THE LIBRARY CHAIR
"Paddington's on the run!" Ross, the operative, announced to Henry
Blaine the next morning, jubilantly. "He left his rooms about an
hour after I got back on the job, and went to Carlis' office.
He only stayed a short time, and came out looking as black
as a thunder-cloud--I guess the interview, whatever it was,
didn't go his way. He went straight from there to Rockamore, the
promoter. I pretended an errand with Rockamore, too, and so got into
the outer office. The heavy glass door was closed between, and I
couldn't hear anything but a muffled growling from within, but they
were both angry enough, all right. Once the stenographer went in and
came out again almost immediately. When the door opened to admit her,
I heard Paddington fairly shout:
"'It's your own skin you're saving, you fool, as well as mine! If I'm
caught, you all go! Carlis thinks he can bluff it, and Mallowe's a
superannuated, pig-headed old goat. He'll try to stand on his
reputation, and cave in like a pricked balloon when the crash comes. I
know his kind; I've hounded too many of 'em to the finish. But you're
a man of sense, Rockamore, and you know you've got to help me out of
this for your own sake. I tell you, some one's on to the whole game,
and they're just sitting back and waiting for the right moment to nab
us. They not only learn every move we make--they anticipate them! It's
every man for himself, now, and I warn you that if I'm cornered in
this--'
"'Hold your tongue!' Rockamore ordered. 'Can't you see--'
"Then the door closed, and I couldn't hear any more. The voices calmed
down to a rumble, and in about twenty minutes I could hear them
approaching the door. I decided I couldn't wait any longer, and got
outside just in time to give Paddington a chance to pass me. He seemed
in good humor, and I guess he got what he was after--money, probably,
for he went to his bank and put through a check. Then he returned to
his rooms, and didn't show up again until late afternoon, when he went
away up Belleair Avenue, to the rectory of the Church of St. James. He
didn't go in--just talked with the sexton in the vestibule, and when
he came down the steps he looked dazed, as if he'd received a hard
jolt of some sort. He couldn't have been trying to blackmail the
minister, too, could he?"
"Hardly, Ross. Go on," Blaine responded. "What did he do next?"
"Nothing. Just went back to his rooms and stayed there. It seemed as
if he was afraid to leave--not so much afraid to be found, but as if
he might miss something, if he left. He even had his dinner sent in
from a restaurant near there. Knowing him, I might have known what it
was he was waiting for--he's always chasing after some girl or
other."
"There was a woman in it, then?" asked the detective, quietly.
"You can bet there was--very much in it, sir!" the operative chuckled.
"She came along while I watched--a tall, slim girl, plainly dressed in
dark clothes, but with an air to her that would make you look at her
twice, anywhere. She hesitated and looked uncertainly about her, as if
she were unfamiliar with the place and a little scary of her errand,
but at last she made up her mind, and plunged in the vestibule, as if
she was afraid she would lose her courage if she stopped to think.
"For a few minutes her shadow showed on the window-shades, beside
Paddington's. They stood close together, and from their gestures, he
seemed to be arguing or pleading, while she was drawing back and
refusing, or at least, holding out against him. At last they fell into
a regular third-act clinch--it was as good as a movie! After a moment
she drew herself out of his arms and they moved away from the window.
In a minute or two they came out of the house together, and I tailed
them. They walked slowly, with their heads very close, and I didn't
dare get near enough to try to hear what they were discussing so
earnestly. But where do you suppose he took her? To the Anita Lawton
Club for Working Girls! He left her at the entrance and went back to
his own rooms, and he seemed to be in a queer mood all the way--happy
and up in the air one minute, and down in the dumps the next.
"He didn't stir out again last night, but early this morning he went
down to the office of the Holland-American line, and purchased two
tickets, first-class to Rotterdam, on the _Brunnhilde_, sailing next
Saturday, so I think we have the straight dope on him now. He means to
skip with the girl."
"Saturday--two days off!" mused Blaine. "I think it's safe to give him
his head until then, but keep a close watch on him, Ross. The purchase
of those tickets may have been just a subterfuge on his part to throw
any possible shadow off the trail. Did you ascertain what name he took
them under?"
"J. Padelford and wife."
