After the affair of the auto bandits--three of whom were killed--a lull
followed. If you're a sailor you know what kind of a lull I
mean--blue-black clouds down the southwest horizon, the water crinkly,
the booms wabbling. Suddenly a series of "accidents" began to happen
to Norton. At first he did not give the matter much thought. The safe
which fell almost at his feet and crashed through the sidewalk merely
induced him to believe he was lucky. At another time an automobile
came furiously around a corner while he was crossing the street, and
only amazing agility saved him from bodily hurt. The car was out of
sight when he thought to recall the number.
Then came the jolt in the subway. Only a desperate grab by one of the
guards saved him from being crushed to death. Even then he thought
nothing. But when a new box of cigarettes arrived and he tried one and
found it strangely perfumed, and, upon further analysis, found it to
contain a Javanese narcotic, a slow but sure death, he became wide
awake enough. They were after him. He began to walk carefully, to
keep in public places as often as he possibly could.
He was not really afraid of death, but he did abhor the thought of its
coming up from behind. Except for the cigarettes they were all
"accidents;" he could not have proved anything before a jury of his
intimate friends.
He never entered an elevator without scrupulous care. He never passed
under coverings over the sidewalks where construction was going on.
Still, careful as he was, death confronted him once more. It was his
habit to have his coffee and rolls--he rarely ate anything more for his
breakfast--set down outside his door every morning. The coffee, being
in a silver thermos bottle, kept its heat for hours. When he took the
stopper out and poured forth a cup it looked oddly black, discolored.
It is quite probable that had there been no series of "accidents" he
would have drunk a cup--and died in mortal agony. It contained
bichloride of mercury.
Very quietly he set about to make inquiries. This was really becoming
serious. In the kitchens clown-stairs nothing could be learned. The
maid had set the thermos bottle before the door at ten-thirty. Norton
had opened the door at one-thirty--three hours after. The outlook was
not the cheerfulest. He knew perfectly well why all these things
"happened;" he had interfered with the plans of the scoundrels who were
making every possible move to kidnap Florence Hargreave.
One afternoon he paid Florence a visit. Of course he told her nothing.
They had become secretly engaged the day after he had rescued her from
the auto bandits. They were secretly engaged because Florence wanted
it so. For once Jones suspected nothing. Why should he? He had
troubles enough. As a matter of fact, Norton was afraid of him in the
same sense as a boy is afraid of a policeman.
[Illustration: THEY HAD BECOME SECRETLY ENGAGED]
But on this day, when the time came, he accosted the butler and drew
him into the pantry.
"Jones, they are after me now."
"You? Explain."
Norton briefly recounted the deliberate attempts against his life.
"You see, I'm not liar enough to say that I'm not worried. I am,
devilishly worried. I'm not worth any ransom. I'm in the way, and
they seem determined to put me out of it."
"To any other man I would say travel. But to you I say when you leave
your rooms don't go where you first thought you would--that is, some
usual haunt. They'll be everywhere, near your restaurants, your clubs,
your office. You're a methodical young man; become erratic. Keep away
from here for at least three days, but always call me up by telephone
some time during the day. Never under any circumstance, unless I send
for you, come here at night. Only one man now watches the house during
the day, but five are prowling around after dark. They might have
instructions to shoot you on sight. I can't spare you just at present,
Mr. Norton. You've been a godsend; and if it seems that sometimes I
did not trust you fully it was because I did not care to drag you in
too deep."
Deep? Norton thought of Florence and smiled inwardly. Could anybody
be in deeper than he was? Once it was on the tip of his tongue to
confess his love for Florence, but the gravity of Jones' countenance
was an obstacle to such move; it did not invite it.
To be sure, Jones had no real authority to say what Florence should or
should not do with her heart. Still, from all points of view, it was
better to keep the affair under the rose till there came a more
propitious hour in which to make the disclosure.
Love, in the midst of all these alarms! Sharp, desperate rogues on one
side, millions on the other, and yet love could enter the scene
serenely, like an actor who had missed his cue and come on too soon.
