IN THE OPEN
Guy Morrow's resolve to find Emily Brunell at all costs, stirred him
from the apathy of despair into which he had fallen, and roused him to
instant action. Leaving the house, he went to the nearest telephone
pay station, where he could converse in comparative privacy, and
called up Henry Blaine's office, only to discover that the master
detective had departed upon some mission of his own, was not expected
to return until the following morning, and had left no instructions
for him.
This unanticipated set-back left Morrow without definite resource. As
a forlorn hope he telephoned to the Anita Lawton Club, only to learn
that Miss Brunell had sent in her resignation as secretary early that
morning, but told nothing of her future plans, except that she was
leaving town for an indefinite period.
There was nothing more to be learned by another examination of the
dismantled shop, and the young operative turned his steps reluctantly
homeward. A sudden suspicion had formed itself in his mind that Blaine
himself, and not the police, had been responsible for the raid on the
forger's little establishment--that Blaine had done this without
taking him into his confidence and was now purposely keeping out of
his way.
When the early winter dusk came, Guy could endure it no longer, but
left the house. Drawn irresistibly by his thoughts, he crossed the
road again, and entering the Brunells' gate, he strolled around the
deserted cottage, to the back. At the kitchen door a faint, piteous
sound made him pause. It was an insistent, wailing cry from within,
the disconsolate meowing of a frightened, lonely kitten.
Caliban had been left behind, forgotten! Emily's panic and haste must
have been great indeed to cause her to forsake the pet she had so
tenderly loved! Much as he detested the spiteful little creature, he
could not leave it to starve, for her sake.
Morrow tried the kitchen door, but found it securely bolted from
within. The catch on the pantry window was loose, however, and Morrow
managed to pry it open with his jackknife. With a hasty glance about
to see that he was not observed, he pushed up the window and clambered
in, closing it cautiously after him. He stumbled through the
semi-obscurity and gloom into the kitchen; instantly the piteous cry
ceased and Caliban rose from the cold hearth and bounded gladly to
him, purring and rubbing against his legs. Mechanically he stooped and
stroked it; then, after carefully pulling down the shades, he lighted
the lamp upon the littered table, and looked about him. Everything
bore evidence, as had the living-room, of a hasty exodus. The fire was
extinguished in the range, and it was filled to the brim with flakes
of light ashes. Evidently Brunell or his daughter had paused long
enough in their flight to burn armfuls of old papers--possibly
incriminating ones.
On the table was the debris of a hasty meal. Morrow poured some milk
from the pitcher into a saucer and placed it on the floor for the
hungry kitten; then, taking the lamp, he started on a tour of
inspection through the house. Everywhere the wildest confusion and
disorder reigned.
Morrow turned aside from the door of Emily's room, but entered her
father's. There, save for a few articles of old clothing strewn about,
he found comparative order and neatness. The simple toilet articles
were in their places, the narrow bed just as Jimmy Brunell had left it
when he sprang up to admit his nocturnal visitor.
On the floor near the bureau on which the lamp stood, something white
and crumpled met Morrow's eye; he stooped quickly and picked it up. It
was a large single sheet of paper, and as the operative smoothed it
out, he realized that it must be the message which had been hurriedly
brought to Brunell in the early hour before the dawn. The paper had
lain just where he had dropped it, crushed from his hand after reading
the warning it contained.
Morrow turned up the wick of his own lamp and stared curiously at the
missive. The sheet of paper was ruled at intervals, the lines and
interstices filled with curious hieroglyphics, and at a first glance
it appeared to the operative's puzzled eyes to be a mere portion of a
page of music. Then he observed that old figures and letters, totally
foreign to the notes of a printed score, were interspersed between the
rest, and moreover only the treble clef had been used.
"Oh, Lord!" he groaned to himself. "It's another cryptogram, and I
don't believe Blaine himself will be able to solve this one!"
He stared long and uncomprehendingly at it; then with a sigh of
baffled interest he folded it carefully and placed it in his pocket.
As he did so, there came a sudden sharp report from outside, the
tinkle of a broken window pane, and a bullet, whistling past his ear,
embedded itself in the wall behind him!
