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S US P E NSE





S U S P E N S E
BY
ISABEL OSTRANDER
AUTHOR OF
THE CLUE IN THE AIR, Etc.
º
G R C S S E T & D U N L A P
PU B L IS H E R S N E W Y O R K


i
it.
Copyright, 1918, by
RoBERT M. McBRIDE & Co.
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Aº ‘i:, Lºx AND
T.: new Fºx.) AT10Ns
1942 L
Published March, 1918


CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE GIRL WITH THE SCAR . . . . . 7
II THE SILENT INTRUDER . . . . . . 25
III THE VELVET GLOVE . . . . . . . 43
IV BLINDFOLD . . . . . . . . . 62
Box A-46 . . . . . . . . . . 78
VI A MESSAGE FROM PHARAOH . . . . 96
VII TEN THOUSAND SHEEP . . . . . . 114
VIII THE ORCHID LADY . . . . . . . 132
IX CROSSROADs . . . . . . . . . 151
x FACE TO FACE . . . . . . . . 168
x1 THE FOURTH Pew . . . . . . . 185
XII THE FANGS OF THE wolf . . . . . 201
XIII JUSTICE NODs . . . . . . . . 220
XIV NAKED FOILs . . . . . . . . 236
xv THE PORTRAIT OF BEETHOVEN . . . . 256
XVI THE CLOSING NET . . . . . . . 272
XVII TURNED TABLEs . . . . . . . . 288
XVIII UNMASKED . . . . . . . . . 304
XIX THE HONOR OF THE NAME . . . . . 323
xx TREASURE TRove . . . . . . . . .340
V





SUSPENSE
CHAPTER I.
The Girl With the Scar.
46 OUNG woman, well-bred, educated,
Y stranger in city, and without relatives,
desires situation as companion or social
secretary with lady of established reputation
and position. Good oral reader, pianist, quick
and accurate household accountant, intelligent
amanuensis, willing and obliging. Amount of
salary optional. Address Miss Betty Shaw, 16o
Wakefield Avenue.” -
The girl read the advertisement for the twen-
tieth time, then dropped the newspaper upon the
shabbily ornate center table with a shrug of im-
patience, a frown gathering between her level
brows.
The boarding house parlor was shrouded in
gloom, and outside the window whirling snowflakes
showed white against the deepening dusk. A little
heap of torn envelopes and a card or two upon the
* 7


8 SUSPENSE
mantel bore evidence that the naive appeal had
evoked response, yet it was with a hopeless gesture
that the girl turned from them and began pacing
the floor, her brooding eyes fixed as though they
would pierce the shadows which crept about her.
All at once she paused tense and alert with lifted
chin and quickened breath. The throbbing purr of
a motor had pulsed upon the stillness of the snow-
enwrapped street, and halted with a dull grinding
of brakes before the door.
She darted to the window and peered eagerly out
between the dingy curtains. A massive limousine
stood at the curb, its bulk looming blackly against
the lesser darkness, with broad diagonal lines of
white striping the lower body, and a rakish torpedo-
shaped hood. It was just such a car as a person of
somewhat bizarre taste and the wealth with which
to gratify it might have chosen, yet had it been
a veritable juggernaut its effect upon the girl could
have been no more sinister. She recoiled from the
window, her hands clenched, her breast heaving
tumultuously, and shadowed as it was, her face
seemed distorted into a mere mask of malevolent
fury akin to triumph.
Then the small hands relaxed, and with a visible
effort at control, she turned toward the door, as
laggard feet shuffled along the passageway and a
murmur of voices arose.
“’Nother lady to see you, Miss.” A frowsy head


THE GIRL WITH THE SCAR, 9
appeared in the doorway and the girl advanced to
meet the summons.
“Ask her to come in, please, Susan.” Her voice
was guilelessly soft and low. “No, wait, I must
light the gas—”
But the servant had already disappeared and in
her place stood a tall, commanding figure, swathed
in furs and heavily veiled. For a moment the girl
hesitated, then with a steady hand she struck a
match and a flare of light streamed from the gas
jet. In the full flow of its radiance, she turned and
faced her visitor.
The woman in the doorway took a step forward
and paused involuntarily, with a slight murmur of
shocked surprise. The girl before her was slender
and of quite a usual type, with soft brown hair and
moderately large blue eyes, but a spreading blood-
red scar with five curved streaks reaching out from
it like an angry clutching hand covered her left
cheek from brow to neck.
If the girl observed the other's momentary loss
of poise she gave no sign. Her level brows were
arched ingenuously, her expression childlike in its
• bland candor, but the smile which parted her lips
did not reach her shadowed, inscrutable eyes.
“Won't you take this chair? You wished to see
me regarding my advertisement for a position?”
The woman advanced and sank into the seat in-
dicated, loosening her furs deliberately before she


I0 SUSPENSE
replied. The heavy veil still obliterated her fea-
tures, but through its meshes her eyes glowed
fixedly.
“Yes.” She inclined her head slightly. “You
are Miss Shaw P”
The girl nodded in turn.
“I have had no previous experience, but it has be-
come necessary for me to earn my own living and
I have not had any specialized training. I am quite
alone in the world—”
The woman leaned suddenly forward.
“May I ask why you stated that in your adver-
tisement, Miss Shaw P You are very young and
doubtless inexperienced, but you must have realized
that to announce yourself as alone and friendless
would invite unsuitable and even dangerous re-
sponse.”
The girl glanced at the cards on the mantel and
then back to her visitor in wide-eyed amazement.
“Why, no!” she exclaimed. “I wanted to make
it clear that I could give no references except social
ones from my own home town, and that my object
was not so much a matter of salary as a home of
refinement where I could feel safe and sheltered.
It is dreadful to be adrift, with no one to take a
personal interest, but back in Greenville there was
nothing for me to do.”
“Greenville P”
“In Iowa. My mother and I moved out there


THE GIRL WITH THE SCAR II
to live with an uncle of her’s when my father died.
I was a little girl then. Last year Uncle Will died,
and six months ago, my mother.” She glanced
down at the simple black gown. “There is no one
left belonging to me, and very little money, so I
came back to the city where I was born to try to
find a position. I have been here only a few days,
but it is more difficult than I had thought. You are
looking for a companion or secretary? I did not
put it in the advertisement, but I am quite capable
of taking charge of a household and managing ser-
vants. If–if you have children I can amuse them,
too, they always take to me.”
The woman's eyes searched the flushed, eager
face but seemed to linger, repelled yet fascinated,
on the sinister scar.
“You—er, you have had an accident?” she
asked.
“Accident?” The girl repeated. Then with a
smile of understanding quite free from bitterness
she touched her cheek. “You mean—this? It is
a birthmark and everyone around me is so accus-
tomed to it that I scarcely ever think of it. It must
be awfully unpleasant to strangers, though. I sup-
pose it—it would be a drawback 3 *
Her tone was wistful, almost pleading, and she
paused with a catch in her breath. There was a
long minute of silence before her visitor spoke.
“Not unpleasant. It will merely be necessary, as


I2 SUSPENSE
you so sensibly say, for one to become accustomed
to it. I am not sure that it is a disadvantage—”
she caught herself up abruptly. “You spoke of
social references from Greenville. You have
friends there to whom I can write, if we come to
an understanding? You realize that I, too, must
be careful about whom I take into my household in
so intimate a relationship as that of companion.”
“Of course,” the girl assented quickly. Then she
hesitated. “You live here in the city?”
“On the North Drive. I am Mrs. Atterbury.”
The woman spoke as if the mere mention of her
name sufficed to establish her status, and with a
deliberate gesture she threw back her veil. The
face revealed to the girl's frankly curious gaze was
colorless, the thin, arched nose and firm, straight
lines of her lips as immobile as if carved from
marble. Only the eyes, sloe-black and glittering,
gave a semblance of life to the flawless, masklike
expression. The smooth, dark hair was coiled
tightly about her head and brought low over the
ears, but did not cover them sufficiently to conceal
their peculiar formation. Small and delicately
pink, they were lobeless and narrowed toward the
top so sharply that the girl wondered if beneath
the hair they might not be pointed, like a cat's.
As if intuitively aware of the other's scrutiny,
the woman drew her furs more closely about her
neck and spoke hurriedly.


THE GIRL WITH THE SCAR 13
“I forgot for a moment that you were a stranger
nere. My husband was one of the most prominent
financiers in the city, but since his death I have lived
very quietly, receiving only a few old friends quite
informally. I am childless, and, like you, alone in
the world.” She paused, with a slight suggestion
of a smile and the girl’s intent gaze shifted and
dropped. “My home is one which you would per-
haps consider luxurious, but it needs a youthful
presence. I want the companionship of a bright,
cheerful young girl, gently reared, who can amuse
and interest me, and assist in the occasional enter-
tainment of my guests. Practically the only duty
you would have would be to attend to my corre-
spondence, which is large as I have financial inter-
ests and property all over the country. I would re-
quire your time unreservedly, however. That is
why I prefer a stranger, with no affiliations to dis-
tract her. For such services I am willing to pay
well, but there are certain conditions I should im-
pose.” -
The girl had listened without a change of ex-
pression, but now she glanced up quickly.
“Mourning depresses me. Would you be willing
to lay it aside and dress in colors, such colors as I
choose for you?”
“Oh, yes. I thought of that, in any event.”
“Do you speak any foreign language?”
The girl shook her head.


14 SUSPENSE
“There were no foreigners in Greenville but the
Italian road builders.”
“You are prepared to place yourself absolutely
at my disposal? There will, of course, be hours
when I will not need you, but I shall want you with-
in call. Moreover, if I make you a member of my
household I shall feel responsible for you. You
must not attempt to go about the city alone with-
out consulting me first. That is understood?”
The girl's eyes narrowed and for an instant her
lips compressed, but she replied quietly:
“Of course. I appreciate the interest you take in
me, Mrs. Atterbury, and I am grateful for it. I
shall do my best to please you.”
A few details followed.
“Then we will consider the matter settled.” The
women glanced at the jeweled watch on her wrist.
a “How long will it take you to pack?”
“You mean you wish me to go with you at once?”
The girl's face had whitened until the scar stood
out in cruel clarity upon her cheek. “I had thought
of taking a few days to prepare—”
“Anything you need can be purchased tomor-
row.” There was a hardened note of dominance in
the cold voice which brooked no denial. “I am a
person of quick decisions, as you will discover,
Betty—that is your name, isn't it? I came to take
you home with me if I found you suitable, but I
cannot keep my car waiting long in this storm.”


THE GIRL WITH THE SCAR 15
Betty rose submissively.
“I have no trunk, only two bags. It will take
me only a few minutes to pack, if you will excuse
me.”
Mrs. Atterbury sat immovable until the sound of
the girl’s footsteps had died away upon the creak-
ing stairs far overhead. Then she rose and gliding
swiftly to the mantel, glanced over the cards and
notes of her predecessors. Tossing them aside
contemptuously, her eyes fell upon an open desk be-
tween the windows. A sheet of note paper half cov-
ered with writing lay upon it and picking it up she
scanned it deliberately, nodding in evident satis-
faction.
“‘Reverend Doctor Slade,’” she repeated aloud.
“Greenville, Iowa.”
A quarter of an hour later, two figures emerged
from the dingy vestibule and descended to the wait-
ing car, the girl cringing in her thin black cloak
against the icy blast which swirled about them, the
older woman erect as if the very elements them-
selves could not compel her to bow her head.
With her foot upon the step the girl hesitated
and her eyes swept the oleak snowy darkness in
swift terror, like a trapped animal. The look was
gone as quickly as it had come, however, and into
her face crept a trace of the sinister, resolute
triumph which had crossed it while she waited be-
hind the curtains of her window for the entrance of


I6 SUSPENSE
this woman in whose hands she had placed her-
self. t -
In silence she seated herself beside her new em-
ployer, the footman closed the door with a snap
and they glided swiftly away through the snow-
muffled streets. Few words were spoken during the
brief journey, and they were mere commonplaces,
but beneath the casual banality ran an undercur-
rent of sharp tension almost tangible enough .
felt. It was as if, unconsciously, they were adver-yº”
saries, pausing by tacit consent to take breath for
a second encounter. The girl lay back relaxed with
half-closed eyes, the woman sat with her veiled face
averted, and each seemed buried in her own
thoughts, yet each was aware of the sly, furtive
glances of mutual speculative appraisal yºich
passed between them. **
The droning wind arose to a shrieking gale when
they turned into the North Drive, the merging
strands of electric light breaking into widely de-
tached clusters as compact rows of brick and stone
gave place to exclusive residences, each sequestered
within its private park. The whistles of the river
boats rose eerily above the blast of the storm and
the girl shuddered and drew the straggling fur col-
lar more closely about her throat.
“You must have warmer clothing.” The woman
spoke without turning her head. “You will need
one or two dinner frocks also. That can be ar-


I8 SUSPENSE
she reached the foot of the stairs this door was
flung violently open, and a man sprang forward,
confronting her employer.
“Good God, where have you been?” he de-
manded, his voice grating harshly with anxiety.
“’Ranza has been trying to locate you all the after-
noon. She saw him, but he has broken! He's
going to —”
No countering exclamation from the woman had
interrupted him, yet he paused with a strangling
gasp, as if a hand had been laid suddenly upon his
throat.
Betty glanced over her shoulder. Mrs. Atter-
bury stood silently drawn up to her full he, ght re-
garding the intruder with eyes which blazed from
a face that might well have given pause. The im-
passivity which had masked it was gone, the brows
were drawn and knotted and the lips curled back in
a distortion of silent rage so that her strong, white
teeth gleamed menacingly in the firelight. The girl
caught one swift glimpse of the man who cringed
in the doorway, then turned and fairly fled up the
stair.
The hall was dimly lighted but a rosy glow came
from an opened door around a turning, and ap-
proaching, Betty found herself in a veritable bower
of a room, spacious but cosy, with flowered chintz
draperies and soft, rose-shaded lamps.
“If you want the maid, Miss, there's the bell.”


THE GIRL WITH THE SCAR. 19
Welch had deposited her bags beside the dressing-
table, and was again surveying her with his curi-
ously intent, lowering gaze. “Should you be liking
a cup of tea, now, "
“Thank you. I shall require nothing before din-
ner.” Her quiet tone was in itself a dismissal, yet .
the man still lingered as if on the point of further
speech. Before her steady eyes, however, his own
shifted and fell, and turning, he shambled from the
TOO111.
Betty waited until his stealthy, cat-like footsteps
had passed well down the hall, then closed her door
softly and began a minute examination of her apart-
ment. It faced the side of the house, with two
long French windows opening on a narrow balcony.
A door in each wall led presumably to connecting
rooms, but upon examination the first proved to
be fastened, evidently by a bolt on the farther side,
for the keyhole was plugged with a hard sub-
stance resembling sealing wax. The opposite door
disclosed a well-appointed bathroom, with no open-
ing other than a ventilator, high up in the wall.
Completing her simple preparations for dinner,
the girl sank in a low chair before the glowing
coals in the English grate and chin in hand, lost
herself in a reverie. The eager, childishly trustful
expression had vanished when she found herself
alone and in its place had crept a hardened, crafty
look which robbed her face of its youthful charm.


