Florence was a fortnight in recovering from the shock of her experience
at the masked ball of the Princess Parlova, who, by the way,
disappeared from New York shortly after the fire, no doubt because of
her fear of the Black Hundred. The fire did not destroy the house, but
most of the furnishings were so thoroughly drenched by water that they
were practically ruined. Her coming and going were a nine-days'
wonder, and then the public found something else to talk about.
Norton was a constant visitor at the Hargreave place. There was to him
a new interest in that mysterious house, with its hidden panels, its
false floors, its secret tunnels; but he treated Jones upon the same
basis as hitherto. One thing, however: He felt a sense of security in
regard to Florence such as he had not felt before. So, between
assignments, he ran out to Riverdale and did what he could to amuse his
sweetheart. Later they took short rides in the runabout, and at length
she became as lively as she had ever been.
But often she would catch Norton brooding.
"What makes you frown like that?"
"Was I frowning?" innocently enough.
"I find you this way a dozen times in an afternoon. What is the
matter? Are they after you again?"
"Heavens, no! I'm only a vague issue. They will not bother me so long
as I do not bother them. It has dwindled into a game of truce."
"Do you think so?" eying him curiously.
"Why, yes."
"What's the use of trying to fool me, Jim? If they haven't been after
you, you are sensing a presage of evil. I'm not a child any longer.
Haven't I been through enough to make me a woman? Sometimes I feel
very old."
"To me you are the most charming in all this wide world. No, you're
not a child any longer. You are a woman, brave and patient; and I know
that I could trust you with any secret I have or own. But sometimes a
person may have a secret which is not his and which he hasn't any right
to disclose."
She became silent for a while. "I hate money," she said. "I hate it,
hate it!"
"It's mighty comfortable to have it around sometimes," he countered.
"As in my case, for instance. If I were poor and had to work no one
would bother me."
"I would!" he declared, laughing. "Come; let's throw off moods and go
into town for tea at the Rose Garden; and if you feel strong enough
we'll trip the light fantastic."
They had been gone from the house less than an hour when a man ran up
the steps of the veranda and rang the bell. Jones being busy at the
rear of the house, the maid came to the door.
"Is Miss Hargreave in?" the stranger asked.
"No," abruptly. The door began to close ever so slowly
"Do you know where I can find her?"
The maid eyed him with covert keenness; then, remembering that the
reporter was with Florence, said: "I believe she is at the Rose Garden
this afternoon."
"That is in town?"
"Yes."
"Thanks." The man turned abruptly and ran down the steps.
The maid ran back to Jones.
"Why didn't you call me?" he demanded impatiently.
"There wasn't time."
"Did you tell him where she was?"
"Yes. But I shouldn't have told him if Mr. Norton had not been with
Miss Florence."
Jones ran to the front, dashed out, eyed the back of the man hastening
down the street, smiled, and returned to his work, or, rather, to the
maid. He took her by the shoulder, whirled her about, and shot a look
into her eyes that quailed her.
"Always call me hereafter, no matter what I'm doing. That man has
never laid eyes on Florence and has no idea what she looks like. Why
did you drug my coffee the night of that ball?"
She stepped back.
"And how much did they pay you for letting that doctor send Florence to
Atlantic City? I know everything. Hereafter, walk straight. If you
play another trick I'll kill you with these two hands. And listen and
tell this to your confederates: I always know every move they make;
that is why no one is missing from this house. There is a traitor.
Let them find him if they can. Will you walk straight, or will you
leave?"
"I--I will walk straight," she faltered. "The money was too big a
temptation."
"Did they give it to you?"
"Yes. And more to stay here. But this is the first bit of dishonest
work I ever did."
"Well, remember what I have said. Another misstep and I'll make an end
to you. Don't think I'm trying to scare you. You have witnessed
enough to know that it's life and death in this house. Now run along."
At the garden Jim and Florence sauntered among the crowd, not having
any particular objective point in view.
