alone. He cautiously made his way into one of the great rooms at the
front of the house. It was dark, save for what light entered at the
windows, from the street. Settling himself in as comfortable a chair as
he could find he lay back and began to go over the situation.
“So Anna is afraid of me,” he thought. “Well, that is not altogether a
pleasant thing to hear. If I were younger I would be inclined to doubt
my personal fascinations. And, while I think she meant it in a general
way, I’m pretty sure that there is some reason to think that she had a
special fear of me to-night.”
He crossed one leg over the other and placed his clasped hands behind
his head.
“If I could have a cigarette, just now,” his thoughts went on, leaping
from one thing to another, “I think it would help me. But I suppose it
is too risky. Somehow that girl gave me an odd impression. I can’t get
rid of the notion that there is another enterprise beside my own afoot
here to-night. Take her fright at sight of me. Her relief when she
found that I had not been asked to stay over night. Her anxiety that I
should go. Her placing herself before me when I made as though to pass
her. Her stealing down the staircase to make sure that I had taken my
departure.
“Another enterprise would mean what?” He smiled at this. “Heavens, how
is it possible to form any sort of a judgment in this business. It
gets more snarled every minute. I never did know just what my position
was in it; and now I’m beginning to get tangled as to the relative
positions and attitudes of the others concerned. But, pshaw! What’s the
use. No amount of reasoning will do any good, when one hasn’t anything
to use as a base.”
Patiently he waited. An hour went by; then he heard the sound of chairs
being drawn back. The ship-builder, Shallcross, took his departure,
saying good-night to Farbush, who let him out. Then Farbush closed the
door and came back through the hall. From the position which he had
now taken behind a portière, Kenyon saw the man stop under the single
light for a moment, his head bent as though in deep thought. Then with
a gesture and a muttered oath he turned off the light; and the intruder
listened to his slow, careful steps down the hall and up the stairway.
Then there was silence.
Once more Kenyon resumed the easy chair, leaning back with closed eyes,
patiently waiting. Almost an hour went by. Then he arose to his feet
and stretched himself, luxuriously.
“It seems to me,” he mused, “as though I had been in this line of
business for some time. Perhaps in a former state I was a famous
cracksman. What an alarming idea! However, if it be true, I only hope
that some of my one-time skill still lingers. I’ll have use for it
to-night.”
From his pocket he took a square of black silk with two round holes cut
into it. This he snapped about his head with a rubber band, and pulled
it down over his face. Then he buttoned his overcoat up to his chin.
“The front of a dress shirt has a certain amount of sheen,” he said.
“And I’d better provide for meeting anyone in the halls.”
Upon his feet he drew a pair of soft felt creepers; then he stole
noiselessly to the door and listened. All was still. Apparently the
servants at the back of the house had also gone to bed. From his vest
pocket he drew a tiny electric torch and, pressing the button, it shot
its narrow shaft of light along the hall. Almost instantly, however, he
shut it off, and began to ascend the stairs.
“At the head of the first flight of stairs, said my friend the wine
agent,” thought Kenyon. “But I wonder upon which side.”
At the head of the stairs all was black; he paused and listened once
more. Then the tiny beam of light flashed here and there. At the left
was a door partly ajar. The light died, and he took a noiseless step
forward. He could not see the door, now, but trusted to his judgment of
distance to place his hand upon the knob. But his hand was yet reaching
out, when the hinges of the door began to creak slowly in the silence.
He grew as rigid as a statue, for every instinct told him that he was
standing face to face with someone in the darkness.
XV
KENYON IN A NEW RÔLE
“Take plenty of time. Keep cool. Don’t make a sound.”
--_The Advice of Big Slim._
FOR a moment Kenyon literally held his breath. There was no movement,
though his ears were strained to catch any sound.
“Whoever it is,” he thought, “they are standing, listening, the same as
I am.”
With the greatest possible caution he drew back a step; the soft felt
creepers prevented any noise and he exercised the greatest care that
there should be no rustling of his clothing. He had retreated three or
four steps when he touched the opposite wall; and as he stood listening
he caught the creaking of the door once more, as though the unknown had
opened it wider. Then there came a faint fall of footsteps, gentle and
guarded; and through the thick darkness came the trembling whisper:
“Who’s there?”
Kenyon made no sound. There was a silence; then he heard a deep,
long-drawn sigh--the sigh of one who has been waiting and listening.
