The few seconds that elapsed while Grace Duvall stood in the deserted
studio in Passy, waiting for the arrival of the person who was ascending
the stairs, seemed like eternities, so crowded were they with terror.
What should she do--what, indeed, could she do? A dozen plans raced
madly through her brain, confusing her, baffling her with their
futility.
That the missing boy was within the sound of her voice, she knew; for
even as she stood trembling at the ominous footsteps on the creaking
stairs, she could hear the low troubled childish moaning, coming
apparently from the very air in front of her, yet affording not the
slightest clue as to the boy's whereabouts.
She glanced about the room in desperation. Nearer and nearer came the
creaking footfalls on the stairs. She dared not leave the room now, and
thereby meet the approaching man face to face on the landing; yet to
remain where she was would result only in her being obliged to make some
lame and halting excuse for her presence, and go, as soon as the man
entered the room.
Even this she could not count upon. The fellow, no doubt a desperate and
unscrupulous ruffian, might attack her, might detain her a prisoner
until the child had been safely removed to another place, beyond all
hope of discovery. All the work of the past twelve hours would come to
nothing. And even should he let her go, in safety, he could not fail to
suspect the reasons for her presence and warn his companions.
Clearly the only thing to do was to remain in the room, in hiding. There
was but one place in which she could hope to escape instant
detection--the closet. Yet even this promised but temporary safety; the
man would be almost certain to open it, for some reason or other, and
discover her presence.
It was her only chance, however, and she took it. Even as the footsteps
of the approaching man sounded upon the landing outside, Grace flew
across the room and into the closet, closing the door softly behind her.
In her haste, one arm of a velveteen coat which hung upon a hook,
became jammed in the door, with the result that it would not entirely
close. She realized that it was too late to remedy the trouble now, and
crouched back trembling with excitement.
The jamming of the door had caused it to remain slightly open, with a
space half an inch broad between it and the casing. Through this, Grace
could see a part of the room before her. She watched the door to the
hallway intently, as it was thrown open.
The man she had seen in the pastry shop came in, several packages in his
hands. These he placed upon a table, and at once began to prepare
breakfast. A small alcohol lamp served for coffee, and butter, rolls,
and fruit he produced from the paper bags before him. There was also a
bottle of milk. Grace wondered if this was intended for the child.
The man went about his preparations silently. Grace occasionally
obtained a good view of his face. He was apparently about thirty years
of age, dark and swarthy. There was something familiar about his manner,
his general appearance; although what it was, she could not tell. She
was certain, however, that she had seen him before.
Once or twice he made a move, as though to approach the closet; but
each time it was something else that claimed his attention. Once it was
to get a package of cigarettes that lay upon one of the modeling stands.
Grace wondered what she would have done, had he kept on toward her, and
opened the closet door.
She fell to thinking, in momentary snatches, about home, and Richard.
How curious it seemed for them both to be here in Paris, separated for
all these days, yet so near each other! She wondered if Richard had
written to her, and what he would think, not to have heard from her.
Then she remembered that after all he had been in Paris but a few
days--there was scarcely time for a letter to have reached him. She
thought of Uncle Abe, pottering about among the flower beds, of Aunt
Lucy grumbling good naturedly over her wash tubs, of Rose, singing her
queer camp meeting songs in the spring twilight, of Don, and the other
dogs, the chickens, and her beloved flowers, and wondered how all of
them were getting along with Richard and herself both away.
Her reveries were interrupted by a sudden sound which made her start
forward, tense with excitement. The man in the studio had gone for a
moment beyond the line of her vision, into a corner of the room to her
left. She could not see what he was doing there, and it was while
waiting for him to reappear that she had fallen into her day dream.
The sound which startled her was the voice of a child, not crying, this
time, but speaking clearly and distinctly. "I want to go home!" it said,
in a high nervous voice. "I want to see my mamma!"
The man answered roughly, impatiently. "You can't go now. Be quiet and
come and eat your breakfast."
