The Black Hundred, not as individuals but as an organization, began to
worry. Powerful, and often reckless and daring because it was
powerful, it began to look about for some basic cause for all these
failures against Hargreave's daughter and Hargreave's ghost. They had
tried to put the inquisitive reporter out of the way; they had laid
every trap they could think of to catch the mysterious visitor at the
Hargreave home; they had thrown out a hundred lures to bring Hargreave
out of his lair, and failed; and they had lost a dozen valuable men and
several thousand dollars. This must end somewhere, and quickly.
The one ray of hope for the conspirators lay in the fact that Florence
had never seen her father and knew not in the least what he looked
like. They determined to try again in this direction.
"Give it all up," said the countess to Braine. "I tell you, whatever
is back of all this is stronger than we are. He knows the
organization, and for all we know he may be a ghost."
"I never go back," smiled Braine. "There's something more than the
million. There's the sport of the thing. We've been bested in a dozen
bouts, and nearly always by a fluke. They have the breaks, as they say
out at the Polo Grounds."
"But the time and expense when we might be getting results elsewhere!
I tell you, Leo, I'm afraid. It's like always hearing some one behind
you and never finding anybody when you turn. I have told you my
doubts. I have also asked you to trap that butler, but you've always
laughed."
"You are seeing ghosts, Olga. A new man from holy Russia," shrugging,
"is coming to-night. Evidently the head over there thinks our
contributions of late have not been up to the mark, and they are going
to stir us up. I am willing to wager my soul, however, that that box
is simply a hoax to befuddle us. Either that or it holds the key. But
the rest of them insist that the box must be recovered. When I leave
this room to-night I am going over to Riverdale and stalk all by
myself. I'm going to get a glimpse of that mysterious stranger. He
carries a scar of mine somewhere, for I hit him that night."
The door opened and the executive chamber became silent.
"Count Paroff," boomed the voice of Vroon. "He will present his
credentials."
This formality was executed as prescribed by the rules; and Count
Paroff was given his chair. He spoke for a while, rather pompously.
"The head organization is not satisfied with its offspring in this
Hargreave affair," he said in conclusion. "You are slow."
"Then perhaps you have come with some suggestions for the betterment of
our business?" asked Braine ironically.
"Sir, this is not the hour for flippancy," said the agent coldly.
Braine made a sign with his hand, a sign not observed by every one.
Instantly Paroff bent lowly. He recognized that the speaker was the
actual, not the nominal, head of the American branch.
"What are your suggestions?" inquired the nominal head from his chair,
anxious to avoid a clash between the newcomer and the truculent master
of them all.
"I have been informed that Hargreave's daughter has never seen her
father, not even a photograph of him," said Paroff, more amiably.
"We are absolutely certain that this is the case," said the nominal
head, who was known as the president. "But we tried one play in that
direction, and it failed miserably."
"I have the story," replied Paroff. "It was clumsily done. The ruse
was an old one."
Braine was frank enough to admit the truth of this statement, however
much he disliked the admission. He nodded.
"I have authority to take a hand in this affair. We can not waste all
summer. Those government plans of the fortifications of the Panama are
waiting. There's your millions. But the fact remains that it is the
law of the Black Hundred never to step down till absolutely defeated.
The hidden million is but half; we must find and break this renegade
Hargreave."
"If he lives," said Braine.
"Who can say one way or the other?" bruskly asked Paroff. "The fact
that all your plans and schemes have come to naught should prove to you
that you are not fighting a ghost. There is but one way to bring out
the truth."
"And that is to make a captive of his daughter," supplemented Braine.
"And we have worked toward that end ceaselessly. We are quite ready to
listen to your suggestions, count."
"And so am I," thought the man with his ear to the little hole in the
ceiling above. "And some day, my energetic friend, I'm going to pay
you back for that bullet."
Count Paroff cleared his voice and laid his plans before his audience.
"To act frankly and in the open, to go boldly to the Hargreave home and
proclaim myself Hargreave. I can disguise myself in a manner that will
at least temporarily fool the butler."
"Who has been with his master for fourteen years, knows every move,
habit, gesture, inflection," interposed Braine. "But proceed, count,
proceed. You will remember the old adage; too many cooks."
"Ah," flashed back the count, "but a new cook?"
Olga touched Braine's arm warningly.
"You mean, then, that there has been talk in St. Petersburg of
disposing of some one?"
"A good deal of talk, sir," haughtily, forgetting that he had bent
humbly enough but a few moments gone.
"Very well; go on."
Thought the man at the peephole above: "There's another adage. When
thieves fall out, then honest men get their dues. Yes, yes; proceed,
proceed!"
