and laborious

youth, a student, a minister of God, just entering on a career of

usefulness and even distinction. Upon him also the spell is cast; he

deserts everything, his holy calling, his studies, and flees with the

gem into a foreign country. The officer has a brother, an astute,

daring, unscrupulous man, who learns the clergyman's secret. What

does he do? Tell his brother, inform the police? No; upon this man

also the Satanic charm has fallen; he must have the stone for

himself. At the risk of murder, he drugs the young priest and seizes

the prey. And now, by an accident which is not important to my

moral, the jewel passes out of his custody into that of another, who,

terrified at what he sees, gives it into the keeping of a man in high

station and above reproach.

"The officer's name is Thomas Vandeleur," continued Florizel. "The

stone is called the Rajah's Diamond. And"--suddenly opening his

hand--"you behold it here before your eyes." The officer started

back with a cry.

"We have spoken of corruption," said the Prince. "To me this nugget

of bright crystal is as loathsome as though it were crawling with the

worms of death; it is as shocking as though it were compacted out of

innocent blood. I see it here in my hand, and I know it is shining

with hell-fire. I have told you but a hundredth part of its story;

what passed in former ages, to what crimes and treacheries it incited

men of yore, the imagination trembles to conceive; for years and

years it has faithfully served the powers of hell; enough, I say, of

blood, enough of disgrace, enough of broken lives and friendships;

all things come to an end, the evil like the good; pestilence as well

as beautiful music; and as for this diamond, God forgive me if I do

wrong, but its empire ends to-night."

The Prince made a sudden movement with his hand, and the jewel,

describing an arc of light, dived with a splash into the flowing

river.

"Amen," said Florizel, with gravity. "I have slain a cockatrice!"

"God pardon me!" cried the detective. "What have you done? I am a

ruined man."

"I think," returned the Prince with a smile, "that many well to do

people in this city might envy you your ruin."

"Alas! your Highness!" said the officer, "and you corrupt me after

all?"

"It seems there was no help for it," replied Florizel. "And now let

us go forward to the Prefecture."

Not long after, the marriage of Francis Scrymgeour and Miss Vandeleur

was celebrated in great privacy; and the Prince acted on that

occasion as groomsman. The two Vandeleurs surmised some rumor of

what had happened to the diamond; and their vast diving operations on

the River Seine are the wonder and amusement of the idle. It is true

that through some miscalculation they have chosen the wrong branch of

the river. As for the Prince, that sublime person, having now served

his turn, may go, along with the "Arabian Author," topsy-turvy into

space. But if the reader insists on more specific information, I am

happy to say that a recent revolution hurled him from the throne of

Bohemia, in consequence of his continued absence and edifying neglect

of public business; and that his Highness now keeps a cigar store in

Rupert Street, much frequented by other foreign refugees. I go there

from time to time to smoke and have a chat, and find him as great a

creature as in the days of his prosperity; he has an Olympian air

behind the counter; and although a sedentary life is beginning to

tell upon his waistcoat, he is probably, take him for all in all, the

handsomest tobacconist in London.

THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK

BY BROUGHTON BRANDENBURG

_Broughton Brandenburg, a young Ohioan, was educated at Otterbein and

Princeton Universities, became a war correspondent at twenty, serving

in the Spanish-American and Boer wars, and shortly thereafter

attracted attention as a traveler and sociological investigator. He

studied immigration disguised as an Italian peasant, and sea-faring

life as a common sailor and stevedore. Then he began to write sea

stories, immigration articles, circus stories, and occasionally

unusually interesting detective stories. "Lawrence Rand" has been

the central figure in a number of tales notable for business-like

handling of real people._

THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK

By BROUGHTON BRANDENBURG

The telephone bell in the outer office rang, and opening the switch

at the side of my desk I took up my stand-'phone and answered:

"Hello. Well?"

"Hello, is this Duncan & Betts?" inquired a man's voice with a slight

foreign accent.

"Yes."

"I want to speak wit' Mister Lawrence Duncan."

"This is Mr. Duncan. What can I do for you?"

"T'is is Mr. Martin Anderson of 196 Gramercy Park. Yust now while I

was eating my breakwast in my rooms over my real estate office, I was

called to my telephone by Mr. George Rhodes, who is in t'e Municipal

Bank. He is a young man who wants to marry my daughter Marie, and he

called me up to tell me t'at when he opened t'e wault a little while

ago he found t'at since he closed it t'e night before a package wit'

more t'an a million dollars in bonds was gone. He is responsible for

t'e wault and no one else, and he called me up to tell me, and say he

did not take it, to tell Marie t'at, but he wit'drew his request for

her hand. Now, t'en, Mr. Duncan, I don't care one tam about him, but

my daughter must not be made to come in in t'is case wit' t'e

noos-papers or t'e gossip, so I want you to go over to t'e bank and

see him and help him out in every way, yust so he keep his mout' shut

about Marie, and if t'ey lock him up I want t'at she don't get to see

him or no such foolishness. I send you my check for five hundred

t'is morning, and I want to know all about what you do, at my house

to-night. Will you do it?"

"Yes, I will go over at once," I answered.

"T'at is all. Good-by--"

"Thank you. Good-by. I will call this evening."

"Good-by, Mr. Duncan."

My first impression as I hung up the receiver was a thrill at being

thus thrust into the centre of what appeared to be one of the biggest

cases which had transpired in years. My second was a pleasurable

recognition of the crisp, direct, clear, and ample statement of the

matter which the old real estate man had made. It had all been done

in two minutes or less. It is not often that we lawyers encounter

people outside of our own and the newspaper profession who can state

anything so concisely and not lose any value in it.

At this moment, Betts, my partner, and the stenographer came in, so I

hurried over to the Municipal Bank.

Business was just beginning for the day. I could see at a glance

over the men behind the brass screens that they as a whole did not as

yet know that the bank was a loser by a million. The cashier's door

was open, and he was just smoothing out his morning mail in the

calmest of manners. No one looked up as I entered; that showed

normal state of mind among the clerks.

I asked for Mr. George Rhodes, and a tall, broad shouldered,

clean-cut young chap came forward from a desk in the extreme rear of

the place and took my card through the bars. Even with the slight

view I could get of his face, I perceived he was pale and haggard.

He opened a side door and admitted me to the anteroom of the

directors' chamber. I told him I had come in his interest, retained

by Mr. Anderson, and stated my client's reason for sending me,

namely, to prevent his daughter's name from being mentioned in the

matter at any or all times, and asked the young man what I could do

for him.

He had been sitting running his thumb-nail precisely along the edge

of my card, and now he looked up and said, in a dull, expressionless

way:

"Really, Mr. Duncan, I have thought the matter over carefully, and

there is nothing to do."

He seemed so numbed and hopeless that I was amused.

"You surprise me, Mr. Rhodes," I said. "Surely a thing like this can

not in itself shut off any action. In the first place, give me the

facts. We will see what can be done."

"The facts are few enough," he answered, simply. "The bonds were in

a package four inches thick. They were '90 government fours, clipped

and worth one million two hundred thousand when entered the first of

the month, three weeks ago. They were marked with a typewritten slip

on the end and lay in the securities compartment of the vault. Last

night, with the assistant cashier and the receiving teller, as is our

rule here, I checked the cash and books going in. We together do not

check securities in that compartment except once every month, but I

go over them every night and morning in the way that I was instructed

by the cashier; that is, the packets are piled in alphabetical

classification, and the piling is done so that if a packet were taken

out it would make a hole which I should see at a glance, and by

reference to my list see what it was. Last night there was nothing

missing, for the pile was perfectly even across the top, and we

closed the vault and set the time-lock. This morning the time-lock

was still running when I arrived and the safe was absolutely just as

I left it. When I opened the vault, I went over the securities as

usual, and, observing a slight depression in the rear tier, put my

hand on it. It gave way enough to show something was missing, and I

checked off the packets and found the '90 governments gone. I

checked them over three times, and then, when I had got over the

shock, went into the booth outside and telephoned Mr. Anderson just

what I have told you. Having asked him for his daughter, I felt I

owed that to them and to myself. The assistant cashier and the

assistant receiving teller were with me when I opened the vault, and

I checked out the books and cash so that they know the safe had not

been touched overnight; now you see it is up to me to account for

those bonds. Mr. Anderson asked me to wait and see you before I told

the cashier. The president is not down yet."

