About this time--that is to say, about the time the Black Hundred was
stretching out its powerful secret arms toward Norton--there arrived in
New York city a personage. This personage was the Princess Parlova, a
fabulously rich Polish Russian. She leased a fine house near Central
Park and set about to conquer social New York. This was not very
difficult, for her title was perfectly genuine and she moved in the
most exclusive diplomatic circle in Europe, which, as everybody knows,
is the most brilliant in the world. When the new home was completely
decorated she gave an elaborate dinner, and that attracted the
newspapers. They began to talk about her highness, printed portraits
of her, and devoted a page occasionally in the Sunday editions. She
became something of a rage. One morning it was announced that the
Princess Parlova would give a masked ball formally to open her home to
society; and it was this notice that first brought the Princess Parlova
under Braine's eyes. He was at the Perigoff apartment at the time.
"Well, well," he mused aloud.
"What is it?" asked Olga, turning away from the piano and ending one of
Chopin's mazurkas brokenly.
"Here is the Princess Parlova in town."
"And who is she?"
"She is the real thing, Olga; a real princess with vast estates in
Poland with which the greedy Slav next door has been very gentle."
"I haven't paid much attention to the social news lately. What about
her?"
"She is giving a masked ball formally to open her house on the West
Side. And it's going to cost a pretty penny."
"Well, you're not telling me this to make me want to know the
princess," said Olga, petulantly.
"No. But I'm going to give you a letter of introduction to her
highness."
"Oh!"
"And you are going to ask her to invite two particular friends of yours
to this wonderful ball of hers."
"Indeed," ironically. "That sounds all very easy."
"Easier than you think, my child."
"I will not have you call me child."
"Well, then, Olga."
"That's better. Now, how will it be easier than I think?"
"Simply this; the Princess Parlova is an oath-bound member, but has not
been active for years."
"Oho!" Olga was all animation now. "Go on!"
"You will go to her with a letter of introduction--no! Better than
that, you will make a formal call and show her this ring. You know the
ring," he said, passing the talisman to the countess. "Show this to
her and she will obey you in everything. She will have no alternative."
"Very good," replied Olga. "And then the program is to insist that she
invite Florence and that fool of a reporter to this ball. Then what?"
"You can leave that to me."
"Haven't all these failures been a warning?"
"No, my dear. I was born optimistic; but there's a jinx somewhere in
one of my pockets. Time after time I've had everything just where I
wanted it, and then--poof! It's pure bald luck on their side, but
sooner or later the wheel will turn. And any chance that offers I am
bound to accept. Somehow or other we may be able to trap Florence and
Norton. I want both of them. If I can get them, Jones will be forced
to draw in Hargreave."
"Is there such a man?"
"You saw him that night at the restaurant."
"I have often thought that perhaps I just dreamed it." She turned
again to the piano and began humming idly.
"Stop that and listen to me," said Braine, not in quite the best of
tempers. "I'm in no mood for whims."
"Music does not soothe your soul, then?" cynically.
"If I had one it might. You will call on the Princess Parlova
to-morrow afternoon. It depends upon you what my plans will be. I
think you'll have little trouble in getting into the presence of her
highness, and once there she will not be able to resist you."
"I'll go."
And go she did. The footman in green livery hesitated for a moment,
but the title on the visiting card was quite sufficient. He bowed the
countess into the reception room and went in search of his
distinguished mistress.
The Princess Parlova was a handsome woman verging upon middle age. She
was a patrician; Olga's keen eye discerned that instantly. She came
into the reception room with that dignified serenity which would have
impressed any one as genuine. She held the card in her fingers and
smiled inquiringly toward her guest.
"I confess," she began, "that I recall neither your face nor your name.
I am sorry. Where have I had the honor of meeting you before?"
"You have never met me before, your highness," answered Olga sweetly.
"You came on a charity errand, then?"
"That depends, your highness. Will you be so good as to glance at
this?" Olga asked, holding out her palm upon which the talisman lay.