20 SUSPENSE
The scar leaped again into prominence, and seemed
to throb as if its clutching fingers were tightening
in a relentless grip, and in her somber eyes abiding
passion brooded.
The silver tones of a gong echoing up from below
aroused her and she sprang to her feet, her clenched
hands pressed to her burning temples. For an in-
stant she stood swaying in the intensity of some
all but overmastering emotion. Then her hands
fell to her sides, revealing again the mask of dis-
ingenuousness.
But behind it there lurked, not wholly concealed,
an air of joyous triumph, and she glanced exult-
antly about her as if out of all the world, the
shelter of this roof had been her goal, and in win-
ning her way into the household she had brought
some deep-laid plan to consummation.
While she hesitated at the stair's foot, Mrs.
Atterbury's voice summoned her to the drawing-
room, where she found beside her employer a sallow
little woman, dull-eyed and slender to the point
of angularity, who was presented as Madame
Cimmino. As Betty responded timidly to the
conventional greeting another figure came forward
from a shadowed corner and paused, smiling and
urbane.
“Betty, this is an old friend, Mr. Wolvert.” An
odd smile twisted Mrs. Atterbury's attenuated lips.
“Don’t make love to Miss Shaw, Jack. She seeks


THE GIRL WITH THE SCAR. 21
sanctuary with me from the world, the flesh and
the devil.”
“Dear lady!” He raised a deprecating hand be-
fore extending it to the shrinking girl. “You
malign me! Let me assure you of your immunity
from evil here, Miss Shaw. Our hostess tolerates
no serpents in her garden, as you will find.”
The man's tone was smooth and unctuous, but
there was an undercurrent deeper than mere mock-
ery in the careless words, and Mrs. Atterbury's
eyes glittered dangerously, although she shrugged
in cold distaste.
*Shall we go in? Cook times her soufflés to the
instant and she is the only mortal before whom I
quail. Come, Speranza.”
Madame Cimmino laid her hand lightly on Jack
Wolvert's arm as she passed him, but his gaze was
riveted upon the girl, and followed her slim figure
curiously until the curtains fell behind her.
“She is attractive, this new little one, eh?”
Madame Cimmino had halted in the doorway and
there was a hard ring in her voice. “It is an added
charm, perhaps, that brand upon her face!”
“Don’t be absurd, 'Ranza.” The man frowned
impatiently. “There's something queer about that
girl, something oddly reminiscent. I could almost
swear I had seen her before, or at least heard her
voice.”
During the simple but perfectly served meal,


22 SUSPENSE
Betty unobtrusively studied the two guests seated
at either hand. Madame Cimmino was evidently
of Latin birth, although her quick, impulsive speech
was interlarded with ejaculations in many tongues.
Huge opal hoops dragged at the lobes of her ears
and her brown, clawlike hands were loaded with
rings which glistened barbarically in her ceaseless
gesturing. She ignored the newcomer as far as
courtesy permitted, snubbed Wolvert with a pro-
prietary air, which failed to carry weight before his
bland equanimity, but showed an anxious almost
fawning deference to her hostess.
Wolvert made a half-playful attempt to draw
out the little companion, but finding no encourage-
ment in her shy, monosyllabic replies, he devoted
himself to his dinner, and Betty found opportunity
to observe him at her leisure. He was a man of
approximately forty, lean and wiry with olive skin
and curiously light eyes in grotesque contrast with
his crisply curling, black hair and small, military
mustache. The man's whole personality seemed
oddly at variance. His hands were slender and
shapely, with the tapering, sensitive fingers of an
artist, yet the high Slavic cheekbones, spreading
nostrils and heavy jaw belied a finer sensibility, and
his face in repose was saturnine.
Regarding him, Betty could scarcely bring her-
self to believe that he was the same man who had
burst upon the scene at the moment of her arrival


THE GIRL WITH THE SCAR 23
with his impassioned outcry. The inexplicable
words still rang in her ears. “’Ranza,” was evi-
dently Madame Speranza Cimmino, but why had
she tried so frantically to ascertain Mrs. Atter-
bury's whereabouts during the long afternoon?
Who was the man she had seen, and what was the
meaning of the phrase that he had broken?
Dinner concluded, they returned to the drawing-
room, and after a brief desultory conversation
Betty was dismissed, to her infinite relief. Wol-
vert sprang forward gallantly to open the door for
her departure and stood staring after her until she
disappeared around the turning at the stair's head,
the same puzzled, questioning look in his eyes with
with he had regarded her at their meeting.
Her light extinguished, Betty lay motionless and
seemingly relaxed, but her sleepless eyes were fixed
as though they would pierce the darkness, and her
ears strained for the slightest sound. The storm
swirled unabated outside the windows, and the tall
clock on the stairs droned out the hours at all but
interminable intervals.
Midnight came, and with it the hum of a high-
powered motor on the drive. A subdued murmur
of voices floated up to her from the hall, the front
door closed with a thud and the motor snorted its
way through the piling snowdrifts to the gate. A
few minutes later there was a faint silken rustle of
skirts past her door, then the cat-like tread of


24 SUSPENSE
Welch as he went his final rounds and darkness and
utter silence reigned supreme.
One o'clock struck, then two, and as the echo of
the second stroke died away, Betty threw back the
covers, and slipping from bed stole to her dress-
ing bag. She fumbled for a moment and then a
tiny, thread-like ray of light leaped from her hand.
With the electric torch carefully shielded, she en-
veloped herself in a dark kimona, thrust her feet
into soft felt slippers, and unbolting her door, crept
silently out into the hall. The gleaming strand of
light wavered, then steadied and moved slowly
along to the turning into the gallery. Its pale after-
glow lingered like a nimbus for a minute and then
vanished, and darkness descended once more about
the sleeping house.


CHAPTER II.
The Silent Intruder.
HE storm ceased with the coming of day,
and when Betty awoke a glistening expanse
of diamond-encrusted snow met her gaze be-
tween the parted curtains of her window. Softened
by sleep, her face was flushed and girlishly winsome
as she lay with the cruel scar pressed deep into her
pillow, her bewildered eyes roving the unfamiliar
room. Then, with returning consciousness, the
shadow descended once more and her expression
perceptibly hardened.
Rising, she walked to the window and flung the
curtains wide. The view of park and clustering,
frost-spangled cedars was intersected sharply with
vertical bars of iron and she gave a little involuntary
gasp of dismayed surprise at the discovery that the
narrow balcony beyond her windows was stoutly
enclosed, like a huge cage.
The same trapped look of terror which had leaped
to the girl's eyes on the previous day when she
faltered at the door of the limousine returned anew,
but she steeled herself against the sudden tide of
25


THE SILENT INTRUDER 27
She motioned to a chair by the desk, and Betty
eyed with inward misgiving the formidable heap of
unopened envelopes which still remained.
“Any letters which may be marked with a small
cross in the corner, like this, for instance,” Mrs.
Atterbury held one out for inspection, “you may
put aside. The rest you are to open and read,
dividing them into two separate piles, business and
purely social, for me to glance over later. Begging
letters, even from personal friends for charity sub-
scriptions, belong in the financial stack. Do you
think you can manage now with these?”
“Yes, Mrs. Atterbury. Do you wish me to reply
to them?”
“At my dictation. I will come back in an hour
and we can go over them together.” Mrs. Atter-
bury rose. “My seamstress will be here this after-
noon to measure you for some new frocks.”
When the door had closed behind her, Betty ap-
plied herself to her task. The social letters were
few and formal in tone without intimate detail.
Four of the remainder bore crosses and these she
laid obediently aside. The others were palpably
business communications and from their tenor it
would have appeared that Mrs. Atterbury's financial
interests were amazingly varied, and of a magni-
tude which even the luxury of her environment had
not conveyed.
Mines, oil wells, railroads, stock companies and


28 SUSPENSE
enterprisesofevery sort were represented in the hete-
rogeneous collection, from the latest invention to
live stock on the hoof. One letter, evidently con-
cerning the latter, made Betty pause with a puzzled
frown. It began without any form of address and
was unsigned, its few lines being hurriedly scrawled,
but unmistakably legible, although they conveyed
no sense to the girl.
“Five thousand sheep no go,” she read. “Bulls
instead. Pink wash fed. Clearing den. Tail comet
yellow.”
In bewilderment she took up the envelope; the
superscription was in the same irregular hand, and
it was postmarked Laramie, Wyoming.
The desk telephone rang as she laid it aside, and
hesitatingly she picked up the receiver.
“Marcial” It was unmistakably the voice of
Wolvert, but the bantering derisive note was
gone, and stark fear rasped in every syllable.
“Some one has squealed! He's got the dope and
it's all—”
“I beg your pardon.” Betty's tones were cool
and steady, but her heart stood still, for her quick
ear had caught the rustle of a skirt just behind her.
“This is Mrs. Atterbury's secretary. To whom did
you wish to speak?”
There was a smothered exclamation at the other
end of the wire, and Mrs. Atterbury snatched the
receiver from the girl's hand.


THE SILENT INTRUDER 29
“What is it?” she demanded in a voice which she
strove in vain to control.
“I-I don't know,” Betty murmured. “The person
spoke so quickly I could not distinguish a word.”
“Mrs. Atterbury speaking. . . . Oh, the
market has broken? Well, sell the shares I hold
in that company at whatever price you can obtain,
do you understand? At whatever price! There
will be no panic, tell your partner not to lose his
head. It must be made clear that I will trade no
more in that stock. . . . It will be enough, it
must be. Remember, I look to you to settle the
matter absolutely. Let me have an accounting by
tonight.”
She hung up the receiver and turned with a shrug
but Betty saw that her lips were white.
“My broker,” she remarked, with studied care-
lessness. “Conscientious man, but not resourceful.
By the way, my dear, I neglected to tell you that
you need never answer this telephone. It is my
own private wire. Call me if it rings when I am
at home, but pay no attention to it if I am not
here.”
“I am sorry—
silenced her.
“It is of no consequence. We will take up the
letters now. You did not find them difficult?”
“No-o,” Betty responded hesitatingly. “There
is one, however, which I could not understand at
35
began Betty, but the other


30 SUSEPENSE
all. It seems to be a business matter, but the word-
ing doesn't make any sense; it's something about
sheep.”
“Sheep?” Mrs. Atterbury's level tones sharpened.
“Where is the envelope? Was there no cross upon
it?”
“No. At least I didn't see any, and I am quite
sure I looked carefully. This is the one.”
“Idiot!” The ejaculation was clearly not in-
tended for the girl, as Mrs. Atterbury looked vainly
for the distinguishing mark, and filliped the en-
velope angrily aside. “Give me the letter, please.”
She glanced over it rapidly, without comment or
change of expression and put it on the little heap
of private letters.
“We will get rid of the social ones first—” she
was beginning, when Betty suddenly interrupted
her.
“There is a motor car coming up the drive.”
“Ah, it is Mme. Cimmino.” Mrs. Atterbury
arose, her glance following the trim little electric
brougham as it lurched over the hillocks of snow.
“She will probably stay to lunch, and that means
the letters will have to be held over until tomorrow.
Amuse yourself as well as you can, my dear. You'll
find plenty of books here and there is a phonograph
in the corner.”
But Betty did not turn to the well-filled book-
cases which lined the walls. Instead she sat with


º
THE SILENT INTRUDER 31
the strange letter spread out before her, reading
and re-reading it as if to memorize every word.
That it was a code of some sort she did not doubt,
and without the key it would seem a hopeless task
to attempt to decipher it, yet the young girl pored
lover it as eagerly as though its possible solution
contained a message of vital import to herself as
well as her employer.
Welch brought her lunch upon a tray and the
afternoon was well advanced before the summons
came for her to go to the sewing room. She spent
the intervening hours in a searching examination
of the library itself, but it yielded nothing of seem-
ing interest or import to her. There was no sign
of Mme. Cimmino, but her car had not left the drive
and a subdued murmur as of several voices came
from behind the tightly-closed door of the drawing
room as the girl passed. Welch ushered her to a
large sunny room at the top of the house where
she found Mrs. Atterbury deep in consultation with
a faded little woman of indeterminate age who
fluttered nervously on being presented.
“Miss Pope knows what you require, I think,”
observed Mrs. Atterbury. “Everything must be
as simple as possible, you know.”
Miss Pope nodded, her mouth full of pins which
she was sticking with mathematical precision into
the little flat cushion that hung from her belt. When
the last was in place, she took up her tape measure.


32 SUSPENSE
“Now, miss, if you please.”
Betty stood patiently, marvelling at the odd
tremulousness of the withered hands which fumbled
about her. Could it be merely nerves, or was the
worn, pallid, little creature under the spell of some
emotion too strong to be wholly controlled?
Mrs. Atterbury had strolled to the window with
a fashion book and the seamstress dropped to her
knees before Betty to measure the skirt length.
Glancing down, the girl met the tired eyes of the
older woman and found them fixed on hers with
a mute insistent appeal in their depths.
Involuntarily she started, and Miss Pope, with
a warning gesture, turned over the pincushion at
her belt. Upon the under side worked out in rough
irregular letters formed by the pin heads, Betty
read the words, “Go away.”
Her eyes sought those of the seamstress once
more in puzzled questioning, but the woman, after
a vehement nod, evaded her glance, and her quiver-
ing fingers plucked at the pins until, the strange
message was obliterated.
“Have you finished?” Mrs. Atterbury's calm
tones cut the pregnant silence.
“Yes, ma'am. I will come tomorrow for the
lining fitting.” The seamstress barely breathed the
words, as she scrambled to her feet, but there
seemed a shade of significance as she added: “I-I
hope the young lady will be satisfied.”


THE SILENT INTRUDER. 33
|
“I shall be,” Mrs. Atterbury responded with
good-humored but unmistakable emphasis. A faint
flush mounted in Miss Pope's wan cheeks and she
did not glance again toward Betty, even as she
bowed herself out.
“My dear, I shall not need you again this after-
noon. Would you care to go out for a little while?”
Betty’s eyes eagerly turned to the window were
sufficient answer.
“You will find several paths leading around the
grounds if you don't mind the snow, but do not go
beyond the gate.” Mrs. Atterbury smiled, but she
watched the girl's face keenly. “You look pale,
and the fresh air will do you good. We must not
keep you cooped up in the house too much, but I
do not want you to go about the city aimlessly until
you learn your way.” -
“I will not leave the grounds,” promised Betty.
“One thing more,” Mrs. Atterbury paused at the
door. “Don’t go near the garage, for Demon may
be unleashed. He is the watch dog and underfed
to keep him savage. Be sure you come in at dusk.”
When Betty, as warmly clad as her meagre ward-
robe would allow, slipped out at the side door, the
pale wintry sun was already sinking in the West
and the still air nipped her sharply, bringing a
tingling glow to her cheeks. She set out jauntily
down the first path which led among the cedars,
her footsteps ringing on the hard packed snow and
*


34 SUSPENSE
the frosty vapor of her breath floating like a veil
before her.
The events of the past twenty-four hours, cul-
minating in the inexplicable attitude of the seam-
stress, had wrought upon her nerves and the sense
of freedom and solitude was grateful, illusive though
she knew it to be. No doubt of Miss Pope's good
will or sanity came to her, but she wondered what
part the faded little creature was called upon to
play in the strange scene of which she herself had
become a supernumerary.
What crisis had arisen in the mysterious affairs
of her new employer and why were her friends,
Mme. Cimmino and the man Wolvert, so deeply
concerned for her? The voice of the latter over the
telephone that morning had revealed a frenzy of
emotion which his debonair assurance on the previ-
ous evening had utterly belied. Then his impetuous
outburst at the moment of her arrival returned to
her mind. Who was the mysterious “he” The
frantic telephone message of a few hours before had
concerned the same man. Who could he be, and
through him what menace threatened the quiet
woman with the inscrutable face to whom her serv-
ices were bound?
So engrossed was Betty in her maze of thought,
that she had followed the path unheedingly and
only paused when she found her way blocked by a
square granite post. She had reached the entrance
**


