When Jones received the telegram that Florence was safe, the iron nerve
of the man broke down. The suspense had been so keenly terrible that
the sudden reaction left him almost hysterically weak. Three weeks of
waiting, waiting. Not even the scoundrel and his wife who had been the
principal actors in the abduction had been found. From a great ship in
midocean they had disappeared. Doubtless they had hidden among the
immigrants, who, for little money, would have fooled all the officers
on board. There was no doubt in Jones' mind that the pair had landed
safely at Madrid.
As for Susan, she did have hysterics. She went about the room, wailing
and laughing and wringing her hands. You would have thought by her
actions that Florence had just died. The sight of her stirred the
saturnine lips of the butler into a smile. But he did not remonstrate
with her. In fact, he rather envied her freedom in emotion. Man can
not let go in that fashion; it is a sign of weakness; and he dared not
let even Susan see any sign of weakness in him.
So the reporter had found her, and she was safe and sound on her way to
New York? Knowing by this time something of the reporter's courage, he
was eager to learn how the event had come about. When he had not had a
telephone message from Norton in forty-eight hours, he had decided that
the Black Hundred had finally succeeded in getting hold of him. It had
been something of a blow; for while he looked with disfavor upon the
reporter's frank regard for his charge, he appreciated the fact that
Norton was a staff to lean on, and had behind him all the power of the
press, which included the privilege of going everywhere even if one
could not always get back.
As he folded the telegram and put it into his pocket, he observed the
man with the opera glasses over the way. He shrugged. Well, let him
watch till his eyes dropped out of his head; he would only see that
which was intended for his eyes. Still, it was irksome to feel that no
matter when or where you moved, watching eyes observed and chronicled
these movements.
Suddenly, not being devoid of a sense of dry humor, Jones stepped over
to the telephone and called up her highness the Countess Perigoff.
"Who is it?"
He was forced to admit, however reluctantly, that the woman had a
marvelously fine speaking voice.
"It is Jones, madam."
"Jones?"
"Mr. Hargreave's butler, madam."
"Oh! You have news of Florence?"
"Yes." It will be an embarrassing day for humanity when some one
invents a photographic apparatus by which two persons at the two ends
of the telephone may observe the facial expressions of each other.
"What is it? Tell me quickly."
"Florence has been found, and she is on her way back to New York. She
was found by Mr. Norton, the reporter."
"I am so glad! Shall I come up at once and have you tell me the whole
amazing story?"
"It would be useless, madam, for I know nothing except what I learned
from a telegram I have just received. But no doubt some time this
evening you might risk a call."
"Ring up the instant she returns. Did she say what train?"
"No, madam," lied Jones, smiling.
He hung up the receiver and stared at the telephone as if he would
force his gaze in and through it to the woman at the other end. Flesh
and blood! Well, greed was stronger than that. Treacherous cat! Let
her play; let her weave her nets, dig her pits. The day would come,
and it was not far distant, when she would find that the mild-eyed
mongoose was just as deadly as the cobra, and far more cunning.
The heads of the Black Hundred must be destroyed. Those were the
orders. What good to denounce them, to send them to a prison from
which, with the aid of money and a tremendous secret political pull,
they might readily find their way out? They must be exterminated, as
one kills off the poisonous plague rats of the Orient. A woman? In
the law of reprisal there was no sex.
Shortly after the telephone episode (which rather puzzled the countess)
she received a wire from Braine, which announced the fact that Florence
and Norton had escaped and were coming to New York on train No. 25, and
advising her to meet the train en route. She had to fly about to do it.
[Illustration: HE HAD PUT FLORENCE AND BRAINE IN THE BOAT AND LANDED
THEM]
When Captain Bannock released Braine, he had been in no enviable frame
of mind. Tricked, fooled by the girl, whose mind was as unclouded as
his own! She had succeeded in bribing a coal stoker, and had taken him
unawares. The man had donned the disguise he had laid out for shore
approach, and the blockheaded Bannock had never suspected. He had not
recognized Norton at all. It was only when Bannock explained the
history of the shanghaied stoker that he realized his real danger.
