A QUESTION IN THE NIGHT
I was stricken dumb at this end to the investigation, and half doubted
the evidence of my eyes.
“Well,” said the policeman, with a sigh of relief, “there's nothing
here.”
I suspected that his doubts of my sanity were returning.
“Here is where it was done,” I asserted stoutly, pointing to the spot
where I had seen the struggling group from the window. “There were
surely five or six men in it.”
The policeman turned his lantern on the spot. The rough pavement had
taken no mark of the scuffle.
“It's hard to make sure of things from above in this light,” said the
policeman, hinting once more his suspicion that I was confusing dreams
with reality.
“There was no mistaking that job,” I said. “See here, the alley leads
farther back. Bring your light.”
“Aisy, now,” said the policeman. “I'll lead the way. Maybe you want one
yourself, as your friend has set the fashion.”
A few paces farther the alley turned at a right angle to the north,
yawning dark behind the grim and threatening buildings, and filled with
noisome odors. We looked narrowly for a body, and then for traces that
might give hint of the passage of a party.
“Nothing here,” said the policeman, as we came out on the other street.
“Maybe they've carried him into one of these back-door dens, and maybe
they whisked him into a hack here, and are a mile or two away by now.”
“But we must follow them. He may be only wounded and can be rescued. And
these men can be caught.” I was almost hysterical in my eagerness.
“Aisy, aisy, now,” said the policeman. “Go back to your room, now.
That's the safest place for you, and you can't do nothin' at all out
here. I'll report the case to the head office, an' we'll send out the
alarm to the force. Now, here's your door. Just rest aisy, and they'll
let you know if anything's found.”
And he passed on, leaving me dazed with dread and despair in the
entrance of the fateful house.
The sounds of drunken pleasure were lessening about me. The custom
had fallen off in the saloon across the street to such extent that the
proprietor was putting up the shutters. The saloon on the corner of the
alley was still waiting for stray customers and I crossed over to it
with the thought that the inmates might give me a possible clue. A man
half-asleep leaned back in a chair by the stove with his chin on his
breast. Two rough-looking men at a table who were talking in low tones
pretended not to notice my entrance, but their furtive glances gave more
eloquent evidence of their interest than the closest stare.
The barkeeper eyed me with apparent openness. I called for a glass of
wine, partly as an excuse for my visit, and partly to revive my shaken
spirits.
“Any trouble about here to-night?” I asked in my most affable tone.
The barkeeper looked at me with cold suspicion.
“No, sir,” he said shortly. “This is the quietest neighborhood in town.”
“I should think there would be a disturbance every time that liquor was
sold,” was my private comment, as I got the aftertaste of the dose. But
I merely wished him good night as I paid for the drink, and sauntered
out.
I promptly got into my doorway before any one could reach the street to
see whither I went, and listened to a growling comment and a mirthless
laugh that followed my departure. Hardly had I gained my concealment
when the swinging doors of the saloon opened cautiously, and a face
peered out into the semi-darkness. With a muttered curse it went back,
and I heard the barkeeper's voice in some jest about a failure to be
“quick enough to catch flies.”
Once more in the room to wait till morning should give me a chance to
work, I looked about the dingy place with a heart sunk to the lowest
depths. I was alone in the face of this mystery. I had not one friend
in the city to whom I could appeal for sympathy, advice or money. Yet
I should need all of these to follow this business to the end--to learn
the fate of my cousin, to rescue him, if alive and to avenge him, if
dead.
Then, in the hope that I might find something among Henry's effects to
give me a clue to the men who had attacked him, I went carefully through
his clothes and his papers. But I found that he did not leave memoranda
of his business lying about. The only scrap that could have a possible
bearing on it was a sheet of paper in the coat he had changed with
me. It bore a rough map, showing a road branching thrice, with crosses
marked here and there upon it. Underneath was written:
“Third road--cockeyed barn--iron cow.”
Then followed some numerals mixed in a drunken dance with half the
letters of the alphabet--the explanation of the map, I supposed, in
cipher, and as it might prove the clue to this dreadful business, I
folded the sheet carefully in an envelope and placed it in an inmost
pocket.
The search having failed of definite results, I sat with chair tilted
against the wall to consider the situation. Turn it as I would, I could
make nothing good of it. There were desperate enterprises afoot of which
I could see neither beginning nor end, purpose nor result. I repented of
my consent to mix in these dangerous doings and resolved that when the
morning came I would find other quarters, take up the search for Henry,
and look for such work as might be found.
It was after midnight when I had come to this conclusion, and, barring
doors and windows as well as I could, I flung myself on the bed to rest.
I did not expect to sleep after the exciting events through which I had
passed; yet after a bit the train of mental pictures drawn out by the
surging memories of the night became confused and faded away, and I sank
into an uneasy slumber.
When I awoke it was with a start and an oppressive sense that somebody
else was in the room. The gas-light that I had left burning had been
put out. Darkness was intense. The beating of my own heart was the only
sound I could distinguish. I sat upright and felt for the matches that I
had seen upon the stand.