THE SILENT INTRUDER 35
gates beyond which she might not stray. For a
moment she lingered, her eyes turned wistfully
down the broad, bleak avenue, a mad, incompre-
hensible impulse to escape surging up within her,
as if tangible bonds held her to her voluntarily as-
sumed duty, and danger lurked for her in the house
behind the cedars. The next minute she had turned
resolutely and started to retrace her steps.
The early dusk was already descending and Betty
quickened her pace lest she prolong the hour of
freedom beyond the time allotted her. Midway,
the path entered a thick clump of trees, and all at
once she became aware of the rapid thud of feet on
the snow behind her. Someone was running toward
the house. *
The thought that she was being pursued flashed
into her mind, but she banished it, and turning
hastily aside, concealed herself behind a screen of
tangled evergreens. Scarcely had she done so, when
a man appeared around a turn in the path, and
passed her with almost incredible speed.
The single fleeting glimpse she obtained of his
gray, set face, however, had sufficed for recognition.
It was Wolvert, and some unnameable terror sped
with him through the eerie gloom.
Betty shivered and looked blindly about her for
another way out of the grove. She dared not enter
the house on the heels of this visitor, nor from the
same direction in which he had come, lest she seem
i


THE SILENT INTRUDER 87
hand, gazed up at her in mute question and reading
confidence and mastery in her face, dropped obedi-
ently in the snow at her feet.
The wave of relief which swept over her was
checked by a fresh disquieting thought. Was the
dog merely guarding her until his keeper appeared
to relieve him of his charge? The slightest move-
ment on her part might bring him up with a spring
at her throat, but to wait until help came would
mean the discovery of her disobedience.
Chance solved the problem for her before many
minutes had passed. A shrill whistle sounded from
the direction of the garage, and the dog, lifting his
head, gave tongue in response. The whistle was
repeated, followed by a hoarse, blasphemous com-
mand. Demon rose reluctantly, brushed against her
knee in friendly farewell, and loped away in the
fast-gathering darkness.
“Oh, Demon!” The girl breathed a sobbing little
cry after him. “Remember me well, the sound of
my voice and the scent of me. Sometime I may
need you!”
Then ashamed of the momentary, hysterical
weakness, Betty turned and fairly flew to the house.
Slipping in at the side door by which she had left,
she reached her room, breathless, but unobserved,
and sank into a chair.
The house was oddly silent. No sound of voices
had met her ears, but a narrow streak of light had


38 SUSPENSE
shone from under the library door as she passed,
and her overwrought imagination pictured for her
a tense, constrained group within. In spite of Mrs.
Atterbury's specious explanation, Betty knew be-
yond question whose voice had come to her over
the telephone, and no mere financial crisis could
have brought to Wolvert's face the look which she
had seen upon it when he unwittingly crossed her
path among the trees.
A half hour went slowly by and then the whirring
of the electric brougham broke the stillness and
droned diminishingly into the distance. Mme.
Cimmino had evidently taken her belated departure.
Had Wolvert accompanied her? Betty shrank
from encountering him at dinner and the effort to
meet his forced banter serenely, conscious of what
lay beneath it, seemed beyond her power.
When she obeyed the gong's summons, however,
she found the table laid only for two, and Mrs.
Atterbury already in her place.
“You enjoyed your walk, my dear?” The latter
raised imperturbable eyes to greet the girl. “You
did not find it too cold P”
“Oh, no, the air was wonderfully bracing,” Betty
replied at random, scarcely aware of what she was
saying. “I very nearly lost my way, though. There
are so many paths and the trees quite hide the
house.”
“Yes. I purchased the property mainly because


THE SILENT INTRUDER. 39
of the privacy and seclusion it promised. I am not
a hermit,” Mrs. Atterbury added, with the shadow
of a smile, “but the rush and turmoil of an active
social existence bore me. You will, perhaps, find it
rather monotonous here, Betty, but there will be
more tasks for you to do when you have settled
down and learned your way about the city. I shall
have many errands for you.”
“I am glad,” Betty responded with nervous eager-
ness. “The thought of the city doesn't frighten me
any more, now that I feel anchored, Mrs. Atterbury,
and I want to do anything I can. You know I have
been idle all day and it does not seem as if I were
earning my salary.”
Mrs. Atterbury scrutinized the girl's face, and
her own relaxed for an instant and sagged into
deeply graven lines of utter weariness and exhaus-
tion. The necessity for rigid self-command had
faltered before Betty's seemingly innocent candor;
the mask had slipped momentarily and from beneath
it peered a shadow of the anxiety and dread which
had beset her unexpected guest of the afternoon.
With the next breath, however, she had herself
again in hand.
“You will not complain of that tomorrow.” Her
voice was amusedly tolerant. “We shall have a
double amount of correspondence to attend to, re-
member, and I will positively be at home to no one
until it is finished. I think I shall retire almost im-


40 SUSPENSE
mediately after dinner, my dear, for I have a slight
headache.”
The warmth of the house after the sharp, nipping
atmosphere outdoors brought an early drowsiness to
Betty, who went directly to her room after the
meal. In spite of the puzzling events of the day,
and the air of mystery which seemed to envelop
the household, a lassitude stole over her and her
heavy eyelids drooped and fell.
The dropping of coals in the tiny grate awakened
her and she started up to find that it was close on
to midnight. Stumbling softly to the door she
opened it and listened, but the silence was unbroken.
Disrobing, she laid her dressing gown and slip-
pers ready to hand, extinguished the lamp and crept
into bed. Her first deep sleep was over and Betty
lay wide-eyed, staring into the darkness. A vague
sensation of suspense set her brain a-tingle and she
felt as if she were waiting with every nerve taut
for something which she could not name.
Gradually, however, the feeling was dispelled and
she was sinking into an uneasy slumber when all
at once she started up in bed with a shivering gasp,
her heart leaping wildly and the very hair upon her
brow seeming to stir and rise as though an unseen
hand were lifting it. A sudden, muffled crash had
pierced her consciousness and the very air seemed
to quiver with the jar of impact, although no further
sound broke the stillness. Betty listened with bated


THE SILENT INTRUDER 41
breath for a moment, then rose, impelled by an
impulse stronger than her power to combat.
Throwing her gown about her, she snatched the
electric torch from the drawer of her dressing table
and made her way to the door. Impenetrable dark-
ness greeted her as before, but it seemed to her over-
wrought fancy that a shuddering tension filled the
air and the ticking of the tall clock beat like a tocsin
upon her brain.
As one in a trance she moved mechanically to
the stairs and down, the thread of light which
played from her hand guiding her cautious footsteps.
The doors of the library and drawing-room were
closed, but that of the dining-room was opened wide
and a frigid draft blew through it, whipping the
gown about her bare ankles.
Betty flashed her light upon the aperture and
the outline of the heavily carved dining table leaped
into view, while all about it on the floor lay frag-
ments of something which scintillated in the shaft
of radiance like scattered diamonds.
Slowly she approached the door, the darting rays
from her torch piercing the sinister darkness, the
very breath hushed in her throat. On the threshold
she paused and stood transfixed.
The dining table had been slewed to one side,
chairs were overturned, draperies pulled from their
rings and the great glass punch bowl lay shattered
on the floor.


42 SUSPENSE
But it was not upon these signs of violence that
her eyes were fastened in a glaze of horror. A man
lay stretched before the hearth with upturned face
and arms flung wide, a man whose eyes stared with
tragic vacuity and from whose breast a sluggish
crimson stream had flowed to form a spreading pool
upon the rug.
For a long minute the girl stood staring with
eyes as fixed as those of the dead. She opened her
lips, but no sound issued from them to raise an
alarm or summon aid. Instead she lifted her hands
jerkily to her throat as if struggling to draw breath,
and turning, fled silently for her very life up the
stairs.


CHAPTER III.
The Velvet Glove.
somewhat doubtfully from the small round
box of rouge in her hand to her wan reflec-
tion. Dare she hoped successfully to conceal
the ravages of a sleepless, tortured night? Her
cheeks and very lips were blanched and her eyes
sunken and heavily circled. Only the birthmark,
like a scarlet stain, glowed sullenly and served but
to accentuate her pallor. It were better by far that
her employer's keen eyes should note a condition
which she could attribute to illness than that her
effort to conceal it would be so palpable as to in-
vite suspicion of a graver nature.
How she had managed to reach her room after
the shock of her tragic discovery, she could not have
told. No memory remained with her of that swift
silent flight from the room of death. She only
knew that she found herself back in bed once more,
trembling in every limb and with an icy, pulseless
void in her breast where her heart had been. Rea-
son itself seemed to have fled, and her thoughts
Bº: was seated before her mirror, gazing
43


THE WELVET GLOVE 45
immediate future held in store, she, at least, must
appear ignorant of all that had occurred during
the silent watches of the night.
The breakfast gong sounded as she replaced her
rouge unused in the drawer, and with leaden feet
she descended the stairs. The door of the dining-
room was open and from within it issued the cheer-
ful clatter of silver and purr of the coffee urn.
As if hypnotized, Betty made her way down the
hall but paused involuntarily on the threshold. The
room was in perfect order, the furniture arranged
as usual; even the great cut-glass bowl, which she
had seen only a few hours before shattered into a
score of fragments, stood whole and unmarred in
its accustomed place upon the sideboard.
The girl's eyes turned incredulously to the hearth
where the ghastly figure had lain. It was spic and
span, and the pale gray of the silken rug showed
no slightest trace of the sinister pool which had
reddened it a few short hours before. The bright
sunlight, streaming in between the curtains at the
window, added the last touch of solid reality to the
scene, and Betty felt that her sanity was rocking in
the balance. Had she indeed been the victim of
some fearful hallucination? Was the tragedy upon
which she had stumbled but the figment of a dream?
All at once she became conscious of eyes upon her
and turned sharply. Mrs. Atterbury stood just be-
hind her, smiling her calm, inscrutable smile.


46 SUSPENSE
“Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well ?”
“Not very.” Betty forced her stiffened lips to
frame the words. “I awoke toward morning with a
terrific headache, but it is better now.”
She stood boldly, with a shaft of sunlight full
upon her face, conscious of the keen scrutiny to
which she was being subjected, but determined to
avoid possible suspicion by as realistic a semblance
of candor as she could command.
The pause seemed interminable, but Mrs. Atter-
bury broke it at last.
“You are very pale. I must give you a headache
powder before your coffee. Welch!”
A figure moved in the shadowed corner of the
china closet, and Betty all but cried out in dismay.
Had the sly, soft-footed butler been standing there,
silently noting her hesitation on the threshold, and
her significant glances about the room?
“Madam?”
“Tell Caroline to give you one of the powders
from the blue box in my medicine chest; remember,
the blue box.”
“Yes, Madam.”
Mrs. Atterbury seated herself in her accustomed
place, and Betty took the chair opposite. She dared
not refuse the proffered medicine but a hideous
fear gripped her. Suppose her subterfuge had been
suspected and she was now to be done away with,
like that other whose body she had seen Or had


º
*
THE WELVET GLOVE 47
he really never existed, save in her distraught
imagination?
She managed to drink her coffee, but the food
repelled her. As her nerves steadied and self-com-
mand returned to her, she furtively studied the
faces of her employer and the butler. There was
no mistaking the significance of their suddenly
acute espionage. She could not account to herself
for the magic rehabilitation of the room, but as the
chaos of her mind subsided one fact resolved itself
irrefutably; the event of the night had been no
dream or vision born of hysteria.
| Upon that rug so miraculously cleansed had lain
the body of the murdered man. How it had been
spirited away, or how, indeed, the intruder had
gained entrance, and the violent struggle which the
condition of the room had indicated could take
place without its noise alarming the house, were
mysteries Betty made no attempt to solve.
| Every sense was alert to her own danger, and she
realized that her very life depended now upon her
powers of dissimulation. The watchers had become
the watched, and she noted that Welch's pasty face
was gray in the strong light of morning and his
shifty, ratlike eyes darted furtively over his
shoulder when he crossed before the hearth.
| Mrs. Atterbury, too, left her food practically un-
touched, and the hand with which she raised her
cup shook visibly, but her indomitable brain was


48 SUSPENSE
evidently schooled to the utmost concentration, for
immediately after the farce of breakfast was con-
cluded she conducted Betty to the library and dic-
tated steadily for more than two hours.
The social letters were devoid of interest to the
girl, and under the stress of the moment seemed
curiously banal. Those concerning financial mat-
ters were for the most part unintelligible, but she
strove to fix her mind on them and banish the
hideous vision which still obsessed her. No illusion
was made to the private letters marked with a cross,
nor did Mrs. Atterbury dictate any reply to the
cryptic communication concerning five thousand
sheep which had arrived on the previous day.
However, when the voluminous correspondence
had been seemingly disposed of and Betty's eyes
were turning longingly toward the crisp sunshine
beyond the window, Mrs. Atterbury rose and going
to a tall, narrow bookcase built in a corner of the
wall, swung it nonchalantly outward with a light
practised touch.
A compact steel safe was revealed, imbedded in
the solid brick of the wall, and Betty watched
eagerly, striving to note each twirl and stop of the
combination as the other woman swiftly manipu-
lated it. With a final click the door swung open,
disclosing row after row of numbered pigeonholes
like a post-office rack, each containing its quota of
long, legal-looking envelopes.
º


THE WELVET GLOVE 49
The girl's gaze was riveted, tense and fascinated
upon the movements of her employer, and unbid-
den there crossed her face once more that sly, subtle
look of Machiavelian cunning and triumph, matur-
ing yet debasing its artless charm.
Had Mrs. Atterbury turned at that moment she
might have read a warning in the silent strained :
figure, but she was engrossed in her occupation.
When at length she selected a packet and closing the
safe carefully came back to her desk, the girl was
rearranging its contents, her face averted.
“Here are rough drafts of some letters which I
want you to copy for me. Be careful that you
transcribe them exactly; I think you will find them
readily legible. When you have finished, mark the
envelopes with a cross and place them with the
others, for Welch to mail.”
The new task occupied Betty until lunch time,
and when Welch appeared with her tray, as on the
previous day, she ate with relish, grateful to escape
the ordeal of another hour in that room of mystery
under the Argus eyes of Mrs. Atterbury and her
Servitor.
The former returned as she concluded her simple
meal.
“You have finished the letters? Good! I can
see that you are going to be a valuable aid. Your
predecessor, Inez Harly, was a conscientious girl,
but stupid—l” Mrs. Atterbury rolled her eyes


50 SUSPENSE
with an expressive shrug. “My dear, have you ever
done any library work at home in—let me see, where
did you come from?—Greenville, Iowa?”
“‘Library work’?” Betty repeated with a smile.
“Our community was not important enough to have
attracted the attention of Mr. Carnegie, but we had
quite an extensive library of our own, and I always
took care of it for my—my mother.”
If Mrs. Atterbury noted the odd hesitation in
the last words she gave no sign.
“Then you understand the rearrangement, classi-
fication and listing of books? I wonder if you
will attend to mine? There are, I believe, over four
hundred in this room alone and many others are
scattered practically all over the house. The sets
are all in a jumble and I never seem able to put my
hand on any particular volume when I want it.”
“I think I can do it.” Betty's eyes had turned
again wistfully to the window and her heart sank.
“It will take me several days, I am afraid, but if
you have nothing more pressing for me to do—”
“I haven't at the moment.” Mrs. Atterbury
moved toward the door. “I shall be glad if you
will begin this afternoon. Take all the time you
require and when the books are arranged, please
catalogue them for me. There are a few rare
volumes among them which may interest you, if
you are a student. I will send for you when Miss
Pope comes.”


