Considering the unaccustomed position in which Raikes had placed himself
in arranging to retire the night before, he awoke with considerable
astonishment to the realization that he had passed a night of
undisturbed slumber.
Aside from a slight disposition to stretch his lean limbs unduly, and a
feeling of insecurity attending his first efforts to stand, he was not
aware of any inconvenience from his singular siesta.
At last, after having re-established his creaking equilibrium and
resumed his accustomed furtive regard of things, he was suddenly
reminded by the shifted position of the furniture of the purpose of this
makeshift barricade.
At once the shuddering dread which had attended his recent visits to the
secret recess returned with numbing chills and sinking spirit.
He advanced his bony hand, gnarled and mean with useless abstemiousness
and miserable abnegations, and revolved the button in the concave. In
response, the false register swung back; in another tense moment the
inner space was revealed, and his treasury laid bare.
For an instant, in the manner of an apprehensive child who postpones as
long as possible some unwelcome confirmation, Raikes closed his eyes,
and when he opened them again they rested, with unerring precision, upon
a bag somewhat detached from the others, which protruded at its sides
with those frightful points and angles with which he had become so
unhappily familiar of late.
With a smothered cry he sprang forward, gripped the bag in a trembling,
faltering clutch, and dropped it with a groan to the floor, where it
fell with a heart-breaking, distracting lightness, which, nevertheless,
smote like a mighty weight upon his bursting heart.
"My God!" he cried, "this is incredible!" and the miserable creature
stood for a moment with an appalling vacancy shadowing in his
countenance, which was illumed for one fitful moment with a ray of hope
as he inserted his hand in his waistcoat pocket to assure himself that
the diamond which he had placed in that receptacle the night before at
least was safe.
The diamond--ah, yes!
There was still some consolation in that.
Its value still maintained a close proportion to his loss. If there was
no gain there was, at least, a sort of evil restitution.
But his exploring fingers found only an empty pocket.
In a palsy of fear, and with the demeanor of one who feels the first
twinge of a mortal affliction and awaits in fearful silence the grewsome
confirmation of another, he stood without sound or motion, his set,
staring eyes directed with unseeing intensity upon the vacant air.
The next instant, with feverish animation and impotent apprehension,
five writhing fingers leaped from their futile search, like scotched
reptiles, into the opposite pocket and withdrew the two useless keys
with which he fastened his abortive latch on the door.
And then, with a frightful glitter in his eyes, an ugly ooze about his
bloodless lips, a flickering effort of his shriveled fingers to adjust
themselves to some ribald rhythm, Raikes began to sing, with the dry
rasp and ancient husk of a galvanized sphinx:
"And her name it was Dinah,
Scarce sixteen years old;
She'd a very large fortune
In greenbacks and gold.
Sing turi-li-luri----
Ha, ha! ha, ha!" and supporting himself along the wall he made his way
slowly to the threshold, unfastened the locks, removed the heavy bar,
opened the door, and cried out in a voice that was not human, that
shuddered its way along the chill passage through the shrinking air:
"Robert--Robert!" and then, reeling, stumbling toward a near-by chair,
he fell ere he could reach it, in utter collapse to the floor, and lay
there--shriveled, grotesque, in no way pathetic, in all points
contemptible, as his nephew, in response to his uncle's unearthly
summons, rushed into the room, followed by the wide-eyed spinster.
For three days during the week that followed Raikes lay oblivious to the
considerations of loss or gain.
The utmost of the young medical attendant, who had been selected on the
basis of the small charges incident to a beginning practice, had failed
to restore the emaciated man to his suspended consciousness, until,
toward the morning of the fourth day, the spinster, who sat near-by in
weary vigil, was startled to behold the dull eyes of her brother
fastened upon her with the faraway, questioning look of one returning
from the confines of the nether to the sharp realities of existence.
"Rodman?" she inquired with anxious interrogation.
In response the thin lips of the sufferer moved slowly.
Approaching the bed, his sister, leaning over the unfortunate Raikes,
heard him articulate with difficulty "Water!"
Supporting his head with one hand, the spinster supplied his
feebly-sighed request, and when the last difficult swallow conveyed the
refreshing draught along his fevered throat, she restored his head to
the pillow and awaited developments.
As she sat at the bedside in an attitude of fearful expectation, it was
evident that some transformation, more wholesome than subtle, had
manifested itself in the mien and physique of his nurse.
A large degree of her pitiful attenuity had vanished; a legible vestige
of placid well-being seemed to have replaced the hunger of her eyes;
there was a vague, unsubstantial promise of possible comeliness in the
restoration of her cheeks.
