reason. And I feel that we are to have it made plain to us before long.”
Some little distance further along they took down a section of fence,
drove into a field and unhitched. After tying the horses securely they
made their way softly back across the fields in the direction of the
gloomy grove where they had seen the twinkling light. The earth was
hard with early frost. Here and there the thin ice, that had formed
upon some shallow pools, crackled under their feet; there were fences
to climb, and once they came upon a small creek which had to be waded
with some discomfort. But finally they arrived at the edge of the grove.
“Well,” commented Kenyon, as they paused for a moment among the trees,
“he doesn’t seem to have safeguarded all the approaches, at any rate.”
Softly they advanced toward the house. In places the earth was littered
with fallen leaves which were dry and would have made a great
crackling under the feet of four men; but by instinct, it seemed,
Kenyon led them along the wind-swept spaces, soundless and like shadows.
The house stood in a narrow clearing. Several of the lower windows were
brilliantly lighted and threw bars of radiance across the lawn.
“It has quite a colonial look,” said Webster. “Witness the high, narrow
windows, the small lights of glass, the many stone steps, and the
tremendous main door.”
Austin suddenly clutched Kenyon by the arm.
“Look there!” he breathed.
“What is it?” in the same low tone.
“At the window, to the right. It was a woman.”
“I got a little glimpse of her,” said Saginaw. “And, say, she looked as
if she was tip-toeing around.”
“That was my impression, too,” replied Austin, wonderingly. “Every
movement seemed caution itself.”
“A servant, perhaps,” suggested Webster.
They remained in the shadow of the trees for some little time watching
the window indicated; but the woman did not reappear.
“I should like to get nearer the house,” said Kenyon. “But it’s rather
a ticklish proceeding to cross those shafts of light; for there is
really no knowing how many of those dozen men may be lying about in the
dark.”
“Perhaps the windows at the rear are not lighted,” suggested Webster.
“Good! I’ll work my way around there and see. It will perhaps be best
for the rest of you to remain where you are. Don’t break cover until
you hear me call or are sure that I’ve gotten into trouble.”
And with this he crept softly away into the darkness. While in the
front of the house he kept to the trees; but when he reached the side
where the light did not fall he ventured into the clearing, as the
progress was less difficult there.
He had not taken a dozen steps when a heavy hand was laid upon his
shoulder; and a rough voice said:
“I thought I heard somebody out there! So, now then, neighbor, give an
account--”
He only reached this far when Kenyon’s arm shot around with a sort of
hooking motion. The blow traveled no more than five inches, yet the man
dropped as though he had been shot. Kenyon bent over him for a moment.
“He seems good for a half hour,” he muttered. “But I’ll have to risk
his coming to and giving an alarm.”
He wasted no time over the fallen man, but continued on his way. When
he gained the rear of the house he found that all was darkness. But he
heard the constant murmur of voices from somewhere near at hand, and
so did not dare to advance farther. At length, however, a door opened,
and a man stepped out bearing a lantern. In the rays of this Kenyon saw
two men seated upon an old-fashioned settle near the door; it was these
whose voices he had heard.
The man with the lantern stood in the doorway for a moment; behind
him Kenyon caught a glimpse of a dimly lighted hall of great width
that seemed to run directly through the building. The three exchanged
some remarks which Kenyon could not catch; the two men upon the settle
arose, and the third closed the door. Then they struck into a narrow
path among the trees and disappeared. Kenyon waited until the sounds of
their footsteps had died away; then he advanced boldly, opened the door
and entered.
No one was to be seen; the lights were dim, as he had noticed from the
outside. Softly but deliberately he walked down the length of the wide
hall and turned into a room where a bright light was burning. But the
room, also, was empty, and he paused, looking about him. There was a
doorway hung with heavy portières, leading to a room beyond, and as
Kenyon stood examining the place the voice of Forrester reached him
from this latter.
“I tell you, my dear, it is all for the best. You shall see that before
the night is over.”
“I hope so, Griscom,” said the voice of Anna. “But I can’t help being
nervous.”
“Oh, of course not; and to tell you the honest truth, I am also a bit
that way. It’s the suspense that does it.” There was a short pause,
during which Kenyon heard the rustling of papers; then Forrester
proceeded: “I don’t fear Hong Yo in the least; and as for Farbush,
well, you know how I classed him long ago. It’s the other--that close
mouthed, swift-eyed Kenyon that I really dread.”
“And I,” echoed Anna. “He is so secretive, he seems to know so much
that we thought no one knew; and he is so cold and observing; he
appears to be weighing one’s thoughts, continually, and casting about
for some means of profiting by the result.”
“It must have been some sort of an evil influence that prompted me to
encourage the old man in his desire to have this same fellow,” said
Forrester, and there was a note of complaint in his voice that made
Kenyon smile.
“I never could understand what made you do it,” said the girl.
“I thought it for the best. Like fools, Farbush and Hong began making
threats as to what they would do if young Philip Austin succeeded to
the business. The old man became frightened. One day he told me that
he intended to send for a man who he knew could be trusted to protect
Philip.”
“And that man was Kenyon.”
“Yes. God knows where old Stephen had ever heard of him. And I had to
encourage this notion, or perhaps have him invoke the law.”
“The last would never have done,” said the girl, hastily.
“Of course not. I saw at once that the only safe thing to do was to
find the man, somehow, and arrange matters with him, if he was willing
to make a deal.”
“And the result of your efforts was those three foolish persons who
wandered into the net like so many stupid flies.”
Kenyon heard a fist strike a table impatiently; then Forrester cried:
“I’ll never forgive myself for that blunder! It was caused by
over-anxiety. I desired to gain time.”
“But to write four letters; to direct them to different places! Was
that not taking a desperate chance?”
“Something had to be done. I could think of nothing better. Old Stephen
did not know where Kenyon was at that time, but he was trying to trace
him. I found, in his desk, a list of four places where the person
sought _had_ been, and then conceived the plan of writing a letter to
each of these places, in the hope that one or the other of them would
reach him in some way. I named the house in Selden’s Square as the
place--Farbush taking it blindly at my request--and the night upon
which old Stephen died as the time of meeting.
“All this was meant to save time. The idea was sound, and the whole
trouble resulted from the old man’s not knowing Kenyon’s first name.
So I was forced to address the letters simply to _Mr._ Kenyon. And the
cursed post-office delivered three of them to strangers.”
“Griscom! Griscom! It was not all ill-luck. You were foolish,
indiscreet.”
“But I fancied the man who wrote me from Butte was the right person.”
“Were you sure? Was there anything to warrant your doing what you did.
You at once told him everything. He might have ruined all.”
“Why, my dear, have you, too, turned against me! Farbush has gibed at
me for the past week for that mistake, and though Hong says little, I
know he holds it over my head.”
Then Kenyon heard a sudden rustling of skirts, an ejaculation; a
succession of kisses and a smothered flood of endearments. Finally
Anna’s voice was heard, saying:
“But let them plot and struggle! What do we care? We have what we
want--what we have always wanted. It does not make any difference to
us who succeeds to Stephen Austin’s business, now.” There was a great
rustling of paper, as though someone had plunged eager hands among a
heap of loose sheets. “Five hundred thousand dollars!” came the girl’s
voice, high and triumphant. “A half million of money.”
“Not money, my dear, but something just as serviceable. Negotiable
securities. How fortunate you heard old Stephen trying to tell Dallas
where they were that day while he lay dying.”
“I did not dream that she understood. I almost died upon the night I
met that man upon the stairs, for then I understood that she had told
him.”
“Ah, woman’s intuition!” cried Forrester in delight, while Kenyon’s
shoulders shook sardonically. “And so when we found the safe opened and
the securities gone, you knew the very place to look for them.”
They both laughed at this; then there were more endearments.
“It would be interesting and perhaps somewhat profitable,” mused
Kenyon, as he patiently waited, “to know just how little acuteness and
how much chance there is mingled with the majority of successful moves.
I think I’d back the latter to win.”
“But in spite of all our good luck,” said Anna, after a time, “I cannot
help dreading the coming of Hong Yo and Mr. Farbush. Oh, my dear, why
did we not continue on. We could have left the country, and they would
never have known where we had gone.”
“But think of the continuous suspense that we should have been in; we
should forever be fearing pursuit. No, no; trust me! The way I have
selected is the best. They can do us no harm.”
“No harm? They may murder you! You know what they are. And you cannot
even defend yourself.”
“But I have _others_ engaged who can defend me.” Forrester laughed, but
Kenyon noted that it was forced and husky.
“Oh, this birth-curse,” the man proceeded, a species of despair now in
his voice. “The mere thought of blood makes me smother with fear.”
“Humph!” was the listening adventurer’s silent comment. “The
blood-horror was not a bluff, after all. What a peculiar situation.”
Apparently it was fully appreciated by the two in the adjoining room.
The girl softly murmured her sympathy, and the man said, in a lowered
tone:
“It’s a curse that I’ve carried through life like an incubus. A
thousand times has it held me back when I’ve had victories in my very
hands. Look at the case with old Stephen. Hong did not trust me. He
made me plead my disability in order that the old man should not tell
me too much, and so give me an advantage over himself and Farbush! Oh,
if I could only shake it off! If I could only rid myself of it for
good!”
The girl was still comforting him when there came the steady tramp of
footsteps upon the hard ground without and the sound of voices.
“They have come!” Kenyon heard the girl exclaim, and there was terror
in her tones.
“Be brave!” Forrester whispered, as the great hall door opened, and
a gust of cold air swept through the passage and into the rooms in
a way that made the lights dance. Then footsteps were heard in the
hall--slow, painful footsteps--and the door closed with a bang. Kenyon
peered through the portières to get a view of the newcomers. He saw
Forrester and Anna standing beside a table in the centre of the room.
In a doorway stood Farbush, his face white and ominous with rage; and
leaning upon him was Hong Yo, looking like the spectre of death itself,
but gazing at the young man and girl with laughing mockery in his
slit-like eyes.
XXIII
WHAT KENYON HEARD AND SAW
“The end, when it comes, comes quickly.”
--_An Adage of Hong Yo._
FOR a moment there was silence, then, as Kenyon watched, he saw long,
shuddering spasms of laughter shake the emaciated frame of Hong Yo,
while one yellow claw was weakly raised, pointing in ghoulish mirth at
Forrester.
Kenyon felt his skin prickle.
“What a hideous beast!” he muttered, his face showing his repugnance.
“If it were possible to see his soul, I wonder what it would look like?”
“You were longing for our society, were you?” spoke Hong Yo, in his
slow, careful English. “And we had all but given you up.”
He was racked by a fit of coughing; Farbush led him to a chair, and
when the paroxysm had subsided, he was breathless and almost without
life.
“Will you sit down?” Forrester said to Farbush.
The latter did so, silently. He sat far back in the chair, drumming
with noiseless fingers upon its arms, his hard eyes full of fury, his
thin, cruel mouth shut in a straight line.
“Our friend Hong is to be the speaker, however,” concluded Kenyon, from
his vantage behind the portières. “That seems to be understood between
them.”
After a few moments the Chinaman had recovered somewhat, but when he
spoke it was in a faint, gasping wheeze.
“That was a pretty ruse--that of the yacht.”
Forrester stared at the speaker in surprise.
“The yacht?” said he inquiringly.
A ghastly grin crossed Hong Yo’s face; he waved a hand in a feeble
gesture of impatience.
“We met her before she had passed North Brother Island. We expected
to find you on board--and these,” pointing to the securities upon the
table.
Forrester laughed.
“Is it possible that _you_ went in chase of the _Wizard_? Why, that
little matter was laid down for the astute Mr. Kenyon’s private use.”
The watcher saw Farbush start.
“Kenyon!” exclaimed the man.
“Why, to be sure. I was confident that, with his infernal cleverness,
he’d think of the yacht when he found that Anna had gotten the
securities.”
“Ah! So you admit the cracking of the safe now?” Farbush leaned toward
the younger man, and his thin lips curled back from his teeth. “You
denied it strongly enough upon the night that it was done.”
“I still deny it,” answered Forrester. He seated himself beside the
table and began gathering up the securities. “In fact I don’t mind
admitting that such a neat and effective job is entirely beyond me.”
Hong Yo and Farbush exchanged glances.
“The securities were locked in the safe,” said Hong Yo. “And you admit
that Anna took them; then she--or you--must have forced the safe.”
“Your conclusion is natural enough,” replied Forrester, “but is
scarcely correct. Anna did get the securities, as I said, but not from
your safe,” to Farbush.
“No,” said the girl, “from Dallas Gilbert.”
The two men started, but said nothing; Forrester smiled.
“You will be astonished to hear, I feel sure, that Dallas and Kenyon
have established a sort of co-partnership in this matter of ours. He
was on the premises upon the night the safe was opened; in fact, I’m
quite convinced that it was he that did the opening.”
There was a moment’s silence; then Hong Yo said:
“Yesterday you would have surprised us with this; but not now. We were
quite convinced, last night, that Kenyon, like yourself, is playing a
game of his own.”
“And we may astonish _you_ some,” spoke Farbush, “by telling you that
not only is he leagued with Dallas Gilbert, but with young Philip
Austin, as well.”
Forrester stared; Anna clasped her hands, nervously.
“I saw Austin with Kenyon last night,” said Farbush, “as plainly as I
see you now.”
Both Forrester and Anna were visibly amazed; but not any more than was
Kenyon himself.
“That’s a point that I missed, somehow,” he muttered. “Either that, or
it’s some sort of a blind to fool Forrester.”
“But all this has no real connection with our visit,” said Hong Yo,
hollowly. “The Stalker said that you had a matter of importance to
settle with us.”
“I have,” replied Forrester. He placed his hand upon the packet of
securities. “It is about these.”
Hong Yo coughed. The almost fleshless hand trembled as he lifted it to
his lips; then he said:
“I imagined that. But go on.”
“I want to withdraw from the arrangement that we made. I am not fitted
to carry it out. As you are aware, I cannot go far enough. This booty
is to be my share; the remainder I leave for you and Farbush.”
“Oh!”
The burning little eyes shone through the puckered, slanting lids; the
bloodless lips smiled. It was like the horrid mirth of a demon in a
mediæval poem.
“Now that our plans seem apt to go astray,” mocked he, “you have
thought it well to feather your own nest.”
“I offered all along to do this very thing,” cried Forrester. “I knew
when murder was seriously entertained, that I must withdraw.”
Hong Yo arose. His step was wavering and strengthless; there seemed to
be only a flutter of life in his shrunken frame; but, to the watching
Kenyon, his purpose was as deadly as the look in his eyes.
“You persist in this?” asked he, slowly.
“I do,” said Forrester, quietly.
Farbush sat with one leg crossed over the other; his face had suddenly
grown expressionless, his body seemed tensely flexed.
“He expects a climax, I fancy,” thought Kenyon.
“Did it never occur to you,” gasped Hong Yo, steadying himself by
laying his left hand upon the back of a chair, “that we might not be
willing to fall in with your views.”
Forrester smiled, confidently. The fresh, boyish candor which had so
struck Kenyon, at first sight of him, was perfect.
“Oh, I think you will,” said he. “I don’t see how you can very well
refuse.”
“And why?”
Hong Yo had drawn nearer, and Kenyon noted the yellow claw once more
stealing toward the breast of his blouse. But Forrester did not give
way; he only smiled, quietly.
“You see,” he answered, “you are hardly in a position to refuse me. I
have dropped my connection with your plot for good and all. With these
securities I disappear never to be heard of again. Without them, I
remain in New York to tell what I know.”
As the last word left his lips, the knife of the Chinaman flashed in
the lamp-light. Anna screamed; but for a moment Forrester retained his
calmness.
“He expects help,” was the thought that flashed through Kenyon’s mind.
But the help for some reason did not come; and then the confidence
suddenly died, leaving the young giant white and apparently paralyzed
with fear. Hong Yo was taking the step that would bring him within
striking distance; and like a fascinated thing Forrester awaited the
blow. Again Anna screamed; and now she threw herself upon Forrester’s
breast. The knife was raised and would have fallen, but there came a
sharp, answering cry, the sound of swift-moving feet, and two strong
white hands clutched the arm of Hong Yo.
“Dallas!” cried Kenyon in amazement; and with the name upon his lips,
he whipped out his long revolver, thrust aside the portières, and
stepped into the room.
Farbush had leaped to his feet, but with what intention will never be
known; for at sight of Kenyon and the murderous Colt he shrank back.
Dallas uttered a little cry of joy; she sprang to meet Kenyon with
outstretched hands.
“You!” she exclaimed.
“To be sure,” said he. “I am still trying to furnish proof of my
rectitude.”
He pressed her hand as he spoke, and his brown eyes twinkled
humorously; but, at the same time, they never left Hong Yo and Farbush,
and the black muzzle of his huge weapon was not once lowered.
Then the adventurer swiftly stepped to the table and laid a hand upon
the packet of securities.
“I think,” said he, coolly, “that I will take charge of these, just
now.”
He slid them into his overcoat pocket, and then glanced sharply around
as he caught a queer sound from Hong Yo. The Chinaman was swaying
weakly; his hands vaguely clutched at the empty air, and his pale lips
were muttering in his own language. Then suddenly he pitched forward
and lay still. Farbush crept forward, cowed, to look at him.
“He’s dead,” said he.