Norton! He must be pushed off the board. After this episode he could
no longer keep up the pretense of being friendly. Norton, by a rare
stroke of luck, had forced him out into the open. So be it.
Self-preservation is in nowise looked upon as criminal. The law may
have its ideas about it, but the individual recognizes no law but its
own. It was Braine whom he loved and admired, or Norton whom he hated
as a dog with rabies hates water. With Norton free, he would never
again dare return to New York openly. This meddling reporter aimed at
his ease and elegance.
He left the freighter as soon as a boat could carry him ashore. The
fugitives would make directly for the railroad, and thither he went at
top speed, to arrive ten minutes too late.
"Free!" said Florence, as the train began to increase its speed.
Norton reached over and patted her hand. Then he sat back with a
sudden shock of dismay. He dived a hand into a pocket, into another
and another. The price of the telegram he had sent to Jones was all he
had had in the world; and he had borrowed that from a friendly stoker.
In the excitement he had forgotten all about such a contingency as the
absolute need of money.
"Florence, I'm afraid we're going to have trouble with the conductor
when he comes."
"Why?"
He pulled out his pockets suggestively. "Not a postage stamp. They'll
put us off at the next station. And," with a glance in the little
mirror between the two windows, "I shouldn't blame them a bit." He was
unshaven, he was wearing the suit substituted for his own; and
Florence, sartorially, was not much better off.
She smiled, blushed, stood up, and turned her back to him. Then she
sat down again. In her hand she held a small dilapidated roll of
banknotes.
"I had them with me when they abducted me," she said. "Besides, this
ring is worth something."
"Thank the Lord!" he exclaimed, relievedly.
So there was nothing more to do but be happy; and happy they were.
They were quite oblivious to the peculiar interest they aroused among
the other passengers. This unshaven young man, in his ragged coat and
soiled jersey; this beautiful young girl, in a wrinkled homespun, her
glorious blond hair awry; and the way they looked at each other during
those lulls in conversation peculiar to lovers the world over,
impressed the other passengers with the idea that something very
unusual had happened to these two.
The Pullman conductor was not especially polite; but money was money,
and the stockholders, waiting for their dividends, made it impossible
for him to reject it. The regular conductor paid them no more
attention than to grumble over changing a twenty-dollar bill.
So, while these two were hurrying on to New York, the plotters were
hurrying east to meet them. The two trains met and stopped at the same
station about eighty miles from New York. The countess, accompanied by
Vroon, who kept well in the background, entered the car occupied by the
two castaways.
In the mirror at the rear of the car Norton happened to cast an idle
glance, and he saw the countess. Vroon, however, escaped his eye.
"Be careful, Florence," he said. "The countess is in the car. The
game begins again. Pretend that you suspect nothing. Pretty quick
work on their part. And that's all the more reason why we should play
the comedy well. Here she comes. She will recognize you, throw her
arms around you, and show all manner of effusiveness. Just keep your
head and play the game."
"She lied about you to me."
"No matter."
"Oh!" cried the countess. She seized Florence in a wild embrace. She
was an inimitable actress, and Norton could not help admiring her.
"Your butler telephoned me! I ran to the first train out. And here
you are, back safe and sound! It is wonderful. Tell me all about it.
What an adventure! And, good heavens, Mr. Norton, where did you get
those clothes? Did you find her and rescue her? What a newspaper
story you'll be able to make out of it all! Now, tell me just what
happened." She sat down on the arm of Florence's chair. The girl had
steeled her nerves against the touch of her. And yet she was
beautiful! How could any one so beautiful be so wicked?
"Well, it began like this," began Florence; and she described her
adventures, omitting, to be sure, Braine's part in it.
She had reached that part where they had been rescued by Captain
Bannock when a thundering, grinding crash struck the words from her
lips. The three of them were flung violently to one side of the car
amid splintering wood, tinkling glass, and the shriek of steel against
steel. A low wail of horror rose and died away as the car careened
over on its side. The three were rendered unconscious and were huddled
together on the floor, under the uprooted chairs.