"Clever of him, that!" Blaine commented. "If he really intends to fool
this girl with a fake marriage and sail with her for the other side,
he can explain the change of names on the steamer to her by telling
her it was a mistake on the printed sailing-list. Once at sea, without
a chance of escape from him, he can tell her the truth, or as much of
it as he cares to, and she'll have to stick; that type of woman always
does. She might even come in time to take up his line, and become a
cleverer crook than he is, but we're not going to let that happen.
We'll stop him, right enough, before he goes too far with her. What's
he doing now?"
"Walking in the park with her. She met him at the gates, and Vanner
took the job there of tailing them, while I came on down to report to
you."
"Good work, Ross. But go back and take up the trail now yourself, if
you're fit. And here, you'd better take this warrant with you; I swore
it out against him several days ago, in case he attempted to bolt. If
he tries to get the girl into a compromising situation, arrest him.
Let me know if anything of importance occurs meanwhile."
As Ross went out, the secretary, Marsh, appeared.
"There's an elderly gentleman outside waiting to see you, sir," he
announced. "He does not wish to give his name, but says that he is a
physician, and is here in answer to a letter which he received from
you."
"Good! They pulled it off, then! We were only just in time with those
letters we sent out yesterday, Marsh. Show him in at once."
In a few moments a tall, spare figure appeared in the doorway, and
paused an instant before entering. He had a keen, smooth-shaven,
ascetic face, topped with a mass of snow-white hair.
"Come in, Doctor," invited the detective. "I am Henry Blaine. It was
good of you to come in response to my letter. I take it that you have
something interesting to tell me."
The doctor entered and seated himself in the chair indicated by
Blaine. He carried with him a worn, old-fashioned black leather
instrument case.
"I do not know whether what I have to tell you will prove to have any
connection with the matter you referred to in your letter or not, Mr.
Blaine. Indeed, I hesitated about divulging my experience of last
night to you. The ethics of my profession--"
"My profession has ethics, too, Doctor, although you may not have
conceived it," the detective reminded him, quietly. "Even more than
doctor or priest, a professional investigator must preserve inviolate
the secrets which are imparted to him, whether they take the form of a
light under a bushel or a skeleton in a closet. In the cause of
justice, only, may he open his lips. I hold safely locked away in my
mind the keys to mysteries which, were they laid bare, would disrupt
society, drag great statesmen from their pedestals, provoke
international complications, even bring on wars. If you know anything
pertaining to the matter of which I wrote you, justice and the ethics
of your profession require you to speak."
"I agree with you, sir. As I said, I am not certain that my
adventure--for it was quite an adventure for a retired man like
myself, I assure you--has anything to do with the case you are
investigating, but we can soon establish that. Do you recognize the
subject of this photograph?"
The doctor drew from his pocket a small square bit of cardboard, and
Blaine took it eagerly from him. One glance at it was sufficient, and
it was with difficulty that the detective restrained the exclamation
of triumph which rose to his lips. Upon the card was mounted a tiny,
thumbnail photograph of a face--the face of Ramon Hamilton! It was
more like a death-mask than a living countenance, with its rigid
features and closed eyes, but the likeness was indisputable.
"I recognize it, indeed, Doctor. That is the man for whom I am
searching. How did it come into your possession?"
"I took it myself, last night." The spare figure of the elderly
physician straightened proudly in his chair. "When your communication
arrived, I did not attach much importance to it because it did not
occur to me for a moment that I should have been selected, from among
all the physicians and surgeons of this city, for such a case. When
the summons came, however, I remembered your warning--but I
anticipate. Since my patient of last night is your subject, I may as
well tell you my experiences from the beginning. My name is
Alwyn--Doctor Horatius Alwyn--and I live at Number Twenty-six Maple
Avenue. Until my retirement seven years ago I was a regular practising
physician and surgeon, but since my break-down--I suffered a slight
stroke--I have devoted myself to my books and my camera--always a
hobby with me.
"Well--late last night, the front door-bell rang. It was a little
after eleven, and my wife and the maid had retired, but I was
developing some plates in the dark-room, and opened the door myself.
Three men stood there, but I could see scarcely anything of their
faces, for the collars of their shaggy motor coats were turned up,
their caps pulled low over their eyes, and all three wore goggles.
"'Doctor Alwyn?' asked one of the men, the burliest of the three,
advancing into the hall. 'I want you to come out into the country with
me on a hurry call. It's a matter of life and death, and there's five
thousand dollars in it for you, but the conditions attached to it are
somewhat unusual. May we come into your office, and talk it over?'
