I
There was a moment of deep silence in the cabin after the definite and
cruel accusation was made. Clement swept the little crowd with a glance
he strove to make amazed.
“I have been accused of theft! I am to be searched!...” he said. “My
dear Heavy, this is absurd!”
“I know! I know! I’ve said that already. This la--they’ve taken the
matter into their own hands.”
“But to be searched--the idea is infamous.”
“You can refuse,” said Heavy. “And await--er--the authorities.”
“And I stay here,” said the lady, like a figure of vengeance, “until
the authorities come. I am _not_ going to lose my tiara.”
“You’d scarcely do that, madam,” said the captain soothingly.
“Even--even if Mr. Seadon had it, he could scarcely get rid of it.
If he tried to get rid of it through his porthole people would see
him--we’re alongside. And in any case his porthole is shut....”
Seadon, with a start, darted a glance to the porthole. Heavy’s remarks
had closed that loophole pretty thoroughly, he thought.
“All the same, I stay,” said the lady implacably. “Unless, of course,
Mr. Seadon allows us to search.”
“Shall I signal the police, sir?” asked the evil-looking little steward.
“Is this the man who accused me?” Clement asked sharply, and as the
captain nodded, “What’s the reason behind this charge?” he demanded
cuttingly of the fellow.
“Reason b’ind it?” snarled the man. “Ain’t no reason be’ind it. It’s
just that when Mrs. Smot said she lorst ’er dimend terara, well I
recalled or recollected I’d seen _you_ ’angin’ about suspicious like,
comin’ out of ’er cabin where an’ when you ’ad no right to be there.”
“And how is it you saw me come out of this lady’s cabin?”
“’Ow! ’Ow! Strewth, ain’t I ’er cabin steward?”
“Oh, you’re her cabin steward. You’re the one who has the _entré_ to
her cabin. What’s the record of this man, Heavy?” Seadon rapped out the
sentences with a fighting air, obviously trying to parry suspicion.
“Don’t know,” answered Heavy, who was feeling that it was rather stupid
of Seadon to act like this, when a search, distasteful though it might
be, would clear him at once. “Don’t know. He only signed on this
voyage; we don’t know anything about him.”
“If you think you c’n switch it off ter me,” said the steward with an
evil grin, “lemme tell you _I_ don’t mind being searched, anyhow.”
“Oh!” said Clement, catching his breath.
“Yes,” said the lady acidly. “I don’t see why any man, if he is
innocent, should object to being searched.”
Clement acknowledged that he could no longer fence off the evil moment.
He turned to the captain with a resigned air. “There are my bags,”
he said. “I haven’t been in the baggage room since I came aboard, as
your baggage master can testify. If that tiara is anywhere it is in
my suitcases.” He pointedly drew attention to his suitcases. He noted
that the steward attended to this fact. For though he searched the
suitcases with great cunning, starting first on the one he _had not_
put the tiara into, so as to hide his own knowledge, he seemed to have
something on his mind.
It was very definitely on his mind after he had drawn blank in the
suitcases, had drawn blank in his careful examination of the cabin, and
had reassured himself that the porthole had been locked, anyhow, since
this morning.
He stood up studying Clement with lowering and evil eyes. He said, “No,
it ain’t anywhere ’ere. Not in the suitcases or anywheres. There’s
only ’imself.”
“You seem curiously anxious to fix suspicion on me,” said Clement
sharply. “To divert it, I might say.”
“Well, there’s nowhere else, is there?” snapped the man.
“Captain Heavy,” said Clement, with an anger that must affect the
captain, “Am I to submit to this outrage any longer? Is this man to fix
suspicion on me for some reason of his own?...”
“I don’t want ter search ’im, if ’e don’t want it. There’s always th’
police,” said the steward.
Clement turned swiftly to the captain. He held his arms out straight.
“Please search me, captain,” he said savagely.
Captain Heavy with a little shrug, and a “I wish this was merely a
joke, old man,” searched Clement. He did the job in the Scotland Yard
manner. It was complete, it was brilliantly thorough. When he had
finished he stepped back and stared at the steward. He also stared at
the lady. And he said, bitterly, “Well?”
The lady’s face showed that apoplectical tint that might come to even
the best-nourished woman when she is torn by the two powerful but
contrary emotions, those of groveling apology, and anger with a steward
who had made her look a fool.
The steward--well, the steward simply goggled at Clement. There was
incredulity and also fear showing in his devastated countenance. He had
been ready to pounce at the first glitter of a diamond. He had been
ready to suggest some hiding place overlooked by the captain. He was
sure that the tiara must be on Clement’s person since it was not in his
suitcase--where he himself had put it.
Captain Heavy glared at him, and snapped, “Well, my man, what have you
got to say? You’ve subjected a passenger on _my_ ship to a disgusting
indignity--for what?”
“It--it must be on ’im,” said the steward, sullenly backing away, his
mind absolutely bewildered by the unexpected absence of the tiara.
“Must!” thundered the captain. “Good God! man, do you want me to take
his skin off?”
“Well, ’e ’as it. Didn’t I see ’im ’angin’ about----”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this. As I knew, Mr. Seadon did _not_ take
that tiara. Why the devil did you accuse him? I want to know that? And
now.”
“I think”--said Clement in a cold voice--“I think I have already
suggested why.”
“Eh, Seadon? You suggested? What did you suggest, my good chap?” cried
the captain, only too anxious for the good of his service to make
amends.
“I suggested that he was anxious to fix suspicion on some one--some
one other than himself.”
“Yes--to divert suspicion. That’s it. That’s what you said,” snapped
the lady, who not only had a natural instinct for finding scapegoats,
but who owed the steward something for making her appear so
conspicuously foolish.
“Ah, divert suspicion,” said the captain, swinging round on the steward
and appreciating his substantial air of villainy for the first time. “I
see. You are this lady’s cabin steward, and----”
Clement might have helped the good work along. There was no need. The
lady was only too anxious to help the good work along herself.
“And he had the run of my cabin,” she piped. “_He_ could go in there
whenever he liked, do what he liked, _take_ what he liked.”
“I never,” snarled the steward, cringing back, glaring hate at Clement.
He felt that this softy-looking young man had turned the tables on him
in some way. He was afraid. But more, he resented the fact that this
dandy fellow, who looked the last person to possess brains in good
working order should be tying him in such a knot. As his wits darted
back over the happenings and the talk in that cabin during the last few
minutes, he saw, blazingly, that its apparent casualness had really
been a net to entangle him. In a desperate effort to beat the brain
working against him, he cried, “I never took nuthin’. If I ’ad, would
I ’ave pushed meself forward in this ... brought meself inter the
limelight? I risked sumthin’ accusin’ _’im_, though it was me duty.”
Clement might have said something. There was no need. He never believed
in doing work others could do better. The incensed lady did it much
better. She cried, “That was only your vile cunning. Of course it was.
