The federal government agreed to say nothing, to put no obstacles in
the way of the Russian agent, provided he could abduct his trio without
seriously clashing with the New York police authorities. It was a
recognized fact that the local police force wanted the newspaper glory
which would attend the crushing of the Black Hundred. It would be an
exploit. But their glory was nil; nor did Servan take his trio back
with him to Russia.
Many strange things happened that night, the night of the final
adventure.
Florence sat in her room reading. The book was Oliver Twist, not the
pleasantest sort of book to read under the existing circumstances.
Several times--she had reached the place where Fagin overheard Nancy's
confession--she fancied she heard doors closing softly, but credited it
to her imagination. Poor Nancy, who wanted to be good but did not find
time to be! Florence possessed a habit familiar to most of us; the
need of apples or candy when we are reading. So she rang the bell for
her maid, intending to ask her to bring up some apples. She turned to
her reading, presently to break off and strike the bell again. Where
was that maid? She waited perhaps five minutes, then laid down the
book and began to investigate.
There was not a servant to be found in the entire house! What in the
world could that mean? Used as she was to heartrending suspense, she
was none the less terrified. Something had taken the servants from the
house. From whence was the danger to come this time? Where was Jones?
Why did he not return as he had promised? It was long past the hour
when he said he would be back.
She went into the library and picked up the telephone. She was told
that Mr. Norton was out on an assignment, but that he would be notified
the moment he returned. She opened the drawer in the desk. She
touched the automatic, but did not take it up. She left the drawer
open, however.
Earlier, at the newspaper office that night, Jim went into the managing
editor's office and laid a bulky manuscript on that gentleman's desk.
"Is this it?"
"It is," said Jim.
"You have captured them?"
"No; but there is a net about them from which not one shall escape.
There's the story of my adventures, of the adventures of Miss Hargreave
and the butler, Jones. You'll find it exciting enough. You might just
as well send it up to the composing room. At midnight I'll telephone
the introduction. It's a scoop. Don't worry about that."
The editor riffled the pages.
"A hundred and twelve pages, three hundred words to the page; man, it's
a novel!"
"It'll read like one."
"Sit down for a moment and let me skim through the first story."
At the end of ten minutes the editor laid down the copy. He opened a
drawer and took out two envelopes. The blue one he tore up and dropped
into the waste basket. Norton understood and smiled. They had meant
to discharge him if he fell down. The other envelope was a fat one.
"Open it," said the editor, smiling a little to himself.
This envelope contained a check for two thousand five hundred dollars,
two round-trip first-class tickets to Liverpool, together with
innumerable continental tickets such as are issued to tourists.
"Why two?" asked Jim innocently.
"Forget it, my boy, forget it. You ought to know that in this office
we don't employ blind men. The whole staff is on. There you are, a
fat check and three months' vacation. Go and get married; and if you
return before the three months are up I'll fire you myself on general
principles."
Jim laughed happily and the two men shook hands. Then Jim went forth
to complete the big assignment. Five minutes later Florence called him
up to learn that he had gone.
What should she do? Jones had told her to stay in the house and not to
leave it. But where was he? Why did he not come? What was the
meaning of this desertion by the servants? She wandered about
aimlessly, looking out of windows, imagining forms in the shadows. Her
imagination had not deceived her; she had heard doors close softly.
"Susan, Susan!" she murmured, but Susan was in the hospital.
_Oliver Twist_! What had possessed her to start reading that old tale
again? She should have read something of a light and joyous character.
After half an hour's wandering about the lonely house she returned to
the library, feeling that she would be safer where both telephone and
revolver were.
And while she sat waiting for she knew not what, her swiftly beating
heart sending the blood into her throat so that it almost suffocated
her, a man turned into the street and walked noiselessly toward the
Hargreave place. He passed a man leaning against a lamp-post, but he
never turned to look at him.
This man, however, threw away his cigar and hot-footed it to the
nearest pay station. He knew in his soul that he had just seen the man
for whom they had been hunting all these weary but strenuous
weeks--Stanley Hargreave in the flesh! Half an hour after his
telephone message the chief of the Black Hundred and many lesser lights
were on their way to the house of mystery. Had they but known!
Now, the man who had created this tremendous agitation went serenely
on. He proceeded directly and fearlessly to the front door, produced a
latchkey and entered. He passed through the hall and reception room to
the library and paused on the threshold dramatically. Florence stepped
back with a sharp cry of alarm. She had heard the hall door open and
close and had taken it for granted that Jones had entered.
There was a tableau of short duration.
"Don't you know me?" asked the stranger in a singularly pleasant voice.
Florence had been imposed upon too many times. She shook her head
defiantly, though her knees shook so that she was certain that the
least touch would send her over.
"I am your father, child!"
Florence slipped unsteadily behind the desk and seized the revolver
which lay in the drawer. The man by the curtains smiled sadly. It was
a smile that caused Florence to waver a bit. Still she extended her
arm.
"You do not believe me?" said the man, advancing slowly.
"No. I have been deceived too many times, sir. Stay where you are.
You will wait here till my butler returns. Oh, if I were only sure!"
she burst out suddenly and passionately. "What proof have you that you
are what you say?"