"I led the way, and listened to their proposition. Briefly, it was
this: a young man had fallen and injured his head, and was lying
unconscious in a sanitarium in the suburbs. There were reasons which
could not be explained to me, why the utmost secrecy must be
maintained, not only concerning the young man's identity, but the
location of the retreat where he was in seclusion. They feared that he
had suffered a concussion of the brain, possibly a fractured skull,
and my diagnosis was required. Also, should I deem an operation
necessary, I must be prepared to perform it at once. They would take
me to the patient in the car, but when we reached our destination, I
was to be blindfolded, and led to the sickroom, where the bandage
would be removed from my eyes. I was to return in the same manner. For
this service, and of course my secrecy, they offered me five thousand
dollars.
"Although that would not have been an exorbitant sum for me to obtain
for such an operation in the days of my activities, it looked very
large to me now, especially since some South American securities in
which I invested had declined, but I did not feel that it would be
compatible with my dignity and standing to accept the conditions which
were imposed. I was, therefore, upon the point of indignantly
declining, when I suddenly remembered your letter, and resolved to see
the affair through.
"It occurred to me, while I was selecting the instruments to take with
me, that it would not be a bad idea to take also my latest camera, and
if possible obtain a photograph of the patient to show you. I managed
to slip it into my vest pocket, unobserved by my visitors. Here it
is."
Dr. Alwyn took the instrument case upon his knee and opening it,
produced what looked like a large old-fashioned nickel-plated watch of
the turnip variety. The doctor extended it almost apologetically.
"You see," he observed, "it is really more a toy than a real camera,
although it served admirably last night. I have had a great deal of
amusement with it, pretending to feel people's pulses, but in reality
snapping their photographs. It takes very small, imperfect pictures,
of course, as you can see from the print there on your desk, and only
one to each loading, but it can be carried in the palm of one's hand,
and it uses a peculiarly sensitive plate that will register a
snap-shot even by electric light. It had fortunately just been
reloaded before the advent of my mysterious visitors, and I resolved
to make use of it if an opportunity offered.
"The curtains were tightly drawn in the car, and as the interior
lights had been extinguished, we sat in total darkness. I could not,
of course, tell in what direction we were going, although the car had
been pointed south when we left my door. We appeared to be travelling
at a terrific rate of speed and swung around a confusing number of
curves.
"I tried at first to remember the turns, and their direction, but
there were so many that I very soon lost count. I think they took me
in a round-about way purposely, to confuse me. I have no idea how
long we drove, but it must have been well over two hours. At last we
struck a long up-grade, and one of my companions announced that we
were almost there.
"They bound my eyes with a dark silk handkerchief, and a moment later
the car swerved and turned abruptly in, evidently at a gateway, for we
curved about up a graveled driveway--I could hear it crunching beneath
the wheels--and came to a grinding stop before the door. They helped
me out of the car, up some shallow stone steps and across the
threshold.
"I was led down a thickly carpeted hall and up a single long flight of
stairs, to a door just at its head. We entered; the door closed softly
behind us; and the bandage was whipped from my eyes. There was only a
low night-light burning in the room, but I made out the outlines of
the furniture. There was a great bed over in the corner, with a
motionless figure lying upon it.
"'There's your patient, Doc; go ahead,' my burly friend said, and
accordingly I approached the bed, asking at the same time for more
light. The young man was unconscious, and in answer to a question of
mine the attendant who had sat at the head of the bed as we entered
informed me that he had been in a complete state of coma since he had
been brought there, several days before.
"I remembered the description in your letter of the subject for whom
you were searching, and I fancied, in spite of the bandages which
swathed his head, that I recognized him in the young man before me.
The lights flashed on full in answer to my request, and on a sudden
decision I drew the watch camera from my pocket, took the patient's
wrist between my thumb and finger as if to ascertain his pulse, and
snapped his picture. The result was a fortunate chance, for I did not
dare focus deliberately, with the eyes of the attendant and the three
men who had accompanied me, all directed at my movements.