Instinctively Morrow flung himself flat upon the floor, but no second
shot was fired. Instead, he heard the muffled receding of flying
footsteps from the sidewalk, and an excited cry or two as neighboring
windows were raised and curious heads were thrust out.
Hastily extinguishing the lamp, Morrow felt his way to the kitchen,
where he pocketed Caliban with scant ceremony and departed swiftly the
way he had come, through the pantry window. By scaling a back-yard
wall or two he found an alley leading to the street; and making a
detour of several blocks, he returned to his lodgings, to find Mrs.
Quinlan waiting in great excitement to relate her version of the
revolver shot.
Morrow listened with what patience he could muster, and then handed
Caliban over to her mercy.
"It's Miss Brunell's cat," he explained. "You'll take care of it for a
day or two, at least, won't you? I expect to hear from her soon, and
I'd like to be able to restore it to her."
"Well, I ain't what you would call crazy about cats," the landlady
returned, somewhat dubiously, "but I couldn't let it die in this cold.
I'll keep it, of course, till you hear from Emily. Where did you find
it?"
"Over in their yard," he responded, with prompt mendacity. "I was in
the neighborhood and heard the shot fired, so I ran in to have a look
around and see if anyone was hurt, and I came across this poor little
chap yowling on the doorstep. I won't want any supper to-night, Mrs.
Quinlan. I'm going out again."
Within the hour, Morrow presented himself at Henry Blaine's office.
This time he did not wait to be told that the famous investigator
was out, but writing something on a card, he sent it in to the
confidential secretary.
In a moment he was admitted, to find Blaine seated imperturbably
behind his desk, fingering the card his young operative had sent in to
him.
"What is it, Guy?" he asked, not unkindly. "You say you have a
communication of great importance."
"I think it is, sir," returned the other, stiffly. "At least I have
the message which warned Brunell of your raid upon his shop. It's
another cipher, a different one this time."
"Indeed? That's good work, Guy. But how did you know it was a warning
to old Jimmy of the raid? Could you read it?"
Morrow shook his head.
"No, and I don't see how anyone else could! It must have been a
warning of some sort, for it was what caused them both, old Jimmy and
his daughter, to run away. Here it is."
He passed the cryptogram over to his chief, who studied it for a while
with a meditative frown, then laid it aside and listened in a
non-committal silence to his story. When the incidents of the day had
been narrated, Blaine said:
"That was a close call, Guy, that shot from the darkness. It must have
come from the opposite side of the street, of course, from before your
own lodgings. The bullet glanced upward in its course, didn't it?"
"No, sir. That's the funny part of it! The spot where it is embedded
in the wall is very little higher than the hole in the window pane."
"And Mrs. Quinlan's, where you board, is directly opposite?"
"Yes. It's the only house on the other side of the street for fifty
feet or more on either side."
"Then you'd better look out for trouble, Guy. That shot came from your
own house, probably from the window of your own room, if it is the
second floor front, as you say. There's a traitor in camp. Any new
lodgers to-day that you know of?"
"No, sir," Morrow replied, startled at the theory evolved by his
chief. "But how do you account for the fact that I distinctly heard
some one running away immediately after the shot was fired?"
"It was probably a look-out, or a decoy to draw investigation away
from the house had a prompt pursuit ensued. Be careful when you go
back, Guy, and don't take any unnecessary chances."
"I'm not going back, sir," the younger man returned, with quiet
determination. "I'm sorry, but I'm through. I wanted to resign before,
to protect the woman I love from just this trouble which has come upon
her, but you overruled me, and I listened and played the game fairly.
Now I've lost her, and nothing else matters under the sun except that
I must find her again and tell her the truth, and I mean to find her!
Nothing shall stand in my way!"
"And your duty?" asked Blaine quietly.
"My duty is to her first, last, and all the time! I know I have no
right, sir, to ask that I should be taken into your confidence in
regard to any plans you make in conducting an investigation, but I
think in view of the exceptional conditions of this case that I might
have been told in advance of the raid you intended, so that I might
have spared Emily much of the trouble which has come upon her, or at
least have told her the truth, and squared myself with her, and known
where she was going. I've got to find her, sir! I cannot rest until I
do!"
