28
To resume my own part in these matters, you can conceive what a great
responsibility devolved upon me in the light of these two last reports.
I did not have to have Mr. Dunsany remind me of it. I was like a
player in a close game who holds the best card. The question was when
to play it. One may easily hold one's trumps too long. Still I could
not bear to show my hand without the assurance of taking the king,
i.e., the "boss."
So I still held off, though the tension was frightful, particularly on
poor Dunsany. In every subsequent report he begged me to strike, and
take our chance of getting our man through the disclosures sure to be
made in the general crash. There was more up on this game than cards
were ever played for.
In the meantime I was straining every nerve to pick up a clue to the
"boss." I knew that we must get him in the end if we could hold off
long enough. I arranged a meeting with the boy Blondy, and
cross-examined him for hours. The poor youngster was only too anxious
to tell me what he knew, but he could not help me.
He said that Lorina never sent any of the men to the boss. All
communications between them were made without the aid of a third party.
Some of the men, he said, affected to believe that the boss was a myth
invented by Lorina to keep them in awe. I had, however, good reason in
my reports to know that the boss was a real man.
I put the most skilful woman operative I could procure on Lorina's
trail. It appeared, however, from her first report that Lorina was
instantly aware of being watched, and fooled the operative at her
pleasure. Thus she became a danger to me instead of a help, since
Lorina with her infernal cleverness might very easily have found a way
to intercept our communications. So I discharged the operative two
days after I hired her.
In justice to Mr. Dunsany, who hourly ran such a terrible risk, I now
took the police into my confidence. The chief of the detective bureau
at this time was Lanman, a man I had always respected for his contempt
of spectacular methods and his strong sense. I went to see him.
He did not know me, of course. He listened to my story with an
incredulous grin. He has an aspect as grim and forbidding as a granite
cliff. But as I piled up my evidence, and read from Mr. Dunsany's
report, I shook the cliff. I had the satisfaction of seeing the
granite betray excitement.
When I was done he was convinced. He was frankly envious of my luck in
obtaining such a case, and of my success with it, but he showed a
disposition to play absolutely fair. I had been afraid that he might
try to rob me of the fruits of my success with the public.
Lanman agreed that it was best to hold off for a day or two longer in
the hope of getting the "boss." In the meantime he secured a room at #
-- Fifth avenue on the same floor where Lorina had her offices, and
there every day during the hours while Mr. Dunsany was at work, waited
six men within call. We next secured quarters in the little hotel
three doors from Lorina's house, and every night ten of Lanman's men
were domiciled there. Signals were agreed on in case of need.
Matters stood thus at the end of the week whose beginning had witnessed
the Newport robbery. On Friday morning Irma Hamerton came to town
again. I witnessed her arrival in the lobby of the Rotterdam, which
you will remember was her hotel before it had been mine. Every one sat
up and stared. She was as lovely as only herself, but I thought,
looked harassed. Mount was attending her like a shadow, smoother, more
elegant and more complacent than ever.
With a fanciful, sentimental feeling I had engaged rooms on the same
floor of the hotel as Irma's. Her suite was rented by the year.
During the morning as I went to and fro in the corridor of the eleventh
floor, I could not help but notice an unusual stir in the neighbourhood
of Irma's rooms. Messengers were flying, packages arriving, and the
switchboard busy.
There is a telephone switchboard on each floor of the Rotterdam,
opposite the elevators. In addition to answering the calls, the
operator is supposed to keep an eye on things generally. While I was
waiting for the elevator I asked the girl on our floor what was the
cause of the excitement. She said she didn't know, but said it with a
simper and a toss of the head that added to my uneasiness. Downstairs
I asked the clerk with whom I was on friendly terms, but with no better
success.
While I was hanging around the lobby, Irma and Mount came down. They
took a taxi at the door. Following a sudden impulse I engaged the next
in line, and ordered the driver to follow them. They led me through
the maze of down-town traffic direct to the Municipal Building. They
disappeared in the bureau of Marriage Licenses, and my worst fears were
confirmed.
This time I determined to act without consulting my passionate,
headstrong friend. I hastened back to the hotel. I had evidence that
the ceremony was to be performed there, most likely the same afternoon.
I wrote Irma a note begging her to see me privately on a matter of the
greatest importance. I signed it with my assumed name Boardman, but I
had worded it in such a way that she would know it was from me.
Moreover she knew my handwriting. I sent it to her room in advance of
her return. There was a chance of course that some one else might open
it, but I knew she made a general practice of opening her own letters.
A little before two o'clock, I got a summons and hastened to her suite.
She started back dubiously at the sight of me, but I soon identified
myself. She was alone. The room was filled with orange blossoms. The
scent sickened me.
"Where is Mr. Mount?" I asked.
"I sent him away for an hour," she answered, blushing.
"Are we quite alone?"
"Bella and Marie are in my bedroom. That is two rooms away."
Bella was Mrs. Bleecker; Marie her maid.
"Laying out your wedding-dress, I suppose," said I.
She started and blushed deeply. "You know?" she murmured.
"Is it a secret?"
"Not from you. I didn't know where to reach you by phone."
There was a somewhat painful silence. I did not feel inclined to make
things easy for her.
"Aren't you--aren't you going to congratulate me?" she murmured at last.
"No," I said bluntly.
She looked at me full of surprise and pain, like a hurt child, but I
was hurt, too, and impenitent.
"Oh, Irma, how could you?" I cried at last. It was the first time I
had ever addressed her so. At the moment neither of us noticed it.
My question confused her. "I--I don't know," was her strange answer.
Presently she recovered herself somewhat. "Why shouldn't I?" she
demanded, showing fight.
I shrugged. "I don't know. I have no reasons. You should be guided
by your instinct."
"He is good to me," she said defiantly.
"Naturally, he sees his interest."
I can't remember all that was said on both sides. The conversation was
sufficiently painful. She was no match for me. Finally she began to
tremble.
"Why did you leave me?" she faltered. "I asked you to help me. You
have avoided me all these weeks. I needed you. It's cruel and useless
for you to come now, when it is too late and--and----"
"I have been working for you!" I cried. "I thought I could trust your
instinct."
"I had no intention of marrying at first," she said. "You saw a while
ago what was coming. Why didn't you speak then if you had anything to
say. It's too late now."
"It's never too late if you have a doubt," I cried.
"But he--Alfred will be here at four," she stammered, "and the
clergyman--and my friends----"
"Let Alfred go away again," I said coolly.
Her eyes widened like a frightened child's. "I dare not!" she
whispered. "You don't know! He is a terrible man!"
"I'll back you up," I said.
"No! No!" she cried. "I will not! I cannot! Please go!"