As the clock struck ten the next morning, Caruth, with Tom Wilkins at
his heels, stepped from the elevator in the Chimneystack Building and
walked to the great entrance. Just as he reached it a red automobile
drew up at the curb. Caruth motioned Wilkins into it, and jumped in
behind him; and before he had time even to take his seat the machine
was off. Caruth, glancing back expectantly, was somewhat surprised to
see that his hasty departure had apparently roused no interest. The
spies in attendance, if spies there were, either did not care to follow
or recognized the hopelessness of attempting to do so.
After racing northward for several blocks, the motor turned into a side
street, ran east past two or three streets, and, once more turning,
sped downtown, finally stopping at the ladies’ entrance of one of the
big Broadway hotels.
Caruth laughed to himself as he got out. Anything less like the
mysterious Nihilistic rendezvous at which he had expected to land could
scarcely be conceived. Still less excitement remained in the venture
when, after sending up his card by a very matter-of-fact bell-boy,
the two were shown into a parlor and allowed to wait for a very
characteristically feminine interval.
If the plainsman felt out of place in surroundings which must have
been wholly new to him, at least he did not show it. His face was as
expressionless as a poker player’s, and he carried himself as if he
owned the place, seemingly unconscious of his ill-fitting, ready-made
clothing, and of the heavy boots that clattered loudly on the polished
floors.
Caruth had told him little as to the object of their visit, merely
saying that the lady on whom they were to call had something to say
that might throw light on the object of his search. Wilkins had asked
no questions. His small, furtive eyes had rested for a moment on the
younger man’s face, and then he had nodded. “I’m your potato,” he
remarked.
Miss Fitzhugh kept the two waiting for a time which seemed long to the
plainsman, unused as he was to the intricacies of the feminine toilet.
When she swept in at last, her appearance made both men catch their
breath, Caruth not less than the unsophisticated Westerner.
Dressed entirely in black, high-throated, and with her hair arranged
with severe plainness, she looked years older and more sedate than the
magnificently vital creature Caruth had before seen. In her eyes lay a
look of slumbering sorrow which persisted even when she smiled. Caruth,
amazed, wondered what facet of her kaleidoscopic nature would manifest
itself next.
But if her appearance bewildered Caruth, it absolutely overwhelmed
Wilkins. He dropped his hat, stammered, and almost gasped at sight of
her. When she gave him her hand, he seemed afraid to touch it.
But this phase passed. Miss Fitzhugh had a way with her--whether
inborn or acquired it might be hard to guess--that was most effective
in dealing with the opposite sex. Within ten minutes, Wilkins, his
errand forgotten, was telling her a story of his experiences as a
sheep-herder. “Yes, ma’am,” he wound up. “Muttons are all right when
they’re served with mint sauce or when they’ve been cropped to furnish
trouserings, but for steady company they’re about on the level of a
Boston tea party. When you’ve watched ’em masticating daisies for a few
spaces, you begin to yearn for something that don’t look like it had
come out of a Noah’s ark.”
Miss Fitzhugh smiled sympathetically. “So when you got your brother’s
letter, with its promise of millions, you were glad enough to hurry
east,” she suggested. “You wanted some of the fleshpots of Egypt.”
Wilkins hesitated. “No’m,” he answered uncertainly. “I ain’t caring
much about no foreign grub; chile con carne is good enough for me. But,
of course, if there’s any chance of strikin’ a pocket and dredgin’ a
million or so out of that ship, I’d like to do it. And, of course, I’d
like to do up the fellows that did for Jim.”
Miss Fitzhugh stared at him questioningly. “There is a chance of doing
it,” she answered meaningly; “but it isn’t as easy as you may suppose.
You may have to fight for it.”
Wilkins’s right hand wandered back to his hip-pocket, reappearing with
a huge revolver, while the other hand suddenly became possessed of a
great knife. “I’m heeled,” he responded grimly.
