It was very still in the bachelor apartment, and, as on the occasion of
his previous visit, Nestor saw, as he slipped through the doorway
leading from the private hall, that the lights were burning low.
On this night there was no opium-drugged victim lying on the couch.
There was a movement in the room beyond, and Ned could hear the soft
tread of slippered feet and occasionally the rattle of dishes. It was
evident that midnight luncheon was being prepared, and that the master
of the habitation would soon be on hand.
Closing the door softly--the same having been opened with a skeleton
key--Ned stepped across the room to the writing desk which he had
examined on that other night. After searching the half-open drawer for
an instant, he took out a number of papers and examined them. He also
took a check-book out and put it into a pocket. The papers he returned
to the desk. The check-book was an old one, there being few blank checks
in the binding, but plenty of stubs.
Then Ned looked at the lock of the desk. It had been out of repair at
his previous visit, but was in excellent shape now. He removed the new
key and inserted the one with the broken stem which had so excited the
interest of Albert Lemon and Jap on occasion of his previous visit.
The key with the broken stem did not fit. A new lock had been put on.
Next Ned went to a mantel over a gas grate and lifted the cover from a
little ivory box which stood there. At the very bottom of the box, under
buttons, pins, needles, and odds and ends, he found a key. This one was
whole, and it was an exact duplicate of the one with the broken stem.
Ned had been in San Francisco three days, and Jimmie was not far away.
On bringing the aeroplane to the plateau on the day of his return to
Missoula he had found Ernest Whipple, Jack, Pat, Liu, and a small party
of rangers anxiously awaiting him. Also "several tough ones waitin' for
an introduction," as Jimmie put it. It seems that the fake foresters had
returned to the cave after the fire in the canyon had burned itself out
and had at once discovered that the prisoner had vanished, also that
Liu, the Chinese boy, had disappeared with him.
There had been a long search for the missing boys, as the outlaws knew
very well that the escape meant the bringing of officers to the caves,
but they had not been discovered until a short time before the arrival
of the aeroplane.
When Ned reached the plateau--in fact, before he reached it--he heard
the whistling of bullets aimed at the big bird. The outlaws were trying
to cripple the aeroplane and so give the riders a tumble. The boys
landed in safety, however, and joined the others.
Seeing the boys thus reinforced, the outlaws had withdrawn, and the
rangers had conducted them to a pass which led over the divide. So it
was that Ned had left them, making their way down toward the Valley of
the Wild Animals, where a large number of rangers were encamped, and
where Frank was to come for them with the aeroplane as soon as Ned
landed at Missoula.
There were numerous shots fired at the aeroplane as it mounted into the
sky again, but no harm was done.
"If they had been shootin' at that cat last night," Jimmie said, in
derision, "they would 'a' been eaten alive."
"They are nervous," Frank said, "and don't dare come out of their hiding
places so as to get a good sight at us. They are afraid of the rangers,
and afraid that we'll drop a bomb or something of that sort down on
them."
This explanation of the bad marksmanship, as well as the failure of the
outlaws to rush the aeroplane, was accepted by the boys, who had
anticipated a fight with the fellows. It was afterwards learned, too,
that there were only half a dozen outlaws in the group, and that they
had been sent back to guard the caves and not to fight rangers unless
they were attacked.
Ned had been very busy since his return to the city, having made many
inquiries concerning Albert Lemon and his servant, the Japanese
attendant who had given the boy such a chilly reception on the night of
the first visit.
Lemon, he had been informed, was a millionaire of eccentric habits.
According to Ned's source of information, he would absent himself from
his usual haunts for days at a time, and would then return to shut
himself up in his rooms, at home to no one, and attended only by Jap.
After a time the clatter of dishes grew louder in the adjoining room,
giving notice, doubtless, that the luncheon being prepared was nearly
ready to serve. Then the boy seated himself behind a screen which cut
off a corner of the room and waited. He had occupied his retreat only a
short time when a key turned in the door and the man he had talked with
on his first visit entered.
