CHAPTER XXVII.

STRANGE PRECAUTIONS.

While Grail was shaving, at that two-minute gait which, once acquired at

West Point, is never forgotten, a sudden suggestion came to him, and he

laid down his razor to draft out on a telegraph blank a composition,

which seemed, from the way he frowned and bit his pen over it, to

require careful consideration.

Finishing it at last, he slipped it into a sealed envelope, and when he

had completed his dressing, carried it and the note from Appleby over to

the post-telegraph office.

The Appleby note he laid on the table under a paper weight.

“Sergeant,” he said to the man in charge, “I want you to keep your eye

on that paper, and if it disappears, instantly transmit this to the

address within.” He handed over the sealed envelope.

The man stared at him as though he thought he had suddenly gone crazy.

“If the paper disappears?” he gasped.

“Exactly.” Grail looked at him sternly. “And let there be no mistake in

carrying out instructions, please. As you may surmise, there are strange

things going on, and much may depend on you to-night. I repeat, if the

paper on the desk disappears, you are to send without delay the dispatch

in that sealed envelope.”

Then he started for the waiting taxi; but the operator halted him at the

door.

“Oh, by the way, captain,” he called, “Miss Vedant was trying to get you

several times this afternoon.” A bit confused by Grail’s impressive

manner and the peculiar instructions given him, he did not think to add

that the call had come by wireless.

“Miss Vedant?” The adjutant swung around, his hand on the knob. “Did she

leave any message for me?”

“No, sir. Merely said she would call again.”

“Very well. It makes no difference now. I shall probably see her in

person in ten or fifteen minutes.”

Whirling uptown with Cato in the cab, he kept pondering over the matter,

wondering why Meredith had been so anxious to communicate with him, and

trying to piece out an answer from the facts at his disposal.

Then he suddenly slapped his knee, as what seemed to be a solution broke

upon him.

“Cato,” he exclaimed, “do you remember what Simmons was saying when he

was interrupted by that pistol shot, and the arrival of the Japs?”

“Something about a family reunion between the colonel and his daughter,

wasn’t it, sir?”

“Yes; the exact words, as I remember, were that it would be quite a

family reunion to have father and daughter under----” Then he stopped.

“Cato, what he was about to say was ‘under one roof.’ Don’t you see it,

man? Colonel Vedant was taken from the hut last night to the home of

Otto Schilder.”

Cato looked puzzled. “Is Mr. Schilder one of the gang, too?” he

demanded.

“No.” He hesitated, then added, in a lower tone: “But, as I have known

from the beginning, a member of Schilder’s household has long been on

terms of clandestine friendship with this man Dabney, or Rezonoff. She

has, in fact, been his chief aid in all this matter.”

“She?” Cato glanced at him.

“Yes; Mrs. Schilder. There is no longer any use in trying to protect

her, for I gather from the circumstances that her husband already knows

all. To my mind, that is the explanation of his summoning Appleby to his

office this afternoon, and of the conference of officers at the house

to-night. He probably wants to arrange some plan to hush the affair up

with as little scandal as possible.

“I should not be surprised, too,” he went on, “to learn that it was Miss

Vedant who discovered the secret of the colonel’s presence in the house;

for she is quick-witted enough to have outgeneraled even so crafty a

schemer as that woman. Yes, that must be it,” he repeated; “she found it

out and tried to communicate with me, but, failing in that, finally

turned to Schilder.”

“Well, we’ll know for certain in a minute now,” said Cato, as the cab

halted under the porte-cochère; “for here we are.”

The door swung open to them, as they climbed the steps.

“If you please, sir,” the man who admitted them said to Grail, “Miss

Vedant wishes to see you at once. Will you follow me? She is in madame’s

boudoir.” Then, with less ceremony, he directed Sergeant Cato to

accompany another man to a room belowstairs.

Up a softly carpeted flight Grail was led by his guide, and along the

hall; then the man, drawing aside heavy portières, disclosed a room

suffused with a dim, rosy light.

Grail took a step forward, but halted as he saw no one there. Before he

could turn, however, he was dealt a stunning blow over the head. He

reeled, threw up his hands to clutch vainly at the air, then felt

himself falling, and knew no more.

Nick Carter Stories No. 146, June 26, 1915: Paying the Price; or, Nick Carter's Perilous Venture · 第 10 / 13 章