Gilder scrupulously followed the directions of the Police Inspector.
Uneasily, he had remained in the library until the allotted time was
elapsed. He fidgeted from place to place, his mind heavy with distress
under the shadow that threatened to blight the life of his cherished
son. Finally, with a sense of relief he put out the lights and went to
his chamber. But he did not follow the further directions given him, for
he was not minded to go to bed. Instead, he drew the curtains closely
to make sure that no gleam of light could pass them, and then sat with a
cigar between his lips, which he did not smoke, though from time to time
he was at pains to light it. His thoughts were most with his son, and
ever as he thought of Dick, his fury waxed against the woman who had
enmeshed the boy in her plotting for vengeance on himself. And into his
thoughts now crept a doubt, one that alarmed his sense of justice. It
occurred to him that this woman could not have thus nourished a plan for
retribution through the years unless, indeed, she had been insane, even
as he had claimed--or innocent! The idea was appalling. He could not
bear to admit the possibility of having been the involuntary inflicter
of such wrong as to send the girl to prison for an offense she had not
committed. He rejected the suggestion, but it persisted. He knew the
clean, wholesome nature of his son. It seemed to him incredible that
the boy could have thus given his heart to one altogether undeserving.
A horrible suspicion that he had misjudged Mary Turner crept into his
brain, and would not out. He fought it with all the strength of him,
and that was much, but ever it abode there. He turned for comfort to the
things Burke had said. The woman was a crook, and there was an end
of it. Her ruse of spoliation within the law was evidence of her
shrewdness, nothing more.
Mary Turner herself, too, was in a condition utterly wretched, and for
the same cause--Dick Gilder. That source of the father's suffering was
hers as well. She had won her ambition of years, revenge on the man who
had sent her to prison. And now the joy of it was a torture, for the
puppet of her plans, the son, had suddenly become the chief thing in her
life. She had taken it for granted that he would leave her after he came
to know that her marriage to him was only a device to bring shame on
his father. Instead, he loved her. That fact seemed the secret of her
distress. He loved her. More, he dared believe, and to assert boldly,
that she loved him. Had he acted otherwise, the matter would have been
simple enough.... But he loved her, loved her still, though he knew the
shame that had clouded her life, knew the motive that had led her to
accept him as a husband. More--by a sublime audacity, he declared that
she loved him.
There came a thrill in her heart each time she thought of that--that
she loved him. The idea was monstrous, of course, and yet---- Here,
as always, she broke off, a hot flush blazing in her cheeks....
Nevertheless, such curious fancies pursued her through the hours. She
strove her mightiest to rid herself of them, but in vain. Ever they
persisted. She sought to oust them by thinking of any one else, of
Aggie, of Joe. There at last was satisfaction. Her interference between
the man who had saved her life and the temptation of the English crook
had prevented a dangerous venture, which might have meant ruin to the
one whom she esteemed for his devotion to her, if for no other reason.
At least, she had kept him from the outrageous folly of an ordinary
burglary.
Mary Turner was just ready for bed after her evening at the theater,
when she was rudely startled out of this belief. A note came by a
messenger who waited for no answer, as he told the yawning maid. As Mary
read the roughly scrawled message, she was caught in the grip of terror.
Some instinct warned her that this danger was even worse than it seemed.
The man who had saved her from death had yielded to temptation. Even
now, he was engaged in committing that crime which she had forbidden
him. As he had saved her, so she must save him. She hurried into the
gown she had just put off. Then she went to the telephone-book and
searched for the number of Gilder's house.
* * * * *
It was just a few moments before Mary Turner received the note from the
hands of the sleepy maid that one of the leaves of the octagonal window
in the library of Richard Gilder's town house swung open, under the
persuasive influence of a thin rod of steel, cunningly used, and Joe
Garson stepped confidently into the dark room.
A faint radiance of moonlight from without showed him for a second as he
passed between the heavy draperies. Then these fell into place, and he
was invisible, and soundless as well. For a space, he rested motionless,
listening intently. Reassured, he drew out an electric torch and set it
glowing. A little disc of light touched here and there about the room,
traveling very swiftly, and in methodical circles. Satisfied by the
survey, Garson crossed to the hall door. He moved with alert assurance,
lithely balanced on the balls of his feet, noiselessly. At the hall door
he listened for any sound of life without, and found none. The door into
the passage that led to the store-room where the detectives waited next
engaged his business-like attention. And here, again, there was naught
to provoke his suspicion.
These preliminaries taken as measures of precaution, Garson went boldly
to the small table that stood behind the couch, turned the button,
and the soft glow of an electric lamp illumined the apartment. The
extinguished torch was thrust back into his pocket. Afterward he carried
one of the heavy chairs to the door of the passage and propped it
against the panel in such wise that its fall must give warning as to the
opening of the door. His every action was performed with the maximum of
speed, with no least trace of flurry or of nervous haste. It was evident
that he followed a definite program, the fruit of precise thought guided
by experience.
It seemed to him that now everything was in readiness for the coming of
his associates in the commission of the crime. There remained only to
give them the signal in the room around the corner where they waited at
a telephone. He seated himself in Gilder's chair at the desk, and drew
the telephone to him.