Miss Fitzhugh showed no surprise. Deliberately she took the revolver
from the plainsman’s hand and with practised fingers twirled the
cylinder and drew back the hammer, smiling at the man’s warning
exclamation. “I’m used to them,” she explained.
She handed back the weapon and went on. “Your brother’s ship was the
_Orkney_, Mr. Wilkins. It sailed from Liverpool March 5, nearly two
years ago, and was wrecked somewhere in the Baltic four days later. It
had on board more than a million pounds sterling--nearly five million
dollars. That money really belongs to me and my friends, though it is
claimed by others who have been moving heaven and earth to get it.
Your brother who wrote the letter had no right to any part of it. Your
brother who was murdered had no right to it. You have no right to it.
But we are very generous to our friends. It is really impossible that
you should get this gold yourself. You will have to call either on
us or on our enemies to help you. If your letter proves valuable and
enables us to get it--to get our own money, mind you--we will share it
with you.”
The plainsman’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth changed to a straight slit
above his chin. For the first time Caruth noticed his likeness to the
dead man. This was business, and accordingly Wilkins promptly relegated
sentiment to the background. “How big a share?” he demanded roughly.
“Well----” Miss Fitzhugh hesitated. “First let me explain,” she went
on at last. “The _Orkney_ was wrecked in the Baltic Sea about three
thousand miles from here. We shall have to charter a steamer and seek
for her. Your letter may or may not enable us to find her. If we do
find her, we will have to send down divers and bring the gold up--not
a very easy task, I imagine. The search will have to be made secretly,
for our foes are watchful and able. We may have to fight to save
both the gold and ourselves after or before we get it on board. The
whole trip will cost money--a great deal of money. It will strain our
resources to the utmost--and it may come to nothing in the end. We need
the money--need it desperately. Now, considering all this, what do you
think will be a fair share for your aid?”
Wilkins considered. His small eyes wandered from Miss Fitzhugh to
Caruth and back again, but his impassive face gave no clue to the
thoughts that were passing in his mind. The others believed that he was
calculating how large a share he could demand. Long afterwards, they
suspected that his ideas had been very different.
“Well,” he declared, at last, “I don’t mean no officiousness. Maybe
you’re givin’ it to me straight. But I reckon the other side would have
about as good a yarn to tell, and maybe it would have more money to pay
with. I guess this money don’t belong to either of you. If it did, you
wouldn’t be so durned mysterious about it. I reckon you’re both out to
steal it. But, h----l! that don’t make no difference to me. I’ll steal
just as soon as any other _hombre_ will, if he can steal enough to
make it worth while and can get away with the goods. Now, let’s talk
straight. Who are your fellows, any way?”
Miss Fitzhugh hesitated, but only for a moment. After all, it was
better to tell this plain-spoken frontiersman what he wanted to know
rather than to have him make inquiries that might perhaps come to the
ears of the Russian government and lead to the betrayal of the whole
plan. If he were really a traitor or a spy all was lost anyhow. He
could ruin everything by telling what he already knew in the right
quarter; he could do no worse if he knew more. Perhaps he might be
forced to hold his tongue by fear, although this did not seem very
probable. However, it was neck or nothing.
She leaned forward. “Did you ever hear of the Russian revolutionists,
Mr. Wilkins?” she asked.
“Them fellows that are tryin’ to knock the Czar into the middle of a
puddle duckski? Sure! They’re all right, if they’d only talk less like
a seidlitz powder.”
“I am a member of the inner circle of the Brotherhood. This gold
belongs to us. It was borrowed on our credit by the Russian Government.
We tried to take it from them, and we succeeded, but lost it in the
moment of success. We need it to help the cause of freedom--to get for
our people the freedom that you have as a birthright. We are trying to
get it back. Your letter may enable us to do so. Will you help us?”
Wilkins nodded. “I reckon so,” he responded. “What’ll they do to us if
they catch us?”
“Do!” The girl laughed harshly. “I don’t know. Shoot us, hang us, drown
us, or jail us for life. Are you afraid?”
