XI

Through the long, hours of the night Gard lay awake, living over the

gruesome moments spent in the ill-omened house on Washington Square. The

ghastly face of the dead man seemed to stare at him from every corner of

the luxurious room.

Had he done wisely, Gard wondered, in setting the scene of robbery? Had

he done it convincingly? That he could become involved in the case in

another character than that of witness, occurred to him, but he

dismissed it with a shrug. He was able, he felt, to cope with any

situation. Nevertheless, the valuables he had taken from the corpse

seemed to take on bulk. He thanked his stars that his valet was not with

him--at least he would not have to consider the ever present danger of

discovery. He had hoped to dispose of the compromising articles while

crossing the ferry, but when, on his suggestion of the benefits of cool

night air, he had descended from the motor and advanced to the rail,

Denning had accompanied him and remained at his elbow, discussing future

moves in their giant financial game. Once on board the private car, he

had considered disposing of the jewels from the car window or the

observation platform, but abandoned that scheme as worse than useless.

The track walkers' inevitable discovery would only bring suspicion upon

someone traveling along the line--and who but himself must eventually he

suspected?

There was nothing for it but to break up the horde piece by piece and

lose the compromising gems in unrecognizable fragments. The impulse was

upon him to switch on the electrics and begin the work of destruction

here in his stateroom at once. But he feared Denning; he feared Langley.

Then his thoughts reverted to Mrs. Marteen. Where was she? Where was she

hiding? Had she made away with herself after her desperate deed? His

heart ached and yearned toward her while his senses revolted in horror

of the crime. His world was torn asunder. The awful discovery he had

made had once and for all precluded a change of plans. Sudden resistance

on his part would have been enigmatical to Denning--or he must confess

the state of affairs in the silent house he had just left. At least by

his ruse he had gained time for her, perhaps even protection.

Her letter, her frantic record of pain and misery, was in his pocket. He

found it, and feeling that even if he were observed to be absorbed in

reading, it could only appear natural in view of his mission, he propped

himself with pillows and reread the tear-blistered pages. His spirit

rebelled. No, no; the woman who had written those searing, bitter lines

of awakening could not be guilty of monstrous murder. He hated himself

that his mind had accused her. He cursed himself that by his

intervention he had perhaps thrown investigation upon the wrong scent,

while the truth, he assured himself, must exonerate her and bring the

real criminal to justice. What could have made him be such a fool? The

next instant he thanked his stars that he had been cool enough to plan

the scene. As he read the throbbing pages, tears rose to his eyes again

and again; he had to lay the letter down and compose himself. Ah, he was

wrong, always at fault. By his well-intended interference, he had

arranged Dorothy's flight, with results he trembled to foresee. And

Dorothy! What was he to tell the child? How was he to prepare her to

bear the present strain and the knowledge of what might come?

The fevered hours passed slowly. It was with a wrenching effort that he

forced his mind to concentrate on the business in hand for the coming

day. Yet, for his own honor and the sake of his people, it must be done,

and well done. Moreover, there must be no wavering on his part, nothing

to let anyone infer an unusual disturbance of mind. He must be prepared

to play shocked surprise when the tragic news reached him.

Utter exhaustion finally overpowered his fevered brain and he fell into

a troubled sleep, from which he was aroused by Denning's voice. The car

was not in motion, and he divined that it had been shunted to await

their pleasure. He dressed hastily, his heart still aching with dread

and uncertainty.

As he faced himself in the mirror he noted his sunken eyes and ghastly

color, and Denning, entering behind him, noted it, too, with a quick

thrill of sympathy. He had come to accept as fact his fear, expressed in

the directors' room. Gard must be suffering from some deadly disease.

"You look all in, Gard," he said regretfully. "I'm sorry I had to drive

you so." He hesitated. "Has--have the doctors been giving you a scare

about yourself?"

Gard divined the other's version of his strange actions, and jumped at

an excuse that explained and covered much.

"Don't talk about it," he said gruffly. "You know it won't do to have

rumors about my health going round."

Denning took the remark as a tacit acquiescence. His face expressed

genuine sympathy and compassion.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly.

Gard looked up and frowned, yet the kindliness extended, though it was

for an imaginary reason, was grateful to him.

"Well, I can take all the extra sympathy anyone has just now," he

answered in a tone that carried conviction. "I've had a good deal to

struggle against recently--but I'm not whipped yet."