Oddly enough, there was no real love-making such as you often read
about. A pressure of the hand, a glance from the eye, there was seldom
anything more. Only once--that memorable day on the river road--had he
kissed her. No word of love had been spoken on either side. In that
wild moment all conventionalities had disappeared like smoke in the
wind. There had been neither past nor future, only the present in
which they knew that they loved. With her he was happy, for he had no
time to plan over the future. Away from her he saw the inevitable
barriers providing against the marriage between a poor young man and a
very rich young woman. A man who has any respect for himself wants
always to be on equal terms with his wife. It's the way this peculiar
organization called society has written down its rules. Doubtless a
relic of the stone age, when Ab went out with his club to seek a wife
and drag her by the hair to his den, there to care for her and to guard
her with his life's blood. It is one of the few primitive sensations
that remain to us, this wanting the female dependent upon the male.
Perhaps this accounts for man's lack of interest on the suffragette
question.
[Illustration: WITH HER HE WAS HAPPY, FOR HE HAD NO TIME TO PLAN OVER
THE FUTURE]
Only Susan suspected the true state of affairs, being a woman. Having
had no real romance herself, she delighted in having a second-hand one,
as you might say. She intercepted many a glance and pretended not to
see the stolen hand pressures. The wedding was already full drawn in
her mind's eye. These two young people should be married at Susan
Farlow's when the roses were climbing up the sides of the house and the
young robins were boldly trying their fuzzy wings. It struck her as
rather strange, but she could not conjure up (at this wedding) more
than two men besides the minister, the bridegroom and the butler.
By forsaking his accustomed haunts, under the advice of Jones, the
hidden warfare ceased temporarily. You can't very well kill a man when
you don't know where to find him. He ate his breakfasts haphazardly,
now here, now there. He received most of his assignments by telephone
and wrote his stories and articles in his club, in the writing rooms of
hotels, and invariably despatched them to the office by messenger. The
managing editor wanted to know what all this meant; but Norton declined
to tell him.
It irked him to be forced to rearrange his daily life--his habits. It
was a revolution against his ease, for he loved ease when he was not at
work. He had the sensation of having been suddenly robbed of his home,
of having been cast out into the streets. And on top of all this he
had to go and fall in love!
There was no longer a shadow opposite the apartments of the Countess
Perigoff. Braine came and went nightly without discovering any one.
This rather worried him. It gave him the impression that the shadow
had found out what he had been seeking and no longer needed to watch
the coming and going of either himself or the Countess Perigoff.
"Olga, it looks as if we were at the end of our rope," he said
discouragedly. "We have failed in our attempts so far. The devil
watches over that girl."
"Or God," replied the countess gloomily. In nearly every instance
their success has been due to chance. "Somehow I'm convinced that we
began wrong. We should have let Hargreave escape quietly, followed
him, and made him fast when the right opportunity came. After a month
or so his vigilance would have relaxed; he would have arrived at the
belief that he had eluded us."
"Indeed!" ironically. "He wasn't vigilant all these years in which he
did elude us. How about the child he never sought but guarded?
Vigilance! He never was anything else all these seventeen years. The
truth is, success has developed a coarseness in our methods. And now
it is too late for finesse. We have tried every device we can think
of; and there they are--the girl free, Norton unharmed, and the father
as secure in his retreat as though he wore an invisible cloak. My head
aches. I have ceased to be inventive."
[Illustration: THEY WERE TO BE MARRIED]
"The two are in love with each other."
"Are you sure of that?"
"I have my eyes. But I begin to wonder."
"About what?"
"Whether or not Jones suspects me and is giving me rope to hang myself
with. Not once have the police been called in and told what has really
happened. They are totally at sea. And what has become of the man
over the way?"
"By the Lord Harry!" exclaimed Braine, clapping his hands. "I believe
I've solved that. We shot a man coming out of Hargreave's. Since then
there's been no one across the way. One and the same man!"
"But that knowledge doesn't get us anywhere."
"No. You say they are in love?"
"Secretly. I don't believe the butler has an inkling of it. It is
possible, however, that Susan has caught the trend of affairs. But,
being rather romantic, she will in nowise interfere."
Braine smoked in silence. Presently a smile twisted his lips.
"You have thought of something?" she asked.
"You might try it," he said. "They have accepted your friendship;
whether with ulterior purpose remains to be learned. She has been to
your apartments two or three times to tea and always got home safely."
