What We Found
Larry’s tiny electric torch showed us a small basement room, evidently
used as a laundry. An unlocked door led from it into the kitchen, an
old-fashioned one and very large. And after listening at the door for
a moment we explored this room also. The fire was out and the ashes
were quite cold, and the coolness of the air in the room indicated
that no fire had been lit in it that day, or, at least, late that day.
Evidently the housemaid’s tale to Larry about the discharge of the
servants was correct, and we explored the rest of the basement with
more confidence that we were alone in it. It was quite deserted.
Presently, off the hall-way running the entire length of the basement
floor, we found the stairs leading up to the floor above. Larry put up
a restraining hand here, and we paused listening for several minutes
and peering up into the darkness. But aside from the tiny creaks and
soft thuds always to be heard at night in an old house, the floor
above was as silent as the basement. I could hear my own heart
thumping away as I listened.
At last Larry gave the signal and we began to creep silently upward. A
board snapped suddenly underfoot and we both stopped and listened for
a while, but nothing happened, and presently we started on again,
raising and putting down each foot with infinite care until we stood
in the big, carpeted hallway above, staring cautiously about us.
Larry had put out his torch when we started up the basement steps. But
in the upper hall enough light filtered in from near-by arc-lights in
the street to show us the dim outlines of furniture already familiar
to me from several visits to Mrs. Fawcette’s house.
It was an eerie sensation standing there at night and in darkness, on
such a search, in this hall which I had only known as a guest, when it
was bright with lights and color and noisy with laughter and the
babble of voices. But the object of my search and my anxiety over
Natalie swept over me again, and I reached out in the darkness and
touched Larry’s arm impatiently. He turned and put his lips against my
ear.
“There’s nobody on this floor, I think,” he whispered. “But we’ll give
a look round on the chance, sor. ’Tis a bad thing to lave any one at
the back av ye, to cut off yer retrate maybe.”
We crept along the hall, peering into darkness that was, as I knew,
drawing-room, dining-room, morning-room and study. But they were all
deserted. We knew that there was some one in the house, in all
probability, because of the light we had seen from the front. But
evidently we had not many people to deal with, at any rate.
As before, we halted, listening, at the foot of the stairs which led
up to the next floor. It was well after midnight by now and the street
outside, and indeed the whole city, had grown quiet, but in spite of
the stillness we could hear no sound from above.
“Come on, sor,” whispered Larry, and hand in hand we crept up the
thickly carpeted stairs, keeping close to the wall where the steps
were less likely to creak. And as we advanced the black darkness that
was the upper hall seemed to creep down and envelop us like an
intangible cloud.
But in spite of the sinister element with which my imagination endowed
the darkness, the bedrooms, bathrooms and the library on that floor
also were silent and untenanted. And with the urge of a growing
impatience to have done with our search and be gone, we mounted
another well-carpeted flight as silently as before.
As our heads topped this floor level, Larry’s hand gripped my arm
suddenly. A thin line of light glowed from beneath a door a little way
up the hall, toward the front of the house. Larry brought his lips
close to my ear again. “’Tis the light we saw from the front, sor!” he
whispered, so softly that I only just caught the words. “We’ll creep
up and listen, try the handle and then, maybe, fling open the door.
You’ll be ready, sor?”
I pressed his arm in assent and Larry started to lead the way down the
hall. Then another plan occurred to me. I caught his arm and leaned
close to him. “How about searching the rest of the house first?” I
whispered. The recollection was still vivid of the way I had messed up
the affair in Moore’s house, by walking into a trap, and I thought it
would be as well to know whether there were others besides the
inhabitants of that one room. My idea was based on reason which was
well enough, I thought, but again Larry’s instinct was better.
He turned back, however, and we went through the rooms on the top
floor above, without finding anything or any one. Then we descended
and went through the rooms on that floor. The last one, next to the
room with the light, had another door leading into it, beneath which
the light showed, and it was in this room that Larry had the bad luck
to fall over a small footstool, making a noise which a person in the
next room could not fail to hear if he or she were awake. He had
fallen to one knee, but he got up again quickly, smothering a curse,
and we stood waiting tensely in the darkness.
We could hear no sound from the next room, but suddenly the door we
faced was flung open from within and a man stood framed in the light,
crouching a little.
He was a big fellow, nearly filling the doorway. He said something
that sounded like Russian in a quavering voice, peering into the
darkness as he spoke. Then suddenly, before either of us could move,
he vanished.
I dashed into the doorway and the room beyond, with Larry close at my
heels. The big fellow had his hand on the wall opposite and was just
turning away from some instrument there. As I entered I heard a sound
like the buzzer which is used to call messengers. I was vaguely
conscious that the man held a revolver in my direction as he turned
toward me, but I was so intent upon reaching him without loss of time
that the fact hardly registered. At any rate, he had no time to fire
it, for I was almost on him as he turned.
My fist caught him between the eyes and he dropped with a groan, the
revolver falling limply from his hand. Larry was on him like a flash,
pocketing his gun. Then I turned to look at the rest of the room.