I had been watching him covertly as he spoke, and the instant that he

had given me the case I felt the conviction stealing over me that he

had the bonds, or had had them. The case of a small-salaried trust

company clerk, who put four hundred thousand dollars of his

employer's money into Wall Street in four weeks, rose in my mind. No

matter, however, whether he had taken them or not, a fifteen or

twenty years' term stared him in the face. Perhaps he thought that

worth the gain. I supposed that, of course, he was bonded for one or

two hundred thousand by some one of the fidelity companies, so I did

not trouble to ask him as to that. I merely remarked, drawing on my

gloves:

"Well, Mr. Rhodes, I would advise you to put back the bonds if you

can do it without detection, or else--slide."

A red flush crept up to his temples. It was either anger or guilt,

probably both, but he controlled himself and said almost between his

teeth, rising and turning away:

"I wish to bid you good-morning, Mr. Duncan. You can go back to Mr.

Anderson and tell him Marie will receive a last note from me in an

hour, and now, if you will excuse me, I shall inform the cashier."

Something in his manner and the remembrance of his quixotic haste in

calling up his sweetheart's father caused a pang of remorse to shoot

through me and I put out my hand and stopped him.

"I beg your pardon, Rhodes. I did not mean to be brutal, but the

facts--"

The tense line of his white lips relaxed into a sickly smile.

"Yes, the facts--I know. I am not in a position to resent being

reminded of them. But, I have made up my mind to tell the cashier."

We left the room together, and I walked with him along the outer

corridor to the cashier's door, where the stenographer said he had

gone out, and we found the president would not be down until one

o'clock.

"See here, Rhodes," I said with sudden determination, "I'm going to

do what I can in this matter. Is there any reason why it will become

known as a matter of course?"

"The first of the month, a week from to-morrow, will be the triple

checking-up time."

"Very well, just you hold off this morning, anyhow. You will

probably have three-quarters of an hour for lunch; meet me at Haan's

at 12:15."

"All right. Good-morning."

After I had gone twenty yards from the bank I was sorry that I had

made the engagement. It was not in the line of my duty to my client,

Mr. Anderson, and I was likely to become unprofitably involved with

young Rhodes. I saw, even without thought, that there were two

alternatives. Either he had taken the bonds or they had been removed

overnight from the vault, and I believed he was telling the truth

when he said the vault was all right in the morning, for if it had

not been, he would have eagerly seized on the circumstance; and

furthermore, the fact would have been known by the other officials

and the state of peace which I had found on entering would not have

existed. There was but one thing to think: Rhodes had taken the

bonds, or was shielding the thief.

I related the case to Betts when I reached the office, and he laughed

incredulously:

"Say, Duncan," he said, "that is a bit too wild a tale for me.

Twelve hundred thousand dollars gone from a time-locked bank vault

overnight without opening it! Gee! Why don't you consult that man

Rand, Lawrence Rand, the fellow who has been untying some of those

hard knots out West? Don't you remember the Johnstone mirror

poisoning case and the Rebstock mines affair?"

"Yes, I do. Is Rand his name? Where is he to be found?"

"Jordan went up to his place one night--I think it is in

Fifty-seventh Street, in some apartment house. Here, look him up in

the telephone book."

I found him entered there. "Lawrence Rand, Special Agent. 32088

Plaza." And calling him up made an engagement for an hour later.

I was ushered into the reception-room of his apartment by a

dark-skinned young giant, whom I at first thought a negro, but as I

saw him in the full light and noted his straight hair and heavy

coppery features, I was surprised to find he was a full-blooded

Indian. He was dressed in clothes that did not seem compatible with

the rank of a servant.

Rand entered with a brisk step, a frank smile on his keen face. As

he gripped my hand I realized that far more physical power was in his

possession than one would think by his frame, of medium height and

slender almost to thinness. It was afterward that I found every inch

of him was whipcord and steel.

We sat down in the inner room and I told him the story of Rhodes and

the bonds. When I had finished he frowned ever so slightly and said,

"Is that all?"

I thought I had been rather explicit. So I replied with a little

rigor: "That seems to cover the case."

"Do you know whether there is one night-watchman or two? What is the

make of the safe? Have there ever been any attempts at robbery of

the bank? Are all of the members of the bank staff present this

morning? Has the president been on the right side of the market for

the past year?"

The questions came like shots from a rapid-fire gun. He did not wait

for me to answer.

"I see you do not know. We will waste no time. You are to meet

young Rhodes at lunch. I want you to invite me, too, for I want to

see him."

We took a Sixth Avenue train to Rector Street, and at 12:15 chose our

seats in a corner compartment in Haan's. We had been at the table a

moment when Rhodes, still very pale, entered and looked around for

me. As I introduced him to Rand, I noticed that the latter, after

looking the bank clerk full in the eyes a second, let his gaze play

like lightning over Rhodes's head and features, and before we sat

down he even sought a pretext to step behind Rhodes and look at the

back of his head.

Rhodes was subjected to a severe questioning at once, and some of the

queries seemed to be anything but relevant, and in sum were meant to

make sure that it was impossible for any one but Rhodes to take the

bonds at any time the safe was open. After the books and cash had

been checked out, Rhodes said, a sliding steel screen was drawn over

the approach to the vault at such times as he was not inside to get

or replace papers or securities ordered out on written slip by some

one of the officers. He was sure the bonds could not have been given

out by mistake on a slip for other securities because the list

tallied.

"Then either you took the bonds or they were extracted from the safe

after the time-lock was set, and the time-lock being all right up to

the present minute, you are facing toward Sing Sing," summarized

Rand, tilting his cigar and spilling salt into his beer.

Rhodes looked down and swallowed hard at something in his throat, but

could not answer.

"Who made the vault, when and where?" asked Rand.

"Mahler, in 1890, in Cincinnati."

"Hm, is that so--a Mahler vault, eh? Did I understand you to say the

watchman is an old Irishman named Hanahan, has been at the bank

twenty years and has considerable property? How do you know about

his property?"

"When I was on accounts he always had fifteen or twenty thousand on

time deposits, and drew some large checks or made heavy deposits when

Mr. Anderson bought or sold property for him--"

"Whom did you say, Mr. Anderson? The real estate agent who sent Mr.

Duncan to see you?"

"Yes, Mr. Martin Anderson. He is Hanahan's agent. They were old

volunteer firemen together in Williamsburg shortly after they came to

this country."

"Indeed! How do you know that?"

"Well, one evening shortly after I met Marie, I went to call on her

and she said her father was not at home; that he was down at our bank

chatting with Hanahan and having a smoke. Then she told me about

their having belonged to the same fire company. After the old man

had taken a dislike to me and threatened to shoot me if I came to the

house again, I used to watch for Hanahan's check, for every time he

drew, I knew he was expecting to see Mr. Anderson and I would go up

to the house. I never missed it."

Rand smiled as if he enjoyed the humor in the instance. He thought a

moment and then said:

"Well, now, if you will go back to the bank I will be over presently

accompanied by a man from the Broadway office of Mahler's, and you

will be asked to show us the vault. Please do not indicate that you

know me."

When Rhodes was gone, Rand turned to me quickly and said: "Mr.

Duncan, kindly go over to Mr. Robert Steele in Hargan's office in

Wall Street and tell him I sent you. Ask him whether any government

fours of '90 have been in evidence in the market recently. Meet me

in half an hour at the telephone booth in the Park Row drug store."

I hurried to the office of the great firm of Hargan & Company and

sent in my card to Mr. Steele with "through Mr. Rand" on the corner.

I was ushered in immediately.

"Mr. Steele, I was sent here by Mr. Rand to inquire whether there

have been any '90 government fours on the market in more than the

usual quantity recently?"

At the question he started visibly and whirled abruptly around in his

desk chair to face me. He stared at me a moment as if weighing his

words forthcoming.

"Well--yes," he said slowly, dropping his eyes in a manner that was

anything but frank. "Yes, there have been--some." He paused and

looked up at me again, took off his glasses, and, wiping them

tentatively, put them on and looked me full in the face as if decided

on his course.