THE WELVET GLOVE 51
The books were in an almost hopeless state of
confusion and Betty had no mind for her task. She
was still shaken with the horror of the previous
night's discovery, and the imperturbability of the
other woman had suggested to her a new and start-
ling train of thought. What if Mrs. Atterbury her-
self were ignorant of the tragedy which had taken
place beneath her roof? Could it have been the
work of Welch? The girl had read the evidence of
his guilty knowledge unmistakably stamped upon
his elemental, brutish face that morning, but Mrs.
Atterbury's inscrutable countenance defied analysis.
The continued strain was telling upon the girl
and she longed unspeakably for the cold, bracing
air of out of doors, but it was evident that her em-
ployer intended to grant her no leisure that day.
Could the rearrangement of the books have been
merely an expedient to keep her occupied and close
at hand P Mrs. Atterbury had shown her nothing
but kindness, yet she was conscious of the woman's
dominant character, and that beneath all her suavity
lurked the pitiless tyranny of an inflexible will. She
was beginning to feel the iron hand within the vel-
vet glove, and she shuddered at the mere fancy that
it might some time close about her.
It was significant that no thought of escape came
to her. She had met the new danger as something
which must be faced and lived down, and the
natural alternative of notifying the authorities of


52 SUSPENSE
the foul play to which she had been an unwitting
accessory after the fact never entered her mind.
Instead, with a singleness of purpose which seemed
inexplicable she resolutely forced her thoughts into
other channels than those which led to the appalling
mystery, and strove to focus her attention on the
books.
Through the long afternoon Betty plodded on at
her tedious task, for it was dusk when Welch came
to announce the seamstress’ arrival. The silence
in the house had remained unbroken, but as she left
the library the girl became aware of distant and
confused shouting in the street beyond the great
gates. It sounded upon her ears like the clamor of
an approaching mob, and her heart beat fast as she
hurried upstairs.
“What can it be?” she voiced her query aloud as
Mrs. Atterbury met her at the door of the sewing
room. “Those cries upon the street! Did you hear
them? Could there have been a-an accident?”
“It is just the news-sellers crying an “extra’,” the
other responded, adding with an amused smile.
“No wonder it startled you! I suppose they are
unknown in your home town. They are an unmiti-
gated nuisance, but the public feeds on cheap sen-
sation—”
“There's been a murder!” the little dressmaker
croaked suddenly from the corner where she had
been waiting. “A gentleman was found stabbed—”


THE WELVET GLOVE 53
Mrs. Atterbury's lips tightened and she lifted an
authoritative hand. -
“If you please, Miss Pope l’” Her voice was as
cold as the ringing of steel on steel. “Horrors do
not appeal to me, and I am averse to discussing,
them.” º
“I’m very sorry, I’m sure.” Miss Pope fluttered
in distress, her pallid face flushing darkly. “I didn't
think when I spoke, but I saw it in big staring head-
lines in a man's paper on the car, and the words
just popped out of my mouth. I wouldn't say any-
thing to upset anybody for the world—”
“You haven't.” Mrs. Atterbury stemmed the
quick, nervous flow of speech, and her own voice
had sunk to its normal unemotional level. “I do
not believe in encouraging a tendency to morbidity,
especially in the young. We all know, unfortun-
ately, that crime exists, but we who do not come in
contact with it should spare ourselves the revolting
details. Now let us see how the gown will fit.”
Tremblingly, the cowed little creature busied her-
self about the girl's slender figure. Betty stood like
an automaton, turning obediently at a touch of the
seamstress’ hand, but oblivious to all that went on
about her. Miss Pope's inadvertent words had
seared themselves on her brain in letters of fire and
for an instant everything grew black before her
eyes. Then out of the whirling darkness had come
a fleeting glimpse of Mrs. Atterbury's face and all


54 SUSPENSE
doubt of her knowledge of the midnight tragedy
was gone forever. Stunned by the confirmation of
her own secret fears, Betty gave no heed to the
seamstress, until Welch appeared to call his mistress
to the telephone.
When they were alone, Miss Pope glanced up
with a strange intensity in her lack-lustre eyes.
“You—stay?” The words were barely formed
by the woman's shaking lips.
“I think so,” Betty murmured in response. “If
Mrs. Atterbury likes me.”
“Oh, she'll like you, fast enough.” Miss Pope
looked fearfully behind her as if the shadow of her
employer lingered in the doorway. “Before you
know it you'll be caught, too, and you'll never be
able to get free. Why didn't you go yesterday
when I warned you?”
“What did you mean? Mrs. Atterbury is kind
and I must earn my living. Why should I leave
this place?”
“Because you are young, with all your life be-
fore you! I can't explain. I’m taking an awful
chance now, but oh! believe me, miss, and go!
You'd be better off homeless, in the streets, than
here !”
“You must tell me more!” Betty urged. “What
is wrong here? What harm can come to me? I
cannot give up a good position without even know-
ing why.”


THE WELVET GLOVE 55
The seamstress' hands fluttered in a little hope-
less gesture, and she laid one finger warningly on
her lips. When she spoke, it was in an altered tone.
“Yes, Miss, as you say, a little more fullness
here. Mrs. Atterbury will advise me about the
draping.”
Her ear had been quicker than the girl's, for even
as she paused the rustle of a skirt came to them
down the hall and the mistress of the house ap-
peared in the doorway. She darted a keen glance
from one to the other, but Betty met her eyes
calmly, and the seamstress' face was averted.
The fitting concluded and Miss Pope dismissed,
Mrs. Atterbury turned to the girl.
“A few friends are dining with me tonight and
I do not want you to appear in that sombre black.
I have had Caroline put one of my waists in your
room which I think you can manage to wear. Come
down to the drawing-room early, please.”
Betty obeyed, but found that some of the guests
had already arrived. Mme. Cimmino was curled
up felinely in a corner of the great davenport, a
cigarette between her fingers and a spot of red
glowing in each sallow cheek. She was talking
rapidly with shrugs and darting, nervous gestures,
to a tall, white-haired, distinguished stranger who
was introduced as Doctor Bayard.
Wolvert stood alone, with one arm resting on
the mantel. He was gazing into the fire and his


56 SUSPENSE
face in the flickering glare seemed aged and
shrunken, the high cheek bones glazed like those
of a skull and the pale eyes shadowed.
Mrs. Atterbury was conversing with two other
men by the door and as Betty was presented she
took furtive note of them. The first, Leonard Ide,
was a mere youth with a receding chin and vacant,
glassy eyes. His dinner coat was extreme to the
point of foppishness, but its dashing lines could not
conceal the narrow stooped shoulders and hollow
chest beneath. The hand he extended was cold and
clammy to the girl's touch, and his high, thin voice
grated unpleasantly on her ear.
The other was in appearance almost humorously
antithetical. Short and stocky, with a rotund
paunch, and bushy, iron-gray hair, he stood with
his plump legs set wide apart and his eyes twinkled
benignly behind huge rimmed glasses as he bowed
his salutations. His voice was deep and gutteral
with a decided accent and his ruddy face glowed in
the firelight. Betty did not catch his name, but
the others called him “Professor.”
The pale youth attempted to engage her in con-
versation with an air of bored patronage which
would have amused her under other circumstances,
but as she looked from face to face, one question
rang insistently through her brain. Did they
know? The old gentleman with the air of an aris-
tocrat, the jovial Professor, the spineless youth—


THE WELVET GLOVE 57
could they bear the burden of guilty knowledge in
common with the rest? -
There was an undercurrent of perfect under-
standing, a veiled intimacy about the scattered
r group, ill-assorted as it was, which suggested a
closer bond than that of old acquaintanceship. Betty
could not have defined the sensation which assailed
her but she felt that her every move and intonation
were being weighed in the balance, as one brought
before a tribunal.
Wolvert had turned from the fire-place and was
approaching her, when the door was once more flung
open, and Welch announced:
“Mr. and Mrs. Dana.”
There was nothing distinctive at first glance about
the couple who entered. The man was smooth
shaven and of middle-age, slightly florid, slightly
bald with lines of fatigue or dissipation about his
eyes. The woman, a trifle younger, carried herself
with a certain indolent grace, but her complexion
was a shade too brilliant, her hair meretriciously
yellow, and her voluptuous figure in its shimmering
gown resembled a gorgeous over-blown flower.
The others addressed them familiarly as “Mor-
tie” and “Louise,” but with their entrance Betty
noted a perceptible change in the spirit of the as-
sembled party. The talk became disjointed, but
more general in tone, and the note of intimacy was
lacking. -


58 SUSPENSE
At dinner, Betty was seated between the fatuous
young man and Mr. Dana, with Wolvert again fac-
ing her across the table, as on the evening of her
arrival. The debonair, bantering manner was
gone, and he sat in moody silence, the food un-
touched before him, but his wine glass emptied as
quickly as Welch could replenish it. A dull red
gathered beneath his cheek bones, and his eyes
glowed fitfully as the dinner progressed.
Betty could feel his gaze fastened upon a point
just back of her, and involuntarily she glanced over
her shoulder. The table had been enlarged to ac-
commodate the augmented circle, and she realized
with a start that she was seated directly in front of
the hearth, almost upon the very spot where the
body of the dead man had lain.
Madame Cimmino leaned over swiftly with her
hand on Wolvert's arm, and whispered a few words
in his ear, then deliberately she reached across for
his wine glass and placed it beside her own plate.
He straightened as if suddenly awakened and
flashed a lightening glance around the table, and at
that moment the nasal tones of Mrs. Dana were
raised in lazy derision.
“Ghosts' They went out of fashion with moated
granges and secret panels. Good Lord, who be-
lieves in 'em nowadays?”
The professor shook his shaggy gray head.
“There is much that not yet scientifically ex-
-


THE WELVET GLOVE 59
plained has been,” he remarked argumentatively.
“It is the talk of a child to say, ‘This cannot be,”
because we know it not. I, myself, haff seen ->
“My dear Professor!” Doctor Bayard lifted a
slim, blue-veined hand in deprecation. “I suffer
from insomnia. Do not present me, I beg of you,
with a group of shades to evoke about my bed! If
the ghosts of men live after them, it can be only in
the thoughts of those who are left behind.”
“Household pets, eh?” Wolvert's voice rang out
in a strident laugh and he seized the wine glass
from Madame Cimmino's detaining hand. “Let’s
drink to them! To the ghosts of yester-year! May
their shadows never grow less!”
Watching, Betty saw his eyes stray past her once
more, and the glass halted half-way to his lips.
For an instant a sick horror stole over her and then
she heard Mrs. Atterbury's calm, level tones.
“That is a toast for Hallowe'en, Jack, but not
apropos now. Why drag in bogies when you can
pledge other things more to your taste?”
“Beauty, my boy, and youth. That's the ticket,
eh?” Mortie Dana looked up from the hot-house
pear he was peeling with placid precision. “Me
for the youth thing every time—until Louise tries
to teach me the new dance steps. Then I pass.”
Under cover of the titter which ran around the
table, Mrs. Atterbury collected the eyes of her
women guests, and they retired to the drawing-


60 SUSPENSE
room for coffee. Betty hesitated in the doorway,
declining Welch's proffered tray and her employer
smiled tolerantly.
“You are tired? My dear, run along to bed, if
you like. You have been indoors all day and busy,
and I forgot that your head ached. If you cannot
sleep, ring for Caroline, and she will give you a
bromide.”
Betty thankfully availed herself of the oppor-
tunity and made her escape, but sleep was furthest
from her thoughts. The hideous mystery still ham-
mered at the gates of her brain, and could not be
dismissed, but she was grateful at least for soli-
tude that she might relax from the strain of dis-
simulation.
She wrapped a loose robe about her, unbound her
hair and extinguishing the light threw herself on
the chaise longue before the hearth. A pale moon
rode high in the sky, glinting on the frost-laden
cedars beyond her window, and the smouldering
coals in the grate cast a cheerful ruddy glow about
her. In the tranquil reality, it seemed incredible
that tragedy and crime could have lurked beneath
that roof so short a time before. In a swift re-
vulsion of feeling the girl wondered if the sus-
picion and watchfulness which she had read on
every face save those of the Danas, could have
been, after all, but the product of her imagination.
A sudden sharp scream, muffled but unmistak-


THE WELVET GLOVE 61
able, brought her to her feet with her heart beating
wildly. How long she had lain there, in the leth-
argy of a complete reaction, she had no means of
knowing. The cry was not repeated, but the silence
seemed pregnable with unnameable horror, and un-
able to control herself, Betty stole to her door and
opened it. Then she paused, rigid with surprise.
A few paces away, the maid, Caroline, sat on guard.
“Did you want something, Miss P” The woman
rose respectfully, but her eyes did not meet the
girl’s. “Mrs. Atterbury said you might need me.”
Betty started indignantly to speak, but checked
the words which had risen to her lips. After a
pause, she said quietly:
“No, but I fancied someone called.”
“Oh, that was just somebody laughing, Miss.
They're playing cards, Welch tells me.”
Betty bade the woman a brief goodnight and
closing her door, locked it with an emphatic click.
The cry still echoed in her ears. Muffled as it had
been, she recognized the voice of Mrs. Dana, and
knew that no mirth had sounded in its shrill cres-
cendo, but stark terror. Was a fresh tragedy being
enacted below P
One point, at least, was clear beyond further
doubt; the espionage and surveillance had been no
vain imagining. The woman outside her door was
there as jailor, not servitor. She herself, was a
virtual prisoner!


CHAPTER IV.
Blindfold.
Detective Agency, Incorporated, occupied the
entire nineteenth floor of the Leicester Build-
ing and more nearly resembled those of a potentate
of finance than a private investigator. The Chief's
sanctum was protected by a series of smaller com-
municating offices presided over by subordinates of
ascending rank and importance, through whose
hands the visitor, client or culprit, must pass before
gaining audience with the great man himself; a
process which tended either to crush or irritate the
stranger, according to his temperament.
The lady who sent in her card to the Chief on a
certain crisp morning in late winter, however,
seemed to find food for amusement in the cere-
monious progression. She was of the type which
proclaims rather than admits age, but in spite of
her snow-white hair, her tall figure was as erect
as that of a girl and her snapping gray eyes behind
the gold pince-neg were neither dimmed nor mel-
lowed by time.
T; offices of the Joseph P. McCormick
62


BLINDFOLD 63
A dry smile tightened the fine lines about her
lips as she was ushered into the last of these offices,
which served as an ante-chamber to the supreme
consulting room. A slim, mild-looking youth with
the face of a student was seated behind a type-
writer table and raised his eyebrows supercili-
ously as he greeted her with the question which
through reiteration had appealed to her sense of
humor.
“You wish to see Mr. McCormick himself?”
“That fact should be self-evident even to a detec-
tive, since I have gained admittance as far as this.”
Her tone was pleasant, but peremptory, as if she
were addressing an inquisitive schoolboy, and the
young man gasped, but proceded doggedly with the
formula.
“You have no appointment?”
“None. I have already stated that to a red-
headed boy, two totally uninterested young ladies
and several men, as you are doubtless aware.”
A harassed look was creeping into the eyes of
her inquisitor. -
“If you will kindly state the nature of your
business, Madame—”
“I came here to consult a private detective, not
to discuss my affairs with his subordinates or shout
them from the housetops.” A sharper note had
penetrated her tones as if a smooth weapon were
suddenly turned edge upwards. “If your Mr.


