Fools Rush In
Bellingham was alone in his room. Before him, on his desk, lay
letters from his creditors, and beside them a timetable of the local
trains. The telephone leading to the stables stood within easy reach
of his hand, yet he made no effort to lift the receiver from its
resting-place, but remained irresolute and motionless, a picture of
indecision. Over and over again, during the last two days, he had
tried to make up his mind as to the course he should pursue, but his
endeavors had been unavailing, and he was still as far from a
conclusion as ever.
Upon one hand, Decency and Caution combined to warn him. Urged
Decency, "You are living under Marshall Hamilton's roof; accepting his
money; eating his bread. By the merest chance, you have seen something
which you were never intended to see. In loyalty to your employer, you
should dismiss it from your mind, and never think of it again." And
Caution added, "All that Decency says is true, and you must remember
that there is a further consideration, which is more important still.
That is your own safety. There is a mystery here, and it is the
experience of mankind that mystery, as a rule, goes hand in hand with
danger. You may not be satisfied with things as they are, but do not
forget that nothing is ever so bad that you cannot make it still
worse. Therefore you will be wise to drop the whole affair, once and
for all."
Thus argued Decency and Caution, but opposed to them, in Bellingham's
troubled mind, were another pair of powerful allies, Desperation and
Curiosity. Clamored Desperation, "If you cannot find the money to pay
your debts, your creditors will very shortly complain to Mr. Hamilton.
There is no doubt of that; the proof of it lies in black and white on
the table in front of you. And when Mr. Hamilton learns of your
financial condition, he will discharge you at once; that is one point
about which he is most particular. You will lose this position, and
you will have difficulty in finding another; and thus you will drag
through life a failure, with the millstone of debt bound fast around
your neck."
So, with pitiless candor, spoke Desperation, and Curiosity, knowing
the glamor of adventure and the charm of the unknown, added
alluringly, "This is no ordinary mystery; Marshall Hamilton and Cyrus
McKay are two of the biggest men in New York. Opportunity, they say,
knocks but once, and this may be your life's turning-point. You cannot
disregard it."
Thus the secretary gave ear to all these arguments in turn, but in the
end it was the promptings of Caution that he heeded most, for the
primary instinct of self-preservation told him that life, even to a
man hampered by his debts, was still much to be preferred to death and
oblivion. Yet it was hard for him to think of wholly abandoning the
undertaking, and presently it occurred to him that there was more than
one method of solving the mystery, and that a compromise was not in
the least impossible. It was true that Marshall Hamilton had vanished
through a picture in the wall, but it was also true that Cyrus McKay
had disappeared into the woods adjoining the links; and while Caution
counselled him to avoid the gallery, Curiosity, on the other hand,
persistently insisted upon a vicarious pursuit of McKay.
Nolan, of course, was clearly the man for the job. He drove his
employer to the golf course; therefore he had the opportunity. He was
physically strong and courageous; therefore he would not shrink from
danger. And he was pleasure-loving and always in debt; therefore a
reward would be certain to appeal to him. Beyond question, Nolan was
the man.
"But is it right," asked Decency, "to send someone else where you
would not venture yourself?" To which query Desperation promptly
answered, "Oh, in this world you can't be too particular; it's a case
of each man for himself. There probably isn't any danger, anyway, and
if you should get hold of anything really valuable, you can make it
right with Nolan later."
Thus the discussion ended. "I'll try it," decided Bellingham, and
taking the receiver from the hook he telephoned to the stables and
ordered the motor in time to catch the next train for town.
An hour later, he emerged from the subway, and made his way rapidly
down the street in the direction of the garage where Nolan kept his
car. A sense of guilt oppressed him, and though he realized that his
fears were wholly groundless, he could not prevent himself from
casting occasional furtive glances to left and right, as though
apprehensive of pursuit.
At length he came to the garage, and hailing the first workman whom he
met, inquired if Nolan were around. The man jerked a thumb over his
shoulder. "Back of the shop," he answered briefly. "Sixth floor.
