"What I want now," said Braine, as he paced the living-room of the
apartment of the countess, "is revenge. I've been checkmated enough,
Olga; they're playing with us."
"That is nothing new," she replied, shrugging. "At the beginning I
warned you. I never liked this affair after the first two or three
failures. But you would have your way. You wanted revenge at that
early date; but I can not see that you've gone forward. Has it ever
occurred to you that the organization may be getting tired, too? They
depend solely upon your invention, and each time your invention has
resulted in touching nothing but zero."
"Thanks!"
"Oh, I'm not chiding you. I've failed, too."
"Are you turning against me?" he demanded bitterly.
"Do my actions point that way?" she countered. "No. But the more I
view what has passed, the more disheartened I grow. It has been a
series of blind alleys, and all we have succeeded in doing is knocking
our heads. I can see now that all our failures are due to one mistake."
"And what the devil is that?" he asked irritably.
"We were in too much of a hurry at the beginning. Hargreave prepared
himself for quick action on your part."
[Illustration: BRAINE REACHED THE GIRL AND PULLED HER INTO THE BOAT]
"And if I had not acted quickly he would have started successfully on
one of his world tours again, and that would have been the last of him,
and we should never have learned of the girl's existence. So there's
your argument."
"Perhaps you are right. But for all that we have not played the game
with any degree of finesse."
"Bah!" Braine lit a cigarette and smoked nervously. "I can't even get
rid of that meddling reporter. He has been as much to blame for our
failures as either Jones or Hargreave. I admit that in his case I
judged hastily. I believed him to be just an ordinary newspaper man,
and he was clever enough to lull my suspicions. But I'm going to get
him, Olga, even if I have to resort to ordinary gunman tricks. If
there's any final reckoning, by the Lord Harry, he shan't get a chance
in the witness stand."
"And I begin to think that that little chit of a girl has been
hoodwinking me all along. By the way, did you find out what that
letter said?" she asked after a pause.
"Letter? What letter?"
She sprang from her chair. "Do you mean to say that they have not told
you about that?" Olga became greatly excited.
"Explain," he said.
"Why, I was at the garden day before yesterday, and a man approached
and asked if I was Miss Hargreave. Becoming at once suspicious that
something very important was about to happen I signified that I was
Miss Hargreave. The man slipped a paper into my hand and hurried off.
I took a quick glance at it and was dumfounded to find it utterly blank
of writing. At first I thought some joke had been played on me, then I
chanced to remember the invisible ink letters you always wrote me.
Understanding that you were to visit the cave in the morning, I had one
man at the garden take the note. And you never got it!"
"Some one shall certainly pay for this carelessness. I'll call up
Vroon and Jackson at once. Wait just a moment."
He went to the telephone. A low muttering conversation took place.
Olga could hear little or none of it. When Braine put the receiver
back on the hook his face was not pleasant to see.
"That girl!"
"What now?"
"It seems she had been out horseback riding that morning. She had seen
one of the boys cross the field and suddenly disappear; and she was
curious to learn what had become of him. With her usual luck she
stumbled on the method of opening the door of the cave and went in.
She must have been nosing about. She didn't have much time, though, as
the boys came up to await me. Evidently she crawled into that old
chest and in some inexplicable manner purloined the letter from
Jackson's pocket. They left to reconnoiter; and it was then that
Jackson discovered his loss. When Florence heard them returning she
jumped into the well. And lived through that tunnel! The devil is in
it!"
"Or out of it, since we consider him our friend."
"And I had her in my hands, note and all!"
"But with all that water there will not be any writing left on the
letter."
"Invisible ink is generally indelible and impervious to the action of
water; at least the kind I use is. I'd give a thousand for a sight of
that letter."
[Illustration: FROM THE SHORE CAME ANOTHER DOAT]
"And it might be worth a million," Olga suggested.
"Not the least doubt of it in my mind. Olga, old girl, it does look as
if my star was growing dim. We'll never get our hands on that million.
I feel it in my bones. So let's settle down to a campaign of revenge,
without any furbelows. I want to twist Hargreave's heart before the
game winds up."
"You wish really to injure her?"
"I do not wish to injure her. Far from it," he replied, smiling evilly.
"You want her ... dead?" whispered Olga, paling.