64 SUSEFENSE
McCormick is too busy to talk to me in person, I
prefer not to waste further time.”
The young man rose resignedly.
“I think the Chief is at liberty now. Step this
way, Madame.”
He threw back a door at the farther end of the
office, revealing a huge corner room walled on two
sides by windows, from which a dazzling glare
shone full upon their faces. A heavy-set, brawny
figure, with keen eyes beneath beetling brows and
a straight-clipped black mustache, rose impressively
to receive her as the door closed behind her guide.
The old lady brusquely forestalled his opening
remark.
“Young man,” the Chief was at least forty-five,
“I’ve been presented at five European courts with
less fuss and bother than I have experienced in
trying to reach you. Let us come to the point. I
want someone found; if you think you can accom-
plish it for me, name your price.”
The Chief smiled slightly as he glanced at her
card on the desk before him.
“It is possible that I can be of service, Madame
Dumois.” His voice was blandly ingratiating.
“Take this seat and give me the particulars. Is the
missing person a relative?”
Madame Dumois seated herself as he had indi-
cated and her lips set in a straight line.
“I did not come here to be cross-examined, my


BLINDFOLD 65
good man, and I haven't said the person was miss-
ing. I mean there has been no mysterious disap-
pearance, if that is what you are getting at. I will
tell you as much as I have a mind to and no more,
and if you do not find it sufficient to work on, we
can stop right here. I have lost track of a certain
young woman, and I want to locate her. Never
mind why, or what our relations have been. I’d
pay a good price to lay eyes on her again.”
Her voice hardened perceptibly and a faint, angry
flush mounted in her faded cheeks and boded ill
for the unfortunate object of her search. Detective
McCormick leaned forward persuasively in his
chair.
“But my dear Madame, I must have a few per-
sonal details or I shall not know what type of oper-
ative to assign to the case. I take it that it is strictly
confidential?”
“I congratulate you!” Her lips twitched again
in grim humor. “I seemed unable to convey that
impression to your various secretaries. Your opera-
tive will have to be a person of intelligence and tact,
and if he is to come in personal contact with this
young woman, he must be a gentleman. She is
what you would call a lady, I'll say that much
for her.”
“You do not care to give me her name?”
“It is immaterial.”
The detective lifted his shaggy brows.


66 SUSPENSE
“May I ask if this young woman is a fugitive?
Is there a likelihood that you will bring charges,
criminal or civil, when she is located?”
“It is possible, under certain conditions.”
Madame Dumois' tones trembled for the first time,
then steadied and she added in a sharper key. “That
is beside the point. I want her found; your case
ends there. The rest is my affair. Call in your
operative and I will put him in possession of such
facts as I consider essential.”
“It is absolutely essential that I should know
more, myself, before I can assign anyone to the
case.” The detective squared himself firmly in his
chair. “Have you any idea where this young
woman may be found? Any possible clue? Where
and when was she last seen?”
Madame Dumois rose majestically.
“I will not take up more of your valuable time,
Mr. McCormick. I see that we will be unable to
come to an understanding. Good morning.”
She turned to the door, but he extended a swift
detaining hand.
“My dear Madame Dumois! I am prepared to
do anything that is possible to be of service to you,
but you must realize that you have given me no
data whatever to work upon.”
“I was under the impression that you would not
undertake this matter personally in any event.” She
had halted, but there was no yielding in her tone.


BLINDFOLD 67
“If you have a moderately clever, discreet opera-
tive with the bearing and appearance of a gentle-
man, I will talk with him. I do not wish to discuss
the details of the case any more than is absolutely
necessary. I will give him a description of the
young woman, nothing more. The rest will be in
his hands.”
The detective reflected.
“I think I have just the man for you,” he an-
nounced at last. “Unfortunately, he is out on a
case at the present moment, but I will recall him and
send him up to see you this afternoon, if you will
leave your address.”
“I will meet him here,” Madame Dumois replied
hastily. “If he has tact enough to accept what in-
formation I am prepared to give him, and brains
enough to turn it to account, it will be all I shall
ask. At what hour can you have him here?” “
“Shall we say three o'clock? I am confident that
you will find Mr. Ross eminently suitable for your
purposes. He is young, good-looking and discreet,
with great personal magnetism—”
“I am not requesting him to make love to the
girl.” A flash of her old humor returned. “And;
now, Mr. McCormick, what are your terms?”
The business arrangement was briefly concluded
and the detective bowed his visitor out with grudg-
ing admiration in his eyes. He waited until her
firm, methodical footsteps had died away down the


68 SUSPENSE
corridor, and then pressed a button upon the under
edge of his desk top. The studious-looking young
man made his appearance almost instantaneously
from the adjoining office.
“Yes, sir?”
“Disappearance. Young woman, good standing.
Probable social scandal. Detail Clark to tail
Madame Dumois and get what info he can. Try the
hotels, the old-fashioned conservative ones first. Wire
Ross, 192-A. Spring Garden Street, Philadelphia, to
return immediately earliest train and report here at
two-thirty. Send Luders out to take his place.”
The young man whipped out a pad, wrote rapidly
and then paused with an inquiring glance. His
chief nodded, chuckling.
“That's all. Peppery old lady, but she knows her
business. Ross is the chap to handle her.”
At precisely half-past two a young man bounded
up the steps of the Leicester Building and, elbowing
his way good-naturedly into the already packed
elevator, shot up to the nineteenth floor. He was
boyish-looking and slim, but his broad, straight
shoulders and lithe hips betokened the athlete and
his laughing eyes had a habit of narrowing sud-
denly in keen intensity.
He nodded a careless greeting to the red-headed
boy and the burly strong-arm man who guarded the
outer office, and made his way unceremoniously
into the presence of his chief.


BLINDFOLD 69
The latter explained the reason for his recall and
told him succinctly of the morning's interview.
“Tactful and brainy and a gentleman; that's
what the old lady says she wants, and I guess you
fill the bill, Bert,” McCormick added. “You’re the
gentleman, all right, because you were born one,
and that's something you never lose and can't fake.
For kid glove cases no one stands in the same class
with you, but you'll need more than that in handling
Madame Dumois; asbestos gloves would be safer.
She wants to find the girl, but she's dead scared of
our getting a line on her. Sharp as a steel trap,
she is—a regular Tartar!”
“Um—French?” Herbert Ross seemed in no
wise perturbed by the formidable description.
“No. Yankee accent, but there's a Paris look to
her clothes. Dressy old party, in spite of her
widow's cap. Shouldn't wonder if she's just back
from the other side. That's why I had her looked
up at the hotels, but I couldn’t smoke her out. Don't
antagonize her by asking questions or you're a
goner. Just let her do the talking and pick up what
scraps of data you can. I'm not worrying about
your ability to make a success of it, Bert, if you
can only get enough out of the old lady to work
on, but blood from a stone would be a cinch in
comparison.”
“Any hint as to why she wants the subject
located?”


70 SUSPENSE
Ross lighted a cigarette and leaned forward in
his chair.
“Not in words, but from her manner I judge it
is not from any desire to remember the young
woman in her will,” the Chief responded dryly.
“Looks more like a scandal than anything else, as
she's so anxious to keep the girl's identity a secret.
I tried my level best to worm some information
from her, but she flared up and threatened to call
it all off. The best I’ve got is that the subject is
young, refined and to all appearances a lady,
although Madame Dumois seemed to grudge that
fact. You go to it, Bert, and see what you can do.”
The young operator pondered for a moment.
“Well, sir,” he began at last, “I can’t hope to
succeed where you have failed, if I work along the
same lines. In your official capacity you have had
the bad luck to antagonize her, so I think I shall
try another scheme. May I have the reference
library for an hour? I'll receive her there instead
of here.”
“Take the whole shop if you want it, but get the
right dope from her about the girl!” The detective
brought his hand down on the desk in a resounding
slap. “It will be a long step up the ladder for you
if you can start to make a reputation for yourself
of successful discreet work among conservative
people of the sort the old lady belongs to. That's
why I put you on this; I haven't the time to go after


BLINDFOLD 71
it myself and it requires class as well as brains. The
woods are full of refined young ladies who have
turned one trick or another; a chance word may
give you a line on how to locate this one. Try any
scheme you like, but get results. That's all we're
after.” -
The reference library was more like a club room
than the sanctum of a private detective. A long,
mahogany table surrounded by heavily carved chairs
occupied the center of the room, and the walls were
lined with bookcases, interspersed with tall glass
cabinets filled with curios. A few prints and signed .
photographs hung above them and over the mantel
was mounted a neat arrangement of firearms and
various weapons.
There was nothing remarkable about the room
or its appointments at first glance, save its obvious
incongruity with the rest of the suite, but a closer
inspection would have revealed the fact that all the
volumes—with the exception of those in a small
case between two windows—dealt with one subject;
crime. The curios in the cabinets, the weapons
above the mantel, each had its individual history,
tragic or sordid, to bear mute testimony to the
futility of defiance of the law.
Madame Dumois' return was punctual to the
moment and she was ushered without delay to the
apartment, where Ross awaited her. She stared
critically at the slim, straight, immaculate figure as


72 SUSPENSE
he turned toward her from the low bookcase, a
quaint vellum-covered volume open in his hands.
“Madame Dumois?” he bowed low with conti-
nental courtesy over her hand. “I have come from
Philadelphia to be of what service to you I may;
I am Herbert Ross.”
“Mr. McCormick suggested you—
but he interrupted her swiftly.
“Do you know, while awaiting you I have come
upon a real treasure here? The collected verse of
Nizamiſ’
Mme. Dumois stepped backward, blinking.
“Poetry!” she ejaculated faintly, in blank amaze-
Iment.
“Ah! I see you are interested.” His face
lightened in boyish eagerness. “Nothing so appeals
to the woman of rare discernment and feeling as
the lilting charm of the early Persians. The casual
reader knows only the Bacchanalian philosophy of
Omar, but you, I am sure are familiar with Rumi
and this greatest of lyricists, Nizami, to say nothing
of Hafiz—”
“Upon my soul!” Mme. Dumois had backed
until the table barred her retreat. “You are a most
extraordinary young man!”
“Should one permit the ugliness of life to blind
one to the beauties of expression? But I see you
have not done so. You possess that rarest of all
gifts, sympathetic appreciation, Madame Dumois!”
22
she began,


BLINDFOLD 73
He beamed upon her. “Do you remember this
lament of Majnun over the grave of Lailif Where
even in the exquisite love letters of your own Abe-
lard to Heloise, can you find such haunting beauty?
Listen, I beg of you:
“Oh, bower of joy, with blossoms fresh and fair,
But doomed, alas! no ripened fruit to bear.
Where shall I find thee now in darkness shrouded!
Those eyes of liquid fire forever clouded—”
He sighed dramatically and closed the book.
“Your French poets—but I forgot; I had fancied
from your name that you were a native of
France—”
“I am American—” Madame Dumois stam-
mered, still dazed from his unexpected onslaught.
“That I realized at once when I saw you. I
knew even the part of the country from which you
came, Madame.” He bowed again. “Only the
women of New England retain their girlhood grace
and beauty of form with their native charm of
manner through years of cosmopolitan life, as this
little volume has retained its beauty of thought and
inspiration in spite of the fact that it was discovered
in the pocket of an arch murderer when he was
searched in the death house.”
A faint flush had risen to the faded cheeks of the
old lady at his daring flattery, but she paled again
with an involuntary shudder.


74 SUSPENSE
“Mercy! Put the horrid thing away!”
He laid the book upon the table.
“Forgive the digression, Madame Dumois. I am
at your service.”
For once she seemed at a loss.
“You are really a detective?” Her eyes searched
his face keenly, as he pulled out a chair for her.
“That is my profession,” responded Ross, with
a touch of quiet dignity.
“This McCormick person has told you what I
require?”
“You wish to find a certain young lady, whom
you will describe to me.”
“Precisely.” Madame Dumois' tone was gra-
cious. “I think, Mr. Ross, that we shall get on.
This young woman appears refined, well-bred and
rather more comprehensively educated than the
average girl of today, but in appearance she is quite
a usual type, neither blonde nor brunette, not actu-
ally pretty nor strikingly plain.”
Ross nodded encouragingly as if he found valu-
able points in the negative description, and the old
lady warmed to her task.
“She has brown hair and blue eyes, and her taste
in dress is conservative, but her manner when last
I saw her was altogether too self-reliant; pert, it
would have been considered when I was a girl.
There is very little more that I can tell you about
her, but I believe her to be in the city somewhere.”


76 SUSPENSE
The detective gave no sign that at last a clue lay
within his grasp, but remarked with studied care-
lessness:
“Oh, that sort of thing is a fad nowadays, to
acquire the patter of some science or art and pose
as a savant or connoisseur. In all probability the
young woman has no real knowledge of the
subject.”
“If she hasn't it is her own fault.” The old lady
returned in unguarded haste. “She was a pupil of
the greatest authority of the age, Professor Mallory,
of Cairo.”
“Indeed. I have not heard of him.” Ross
brushed the information aside with a slight gesture,
as if it were of no moment. “I think, however, that
I shall be able to proceed with the data you have
given me.”
Madame Dumois rose, and her sharp eyes flashed
in a sort of grim exultation.
“In that case, I can only wait for your success.
If you can lay your hands on that young woman,
Mr. Ross, you will not find me unappreciative. You
will report to me—?”
“But not here!” he expostulated. “The atmos-
phere, you know, for a person of your delicate
sensibility in frequent visits to a detective agency
would be too repellent to be borne. I will be de-
lighted to come to you, Madame Dumois. I do not
anticipate any insurmountable difficulty in the case,


BLINDFOLD 77
but if I find myself in a quandary I am sure your
opinion and advice would be of inestimable value.”
The broad touch of flattery proved the final straw
to break the back of her prejudice, and the old lady
capitulated.
“Well, you may call, if you like. I am staying
with an old friend, Mrs. Hemmingway, on the
North Drive, but I do not care to have my address
bandied about this office, Mr. Ross.”
“I quite understand.” As he held the door open
for her to depart he added coolly: “I will come
tomorrow for the photograph.”
“Which you will not get!” She chuckled in frank
enjoyment of his pertinacity. Then the stern lines
tightened about her mouth. “Find this young
woman with the information I have given you, Mr.
Ross, or drop the case. You have wormed more out
of me than I meant you to, but I think I can trust
you not to take advantage of it in any way other
than to promote my object. The girl must be
found.”


CHAPTER V.
Boy A-46.
N the morning after Mrs. Atterbury's
O dinner party, Betty awoke from a deep
sleep of mental and physical exhaustion
to find that a fresh snow-storm was raging. The
fine, hard-driven flakes swirled past her windows
like a heavy meshed veil, obscuring even the cedars
just outside and piling in soft drifts between the
iron bars of the balcony.
The terrified scream which had aroused her from
her reverie at midnight still rang in her ears. She
was sure that it had been the voice of Mrs. Dana,
and she dared not allow her thoughts to dwell on
what it might portend.
Her own position in the household, now clearly
defined by her discovery that she was indeed under
surveillance, left her no alternative but to disarm
the suspicion directed against her at all costs. An
instant off guard would be fatal and she summoned
all her self-command to her aid. -
Nevertheless, it was with a sinking heart that
she dragged herself downstairs in response to the
78


BOX A-46 79
breakfast gong, dreading lest she come upon evi-
dences of a second tragedy. The sedate, seemingly
tranquil house had become for her an abode of
horror, and with each reluctant step fear gripped
her more tenaciously by the throat.
To her unspeakable relief, however, she heard
Mrs. Dana's high, nasal tones issuing from the din-
ing-room and entered to find the lady herself already
seated opposite her hostess. She was attired in a
teagown belonging to the latter, beneath which her
ample figure sagged, and her face in the cold light
was ghastly and drawn.
“Sit down, my dear.” Mrs. Atterbury nodded
her good-morning from behind the coffee urn.
“You slept well?”
“Yes, thank you. My headache has quite dis-
appeared,” Betty murmured, adding deliberately:
“It was kind of you to have Caroline at hand, but
I did not need her services.”
For a moment they looked squarely into each
other's eyes; Mrs. Atterbury's were the first to fall.
“I kept Mrs. Dana with me as you see, because
of the storm. Mr. Dana stayed over night, too, of
course, but he left for his office half an hour ago.
We played bridge until very late.”
“I’m a wreck this morning,” Mrs. Dana re-
marked fretfully, but there was a curious quiver in
her voice. “Mortie says I am the original day-
light saver; I only make use of the night hours.”


