THE COUNT IS WELCOMED ROYALLY.
Atherton dismissed the servants with a peremptory wave of his hand.
“I shan’t need you now,” he said.
Then he turned to his visitor.
“Why on earth didn’t you tell me this at first?” he demanded. “There was
no need for you to try to gain admission to our society by threats.
Surely, you might have known that you had only to mention your name to
be welcomed with open arms.
“And your wife, too,” he added. “In fact, if you won’t be offended at my
saying so, your wife will be almost more welcome than yourself. Only
last week I was saying to Frost that I’d give five thousand dollars if I
could lay my hands on Elaine Wilhelm. We know what you’ve both done and
can do, how you defied the police again and again in a dozen cities,
over here, and most of the capitals of Europe. We’ll give you a royal
welcome, both of you, but it just happens that your wife will come in
particularly handy at the present time.”
“She’s a handy person at any time,” remarked the Count, with a laugh,
“and the police would give more than five thousand to get their hands on
her. I don’t suppose that you want her in the same sense that the police
do.”
“Hardly,” returned Atherton. “We want the Countess because we have a
scheme in view which can only be carried out by a woman of exceptional
ability and courage. Unfortunately, we have no such woman in our
society, and that’s why I’ve been longing to get in touch with your
remarkable side partner. She’s the very one I want.”
“May I ask what the scheme is?”
“Of course. Briefly, it’s a plan for kidnaping old Enoch Pyle’s
grandson, and holding him for ransom.”
“Who is Enoch Pyle?”
“You have heard of ‘Pyle’s Pink Pellets’?”
“Who hasn’t?”
“Well, Enoch Pyle is the originator and proprietor. He’s a millionaire
two or three times over, but he’s uncouth and uneducated. He and his
wife, who is as impossible as himself, live at a place called Pyle’s
Park, which is a few miles on this side of Freehold. You passed the
place on your motor cycle this morning.”
“And who is his grandson?”
“The boy’s name is Tommy Pyle. He’s the son of Enoch’s only boy, who
died years ago. His mother is gone, too, and Mr. and Mrs. Pyle have
taken him in, of course. Some day he’ll inherit Pyle’s pile, so to
speak.”
“How old is he?”
“About five. He’s the apple of the old man’s eye, and if we could kidnap
him, I haven’t a doubt that old Enoch would not hesitate to give a
quarter of a million--or even a half--to get him back.”
The Count nodded.
“It oughtn’t to be a difficult matter to kidnap a child of five,” he
said.
“But it is in this case. Some gypsies tried it a couple of years ago,
and ever since then old Pyle has been haunted by the fear of another
attempt. The boy’s bedroom is provided with steel-lined shutters and
electric alarms. Whenever he goes outside the grounds--and most of the
time in them, for that matter--he’s accompanied by two burly guards
armed with revolvers. In fact, he could not be more carefully guarded if
he were a royal prince.”
“Then how do you propose to get hold of him?”
“It was Jackson Frost who suggested the scheme. Now that I’ve told you
what sort of people the Pyles are, you won’t be surprised to hear that
none of the best people call on them or invite them to their house.
That’s a very sore spot with Mr. and Mrs. Pyle, who long for social
recognition. There’s Mrs. Brook-White, for instance. She lives quite
near to the Pyles, and is the acknowledged leader of society in that
neighborhood. You’ve heard of her, in all probability? If she were to
drop in at the Park some afternoon and take tea with them, their cup of
joy would be filled to overflowing.”
“But what has this to do with kidnaping old Pyle’s grandson?”
“Everything. Frost’s idea is this: He suggests that we select some
capable woman who can look and act the part, disguise her as Mrs.
Brook-White, and send her to the Park in a swagger motor car. The Pyles
have only seen the lady at a distance, so they would be taken in. The
supposed Mrs. Brook-White would chat with them, take tea with them, and
ask to see the boy. In some clever way she would get him to ride with
her as far as the Park gates. The old people would be delighted with
such condescension; the boy would be lifted into the car, the car would
dash off, the coveted Tommy would be smuggled aboard our yacht--and
there you are!”
“Very neat,” commented Wilhelm, whose surname had suggested his
sobriquet of the Count. “I didn’t think Frost had brains enough to
concoct such a clever scheme, but why haven’t you carried it out
before?”
“Because, as I’ve already told you, we couldn’t find a woman with the
requisite daring and ability to impersonate the aristocratic Mrs.
Brook-White. But your wife---- Ah, your wife! She’s the very woman! Do
you think she would be willing to play the part?”
“I’m sure she would,” replied the German, without a moment’s hesitation.
“And she would play it to perfection.”
Alfred Atherton glanced at his watch.
“There’s no doubt about it,” he said, with conviction. “I must be going
now, though. I promised to lunch with Tufts at two. Frost and Kinsley
will be there, and one or two others. Will you join us? I’ll take you
there in my car, which is outside, and I’ll introduce you to your fellow
members. We can then discuss the scheme in greater detail, and
afterward, if you’ll be so good, you might take me home with you and
present me to your charming wife.”
The Count approved of this suggestion, and a few minutes later he and
Alfred Atherton were on their way to Professor Tufts’ house.