"Then I gave the patient a thorough examination. I found a fracture at
the base of the brain--not necessarily fatal, unless cerebral
meningitis sets in, but quite serious enough. He was still bleeding a
little from the nose and ears. I washed them out, and packed the ears
with sterile gauze, leaving instructions that a specially prepared ice
cap be placed at once upon his head and kept there. That was all which
could be done at that time, but the patient should have constant,
watchful attention. He must either have suffered a severe backward
fall, or received a violent blow at the base of the skull, to have
sustained such an injury.
"When I had finished, they blindfolded me again, led me from the room,
and conveyed me home in the same manner in which I had come, with the
possible exception that the car in returning seemed to take a
different and more direct route; the journey appeared to be a much
shorter one, with fewer twists and turns. The same three men came back
to the house with me, and entered my office, where the burly one
turned over to me ten five-hundred-dollar bills. They left almost
immediately, and although it was close on to dawn, I went into my dark
room, and developed the negative of the thumbnail photograph I had
taken.
"The events of the night had been so extraordinary that when I did
retire, it was long before I could sleep. In the morning, I made a
couple of prints from the negative, then took the five thousand
dollars down and deposited it to my account in the bank."
"When I decided to come here, I ran over in my mind every moment of
the previous night's adventure, to catalogue my impressions. The habit
of years has made me methodical in all things, and I jotted them down
in the order in which they occurred to me, that I might not forget to
relate them to you. Memory plays one sad tricks, sometimes, when one
reaches my age. These notes may be of no assistance to you, sir, but
they are entirely at your service."
"I am eager to hear them, Doctor. I only wish all witnesses were like
you--my tasks would be lightened by half," Blaine said, heartily.
The elderly physician drew from his pocket a paper, at which he
peered, painstakingly.
"I have numbered them. Let me see--oh, yes. First, the burly man walks
with a slight limp in the right leg. Second, of the two men with him,
all I could note was that one spoke with a decided French accent and
had a hollow cough, tuberculous, I think; the other, who scarcely
uttered a word, was short and stocky, and of enormous strength. He
fairly lifted me into and out of the car when I was blindfolded at the
entrance of the place they called a sanitarium. Third, the car had a
peculiar horn; I have never heard one like it before. Its blast was
sharp and wailing, not like a siren, but more like the howl of a
wounded animal. I would know it again, anywhere. Fourth, there is a
railroad bridge very near the house to which I was taken--I distinctly
heard two trains thunder over the trestles while I was attending my
patient. Fifth, I should judge the place to be more of a retreat for
alcoholics or the insane, than for those suffering from accident, or
any form of physical injury. A patient in some remote part of the
house was undoubtedly a maniac or in the throes of an attack of
delirium tremens. I heard his cries at intervals as I worked, until
he quieted down finally.
"Sixth, the bedroom where my patient is lying is on the second floor,
the windows facing south and east; there was a moon last night, and
one of the curtains was partly raised. His door is just at the head of
the stairs on your right as you go up, and the stairs are on a
straight line with the front door--therefore the house faces south.
Seventh, when we returned to my home, and were in my office, the burly
man had to pull the glove off his right hand to get the wallet from
his pocket in order to pay me my fee, and I saw that two fingers were
missing--they had both been amputated at the middle joint. Also, when
they were leaving, I heard the man who spoke with an accent address
him as 'Mac.'"
"Mac! It's three-fingered Mac Alarney, by the Lord!" Blaine started
from his chair. "Why did I not think of him before! Doctor, you have
rendered to me and to my client an invaluable service, which shall not
be forgotten. Mac Alarney is a retired prize-fighter, in close touch
with all the political crooks and grafters in the city. He runs a sort
of retreat for alcoholics up near Green Valley, and bears a generally
shady reputation. Are you game to go back with me to-night for another
call on your patient? You will be well guarded and in no possible
danger, now or for the future. I give you my word for that. I may need
you to verify some facts."
The doctor hesitated visibly.
"I am not afraid," he replied, at last, "but I scarcely feel that it
is conformable with the ethics of my calling. I was called in, in my
professional capacity--"
"My dear Doctor," the detective interrupted him with a trace of
impatience in his tones, "your patient is one of the most widely known
young men of this city. He was kidnaped, and the police have been
searching for him for days. The press of the entire country has rung
with the story of his mysterious disappearance. He is Ramon
Hamilton."
