whose ears were alert for any sound, heard him returning, approaching
stealthily on tiptoe. If by this maneuver the Jew had hoped to discover
his patient in some indiscretion, he was unsuccessful, for he found Ford
standing just where he had left him, with his back turned to the
door, and gazing with apparent interest at a picture on the wall. The
significance of the incident was not lost upon the intruder. It taught
him he was still under surveillance, and that he must bear himself
warily. Murmuring some excuse for having returned, the Jew again
departed, and in a few minutes Ford heard his voice, and that of another
man, engaged in low tones in what was apparently an eager argument.
Only once was the voice of the other man raised sufficiently for Ford to
distinguish his words. “He is an American,” protested the voice; “that
makes it worse.”
Ford guessed that the speaker was Pearsall, and that against his
admittance to the house he was making earnest protest. A door, closing
with a bang, shut off the argument, but within a few minutes it was
evident the Jew had carried his point, for he reappeared to announce
that dinner was waiting. It was served in a room at the farther end of
the hall, and at the table, which was laid for three, Ford found a man
already seated. Prothero introduced him as “my associate,” but from his
presence in the house, and from the fact that he was an American, Ford
knew that he was Pearsall.
Pearsall was a man of fifty. He was tall, spare, with closely shaven
face and gray hair, worn rather long. He spoke with the accent of
a Southerner, and although to Ford he was studiously polite, he was
obviously greatly ill at ease. He had the abrupt, inattentive manners,
the trembling fingers and quivering lips, of one who had long been
a slave to the drug habit, and who now, with difficulty, was holding
himself in hand.
Throughout the dinner, speaking to him as though, interested only as
his medical advisers, the Jew, and occasionally the American, sharply
examined and cross-examined their visitor. But they were unable to trip
him in his story, or to suggest that he was not just what he claimed to
be.
When the dinner was finished, the three men, for different reasons, were
each more at his ease. Both Pearsall and Prothero believed from the new
patient they had nothing to fear, and Ford was congratulating himself
that his presence at the house was firmly secure.
“I think,” said Pearsall, “we should warn Mr. Grant that there are in
the house other patients who, like himself, are suffering from nervous
disorders. At times some silly neurotic woman becomes hysterical, and
may make an outcry or scream. He must not think ----”
“That's all right!” Ford reassured him cheerfully. “I expect that. In a
sanatorium it must be unavoidable.”
As he spoke, as though by a signal prearranged, there came from the
upper portion of the house a scream, long, insistent.
It was the voice of a woman, raised in appeal, in protest, shaken with
fear. Without for an instant regarding it, the two men fastened their
eyes upon the visitor. The hand of the Jew dropped quickly from his
beard, and slid to the inside pocket of his coat. With eyes apparently
unseeing, Ford noted the movement.
“He carries a gun,” was his mental comment, “and he seems perfectly
willing to use it.” Aloud, he said: “That, I suppose is one of them?”
Prothero nodded gravely, and turned to Pearsall. “Will you attend her?”
he asked.
As Pearsall rose and left the room, Prothero rose also.
“You will come with me,” he directed, “and I will see you settle in your
apartment. Your bag has arrived and is already there.”
The room to which the Jew led him was the front one on the second story.
It was in no way in keeping with a sanatorium, or a rest-cure. The walls
were hidden by dark blue hangings, in which sparkled tiny mirrors, the
floor was covered with Turkish rugs, the lights concealed inside lamps
of dull brass bedecked with crimson tassels. In the air were the odors
of stale tobacco-smoke, of cheap incense, and the sickly, sweet smell of
opium. To Ford the place suggested a cigar-divan rather than a bedroom,
and he guessed, correctly, that when Prothero had played at palmistry
and clairvoyance this had been the place where he received his dupes.
But the American expressed himself pleased with his surroundings, and
while Prothero remained in the room, busied himself with unpacking his
bag.
On leaving him the Jew halted in the door and delivered himself of a
little speech. His voice was stern, sharp, menacing.
“Until you are cured,” he said, “you will not put your foot outside this
room. In this house are other inmates who, as you have already learned,
are in a highly nervous state. The brains of some are unbalanced. With
my associate and myself they are familiar, but the sight of a stranger
roaming through the halls might upset them. They might attack you, might
do you bodily injury. If you wish for anything, ring the electric bell
beside your bed and an attendant will come. But you yourself must not
leave the room.”