He appeared suddenly in the line of view commanded by the crack in the
door, and Grace saw that he held a small boy by one hand, and was
leading him to the table. Here he placed him in a chair and set before
him a glass of milk and a roll. "Hurry up now!" the man growled. "Eat
your breakfast. I've got to go out."
The man's words set Grace's heart to beating with renewed quickness. If
the man was going out, she would be able to escape, and take the boy
with her.
She did not doubt that he was Mr. Stapleton's child. The girl's dress
which he had worn on the former occasion had been removed, and in place
of it he wore a suit of dark blue, somewhat dirty and worn. His face
still appeared to be very dark, and his hair, which had formerly been
long and curly, was cropped close to his head. He appeared to be well,
but very nervous. Grace watched him eagerly as he devoured the roll and
milk.
When he had finished, the man took him by the hand and again led him to
the corner of the room beyond Grace's sight. She strained her face
against the opening in the door, striving in vain to see what he was
doing; but it was useless.
She heard the boy begin to object, begging the man in a querulous voice
to let him go out and play. His captor, however, silenced him with a
sharp word, accompanied by a blow. "Get in there, and keep quiet!" Grace
heard him say, and after that all was silent. A moment later the man
reappeared, put on his hat, and, going out, locked the door carefully
behind him. Grace wondered if the maid had told him of her call, and
thereby roused his suspicions.
She waited until she heard the front door close, and then, emerging
quickly from the closet, went toward the side of the room to which the
man had gone with the child.
At first sight, there appeared to be no place where the latter could
have been hidden. The two walls were of gray-tinted plaster, cracked and
stained with age. There was a rickety chair and a battered plaster
figure of a centaur, against which leaned an easel and a mass of
sketches, covered with cobwebs and dust.
With extreme care, she examined the walls and floor. It seemed most
likely that some trapdoor existed, affording an entrance to a secret
closet in which the boy had been placed. A few moments' effort showed no
traces whatever of such a hiding place. The floor was of planks, covered
with dust, and the cracks between the boards were filled with dirt and
showed nowhere evidences of having been recently moved. The walls she
sounded gently with the handle of a modeling tool which she snatched up
from the table; but they gave forth a uniformly solid sound.
She stood, surveying the place in perplexity. Then a sudden thought
occurred to her. The ceiling! It swept low down, at the corner of the
room, and above it she knew there must be an attic. She went over and
began to examine the dusty plaster surface with minute care.
A sound of footsteps upon the stairs sent her scurrying back into the
closet. She wondered why the man had returned so soon. Greatly to her
surprise, she saw, as soon as the door opened, that the newcomer was not
the one who had left her a short time before, but an older man, more
heavily built. As he turned and glanced toward the side of the room
where she was hidden, she saw that he wore a heavy black beard. It was
the kidnapper himself--the man whom she had seen at Mr. Stapleton's
house the night before!
He appeared to be annoyed, at not finding anyone in the studio, and
after a moment sat down and lighting a cigar, began to read a newspaper
which he drew from his pocket.
Grace watched him intently, hardly daring to breathe for fear he might
hear her. An hour passed, and the air in the closet became close and
hot. She felt so nervous that she could have screamed, when the door of
the room suddenly opened and Durand appeared.
The two greeted each other with a nod. "Where have you been?" the older
man demanded, somewhat angrily.
"I had to get a new battery." He took a short black cylinder from his
pocket and laid it on the table.
"Is the boy here?"
"Yes."
"Good! Now listen to your instructions." He lowered his voice, glancing
swiftly toward the closed door of the room. "At eight o'clock I shall go
to the banker's house and get the money. At eight fifteen, or a little
before, Francois will get his signal and repeat to you. If he flashes
the blue light, you will release the boy, leave the room, lock the door,
and go at once to the Place du Trocadero. From the little tobacco shop
you will telephone the address of this place--No. 42, isn't it?--to
Monsieur Stapleton. That will be about half past eight. Do not telephone
before that. Then wait for me in front of the shop. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly. And if I get the red signal?"
