"Mr. Pape has been painting your picture with a brush dipped in colors
of the Yellowstone," observed Curtis Lauderdale as he sipped the
fragrant amber brew which his daughter had poured and passed.
The girl flashed their guest an indignant glance. "Attacking dad at his
weakest point? For that I should paint him an awful picture of you."
"With a brush dipped in colors of the truth?"
At her threat and Pape's meek retort, the old man's eyes continued to
beam their way, as only sightless eyes can beam.
"You needn't, Jen-Jen. It doesn't matter what Mr. Pape looks like. Men
show less on the outside what they are than women. I'd rather see him as
he is inwardly. Already I know that he has both an imagination and a
sense of humor. And he is direct with the _skookum_ talk, which doesn't
lend to lies. As for his exterior, I imagine him as moderately sizeable
and well-muscled and plain, or you wouldn't have brought him around."
"Immoderately plain," she corrected, still with a punishing air.
"Good. Then I've got him--" her parent with a chuckle. "Now it seems to
me, if he's done for us all you say he has, that we owe him some
explanation."
At once Jane's quasi-disapproval of their quickly established fellowship
turned into real.
"Explanation has been our downfall, dad," she warned. "You know your
failing. You trust too much and too soon. You seem to have got worse
instead of better--positively--since you went to the war."
"She's right, Mr. Lauderdale," Pape advised. "It is too soon to trust me
in _skookum_ or any other foreign language. But you seem shy some sort
of help which I'd like to supply if I can. Why waste time explaining?
You're entitled--on face value, you know--to the best I can give.
There'll be plenty of time to explain after we've horned off all these
nesters that seem to be rooting around your ranch."
"Another good quality--generosity," commented the older man in an
argumentative way to his daughter. "Don't you think, dear, that it would
be safe enough to tell him a certain amount of the truth, even though he
should prove to be an active agent of our enemies? If on the other side,
he'd know it anyhow. If on ours, he'd be at a serious disadvantage
without some of the facts. We are in no position to despise an ally,
Jane, and----"
Pape was determined that her confidence should not be forced, even by
her father. He interrupted briskly:
"Which or whether, let me trust you folks first. I am almost as much a
stranger to you as you to me--and no more given to explanations than our
young friend here. I feel kind of called to tell you who I am and why
I'm stranded in this Far East of New York. You may scent something in
common in the sad little story of my life, for I, too, am on a still
hunt for an enemy or enemies unknown."
He offered his tea cup for a refilling, climbed to his feet and steadied
the china across to the white marble mantelpiece. There he stood and
drank the beverage between the deliberate lines of his opening. He began
at the beginning--or thereabouts--of Peter Pape. Over the early days of
his stock-raising struggle to those of comparative, present success on
the Queer Question Ranch he passed in fair style and with reasonable
rapidity. Thence he slowed down to the near past and its sudden,
oleaginous wealth.
As is so often the case in oil, he, as owner of the land, had been the
last to suspect the presence of this liquid "gold" beneath his acres.
Only the fact that he loved his ranch and would not sell the heart of it
had saved him. Price proffers had risen slowly but surely until they
reached figures which caused him to suspect, not the worst, but the
best. He had drilled on a chance to a ceaseless flow of fortune.
His account carried its own conviction and fulfilled his preface except
for one point. Where had he any cause, in this generous deal of Fate, to
be resenting or seeking to punish enemies, unknown or otherwise? The
blind man pointed the omission.
"Notwithstanding the enough-and-to-spare that I've got, sir, they stung
me, these sharpers, through a lot of poor folks who couldn't afford even
a nettle prick. Before I got hep to what was up I had sold a small tract
for which I had no further use to an alleged student of agriculture who
had interested me in a new scheme for making alfalfa grow where nothing
much ever had grown before. When my wells began to gush by fifties and
hundreds of barrels, the backer of this fake farmer organized an oil
company on the strength of his buy and floated stock right and left."
He paused to clinch and thump a fist upon the mantel-shelf; then
glowered unreasonably at the nervous quivers of the wax flowers within
the glass case which formed its centerpiece.
"When widows with orphans from everywhere and some of my friends from
nearby cow-towns began to write and ask me about their promised
dividends--Well, folks, in time I got wisened to the fact that my name
had been used along with the fame of Queer Question production. I asked
myself a question that didn't sound as queer to me as to the bunch of
sharpers that I soon put it to. After I'd gathered them in and the
Federal Court had helped me hand 'em what was over-due, I started on a
long, long trail after the big guy that had planned the crooked deal.
I'm still stalking him. He's lurking down in that gulch of Wall Street
to-day or I'm clean off the trail. You see, friends, the Montana Gusher
Oil Fields, Inc., hasn't even a smell of oil. When I find the
promoter----"
"Montana Gusher--was that the company's name?" Jane's interruption was
more than interested; was voiced with suppressed excitement. She turned
toward her father. "You remember my telling you of Aunt Helene's narrow
escape from buying a block of worthless oil stock a year ago? She was
only saved by----"
"Child, child, don't name names," the blind man reproved her. On his
face, however, was the reflex of her startled look.
"It's all right to say 'child, child,'" insisted the girl vehemently.
"You never would believe ill of any one until it was proved at your
expense. Doesn't it strike you as strange that _he_ should have been the
one to know all about these far-away oil fields without time for
investigation--that _he_ was able to dissuade Auntie against the smooth
arguments of a salesman whose claim on him as a friend he had
acknowledged? Do you suppose the promoter of Montana Gusher could have
been----"
"Wait, Jen-Jen. You'd better be sure before suggesting such a charge to
this young man. You can see that he is in earnest. If you should be
wrong----"
"You're plumb right about my being in earnest," Pape cut in. "But I'm
willing to go into all details before asking you to name me that name. I
shouldn't have minded so much had it been my bank account that was
tapped. What they did me out of, though, was the good-faith of my
friends and neighbors. When they made _me_ look like the robber of
widows and orphans instead of themselves--Well, if ever I get a rope
around the scrub neck of that----"
On account of an interruption he did not finish the threat. A peculiarly
tuneful auto siren sounded up from the street through the open windows.
Jane got to her feet with such suddenness as to jeopard the entire China
population of the tea-table. She crossed to one of the windows; held the
Swiss curtain before her face; looked out and down.
"I thought I couldn't be mistaken." Her report was low-spoken, but
tense. "The Allen car has stopped in the street, across from the house."
"Not--Sam Allen couldn't have found me over here?" The blind man also
arose. With hands out, he swayed after her. "You must be mistaken, Jane.
Look again!"
"How could I be mistaken? They are out of the car now. They're looking
at the house number. What--_what_ can this mean?"
Jane drew in from the window; leveled upon her parent a look of acute
alarm; saw and remembered Pape. With an attempt at naturalness she
explained:
"Mr. Allen was my father's lawyer and one of his oldest friends. We are
surprised by this visit because he isn't supposed to know even that dad
is alive, let alone his address in New York."
"You said 'they,' Jane," her father puzzled. "Who else----"
"Mills Harford is with him."
The old man seemed shaken anew. "How could Harford know that we're here
unless Jasper----"
"No, dad, not Jasper. He is faithful as the moon. You know that. It
strikes me as more possible that--" In a return rush of suspicion she
faced the Westerner. "Mr. Pape met both Mills and Judge Allen at the
opera and later at Aunt Helene's. He is the only person who, to my
knowledge, has discovered my disguise and our whereabouts."
Pape returned her look steadily and rather resentfully. "That is true,
Miss Lauderdale. But I have had no communication with either of them
since, although I did visit both their offices with the hope of locating
you. Only yesterday I was told that Harford was out of town."
The blind man threw up his hands intolerantly. "Out of town, was he, and
leaving a love-letter a day at the Sturgis house for Jasper to deliver,
all written at his club? Do you think that hare-hound would go out of
town so long as he suspects that Jane is in it? What are they doing
now?"
"Crossing straight toward our steps--" the girl in low, quick tones from
the window. "Judge Allen probably recognizes the house, despite its
condition. He was here several times in granddad's day. He won't have to
ask the way up."
"But, Jane, they mustn't come up here--mustn't get in. What shall we
do?"
"I don't know, dad. Let me think. Meantime you, Mr. Pape----"
Again the Westerner heard that persistent suspicion of him in her voice
and saw that she had whipped from out her blouse a very small, very
black, very competent-looking something which he was glad to know she
wore.
"You are not to show your face at the window and you are not to cross
the room when they knock," she told him. "If you so much as cough----"
Pape eyed her interestedly and decided that she meant the implied
threat. The puzzle of the Lauderdales, far from being solved, was
growing more intricate. Why should these two delightful and, he felt
sure, innocent persons so fear the prospective visit--the old man from
his lawyer and friend, his daughter from the personable and wealthy
young real-estater whom Irene Sturgis had declared to be her most ardent
suitor? Truly, the case was one for a show of blind, dumb and deaf
faith.
The increase of tension as heavy steps began to scroop up the stairs
seemed to emanate from the figure of Jane Lauderdale. Straight and
strong she stood in the center of the room, her face more marble-like
than the mantel. Her head was thrown up in an attitude of alert
listening. The black something in her right hand continued to command
the suspect of circumstance.
He, although in a somewhat easy attitude, demonstrated that he knew how
to behave when "covered." He did not so much as glance toward the
window. And he showed no tendency to cough. His one deflection was a
scarcely audible whisper.
"If I should have to sneeze, you won't shoot me, Jane? If you do, you'll
miss a lot of love."
At the first light rap on the door, Lauderdale's knees seemed to weaken
and he sat down upon one end of the Davenport. The younger pair
stiffened; held their breath; eyed each other.
A second knock sounded, then a more imperative third. An advisory
discussion outside, too low-voiced for intelligibility, ended in a
fourth demand for admittance, knuckled to carry to the rear of the house
and waken any sleeper within.
At each repetition the blind man had shuddered and gripped harder the
arm of the Davenport. Now he flung out a summoning hand toward his
daughter. She, with her trio of eyes on their silent guest--her own
blazing blue pair and the single black one of the gun--crossed and bent
to her father's rasp:
"If they should force the lock--should batter down the door----"
Jane made no attempt to reassure him. At a step toward them of the
stranger she retraced her steps and gestured him back with the pistol,
silently but most significantly.
Pape, the while, threw a trusting smile into the three eyes, then strode
straight toward them. Close to Jane's ear he whispered:
"You won't shoot me. You can't. You'd lose too much good faith."
Despite her outraged gasp, he continued toward the door that was being
importuned. Another smile he threw over-shoulder to reassure her of his
confidence.
And Jane didn't shoot. Probably she couldn't. No report shocked the air.
Nothing sounded except a gruff demand from the inner side of the door.
"Who's there? Wha'd'you want?"
From outside: "Old friends. We wish to see Miss Lauderdale."
"_Who_?"
"Lauderdale--Miss Lau-der-dale."
"Who in holy Hemlock directed you here, then? My name ain't Lauderdale.
Never will be. Stop the noise, will you?"
There ensued further low-voiced consultation without. A moment later
footsteps began a descent of the stairs. Scroop ... screak ... screech.
Not until the musical siren announced the departure from the block of
the would-be visitors, did Pape relax from his listening attitude at the
door. On turning he saw that Jane, too, had slumped, limp and white,
into a chair, the very black and ominous something with which she had
threatened him dropped into her lap. A look half-dazed, yet wholly
hopeful was on her face.
"Thank Heaven--thank you, Peter Pape--they've gone!"
"But they'll come back." Her father's voice echoed none of her relief.
"Allen and Harford must have reason to suspect that you, at least, are
here in the old house. Otherwise they'd not have come. If my presence,
too, is suspected, it won't be long until that other pack comes to hound
me down. Jane, you can't go on with this search, vital though it be.
Come what may, you shan't be sacrificed. It's no business for a girl
alone and unprotected. We'll have to give it all up, dear. I'll go away
somewhere--anywhere."
"But Jane ain't alone and unprotected." Pape crossed the room and faced
them both. "Looks clear enough to me why I sloped out of the West and
into the far East just in the nick o' time. I'm hoping the reason will
soon get clear to you."
The girl's lips moved, although she did not speak. She looked and looked
at him. Her father, unable to see, worded the demand of her eyes.
"Exactly what do you mean, Mr. Pape? What do you offer and why?"
"_Why_? Why not?" he asked in turn. "From this moment on, just as from
the same back to that Zaza night, I am at Miss Lauderdale's service. I
have a trusty bit of hardware myself--" in substantiation he drew from
somewhere beneath his coat a blue-black revolver of heavy caliber--"and
I am not so slow on the draw as some. If this pack you say is trailing
you is determined to get itself shot up, it would be better for me to do
it than for her, wouldn't it? And while we're waiting for the mix-up, I
could dig for whatever it is she is looking for. Oh, you needn't tell me
what that is! I've worked blind before. You folks just tell me when and
where to dig and I'll _dig_!"