"Since Mr. Rand sent you, it must be all right, for we trust Mr. Rand

thoroughly here. Tell him that a pile of them has been dumped into

the market in the past week, not into the market exactly, but Strauss

brokers had them and loans on them were used to buy Overland Pacific

at an average of 87, and when it reached 161 last Thursday, whoever

was in this pool began to take profits as nearly as we can tell and

closed out the line at an average of 157. Of course Overland went to

136, but she is--let me see--let me see--" he looked at the tape--"is

206, so whoever held these bonds must have been outside of Strauss's

pool. It cost us about three million dollars, and if you can tell me

any more about it I will be very grateful."

I told him there was absolutely nothing of which I knew personally.

Suddenly I remembered that I had not learned even the name of the

president of the Municipal Bank, and if Rand had asked Rhodes at

lunch I had let it slip by me. Inwardly ashamed of my loose methods,

compared with Rand's thorough ones, I hastened to ask of Mr. Steele,

as a by-matter, being sure that he would know. I was at the door

ready to go out when the matter flashed into my mind.

"By the way, Mr. Steele," I said, "do you happen to know the

president of the Municipal Bank--"

"J. R. Farrington Smith?" He jerked his head around sharply toward

me as he interrupted me. "Indeed I do." Then he emitted a short,

grating laugh, and continued, looking at me sharply all the while:

"How odd I should be thinking of him also at that moment! Do you

know, Mr. Duncan, that Strauss is or was his broker? Yet, he was on

the short end of Overland very badly; that I know, to my sorrow."

He dropped his voice to a confidence-inviting tone, and said as he

leaned forward, motioning me to a chair once more:

"Come now, Mr. Duncan, why should we dissemble? You are evidently

very well informed in this matter. Did Smith flop and put up those

bonds to go long on Overland? He made a pretty penny if he did.

Honestly, is that the way he played fast and loose with us?"

I remained standing and put on my hat to further signify that I was

about to go.

"Mr. Steele, to tell the truth, I did not know until a moment ago

that J. R. Farrington Smith is president of the Municipal Bank. You

have just informed me."

He became very stiff in his manner, and turned to his papers as if

already thinking of them, and said quietly:

"Oh, then we are talking to no purpose. Good morning, Mr. Duncan."

By a short cut and a brisk walk up Nassau Street I reached the Park

Row drug store on the minute of the half hour. A man was in the

telephone booth talking, and just outside the half-open door was

Rand, directing the queries that the man was making. The stranger

was evidently the man from Mahler's. As I approached Rand motioned

me to silence.

"Well, my books show the number is D186N," the safe man was saying;

"we have no record of complaints or repairs back to '94. Have you

any before that?--All right, I'll hold the wire.--Hello, yes. You

have none at all. Now, what is the pattern of the

time-lock?--Neilson patent, yes.-- Well, who superintended the

Secret Construction Room when this one was made?--The old man

himself, eh?--Where is Neilson now?--How long has he been

dead?--Well, was his brother-in-law working with him in 1890?--Wait a

moment--"

He kept the receiver to his ear and turned to Rand.

"Is there anything else you wish me to ask, Mr. Rand?"

"Inquire if there has ever been any trouble with any D class vaults.

That will be all."

The safe man repeated the question into the 'phone; received the

answer, hung up the receiver, turned around and said:

"None but an attempt to blow one open in the Produce Exchange in

Springfield. It failed. He says the man who controlled the secret

measurements on that set of vaults was the patentee of the time-lock

and he is dead. The measurements are sealed and filed. The patents

went to his brother-in-law, who worked with him, who sold them

outright to the company for a song."

"What was his name?" asked Rand, with disappointment in his voice and

manner.

"They have no record and do not remember. He was just a drunken

thick-headed Swede."

When Rand was paying the telephone toll the clerk figured on the rate

to Cincinnati, so I knew they had been talking to the Mahler offices

at the factory. I told Rand just what had happened in Steele's

office, and he smiled slightly and said:

"Well, well, the lost bonds or others have been used as collateral

for a week past, eh, and Farrington Smith was on the wrong side of

the market? I do not think Rhodes will 'do any time' if he is

clever. I have learned that he was a favorite employee of Smith's.

Let us go over to the Municipal."

At the bank, the man from Mahler's spoke a moment to the cashier and

received his permission to show the vault to "two prospective

customers," and a boy was sent to tell Rhodes that the visitors had

been accorded the courtesy.

As we passed the president's inner office door, I saw Smith at his

desk and noticed how pale and careworn he appeared. I saw that Rand

observed it also.

Rhodes admitted us to the enclosure, and, according to Rand's

previous instructions, gave us no sign of recognition. Rand and the

man from Mahler's examined the interior of the electrically lighted

vault. The safe man tapped the floor all around with the stick he

carried, sounding for concealed tunneling, but the inspection was

unfruitful. The place was in perfect order, and the lock responded

repeatedly to the safe man's skilled touch in a way that showed it

was in excellent condition. Rand had been standing still, looking

carefully at everything within range of his keen eyes, stroking his

silver-touched hair lightly with one hand in a way I have observed

many times since.

Suddenly he pulled out his watch, looked at the dial of the

time-lock, then at his watch, then at the bank clock, an electrically

regulated affair hung on the wall. The clock read 2 P.M. to the

second.

"I beg pardon," said Rand to Rhodes. "What time is it by your watch?"

Rhodes took out his timepiece, and said: "I have two o'clock flat."

I now noticed that the dial of the time-lock stood 1.58:30.

"When did you notice that the clock of the time-lock was slow?"

"It is slow, isn't it? Why, I had forgot that. It was last Monday

morning, a week ago. I remember I was a little late," replied Rhodes.

"Has any one swept in here since?"

Rand asked this with his eyes fixed on a dark corner at the heel of

the right door.

"No, not in the vault."

Rand stooped and put his hand into the corner. For a moment I

thought he was picking up something, but he straightened up and

brushed his fingers one against the other as if ridding them of dust,

so I knew his hands were empty.

In a moment he signified he was through and we left the place, and at

the corner parted with the man from Mahler's. We walked on toward my

office.

"What do you make of that?" said Rand suddenly, and I saw that he was

holding something toward me between his thumb and forefinger. I was

sure he had put neither hand in his pockets since we had left the

bank.

The small, bright object was merely a plain, smooth-worn bit of

steel, thinner than a penny, and not as broad, with a small round

hole in the centre. Just a tiny disk of steel.

"Did you pick that up in the vault?" I asked.

"Yes, out of that dark corner by the door."

"Why, how is that? I saw your hands as you rose and they were empty."

"Oh, no, you were mistaken, just as that man from Mahler's was. I

merely palmed the disk, that is all, so he could not see it. There

is no reason why he should be on the inside of this case. He thinks

too much of his own cleverness as it is."

"Well, what is this thing?" I said, slightly irritated at having been

so easily tricked.

"I wish I could answer that question as easily as you ask it,"

replied Rand, and relapsed into silence.

As we entered the building in which I had my office, there emerged

from an elevator car that had just descended a girl, whose appearance

caught my attention. She was attired in a dark street suit that set

her small, trim figure to advantage, but by contrast emphasized the

pallor of her face. Her hair was of that abundant flaxen quality so

often seen in Germans and Scandinavians, and her eyes were large and

dark blue. They were very troubled and it was plain she had been

crying. There was something bravely piteous in every line of her

face. She paused a moment as if half expecting some one and hurried

out as we entered the next up-bound car.

When I went into the office, Betts came in with a slip of paper in

his hand. After I had introduced him to Rand, he said:

"Duncan, for shame not to be in when nice young ladies call on you.

The pretty daughter of your old real estate client, Anderson, was

just here. She has received a letter from the young fellow who took

those bonds in which he says he wishes her to forget him. She

refuses to believe he is guilty, and has had a scene with her father,

who must have told her that he has retained you, for she came down

here demanding that you take her to see the young chap, wherever he

is locked up. Has he been arrested yet?"

"No," I said, "he is over in the bank."

"I think he will be there for some time yet," observed Rand, looking

out the window.

"Well, she will be back in half an hour," said Betts, laying down the

strip of paper on my desk. "She did not have a card and wrote her

name. Excuse me, Mr. Rand, I am not through with my correspondence

yet, and it will soon be three o'clock."

As Betts went out Rand rose and looked at the strip with the name

written in a tall, delicate hand, "Miss Marie Neilson Anderson."

In a short time Miss Anderson came into the outer office and I

brought her in and closed the door. With trembling lips and tears

constantly ready to fall, she repeated what she had already told

Betts and demanded that I arrange an interview with Rhodes at once.