“Give me 999 Bryant,” he said. His tone was hardly louder than a
whisper, but spoken with great distinctness.
There was a little wait. Then an answer in a voice he knew came over the
wire.
But Garson said nothing more. Instead, he picked up a penholder from
the tray on the desk, and began tapping lightly on the rim of the
transmitter. It was a code message in Morse. In the room around the
corner, the tapping sounded clearly, ticking out the message that the
way was free for the thieves' coming.
When Garson had made an end of the telegraphing, there came a brief
answer in like Morse, to which he returned a short direction.
For a final safeguard, Garson searched for and found the telephone
bell-box on the surbase below the octagonal window. It was the work of
only a few seconds to unscrew the bells, which he placed on the desk.
So simply he made provision against any alarm from this source. He then
took his pistol from his hip-pocket, examined it to make sure that
the silencer was properly adjusted, and then thrust it into the right
side-pocket of his coat, ready for instant use in desperate emergency.
Once again, now, he produced the electric torch, and lighted it as he
extinguished the lamp on the table.
Forthwith, Garson went to the door into the hall, opened it, and,
leaving it ajar, made his way in silence to the outer doorway.
Presently, the doors there were freed of their bolts under his skilled
fingers, and one of them swung wide. He had put out the torch now, lest
its gleam might catch the gaze of some casual passer-by. So nicely had
the affair been timed that hardly was the door open before the three
men slipped in, and stood mute and motionless in the hall, while Garson
refastened the doors. Then, a pencil of light traced the length of the
hallway and Garson walked quickly back to the library. Behind him with
steps as noiseless as his own came the three men to whom he had just
given the message.
When all were gathered in the library, Garson shut the hall door,
touched the button in the wall beside it, and the chandelier threw its
radiant light on the group.
Griggs was in evening clothes, seeming a very elegant young gentleman
indeed, but his two companions were of grosser type, as far as
appearances went: one, Dacey, thin and wiry, with a ferret face; the
other, Chicago Red, a brawny ruffian, whose stolid features nevertheless
exhibited something of half-sullen good nature.
“Everything all right so far,” Garson said rapidly. He turned to Griggs
and pointed toward the heavy hangings that shrouded the octagonal
window. “Are those the things we want?” he demanded.
“Yes,” was the answer of English Eddie.
“Well, then, we've got to get busy,” Garson went on. His alert,
strong face was set in lines of eagerness that had in it something of
fierceness now.
But, before he could add a direction, he was halted by a soft buzzing
from the telephone, which, though bell-less, still gave this faint
warning of a call. For an instant, he hesitated while the others
regarded him doubtfully. The situation offered perplexities. To give no
attention to the summons might be perilous, and failure to respond might
provoke investigation in some urgent matter; to answer it might easily
provide a larger danger.
“We've got to take a chance.” Garson spoke his decision curtly. He went
to the desk and put the receiver to his ear.
There came again the faint tapping of some one at the other end of the
line, signaling a message in the Morse code. An expression of blank
amazement, which grew in a flash to deep concern, showed on Garson's
face as he listened tensely.
“Why, this is Mary calling,” he muttered.
“Mary!” Griggs cried. His usual vacuity of expression was cast off like
a mask and alarm twisted his features. Then, in the next instant, a
crafty triumph gleamed from his eyes.
“Yes, she's on,” Garson interpreted, a moment later, as the tapping
ceased for a little. He translated in a loud whisper as the irregular
ticking noise sounded again.
“I shall be there at the house almost at once. I am sending this message
from the drug store around the corner. Have some one open the door for
me immediately.”
“She's coming over,” Griggs cried incredulously.
“No, I'll stop her,” Garson declared firmly.
“Right! Stop her,” Chicago Red vouchsafed.
But, when, after tapping a few words, the forger paused for the reply,
no sound came.
“She don't answer,” he exclaimed, greatly disconcerted. He tried again,
still without result. At that, he hung up the receiver with a groan.
“She's gone----”
“On her way already,” Griggs suggested, and there was none to doubt that
it was so.
“What's she coming here for?” Garson exclaimed harshly. “This ain't no
place for her! Why, if anything should go wrong now----”
But Griggs interrupted him with his usual breezy cheerfulness of manner.
“Oh, nothing can go wrong now, old top. I'll let her in.” He drew a
small torch from the skirt-pocket of his coat and crossed to the hall
door, as Garson nodded assent.
“God! Why did she have to come?” Garson muttered, filled with
forebodings. “If anything should go wrong now!”
He turned back toward the door just as it opened, and Mary darted into
the room with Griggs following. “What do you want here?” he demanded,
with peremptory savageness in his voice, which was a tone he had never
hitherto used in addressing her.
Mary went swiftly to face Garson where he stood by the desk, while
Griggs joined the other two men who stood shuffling about uneasily by
the fireplace, at a loss over this intrusion on their scheme. Mary moved
with a lissome grace like that of some wild creature, but as she halted
opposite the man who had given her back the life she would have thrown
away, there was only tender pleading in her voice, though her words were
an arraignment.
