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THE
BARTLETT MYSTERY
BY
LOUIS TRACY
Author of
"The Wings of the Morning," "Number Seventeen,"
etc., etc.
NEW YORK
EDWARD J. CLODE
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
EDWARD J. CLODE
All rights reserved
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
_By_ LOUIS TRACY
THE WINGS OF THE MORNING
THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS
THE WHEEL O' FORTUNE
A SON OF THE IMMORTALS
CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR
THE MESSAGE
THE STOWAWAY
THE PILLAR OF LIGHT
THE SILENT BARRIER
THE "MIND THE PAINT" GIRL
ONE WONDERFUL NIGHT
THE TERMS OF SURRENDER
FLOWER OF THE GORSE
THE RED YEAR
THE GREAT MOGUL
MIRABEL'S ISLAND
THE DAY OF WRATH
HIS UNKNOWN WIFE
THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER
THE REVELLERS
DIANA OF THE MOORLAND
NUMBER SEVENTEEN
THE BARTLETT MYSTERY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A GATHERING AT A CLUB 1
II. A DARING CRIME 12
III. WINIFRED BARTLETT HEARS SOMETHING 24
IV. FURTHER SURPRISES 39
V. PERSECUTORS 54
VI. BROTHER RALPH 67
VII. STILL MERE MYSTERY 81
VIII. THE DREAM FACE 92
IX. THE FLIGHT 102
X. CARSHAW TAKES UP THE CHASE 115
XI. THE TWO CARS 128
XII. THE PURSUIT 140
XIII. THE NEW LINK 150
XIV. A SUBTLE ATTACK 162
XV. THE VISITOR 173
XVI. WINIFRED DRIFTS 181
XVII. ALL ROADS LEAD TO EAST ORANGE 191
XVIII. THE CRASH 201
XIX. CLANCY EXPLAINS 214
XX. IN THE TOILS 225
XXI. MOTHER AND SON 235
XXII. THE HUNT 245
XXIII. "HE WHO FIGHTS AND RUNS
AWAY--" 257
XXIV. IN FULL CRY 269
XXV. FLANK ATTACKS 280
XXVI. THE BITER BIT 293
XXVII. THE SETTLEMENT 304
THE BARTLETT MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
A GATHERING AT A CLUB
That story of love and crime which figures in the records of the New
York Detective Bureau as "The Yacht Mystery" has little to do with
yachts and is no longer a mystery. It is concerned far more intimately
with the troubles and trials of pretty Winifred Bartlett than with
the vagaries of the restless sea; the alert, well-groomed figure of
Winifred's true lover, Rex Carshaw, fills its pages to the almost total
exclusion of the portly millionaire who owned the _Sans Souci_. Yet,
such is the singular dominance exercised by the trivial things of life
over the truly important ones, some hundreds of thousands of people in
the great city on the three rivers will recall many episodes of the nine
days' wonder known to them as "The Yacht Mystery" though they may never
have heard of either Winifred or Rex.
It began simply, as all major events do begin, and, of course, at the
outset, neither of these two young people seemed to have the remotest
connection with it.
On the evening of October 5, 1913--that is the date when the first entry
appears in the diary of Mr. James Steingall, chief of the Bureau--the
stream of traffic in Fifth Avenue was interrupted to an unusual degree
at a corner near Forty-second Street. The homeward-bound throng going
up-town and the equally dense crowd coming down-town to restaurants and
theater-land merely chafed at a delay which they did not understand, but
the traffic policeman knew exactly what was going on, and kept his head
and his temper.
A few doors down the north side of the cross street a famous club
was ablaze with lights. Especially did three great windows on the
first floor send forth hospitable beams, for the spacious room within
was the scene of an amusing revel. Mr. William Pierpont Van Hofen,
ex-commodore of the New York Yacht Club, owner of the _Sans Souci_,
and multi-millionaire, had just astonished his friends by one of the
eccentric jests for which he was famous.
The _Sans Souci_, notable the world over for its size, speed, and
fittings, was going out of commission for the winter. Van Hofen had
marked the occasion by widespread invitations to a dinner at his club,
"to be followed by a surprise party," and the nature of the "surprise"
was becoming known. Each lady had drawn by lot the name of her dinner
partner, and each couple was then presented with a sealed envelope
containing tickets for one or other of the many theaters in New York.
Thus, not only were husbands, wives, eligible bachelors, and smart
debutantes inextricably mixed up, but none knew whither the oddly
assorted pairs were bound, since the envelopes were not to be opened
until the meal reached the coffee and cigarette stage.