It was not the old, half-dazed, disreputable Lemon who stepped into the
room, but a young man handsomely dressed and evidently very wide awake
and in the best of spirits. After seeing that the window shades were
closely drawn he turned on the lights and dropped into a chair at the
writing desk.
Ned saw him rummage the pigeon-holes for a moment, extract a folded
paper, and fall to checking off the items. The boy had examined this
sheet while at the desk, and so knew what it contained. After checking
the items the man drew out a long pocket-book and placed its contents on
the writing board.
The boy gave a quick start when he saw what the book had contained, for
a large package of yellow-back bank notes lay exposed to view. The man
counted them carefully, compared the total with the figures he had
marked on the sheet, and then sat back in his chair with a satisfied
smile on his face.
"Everything correct!" he said.
Then he lighted a cigar and turned to the door opening into the inner
room.
"Jap!" he called softly. "Oh, Jap!"
The door opened and the servant looked in.
"Come here!" Lemon commanded. "What have you been doing?" he added, as
the Jap stood before him.
"Nothing," was the reply.
"You are not telling the truth," Lemon said. "You have been seen about
the city, in tea houses, talking with strangers."
"I have not been out of the rooms," the other insisted, stubbornly.
"Let it pass," Lemon said, in a moment. "There may be some mistake. Any
one been here?"
"No one."
The servant appeared to have a perfect knowledge of English. He looked
into his master's face with a bland smile, but now and then his eyes
sought the screen behind which Ned was hidden.
"Well, some of the boys will be up here to-night," Lemon said. "See that
there is plenty to eat. Go, now."
The servant turned to the door opening into the private hall, stood with
his hand on the knob for an instant, and then, apparently changing his
mind, went out through the doorway by which he had entered. If Lemon had
been listening intently he would have heard a quick movement in the back
room as Jap closed the door.
In a moment there was another movement in the private hall, and then Ned
heard the corridor door open. He pushed the screen aside and stepped out
before the astonished occupant of the rooms.
"What does this mean?" Lemon demanded, a quiver of excitement--or it
might have been consternation--in his voice.
While he spoke he moved toward a table where a revolver lay in full
view.
"Never mind that," Ned said, coolly. "We can arbitrate our differences
without its assistance. Besides, it is not loaded."
"What are you doing here?" Lemon almost shouted, his face growing white,
either with rage or fear. "Leave the room immediately."
Ned dropped into a chair and motioned toward another.
"Sit down!" he ordered.
"Your impudence is amazing," Lemon said, but he took the chair.
In a moment, however, he turned to the door.
"Jap!" he called.
Again the door opened and the servant looked in.
"Are you armed?" Lemon asked.
The servant nodded, fixing a pair of inscrutable eyes on Ned's face as
he did so.
"Very well," was the reply. "Stand there by the door. How did this man
gain entrance here?"
The only reply was a shrug of the shoulders.
"Let it pass for the present," Lemon said, with a smile of triumph.
"Stand there and shoot when I give the word."
The servant nodded again. Ned remained seated, his eyes fixed coolly on
the face of the master.
"Now, what do you want?" demanded Lemon. "You don't look exactly like a
common sneak thief."
"You doubtless remember," Ned began, in a level voice, "that I did
myself the honor of calling at these rooms not long ago in quest of
information of one--of one Felix Emory?"
Lemon started at the name, but gained confidence as he glanced toward
the servant at the door.
"Yes, I remember," he said. "What about it?"
There was a sharp ring at the corridor door before Ned spoke again. The
Jap looked inquiringly at his master.
"Company may prove of value just now," Lemon said. "Will you see who is
there?"
It was clear to Ned that Lemon expected some of the associates he had
mentioned as "the boys" when giving instructions about the luncheon, and
there was a smile of welcome on his face when a bustle in the hall told
of an arrival.
There was only one man, however, and Lemon at first seemed disappointed,
but in a moment he had his face under perfect control again.
"Father!" he cried, springing to his feet. "It is good to see you here!"
The newcomer, a man of perhaps sixty, well dressed and with the air of a
man to whom marked attention was due, stood looking into Lemon's face
for an instant and then grasped his hand.
"You have changed little, my son," he said.
