The Final Effort
The clock in the village struck two, and Atherton, crouching in the
darkness amid the shrubbery on the lawn, hailed with relief the
distant coming of daybreak.
Unable, upon reflection, to credit Blagden's sincerity, he had left
the employ of Mr. Hamilton on Monday, as agreed, but before beginning
work at the factory had asked for, and obtained, a three days' leave
of absence. And now, for the third successive evening, he had come to
stand guard, trusting that if Blagden tried to carry out his plan, he
could at least prevent danger of injury to the inmates of the house.
Between midnight and three o'clock in the morning; this, he had
decided, would be the time for any such attempt, for before midnight,
the house had scarcely settled down to slumber, and after three the
first faint light of the midsummer dawn began to brighten in the sky.
The first two nights had passed without incident, and of this, the
third and last, only an hour remained; yet Atherton experienced no
sense of relaxation from the tension of his vigil, for if the trial
was to be made at all, now seemed to him the fitting time. The night
was overcast; a fresh damp wind blew from the south; and a veiled moon
and scuds of flying cloud portended rain. "If I were a housebreaker,"
thought Atherton, "I should call this my chance. You couldn't see a
man to-night until he was right on top of you--My God, what's that?"
Not twenty feet away from him, a shadowy figure glided, ghost like,
through the shrubbery, bent low and travelling so rapidly that before
Atherton had time fairly to collect his senses, the man's form was
again invisible in the darkness. Atherton's heart-beats quickened.
That this was Stoat he had no doubt whatever, and now, for the first
time, he realized the difficulties of his task--an unskilled amateur
attempting to shadow one of the best professional burglars in New
York. Yet whether he liked it or not, the moment for action had come,
and acutely conscious of the awkwardness of his movements, he crept as
best he could after his predecessor. An open window on the veranda
showed him where the thief had entered, and with hammering pulses
Atherton followed suit, and automatic in hand crept cautiously up the
staircase to the second floor, and at the head of the stairs crouched,
listening, in the shadow of the hall. Marshall Hamilton's room lay to
the left. Helen's was directly opposite the stairway, and from the
right, where Mrs. Hamilton slept, he could hear stifled breathing and
an occasional low moan which told him that her malady was at its
worst. Far away, at the end of the hall, a single light burned dimly,
and presently, without the slightest sound, he saw the housebreaker's
sinister and shadowy form coming stealthily, with the same rapid
gliding motion, down the hallway toward the stairs. Clearly, thought
Atherton, Stoat had accomplished the first part of his mission in
safety, and he had just begun to experience a sensation of relief when
all at once, to his consternation, came the very sound he had been
dreading, the faint tinkle of the bell which connected Mrs. Hamilton's
room with her daughter's, and by means of which the elder woman was
accustomed to call the younger to her aid. Stoat, too, must have heard
it, for he stopped instantly, and for a few breathless moments all was
silence. Then the shadowy form once more advanced, and had almost
reached the head of the stairs when the door of Helen's room was
suddenly thrown open, and the girl, clad in her wrapper, stepped
quickly forth into the hall.
What followed occurred with the rapidity of lightning. Simultaneously
the girl detected the presence of the housebreaker, and Stoat sprang
forward with upraised arm; and in the next fraction of a second--a
space too short to permit the use of his revolver--Atherton too had
leaped, and the blow of the blackjack, meant for Helen, struck him a
glancing blow on the head, and sent him reeling to the floor, while
Stoat, at headlong speed, made off down the stairs. Yet he was not to
escape scotfree, for through the haze that blinded him, and despite
the agony of pain, Atherton contrived to raise himself on one elbow,
and steadying himself with a mighty effort, sent a shot down the
staircase after the fugitive. Then the lights that flashed before his
eyes seemed to recede and to grow faint; darkness descended upon the
world; and he fell back unconscious, a creeping trickle of red bearing
witness to the power of the burglar's blow.
Meanwhile, in the trees near the turn of the road, Blagden and Mills
waited anxiously, gazing at the outline of the house, filmed dimly
against the sky. Here at last was the climax of their adventure; if
Stoat lived up to his reputation, success was almost within their
grasp. And thus, although the night was mild, Blagden was aware that
he was trembling with excitement, and even the phlegmatic Mills was
moved beyond his usual calm, and fidgeted uneasily as the moments
passed.
Still came no sign of their accomplice, and at length Blagden turned
the flashlight on the dial of his watch. "He's been gone twenty
minutes," he muttered. "Pretty nearly time for him now."
"Yes," Mills assented, "he said he meant to do a quick job. But I
suppose it all depends on the watch; whether he can get it and how
much is on it. _Great God!_"
Across the silence of the night, sharp, unmistakable, ominous, sounded
the report of a pistol. Blagden uttered an oath. "Damnation," he
cried, "they've got him."
"Perhaps he fired himself," suggested Mills.
"I don't believe it," returned Blagden. "I told him not to shoot,
except as a last resource. Listen. What's that?"
They paused, every nerve on the alert, but Blagden had been mistaken,
and for some moments they heard nothing. Then, at last, far away up
the road, there sounded through the stillness the sound of rapid
footsteps. "He's got away," cried Mills. "Thank Heaven for that."
"I don't care a hang for _him_," returned Blagden brutally, "if only
he's got what we want. We'd better be ready. They'll be after him."
More and more distinctly sounded the footfalls, and presently a dark
figure became visible. Mills started from the bushes, but Blagden laid
a restraining hand upon his arm. "Careful," he cautioned. "Let's be
sure it's Stoat."
But in another moment it was evident that it was their accomplice. And
evidently, too, he was either hurt, or spent with running, for they
could distinguish his hurried, gasping breaths, and could see that he
appeared to be advancing aimlessly, zigzagging from one side of the
road to the other.
Blagden stepped forward, "Here," he called sharply, "this way." And at
the sound of his voice Stoat turned and staggered toward them. He was
in sore straits. His head swung back and forth like that of an athlete
exhausted in a race, and keeping to his work only by a sheer effort of
the will. At once, Blagden put his arm around him, and half drew, half
carried him into the bushes, but at the contact the housebreaker could
not keep back a groan. "They--got me," he whispered haltingly. "I'm
all in. Guess--I'm going to croak."
As he uttered the words, Blagden suddenly felt his burden relax in his
grasp, and picking the man up bodily, he retreated still further into
the woods, and laid him down upon the ground. Then, examining him with
the flashlight, he ripped open his coat and vest and saw that his
shirt was stained with blood. "Here's a mess," he murmured, and made
his way back to Mills. "Keep a good lookout," he directed, and
returned to Stoat, who lay without sound or motion on his bed of
leaves and moss.
"Done for," reflected Blagden. But it was not Stoat's condition that
disturbed him; his mind was set wholly on the success or failure of
his mission. And accordingly he stooped, ran his fingers quickly over
the housebreaker's person, felt something in one of the pockets of his
vest, and with fingers which trembled drew forth an old-fashioned
watch which he felt instinctively could be no other than the one he
sought. Without the loss of a second, he threw open the case, and
hardly daring to look for fear of a crushing disappointment, beheld,
to his delight, row after row of tiny figures, interspersed with
arrows pointing up or down. Patient delving among Bellingham's papers
had made him familiar with the theory of the symbols, and instantly he
realized that here, as plain as print, lay the precious key to the
whole vast mystery. And then, in a flash, it came over him how
wonderfully Fate had played into their hands, and though every moment
was of value, yet he felt certain, with the gambler's instinct, that
he must take an added risk, and once again hastened back to Mills'
side.
"If you hear anyone coming," he whispered, "let me know instantly.
Otherwise keep quiet until I return." And once more regaining the
housebreaker's side, he drew a notebook from his pocket, and with
scrupulous care transferred the table of figures from the case. This
accomplished, he replaced the watch in the pocket of the injured man,
and bending over him with the hope that Stoat was either dead or
dying, he asked, "How do you feel?"
But to his dismay the housebreaker showed a wonderful vitality and
tenacity of life. "Better," he gasped. "I believe I could walk, if
you'll give me a lift."
Blagden, calculating the future with a heart of steel, nerved himself
for the task before him. "All right," he answered soothingly, "I'll
help you. Lie still a minute." Then, with a movement quicker than
thought, which caught Stoat wholly off his guard, he threw himself
across the burglar's body, with one hand over his mouth and with the
other gripping his nostrils in an iron clasp. Galvanized into life,
the housebreaker, with the instinctive effort of self-preservation,
for a moment struggled desperately, while horrible choking gasps were
muffled in his throat, but his injury, his weakness, and Blagden's
terrible grip made the encounter all too unequal, and presently there
came a quick collapse, and his writhings ceased. Blagden rose to his
knees, and lifted one of Stoat's arms. It fell back limply. Then, with
a shudder of disgust, he picked up the body in his arms and bore it
rapidly toward the road.
He found Mills standing where he had left him, listening intently. "I
think they're coming," he whispered.
"So much the better," answered Blagden grimly. And advancing from the
bushes, he placed the body of the dead man face downward in the road,
and as his ears caught the sound of an approaching motor, he leaped
back to shelter and grasped his companion by the arm. "Come on!" he
cried. "We must get away from here as quickly as we can."
A moment or two after they had vanished into the depths of the woods,
the headlights of a motor, driven at slow speed, brightened the road,
and presently a man's voice cried sharply, "There he is. Right ahead."
Immediately Marshall Hamilton leaped from the car, ran forward, and
precisely as Blagden had done, began hastily to examine Stoat's
clothing. Instantly his fingers closed on the object he sought, and
with a gasp of relief, he drew it forth and returned it to his own
pocket. Then, without a glance at the housebreaker, "Saved," he
murmured. "Thank God."