He closed the door, and Ford, seating himself in front of the coal fire,
hastily considered his position. He could not persuade himself that,
strategically, it was a satisfactory one. The girl he sought was on the
top or fourth floor, he on the second. To reach her he would have to
pass through Well-lighted halls, up two flights Of stairs and try
to enter a door that would undoubtedly be locked. On the other hand,
instead of wandering about in the rain outside the house, he was now
established on the inside, and as an inmate. Had there been time for a
siege, he would have been confident of success. But there was no time.
The written call for help had been urgent. Also, the scream he had
heard, while the manner of the two men had shown that to them it was a
commonplace, was to him a spur to instant action. In haste he knew there
was the risk of failure, but he must take that risk.
He wished first to assure himself that Cuthbert was within call, and to
that end put out the lights and drew aside the curtains that covered the
window. Outside, the fog was rolling between the house-fronts, both rain
and snow were falling heavily, and a solitary gas-lamp showed only a
deserted and dripping street. Cautiously Ford lit a match and for an
instant let the flame flare. He was almost at once rewarded by the sight
of an answering flame that flickered from a dark doorway. Ford closed
the window, satisfied that his line of communication with the outside
world was still intact. The faithful Cuthbert was on guard.
Ford rapidly reviewed each possible course of action. These were
several, but to lead any one of them to success, he saw that he must
possess a better acquaintance with the interior of the house. Especially
was it important that he should obtain a line of escape other than the
one down the stairs to the front door. The knowledge that in the rear of
the house there was a means of retreat by a servants' stairway, or over
the roof of an adjoining building, or by a friendly fire-escape, would
at least, lend him confidence in his adventure. Accordingly, in spite of
Prothero's threat, he determined at once to reconnoitre. In case of his
being discovered outside his room, he would explain his electric bell
was out of order, that when he rang no servant had answered, and that he
had sallied forth in search of one. To make this plausible, he unscrewed
the cap of the electric button in the wall, and with his knife cut off
enough of the wire to prevent a proper connection. He then replaced the
cap and, opening the door, stepped into the hall.
The upper part of the house was, sunk in silence, but rising from the
dining-room below, through the opening made by the stairs, came the
voices of Prothero and Pearsall. And mixed with their voices came also
the sharp hiss of water issuing from a siphon. The sound was reassuring.
Apparently, over their whiskey-and-soda the two men were still lingering
at the dinner-table. For the moment, then--so far, at least, as they
were concerned--the coast was clear.
Stepping cautiously, and keeping close to the wall, Ford ran lightly
up the stairs to the hall of the third floor. It was lit brightly by a
gas-jet, but no one was in sight, and the three doors opening upon it
were shut. At the rear of the hall was a window; the blind was raised,
and through the panes, dripping in the rain, Ford caught a glimpse of
the rigid iron rods of a fire-escape. His spirits leaped exultantly. If
necessary, by means of this scaling ladder, he could work entirely
from the outside. Greatly elated, he tiptoed past the closed doors and
mounted to the fourth floor. This also was lit by a gas-jet that showed
at one end of the hall a table on which were medicine-bottles and a tray
covered by a napkin; and at the other end, piled upon each other and
blocking the hall-window, were three steamer-trunks. Painted on each
were the initials, “D. D.” Ford breathed an exclamation.
“Dosia Dale,” he muttered, “I have found you!” He was again confronted
by three closed doors, one leading to a room that faced the street,
another opening upon a room in the rear of the house, and opposite,
across the hallway, still another door. He observed that the first two
doors were each fastened from the outside by bolts and a spring lock,
and that the key to each lock was in place. The fact moved him with
indecision. If he took possession of the keys, he could enter the rooms
at his pleasure. On the other hand, should their loss be discovered, an
alarm would be raised and he would inevitably come under suspicion. The
very purpose he had in view might be frustrated. He decided that where
they were the keys would serve him as well as in his pocket, and turned
his attention to the third door. This was not locked, and, from its
position, Ford guessed it must be an entrance to a servants' stairway.