My tiara is missing--who would be the first person I would accuse? The
cabin steward--naturally. And naturally my cabin steward would know it.
If he wasn’t a thief--it wouldn’t matter. If he was--well, he’d do his
best to divert suspicion, as Mr. Sneezedon----”
“Seadon,” from Heavy.
“--Seadon said. Oh, I see it. You suggested some one I did not know,
on the other side of the ship, to lead me away. You joined furiously
in the search so that I should be convinced that you, at least, were
honest. Oh, I see it. I see it. You pretended to be honest to cover up
your guilt.”
“Guilt ... cut out the guilt. I _ain’t_ guilty,” snarled the steward,
backing farther away, and watching Clement all the time. What had
this man who looked so inconsequent, and wasn’t, up his sleeve. “I
didn’t take that terara.” He made another desperate effort in defense.
“An’--an’ why should I pick on this gentleman ’ere, of all passengers.
Why?”
Clement cut in like a flash. This was his time to speak. “Because at
the very beginning of the voyage I kicked you out of this cabin--since
you were in it, and had no right to be in it. Because you tampered with
my private papers during the voyage, and you know I know it, and want
either to prejudice beforehand any report I might make, or to get me
out of the way.... Isn’t that true?”
“My God!” jerked the man at the mention of the papers, “’ow did you
know that?... I mean I never did.” He stared at Clement, his face
working. If the gang had utilized that stolen letter with great effect
against Clement, he had turned their own weapon against them with
dismaying force. The mere mention of it had staggered the steward.
Already convicted of theft out of his own mouth the steward was at
a loss. It was Captain Heavy who acted next. He rang the cabin bell
imperiously. When Clement’s own steward, Nicholson, answered, he
snapped, “Nicholson, have this man’s effects searched--at _once_.
Make it a thorough search. A diamond tiara is missing. This fellow
has accused Mr. Clement Seadon of taking it.” Nicholson regarded the
evil-faced steward with a sudden glance in which benevolence was
conspicuously absent. He knew Mr. Clement Seadon. Also Captain Heavy
knew he knew Mr. Clement Seadon. “It’s more than likely that he has
merely accused Mr. Seadon to distract attention from himself. Get to
it.”
Nicholson got to it. With another unbrotherly glance at the steward he
nipped out of the cabin and sped towards the glory hole. The evil-faced
lad attempted an air of insouciance. He even called after Nicholson,
“Search ’ard, me bucky. I’ve already expressed me willingness.”
The lady who had been so ready to accuse proved herself more than
ready to apologize. Her method of apology was lavish, but particularly
unsatisfactory to the evil-faced steward. It was one long hymn of hate
concerning the steward. His feelings grew more and more disturbed as
the minutes passed.
He was confident it was all right, it was bound to be all right, he
told himself. He’d been most careful. Nothing could go wrong with ’im.
Nothing ... or anyhow, he thought nothing could go wrong with him. He
saw no reason for feeling scared ... but....
Nicholson came into the cabin.
Nicholson looked wisely at Clement; with resignation at his superior
officer; with a certain touch of cheeriness at the evil-faced steward.
He lifted his right hand. He opened it. Something flamed and flashed.
“My tiara,” screamed the lady.
“In the pocket of this,” said Nicholson, lifting up a steward’s white
jacket.
“My coat--my oath,” blurted the evil-faced steward.
There was no doubt about it. That dirty coat with its yellow
stain--probably rust--on its arm and shoulder was unmistakable.
Everybody recognized it. Clement Seadon had never forgotten it, in fact.
“A cunnin’ hiding-place,” said Nicholson. “Hunted all through his--his
effects, as ordered, finding nothing. Never thought of looking in his
coat. Never would have thought. Only we see it hanging in the glory
hole.”
That was where Clement Seadon had seen it hanging last--in the glory
hole when he had dodged in there for cover. He smiled.
“My oath!” burst out the evil-faced steward, seeing that smile. “My
oath--in my coat pocket. _You_ put it there.”
He stared at Clement in hate. Clement’s smile was even sweeter.
“Of course I put it there.” And only he and the steward knew that he
was telling the truth. The others merely appreciated his sarcasm.
“That settles that,” said Captain Heavy. “Nicholson, take this brute
out, and keep him safe until the police come aboard. Seadon, I can’t
tell you how mad I am that all this has happened. It’s infamous.... If
it’s any consolation, I’ll promise you that this scoundrel will be made
to suffer in full....”
But the rest doesn’t matter, nor do the voluble apologies of the lady
of the tiara matter. All that matters is that Clement Seadon left the
_Empress_ for the Château Frontenac, just about the time that the
police went on board her to arrest and convey the steward to prison.
And in the lobby of the Château Frontenac, the first person he saw was
the mountain of a man--Mr. Neuburg.
Mr. Neuburg was standing facing the door, and he started perceptibly
as Clement came into the hotel. He betrayed himself by a quick stride
forward and a muttered oath.
Clement smiled. He said cheerfully, “Oh, were you expecting the _other_
fellow? Sorry. He took my place--at the last minute. You’ll know where
to find him, I think--or, anyhow, the first _policeman_ will direct
you----”
The mountain of a man stared across Clement’s shoulder for a moment. In
his usually placid eye there was a red light of rage. His hand, with
fist clenching, lifted to the level of his ribs. He gulped. Without
another sign he swung round and went with his surprising swiftness out
of the lobby.
II
Clement Seadon went to his room with a certain geniality in his heart.
When making his reservation at the reception counter he had carefully
studied the room bookings before his name. The clerk had said to him,
“I’ll give you a nice room on the fifth floor, Mr. Seadon. A good room.
Overlooks Dufferin Terrace and the river. One of the best rooms we’ve
got.”
“I know it,” said Clement pleasantly. “Ripping view.... Have you
anything on the same gallery as 359? I don’t mind if there isn’t a
view.”
“Why, yes,” said the clerk, “I can give you 362. It’s round the corner,
but it’s on the same floor and only three doors away. Same view, too.
It’s an intercommunicating bathroom, but locked on your side, of
course. You’ll like that room.”
Clement Seadon hastily scanned the names above his. Who had room
361--on the other side of his intercommunicating bathroom? His heart
beat. He said,
“You’re right. I fancy I shall more than like room 362.”
The name against room 361 was “Adolf Neuburg.”
The Frontenac has two lifts. As Clement knew this brilliant hotel quite
well, he could choose his lift with cunning and so could get into his
room without being seen on the gallery in which Mr. Neuburg had his
door.
There was a matter for further satisfaction, and also, it must be said,
for a certain anxiety in this business of rooms. He had had luck in
getting a room next Mr. Neuburg’s. His choice of the gallery itself
had been deliberate. Heloise Reys had her room on that gallery.
He had looked for her name at once, before he had sought out the name
attached to room 361. He had seen that the room booked to Heloise
Reys was 359. The room booked to Méduse Smythe, the companion, was
360--it was to be expected. They had rooms together--probably also
with a communicating bathroom. It was only when he had discovered Mr.
