THIN ICE
"I don't think you quite realize, Griffin," Saunders' voice had quite
an uneasy tremor in it, as he spoke, "that you are in some danger."
The detective was sitting in Mark's bedroom, and the clock was striking
midnight in the hotel office below. They had returned together from
the bluff road and had been discussing the tragedy ever since.
"I think I do," Mark answered, "but I don't very much care."
"Then," said Saunders, "you English have some nerves!"
"You forget, Saunders, that I am not quite English. I am half Irish,
and the Irish have 'some nerves.' But I am really hit very hard. I
suppose it's the English in me that won't let me show it."
Saunders did not answer for a moment. Then he took his cigar out of
his mouth.
"Nerves?" he repeated half laughingly. "Yes, nerves they have, but in
the singular number."
"Beg pardon?"
"Oh, I forgot that your education in United States has been sadly
neglected. I mean to say that they have _nerve_, not nerves."
"By which you mean--?"
"Something that you will need very soon--grit."
"I--I don't quite understand yet, my dear fellow. Why?"
The face of Saunders was serious now. The danger that confronted both
of them was no chimera.
"Look here, Griffin," he broke out, "that murderer did this thing under
orders. He either has had a story fixed up for him by his employers,
or he will try to put the deed off on someone else. An explanation
must be given when the body is discovered in the morning. All was
certainly foreseen, for these chaps take no chances. Now, you may
wager a lot that his superiors, or their representatives, are not far
away; no farther, in fact, than the railroad camp. You may be sure,
too, that their own secret service men are on the job, close by. The
question is, what story will this fellow tell?"
"You can--ah--search me, Saunders," retorted Mark.
Saunders laughed. Mark had a way of appearing cheerful.
"Come now, that's doing fine. 'Search you,' eh? That is just exactly
what the police probably will do."
"Why?"
"Why? Because your being there was the unforeseen part of the whole
tragedy. I think it quite upset their calculations. Your hand is
marked with powder from the gun fire. Everyone will see that
to-morrow. The principal will know something of it from the murderer.
In fact, he probably knows now. To-morrow they will be searching for
the man with the powder mark. The murderer himself can swear that he
saw someone fire at the man who was killed. He may charge robbery.
Only when the body is found shall we know what he is going to do. If
they have taken his money, it means that you are going to be arrested,
for they intend putting it on you. Unless I am mistaken, his pockets
are inside out right now. The powder marks alone are enough to fasten
suspicion on you. Then, you were absent all day, and someone certainly
must have seen you on the bluff road. Above all, you love Ruth
Atheson, and lovers have been known to kill rivals. My detective
intuition tells me, Griffin, that you stand a good chance of being
charged with murder."
"Well," said Mark, "I have an excellent witness for the defense, in one
James Saunders, detective."
"You have," answered Saunders, "but not at the inquest; for if James
Saunders, detective, shows his hand then, he will not live to testify
at the trial, where his testimony, sprung as a surprise, might be
useful."
"You mean that they would--"
"Just so," Saunders nodded wisely; "that's just what they would do. On
the other hand, that fellow may stick to the story, whatever it is,
that they had fixed up for him. It looks reasonable to me that he
would be instructed to do that. He may come forward when the body is
found, and give himself up, saying that he was out shooting coons, or
some other animals that you can best get at night, and that one of his
bullets must have killed the man. That looks like the easiest way out
of it."
"That sounds all right, Saunders," answered Mark, "but I incline to the
other theory. I think they'll accuse me. Their first plan would have
been best if nobody had seen the deed. But since they know someone did
see it, they'll probably try to be on the safe side. Fortunately, they
don't know there were two of us, which leaves me better off."
"If they find there was another," said the detective, "you'll be safer
in jail. Lives count nothing in the games of princes, and they'll get
us both if they can."
"Then you're in danger yourself, Saunders."
"Not yet. As you remarked, they don't know there was another. You
see, it was dark among the trees, and I caught the fellow in the rear
as he ran away. He would naturally think that the man who caught him
was the one who jumped as he fired."
Mark smoked thoughtfully before he spoke.
"You're right, Saunders. My complacency is not so great that I do not
recognize the danger. I merely am indifferent to danger under the
present circumstances. It's no use running away from it, and we can't
help it now. Let's go to bed."
"Well, those English-Irish nerves get me," Saunders answered, as he
arose and walked toward the door. "I suppose they're a good thing to
have; but, Griffin, take it from me, you're the worst lump of ice I
ever saw. Aren't you even just a little afraid?"
"Oh, yes," answered Mark, "I'm afraid all right, old man; I really am
afraid. But there is somebody I am more afraid for than myself. I am
worried about the lady."
Mark thought of what he had seen as he lay near the tree. Walking over
to the window, he thoughtfully pulled down the blind before he turned
again to Saunders. "I shall always love her, no matter what happens.