Confident of this, he opened it, and found a dark, narrow landing, a
flight of steps mounting from the kitchen below, and, to his delight an
iron ladder leading to a trap-door. He could hardly forego a cheer. If
the trap-door were not locked, he had found a third line of retreat, a
means of escape by way of the roof, far superior to any he might attempt
by the main staircase and the street-door.
Ford stepped into the landing, closing the door behind him and though
this left him in complete darkness, he climbed the ladder, and with
eager fingers felt for the fastenings of the trap. He had feared to
find a padlock, but, to his infinite relief, his fingers closed upon
two bolts. Noiselessly, and smoothly, they drew back from their sockets.
Under the pressure of his hand the trap door lifted, and through the
opening swept a breath of chill night air.
Ford hooked one leg over a round of the ladder and, with hands frees
moved the trap to one side. An instant later he had scrambled to the
roof, and, after carefully replacing the trap, rose and looked about
him. To his satisfaction, he found that the roof upon which he stood ran
level with the roofs adjoining its to as far as Devonshire Street,
where they encountered the wall of an apartment house. This was of
seven stories. On the fifth story a row of windows, brilliantly lighted,
opened upon the roofs over which he planned to make his retreat. Ford
chuckled with nervous excitement.
“Before long,” he assured himself, “I will be visiting the man who owns
that flat. He will think I am a burglar. He will send for the police.
There is no one in the world I shall be so glad to see!”
Ford considered that running over roofs, even when their pitfalls were
not concealed by a yellow fog, was an awkward exercise, and decided that
before he made his dash for freedom, the part of a careful jockey would
be to take a preliminary canter over the course. Accordingly, among
party walls of brick, rain-pipes, chimney-pipes, and telephone wires,
he felt his way to the wall of the apartment house; and then, with a
clearer idea of the obstacles to be avoided, raced back to the point
whence he had started.
Next, to discover the exact position of the fire-escape, he dropped to
his knees and crawled to the rear edge of the roof. The light from the
back windows of the fourth floor showed him an iron ladder from the edge
of the roof to the platform of the fire-escape, and the platform itself,
stretching below the windows the width of the building. He gave a sigh
of satisfaction, but the same instant exclaimed with dismay. The windows
opening upon the fire-escape were closely barred. For a moment he was
unable to grasp why a fire-escape should be placed where escape was
impossible, until he recognized that the ladder must have been erected
first and the iron bars later; probably only since Miss Dale had been
made a prisoner.
But he now appreciated that in spite of the iron bars he was nearer that
prisoner than he had ever been. Should he return to the hall below, even
while he could unlock the doors, he was in danger of discovery by those
inside the house. But from the fire-escape only a window-pane would
separate him from the prisoner, and though the bars would keep him at
arm's-length, he might at least speak with her, and assure her that
her call for help had carried. He grasped the sides of the ladder and
dropped to the platform. As he had already seen that the window farthest
to the left was barricaded with trunks, he disregarded it, and passed
quickly to the two others. Behind both of these, linen shades were
lowered, but, to his relief, he found that in the middle window the
lower sash, as though for ventilation, was slightly raised, leaving
an opening of a few inches. Kneeling on the gridiron platform of the
fire-escape, and pressing his face against the bars, he brought his eyes
level with this opening. Owing to the lowered window-blind, he could see
nothing in the room, nor could he distinguish any sound until above the
drip and patter of the rain there came to him the peaceful ticking of
a clock and the rattle of coal falling to the fender. But of any sound
that was human there was none. That the room was empty, and that the
girl was in the front of the house was possible, and the temptation
to stretch his hand through the bars and lift the blind was almost
compelling. If he did so, and the girl were inside, she might make an
outcry, or, guarding her, there might be an attendant, who at once would
sound the alarm. The risk was evident, but, encouraged by the silence,
Ford determined to take the chance. Slipping one hand between the bars
he caught the end of the blind, and, pulling it gently down, let the
spring draw it upward. Through an opening of six inches the room lay
open before him. He saw a door leading to another room, at one side an
iron cot, and in front of the coal fire, facing him, a girl seated in a
deep arm-chair. A book lay on her knees, and she was intently reading.
The girl was young, and her face, in spite of an unnatural pallor and an
expression of deep melancholy, was one of extreme beauty. She wore over
a night-dress a long loose wrapper corded at the waist, and, as though
in readiness for the night, her black hair had been drawn back into
smooth, heavy braids. She made so sweet and sad a picture that Ford
forgot his errand, forgot his damp and chilled body, and for a moment
in sheer delight knelt, with his face pressed close to the bars, and
gazed at her.