"Exactly. I want her dead. And so if all my efforts here come to
nothing, so shall Hargreave's. His millions will become waste paper to
him. That's revenge. The Persian peach method."
"Poison? You shall not! You shall not kill her!" vehemently.
"Tender-hearted?"
"No. If I must in the end go to prison, so be it; but I refuse to die
in the chair."
"Very well, then. We shan't kill her, but we'll make her wish she was
dead. I was only trying to see how far you would go. The basket of
peaches is in the hallway. Every peach is poisoned. No man in the
country knows more about subtle poisons than I do. Have I not written
books on that subject?" ironically.
"And they will trace it back to you in a straight line," she warned.
"I will not have it!"
"I can go elsewhere," he replied coldly.
"You would leave me?"
"The moment you cross my will," emphatically.
It became her turn to pace. Torn between her love of the man and the
danger which stared her in the face, she was for the time being
distracted. All the time he watched her with malevolent curiosity,
knowing that in the end she would concur with his evil plans.
"Very well," she said finally. "But listen; we shall be found out.
Never doubt that. Your revenge will cost us both our lives. I feel
it."
"Bah! The law will have no hand in my end. I always carry a pellet;
and that ring of yours would suffice a regiment. She will not die.
She will merely become a kind of paralytic; the kind that can move a
little but not enough; always wheeled about in a chair. I'll bring in
the peaches; rosy and downy. One bite, after a given time, will do the
trick. If they suspect and throw them out we have lost nothing but the
peaches. A trusted messenger will carry them to the Hargreave house.
And then we'll sit down and wait."
Meantime, in the library of the Hargreave house, Florence and Jim were
puzzling over the blank sheet of paper.
"I'll wager," said Jim, "the water washed all the writing away. The
fire does not seem to do any good. We'll turn it over to Jones.
Jones'll find a way to solve it. Trust him."
"What are you two chattering about?" asked Susan, who was arranging
some flowers on the table.
"Secrets," said Jim, smiling.
"Humph!"
Susan puttered about for a few minutes longer, then crossed to the
reception room, intending to go up-stairs. At that moment the maid was
admitting a messenger with a basket of fruit.
"For Miss Hargreave," said he. He gave the basket to the maid, touched
his cap awkwardly, and swung on his heel, closing the door behind him.
He was in a hurry to deliver another message.
"Oh, what lovely fruit!" cried Susan, pausing. "I'm going to steal
one," she laughed. She selected a peach and began eating it on the way
up to her room.
The maid passed on into the library.
"What's this?" inquired Florence, as the maid held out the basket. She
selected a peach and was about to set her white teeth into it when Jim
interposed.
"Wait a moment, dear." Florence lowered the peach. Jim turned to the
maid. "Who sent it?"
"I don't know, sir. A messenger brought it, saying it was for Miss
Hargreave."
"Let me see if there is a card." But Jim searched in vain for the card
of the donor. All at once his suspicions arose. "Don't touch them.
Better let the maid throw them out. Fruit from unknown persons might
not be the healthiest thing in the world."
"What do you think?"
"That in all probability they are poisoned. But there's no need trying
to prove my theory right or wrong. Ask Jones. He'll tell you to throw
them away."
"Horrible!" Florence shuddered. "But they do not want to poison me.
I'm too valuable. They want me alive."
"Who can say?" returned Jim gloomily. "They may have learned that they
can not beat us, no matter what card they turn up. I may be wrong, but
take my advice and throw them away.... Good lord, what's that?"
startled.
"Some one cried!"
"Oh, Miss Florence!" exclaimed the maid, terror-stricken as she
recalled Susan's act. "Miss Susan took a peach from the basket and was
eating it on the way to her room!"
"Good heavens!" gasped Jim. "I was right. The fruit was poisoned."
Jim had heard enough to send for a specialist he knew. The specialist
arrived about twenty minutes after Susan's first cry. To his keen eye
it looked like a certain poison which had for its basis the venom of
the cobra.
"Will she live?"
"Oh, yes. But she'll be a wreck for some months. Send her to the
hospital where I can visit her frequently. And I'll take that peach
along for analysis. No police affair?"
"No. We dare not call them in," said Jim.
"That's your affair. I'll send down the ambulance. Keep her quiet.
She'll have a species of paralysis; but that'll work off under
treatment. A strange business."
"So it is," agreed Jim grimly.