Paroff went on. "I shall, then, go frankly to the Hargreave house and
claim my own. Meantime I leave to you the business of luring the
butler away. Half an hour is all I need to bring that child here, to
break the wall that stands between us and what we seek."
"Is that so?" murmured Braine. "Olga, I want you to play a trick on
this handsome delegate-at-large. I'm not very enthusiastic over his
talk. I want him humiliated. All you have to do, he says, is to walk
into the Hargreave house and walk out again. Well, let's you and I see
that he does that and nothing else. I'll have no one meddling with my
own game."
Some one sneezed, and everybody looked at his neighbor. The sneeze was
repeated, but muffled, as if some one was desperately anxious to avoid
sneezing.
"It came from above!" whispered Olga. "Don't look up!"
Braine was cool. He walked idly across the room to where Vroon sat.
"Very well, Paroff; we give you free rein." To Vroon he said: "Some
one is watching us from the room overhead. I thought that room
belonged to us."
"It does," said Vroon stolidly.
"Then how is it that some one is watching from up there? No
excitement. I'm going to bid every one good night, then I'm going to
investigate. When I leave you will quietly send men to all exits to
the building. I want the man who sneezed, and I want him badly."
Olga departed with Braine, only she immediately sought the taxi that
brought her and was driven home. It was always understood that when
any serious exploit was under way hereabouts she was to make her
departure at once.
Vroon stationed his men at the several exits and Braine went up-stairs.
The man who had sneezed, however, had vanished as completely as if he
had worn that invisible cloak one reads about in the Persian tales. As
a matter of fact, after the second sneeze he had gone up to the roof,
got out by the trap, and jumped--rather risky business, too--to the
next roof and had clambered down the fire-escape of the second
building. He was swearing inaudibly. After all these days of care and
planning, after all his cleverness in locating the rendezvous of the
Black Hundred, and now to lose his advantage because of an
uncontrollable sneeze! He would never dare go back, and just when he
was beginning to pick up fine bits of information! So Florence
Hargreave was going to have a new father in a day or so? There were
some clever rogues among this band of theirs; but their cleverness was
well offset by an equal number of fools.
Yes, there were some clever rogues, and to prove this assertion Braine
secured a taxicab and drove furiously away, his destination the home of
his ancient enemy. He dropped the cab a block or two away and
presently stowed himself away in the summer house at the left of the
lawn. It would have been a capital idea--that is, if the other man had
not thought of and anticipated this very thing. So he used a public
pay station telephone; and Braine waited in vain, waited till the
lights in the Hargreave house went out one by one and it became wrapped
in darkness within and moonshine without.
Braine was a philosopher. He returned to his waiting taxicab, drove
home, paid the bill, smiling grimly, and went to bed. It was going to
be a wonderful game of blind man's buff, and it was going to be sport
to watch this fool Paroff blunder into a pit.
The next afternoon Florence and Norton sat in the summer house talking
of the future. Lovers are prone to talk of that. As if anything else
in the world ever equals the present! They talked of nice little
apartments and vacations in the summer and how much they would save out
of his salary, and a thousand and one other things which would not
interest you at all if I recounted them in detail. But they did love
each other, and they were going to be married; you may be certain of
that. They did not care a snap of the finger what Jones thought. They
were going to be married, and that was all there was to it. Of course,
Florence couldn't touch a penny of her father's money. If he, Norton,
couldn't take care of her without help, why, he wouldn't be worth the
powder to blow him up with.
[Illustration: THEY DID NOT CARE A SNAP OF THEIR FINGERS WHAT JONES
THOUGHT]
"But, my dear, you must be very careful," he said. "Jones and I will
always be about somewhere. If they really get hold of you once, God
alone knows what will happen. It is not you, it is your poor father
they want to bring out into the open. If they knew where he was they
would not bother you in the least."
"Have I really a father? Sometimes I doubt. Why couldn't he steal
into the house and see me, just once?"
"Perhaps he dares not. This house is always watched, night and day,
though you'll look in vain to discover any one. Your father knows best
what he is doing, my dear girl. You see, I met him years ago in China;
and when he started out to do a certain thing he generally did it. He
never botched any of his plans. So we all must wait. Only I'm going
to marry you all the same, whether he likes it or not. The rogues will
try to impose upon you again; but do not pay any attention to notes or
personals in the papers. And it was a lucky thing that I was on the
freighter that picked you up at sea. I shall always wonder how that
yacht took fire."
"So shall I," replied Florence, her brows drawing together in
puzzlement. "Sometimes I think I must have done it. You know, people
out of their heads do strange things. I seem to see myself as in a
dream. And this man Braine is a scoundrel!"