Neuburg’s room that a feeling of anxiety crept into his thoughts. For,
obviously, Mr. Neuburg had the room next Méduse Smythe. The gang had
deliberately arranged to group themselves--and their victim--together.
It probably went without saying that Méduse, the Gorgon, and Mr.
Neuburg also had a communicating bathroom. They were all in rooms in
line, the victim, Heloise, the gang, and himself.
Clement went quickly to his room, left the door ajar, so that he would
not have to call out when the baggage man brought his baggage up--to
call out loud would be to warn Mr. Neuburg--and went very quietly
into his own bathroom. He felt the handle of his own internal door,
found it bolted, slipped the bolt, and carefully opened it. The door
of Mr. Neuburg’s room (there were double doors separating the rooms)
was shut, and it was probably bolted; anyhow, Clement was not going
to attract attention by trying the handle. What mattered was that
there was only a single thickness of door between him and the master
villain. He could hear the mountain of a man moving about quietly
inside his room. He heard him mutter an angry oath--probably directed
at his own (Clement’s) head; then, luck of luck, he heard him use his
telephone. It was of no importance. He was merely demanding his baggage
from the porter, but it gave Clement the knowledge that, unless Mr.
Neuburg whispered, it would be quite delightfully easy to overhear his
conversations. Nothing more happened then, and Clement closed his own
door again--and bolted it--as he heard the baggage man’s trolley coming
along the passage.
Only when that fellow had gone did he bolt his outer door, slip into
the bathroom, and wait for a conversation he thought was bound to come.
Mr. Neuburg, he felt, must open his bruised heart to the companion
Méduse.
He had some time to wait, but he did not mind. He was feeling satisfied
with events. He had these devils on the hip. There was no doubt of
that. They had given him definite facts to put before Heloise. He could
go straight to her now and tell her how the lawyer’s letter had been
stolen from him in order that Méduse Smythe could work on her feelings,
and how the rogues had endeavored to get him out of the way with the
business of the tiara.
They were bold, were they? He was going to be bold, too. Heloise
should have the cold facts without apology. He was more than certain
how a clearly honest nature like hers would view the revelations.
Neuburg was done, Méduse was done, Gunning was done--the plot was ended.
As he decided this in his mind, he heard a sound from the room beyond
the door.
“Aah ... it is all right, Méduse? You are free.... You are alone for
a few minutes?” ... A deep, slightly muffled voice said these words
curiously close to Clement Seadon’s ear.
It was Mr. Neuburg speaking. The companion Méduse had come into the
room on the other side of the bathroom door.
III
“Don’t talk, woman,” said Mr. Neuburg’s voice. “He is here, in this
hotel.”
“He ... who?” gasped a female voice. It was a little fainter than Mr.
Neuburg’s, who, Clement was delighted to hear, was in that masculine
condition of rage when he must “take it out” on some one.
“Don’t be a dense fool,” the big man snapped. “He ...! Who ...! The
Englishman, ninny. Is there another?”
“It is impossible. He has been arrested.”
“Pah! Do I have to keep on saying it? He is here. He has not been
arrested. He is somewhere in this hotel _now_. The Englishman, Clement
Seadon, is here. He is free. Do you begin to gather ... just a glimmer,
woman?”
“But”--the woman’s voice was almost scandalized--“but he was to have
been arrested. Molke was to see to it that he was arrested.”
“And he is not arrested. It is Molke who has been arrested.”
Clement heard the creak of a chair. The news had been too much for
the amiable Méduse. She had had to sit down--and sit down hard. He
would have liked to chuckle. He dare not. The snarling voice of the
mountainous Mr. Neuburg said with bitter passion, “Ah, you begin to
see. Something active begins to stir in your head. And you are shocked.
Well, I did not thrill with joy myself.... No, I do not know how it
happened. I only know I set Molke to effect this Englishman’s arrest,
and it doesn’t happen; it is Molke who is arrested instead.”
“Yes; but that--_that_ Englishman,” protested an incredulous female
voice.
“Yes--_that_ Englishman. Only, my dear Méduse, say ‘that Englishman’
with more respect. I assure you, he is like that. He does not look
like intelligence at all. He looks a mere decoration. He looks a mere
easy-going, meaningless, drawing-room young man without any wits of his
own.... And--and it is Molke who is arrested after all. Just appreciate
the fact, my dear. That is the Anglo-Saxon. He does not look like
anything in particular, and you find him sitting firmly on top of you
just at that moment when you are beginning to rub your hands over the
clever way you have knocked him down?”
“But--but Molke had him so tight.”
“So tight,” snarled Mr. Neuburg, “that Mr. Clement Seadon walked
smiling and calm into the lobby of the hotel, and still smiling, still
calm, told me to my face that he had beaten me at my own game.”
“He--_he_ told _you_ to your face?”
“In his own way, of course. He told me that he was not in prison,
but that the steward Molke was.... I am not so dull that I did not
understand him completely. But--but, you see what it means?”
“That--that”--the woman was a little flustered before the bullying
anger of her companion--“that means he is still a danger we have to
contend with.”
“Women”--said the mountainous Mr. Neuburg--“women are the apostles of
the obvious. Yes, he is a danger we have to contend with, my dear. Only
he is something more. It means that _he_ thinks _we_ are a danger that
no longer counts.... I see I will have to explain. This is truly your
day for being heroically dull. This man who looks foolish is not. He
knows that we have delivered ourselves into his hands. He is going to
strike--strike once and swiftly--and smash us. He will expose us to
Heloise Reys. That is why he is so confident. His sort do not taunt for
the mere sport of the thing.”
Clement smiled grimly, appreciating the acuteness with which Mr.
Neuburg had sized up the situation. Mr. Neuburg, also, was no fool.
“Heloise will not speak with him,” said the woman.
“He will speak with her. It will come to the same in the end. Oh, yes,
I tell you that is what he will do. He is not a man to miss chances.”
“We will prevent that,” said the woman.
“We will do our best to prevent that,” said the man.
Clement knew they would. He knew that to get that ten minutes’ talk
with Heloise would not be an easy matter.
He listened intently. Since they meant to prevent him speaking to the
girl, they might say how they meant to do it. He might, thanks to his
splendid good luck, overhear their plan for check-mating him. That would
be a crowning triumph. A silence settled down on the other side of the
door. Then, surprisingly, astoundingly, Neuburg growled, “But there is
something else. Gunning has broken loose again.”
Clement gasped--and so did the woman. But where his gasp was one of
astonishment, that of the woman was one of anger. “Ah, that was what
made Joe look so sour on the quayside. I saw he was there,” she gasped.
“Well--what is it now?”
“It is not revealed,” said Mr. Neuburg, being, apparently, sardonic.
“Nor is it revealed to where he has--vanished.”
