Jim said nothing at first about his adventure to Jones, whom he met
half an hour later.
"Was it necessary to keep that invisible letter?" he asked.
"No," said Jones.
"Would it have given our affairs a serious turn if it had fallen into
alien hands?"
"Decidedly," answered Jones. "It would mean flight for the Black
Hundred or a long time under cover, if our friend Braine learned that
Russia was now taking an active interest in the doings of the Black
Hundred. And eventually all our work would have to be done over again."
"Ah!"
"You look a bit mussed up. Anything happened?" asked the keen-eyed
butler.
"Nothing much. I made a cigarette out of the letter and smoked it."
Jones chuckled. "I see that you have had an adventure of some sort;
but it can wait."
"It can."
"Because I want you to pack off to Washington."
"Washington?"
"Yes. I want you to interview those officials who are most familiar
with the extradition laws."
"A new kink?"
"What I wish to learn is this: Can a man, formerly undesirable, take
out naturalization papers and hold to the protection of the United
States government? That is to say, a poisoner, menaced by Siberia,
becomes an American citizen. He is abducted and carried back to
Russia. Could he look to this government for protection? That is what
I want you to find out?"
"That will be easy. When shall I start?"
"As soon as you can pack your grip."
"That's always packed," replied the reporter. "You see, I'm eternally
shunted hither and yon, at a moment's notice, so I always have an extra
grip packed for quick travel."
"The Russian agent wants Braine, Vroon, and the countess; and to-night
I'm going to try to point them out to him. It would satisfy me more
than anything I know to eliminate this precious trio in Russian
fashion. It's thorough; and once accomplished, good day to the Black
Hundred in America. The organization in Russia has still some
political significance, but on this side of the water it is merely an
aggregation of merciless thugs."
"I'll take the first train out. But you will tell Florence?"
"Surely."
"And take care of your own heels. You were watched at the hotel."
"I know it; but the watcher could learn nothing. Henri Servan as a
name will suggest nothing to the fool who followed me. Besides we both
knew that he was trying to peek through the keyhole. That hotel, you
know, still retains the old-fashioned keyholes."
"To keep the maids in good humor, I suppose," laughed Jim. "Well, I
must be on my way to make that flyer."
The two shook hands and Jim hurried off. The butler watched him till
he disappeared down the subway.
"He's a good lad," he murmured, "and a brave lad; and money is only an
incident in human affairs after all. I'll be a good angel and let the
two be happy, since they love each other and have proved it in a
thousand ways."
Meanwhile the Russian agent settled down before his writing portfolio;
and once or twice as he wrote he thought he heard a sound outside the
door. No doubt this butler of Hargreave's had been watched and
followed. By and by he rose, drew his revolver, and tiptoed to the
door obliquely so that the watcher outside might not become aware of
his approach. Swiftly he swung back the door and the member of the
Black Hundred stumbled into the room. Almost instantly the Russian
caught him by the collar and held him up.
"What were you doing outside my door?"
The man, trying to collect his thoughts, did not answer.
"A spy of some sort, eh?"
"I'm a detective," said the man finally, thinking he saw his way clear.
"And what did you expect to learn by looking through the keyhole of my
door?"
Servan laughed. "Show me your badge of authority."
The man fumbled in his upper pocket, hoping against hope that the
muzzle of the revolver would waver.
"You're an ordinary thief," declared the Russian; "and as such I shall
instantly hand you over to the hotel authorities unless you tell me
exactly who and what you are."
The man remained dumb. He hung between the devil and the deep sea. If
he told the truth the organization would soon learn the truth; if he
kept still he would be lodged in jail, perhaps indefinitely, for he
hadn't a savory police record. Presently his nerve gave way in face of
the steady eye and hand, and he confessed the why and wherefore he had
sought the keyhole of Servan's room.
"We are after this butler. Wherever he goes we follow."
"Well, you've wasted your time, my man. All I am here for is to take
over some property Mr. Hargreave left in France for sale. I know
nothing about your private feuds. Now, get out. But keep out of my
way; I am not a peaceful man."
The spy tumbled out as he had tumbled in, by an act of gravity; and
Servan was alone. He spent two days in comparative idleness. Then
things began to wake up.
For a long time the leather box across which was inscribed "Stanley
Hargreave" lay in peace undisturbed. A busy spider had woven a trap
across the handle to the quaint lock. The box was still badly stained
from its immersion in the salt water. At a certain time it was quietly
withdrawn from its hiding place. It was stealthily opened. A hand
reached in and when it withdrew a packet of papers was also withdrawn.