"Yes; and more than that, he is the dear friend of the countess. But
understand, you must never let her dream or suspect that you know. By
lulling her into overconfidence some day she will naturally grow
careless, and then we'll have them all. I think I understand what your
father's idea is: not to have them arrested for blackmail, but
practically to exterminate them, put them in prison for such terms of
years that they'll die there. When you see a snake, a poisonous one,
don't let it get away. Kill it. Well, I must be off to work."
"And you be careful, too. You are in more danger than I am."
"But I'm a man and can dodge quick," he laughed, picking up his hat.
"What a horrid thing money is! If I hadn't any money, nobody would
bother me."
"I would," he smiled. He wanted to kiss her, but the eternal Jones
might be watching from the windows; and so he patted her hand instead
and walked down the graveled path to the street.
It was difficult work for Florence to play at friendship. She was like
her father; she did not bestow it on every one. She had given her
friendship to the Russian, the first real big friendship in her life,
and she had been roughly disillusioned. But if the countess could act,
so could she; and of the two her acting was the more consummate. She
could smile and laugh and jest, all the while her heart was burning
with wrath.
One day, a week or so after her meeting with Norton in the summer
house, Olga arrived, beautifully gowned, handsome as ever. There was
not the least touch of the adventuress in her makeup. Florence had
just received some mail, and she had dropped the letters on the library
table to greet the countess. She had opened them, but had not yet
looked at their contents.
They were chatting pleasantly about inconsequent things, when the maid
came in and asked Florence to come to Miss Susan's room for a moment.
Florence excused herself, wondering what Susan could want. She forgot
the mail.
As soon as she was gone the countess, certain that Jones was not
lurking about, picked up the letters and calmly examined their
contents; and among them she found this remarkable document: "Dear
daughter I have never seen: I must turn the treasure over to you. Meet
me at eight in the summer house. Tell no one, as my life is in danger.
Your loving father."
The countess could have laughed aloud. She saw this man Paroff's hand;
and here was the chance to befool and humiliate him and send him off
packing to his cold and miserable country. She had made up once as
Florence, and she could easily do so again. The only thing that
troubled her was the fact that she did not know whether Florence had
read the letter or not. Thus, she did not dare destroy it. She first
thought of changing the clock; then she concluded to drop the letter
exactly where she found it and trust to luck.
[Illustration: SHE FIRST THOUGHT OF CHANGING THE CLOCK]
When Florence returned she explained that her absence had been due to
some trifling household affair.
Said the Russian: "I come primarily to ask you to tea to-morrow, where
they dance. If you like, you may ask Mr. Norton to go along. I begin
to observe that you two are rather fond of each other."
"Oh, Mr. Norton is just a valuable friend," returned Florence with a
smile that quite deceived the other woman. "I shall be glad to go to
the tea. But I shall not promise to dance."
"Not with Mr. Norton?" archly.
"Reporters never dance themselves; they make others dance instead."
"I shall have to tell that," declared the countess; and she laughed
quite honestly.
"Then I have said something witty?"
"Indeed you have; and it is not only witty but truthful. I'm afraid
you're deeper than the rest of us have any idea of."
"Perhaps I am," thought Florence; "at least deeper than you believe."
When the countess fluttered down to her limousine--Florence hated the
sight of it--and drove away, Florence remembered her letters. And when
she came to the one purporting to be from her father, she read it
carefully, bent her head in thought, and finally destroyed the missive,
absolutely confident that it was only a trap, and not very well
conceived at that. Norton had given her plenty of reason for believing
all such letters to be forgeries. Her father, if he really wished to
see her, would enter the house; he would not write. Ah, when would she
see that father of hers, so mysterious, always hovering near, always
unseen?
It must have been an amusing adventure for the countess. To steal into
the summer house and wait there, not knowing if Florence had advised
Jones or the reporter. If caught, she had her excuses. Paroff, the
confident, however, appeared shortly after.
"My child!" whispered the man.
And Olga stifled a laugh; but to him it sounded like a sob.
"I am worn out," he said. "I am tired of the game of hide and seek."
"You will not have to play the game long," thought Olga.
"The money is hidden in my office down-town. And we must go there at
once. When we return we will pack up and leave for Europe. I've
longed to see you so!"
"You poor fool! And they sent you to supersede Leo!" she mused.
She played out the farce to the very end. She permitted herself to be
pinioned and jogged; and for what unnecessary roughness she suffered at
the hands of Paroff he would presently pay. He took her straight to
the executive chamber of the Black Hundred and pushed her into the
room, exclaiming triumphantly:
"Here is Hargreave's daughter!"
[Illustration: HE TOOK HER STRAIGHT TO THE EXECUTIVE CHAMBER OF THE
BLACK HUNDRED]
"Indeed!" said Olga, throwing back her veil and standing revealed in
her mask.
"Olga!" cried Braine, laughing.
And that was the inglorious end of the secret agent from Russia.