I
From North Bay to Winnipeg on the run to Banff, Clement was occupied
mainly by monotony and his own anxious thoughts regarding Heloise. But
at Winnipeg they picked up the trail again. Gatineau heard news from
Montreal, and both saw the man with his arm in a sling--Siwash Mike.
There was actually nothing fresh concerning the ladies, it was obvious
that they had doubled on their tracks in the tangle of railways south
of North Bay; that was the first item Gatineau offered as they sat at
lunch in the Alexandra Hotel.
“Is that bad news?” asked Clement.
“Well, no,” said the little detective. “They’re coming along here all
right.”
“I like the positive sound of that,” smiled Clement. “You _are_
positive?”
“Sure. They’ll follow this big rough neck Neuburg, an’ Gunning.”
“And Neuburg and Gunning?”
“Gone through to Banff.”
“Well, that’s as we expected. Miss Reys will join them there--or
rather all of us. We’ll be of the pleasant company, too.”
“Sure,” said Gatineau reflectively.
“Well, then,” said Clement, “all this being as we thought, would you
mind telling me what the bad news is?”
“Hey?” cried the little detective, looking up from the soup that is
called gumbo.
“You have the ‘how-can-I-break-it-gently’ air. Out with it.”
“It’s Neuburg,” said Gatineau quietly.
“Neuburg?”
“He _is_ the murderer.”
“Well, we’ve always felt fairly certain of that,” said Clement, after
the first twinge of horror had run through him. “You mean, the matter
is now decided?”
“As certain as we can be from the facts on hand. I’ve just read a
message from The Chief. He’s sure. He’s been looking at those old
descriptions provided by the Oregon police. Adolf Neuburg is Albrecht
Nachbar, wanted for murder by U. S. A.”
“Queer that he should be alliterative in alias,” said Clement. “Arthur
Newman.... Why has he used those initials again, I wonder?”
“Criminals do strange things,” said the detective. “It’s a kink in him,
I suppose. P’raps Neuburg has a fancy those initials bring luck--that’s
the sort of thing one finds in rogues. Or, it may be an easy way to
keep his gang together; his A and N may be so characteristic as to
guard against forgery.”
“And it may, after all, be mere cleverness. Many people would not
credit him with the daring of using names so similar, and be put off
the trail.... But the fact is that Neuburg is Nachbar.”
“The Chief is sure; he sends along warning to be mighty spry in dealing
with the feller. He’s a tough nut, is Neuburg.”
“I’ve already learned it,” said Clement dryly. “Was the crime a bad
one?”
“Real bad. I kept my mouth shut about it until we could be sure--but
it was real bad. The feller he killed was a rich dude in Oregon. There
was some sort of crazy bucket-shop deal that this feller--his name was
Roberts--was interested in.”
“Did Nachbar or Neuburg appear in the deal?”
“He did not.... I see what you mean. His tactics appear to have been
the same as now. He didn’t show up in the open, he merely played the
part of a disinterested adviser to this rich man’s orphan. Fact is,
nobody noticed Neuburg, or Nachbar as he was then, until Roberts died.”
“And he died--how?” Gatineau looked at him quickly.
“He went out on a shooting trip----”
“Yep,” said Gatineau. “That appears to be his method in these
things.... Gets people into the wilds. Well, Roberts goes shooting into
the wilds and there is a hell of an accident. His gun bursts and he is
killed outright.”
“And _was_ it an accident?”
“At the inquest it was. That was the verdict. But when people began
poking round they found it wasn’t. I needn’t go into it all, and, in
fact, I have only the outline of the business, but the things that came
out were these. First, a big, solid block of cash was missing. Second,
Nachbar was linked up with that missing cash. Then people began to hunt
for things.
“First, they got no change out of Nachbar. He produced letters and
papers by the boxful to show that his dealings with Roberts were
straight--forgeries, no doubt, but good ones, especially since the
victim was a dead ’un--you can bettcher life Nachbar was sound on this.
He’s the real brainy bad man, all right, all right. Things were kind of
tied up until a fellow from the American Department of Justice began to
find the trail of the murder. He found out that Nachbar had been in the
district where Roberts was shooting, at the very time of the murder.”
Clement was rather startled. “That sounds rather crude for a criminal
of Neuburg’s propensities,” he said.
“Nope, it wasn’t crude. He traveled by a different railway system to
a different valley. He didn’t even go near Roberts’s camp. But this
detective, who was nosing round, found that he had stayed at a hotel
in a neighboring valley for a week end shoot, that he had gone off,
early in the morning of Saturday, the day of Roberts’ death, that he
went out shooting without a guide, and though nobody could tell the
direction he went, he had time to go somewhere close to where Roberts’s
body was found.”
“There were other clues of course?”
“They began to come down in a blizzard, once they started. Roberts’s
actions had been unusual on that day. First, he had made his plans
to go out shooting to the west with a couple of guides. Then, early,
he had got a special delivery letter. After reading that letter, he
changed his plans, went out shooting alone, and went east--that is,
towards the hotel where Nachbar was staying. His body was found about
half-way between.”
