HILDA GLAUM LEADS THE WAY
Beale had a long consultation with McNorton at Scotland Yard, and on his
return to the hotel, had his dinner sent up to Kitson's private room and
dined amidst a litter of open newspapers. They were representative
journals of the past week, and he scanned their columns carefully. Now
and again he would cut out a paragraph and in one case half a column.
Kitson, who was dining with a friend in the restaurant of the hotel,
came up toward nine o'clock and stood looking with amusement at the
detective's silent labours.
"You're making a deplorable litter in my room," he said, "but I suppose
there is something very mysterious and terrible behind it all. Do you
mind my reading your cuttings?"
"Go ahead," said Beale, without raising his eyes from his newspaper.
Kitson took up a slip and read aloud:
"The reserves of the Land Bank of the Ukraine have been increased
by ten million roubles. This increase has very considerably eased
the situation in Southern Ukraine and in Galicia, where there has
been considerable unrest amongst the peasants due to the high cost
of textiles."
"That is fascinating news," said Kitson sardonically. "Are you running a
scrap-book on high finance?"
"No," said the other shortly, "the Land Bank is a Loan Bank. It finances
peasant proprietors."
"You a shareholder?" asked Mr. Kitson wonderingly.
"No."
Kitson picked up another cutting. It was a telegraphic dispatch dated
from Berlin:
"As evidence of the healthy industrial tone which prevails in
Germany and the rapidity with which the Government is recovering
from the effects of the war, I may instance the fact that an order
has been placed with the Leipzieger Spoorwagen Gesselshaft for
60,000 box cars. The order has been placed by the L.S.G. with
thirty firms, and the first delivery is due in six weeks."
"That's exciting," said Kitson, "but why cut it out?"
The next cutting was also dated "Berlin" and announced the revival of
the "War Purchase Council" of the old belligerent days as "a temporary
measure."
"It is not intended," said the dispatch, "to invest the committee
with all its old functions, and the step has been taken in view of
the bad potato crop to organize distribution."
"What's the joke about that?" asked Kitson, now puzzled.
"The joke is that there is no potato shortage--there never was such a
good harvest," said Beale. "I keep tag of these things and I know. The
_Western Mail_ had an article from its Berlin correspondent last week
saying that potatoes were so plentiful that they were a drug on the
market."
"H'm!"
"Did you read about the Zeppelin sheds?" asked Beale. "You will find it
amongst the others. All the old Zepp. hangars throughout Germany are to
be put in a state of repair and turned into skating-rinks for the
physical development of young Germany. Wonderful concrete floors are to
be laid down, all the dilapidations are to be made good, and the bands
will play daily, wet or fine."
"What does it all mean?" asked the bewildered lawyer.
"That The Day--the real Day is near at hand," said Beale soberly.
"War?"
"Against the world, but without the flash of a bayonet or the boom of a
cannon. A war fought by men sitting in their little offices and pulling
the strings that will choke you and me, Mr. Kitson. To-night I am going
after van Heerden. I may catch him and yet fail to arrest his evil
work--that's a funny word, 'evil,' for everyday people to use, but
there's no other like it. To-morrow, whether I catch him or not, I will
tell you the story of the plot I accidentally discovered. The British
Government thinks that I have got on the track of a big thing--so does
Washington, and I'm having all the help I want."
"It's a queer world," said Kitson.
"It may be queerer," responded Beale, then boldly: "How is my wife?"
"Your--well, I like your nerve!" gasped Kitson.
"I thought you preferred it that way--how is Miss Cresswell?"
"The nurse says she is doing famously. She is sleeping now; but she woke
up for food and is nearly normal. She did not ask for you," he added
pointedly.
Beale flushed and laughed.
"My last attempt to be merry," he said. "I suppose that to-morrow she
will be well."
"But not receiving visitors," Kitson was careful to warn him. "You will
keep your mind off Oliva and keep your eye fixed on van Heerden if you
are wise. No man can serve two masters."