The girl turned to her parent. "I think, after all, I'll tell Mr.
Pape----"
"I think it is time--high time, Jane." He nodded in vehement approval.
Rising, she faced their guest; spoke rapidly, although in a thinking
way.
"You've earned the partial confidence that dad wished to give you,
Why-Not Pape. This old house belonged to my grandfather. He grew
eccentric in later life. The more this East Side section ran down, the
tighter he clung to it. Toward the end, he fitted up this top-floor flat
for himself and rented out the others. From sentiment my father didn't
sell the house, although we could have used the money. We are not rich
like the Sturgis branch of the family."
"That is, we are not unless----"
"I am getting to that, dad." With a shadow of her former frown, Jane cut
off her parent's interruption. "My grandfather's other particular haunt
was Central Park. He knew it from Scholars Gate at Fifty-ninth and Fifth
to Pioneers at the farther northwest corner. He played croquet with
other 'old boys' on the knoll above the North Meadow, sailed miniature
yachts for silver cups on Conservatory Lake and helped the predecessors
of Shepherd Tom tend their flocks on The Green. He had an eccentric's
distrust of banks and deposit vaults and chose a spot in the park as the
secret repository for the most valuable thing he had to leave behind
him. The only key to the exact spot is a cryptogram which he worked out
and by which he expected my father to locate his inheritance."
Pape filled the pause which, evidently, was for the weighing of further
information. "So this cryptogram or map was in the stolen heirloom
snuff-box the night that I--that we----"
"Yes. My grandfather, on his death bed, tried to tell me where he had
hidden it, but he waited a moment too long. For years father and I
hunted in vain. Not until the other day--the day of the night on which
you and I met, Peter Pape--did I come upon it quite by accident in the
attic space of this house. It was in the old snuff-box. I took both to
Aunt Helene's that night, hoping to find time to study and decipher it.
And I did read it through several times, memorizing a verse or two of it
and some of the figures before the opera. I asked my aunt to put the box
in her safe, not telling her its contents. The rest you know."
Although Pape felt the danger of his "little knowledge," he drove no
prod; simply waited for her to volunteer.
"A number of people knew of our long search for grandfather's covered
map, among them an enemy through whom we have been deprived, but whose
name we do not know. How he could have been informed just when I found
or where I placed it, I cannot conceive. Possibly the safe has been
under periodic search, although we never suspected. Possibly some one
within the house is in the employ of this unknown enemy and saw me give
it to my aunt for deposit or heard that I had turned over some valuable.
I was unforgivably careless."
"An inside job?" Pape queried. "I thought so."
"But not through Jasper--I'd stake anything on that!" the girl
exclaimed. "He was our own butler in better days and is loyal, I know.
Since that disastrous night, I've been trying to work out the verses of
the crypt from memory before its present possessor would get the key to
a translation. 'To whispers of poplars four' was the second line of one
of the verses. That is why----"
The rising of Curtis Lauderdale interrupted her. He crossed, with a
nervous clutch on this chair and that, to where Pape stood in the room's
center.
"There's very great need of haste," he said. "Now that they are watching
Jane's movements--Since they've trailed her here--Mr. Pape, I cannot
afford to mistrust you, even were I inclined to do so. My dear girl here
blames me for trusting people, but since I must trust her to some one,
I'd rather it should be you. I accept and hold you to your offer to see
her safely through to-night. Much more than you could imagine hangs in
the balance. This may be our last chance."
"I never acknowledge any chance as the last until success, sir." Pape
again grasped the forward fluttering right of the blind man. His left
hand he extended to the girl. "I'll try to deserve your father's
confidence--and yours, Jane."
"Near the four poplars, then, at dusk," she consented.
Also she gave him a smile, all the lovelier for its faintness and
rarity.
That moment of au revoir, in which they formed a complete circle, palms
to palms, Pape felt to be his initiation into what was to him a divine
triumvirate. "At dusk!" There was nothing--quite nothing which he could
not accomplish for the common, if still unknown cause that night, then,
at dusk.