“But didn’t all this come out at the inquest?”
“The inquest was on a man accidentally killed. These points were passed
over as interesting, but not relevant.”
“But the letter--if it made an appointment----?”
“That letter was never found. It wasn’t on him when his body was
brought in. Everything on him down to his bootlaces was impounded by
the Court, but no special delivery letter was found. Some one had taken
that letter from his body after his--apparently--lonely death.”
“It must have been signed for? Didn’t the postoffice know anything
about it?”
“Nachbar wasn’t the one to slip-up over a detail like that. It had
been sent from Roberts’s home district in a faked name--couldn’t be
connected with Nachbar or the hotel where he was staying for his shoot.
Still, it was a link. And on top of that it was found the gun that
killed Roberts--_wasn’t his_.”
“What!” cried Clement in a startled tone.
“No, it wasn’t his. It looked like his. It was just the sort of
Winchester magazine rifle he used, but the dealer found the number and
proved it wasn’t his. Some one must have swopped guns with him--while
he was out, apparently, alone. And the gun he got in exchange for his
own was a gun meant to burst and kill, an’ _did_ burst an’ kill.”
“Devilish!” cried Clement. “And his own gun--was that traced?”
“Did you think it would be? No, it wasn’t. It was proved that Neuburg
had also left his hotel carrying a Winchester magazine--easy to effect
a change, you see, an’ when he came back with the same sort of gun on
his shoulder nobody had reason to suspect it was Roberts’s gun--then.
Moreover, when Neuburg’s rooms were searched, it was found that he
had kindly left an identical Winchester rifle behind--an’ it wasn’t
Roberts’s.”
“An alibi. He could swear that this gun was the gun he used on that
murderous weekend.--Has the burst gun been traced?”
“No. But, of course, it is only a detail. It is obvious that Neuburg or
Nachbar did that murder, though full facts have to be proved.”
For a moment they sat silent, and Clement, anyhow, was appreciating
the full meaning of this revelation. Roberts’s murder, Heloise Reys’
case--how they ran parallel. Roberts was a victim because of his
wealth--Heloise Reys was possessed of a million pounds. Nachbar kept
in the background as far as Roberts was concerned. He was an advising
friend; Neuburg played the same rôle to Heloise Reys. Roberts had been
lured into the wilds; Heloise Reys was, even now, being lured into the
wilds. Roberts was killed by a secret, brilliant “accident;” Heloise
Reys ... Clement shivered. He stared at Gatineau.
“I told you,” said the little detective, “because I think it best to
know exactly the ways and methods of this brute.”
“I understand,” said Clement. “And then there is the brighter side,
too. It is certain that Neuburg is Nachbar. He’ll be arrested. When?”
“The Chief tells me he is getting a move on already,” said the little
detective, and Clement caught a hint of hesitation.
“Does that mean that Nachbar won’t be arrested at once?”
“Not at once.”
“But--but that’s incredible. He’s a murderer, and you can arrest
murderers without warrant, surely?”
“We can--if we’re dead positive they’re murderers.”
Clement gave vent to a gesture and an exclamation of despair.
“See here, Mr. Seadon,” broke in Gatineau. “Don’t you condemn the
police in a hurry. Recollect that, keen as we may be, we can’t go about
arresting folk off-hand. We’ve got to be sure we ain’t running innocent
men into jail--an’ disgrace. This is complicated. It’s an old crime.
We don’t know whether the American police have dropped it, or caught
their man, or have definite news that proves Neuburg isn’t the feller
we think he is. Until we can be sure we daren’t move. We’ve got to get
in touch with the U. S. A. before we can hold him.”
“That’s logical, I suppose, but it is also rather terrible. And it will
take--how long?”
“A few days at least.”
A few days! Clement stared at the little detective: what might not
happen in a few days?
“She’s got us anyhow,” said Gatineau, reading his thoughts.
“Yes, she’s got us, and it lies with us to keep Neuburg or Nachbar so
that he won’t have time to do anything--critical. But I confess I’m
rather fearful, Gatineau.”
And a little later in the day, things appeared even more disturbing.
II
Clement Seadon and the detective had made their way through the
underground passage that leads from the great hotel to the railway
station. They were to catch the train west to Banff. They were emerging
into the booking hall when Gatineau caught hold of the Englishman’s arm.
Instinctively Clement looked ahead.
Seen through the glass swing-doors of the passage a young man passed
towards the platform walking swiftly. He was a slim, lithe young man
with a dark, aquiline face. And he had his right arm in a sling. There
was no mistaking the curious lilting walk, as there was no mistaking
the features of the man.
“Good God!” said Clement “Siwash Mike! Siwash here--why?”
“_Not_ trailing us anyhow, I guess,” said Gatineau.
“How can you say that?”
“He hasn’t the air--an’ then, he’s got a grip in his hand. He is going
to catch the westbound to join brother Neuburg at Banff.”
“Perhaps,” said Clement, remembering how they had been tricked before.
“But why is he in Winnipeg?”
“That’s easy,” said the detective. “He probably got in here over the
other railway north of Cobalt, and has changed onto our line for Banff.