"And you shall find her, Guy. I promise you on my word that if you
are patient all will be well. It is not my custom to explain my
motives to my subordinates, but as you say, this case is exceptional,
and you have been faithful to your trust under peculiarly trying
circumstances. I raided Jimmy's little shop last night and carried
off his forgery outfit because I had received special information of
a confidential nature that Paddington intended to make the same
move and lay it to the work of the police, not only to scare poor
old Jimmy out of town, but to obtain possession of the outfit himself
and destroy the evidence, in case the old forger was caught and
lost his spirit and confessed, implicating him. I did not know the
raid would be discovered and the warning take effect so soon. I had
arranged to have the Brunells watched and tailed later in the day, but
they escaped my espionage.
"I shall at once set the wheels in motion to discover the number of
the taxicab in which they went away, and I will leave no stone
unturned to find their ultimate destination and see that no harm comes
to either of them; you may depend upon that. I don't mind going a
little further with this subject with you now than I have before, and
I'll tell you confidentially that I believe whatever part Jimmy played
in this conspiracy, in forging the letter, note, and signatures, was a
compulsory one; and in the end we shall be able to clear him. You know
that I am a man of my word, Guy. I want you to go on with this case
under my instructions and leave the search for the Brunells absolutely
in my hands. Will you do this, on my assurance that I will find
them?"
"If I can have your word, sir, that at the earliest possible moment I
may go to her, to Emily, and tell her the truth," Morrow replied,
earnestly. "You don't know what it means to me, to have her feel that
I have been such a dog as not to mean a word of all that I said to
her, to have her believe that it was all part of a plan to trap her
into betraying her father. It drives me almost mad when I think of it!
This inaction, the suspense of it, is intolerable."
"Then go home and find out who fired at you from the window of your
own house. Watch the Brunell cottage, too--there will be developments
there, if I'm not mistaken. To-morrow I may want you to go out on
another branch of this investigation--the search for Ramon Hamilton."
"Very good, sir, I'll try," Morrow promised with obvious reluctance.
"I know how busy you are and how much every day counts in this matter
just now; but for God's sake, do what you can to find the Brunells for
me!"
Blaine repeated his assurances, and Morrow returned to the Bronx with
considerably lightened spirits. The sight of the little cottage across
the way, dark and deserted, brought a pang to his heart, but it also
served to remind him of the duty which lay before him. He must find
out whose hand had fired that shot at him from the house which had
given him shelter.
Mrs. Quinlan had not yet retired. He found her reading a newspaper in
the kitchen, with Caliban curled up in drowsy content beside the
stove.
"Cold out, ain't it?" she observed. "I went round to the store, an' I
like to've froze before I got back. They said they'd send the things,
but they didn't."
"I'll go get them for you," offered Morrow. "Was it the grocery to
which you went?"
"No, the drug store. I--I've got a new lodger upstairs at the back--an
old gentleman who's kind of sickly and rheumatic, and he asked me to
get some things for him. Thank you just the same, Mr. Morrow, but
there ain't no hurry for them." Mrs. Quinlan's wide, ingenuous face
flushed, and for a moment she seemed curiously embarrassed. Could she
have guessed that the revolver shot which had created so much
excitement that afternoon had been fired from beneath her roof?
"A new lodger!" repeated Morrow. "Came to-day, didn't he?"
"No, yesterday," she responded quickly--too quickly, the operative
fancied. The ruddy flush had deepened on her cheek, and she added, as
if unable to restrain the question rising irresistibly to her lips:
"What made you think he came to-day?"
"I thought this afternoon that I heard furniture being moved about in
the room directly over mine," he returned, with studied indifference.
"Oh, you did!" Mrs. Quinlan affirmed. "That's my room, you know. I was
exchanging my bureau for the old gentleman's."
"Let me see; that makes four lodgers now, doesn't it?" Morrow remarked
thoughtfully, as he toasted his back near the stove. "Peterson, the
shoe clerk; Acker, the photographer; me--and now this old gentleman.
What's his name, by the way?"