Stanford Beale looked at his watch.
"It is the hour," he said oracularly, and got up.
"I'll leave this untidiness for your man to clear," said Kitson. "Where
do you go now?"
"To see Hilda Glaum--if the fates are kind," said Beale. "I'm going to
put up a bluff, believing that in her panic she will lead me into the
lion's den with the idea of van Heerden making one mouthful of me. I've
got to take that risk. If she is what I think she is, she'll lay a trap
for me--I'll fall for it, but I'm going to get next to van Heerden
to-night."
Kitson accompanied him to the door of the hotel.
"Take no unnecessary risks," he said at parting, "don't forget that
you're a married man."
"That's one of the things I want to forget if you'll let me," said the
exasperated young man.
Outside the hotel he hailed a passing taxi and was soon speeding through
Piccadilly westward. He turned by Hyde Park Corner, skirted the grounds
of Buckingham Palace and plunged into the maze of Pimlico. He pulled up
before a dreary-looking house in a blank and dreary street, and telling
the cabman to wait, mounted the steps and rang the bell.
A diminutive maid opened the door.
"Is Miss Glaum in?" he demanded.
"Yes, sir. Will you step into the drawing-room. All the other boarders
are out. What name shall I say?"
"Tell her a gentleman from Krooman Mansions," he answered
diplomatically.
He walked into the tawdry parlour and put down his hat and stick, and
waited. Presently the door opened and the girl came in. She stopped
open-mouthed with surprise at the sight of him, and her surprise
deepened to suspicion.
"I thought----" she began, and checked herself.
"You thought I was Doctor van Heerden? Well, I am not."
"You're the man I saw at Heyler's," she said, glowering at him.
"Yes, my name is Beale."
"Oh, I've heard about you. You'll get nothing by prying here," she
cried.
"I shall get a great deal by prying here, I think," he said calmly. "Sit
down, Miss Hilda Glaum, and let us understand one another. You are a
friend of Doctor van Heerden's?"
"I shall answer no questions," she snapped.
"Perhaps you will answer this question," he said, "why did Doctor van
Heerden secure an appointment for you at Punsonby's, and why, when you
were there, did you steal three registered envelopes which you conveyed
to the doctor?"
Her face went red and white.
"That's a lie!" she gasped.
"You might tell a judge and jury that and then they wouldn't believe
you," he smiled. "Come, Miss Glaum, let us be absolutely frank with one
another. I am telling you that I don't intend bringing your action to
the notice of the police, and you can give me a little information which
will be very useful to me."
"It's a lie," she repeated, visibly agitated, "I did not steal anything.
If Miss Cresswell says so----"
"Miss Cresswell is quite ignorant of your treachery," said the other
quietly; "but as you are determined to deny that much, perhaps you will
tell me this, what business brings you to Doctor van Heerden's flat in
the small hours of the morning?"
"Do you insinuate----?"
"I insinuate nothing. And least of all do I insinuate that you have any
love affair with the doctor, who does not strike me as that kind of
person."
Her eyes narrowed and for a moment it seemed that her natural vanity
would overcome her discretion.
"Who says I go to Doctor van Heerden's?"
"I say so, because I have seen you. Surely you don't forget that I live
opposite the amiable doctor?"
"I am not going to discuss my business or his," she said, "and I don't
care what you threaten me with or what you do."
"I will do something more than threaten you," he said ominously, "you
will not fool me, Miss Glaum, and the sooner you realize the fact the
better. I am going all the way with you if you give me any trouble, and
if you don't answer my questions. I might tell you that unless this
interview is a very satisfactory one to me I shall not only arrest
Doctor van Heerden to-night but I shall take you as an accomplice."
"You can't, you can't." She almost screamed the words.
All the sullen restraint fell away from her and she was electric in the
violence of her protest.
"Arrest him! That wonderful man! Arrest me? You dare not! You dare not!"
"I shall dare do lots of things unless you tell me what I want to know."