I reassured her to the best of my ability. Rand sat quiet and said

nothing. I thought he might at least have repeated to her what he

had just said to Betts, though I could not exactly make out what were

his grounds for the statement. Instead, just before she was leaving,

much comforted and calmer, he said:

"Excuse me, Miss Anderson, when did you last see Mr. Rhodes?"

"Oh, I have had a letter from him nearly every day, but I have not

talked with him since Sunday night a week ago, when he came to see me

at the house."

"How long have you known him?"

"Nearly two years."

"How did you meet him?"

"Why, he knew papa at the bank, and one day when papa was ill he sent

for George to come up to the house to get some papers about his

accounts and papa introduced us. When we were first engaged, he did

not seem to dislike George, and often sat talking with him about

matters in the bank and other things."

"By the way, how old are you, Miss Anderson?"

She did not seem to mind the blunt question and replied quickly:

"I am twenty-one."

"Were you born in this country?"

"Yes, I was born in New York."

"Thank you, kindly; that is all," said Rand, and was promptly so deep

in thought that he barely rose and bowed as she left a few minutes

later. He kept his feet and put on his hat as if he, too, were going.

"I believe you told me that you were to go to Anderson's house

to-night and report, did you not?" he asked.

"Yes, I am sorry that I can not make a better showing both for my

client and for Rhodes."

"I suppose you mean that you hoped a man of my reputation would have

offered better support to you in yours," he observed with a quizzical

smile that nettled me as he walked over to the door.

"I should like to go with you, Mr. Duncan," he continued. "I will

meet you at the northwest corner of Gramercy Park at eight o'clock.

Will you be so kind as to bring young Rhodes with you? 'Phone him at

the bank, now, and you might come prepared for anything in the way of

a fight for--we will close up the case to-night."

He shut the door and went out. I was wild to call him back and get

an explanation, but pride restrained me.

That evening Rhodes met me by appointment at the Fifth Avenue Hotel

and we walked over to the corner Rand had named. We had been

standing there a moment when a carriage drove up, stopped, and Rand

alighted, followed by J. R. Farrington Smith and the brawny Indian.

I could see by the street light that Smith was very white, and the

Indian kept just at his elbow and a little behind him as they

advanced to meet us. Rand presented me to Smith, who bowed coldly.

If Smith and Rhodes exchanged salutations I did not notice it. Rand

said to me as we walked along to the house after he had told the

cabman to wait for him:

"Will you kindly ask Mr. Anderson to see Mr. Duncan and some

gentlemen?"

I was angry with him for a number of small things which had occurred

during the day, but more than ever now for bringing Smith into the

case, and at Anderson's house, a proceeding which would be sure to

involve Anderson and his daughter in the exposé that must occur in so

short a time.

A little maid admitted us at a door beside Anderson's real estate

office, and passed back along a narrow hall and up to a

well-furnished apartment immediately over the offices. The maid

vanished through portières, and I judged by the sounds that she found

Anderson in the third room to the rear. I could hear him clearing

his throat as he came.

As he stepped through the portières, I saw he was a man of fifty, of

good appearance, short and heavy, with large hands and a massive jaw.

His eyes were very small and nearly hidden by the overfolding

wrinkles about them.

"Good-evening, gentlemen," he said cheerily, looking about in a

pleasant though puzzled way. I rose and went forward, saying:

"I am Mr. Duncan, Mr. Anderson. I believe you know Mr. Smith and Mr.

Rhodes. This is Mr. Lawrence Rand, with whom I have consulted in

this matter."

The Indian, whom I scarcely knew how to consider, whether companion

of Rand's or his servant, had stepped back into the shadow by the

portières, and I do not think Anderson saw him, so I made no

reference to him whatever. I was very busy thinking just what to say

and how to say it, for Rand's bringing Smith with him showed Smith

was informed in part or wholly, and was so unexpected that I had had

no chance to ask him aside just what the situation was. He left me

in no uncertainty. He gracefully superseded me in the initiative by

drawing back a chair at a small table in the centre of the room, in

the full glow of the shaded light, and saying:

"Would you mind sitting here, please, Mr. Anderson? I shall want you

to write something in a moment and it will be more convenient for

you."

Anderson sat down, as requested, and turned his face toward Rand as

if he knew where the power lay. I could see the arteries in his neck

throbbing. I noticed that Rhodes was very pale, and the bank

president was laboring under great excitement.

"Now, to be brief, gentlemen, we are about to adjust this matter of

the disappearance of twelve hundred thousand dollars' worth of bonds

from the vault of the Municipal Bank."

Rand spoke in a soft even voice. I think I was the only man who

moved a muscle. I could see that at least Anderson's blood did not

quicken any. His eyes may have turned toward Rhodes. I could not

tell. Rand went on:

"Before I say anything further, I wish to remind the interested

parties that I have brought an officer with me and any violence would

be inadvisable.

"Mr. Anderson, you will kindly turn over to Mr. Smith that packet of

'90 government fours. Mr. Smith will give you a receipt in full.

You will also give Mr. Smith your order on Strauss & Company for four

hundred thousand dollars, which is approximately what Mr. Smith lost

when caught short on Overland Pacific ten days ago, and also your

order to Mr. George Rhodes for the remainder of your profits when you

went long on Overland Pacific this last week by using the Municipal

Bank as an involuntary partner. You will also give your consent to

his marriage with your daughter. Mr. Duncan here will arrange the

matter of fees and that will close the incident. _If you do not, Mr.

Smith will prosecute you and I will furnish the evidence. If Mr.

Smith does not perform his share I will, in behalf of Mr. Rhodes,

inform the bank directors of his hand in Overland. Kindly do as I

have requested, Mr. Anderson._"

The old fellow never changed color one whit, nor did the throbbing of

the arteries in his neck increase. They diminished, if anything. A

bitter sneer came on his face, and as he spoke he dropped into very

broken English.

"Vot iss diss nonsense, Meester, vot-afer-your nem-iss? Vot a ni'ice

liddle scheme bote _Ah don't ma'eke no mohney baycoss Ah aindt got

dey bonts-s--_"

Rand held up a forefinger and the old man stopped. He was now

breathing hard and was flushed. Rand drew from his vest pocket and

laid on the table before Anderson the _little steel disk_.

Before Rand could speak, the portières parted, and in the opening

stood Marie Anderson, very white and drawn up to her full height. In

one hand she extended the packet with the typewritten slip still on

the end.

"Father," she said slowly, in a low, tense voice, "here are the

bonds. By accident I just found them in a jar on the sideboard."

With surprising quickness Anderson drew out a drawer in the table at

which he sat, snatched up a revolver, leaped to the doorway,

thrusting his daughter aside, but as he turned and fired pointblank

at Rand, who had vaulted the table to reach him, the Indian knocked

up the muzzle of the revolver from behind. The bullet struck the

ceiling and the next instant Anderson was on the floor, helpless in

the bearlike clasp of the big red man.

The girl had reeled as if about to faint. Rhodes had sprung to her

assistance, but she recovered herself and seemed to be anxious to get

away from her father, as if from a reptile. Rhodes led her to the

other side of the room.

"Take the gun away from him and set him on the chair again, Tom,"

said Rand, as if nothing had happened. He returned to his own seat,

and we too sat down.

In fifteen seconds the smoke floating about the ceiling was the only

sign of the crisis just passed. Rand began again:

"In order to give you an opportunity to recover your composure before

you begin writing, Mr. Anderson, and to prevent your indulging in any

more foolish lies, I will tell you the evidence against you. You

helped your brother-in-law, Neilson, make the time-lock on the vault

ordered for the Municipal Bank in 1890. You inserted in the journal

of the main standard of the clock works a steel disk instead of a

brass one, knowing that the steel against steel would make a friction

that would wear out both in several years' time. By means of a

second time-lock accurately duplicated, and which, if I am not

mistaken, is ticking away in that black box on the mantel behind you,

you were able to tell very nearly the very hour when you could turn

back the bolts of the Municipal vault without let or hindrance. When

your brother-in-law died, you sold his patents to the company,

returned to New York, and began to live for the hour when you could

help yourself to whatever you wished. You stopped drinking and

settled down. You went into the real estate business because you

could obtain in that manner a permanent hold on Hanahan, the watchman

at the Municipal, whom you already knew, and you drew him into the

habit of seeing you on business regularly at the bank at night. You

have his perfect confidence. When you found that about the time you

were ready to make your haul George Rhodes would be the young man in

charge of the vault, you called him to the house on a pretext and

made him acquainted with your daughter and encouraged his visits that

you might get from him in your chats, bit by bit, knowledge of just

what to put your hand on in the short time you were in the vault, and

how to conceal the theft long enough for you to convert the

securities. This is one of the deepest and cleverest criminal plots

of which I have ever heard. Your life for all these years has been

devoted to it. I am not surprised that you succeeded. Your one

mistake was in giving so flimsy a pretext to Mr. Duncan for calling

him up and retaining him. That attracted my attention to you. What

you really wanted was to be able to have constant information from

Mr. Duncan when he should become Rhodes's counsel in the natural

course of events, as to efforts to explain the disappearance of the

bonds in order to defend Rhodes. In that way you would always know

how close he was on the track of the real thief, Mr. Martin Anderson.