“Joe, you lied to me.”
“That can be settled later,” the man snapped. His jaw was thrust forward
obstinately, and his clear eyes sparkled defiantly.
“You are fools, all of you!” Mary cried. Her eyes darkened and distended
with fear. They darted from Garson to the other three men, and back
again in rebuke. “Yes, fools! This is burglary. I can't protect you if
you are caught. How can I? Oh, come!” She held out her hands pleadingly
toward Garson, and her voice dropped to beseeching. “Joe, Joe, you must
get away from this house at once, all of you. Joe, make them go.”
“It's too late,” was the stern answer. There was no least relaxation in
the stubborn lines of his face. “We're here now, and we'll stay till the
business is done.”
Mary went a step forward. The cloak she was wearing was thrown back by
her gesture of appeal so that those watching saw the snowy slope of the
shoulders and the quick rise and fall of the gently curving bosom. The
beautiful face within the framing scarf was colorless with a great fear,
save only the crimson lips, of which the bow was bent tremulously as she
spoke her prayer.
“Joe, for my sake!”
But the man was inexorable. He had set himself to this thing, and even
the urging of the one person in the world for whom he most cared was
powerless against his resolve.
“I can't quit now until we've got what we came here after,” he declared
roughly.
Of a sudden, the girl made shift to employ another sort of supplication.
“But there are reasons,” she said, faltering. A certain embarrassment
swept her, and the ivory of her cheeks bloomed rosily. “I--I can't have
you rob this house, this particular house of all the world.” Her eyes
leaped from the still obdurate face of the forger to the group of three
back of him. Her voice was shaken with a great dread as she called out
to them.
“Boys, let's get away! Please, oh, please! Joe, for God's sake!” Her
tone was a sob.
Her anguish of fear did not swerve Garson from his purpose.
“I'm going to see this through,” he said, doggedly.
“But, Joe----”
“It's settled, I tell you.”
In the man's emphasis the girl realized at last the inefficacy of her
efforts to combat his will. She seemed to droop visibly before their
eyes. Her head sank on her breast. Her voice was husky as she tried to
speak.
“Then----” She broke off with a gesture of despair, and turned away
toward the door by which she had entered.
But, with a movement of great swiftness, Garson got in front of her,
and barred her going. For a few seconds the two stared at each other
searchingly as if learning new and strange things, each of the other. In
the girl's expression was an outraged wonder and a great terror. In the
man's was a half-shamed pride, as if he exulted in the strength with
which he had been able to maintain his will against her supreme effort
to overthrow it.
“You can't go,” Garson said sharply. “You might be caught.”
“And if I were,” Mary demanded in a flash of indignation, “do you think
I'd tell?”
There came an abrupt change in the hard face of the man. Into the
piercing eyes flamed a softer fire of tenderness. The firm mouth grew
strangely gentle as he replied, and his voice was overtoned with faith.
“Of course not, Mary,” he said. “I know you. You would go up for life
first.”
Then again his expression became resolute, and he spoke imperiously.
“Just the same, you can't take any chances. We'll all get away in a
minute, and you'll come with us.” He turned to the men and spoke with
swift authority.
“Come,” he said to Dacey, “you get to the light switch there by the hall
door. If you hear me snap my fingers, turn 'em off. Understand?”
With instant obedience, the man addressed went to his station by the
hall door, and stood ready to control the electric current.
The distracted girl essayed one last plea. The momentary softening of
Garson had given her new courage.
“Joe, don't do this.”
“You can't stop it now, Mary,” came the brisk retort. “Too late. You're
only wasting time, making it dangerous for all of us.”
Again he gave his attention to carrying on the robbery.
“Red,” he ordered, “you get to that door.” He pointed to the one that
gave on the passageway against which he had set the chair tilted. As the
man obeyed, Garson gave further instructions.
“If any one comes in that way, get him and get him quick. You
understand? Don't let him cry out.”
Chicago Red grinned with cheerful acceptance of the issue in such an
encounter. He held up his huge hand, widely open.
“Not a chance,” he declared, proudly, “with that over his mug.” To avoid
possible interruption of his movements in an emergency, he removed the
chair Garson had placed and set it to one side, out of the way.
“Now, let's get to work,” Garson continued eagerly. Mary spoke with the
bitterness of defeat.
“Listen, Joe! If you do this, I'm through with you. I quit.”
Garson was undismayed by the threat.
“If this goes through,” he countered, “we'll all quit. That's why I'm
doing it. I'm sick of the game.”
He turned to the work in hand with increased energy.
“Come, you, Griggs and Red, and push that desk down a bit so that I can
stand on it.” The two men bent to the task, heedless of Mary's frantic
protest.
“No! no! no! no! no, Joe!”
Red, however, suddenly straightened from the desk and stood motionless,
listening. He made a slight hissing noise that arrested the attention of
the others and held them in moveless silence.
“I hear something,” he whispered. He went to the keyhole of the door
leading into the passage. Then he whispered again, “And it's coming this
way.”
At the words, Garson snapped his fingers. The room was plunged in
darkness.