"Sh!" whispered Jim.
"What is it?"
"Olga Perigoff is yonder in a box."
"Very well; let us go and sit with her. Is she alone?"
"Apparently. But don't you think we'd better go elsewhere?"
"My dear young man," said Florence with mock loftiness, "Olga Perigoff
has written me down as a simple young fool, and that is why, sooner or
later, I'm going to put the shoe on the other foot. You and Jones have
coddled me long enough. Inasmuch as I am the stake they are playing
for, I intend to have something more than a speaking part in the play."
"All right; you're the admiral," he said with pretended lightness.
So the two of them joined their subtle enemy, conscious of a tingle of
zest as they did so. On her part, the countess was always suspicious
of this sleepy-eyed reporter. She never could tell how much he knew.
But of Florence she was reasonably certain; and so long as she could
fool the pretty infant the suspicions of the reporter were a negligible
quantity. She greeted them effusively and offered them chairs. For
half an hour they sat there, chatting inanities, all the while each
mind was busy with deeper concerns.
When the man in search of Florence eventually arrived and asked the
manager of the garden if he knew Miss Hargreave by sight the manager
pointed toward the box. The man wound his way in and out of the idlers
and by the time he reached the box Jim and Florence had made their
departure. The man bowed, approached, and asked the countess if she
was Miss Hargreave. For a moment Olga suspected a trap. Then it
appealed to her mind that if there was no trap it might be well to pose
as Florence, if only to learn what the outcome might be.
"Yes. What is wanted?" she asked.
The man took a letter from his pocket and handed it to Olga, saying:
"Give this to your father. He knows how to read it."
[Illustration: "GIVE THIS TO YOUR FATHER. HE KNOWS HOW TO READ IT"]
Before she could reply the man had turned and was hurrying away.
Olga opened the note, her heart beating furiously. It was utterly
blank. At first she thought it was a hoax. Then she happened to
remember that there was such a thing as invisible ink. At last!
Hargreave was alive; this letter settled all doubt in her mind on this
question. Alive! And not only that, but the girl and Jones were
evidently in communication with him. She summoned a waiter, made a
secret sign, and he bowed and approached. She slipped the letter into
his hand and whispered: "Show that at the cave to-morrow. It is in
invisible ink and meant for Hargreave."
"He's alive?"
"Positively."
"Very well." The waiter bowed and strolled away nonchalantly.
Braine was in Boston over night, otherwise the countess would have
taken the mysterious note at once to him. She remained for perhaps a
quarter of an hour longer and then left the garden. She would have
taken the letter to her own apartment but for the fact that the
chemicals needed were hidden in the cave.
Now it happened that Florence went out for her early ride the next
morning, and crossing a field she saw a man with a bundle under his
arm. The sun struck his profile and limned it plainly, and Florence
uttered a low cry. The man had not observed her. So, very quietly,
she slipped from the horse, tethered it to a tree, and started after
the man to learn what he was doing so far from the city. She would
never forget that face. She had seen it that dreadful night when the
note had lured her into the hands of her enemies. The face belonged to
the man who had impersonated her father.
It occurred to her that she might just as well do a little detective
work on her own hook. She had passed through so many terrifying
episodes that she was beginning to crave for the excitement, strange as
this may seem. Like a gambler who has once played for high stakes, she
no longer found pleasure in thimbles and needles and pins. She
followed the man with no little skill and at length she saw him
approach a knoll, stoop, apparently press a spring, and a hole suddenly
yawned. The man vanished quickly, and the spot took on again its
virginal appearance. A cave. Florence had the patience to wait. By
and by the man appeared again and slunk away.
When she was sure that he was beyond range, she came out from the place
of concealment, crept up the knoll, and searched about for the magic
handle of this strange door. Diligence rewarded her, and she soon
found herself in a large, musty, earth-smelling cave. Loot was
scattered about, and there were boxes and chairs and a large chest.