Few men pay attorneys $500 retaining fees to persuade young men who

really love their daughters from dragging them into a scandal which

does not essentially concern the daughters at best. You were

surprised into this mistake when Rhodes called you up and

crystallized your plan to force your choice of counsel on him too

hastily.

"On Sunday night a week ago you went to the bank, as your duplicate

time-lock showed you the steel disk was worn so thin a jar on the

door would cause the standard to drop and the lock to release.

Hanahan, as he told me an hour ago, went across the street for some

tobacco that Sunday night, leaving you in the bank. In ninety

seconds you had opened the vault, taken the right packet, opened the

case of the time-lock, replaced the disk with a brass one, closed the

case, and closed the vault, but--_you carelessly dropped this worn

disk on the floor_.

"You used the bonds as collateral to buy stock, not as a speculation,

but as an investment that would conceal the bonds, and by chance

chose Overland Pacific at a low figure and it rose. You thought best

to take your profits, and only your greed prevented you from

returning the bonds to Rhodes by mail. As we have seen, you had not

thought long enough or deeply enough what you would do with your

lifetime harvest after you got it in your hands, and suddenly you

found yourself out of your depth. You hid the bonds in a jar, just

like a foolish old woman. But I must compliment you on your clear

thinking and previous planning. I have never known of anything so

deliberate, and only a phlegmatic Scandinavian would be capable of

it, especially to end up with such good nerves as you have shown

to-night. Mr. Smith does not wish to prosecute you and expose his

speculations. Since Mr. Smith and Mr. Duncan doubtless have other

engagements to-night, kindly write as I requested a few minutes ago."

Muttering objurgations in his native tongue, Anderson wrote the two

drafts, Rhodes's being for more than one hundred thousand, and both

Rhodes and Smith receipted. Smith took the bonds and thrust them

into his overcoat pocket. Miss Anderson refused to remain an hour

longer under her father's roof, and left the house to go to the home

of a distant relative. I pocketed the odd little steel disk, which

lies before me as I write, with a slip copied from a page of Rand's

notebook that lays out so plainly and simply his quick, sure, and

unerring processes in this remarkable case, that I can not refrain

from giving it.

(1) Anderson's retaining Duncan very strange.

(2) Rhodes's cranium shows moral incapacity for theft. Innocent.

(3) Neilson's brother-in-law could know lock construction.

(4) Smith lost speculating. Thief won half million with bonds.

(5) Time-clock lost 90 sec. Sunday night, week before discovery.

(6) Disk of steel instead of brass. Meant to wear out. Is discarded

part of lock. Must be a new disk in lock. Work of expert. Prepared

since making of lock.

(7) Marie _Neilson_ Anderson.

(8) Anderson was alone in bank 3 min. Sunday night of robbery.

Anderson guilty. Proved and confessed. Adjusted, no proceedings, by

L. R.

THE CHRONICLES OF ADDINGTON PEACE

BY B. FLETCHER ROBINSON

_Fletcher Robinson is a London journalist, the editor of "Vanity

Fair," and author of a dozen detective stories in which are recorded

the startling adventures of Mr. Addington Peace of Scotland Yard. He

collaborated with Conan Doyle in "The Hound of the Baskervilles."

When some of these stories appeared in the American magazines, for an

unexplained reason (presumably editorial) the name of the hero was

changed to Inspector Hartley._

THE CHRONICLES OF ADDINGTON PEACE

By B. FLETCHER ROBINSON

THE VANISHED MILLIONAIRE

I, James Phillips, stood with my back to the fire, smoking and

puzzling over it. It was worth all the headlines the newspapers had

given it; there was no loophole to the mystery.

Both sides of the Atlantic knew Silas J. Ford. He had established a

business reputation in America that had made him a celebrity in

England from the day he stepped off the liner. Once in London his

syndicates and companies and consolidations had startled the

slow-moving British mind. The commercial sky of the United Kingdom

was overshadowed by him and his schemes. The papers were full of

praise and blame, of puffs and denunciations. He was a millionaire;

he was on the verge of a smash that would paralyze the markets of the

world. He was an abstainer, a drunkard, a gambler, a most religious

man. He was a confirmed bachelor, a woman hater; his engagement was

to be announced shortly. So was the gossip kept rolling with the

limelight always centred upon the spot where Silas J. Ford happened

to be standing.

And now he had disappeared, vanished, evaporated.

On the night of December 18, a Thursday, he had left London for

Meudon Hall, the fine old Hampshire mansion that he had rented from

Lord Beverley. The two most trusted men in his office accompanied

him. Friday morning he had spent with them; but at three o'clock the

pair had returned to London, leaving their chief behind. From four

to seven he had been shut up with his secretary. It was a hard time

for every one, a time verging upon panic, and at such times Silas J.

Ford was not an idle man.

At eight o'clock he had dined. His one recreation was music, and

after the meal he had played the organ in the picture gallery for an

hour. At a quarter past eleven he retired to his bedroom, dismissing

Jackson, his body servant, for the night. Three-quarters of an hour

later, however, Harbord, his secretary, had been called to the

private telephone, for Mr. Ford had brought an extension wire from

the neighboring town of Camdon. It was a London message, and so

urgent that he decided to wake his chief. There was no answer to his

knock, and on entering the room he found that Mr. Ford was not in

bed. He was surprised, but in no way suspicious, and started to

search the house. He was joined by a footman, and, a little later,

by Jackson and the butler. Astonishment changed to alarm. Other

servants were roused to aid in the quest. Finally, a party, provided

with lanterns from the stables, commenced to examine the grounds.

Snow had fallen early in the day, covering the great lawns in front

of the entrance porch with a soft white blanket, about an inch in

thickness. It was the head groom who struck the trail. Apparently

Mr. Ford had walked out of the porch, and so over the drive and

across the lawn toward the wall that bounded the public road. This

road, which led from Meudon village to the town of Camdon, crossed

the front of Meudon Hall at a distance of some quarter of a mile.

There was no doubt as to the identity of the footprints, for Silas

Ford affected a broad, square-toed boot, easily recognizable from its

unusual impression.

They tracked him by their lanterns to the park wall, and there all

trace of him disappeared. The wall was of rough stone, easily

surmountable by an active man. The snow that covered the road

outside had been churned into muddy paste by the traffic of the day;

there were no further footprints observable.

The party returned to the house in great bewilderment. The telephone

to London brought no explanation, and the following morning Mr.

Harbord caught the first train to town to make inquiries. For

private reasons his friends did not desire publicity for the affair,

and it was not until the late afternoon, when all their

investigations had proved fruitless, that they communicated with

Scotland Yard. When the papers went to press the whereabouts of the

great Mr. Ford still remained a mystery.

In keen curiosity I set off up the stairs to Inspector Peace's room.

Perhaps the little detective had later news to give me.

I found him standing with his back to the fire puffing at his

cigarette with a plump solemnity. A bag, neatly shaped, lay on the

rug at his feet. He nodded a welcome, watching me over his glasses.

"I expected you, Mr. Phillips," he said. "And how do you explain it?"

"A love affair or temporary insanity," I suggested vaguely.

"Surely we can combine those solutions," he smiled. "Anything else?"

"No. I came to ask your opinion."