Lemon smiled and indicated Ned with a slight motion of the hand.
"Permit me to present to you my father, Mr. Leon Lemon," he said, "and
this, father, is a boy burglar who broke into my rooms in quest of
plunder a short time ago," he added. "We were having quite a cheerful
talk when you came. I don't know his name, unfortunately."
The old gentleman gave a start and attempted to rise from his chair.
"Don't distress yourself," Lemon said. "He is quite harmless. Besides,
Jap has him covered with the cannon he delights to carry."
"This is a strange situation," the other said, wiping the sweat of
excitement from his face.
"One of the incidents which add to the joy of life," Lemon said. "You
remember Felix Emory?" he added. "Well, his pretense for this call is
that he came to ask about him. Go ahead, Mr. Burglar."
"Perhaps you will also remember," Ned went on, "that on my former visit
here I exhibited a key with a broken stem--the key to that writing
desk?"
Lemon's face hardened and he glanced furtively at the servant, but said
not a word.
"This key," Ned said, producing the one mentioned, "was found in the
pocket of the man who was found dead in the Rocky Mountains. You think
you left it in the suit of clothes you gave Emory?"
"Possibly," was the strained reply. "But we have had enough of this,"
Lemon added. "Call the police, Jap."
"Just a moment," Ned went on, when the Jap moved toward the door. "When
you could not find the key, Mr. Lemon, why didn't you use the duplicate.
The duplicate you kept in the box on the shelf? Why did you think it
necessary to break the lock?"
"The servant did that," was the angry reply.
"I see," Ned replied, coolly, "perhaps that was done while you were up
in the mountains with Emory--before he was killed?"
"Possibly," Lemon gritted out.
"Now, since talking with you," Ned continued, "I have been up in the
mountains. There I found a man using a typewriter. By the way, have you
a machine here?"
"Certainly not," was the angry reply.
"But you formerly used one here?"
"Never!" was the reply.
"That is strange," Ned said, "for when I came in here not long ago I
took the liberty of looking through some papers in your desk, for which
I ask your pardon. Well, I discovered that the machine you used here
carried a defective letter 'c.' It looked in the writing like an 'o.'
The machine the man was using under the divide had the same defect. If
you will observe the sheet you were examining a few moments ago, you
will note the imperfect letter."
Lemon's teeth clinked together sharply, but he did not speak.
"When I came here last," Ned continued, "you lay in an opium stupor on
that couch. You had recently returned from a trip to Lake Kintla, where
Emory was found dead. While in that section you visited a cavern on the
eastern slope of the divide. There is where you used the typewriter
taken from these rooms."
"My son never learned the keyboard," said the old gentleman, an angry
snap in his eyes. "He has never found it necessary to earn money."
Lemon turned to the old man and bowed, gratefully.
"When you lay on the couch that night," Ned continued, "there was the
smear of the typewriter on the middle finger of your left hand, close to
the nail. I use a double keyboard machine myself, and sometimes smut my
finger on the ribbon when I turn the platen. Some papers I chanced upon
in the mountains bear the mark of a smudged hand. You are careless in
using the machine. You even left a blue record ribbon in the cave
headquarters where the dead man was found. That was my first valuable
clue!"
"What papers did you steal while in the mountains?" demanded Lemon,
springing to his feet, his face deadly white, his fists swinging
aimlessly in the air.
"Lists," Ned replied. "Lists of Chinamen brought from over the border,
and lists of opium cases smuggled in. I have the papers in my possession
now. They match with the statement you examined just before I made my
appearance in the room--just before you counted the money you received
from this illegal traffic."
The old man leaped at Ned, but the boy moved away and stood by the door.
The Jap stepped closer. There came a sound of whispering, a noise of
footsteps, from the hall outside. Then the door was opened and Greer,
Slocum, Chang Chee and two others entered, glancing keenly at Ned as
they passed him, still standing by the door.
"Do you mean to accuse my son of crime?" shouted the old man, not
noticing the new-comers in his rage and excitement. "You scoundrel!"
"How do you know," Ned asked, with a smile at the others, "that this man
is Albert Lemon, your son?"