“Vanished--you mean he’s left Sicamous?”
“My dear Méduse, he always leaves Sicamous. He is behaving, as he
always behaves--the slack-willed, backboneless swine.”
Clement registered that character reading of Henry Gunning in his mind.
Assuredly fortune was smiling on him to-day with her most genial smile.
The woman on the other side of the door suddenly showed a flash of
spirit.
“Just stop being clever, Adolf, and tell me exactly what Joe Wandersun
told you on the quayside.”
“He told me that Henry Gunning had been Henry Gunning. He got drunk, as
usual. He talked big about his idiot mine claims, as usual. He boasted
about the millionaire he’d be when his soft-hearted English sweetheart
married him--I suppose that’s as usual now. He then got a little
drunker. Told the world that he was going to strike the trail and ‘show
’em all.’ And he struck the trail--and--so--vanished.”
“And Joe sat down on his hunkers and watched him go?” said Méduse
bitterly.
“Leave Joe to me, my dear.” There was a nasty edge to the big man’s
tone, the position of Joe was not enviable. “Joe says that the brute
sneaked off in the night. Joe left him apparently sleeping the solid
sleep of ‘bootleg’ whisky in his shack. He thought he was safe for
eight hours. When he went there again in the morning Gunning had gone.
He had taken his kit, slipped off somewhere in the dark.”
“Well,” snapped the woman after a pause. “It doesn’t stop there, does
it? Joe didn’t just sit down and weep, did he? What’s he found out?”
Mr. Neuburg chuckled. “You are unerring, my dear,” he said. “As
you imply, our good Joe did not sit down and weep.... People who
work for Adolf Neuburg know better than to do that. Our Joe has
found out things. Not everything, but something. This sodden and
spineless Gunning struck east. No, my dear, do not spoil your burst
of intelligence by asking the obvious. If I knew exactly where he had
gone I should have mentioned it. You appreciate that? When one fails to
mention things it is because one doesn’t know. But we will know. Siwash
Mike is finding out. He will find out. That is his forte. In a day or
two we shall know where this fool Gunning is.”
The woman vented an exclamation.
“Ah, you see that that is the point, my mild Méduse. In a day or two.
That means, perhaps, a day or two longer here in Quebec, with that
foolish-looking Englishman, who is far from foolish, on the spot. The
situation is not excellent.”
The pair were silent for a moment. Clement, with ears straining, wanted
to learn answers to several questions that passed through his head.
As though his thoughts had been communicated telepathically through the
door, his speculations were immediately answered.
The voice of the big man boomed abruptly, “This Heloise has gone out to
the postoffice, eh?”
“Yes,” said Méduse. “She has gone to see if the letter is there.”
“It is there,” said Mr. Neuburg. “Her agent at Sicamous--our good
Joe--sent it before he left. He showed me a copy. He did quite well.
He informs her that Henry Gunning has left Sicamous on one of his
periodical trips--probably on business. He does not know where Mr.
Gunning has gone, but he will cable when he finds out, or when Mr.
Gunning returns ... as he should in a few days.”
“That, I suppose, will not make her suspicious,” said the woman.
“What is the matter with you, Méduse?” snarled the big man with an
oath. “Where is the reason for suspicion? Gunning--the fool--is not
supposed to know she is coming. If he likes to go off, well, it is
merely a natural thing for him to do.... If anything, his going off
destroys the suggestion of a plot, of his being kept there by us as a
bait for her. You are a fool, Méduse. This Englishman--he is destroying
your nerve.”
“Yes, it is the Englishman. He is too unexpected. I do not like the
idea of our remaining here several days with him about.”
“Well, you know his capacities; it will help to keep you alert. And we
will deal with him--as best we can.”
The woman said, “Still--would it not be better to get her away? Would
it be possible?”
“It would be better, but not possible,” said Mr. Neuburg. “We must
remain here, in touch with the Sault Algonquin; Siwash is to report
there. He is ‘in the air,’ as it were, and that is the only way we can
keep in touch. No, my dear Méduse, it will not suffice that he cables.
He will cable Sicamous, and Joe’s wife will send on the message to
our soft-hearted little girl. But the cable is not good enough for
us. We must know all the details: what Gunning is doing, what is his
condition, and so forth, in order to know how to act. No, we must stay
in Quebec until we see Siwash.”
“And Joe is staying, too?”
“Yes, he is at the gluemaker’s in Algonquin. I see what you mean.
He will be an addition to our forces if we have to deal with that
Englishman. Joe is a useful man.... He may be slow at times, but he is
not squeamish.”
Clement Seadon was glad of the hint. He would adopt a special alertness
for the benefit of this unknown and unsqueamish Joe. But more than
this, he was exceedingly grateful for the address they had given
him--the gluemaker’s in the Sault Algonquin. He rather fancied he knew
the street. It was one of those in the old town, in that network of
dark and narrow alleys crowded between the water front and the rocky
cliff on which Quebec was piled up. It was good to know the local
headquarters of the gang. Also, Siwash Mike--whoever he was--was to
report there. It would be interesting to hear that report. One might
gather a great deal of useful and destructive information about
Henry Gunning and the plans of the gang from it. The woman Méduse
was saying, “Yes, something must be done about this Englishman. I
assure you, Adolf, I do not feel secure with him about. It is not
merely that apparently his easy-going appearance covers an unnatural
cleverness--but--but--we must not mince matters, he has an effect on
this girl Heloise.”
There was a pause. Clement felt that the big Mr. Neuburg was impressed
by the significance of the companion Méduse’s words. He knew that he
himself was certainly impressed by the significance of Méduse’s words.
His heart had suddenly leaped. His brain was singing. He could scarcely
restrain himself from calling out, “Say it. Say what you mean plainly.”
And, as before, it was as though the intensity of his own feelings
compelled those in the farther room to be explicit.
“Ah,” breathed the mountainous man. “You mean that she is, perhaps, in
love with him?”
“I mean,” answered the woman, “that it would be very easy for her to
be in love with him. I do not think she knows it yet. But he--he would
quickly make her know the state of her heart.”
“Thank you,” Clement almost cried aloud.
“That is the devil,” said the big Mr. Neuburg, and his was the only
expression that was vocal. “We must certainly deal with him....” And
then came an unexpected happening, the woman hissed.
“Shiss, one moment.”
There was a sound of stealthy and swift movement in the room. A
silence. Presently another movement of skirts, as though the woman was
returning from a farther chamber. Then, “It is she. She has returned
from the postoffice. I hear her moving in her room. I must go to her
before she finds the bathroom door locked.” It was the companion
Méduse, speaking softly.
Again movement. Again silence. A long silence. Clement heard the
scratch of a match. Smelt cigar smoke. Heard a chair complain as a
heavy body dropped into it. Then once more silence.
Mr. Neuburg had sat down to think things out.
Clement shut his own bathroom door noiselessly, noiselessly bolted it.