Vroon had escaped with only a slight cut on the hand from flying glass.
He climbed over the chairs and passengers with a single object in view.
He saw that all three he was interested in were insensible. He quickly
examined them and saw that they had not received serious injuries. He
had but little time. The countess and Norton would have to take their
chance with the other passengers. Resolutely he stooped and lifted
Florence in his arms and crawled out of the car with her. It was a
difficult task, but he managed it. Outside, in the confusion, no one
paid any attention to him. So he threw the unconscious girl over his
shoulder and staggered on toward the road.
It was fortunate that the accident had occurred where it did. Five
miles beyond was the station marked for the arrest of Norton as an
abductor and the taking in charge of Florence as a rebellious girl who
had run away from her parents. If he could only reach the Swede's hut,
where his confederates were in waiting, the game would then be his.
After struggling along for half an hour a carriage was spied by Vroon,
and he hailed it when it reached his side.
"What's the trouble, mister?" asked the farmer.
"A wreck on the railroad. My daughter is badly hurt. I must take her
to the nearest village. How far is it?"
"About three miles."
"I'll give you twenty dollars for the use of that rig of yours."
"Can't do it, mister."
"But it's a case of humanity, sir!" indignantly. "You are refusing to
aid the unfortunate."
The farmer thought it over for a moment. "All right. You can have the
buggy for twenty dollars. When you get to the village take the nag to
Doc Sanders' livery. He'll know what to do."
"Thank you. Help me in with her."
Vroon drove away without the least intention of going toward the
village. As a result, when Florence came to her senses she found
herself surrounded by strange and ominous faces. At first she thought
they had taken her from the wreck out of kindness; but when she saw the
cold, impassive face of the man Vroon she closed her eyes and lay back
in the chair. Well, ill and weak as she was, they should find that she
was not without a certain strength.
In the meantime Norton revived and looked about in vain for Florence.
He searched among the crowd of terrified passengers, the hurt and the
unharmed, but she was not to be found. He ran back to the countess and
helped her out of the broken car.
"Where is Florence?" she asked dazedly.
"God knows! Here, come over and sit down by the fence till I see if
there is a field telegraph."
They had already erected one, and his message went off with a batch of
others. This time he was determined not to trust to chance. The shock
may have brought back Florence's recent mental disorder, and she may
have wandered off without knowing what she was doing. On the other
hand, she may have been carried off. And against such a contingency he
must be fortified. Money! The curse of God was upon it; it was the
trail of the serpent, spreading poison in its wake.
By and by the countess was able to walk; and, supporting her, he led
her to the road, along which they walked slowly for at least an hour.
They might very well have waited for the relief train. But he could
not stand the thought of inactivity. The countess had her choice of
staying behind or going with him. He hated the woman, but he could not
refuse her aid. She had a cut on the side of her head, and she limped
besides.
They stopped at the first farmhouse, explained what had happened, and
the mistress urged them to enter. She had seen no one, and certainly
not a young woman. She must have wandered off in another direction.
She ran into the kitchen for a basin and towel and proceeded to patch
the countess' hurts.
The latter was extremely uneasy. That she should be under obligation
to Norton galled her. There was a spark of conscience left in her
soul. She had tried to destroy him, and he had been kind to her. Was
he a fool or was he deep, playing a game as shrewd as her own? She
could not tell. Where was Vroon? Had he carried Florence off?
An hour later a man came in.
"Hullo! More folks from the wreck?"
"Where's the horse and buggy, Jake?" his wife asked.
"Rented it to a man whose daughter was hurt. He went to the village."
"Will you describe the daughter?" asked Norton.
The countess twisted her fingers.
The farmer rudely described Florence.
"Have you another horse and a saddle?"
"What's your hurry?"
"I'll tell you later. What I want now is the horse."
"What is to become of me?" asked the countess.
"You will be in good hands," he answered briefly. "I am going to find
out what has become of Florence. Is there a deserted farmhouse
hereabouts?" he asked of the farmer.
"Not that I recollect."