"My mind is void of theories, Mr. Phillips, and I shall endeavor to

keep it so for the present. If you wish to amuse yourself by

discussing possibilities, I would suggest your consideration of the

reason why, if he wanted to disappear quietly, he should leave so

obvious a track through the snow of his own lawn. For myself, as I

am leaving for Camdon via Waterloo Station in ten minutes, I shall

hope for more definite data before night."

"Peace," I asked him eagerly, "may I come with you?"

"If you can be ready in time," he said.

It was past two o'clock when we arrived at the old town of Camdon. A

carriage met us at the station. Five minutes more and we were clear

of the narrow streets and climbing the first bare ridge of the downs.

It was a desolate prospect enough--a bare expanse of wind-swept land

that rose and fell with the sweeping regularity of the Pacific swell.

Here and there a clump of ragged firs showed black against the snow.

Under that gentle carpet the crisp turf of the crests and the broad

plow lands of the lower ground alike lay hidden. I shivered, drawing

my coat more closely about me.

It was half an hour later that we topped a swelling rise and saw the

gray towers of the ancient mansion beneath us. In the shelter of the

valley by the quiet river, that now lay frozen into silence, the

trees had grown into splendid woodlands, circling the hall on the

further side. From the broad front the white lawns crept down to the

road on which we were driving. Dark masses of shrubberies and the

tracery of scattered trees broke their silent curves. The park wall

that fenced them from the road stood out like an ink line ruled upon

paper.

"It must have been there that he disappeared," I cried, with a

speculative finger.

"So I imagine," said Peace. "And if he has spent two nights on the

Hampshire downs, he will be looking for a fire to-day. You have

rather more than your fair share of the rug, Mr. Phillips, if you

will excuse my mentioning it."

A man was standing on the steps of the entrance porch when we drove

up. As we unrolled ourselves he stepped forward to help us. He was

a thin, pale-faced fellow, with fair hair and indeterminate eyes.

"My name is Harbord," he said. "You are Inspector Addington Peace, I

believe."

His hand shook as he stretched it out in a tremulous greeting.

Plainly the secretary was afraid, visibly and anxiously afraid.

"Mr. Ransome, the manager of Mr. Ford's London office, is here," he

continued. "He is waiting to see you in the library."

We followed him through a great hall into a room lined with books

from floor to ceiling. A stout, dark man, who was pacing it like a

beast in a cage, stopped at the sight of us. His face, as he turned

it toward us, looked pinched and gray in the full light.

"Inspector Peace, eh?" he said. "Well, Inspector, if you want a

reward, name it. If you want to pull the house down, only say the

word. But find him for us, or, by heaven, we're done."

"Is it as bad as that?"

"You can keep a secret, I suppose. Yes--it couldn't well be worse.

It was a tricky time; he hid half his schemes in his own head; he

never trusted even me altogether. If he were dead I could plan

something, but now--"

He thumped his hand on the table and turned away to the window.

"When you last saw Mr. Ford was he in good health? Did he stand the

strain?"

"Ford had no nerves. He was never better in his life."

"In these great transactions he would have his enemies. If his plans

succeeded there would be many hard hit, perhaps ruined. Have you any

suspicion of a man who, to save himself, might make away with Mr.

Ford?"

"No," said the manager after a moment's thought. "No, I can not give

you a single name. The players are all big men, Inspector. I don't

say that their consciences would stop them from trying such a trick,

but it wouldn't be worth their while. They hold off when jail is the

certain punishment."

"Was this financial crisis in his own affairs generally known?"

"Certainly not."

"Who would know of it?"

"There might be a dozen men on both sides of the Atlantic who would

suspect the truth. But I don't suppose that more than four people

were actually in possession of the facts."

"And who would they be?"

"His two partners in America, myself, and Mr. Harbord there."

Peace turned to the young man with a smile and a polite bow.

"Can you add any names to the list?" he asked.

"No," said Harbord, staring at the detective with a puzzled look, as

if trying to catch the drift of his questions.

"Thank you," said the Inspector; "and now will you show me the place

where this curious disappearance occurred?"

We crossed the drive, where the snow lay torn and trampled by the

carriages, and so to the white, even surface of the lawn. We soon

struck the trail, a confused path beaten by many footprints. Peace

stooped for a moment, and then turned to the secretary with an angry

glance.

"Were you with them?" he said.

"Yes."

"Then why, in the name of common sense, didn't you keep them off his

tracks? You have simply trampled them out of existence, between you."

"We were in a hurry, Inspector," said the secretary meekly. "We

didn't think about it."

We walked forward, following the broad trail until we came to a

circular patch of trodden snow. Evidently the searchers had stopped

and stood talking together. On the further side I saw the footprints

of a man plainly defined. There were some half-dozen clear

impressions and they ended at the base of the old wall, which was

some six feet in height.

"I am glad to see that you and your friends have left me something,

Mr. Harbord," said the Inspector.

He stepped forward and, kneeling down, examined the nearest footprint.

"Mr. Ford dressed for dinner?" he inquired, glancing up at the

secretary.

"Certainly! Why do you ask?"

"Merely that he had on heavy shooting boots when he took this evening

stroll. It will be interesting to discover what clothes he wore."

The Inspector walked up to the wall, moving parallel to the tracks in

the snow. With singular activity for his plump and unathletic figure

he climbed to the top and seated himself while he stared about him.

Then on his hands and knees he began to crawl forward along the

coping. It was a quaint spectacle, but the extraordinary care and

vigilance of the little man took the farce out of it.

Presently he stopped and looked down at us with a gentle smile.

"Please stay where you are," he said, and disappeared on the further

side.

Harbord offered me a cigarette, and we waited with due obedience till

the Inspector's bullet-head again broke the horizon as he struggled

back to his position on the coping of the wall.

He seemed in a very pleasant temper when he joined us; but he said

nothing of his discoveries, and I had grown too wise to inquire.

When we reached the entrance hall he asked for Jackson, the valet,

and in a couple of minutes the man appeared. He was a tall,

hatchet-faced fellow, very neatly dressed in black. He made a little

bow, and then stood watching us in a most respectful attitude.

"A queer business this, Jackson," said Addington Peace.

"Yes, sir."

"And what is your opinion on it?"

"To be frank, sir, I thought at first that Mr. Ford had run away; but

now I don't know what to make of it."

"And why should he run away?"

"I have no idea, sir; but he seemed to me rather strange in his

manner yesterday."

"Have you been with him long?"

"No, sir. I was valet to the Honorable John Dorn, Lord Beverley's

second son. Mr. Ford took me from Mr. Dorn at the time he rented the

Hall."

"I see. And now will you show me your master's room? I shall see

you again later, Mr. Harbord," he continued; "in the meanwhile I will

leave my assistant with you."

We sat and smoked in the secretary's room. He was not much of a

talker, consuming cigarette after cigarette in silence. The winter

dusk had already fallen when the Inspector joined us, and we retired

to our rooms to prepare for dinner. I tried a word with Peace upon

the staircase, but he shook his head and walked on.

The meal dragged itself to an end somehow, and we left Ransome with a

second decanter of port before him. Peace slipped away again, and I

consoled myself with a book in the library until half-past ten, when

I walked off to bed. A servant was switching off the light in the

hall when I mounted the great staircase.

My room was in the old wing at the further side of the picture

gallery, and I had some difficulty in steering my way through the

dark corridors. The mystery that hung over the house had shaken my

nerves, and I remember that I started at every creak of a board and

peered into the shadows as I passed along with, Heaven knows, what

ghostly expectations. I was glad enough to close my door upon them

and see the wood fire blazing cheerfully in the open hearth.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

I woke with a start that left me sitting up in bed, with my heart

thumping in my ribs like a piston rod. I am not generally a light

sleeper, but that night, even while I snored, my nerves were active.

Some one had tapped at my door--that was my impression.

I listened with the uncertain fear that comes to the newly waked.

Then I heard it again--on the wall near my head this time. A board

creaked. Some one was groping his way down the dark corridor

without. Presently he stopped, and a faint line of illumination

sprang out under my door. It winked, and then grew still. He had

lighted a candle.

Assurance came with the streak of light. What was he doing, groping

in the dark, if he had a candle with him? I crept over to the door,

opened it, and stared cautiously out.

About a dozen feet away a man was standing, a striking figure against

the light he carried. His back was toward me, but I could see that

his hand was shading the candle from his eyes while he stared into

the shadows that clung about the further end of the corridor.

Presently he began to move forward.