Freight elevator. Run it yourself." And went on with his task.
Bellingham made his way in the direction indicated, entered the
elevator and pulled the rope, and began his leisurely ascent past
floor after floor littered with cars--cars new and old, cars good and
bad, cars whole and cars dismembered--until he came to the sixth
story, where he stopped the elevator and to his joy discovered Nolan,
cigarette in mouth, seated placidly upon a bench at the end of the
room, superintending repairs, real or imaginary, upon Mr. McKay's
machine. Thrilling with renewed excitement, the secretary walked over
to him, and Nolan, when he recognized his visitor, greeted him
cordially.
"Hello, Mr. Bellingham," he cried. "Didn't expect to see you quite so
soon."
"Oh, just a little business matter," the secretary replied, trying
hard to make his voice sound nonchalant and under control. "Walk over
as far as the window, and I'll tell you what I want."
Nolan rose at once, and as soon as they were safely out of earshot,
Bellingham continued, "Look here, Jim, do you want to make some easy
money?"
The chauffeur grinned, and for answer inserted thumb and forefinger in
the pocket of his coat, exposing the empty lining. "Ah, say," he
rejoined, "don't ask me none of those easy ones. Try me with something
hard."
Bellingham felt his spirits rise. "That's the way to talk," he said,
"and here's what I want you to do. You remember taking Mr. McKay out
to Mr. Hamilton's day before yesterday to play golf. Well, he didn't
play; I know that for a fact. And what is more, I believe that he and
Mr. Hamilton have some kind of secret meeting-place near the golf
links. So the next time you go out there, I want you to drive away as
usual, and then, after you round the first curve in the road, you can
stop your car, double back along the wall, and trail after him to see
where he goes. And for your trouble, Jim, I'm going to be just fool
enough to give you fifty dollars."
Nolan deliberated. Fifty dollars was worth making, but his job was a
good one, and he had no wish to lose it. "Well," he answered at last,
"here's one trouble, right away. The boss is a pretty wise old guy,
and this trailing business is a new game for me. The betting is that I
trip over a tree, go on my nut, and when his nibs turns around and
asks me what the devil I'm doing there, why where's my alibi?"
"Alibi?" echoed the secretary. "Why, that's easy; there's nothing to
that at all. Mr. McKay keeps his clubs in the machine, doesn't he?"
"Yes, always," rejoined Nolan. "They're in there now."
"Then that settles it," said Bellingham. "All you need to do is to
take out his putter and hide it under the seat. Then when you start
after him, take the putter with you, and if by any chance he sees you
coming after him, just wave it around your head and tell him it
dropped in the car and you knew he needed it. How about that?"
"That," agreed Nolan, "is certainly good. Pretty smooth, I call that."
"Then you'll do it?" asked Bellingham eagerly.
The chauffeur did not hasten his reply. "Well," he said at length, "I
suppose I'm taking chances, after all, and I figure that if the job's
worth fifty dollars, it's worth a hundred."
The secretary did not stop to argue. "Very well," he assented, "a
hundred it is."
"And it's also worth," the chauffeur continued, "just about twenty
dollars down, to bind the bargain."
Bellingham drew out his pocket-book; then hesitated in his turn. "But
how do I know," he objected, "when you will be going out there again?"
"That's easy," Nolan answered, "because we're going this very
afternoon. So you're bound to get some action for your money, all
right."
Bellingham felt his nerves tingle with excitement, and without further
protest he handed the money to the chauffeur. "Good for you, Jim," he
said. "I'll be here to-morrow, at this same time, and I'll give you
the balance then."
"I'll be here," Nolan agreed, "and now I must get back and see that
those strikers don't put my car to the bad. If she don't run perfect,
I'll get it from the old man. So good-by, Mr. Bellingham."
"Good-by," echoed the secretary, and descending as he had come, he
walked quickly away up the street, greatly wondering what news Nolan
would have for him on the morrow.