Then the whisper came once more--a woman’s voice.
“I’m sure I saw a light--just for an instant.”
Then something passed Kenyon. It was within a foot of him as it went
by; but he could not detect even its lineaments, so impenetrable
was the darkness. The footsteps were slow, cautious, and soft. His
skin prickled for a moment as the nervous dread of the unknown was
communicated to himself. Then the sounds died away at the other end of
the hall.
“It is Anna!” Kenyon told himself this positively. “And when I
suspected a rival enterprise I was correct.”
He slipped quietly within the room from which the unseen woman had just
emerged. The curtains had been tightly drawn and the apartment was as
inky as the hall. He feared to flash the torch, thinking that it might
throw a reflection through the doorway.
“It might not be the office after all,” thought Kenyon. “If it is not
I’ll have gotten myself into a devil of a mess.”
In taking the next step his hand touched a hard, polished surface;
moving farther it came upon a clutter of papers, an ink-stand, pen-rack
and other clerical requisites.
“A desk,” muttered the adventurer. “And a good sized, flat-top desk, at
that. This is the apartment I’m after.”
Suddenly from the doorway came a sharp, crackling sound. Instantly
Kenyon sank down behind the desk. Someone had scratched a match, but it
had missed fire. At the second attempt it flared redly, however; Kenyon
could not see who held it, for he feared to raise his head above the
level of the desk. Then the nature of the flame changed and it grew
steadier; footsteps sounded upon the thickly carpeted floor. They were
gentle footsteps.
“Anna once more!” thought Kenyon.
He changed his position soundlessly, his ears telling upon what side of
the desk the girl was about to pass. His situation was a most fortunate
one. He was between the desk and the wall farthest from the door. The
entire room was before him. Cautiously he lifted his head, as he felt
sure, judging from the direction in which she was going, that she would
not see him.
Over the flat top of the desk he caught sight of the cloaked figure of
a girl. Her back was turned toward him, and a hood was drawn over her
head. And she was bending over the combination lock of a gleaming safe
of formidable appearance.
She had lighted a candle and this she now stood upon the top while she
knelt before the safe. Round and round she turned the knob, pausing
now and then to think. But each effort was without result; and finally
she leaned her head forward upon her hands.
“Crying,” thought Kenyon. “Well, my dear Anna, that will not do any
good. And if you have no better trick to play than trying to guess the
combination, you might just as well go back to your little white bed.”
For a moment the girl remained in this position; then she arose and
moved toward the door. As she reached it, she blew the candle out, and
once more blackness hung over the office.
Kenyon remained as he was for some time. When he felt assured that the
girl had gone for good, he arose, crossed the room and softly closed
the door. Again the tiny torch flashed. Then he found the switch and
turned on the lights. The key was fortunately in the door and this he
turned, leaving it in the lock to fill up the hole.
The whole appearance of Kenyon had changed; his movements were quick
and pantherish, and not one of them was wasted; his eyes gleamed
through the holes of his mask, as he swept the apartment. Then he
laughed.
“How lucky! Farbush has been thoughtful enough to put in running water.
Oh, after all, there is nothing like modern plumbing.”
From his pocket he produced a small generator of shining brass; this he
placed upon a table. Then he drew out several sections of a tube of the
same metal, which he joined snugly together. From a breast pocket he
took a rubber bag partly filled with calcium carbide, which he poured
into the generator.
This having been done, he threw off his overcoat and approached the
safe.
“Newest pattern, as far as my information goes,” he said calmly. “But
it’s all the same to the acetylene flame.”
He tried the knob in order to make sure that the safe was locked. He
had once heard of the absurd oversight of a cracksman who had spent
hours drilling into a safe that was open, and had no desire to repeat
the performance.
“But this one is tight enough,” he declared.
He took a rug from the floor, folded it neatly, and placed it before
the safe door. Then he carried the generator to a small washstand at
one side of the office, and ran a quantity of water into it. Almost
instantly the choking flames of the acetylene gas assailed his nostrils.
“Whew!” he ejaculated, turning his head away; “if there is a more awful
stench in the world than this, I’ve never encountered it.”