80 SUSPENSE
“The moon was ever so bright when I went to
bed,” ventured Betty. “The storm must have come
very quickly.”
“Quickly enough to give me quite a house party,”
Mrs. Atterbury replied. “Madame Cimmino re-
mained also, and Professor Stolz, but they have
not risen yet. I hope you will have an opportunity
to talk with the Professor, Betty, you would find
him most interesting. He is an eminent scientist
and justly celebrated in his own country.”
Betty would have liked to ask what branch of
science had claimed him, but she discreetly remained
silent, with a mental reservation to find out for her-
self, if possible.
Madame Cimmino appeared shortly, looking
more sallow and shrunken than ever, and while her
hostess greeted her, Betty slipped away to the library
to sort the morning's mail.
The room had not yet been put in order for the
day, and the girl's attention was caught by a heap
of torn papers, half charred, on the cold hearth.
The writing upon the scraps seemed oddly familiar,
and she stopped hastily and examined them. They
were the letters she herself had painstakingly copied
from the originals which Mrs. Atterbury had taken
from the safe and given to her on the previous day.
Like the rearrangement of the bookcases, the let-
ters had been merely a subterfuge to keep her em-
ployed and under watchful eyes.


BOX A-46 81
Nevertheless, she doggedly assailed her uncon-
genial task and was midway through the morning's
mail, when a heavy foot sounded in the hall, and
Professor Stolz stuck his shaggy head in the door.
“Pardon. I a book would wish to have and Mrs.
Atterbury says it here is,” he translated idiomati-
cally from his native tongue. “I disturb you, no?”
“Not at all.” Betty rose. “Perhaps I can help
you, Professor. What sort of book are you look-
ing for?”
“It is Egyptian—a history of the twelfth
dynasty.”
“Egyptianſ’’
The professor had been peering along the book-
shelves, but at her exclamation he turned.
“Yes. Professor of Egyptology I have been for
fifteen years already, in the University of Leipzig.
The book you have perhaps seen, Fräulein. Very
old and rare it is, with the cover much
stained—”
“Is this it?” Betty held out a quaint, time-worn
volume, which he seized with avidity.
“In here an inscription is, from the tomb of
Ameni-emhat, at Beni-Hasan, for which long look-
ing have I been.” He turned the pages eagerly,
then paused with a snort of satisfaction, and read
in a mumbling undertone: “Rempit XLIII Xer hen
en Horu anx mest suten net reper-ka-Ra ana.
t’etta—’”


82 SUSPENSE
“Year forty-three, under the Majesty of Horus,
living one of births, king of the North, Kheper-
ka-Ra, living forever—” Betty translated softly,
in utter self-forgetfulness.
“Himmel ! What is this?” The professor stared
at her over his huge-rimmed glasses. “You know
Egyptian!”
Betty flushed.
“I—I knew a young man in my home town who
had studied it abroad, and he taught me a little,”
she stammered hastily.
“A little? Donnerwetter! For my assistant I
should like you, so fluently you translate!” His
eyes shone with the fire of an enthusiast. “After
my own heart you are, Fräulein, and to teach you
more, proud I should be!”
“Thank you, Professor, but I—I have no time
at present.” Betty turned back to her desk with a
determined air and after futile efforts to engage
her further in conversation he departed, shaking
his head in stupefaction.
For several days thereafter no untoward incident
disturbed the surface monotony of the household
routine, and only the unobtrusive but persistent sur-
veillance to which she was subjected remained to
keep the tragic mystery uppermost in Betty's
thoughts.
Of her knowledge of the espionage she gave no
sign, but went about her daily tasks with winning


BOX A-46 83
docility and an outward serenity of bearing which
brought the hoped-for reward. After the third
night, Caroline was no longer installed on guard
outside her door, and before the week was out the
girl felt that she had at last lulled all suspicion.
Mrs. Atterbury had not suggested that she walk
again in the grounds of the estate, however, and
although the confinement was telling upon her,
Betty feared to risk a direct refusal by seeking per-
mission. -
However, from the hour that Caroline's vigil
ceased, Betty had pursued her secret exploration of
the home. As on the first night after her arrival,
and the second, when she made her gruesome dis-
covery, she had continued her mysterious quest
throughout the sleeping house and every spare
moment during the day, when she could escape de-
tection, found her delving in odd nooks and cor-
ners. She managed in time to visit each of the
sleeping apartments and even penetrated to the
attic, but her efforts continued to be fruitless. The
object of her clandestine activities seemed still to
elude her.
She attended to the correspondence each morn-
ing and completed the rearrangement of the books
in the library. Miss Pope appeared on two subse-
quent occasions, but made no further effort to com-
municate by stealth with the girl even upon the day
she delivered the finished gowns. Whatever her


84 SUSPENSE
motive had been, her courage was not equal to a
second attempt.
The Danas made no reappearance, nor did the
pale, foppish youth, Jordan Ide, but Mme. Cim-
mino and the ubiquitous Wolvert were constant
visitors and on more than one occasion Betty heard
Dr. Bayard's measured tones issuing from the draw-
ing-room. By tacit arrangement, she now retired
to her own room immediately after dinner on such
evenings as there were guests present and the silent
hours of readjustment and utter mental relaxation
gave her renewed strength to play her daily part.
By the end of the week a thaw set in which swept
the cedars bare of frost and turned the unbroken
expanse of white into a veritable sea of mud. Mrs.
Atterbury herself had not left the house since she
acquired her new companion, but early one morn-
ing she entered the library where Betty sat wearily
anticipating her secretarial duties, with a proposal
which made the girl's eyes dance.
“My dear, I wonder if you will undertake an
errand for me? The walking is atrocious, I know,
but you have been cooped up indoors quite long
enough and the fresh air will do you good.”
“Oh, I shall be glad to go!” Betty cried warmly,
adding in haste, “Of course, I don't know my way
about, but if you will direct me I am sure I shall
not make any mistake.”
“I don't think there is a likelihood of your get-


86 SUSPENSE
huge, ornately constructed apartment house in a
somewhat less exclusive locality than the North
Drive.
A gaudily upholstered elevator deposited Betty
on the tenth floor and in response to her ring, the
apartment door was opened by a smug-faced Jap-
anese butler who ushered her silently into the draw-
ing-room.
She took a swift mental inventory of her sur-
roundings as she waited. The room presented an
odd mixture of real artistic treasures, and the
basest of imitations; rare tapestries hung upon the
walls between wretched copies of masterpieces, a
hideous terra cotta statuette overshadowing a Ming
vase, and an exquisite Buhl cabinet was filled with
the most trumpery of knickknacks.
Madame Cimmino made her appearance in a
gorgeous but somewhat soiled kimona. Her sallow
cheeks were highly rouged and the jeweled hoops
which tugged at her ears seemed oddly garish in the
light of day. -
“The packet? Ah, yes, I have it,” she murmured
in response to Betty's request. “You came alone?
You are learning, then, to find your way in this
strange city; that is well.”
She clapped her hands, and when the butler ap-
peared, jabbered rapidly to him in his native tongue,
while Betty sat with her face averted. The func-
tionary disappeared, to return almost immediately


BOX A-46 87
bearing a small package which Madame Cimmino
placed in the girl's hands.
“Be careful that you do not lose it, my dear,” she
warned her at the door, adding with a flash of her
white teeth, “Some day when you have leisure, .
little mouse, you shall come and have tea with me,
if Mrs. Atterbury permits. I like American young
girls.” -
Betty thanked her and departed. She thrust the
precious package in her muff without a second
glance, and a peculiar, hard light glowered in her
eyes until she reached once more the house in the
cedars.
Mrs. Atterbury accepted the package without
comment, and thereafter Betty roamed the grounds
at will. Her position save for the morning's cor-
respondence had become a sinecure, but she felt a
presentiment of impending change, and awaited de-
velopments with keen expectancy.
They ensued more quickly than she had antici-
pated. She was summoned to Mrs. Atterbury's
room late one afternoon, to find her employer criti-
cally examining a gown which had just arrived; an
exquisite affair of filmy tulle and creamy lace.
Betty could not suppress a little cry of admiration,"
and Mrs. Atterbury smilingly held it out to her.
“I wish you to try this on, my dear. If it fits
you, it is yours.”
Wondering, Betty placed herself in Caroline's


88 SUSPENSE
hands and when the change had been effected Mrs.
Atterbury herself gasped. In the simple blouse and
skirt Betty had been winsomely attractive in spite
of the disfiguring birthmark, but the delicate beauty
of the gown transformed her as if some fairy god-
mother had touched her with a magic wand.
“Really, you are quite wonderful!” There was
amazement mingled with the unfeigned admiration
in Mrs. Atterbury's tones. “I had no idea that you
would develop such possibilities, Betty. I did well
to select this model for you.”
“It is really mine?” The girl turned her flushed
face from the mirror. “I–I don't know how to
thank you, Mrs. Atterbury, but when shall I have
an occasion to wear it?”
“Tonight.” The reply came with startling brevity
and promptitude. “You are going to hear ‘Aida’.
Have you ever been to the opera”
“Aida!” gasped Betty. There was a pause, and
then she added with a change of tone, “No, I–I
have never heard any opera except on a phonograph.
It will be like a dream come true.”
And as if in a dream she completed her toilet for
the evening. She had schooled herself to accept
without visible surprise anything which might
eventuate, but to appear at the opera in company
with Mrs. Atterbury and her probable guests, was
a move she had not in her wildest fancy anticipated.
A fresh surprise awaited her when she descended


BOX A-46 89
to the dining room. Only Mrs. Atterbury was
present, and she was still attired in the somber gray
gown she had worn throughout the day.
“Perhaps I should have waited to dress later,
, also,” Betty murmured, glancing down at her own
Shimmering elegance. “I did not know we would
have sufficient time after dinner.”
“I am not going with you,” Mrs. Atterbury re-
plied to the implied question with calm directness.
“I am sending you quite alone, Betty. The car will
take you, and wait to bring you home when you
have accomplished your errand.”
“‘My—errand?’” faltered Betty, off guard in
her amazement.
“You will occupy Box A-48, in the grand tier,”
the older woman continued as if she had not heard
the interjection. “In A-46, on your left, there will
be seated a party of ladies and gentlemen. You will
take no apparent notice of them—I can depend upon
your breeding to prohibit your staring—but be sure
to take a chair close to the rail which separates the
two boxes and allow your arm to rest upon it. At
some time during the singing of the opera, one of
the gentlemen in the next box will place an envelope
in your hand. Do not betray any surprise, whatever
you do, but remain quietly for a few minutes longer,
then slip away as unobtrusively as possible and de-
scend immediately to the carriage entrance, where
the car will be awaiting you. This is a confidential


90 suspenSE
matter, but you are discreet and I am sure that I
can trust you, my dear. It is really quite simple;
do you think you will be able to carry it through
successfully?”
“I—I think so,” responded Betty, faintly. She
was dazed, but a new light had broken over her
consciousness and much that had puzzled her was
made clear. She shrank from the task before her,
yet no thought of a refusal entered her mind. She
had voluntarily placed herself in this woman's
hands, and whatever commands were given her, she
was prepared to obey.
“You do not seem very confident.” Mrs. Atter-
bury's level tone had become suddenly stern. “If
you follow my directions carefully you can make no
mistake. I do not find it convenient to go myself,
but if you object—”
“Oh, it isn't that!” cried Betty in haste to cover
her momentary hesitation. “I’m sure I shall not
have any difficulty in merely accepting the envelope
and bringing it to you, but I never went to the
opera before or sat in a box, and I shall feel as if
everyone were looking at me. I am afraid that I am
a trifle self-conscious, after all, about the birthmark
on my face.”
The lines about Mrs. Atterbury's mouth relaxed,
and she smiled tolerantly.
“So that is all! You need not think of it, my
dear, for I assure you it is rather attractive than


BOX A-46 9I
otherwise. It serves to render you distinctive, at
all events, and that is what everyone is striving for,
nowadays. The car will be brought around to the
door for you at ten, when you will be in time for the
last act. You will have only one thing to remember;
ºbe sure that you seat yourself on the extreme left of
the box, and that your hand is within reach.”
“If you will describe the gentleman to me—”
Betty began, but the other interrupted quickly.
“That is quite unnecessary, as you are to make
no advances, nor indeed appear cognizant of his
existence. Permit him to place the envelope in your
hand, but do not even glance in his direction. That
is quite clear?”
“Oh, yes!” laughed Betty ingenuously. “I should
be an adept at that sort of thing; I have had practice
enough at school, passing surreptitious notes.”
Mrs. Atterbury permitted herself to laugh softly.
“Then I shall take your success for granted.
Come to me before you start, my dear. I have some
flowers for you to wear, and I am going to lend you
a string of my pearls.”
When Betty, wrapped in an ermine cloak the
value of which she dared not attempt to compute,
drew up before the opera house she was tingling
with excitement, but her brain was clear, and her
nerves steady. She had realized in a swift flash of
comprehension that she was assuming the first of
her real tasks. Whatever was written in the myste-


92 SUSPENSE
rious letter which was to be entrusted to her, and
whoever the stranger might be from whose hand she
would receive it, she was convinced it was for this
and no other purpose that she had been engaged.
The secretarial work, the companionship, were mere
subterfuges to conceal her true mission, although
she could not fathom its meaning.
The third act was drawing to a close as she
entered her box and Aida's exquisite pleading cry:
“Ah no! ti calma—ascoltami,” thrilled her very soul.
A daring idea came to her. She had been directed
to return as soon as she received the letter, but why
could she not delay its delivery until the very end
of the opera P. She longed to hear the final aria, and
it would be a simple matter to keep out of arm's
reach.
The box on her left was occupied, for although
she did not glance toward it, a rustling and soft
murmur reached her ears as if her entrance had
occasioned comment, unobtrusive though it had
been.
For a moment she hesitated, then obeying the
swift impulse she dropped her cloak and seated her-
self in a chair well to the right, her face averted.
Scarcely had she composed herself when the curtain
fell.
Betty sat motionless in the sudden blaze of light,
her eyes idly sweeping the glittering horseshoe
which extended at her right, her heart beating


BOX A-46 93
wildly. She was conscious only of one pair of eyes
upon her and she fought down an almost irresistible
impulse to turn and meet them. Someone was
staring at her from the box at her left, staring as
if mutely compelling her gaze and she flushed
darkly beneath the scar upon her cheek.
Whoever they were, it was evident that this man
and his companions were well known, for from the
fall of the curtain until its rise again, a constant
stream of visitors eddied about their box and scraps
of gay chatter and soft tinkling laughter came to
her ears. One chance phrase, in a vivacious femi-
nine voice made her breath catch in her throat:
“Oh, don't mind Toddie! He is fuming inwardly,
although he won't tell why. Anyway, it's a positive
comfort to know that there's something on his mind
beside his hat. How were the ducks in North
Carolina?”
Betty stirred uneasily in her chair. If “Toddie”
were the man who had come to deliver the letter
into her hands she could well understand the reason
for his ill humor. What must he think of her
presence yet deliberate evasion of him? Her de-
termination did not falter, however. Come what
might, she meant to drain to its dregs this cup of
unalloyed happiness which so unexpectedly had been
held to her lips.
Just as the lights were lowered, and the first soft
strains of Amneris' lamentation swelled from the


94. SUSPENSE
orchestra, she ventured a swift glance at the box
on her left.
A portly, gray-haired dowager was directly beside
Betty with two younger women on her left, and all
three were glittering with jewels like miniature con-
stellations. Behind them an obese elderly gentleman,
dropped his lowest chin upon his broad expanse of
shirt bosom in well-calculated repose, a younger one
bent forward to whisper into the ear of the girl in
front of him, and a third, a round-faced man with
a downy blond mustache turned squarely and met
Betty's eyes, with exasperation glowering in his
OW11.
She permitted her gaze to rest on him imperson-
ally for a moment then slowly shifted it to the stage
as the curtain rose.
The scene held her, and the beauty of the music
so enthralled her senses that she forgot herself and
the strange errand which had brought her there
until a chair rasped against the box rail in unmis-
takable signal. With a start she threw off the spell
which had entranced her, and just as the divine
notes of Aida’s “Vediº di morte l'angelo—” rose
winging through the vast house, she moved silently
to the chair at her left and rested her arm upon the
barrier.
There was a sound very like a sigh from the next
box, and an envelope was thrust almost roughly
beneath her fingers.