"What do you want to know?" she demanded defiantly.
"I want to know the most likely address at which your friend the doctor
can be found--the fact is, Miss Glaum, the game is up--we know all about
the Green Rust."
She stepped back, her hand raised to her mouth.
"The--the Green Rust!" she gasped. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I have every reason to believe that Doctor van Heerden is
engaged in a conspiracy against this State. He has disappeared, but is
still in London. I want to take him quietly--without fuss."
Her eyes were fixed on his. He saw doubt, rage, a hint of fear and
finally a steady light of resolution shining. When she spoke her voice
was calm.
"Very good. I will take you to the place," she said.
She went out of the room and came back five minutes later with her hat
and coat on.
"It's a long way," she began.
"I have a taxi at the door."
"We cannot go all the way by taxi. Tell the man to drive to Baker
Street," she said.
She spoke no word during the journey, nor was Beale inclined for
conversation. At Baker Street Station they stopped and the cab was
dismissed. Together they walked in silence, turning from the main road,
passing the Central Station and plunging into a labyrinth of streets
which was foreign territory to the American.
It seemed that he had passed in one step from one of the best-class
quarters of the town to one of the worst. One minute he was passing
through a sedate square, lined with the houses of the well-to-do,
another minute he was in a slum.
"The place is at the end of this street," she said.
They came to what seemed to be a stable-yard. There was a blank wall
with one door and a pair of gates. The girl took a key from her bag,
opened the small door and stepped in, and Beale followed.
They were in a yard littered with casks. On two sides of the yard ran
low-roofed buildings which had apparently been used as stables. She
locked the door behind her, walked across the yard to the corner and
opened another door.
"There are fourteen steps down," she said, "have you a light of any
kind?"
He took his electric torch from his pocket.
"Give it to me," she said, "I will lead the way."
"What is this place?" he asked, after she had locked the door.
"It used to be a wine merchant's," she said shortly, "we have the
cellars."
"We?" he repeated.
She made no reply. At the bottom of the steps was a short passage and
another door which was opened, and apparently the same key fitted them
all, or else as Beale suspected she carried a pass key.
They walked through, and again she closed the door behind them.
"Another?" he said, as her light flashed upon a steel door a dozen paces
ahead.
"It is the last one," she said, and went on.
Suddenly the light was extinguished.
"Your lamp's gone wrong," he heard her say, "but I can find the lock."
He heard a click, but did not see the door open and did not realize
what had happened until he heard a click again. The light was suddenly
flashed on him, level with his eyes.
"You can't see me," said a mocking voice, "I'm looking at you through
the little spy-hole. Did you see the spy-hole, clever Mr. Beale? And I
am on the other side of the door." He heard her laugh. "Are you going to
arrest the doctor to-night?" she mocked. "Are you going to discover the
secret of the Green Rust--ah! That is what you want, isn't it?"
"My dear little friend," said Beale smoothly, "you will be very sensible
and open that door. You don't suppose that I came here alone. I was
shadowed all the way."
"You lie," she said coolly, "why did I dismiss the cab and make you
walk? Oh, clever Mr. Beale!"
He chuckled, though he was in no chuckling mood.
"What a sense of humour!" he said admiringly, "now just listen to me!"
He made one stride to the door, his revolver had flicked out of his
hip-pocket, when he heard the snap of a shutter, and the barrel that he
thrust between the bars met steel. Then came the grind of bolts and he
pocketed his gun.
"So that's that," he said.
Then he walked back to the other door, struck a match and examined it.
It was sheathed with iron. He tapped the walls with his stick, but found
nothing to encourage him. The floor was solidly flagged, the low roof of
the passage was vaulted and cased with stone.
He stopped in his search suddenly and listened. Above his head he heard
a light patter of feet, and smiled. It was his boast that he never
forgot a voice or a footfall.
"That's my little friend on her way back, running like the deuce, to
tell the doctor," he said. "I have something under an hour before the
shooting starts!"