Aware of these changes herself, and fearful lest her brother's sharp
eyes would discover them, the spinster recalled, with a sort of troubled
gratification, the occasion of the improvement.
Undisturbed by the rebuking glances of the abstemious Raikes, and
secretly abetted by the amused Sepoy, the poor woman had enjoyed the
privileges of the table with a relish and surrender which had begun to
result in the manner indicated.
For several days previous to the catastrophe which had concluded in the
prostration of her brother, the spinster had supplied the cravings of
her appetite with a gusto that was a revelation to her, and which would
have evoked a profound rebuke from the wretched creature on the bed.
It was therefore with secret misgiving and a qualified delight she heard
her brother at last call feebly: "Sarah!"
In answer to the exhausted interrogation in his utterance of the name,
his sister hastened to recount to him the incident of his collapse and
his subsequent unconsciousness.
Little by little his intelligence began to resume its abandoned
functions, and at last he recalled the whole evil situation.
"Where's Robert?" he said. "I want him."
"I will send him to you," exclaimed his sister, and she hastened from
the room.
"Well, uncle!" exclaimed Robert as he entered with a cheerfulness he was
far from feeling as he witnessed that emaciated countenance; "better, I
see."
"I congratulate you upon your imagination," replied Raikes, with a
feeble attempt at his customary incivility; "but lock the door and
listen to me carefully."
These instructions complied with, Robert seated himself in the chair
just vacated by the spinster, which provided his uncle an unobstructed
view of the embonpoint and general aspect of well-being which were so
obnoxious to the singular man on the bed.
"In the first place," resumed Raikes weakly, "move the bed around so
that I can see the register in the wall."
The wondering Robert did as he was ordered.
"Take hold of the button that moves the valves and pull it toward you."
Robert followed these instructions minutely, and to his astonishment and
the miser's consternation the radiator itself swung away from the wall.
"What!" cried the startled invalid as he beheld this confirmation of his
fear that he had neglected to spring the catch that held the radiator
on the occasion of the mishap which resulted in his confinement to the
bed, "Look within. Is the inner compartment closed?"
"No!" replied Robert.
"My God!" groaned Raikes as he realized that his treasury had been thus
unguarded during his illness. "Tell me how many bags there are."
Robert removed them one by one, and deposited them on the table.
As the miser followed the movements of his nephew with anxious notation,
a sigh of unutterable relief welled from the innermost depths of his
bosom.
The bags had been untouched!
There was no further loss, and the clinking weight assured him that his
nocturnal visitor had made no more of his gross substitutions.
"Listen, Robert," said Raikes with laborious amiability, as his
astonished nephew seated himself near the bedside, "it has been my
purpose to conceal this hiding place from any living soul, but I find
that I have not succeeded.
"Some one has made three visits to that recess and helped himself to as
many bags of coin."
Robert, remembering his uncle's well-known secrecy and the unusual
precautions taken by him to secure his room from intrusion, looked his
incredulity, which stimulated Raikes into exclaiming:
"Ah, but you do not know how incredible it is. Wait until you hear all.
You will wonder what human agency could penetrate these locks, open the
doors of this hiding place, extract the plunder, restore the locks to
their original condition, and re-issue into the passageway without
disturbing the latches or the crossbar. My losses are supernatural. Now
follow me carefully and confess that you have not heard anything so
ghastly, so unreal as what I am about to relate."
As Raikes proceeded in his narrative, his nephew was at first inclined
to receive these weird confidences as features of the unhappy man's
condition, but as the latter progressed, with a constantly increasing
degree of his customary emotionless lucidity, his sincerity became
apparent.
"And now," concluded Raikes, "what have you to say to all this? Is it
not worthy of a Poe or a Maupassant? I tell you, I must have some
explanation of this mystery or I shall go mad."
During this singular recital the young man's mind, stimulated by the
eerie perplexities and the unhappy denouement, had been busy.
It was not difficult to convince himself of the futility of any of his
own speculations; the nearness of the calamity affected him, in a
degree, as it did the withered invalid.
He had a sound brain, nourished by a well sustained body; his
intelligence was apt and rapid, but these unheard-of complications
demanded a morbid analysis of which he was incapable.
On this basis, however, as his uncle had proceeded, Robert had been able
to develop a suggestion; he could offer that, at least.
In reply, therefore, to the feverish questions of his uncle, the young
man said:
"In so far as I am able to see, your disasters have narrowed your range
of discernment. They are too recent; they affect you too nearly. Under
such conditions we take counsel of our prejudices instead of our
judgment. Your thoughts are apt to return to the central feature of your
loss. It is not natural to expect one to dismiss such a consideration in
order to make way for others which might help you in your search.