Men evidently met here, possibly after some desperate adventure against
society. She found nothing to reward her hardihood, and as she was in
the act of moving toward the cave's door she beheld with terror that it
was moving!
[Illustration: FLORENCE DISCOVERS THE CAVE]
She was near the chest at that moment. The cave was not a deep one.
There was no tunnel, only a wall. Resolutely she raised the lid of the
chest, stepped inside, and drew the lid down. She was just in time.
The door opened and three men entered, talking volubly. They felt
perfectly secure in talking as loudly as they pleased. To Florence it
seemed almost impossible that they did not hear the thunder of her
heart? Strain her ears as she might, she could gather but little of
what they said, except:
"If Hargreave had this paper we might all be put on the defensive. To
an outsider it is a blank paper. But the boss will be able to read
it...." The speaker moved away from the vicinity of the chest and she
heard no more.
Very deftly Florence raised the lid just enough to peep out. The man
who had been talking was putting the note in his hip pocket. As he
turned toward the chest he sat down on the soap-box immediately in
front of the chest. An inspiration came to the girl, an exceedingly
daring one. She took her liberty in her hands as she executed the
deed. But the dimness of the cave aided her. When she crouched down
again the magic paper was hers.
It seemed hours to her before the men left the cave. As she heard the
hidden door jar in closing she raised the lid and stepped out,
breathing deeply. The paper she had purloined was indeed blank, but
Jones or Jim would know what to do with it. And wouldn't they be
surprised when she told them what she had accomplished all alone? Her
exultation was of short duration. She heard the whine of the door on
its hinges. The men were returning. Why?
They were returning because they had discovered a woman's shoeprint
outside. It pointed toward the cave, freshly, and there was none
coming away. To re-enter the chest would be foolhardy. It would be
the first place the men would look. She glanced about desperately.
She saw but one chance, the well. And even while the door was swinging
inward, letting the brilliant sunshine enter, she summoned up the
courage and let herself down into the well, which proved to be nothing
more nor less than an underground river!
The men came in with a rush. They upset boxes, looked into the chest,
and the man who was evidently in command, gazed down the well, shaking
his head. Their search was thorough, but they found no one. And at
length they began to reason that perhaps a woman had got as far as the
door and then turned away, walking on the turf.
Meantime Florence was borne along by the swift current of the river,
which gained in swiftness every moment. From time to time she bumped
along the rocky walls, but she clung to life valiantly. In ten minutes
she was swept to the other side of the hill, into the rapids; but the
blue sky was overhead, she was out in the familiar world again. On, on
she was carried. Even though she was half dead, she could hear the
roar of a falls somewhere in advance.
Braine thought he really had a clue to the treasure, and with his usual
promptness he set about to learn if it was worth anything. He procured
a launch and began to prowl about, using a pole as a feeler. All the
while he was being closely watched by Norton, who had concluded to hang
on to Braine's trail till he found something worthy of note. Braine
was disguised, but this time Jim was not to be fooled. But what was he
looking for, wondered the reporter? Braine continued to pole along,
sometimes pausing to look over the gunwale down into the water. In
raising his head after the last investigation, he discerned something
struggling in the water, about three hundred yards away. The current
leisurely brought the object into full view. It was a young woman with
just power enough to keep herself afloat. The golden head roused
something in him stronger than curiosity. It might be!
Braine proceeded to move the launch in the direction of the girl. It
was this movement that turned the reporter's gaze. He, too, now saw
the woman in the water and wondered how she had come there. When
Braine reached the girl and pulled her into the launch Jim saw her face
plainly.
[Illustration: FLORENCE STEALS THE PAPERS FROM BRAINE'S POCKET]
He flew from his vantage point, found a skiff and started after Braine.
"By the Lord Harry!" murmured the rogue. "Well, they can talk of manna
from heaven, but this is what I call luck. Florence Hargreave, out of
nowhere, into my arms! The god of luck has cast another horseshoe and
it's mine."