A movement on the part of the girl brought him to his senses. She closed
the book, and, leaning forward, rested her chin upon the hollow of her
hand and stared into the fire. Her look was one of complete and hopeless
misery. Ford did not hesitate. The girl was alone, but that at any
moment an attendant might join her was probable, and the rare chance
that now offered would be lost. He did not dare to speak, or by any
sound attract her attention, but from his breast-pocket he took the
glove thrown to him from the window, and, with a jerk, tossed it through
the narrow opening. It fell directly at her feet. She had not seen the
glove approach, but the slight sound it made in falling caused her to
start and turn her eyes toward it. Through the window, breathless, and
with every nerve drawn taut, Ford watched her.
For a moment, partly in alarm, partly in bewilderment, she sat
motionless, regarding the glove with eyes fixed and staring. Then she
lifted them to the ceiling, in quick succession to each of the closed
doors, and then to the window. In his race across the roofs Ford had
lacked the protection of a hat, and his hair was plastered across his
forehead; his face was streaked with soot and snow, his eyes shone with
excitement. But at sight of this strange apparition the girl made no
sign. Her alert mind had in an instant taken in the significance of the
glove, and for her what followed could have but one meaning. She knew
that no matter in what guise he came the man whose face was now pressed
against the bars was a friend.
With a swift, graceful movement she rose to her feet, crossed quickly to
the window, and sank upon her knees.
“Speak in a whisper,” she said; “and speak quickly. You are in great
danger!”
That her first thought was of his safety gave Ford a thrill of shame and
pleasure.
Until now Miss Dosia Dale had been only the chief feature in a newspaper
story; the unknown quantity in a problem. She had meant no more to him
than had the initials on her steamer-trunk. Now, through her beauty,
through the distress in her eyes, through her warm and generous nature
that had disclosed itself with her first words, she became a living,
breathing, lovely, and lovable woman. All of the young man's chivalry
leaped to the call. He had gone back several centuries. In feeling, he
was a knight-errant rescuing beauty in distress from a dungeon cell. To
the girl, he was a reckless young person with a dirty face and eyes
that gave confidence. But, though a knight-errant, Ford was a modern
knight-errant. He wasted no time in explanations or pretty speeches.
“In two minutes,” he whispered, “I'll unlock your door. There's a ladder
outside your room to the roof. Once we get to the roof the rest's easy.
Should anything go wrong, I'll come back by this fire-escape. Wait at
the window until you see your door open. Do you understand?”
The girl answered with an eager nod. The color had flown to her cheek.
Her eyes flashed in excitement. A sudden doubt assailed Ford.
“You've no time to put on any more clothes,” he commanded.
“I haven't got any!” said the girl.
The knight-errant ran up the fire-escape, pulled himself over the edge
of the roof, and, crossing it, dropped through the trap to the landing
of the kitchen stairs. Here he expended the greater part of the two
minutes he had allowed himself in cautiously opening the door into the
hall. He accomplished this without a sound, and in one step crossed the
hall to the door that held Miss Dale a prisoner.
Slowly he drew back the bolts. Only the spring lock now barred him from
her. With thumb and forefinger he turned the key, pushed the door gently
open, and ran into the room.
At the same instant from behind him, within six feet of him, he heard
the staircase creak. A bomb bursting could not have shaken him more
rudely. He swung on his heel and found, blocking the door, the giant
bulk of Prothero regarding him over the barrel of his pistol.
“Don't move!” said the Jew.
At the sound of his voice the girl gave a cry of warning, and sprang
forward.
“Go back!” commanded Prothero. His voice was low and soft, and
apparently calm, but his face showed white with rage.
Ford had recovered from the shock of the surprise. He, also, was in a
rage--a rage of mortification and bitter disappointment.
“Don't point that gun at me!” he blustered.
The sound of leaping footsteps and the voice of Pearsall echoed from the
floor below.
“Have you got him?” he called.
Prothero made no reply, nor did he lower his pistol. When Pearsall was
at his side, without turning his head, he asked in the same steady tone:
“What shall we do with him?”
The face of Pearsall was white, and furious with fear.