"On my part, the incident is new and stimulating, but the ideas it
awakens lead to nothing. However, I should not regard the case as
impossible until I had tried at least one means of solution."
"What is that?" demanded Raikes, diverted, if not convinced, by the
sensible observations of his nephew.
"You have heard of Gratz?" inquired Robert.
"Of the secret service?"
"Yes."
"Ah!" cried the old man; "to submit the case to him means another in the
secret, with little prospect of advantage."
"I am not so sure about that," returned Robert. "Do you recall the
Dupont mystery?"
Raikes nodded.
"Well," continued Robert, "you must also remember the Belmont scandal.
Gratz certainly let daylight into that."
"Ah," cried Raikes, "I do not like your suggestions; they encourage me
and alarm me at the same time. Think of the cost."
Irritated at the intrusion of this frugal proviso at this juncture,
Robert exclaimed with some warmth: "Yes, but think, also, how
insignificant that would be if he discovered the thief and recovered the
money."
"If--if----" repeated Raikes with impatience.
"And I can say this," continued Robert: "It is the ambition of Gratz to
be appointed chief of the bureau to which he belongs. Whatever can be
placed to his credit in the meantime will serve as an additional reason
for his advancement.
"I believe that he would be more persuaded to undertake the case with
this prospect in view than for a mercenary reason."
"But," interrupted Raikes, "can you get him?"
"I think I can answer for that," replied Robert. "I know him very well.
If you will consent to leave the matter in my hands, I will attend to
Gratz."
"Well," exclaimed Raikes, as Robert concluded, "have it your own way;
anything is better than this killing suspense. I do not believe that I
could endure a repetition of the incidents of the last few nights. But
return the bags before you go, and shut the radiator; it will lock in
closing."
When Robert at last reached the dining-room he discovered his aunt at
the table, seated opposite the Sepoy.
Instructing the spinster to resume her vigil until his return, Robert
proceeded to his own table, and from that point of observation occupied
himself, during the next twenty minutes, partly with his breakfast and
partly in regarding this illy-assorted duet.
The Sepoy was as gravely urbane as ever; his browns and blacks
intermingled harmoniously; his eyes were bright; his teeth still
suggestive of restrained sarcasm in their dull, red sheaths, as, with
grave courtesy, he made himself agreeable to his companion by abetting
her newly-awakened appetite with recommendations of the steak and
eulogies of the butter.
The spinster was no longer ravenous; the advantages she had enjoyed
during the absence of her domestic Argus had made her cravings more
equable, and she accepted the edible suggestions of the Sepoy with an
approach to placid satisfaction that hinted at the imminence of
repletion.
This disposition to make the most of her privileges, with what composure
she could assume, would have added the basis of a serious relapse on the
part of the invalid could he have witnessed the phenomenon.
It was remarkable how promptly the poor creature evinced the effects of
her nourishment.
Beginning, as already indicated, with a logical indigestion, she
progressed to the point of a possible filling out of the crevices of her
countenance, and her eyes certainly had lost the expression of appeal
characteristic of the mendicant in the doorway.
All this, minutely noted by her watchful nephew, was thoroughly enjoyed
with a sort of chuckling collusion and vicarious gratification.
On her return to the invalid she was requested by him to provide
whatever nourishment was needed, and then to leave him alone for a
couple of hours.
These instructions fulfilled, the spinster sought the retirement of her
room, surrendered herself to the enjoyment of reminiscent digestion, and
Raikes began to pull himself together.
His method was characteristic.
On the basis that he could not afford to enjoy himself like any normally
constituted being, he assured his mind that he could not submit to the
expense of illness.
According to his rigid logic, sickness was more the result of indulgence
than self-denial.
He proposed to have the credit of his abnegations.
Therefore he directed his perverse will to the contemplation of the
rational aspect of his condition, and presently had managed to convince
himself that if he did not entertain the belief of suffering, this
untoward condition would cease to exist.
As this singular being combatted all that was unwelcome to this point of
view, the grim lines tightened about the corners of his mouth, the deep
fissures in his forehead established a communication with the obstinate
wrinkles at the root of his nose, and by noon he was well on his way to
the mastery of his indisposition, and by nightfall he scandalized the
young medical attendant by standing up to receive him.
Extending to himself a chuckling tribute of his resolution, he received
the incredulity of his nephew as additional indorsement when the latter
made his appearance that evening, accompanied by the colorless negation
of a man whom he could scarcely persuade himself to believe was the
celebrated Gratz.
