THE SECOND NIGHT
The second night of the vigil in Hume's rooms wore on. Unlike the
preceding one, the two young men were almost entirely silent; when
they did speak, it was in tones so low as to be scarcely above a
whisper.
There was a taut, indefinable something in the air that kept the
desire for sleep from both; in the brooding darkness they were alert,
watchful, expectant. The tobacco-loving Pendleton afterwards recalled
with surprise that not once did he think of the weed. But when the
queer, mysterious night sounds began to come--those creakings of loose
planks, strainings of unseen timbers and untraceable snappings in the
walls, that are common in old houses--he frequently thought of the
automatic revolver; and the chill of the polished metal always felt
comforting enough.
The clocks announced the ends of the hours according to their
temperaments; coming in the midst of the total silence, the din seemed
to Pendleton to be terrific; he pictured appalled criminals on their
way through the dark halls, crouching in fear at the sounds. Eleven
o'clock struck, and then twelve with its continued uproar. It seemed a
long time before one and then two sounded. Pendleton's limbs were
beginning to feel loggy and numb because of the chill and the
continued inaction. He had ventured to stir them a little, and was
wrapping the heavy blanket more closely about himself, when he felt
Ashton-Kirk's hand upon his shoulder.
"Hush-h-h!" said the investigator in a whisper.
Instantly Pendleton was motionless; he listened intently, but the
silence of the place seemed complete.
"What is it?" he finally ventured to breathe.
The hand upon his shoulder tightened warningly; but there came no
other reply. Again Pendleton listened. The door of the showroom stood
open; Ashton-Kirk had placed it so in order that they might catch any
sound that came from the hall. All the other doors leading into the
hall from Hume's apartments were securely locked; anyone who ventured
into the suite must first pass through the showroom where the two
waited and watched.
After a space Pendleton's attention was rewarded; a faint, far-off
rustling came to him; somehow it gave him the impression of
hesitation, non-assurance, timidity; he was speculating upon the
queerness of this impression when there came a faint, momentary glow
from the hall--mysterious, phosphorescent, unreal; and then it
vanished. Both young men were huddled upon the sofa, which was placed
facing the open door. A huge Spanish screen was drawn before them; but
the black leather was cracked in places; and through these they had a
clear view of the hall.
A moment later the glow appeared once more; but this time it was
brighter.
"Someone is on the stairs," reasoned Pendleton, his hand going to his
revolver. "It looks as though he were lighting matches to show the
way."
Between the sputters of light were spaces of darkness; these were;
filled in by the faint guarded rustling. But as the light upon each
appearance grew brighter, so did the sound become more distinct; and
at length a light resonance, unmistakably a footstep, came from the
hall.
Then steadily, softly the sound came on through the darkness; nearer
and nearer it drew until at length it became unmistakable. _The
rustling was that of a woman's skirts!_ Then, so it seemed, the
darkness of the doorway grew denser; the soft, quick breathing of the
newcomer became audible; her hands were heard moving over the door
frame as she blindly searched for the door.
Then, apparently, she learned that the door was open; a deeper breath
showed the relief she felt at this; now she carefully entered the
room.
Even before Pendleton's brain realized who it must be, he began to
feel a tightening at his heart; and now as he pictured her advancing
with outstretched, groping hands into the darkened room--a room
horrible with crime and secret dread--it was all that he could do to
hold himself in check. He had almost an overmastering desire to spring
up, to cry out to her, to tell her not to fear.
He was still struggling with this feeling when he became aware that
she had paused; and, also, that Ashton-Kirk was once more gripping his
shoulder with a warning hand. Becoming instantly alert, his senses
perceived a stoppage of everything; the clocks seemed to tick more
faintly, he could no longer hear the woman breathe. There was an
instant that roared with silence; then came the soft, steady padding
of feet descending the stair.
Then he heard the girl release her breath in a great, trembling
exhalation; the rustle of skirts came quick and sharp in the darkness;
he heard the door through which she had entered the room squeak upon
its hinges and then close with a click that proclaimed it fast.
After this there was a long pause. Pendleton could hear the faint
breathing of the girl, and thought it rather odd that she did not
catch the sound of his own. He pictured her leaning against the
locked door, her heart throbbing with fear as she listened to the
descending footsteps; stronger and stronger grew his desire to leap up
and assure her that friends were at hand. But at the same time the
warning grip of his companion, who seemed to feel what was in his
mind, also grew stronger and stronger.
With the closing of the door, the sounds from the stairs had ceased to
reach them. There was a long pause; Pendleton, during this, grew
sensible of a long, wavering mental antenna which he projected into
the shadows; and its delicate sensitiveness told him of the silent
approach of a fearful thing. A long, long time, it seemed to him, but
in reality it was remarkably brief.
Then the steps were heard, shuffling and secret, in the hall and very
near at hand. A soft, uncertain touch fell upon the smooth glass of
the door; down its length the inquiring fingers traveled; then the
handle was tried, held a moment and quietly released.
The steps then receded lightly down the hall.
For some moments all was quiet, then there came the scratch of a match
from the hall, and its accompanying flare, seen through the glass of
the door. A little space more, and a rending sound came to their ears,
followed by the falling of some metallic objects upon the floor.
Pendleton required no explanation of these sounds; it was plain that
the second intruder had come prepared and had forced one of the doors.
