MELODRAMA IN THE SNOW
The justly celebrated moon that in summer months shed so much glamour on
the romances of Baldpate Inn was no where in evidence as Mr. Magee crept
along the ground close to the veranda. The snow sifted down upon him out
of the blackness above; three feet ahead the world seemed to end.
"A corking night," he muttered humorously, "for my debut in the hold-up
business."
He swung up over the rail on to the veranda, and walked softly along it
until he came to a window opening into the office. Cautiously he peered
in. The vast lonely room was lighted by a single candle. At the foot of
the broad stair he could discern a great bulk, seated on the lowest
step, which he correctly took to be the mayor of Reuton. Back of the
desk, on which stood the candle, Mr. Max's head and shoulders were
visible. He was working industriously in the immediate vicinity of the
safe door. Occasionally he consulted the small traveling-bag that stood
on the desk. Many other professions had claimed Mr. Max before his
advent into Reuton politics; evidently he was putting into operation the
training acquired in one of them. Mr. Bland was nowhere in sight.
Shivering with cold and excitement, Mr. Magee leaned against the side of
Baldpate Inn and waited. Mr. Max worked eagerly, turning frequently to
his bag as a physician might turn to his medicine-case. No word was
spoken in the office. Minutes passed. The bulk at the foot of the stairs
surged restlessly. Mr. Max's operations were mostly hidden by the desk
at which, in summer, timid old ladies inquired for their mail. Having
time to think, Mr. Magee pictured the horror of those ladies could they
come up to the desk at Baldpate now.
Suddenly Mr. Max ran out into the center of the office. Almost on the
instant there was a white puff of smoke and a roar. The inn seemed about
to roll down the mountain after all those years of sticking tight. The
mayor looked apprehensively up the stair behind him; Mr. Max ran to the
open safe door and came back before the desk with a package in his hand.
After examining it hastily, Mr. Cargan placed the loot in his pocket.
The greedy eyes of Max followed it for a second; then he ran over and
gathered up his tools. Now they were ready to depart. The mayor lifted
the candle from the desk. Its light fell on a big chair by the fire, and
Mr. Magee saw in that chair the figure of Mr. Bland, bound and gagged.
Mr. Cargan and his companion paused, and appeared to address triumphant
and jesting comment in Mr. Bland's direction. Then they buttoned their
coats and, holding aloft the candle, disappeared through the dining-room
door.
"I must have that package." Standing on the balcony of Baldpate Inn, her
yellow hair white with snow, her eyes shining even in shadow, thus had
the lady of this weird drama spoken to Mr. Magee. And gladly he had
undertaken the quest. Now, he knew, the moment had come to act. Max he
could quickly dispose of, he felt; Cargan would require time and
attention.
He hurried round to the front door of the inn, and taking the big key
from his pocket, unlocked it as a means of retreat where the men he was
about to attack could not follow. Already he heard their muffled steps
in the distance. Crossing the veranda, he dropped down into the snow by
the side of the great stone steps that led to Baldpate Inn's chief
entrance.
He heard Cargan and Max on the veranda just above his head. They were
speaking of trains to Reuton. In great good humor, evidently, they
started down the steps. Mr. Magee crouched, resolved that he would
spring the moment they reached the ground. They were on the last
step--now!
Suddenly from the other side of the steps a black figure rose, a fist
shot out, and Mr. Max went spinning like a whirling dervish down the
snowy path, to land in a heap five feet away. The next instant the mayor
of Reuton and the black figure were locked in terrific conflict. Mr.
Magee, astounded by this turn of affairs, could only stand and stare
through the dark.
For fifteen seconds, muttering, slipping, grappling, the two figures
waltzed grotesquely about in the falling snow. Then the mayor's feet
slid from under him on the treacherous white carpet, and the two went
down together. As Mr. Magee swooped down upon them he saw the hand of
the stranger find the mayor's pocket, and draw from it the package that
had been placed there in the office a few moments before.