Florence knelt beside her friend's bed and cried softly.
"You called me just in time. An hour later, nothing would have saved
her. She would have been paralyzed for life."
Jim accompanied the doctor to the door and went in search of Jones. He
found the taciturn butler eying the fruit basket, his face gray and
drawn, though his eyes blazed with fury.
"Poison!"
"A pretty bad poison, too," said Jim. "We can't do anything. We've
just got to sit still. But in the end we'll get them. That she
devil...."
"No, my friend; that he devil. The woman is mad over him and would
commit any crime at his bidding. But this is his work. We want him.
He wasn't without courage to send this fruit, knowing that I would
instantly suspect the sender. Yet, I have no definite proof. I could
not hold him in court in law. He will have bought the fruit piece by
piece, the basket in a basket shop. He will have injected the poison
himself when alone. Poor Susan! That messenger was without doubt some
one over whom he holds the threat of the death chair. That's the way
he works."
Jim tramped the room while Jones carried the fruit to the kitchen. The
butler returned after a while.
"What about that blank sheet of paper?"
"It has to be dipped into a solution; after that you can read it by
heating. I have already dipped it into the solution. The moment the
heat leaves the sheet the writing disappears again. The ink is
waterproof. I'll show you."
Jones got a candle from the mantel, lit it, and held the sheet of paper
very close to the flame. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, letters
began to form on the blank sheet. At length the message was complete.
"Dear Hargreave--The Russian minister of police is at the Blank Hotel
under the name of Henri Servan. He is investigating the work of the
Black Hundred in this country and can free you from their vengeance if
you supply the evidence needed."
"Now, what evidence can he want?" asked Jim.
"Such as will prove Braine an undesirable citizen."
"And then?"
"Quietly pack him off to Russia, where he is badly wanted."
"Who sent this message?"
"One of our mysterious friends. We have a few, as you already know.
But I'll go and make this man Servan a visit. I have seen the real
minister, and if this man is the same one, something of importance may
turn up. I shall want you somewhere about. Here, I'll let you have
this letter. Remember, heat brings it out and cold air makes it
vanish. Now I'll go up for a moment to see how that poor girl is
getting along. We are lucky; there's no gainsaying that."
"You're a clever man, Jones," said Jim.
Jones turned upon him, his face grave. The two men looked steadily
into each other's eyes. Jones was first to turn aside his glance, as
he had something to conceal and Jim had nothing.
When the ambulance took the tortured Susan away, Jones addressed
Florence gravely.
"I am going out, and so is Mr. Norton. Do not leave the house; not
even if you have a telephone call from me or Norton. Both of us will
return; so don't let anything bother or confuse you."
"I promise," said Florence, struggling with a sob.
Jones went down-stairs again, paused by a window as if cogitating, and
suddenly threw it up and looked abroad. A rustle among the lilacs
caused a smile to flit across his face. So they had sent some one to
learn the effect of the poison? Or to follow him should he leave the
house? He retired to the kitchen and gave some explicit orders to the
chef, orders which did not in any way refer to cooking. Then Jones and
the reporter left the house, each quite aware that they were being
followed. Near the Blank Hotel they separated in order to confuse the
stalker. He might dodder and follow the wrong man. But it was evident
that this time he had been directed to follow Jones; for he entered the
hotel a minute after Jones.
Meantime a second spy, whom Jones had not seen, had observed the
transfer of the invisible writing and had immediately informed Braine,
who was not far away. That his poisoned fruit had stricken down an
outsider troubled him none at all. But that mysterious message he
meant to have; it might be a life and death affair, it might be a clue
to the treasure, or the whereabouts of Hargreave.
Thus, while only one man followed Jones, several kept a far eye on Jim.
Jones scribbled his name on a blank card and had it taken to the
Russian's room. The page eyed that card curiously. It was different
from anything he had ever seen before. In one corner were written
three or four words which resembled a cross between Hebrew and Greek.
"Humph!" muttered the boy. "Whadda y' know about that? Chicken
scratches; but I guess the bell rings Roosian. On your way, Hortense,"
he cried to the hall maid, who wanted a look at the card. "Up t' th'
room, sir. He'll see yuh!" The boy kept the silver salver extended
expectantly, but Jones went past without apparently noticing the hint.