The picture gallery and the body of the house lay behind. The

corridor in which he stood terminated in a window, set deep into the

stone of the old walls. The man walked slowly, throwing the light to

right and left. His attitude was of nervous expectation--that of a

man who looked for something that he feared to see.

At the window he stopped, staring about him and listening. He

examined the fastenings, and then tried a door on his right. It was

locked against him. As he did so I caught his profile against the

light. It was Harbord, the secretary. From where I stood he was not

more than forty feet away. There was no possibility of a mistake.

As he turned to come back I retreated into my room, closing the door.

The fellow was in a state of great agitation, and I could hear him

muttering to himself as he walked. When he had passed by I peeped

out to see him and his light dwindle, reach the corner by the picture

gallery, and fade into a reflection, a darkness.

I took care to turn the key before I got back into bed.

I woke again at seven, and, hurrying on my clothes, set off to tell

Peace all about it. I took him to the place, and together we

examined the corridor. There were only two rooms beyond mine. The

one on the left was occupied by Ransome; that on the right was a

large store-room, the door of which was locked. The housekeeper kept

the key, we learned upon inquiry. Whom had Harbord followed? The

problem was beyond me. As for Inspector Peace, he did not indulge in

verbal speculations.

It was in the central hall that we encountered the secretary on his

way to the breakfast-room. The man looked nervous and depressed; he

nodded to us and was passing on, when Peace stopped him.

"Good-morning, Mr. Harbord," he said. "Can I have a word with you?"

"Certainly, Inspector. What is it?"

"I have a favor to ask. My assistant and myself have our hands full

here. If necessary, could you help us by running up to London and--"

"For the day?" he interrupted.

"No. It may be an affair of three or four days."

"Then I must refuse. I am sorry, but--"

"Don't apologize, Mr. Harbord," said the little man, cheerfully. "I

shall have to find some one else, that is all."

We walked into the breakfast-room, and a few minutes later Ransome

appeared with a great bundle of letters and telegrams in his hand.

He said not a word to any of us, but dropped into a chair, tearing

open the envelopes and glancing at their contents. His face grew

darker as he read, and once he thumped his hand upon the table with a

crash that set the china jingling.

"Well, Inspector?" he said at last.

The little detective's head shook out a negative.

"Perhaps you require an incentive," he sneered. "Is it a matter of a

reward?"

"No, Mr. Ransome; but it is becoming one of my personal reputation."

"Then, by thunder, you are in danger of losing it. Why don't you and

your friend hustle instead of loitering around as if you were paid by

the job? I tell you, man, there are thousands, hundreds of thousands

melting, slipping through our fingers, every hour of the day."

He sprang from his seat and started his walk again, up and down, up

and down, as we had first seen him.

"Shall you be returning to London?"

At the question the manager halted in his stride, staring sharply

down into the Inspector's bland countenance.

"No," he said; "I shall stay here, Mr. Addington Peace, until such

time as you have something definite to tell me."

"I have an inquiry to make which I would rather place in the hands of

some one who has personal knowledge of Mr. Ford. Neither Mr. Harbord

nor yourself desire to leave Meudon. Is there any one else you can

suggest?"

"There is Jackson, Ford's valet," said the manager, after a moment's

thought. "He can go if you think him bright enough. I'll send for

him."

While the footman who answered the bell was gone upon his errand we

waited in an uneasy silence. There was the shadow of an ugly mystery

upon us all. Jackson, as he entered, was the only one who seemed at

his ease. He stood there, a tall figure of all the respectabilities.

"The Inspector here wishes you to go to London, Jackson," said the

manager. "He will explain the details. There is a fast train from

Camdon at eleven."

"Certainly, sir. Do I return to-night?"

"No, Jackson," said Peace. "It will take a day or two."

The man took a couple of steps toward the door, hesitated, and then

returned to his former place.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he began, addressing Ransome. "But I would

rather remain at Meudon under present circumstances."

"What on earth do you mean?" thundered the manager.

"Well, sir, I was the last to see Mr. Ford. There is, as it were, a

suspicion upon me. I should like to be present while the search

continues, both for his sake--and my own."

"Very kind of you, I'm sure," growled Ransome. "But you either do

what I tell you, Jackson, or you pack your boxes and clear out. So

be quick and make up your mind."

"I think you are treating me most unfairly, sir. But I can not be

persuaded out of what I know to be my duty."

"You impertinent rascal!--" began the furious manager. But Peace was

already on his feet with a chubby hand outstretched.

"Perhaps, after all, I can make other arrangements, Mr. Ransome," he

said. "It is natural that Jackson should consider his own reputation

in this affair. That is all, Jackson; you may go now."

It was half an hour afterward, when the end of breakfast had

dispersed the party, that I spoke to Peace about it, offering to go

to London myself and do my best to carry out his instructions.

"I had bad luck in my call for volunteers," he said.

"I should have thought they would have been glad enough to get the

chance of work. They can find no particular amusement in loafing

about the place all day."

"Doubtless they all had excellent reasons," he said with a smile.

"But, anyway, you can not be spared, Mr. Phillips."

"You flatter me."

"I want you to stay in your bedroom. Write, read, do what you like,

but keep your door ajar. If any one passes down the corridor, see

where he goes, only don't let him know that you are watching him if

you can help it. I will take my turn at half-past one. I don't mean

to starve you."

I obeyed. After all, it was, in a manner, promotion that the

Inspector had given me; yet it was a tedious, anxious time. No one

came my way, barring a sour-looking housemaid. I tried to argue out

the case, but the deeper I got the more conflicting grew my theories.

I was never more glad to see a friendly face than when the little man

came in upon me.

The short winter's afternoon crept on, the Inspector and I taking

turn and turn about in our sentry duty. Dinner-time came and went.

I had been off duty from nine, but at ten-thirty I poured out a

whisky and soda and went back to join him. He was sitting in the

middle of the room smoking a pipe in great apparent satisfaction.

"Bed-time, isn't it?" I grumbled, sniffing at his strong tobacco.

"Oh, no," he said. "The fact is, we are going to sit up all night."

I threw myself on a couch by the window without reply. Perhaps I was

not in the best of tempers; certainly I did not feel so.

"You insisted on coming down with me," he suggested.

"I know all about that," I told him. "I haven't complained, have I?

If you want me to shut myself up for a week I'll do it; but I should

prefer to have some idea of the reason why."

"I don't wish to create mysteries, Mr. Phillips," he said kindly;

"but believe me there is nothing to be gained in vague discussions."

I knew that settled it as far as he was concerned, so I nodded my

head and filled a pipe. At eleven he walked across the room and

switched off the light.

"If nothing happens you can take your turn in four hours from now,"

he said. "In the meanwhile get to sleep. I will keep the first

watch."

I shut my eyes, but there was no rest in me that night. I lay

listening to the silence of the old house with a dull speculation.

Somewhere far down in the lower floor a great gong-like clock chimed

the hours and quarters. I heard them every one, from twelve to one,

from one to two. Peace had stopped smoking. He sat as silent as a

cat at a mousehole.

It must have been some fifteen minutes after two that I heard the

faint, faint creak of a board in the corridor outside. I sat up,

every nerve strung to a tense alertness. And then there came a sound

I knew well, the soft drawing touch of a hand groping in the darkness

as some one felt his way along the paneled walls. It passed us and

was gone. Yet Peace never moved. Could he have fallen asleep? I

whispered his name.

"Hush!"

The answer came to me like a gentle sigh.

One minute, two minutes more and the room sprang into sight under the

steady glow of an electric hand-lamp. The Inspector rose from his

seat and slid through the door with me upon his heels. The light he

carried searched the clustered shadows; but the corridor was empty,

nor was there any place where a man might hide.

"You waited too long," I whispered impatiently.

"The man is no fool, Mr. Phillips. Do you imagine that he was not

listening and staring like a hunted beast? A noisy board, a stumble,

or a flash of light, and we should have wasted a tiring day."

"Nevertheless he has got clear away."

"I think not."

As we crept forward I saw that a strip of the oak flooring along the

walls was gray with dust. If it had been in such a neglected state

in the afternoon I should surely have noticed it. In some curiosity

I stooped to examine the phenomenon.

"Flour," whispered the little man touching my shoulder.

"Flour?"

"Yes. I sprinkled it myself. Look--there is the first result."

