HENRY UPDYKE DROPS IN
Wondering what might be going on at Sawyer's home, Villard went into his
study and gave him a ring over the phone. Sawyer personally answered the
call. Evidently the episode of the morning had been trying, for his
voice was gruff--much deeper than usual.
"Who calls?" he demanded in a rasping tone.
"Villard speaking--I have been wondering how matters stood over your
way. All serene over here. The girl has opened her eyes, but immediately
went back to sleep."
"I'm glad to hear that--over here the situation is terrible! This man
Parkins is a ruffian--at death's door his oaths are blasphemous, and to
those who are trying to save his worthless life he shouts defiance and
demands his revolver that he may 'kill the whole bunch'--to use his
words, expurgated. His language toward Doctor Benton was vile!"
"Well, well--that must be stopped! Wouldn't it be safe to move him to a
sanitarium--or something?"
"Yes--an asylum for insane drunkards--that's what you meant to
say--wasn't it?"
"Approximately that--why not drop over for a while and we will have a
chat? You can count on me--you know that. I'm awfully sorry that you're
mixed up in this, but when you come to know the girl you'll forgive
everything."
"I'll do that now, and I will be right over," said Sawyer, slamming the
receiver back in its place in pure spite against the upheavals of the
day.
It was well along toward evening before Dr. Sawyer took leave of
Villard's happy hospitality. He had even been invited to take a peep at
the beautiful Winifred Barbour, who still slept, but would soon be
normal--according to the doctor whose second call had brought complete
assurance to the household. But the ever recurring subject between them
was William Parkins. What should be done with him? More than once
Villard showed signs of irresolution regarding him. Perhaps if he were
sent to one of the far-off branches--Cape Town, for instance--but
Sawyer threw up his hands and shouted "Pish--tush!"
"Why man alive--he would kill the business of all your foreign
connections. Asylum!--put him in a place where he may reflect at his
leisure--and, say!--here's an idea--send for Henry Updyke!" exclaimed
Sawyer, banging the arm of his chair.
Without a word Villard stepped into the booth and rang up his
man--promptly making connection.
"I wish you'd run down here, Henry," said he, "I have a problem to
solve."
"You bet you have--same old problem--Parkins!"
"Of course you would know all about our trouble," laughed Villard. "You
surely have a nose for news."
"Yep--Parkins is at Sawyer's pretty well smashed, but still keeping his
eyes open. We are watching the place--night and day shift from now
on--but we've got nothing on him. You can't jail a man for a smash-up
unless it was by premeditated defiance of the speed laws. And you'd
have to prove it. How is the girl?"
"Resting easily--Benton says she'll come through all right."
"Wonderful girl--eh? I've seen her off and on since she was a little
child. I've known the father quite well--a dull sort, but easy to
extract information from--if he has any. If he ever had any he didn't
know it--just gave it up by way of general conversation. I guess I'll
run down after a while, probably be at your house about eight--that
gives you time for your dinner."
"Bless you, yes--come down at once and break bread with me--I'll wait."
"No--can't leave now--see you to-night at eight--have Sawyer there if
you can."
"He's here now--I'll have him dine with us. He's pretty well broken up
over the day--but--my boy!--it has been a great day for me!--can't talk
now--good-bye!"
Turning to his friend Sawyer, Villard again appealed to him to stay for
dinner, but his neighbor felt that that day had worn him out. Bed was
the place for him, as early as possible, after his dinner. He urged that
Updyke be coaxed to stay over night, and take a look at Parkins.
Dreading the presence of the man in his home he stood in need of
courage, and Villard agreed to hold Updyke if such a thing were
possible.
Promptly at eight the big fellow rode into the driveway at Dreamy
Hollow, accompanied by two men, a chauffeur and an operative. Having
been expected, Villard himself met Updyke at the porte-cochère along
with the servant. Santzi hovered near, but was not obsequious. When the
guest had alighted, he jumped upon the running board and showed his man
the way to the garage. It had been a glorious day for Santzi as he had
served his employer well, which made him very happy. When the car was
garaged he led the way to his small kitchenette and served the two men a
Japanese dinner.