"No," she said determinedly. "Nothing shall happen here. I will not
take the risk."
"Wait till I'm through. Break up the romance in such a way that the
girl will bar Norton from the house. That's what we've been aiming at;
to get rid of that meddling reporter. We've tried poisons. Try your
kind."
"What do you mean?"
"Lies."
"Ah! I understand. You want me to win him away from her. It can not
be done."
"Pshaw! You have a bag full of tricks. You can easily manage to put
him into an equivocal position out of which he can not possibly squirm
so far as the girl is concerned. A little melodrama, arranged for the
benefit of Florence. Fall into Norton's arms at the right moment, or
something like that."
"I suppose I could. But if I failed..."
"You're too damnably clever to fail in your own particular work.
Something has got to be done to keep those two apart. I've often
thought of raiding the house and boldly carrying off the whole family,
Susan and all. But a wholesale affair like that would be too noisy.
Think it over, Olga; we have gone too far to back down now. There's
always Russia; and while I'm the boss over here they never cease to
watch me. They'll make me answer for a failure like this."
She eyed him speculatively. "You have money."
"Oh, the money doesn't matter. It's the game. It's the game of
playing fast and loose with society, of pilfering it with one hand and
making it kow-tow with the other. It's the sport of the thing. What
was your thought?"
"We could go away together, to South America."
"And tire of each other within a month," he retorted shrewdly. "No; we
are in the same boat. We could not live but for this never-ending
excitement. And, more than that, we never could get far enough away
from the long arm of the First Ten. We'll have to stick it out here.
Can't you see?"
"Yes, I can see."
But in her heart she knew that she would have lived in a hut with this
man till the end of her days. She abhorred the life, though she never,
by the slightest word, let him become aware of it. There was always
that abiding fear that at the first sign of weakness he would desert
her. And she was wise in her deductions. Braine was loyal to her
because she held his interest. Once that failed, he would be off and
away.
The next afternoon the countess, having matured her plans against the
happiness of the young girl who trusted her, drew up before the
Hargreave place and alighted. Her welcome was the same as ever, and
this strengthened her confidence.
The countess was always gesticulating. Her hands fluttered to
emphasize her words. And the beautiful diamond solitaire caught the
girl's eye. She seized the hand. Having an affair of her own, it was
natural that she should be interested in that of her friend.
"I never saw that ring before."
"A gift of yesterday." The countess assumed a shy air which would have
deceived St. Anthony. She twisted the ring on her finger.
"Tell me," cried Florence. "You are engaged?"
"Mercy, no!"
"Is he rich?"
"No. Money should not matter when your heart is involved."
As this thought was in accord with her own, Florence nodded her head
sagely.
"It's nothing serious. Just a fancy. I shall never marry again. Men
are gay deceivers; they always have been and always will be. Perhaps
I'm a bit wicked; but I rather like to prove my theory that all men are
weak. If I had a daughter I'd rather have her be an old man's darling
than a young man's drudge. I distrust every man I know. I came to ask
you and Susan to go to the opera with me to-night. You will come to my
apartments first. You will come?"
"To be sure we will!"
"Simple little fool!" thought the Russian on the way home. "She shall
see."
"I believe the countess is engaged to be married," said Florence to
Jones.
"Indeed, miss?"
"Yes. I couldn't get anything definite out of her, but she had a
beautiful ring on her finger. She wants Susan and me to go to the
opera with her to-night. Will that be all right?"
Jones gazed abstractedly at the rug. Whenever a problem bothered him
he seemed to find the solution in the delicate patterns of the Persian
rugs. Finally he nodded. "I see no reason why you should not go.
Only, watch out."
"Jones, there is one thing that will make me brave and happy. Will you
tell me if you are in direct communication with my father?"
"Yes, Miss Florence," he answered promptly. "But do not breathe this
to a single soul, neither Susan nor Norton."
"I promise that. But, ah! hasten the day when he can come to me
without fear."
"That is my wish also."
"You need not call me miss. Why should you?"
"It might not be wise to have any one hear me call you thus
familiarly," he objected gravely.
"Please yourself about that. Now I must telephone Jim."
"Jim?" the butler murmured.
He caught the word which was not intended for his ears. But for once
Jones had been startled out of himself.