Quickly he ignited the evil-smelling gas, and screwed the blowpipe to
the generator. Then he knelt upon the rug, placed the pipe to his lips
and blew through it steadily. A darting, intense flame leaped forth,
like a finger of light; this Kenyon directed toward a point just above
the combination knob. The varnish disappeared like magic, and the steel
of the safe melted like solder before the fierce point of flame.
“It works well,” said Kenyon, pausing in his blowing to inspect
critically the small hole burned through the massive door. “At this
rate I won’t be long on the job.”
Once more he placed his lips to the blowpipe, and once more the needle
of light bored its way into the steel. Larger and larger grew the hole
in the safe; and at last Kenyon found it wide enough to insert his hand
and arm. Placing the generator upon the floor he reached in and began
manipulating the tumblers of the lock. Then he threw the door wide, and
sat back upon his heels with an exclamation of satisfaction.
“The inner door is easy enough,” he said, as he extinguished the
generator. “Big Slim’s master-key should have no trouble in opening
it--but what’s this?” He bent forward. “Why, it’s the key itself, ready
to my hand.”
He inserted the big key, turned it, and the inner door opened. Before
him were a great number of pigeon-holes and small drawers, all filled
with documents of various hues and sizes.
The adventurer gazed at these, appalled.
“And I don’t know what I’m looking for!” he thought. “This really
promises to be a worse job than opening the safe.”
However, he resolutely set to work examining the contents. By good
fortune, all the packets were labelled plainly, so that he was not
forced to open any.
“It’s a saving of time and my feelings,” thought the cracksman. “I have
no desire to investigate Mr. Farbush’s affairs any farther than they
concern me.”
Paper after paper, packet after packet, passed through his hands, but
still no sign of anything that had the slightest interest to him.
“And yet, how can I be sure of that?” he asked himself. “I never felt
so helpless and incompetent to deal with a situation in my life. This,”
and he turned a heavy envelope over in his hands, “might be exactly the
thing I’m searching for; but how am I to know one way or the other?”
The envelope was large, made of stout manila paper and sealed with two
huge splotches of black wax. Across the face of it was written in a
large, running hand:
ESTATE OF STEPHEN AUSTIN.
“This might be it,” thought Kenyon; and he shrugged his shoulders and
laughed. “And when I come to think of it, somehow, it seems to me that
this name is familiar to me. It is just as though--by George, yes!
It is just as though I had heard it on the night of my adventure in
Selden’s Square.”
He looked at the envelope, swift eagerness in his eyes.
“I’ll chance it,” he muttered. He was about to tear it open when
suddenly a small white hand darted over his shoulder and snatched it
from his grasp. He turned with a startled exclamation and caught a
glimpse of a dark, cloaked figure; but at the same instant the lights
were switched off. As he sprang up, he heard the door thrown open, and
heedless of the darkness he darted toward it. Soft feet were running on
the stairs.
Kenyon paused and leaned against the door frame.
“Gone,” said he, “and in another moment she’ll probably have the house
in an uproar.”
The words had no sooner left his lips than there came a muffled
scream from the hall below. Kenyon leaped to the stair rail and bent
over, listening. Then the lights below were switched on, flooding the
stairway and hall; to Kenyon’s amazement he saw Griscom Forrester and
Anna standing pale-faced and startled at the foot of the stairs; while
confronting them with blazing eyes and a revolver in his hand was
Farbush.
XVI
KENYON CALLS ON THE MAN FROM SAGINAW
“And the brief news comes in the darkest night,
That leads us on and on.”
--_Doggerels of Balmacenso._
GARRY WEBSTER sat in his rooms, a high-ball before him, and a fat black
cigar burning between his fingers, when Kenyon was announced early next
evening. Webster demonstratively shook him by the hand.
“Sit down and drink something,” said he. “I’m about as glad to see you
as I’ve ever been to seen anyone in my life. Why, it’s at least two
nights since I dined with you.”
Kenyon waved away the Scotch, but lit a cigar.
“Why all the pleasure?” he inquired, calmly.
“Well, in view of your proceedings of late I think I was warranted in
feeling slightly concerned about you. A fellow of your quality and
disposition takes a fair chance of having someone run a knife into him.
If I were you, Ken, I’d avoid dark and unfrequented spots, and I’d
suspect people.”
“That would be an attractive arrangement for a maiden lady,” said
Kenyon, dryly, “but I don’t think it quite fills the bill of
requirements of a man engaged in a more or less desperate game.”
Webster looked at him observantly.