"In that event, do not release the boy, but lock the door and come to
the tobacco shop, as before. I will communicate with you there. Old
Martelle is perfectly safe. But I do not think there will be any
trouble. You will get the blue light."
"You seem sure."
"I am. This man Stapleton is not going to take any more chances. Once I
am in the automobile, I am safe."
"They could arrest you while you are walking to the Arc de Triomphe,
after leaving the house."
"That is true; but what would they gain. They would not get the boy,
would they? And they have no evidence to show that I stole him. Further,
Francois reports this morning that he overheard Stapleton and his wife
talking. There is to be no interference--at least not until I get away
in the machine. They will follow me, of course. I fully expect it. But
you know the steps I have taken to take care of _that_ game." He laughed
grimly. "No--no--the thing is absolutely safe. We will get away without
the least trouble."
"Nevertheless, if anything goes wrong, and I do not get the red signal,
what shall we do then?"
"We'll talk that over, when the time comes. You meet me at Martelle's."
"But suppose you can't be there? They might get you, you know."
The man with the beard frowned darkly, and an evil expression came over
his face. "If you get the red signal, and I do not meet you at
Martelle's at half past eight, come back here, get the boy, and take him
to Lavillac. And before you do so, cut off his left hand, and send it to
Stapleton with a letter telling him that if I am not set free at once,
you will send his head. That will bring them to terms."
Grace shuddered as she heard the man's words.
His companion nodded. "I understand," he said. "But I hope it won't be
necessary."
"It won't. They can't get me. I've planned too carefully. That American
detective, Duvall, is a joke. He was out on the Boulevard du Bois de
Boulogne this morning with one of the Prefect's men. They are figuring
to have an automobile at the Avenue Malakoff and follow me." He laughed
loudly. "Much good that will do them!"
"How about Francois?"
"Oh--in a week or two, after we are safely away, Francois will sprain
his wrist, and be forced to give up his position as Monsieur Stapleton's
chauffeur. He will join us in New York."
The younger man puffed meditatively at his cigarette. "What's become of
that woman Lefevre had snooping around? Seen anything of her, since
last night?"
"No. She hasn't been about. Not much danger of _her_ finding out
anything."
The other rubbed his chin, in deep thought. "She nearly got you, last
night," he presently remarked.
"Oh, no. Not a chance. I knew she was in the house, and I figured she
would telephone to headquarters as soon as she learned who I was. All I
had to do was to signal you, through the window, and the thing was done.
Of course I didn't expect the Prefect's man to get there quite as soon
as he did; but you handled him all right." As he spoke, the man rose,
went to a small mirror that hung on the wall, and carefully removed the
black beard which was so distinguishing a feature of his appearance.
"Pretty hot, this thing," he announced, as he threw it on the table.
"Got anything to drink about? I'm thirsty."
Grace saw, as he turned toward her, that he bore a striking resemblance
to the masked man who had given her the first message to Mr. Stapleton,
in the room of the house on the road to Versailles. She trembled as she
heard him ask for the drink. Suppose the bottle should be in the
closet? She shrunk back in terror as the younger man rose and started
toward her.
Her alarm was needless, however. The fellow drew open one of the drawers
of a small dresser that stood on the opposite side of the room, and took
out a light green bottle. "Absinthe?" he inquired.
"All right. One won't do any harm. Don't take any more, though." He
began to pour out the drink into a glass which stood upon the table.
"When you get the signal from Francois," he went on, "you are to answer
it, as usual, so he'll know you've seen him. He doesn't want to stay in
his room very long--for fear he might be missed."
"They suspect him, of course."
"Yes. He's being watched right along; when he's out of the house, that
is. They've searched his room, and all that; but they haven't found
anything." He chuckled, and began to sip his drink. "Nothing to find."