"Oh, you'll be all right," Denning encouraged. "You're a young man

still, and you've got the energy of ten young bucks. I'll back you to

win. Cheer up; you've got a hard day ahead." Gard nodded. How hard a day

his friend little guessed. "We'll go on to the hotel when you are ready.

Your first appointment is at nine thirty. Jim is making breakfast for us

here."

"All right," said Gard; "I'll join you in a minute. Go ahead and get

your coffee." Left alone, he hurriedly pocketed Mahr's jewelry, paused a

moment to grind the stone of the scarf pin from its setting--among the

cinders of the terminus the gem and its mangled mounting could both be

easily lost. His one desire now was to put himself in telephonic

communication with New York, but he did not dare to be too pressing.

However, once at the hotel, he made all arrangements to have a call

transferred, and opened connection with Brencherly. He was shaking with

nervousness. "Any news?" he asked.

"None, Mr. Gard, I'm sorry," the detective's voice sounded over the

wire, "except that I've followed your instructions with regard to the

young lady. I've not left the 'phone, sir; slept right here in your

armchair. The hospitals have been questioned, and there is nothing

reported at police headquarters that could possibly interest you. I've

looked over the morning papers carefully to see if there was anything

the reporters had that might be a clew. There's nothing. I took the

liberty of sending Dr. Balys over to the young lady this morning--she

seemed in such a state; he'll be back any minute, though. I've got every

line pulling on the quiet. I've done my best, sir."

Brencherly's voice ceased, and Gard drew a sigh of relief. At least

there was no bad news, and as yet nothing in public print concerning the

tragedy. The discovery had probably been made early that morning by the

servant, whose duty it was to care for the master's private apartments.

The first afternoon papers would contain all the details, and perhaps

the ticker would have the news before. He realized that all the haggard

night he had been fearing that the morning would bring him knowledge of

Mrs. Marteen's death--drowned, asphyxiated, poisoned--the many shapes of

the one terrible deed had presented themselves to his subconscious mind,

to be thrust away by his stubborn will. Dorothy, summoned to the

telephone, had nothing to add to Brencherly's information, but seemed to

derive comfort and consolation from Gard's assurances that all would be

well. She would call him again at noon, she said.

He came from the booth almost glad. His step was light, his troubled

eyes clear once more. He was ready to play his part in every sense,

grateful for the respite from his pain. His confidence in himself

returned, and he went to the trying and momentous meetings of the

morning with his gigantic mental grasp and convincing methods at their

best.

Dorothy's message did not reach him till after midday had come and gone.

Once Larkin had left the conclave and returned with his face big with

consternation and surprise. Gard divined that the news of the murder was

out, but nothing was brought up except the business of the corporation.

When at last he left the meeting he motored back to the hotel, refusing

the hospitality cordially extended to him, his one desire to be again in

touch with events transpiring in New York. He had hardly shown himself

in the lobby when a page summoned him to the telephone.

It was Dorothy, her voice faint with fright.

"It's you," she cried--"it's you! Have you learned anything about

mother? We haven't any news--nothing at all. Mr. Brencherly and the

doctor tell me that everything's being done. But I'm almost wild--and

listen; something awful has happened. It's your friend, Mr. Mahr,

Teddy's father--he's been murdered!"

"What!" exclaimed Gard, thankful that she could not see his face.

"Yes, yes," she continued, "murdered in his own room--they found him

this morning--they say you were the last person to see him before it was

done. Oh, Mr. Gard, aren't you coming home soon? It seems as if terrible

things happen all the time--and I'm frightened. Please, come back!"

The voice choked in a sob, and her hearer longed to take her in his arms

and comfort her, shield her from the terrible possibilities that loomed

big on their horizon.

"My darling little girl, I'm coming, just as fast as I can. I wouldn't

be here, leaving you to face this anxiety alone, if I could possibly

help it--you know that, dear," he pleaded. "I've one more important,

unavoidable interview; then my car couples on to the first express. Give

Teddy all my sympathy. I can hardly realize what you say. Why, I saw him

only last night just before I took the train. Keep up your courage, and

don't be frightened."

"I'll try," came the pathetic voice; "I will--but, oh, come soon!"