"Mr.--Brown." Again there was that obvious hesitation, followed by a
hasty rush of words as if to cover it. "Yes, my house is full now, and
I think I'm mighty lucky, considering the time of year. Just think,
it's most Christmas! The winter's just flyin' along!"
The next morning, from his bed Morrow heard the clinking of china on a
tray as Mrs. Quinlan laboriously carried breakfast upstairs to her new
boarder. Guy rose quickly and dressed, and when he heard her
descending again he flung open his door and met her face to face,
quite as if by accident. She started violently at the sudden encounter
and nearly dropped the tray.
"Land sakes, how you scared me, Mr. Morrow!" she exclaimed. "You're up
earlier than usual. I'll have your breakfast ready in the dining-room
in ten minutes."
She hurried on quickly, but not before the operative's keen eyes had
noted in one lightning glance the contents of the tray. Upon it was a
teapot, as well as one for coffee, and service for two. Peterson and
Acker had both long since gone to their usual day's work. Mrs. Quinlan
had lied, then, after all. She had two new lodgers instead of the
single rheumatic old gentleman she had pictured; two, and one of them
had entered his own room, and from the window fired that shot across
the street at him, as he bent over the lamp in the Brunell cottage. He
had one problematic advantage--it was possible that he had not been
recognized as the intruder in the deserted house. He must contrive by
hook or crook to obtain a glimpse of the mysterious newcomers, and
learn the cause of their interest in the Brunells and their affairs.
They were in all probability emissaries of Paddington's--possibly one
of them was Charley Pennold himself.
At that same moment Henry Blaine sat in his office, receiving the
report of Ross, one of his minor operatives.
"I tried the tobacconist's shop yesterday morning, sir, but there
wasn't any message there for Paddington, and although I waited around
a couple of hours he didn't show up," Ross was saying. "This morning,
however, I tried the same stunt, and it worked. I wasn't any too quick
about it, either, for Paddington was just after me. I strolled in,
asked for a package of Cairos and gave the man the office, as you told
me. He handed it over like a lamb, and I walked out with it, straight
to that little cafe across the way. I had four of the boys waiting
there, and my entrance was a signal to them to beat it over and buy
enough tobacco to keep the shopkeeper busy while I made a getaway from
the dairy-lunch place. I only went three doors down, to a barber's,
and while I was waiting my turn there I watched the street from behind
a newspaper.
"In about ten minutes Paddington came along, walking as if he was in
quite a hurry. He went into the tobacconist's, but he came out quicker
than he had entered, and his face was a study--purple with rage one
minute, and white with fear the next. I don't believe he knows yet
who's tailing him, sir, but he looks as if he realized we had him
coming and going. He went straight over to the little restaurant, with
murder in his eye, but he only stayed a minute or two. I tailed him
home to his rooms, and he stamped along at first as if he was so mad
he didn't care whether he was followed or not. When he got near his
own street, though, he got cautious again, and I had all I could do to
keep him from catching me on his trail--he's a sharp one, when he
wants to be, and he's on his mettle now."
"I know the breed. He'll turn and fight like any other rat if he's
cornered, but meanwhile he'll try at any cost to get away from us,"
Blaine responded. "You have him well covered, Ross?"
"Thorpe is waiting in a high-powered car a few doors away, Vanner in a
taxi, and Daly is on the job until I get back. He won't take a step
to-day without being tailed," the operative answered, confidently.
"Here's the cigarette box, sir. I opened it as soon as I got in the
restaurant, to see if it was the real goods and not a plant, as you
instructed. It's the straight tip, all right. There were no cigarettes
inside, only this single sheet of paper covered with little
marks--looks like music, only it isn't. I don't know much about
sight-reading, but some of those figures couldn't be played on any
instrument!"
Henry Blaine opened the little box and drew from it the bit of folded
paper, which he spread out upon the desk before him. A glance was
sufficient to show him that it was another cryptic message, similar to
that which Guy Morrow had found in the Brunells' deserted cottage, and
which he had vainly studied until far into the night.
"Very good, Ross. Get back on the job, now, and report any developments
as soon as you have an opportunity."