"Why yes, there is, Jake. There's that old hut about two miles up the
fork," volunteered the wife. "Where the Swede died last winter."
"By jingo! I'm going into the village and see if that man brought in
the rig."
"But get my horse first. My name is James Norton, and I am on the
_Blade_ in New York. Which way do I go?"
"First turn to the left. Come on; I'll get the horse for you."
Once the horse was saddled, Norton set off at a run. He was unarmed;
he forgot all about this fact. His one thought was to find the woman
he loved. He was not afraid of meeting a dozen men, not while his
present fury lasted.
And he fell into an ambush within a hundred yards of his goal. They
dragged him off the horse and buffeted and mishandled him into the hut.
"Both of them!" said Vroon, rubbing his hands.
"I know you, you Russian rat!" cried Norton. "And if I ever get out of
this I'll kill you out of hand! Damn you!"
"Oh, yes; talk, talk; but it never hurts any one," jeered Vroon.
"You'll never have the chance to kill me out of hand, as you say.
Besides, do you know my face?"
"I do. The mask doesn't matter. You're the man who had me shanghaied.
The voice is enough."
"Very good. That's what I wished to know. That's your death warrant.
We'll do it like they used to do at the old Academy; tie you to the
railroad track. We shall not hurt you at all. If some engine runs
over you heaven is witness we did not guide the engine. Remember the
story of the boy and the cat?" with sinister amiability. "The boy said
he wasn't pulling the cat's tail, he was only holding it; the cat did
the pulling. Bring him along, men. Time is precious, and we have a
good deal to do before night settles down. Come on with him. The
track is only a short distance."
"Jim, Jim!" cried Florence in anguish.
"Never you mind, girl; they're only bluffing. They won't dare."
"You think so?" said Vroon. "Wait and see." He turned upon Florence.
"He is your lover. Do you wish him to die?"
"No, no!"
"We promise to give him his freedom twelve hours from now on condition
that you tell where that money is."
"Florence!" warned Norton.
Vroon struck him on the mouth. "Be silent, you scum!"
"It is in the chest Jones, the butler, threw into the sound," she said
bravely. And so it might be for all she knew.
Vroon laughed. "We know about where that is."
"Florence, say nothing on my account. They are not the kind of men who
keep their word."
"Eh?" snarled Vroon. "We'll see about that." He glanced at his watch.
"In half an hour the freight comes along. It may become stalled at the
wreck. But it will serve."
Norton knew very well that if need said must they would not hesitate to
execute a melodramatic plan of this character. It was the way of the
Slav; they had to make crime abnormal in order to enjoy it. They could
very well have knocked him on the head then and there and have done
with him. But the time used in conveying him to the railroad might
prove his salvation. Nearly four hours had passed since the sending of
the telegram to Jones.
They bound Florence and left her seated in the chair. As soon as they
were gone she rolled to the floor. She was able to right herself to
her knees, and after a torturous five minutes reached the fireplace.
She burnt her hands and wrists, but the blaze was the only knife
obtainable. She was free.
[Illustration: THEY BOUND FLORENCE AND LEFT HER SEATED IN THE CHAIR]
Jones arrived with half a dozen policemen. Vroon alone escaped.
The butler caught Florence in his arms and nearly crushed the breath
out of her. And she was so glad to see him that she kissed him half a
dozen times. What if he was her father's butler? He was brave and
loyal and kind.
"They tied him to the track," she cried. "Look at my wrists!" The
butler did so, and kissed them tenderly. "And I saved him."
Jones stretched out a hand over Florence's shoulder. "When the time
comes," he said; "when the right time comes and my master's enemies are
confounded. But always the rooks, never the hawks, do we catch. God
bless you, Norton! I don't know what I should have done without you."
"When a chap's in love," began Norton, embarrassedly.
"I know, I know," interrupted Jones. "The second relief train is
waiting. Let us hurry back. I shan't feel secure till we are once
more in the house."
So, arm in arm, the three of them went down the tracks to the hand-car
which had brought the police.
And now for the iron-bound chest at the bottom of the sea.