BOX A-46 95
For a space of interminable minutes she sat as
motionless as if carved from stone, save that the
hand holding the letter was clenched to her breast,
crushing the cluster of white roses which she wore,
and feeling like a pulseless lump of ice. The per-
fume of the flowers, cloyingly sweet, all but suffo-
cated her, and the band of pearls seemed to tighten
about her throat.
The strains of “O Terra Adio” were dying away
in haunting sadness as she rose, and snatching up
the ermine cloak, slipped from the box and down the
promenade like a wraith.


CHAPTER VI.
A Message From Pharaoh.
N the morning following her visit to the
O opera, Betty sat at her desk in the library,
with a copy of the Literary Digest, which
had just arrived in the mail spread out before her.
The waiting heap of correspondence was forgotten,
and she read and reread as if hypnotized the chance
advertisement which had caught her eye:
“Wanted:—Translator of Egyptian inscriptions
and papyri of later dynastic periods. Scholar con-
versant with Mallory method preferred. Excep-
tionally high rates, tripling those ever previously
paid in America will be given for accurate authentic
work. No immediate time limit. Call office nine,
National Egyptological Museum.”
A gray haze of exuding frost arose from the bare
dun lawns stretching before the window and the
cedars drooped their branches as if weary of the
long wait for spring, but she was blind to the
somber prospect before her. Instead rose gorgeous
pictures of the East and her vision was peopled with
the glory of long-buried kings.
96


A MESSAGE FROM PHARAOH 97
Her own precarious position, the inexplicable
shadow which lay like a pall over the house, even
the dead man upon whom she had stumbled on that
never-to-be-forgotten night had faded alike from
her thoughts, and her eyes glowed with an eagerness
almost fanatical.
If only she dared to reply in person to the adver-
tisement! Aside from the emolument, which might
prove an asset by no means to be despised in her
straitened circumstances, the work would relieve her
mind from the terrific strain under which she had
placed herself.
Why should she not avail herself of this oppor-
tunity to pursue a study which possessed for her an
irresistible fascination? In spite of her preoccupa-
tion, time hung heavily upon her hands and she had
come to dread the many hours during which she was
left to her own devices with only the wretched
treadmill of her thoughts to bear her company.
It might be that with the successful accomplish-
ment of her strange mission at the opera house she
would enter upon a new phase of her present situa-
tion, with exciting adventures in store for her, on
like mysterious errands, but she looked forward to
that contingency with no lightening of her spirit.
It would be merely a part of the task which she had
assumed, and was constrained to carry through.
But to feel again the rustle of ancient papyrus
beneath her fingers; to decipher the messages pic-


98 SUSPENSE
tured in quaint hieroglyphs by patient hands long
since turned to dust, that the unborn legions of the
future might sit at the feet of ageless philosophy;
to delve once more into a past which was of a by-
gone age even when three wise men journeyed out
of the East—the desire became an obsession which
she tried vainly to exorcise.
She did indeed thrust the idea from her while the
letters demanded her attention, but it returned again
with unabated force with the first moment of leisure.
Why should she not at least investigate the adver-
tisement?
At luncheon, Mrs. Atterbury herself precipitated
her decision.
“My dear, I wish you would go to Jennings' Art
Shop for me this afternoon and select a Colonial
frame for that tall mirror which hangs in my room.
They sent me a gilt monstrosity when I ordered by
'phone, and I don't want the bother of going my-
self. If you walk straight across town until you
come to the park, and follow its wall around the
southern end to the east side you cannot miss it.
The Egyptian Museum is on the opposite corner.
By the way, Professor Stolz tells me that you, too,
are interested in Egyptology. How did you ever
acquire a liking for that sort of thing in the middle
west?”
“Through a neighbor, who had made a study of
it in Egypt,” Betty replied readily enough. “It is


A MESSAGE FROM PHARAOH 99
really fascinating, like a grown-up picture puzzle.
But about the mirror, does the shopman know the
size you require?”
With the details of her commission carefully
pigeon-holed in her mind, the girl started upon her
errand. She walked briskly, for she realized that
her time must be accounted for, and she had deter-
mined to use a portion of it for her own ends.
Reaching the park, she struck boldly through it in-
stead of following the longer way around, and no
one who had known its every path could have
chosen a more direct course than she, a self-con-
fessed stranger.
The purchase was quickly consummated and she
had turned to leave the shop, when a figure barred
her way. She glanced up to find herself confronted
by a tiny, fairy-like creature wrapped in sables with
a great bunch of livid purple orchids at her belt.
Her hair shimmered like spun gold beneath the fur
toque and her face, innocent of cosmetics, was ex-
quisitely fair.
For an instant the stranger visibly hesitated and
then as if resolutely checking her impulse, turned
and walked to a distant counter.
Betty, too, halted in uncontrollable surprise, ther,
made her way to the street as if in a daze. She had
never, to her knowledge, encountered the other be-
fore, yet the stranger's face had blanched at sight
of her and in the round, babyish blue eyes which for
tº C8935
- *-


I00 SUSPENSE
a fleeting moment had met hers, she read unmistak-
able repulsion and an underlying desperate fear.
For whom had the woman mistaken her? She was
veiled, but the birthmark must have been plainly
discernible. Could it be that her disfigurement was
so great as to cause such repugnance and almost
hysterical fear in a chance observer?
The sight of the museum, however, drove all
thought of the odd encounter from her mind, and as
she ascended the low, broad steps to the revolving
entrance door she resolved to accept the proffered
opportunity, whatever the result should Mrs. Atter-
bury discover her dereliction.
The gray-haired attendant directed her to an
upper floor where in a broad echoing marble corri-
dor she found a double row of office doors. Num-
ber nine was ajar, and when she knocked a pleasant,
masculine voice bade her enter.
The office was small, with files and glass cases
lining the walls above which hung framed sections
of parchment, time-frayed and shrunken. The
westering sun shone through the single window full
upon the desk, behind which sat a boyish-looking
young man, with merry twinkling eyes and more
than a suspicion of red in his chestnut hair.
Betty had been prepared to confront a sedate
philologist of settled age and perhaps stern de-
meanor, and she came forward rather shyly.
“I am looking for the person who advertised in


A MESSAGE FROM PHARAOH 101
the current issue of the Literary Digest for an
Egyptian translator,” she remarked.
The young man rose from the chair, his eyes still
fixed on hers, and she observed that they had
narrowed swiftly with a keen intensity which lent
maturity to his expression.
“Please be seated.” His tone was quietly courte-
ous. “I placed the advertisement in the magazine
you mention. Do you understand the Mallory
method P”
“If you mean the system employed by Professor
Mallory, of Cairo, and the form of transliteration
used by him so that the ancient phraseology might
be retained, I can claim to be thoroughly conversant
with it.” Betty sank into the chair indicated, her
breath ending in a little gasp. For all her self-
possession, the young man's impersonal but fixed
regard had a disturbing effect, and in the attempt to
combat it her manner grew strained. “I have made
practical use of it in translations for the Museum at
Gizeh-"
She paused, biting her lip, but the young man
appeared unobservant of her sudden check.
“You have studied under Professor Mallory?”
The question was casually uttered, yet it brought a
swift blush to her brow.
“I was a pupil of an associate of his.” She spoke
slowly as if choosing her words with care. “You
mention the later dynastic periods in your advertise-


102 SUSPENSE
ment; you refer doubtless to the era of the Persian
influence?”
“Precisely. One papyrus in particular which we
wish translated as literally as possible for purposes
of record is believed to be a message from one of
the kings of the twenty-seventh dynasty, who was
called ‘the Great Pharaoh’.” The young man
diverted his gaze at last, as he fumbled in a desk
drawer. “I have a copy here. He isn't the same
chap as the one mentioned in the Bible, whose
daughter found Moses in the bulrushes, you know.”
Betty could scarcely believe her ears. The flip-
pant display of ignorance on the part of one who
must be an important official of the museum seemed
incredible, and a dim suspicion came to her that she
was being made the victim of a hoax.
“I am aware of that fact,” she responded frigidly.
“The twenty-seventh dynasty was inaugurated only
some five hundred years before Christ. Two of its
rulers were known as ‘the Great Pharaoh’; Xerxes
and Artaxerxes. By which was this papyrus be-
lieved to have been inscribed?”
“I will let you judge that.” He smiled in winning
friendliness, quite unabashed by her icy tone. “To
tell you the truth, I am not very well posted on it.”
If this were indeed a hoax, Betty determined to
obtain some personal satisfaction from it.
“Can you tell me, however, if an interlinear trans-
literation is required, as well as a translation?”


A MESSAGE FROM PHARAOH 103
The young man lifted his hands in a gesture of
helplessness almost comic.
“I mean,” she explained, dimpling behind her
veil, “do you wish the corresponding letter in our
alphabet placed beneath each pictured letter or hier-
oglyph, with the translation of the whole phrase on
a third line? That is the form used by Professor
Mallory.”
“Then I presume that is what will be required. I
am not going to try to impose on you by any false
display of a knowledge I do not possess,” he said
with engaging candor. “As a matter of fact, I am
lamentably ignorant of Egyptology in general, but
I happen to be a sort of honorary member of the
board of directors governing the museum, and the
task of finding a translator was delegated to me,
with instructions to obtain, if possible, a pupil of
Professor Mallory for the work. The official trans-
lator for the museum is in Egypt at the present time.
Here is the photographic copy of the papyrus in
question.” -
He opened a portfolio and took from it several
large sheets which he passed to her across the desk.
Her momentary resentment was forgotten and a
little exclamation of fervid interest escaped her lips
as she spread the pages out before her and threw
back her veil the more clearly to scrutinize them.
The young man leaned slightly forward studying
her face, then quietly he touched a button in the


I04 SUSPENSE
wall and the room was suddenly flooded with light.
“That is better, isn't it?” he asked.
Betty glanced up, blinking in the sudden glare,
then nodded abstractedly and bent again over the
hieroglyphic scrawl. Several minutes passed while
she sat absorbed, no sound breaking the stillness but
the occasional rustle of the papers beneath her hand.
At length she rearranged them with a sigh of satis-
faction.
“This purports to be a message from Khshiarsha,
or Xerxes, the first ruler of the twenty-seventh
dynasty to be called ‘the Great Pharaoh' and if the
date of the original papyrus has been authenticated,
it is a wonderful find, and a valuable addition to
Egyptiana. This copy will serve perfectly for trans-
lation, but I should like very much to see the original
sometime, if it is in the possession of the
museum—”
The eager words died on her lips, and her glowing
face paled, then flushed hotly. She had looked up
to find that the young man's eyes were fixed with
an expression which she could not fathom upon the
birthmark on her cheek, and it burned her like a
newly-seared brand. With a swift gesture she
lowered her veil.
“I will see that you have access to it.” The
young man rose. “I could place it in your hands
now, but the curator is out. However, if, as you
say, this copy is suitable for translation, do you
* *


A MESSAGE FROM PHARAOH 105
care to undertake the work? I cannot, of course,
judge of your proficiency, but I am willing to take
it for granted.”
“Thank you,” Betty responded, simply. “I am
confident that my translation will be satisfactory.
It will take me a few days to complete it; shall I
bring it here to you?”
“If you will, please. Should I not be here, leave
it with the assistant curator for Mr. Ross. The fee
for translation will be fifty dollars. Now, if you
will give me your name and address P” He
paused expectantly, and Betty's heart sank.
This was a contingency which had not occurred to
her. To name her present abode would mean that
letters or instructions might be forwarded to her
there, and inevitable discovery on Mrs. Atterbury's
part would ensue with the probable consequence of
immediate dismissal. This risk despite the shadow
of tragic mystery which enveloped the house and her
own undoubted peril should the extent of her knowl-
edge become known, she would not hazard. A de-
termination stronger than fear of death itself bound
her to Mrs. Atterbury's service.
But the pause was lengthening, and the young
man eyed her in puzzled inquiry.
“My name is Shaw—Betty Shaw,” she stam-
mered, adding with a sudden inspiration: “I live at
160 Wakefield Avenue. Have you any special in-
structions for me, Mr. Ross?”


I06 SUSPENSE
“None. I will leave the work entirely in your
hands. You say you will require a few days in
which to complete it. Can you bring it here to me
by Tuesday afternoon, at this time?”
“I will try.” Betty flushed behind her veil. “My
time is not absolutely my own, so I cannot make a
definite appointment, but I shall make every effort
to be here.”
“There will be more work when this is finished,
you know; inscriptions from tombs and that sort of
thing,” he added, as if on a sudden inspiration. “By
the way, have you done any translating from the
modern languages—French, German?”
Betty shook her head, and although the young
man waited, she vouchsafed no further response.
“Well, we are in no hurry for this.” He opened
the door for her at last and held out his hand
smilingly. “We only want to file the translations
before the originals are placed on exhibition. Good
afternoon, Miss Shaw.”
Betty hurried from the museum, now grim and
shadowy in the gathering dusk and started south
toward Wakefield Avenue with the precious tran-
script clasped tightly in her muff. Late as it was
she felt that she must arrange to have her change of
address concealed should the exceedingly frank
young man with the laughing eyes attempt to com-
municate with her. His personality had impressed
her so strongly that the oddity of the whole inter-


A MESSAGE FROM PHARAOH 107
view did not present itself to her mind. If the
translations to be placed on record in a National
museum were left to the discretion of a young man
who was avowedly ignorant of the work, it was a
proceeding which aroused no suspicion in her mind.
She knew nothing of the directorship of similar
institutions in America, and gave it no thought.
Her chief concern was that her subterfuge should
not be discovered.
The work itself, fascinating though it would
prove, shrunk to insignificance beside the interest
the strange young man had aroused in her. Isolated
as was her voluntarily assumed position, hedged in
by mystery and distrust and even danger, the candid,
disinterested friendliness of his attitude had made
an appeal to which her lonely spirit responded joy-
ously. The crafty, scheming expression which
sometimes hardened her face was gone as if it had
never existed, and her eyes glowed with a new
unconscious happiness as she turned the corner of
Wakefield Avenue, and ran lightly up the dingy
steps of the once familiar house.
Meanwhile, the young man upon whom her
thoughts were centered had also left the museum
and was hastening across the park as fast as a taxi
could carry him. Blue eyes, brown hair, education,
refinement, youth; every attribute tallied with the
rather vague description furnished to him, and the
1<nowledge of Egyptology which the girl had dis-


A MESSAGE FROM PHARAOH 109
which a steely point glittered and his jaw was set
in a grim line of dogged relentlessness.
Some half-mile further down the Drive, his taxi
turned in at the modest ivy-clad gate of an estate
smaller than its pretentious neighbors, but sur-
rounded with an air of solid, unchanging antiquity
which they could not boast.
A white-haired butler opened the door and
ushered Herbert Ross ceremoniously into the draw-
ing room. It was a long, narrow apartment, stiff
and ugly with the prim austerity of the mid-Vic-
torian period from which it obviously dated, and the
conservative handful of coals in the grate served
only to accentuate the chill and gloom in the lurking
shadows beyond its proscribed radius.
Madame Dumois appeared with businesslike
promptitude.
“Have you news for me, Mr. Roe,?” She re-
garded him shrewdly as she extended her hand.
“Or are you going to try to wheedle some more
information from me? If you are, you may spare
yourself the trouble. I admit that the surprise of
encountering a detective who talked Persian poetry
loosened my tongue the other day but you have all
the data I can give you to help you locate the young
woman, and what takes place between us when you
have found her, will be my affair.”
“Are you sure that I really have all the data,
Madame Dumois?” he asked earnestly. “Is there


II0 SUSPENSE
not something that you have forgotten or purposely
withheld, which would be a distinctive means of
recognition?”
“I don't know what you meanſ” Her voice was
guarded, but her eyes snapped with sudden fire.
“You have a description of the young woman's
appearance, together with a lot of quite irrelevant
detail which I was a babbling fool to disclose—”
“Have I?” he insisted. “You have given me a
description which would fit probably four-fifths of
the young women one meets, without a single
distinguishing feature. Has she none? Think,
please. The smallest scar, or physical peculiarity
would be of inestimable value in identification.”
He watched her narrowly, but her expression did
not change an iota.
“She is unfortunately not branded, like Western
cattle!” The old lady snorted contemptuously.
“Nor is she, as far as I know, six toed like a cat.
She is just an average, normal, young person, with
an abnormal amount of duplicity.”
“Then she possesses no scar, or birthmark?” Ross
inquired slowly.
“Good heavens, no!” Madame Dumois exclaimed.
“I wouldn't consider her actually pretty, but she has
no disfigurement or blemish unless she has been
injured recently.”
“How recently?” He shot the question at her,
but she was on her guard.