But we’d better watch him.”
They followed the half-breed cautiously, and saw him follow the crowd
up the steps of Platform 6. There was no doubt that he was watching the
westbound. Like a flash Gatineau did _not_ go up the steps of Platform
6. He nipped up the steps of Platform 4. They arrived on the railway
level just in time to see Siwash gain the platform. They took cover,
and across the station watched him. They seemed astonishingly close,
but it was obvious that he was not suspicious; he did not throw a
glance their way.
Almost at once Clement said, “There is something more in this than
merely catching the westbound, Gatineau. He’s waiting near the
exit--for some reason.”
“He’s waiting for somebody, I guess,” said Gatineau. “Somebody who is
stopping off the Montreal train.”
Clement’s heart jumped. Somebody who was stopping off from the
transcontinental train--who could that somebody be? Heloise? Certainly
his heart fluttered. Perhaps after all this was the end of the chase.
It was more than likely Siwash had received some message from Neuburg
at Winnipeg--he’d know how and where to pick one up, and that message
had warned him to meet this train and Méduse and Heloise who came by
it. He thought that quite likely, and then Gatineau said, “But why that
grip?”
Yes, that was a puzzle. If he was meeting some one, why carry baggage
for a journey?
With its loudly clanging bell the great train steamed slowly into the
station. Both men watched the half-breed with the keenest attention. He
stood there quite passively as the passengers thronged out of the cars.
He watched them indolently as they passed him in a stream. Then with an
air of casualness he picked up his grip and strolled towards the train.
“Damn,” grunted Clement. “Nothing at all. He’s just going to board the
train. Look here, we must look slippy, too, if we are to travel by her
also.”
He picked up his own grip, began to move out to cross the intervening
rails and platforms to the train. Gatineau said suddenly, “Hold
on--ain’t that long scarecrow of a feller interested in our pal?”
Clement shot a look towards the train. He saw a tall man moving
aimlessly after Siwash. Clement did not recognize this fellow until
suddenly he caught a flash of a skinny leg and arm as the fellow dodged
between the passengers, and he had an abrupt twinge of memory. Where
the devil had he seen that scarecrow before?
Gatineau caught his arm and lugged him behind a stack of baggage.
Siwash had walked up to the car in which his seat was reserved. He
handed his grip to the black porter, and then, after pretending to
mount into the car, had turned back as though to take one last look
at Winnipeg. In that moment he swept the whole of the platform with a
searching glance--fortunately he kept his eyes on his own platform.
Satisfied that there were no watchers, he turned and stared straight at
the skinny man. The skinny man was by his side in a moment.
There was a swift talk between the twain. The skinny one listening
attentively, and nodding his head as if he understood. Then Siwash
took a paper from his pocket, and the other stretched out his long and
skinny arm. And at that gesture, memory came to Clement. He remembered
acutely such an arm stretching out from a small window clutching at the
pistol hand of Siwash. “Heavens!” he breathed. “The fellow from the
glue factory--from the Sault Algonquin at Quebec. Another of the beasts
on the spot.”
III
The guards were shouting “All aboard.” Siwash turned and sprang into
his car, while the skinny man strode towards the exit. Clement picked
up his bag and went in the same direction. Gatineau cried softly,
“Say, we can’t monkey about; we’ll miss that train.”
“I’m going to,” said Clement grimly. “I want to find out why that
fellow is here.”
“But----”
“And I don’t like him being here,” said Clement. “I’m not going to
leave anybody here to wait for Miss Reys unless I know the exact why
and the wherefore of his waiting.”
Gatineau was by his side now; he was smiling. “Yep, I rather want to
look at that paper myself. Say, if you catch hold of this grip I’ll
trail that lad. Best be me--he may have recollections of your outline.”
An hour later Gatineau rejoined Clement in the lounge of the hotel.
“That’s the sort of job that makes a feller ashamed to draw his pay,”
he grinned, as he sat down. “Easy--made me cry, it was so easy!”
“You’ve got that paper?”
“No, sir; I’m not little Xavier miracle worker yet. But I’ve got
him located. He’s in a rooming house in the dark areas off Portage
Avenue--room 163 is his number. And he hasn’t the slightest fear that
evil men like us are here and interested in him. Walked all the way to
his dive without so much as a look round.”
“That’s good; that means that Siwash don’t know we’re here either. He’s
gone off to Banff and Neuburg without a suspicion. Well, what next?”
“We just go an’ call on our lean friend--he calls himself Jean
Renadier, he’s a French-Canadian all right, though he says he comes
from Montreal, not Quebec. I’ve got a man there spotting for me
already, one of our local men, an’ I’ve arranged with the police to
pull him on the _Empress of Prague_ robbery charge--in silence. Shall
we go?”
They went. On the way Gatineau told his plan: “I’ve arranged that we
tackle him first, so that he don’t have any chance of destroying any
paper. Then when we’ve got him, we call in the police. We’ll just walk
up to his room, see? I’ll go in an’ you stay outside, because the sight
of you might make him do things to his papers. When I’ve got him you
can come in. Is that good?”
