The Black Hundred possessed three separate council chambers, always in
preparation. Hence, when the one in use was burned down they
transferred their conferences to the second council chamber appointed
identically the same as the first. As inferred, the organization owned
considerable wealth, and they leased the buildings in which they had
their council chambers, leased them for a number of years, and
refurnished them secretly with trap floors, doors and panels and all
that apparatus so necessary to men who are sometimes compelled to make
a quick getaway.
When the Atlantic City attempt was turned into a fiasco by Norton's
timely arrival Braine determined once more to rid himself of this
meddling reporter. He knew too much, in the first place, and in the
second place Braine wanted to learn whether the reporter bore a charmed
life or was just ordinarily lucky. He would attempt nothing delicate,
requiring finesse. He would simply waylay Norton and make a
commonplace end of him. He would disappear, this reporter, that would
be all; and when they found him he might or might not be recognizable.
So Braine called a conference and he and his fellow rogues went over a
number of expedients and finally agreed that the best thing to do would
be to send a man to the newspaper, ostensibly as a reporter looking for
a situation. With this excuse he would be able to hang around the city
room for three or four days. The idea back of this was to waylay
Norton on his way to some assignment which took him to the suburbs.
All this was arranged down to the smallest detail; and a man whom they
were quite certain Norton had not yet seen was selected to play the
part. He had been a reporter once, more's the pity; so there was no
doubt of his being able to handle his end of the game.
"I want Norton, I want him badly," declared Braine, "and woe to you if
you let booze play in between you and the object of this move."
The man selected to act the reporter hung his head. Whisky had been
the origin of his fall from honest living, and he was not so calloused
as not to feel the sting of remorse at times.
"More," went on Braine, "I want Norton brought to 49. It's a little
off the beat, and we can handle Norton as we please. When we get rid
of this newspaper ferret there'll be another to eliminate. But he's a
fox, and a fox must be set to trail him."
"And who is that?"
"Jones, Jones, Jones!" thundered Braine. "He's the live wire. But the
reporter first. Jones depends a lot on him. Take away this prop and
Jones will not be so sure of himself. There's a man outside all this
circle, and all these weeks of warfare have not served to bring him
into the circle."
"Hargreave is dead," said Vroon stolidly.
"As dead as I am," snarled Braine. "Two men went away in that balloon;
and I'll wager my head that one man came back. I am beginning to put a
few things together that I have not thought of before. Who knows?
That balloon may have been carried out to sea purposely. The captain
on that tramp steamer may have lied from beginning to end. I tell you,
Hargreave is alive, and wherever he is he has his hand on all the
wires. He has agents, too, whom we know nothing about. Hang the
million! I want to put my hands on Hargreave just to prove that I am
the better man. He communicates with Jones, perhaps through the
reporter; he has had me followed; it was he who changed the boxes,
bored the hole in the ceiling of the other quarters and learned heaven
knows what."
"If that's the case," said Vroon, "why hasn't he had us apprehended?"
Braine laughed heartily. "Haven't you been able to see by this time
what his game is? Revenge. He does not want the police to meddle only
in the smaller affairs. He wants to put terror into the hearts of all
of us. Keep this point in your mind when you act. He'll never summon
the police unless we make a broad daylight attempt to get possession of
his daughter. And even then he would make it out a plain case of
kidnaping. Elimination, that's the word. All right. We'll play at
that game ourselves. No. 1 shall be Mr. Norton. And if you fail I'll
break you," Braine added to the ex-reporter.
"I'll get him," said the man sullenly.
Later, when he applied for a situation on the _Blade_, it happened that
there were two strikes on hand, and two or three extra men were needed
on the city staff. The man from the Black Hundred was given a
temporary job and went by the name of Gregg.
For three days he worked faithfully, abstaining from his favorite
tipple. He had never worked in New York, so his record was unknown.
He had told the city editor that he had worked on a Chicago paper, now
defunct.
He paid no attention whatsoever to Norton, a sign of no little acumen.
On the other hand Norton never went forth on an assignment that Gregg
did not know exactly where he was going. But all these stories kept
Norton in town; and it would be altogether too risky to attempt to
handle him anywhere but outside of town. So Gregg had to abide his
time.