However, no more ideal countenance could have been created for the
purposes to which it was applied by its owner.
Pallid, expressionless, vacant, it was as nearly a canvas upon which to
delineate almost anything in the range of emotion as it was possible for
a visage of flesh and blood to be.
As to the details of features, these were altogether subordinate, and as
devoid of physiognomical meaning as the dull integument which
encompassed them.
It had about the same amount of character as a bald baby.
One received the impression that a seismic disturbance might awaken some
show of emotion, but design--never.
And yet, behind that pale disguise, between sleepy, level lids, two
points of concentrated fire and ceaseless animation gleamed their
startling significance to any one able to comprehend.
In stature he was adjusted to his visage.
His frame was lean enough to repudiate the incredible agility and
recuperative strength it housed, and his carriage was consistently "out
of plumb."
Altogether it was an identity that would have been overlooked in any
gathering, and was almost nondescript enough to establish an eligibility
to the most exclusive function.
This unpromising ensemble, however, was not misleading to Raikes, who
had looked up quickly at the first appearance of the detective, and had
seen the sharp, penetrating glance with which Gratz had for an instant
surveyed the apartment.
Moreover, the very leanness of the famous official appealed to him.
Here, at least, were none of the obnoxious evidences of repletion which
he viewed with such disapprobation in his sturdier nephew.
The man's attire, too, commended him to the starved graces of his spare
host. It was as characterless as it was possible for fabric to be, and
considered with his meager physique and vacant physiognomy, was a
fitting complement to both; an adjustment of component detail too
consistent to have been the needless aspect it was designed to present.
With a voice in which the character had been trained away as surely as
the charity from the opinions of the social elite, this descendant of
Lecocq accosted his patron, and with business-like brevity indicated
that he was already familiar with the situation as outlined by Robert,
and if Mr. Raikes would consent to reply to a few questions it would
facilitate matters.
His hearer indicated that he was entirely at the disposal of the
detective.
With characteristic concentration, therefore, Gratz began:
"Do you suspect anybody in particular?"
"No."
"That is singular," commented Gratz. "May I ask why? Under such
circumstances the mind generally proceeds in some unhappy direction."
"Not in this instance," returned Raikes. "Before I suspect any one, I
must assign to him supernatural powers, almost. I will have to explain
how it is possible for any one to enter this room, penetrate that
recess, make the substitution, and retire, leaving the door in the same
condition, precisely as left by me the night before."
"That is the point," replied Gratz. Then, after a moment's reflection,
he inquired: "Am I at liberty to nose around this room?"
"Help yourself," answered Raikes.
With this assent, Gratz hurried to the window, examined the sash,
considered the sheer depths immediately below, its lack of vicinity to
other windows, and last, the strong fastenings, to disturb which would
involve a degree of rasp and wrench sufficient to disturb the slumbers
of a Rip Van Winkle.
With a countenance as impassive as ever, he returned to Raikes and said:
"Now for the hiding place."
With a grimace of reluctant acquiescence, Raikes, closely regarded by
the detective, proceeded to the button in the concave, which he moved
with slow manipulation for the edification of the alert watcher, who
witnessed, without comment, the displacement of the register and the
subsequent revelation of the inner compartment.
"Remove the bags."
At the conclusion of this labor, this impenetrable being produced a
small rod of steel from one of his pockets, one end of which concluded
in a round knob.
With this he proceeded to rap the walls of the inner recess, a
proceeding of which Raikes inquired the purpose.
"I want to ascertain," replied Gratz, "if there is any vacancy on the
other side."
"I could have saved you all that trouble," replied Raikes. "This is a
false radiator, the real flue is on the other side of the room.
"The rear of this small safe backs up against nearly two feet of solid
brickwork.
"Exactly behind that is a room occupied by one no more burglarious than
a dressmaker's apprentice."
"Thank you," replied Gratz. "Your information is helpful, but I am never
satisfied to rely upon description when investigation is possible.
"Whatever deductions I make from this examination I do not want
disturbed, so all the doubts they dissipate are not likely to intrude
upon my calculations again."
After a few further taps, in which Raikes could see no better purpose
than to retire from an embarrassing position with some show of satisfied
motive, Gratz directed that the bags be returned.
For the next few minutes he busied himself with the locks, upon which he
experimented with the extraordinary keys which Raikes had given him. He
shot the bolts backward and forward; noted the stout bar and the
precautions for keeping it in place, and then resumed the seat near the
table.
After a few moments he said:
"Tell me what has occurred to you between sunrise and sunset during the
last three days."
Raikes recounted his usual round of petty detail, which had no possible
bearing upon the problem.
