Black Friday
I sent Larry to get some lunch ready, and in the interval went over my
papers again to be sure that nothing else was missing. I had nothing
that could possibly involve me in the eyes of the gang, as I had long
since destroyed the Chief’s letter and I decided that Mrs. Fawcette’s
visit must have been entirely fruitless. But a vague uneasiness sent
me on a further search for the card-case, and when Larry arrived with
the lunch I questioned him about it.
“Twas there yesterday, sor. Maybe ye wud have slipped it into a
pocket, the way ye wud be lavin’ a cyard on wan av thim ladies, sor.
For ’tis not here now.”
“I can see it isn’t, thank you very much,” I told him, “And it’s not
in a pocket either, I’ve looked.”
Larry grinned. Then, as he circled the table, his stubby hands full of
dishes, his eyes lost their sparkle and his face settled into painful
lines of thought.
“Sor,” said he, “what way did that—lady—know I was by mesilf here this
morning? Was she a friend av yer honor?”
“She was, Larry. That is to say, an acquaintance.”
“Well, what way she did know I was by mesilf——”
“Good Lord, how do I know, Larry? No, wait a minute. Yes, I do know.
Mrs. Furneau told her, Larry. Why?”
“I wondered was she spyin’ on ye, sor. That’s all.” A look of comical
indignation swept over his face again. “But she’s a dangerous woman,
sor,” he told me earnestly.
I laughed. “All women are dangerous to you, Larry. But you’re
perfectly right. Never mind, though. There’s no harm done.”
“I’m not so sure about that, sor,” said Larry.
What with listening to Larry’s views on women in general and Mrs.
Fawcette in particular, while I ate lunch, it was nearly two o’clock
before I had finished. Larry consumed a little more time, clearing the
table, and with one thing and another, we did not leave the apartment
until well after two.
We decided to leave the little car in the garage and take a taxi
instead. We found one without difficulty, and at two-thirty we were in
the park and on our way to the 72nd Street Gate. As we approached the
Park Restaurant there, Larry stuck his head cautiously out of the
window, as being less likely to be recognized than I. A moment later
he was pounding on the glass to attract the driver’s attention.
The taxi drew up, Larry flung the door open, and in a moment Moore and
I had gripped hands again. The pleasure of that handshake brought home
to me the fact that I had missed him badly of late.
Larry told the driver to take us around the Park a couple of times
and, as we picked up speed again, Moore gripped my arm.
“Gad, it’s good to see you again, Clayton,” he cried, “but I have not
time to tell how good, old man. For I’m hoping big things of to-night.
I believe this is our chance to round up the lot of them. And we’ve a
lot to talk over first.”
I nodded. “Go ahead then,” I told him.
“All right. First, about to-night then. Vining is coming for me at
seven. I thought at first of letting Captain Peters in on the whole
thing. But he’d want to have a lot of plain-clothes men around here,
easily recognized as detectives. And Vining is nobody’s fool. Of
course he may suspect me. His turning up like that and catching you in
his house looks like it. But that might be a coincidence, or he might
have one of his faithful henchmen watching his house—it’s quite on the
cards when a man plays the sort of a game he seems to be playing—and
the watcher may have seen you and Larry go in and sent for Vining. At
any rate, there’s nothing but coincidence to connect me with you or
your search of his house. And his suspicion is a chance we’ve got to
take.”
“Pretty desperate position for you if he does suspect you,” I pointed
out.
Moore laughed. “No worse than lots of others we’ll have to take in
this business. It’s all part of the game. But here’s my idea. The
thing we want to accomplish to-night is to discover the location of
this hang-out, where they give these parties. If we do that, we can
round up the gang at our leisure afterwards. I’ll be blindfolded and
probably won’t have the faintest idea where they’re taking me. So I
want to know whether you’ll follow and find out where they do take me.
Of course it’s a bit risky——”
“Sure,” I answered, in Larry’s best colloquial style, “I’m running a
helluva lot of risk following you, after you’ve poked your head into
the lion’s mouth like that.”
“Well, then,” Moore went on, “Vining’s coming at seven, and I think
you ought to be hanging around in the neighborhood by six-thirty at
the latest, in case he comes a little early. You ought to have a
high-powered car—rent one if necessary—and have it well out of sight.
I’ll try to keep Vining for a moment or two—give him a drink or
something—and that’ll give you time to get ready after you see him.
Better get a good driver or drive yourself.”