In another instant I was flung back upon the bed. Wiry fingers gripped
my throat, and a voice hissed in my ear:
“Where is he? Where is the boy? Give me your papers, or I'll wring the
life out of you!”
I was strong and vigorous, and, though taken at a disadvantage,
struggled desperately enough to break the grip on my throat and get a
hold upon my assailant.
“Where is the boy?” gasped the voice once more; and then, as I made no
reply, but twined my arms about him, my assailant saved all his breath
for the struggle.
We rolled to the floor with a thud that shook the house, and in this
change of base I had the luck to come out uppermost. Then my courage
rose as I found that I could hold my man. I feared a knife, but if he
had one he had not drawn it, and I was able to keep his hands too busy
to allow him to get possession of it now. Finding that he was able to
accomplish nothing, he gave a short cry and called:
“Conn!”
I heard a confusion of steps outside, and a sound as of a muffled oath.
Then the door opened, there was a rush of feet behind me, and the flash
of a bull's-eye lantern. I released my enemy, and sprang back to the
corner where I could defend myself at some advantage. It was a poor
chance for an unarmed man, but I found a chair and set my teeth to give
an account of myself to the first who advanced, and reproached the lack
of foresight that had allowed me to lay the revolver under the pillow
instead of putting it in my pocket.
I could distinguish four dark figures of men; but, instead of rushing
upon me as I stood on the defensive, they seized upon my assailant. I
looked on panting, and hardly able to regain my breath. It was not half
a minute before my enemy was securely bound and gagged and carried out.
One of the men lingered.
“Don't take such risks,” he said. “I wouldn't have your job, Mr. Wilton,
for all the old man's money. If we hadn't happened up here, you'd have
been done for this time.”
“In God's name, man, what does all this mean?” I gasped.
The man looked at me in evident surprise.
“They've got a fresh start, I guess,” he said. “You'd better get some of
the men up here. Mr. Richmond sent us up to bring this letter.”
He was gone silently, and I was left in the darkness. I struck a match,
lighted the gas once more, and, securing the revolver, looked to the
letter. The envelope bore no address. I tore it open. The lines were
written in a woman's hand, and a faint but peculiar perfume rose from
the paper, it bore but these words:
“Don't make the change until I see you. The money will be ready in the
morning. Be at the bank at 10:30.”
The note, puzzling as it was, was hardly an addition to my perplexities.
It was evident that I had been plunged into the center of intrigue, plot
and counterplot. I was supposed to have possession of somebody's boy.
A powerful and active enemy threatened me with death. An equally
active friend was working to preserve my safety. People of wealth were
concerned. I had dimly seen a fragment of the struggling forces, and it
was plain that only a very rich person could afford the luxury of hiring
the bravos and guards who threatened and protected me.
How wide were the ramifications of the mystery? Whose was the boy, and
what was wanted of him? Had he been stolen from home and parents? Or was
he threatened with mortal danger and sent into hiding to keep him from
death?
The fate of Henry showed the power of those who were pursuing me. Armed
as he was with the knowledge of his danger, knowing, as I did not, what
he had to guard and from what he had to guard it, he had yet fallen a
victim.
I could not doubt that he was the man assaulted and stabbed in the alley
below. But the fact that no trace of him or of a tragedy was to be found
gave me hope that he was still alive. Yet, at best, he was wounded and
in the hands of his enemies, a prisoner to the men who had sought his
life. It must be, however, that he was not yet recognized. The transfer
of the chase to me was proof that the scoundrels had been misled by the
resemblance between us, and by the letters found in the coat. They were
convinced that he was Giles Dudley, and that I was Henry Wilton. As long
as there was hope that he was alive I would devote myself to searching
for him and to helping him to recover his liberty.
As I was hoping, speculating, planning thus, I was startled to hear a
step on the stair.
The sound was not one that need be thought out of place in such a house
and neighborhood even though the hour was past four in the morning. But
it struck a chill through me, and I listened with growing apprehension
as it mounted step by step.
The dread silence of the house that had cast its shadow of fear upon me
now seemed to become vocal with protest against this intrusion, and to
send warning through the halls. At last the step halted before my door
and a loud knock startled the echoes.
With a great bound my heart threw off its tremors, and I grasped the
revolver firmly:
“Who's there?”
“Open the door, sor; I've news for ye.”
“Who are you?”
“Come now, no nonsense; I'm an officer.”
I unlocked the door and stepped to one side. My bump of caution had
developed amazingly in the few hours I had spent in San Francisco, and,
in spite of his assurance, I thought best to avoid any chance of a rush
from my unknown friends, and to put myself in a good position to use my
revolver if necessary.
The man stepped in and showed his star. He was the policeman I had met
when I had run shouting into the street.
“I suspicion we've found your friend,” he said gravely. “You're wanted
at the morgue.”
“Dead!” I gasped.
“Dead as Saint Patrick--rest his sowl!”