When he had concluded this meager resume, Gratz continued:
"Now tell me about the nights."
Raikes complied with a statement of his careful precautions; the watch
of his sister upon the doorway during his absence, and his visits to the
room of the Sepoy.
"The Sepoy?" inquired Gratz. "Why do you call him that?"
"On account of his swarthy complexion, his bright eyes, and his general
alien aspect," replied Robert.
"Describe him to me as carefully as you can," said Gratz.
When Robert had concluded his brief delineation, Raikes hastened to
inquire: "Why do you ask about him so particularly? He could no more
enter my room, under the conditions I have described to you, than you
could."
"I realize that," admitted the detective, "but I gather from what you
have just said that you visit this Sepoy, as you call him, with some
degree of regularity. May I ask if you have business transactions with
him?"
"I have not," replied Raikes.
Then, in response to the unchanging look of inquiry in the countenance
of the detective, he added:
"The Sepoy has been telling me an extraordinary story. It has been too
elaborate to confine to one sitting, and my purpose in re-visiting him
was to get at the conclusion. It is most interesting, and apparently
interminable."
"Would you object to relating it to me?" inquired Gratz.
"Heavens!" cried Raikes, aghast at the prospect of the extended effort
which this would impose upon him. "Is it necessary?"
"I would not be surprised," replied Gratz. "At any rate, if your story
is more mysterious than the predicament which confronts us, it must be
worth hearing."
With an ill grace, after making the elaborate arrangements which usually
precede a protracted campaign, Raikes hastened to comply with the
request of the detective.
As he proceeded, he was startled to note, now that he made his first
conscious effort to review the weird recital of the Sepoy, just how
vividly the incidents presented themselves.
Aside from the phraseology, he recounted, in precise order, the
incredible incidents, and by the time he had reached the climax in the
first division of his effort his hearers were interested enough to
hasten through a light meal, which, at the suggestion of Gratz, had been
sent to the room they occupied.
With something of the calculation of the Sepoy, or remembering, perhaps,
the effect which his abrupt terminations had upon him, Raikes contrived
his irritating pauses with remorseless enjoyment and the ostensible
purpose of stimulating his sorely taxed energies with draughts of
brandy and water.
In this way Raikes consumed the time until the hour of eleven, which
enabled him to develop the narrative to the point at which the Sepoy had
concluded.
"And now," exclaimed Raikes with unmistakable relief, as he signified
that his hearers were in possession of all he knew, "and now will you
kindly tell me what you expect to gain by this tedious task you have
imposed upon me?"
Gratz did not reply at once, but after a few moments of reflection, he
asked, apparently ignoring the question of the narrator: "Will you give
me the keys of this building you occupy, and indicate to me the means of
rummaging about the other building on the opposite side of the wall?"
"If it is necessary," replied Raikes with grudging assent.
"Why else should I make the request?" suggested Gratz with emotionless
directness of speech and a momentary gleam of the eyes.
"True!" responded Raikes.
"Now," exclaimed Gratz, when the various keys were placed in his hand,
"you can sleep in peace to-night, and bolt your doors with all the
assurance in the world, for I guarantee that your property will be
undisturbed."
Then turning to Robert, he said: "I want you to guide me for a short
while, and as soon as I get my bearings you can retire."
At this the two bade the thoroughly exhausted Raikes good-night and
departed from the room, which the miser hastily secured with his usual
precautions.
Without, Robert soon discovered that his services were no longer
required, and at the suggestion of the detective he retired, after
indicating to this curious official that when he had concluded his
investigations he would find a cot in his room which he was at liberty
to occupy.
As dawn began to make its appearance on the ensuing morning, Robert was
disturbed by a curious dream.
He appeared to be alone upon a fragile raft in the midst of a
destructive sea.
Bit by bit the hastily joined structure upon which he rode the waters
so insecurely began to disintegrate, until but one scarcely sufficing
plank remained.
To this, however, he clung with rapidly failing strength, shouting at
intervals with what vim remained, in an attempt to attract the attention
of the keepers of the light, not far away.
But with devilish perversity, an immense fog-horn sent forth a heavy
blast seaward precisely at the moments he raised his voice.
No matter how far apart or how near he planned the intervals, he was
bound to coincide with the deafening horn.
At last in despair he desisted in his efforts, and the monster horn,
with hoarse mockery, continued its grewsome noises at dismal intervals,
until one, more stentorian than the others, caused the very tempest to
hush, and Robert awoke to discover Gratz the cause of his fictitious
misery, sleeping upon the cot near the foot of his bed, emitting a
series of snores which had managed to communicate their odious telepathy
to his slumbering consciousness.
As this singular being lay there in the relaxation and undisguise to
which the most diplomatic must submit at times, his countenance, so
impassive in his wakeful hours, depicted singular lines of
determination.
An expression of tense anxiety contracted his features; resolution held
the thin lips in rigid partnership; there was a hint of purpose in the
solitary wrinkle which corrugated his forehead; the general aspect was
impressive, its suggestion indefatigable.
In this paradoxical fashion, the emotions, concealed during the day,
revealed themselves at night.
What in others would have concluded in a vacant mien and colorless
repose, in him expressed all that he was so sedulous to conceal.
Scarcely had Robert placed his feet upon the floor when Gratz opened his
eyes, awakened partly by the sounds of rising and partly by his tumult
of snores, and in an instant the flaccid mask descended over his face,
and Gratz was his apathetic self again.
"Well?" inquired Robert.
"You have said it," replied Gratz; "it is well."
"You have succeeded, then?" demanded Robert breathlessly.
"I believe so; but do not question me further just now. I want to see
your uncle before I go."
A few moments later the two presented themselves before the closed door
leading to the apartment occupied by Raikes, whom they fancied they
could hear stirring about within.
In answer to their raps, he opened the door and they entered.
"What news?" demanded Raikes.
"The best, I hope; but I will not communicate it to you until to-morrow
morning."
"Ah!" exclaimed Raikes with manifest disappointment.
"But," continued Gratz, as he noted the expression on the face of the
other, "at that time I fancy that I shall not only have solved the
mystery but I will also secure the thief."
"Do you know him, then?" asked Raikes.
"You are wrong," replied Gratz. "Unless I am seriously mistaken, there
are two."
"Two!" repeated Raikes incredulously.
"Yes--but listen: I am anxious to hear the conclusion of that
remarkable story you began last night."
"But," objected Raikes, "I have already told you all I know."
"I am aware of that," answered the detective, "but your friend, the
Sepoy, will doubtless oblige you with the balance. Arrange with him at
breakfast-time for a continuation. I will return either to-night or
to-morrow morning to hear it."
"But----" began Raikes.
"Do not refuse to do as I ask," urged Gratz impressively. "It may be
useful; I'm inclined to think it will."
"Very well," answered Raikes. "I will do as you suggest."
"And," continued Gratz, "I need not assure you that if a living soul
learns of my presence here last night, I can do nothing for you."
"I understand," said Raikes.
"And I," added Robert.
With this Gratz departed, and Raikes prepared to make his appearance in
the dining-room.
Advised of the intention of her brother to breakfast at the table, the
spinster had hastened to precede him, and by the time Raikes presented
himself she had managed to bestow a couple of furtive biscuits in her
pocket, and had devoured another couple, lavishly buttered, accompanied
by a fairly liberal cut of beefsteak.
Consequently, when Raikes conveyed his customary intimation that she was
at liberty to begin, the spinster obediently proceeded to add a moderate
breakfast to the one she had already enjoyed.
Trembling lest her brother would remark the developing suggestions of
well-being which had resulted from her recent regimen, she welcomed with
genuine relief the advent of the Sepoy, to whom Raikes transferred his
speculative glance.
"Well!" exclaimed the Sepoy, "you have had quite a siege, I hear."
"I have," replied Raikes shortly; then added with a sort of grim humor:
"My physician has recommended a little diversion, and I have just
thought of a simple way of following his advice."
"What is that?" asked the Sepoy.
"I would like to present myself at the usual hour and hear the
conclusion of the story, for I judge, from the predicament of Prince
Otondo, that the end is not far off."
"Ah, you remember?" exclaimed the Sepoy.
"Decidedly!" replied Raikes.
"Very well, then," returned the other. "Come at ten and I will gather
the tangled threads together."
During the balance of that day Raikes devoted his powers of
concentration to the consummation of the treatment to which he had
subjected himself, and this, together with the prospect of the recovery
of his property, resulted in a condition which made the visits of the
astonished physician no longer necessary.
With an eagerness intensified to a childish impatience, almost, by the
vague suggestions of Gratz that the story would be personally
interesting, and exhausting his mind with futile speculations as to the
manner of its application to the unnatural conditions which distressed
him so, Raikes at last concluded his contemplation of the clock, and
promptly upon the stroke of ten, hastened from his room and hurried to
the apartment occupied by the Sepoy.
Seating himself in the chair indicated by his host, he shortly found
that he was unable to avoid recalling his recent guilty appropriation of
the diamond, and a degree of confusion, which he could not entirely
disguise, manifested itself in his difficulty of adjusting his eyes to
the inscrutable gaze of the Sepoy.