“I told you----” he stormed.
“Never mind what you told me,” said the Jew. “What shall we do with him?
He knows!”
Ford's mind was working swiftly. He had no real fear of personal danger
for the girl or himself. The Jew, he argued, was no fool. He would not
risk his neck by open murder. And, as he saw it, escape with the girl
might still be possible. He had only to conceal from Prothero his
knowledge of the line of retreat over the house-tops, explain his
rain-soaked condition, and wait a better chance.
To this end he proceeded to lie briskly and smoothly.
“Of course I know,” he taunted. He pointed to his dripping garments.
“Do you know where I've been? In the street, placing my men. I have this
house surrounded. I am going to walk down those stairs with this young
lady. If you try to stop me I have only to blow my police-whistle----”
“And I will blow your brains out!” interrupted the Jew. It was a most
unsatisfactory climax.
“You have not been in the street,” said Prothero. “You are wet because
you hung out of your window signalling to your friend. Do you know why
he did not answer your second signal? Because he is lying in an area,
with a knife in him!”
“You lie!” cried Ford.
“YOU lie,” retorted the Jew quietly, “when you say your men surround
this house. You are alone. You are NOT in the police service, you are
a busybody meddling with men who think as little of killing you as they
did of killing your friend. My servant was placed to watch your window,
saw your signal, reported to me. And I found your assistant and threw
him into an area, with a knife in him!”
Ford felt the story was untrue. Prothero was trying to frighten him.
Out of pure bravado no sane man would boast of murder. But--and at the
thought Ford felt a touch of real fear--was the man sane? It was a most
unpleasant contingency. Between a fight with an angry man and an insane
man the difference was appreciable. From this new view-point Ford
regarded his adversary with increased wariness; he watched him as he
would a mad dog. He regretted extremely he had not brought his revolver.
With his automatic pistol still covering Ford, Prothero spoke to
Pearsall.
“I found him,” he recited, as though testing the story he would tell
later, “prowling through my house at night. Mistaking him for a burglar,
I killed him. The kitchen window will be found open, with the lock
broken, showing how he gained an entrance. Why not?” he demanded.
“Because,” protested Pearsall, in terror, “the man outside will
tell----”
Ford shouted in genuine relief.
“Exactly!” he cried. “The man outside, who is not down an area with a
knife in him, but who at this moment is bringing the police--he will
tell!”
As though he had not been interrupted, Prothero continued thoughtfully:
“What they may say he expected to find here, I can explain away later.
The point is that I found a strange man, hatless, dishevelled, prowling
in my house. I called on him to halt; he ran, I fired, and unfortunately
killed him. An Englishman's home is his castle; an English jury----”
“An English jury,” said Ford briskly, “is the last thing you want to
meet---- It isn't a Chicago jury.”
The Jew flung back his head as though Ford had struck him in the face.
“Ah!” he purred, “you know that, too, do you?” The purr increased to a
snarl. “You know too much!”
For Pearsall, his tone seemed to bear an alarming meaning. He sprang
toward Prothero, and laid both hands upon his disengaged arm.
“For God's sake,” he pleaded, “come away! He can't hurt you--not alive;
but dead, he'll hang you--hang us both. We must go, now, this moment.”
He dragged impotently at the left arm of the giant. “Come!” he begged.
Whether moved by Pearsall's words or by some thought of his own,
Prothero nodded in assent. He addressed himself to Ford.
“I don't know what to do with you,” he said, “so I will consult with
my friend outside this door. While we talk, we will lock you in. We can
hear any move you make. If you raise the window or call I will open the
door and kill you--you and that woman!”
With a quick gesture, he swung to the door, and the spring lock snapped.
An instant later the bolts were noisily driven home.
When the second bolt shot into place, Ford turned and looked at Miss
Dale.
“This is a hell of a note!” he said
III
Outside the locked door the voices of the two men rose in fierce
whispers. But Ford regarded them not at all. With the swiftness of
a squirrel caught in a cage, he darted on tiptoe from side to side
searching the confines of his prison. He halted close to Miss Dale and
pointed at the windows.
“Have you ever tried to loosen those bars?” he whispered.
The girl nodded and, in pantomime that spoke of failure, shrugged her
shoulders.
“What did you see?” demanded Ford hopefully.