The seance of eavesdropping was over.
IV
Clement decided that the next item of importance was to arrange for his
talk with Heloise.
Although he was quite willing--so strong was his case--to say all that
he meant to say in front of Méduse, and even Mr. Neuburg if necessary,
he thought that a ten-minutes’ undistracted conversation with Heloise
would give him a better chance of stating all the facts firmly and
finally.
How to fix that up was the problem. As he was deciding whether he would
risk telephoning to her room, his eye fell on his wrist watch. It was
close to lunch time, and at once it came to him that not only did he
want lunch himself, but that Heloise, being human as well as a goddess,
would want hers.
He smiled suddenly as he saw how things might be managed, went down to
the first floor where the great dining room was, and sat in a modestly
remote seat in the lounge. Without being seen himself, he could watch
everybody who came to or went from the dining room.
He had about twenty minutes to wait. Probably Heloise was telling the
innocent Méduse that there had been a letter from her Sicamous agent at
the Poste Restante, and that they had perhaps to stay a few days more
in Quebec, and the reason why. But after that wait they both came.
From a safe distance Clement saw the captain of the waiters lead them
to a table, noticed that the room was not full, and that there were
plenty of places at the end. Satisfied about this, he went downstairs.
In the lobby he selected a form, wrote on it, tore it up. Wrote on
another, and then, apparently, thought better of it. But whereas he
threw the first into the waste basket, the second he folded rather
cleverly under cover of that action, and kept it in his hand. Then
having convinced all about him that he wasn’t sending a message, he
waited until he saw a page go upstairs with a caller’s form, went up
himself, and waited at the turn of the stairs for the boy’s return.
The boy returned alone, fortunately. Clement snapped him up.
“Want to earn a dollar?” he asked.
“Bettcher life,” said young Canada.
“Take this call form to Miss Méduse Smythe. She and another lady are
sitting at the fifth table for two on the window side. Call her name,
please, but that’s where she is. Give the form to her, and come away
quick.”
“Yep,” said the page, grinning.
“And you don’t know where it came from to anybody--even the lady
herself.”
“I gottcher,” said the page, grinning more expansively. He took the
dollar and the call form. He went upstairs. Clement went after him.
The page went into the dining room. Clement stepped back quietly and
swiftly into a deep passage where the male diners deposited their
coats. He heard the boy calling out, “Miss Smidt--Miss Medoose Smidt.”
In seventy-five seconds Miss Méduse Smythe came by the end of the coat
passage at a great pace. Clement had thought she would be swift. What
he had written on the call form, in anybody’s handwriting, was:
“Must see you for ten minutes. At once. JOE.”
The companion might have argued about that handwriting, but how was she
to know that “Joe” did not have to disguise it. Clement had banked on
that idea. And he had scored.
Miss Méduse Smythe was no sooner out of vision than he was in the
dining room, alongside Heloise’s table, speaking to Heloise. “Miss
Reys,” he said, “will you give me an opportunity to talk to you
privately?...”
“Mr. Seadon!”
Heloise’s tone was affronted. Obviously she resented his speaking to
her, but obviously, too, the extreme publicity of the place robbed her
attitude of some of its effectiveness. It is to be feared that Clement
had taken that into his calculations when he had decided on this plan.
“Miss Reys,” he said, “I want to speak to you--privately--for no
more than ten minutes. And I want you to understand that it is only
the urgency of the matter that makes me force myself upon you.” She
hesitated, looking up at him, her vivid face showing the keenness of
her emotions. “Do you remember saying that you believed I’d be honest
even against my own interests?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I did say that, but----”
“I am honest now. Will you believe that?”
The girl looked at him quietly for a moment.
“I believe that,” she said.
“And will you give me that chance of speaking to you--alone?”
The girl bent her eyes to the table. She was thinking quickly.
“To-morrow morning I will be in the writing room at half past nine.
Will that do? It will not be easy to manage it before then.”
“It will do admirably. Thank you,” said Clement.
He left her, and went to the back of the room, where there were a
number of empty tables.
As he sat and ate his lunch the companion, Méduse came in. She was
flustered, she was even scared. Clement was amused, but he did not
think it mattered very much. She would not, he thought, mention the
reason for her leaving Heloise--though actually there was no reason.
Neither did he think that Heloise would tell her of the appointment she
had made. His insistence upon privacy, the way he had snatched at the
chance to speak to her alone at her table, the way he had left her,
would all tell Heloise that the companion Méduse was excluded from the
secret.
And even if she did tell, it would matter very little. Clement would
have his interview with Heloise no later than the next morning, for
Heloise would see to it that it happened, and nothing very much could
occur until that time. The rogues could not whisk her away against her
will. They had to move delicately always.
And after he had spoken to Heloise, nothing at all could occur. He
would have settled with Mr. Neuburg and his gang once and for all.
He finished his lunch after the two ladies, watched them out of the
dining room, then he got his hat and stick and walked out through
Quebec. He would take a look at this glue merchant’s in the Sault
Algonquin. It was best to be “well-up” in every particular. Very
cheerfully he walked through the Place d’Armes, and down the steep
street of The Mountain to the huddled network of passageways--they can
hardly be called roads--that crowded under the rocky scarp of the Grand
Battery. He was feeling “good,” as the Canadians would say. Why not?
Hadn’t he all the factors for victory surely in his grasp?
Possibly he would have felt less “good” if he had been aware of a
little scene between the companion Méduse and the massive Mr. Neuburg
that was even then taking place.
V
Both Heloise and the companion had gone up to their rooms, a prey to
emotions. Heloise’s emotion was not altogether unpleasant. She was
agitated at the prospect of an intimate talk with Clement Seadon on the
morrow; but, like all people who trample on their feelings in order
to bolster up their pride, she felt relief that this condition of
chilly aloofness between them was coming to an end. As Méduse Smythe
had told Mr. Neuburg, Heloise did not know exactly what her feelings
were towards Clement Seadon, but she did know enough to realize that a
renewal of their old companionship would be an extraordinarily pleasant
thing.
Méduse Smythe’s agitation was of a different order. There was fear
in it. She had received an imperative message from one of the
conspirators; he wanted to see her in the hotel lobby. That fact in
itself was disturbing. She hurried swiftly to the lobby--and there was
no Joe. Nobody was there wanting her. What did it mean? Had Joe been
frightened away? Or--or was it some ruse? She was puzzled, scared. She
felt that her own wits were not capable of dealing with this matter.
She left Heloise, grappling with the feminine complications of
preparing for a walk, in her room, passed swiftly across her own. She
slipped ajar her door of the bathroom that led to Mr. Neuburg’s room,
and scratched stealthily on the inner door. That was the signal. She
repeated it several times. It was not answered. Mr. Neuburg was not in
his room. She half expected that; that might be the reason why Joe had
sent in to her. She closed her own of these double bathroom doors, and
her anxiety was increased. She must see and speak with Mr. Neuburg. It
might be a matter that did not brook of delay. Her agitation developed
steadily until both ladies got down to the lobby again, then, with a
gasp of relief, she said, “Oh, there’s Mr. Neuburg.... Do you mind,
Loise; I do want to speak to him about something before it slips out of
my memory?”