Of course, I can't marry a grand duchess, especially one who is watched
day and night; but I rather welcome the chance to stay near and protect
her good name if the story does come out. That is why I won't go to
jail for safety, not if I can prevent it."
Saunders closed the half-opened door and walked back into the room.
"Protect her? I don't understand," he said. Clearly bewildered, he
sat down, carelessly swinging one leg over an arm of the big chair, and
stared at his host.
Mark looked up. He spoke haughtily, with a slight shrug of the
shoulders.
"There is a British Ambassador in Washington. You have a free country,
so I can always talk to him, even if I am a prisoner or on bail. I
happen to be brother to a baron; that fact may prove useful, for the
first time in my life. One word that involves her name in scandal,
even as Ruth Atheson, brings the story out. And Great Britain does not
particularly care about your certain Big Kingdom. I am presuming, of
course, that I have rightly guessed what Big Kingdom is looking after
the interests of your Grand Duchy."
"You're right, Griffin; the Ministry could never let her name be
mentioned."
"As the grand duchess, no. But they could mention the name of Ruth
Atheson, the Padre's friend, the Lady Bountiful of his poor, the girl I
love. The Padre has had trouble enough, too, without that scandal in
his little flock."
"I don't see how you can avoid it."
"Oh, I can avoid it very simply. I can send word to the Ministry in
question that I know who the lady really is, and that I am almost ready
to talk for the public."
"That's right, Griffin, you could. Gee, what a detective you would
have made! You're sure right." He arose, stretched lazily, and walked
to the door, where he turned, his hand on the knob. "If it's any
consolation for you to know, Griffin, they won't arrest--they'll just
stick a knife into you. Good night, and pleasant dreams."
"Good night, Saunders, and thanks for your cheerful assurances."
But Mark had no dreams at all for, left alone, he smoked and worried
over his problem until morning.
Very early he wrote a long letter, sealed it and put it in his pocket
so that he could register it in person. It was addressed to the
British Ambassador.
As Mark passed on his way to the dining room, the hotel clerk gave him
a note, remarking: "That's a bad-looking hand you have, Mr. Griffin."
"Yes, rather." Mark looked at his hand as though noticing its
condition for the first time. Then he spoke consolingly. "But it was
the only one I had to put on this morning. Pleasant outside, isn't it?"
But the clerk had suddenly discovered that his attention was needed
elsewhere, and Mark proceeded to his breakfast.
Sitting down, he gave his order, then opened the letter. It was from
Ruth. "I am sorry you were not feeling well yesterday, and hope you
are all right now. If so, come to Killimaga to-day, quite early.
Somehow I am always lonesome now. Ruth."
It was rather strange--or was it?--that, in spite of what Mark knew, he
watched his chance and, when the waiter turned his back, kissed the
sheet of scented paper.
Saunders was in the hotel office when Mark came out of the dining room.
The constable was with him. With little difficulty Saunders got rid of
the officer and walked over to Mark.
"Come outside," he said. "I have some news."
They left the hotel and moved down the street. When out of anyone's
hearing, Saunders touched Mark's arm.
"I routed out the constable early this morning--at daybreak, in
fact--and sent him on a wild-goose chase along the bluff road. I
wanted him to stumble onto that body, and get things going quickly.
The sooner the cards are on the table, the better. His errand would
keep him close to the Killamaga wall, on the roadside. He saw nothing;
if he had I should have known it. What do you think it means?"
"Means?" echoed Mark. "Why, it means that someone else has been there."
"It looks that way," admitted Saunders. "But why hasn't it been
reported?"
"I think, Saunders," Mark said thoughtfully, "that we had better take a
walk near the wall ourselves."
"I was going to suggest that very thing."
The morning was not beautiful. The chill wind of autumn had come up,
and the pleasant weather that Mark had taken the trouble to praise was
vanishing. The clouds were dark and gloomy, threatening a storm. When
the men reached the bluff road, they saw that the ocean was disturbed,
and that great white-capped waves were beating upon the beach below.
Their own thoughts kept both of them in tune with the elements.
Neither spoke a word as they rapidly covered the distance between the
town and the spot of the tragedy. But instinctively, as if caught by
the same aversion, both slackened pace as they neared the wall of
Killimaga. Going slowly now they turned out of the road and approached
the tree, looking fearfully down at the grass. They reached the spot
whereon they had left the body the evening before. There was no body
there.
They searched the bushes and the long grass, but there was no sign of
anything out of the ordinary. Closely they examined the ground; but
not a trace of blood was to be seen, nor any evidence of conflict.
Saunders was stupefied, and Mark showed signs of growing wonder.
"It isn't here," half whispered Saunders. "And it isn't in the bushes.
What do you make of it, Griffin?"
Mark answered hesitatingly and half-nervously.
"I can't make anything out of it, unless they have decided to hush the
whole thing up, figuring that the men who interfered will never tell.