There existed, too, a secret within a secret. Seven men were bidden
privately to come on board the _Sans Souci_, moored in the Hudson
off the Eighty-sixth Street landing-stage, and there enjoy a quiet
session of auction bridge.
"We'll duck before the trouble gets fairly started," explained Van Hofen
to his cronies. "You'll see how the bunch is sorted out at dinner, but
the tangle then will be just one cent in the dollar to the pandemonium
when they find out where they're going."
Of course, everybody was acquainted with everybody else, or the joke
might have been in bad taste. Moreover, as the gathering was confined
exclusively to the elect of New York society, the host had notified the
Detective Bureau, and requested the presence of one of their best men
outside the club shortly before eight o'clock. None realized better than
he that where the carcass is there the vultures gather, and he wanted no
untoward incident to happen during the confusion which must attend the
departure of so many richly bejeweled ladies accompanied by unexpected
cavaliers.
Thus it befell that Detective-Inspector Clancy was detailed for the
job. Steingall and he were the "inseparables" of the Bureau, yet no two
members of a marvelously efficient service were more unlike, physically
and mentally. Steingall was big, blond, muscular, a genial giant whose
qualities rendered him almost popular among the very criminals he
hunted, whereas those same desperadoes feared the diminutive Clancy,
the little, slight, dark-haired sleuth of French-Irish descent. He,
they were aware instinctively, read their very souls before Steingall's
huge paw clutched their quaking bodies.
Idle chance alone decided that Clancy should undertake the half-hour's
vigil at the up-town club that evening. All unknowing, he became thereby
the controlling influence in many lives.
At eight o'clock an elderly man emerged from the building and edged
his way through the cheery, laughing people already grouped about the
doorway and awaiting automobiles. Mr. William Meiklejohn might have been
branded with the word "Senator," so typical was he of the upper house
at Washington. The very cut of his clothes, the style of his shoes, the
glossiness of his hat, even the wide expanse of pearl-studded white
linen marked him as a person of consequence.
A uniformed policeman, striving to keep the pavement clear of loiterers,
recognized and saluted him. The salute was returned, though its
recipient's face seemed to be gloomy, preoccupied, almost disturbed.
Therefore he did not notice a gaunt, angular-jawed woman--one whose
carriage and attire suggested better days long since passed--who had
been peering eagerly at the revellers pouring out of the club, and now
stepped forward impetuously as if to intercept him.
She failed. The policeman barred her progress quietly but effectually,
and the woman, if bent on achieving her purpose, must have either called
after the absorbed Meiklejohn or entered into a heated altercation with
the policeman when accident came to her aid.
Mrs. Ronald Tower, strikingly handsome, richly gowned and cloaked, with
an elaborate coiffure that outvied nature's best efforts, was crossing
the pavement to enter a waiting car when she stopped and drew her hand
from her escort's arm.
"Senator Meiklejohn!" she cried.
The elderly man halted. He doffed his hat with a flourish.
"Ah, Helen," he said smilingly. "Whither bound?"
"To see Belasco's latest. Isn't that lucky? The very thing I wanted.
Poor Ronald! I don't know what has become of him, or into what net he
may have fallen."
The Senator beamed. He knew that Ronald Tower was one of the eight
bridge-players, but was pledged to secrecy.
"I only hailed you to jog your memory about that luncheon to-morrow,"
went on Mrs. Tower.
"How could I forget?" he retorted gallantly. "Only two hours ago I
postponed a business appointment on account of it."
"So good of you, Senator," and Mrs. Tower's smile lent a tinge of
sarcasm to the words. "I'm awfully anxious that you should meet Mr.
Jacob. I'm deeply interested, you know."
Meiklejohn glanced rather sharply at the lady's companion, who, however,
was merely a vacuous man about town. It struck Clancy that the Senator
resented this incautious using of names. The shabby-genteel woman,
hovering behind the policeman, was following the scene with hawklike
eyes, and Clancy kept her, too, under close observation.
The Senator coughed, and lowered his voice.
"I shall be most pleased to discuss matters with him," he said. "It
will be a pleasure to render him a service if you ask it."
Mrs. Tower laughed lightly. "One o'clock," she said. "Don't be late!
Come along, Mr. Forrest. Your car is blocking the way."
Mr. Meiklejohn flourished his hat again. He turned and found himself
face to face with the hard-featured woman who had been waiting and
watching for this very opportunity. She barred his further
progress--even caught his arm.