Unfortunately for the demands of the drama in which he had become
involved, Mr. Magee had never been an athlete at the university. But he
was a young man of average strength and agility, and he had the
advantage of landing most unexpectedly on his antagonist. Before that
gentleman realized what had happened, Magee had wrenched the package
from his hand, thrown him back on the prostrate form of the highest
official of Reuton, and fled up the steps. Quickly the stranger regained
his feet and started in pursuit, but he arrived at the great front door
of Baldpate Inn just in time to hear the lock click inside.
Safe for the moment behind a locked door, Mr. Magee paused to get his
breath. The glory of battle filled his soul. It was not until long
afterward that he realized the battle had been a mere scuffle in the
dark. He felt his cheeks burn with excitement like a sweet girl
graduate's--the cheeks of a man who had always prided himself he was the
unmoved cynic in any situation.
With no thought for Mr. Bland, bound in his uneasy chair, Mr. Magee
hurried up the broad staircase of Baldpate. Now came the most gorgeous
scene of all. A fair-haired lady; a knight she had sent forth to battle;
the knight returned. "You asked me to bring you this, my lady." Business
of surprise and joy on the lady's part--business also, perhaps, of
adoration for the knight.
At the right of the stairs lay seventeen and the lady, at the left a
supposedly uninhabited land. As Mr. Magee reached the second floor,
blithely picturing the scene in which he was to play so satisfactory a
part--he paused. For half-way down the corridor to the left an open door
threw a faint light into the hall, and in that light stood a woman he
had never seen before. In this order came Mr. Magee's impressions of
her, fur-coated, tall, dark, handsome, with the haughty manner of one
engaging a chauffeur.
"I beg your pardon," she said, "but are you by any chance Mr. Magee?"
The knight leaned weakly against the wall and tried to think.
"I--I am," he managed to say.
"I'm so glad I've found you," replied the girl. It seemed to the dazed
Magee that her dark eyes were not overly happy. "I can not ask you in,
I'm afraid. I do not know the custom on such an occasion--does anybody?
I am alone with my maid. Hal Bentley, when I wrote to him for a key to
this place, told me of your being here, and said that I was to put
myself under your protection."
Mr. Magee arranged a bow, most of which was lost in the dark.
"Delighted, I'm sure," he murmured.
"I shall try not to impose on you," she went on. "The whole affair is so
unusual as to be almost absurd. But Mr. Bentley said that you were--very
kind. He said I might trust you. I am in great trouble. I have come here
to get something--and I haven't the least idea how to proceed. I came
because I must have it--so much depends on it."
Prophetically Mr. Magee clutched in his pocket the package for which he
had done battle.
"I may be too late." The girl's eyes grew wide. "That would be terribly
unfortunate. I do not wish you to be injured serving me--" She lowered
her voice. "But if there is any way in which you can help me in--in this
difficulty--I can never be grateful enough. Down-stairs in the safe
there is, I believe, a package containing a large sum of money."
Mr. Magee's hand closed convulsively in his pocket.
"If there is any way possible," said the girl, "I must obtain that
package. I give you my word I have as much right to it as any one who
will appear at the inn. The honor and happiness of one who is very dear
to me is involved. I ask you--made bold as I am by my desperation and
Hal Bentley's assurances--to aid me if you find you can."
With the eyes of a man in a dream Mr. Magee looked into the face of the
latest comer to Baldpate.
"Hal Bentley is an old friend and a bully chap," he said. "It will be a
great pleasure to serve a friend of his." He paused, congratulating
himself that these were words, idle words. "When did you arrive, may I
ask?"
"I believe you were having dinner when I came," she answered. "Mr.
Bentley gave me a key to the kitchen door, and we found a back stairway.
There seemed to be a company below--I wanted to see only you."
"I repeat," said Mr. Magee, "I shall be happy to help you, if I can."
His word to another lady, he reflected, was binding. "I suggest that
there is no harm in waiting until morning."