“No’m! Not to say afraid. But I always like to know what I’m goin’ up
against. Buckin’ the Czar looks to me a good deal like going against a
phony faro game. But, thunder! I always was willing to take a sporting
chance. I’ll go you for one-tenth of what we get. I guess that’s fair.”
Miss Fitzhugh nodded slowly. “That’s a good deal,” she remarked,
“considering that we take all the risks. But I accept. One-tenth of all
we recover shall be yours. You shall go with us and help us to get it,
and you shall have your share. Here’s my hand on it.”
Awkwardly the plainsman took the smooth, slim fingers which she
stretched out to him. “It’s a whack, ma’am,” he said.
“It’s a ‘whack’! But, Mr. Wilkins, there is something more that I want
to say, and I want you to understand that I say it not as a threat,
but simply as a warning. I don’t know how much you may know of our
society, but it has representatives all over the world, and it does not
tolerate traitors. No one who has ever betrayed it has lived long. If
either you or Mr. Caruth here tried to play fast and loose with it, you
might succeed for the moment, but it would be for a moment only. Your
heirs might profit by your treachery, but you would not.”
Wilkins laughed. He seemed neither offended nor worried by the girl’s
words. “Sure!” he answered cheerfully. “That’s understood. No gang
can hold together or be successful unless they does for anybody that
splits on ’em. I ain’t boastin’ none of my whiteness. Maybe I’d sell
out if I thought it would pay me; but, naturally, I count myself some
better than the State of New Jersey. I ain’t offerin’ myself for sale
promiscuous desultory. And in this case it don’t look as if it would be
altogether healthy to sell out. No! You can count on me as long as you
play fair yourselves. Now, what’s the program?”
Miss Fitzhugh leaned back in her chair with an expression of relief
on her face. “I believe you are truer than you say, Mr. Wilkins,” she
murmured. “I’m going to trust you. As to the program, I must consider.
The first thing is to let me look at that letter.”
“Sure!” Without hesitation, the plainsman handed over a folded sheet.
Miss Fitzhugh only glanced at it. “I mean the original,” she explained,
with a steely glint in her eyes.
But Wilkins shook his head decidedly. “Not any,” he replied. “The
aboriginal is safe, and I don’t show it to no one yet aways. It tells
where the _Orkney_’s sunk, all right, and I’ll go with you and guide
you till we get somewhere near. I’ve been lookin’ up the place on the
map, and I can do it. Or I’ll tell you: I’ll show you the letter as
soon as we get into the Baltic? How’ll that do?”
“It won’t do at all. The letter may be valueless, and----”
“It ain’t valueless. It tells, all right. It says ‘in a narrow strait
between this island and that island.’ You needn’t worry about that part
of it.”
The woman hesitated. Was all this a cunningly devised plot of the
Czar’s agents or was the man honest? His refusal to disclose his secret
was not unnatural, and yet----
“Mr. Wilkins,” she said slowly, “I’ll take your word for it, since I
can do nothing else. But I warn you solemnly that if I fail in this
thing after I have spent all the money that I shall have to spend, it
will cost both you and me our lives. The Brotherhood will not tolerate
such a costly failure as this would be. So beware.”
Wilkins nodded. “Shoot,” he said. “You’re faded.”
Miss Fitzhugh looked slightly bewildered. “Very well,” she said. “On
your head be it. Now we must see about getting a ship.”
“A ship!” Caruth leaned forward. All through the conversation he had
lain back in his chair, listening but not uttering a single word. The
girl seemed entirely competent to manage things, and he felt no call to
intervene, though he shivered once or twice when she spoke so openly to
this plainsman, who frankly confessed that he was ready to play traitor
for a sufficiently large reward. But his chance had come around at last.
“A ship!” he echoed. “Don’t worry about that. I have a thousand-ton
yacht eating its head off down the bay. I’ll be delighted if you will
use it as your own. When shall we sail?”