The spotter outside the rather dingy rooming house told them that
Renadier had not left the building. As they went into it, he drew in,
ready to help effect the arrest. Walking in boldly, and with a casual,
“Renadier--room 163, ain’t he?” from Gatineau, they were able to mount
to the man’s room as though they were friends of his. It was high up in
the building, and at the dark end of a corridor. Gatineau softly tried
the handle, found the door yielded, strode boldly in, shutting the door
behind him--for the man must not catch a glimpse of Clement.
He went in, and there was silence.
Clement heard Gatineau say something, and then the silence came down.
It was a curious silence, intense, deep--disturbing. It seemed to draw
itself out. It became full of significance. Clement pressed close to
the door, listened--nothing! What was happening? Why did not Gatineau
give some signal? Why should there be this appalling quiet in that
room? It was uncanny, it was unreal--it was ugly.
He bent down in a sudden anxiety and put his ear to the keyhole.
Nothing! There was no sound from the room. The room was apparently
dead, vacant--a tomb.
He put his hand on the door. As he did so, two sounds came from the
room, two soft sounds.
One was a soft knock--it might have been the heel of a boot kicking
against the carpeted floor. The other was a slow, animal sound, low,
guttural, choking.
With a spasm of fear Clement dashed open the door.
IV
An amazing sight met his eyes.
Gatineau was stretched full length on his back. He was moving
nervelessly, struggling feebly. Squatting over him was a tall,
inexpressibly gaunt man. This fellow crouched over the detective’s
chest with an almost stolid calm. His long, lean arms were stretched
downward. His thin, knotty hands were about Gatineau’s neck. He was
carefully and calmly throttling the life out of the little detective.
Clement caught one glimpse of the preoccupied face before it
turned upon him. The face of this calmly murderous man was utterly
transfigured with fear--fear that, somehow, did not interfere with the
efficient labors of killing a man. Then the eyes turned to him as he
charged forward. The fear in the fellow’s face leaped to an absolute
panic at the recognition of Clement--and yet the fellow acted with an
astounding calm.
He simply fell flat. He made no attempt at active resistance; he simply
fell flat upon Gatineau. Then, as Clement jumped forward, he rolled,
quick as lightning, towards him. It was unexpected. Clement in his
stride could not check. His foot caught the lank, rolling body, and he
pitched forward. As he fell, the other leaped to his feet, and jumped
to the door. Clement had shut the door, and he caught at the handle.
That gave Clement time to grab at him. As he fell, Clement twisted as
he had often done on the football field. He did not try to recover, he
let himself go, while trying to fall as near the door as possible. He
succeeded enough to enable him to get his hand to the tall man’s ankle.
He grabbed and held. He braced himself to resist.
The fellow was astonishing. He did not struggle. For a perceptible
instant he stood there at the half-open door, staring down at the
man who held his ankle. The look of devastating fear on his face
was appalling. Clement had never seen any man so afraid. In that
flash--it was no more than a single breath--he felt that the fellow was
theirs--he was nerveless with fear. Then the lank man kicked him.
He kicked with his free foot coolly and deliberately--an astonishing
kick when Clement recalled the sheer fright on the fellow’s face. So
unexpected was it that Clement had only time to half-check the drive of
the heavy boot with a quick-flung hand--and then his head rang and he
saw a million stars.
After that, confusion. The lank man wrenched himself free and was
running. Clement, dazed, tried to get up to go after him. He was
knocked sideways by some one rushing by. It was only when he managed to
get into the dark passage--that somehow seemed to be misty (but that
was that fellow’s boot)--that he realized that the man who had bowled
him over was Gatineau. He saw Gatineau running along the passage before
him. Gatineau was groggy but determined. Rather groggy himself, he ran
after Gatineau.
He had to trust to Gatineau. He couldn’t see the lean man, but Gatineau
seemed to know. Gatineau went upstairs instead of down. Gatineau rushed
across a roof landing instead of going through one of three doors,
and flung himself headlong on to a fourth door. That burst wildly open
under his charge, letting in a bewildering flash of daylight. They were
on the roof. Then Gatineau was running across the leads, and Clement
after him--and, yes, there was the lank man running ahead.
The lank man rushed to the edge of the roof, started back, looked
round with his incredibly fearful look, then dodged at a right angle.
Gatineau could not check in time to head him off. But Clement could.
He cut across the fellow’s path, and, like a fox, the fellow tried to
double again. He dodged round a stack, and found Gatineau ready for
him, pivoted, and ran for the parapet. He scrambled on to the parapet,
and stood swaying, staring about him for a loophole of escape. Between
him and the next roof was a ten-foot alley, but the other roof was
lower, and he seemed to think it was a chance. Clement did not; he
yelled, “Stop that, you fool. You’ll kill yourself.”
It was too late. The fellow had braced himself, had leaped. He went
through the air in a way that showed he was no jumper. He seemed to
hang in the air for an eternity. Then his feet came down on the parapet
on the opposite side. For a breathless moment he hung there, clawing
wildly, as though seeking to grasp support from the very air; then his
balance went, he sagged backwards, fell, went out of sight with an
uncanny abruptness.
“My God!” cried Clement. “My God!” He felt physically sick. Gatineau
had no time for sentiment. He was already running downstairs. He wanted
to get to the man before the crowd.
V
Clement Seadon and Xavier Gatineau left Winnipeg by the next
west-bound. Gatineau’s throat was a little sore, and Clement’s soul was
more than sick at the death of the man who had played a part in his
captivity in the gluemaker’s at Quebec; but apart from this they were
little the worse for their experience--and little to the good either.
The lank man had fallen into a narrow yard between the houses, and his
fall had not been noticed. Gatineau had got to him before anybody else.
He had secured all the papers on the poor dead body, and had then seen
to it that not only were the police informed, but that the matter was
to be kept quiet for the present.
All they had found on the man was a number of letters making it plain
that he was Louis Penible, a glue manufacturer of the Sault Algonquin,
Quebec. There was also a single telegram signed A. N. bidding him
travel at once to Winnipeg, where he would be met by “some one.” This
telegram was sent off from North Bay. “Before we caught Joe,” said
Gatineau. “It looks as though Neuburg was summoning all his forces to
hand rather than anything else.”
The only other piece of paper--the piece that had cost the wretched man
his life, the piece Siwash had handed him at the station--was merely a
plain sheet containing the address of the rooming house where he had
died, and an address, “A. N., c/o Mrs. Wandersun, Sicamous.”
“Beyond telling us that Neuburg has gone on to Sicamous--is not
stopping on at Banff--it seems a small thing to have brought about a
man’s death,” said Clement.
“It might have been a big thing,” said Gatineau. “It might prove to be
a big thing now. Neuburg has one man less, that may be useful to us. It
is useful, too, because, so far as we can see, we have the whole gang
under our eyes now--two arrested, the steward and Joe, one dead and the
rest at Sicamous or traveling to it. We know where we are.”
But they did not know very much. They knew nothing about the
whereabouts of Heloise Reys and her evil companion; they had no inkling
concerning the plot Neuburg, the master-mind, had devised--save that it
was concerned with a great deal of money, and with the luring of the
victim into the wilds--just as it had been in Roberts’s case.
They passed across the rolling monotony of the prairies thinking the
matter out. They passed through Calgary, a vivid, gold-washed town
amid foothills that seemed to cup the sunlight. They heard news of
Neuburg and Gunning going on before them, but no other news.
From Calgary they climbed to the fairy ramparts of the Rocky Mountains,
austere, snow-cowled, promising immensities and mysteries beyond. They
mounted, step by step, the “benches” of the foothills, besides the
breathless azure of the shining Bow River. Then abruptly the gate of
the mountains was above them, silent, stark, sheer brooding as their
train roared through The Gap, and then they were at Banff.
They went by car to the wonderful hotel perched like Aladdin’s palace
on a spur amid mighty spurs. It was a peerless place. For the staging
of a love scene one might have gone to the ends of the earth and not
have found a better setting. The exquisite beauty of the surroundings
called to the emotions--and yet Neuburg had rejected this spot and had
gone on to Sicamous after but the shortest stay! Why? Clement thought
the answer to that unspoken question must be an ominous one.
The Chief had been good at his word. He had sent word along the line,
and the C. P. R. people at the hotel were ready for Gatineau. They had
a thick bundle of telegrams and reports waiting for him--a bewildering
bundle, for it included all Neuburg’s wires to his underlings, Nimmo
Bates (that is, Joe Wandersun) at the Place Viger Hotel, Montreal,
where (thanks to the cunning of The Chief) he was supposed to be
staying with Siwash Mike, and others. It contained the wires Neuburg
had received, and it contained reports from The Chief himself, from the
agent at Sicamous, and others. A truly awesome mass of paper.
“I think I’ll let you disentangle the story,” grinned Clement. “The
very bulk of it frightens me, and I guess you are more used to it than
I am.”
“Sure,” smiled Gatineau. “I’ll go through this and knock some sort of
connected report out of it. You go an’ try a dip in the swimming pool,
Mr. Seadon, an’ leave it to me.” He was running lightly through the
duplicates of the telegrams. “Hullo! One moment, Mr. Seadon; here’s one
to Méduse Smythe at Winnipeg--that must be to await her coming.”
“What does it say?”
“It tells her to come on here and await orders; it is initialed A. N.”
“Here?” said Clement.
“Yes, sir,” said the hotel manager, who was with them. “Miss Smythe and
Miss Heloise Reys are coming to stay here. There is a suite booked for
them.”
“And yet Neuburg and Gunning have gone on to Sicamous,” said Clement.
“What does that mean? What is behind that move?”
VI
Clement had his plunge in the hot sulphur pool under the slope of a
snow-tipped mountain, and, refreshed, went back to Gatineau in the
manager’s office. Gatineau grinned at him.
“I guess I’ve made a connected yarn out of this jig-saw all right.
In the first place, let me tell you that our dangerous pal Neuburg,
Newman, or Nachbar, seems to be fairly certain that he has been given a
new lease of life--has days on his hands in fact.”
“What makes you think that?”