The princess shrank back, paling.
"Where did you get that?" she panted.
"From the head," was the answer.
"And you have followed me from Russia?" whispered the princess, her
terror growing.
"Oh, no. The Black Hundred is as strongly organized here as in St.
Petersburg. But we always keep track of old members, especially when
they stand so high in the world as yourself."
"But I was deceived and betrayed!" exclaimed the princess. "They urged
me to join on the ground that the organization was to attempt to bring
about the freedom of Poland."
Olga shrugged. "You were rich, highness. The Black Hundred needed
money!"
"And you need it now?" eagerly, believing that she saw a loophole.
"How much? Oh, I will give a hundred thousand rubles on your promise
to leave me alone. Tell me!"
"I am sorry, your highness, but I have no authority to accept such an
offer. Indeed, my errand is far from being expensive. All the Black
Hundred desires is four invitations to this ball which you are soon to
give. That should mot cause you any alarm. We shall not interfere
with your sojourn in America in any way whatsoever, provided these
invitations are issued."
"You would rob my guests?" horrified.
"Positively no! Here is a list of four names. Invite them; that is
all you have to do. Not so much as a silver spoon will be found
missing. This is on my word of honor, and I never break that word, if
you please."
"Give me the list," said the princess wearily. "Who gave you that
ring?"
"The head."
"In Russia?"
"No; here in America." Olga dipped into her handbag and produced a
slip of paper. This she handed to the princess. "Here is the list,
highness."
"Who is Florence Hargreave?"
"A friend of mine," evasively.
"Does she belong to the organization?"
"No."
"Then you have some ulterior purpose in having me invite her?"
"I have," answered Olga sharply; "but that does not concern your
highness in the least."
The princess bit her lips. "I see your name here also; a man named
Braine, and another, Norton."
"Say at once that you do not care to execute the wishes--the
commands--of the order," said Olga coldly.
"I will do as you wish. And I beg you now to excuse me. But if
anything happens to any of my personal friends--"
"Well?" haughtily from Olga.
"Well, I will put the matter in the hands of the police."
"But so long as your personal friends are not concerned?"
"I shall then of necessity remain deaf and blind. It is one of the
penalties I must pay for my folly. I wish you good day."
"And also good riddance," murmured Olga under her breath, as she arose
and started for the hallway.
Thus it was that when Norton went to the office the next afternoon he
found a broad white envelope on his desk. Indifferently he opened the
same and his eyes bulged. "Princess Parlova requests" and so forth and
so on. Then he shrugged. The chief had probably asked for the
invitation and he would have to write up the doings, a phase of
reportorial work eminently distasteful to him. He went up to the city
desk.
"Can't you find some one else to do this stuff?" he growled to the city
editor.
The city editor glanced at the card and crested envelope. "Good lord,
man! Nobody in this office had anything to do with that. What luck!
Our Miss Hayes tried all manner of schemes, but was rebuffed on all
sides. How the deuce did you chance to get one?"
"Search me," said the bewildered Norton.
"If I were you I'd sit tight and take it all in," advised the editor.
"It's going to be the biggest splurge of its kind we've had in years.
We've been working every wire we know to get Miss Hayes inside, but it
was no go. This princess is not on to the game yet. In this country
you get into society or you don't through the Sundays."
"Hanged if I know who wished this thing on me."
"Take it philosophically," said the editor sarcastically. "The
princess won't bite you. She may even have seen your picture--"
"Get out!" grumbled Norton, turning away.
He would go out and see Florence. On the way out to Riverdale he came
to the conclusion that the list of the princess fell short and some
friend of his who was helping the woman out suggested his name. It was
the only way he could account for it.
But when he learned that Florence had an invitation exactly like his
own and that she received it that morning he became suspicious.
"Jones, what do you think of it?" he questioned.
"I think it was very kind of the Countess Perigoff suggesting your name
and that of Florence," said the butler urbanely.