On this occasion the narrator, as hitherto, did not provide his auditor
with a brilliant to look upon during the progress of the story--an
omission that was radiantly repaired by the two lambent gems in the eyes
of the former.
Upon these the shifting gaze of the restless listener finally fastened
itself with a fascination which he found it impossible to resist, and
the Sepoy, with all the modulated lights and shadows of ardor,
animation, lethargy, somnolence, peace, with which he complemented his
sedative phrases, began:
(_The conclusion of this interesting tale will be found on Bosom No. 1,
Dickey Series C_.)
As Dennis looked up from his reading, a pair of eyes of unclouded blue,
vivid with interest and altogether friendly, met his animated glance.
With alert intuition his sweet-faced auditor believed that she
discovered a shadow of vexation in the ingenuous countenance of the
reader.
"What is it?" she asked.
To Dennis, in his absorption, it seemed impossible that the question
could refer to anything else than the habitual disability at the end of
each chapter, and he answered promptly:
"'Tis the way the dickey ends--to be concluded in Series C--an' it's me
here an' Series C in Baxter Street, so I can't read the rest; it's too
bad, so it is."
"So it is," repeated the lady softly, with a dexterous parody of his
concluding words, but with a subtle intimation in her manner that she
did not consider the inconvenient termination such a misfortune, after
all, and that it somehow suggested an alternative that was not
displeasing.
"Do you want to hear the rest?" asked Dennis frankly.
"I do, indeed," replied his companion with an adroitly conveyed
insinuation of disappointed expectation that seemed to place the
responsibility of measuring to this agreeable emergency entirely upon
Dennis.
The same degree of sensitiveness which leaves an Irishman so open to
offense, enables him, with equal celerity, to comprehend a hint, and
Dennis, when he realized that the lady understood that the continuation
of the tale involved a subsequent reading, exclaimed, with a delicious
paraphrase of Sancho Panza: "God bless the man who first invented
'_Continued in our next!_'"
Presently the one certain that her telepathy had not miscarried, and the
other equally convinced that his reception of the message was accredited
to him, the conversation was given an abrupt direction by an apparently
alien question:
"Do you know anything about flowers?" asked his companion.
"Only the difference between a rose and a cauliflower," replied Dennis
with a twinkle in his eye, to which the lady responded with a shade of
disappointment.
"An' why flowers?" asked Dennis.
"Listen!" answered the lady with a slight return of her original
sadness.
"Eleven months ago I was left a widow.
"My husband's estate consisted of a moderate amount of life insurance, a
prosperous business, and no debts.
"He was a florist.
"The establishment is located in the heart of a very fashionable
district.
"There has scarcely been a function of the elite in this section which
my husband has not supplied with floral decorations.
"His taste was exquisite, and his taste was his undoing, for he added
refinement to refinement until he began to lose sight of the practical
side of existence.
"By degrees he became as attenuated as some of the tendrils he
cultivated with such absorption, and as frail as an orchid.
"The intrusion of a pronounced scent was sufficient to induce a serious
nervous disturbance, and he could no more endure disproportionate and
sharp distinctions of color than a lapidary could tolerate a serious
unevenness of facets.
"I was compelled to paper his room with a delicate shade of lavender.
"The furniture was stained a light buff, and the upholstering was a
delicate cretonne livened by exquisite tracings of wisteria.
"The carpet was light blue, surrounded by a border of deeper blue,
lightly emphasized by suggestions of trailing arbutus.
"Despite all this," continued the lady sadly as she paused to enjoy an
intentness of interest on the part of the bewildered Dennis, so profound
that the dickey backs had been permitted to fall unregarded to the
ground, and their printed extravagances, by contrast with this unusual
recital, relegated to the most prosaic of occurrences, "despite all
these precautions, the most carefully guarded recesses are not entirely
secure.
"For one day an elaborately protected package arrived during my absence,
and my husband opened it.
"At once a pungent, overpowering sweetness filled the air, and the very
surfeit of its fragrance threw my husband into a convulsion of delight
which ended in a stupor so replete that we were able only to restore the
poor man to consciousness by hypodermics of--what was to him a most
violent stimulant--Cambric Tea."
Dennis looked his astonishment at these accumulating refinements, and in
the pause that followed the narration of this last episode he inquired,
with the appreciative hesitation of one who is reluctant to advance lest
he destroy the dew-gemmed tracery of a fragile spider's web.
"An' what kind of flowers did all this?"
"Cape Jessamine," replied the lady; "and we were never able to discover
who sent them.