“It’s still going on, then?” said he.
Kenyon nodded.
“Well, just what phases have you lately passed through. I’m willing to
admit that I am all of a-tremble; but at the same time I’m strong on
curiosity. Your use of the word desperate seems advised; so if you have
anything to tell, tell it quickly.”
“Last night,” spoke Kenyon, knocking the ash from his cigar, and
inspecting a loose spot in the wrapper, “I made an attempt to get at
the bottom of this case at one blow.”
“And did you?”
“Not quite.”
“Now, look here, Ken,” said Garry, and he looked aggrieved. “This is
not the proper treatment for a friend. I would even be disposed to
regard it as unnecessarily harsh to an enemy. It’s not charitable, and
it’s not kind.”
Kenyon laughed.
“Now don’t rush me,” protested he. “The whole matter has my ideas in
such a tangle that it will not require much more to have me completely
off my nanny. Since seeing you last, I have had manifold adventures,
and have added to my experience in life to an unexpected degree.”
“You go at it like a popular lecturer,” remarked Webster, patiently. He
lit another cigar and sipped at the high-ball. “If I don’t do something
to calm myself, I’ll be coming over there and doing you a mischief, as
they say in the Drury Lane melodramas.”
For the third time within a week, Kenyon related his experiences to his
attentive friend. He began with their talk at dinner some nights before
and the idea that he had conceived from Webster’s laughing remark.
Then he went on to his hunt for Gypsy Brady, his meeting with the
cracksman, Big Slim, then until he reached the scene in the lower hall
of Farbush’s mansion. Webster brought his fist down upon the table.
“That settles it!” exclaimed he. “This is the end of it. Never again
will I permit you out of my sight. You are without mental poise or a
shadow of forethought. And as for common sense, I don’t believe you
ever had a shred of it in your life. Don’t sit there and laugh! I mean
it. The other stuff that you have been meddling with was bad enough,
Heaven knows; but this last business is the absolute limit. Think of
it! Breaking and entering; masked burglary; safe cracking! Why, it’s
unbelievable.”
“You’d better take another drink,” advised Kenyon, quietly. “Your
nerves seem to be in a shocking bad way.”
Webster glared at him for a moment, and then burst into a perfect gale
of laughter. His round face was scarlet and his eyes were filled with
tears when he brought chokingly up and began to splutter and cough.
“Take it,” gasped he, waving his hands. “Take it.”
“Take what?”
“Anything that you see in the way of a reward. You are entitled to it.
You win every prize in the show.”
“I have no doubt but that the affair is exceedingly humorous,” said
Kenyon. He poured out some Scotch, added a little hot water and sugar,
and stirred the mixture meditatively. “But, do you know, I can’t see
it. I suppose our points of view are different.” He sipped the toddy,
found it to his satisfaction, and then added: “However, I fancy that we
have been over all that before.”
“Humorous!” exclaimed Webster. “Why, it’s riotous. Your matter-of-fact
acceptance of the situation is really the funniest thing I ever saw.
But,” and his manner changed to one of curiosity, “how did you get out
of Farbush’s house without having the police called upon?”
“I hardly think there was any chance of that, at the worst. But, as it
was, I simply laid low, as we used to say at school. Farbush stormed
and raved and threatened down below, and waved his revolver for a time,
while the others protested. I could not quite gather what it was about,
for they all spoke at once. But it had something to do with the safe,
for they all three came up the stairs, I lying snug behind an offset in
the wall while they entered the office.”
“Then, when Farbush saw the result of your acetylene flame, I suppose
there was a renewal of the tempest?”
“It had begun when I slipped down the stairs,” answered Kenyon. “But I
was safely out at the front door, and on my way down Fifth Avenue, I
suppose, before it reached its height.”
“The estate of Stephen Austin,” mused Webster. “That, apparently, is
what all this trouble is about.”
“From the clever moves of the girl who plucked the envelope from my
hands in Farbush’s office, and her anxiety to get safely away with it,
I should think so myself.”
“I can hardly understand how she got into the office--unless there was
more than one door.”
“There was not.”
“But you saw her leave the room, and you locked the door behind her.”
“I locked the door, yes. But I did _not_ see her leave the room.”
Webster looked at his friend inquiringly.
“I distinctly remember you saying that she walked to the door and blew
out the candle.”