The box was again locked and lowered; and presently the spider returned
to find that his cunning trap had been totally destroyed. With the
infinite patience of his kind he began the weaving of another trap.
Perhaps this would be more successful than its predecessor.
Later Henri Servan received a telephone call. He was informed that his
purpose in America would be realized by his presence at such and such a
box that night at the opera. Further information could not be given
over the telephone. Servan seemed well satisfied. He dressed
carefully that evening, called up the office clerk and inquired if his
box tickets for the opera had arrived. He was informed that they had.
Instantly the spy, who had dared to linger about the hotel, overhearing
this conversation, determined to notify Braine at once. And at the
same time, Norton, in disguise, determined not to lose sight of this
man whom he had set himself to watch.
The spy left by one entrance and Jim by another. Jim had learned what
he desired; that the Russian agent would be followed to the opera and
that it was going to be difficult to hand the documents to him. The
spy entered a drug store and telephoned. Jim waited outside. When the
man came out he strolled up the street and entered the nearest saloon.
Jim's work was done.
It was Braine's lieutenant, however, who took the news to Braine.
"We have succeeded."
"Good!" said Braine.
"He will go to the opera. He will have a box. Doubtless they have
arranged to deliver the papers there."
"And the next thing is to get the number of his box." This Braine had
no difficulty in doing. "So that's all fixed. He calls himself Servan
and registers from Paris. I'll show the fool that he has no moujik to
deal with this time."
"And what are these documents?" asked Olga.
"Ah, that's what we are so anxious to find out. Some papers are going
to be exchanged between this Russian spy and Jones or his agents. That
these papers concern us vitally I am certain. That is why I am going
to get them if there has to be a murder at the opera to-night. Norton
has been to Washington. He was seen coming out of the Russian embassy,
from the secretaries of state and war and a dozen other offices. I've
got to find out just what all this means."
"It means that the time has come for us to fly," said Olga. "We have
failed. I have warned you. We have still plenty of money left. It is
time we folded our tents and stole away quietly. I tell you I feel it
in my bones that there is a pit before us somewhere! and if you force
issues we shall all fall into it."
"The white feather, my dear."
"There is altogether some difference between the white feather and
common-sense caution."
"I shall never give up. You are free to pack up and go if you wish.
As for me, I'm going to fight this out to the bitter end."
"And take my word for it, the end will be bitter."
"Well?"
"Oh, I shall stay. You know that my future is bound up in yours. In
the old days my advice generally appealed to you as sound; and when you
followed it you were successful. From the first I advised you not to
pursue Hargreave. See what has happened!"
"Enough of this chatter. I've got to die some time; it will be with my
face toward this man I hate with all my soul. You trust to me; I'll
pull out of this all right. You just fix yourself up stunningly for
the opera to-night and leave the rest to me."
Olga shrugged. She was something of a fatalist. This man of hers had
suddenly gone mad; and one did not reason with mad people.
"What shall I wear?" she asked calmly.
[Illustration: "JUST A MOMENT, GENTLEMEN"]
"Emeralds; they're your good luck stones. You will go to the box
before I do. I've got to spend some time at the curb to be sure that
this Servan chap arrives. And it is quite possible that our friend
Jones will come later. If not Jones, then Norton. I was a fool not to
shoot him when I had the chance. We could have covered it up without
the least difficulty. But I needed the information about that paper.
With Norton going to Washington and Jones conferring with this Servan,
I've got to strike quick. It concerns us, that I'm certain. Perk up;
we've lots of cards in our sleeves yet. Be at the opera at
eight-thirty. Pay no attention to any one; wait for me. Remember, I
shan't write or send any phone messages. Be wary of any trap like that
to get you outside. Now, I'm off."
Jones approached Florence immediately after dinner.
"I have important business in the city to-night. Under no
circumstances leave the house. I shall probably be followed. And our
enemies will have need of you far more to-night than at any previous
time. I shall not send you phone or written message. You have your
revolver. Shoot any strange man who enters. We'll make inquiries
after."
"We are near the end?" whispered Florence.
"Very near the end."
"And I shall see my father?"
Jones bent his head. "If we succeed."
"There is danger?" thinking of her lover.
"There is always danger when I leave this house. So be good," the
butler added with a smile.
"And Jim?"
"He has proved that he can take care of himself."
"Tell him to be very careful."