When the operative had gone, Blaine drew forth the cryptogram received
the previous evening and compared the two. They were identical in
character, although from the formation of the letters and figures, the
message each conveyed was a different one. The first had baffled him,
and he scrutinized the second with freshly awakened interest:
[Illustration: An image of a coded message is shown here in the text.]
The three lines fascinated him by their tantalizing problem, and he
could not take his eyes from them. The musical notes could be easily
read in place of letters, of course, with the sign of the treble clef
as a basic guide, but the other figures still puzzled him.
All at once, a word upon the lowest line which explained itself caught
his eye; then another and another, until the method of deciphering the
whole message burst upon his mind. One swift gesture, a few eagerly
scrawled calculations, and the truth was plain to him.
Calling his secretary, he hastily dictated a letter.
"I want a copy of that sent at once, by special delivery, to every
physician and surgeon in town, no matter how obscure. See to it that
not one is overlooked. Even those on the staffs of the different
hospitals must be notified, although they are the least likely to be
called upon. Above all, don't forget the old retired one, those of
shady professional reputation and the fledglings just out of medical
colleges. It's a large order, Marsh, but it's bound to bring some
result in the next forty-eight hours."
With the closing of the door behind his secretary, Henry Blaine rose
and paced thoughtfully back and forth the length of his spacious
office. The problem before him was the most salient in its importance
of any which had confronted him during his investigation of the Lawton
mystery--probably the weightiest of his entire career. Should he,
dared he, throw caution to the winds and step out into the open, in
his true colors at last?
It was as if he held within his hands the kernel of the mystery, yet
surrounded still by an invulnerable shield of cunning and duplicity
with which the master criminals had so carefully safe-guarded their
conspiracy. He held it within his hands, and yet he could not break
the shell of the mystery and expose the kernel of truth to justice.
There seemed to be no interstice, no crevice into which he might
insert the keen probe of his marvelous deductive power. And yet his
experience told him that there must be some rift, some hiatus in the
scheme. If only he could discover that rift, could prove beyond a
shadow of a doubt the facts which he had circumstantially established,
he would not hesitate to lay his hands upon the culprits, high in
power and influence throughout the country as they were, and bring
them before any court of so-called justice, however it might be
undermined by bribery and corruption.
He had accomplished much, working as a mole works, in the dark. Could
he not accomplish more by declaring himself; could he not by one bold
stroke lay bare the heart of the mystery?
Seating himself again at his desk, he took the telephone receiver from
its hook and called up Anita Lawton at her home--not upon the private
wire he had had installed for her, but on the regular house wire.
"Oh, Mr. Blaine, what is it! Have you found him? Have you news for me
of Ramon?" Her voice, faint and high-pitched with the hideous suspense
of the days just past, came to him tremulous with eagerness and an
abiding hope.
"No, Miss Lawton, I am sorry to say that I have not yet found Mr.
Hamilton, but I have definite information that he still lives, at
least," he returned. "I hope that in a few days, at most, I may bring
him to you."
"Thank heaven for that!" she responded fervently. "I have tried so
hard to believe, to have faith that he will be restored to me, and yet
the hideous doubt will return again and again. These days and nights
have been one long, ceaseless torture!"
"You have taken my advice in regard to receiving your visitors?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Blaine. My three guardians have been unremitting in
their attentions, particularly Mr. Rockamore, who calls daily. He has
just left me."
"Miss Lawton, I have decided that the time has come for us to declare
ourselves openly--not in regard to the mystery of your father's
insolvency, but concerning the disappearance of Ramon Hamilton. I want
you to call his mother up on the telephone as soon as I ring off, and
tell her that you have resolved to retain me, on your account, to find
him for you. Should she put forward any objections, over-rule her and
refuse to listen. I will be with you in an hour. In the meantime,
should anyone call, you may tell them that you have just retained me
to investigate the disappearance of your fiance. Tell that to anyone
and everyone; the more publicity we give to that fact the better. The
moment has arrived for us to carry war into the enemy's camp, and I
know that we shall win! Keep up your courage, Miss Lawton! We're done
with maneuvering now. You've borne up bravely, but I believe your
period of suspense, in regard to many things, is past. Before this day
is done, they will know that we are in this to fight to the
finish--and to fight to win!"