Meanwhile the big mansion showed no lights, Villard and Updyke having
gone into consultation in Villard's office. Big men that they were, each
eyed the other solemnly, and then, simultaneously they broke out with a
hearty laugh--and that relieved the tension.
"Life is a great experience," said Villard, his big open face radiating
his good humor--"one little thing right after another."
"And the more we laugh the more we live," replied Updyke, lighting his
usual black cigar.
"A big day for me, Henry!" exclaimed the host; "a great day indeed!"
"Yep--little Winifred--your luck is phenomenal, old fellow. I
congratulate you with all my heart."
"But suppose she wakes up and asks for Parkins?" queried Villard,
anxiously.
"I had thought of that, and my hope is that something else will occur.
But that very thing might happen. Better be prepared for it," said
Updyke, his face denoting his serious thought on that subject.
"Please particularize, Henry. What precedent have you to offer?"
Villard's interest was from the depths of his heart and the uncertainty
of the girl's attitude on awakening was already forming a dread in his
mind.
"I gauge my thoughts on what has gone before in numerous cases. Consider
yourself in my car seated in front beside me. I'm loaded with booze but
it is inside of me, so I do not catch the odor of it myself. But you,
who have never touched liquor, catch a whiff of it, and instantly your
suspicion is aroused to the fact that I'm a drinking man."
"But there are----"
"Yes, I know there are moderate drinkers, but girls brought up
carefully, as Winifred has been, have nevertheless come to know the
terrorism of old John Barleycorn. She lives near a great artery of
automobile traffic. Most of it perfectly respectable, but some of it
vile and besotted. She reads the Riverhead paper probably, and a
magazine of some sort, appealing to her feminine viewpoint. In other
words, now that she is a business woman, her vision has enlarged, and
not a day goes by that she does not witness something that reminds her
that she is opposed to drunkards. But she is sorry for them,
nevertheless. Given her choice, she surely would not associate with a
man who drinks."
"Undoubtedly Parkins had been drinking. Dr. Benton admitted as much to
me," volunteered Villard. "The odor was still on his breath."
"Yes, but Winifred may not have sensed it, for Parkins uses the old
fashioned eau de cologne on his lips, eyebrows, handkerchief, and his
hair always smells of pomade and tonic. A country girl might easily
believe that perfume used by a fascinating fellow like Parkins was quite
the thing, but no girl would sit beside a man who drove into a curve at
a fifty or sixty mile gait without sensing danger--would she?"
"I dare say no sophisticated girl would--probably no girl, sophisticated
or otherwise, would fail of being apprehensive," agreed Villard.
"Very well--now comes the point you originated. You asked me to guess
what she will say when she comes to her senses. She will not say what
you think she will. The last thing she thought about just as the cars
collided will be the thoughts she will wake up with."
"Sounds logical," agreed Villard.
"Statistics prove it in hundreds of cases. As her senses left her she
felt a shock akin to death," said Updyke, soberly. "And as she went into
what looked to be certain death she must have wondered if Parkins was
insane. It was all so sudden, her thoughts may not have been entirely
formulated, but even in the zone of coma the brain functions in a weird
sort of way, incomprehensible to the victim, but remembered
afterward--if the victim survives."
"Doctor Benton thinks a little soft music from the organ might be
helpful in bringing her out of her present state. Under your theory it
might not help," said Villard. "Would you experiment?"
"Surely I would," exclaimed Updyke, "but I'd soft pedal at the start. As
I understand the situation she hasn't opened her eyes since the
accident, therefore I would go slow in startling her sensibilities for
the present."
"I'm going to make a confession, Henry, but don't say anything to the
doctor about it when he comes in shortly. My housekeeper and I stood by
her bedside and she was so beautiful I said to Mrs. Bond, 'I wish she
would open her eyes'--I hadn't seen them, you know, although I had held
her in my arms for awhile just after the accident--and all the way home.
Well, believe it or not, I'll be switched if the little creature didn't
do it--and by jinks--she seemed to recognize me!"
Updyke was plainly at a loss to account for the recognition.
"Very strange, indeed," he conceded as he gave Villard a sharp look.
"Sure you didn't have a little brain trouble when you saw those bright
eyes?" laughed Updyke. "I can't account for her recognition of a person
whom she had never seen or heard of before."
"Nevertheless, what I say is bona fide, as Mrs. Bond will attest. She
saw the girl's eyes open, and the look of recognition--and more, the
girl smiled at me, and went back to sleep. Now, old sleuth, 'what do you
make of that'?--as Sherlock used to say."
"Well, let's see if we can figure it out," replied Updyke soberly. "Why,
it's perfectly plain--the message from your dead sweetheart, and the
father running around calling his girl by name. My operative phoned me
the circumstances. He saw and heard everything."
"You are right--as usual. I'll have to buy a medal for you, but for the
present I am going to ask you to look at her. Sometimes a man of your
experience may have intuitions that doctors may not have. Benton was
here on his second visit just before you came, and is coming back again
to-night. Parkins is in very bad shape, so he is giving a larger share
of attention to him. He feels sure of Winifred's recovery and is not
uneasy about her. Now you come with me and tell me what you think after
you've studied her face."
"Lead the way," said Updyke as they ascended the stairway.
The night nurse had arrived, and she came to the door, as the two men
looked into the sick room. She glanced up inquiringly.
"I am Mr. Villard and this is Mr. Updyke--a specialist in his way. I
want him to look at the patient."
"Come in please," invited the nurse. "She is still asleep and I've kept
the night lights on in order that she shall not wake up in too much
darkness."
"Has she opened her eyes since you came on duty?" asked Updyke.
"No--only once has she opened them I'm told, and then only to close them
again," was the reply. "That happened earlier in the day. Her father was
in several times, and it was pitiful the way he prayed for her life. I
just couldn't help crying."
Updyke went over to the bedside and bent over the white face,
scrutinizing it carefully. For nearly a minute he peered steadily at the
eyelids until finally his patience was rewarded--they twitched! Noting
the fact, he put his mouth close to her ear and whispered as softly as
his voice would carry--"Winifred," he breathed--and the eyelids
fluttered.
"Wonderful!" whispered the nurse, but Updyke raised his hand indicating
his desire for complete silence.
"It's time to wake up little girl--your father wants his breakfast and
the booth must be opened--it's going to be a busy day."
Updyke's voice, gentle at first, was almost natural in tone at the
finish. A perceptible movement of the hand and lips indicated that her
condition was not so serious as Villard had feared, and his solemn face
became radiant--but immediately afterward, glum, when Updyke said:
"That's all for the present--she'll wake up naturally bye and bye. It's
dangerous to force the issue."
A servant bearing a message suddenly took both men out of the sick
room--"Mr. Updyke is wanted on the phone."
An operative had some important news for him.
"Have put Parkins' valet through a sweat bath--got everything he knew.
'Number Nine' was with me and took down the whole story. Shall I shoot
it?"
"Shoot" replied Updyke, winking at Villard. Then to the latter he said:
"He is going to give me the confession of Parkins' valet--and the valet
is one of my men."--"Go, ahead--I am listening," said he, as he removed
his hand from the mouthpiece.