Gard excused himself to everyone, pleading the necessity of rest, and

once alone in his room, set about ripping and smashing the incriminating

evidence, until nothing but a few loose stones and crumpled bits of gold

remained. He broke the monogrammed case of the watch from its fastening

and crushed its face. Now to contrive to scatter the fragments would be

a simple matter. He secreted them in an inner pocket, and his pressing

desire of their destruction satisfied, he telephoned to Langley to join

him in his private room at a hurried luncheon. Next he sent for the

afternoon papers. Not a line as yet, however; and Langley and Denning

having evidently decided it to be unwise to deflect his thoughts from

matters in hand, did not mention Mahr. Even when he brought up the name

himself with a casual mention of the possibility of acquiring the Heim

Vandyke, there was nothing said to give him an opportunity to speak and

he was breathless for details, to learn if his ruse had succeeded. At

last he called Brencherly, both Denning and Langley endeavoring to

divert him from his intention.

"Yes, yes," snapped Gard; "what's the news?"

His companions exchanged dubious glances.

"Nothing learned yet about the matter, sir, on which you engaged me,

nothing at all. But--there's something else--I think you ought to

know--Victor Mahr is dead!"

"Dead! How? When?" Gard feigned surprise.

"Murdered last night," came the reply. "Found this morning. Our man

watching the house learned it as soon as anyone did. A case of robbery,

they say--but the coroner's verdict hasn't been given yet. He was hit in

the head with a pistol--but--I think, sir, they'll want you; you saw him

last night, they say--after you left me. Have you any instructions to

give me, sir?"

Gard reflected. "I don't know," he wavered. "Hold all the good men in

your service you can for me--and remember what I told you." He turned to

the two men. "Mahr's dead--murdered!" he blurted out, as if startled by

the news.

They nodded. "Yes, we knew. But," Denning added, "we didn't want to

upset you any further. It came out on the ticker at eleven. How are you

feeling?" he asked with friendly solicitude. "I wish you'd eat

something--you've not touched anything but coffee for nearly twenty-four

hours."

"I can't," said Gard grimly. "Let's go to the Capitol and get it over

with. Have you 'phoned Senator Ryan? I'm all right," he assured them, as

he caught sight of Langley's dubious expression. "I want to get through

here as quickly as possible and get back. I suppose you realize that

I'll be wanted in the city in more ways than one. I was the last person,

except the murderer, to see Mahr. Come on."

As they came from the Capitol at the close of their conference, Langley

and Denning fell behind for a moment.

"What a wonder the man is!" exclaimed Denning with enthusiasm. "Sick as

he is, and with all these other troubles on him, he's bucked up and

buffaloed this whole thing into shape. He forgets nothing!"

Gard entered the motor first, and, as he leaned forward, dropped from

the opposite window a fragment of twisted gold. An hour later, in the

waiting room they had traversed, a woman picked up a pigeon blood ruby,

but the grinding wheels of trains and engines had left no trace of the

trifles they had destroyed. In the yard near the private siding, a

coupling hand came upon a twisted gold watch case, so crushed that the

diamond monogram it once had boasted was unrecognizable.

"At every stop, Jim," said Gard, as he threw himself wearily into a

lounging chair in the saloon end of the car, "I want you to go out and

get me all the latest editions of the New York papers."

The negro bowed, disappeared into the cook's galley and returned with

glasses and a bottle of champagne. He poured a glass, which Gard drank

gratefully.

Gard heard Langley and Denning moving about their stateroom. The noise

of the terminal rang an iron chorus, accompanied by whistles and the

hiss of escaping steam. The private car was attached to the express, and

the return journey began. His irritated nerves would have set him

tramping pantherwise, but sheer weariness kept him in his chair.

Presently his fellow travelers joined him, but he took little or no heed

of their conversation. Once he drank again, a toast to the successful

issue of their combined efforts. He lay back, striving to control his

rising anxiety. What would the story be that would greet him from the

heavy leads of the newspapers?

"Baltimore--Baltimore--Baltimore"--the wheels seemed to pound the name

from the steel rails; the car rocked to it. By the time they reached

that city the New York afternoon editions would have been distributed.

At last they glided up to the station and the porter swung off into the

waiting room. Gard rose and stood waiting, chewing savagely on his

unlighted cigar.

"It's Mahr," he apologized to Denning. "I want to learn the facts." His

hand shook as he snatched the smudgy sheets from the negro.

In big letters across the front page he caught the headline: