THE FIRST COUNTER-MOVE
The little paragraph in the newspaper, which, irrelevant as it
would seem, had caught the keenly discerning eye of Henry Blaine,
grew in length and importance from day to day until it reached a
position on the first page, and then spread in huge headlines over
the entire sheet. Instead of relating merely the incidents of a
labor strike in a manufacturing city--and that city a far-distant
one--it became speedily a sociological question of almost national
import. The yellow journals were quick to seize upon it at the
psychological moment of civic unrest, and throw out hints, vague
but vast in their significance, of the mighty interests behind the
mere fact of the strike, the great financial question involved, the
crisis between capital and labor, the trusts and the common people,
the workers and the wasters, in the land of the free.
Henry Blaine, seated in his office, read the scare-heads and smiled
his slow, inscrutable, illuminating smile--the smile which,
without menace or rancor, had struck terror to the hearts of the
greatest malefactors of his generation--which, without flattery or
ingratiation, had won for him the friendship of the greatest men in
the country. He knew every move in the gigantic game which was being
played solely for his attention, long before a pawn was lifted from
its place, a single counter changed; he had known it, from the moment
that the seemingly unimportant paragraph had met his eyes; and he
also knew the men who sat in the game, whose hands passed over the
great chessboard of current events, whose brains directed the moves.
And the stakes? Not the welfare of the workingmen in that distant
city, not the lifting of the grinding heel of temporal power from
the supine bodies of the humble--but the peace of mind, the
honorable, untarnished name, the earthly riches of the slender
girl who sat in that great darkened house on Belleair Avenue.
Hence Blaine sat back quietly, and waited for the decisive move which
he knew to be forthcoming--waited, and not in vain. The spectacular
play to the gallery of one was dramatically accomplished; it was
heralded by extras bawled through the midnight streets, and full-page
display headlines in the papers the next morning.
Promptly on the stroke of nine, Henry Blaine arrived at his office,
and as he expected, found awaiting him an urgent telegram from the
chief of police of the city where the strike had assumed such colossal
importance, earnestly asking him for his immediate presence and
assistance. He sent a tentative refusal--and waited. Still more
insistent messages followed in rapid succession, from the mayor of
that city, the governor of that state, even its representative in the
Senate at Washington, to all of which he replied in the same emphatic,
negative strain. Then, late in the afternoon, there eventuated that
which he had anticipated. Mohammed came to the mountain.
Blaine read the card which his confidential secretary presented, and
laid it down upon the desk before him.
"Show him in," he directed, shortly. He did not rise from his chair,
nor indeed change his position an iota, but merely glanced up from
beneath slightly raised eyebrows, when the door opened again and a
bulky, pompous figure stood almost obsequiously before him.
"Come in, Mr. Carlis," he invited coolly. "Take this chair. What can I
do for you?"
It was significant that neither man made any move toward shaking
hands, although it was obvious that they were acquainted, at least.
The great detective's tone when he greeted his visitor was as
distinctly ironical as the latter's was uneasy, although he replied
with a mirthless chuckle, which was intended to be airily nonchalant.
"Nothing for me, Mr. Blaine--that is, not to-day. One can never tell
in this period of sudden changes and revolt, when our city may be
stricken as another was just a few hours ago. There is no better,
cleaner, more honestly prosperous metropolis in these United States
to-day, than Illington, but--" Mr. Carlis, the political boss who had
ruled for more than a decade in almost undisputed sway, paused and
gulped, as if his oratorical eloquence stuck suddenly in his throat.
The detective watched him passively, a disconcerting look of inquiring
interest on his mobile face. "It is because of our stricken sister
city that I am here," went on the visitor. "I know I will not be in
great favor with you as an advocate, Mr. Blaine. We have had our
little tilts in the past, when you--er--disapproved of my methods of
conducting my civic office and I distrusted your motives, but that is
forgotten now, and I come to you merely as one public-spirited citizen
to another. The mayor of Grafton has wired me, as has the chief of
police, to urge you to proceed there at once and take charge of the
investigation into last night's bomb outrages in connection with the
great strike. They inform me that you have repeatedly refused to-day
to come to their assistance."
Blaine nodded.
"That is quite true, Mr. Carlis. I did decline the offers extended to
me."
"But surely you cannot refuse! Good heavens, man, do you realize what
it means if you do? It isn't only that there is a fortune in it for
you, your reputation stands or falls on your decision! This is a
public charge! The people rely upon you! If you won't, for some reason
of your own, come to the rescue now, when you are publicly called
upon, you'll be a ruined man!" The voice of the Boss ascended in a
shrill falsetto of remonstrance.
"There may be two opinions as to that, Mr. Carlis," Blaine returned
quietly. "As far as the financial argument goes, I think you
discovered long ago that its appeal to me is based upon a different
point of view than your own. You forget that I am not a servant of the
public, but a private citizen, free to accept or decline such offers
as are made to me in my line of business, as I choose. This affair is
not a public charge, but a business proposition, which I decline. As
to my reputation depending upon it, I differ with you. My reputation
will stand, I think, upon my record in the past, even if every yellow
newspaper in the city is paid to revile me."
Carlis rested his plump hands upon his widespread knees, and leaned as
far forward, in his eager anxiety, as his obese figure would permit.
"But why?" he fairly wailed, his carefully rounded, oratorical tones
forgotten. "Why on earth do you decline this offer, Blaine? You've
nothing big on hand now--nothing your operatives can't attend to.
There isn't a case big enough for your attention on the calendar! You
know as well as I do that Illington is clean and that the lid is on
for keeps! The police are taking care of the petty crimes, and
there's absolutely nothing doing in your line here at the moment. This
is the chance of your career! Why on earth do you refuse it?"
"Well, Mr. Carlis, let us say, for instance, that my health is not
quite as good as it was, and I find the air of Illington agrees with
it better just now than that of Grafton." Blaine leaned back easily in
his chair, and after a slight pause he added speculatively, with
deliberate intent, "I didn't know you had interests there!"
The Boss purpled.
"Look here, Blaine!" he bellowed. "What d'you mean by that?"
"Merely following a train of thought, Mr. Carlis," returned the
detective imperturbably. "I was trying to figure out why you were so
desperately anxious to have me go to Grafton--"
"I tell you I am here at the urgent request of the mayor and the chief
of police!" the fat man protested, but faintly, as if the unexpected
attack had temporarily winded him. "Why in h--ll should I want you to
go to Grafton?"
"Presumably because Grafton is some fourteen hundred miles from
Illington," remarked Blaine, his quietly unemotional tones hardening
suddenly like tempered steel. "Going to try to pull off something here
in town which you think could be more easily done if I were away?
Cards on the table, Mr. Carlis! You tried to bribe me in a case once,
and you failed. Then you tried bullying me and you found that didn't
work, either. Now you've come again with your hook baited with
patriotism, public spirit, the cry of the people and all the rest of
the guff the newspapers you control have been handing out to their
readers since you took them over. What's the idea?"
The Boss rose, with what was intended for an air of injured dignity,
but his fat face all at once seemed sagged and wrinkled, like a
pricked balloon.
"I did not come here to be insulted!" he announced in his most
impressive manner. "I came, as I told you, as a public-spirited
citizen, because the officials of another city called upon me to urge
you to aid them. I have failed in my mission, and I will go. I am
surprised, Blaine, at your attitude; I thought you were too big a man
to permit your personal antagonism to me to interfere with your
duty--"
For the first time during their interview Blaine smiled slightly.
"Have you ever known me, Mr. Carlis, to permit my personal antagonism
to you or any other man to interfere with what I conceive to be my
duty?"
Before he replied, the politician produced a voluminous silk
handkerchief, and mopped his brow. For some reason he did not feel
called upon to make a direct answer.
"Well, what reason am I to give to the Mayor of Grafton and its
political leaders, for your refusal? That talk about me trying to get
you out of Illington, Blaine, is all bosh, and you know it. _I'm_
running Illington just as I've run it for the last ten years, in spite
of your interference or any other man's, and I'm going to stay right
on the job! If you won't give any other reason for declining the call
to Grafton, than your preference for the air of Illington, then the
bets go as they lay!"