The other man sat down at the table, and the two began talking over
their plans of escape. Grace could not hear all they said; but, as
nearly as she could gather, they intended, as soon as the younger man
had joined the other, to run for Brussels in the automobile. Near the
frontier they would leave the machine, change their disguises, and cross
the frontier on foot. Once in Belgium, they seemed to think they would
be quite safe.
It was along toward noon when the older man readjusted his disguise and
left the house. "I'm going to get something to eat," he announced. "I
won't be back. You'd better not leave the place again. I'll send you in
something, if you like." He glanced at the rolls and milk on the table.
"It won't be necessary. I've got all I need. Guess I'll take a nap this
afternoon. Well, good luck," he concluded, as the other started toward
the door. "See you later."
"All right." The black-bearded man passed noiselessly into the hall.
"Don't sleep too long. Eight o'clock, remember." In a moment he was
gone.
Grace watched the other as he finished drinking his absinthe and lit a
cigarette. Presently he went over to the cot and, throwing himself upon
it, was soon snoring loudly.
The long hot afternoon wore itself on. Grace leaned back against the
wall of the closet, weak from the nervous tension of the situation. The
place was hot and close. She felt faint from lack of air, from hunger.
At times she dozed off, then recovered herself with a start, and stood
trembling, fearful lest she had made some noise which might attract the
attention of the sleeping man.
After a time, the low complaining of the child began again, at first
faint and seemingly far off, then growing in volume, until the tearful
cries of "Let me out--let me out!" seemed to come from a point scarcely
beyond the reach of her hand.
The child's complaints at last awoke the sleeping man. With a muttered
curse he rose, crossed the room, and disappeared from sight. Grace heard
a low scraping sound, as of a panel being drawn back, and presently the
man again appeared with the child, and again supplied him with bread and
milk.
After he had eaten, the man gave him a magazine with bright-colored
pictures in it, to amuse him, and lay on the bed, smoking. The boy sat
on the floor, looking at the book.
Once or twice he tried to speak, but the man sharply bade him be quiet.
About sundown, a step was heard on the stairs, and once again the boy
was hastily placed in his hiding place, with threats of punishment if he
cried.
The new arrival was only a model, in search of work. The man spoke to
her gruffly, and informed her that he had all the models he needed.
After she left, he did not again release the child, but sat, reading,
for a long time.
At last he rose, took up the short black cylinder, which Grace saw was
an electric searchlight, from the table, and went over and sat in the
sill of the large double window which faced to the north. The window was
open, and the room in darkness.
Grace pushed the door of her closet open slightly, so as to get a better
view. The window was directly opposite the closet, at the other end of
the room. She could see the silent figure of the watcher, silhouetted
blackly against the night sky without. Off to the north were many
lights--the lights of the houses toward the Champs Elysees, and the Arc
de Triomphe.
For many minutes she watched, over the man's shoulder, waiting for the
signal which would set both herself and Mr. Stapleton's boy free from
their long confinement.
Presently she heard the man utter a quick oath, and saw him peer out of
the window, his figure tense and rigid, a pair of field glasses held to
his eyes. In another moment he had dropped the glasses, picked up his
electric searchlight, and flashed a signal into the darkness.
It took him but a moment. In another he had rushed to the door, and
Grace heard him turn the key in the lock and clatter down the stairs.
She crept swiftly to the window and looked out. At first she could see
nothing, but a confused maze of lights. In a moment she had seized the
field glasses and was nervously sweeping the horizon. Suddenly she held
them still for a moment, then drew back with a cry of dismay. Far off
toward the Avenue Kleber there gleamed a light, high in the upper room
of a house. It shone for a few moments, steady, baleful, full of unknown
terror, then winked suddenly out and was gone. She dropped the field
glasses upon the floor and staggered back against the table. _The light
was red!_ She was locked in. The two men would undoubtedly be back in
fifteen or twenty minutes. And then--she shuddered as she thought of
what they intended to do to the kidnapped child. To herself she gave
scarcely a thought. Then Richard's face came before her eyes, and she
fell upon the window seat, sobbing bitterly.