"But--I am afraid it was to-night--" she began.
"I understand," Magee replied. "The plans went wrong. You may safely let
your worries rest until to-morrow." He was on the point of adding
something about relying on him, but remembered in time which girl he was
addressing. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"
The girl drew the fur coat closer about her shoulders. She suggested to
Magee a sheltered luxurious life--he could see her regaling young men
with tea before a fireplace in a beautiful room--insipid tea in
thimble-like cups.
"You are very kind," she said. "I hardly expected to be here the night
through. It is rather cold, but I am sure we have rugs and coats
enough."
Mr. Magee's duty was clear.
"I'll build you a fire," he announced. The girl seemed distressed at the
thought.
"No, I couldn't let you," she said. "I am sure it isn't necessary. I
will say good night now."
"Good night. If there is anything I can do--"
"I shall tell you," she finished, smiling. "I believe I forgot to give
you my name. I am Myra Thornhill, of Reuton. Until to-morrow." She went
in and closed the door.
Mr. Magee sat limply down on the cold stair. All the glory was gone from
the scene he had pictured a moment ago. He had the money, yes, the money
procured in valiant battle, but at the moment he bore the prize to his
lady, another appeared from the dark to claim it. What should he do?
He got up and started for number seventeen. The girl who waited there
was very charming and attractive--but what did he know about her? What
did she want with this money? He paused This other girl came from Hal
Bentley, a friend of friends. And she claimed to have every right to
this precious package. What were her exact words?
Why not wait until morning? Perhaps, in the cold gray dawn, he would see
more clearly his way through this preposterous tangle. Anyhow, it would
be dangerous to give into any woman's keeping just then a package so
earnestly sought by desperate men. Yes, he would wait until morning.
That was the only reasonable course.
Reasonable? That was the word he used. A knight prating of the
reasonable!
Mr. Magee unlocked the door of number seven and entered. Lighting his
candles and prodding the fire, he composed a note to the waiting girl in
seventeen:
"Everything all right. Sleep peacefully. I am on the job. Will see you
to-morrow. Mr.--Billy."
Slipping this message under her door, the ex-knight hurried away to
avoid an interview, and sat down in his chair before the fire.
"I must think," he muttered. "I must get this thing straight."
For an hour he pondered, threshing out as best he could this mysterious
game in which he played a leading part unequipped with a book of rules.
He went back to the very beginning--even to the station at Upper
Asquewan Falls where the undeniable charm of the first of these girls
had won him completely. He reviewed the arrival of Bland and his babble
of haberdashery, of Professor Bolton and his weird tale of peroxide
blondes and suffragettes, of Miss Norton and her impossible mother, of
Cargan, hater of reformers, and Lou Max, foe of suspicion. He thought of
the figure in the dark at the foot of the steps that had fought so
savagely for the package now in his own pocket--of the girl who had
pleaded so convincingly on the balcony for his help--of the colder, more
sophisticated woman who came with Hal Bentley's authority to ask of him
the same favor. Myra Thornhill? He had heard the name, surely. But
where?
Mr. Magee's thoughts went back to New York. He wondered what they would
say if they could see him now, whirling about in a queer romance not of
his own writing--he who had come to Baldpate Inn to get away from mere
romancing and look into men's hearts, a philosopher. He laughed out
loud.
"To-morrow is another day," he reflected. "I'll solve this whole thing
then. They can't go on playing without me--I've got the ball."
He took the package from his pocket. Its seals had already been broken.
Untying the strings, he began carefully to unwrap the paper--the thick
yellow banking manila, and then the oiled inner wrapping. So finally he
opened up the solid mass of--what? He looked closer. Crisp, beautiful,
one thousand dollar bills. Whew! He had never seen a bill of this size
before. And here were two hundred of them.
He wrapped the package up once more, and prepared for bed. Just as he
was about to retire, he remembered Mr. Bland, bound and gagged below. He
went into the hall with the idea of releasing the unlucky haberdasher,
but from the office rose the voices of the mayor, Max, and Bland
himself. Peace, evidently, had been declared between them. Mr. Magee
returned to number seven, locked all the windows, placed the much-sought
package beneath his pillow, and after a half-hour of puzzling and
tossing, fell asleep.
It was still quite dark when he awoke with a start. In the blackness he
could make out a figure standing by the side of his bed. He put his hand
quickly beneath his pillow; the package was still there.
"What do you want?" he asked, sitting up in bed.
For answer, the intruder sprang through the door and disappeared in the
darkness of the outer room. Mr. Magee followed. One of his windows
slammed back and forth in the wind. Slipping on a dressing-gown and
lighting a candle, he made an investigation. The glass above the lock
had been broken. Outside, in the snow on the balcony, were recent
footprints.
Sleepily Mr. Magee procured the precious package and put it in the
pocket of his gown. Then drawing on his shoes, he added a greatcoat to
his equipment, took a candle, and went out on to the balcony.
The storm had increased; the snow flurried and blustered; the windows of
Baldpate Inn rattled wildly all about. It was difficult to keep the
candle burning in that wind. Mr. Magee followed the footprints along the
east side of the inn to the corner, then along the more sheltered rear,
and finally to the west side. On the west was a rather unlovely annex to
the main building, which increasing patronage had made necessary. It was
connected with the inn by a covered passageway from the second floor
balcony. At the entrance to this passageway the footprints stopped.
Entering the dark passageway, Mr. Magee made his way to the door of the
annex. He tried it. It was locked. But as he turned away, he heard
voices on the other side.
Mr. Magee had barely enough time to extinguish his candle and slip into
the shadows of the corner. The door of the annex opened. A man stepped
out into the passageway. He stood there The light from a candle held by
some one in the doorway whom Mr. Magee could not see fell full upon his
face--the bespectacled wise face of Professor Thaddeus Bolton.
"Better luck next time," said the professor.
"Keep an eye an him," said the voice from inside. "If he tries to leave
the inn there'll be a big row. We must be in on it--and win."
"I imagine," said Professor Bolton, smiling his academic smile, "that
the inmates of Baldpate will make to-morrow a rather interesting day for
him."
"It will be an interesting day for every one," answered the voice.
"If I should manage to secure the package, by any chance," the professor
went on, "I shall undoubtedly need your help in getting away with it.
Let us arrange a signal. Should a window of my room be open at any time
to-morrow, you will know the money is in my hands."
"Very good," replied the other. "Good night--and good luck."
"The same to you," answered Professor Bolton. The door was closed, and
the old man moved off down the passageway.
After him crept Mr. Magee. He followed the professor to the east
balcony, and saw him pause at the open window of number seven. There the
old man looked slyly about, as though in doubt. He peered into the room,
and one foot was across the sill when Mr. Magee came up and touched him
on the arm.
Professor Bolton leaped in evident fright out upon the balcony.
"It's--it's a wonderful night," he said. "I was out for a little walk on
the balcony, enjoying it. Seeing your open window, I was afraid--"
"The night you speak so highly of," replied Mr. Magee, "is at your left.
You have lost your way. Good night, Professor."
He stepped inside and closed the window. Then he pulled down the
curtains in both rooms of his suite, and spent some time exploring.
Finally he paused before the fireplace, and with the aid of a knife
unloosed a brick. Under this he placed the package of money, removing
the traces of his act as best he could.
"Now," he said, standing up, "I'm a regular hermit with a buried
treasure, as per all hermit specifications. To-morrow I'm going to hand
my treasure to somebody--it's too much for a man who came up here to
escape the excitement and melodrama of the world."
He looked at his watch. It was past three o'clock. Entering the inner
room, for the second time that night he sought to sleep. "They can't
play without me--I've got the ball," he repeated with a smile. And, safe
in this thought, he closed his eyes, and slumbered.