It came soon enough.
Norton was idling at his desk when the city editor called him up to the
wicket.
[Illustration: NORTON WAS IDLING AT HIS DESK WHEN THE CITY EDITOR
CALLED HIM UP TO THE WICKET]
"General Henderson has just returned to America. Get his opinion on
the latest Balkan rumpus. He's out at his suburban home. Here's the
address."
"How long will you hold open for me?" asked Norton, meaning how long
would the city editor wait for the story.
"Till one-thirty. You ought to be back by midnight. It's only eight
now."
"All right; Henderson's approachable. I may get a good story out of
him."
"Maybe," thought Gregg, who had lost nothing of this conversation.
It was his opportunity. He immediately left the zone of the city desk
for a telephone booth. But as he passed the line of desks and busy
reporters he did not note the keen scrutiny of a smooth-faced,
gray-haired man who stood at the side of Norton's desk awaiting the
reporter's return.
"Why, Jones," cried the surprised Norton. "What are you doing all this
way from home?"
"Orders," said Jones, smiling faintly as he delivered a note to the
reporter.
"Anything serious?"
"Not that I am aware of. Miss Florence was rather particular. She
wanted to be sure that the note reached your hands safely."
"And do you mean to say that you came away and left her alone in that
house?"
Again Jones smiled. "I left her well guarded, you may be sure of that.
She will never run away again." He waited for Norton to read the note.
It was nothing more than one of those love orders to come and call at
once. And she had made Jones venture into town with it! The reporter
smiled and put the note away tenderly. And then he caught Jones
smiling, too.
"I'm going to marry her, Jones."
"That remains to be seen," replied the butler, not unkindly.
"Well, anyhow, thanks for bringing the note. But I've got to
disappoint her to-night. I'm off in a deuce of a hurry to interview
General Henderson. I'll be out to tea to-morrow. You can find your
way out of this old firetrap. By-by!"
The moment he turned away the smile faded from Jones' face, and with
the quickness and noiselessness of a cat he reached the side of the
booth in which Gregg believed himself so secure from eavesdropping.
The half dozen words Jones heard convinced him that Norton was again
the object of the Black Hundred's attention. He had seen the man's
face that memorable night when the balloon stopped for its passenger.
Before Gregg came out of the booth Jones decided to overtake Norton and
forewarn him, but unfortunately the reporter was nowhere in sight.
There was left for Jones nothing else but to return home or follow when
Gregg came out. As this night he knew Florence to be exceptionally
well guarded, both within and without the house, he decided to wait and
follow the spy.
When Braine received the message he was pleased. Norton's assignment
fitted his purpose like a glove. Before midnight he would have Mr.
Meddling Reporter where he would bother no one for some time--if he
proved tractable. If not, he would never bother any one again. Braine
gave his orders tersely. Unless Norton met with unforeseen delay,
nothing could prevent his capture.
When Norton arrived at the Henderson place, a footman informed him from
the veranda that General Henderson was at 49 Elm Street for the
evening, and it would be wise to call there. Jim nodded his thanks and
set off in haste for 49 Elm Street. The footman did not enter the
house, but hurried down the steps and slunk off among the adjacent
shrubbery. His mission was over with.
The house in Elm Street was Braine's suburban establishment. He went
there occasionally to hibernate, as it were, to grow a new skin when
close pressed. The caretaker was a man rightly called Samson. He was
a bruiser of the bouncer type.
It was fast work for Braine to get out there. If the man disguised as
a footman played his cards badly Braine would have all his trouble for
nothing. He disguised himself with that infernal cleverness which had
long since made him a terror to the police, who were looking for ten
different men instead of one. He knew that Norton would understand
instantly that he was not the general; but on the other hand he would
not know that he was addressing Braine.
So the arch-conspirator waited; and so Norton arrived and was ushered
into the room. A single glance was enough to satisfy the reporter,
always keen-eyed and observant.
"I wish to see General Henderson," he said politely.
"General Henderson is doubtless at his own house."
"Ah!"
"Don't be alarmed--yet," said Braine smoothly.
"I am not alarmed," replied Norton. "I am only chagrined. Since
General Henderson is not to be found here I must be excused."