She went across to Mr. Neuburg, who rose from his chair and bowed
with all the affability of a mere acquaintance. She said, in quite
an ordinary voice, as though discussing the weather, “I am going to
give you a slip of paper. It seems important. Can you take it from me
without being seen?”
Mr. Neuburg, with all the charm of a genial man of the world, and all
the acuteness of a master rogue, bowed at once, led her to the magazine
counter to the right of the lobby. “My dear Méduse, as I select a guide
book for you, lean across me to reach those post cards, then you can
drop your paper.”
The call form that was supposed to have come from the man Joe was
dropped. Mr. Neuburg picked it up with a guide book. He read it. He
opened the guide book, as though in search for some locality, pointed
to a page with his fat finger, and said, “When did you get this,
Méduse?”
“It was brought to me by a page, just after I had sat down to lunch.”
“Ha--and you went out at once, and Joe--he was not there, of course. He
would not be there. This is a thing he would not do.”
“He was not there,” said Méduse.
“And when you came back from this false call--how was the girl?”
“She was alone--as I left her. She seemed the same.”
“She said nothing to you--about anybody speaking to her, I mean?”
“Nothing at all.”
“And the Englishman--did you see him in the dining room?”
“No--I did not see him. But then I did not look very keenly. Surely the
Englishman does not know about Joe?”
“Somebody knows about Joe,” said Mr. Neuburg. “Somebody knows so much
about Joe that he recognized that the name was enough to get you away
from Miss Heloise into the lobby at a run. Who do you think would pull
off a trick like that, my mild Méduse?”
“But the Englishman cannot know about Joe,” said the woman sullenly.
“Certainly this is your day for being triumphantly dull, my dear. This
Englishman has bewitched you.”
“But how could he know about Joe?”
“Ah, my mild one, that is a thing that even I cannot tell you without
finding out. It is to be found out. Now go back to the girl with this
guide book, tell her the pleasant Mr. Neuburg has recommended it as the
best of its kind--and remember that if your brain has turned into wool,
you have the support of mine, which is particularly acute. That may
restore and stimulate your wits.”
When the two ladies had gone out Mr. Neuburg sat and smoked and
considered this unexpected happening deeply. His was a quite
exceptional brain, and he had mastery over his thoughts and his
memories. It was while he was going over his memories that the smoke of
his cigar suddenly ceased to puff. That was the only sign exhibited by
his impressive, placid and genial bulk.
At once he rose indolently, walked across the lobby to the reception
desk. He asked in his affable way if he could see the room bookings.
He looked through them. He stopped when he came to the name “Clement
Seadon.” He stopped with reason, for he saw that Clement’s room was
next his own. He stared at that number for a moment, said “Thank you”
very politely to the reception clerk, and mounted to the gallery on
which his room stood.
He went not merely to his own room but walked round the corner of
the gallery to the door of Clement Seadon’s room. As he stood there
regarding it contemplatively, the chambermaid passed by. He looked at
her, or rather across her shoulder, with that smile which was quite
charming, but had not the slightest tinge of human emotion in it, and
he said, “There is, I think, a blind in that room which is making
noises in the wind. It destroys my nap. I have knocked on the door, but
the occupant of the room is not there apparently. Would it be asking
you too much to go in and pull up that blind, so that I can have my
beauty sleep undisturbed?”
He backed his appeal with the weight of a half-dollar piece.
The girl smiled and opened the door. With a polite, “Thanks
enormously,” Mr. Neuburg slipped away from her with his extraordinary
swiftness. He went into his own room. He opened his one of the double
doors between his room and Clement Seadon’s bathroom. He listened at
the other door. He did not hear as well as Clement had heard, for the
bathroom was between him and the Englishman’s room. But he heard. He
heard the movements of the chambermaid, heard her rattling at the
windows.
When the chambermaid came round the corner of the gallery to ask if it
was all right now, he was at his door beaming--but this time, perhaps,
with a more natural good humor.
“Yes, that is satisfactory, _very_ satisfactory.”
And indeed he thought it was.
VI
As the massive Mr. Neuburg sat in his room certain that things were
satisfactory, Clement Seadon, with much the same emotions, was
searching for and finding the gluemaker in the Sault Algonquin.
The street was as unprepossessing as he imagined it would be. It was a
narrow cañon, indescribably gloomy and muddy, between the tall, old,
straight-faced houses that lined it. It was right round beyond the
splendid old seventeenth century hospital, the austere Hôtel-Dieu, and
in the area of the docks, too. From these latter it got some of its
mud, and, perhaps, some of its lowering air. It looked a darkling,
brooding, sinister street. Clement found it quite easy to imagine it
a place where, in the grim old days, bravos quietly and expeditiously
slit throats, or where fur hunters had been lured to be despoiled of
the earnings of long, lonely months of trapping in the virgin wilds.
In this old and moody street, and in the grim and reticent houses that
bordered it, almost anything might have happened in the early days of
Canada--but most of those things, Clement thought, would have been
evil. The street had an aroma of crime. One felt it, as it were, in the
air, just as though centuries of wickedness about its narrow, greasy
sidewalks had saturated it with an essential aura. It was a street
fitted to be the headquarters of Mr. Neuburg and his gang of ruffians.
It was a short street, and it was easy to find the gluemaker’s. There
were only two other business premises. The gluemaker’s, No. 7, was
a tall, depressing house that was even dirtier than its neighbors.
It had the distinction of keeping all its windows covered with the
latticelike jalousies of France, as though its inmates were determined
to keep themselves to themselves. It had one window on the ground
floor, the shutters were back from this, but as it was filled with
trade samples backed by trade advertisements, a view of the room behind
was impossible. There was no doorway on to the street. Entrance was
effected through a cartway. A heavy wooden gate covered this, with a
smaller door for humans in it. Clement surmised that, having passed
through this gate into the cartway that ran under the house (which
joined to and made one of a block with all the houses on that side),
one entered the house itself by a doorway on the left.
However, this cartway told him one thing. In spite of the fact that the
cliff seemed to come up right behind the house, there must be a yard
at the back of the gluemaker’s. Glancing along the face of the houses
he obtained confirmation of this. There was no iron fire escape stair
in front of this house and its immediate neighbors, although farther
along the street this inevitable disfigurement of western cities
zig-zagged down the faces of the buildings. That meant that the fire
escapes--by law enforced--were at the back, and that there were yards
there into which people could escape.
Getting round to the back was not easy. He found he had to climb
through distant streets to watch the cliff-top, and when he arrived on
top he had to trespass into a builder’s yard in order to look down on
to the backs of the houses in the Sault Algonquin. As he did not wish
to be disturbed, he hid behind a pile of scrapped rubbish.
