REPARTEE AND A REVOLVER MUZZLE.
The inky blackness fell upon the room with palpable suddenness--like a
blinding flash, numbing for a moment the senses of all who had been
taken by surprise. The reflex of the shock was manifested in a very
babel of incoherent shouts, jostlings and stumblings and sharp
collisions with the furniture.
"Turn up the lights," shouted Captain Stone, amid the tumult.
Travers Gladwin made a blind dive toward the wall and stumbled
headlong over the great antique chest which stood to one side of where
he and the thief had stood contemplating "The Blue Boy." In stumbling
against the chest he felt something that was a revelation to him by
the time he found the switch button and brought back a flood of
light.
"Quick, men, cover the doors--don't let any one get out," yelled
Captain Stone, pivoting on his heel as his eyes vainly sought the
picture expert.
"He's gone!" cried Kearney.
"Yes, up the stairs--I hear him," yelled Gladwin. "There are two back
stairways and the roof. There are two basement exits--post your men
out there, and down through that hallway on the left--the panel
door--that leads to the kitchen. Barnes, you and Bateato take the
young lady up to my study--quick!--I'll look after this room."
The most remarkable thing about it was that every command the young
man shouted was obeyed. Even Kearney was fooled and rushed headlong up
the stairs, followed by two policemen and Barnes, who was yelling:
"Hey! come back here and unlock me! How can I hunt that chap with
these handcuffs on?"
He might as well have appealed to the moon.
Bateato fairly dragged Helen up the stairs after him and guided her to
the magnificently furnished study and den to the right of the
staircase, when he switched on the lights and became furiously active
in the interest of the young girl's comfort.
Captain Stone had rushed out into the street and posted men on the
stoop and at the basement exits; then, followed by the last lone
patrolman of his squad, he darted through the alley at the side of the
mansion which led to the rear yard.
The emptying of the room was accomplished in a few seconds, whereupon
Gladwin hastened to the doorway, reached for the folding doors and
hauled them to, fastening the latch. Next he shut the door to the
kitchen hallway and fastened that, when, with a sigh of relief, he
walked to the long carved oak table that flanked the window, hoisted
himself on it, produced his gold cigarette case, took out a cigarette,
set fire to it, snapped the case and returned it to his pocket.
While he inhaled a deep breath of stimulating smoke his eyes were
fixed upon the great chest directly in front of him.
He was sitting easily on the table, kicking his legs, and he continued
just in that attitude when the lid of the chest lifted a few inches
and a small brilliantly nickelled revolver came out and covered him.
"I'm waiting for yez, Misther Gladwin," chuckled the young man.
By some strange psychologic freak he was not in the least dismayed by
the ominous menace of that shining muzzle, which gradually came
further out as the arm and head of the picture expert followed it.
Once the thief had glimpsed the young man and made out that they had
the room to themselves he came out of the chest as lightly and
noiselessly as he had enveloped himself in it. But his smile was gone
now and in its place there was the wariness of the hunted animal.
Still covering Gladwin and surveying the room he said in low, level
tones:
"If you move it'll be the last act of your life, McGinty."
"Murphy, sorr," purred Gladwin, his face abeam.
"I like your nerve, young un."
"I've been taking lessons from the man who invented nerve."
"Well, you don't seem anxious to give the alarm," said Wilson, toying
with the little automatic and turning it over in the expanse of his
palm.
"No, I'm afraid it might make you nervous."
"Might make me so nervous that this gun would go off, eh?"
A shadow of the old smile came back as he went stealthily to the door
and listened.
"You seem to enjoy smoking," said the peer of art collectors, turning
his back to Gladwin.
"Don't you?"
"Yes."
"Have you time to smoke a cigar?"
"Is it a good one?"
"I don't know--it's the one you gave me while I was Officer 666."
Gladwin tossed the cigar to the thief, who caught it deftly and
inserted it between his lips. "And here's some more of your
possessions," added the young man, drawing out the bribe money he had
accepted while he masqueraded in the officer's uniform.
"Thanks," said Wilson, as he caught the money, "and here's your little
yellow boy, though I wish that intellectual giant of a cop were here
so I could hire his uniform for a bit."
"You amaze me by your generosity," murmured Gladwin as he pocketed the
$500 bill.
"Oh," said the other easily, while he again listened at the door. "I'm
not a regular crook--I'm in the picture business."
"Still, if you kept that bill it might help you get better accommodations
when you reach Sing Sing."
"If I don't need it till then I won't need it for a long, long time."
"You mean you think you're going to escape?"
Gladwin slid down from the table and leaned against it, making no
effort to conceal the admiration he experienced for this man's
superhuman aplomb.
"And with guards all around the house and policemen tearing thirty
rooms apart upstairs and camping on the roof scuttle--yes, and more
coming, maybe."
"I venture to hope so," chuckled the other. "I admit it's close enough
to be interesting."
"Well, I'll say one thing for you," the young millionaire said
earnestly, "you're the coolest chap I ever hope to meet. You're a
marvel."
"Built to order to work in story books, eh? Well, to be candid with
you, McGinty, there are times when I'm not so cool as I look. I'm
almost human."
"Those cops will finish their work soon--then they'll come in here,"
Gladwin warned him.
"I'm listening for them," said Wilson softly, putting his ear to the
door again.
"Just because your pistol prevents me from calling them now, don't
think"----
"This gun isn't stopping you," came the short reply. "If you wanted to
call them you'd take a chance--I've found that out in the last hundred
seconds or so."
"Thank you for the compliment, but I"----
"Well, I'll prove it," the thief intervened, and tossed the gun to
Gladwin, who caught it as if it were something hot. "Go ahead and call
them."
"How do you know I wouldn't call them?" the young man asked, examining
the automatic and finding it empty.
"Don't be a child," shrugged the other. "You closed these doors, and
you butted in about the 'Blue Boy' just as that Central Office owl
produced his jewelry. Yes, and you stumbled against the chest and knew
that I was in it."
"But I say," asked Gladwin, abruptly. "How did you come to use my
name?"
"It wasn't safe to use mine, and when I met Miss----that girl--your
name was in my mind--I borrowed it."
"That's the thing I can't forgive you for," said Gladwin, regretfully--"to
deceive her as you did. That was rotten."
"I don't care for your opinion on that," said the picture expert,
warmly. "How can a man like you understand a man like me? It can't be
done. We're further apart than the poles."
"But you must see, Wilson--that's the name, isn't it?"
"It will do for the nonce, kind sir."
"But you must see that the game is up. If you take my advice you won't
even try to escape."
"Then I won't take your advice," said Wilson, softly.
"But all these policemen know you're a big prize. If they find you and
you break for it, they'll shoot--and shoot to kill if necessary."
The thief flung round on him and his face was suddenly drawn and
serious.
"Death, my dear Gladwin, is the very least of my troubles, if it will
only come like that."
"By Jove! I like you--and I hope you escape!"
"I know you do," said Wilson, shaking his head, "but not altogether on
my account. You're thinking of her--the girl. You don't want it to be
known that she was going to marry me."
"To be frank, yes. They're coming now. Quick! Do something!"
The thief seized from the floor one of the portières he had torn down
to wrap the canvases in, wound it about him and darted behind the
curtains that screened the window. As he vanished Gladwin went to the
door and heard the voice of his friend, Whitney Barnes, demanding
admission.