Had the Senator been assaulted by the blue-coated guardian of law and
order he could not have displayed more bewilderment.
"You, Rachel?" he gasped.
The policeman was about to intervene, but it was the Senator, not the
shabbily dressed woman, who prevented him.
"It's all right, officer," he stammered vexedly. "I know this lady. She
is an old friend."
The man saluted again and drew aside. Clancy moved a trifle nearer. No
one would take notice of such an insignificant little man. Though he had
his back to this strangely assorted pair, he heard nearly every syllable
they uttered.
"He is here," snapped the woman without other preamble. "You must see
him."
"It is quite impossible," was the answer, and, though the words were
frigid and unyielding, Clancy felt certain that Senator Meiklejohn had
to exercise an iron self-control to keep a tremor out of his utterance.
"You dare not refuse," persisted the woman.
The Senator glanced around in a scared way. Clancy thought for an
instant that he meant to dart back into the security of the club. After
an irresolute pause, however, he moved somewhat apart from the crowd of
sightseers. The two stood together on the curb, and clear of the flood
of light pouring through the open doors. Clancy edged after them. He
gathered a good deal, not all, of what they said, as both voices were
harsh and tinged with excitement.
"This very night," the woman was saying. "Bring at least five hundred
dollars--If the police.... Says he will confess everything.... Do you
get me? This thing can't wait."
The Senator did not even try now to conceal his agitation. He looked at
the gaping mob, but it was wholly absorbed in the stream of fashionable
people pouring out of the club, while the snorting of scores of
automobiles created a din which meant comparative safety.
"Yes, yes," he muttered. "I understand. I'll do anything in reason. I'll
give _you_ the money, and you----"
"No. He means seeing you. You need not be afraid. He says you are going
to Mr. Van Hofen's yacht at nine o'clock----"
"Good Lord!" broke in Meiklejohn, "how can he possibly know that?" Again
he peered at the press of onlookers. A dapper little man who stood near
was raised on tiptoe and craning his neck to catch a glimpse of a noted
beauty who had just appeared.
"Oh, pull yourself together!" and there was a touch of scorn in the
woman's manner as she reassured this powerfully built man. "Isn't he
clever and fertile in device? Haven't the newspapers announced your
presence on the _Sans Souci_? And who will stop a steward's tongue
from wagging? At any rate, he knows. He will be on the Hudson in a small
boat, with one other man. At nine o'clock he will come close to the
landing-stage at Eighty-sixth Street. There is a lawn north of the
clubhouse, he says. Walk to the end of it and you will find him. You
can have a brief talk. Bring the money in an envelope."
"On the lawn--at nine!" repeated the Senator in a dazed way.
"Yes. What better place could he choose? You see, he is willing to play
fair and be discreet. But, quick! I must have your answer. Time is
passing. Do you agree?"
"What is the alternative?"
"Capture, and a mad rage. Then others will share in his downfall."
"Very well. I'll be there. I'll not fail him, or you."
"He says it's his last request. He has some scheme----"
"Ah, his schemes! If only I could hope that this will be the end!"
"That is his promise."
The woman dropped the conversation abruptly. She darted through the
line of cars and made off in the direction of Sixth Avenue. Senator
Meiklejohn gazed after her dubiously, but her tall figure was soon lost
in the traffic. Then, with bent head, and evidently a prey to harassing
thoughts, he crossed Fifth Avenue.
Clancy sauntered after him, and saw him enter a block of residential
flats in a side street. Then the detective strolled back to the club.
Most of Van Hofen's guests had gone. The policeman grinned and muttered
in Clancy's ear:
"The Senator's a giddy guy. Two of 'em at wanst. Mrs. Tower's a
good-looker, but I didn't think much of the other wan."
Clancy nodded. His black and beady eyes had just clashed with those of a
notorious crook, who suddenly remembered an urgent appointment
elsewhere.
Fifteen minutes later Senator Meiklejohn returned. He entered the club
without being waylaid a second time. Clancy consulted his watch.
"Keep a sharp lookout here, Mac," he said, _sotto voce_. "While I was
away just now Broadway Jim showed up. He's got cold feet, and there'll
be nothing more doing to-night, I think. Anyhow, I'm going up-town."
In Fifth Avenue he boarded a Riverside Drive bus. The weather was mild,
and he mounted to the roof.
"Now, who in the world will Senator Meiklejohn meet on the
landing-stage?" he mused. "Seems to me the chief may be interested. Five
hundred dollars, too! I wonder!"