He steadied his light as he spoke, pointing with his other hand. On

the powdery surface was the half footprint of a man.

The flour did not extend more than a couple of feet from the walls,

so that it was only here and there that we caught up the trail. We

had passed the bedroom on the left--yet the footprints still went on;

we were at the store-room door, yet they still were visible before

us. There was no other egress from the corridor. The tall window at

the end was, as I knew, a good twenty feet from the ground. Had this

man also vanished off the earth like Silas Ford?

Suddenly the inspector stopped, grasping my arm. The light he held

fell upon two footprints close together. They were at right angles

to the passage. Apparently the man had passed into the solid wall!

"Peace, what does this mean?"

You, sir, sitting peaceably at home, with a good light and an easy

conscience, may think I was a timid fool; yet I was afraid--honestly

and openly afraid. The little detective heard the news of it in my

voice, for he gave me a reassuring pat upon the back.

"Have you never heard of a 'priest's hole'?" he whispered. "In the

days when Meudon Hall was built, no country house was without its

hiding-place. Protestants and priests, Royalists and Republicans,

they all used the secret burrow at one time or another."

"How did he get in?"

"That is what we are here to discover, and as I have no wish to

destroy Mr. Ford's old oak panels I think our simplest plan will be

to wait until he comes back again."

The shadows leaped upon us as Peace extinguished the light he

carried. The great window alone was luminous with the faint

starlight that showed the tracery of its ancient stonework; for the

rest, the darkness hedged us about in impenetrable barriers. Side by

side, we stood by the wall in which we knew the secret entrance must

exist.

It may have been ten minutes or more when from the

distance--somewhere below our feet, or so it seemed to me--there came

the faint echo of a closing door. It was only in such cold silence

that we could have heard it. The time ticked on. Suddenly, upon the

black of the floor, there shone a thin reflection like the slash of a

sword--a reflection that grew into a broad gush of light as the

sliding panel in the wall, six feet from where we stood, rose to the

full opening. There followed another pause, during which I could see

Peace draw himself together as if for some unusual exertion.

A shadow darkened the reflection on the floor, and a head came

peering out. The light but half displayed the face, but I could see

that the teeth were bare and glistening, like those of a man in some

deadly expectation. The next moment he stepped across the threshold.

With a spring like the rush of a terrier, Addington Peace was upon

him, driving him off his balance with the impact of the blow. Before

I could reach them, the little detective had him down, though he

still kicked viciously until I lent a hand. The click of the

handcuffs on his wrist ended the matter.

It was Ford's valet, the man Jackson.

We were not long by ourselves. I heard a key turned in the lock, and

Ransome burst out of his room into the corridor like an angry bull.

Almost at the same moment there sounded a quick patter of naked feet

from behind us, and Harbord, the secretary, came running up, swinging

a heavy stick in his hand. They both stopped at the edge of the

patch of light in which we were, staring from us to the gaping hole

in the wall.

"What in thunder are you about?" cried the manager.

"Finding a solution to your problem," said the little detective,

getting to his feet. "Perhaps, gentlemen, you will be good enough to

follow me."

He stepped through the opening in the wall, and lifted the candle

which the valet had placed on the floor while he was raising the

panel from within. By its light I could see the first steps of a

flight which led down into darkness.

"We will take Jackson with us," he continued. "Keep an eye on him,

Mr. Phillips, if you please."

It was a strange procession that we made. First Peace, with the

candle, then Ransome, with the valet, following, while I and Harbord

brought up the rear. We descended some thirty steps, formed in the

thickness of the wall, opened a heavy door, and so found ourselves in

a narrow chamber, some twelve feet long by seven broad. Upon a

mattress at the further end lay a man, gagged and bound. As the

light fell upon his features, Ransome sprang forward, shouting his

name.

"Silas Ford, by thunder!"

With eager fingers we loosened the gag and cut the ropes that bound

his wrists. He sat up, turning his long, thin face from one to the

other of us as he stretched the cramp from his limbs.

"Thank you, gentlemen," said he. "Well, Ransome, how are things?"

"Bad, sir; but it's not too late."

He nodded his head, passing his hands through his hair with a quick,

nervous movement.

"You've caught my clever friend, I see. Kindly go through his

pockets, will you? He has something I must ask him to return to me."

We found it in Jackson's pocket-book--a check, antedated a week, for

five thousand pounds, with a covering letter to the manager of the

bank. Ford took the bit of stamped paper, twisting it to and fro in

his supple fingers.

"It was smart of you, Jackson," he said, addressing the bowed figure

before him: "I give you credit for the idea. To kidnap a man just as

he was bringing off a big deal--well, you would have earned the

money."

"But how did you get down here?" struck in the manager.

"He told me that he had discovered an old hiding-place--a 'priest's

hole,' he called it--and I walked into the trap as the best man may

do sometimes. As we got to the bottom of that stairway he slipped a

sack over my head and had me fixed in thirty seconds. He fed me

himself twice a day, standing by to see I didn't halloo. When I paid

up he was to have twenty-four hours' start; then he would let you

know where I was. I held out awhile, but I gave in to-night. The

delay was getting too dangerous. Have you a cigarette, Harbord?

Thank you. And who may you be?"

It was to the detective he spoke.

"My name is Peace, Inspector Addington Peace, from Scotland Yard."

"And I owe my rescue to you?"

The little man bowed.

"You will have no reason to regret it. And what did they think had

become of me, Inspector?"

"It was the general opinion that you had taken to yourself wings, Mr.

Ford."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

It was as we traveled up to town next day that Peace told me his

story. I will set it down as briefly as may be.

"I soon came to the conclusion that Ford, whether dead or alive, was

inside the grounds of Meudon Hall. If he had bolted, for some

reason, by the way, which was perfectly incomprehensible, a man of

his ability would not have left a broad trail across the centre of

his lawn for all to see. There was, moreover, no trace of him that

our men could ferret out at any station within reasonable distance.

A motor was possible, but there were no marks of its presence next

morning in the mud of the roads. That fact I learned from a curious

groom who had aided in the search, and who, with a similar idea upon

him, had carefully examined the highway at daybreak.

"When I clambered to the top of the wall I found that the snow upon

the coping had been dislodged. I traced the marks, as you saw, for

about a dozen yards. Where they ended I, too, dropped to the ground

outside. There I made a remarkable discovery. Upon a little drift

of snow that lay in the shallow ditch beneath were more footprints.

But they were not those of Ford. They were the marks of long and

narrow boots, which led into the road, where they were lost in the

track of a flock of sheep that had been driven over it the day before.

"I took a careful measurement of those footprints. They might, of

course, belong to some private investigator; but they gave me an

idea. Could some man have walked across the lawn in Ford's boots,

changed them to his own on the top of the wall, and so departed? Was

it the desire of someone to let it be supposed that Ford had run away?

"When I examined Ford's private rooms I was even more fortunate.

From the boot-boy I discovered that the master had three pairs of

shooting boots. There were three pairs in the stand. Some one had

made a very serious mistake. Instead of hiding the pair he had used

on the lawn, he had returned them to their place. The trick was

becoming evident. But where was Ford? In the house or grounds, dead

or alive, but where?

"I was able, through my friend the boot-boy, to examine the boots on

the night of our arrival. My measurements corresponded with those

that Jackson, the valet, wore. Was he acting for himself, or was

Harbord, or even Ransome, in the secret? That, too, it was necessary

to discover before I showed my hand.

"Your story of Harbord's midnight excursion supplied a clue. The

secretary had evidently followed some man who had disappeared

mysteriously. Could there be the entrance to a secret chamber in

that corridor? That would explain the mystification of Harbord as

well as the disappearance of Silas Ford. If so, Harbord was not

involved.

"If Ford were held a prisoner he must be fed. His jailer must of

necessity remain in the house. But the trap I set in the suggested

journey to town was an experiment singularly unsuccessful, for all

the three men I desired to test refused. However, if I were right

about the secret chamber I could checkmate the blackmailer by keeping

a watch on him from your room, which commanded the line of

communications. But Jackson was clever enough to leave his

victualing to the night-time. I scattered the flour to try the

result of that ancient trick. It was successful. That is all. Do

you follow me?"

"Yes," said I; "but how did Jackson come to know the secret hiding

place?"

"He has long been a servant of the house. You had better ask his old

master."

END OF VOLUME ONE