"I'll do so, but it will not be necessary;" and with this Jones set
forth upon what he considered the culminating adventure.
The usual brilliant crowd began to pour into the opera. Braine took
his stand by the entrance. He waited a long time, but his patience was
rewarded. A limousine drove up and out of the door came his man, who
looked about with casual interest. He dismissed the limousine, which
wheeled slowly around the corner where it could be conveniently parked.
Then Servan entered the opera.
Braine hurried around to the limousine. The lights, save those
demanded by traffic regulations, were out. The chauffeur was huddled
in his seat.
"My man," said Braine, "would you like to make some money?"
"How much?" listlessly. The voice was muffled.
"Twenty."
"Good night, sir."
"Fifty."
"Good night and good morning!"
"A hundred!"
"Now you've got me interested. What kind of a joy ride do you want?"
"No joy ride. Listen."
Briefly the conspirator outlined his needs, and finally the chauffeur
nodded. Five twenties were pressed into his hand and he curled up in
his seat again.
Servan entered his box. In the box next to his sat a handsomely gowned
young woman. He threw her an idle glance, which was repaid in kind.
Later, Braine came in and sat down beside Olga.
"Everything looks like plain sailing," he whispered.
Olga shrugged slightly.
During the intermission between the first and second acts, Servan took
the rear chair of his box, near the curtains. Braine, watching with
the eyes of a lynx, suddenly observed the curtains stirring. A hand
was thrust through. In that hand was a packet of papers. With seeming
indifference Servan reached back and took the papers, stowing them away
in a pocket.
Braine rose at the beginning of the second act.
"Where are you going?" asked Olga nervously.
"To see Otto."
A bold attempt was made to rob Servan while in the box, but the timely
arrival of Jim frustrated this plan. So Braine was forced to rely on
the chauffeur of the limousine.
As Farrar's last thrilling note died away Braine and Olga rose.
"Be careful. And come to the apartments just as soon as you can."
"I'll be careful," Braine declared easily. "You can watch the play if
you wish."
When Servan entered the limousine he was quietly but forcibly seized by
two men who had been lying in wait for him, due to the apparent
treachery of the chauffeur. Servan fought valiantly, for all that he
knew what the end of this exploit was going to be. One of the men
succeeded in getting the documents from Servan's pocket.
"Done, my boy!" cried the victor. "Give him a crack on the coco and
we'll beat it."
"Just a minute, gentlemen!" said a voice from the seat at the side of
the chauffeur. "I'll take those papers!" And the owner of the voice,
backed by a cold, sinister-looking automatic, reached in and
confiscated the spoils of war. "And I shouldn't make any attempt to
slip out by the side door."
"Thanks, my friend," said Servan, shaking himself free from his captors.
"Don't mention it," said Norton amiably. "We thought something like
this would happen. Keep perfectly quiet, you chaps. Drive on,
chauffeur; drive on!"
"Yes, my lord! To what particular police station shall I head this
omnibus?"
"The nearest, Jones; the very nearest you can think of! Some day, when
I'm rich, I'll hire you for my chauffeur. But for the present I shall
expect at least a box of Partagas out of that hundred."
Jones chuckled. "I'll buy you a box out of my own pocket. That
hundred goes to charity."
"Here we are! Out with you," said Jim to his prisoners. He shouldered
them into the police station, to the captain's desk.
"What's this?" demanded the captain.
"Holdup men," said Jim. "Entered this man's car and tried to rob him."
"Uh-huh! An' who're you?"
Jim showed his badge and card.
"Oho! Hey, there; I mean you!" said the captain, leveling a finger at
Otto. "Lift up that hat; lift it up. Sure, it's Fountain Pen Otto!
Well, well; an' we've been lookin' for you for ten months on the last
forgery case. Mr. Norton, my thanks. Take 'em below, sergeant.
You'll be here to make the complaint in th' mornin', sir," he added to
Servan.
"If it is necessary."
"It may be against Otto's pal. I don't know him."
"Very well."
[Illustration: THE POLICE CAPTAIN'S DESK]
And Jones and Norton and Servan trooped out of the station.
At last Jones and the reporter entered a cheap restaurant and ordered
coffee and toast.
"You're a wonderful man, Jones, even if you are an Englishman," said
Jim as he called for the check.
"English? What makes you think I am English?" asked Jones with a
curious glitter in his eyes.
"I'll tell you on the night we put the rollers under Braine and
company."
Jones stared long and intently at his young partner. What did he
really know?