TELLS SOMETHING OF TWO GENTLEMEN WHO WERE ENCOUNTERED UNEXPECTEDLY
Mr. Bartholomew Scanlon stood up with much calmness.
“I’m obliged to you,” said he nodding first to Mrs. Kretz and then to
her daughter. “And I’ll think over what you’ve said. It might lead to
something.”
“There is my husband,” said the elder woman. “He thinks women are
foolish. You’ll not speak to him?”
“About this? No. I’ll mention it to no one. And,” pausing in his
movement toward the door, “if you hear or see anything else which may
be useful to Mr. Campe, don’t make me wait for it.”
“I will speak to you at once,” promised Mrs. Kretz, intent upon the
blue stocking.
In the hall, outside the kitchen door, Bat Scanlon’s manner changed.
Bulky as he was and with forty years resting upon him, he was still a
well-conditioned athlete. Slower than he was at twenty, he was supple
enough when he set himself to it; and now he moved down the hall
swiftly and with the lightness of a boy.
No one was in sight; the first door he came to stood open; it was a
sort of storage room for the servants, and no one was there. The next
door led to the vaults under the castle; this was closed. But a turn of
the knob showed that it was not locked.
“The soft one oozed in by this route,” thought Bat, as he closed the
door. “And some thoughtful friend prepared the way for him, for
witness the fact that there are bolts on the door, as well as a lock.”
Silently he rebolted the door; with some slivers of wood from the
storage room, pointed with his pocket-knife, he so jammed the bolts
that it would be no easy task to shoot them back.
“In this way,” murmured Bat, putting away the knife, “I place some
small impediment in the path of the soft party should he desire to back
out of the premises in a hurry.”
Quietly the big man went through the lower floor; each room was visited
and examined narrowly. But he found no one; there were no traces of any
one. At the foot of the stairs he paused; from above came the voice of
Campe, and in it there was lightness and ease.
“The billiard ball is also merrily clicking,” said Mr. Scanlon.
“Evidently he is still engaged with the golden-haired Helen, and she
is making him forget his troubles.” He began quietly to ascend the
stairs. “But it might pay him to keep an eye open; for who knows when
her ambition might break out afresh, and she might take another swing
at him with the sword.”
As his head appeared above the landing, he came in sight of the
billiard room door. This was open and a stream of light flowed out into
the hall. Standing flat against the wall, his back to the staircase,
and peering around the door-frame into the billiard room was the
soft-looking man.
Gently Mr. Scanlon advanced; quietly he touched the man upon the
shoulder; then, as the head turned, skilfully he chipped him upon the
jaw. The body buckled, and crumpled into a soft mass in Scanlon’s arms.
Lowering it to the floor the big man stepped into the doorway. In the
billiard room were Campe and Miss Hohenlo.
“Hello,” said the former with a startled look, but a manner expressive
of relief. “I _thought_ I heard somebody shuffling around out there.”
“I’d like to speak to you a moment,” said the big man, “if,” with a
glance at the spinster, “Miss Hohenlo will pardon us.”
Miss Hohenlo shook her faded hair and gestured prettily with her
beautiful hands.
“Frederic has so many little secrets of late, and so many matters he
seems anxious to keep from me, that one, more or less, will make no
difference. I’ll rehearse my next play while you are gone.”
Campe came out into the hall. Scanlon stood between him and the body
until he closed the door.
“Now, sit tight,” admonished the big man, “and give me a lift.”
With a face as grey as ashes, Campe looked at the senseless man.
“Who is it?” he asked. “And how did he get here?”
“As an answer to the first question, I’ll say I don’t know,” said
Scanlon. “To the second, he came in by way of the cellar; and the door
leading therefrom was unfastened by some one in the house.”
“Again!” Campe looked as though death itself had clutched him. “Again!”
“You’ve never thought it wise to put me up in these affairs of yours,”
said Scanlon, “so I’ll now have nothing to say in them. However,
that’ll not stop me from doing any little thing that I think needs
doing.”
Campe put a trembling hand upon the big man’s arm.
“Bat,” said he, quietly enough, “no man was ever more bedeviled than I
am, and I’ve not been exactly frank with you----”
But Scanlon stopped him.
“Some time we’ll both be in a humour for a talk,” said he, “and we’ll
save the matter till then. Just now there is another bit of business to
work off. Get hold of it by the legs.”