"His physicians claimed that his disorder was paralleled by similar
disturbances instanced in pathological records, but that the
contributing causes were different and that my husband's particular
debility was not induced by his devotion to flowers but aggravated by
it.
"To further complicate matters, the physician assured me that to deprive
the invalid of his floral diversions would be to remove his remaining
impulse to continued existence.
"He went on to say that he had reached the limit of his skill, and that
nothing further was to be done than to surround the sufferer with placid
considerations and neutral odors, and intimated that he disliked to
contemplate the possible result of a second contact with Cape Jessamine.
"In a short time it became evident that I possessed merely the essence
of a husband, and one day, as he wafted--that's the word, for his step
seemed to be almost devoid of specific gravity--so I repeat, one day, as
he wafted to the room in which he usually experimented with his floral
attenuations, I happened to be engaged in the dwelling adjoining the
conservatory and into which it opened.
"Presently, my duties concluded, I proceeded in the direction taken by
my husband.
"As I advanced I grew momently conscious of a ravishing fragrance which
seemed to pervade and invite the consciousness to all varieties of
agreeable surrender.
"Ah!--in a moment I recognized this pungent delight: Cape Jessamine!
"Aware of the consequences to him should he inhale anything so
transporting, I hastened forward.
"The fragrance grew stronger as I hurried on. It seemed to envelop every
delicate, fainting scent in the conservatory, and as I placed my hand
upon the door-latch leading to the section where I was positive my
husband would be found, I knew that I had traced the occasion to its
source.
"In another second I had opened the door, and there, a few feet away,
lay my unfortunate husband.
"I hurried to his side.
"His countenance, which exhibited that singular placidity which
sometimes comes with death, was as serene as a lily, and gave no
evidence of the convulsion that must have ensued.
"He was dead.
"All about him, distributed with devilish malignity and criminal intent,
were various clusters of the flowers that had transported him,
literally."
"My God!" exclaimed Dennis. "What a situation!"
"Wasn't it?" exclaimed the widow. "It almost equals the story on the
dickeys."
"Equals!" exclaimed Dennis with profound conviction. "I don't know that
I care to read the balance of the story after this. Do you know the
guilty party?"
"I think so," answered the widow; "but you can judge for yourself as I
proceed.
"Now follow me closely."
There was no need of this advice, for Dennis would not have missed a
word for the world, and gazed upon the sweet-faced narrator with a sort
of superstitious admiration as she continued:
"Since his death the patronage is larger than ever.
"I now find myself confronted with what is equivalent to an
embarrassment of riches on the one hand, and a famine of intelligent
help on the other."
At this statement Dennis attempted not to appear too deeply interested.
"I employ a manager, the one we have always had, who desires to become
a partner in the business; but his proposition is handicapped by the
character of the consideration he is willing to offer for such an
interest.
"In other words, he considers that a proposal of marriage is an
equivalent for any financial objection I may suggest."
Despite his efforts, Dennis looked troubled.
The lady smiled and continued:
"I received this proposition two months since. Its suddenness surprised
a plan which I have been perfecting for a long time.
"In order to avoid any interruption to my purposes, I permitted the
manager to believe that I was impressed with his offer, but desired a
little time for consideration."
"An' true, now," asked Dennis with genuine Irish impulse, "an' true,
now, were you?"
The lady smiled again. "Wait," she urged, "you shall see.
"I have never trusted this man. He is not only personally obnoxious to
me, but I fear that I cannot rely upon his business integrity.
"Little by little, I have gathered together the threads of the business,
and I now have a strong legal grip upon the situation, which enables me
to decline this alliance with no possible jeopardy to the property.
"But one consideration restrains me: I need a man of enterprise and
address to succeed him. And now," she added with a simple, business-like
directness, "I have a suggestion to offer:
"You ransack Baxter Street to-morrow for Dickey Series C, and come with
it to this address," and she placed a small card in his hand.
"We can reach the end of the story, in which I am exceedingly
interested, and when we have set our minds at rest on that point, I will
give myself the pleasure of listening to whatever recommendations you
may offer as to your fitness to take the place of the retiring
management."
"Oh!" exclaimed Dennis as he went through an absurd pantomime of
punching himself, "an' is it awake you are, Dennis Muldoon?"
At this the lady, with a cordial smile, indicated that the interview was
at an end, and as she turned to depart, said: "You will come, then,
to-morrow night?"
And Dennis, hat in hand, with an unmistakable deference of attitude and
demeanor, cheerily responded with a query that required no further
answer than a rosy acknowledgment:
"Will a duck swim?"