“First place, he had booked here for himself and Gunning for an
indefinite number of days. Then, quite suddenly, he decided to go
off to Sicamous. He sent telegrams to various people--one to meet
Siwash at Winnipeg, one to Nimmo or Joe Wandersun at Montreal, and
another to sister Méduse--telling of the change. And the reason he
feels safe is that you and I are definitely marooned in Montreal.
The Chief has played the game as I expected he would. His fake wires
coming, apparently, from Nimmo (who we know is in jail) are gems. We
are apparently standing baffled in Montreal, hunting about for the
trail. One can read between the lines that Neuburg is sure of that--f’r
instance the mere fact that he wires to Nimmo at the Place Viger Hotel
shows he thinks it all right. Again, his wire to Siwash confirms this.
He tells Siwash to come on to Sicamous, _not_ Banff. He also tells
Siwash to meet Louis the gluemaker of Quebec on such and such a train
at Winnipeg and tell him there is no need to stand by and watch trains
for _us_ yet--that was evidently why he was sent for--but to meet
Méduse when she arrives and do as she tells him. Oh, Neuburg is certain
that we are out of the running for the time being, and it’s because of
that, he’s gone off to Sicamous.”
Clement thought for a moment. “Yes, that sounds logical,” he admitted.
“With us close up on his heels he would have to rush things. Probably
his first plan to checkmate us was a lover’s meeting in this place of
lovers. There would have been a--an affectionate reunion, and then, if
we were threatened, the pair would have been spirited away. And what
would have happened to Heloise Reys when they were lost?”
His face contracted with pain. It was only after a moment that he went
on.
“However, what would have happened doesn’t matter. The plan’s changed.
He had gone to Sicamous to prepare a more elaborate and a more certain
plot--we can take that as certain. And--and the women follow after us?”
“Sure they do that,” put in Gatineau. “They are a day or more behind.
As I thought, they did dodge about in that tangle of railways by North
Bay for the express purpose of throwing us off the trail. Then they
hit the main line behind us, and started west in earnest. They’ll stop
off at Winnipeg to pick up news from Neuburg, an’ then they’ll come
straight on here.”
“That’s a point that baffles me!” admitted Clement. “Why come here? Why
not go straight on to Sicamous?”
“The rest of the story explains something of that. I should say he
wants time to be sure he’s got his plans perfect. According to the
reports from our Sicamous man, he’s been acting rather strangely at
that end. Our feller at Sicamous has sent on train letters, so his
statements are full. Neuburg and Gunning arrived in due course at
Sicamous station, but instead of going to Gunning’s shack on the lake,
they stayed the night at Joe Wandersun’s house--where, of course, Mrs.
Wandersun is living.”
“Next morning Neuburg went down to the lakeside and overhauled the big
motor boat that Joe uses on the lake, but instead of going in it, the
three--the woman as well--came to the station and caught a train for
Revelstoke. Revelstoke is the nearest considerable town; they have
to travel back towards Banff to reach it. Our agent at Sicamous is a
real live man; he ’phoned through to one of our fellows at Revelstoke
and caught the same train as Neuburg. Reaching Revelstoke, the trio
did some shopping--shadowed by our men. The proceedings were ordinary
enough, save that they seemed to show a strange passion for buying
medical things. Also, Neuburg, giving Gunning the slip, went into a
store where mining outfits are sold _and bought several high-explosive
cartridges and a quantity of fuse_.”
Clement made an exclamation at those words. He stared at the little
detective, who said, “No, I don’t see what it signifies, but it is
a matter worth noting. But there is something queerer to come. The
woman and Gunning went off to dinner in a hotel. Neuburg did not go
with them. Instead he went off by himself and found, because he was
looking for it, an obscure sort of hash joint. He sat down and ordered
a meal. Our fellow who was shadowing him walked in casually and got
into a table nearby. Apparently there was nothing odd about Neuburg’s
choice, but presently a young, smart-looking feller pops into this
joint and sits down at Neuburg’s table. Neuburg was reading a paper by
this time, an’ paid not the slightest attention. Soon, though, they got
into conversation, just like two strangers. What they said, of course,
our feller couldn’t hear, but it didn’t appear to amount to much;
soon, too, Neuburg paid his bill and went out with a ‘Well, good-day,
stranger. Glad to have become acquainted. I shall certainly try those
creeks of yours for red fish.’
“Our feller guessed that Neuburg would go back to the other two--anyhow
he risked it. He followed the smart young stranger instead, when he
left the hash joint later. This feller sneaked round several blocks,
as though he didn’t want people to know where he’d been, and in the
end he entered the Grand Dominion Consolidated Bank. In there he went
behind the counter, hung up his hat and settled down to work. _He was
one of the employees._”
There was a very significant pause. Both men looked at each other, and
both men were thinking the same thoughts. They were recalling that
Neuburg as Nachbar had worked through a bucket shop in his plan for
robbing Roberts of Oregon. He was working through a bank now--not,
of course, that the famous bank was acting as his confederate, but
that the smart young man was. This fellow had no doubt figured in the
bucket shop at Oregon, and had managed to worm his way into the bank
at Revelstoke to further Neuburg’s ends--since, obviously, the master
rogue had planned well ahead.