"I will excuse you presently."
"Ah! I begin to see."
"Indeed!" mocked Braine.
"I have tumbled or walked into a trap."
"A keen mind like yours must have recognized that fact the moment you
discovered that I was not the general."
"I am indebted to the Black Hundred?" coolly.
"Precisely. We do not wish you ill, Mr. Norton."
"To be sure, no!" ironically. "What with falling safes, poisoned
cigarettes, and so forth, I can readily see that you have my welfare at
heart. What puzzled me was the suddenness with which these
affectionate signs ceased."
"You're a man of heart," said Braine with genuine admiration. "These
affectionate signs, as you call them, ceased because for the time being
you ceased to be a menace. You have become that once more, and here
you are!"
"And what are you going to do with me now that you have got me?"
"There will be two courses." Braine reached into a drawer and drew out
a thick roll of bills. "There are here something like $5,000."
"Quite a tidy sum; enough for a chap to get married on."
The two eyed each other steadily. And in his heart Braine sighed. For
he saw in this young man's eyes incorruptibility.
"It is yours on one condition," said Braine, reaching out his foot
stealthily toward the button which would summon Samson.
"And that is," interpolated Norton, "that I join the Black Hundred."
"Or the great beyond, my lad," took up Braine, his voice crisp and cold.
Norton could not repress a shiver. Where had he heard this voice
before? ... Braine! He stiffened.
"Murder in cold blood?" he managed to say.
"Indefinite imprisonment. Choose."
"I have chosen."
"H'm!" Braine rose and went over to the sideboard for the brandy.
"I'm going to offer you a drink to show you that personally there are
no hard feelings. You are in the way. After you, our friend, Jones.
This brandy is not poisoned, neither are the glasses. Choose either
and I'll drink first. We are all desperate men, Norton; and we stop at
nothing. Your life hangs by a hair. Do you know where Hargreave is?"
Norton eyed his liquor thoughtfully.
"Do you know where the money is?"
Norton smelt of the brandy.
"I am sorry," said Braine. "I should have liked to win over a head
like yours."
Norton nonchalantly took out his watch, and that bit of bravado perhaps
saved his life. In the case of his watch he saw a brutal face behind
him. Without a tremor, Norton took up his glass.
"I am sorry to disappoint you," he said, "but I shall neither join you
nor go to by-by."
Quick as a bird shadow above grass, he flung his brandy over his
shoulder into the face of the man behind. Samson yelled with pain.
Almost at the same instant Norton pushed over the table, upsetting
Braine with it. Next he dashed through the curtains, slammed the door,
and fled to the street, very shaky about the knees, if the truth is to
be told.
General Henderson's views upon the latest Balkan muddle were missing
from the _Blade_ the following morning. Norton, instead of returning
to the general's and fulfilling his assignment like a dutiful reporter,
hurried out to Riverside to acquaint Jones with what had happened.
Jones was glad to see him safe and sound.
"That new reporter started the game," he said. "I overheard a word or
two while he was talking in the booth. All your telephone booths are
ramshackle affairs, you use them so constantly. I tried to find you,
but you were out of sight. Now, tell me what happened."
"Sh!" warned Norton as he spied Florence coming down the stairs.
"I thought you couldn't come!" she cried. "But ten o'clock!"
"I changed my mind," he replied, laughing.
He caught her arm in his and drew her toward the library. Jones smiled
after them with that enigmatical smile of his, which might have
signified irony or affection. After half an hour's chat, Florence,
quite unaware that the two men wished to talk, retired.
At the door Norton told Jones what had taken place at 49 Elm Street.
"Ah! we must not forget that number," mused Jones. "My advice is, keep
an eye on this Gregg chap. We may get somewhere by watching him."
"Do you know where Hargreave is?"
Jones scratched his chin reflectively.
Norton laughed. "I can't get anything out of you."
"Much less any one else. I'm growing fond of you, my boy. You're a
man."
"Thanks; and good night."
When Olga Perigoff called the next day Jones divested himself of his
livery, donned a plain coat and hat, and left the house stealthily.
To-day he was determined to learn something definite in regard to this
suave, handsome Russian. When she left the house Jones rose from his
hiding place and proceeded to follow her. The result of this espionage
on the part of Jones will be seen presently.
Meantime Jim went down to the office and lied cheerfully about his
missing the general. Whether the city editor believed him or not is of
no matter. Jim went over to his desk. From the corner of his eye he
could see Gregg scribbling away. He never raised his head as Jim sat
down to read his mail. After a while Gregg rose and left the office;
and, of course, Jim left shortly afterward. When the newcomer saw that
he was being followed, he smiled and continued on his way. This Norton
chap was suspicious. All the better; his suspicions should be made the
hook to land him with. By and by the man turned into a drug store and
Jim loitered about till he reappeared. Gregg walked with brisker steps
now. It was his intention to lead Norton on a wild goose chase for an
hour or so, long enough to give Braine time to arrange a welcome at
another house.
Norton kept perhaps half a block in the rear of his man all the while.
But for this caution he would have witnessed a little pantomime that
would have put him wholly upon his guard. Turning a corner, Gregg all
but bumped into the countess. He was quick enough to place a finger on
his lips and motion his head toward a taxicab. Olga hadn't the least
idea who was coming around the corner, but she hailed the cab and was
off in it before Jim swung around the corner.
Jones, who had followed the countess for something over an hour and a
half, hugged a doorway. What now? he wondered. The countess knew the
man. That was evidence enough for the astute butler. But what meant
the pantomime and the subsequent hurry? He soon learned. The man
Gregg went his way, and then Jim turned the corner. Jones cast a
wistful glance at the vanishing cab of the Russian, and decided to
shadow the shadower--in other words, to follow the reporter, to see
that nothing serious befell him.
The lurer finally paused at a door, opened it with a key and swung it
behind him, very careful, however, not to spring the latch. Naturally
Jim was mightily pleased when he found the door could be opened. When
Jones, not far behind, saw him open the door, he started to call out a
warning, but thought the better of it. If Norton was walking into a
trap it was far better that he, Jones, should remain outside of it. If
Jim did not appear after a certain length of time, he would start an
investigation on his own account.
No sooner was Jim in the hallway than he was set upon and overpowered.
They had in this house what was known as "the punishment room." Here
traitors paid the reckoning and were never more heard of. Into this
room Jim was unceremoniously dropped when Braine found that he could
get no information from the resolute reporter.
The room did not look sinister, but for all that it possessed the
faculty of growing smaller and smaller, slowly or swiftly, as the man
above at the lever willed. When Jim was apprised of this fact, he ran
madly about in search of some mode of escape, knowing full well in his
heart that he should not find one.
Presently the machinery began to work, and Norton's tongue grew dry
with terror. They had him this time; there was not the least doubt of
it. And they had led him there by the nose into the bargain.
Twenty minutes passed, and Jones concluded it was time for him to act.
He went forward to try the door, but this time it was locked. Jones,
however, was not without resource. The house next door was vacant, and
he found a way into this, finally reaching the roof. From this he
jumped to the other roof, found the scuttle open, and crept down the
stairs, flight after flight, till the whir of a motor arrested him.
Conspirators are often overeager, too. So intent were the rascals upon
the business at hand that they did not notice the door open slowly. It
did not take the butler more than a moment to realize that his friend
and ally was near certain death. With an oath he sprang into the room,
gave Braine a push which sent him down to join the victim, and pitched
into the other two. It was a battle royal while it lasted. Jones
knocked down one of them, yelled to Norton, and kicked the rope he saw
down into the pit. One end of this rope was attached to a ring in the
wall. And up this rope Norton swarmed after he had disposed of Braine.
The tide of battle then swung about in favor of the butler, and shortly
the fake reporter and his companion were made to join their chief.
Jones stopped the machinery. He could not bring himself to let his
enemies die so horribly. Later he knew he would regret this sentiment.
When the people came, summoned by some outsider who had heard the
racket of the conflict, there was no one to be found in the pit. Nor
was there any visible sign of an exit.
There was one, however, built against such an hour and known only to
the chiefs of the Black Hundred.
And still the golden-tinted banknotes reposed tranquilly in their
hiding place!