Promptly at half past two, that afternoon, Cyrus McKay's motor stopped
at the gateway leading to the links, and as before McKay alighted,
took his clubs from the machine, and said to the chauffeur, "Four
thirty, Jim."
There was no sign of anything unusual in Nolan's manner. "Yes, sir,
four thirty," he answered, and touching his cap, he turned his car and
sped briskly away for the city. Yet no sooner had he turned the curve
of which Bellingham had spoken, than he began swiftly to execute his
plan. Drawing in to the side of the road, he shut off his power,
extracted his employer's putter from under the seat, and tossing his
cap, with its conspicuous black visor, into the car, he vaulted the
wall and began to work back toward the path. Fortune favored him, for
the underbrush had gained no hold upon the smooth masonry, and he was
able to make rapid progress, so that only a short time elapsed before
he regained the entrance to the links. His next task was to find some
trace of his employer, but a quick glance down the path revealed
nothing and Nolan, puzzled, walked straight ahead toward the links,
casting quick glances to right and left of him as he advanced.
Presently, halfway down the trail, a twig snapped to his left, and
quickly turning his head, he saw McKay slowly forcing his way through
the bushes in the direction of a circle of huge firs. At the sight,
Nolan's usual calm deserted him, and his pulse beat faster. "There
_is_ something queer, then," he thought, and bending low he crept
stealthily after his employer, like a hunter stalking his game.
Little by little, favored by his slighter build, he gained upon McKay
until the distance between them had been decreased one-half, whereupon
he tried to gain no more but was content simply to keep pace with the
man whom he was trailing. Straight onward toward the firs McKay made
his way, and when he reached them, instead of turning aside, he
stooped and began to seek an entrance through their branches'
barricade.
Nolan felt his wonderment increase. "The Devil," he murmured, and
fearful lest he might lose sight of his employer, he sacrificed safety
to speed, and stole rapidly onward until he too had reached the border
of the trees. Ahead of him, he could faintly discern his master's
form, and the continual snapping of twigs made it evident that he was
still advancing. For a moment Nolan stood motionless, uncertain what
to do. His heart was beating violently. If he continued to follow, the
pretext of the forgotten putter could hardly serve him as an excuse;
if he went on from this point, it was at his own risk. And suddenly,
for no apparent reason, fear seized him. In the shelter and silence of
the forest, he seemed to himself to shrink and grow small; the
solitude oppressed him; and he stood like a man in a dream, scarcely
breathing and noting, subconsciously, the beauty of the rifts of
sunlight which filtered through the trees. "I guess," he muttered,
"I'll be getting back." But even as he spoke the words, there sounded
behind him a faint twang, as of a cord released--
He was running, running and leaping magnificently, running as he had
never run before. Whither he was going, he could not tell, for the
power of sight had left him, but he felt that he was travelling
through space with incredible speed. A singular buoyancy had permeated
his whole being, so that it seemed to him that he was no longer upon
the earth, but was whirling over sea and land and sky. Onward he
swept, still onward--
But now, little by little, he could feel that his speed diminished,
and that he was struggling upward, like some submerged and drowning
swimmer, from darkness toward the light. Slower and slower he ran,
more slowly still--
His eyes opened. He was lying among the bushes, flat upon his face,
and he realized that he was in frightful pain, and that he gasped
painfully for breath; something was choking him; throat and lungs were
filled with it. And as his brain cleared, suddenly he knew, although
too far spent to conjecture what had befallen him, that he was very
near to death. He tried to move--
There was a trampling in the bushes, and a man in faded green stood
over him. Then he felt himself roughly seized by the chin, his head
was bent back, further, further--something gleamed and glittered in
the sunlight--
Calmly, and without emotion, the huntsman stood looking down upon the
murdered man. "Only three," he murmured, "in all these years. One in
my father's time; two in mine." And after a pause, he added, "How
could this man have known? And is he the only one, or will others come
to tempt their destiny?"