As Clement reflected on this point he reached for a telegraph form, and
at once wrote the following to The Chief at Montreal:
“Find out what interests Heloise Reys has in Revelstoke Branch
Grand Dominion Consolidated Bank. Neuburg has confederate there.”
“That may bring something,” he said, as he handed the message to
Gatineau. “If Miss Reys has any money in that bank it must have been
transferred from the head office at Montreal. The Chief will be able to
find out, eh?”
Gatineau said, “Sure,” added a code number to the message, and had it
sent off at once. Then he went on with his story.
“After this business Neuburg met the other two in the hotel, and they
all went back to Sicamous, where they loaded their purchases into the
big motor boat. They didn’t, as our man thought they would, go on up
the lake then, but went back to Mrs. Wandersun’s house. It was about
one o’clock at night when Gunning and Neuburg actually left for his
shack. A railwayman, who had been on watch, woke our feller, and he
just had time to see them sneak off in the dark. They took an awful lot
of additional packages with them, loading them secretly--a regular sort
of moving day, our man writes, as though they were going to stay in the
wilds for a hell of a time. The two men only got into the boat, and
then, strangely, the boat left, not under power, but rowed.”
“That was Neuburg covering himself up,” said Clement. “Nobody saw or
heard him leave, nobody can connect him with--with anything that might
happen up at Gunning’s shack in the wilds. I suppose that’s all there
is so far.”
“That’s all,” agreed Gatineau. “We know their movements to a dotted
‘i,’ an’ we know Miss Reys is coming on here. I suppose we had best
just wait around until she comes?”
“Yes,” said Clement, “there seems nothing else to do at the moment.
We must wait for a wire from The Chief about that money, anyhow. But
I confess I don’t like waiting. Certainly Miss Reys appears to be
coming here, but with these brutes, with that demoniac intelligence of
Neuburg’s working against us, I am fearful. Who can say what sudden
turn events might take, and--and what terrible crime might be committed
without our being able to interpose?”
VII
Clement Seadon was manifestly uneasy. Not barring the path which led
from Heloise to the archscoundrel at Sicamous made him feel safe. Not
even the exquisite beauty of this delightful place could tranquilize
him. He felt that some slip, some chance warning to Neuburg, might
bring a calamity. Neuburg, that monster, with his cold, quiet, and
uncannily placid intelligence, would act like a flash. He was, Clement
felt, being so desperately driven that he would not hesitate to act
desperately to attain his ends.
There was no doubting the fiend’s terrible capacity. Clement was
sure that, in some way, Neuburg had already arranged to get control
of Heloise’s money--or some of her money--through this bank, and his
confederate in the bank, at Revelstoke. He had already his evil
fingers on that loot. All that he needed was to secure Heloise to make
his control of her money complete. And, at a crisis, he would stop at
nothing to secure Heloise--that meant her silence--in order to get that
money.
Her silence. Clement shuddered. He saw, again, the mental picture of
how Neuburg, as Nachbar, had secured the silence of Roberts of Oregon.
The dead cannot give evidence.
Clement tried to quiet his nerves by going for a long tramp through the
deep spruce woods that clung to the sides of the austere mountains, but
half-way through it he became panicky and hurried back to the hotel in
case he might miss some crucial message.
There was no message. He had to wait hours before anything came. Then
it came from Sicamous. That message, however, was significant enough
for those who could get an inkling of the ominous riddle behind it.
The agent at Sicamous reported that a young, dark-faced, slim man with
his right arm in a sling had arrived at Sicamous. He had gone to Mrs.
Wandersun’s shack. He called himself Lucas, and looked like a halfbreed.
“Siwash on the spot,” commented Clement.
The next fact was that a wire had come through from Méduse Smythe at
Winnipeg, saying she was coming straight through to Banff. Immediately
on receipt of this, things happened. The man Lucas--despite his bad
arm--went off up the lake in a canoe, apparently to Gunning’s shack. On
his return there was a bustle. Mrs. Wandersun, in the language of the
agent, flacked about like a worried hen.
She had run down to the station and had sent off a train letter to
Heloise Reys--to await arrival at Banff--and also another to Méduse
Smythe.
Having got rid of these letters, Mrs. Wandersun immediately prepared
herself for a journey. That done, she bounced into her neighbor’s shack
with a lamentable story of a friend taken dangerously ill up the lake.
She said she had wired to his relatives, and she thought they were
coming on. She said she was going to her sick friend with the young man
Lucas to run the power boat for her, and she asked her neighbors if
they would mind telling anybody who might arrive before Lucas returned,
that he was coming back from the sick man in order to take them up to
him.
Having impressed this upon her kindly friends, she got into the motor
boat with Lucas, and went up the lake. Lucas had not returned yet. The
agent had not pressed his inquiries for fear of stirring up suspicion.
Clement had listened to the reading of this report with a face grim and
white. When it was finished he said, “This seems to be the first move
in the definite plot. Once she arrives in Sicamous, Heloise Reys will
be spirited away into the wilds. You can see how they have planned it.