"Good heavens! Can it be possible!" the physician exclaimed. "I assure
you, sir, I had no idea of his identity. He was to have married
Pennington Lawton's daughter, was he not? I have read of his
disappearance, of course; the newspapers have been full of it. And he
was kidnaped, you say? No wonder those ruffians maintained such
secrecy in regard to their destination last night! Mr. Blaine, I will
accompany you, sir, and give you any aid in my power, in rescuing Mr.
Hamilton!"
"Good! I'll make all the necessary arrangements and call for you
to-night at eight o'clock. Meanwhile, keep a strict guard upon your
tongue, and say nothing to anyone of what has occurred. Have you told
your wife of your adventure?"
"No, Mr. Blaine; I merely told her I was out on a sudden night
call. I decided to wait until I had seen you before mentioning the
extraordinary features of the case."
"You are a man of discretion, Doctor! Until eight o'clock, then. You
may expect me, without fail."
Doctor Alwyn left, and Blaine spent a busy half-hour making his
arrangements for the night's raid. Scarcely had he completed them when
the telephone shrilled. The detective did not at first recognize the
voice which came to him over the wire, so changed was it, so fraught
with horror and a menace of tragedy.
"It is you, Miss Lawton?" he asked, half unbelievingly. "What is the
matter? What has happened?"
"I must see you at once, _at once_, Mr. Blaine! I have made a
discovery so unexpected, so terrible, that I am afraid to be alone; I
am afraid of my own thoughts. Please, please come immediately!"
"I will be with you as soon as my car can reach your door," he
replied.
What could the young girl have discovered, shut up there in that great
lonely house? What new developments could have arisen, in the case
which until this moment had seemed plain to him to the end?
He found her awaiting him in the hall, with ashen face and trembling
limbs. She clutched his hand with her small icy one, and whispered:
"Come into the library, Mr. Blaine. I have something to tell you--to
show you!"
He followed her into the huge, somber, silent room where only a few
short weeks ago her father had met with his death. Coming from the
brilliant sunshine without, it was a moment or two before his eyes
could penetrate the gloom. When they did so, he saw the great leather
chair by the hearth, which had played so important a part in the
tragedy, had been overturned.
"Mr. Blaine,"--the girl faced him, her voice steadied and deepened
portentously,--"my father died of heart-disease, did he not?"
The detective felt a sudden thrill, almost of premonition, at her
unexpected question, but he controlled himself, and replied quietly:
"That was the diagnosis of the physician, and the coroner's findings
corroborated him."
"Did it ever occur to you that there might be another and more
terrible explanation of his sudden death?"
"A detective must consider and analyze a case from every standpoint,
you know, Miss Lawton," he answered. "It did occur to me that perhaps
your father met with foul play, but I put the theory from me for lack
of evidence."
"Mr. Blaine, my father was murdered!"
"Murdered! How do you know? What have you discovered?"
"He was given poison! I have found the bottle which contained it,
hidden deep in the folds of his chair there. It was no morbid fancy of
mine after all; my instinct was right! No wonder that chair has
exerted such a horrible fascination for me ever since my poor father
died in it. See!"
With indescribable loathing, she extended her left hand, which until
now she had held clenched behind her. Upon the palm lay a tiny flat
vial, with a pale, amber-colored substance dried in the bottom of it.
Blaine took it and drew the cork. Before he had time to place it at
his nostrils, a faint but unmistakable odor of bitter almonds floated
out upon the air and pervaded the room.
"Prussic acid!" he exclaimed. "It has the same outward effect as an
attack of heart-disease would produce, to a superficial examination.
Miss Lawton, how did you discover this?"
"By the merest accident. I have a habit of creeping in here, when I am
more deeply despondent than usual, and sitting for a while in my
father's chair. It calms and comforts me, almost as if he were with me
once more. I was sitting there just before I telephoned you, thinking
over all that had occurred in these last weeks, when I broke down and
cried. I felt for my handkerchief, but could not find it, and thinking
that I might perhaps have dropped it in the chair, I ran my hand down
deep in the leather fold between the seat and the side and back. My
fingers encountered something flat and hard which had been jammed away
down inside, and I dug it out. It was this bottle! Mr. Blaine, does it
mean that my father was murdered by that man whose voice I heard--that
man who came to him in the night and threatened him?"
"I'm afraid it does, Miss Lawton." Henry Blaine said slowly. "When you
hear that voice again and recognize it, we shall be able to lay our
hands upon the murderer of your father."