“Precisely; but I said nothing about seeing her leave the room.”
“By George!” Webster slapped his knee suddenly. “It was a bluff. She
did not go out, at all.”
“No; she was in the office all the time I worked upon the safe. I
reasoned the matter out afterwards. While she was fumbling with the
combination, she must have caught sight of me. It was a shadow,
perhaps, or more likely my reflection in the polished door of the safe.
When she covered her face with her hands, I thought she was crying of
disappointment; but really she must have been stifling a scream, or
shrewdly thinking up a plan of action.”
“I prefer the last,” stated Webster.
“So she arose, took up the candle, and walked toward the door. Every
step plainly said that she had given up the fight, that she had no
further hope. Almost in the doorway, she blew the candle out. I
naturally supposed that she went on; instead, she darted behind
something in the office,--there were lots of things that would screen
her,--and so waited until I had found what she appeared to want so
badly.”
“Clever!” exclaimed Webster, emphatically. “She has nerve, too. Not one
girl in a thousand could think so clearly under such circumstances. Do
you know, I’m almost sorry that she was caught.”
“It does seem rather provoking.”
“And this young man, Forrester, was on the premises all the time. I
suppose he was a guest, and was hidden away much after your own style.”
“I shouldn’t wonder.”
“But old Farbush was the wise fox, eh? He suspected something and
probably was lying in wait.”
“I suppose so.”
“And it’s more than likely that the coveted packet immediately passed
back into his hands when he confronted the pair in front of the rifled
safe.”
Kenyon muttered a reply that was not intelligible. He was drawing
steadily at his cigar, holding it clinched between his teeth, and
frowning thoughtfully. Webster had noticed his replies being rather
brief and absent for the last few minutes, and said:
“What’s the new one, Ken; you might as well tell it all. You can’t
surprise me any more than you have already done.”
“I was thinking that, on the whole, I would have done a great deal
better if I had waited awhile before leaving Farbush’s house.”
“But why? You might have been caught.”
“Of course; I would have been taking a chance. But, then, what else had
I been doing during the entire night.”
“Well, that’s true. But what do you suppose a little lingering on the
scene would have brought you?”
“It might have confirmed a suspicion that I’ve had ever since. And that
is, that Anna and Forrester met with the surprise of their lives when
the office lights were turned on and they saw the safe broken open.”
“But, great Cæsar! Ken; how could that be. The girl, according to your
own reasoning, saw you crack the safe.”
“Don’t go too fast, old chap; I didn’t say so. I didn’t mention any
names; for I’m not altogether sure that it was Anna who was in the
office with me. The girl who snatched the packet wore a heavy cloak and
a hood; Anna was in white when I saw her a moment later as she stood
beside Forrester in the lower hall.”
“But she might have thrown the cloak off.”
“Then it would have been upon the stairs, and I would have seen it.
She had not time to dispose of it in any other way, even had there been
a reason for it. From the time that the light was switched off in the
office, until it was turned on in the hall below, was only a moment.”
“But you heard the footsteps on the stairs--and there was only one girl
below.”
“There was only one girl _below_, yes. And I heard the footsteps on the
stairs. But there was also a pair of stairs leading to the floor above.
The girl who snatched the packet may have gone up; I’m not sure.”
Webster stared for a moment.
“That’s so,” said he, slowly. “I’m beginning to get hold. There were
two girls in the house; and you are inclined to suspect that it was the
girl called Dallas who was with you in the office.”
“Precisely.”
“Why, then,” wonderingly, “there must have been three different designs
upon the safe going forward at the same time.”
Kenyon shrugged his shoulders and took another cigar.
“I don’t think it possible for any merely human mind to get at the true
inwardness of this strange game. At one moment the people engaged seem
entirely in cahoots; in the next they are apparently making off-side
plays of a decided personal nature. We have discussed their attitudes
toward each other before, and the thing is beyond reason. Forrester is
a friend to Dallas. He wishes her well, at any rate, as far as I can
see. And yet he is a firm friend and stands high in the favor of Hong
Yo, who would, I have no doubt, murder her in cold blood.”
“I think I said some time since that the thing is a puzzle,” spoke
Webster. “And I have had no reason to change my mind. But what do you
propose to do next?”
“I think a visit to Bellevue might have some results. Either of the two
of my remaining namesakes might be able to talk to visitors by this
time.”
“Excellent.”