“That’s easily fixed. Larry can see to the car this afternoon.”
“Good. Now here’s another thing. I’ll tell you frankly that I’m afraid
of Vining. He’s a gifted criminal, and I’m not at all sure that he’s
not playing with us. Anyhow, I thought it best to tell him about my
diggings near you. I told him that they were usually occupied by a
little lady friend, now on tour, and suggested that he call for me
there, as I would be in that neighborhood. I did that for this reason.
I thought that if anything went wrong at the last minute, I could get
Larry here on the telephone, and he could get in touch with you at
once, as you’ll be just around the corner waiting with your car. Then
you could come in and we could capture Vining anyhow, if it came to
that. We might be able to get some information out of him. I know
enough about him to hold him all right.”
“That means that you stay in from six o’clock on, Larry,” I observed,
“no matter how many ladies in distress come to the door.”
Larry squirmed and Moore looked at me inquiringly. “What’s all that?”
he demanded.
So, with a keen enjoyment of Larry’s speaking countenance, I told
Moore the story of Mrs. Fawcette’s unconventional visit, winding up
with the news of the luncheon that day given for Natalie.
Moore was silent for a while after I had finished my yarn, and the
gravity of his expression made me vaguely uneasy. “What do you think
of it?” I demanded at last.
“Clayton, I think it’s bad,” he answered, finally. “In the first
place, I hate the thought of that girl trailing with that bunch,
especially after what you have told me about her”—he gave me a
fleeting grin—“but the Mrs. Fawcette proposition is worse—I mean,
searching your place. It looks as if they know all about us.”
“Well, if Mrs. Fawcette is in the gang, along with Ivanovitch and
Vining and these others we’ve run across, why, it would be easy enough
for them to trace me through my car license number, supposing that
bloodthirsty driver of theirs got the number and was well enough,
after the smash, to tell his rescuers about it.” I broke off and
stared at Moore in amazement. “Then they could trace me and send Mrs.
Fawcette to search my rooms. But, great Scott, that’s too much of a
coincidence, Moore. We’ve got nothing to connect Mrs. Fawcette and
Ivanovitch with Vining; not a thing. They don’t even belong to the
same stratum of society.”
Moore shrugged his shoulders. “Well, as far as that goes, it doesn’t
really affect the main issue much. To-night’s the night, and we’ve got
to locate that gang. It’s too late to turn back now anyway, even if we
wanted to—which I don’t. How about it?”
“I’m with you, of course,” I answered. “But I hate letting you get
into the hands of that bunch all alone.”
Moore laughed. “It’s got to be done, Clayton. I’ll be all right. I’ll
be talking to you bright and early to-morrow, most likely with a
splitting headache. In the meantime, I think you’d better trail me
until we get to our destination, wherever that is, hang around a bit,
to be sure that we haven’t stopped for a moment only and gone on
again, and when you’re satisfied that you’ve found the place, beat it
back here again and lie low until I get back. Then we’ll get in touch
with Captain Peters and round ’em up with his help. How does that
strike you?”
“All right,” I answered. “But I still don’t like your going alone.”
“Jealous, eh?” answered Moore. “Well, I guess it’ll be some party!”
And we all laughed.
The rest of that jouncing taxi ride was passed in conjectures and a
few final arrangements for that night. I told Moore about the little
book which I had found in Vining’s desk. I had intended to bring it
with me and show it to him. I had left it on my table for that
purpose. But I had not noticed it and had forgotten it in the
excitement of Mrs. Fawcette’s visit! We left Moore, finally, at the
Plaza, and when we had shaken hands and he had turned away, my last
sight of him was a view of his well-groomed back, slipping girlishly
through the revolving doors. He never forgot his pose for a moment,
except when he was alone with us.
I dismissed the taxi a few blocks from the house of Natalie’s aunt,
after dropping Larry with instructions to hire the car. Then, as it
was getting on for four o’clock, I set out to walk to my appointment
for tea with Natalie. On the way I kept a careful look-out for
pursuit. But after turning several corners I was convinced that no one
was following me.
The sight of the house was enough to set my heart pounding, and I
bounded up the steps and rang the bell with my mind suddenly flooded
with delight at the thought of seeing her. But I was in for a
disappointment.
“Miss Van Cleef has not yet returned, sir,” the butler told me. “But I
believe that Mrs. Trevor is at ’ome. I’ll go and inquire, sir, if
you’ll come in.”
Yes, Mrs. Trevor was at home. I waited about five peaceful minutes and
then Natalie’s aunt, like a full-rigged ship in a heavy sea, came
rolling and plunging into her drawing-room and joined action.
She was a busy fighter too. Heavy broadsides on the subject of the
latest dance, the latest book or the latest play thundered about my
ears, interspersed with a lighter but more galling fire of social
chit-chat and personal questions from the fighting tops, I was not
particularly worried at first, because her aim was poor, and in my
anticipative state of mind most of her shots went wide. Besides, I
knew that the arrival of reënforcements in the shape of Natalie would
put her to rout. That was one of the rules of warfare.
But as time passed and Natalie did not come I began to get restive.
Finally, I sadly upset the enemy’s morale by letting her catch me
looking at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was ten minutes to five!
I turned back to my hostess and stared at her. Natalie had never been
more than ten minutes late for an appointment. Now she was nearly an
hour late—and at her own house. As I stared at Mrs. Trevor, my heart
went down—down—and my mind whirled into a seething rout of terrible
anxiety. I must have turned white, for my hostess’s social manner fell
away from her like a garment and the human woman in her stood forth.
“Mr. Clayton! What’s the matter? Are you ill? Tell me!”
I pulled myself together as well as I could. “No, no, I’m all right,
Mrs. Trevor. I’m all right. Just a stitch or something. But I wonder
what has become of Miss Van Cleef? She was to be home at four o’clock.
Do you know whether she was going on anywhere ease after the luncheon
at Mrs. Fawcette’s?”
Mrs. Trevor stared at me, the shadow of a smile about her mouth. “Why,
no, I don’t think so. I’m sure she wasn’t. I’ve been wondering myself
what can have become of her. But I dare say she’ll turn up in a moment
or so now. Has—has it been such a terribly long wait?”
I made amends for my rudeness then, assuring her that the afternoon
had been delightful, and presently she ordered tea and I sat and
talked about everything under the sun, the while I consumed tasteless
nothings with a very dry mouth. For I was terribly anxious.
But time passed, the minute hand of the little Louis XV. clock on, the
mantelpiece moved relentlessly on toward six o’clock, and Natalie did
not come. Until at last I could wait no longer, whether I wanted to or
not; for I had to keep my appointment with Moore.
By the time I left, Mrs. Trevor had grown anxious herself, and as the
butler let me out, I heard my hostess calling Mrs. Fawcette’s number
into the telephone.
All the way back to my apartment I kept trying to reassure myself.
They had gone for a drive and the car had broken down. Natalie had met
an old friend and had forgotten the time. There had been a fire near
by. Anything might have happened to delay her. But it did no good.
Mrs. Fawcette was a dangerous woman. I had plenty of evidence that she
was mixed up with some sort of an organization outside the law. And
Natalie had been in her house. However, I could do nothing about it
until my affair of that night with Moore was settled.
I reached home at a quarter past six. Larry met me at the door with
the news that a high-powered Bengal car, with an expert driver, was
waiting for me around the corner, and that a comfortable old lounge
suit and Larry’s own revolver, freshly oiled and loaded, were waiting
for me on my bed. Efficiency was Larry’s middle name. Thank the Lord
he could reason as well as play the fool.
I changed in five minutes, arguing with Larry the while. Romance was
rampant in Larry, and he could not understand anybody who started out
on an adventure without packing a gun. “Come now, sor, do but slip it
in yer pocket. ’Tis maybe not likely ye’ll want it, but if ye do,
ye’ll want it terrible bad. See, sor, it fits snug——”
“Get out with you, Larry, this isn’t the Wild West. Besides, I can’t
afford to have the entire population about my ears, as they would be
if I began shooting the thing off. I’m not coming to blows with any
one to-night, anyway.”
Larry shook his head sadly. “Well, sor, I wish ye’d take it,” he said.
In this instance and in another one, later, Larry’s instinct was a
good deal better than my judgment.
Just before I left the apartment I rang up Mrs. Trevor. But Natalie
had not returned and I started with a heavy heart. Last of all, I
warned Larry to stay near the telephone, to answer Moore if he called.
Then I sallied forth to speak to the driver of the Bengal.
I found him where Larry had told him to wait and arranged with him
that he should park the car just round the corner from Moore’s house
and lounge on the corner, where he could keep an eye on both me and
the house. From his grin, I imagine that he thought I was planning an
abduction. But he did what he was told.
I stationed myself in the window of a corner drug-store, across the
street from the car, and waited, keeping a sharp eye on Moore’s house.