And just then, through the doorway, came Philip Austin, Garry Webster,
and the bandaged youth from Saginaw.
“We heard the screams,” said Webster, “and thought you might need us.”
Then seeing the stark form of Hong Yo, he exclaimed: “Hello! What’s
this?”
“It looks quite a bit like the end to me,” replied Kenyon.
XXIV
CONCLUSION
“And so they were married and lived happily ever afterwards.”
--_The End of Any Good Story._
GARRY WEBSTER and Philip Austin were at dinner in the former’s
apartments some few nights later, when Kenyon was announced.
“Have a bite, old boy,” Webster incited. “We have some little things
here that I know you’ll appreciate.”
“Thanks, no; I’ve only stopped in to keep you from bothering me upon
that confounded telephone of yours. I’ve not had a restful moment at my
apartments for days. I’ve either been forced to listen to your frantic
calls, or been in constant expectation of their renewal, every moment
of the time I’ve been home.”
Webster grinned.
“Oh, well, you know,” said he, “it’s nothing but natural curiosity. I
only wanted to know any little thing you’d found out.”
After he had put down his hat, overcoat, gloves, and stick, Kenyon
turned his back to Webster’s ruddy log fire and looked comfortable.
“Look what it is to have money,” said he. “Log fires; nice little
dinners; expensive hotels. The hardware trade must be an excellent one.”
“No better than the importing of fine oriental stuffs,” replied
Webster, calmly, as he went on with his dinner. “Austin has just been
telling me about his offer to you.”
“And I renew it,” spoke Austin seriously. “Since I’ve kicked out
Farbush and that fellow Forrester, and since Hong Yo is dead, I’ve got
the entire thing to myself. I’ll have you in as a partner, if you’ll
run the business.”
“I’m going to take you up,” said Kenyon, quietly.
“Bravo!” Young Austin arose and solemnly shook the adventurer’s hand.
“Do you know, the sudden shifting of all this upon my shoulders has
sort of upset me. I’ve got work to do at my laboratories in Chicago,
and will have no time to fool away on a shipping trade at Seattle.
Another thing: I have no taste for the thing, and could never grasp its
details.”
“And Kenyon is just the fellow for it,” put in Webster. “He knows more
about China than most people; and then he’s a regular bull-terrier for
holding on. I always said he’d make an excellent business man.”
“Thanks,” smiled Kenyon, “your friendly offices, Garry, are very
grateful. And they are much more kindly meant than those of my old
co-laborer, Balmacenso.”
Webster lifted his brows.
“You’ve learned something against that worthy revolutionist, then,”
said he.
“Yes; among the securities and other papers which I took from Forrester
and turned over to Austin were a few letters which I took the liberty
of withholding. They were addressed to Forrester and signed with my
name--but they were in the handwriting of Balmacenso.”
“The blackguard!” exclaimed Austin.
“Wasn’t he! It was a neat, carefully laid little plan. From certain
angles I have nothing but admiration for it. You see, he opened
Forrester’s first letter to me at Rio. I know he did it in the hope
that it contained money, for I remember telling him one day that if
things did not get better for us, I’d have to send North for a loan.
And I had you in mind,” bowing to Webster, with much ceremony.
“I should have been most happy,” returned that gentleman, solemnly.
“Forrester’s offer must have struck Balmacenso’s fancy. At any rate
he answered it, signing my name. Then came other letters carrying
the matter farther along, including a number from your grandfather,”
to Austin. “Balmacenso must have known that the _Blenheim_ was due at
Rio at a certain time, and wrote that he would sail in her. He always
used my name, and not once did I get even so much as a breath of any
side of the affair. And in his planning he was rather complete, too. He
arranged for the place of meeting and the signal by which he was to be
known.”
“And that was?”
“The slapping of a folded newspaper upon the palm of his hand. The
latter was scarcely original. It sounds like a ‘personal’ from the
_Herald_. Perhaps proximity had something to do with it. Then there was
a photo of Balmacenso that had been sent. Dallas fancied I looked like
it. So when I, of all persons, happened to appear at the time and place
specified, and unconsciously to give the signal, she could not doubt
but that I was the man she was waiting for.”
“It sounds like something that might have happened to one of the
Barber’s Seven Brothers.”
“Doesn’t it? But fever was a thing that Balmacenso had not counted
on; he had been dead some little time when the _Blenheim_ entered Rio
harbor; and instead of _his_ sailing on her, _I_ suddenly made up my
mind to do so.”