"Here goes," said the operative--"Parkins, drinking heavily as he got
himself ready for a run over to Long Island licked up two-thirds of a
quart of straight whisky while he shaved, bathed, and dressed. Had been
brought home in Villard's limousine guarded by a Jap. Though jaded he
didn't try to sleep, but began to change his clothes, and talked to
himself in a maudlin way. The valet said he continually referred to a
poor little motherless girl--who evidently lived on Long Island. He was
to bring the girl and her father to New York--neither had ever been to
the city--although lifelong residents of Long Island. Parkins talked of
sending 'the old man,' meaning the father, on a bus ride to the end of
the line and back, probably for the purpose of losing him. The girl was
to stay with Parkins and be shown the town, the big stores--tall
buildings and so on, with a probable wind up at dinner at some shady
joint. While Parkins had not actually unfolded his intentions toward
her, the inference was that he would see that she took something that
would put her out for a time. Nothing indicated as to the father after
the ride on the bus--sequence would naturally suggest that he would be
allowed to drift. What do you make of it?"
"The plan seems plausible up to the word 'sequence,'" replied Updyke.
"Parkins was known to the girl's father, who trusted him. He could not
afford to let the old man drift for he knew Parkins by name, and would
naturally make inquiries. Parkins could not have risked that. More
likely he would take the girl to a sporty restaurant, and order a
private dining room. If possible he would slip something into the
coffee, or whatever he got her to drink. Parkins is a damnable villain,
and, thank God! we got him before he had a chance to succeed!"
Updyke, whose wrath took on new vigor, fairly snorted as he sensed the
real story.
"I've got a 'John Doe' on the valet," replied the operative. "Fifteen is
in charge of him, here in the office. What shall I do with him?" asked
Number Twelve.
"Just hold him over night in one of the rooms--it might be risky to jail
him. Make him feel at home, and that he is doing us a great favor, for
which he won't lose anything--see? Better put a man in the entrance
hall, next to his room."
"I got you--good night," said the operative.
"Good night, Twelve. You've done a big stunt. See you to-morrow
afternoon or evening," replied the chief, turning to Villard with a
broad grin on his face.
Not wishing to further upset Villard's mind, he said that the
information was second-hand, therefore he would reserve it for the
present. Parkins being in such a serious condition the case might be
settled through his death. Meanwhile, bad off as he was, he should be
"watched like a hawk," and any attempt at escape should be balked at all
hazards. The evidence of the valet was conclusive, but always there
loomed the chance of newspaper notoriety. Therefore, the necessity of
great care.
"Now we'll make a call on Parkins," suggested Updyke, to which Villard
agreed, although the doctor was overdue. A last call for the night on
Winifred had been agreed upon, but evidently the case over at Sawyer's
home was too critical--perhaps an operation had been necessary.
On reaching the Sawyer home Updyke and Villard were informed that the
host had retired, but that Doctor Benton and a surgeon from New York had
experimented upon Parkins, and were awaiting results which might call
for a more dangerous operation in the region of the brain. One of the
two nurses had volunteered the information. The situation was grave.
"I'd rather he died than come out of it a cripple for life," said
Villard, as they strolled back to Dreamy Hollow in a roundabout way.
"Don't worry as to that--he will pull through, and the more crippled he
is the more dangerous he will become," said Updyke. "He will steal the
girl one of these days if you are not everlastingly on the alert."
From that thought Villard, who saw the truth in the prophecy, became
silent, as a new fear seized his heart. By every means in his power he
would frustrate such an eventuality, and with his last drop of blood he
would stand between the girl and the evil genius whose touch would
defile, and whose snares would destroy. Updyke, "mind reader" that he
was, had just grounds for planting the seed of everlasting vigilance in
Villard's brain.
"There is an old saying that 'it takes a rogue to catch a rogue,' Drury,
and I've spent years in acquiring a rogue's viewpoint. Just make up your
mind that Parkins can never assume the rôle of a saint, except as a
subterfuge, and that every hour that he isn't asleep, he is dangerous."
"I place the whole matter in your hands, Henry. I have not the wits for
the job, and would probably lose in any fight against any man with the
mind of a crook," replied Villard.
The worries of the day had been great and rest was important in view of
the duties of to-morrow. A peep into Winifred's suite found the nurse in
good cheer. The sleep of the patient was more normal, and signs of a
desire to awaken had been noted. All was well, as the two men took their
separate ways to comfortable beds and a well-earned rest.