"Olga?" cried Florence disappointedly.
"It is the only logical deduction I can make," declared Jones. "They
are both practically Russians."
"And what would you advise?" asked Norton.
"Why, go and enjoy yourselves. Forewarned is forearmed. The thing is,
be very careful not to acquaint any one with the character of your
disguise, least of all the Countess Perigoff. Besides," Jones added
smiling, "perhaps I may go myself."
"Goody! I've read about masked balls and have always been crazy to go
to one," said Florence with eagerness.
"Suppose we go at once and pick out some costumes?" suggested Norton.
"Just as soon as I can get my hat on," replied Florence, happy as a
lark.
"But mind," warned Jones; "be sure that you see the costumer alone and
that no one else is about."
"I'll take particular care," agreed Norton. "We've got to do some
hustling to find something suitable. For a big affair like this the
town will be ransacked. All aboard! There's room for two in that car
of mine; and we can have a spin besides. Hang work!"
Florence laughed, and even Jones permitted a smile (which was not grim
this time) to stir his lips.
A happy person is generally unobservant. Two happy persons together
are totally unobservant of what passes around them. In plainer terms
this lack is called love. And being frankly in love with each other,
neither Norton nor Florence observed that a taxicab followed them into
town. Jones, not being in love, was keenly observant; but the taxicab
took up the trail two blocks away, so the matter wholly escaped Jones'
eye.
The two went into several costumers', but eventually discovered a shop
on a side street that had been overlooked by those invited to the
masquerade. They had a merry time rummaging among the
camphory-smelling boxes. There were dominoes of all colors, and at
length they agreed upon two modest ones that were evenly matched in
color and design. Florence ordered them to be sent home. Then the two
of them sallied up to the Ritz-Carleton and had tea.
The man from the taxicab entered the costumer's, displayed a
detective's shield and demanded that the proprietor show him the
costumes selected by the two young people who had just left. The man
obeyed wonderingly.
"I want a pair exactly like these," said the detective. "How much?"
"Two dollars each, rental; seven apiece if you wish to buy them."
"I'll buy them."
The detective paid the bill, nodded curtly, and returned to his taxicab.
"Now, I wonder," mused the costumer, "what the dickens those
innocent-looking young people are up to?" He never found out.
On the night of the ball Norton dined with Florence for the first time;
and for once in his life he experienced that petty disturbance of
collective thought called embarrassment. To talk over war plans with
Jones was one thing, but to have Jones serve soup was altogether
another. All through dinner Jones replied to questions with no more
and no less than "Yes, sir," and "No, sir." Norton was beginning to
learn that this strange man could put on a dozen kinds of armor and
always retain his individuality. And to-night there seemed something
vaguely familiar about the impassive face of the butler, as if he had
seen it somewhere in the past, but could not tell when or where. As he
and Florence were leaving for the automobile which was to take them to
the princess', the truth came home to him with the shock of a douche of
ice-cold water. Under his breath he murmured: "You're a wonderful man,
Jones; and I take my hat off to you with the deepest admiration. Hang
me!"
"What are you mumbling about?" asked the happy girl.
"Was I mumbling? Perhaps I was going over my catechism. I haven't
been out in society in so long that I've forgotten how to act."
"I believe that. We've been in here for five minutes and you haven't
told me that you love me."
"Good heavens!" And his arms went around her so tightly that she
begged for quarter.
"How strong you are!"
The splendor of the rooms, the dazzling array of jewels, the
kaleidoscopic colors, the perfume of the banked flowers and the music
all combined to put Florence into a pleasurable kind of trance. And it
was only when the first waltz began that she became herself and
surrendered to the arms of the man she loved.
And they were waltzing over a volcano. She knew and he knew it. From
what direction would the blow come? Well, they were prepared for all
manner of tricks.
In an alcove off the ballroom sat Braine and Olga, both dressed exactly
like Norton and Florence. Another man and woman entered presently, and
Braine spoke to them for a moment, as if giving instructions, which was
indeed the case.