No. 7 was easy to find. It was under the cliff where it sloped down
rather less steeply. Clement noted that. At a pinch an active man
might find a way down there. The yard was a fairly large one, littered
with the rubbish of manufactory, and partly filled by a single-storied
building, of very much later construction than the house itself.
This had a flat roof and square walls, a jet of steam came out of a
thin exhaust pipe--in it, undoubtedly, were carried on the mystical
processes of gluemaking.
While Clement was studying the house, he became conscious that some
one else had entered the builder’s yard where he had hidden himself.
A young, slim man came casually into view, strolling with hands in
pockets towards the edge of the cliff. Clement crouched closer in his
shelter, and prayed that this workman--for that was what the young
man seemed--had no business which would bring him round the pile of
scrapped rubbish sheltering him.
Then, as he thought this, he noticed two peculiarities about the man.
The first was, that in spite of his casualness, the young man had
no more right to be there than himself. He was throwing keen, swift
glances about him, as though he were doing something that he did not
want other people to see.
The second thing about him was the color and the outline of his
features, as well as the lithe slimness of his build. His face
had a curious copper brownness that might have been sunburn, only
it was deeper than sunburn. His features had a definite aquiline
clear-cutness, rather individual features they were--like an Indian’s.
Clement tingled as he thought that. And even as he thought it, the slim
man moved abruptly and swiftly to the cliff, glanced along it, and in a
moment was descending the sloping face of it.
Clement stared and chuckled. And he muttered, “Siwash Mike. By all
that’s lucky, it’s Siwash Mike come to Quebec to report on the doings
and whereabouts of Henry Gunning.”
There could be little doubt about it. The newcomer was making his
way, in such a fashion as to escape detection, to the gluemaker’s of
Algonquin, the place where he was to report. From his hiding place,
Clement followed his movements. They were sinuous and swift, veritably
an Indian’s. He wriggled down the cliff by known footholds, reached the
back yard of the gluemaker’s, poised for a moment just above it, and
then sprang lightly on to the flat roof of the building--then that was
possible. Clement saw that there was a ledge along the cliff that made
the take-off for the jump easy.
Once on the roof, the slim man again adopted his casual air. He was to
all appearances an occupant of the glue factory taking an airing on
the roof. He dawdled about, hands in pockets, looking about him, up
to the cliff, along the backs of the other houses. Then he strolled
towards the house, poised himself on the edge of the roof just by the
fire escape over the cartway. He jumped, caught it, scrambled on to the
landing. Then very calmly, he walked up the iron stairway until he came
to the fourth floor. The window of the fourth floor was shuttered but,
apparently, not bolted, for the slim man opened the shutters without
effort, slid through them into the house, pulled them to after him and
disappeared.
Waiting for a minute or two Clement presently backed away from the
shelter of his scrap heap, and made his way out of the builder’s yard.
He had discovered two very important things. The first, that Siwash
Mike had returned to the gluemaker’s to report the whereabouts of
Henry Gunning. The second discovery was that there was a way into the
gluemaker’s from the back.
He hurried back to the Château Frontenac. He was anxious to know
what the massive Mr. Neuburg made of the first fact. And how far his
own knowledge of the second fact was going to help him discover Mr.
Neuburg’s future plans.
VII
While Clement Seadon had been active, Mr. Neuburg had not been idle.
He had sat and smoked for a while. Then having decided upon a plan, he
rose and searched for something in his baggage. When he had found it,
he opened his one of the pair of doors between his room and Clement’s
bathroom, and for several moments did something to the foot of
Clement’s door.
Having done this to his complete satisfaction, he sat and smoked and
thought again. Three minutes after the time Clement had seen Siwash
Mike enter the gluemaker’s, the telephone bell rang in Mr. Neuburg’s
room. With one glance at the floor near the door he had just shut and
bolted, he rose and answered the ring.
What he heard over the wire gave him apparently a pleasant surprise,
for though his curiously impassive face showed no sign, he said, “Eh,
but you have been quick, I did not expect you for a day or two.... No,
say nothing now.... I will see you this night, about ten o’clock. And
now listen----” And in his slightly purring voice he gave a string of
directions. They were very guarded, for telephones have eavesdroppers,
but quite explicit to understanding ears.
He hung up the telephone, dropped back into his chair again and thought
and smoked. But after a perceptible minute this curious, immobile-faced
man, allowed himself the luxury of a great laugh. It was a terrible
laugh, but a short one. It was perhaps well it was so, for very quickly
after there came the scratch at the communicating door, which betokened
that Méduse Smythe had returned to her room, and was ready to serve him.
He sprang up at once, and again glancing at the floor by the other
communicating door, let Méduse in. The woman said, “I have come back by
myself. The girl wished to go for half an hour’s motor drive alone in
the Battlefield Park.... No, the Englishman was not with her. She may
be going to meet him, but I don’t think so.... The whole thing seemed a
sudden thought on her part. Can I do anything?”
“You will,” he smiled at her with his mirthless grin. “This Seadon may
be meeting her, but even if he is or isn’t, I want you to go down
to the lobby, watch for him coming in, and when he comes in, come up
here as swiftly as you can and tell me. No, do not telephone up. Come
yourself. I need you....” She made a step to go. “When you join me in
this room don’t be surprised at anything. When I say things to you,
play up--play up, remember that.”
It seemed only a few minutes before she was back in the room. Mr.
Neuburg came through the intercommunicating bathroom at the sound of
the key in her door. He looked at her, indicating the necessity for
quiet.
“He came in just as I reached the lobby,” she said. “He did not see me.
He came up straight to his room, I think.”
Mr. Neuburg caught her by the wrist, and both very stealthily went
back to his room. He led her close to the doors that communicated with
Clement Seadon’s bathroom. He paused, listened. He could hear no sound
from the Englishman’s side of the doors. He looked at her, grinned, and
pointed to the floor near their feet.
On the floor was a yellow-painted lead pencil. It was lying alongside
a white line Mr. Neuburg had chalked on the floor. The woman Méduse
stared down at it, wondering what on earth it all meant.... And as she
stared down the pencil began to move.
There was no sound. The silence was profound. There was nothing to
indicate a reason for the pencil’s movement. And the pencil moved ...
slowly, stealthily, cautiously it moved away from the chalk mark. It
moved six inches and then it stopped. Mr. Neuburg looked into her face
and grinned. His hand indicated the door leading to Clement Seadon’s
bathroom.
Then the woman, looking closer at the pencil, understood. Round the
waist of the pencil was a thin line, a line of thread. The thread ran
from the pencil under the closed door. Undoubtedly it was attached
to the inner door of the pair by a piece of wax. She understood at
once that the Englishman was in the other room. Thread and wax would
be invisible in the dim light and in the almost imperceptible space
between the double doors; but as Clement’s door opened, its movement
would be shown by the movements of the pencil.