In the far corner stood Natalie, her eyes wide with terror and her
hands tied behind her. There was no recognition in her eyes—only blind
apprehension.
“Natalie!” I cried, “Natalie! For God’s sake, what have they done to
you?”
The lovely eyes stared at me, and slowly bewilderment first and then
recognition dawned in them. Then, with a little cry, she staggered
toward me, bound as she was, and into my arms. “Oh,” she cried, “I
knew you’d come. I knew you’d come for me!”
I held her close for just an instant. Then I turned. Larry was
trussing up the fallen Russian in a business-like way, with the man’s
own necktie, and gagging him with their combined handkerchiefs. “Your
knife, quick, Larry,” I whispered, for the ache in my throat at the
sight of her would not let me speak aloud.
In an instant Larry was on his feet, and a moment later Natalie’s
hands were free. She flung her arms around my neck and pressed her
lovely face against my shoulder, weeping softly. “It—it has
been—awful—waiting for you,” she sobbed.
Larry touched my arm. “We must get out av it, sor,” he whispered.
“Twas a signal he gave!”
At his words Natalie straightened herself, shuddering, and then drew
away from me a little shyly. We all listened. An automobile brake
screamed suddenly, either in front of the house or very near.
Without a word Larry dashed out into the hall. An instant later he was
back again. “Comin’ in here, sor,” he whispered. “Two av thim. ’Twas
his signal, likely.”
Natalie moaned and swayed against the wall. “Oh, don’t let them get me
again!” she begged, her hands outstretched. Red marks scarred the
white wrists.
And suddenly all desire left me to get out of there before the
newcomers reached us. Somebody was going to get a lesson that night, I
determined.
I ran and closed the two doors. Then I guided Natalie into the far
corner and placed her on a chair, putting her hands behind her as
though tied. I ran to the wall and tore down the instrument there,
spreading the wires well apart and tucking them far back into the hole
in the plaster which the instrument had left.
There was a couch in the room, and my next move was to roll the
Russian under it and out of sight. “Behind the door, Larry!” I
whispered. As he took up his position, where the door opening into the
hall would conceal him, I ran to the fireplace, picked up a poker that
lay in it, and darted back to Larry. “Get the second man as he comes
in,” I whispered; “I’ll take care of the first one!” Then I ran back
to Natalie and stood facing her, my back to the door.
I had just taken up my position when the door was flung open and two
men rushed into the room. There was a babble of Russian, the two
evidently taking me for the gagged and bound watcher, as I had hoped.
Then I drew my revolver, turned and covered the first man, just as the
poker descended upon the head of the second. The latter dropped
without a sound.
“Oh!” gasped Natalie. “That’s—that’s the man who struck me. He—he
struck me!” she repeated, like an incredulous child.
“Throw up your hands!” I told him savagely.
The man’s hands went up over his head with a certain airy grace. “And,
pray, who are you?” he demanded calmly, in a slightly mincing voice,
and in excellent English. “He was at the luncheon,” Natalie gasped.
“Mrs. Fawcette introduced him to me and he took me in to the next room
to show me some pictures. Then something pricked my arm, and when I
woke up I was here—and—and he struck me!”
“Search him, Larry!” I cried.
Larry produced a long, slender sheathed knife from the inside of the
man’s trouser band, and a small instrument, the duplicate of the
air-revolver Moore had taken from the stranger he shot in my room.
Then I threw my own revolver on the couch and started for the airy and
well-dressed newcomer.
It was not a pretty sight. But I don’t believe Natalie minded that
side of it much. The Russian knew something about boxing, and he
evidently knew what was coming when I started for him, for he put up
his hands in the most approved style. My own hands were still raw and
sore from the encounter in Moore’s house the day before, and they were
almost devoid of flesh on the knuckles when I got through with the
Russian. But I’m sure I did not mind that; for I left him raw and
bleeding, lying in the corner, his clothes torn and his face
unrecognizable. Even then I only refrained from dragging him to his
feet again for some more because Natalie cried out in pity. “And
that’ll teach you to strike women, you swine!” I told him at last. But
the Russian only moaned.
Larry went to the bathroom on that floor and came back with some face
towels. We gagged both men with their own handkerchiefs and neckties,
in some novel and effective way which Larry seemed to have at his
finger-tips. Then we rolled the other fellow out from under the couch.
And we tied the hands of all three of them with the towels. Larry
darted out of the door and down the stairs, and presently he was back
again with some cord, evidently torn from the curtains on the first
floor.
“This’ll kape thim apart, sor,” he observed. And together we tied the
three of them, one on the couch, one in a chair and one on the bed in
the next room. Then I turned to Natalie.
“Did anybody else hit you?” I asked her grimly.
“Oh, no,” she breathed. “That’s enough, p-please! Look at your poor
hands.” There is a Viking spirit in every woman, however gently
reared; for her eyes were shining in spite of the pity in them.
“’Twas a glorious fight, sor,” breathed the delighted Larry. “But he’s
marked you pretty bad. Come away now and wash yer face, sor. ’Tis no
sight for a lady!” Then I realized that the man had got home some
pretty fair blows before he went under. He was no coward; I’ll say
that for him.