The band crashed into another dance, and the masqueraders began
swirling hither and thither and yon. A gay cavalier suddenly stopped
in front of Florence.
"Enchantress, may I have the pleasure of this dance?"
Jim touched Florence's hand. But she turned laughingly toward the
stranger. What difference did it make? The man would never know who
she was nor would she know him. It was a lark, that was all; and
despite Jim's warning touch she was up and away like the mischievous
sprite that she was. Jim remained in his chair, twisting his fingers
and wondering whether to laugh or grow angry. After all, he could not
blame her. To him an affair like this was an ancient story; to her it
was the door of fairyland swung open. Let her enjoy herself.
Florence was having a splendid time. Her partner was asking her all
sorts of questions and she was replying in kind, when out of the crowd
came Norton (as she supposed), who touched her arm. The cavalier
stopped, bowed and made off.
Norton whispered: "I have made an important discovery. We must be off
at once. Come with me."
Florence, without the least suspicion in the world, followed him up the
broad staircase. What with the many sounds it was not to be wondered
at that the difference in the quality of voices did not strike
Florence's ear as odd. The result of her confidence was that upon
reaching the upper halls, opposite the dressing rooms, she was suddenly
thrust into a room and made prisoner. When the light was turned up she
recognized with horror the woman who had helped to kidnap her and take
her away on the _George Washington_ weeks ago. She could not have
cried out for help if she had tried.
Meantime Jim got up and began to wander about in search of Florence.
Braine played a clever game that night. He and the Russian, still
dominoed like Norton and Florence, ordered the Hargreave auto, by
number, entered it and were driven up to the porte-cochere of the
Hargreave house. The two alighted, the chauffeur sent the car toward
the garage, and Braine and his companion ran lightly down the path to
the street where the cab which had followed picked them up.
It grew more and more evident to Jim that something untoward had taken
place. He could not find Florence anywhere, in the alcoves, in the
side rooms, the supper or card room. Later, to his utter amazement, he
was informed that the Hargreave auto had some time since been called
and its owner taken home. Some one had taken his place.
His first sensation was impotent fury against Jones, who had permitted
them to play with fire. He flung out of the mansion unceremoniously,
commandeered a cab, and flew out to Riverdale. And when Jones came to
the door he was staggering with sleep.
"What's the matter with you?" demanded Jim roughly. "Where's Florence?"
"Isn't she with you?" cried Jones, making an effort to dispel the
drowsiness. "What time is it?" suddenly.
"Midnight! Where is she?"
"Midnight? I've been drugged!"
Without a word Jones staggered off to the kitchens, Jim at his heels.
There was always hot water, and within five minutes Jones had drunk two
cups of raw strong coffee.
"Drugged!" he murmured. "Some one in the house! I'll attend to that
later. Now, the chauffeur."
But the chauffeur swore on his oath that he had left Jim and Florence
on the steps of the porte-cochere.
"Get in!" said Jones to Norton, now fully alive. He could not get it
out of his head that some one in the house had drugged him.
The events which followed were to both Jones and Norton something like
a series of nightmares. In the new home of the Princess Parlova a bomb
had exploded and fire followed the explosion. From pleasure to terror
is only a step. The wildest confusion imaginable ensued. Most of the
guests were of the opinion that some anarchist had attempted to blow up
the house of the rich Pole. Jones and Norton arrived just as the smoke
began to pour out from the windows. A crowd had already collected.
Then Jim overheard a woman masquerader say: "The fool made the bomb too
strong. She is in the room on the second floor. The game is up if she
suffocates----" The voice trailed off and the woman became lost in the
crowd. But it was enough for the reporter, who pushed his way roughly
through the excited masqueraders and entered the house. The rescue was
one of the most exciting to be found in the newspaper files of the day.
So Braine in his effort to scare everybody from the house had
overreached himself once more.