The Russian was standing by a window when Jones knocked and was bidden
to enter.
"You are not Hargreave."
"Neither are you the Russian minister of police," urbanely.
"Who are you?"
"I am Hargreave's confidential man, sir."
The two men eyed each other cautiously.
"You speak Russian?"
"No. I am able to scribble a few words; that is all."
The Russian lit a cigarette and smoked leisurely. He was in no hurry.
"No, I am not the minister; but I am his accredited agent. I am
empowered to bring back to Russia a man who is known here by the name
of Braine, another by the name of Vroon, and a woman who calls herself
a countess and unfortunately is one. All I desire is some damaging
proof against them that they are outlaws in this country. The rest
will be simple."
"They have all three taken out naturalization papers."
[Illustration: THEY HAVE ALL THREE TAKEN OUT NATURALIZATION PAPERS]
The Russian waved his hand airily. "Once they are in Russia those
documents will never come to light. This man Braine, it has been
learned, has long been in the pay of Prussia, and has given the general
staff of that country many plans of our frontier fortifications. I do
not know what any one of the three looks like. That is why I sought
Hargreave."
"I will gladly point them out to you," said Jones, rubbing his hands
together, a sign that he was greatly pleased.
"That will be very good of you, I'm sure," in a rumbling but perfectly
intelligible English.
"And suddenly they all three will disappear."
"Suddenly; and you may believe me that from that time on they'll be
heard of never more."
"All this sounds extremely agreeable to me. Mr. Hargreave will be
happy to hear that his long enforced hiding will soon come to an end."
"All you have to do, sir, is to point them out to me."
"It may take a week or ten days."
"My government has waited for ten years to gather in this delectable
trio. A month, if you like."
"The sooner the better. I shall call this evening after dinner. We
shall begin with Mr. Braine; and generally where he is is the woman.
Vroon will be the most difficult."
"After dinner, then, since you know some of his haunts. There is a
reward."
Jones laughed shortly. "Keep it yourself, sir. Mr. Hargreave would
willingly double whatever this reward is to eliminate these despicable
creatures from his affairs."
"Thanks."
While this conversation was taking place Norton idled about; and
feeling the cravings for a cigarette, prepared to roll one, only to
find that he hadn't the "makings." So fate urged him to step into the
nearest tobacconist's. He asked for his favorite brand and passed over
the silver.
Braine and his companions saw Norton enter the shop. It agreed with
their plans perfectly. The tobacconist happened to be affiliated with
the order. So they hurried into the shop. Jim instantly realized that
he was in a trap.
"How can I get out of here?" he whispered to the tobacconist.
The latter smiled. "I have to obey these gentlemen. I don't know what
they want you for; but if I made a move to help you I should find my
own throat cut without saving yours."
"The devil!"
Jim made a dash for the rear door, to find it locked. Even as he
fumbled with the key Braine and his companions flung themselves upon
the reporter and overpowered him.
"Ah, my friend Braine!" he said.
"My friend Norton!" jeered the victor.
"And what do you want; some peaches?"
"A paper, my friend, a little secret of paper with invisible writing on
it. We promise to give you something in exchange for it."
"What?" asked Jim with as much nonchalance as he could assume.
"Life."
"Search," said Jim. "You won't object to my smoking?" He began to
roll a cigarette while they passed over him. He struck a match; the
pleasant aroma of tobacco floated about his head.
"He's got it on him somewhere. I saw him take it. He's got his nerve
with him."
The cigarette glowed. Jim smoked hurriedly.
Through every pocket they went. The contents of his wallet lay
scattered at his feet; his watch dangled from the chain. The cigarette
grew shorter and shorter. Suddenly one of the men stretched out a hand
and whisked the cigarette from Jim's lips. He threw it to the floor
and stamped out the coal.
"I thought so!" he exclaimed, holding out the scrap of burnt paper
toward Braine.
The words "Dear Hargreave" were all that remained of the message. With
a snarl of rage Braine whipped out his revolver.
"I will give you one minute to tell me what that paper contained."
"And after that minute is up?"
"A bullet in your stomach."
Quick as a flash Jim's hand shot out, caught the loosely held revolver,
gave it a wrench, and brought it down savagely upon Braine's head.
Then he reversed it and backed toward the front entrance.
"Au revoir, till we meet again, gentlemen!"