It was a long wait. Seven o’clock came and passed, with the driver of
the Bengal kicking his heels on the opposite curb and I lounging about
the drug-store and staring down the inquiring glances of an
anemic-looking drug clerk. At seven-ten I bought some cigars that I
did not want. At seven-thirty I bought and drank one of the most
horrible soft drinks that I have ever encountered. And at
seven-forty-five I began to get desperate.
However, I waited until eight o’clock before I ventured out of the
shelter of the store. The street was deserted except for a limousine
drawn up near an apartment house at the other end of the block. I
walked slowly towards Moore’s house, signaling to my driver to stay
where he was.
In front of the house I hesitated for a moment or two. Then I rang
Moore’s bell. There was no answer. I rang again. Still no answer. So
at last I opened the door with the duplicate key Moore had given me
and mounted the familiar stairs to his apartment.
Arrived at his door, I knocked several times. But apparently his rooms
were empty, and I was just turning away in indecision when I
remembered that I had a key to his front door also.
His living-room was very much as I remembered it. But it was quite
empty. Things were going wrong with my plans that day with a
vengeance.
“Moore!” I called. “Oh, Moore!”
There was no answer, and I circled his center table and started for
the door of his bedroom beyond, where the telephone was, with the
thought of calling up Larry to find out whether Moore had sent him a
message to the effect that there had been some change in the plan.
As I passed the table I noticed a half-sheet of note-paper lying on
the blotter. My name was at the top of it and I snatched it up and
read it.
“Dear Clayton,
“They have just driven up outside. Three of them. I am going with
them if necessary because I daren’t give the game away by delaying
them an hour. It’s 5.30 now. I’ll try to leave this where you will
find it. They’re at the door now. Perhaps you can follow.
“Moore.”
Below his signature was another line, written so hastily that it
looked hardly the same handwriting:
“Look at the wires!”
I slipped the note into my pocket and ran into his bedroom. The
telephone was intact, but at the back of the clothes closet in which
he kept it I found two wires evidently cut from the reel left over
from the original installation, running up the wall and through a tiny
hole in the ceiling. They were roughly joined to the two wires of our
telephone.
Our line had been tapped!
I hesitated for a moment and read his note again. The appeal for help
in that sentence, “Perhaps you can follow,” set me raging with anger
and dismay. They had been playing with us all along, then. They knew
all our plans. That was why they had come early probably. And now
Moore was helpless in their hands.
The wires that tapped our line evidently ran into the empty flat
above. So, in the faint hope of learning something further, I locked
Moore’s door again and mounted the stairs with rising anxiety and
anger. It is no pleasant thing at any time to realize that you have
been played with as a mouse is played with by a cat. I firmly believed
now that this same gang had been responsible for Margaret’s
disappearance. And now Moore was in their hands and—possibly—Natalie.
For it was no good blinking the facts. And they had been laughing at
us—playing with us—all the while.
I never stopped to think whether the door of the vacant flat might be
locked. I was prepared to break it down anyway, for I was past the
stage of trying to keep up appearances and work in the dark, and I
never stopped to wonder whether there might be other people in the
house who would have something to say about what was going on—the
young doctor, for instance.
Instead, I went up to the door and tried the handle cautiously. For
there might be a watcher in there still. To my amazement, the door
gave under my hand and swung open, and I stepped as silently as I
could into a pitch-dark room.
I stood for an instant trying to peer into the darkness. But I could
see nothing, and I released the handle of the door and began to feel
my way along the wall toward where the window should be.
Then I stopped and stood motionless.
The door had closed softly behind me.
I listened for a moment, and sudden panic took me by the throat, for
the room was alive all around me. There were faint rustling sounds
from two or three directions, though I could not place them exactly in
the now complete darkness. And I knew instinctively that I had walked
into a trap. But before I could make any plan I was blinking in a
glare of light and looking into the muzzle of a revolver, in the
steady hand of Vining. A quick glance, as my hands went up, revealed
two other men, one on either side, closing in on me. Vining laughed at
my expression.
“This is kind of you, Clayton,” he drawled at last. “And no mask on
this time. Well, well, truss him up, you fellows, and I’ll whistle for
the car.” He addressed me again: “My poor friend, this kind of thing
is really not in your line. Why, you made no better showing than the
redoubtable Moore, here.”
I glanced aside and behind him. Against the farther wall, bound and
gagged, lay Moore.