Nobody but Lucas is to take her there; they don’t want outsiders to
figure in this.”
“An’ it seems to me that they don’t want anybody--even Miss Reys--to
get there before they are ready for her,” said Gatineau.
“Yes, that seems likely.--Now the letters.”
The one addressed to Heloise Reys was a simple letter stating that
Henry Gunning had returned to Sicamous and had gone along the lake to
his home. The letter said that Gunning was quietlike, and not quite his
usual self. He said he was going to rest up for a while as he felt sort
of seedy. The writer concluded by giving directions how to find his
shack, and declared himself ready to do all in his power to help Miss
Reys. He signed himself--Joe Wandersun.
“Joe Wandersun!” cried Gatineau. “Well, I’m gormed! How did he write
that when he’s snug in jail at Montreal?”
“He didn’t write it. It’s a forgery.”
“You mean his wife forged that----?”
“His wife--no. Remember Roberts, man, and how forgery apparently played
its part in that case. The same capable scoundrel forged this.”
“Neuburg?”
“Neuburg or Newman or Nachbar, or whatever you like to call him.
Forgery is part of his game. And there’s another point. You see it
contains a hint of Gunning’s illness--illness is also part of this
devil’s game.”
“It says nothing about a dangerous illness.”
“No. Perhaps they’re going to use that as a weapon of shock, to make
her lose her head at a moment when it will pay them for her to lose her
head. But the other letter--the one addressed to Méduse Smythe?”
The other letter contained a few lines only. They ran:
“All clear. Have seen Landor at Revelstoke. Break your journey
there for signatures, etc. Be as clever as you are, my dear, for
you are to have a shock at Sicamous. Play up. The Englishman who
does not look brainy is safely interned at Montreal.”
There were no initials even, and the message was written in block
capitals.
“Bold,” said Gatineau, putting the message down.
“Not so very bold,” said Clement. “The Englishman who doesn’t look
brainy is interned at Montreal, you understand. He feels quite safe. He
doesn’t think anybody will see that message but Méduse.”
“And you were right about their springing the dangerous illness upon
Miss Reys at the last moment. That’s what he means by the shock, eh?
And Landor of Revelstoke----”
“The smart young man in the bank is undoubtedly Landor. It all fits in.
Miss Reys is to call on the bank on her way to Sicamous to register her
signature, and so on. Landor is the man who will interview her. All
that is part of their plan for getting hold of her money. You can see
how the hellish thing is developing.”
“But how can they get money out of her--how keep her unsuspicious?”
“How did Nachbar plan to keep Roberts of Oregon from giving evidence?”
“My God!” muttered Gatineau. Then he said, “But the money. No woman
would transfer a huge sum to a local bank, a bank that may, perhaps,
only be going to serve her for a few days?”
“I am waiting for The Chief’s telegram,” said Clement. “That will tell
us how much she has in the bank at Revelstoke. It seems illogical that
she should have a large sum--yet I fear----”
The fear was realized. In the afternoon The Chief’s wire came. It said:
“Heloise Reys deposited sum £20,000 cash and securities extent
£120,000 in Montreal Branch Dominion Consolidated from England
before leaving that country. Same time opened account £5,000
cash Revelstoke branch. Week ago authority in own handwriting to
transfer all funds securities Revelstoke branch. Most securities
easily negotiable. New message. Neuburg is Nachbar. Warrant being
issued.”
Of the whole of that pregnant message one passage, and one alone, stood
out with a terrible significance.
Neuburg is Nachbar!
Neuburg was Nachbar, the murderer. Neuburg was the cold-blooded genius
who slew Roberts of Oregon in the wilds, and for the sake of a huge sum
of money. The telegram told that the girl, Heloise, had to hand a great
sum of money, and she was being lured into the wilds--lured towards
Nachbar, the brute who would let nothing stand between him and his
greedy desire.
Neuburg was Nachbar the murderer--and Heloise was to be his next
victim. Only dimly he heard Gatineau saying, “He wants to get all that
money--£145,000. It’s all under the hand of his tool at Revelstoke.
I see how it is. But what beats me is how any one would think of
transferring----”
“Did she?” snapped Clement. “Wasn’t it forgery? Nachbar is a forger as
well. Couldn’t he have forged that letter ordering the transfer?”
Gatineau cried, “Forgery! Yes, that’s it. That’s damn likely. But even
though that letter was forged, I don’t see how they are going to work
it. What’s the game?”
Clement suddenly became completely aware of the detective and what he
was saying. He echoed the words, “What’s the game? I don’t know. But
I’m going to find out. I’m going down to Sicamous _now_ to find out.”
“Now?” gasped Gatineau.
“Now. I can’t wait here passive. Anything might happen. That girl might
be prevented coming here, might go right through, might be turned
aside. I’m not going to run any more risks. I’m going to Neuburg. Can
we catch a train?”
“With a car, easy. There’s one due.”
“Get that car.”
“But to rush right in like this. Is it wise--safe?”
“I don’t care. We’ve been passive too long, anyhow. Come along. Find
that car. It’s our turn to attack.”