All the communicating doors of the suite had been left open; through
them came the pushing about of furniture and the drawing down of
blinds; then another match flared, followed by a stronger and steadier
light, which showed that the second visitor had lighted the gas. The
light filtered palely through the various rooms into the one in which
the two men and the woman were hidden; by means of this the former
could make the latter out in a dim, uncertain sort of way. She seemed
unusually tall as she moved noiselessly across the floor and peered
cautiously through the communicating doorways.
[Illustration: WHAT SHE SAW MUST HAVE STARTLED HER]
What she saw must have startled her, for she drew quickly back, her
hand pressed to her heart. Then softly she retraced her steps; they
heard the door-catch slip quietly back and were conscious that the
door was swung open; the woman then crept inch by inch, so it seemed,
down the hall.
It was the bedroom door that had been forced; the two watchers noted
the bar of light that slanted from it across the passage. Nearer and
nearer the woman approached to it. Pendleton had at first thought that
she was making for the stairs; but this died away as she passed them,
unheeding. The automatic revolver was in his hand instantly; leaning
toward his friend, he breathed in his ear.
"She's going in there."
The blanket slipped from him as he arose to his feet; his legs were
still cramped and stiffened; he felt clumsy and unsure. Ashton-Kirk
evidently agreed that the time had come for action, for he whispered
in reply:
"Through the rooms! I will take the hall!"
Pendleton stepped from behind the screen like a shadow. Through the
door leading to the storeroom he had an uninterrupted view of a part
of the bedroom; and across the floor he saw thrown the shadow of a
man. Noiselessly he tip-toed into the kitchen, the revolver held
ready; just outside the bedroom he paused, and drawing to one side,
waited. Then he noted the shadow move slightly, and heard a deep
rumbling voice say in French:
"You were a devil! Even now as I look at you, you laugh and jibe!" The
shadow upon the floor here swung its arms threateningly. "But laugh
away. I have won, and it is my turn to laugh!"
Here the shadow slid along and up the wall; peering around the edge of
the door, Pendleton saw a man with massive, stooped shoulders and a
great square head, covered with thick, iron-gray hair; and instantly
he recognized him as the man whom they had seen that night in the
doorway of Locke's workshop. The stranger was standing just under the
portrait of Hume; he gazed up at it, and his big shoulders shook with
laughter.
"What a mistake to make," he said, still in French. "How was I to know
that the old devil once called himself Wayne!"
He reached up and took the picture from its hook; with thick, powerful
fingers he tore the backing away, and a flat, compact bundle of papers
was disclosed. The picture was thrown upon the bed, and the man stood
staring at the papers, a wide smile upon his face.
"So this is the secret, eh? Well, Locke will pay well for it, and it
will be worth all the risks I've taken."
He was fumbling with a coat pocket as though to stow them away, when
there came a swift, light rush, the packet was torn from his hands,
and Edyth Vale was darting toward the hall door and the stairway
beyond.
But despite his bulk, the man with the stooped shoulders proved
himself singularly swift. In two leaps he had overtaken her; dragging
her back to the center of the room, he snatched the packet from her in
turn. Regarding her with calm, pitiless eyes, he said in English:
"I am sorry, mees, that you have come, eh? Eet makes eet mooch harder
for me. And I am of the kind that would rather be off quietly, is it
not? and say no words to no one."
Edyth Vale, pale of face, but with steady eye, returned his look.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"I am sorry to do anything," spoke the stranger. "I do not know you,
and you will onderstan', will you not, that I can't leave you
behind--to talk?"
As he spoke a flashing something appeared from the girl's pocket; he
lifted one huge paw to beat her down; but a clenched hand, protected
by a corded buckskin glove, thudded against his jaw; his knees
weakened, and he sprawled upon the floor.
"Jimmie!" gasped Edyth Vale. "Jimmie Pendleton!"
"Oh, Edyth--Edyth!" was all the man could say. He slipped his arm
around her, for she was tottering; and as he helped her to a chair,
Ashton-Kirk quietly entered at the hall door.
"Miss Vale," said he, "good-evening."
Without waiting to note if she even gave him a look, he bent over the
fallen man and snapped a pair of handcuffs upon his wrists.
"A very pretty blow, Pen," said he, admiringly. "Beautifully timed,
and your judgment of distance was excellent."
He slipped the fallen papers into his pocket and continued: "Keep an
eye on him, for a moment."
Then he stepped swiftly through the hall; a moment later they heard
him throw up one of the windows overlooking the street, and a whistle
shrilled through the night.
"Paulson is on duty," said the investigator, returning. "He'll be here
in a jiffy."
Sure enough, they soon heard heavy steps upon the stairs; and then
Paulson and a fellow patrolman appeared in the doorway. Astonished,
the policeman gazed at Ashton-Kirk, who nodded to them smilingly, then
they turned their gaze upon Pendleton, who was speaking soothing words
to the white-faced girl, who, now that the danger was over, clung to
him tremblingly. But when their eyes centered upon the manacled
stranger who was then dazedly struggling to a sitting position,
Paulson asked:
"Who is this?"
"This," answered Ashton-Kirk, "is M. Sagon, a fellow lodger of Antonio
Spatola, formerly a very close friend of the late Mr. Hume, and once a
resident of Bayonne, in France."