They disposed of the body overnight and covered all their traces.
Unless I am mistaken, no one will ever find it or know that the murder
took place at all."
"Then," said Saunders emphatically, "they certainly had one of the big
fellows here to see that it was properly done."
"It looks probable," replied Mark; "for a common murderer would not
have planned so well. An expert was on this crime. The body is
disposed of finally."
Saunders looked around nervously.
"We had better go back, Griffin. There's nothing left for us to do,
and they may be watching."
Both men left the spot and returned to town; but they were no longer
silent. Mark was decidedly anxious, and Saunders voiced his worry in
tones that shook.
"I have more fear than ever for your sake, Griffin, and I'm beginning
to have some for my own. Those fellows know how to act quickly and
surely. Their principal is in Washington. He has had word already by
cipher as to what has happened. He won't rest until he finds the
witness, and then--"
"And then?"
"I'm afraid they will try another murder. They won't trust a living
soul to hold his peace under the circumstances."
"But how are they to know I saw the thing?"
"By your hand. In fact, I think they know already."
"Already?"
"Yes. There was somebody about when we were there, and he was
evidently hiding."
"You heard him?"
"Yes. I didn't want to alarm you. I have reason now to be alarmed for
myself. They know I am in it. We've got to think quickly and act
quickly. The minute that orders come they will try to get us. As long
as we stay in public places we are safe. But we must not go out alone
any more."
The two went on to the hotel. Saunders glanced back as they were
entering the town. His eyes covered the hedge.
"I thought so," he said. "That chap has been dodging in and out of the
trees and keeping watch on us. From this point he can see right along
the street to the hotel door. It's no use trying to conceal anything
now. Our only safety lies in keeping in public places; but they won't
strike till they get their orders."
As the two entered the hotel, a messenger boy came up carrying two
telegrams. The clerk nodded to the boy, who went over to Mark and
Saunders.
"Which is Mr. Saunders?" he asked. The detective reached out his hand
and the boy gave him one of the messages. "The other one," he said,
"is for Mr. Griffin.
"Sign here, please." The boy extended his book. Both men signed and
the boy went out. Sitting down in a corner of the writing room, Mark
and Saunders looked at one another, then at the yellow envelopes.
"Why don't you open your telegram, Saunders?" asked Mark.
"Because I know pretty well what's in it. I guessed it would be
coming. I am ordered off this case, for the men who employed our
agency have no use for me after last night. They have found everything
out for themselves, and have settled it in their own way. Why don't
you open yours?"
"For opposite reasons to yours, old chap: because I don't know what's
in it, and, whatever it is, I don't think I shall like it. I have not
had many messages of this kind. None but my solicitors would send one,
and that means trouble. But here goes!"
Mark tore off the end of the envelope, opened the message and read.
Saunders did the same with his. One glance was enough for each.
"I told you so," said Saunders. "Here's my message: 'Central
disconnected.'"
Mark looked up with surprise.
"'Central disconnected'? What's that, Saunders? More United States?"
"It's our code," replied the detective, "for 'Come back to the central
office at once. Our connection with the case is at an end.'"
There was a trace of pain in Mark's face, as he handed his own telegram
over for Saunders to read. It was from New York:
"Harvey, Sullivan and Riggs, your solicitors, wire us to find you and
say that your brother is dead and that you are to return at once."
"I'm sorry, Griffin, very sorry." There was real sympathy in Saunders'
voice. "Perhaps it is better that you should go. It may be a way out.
Your Ambassador can help you. I've got to stay and face it. Yes, it
would be better for you to go."
"You're wrong, Saunders." Mark's voice had a decided note in it. "My
disappearance might complicate the international part of the situation.
Baron Griffin was a member of the House of Lords, and quite a
personage. And I am the only brother of that late personage. He had
no children. I can fight better here--as Baron Griffin."
"Great Scott!" cried Saunders. "Come to think of it, you _are_ Baron
Griffin now!"
"Yes, I am, and only half sorry for it, much as I regret my brother's
death. What are you going to do, Saunders?"
The detective looked embarrassed.
"I didn't intend to tell you, but I guess I will. I'm going to throw
up my job. I'm in this thing and I'm going to stay and see it out."
"Good old chap!" answered Mark. "I thought you would. But can you
afford it?"
"Frankly, I can't; but I'm going to do it just the same."
"Saunders," said Mark, "I think I need the services of a sort of
detective."
"You mean a protective bodyguard."
"Put it as you like--any way that will let me pay you for your time.
You say you are going to stay on the case. I want to have you on it.
You may not need me badly, but I'm sure that I need you."
"Then you want me to apply for the job?"
"I'd employ you if you would take it, old chap."
"Then I apply. I never asked for a job before, but I want this one.
Shake!"
The men shook hands and started to go upstairs. When they were out of
hearing, the clerk called up a number on the telephone.