Natalie followed us into the bathroom. She seemed quite recovered and
insisted upon washing my face for me, by the light of Larry’s electric
torch—a ridiculous proceeding, none the less sweet for that, and one
which relieved my mind a good deal. She had not been badly ill-treated
if she could recover so quickly.
It was a risk remaining there, but I could not go into the street
covered with blood as I was and the risk had to be taken. Besides, it
did not seem probable that more of them would turn up that night.
“Tell me everything, Natalie,” I begged, as she bathed my face and
hands.
“That was all, Jack,” she whispered. “They did not ill-treat me very
much. But some one was watching me every minute and they would not
even let me feed myself. What do you suppose they wanted with me? Do
you think they were going to hold me to ransom? I haven’t much money.
And what happened to Mrs. Fawcette? Is this her house?”
“Yes, this is her house. She’s in the thing, Natalie. If I had only
been sure, I could have warned you more fully. But I didn’t like that
drugged tea from the start. Tell me, you say they would not let you
feed yourself?”
“No. They kept my hands tied. They said they did not want me to kill
myself with the knife. That scared me more than anything. Why should I
kill myself, Jack?”
I lowered my eyes to hide the red mist that swam in them. I found
myself aching to get back to the other two specimens of Russian
manhood and give them a dose of the same medicine. I turned away
toward where they lay and Larry sensed my thought, for he caught at my
arm. “Not now, sor,” he whispered; “we must get the gyurl out av ut,
remember.”
I was ashamed and stood waiting quietly until they had finished with
my face and hands. Then Larry went out with a muttered word or two
about seeing if the coast was clear. I caught Natalie’s hand in mine
and kissed it. “Thank God, we found you,” I whispered.
There was a thistle-down touch on my hair, and I looked up to find the
lovely parted lips close to mine and the long lashes slowly sinking
over the lovely eyes.
A moment or two later Larry coughed close behind me. He seemed to be
chuckling about something. I looked at him and he became
preternaturally grave. “’Tis time we were goin’, sor,” he remarked.
Together we walked to the head of the stairs, leaving the light still
on in that one room and the three Russians prone where we had tied
them. We dared not light any of the electric lights in the house, but
with the aid of Larry’s torch we managed to guide Natalie’s feet until
we reached the ground floor.
Here we paused while Larry fumbled with the bolts, and having, at
length, got the door open, stuck out a cautious head to see if the
coast was clear. He came back to us at last.
“The cyar they come in is gone,” said he, “and there’s nought in sight
but a taxi down in front of that apartment house. Shall I call it?”
“We’ll walk down to it, Larry,” I told him, and we sallied forth
together.
There was no one in sight in the street as we left the house, closing
the door behind us, but as we drew abreast of the taxi, a man who had
been getting a light from the driver detached himself from the shadow
of the car and shambled away. I went up to the driver and gave him
Natalie’s address. He stared at me curiously, for I must have been a
pretty sight, but he merely nodded and signed for us to get in.
“Don’t come with me, Jack,” Natalie whispered; “I’ll be all right now.
I have a key in my pocket still; I just looked. And you must get home.
Why, you might be arrested!”
This event was a good deal more probable than she guessed, and I knew
it would be wiser, now that she was out of danger, to let her go alone
and get home before the main streets were also deserted and the police
began to inspect all passers-by. But some instinct made me hesitate,
in spite of the need, on Moore’s account, to keep my freedom.
“The lady’s roight, sor. They’d be sure to pick you up in that
condition. Sure, I’ll see the lady safe home mesilf.”
In spite of the wiser instinct, my duty to Moore flooded my mind again
and—I have cursed myself countless times for it—I agreed, for I knew
she would be safe with Larry, and he was a far better hand than I at
avoiding the police.
I turned and held out my hand to Natalie. “All right,” I said. “Some
day I’ll be able to tell you why it is better so, Natalie.”
If she was disappointed she did not show it. “That’s right. And come,
please, in the morning, or to-morrow afternoon.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, for I could at least telephone to her in the
morning. I stooped and kissed her hand. A moment later the door
slammed and the taxi started. A faint “Good-night” floated back to me,
and they were gone.
As the taxi passed down the street, the man who had been talking to
the driver started off at a shambling run and passed around the corner
in the same direction that the car had taken. I stopped in my tracks
for a moment, wondering. But I could hardly expect to explain the
vagaries of such night prowlers, and anyway Larry was with her, and
there was nothing I could do, in spite of a sudden vague anxiety at
the sight of the running man. I had to get home the quickest way; for
it was very late already.
Fortunately I found another taxi at the corner and ten minutes later
let myself into my new home. My thoughts were full of Natalie on the
ride, and she still filled my mind as I opened my bedroom door,
switched on the light and closed the door behind me.
But as I turned back to the room again, the heavy curtains in front of
the window parted once more and a man stepped into the room. “Hands
up, Clayton,” he said. And I stood like a dunce and stared into the
steady muzzle of a revolver.