He jammed his hat upon his head, and strode from the room with all
the ferocity his rotund figure could express. The first decisive move
in the game had failed.
The door was scarcely closed behind him, when Blaine turned to the
telephone and called up Anita Lawton on the private wire.
"Can you arrange to meet me at once, at your Working Girls' Club?" he
asked. "I wish to suggest a plan to be put into immediate operation."
"Very well. I can be there in fifteen minutes."
When the detective arrived at the club, he was ushered immediately to
the small ante-room on the second floor, where he found Anita
anxiously awaiting him.
"Miss Lawton," he began, without further greeting than a quick
handclasp, "you told me, the other day, that your girls here were all
staunch and faithful to you. Your secretary downstairs had previously
informed me that they were trained to hold positions of trust, and
that you obtained such positions for them. I want you to obtain four
positions for four of the girls in whom you place the most implicit
confidence."
"Why, certainly, Mr. Blaine, if I can. Do you mean that they are to
have something to do with your investigation into my father's
affairs?"
"I want them to play detective for me, Miss Lawton. Have you four
girls unemployed at the moment?--Say, for instance, a filing clerk, a
stenographer, a governess and a switchboard operator, who are
sufficiently intelligent and proficient in their various occupations,
to assume such a trust?"
"Why, yes, I--I think we have. I can find out, of course. Where do you
wish to place them?"
"That is the most difficult part of all, Miss Lawton. You must obtain
the positions for them. These three men who stand in _loco parentis_
toward you, as you say, and your spiritual adviser, Dr. Franklin, who
so obviously wishes to ingratiate himself with them, would none of
them refuse a request of this sort from you at this stage of the game,
particularly if they are really engaged in a conspiracy against you.
Go to these four men--Mr. Mallowe first--and tell them that because of
the sudden, complete loss of your fortune, your club must be
disorganized, and beg them each to give one of your girls, special
protegees of yours, a position. Send your filing clerk to Mr. Mallowe,
your most expert stenographer to Mr. Rockamore, your switchboard
operator to Mr. Carlis, and your governess into the household of your
minister. I have learned that he has three small children, and his
wife applied only yesterday at an agency for a nursery governess. The
last proposition may be the most difficult for you to handle, but I
think if you manage to convey to the Reverend Dr. Franklin the fact
that your three self-appointed guardians have each taken one of your
girls into their employ, in order to help them, and that his following
their benevolent example would bring him into closer _rapport_ with
them, no objection will be made--provided, of course, the young woman
is suitable."
"I will try, Mr. Blaine, but of course I can do nothing about that
until to-morrow, as it is so late in the afternoon. However, I can
have a talk with the girls, if they are in now--or would you prefer to
interview them?"
"No, you talk with them first, Miss Lawton, and to-morrow morning
while you are arranging for their positions I will interview them and
instruct them in their primary duties. I will leave you now. Remember
that the girls must be absolutely trustworthy, and the stenographer
who will be placed in the office of Mr. Rockamore must be particularly
expert."
After the detective had taken his departure, Anita Lawton descended
quickly to the office of the secretary.
"Emily," she asked, "is Loretta Murfree in, or Fifine Dechaussee?"
"I think they both are, Miss Lawton. Shall I ring for them?"
"Yes, please, Emily; send them to me one at a time, in the ante-room,
and let me know when Agnes Olson and Margaret Hefferman come in. I
wish to talk with all four of them, but separately."
Loretta Murfree was the first to put in an appearance. She was a
short, dumpy, black-haired girl of twenty, and she bounced into the
room with a flashing, wide-mouthed smile.
"How are you, dear Miss Lawton? We have missed you around here so much
lately, but of course we knew that you must be very much occupied--"
She stopped and a little embarrassed flush spread over her face.
"I have been, Loretta. Thank you so much for your kind note, and for
your share in the beautiful wreath you girls sent in memory of my dear
father."
"Sure, we're all of us your friends, Miss Lawton; why wouldn't we be,
after all you've done for us?"
"It is because I feel that, that I wanted to have a talk with you this
afternoon. Loretta, if a position were offered to you as filing clerk
in the office of a great financier of this city, at a suitable salary,
would you accept it, if you could be doing me a great personal service
at the same time?"
"Would I, Miss Lawton? Just try me! I'd take it for the experience
alone, without the salary, and jump at the chance, even if you
weren't concerned in it at all, but if it would be doing you a service
at the same time, I'm more than glad."
"Thank you, Loretta. The position will be with an associate of my
father's, I think, President Mallowe of the Street Railways. You must
attend faithfully to your duties, if I am able to obtain this place
for you, but I think the main part of your service to me will consist
of keeping your eyes open. To-morrow morning a man will come here and
interview you--a man in whom you must place implicit confidence and
trust, and whose directions you must follow to the letter. He will
tell you just what to do for me. This man is my friend; he is working
in my interests, and if you care for me you must not fail him."
"Indeed I won't, Miss Lawton! I'll do whatever he tells me.... You
said that I was to keep my eyes open. Does that mean that there is
something you wish me to find out for you?" she asked shrewdly.
"I cannot tell you exactly what you are to do for me, Loretta. The
gentleman whom you are to meet to-morrow morning will give you all the
details." Anita Lawton approached the girl and laid her hand on her
shoulder. "I can surely trust you? You will not fail me?"
The quick tears sprang to the Irish girl's eyes, and for a moment
softened their rather hard brilliance.
"You know that you can trust me, Miss Lawton! I'd do anything in the
world for you!"
Anita Lawton held a similar conversation with each of the three girls,
with a like result. To Fifine Dechaussee, a tall, refined girl, with
the colorless, devout face of a religieuse, the probability of
entering a minister's home, as governess for his children, was most
welcome. The young French girl, homesick and alone in a strange land,
had found in Anita Lawton her one friend, and her gratitude for this
first opportunity given her, seemed overwhelming. Margaret Hefferman
rejoiced at the possible opportunity of becoming a stenographer to the
great promoter, Mr. Rockamore; and demure, fair-haired little Agnes
Olson was equally pleased with the prospect of operating a switchboard
in the office of Timothy Carlis, the politician.
Meantime, back in his office, Henry Blaine was receiving the personal
report of Guy Morrow.
"The old man seems to be strictly on the level," he was saying. "He
attends to his own affairs and seems to be running a legitimate
business in his little shop, where he prints and sells maps. I went
there, of course, to look it over, but I couldn't see anything crooked
about it. However, when I left, I took a wax impression of the lock,
in case you wanted me to have a key made and institute a more thorough
investigation, at a time when I would not be disturbed."
"That's good, Morrow. We may need to do that later. At present I want
you merely to keep an eye on them, and note who their visitors are.
You've been talking with the girl you say--the daughter?"
"Yes, sir--" The young man paused in sudden confusion. "She's a very
quiet, respectable, proud sort of young woman, Mr. Blaine--not at all
the kind you would expect to find the daughter of an old crook like
Jimmy Brunell. And by the way, here's a funny coincidence! She's a
protegee of Miss Lawton's, employed in some philanthropic home or
club, as she calls it, which Pennington Lawton's daughter runs."
"By Jove!" Blaine exclaimed, "I might have known it! I thought there
was something familiar about her appearance when I first saw her! No
wonder Miss Lawton had promised not to divulge her name. It's a small
world, Morrow. I'll have to look into this. Go back now and keep your
eye on Jimmy."
"Very well, sir." Guy Morrow paused at the door and turned toward his
chief. "Have you seen the late editions of the evening papers, Mr.
Blaine? They're all slamming you, for refusing to accept the call to
Grafton, to investigate those bomb outrages last night."
Henry Blaine smiled.
"There won't be any more of them," he remarked quietly. "That strike
will die down as quickly as it arose, Morrow; the whole thing was a
plant, and the labor leaders and factory owners themselves were merely
tools in the hands of the politicians. That strike was arranged by our
friend Timothy Carlis, to get me away from Illington on a false
mission."
"You don't think, sir, that they suspect--"
"No, but they are taking no chances on my getting into the game. They
don't suspect yet, but they will soon--because the time has come for
us to get busy."