Together they took up the heavy body and carried it down the hall to
Scanlon’s room, where they laid it upon the floor.
“He looks,” observed Bat, “as if he’d got his last jolt; but he’ll live
to get many more, so don’t worry. What I want you to do, as a kind of
addition to your burden bearing, is to sit here and watch him. Got your
gun?”
“Yes,” said young Campe.
“If he comes to, advise him to keep still; if he refuses, poke the
barrel in his face. If he insists, hammer him over the head until he
grows peaceful.”
“But,” said Campe, “what are _you_ going to do?”
“Look around a little,” replied Bat, who had moved toward the door.
“I’ll not be gone long. Don’t say a word now, and watch your man.”
Bat softly opened the door and stepped out into the hall. There was
nothing definite in his mind; but, vaguely, he felt that there were
more experiences to come.
“If one man came out of the vaults, why not more?” he asked himself.
“If some one opened the door leading to those same vaults, how do I
know that he is not now opening another, leading somewhere else?”
Quietly he slipped down the hall; the lights were only half up, and
the recesses were dim; but there was sufficient illumination for him to
see that no one was lurking in its length. Further on the corridor took
a sharp turn, and it was in this angle that young Campe’s rooms were
located.
“Better luck there, maybe,” breathed Bat, as he stole along.
But, when he turned the corner, he found that particular portion of the
hall in darkness. Instantly he realized that if any one were in hiding
there, he offered a fair mark; stepping quickly back around the angle
he turned out the nearest lights, so that he was as much in the dark as
the possible prowler. Again he moved forward; but he had not gone more
than half-a-dozen steps when he heard a slight sound ahead. He paused
and bent forward to listen. The sound continued, creaking, rasping,
complaining.
“A door,” thought Bat. “A door with unoiled hinges--it’s being opened.”
His hand went to his hip, and once more the thick automatic was out and
ready. The sound stopped; there was a silence for a time; then began a
rustling which was unmistakable--the rustle of a woman’s skirt.
“The golden Helen!” was Scanlon’s next thought. “And promptly on the
job!”
The rustling stopped; then a whisper came.
“Paul!”
There was no reply and again came the whisper.
“Paul!”
Once more came the creaking of hinges; another door had opened.
“What is it?” came the answer.
“Hush! Not so loud!” The whisper seemed filled with fear.
Then Bat heard the woman move further forward; she spoke again, but
this time so low that he could not catch the words.
“The deuce,” said the man, startled. “How do you know?”
“I feel sure of it,” was the whispered reply.
“Don’t lose your nerve,” said the man, swiftly. “This is the first good
chance we’ve had, and we must make the best of it.”
“Be careful,” pleaded the woman.
“I’ll be sure to,” said the man. “And now keep a lookout. If you hear
or see anything, give me the signal.”
The hinges of the invisible door creaked as it closed; then the
rustling of the skirts began once more. As it approached Bat flattened
himself against the wall. Slowly the woman drew nearer; then she was
beside him, her skirts brushing him; but that she was unaware of his
presence was proved by her continuing in silence and without a pause.
But after a few moments Bat heard a slight sound as though she had
caught her breath suddenly, and she came to a halt.
“She’s got to the turn in the hall,” said the big man, mentally, “and
she’s found the two lights off duty.”
But the fact did not detain the woman, for once more the rustling began
and finally the listener heard it die away.
“And now I may as well get on with my scouting,” was Scanlon’s
soundless resolution. “The man inside there may be engaged in a matter
that would interest me a great deal.”
But he had barely got under way when he halted.
“The skirts!” said he. “And coming back!”
Sure enough they were. _Frou-frou, frou-frou_, they came, more sharply
than before, for the wearer was evidently moving at a brisker pace.
“Something new!” said Scanlon. “Maybe she’s dropped to my doings, and
she’s going to put the party in the room on to it.”
He felt that he could not chance the passage of the hall once more; his
groping hand had touched the wood of a door; now he found the knob,
opened the door silently as possible, slipped inside and partially
closed it. It was fortunate that he did so; for immediately afterward
came a short, snapping sound, and a flare of light filled the hall.
Scanlon stooped cautiously to the key-hole, and peered through it;
there, holding a lighted match above her golden head, stood Miss
Knowles.