He had a flask in his pocket, and he forced some of the biting spirits
down the girl's throat. She opened her eyes.
"Well, my beauty?"
Florence eyed him wildly, not quite understanding where he had come
from.
"I don't know how you got here," he said, "and I don't care. But here
we are together at last. Where is your father?"
"I--I don't know," dazedly.
"Better think quickly," he warned; "I want lucid answers to my
questions or back you go into the water. I'm about at the end of my
rope. I've been beaten too many times, my girl, to have any particular
love for you. Now, where is your father?"
"I don't know; I have never seen him."
Braine laughed.
And Jim's boat ran afoul some rocks and into the water he went. He had
not attracted Braine's attention, fortunately. He began to swim toward
the drifting launch.
"Where have they hidden that money?"
"I don't know."
"Well, well; I've given you your chance. You'll have to try your luck
with the water again."
Florence, weak as she was, set her lips.
"You don't ask for mercy?" he said banteringly.
"I should be wasting my breath to ask for mercy from such a monster as
you are," she answered quickly.
"That damned Hargreave nerve!" he snarled.
He rolled up his sleeves and stepped toward her. She braced herself
but did not turn her eyes from his. Suddenly, from nowhere at all,
came a pair of hands. One clutched the gunwale and the other laid hold
of Braine. A quick pull followed, and Braine began to topple. But
even as he fell he managed to fling himself atop his assailant; and it
was only when the struggle began in the water that he recognized the
reporter. All the devil in him came to the surface and he fought with
the fierceness of a tiger to kill, kill, kill. In nearly every
instance this meddling reporter had checkmated him. This time one or
the other of them should stay in the water.
Norton recognized that he had a large order before him to disable
Braine. The recognition between them was now frank and absolute; there
could never again be any diplomatic sidestepping.
"You're a dead man, Norton!" panted Braine, as he reached for the
reporter's throat.
Norton said nothing, but struck the hand aside. For a moment they both
went under. They came up sputtering, each trying for a hold. It was a
terribly enervating struggle.
Florence could do nothing. The boat in which she sat continued to
drift away from the fighting men. Once she tried to reach Braine with
the pole he had been using, but failed.
[Illustration: BRAINE PROCURED A LAUNCH AND BEGAN TO PROWL ABOUT]
From the shore came another boat. For a while she could not tell
whether it contained friends or enemies. It was terrible to be forced
to wait, absolutely helpless. When she heard the newcomers call
encouragingly to Braine she knew then that the brave fight of her
sweetheart was going to come to naught. She knew a little about
motors. She threw on the power and headed straight toward the rowboat.
The men shouted at her, but she did not alter her course. The rowboat
had its sides crushed in and the men went piling into the water.
"Jim," she cried.
Norton suddenly flung off Braine and began to swim madly for the motor
boat, which Florence had brought about. Even then it was only by the
barest luck in the world that Norton managed to catch the gunwale. The
rest of it was simple. When they finally reached a haven, Florence,
oddly enough, thought of the horse she had left tethered nine miles
from the stables. She laughed hysterically.
"I guess he won't die. We can send some one out for him. Now, for
heaven's sake, how did you get into this? Where were you? What have
you been up to?" with tender bruskness.
"I wanted to do a little detective work of my own," she faltered.
"It looks as if you had done it. You infant! Will you never learn to
keep outside this muddle? It's a man's work."
Florence, thoroughly weakened by her long immersion in the water, began
to weep silently.
"You poor child. I'm a brute!" And he comforted her.
Later that day, at home, she remembered the blank paper.
"I stole this from one of the men in the cave. He said this blank
paper would probably save father."'
Jim took it. "H'm! Invisible ink, and it's had a fine washing."
"But maybe it is waterproof."
"Maybe it is. Anyhow, Miss Sherlock, we'll show it to Jones and see
what he says."