He came toward her, holding out his hands. "This, that you can not
shoot me. Ah, the damnable wretches! What have they done to you, my
child, to make you suspicious of every one? How I have watched over
you in the street! I will tell you what only Jones and the reporter
know, that the aviator died, that I alone was rescued, that I gave
Norton the five thousand; that I watched the windows of the Russian
woman, and overheard nearly every plot that was hatched in the council
chamber of the Black Hundred; that I was shot in the arm while crossing
the lawn one night. And now we have the scoundrels just where we want
them. They will be in this house for me within half an hour, and not
one of them will leave it in freedom. I am your father, Florence. I
am the lonely father who has spent the best years of his life away from
you in order to secure your safety. Can't you feel the truth of all
this?"
"No, no! Please do not approach any nearer; stay where you are!"
[Illustration: THEY WERE TUMBLING THROUGH THE LIBRARY AND READING-ROOM]
At that moment the telephone rang. With the revolver still leveled she
picked up the receiver.
"Hello, hello! Who is it? ... Oh, Jim, Jim, come at once! I am
holding at bay a man who says he is my father. Hold him where he is,
you say? All right, I will. Come quick!"
"Jim!" murmured the man, still advancing. He must have that revolver.
The poor child might spoil the whole affair. "So what Jones tells me
is true; that you are going to marry this reporter chap?"
She did not answer.
"With or without my consent?"
If only he would drop that fearless smile! she thought. "With or
without anybody's consent," she said.
"What in the world can I say to you to convince you?" he cried. "The
trap is set; but if Braine and his men come and find us like this, good
heaven, child, we are both lost! Come, come!"
"Stay where you are!"
At that moment she heard a sound at the door. Her gaze roved; and it
was enough for the man. He reached out and caught her arm. She tried
to tear herself loose.
"My child, in God's name, listen to reason! They are entering the hall
and they will have us both."
Suddenly Florence knew. She could not have told you why; but there was
an appeal in the man's voice that went to her heart.
"You are my father!"
"Yes, yes! But you've found it out just a trifle too late, my dear.
Quick; this side of the desk!"
Braine and his men dashed into the library. Olga entered leisurely.
"Both of them!" yelled Braine exultantly. "Both of them together; what
luck!"
There was a sharp, fierce struggle; and when it came to an end
Hargreave was trussed to a chair.
"Ah, so we meet again, Hargreave!" said Braine.
Hargreave shrugged. What he wanted was time.
"A million! We have you. Where is it, or I'll twist your heart before
your eyes."
"Father, forgive me!"
"I understand, my child."
"Where is it?" Braine seized Florence by the wrist and swung her
toward him.
"Don't tell him, father; don't mind me," said the girl bravely.
Braine, smiling his old evil smile, drew the girl close. It was the
last time he ever touched her.
"Look!" screamed Olga.
Every one turned, to see Jones' face peering between the curtains.
There was an ironic smile on the butler's lips. The face vanished.
"After him!" cried Braine, releasing Florence.
"After him!" mimicked a voice from the hall.
The curtains were thrown back suddenly. Jones appeared, and Jim and
the Russian agent and a dozen policemen. Tableau!
Braine sprang at Florence savagely, and Norton tore him back, and they
went tumbling through the library and the living room. It was a death
struggle; make no mistake about that. The others dared not shoot for
fear of hitting Norton. But the Countess Olga, in the hallway, dared
the risk. As Norton's back came into view she fired. Almost at the
same instant Norton had swung Braine about. A shudder ran through the
arch-scoundrel, his hands slipped off Norton's shoulders, a surprised
expression swept over his face, then he sank inertly to the floor, dead.
[Illustration: BRAINE SANK INERTLY TO THE FLOOR, DEAD]
Olga ran up-stairs wildly, followed by a determined policeman. She
dashed into Florence's room and locked the door. Instantly she crossed
over to the window, and paused.
Down-stairs the police were marching off the leaders of the Black
Hundred.
"Well," said Norton, "I guess it's all over. And, my word for it, Mr.
Jedson, you've played your end consummately."
"Jedson!" exclaimed Jones, starting back.
"Yes, Jedson, formerly of Scotland Yard," went on the reporter. "I
recognized him long ago."
"It is true," said Hargreave, taking Jones' hand in his own. "Fifteen
years ago I employed him to watch my affairs, and very well has he done
so."
Presently, Hargreave, Jones, Florence and Jim were alone. That smile
which had revealed to Florence her father's identity stole over his
face again. He put his hand on Jim's shoulder and beckoned to Florence.
"Are you really anxious to marry this young man?"
Florence nodded.
"Well, then, do so. And go to Europe with him on your honeymoon; and
as a wedding present to you both, for every dollar that he has I will
add a hundred; and when you get tired of travel you will both come hack
here to live. The Black Hundred has ceased to exist."
"And now," said Jones, shaking his shoulders.
"Well?" said Hargreave.
"My business is done. Still--" Jones paused.
"Go on," said Hargreave soberly.
"Well, the truth is, sir, I've grown used to you. And if you'll let me
play the butler till the end I shall be most happy."
"I was going to suggest it."
Norton took Florence by the hand and drew her away.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked.
"I'm going to take this pretty hand of yours and put it flat upon one
million dollars. And if you don't believe it, follow me."
She followed.