"Is it wrong for me to call Mr. Norton Jim?" she asked with a bit of
banter.
"It is not considered quite the proper thing, Miss Florence, to call a
young man by his first name unless you are engaged to marry him, or
grew up with him from childhood."
"Well, supposing I were engaged to him?" haughtily.
"That would be a very grave affair. What have you to prove that he may
not wish to marry you for your money?"
"Why, Jones, you know that I haven't a penny in the world I can call my
own! There is nothing to prove, except your word, that I am Stanley
Hargreave's daughter."
"No, there is nothing to prove that you are his daughter. But hasn't
it ever occurred to you that there might be a purpose back of this?
Might it not be of inestimable value that your father's enemies should
be left in doubt? Might it not be a means of holding them on the
leash? There is proof, ample proof, my child; and when the time comes
these will be shown you. But meantime put all thought of marrying Mr.
Norton out of your mind."
"That I refuse to do," quietly. "I am at least mistress of my heart;
and no one shall dictate to me whom I shall or shall not marry. I love
Mr. Norton and he loves me, knowing that I may not be an heiress after
all. And some day I shall marry him."
Jones bowed. This seemed to appear final to him, and nothing more was
to be said.
Norton did not return to his rooms till seven. He found the telephone
call and also a note in a handwriting unfamiliar. He tore off the
envelope and found! the contents to be from the Countess Perigoff.
"Call at eight to-night," he read. "I have an important news story for
you. Tell no one, as I can not be involved in the case. Cordially,
Olga, Countess Perigoff."
Humph! Norton twiddled the note in his fingers and at length rolled it
into a ball and threw it into the waste-basket. He, too, made a
mistake; he should have kept that note. He dressed, dined, and hurried
off to the apartments of the countess.
He arrived ten minutes before Florence and Susan.
And Jones did some rapid telephoning.
"How long, how long!" the butler murmured. How long would this strange
combat last? The strain was terrible. He slept but little during the
nights, for his ears were always waiting for sounds. He had cast the
chest into the sea, and it would take a dozen expert divers to locate
it. And now, atop of all these worries, the child must fall in love
with the first comer! It was heart-breaking. Norton, so far as he had
learned, was cool and brave, honest and reliable in a pinch; but as the
husband of Stanley Hargreave's daughter, that was altogether a
different matter. And he must devise some means of putting a stop to
it, but---
But he was saved that trouble.
Mongoose and cobra, that was the game being played; the cunning of the
one against the deadly venom of the other. If he forced matters he
would only lay himself open to the strike of the snake. He must have
patience. Gradually they were breaking the organization, lopping off a
branch here and there, but the peace of the future depended upon
getting a grip on the spine of the cobra himself.
The trick was simple. The countess had news; trust her for that. She
exhibited a cablegram, dated at Gibraltar, in which the British
authorities stated definitely that no such a person as William Orts,
aviator, had arrived at Gibraltar. And then, as Norton rose, she rose
also and gently precipitated herself into his arms, just at the moment
when Florence appeared in the doorway.
Very simple, indeed. When a woman falls toward a man there is nothing
for him to do but extend his arms to prevent her from falling.
Outwardly, however, to the eye which saw only the picture and
comprehended not the cause, it had all the hallmarks of an affectionate
embrace.
Florence stood perfectly still for a moment, then turned away.
"I beg your pardon," said the countess, "but a sudden fainting spell
seized me. My heart is a bit weak."
"Don't mention it," replied the gallant Norton. He was as innocent as
a babe as to what had really taken place.
Florence went back home. She wrote a brief note to Norton and inclosed
the ring which she had secretly worn attached to a little chain around
her neck.
When Norton came the next day she refused to see him. It was all over.
She never wished to see him again.
"He says there has been some cruel mistake," said Jones.
"I saw him with the countess in his arms. I do not see any cruel
mistake in that. I saw him. Tell him so. And add that I never wish
to see him again."
Then she ran swiftly to her room, where she broke down and cried
bitterly and would not be comforted by Susan.
"In heaven's name, what has happened?" demanded the frantic lover,
"what has happened?"
The comedy of the whole affair lay in the fact that neither of the two
suspected the countess, who consoled them both.