“Came back looking for little me,” was Mr. Scanlon’s conclusion. “Well,
look away, Helen of the crown of gold; for behind the door I’m going to
stick.”
The match burned out; there followed the sound of some one moving along
the hall, and when silence had fallen once more, Scanlon began to stir.
But as he came from behind the door he caught a trickle of light in the
room. He stood staring at it for a moment; and then it dawned upon him
what it was.
“Still another door,” murmured he.
Gently he approached the light; it came, as he judged, from under a
door and through its key-hole. He listened; from the adjoining room he
caught the sound of rustling paper, and now and then the closing of a
drawer.
“Isn’t he the thorough little ransacker, though?” continued Mr.
Scanlon, immediately interpreting these sounds. “Well, there’s no use
in putting him to needless trouble; I’d better go in and have a few
words with him--if I can open the door.”
Fortunately he found that he could; the door swung in, and a man, who
stood under a light examining some papers at a table, lifted his head.
He put a handkerchief to his lips and coughed; then he nodded.
“How do you do?” said he.
Mr. Scanlon was equally polite.
“I felt that I’d see you again,” stated he. “But I had no idea it would
be to-night.”
The drawn-looking man turned over a few of the papers; then gathered up
the lot and threw them into a drawer.
“Unexpected little things have a way of happening,” said he. “And it’s
as well that they do; for they are really of that elemental spice which
makes life worth while.” He dumped the contents of another drawer upon
the table, and nodded toward a chair. “Won’t you sit down?” he asked.
“I don’t mind if I do,” said Mr. Scanlon, sociably.
And so he sat down in the chair. And while the drawn man busied himself
with the fresh batch of papers, Bat took out the tobacco pouch and
the little packet of papers and rolled himself a cigarette. This he
lighted, and puffed away comfortably.
“You seem to be hard at it,” commented he, after a pause, during which
he watched the labours of the other.
The drawn man admitted that this was so by a gesture.
“It’s a more or less difficult proposition,” said he. “This room is a
regular dumping-place for documents. They seem to have been snatched up
and brought here in barrels. Not the slightest care has been taken to
keep them properly classed.”
“Tut, tut!” observed Mr. Scanlon. “That’s what I call just common
carelessness. They might have known that you’d call.”
The drawn man coughed.
“As to that,” said he, “I’m not so sure. We’ve made an effort to avoid
any extreme of publicity, you see.”
“Quite, quite!” remarked Bat, understandingly. “Advertising’s a fine
thing, but not in all lines of endeavour.”
The other raked over the papers impatiently.
“Here,” said he, “we have an old will, a contract for hauling stone,
a marriage certificate, a receipt from the Mexican government for the
loan of ten millions of dollars, an estimate for steel rails, and a
laundry bill.”
“That’s rather mixing them,” said Bat, framed in cigarette smoke. “But
keep at it; better luck next time.”
Returning the papers to the drawer, the drawn man next opened a heavy
chest. He threw an armful of documents upon the table, and plunged into
them with covetous hands.
“I would say that’s a promising lot, from its general appearance,”
commented Scanlon. “Of course,” casually, “I haven’t the least idea
what you’re looking for, but here there seems to be a holding to one
thing, a kind of a tight, official, important look, as it were.”
The covetous hands became eager; Bat noticed this; he threw down his
cigarette; his muscles tightened; the automatic thrilled in his grip.
“So you are short of ideas about what we want,” spoke the other, still
searching. “Has it never occurred to you to ask?”
“Once or twice,” replied Scanlon. “But I never got down to it. For
instance, I met a friend of yours downstairs a while ago”--here the
drawn man coughed, his eyes lifting for an instant--“and I thought of
putting the question to him.”
“Why didn’t you?” asked the drawn man, deep in the papers again.
“He hadn’t come to, up to the time I left,” replied Bat. “I suppose I
must have hit him harder than I meant to do.”
“Oh, well,” said the drawn man, tolerantly, “things of that sort _will_
happen. They are hardly to be avoided, in fact.”
He yawned and stretched his arms wide; the light over his head smashed
as he struck it and went out. There came the rattle of the automatic,
and the splintering of window glass; the dogs, always at large in the
courtyard at night, barked furiously. Bat heard the voice of Kretz from
the wall; the rifle sounded sharply, and then silence, broken only by
the sound of running feet beyond the wall.