The pencil had moved. The Englishman had opened his door. He was at the
opening of the door now--listening for what he might learn through the
closed door of Mr. Neuburg’s room.
The woman Méduse in a flash understood how the Englishman had learned
the name of Joe, which he had used to get her away from Heloise at
lunch time. Mr. Neuburg, in his brilliant manner, had solved that
riddle.
Mr. Neuburg, in his brilliant manner, was going to make the most of
his knowledge. Very quietly he led the woman back to the door through
which she had entered. He left her standing there with a soundless
command to silence. He went to his chair and lowered himself softly
into it. He picked up a newspaper and rustled it. He cleared his
throat. He moved so that his chair would creak. He did this for a long
ten minutes. Then abruptly he sprang up, making a definite noise, and
moved towards her. “Ah, you are back, my dear Méduse,” he said aloud.
“Where is the girl?”
Méduse played up--played up well.
“She wished to go for a drive alone in the Battlefield Park. No, the
Englishman was not with her. She may be going to meet him, but I do not
think so. The whole thing seemed a sudden thought on her part.”
“We cannot help it, anyhow,” said Mr. Neuburg, smiling in his sinister
manner. “I do not think, on the whole, her seeing him will have much
effect. I have good news--Siwash Mike has arrived.”
The companion Méduse was a little startled at that, but she played up.
“But--is that possible? You did not expect him for a day or two.”
“It is a fact. He has arrived, my mild Méduse. I had a telephone
message from No. 7 Sault Algonquin this afternoon.”
He said “No. 7 Sault Algonquin” precisely and clearly. He wanted the
Englishman behind the door to hear it. Clement Seadon behind the door
heard it, and chuckled silently. He was certainly having great good
fortune.
“Did--did Siwash say where he had found Henry Gunning? I suppose he has
found him?” The woman was not playing up so well, Mr. Neuburg frowned
bleakly; and yet, swiftly, he made her question serve his ends.
“Siwash knows better than to talk of matters like that over the
telephone,” he said. “I take it that he has discovered the lurking
place of our besotted friend Gunning. But I shall not know until
to-night. I meet him at Algonquin at 10:30. He will report then.”
He said the last words very clearly. The Englishman was to hear them.
Clement heard them and congratulated himself.
There was a pause in Mr. Neuburg’s room, then Clement heard the massive
man speak again, “What are you doing to-night--you and the girl?”
“O-oh,” said the woman. “We are going to a concert of old _habitant_
French songs. One of the ladies from the _Empress_ told the girl she
must not miss it for the world, so she booked seats.... But if you
wanted me at Algonquin, I could have a headache.”
“You will not have a headache,” said Mr. Neuburg, very distinctly. “I
do not want you at Algonquin. I want you by that girl’s side. But, and
attend to this carefully, my dear Méduse, if anything untoward occurs
you must come to the gluemaker’s immediately. Understand that--you must
come yourself. I will not have telephoning. I do not trust a woman
on the telephone in so delicate a business as this. Follow carefully
what I have to say. You may take a taxi, if you like, as far as the
docks, but you _must not_ take it into the Sault Algonquin, or to the
door of No. 7. You understand? No curiosity, particularly that of
the gluemaker’s neighbors, must be aroused. For that reason you will
not knock at the door, which, you know, is in a cart gate, or wait
about outside. _All you need do is to push against the little door in
the gate. It will be open. It will purposely be left open._ Now you
understand that perfectly?”
The woman understood that perfectly. She repeated the directions to
show that she had it perfectly. Mr. Neuburg said, “That is good. I do
not think anything untoward will occur, but we must always plan for any
event. And now that you know everything, you had better go back to your
room and await the girl. We cannot risk suspicion of any sort. Let us
hope that Siwash will bring us definite and good news of Henry Gunning,
and that what I hear at 10:30 to-night may mean a speedy finish to our
big scheme.”
Clement echoed the sentiments. He hoped, in fact he felt certain, that
what Siwash Mike would have to say about the vanished Henry would give
him (Seadon) facts which, in addition to the other damning material he
had, would enable him to settle the accounts of these rogues swiftly
and for all time when he spoke of them in his talk with Heloise Reys
to-morrow morning.
He felt, indeed, that it was all part of fate working on his side.
Siwash Mike’s coming fitted into the situation as neatly as if it had
all been thought out. Clement thought it might have been thought out,
ordained, by Providence.
And not only had good fortune sent along Siwash Mike to-day, but good
fortune had also stepped in to enable him to make the most of Siwash
Mike. To be present when that rogue reported to his master was not
going to be child’s play, but it was going to be simpler than he
had first thought. The way down the cliffside to the gluemaker’s of
Algonquin was a certain way in, but it would be difficult and dangerous
in the dark. Now, thanks to his abounding good luck, he had overheard
that all he had to do was _to push against the little door in the big
cart gate of the gluemaker’s, and it would be open_. Good fortune had
favored him with an easy entrance. How could he reject this offer of
good fortune? He could not.
And Mr. Neuburg, as he sat in his own room and smoked, thought much the
same thoughts. How could this Englishman reject this offer which good
fortune apparently had offered him? No, the fellow could not.... He
would go to the gluemaker’s of the Sault Algonquin at 10:30 to-night.
And Clement Seadon went.
He put on old clothes. He carried an automatic pistol in his pocket.
He also wore rubber-soled brown shoes. His adventure was not going to
be easy and without danger, and he was prepared for all eventualities.
But, on the whole, his great good luck had given him an exhilarating
sense of confidence, and as he passed through the dark streets of
the lower town of Quebec, and into the cañon of lowering and silent
blackness that night made of the Sault Algonquin, he felt sure of his
success.
There was no one about. He reached the gluemaker’s unobserved. The
face of the house was black, enigmatic. There was no sign of life or
light. He pressed upon the little door in the big cart gate. Yes, it
was yielding ... it was open. With a sharp movement he opened it wide
enough to let his body through, slipped inside.
Under the arch of the house, the cartway was a cave of almost
impenetrable blackness. Moving very slowly and very easily, Clement
stole to the left. The door of the house must be there. He felt along
the house wall. There was no window ... for yards there was nothing.
Then his hand dropped into the recess of the door, slid across the
woodwork, found the handle.... Softly, gently he turned. The door
answered under pressure--it opened. Clement was inside a pitch black
room.
There was just a faint sound ... something small fell ... something as
small as a pencil.... Only in that terrific silence would he have heard
so small a sound. Then complete silence ... silence bearing down like
a shroud.... Slowly, cautiously Clement closed the door behind him ...
took one, then another, then another step into the room.... Something
tautened and snapped across his instep, a thread.... Things happened....
A hoarse whisper ... a sudden rush of movement ... a torch clicked,
wavered, struck into his eyes with its brilliant and dazzling light ...
there was a sweep of movement.... Men bore down on him in a terrific
rush....