A MESSAGE FROM PHARAOH III
“It would have to be a comparatively fresh scar.”
She smiled grimly at his discomfiture. “No, Mr.
Ross. The young woman for whom I am searching
has absolutely no feature to distinguish her from a
thousand and one others. I see your point, and I
regret that I can give you no fuller information con-
cerning her.”
She rose as if to terminate the interview, and he
was constrained to accept the hint.
“You still could aid me greatly, Madame Dumois,
if you would.” The detective spoke in his most
persuasive manner. “Let me see the photograph of
her, which I am sure you possess.”
The old lady drew herself up to her full com-
manding height.
“There are no grounds for your assurance, sir,”
she declared coldly. “I have no photograph of the
young woman.”
“Then I will not detain you longer.” He bowed.
“I cannot accost a stranger, claiming her as the girl
you seek, unless I can be absolutely certain of my
ground, no matter how conclusive my suspicions
are.”
“You mean that you have found some one who
answers the description, only that she has a scar?”
Madame Dumois spoke with rigid control. “Take
me where I can see her, and I will soon tell you
whether your suspicions are correct or not.”
“Unfortunately, that would be impossible.” Mr.


II2 SUSPENSE
Ross shook his head gravely. “If I should prove to
have been mistaken, explanations might involve you
in the very notoriety you are seeking to avoid. But
if you can obtain a likeness of her the question will
be settled once and for all.”
He paused and there was a brief silence while the
old lady seemed to hesitate. At length she said
grudgingly:
“I will try to get one. In the meantime, Mr.
Ross, do not lose sight of the person you suspect.”
He reassured her on that score and departed. He
was confident that his client would produce the
photograph at his next interview with her, but a
grave doubt filled his mind that the girl who had
come to him that afternoon was the one sought.
The old lady's astonishment at the suggestion of a
scar or birthmark had been unfeigned, and that
single incontrovertible fact would overthrow the
whole structure of his theory. The case which he
had assumed practically blindfold seemed no nearer
a solution and no other translator had risen to the
bait offered by the advertisement who could by any
possibility have been associated with his subject.
Meanwhile, Betty had concluded a satisfactory
arrangement with her former landlady an i was
hastening homeward. A confused babel of voices
arose as she crossed the avenue, and amid the
raucous shouts one phrase beat upon her brain:
“Wuxtry! Wuxtry! Latest news about the big


A MESSAGE FROM PHARAOH 113
-
murder! Coroner's inquest adjourned. Wuxtry!”
She purchased a paper from the first newsboy who
accosted her, and stopped in the rosy reflected glow
from a drugstore window to scan the headlines.
The light shining through a crimson globe dyed the
page a sinister hue and from it there stared out at
her the face of a man in the prime of life, with a
square, determined chin and fine eyes, albeit there
clustered about them, the unmistakable lines of
world knowledge and satiety. -
Beneath it in double type she read:
“Breckinridge inquest adjourned. Coroner holds
case open for further evidence. Rumor that de-
tectives are working on new and startling clue.
Close friend of George W. Breckinridge, millionaire
clubman whose body stabbed to the heart was found
in a secluded spot on Vanderduycken Road, declares
that he has for some time been under a cloud—”
The letters ran together and blurred before
Betty's eyes, and crumpling the sheet convulsively,
she dropped it at her feet. Then as if suddenly con-
scious of the conspicuous spot in which she stood,
the girl slipped quickly away into the shadows. Her
pulse pounded in her ears and her brain seemed
reeling, but one fact stood out in terrible, relentless
clarity; the pictured face was that of the man who
had lain dead in the dining-room of the house among
the cedars.


CHAPTER VII.
Ten Thousand Sheep.
OR several days thereafter Betty was kept
F closely confined to the house. Mrs. Atter-
bury had accepted her statement that she lost
her way in attempting a short cut through the park
as the explanation of her late return and attributed
her own agitation to anxiety over the young girl's
welfare. The mask was lifted for an instant, how-
ever, and Betty had a glimpse of the sullen fury
which seethed beneath her employer's calm austerity.
She was in no sense made to feel like a virtual
prisoner once more, but Mrs. Atterbury made con-
stant demands upon her which practically filled her
hours of daylight, and no further errands were
broached.
The evenings were usually her own, however, and
she spent them in fascinated study of the Egyptian
translation. Her enthusiasm grew with its develop-
ment, but she resolutely banished it from her mind
during the daily routine, for fear her abstraction
be noticed and questioned. Yet always, with every
hour of freedom from espionage, she continued her
114


TEN THOUSAND SHEEP 115
protracted search. Whatever her object she sought
it in every place of concealment which suggested
itself to her. Betty learned quickly to know when
the servants’ tasks would lead them to various parts
of the house, and managed skilfully to elude them.
It was from her employer herself that she most
feared discovery, but in this eventuality fortune had
so far been with her. -
Mrs. Atterbury's correspondence continued to
prove negative and devoid of interest, but one morn-
ing she dictated a letter which caught Betty's
wandering attention. It was evidently in reply to
one which had not passed through the girl's hands,
and the oddity of its phrasing impressed her so
acutely that when her employer went to receive a
caller, she sorted it from the pile of envelopes and
read it again:
“My dear Shirley:
Your letter received. Send me ten of the
thousand circulars quoting sheep prices for
March. Home market good this week for forty
or fifty and even more points rise if my brokers
handled the situation properly. State Senator
Laramie advocates strict game laws now up be-
fore house. Comet, my horse, sold. Speranza
invited us last Thursday out for week-end to
see her pink hothouse roses bud. The frost
killed them, however. Her sister is safe from


116 SUSPENSE
submarines on the northern way home from
Japan. Demon won red ribbon show held last
month in Littleton, near Denver. Mrs. Ard-
more’s “Alibi' beat him straight. John will meet
your friend Professor Blythe, of Chicago Uni-
versity, on Saturday at eight. He says he has
obeyed your instructions about buying new
machinery; to substitute old endangers success.
He fears block contracts will head off buyers,
but he is conscientious. There is no longer any
danger of piracy, discovery now patented so
you can use the invention this year. Unwritten
code among manufacturers in America is
letting unions ruin us. Do you know what the
result was out West in the Cote vs. Williams
affair? Was the end satisfactory to all con-
cerned?
Write soon.
Sincerely,
Marcia Atterbury.”
The abrupt change of subject matter throughout,
the short sentences and inconsistent style of the
missive—now terse with telegraphic brevity, then
verbose in unexpected and seemingly irrelevant de-
tail—was utterly unlike her employer's usual concise
mode of expression, and Betty's wonderment grew.
What had game laws to do with the market value
of sheep, and who were “Professor Blythe,” and


TEN THOUSAND SHEEP 117
“John” and the mysterious “Shirley” to whom the
puzzling letter was addressed? The girl had not
known that Mrs. Atterbury owned horses, or Mme.
Cimmino a country residence; surely the latter had
no conservatory is which to raise hothouse roses
connected with her stuffy, overcrowded town apart-
ment!
A minor point, too, stood out in challenging men-
dacity; Betty was too discriminating a judge of dogs
to credit Demon with having taken a ribbon at any
show. He might possess many traits which would
render him invaluable as a watchdog, but his mixed
breeding was too evident to admit of his qualifying
on points.
As she further analyzed the letter two coinci-
dences sprang to her mind, which brought back
vividly the mysterious communication in code that
she had opened on the first morning of her secre-
tarial work. That, too, had contained a reference
to sheep, but the number mentioned had been five
thousand. The last sentence contained the word
“comet,” and Mrs. Atterbury had made use of it
also in her present letter.
Another code! Betty stifled an exclamation as the
truth burst upon her. It would be compatible with
her employer's imperturbable daring to dictate a
private and possibly incriminating letter to her un-
conscious amanuensis, secure in the belief that it
would never occur to her to question its superficial


II8 SUSPENSE
meaning or seek to solve it without the key. Then,
too, it might be that for certain cogent reasons, Mrs.
Atterbury did not wish her own handwriting to
appear in the communication, although she had said
she would address the envelope herself. Betty had
even signed the former's name, at her request.
If only she might hit upon the key! Concentra-
tion was impossible with the imminent fear of dis-
covery before her, but she felt that she could not
relinquish this rare opportunity to pierce the web of
mystery without at least an effort.
Transcribing the letter hastily, she thrust the copy
in her blouse, and when her employer returned she
found the girl apparently deep in a book.
That afternoon, for the first time since her recent
escapade, a suggestion was made that she go for a
walk, and Betty eagerly availed herself of the per-
mission.
“Be sure you do not get lost again!” Mrs. Atter-
bury warned her, with a smile which struck a chill
to the girl's heart. “If you go beyond the gates,
turn only in one direction and when you are tired,
retrace your steps. I shall expect you home in an
hour.”
There was more than a hint of spring in the
languorous, humid air, and the sight of a venture-
some robin preening his scarlet breast on the lawn
made the blood leap in her veins. In spite of the
dark shadows which surrounded her, and the prob-


TEN THOUSAND SHEEP 119
lematic future looming ahead, the youth in Betty
responded joyously to the burgeoning year and she
quickened her pace as she passed out of the tall
gate.
Chance led her to turn southward along the drive
and at the corner she came face to face with a man
lounging against a lamp post. He was smooth
shaven and respectable in appearance, but the cap
pulled low over his eyes gave him a furtive air and
his burly figure and truculent bearing made her
think somehow of a policeman, although the clothes
he wore resembled those of an artisan. He glanced
at her sharply and moved on, but the trail of cigar-
ette stubs about the lamp post told of a lengthy
vigil, and Betty's heart contracted in sudden ap-
prehension.
Could he be a detective watching the house? Had
the law already found a trail from that secluded
spot on Vanderduycken Road to the place where
George Breckinridge had so mysteriously come to
his end ? Would swift retribution descend and en-
gulf her also, the innocent with the guilty, while
yet her position had availed her nothing?
She walked on quickly without looking back,
conscious of the stranger's scrutiny. Her step was
still brisk, although the buoyancy had died out of
it as the momentary, carefree happiness was blotted
from her face. The future, black and uncertain,
stretched forth tentacles of doubt and dismay which


I20 SUSPENSE
dragged at her spirit and the bright day seemed
suddenly lowering and chill.
A half mile further on, she came to a low, square,
ivy-covered gate-post, and paused almost wistfully
to examine the springing green of the new shoots,
when a sedate step upon the stone flagging made
her glance upward.
A woman was coming toward her down the path
which flanked the driveway from the house; an
erect, elderly woman with smooth, white hair be-
neath her severe toque and a figure as trim as that
of a girl. She was peering about her with an alert,
bird-like movement of her head as if unaccustomed
to viewing the world without artificial aid for her
eyes and she had evidently not as yet observed the
girl at the gate.
For an instant Betty stood rooted to the spot,
staring as though she could scarcely credit the
evidence of her senses. Slowly the blood receded
from her face, leaving it blanched and ghastly, and
into her eyes, dulled with introspection but a
moment since, there crept a look of livid fear.
She swayed, then with a sobbing gasp turned
blindly and fled as if the very fiends of darkness
were pursuing her, back toward the doubtful haven
of the house among the cedars.
She had scarcely traversed a hundred yards, how-
ever, when she collided violently with a young man
whose approach she had not been conscious of in


TEN THOUSAND SHEEP 121
her supreme agitation. She clutched at him instinc-
tively as the impact threatened to sweep her off
her feet and he put out a steadying arm.
“I beg your pardon—” His tone was conven-
tionally contrite, but he broke off in unfeigned sur-
prise when she raised her head. “Why, Miss
Shaw I’’
It was the young man from the museum !
“Mr. Ross!” she gasped. “How stupid of me!
I must have run full tilt into you.”
“I’m not seriously injured,” he assured her
gravely, although his eyes twinkled. “But you were
going at a most extraordinary pace. Tell me what
villian was pursuing you and I will cheerfully anni-
hiliate him.”
Betty laughed with a note of sheer hysteria in
her trembling tones.
“I have an appointment for which I am late.”
She lowered her tell-tale eyes. “I did not see you
coming and the long deserted avenue tempted me to
run for it. I—I cannot wait—”
“You are a long way from home.” He had
caught the dismayed, hunted look which she cast
involuntarily over her shoulder. “If anyone has
annoyed or frightened you, won't you allow me to
walk with you to your destination?”
“Oh, no!” Her alarm at the suggestion was un-
mistakable. “Thank you, but I shall be quite all
right, and I must go on alone. Nothing frightened


I22 SUSPENSE
me, Mr. Ross, I was only surprised at meeting you
so unexpectedly in this part of town.”
“And the Egyptian translation?” He was study-
ing her face.
“I will bring it to you on Tuesday. Good bye.”
Betty nodded in farewell, and turning, sped
lightly off down the Drive, the fear that he might
follow lending wings to her feet. The broad avenue
stretched straight away for miles to the northward
without a curve or obstruction which would serve
to screen her destination from view, but she felt
that in any event she could have gone no farther.
The close confinement of her position had ill
prepared her for a test of physical endurance and
when she reached the gateway of home her limbs
were trembling beneath her and her panting breath
came in agonized strangling sobs. Reckless of the
young man's possible observation she turned in be-
tween the high gates, and staggering up the side
path to a little knoll ringed with low-growing holly
bushes, she sank breathlessly upon a stone bench,
and crouched waiting, but her solitude was undis-
turbed and no tread of an approaching footstep
sounded upon the graveled walk. Gradually her
composure returned and with the gathering of her
scattered forces she remembered her employer's
final warning. Whatever the future held in store,
she must play the game.
Herbert Ross had watched the girl until she dis-


TEN THOUSAND SHEEP 123
appeared within the gates, then slowly proceded
on his way. The surprise in their meeting had been
mutual, but he made no attempt to fathom the rea-
son for her presence in the neighborhood. His
thoughts were busied with the cause of her evident
terror. From whom or what was she flying when
chance precipitated her into his arms?
She had recovered herself quickly, but her at-
tempt to dissemble had been vain. The detective
had read aright the hunted, cowering look in her
eyes. What had so changed her from the confident,
self-assured young woman of a few days previous
to the trembling, terrified creature who had shrunk
from him in dismay and attempted so vainly to
conceal her consternation?
The solution of the enigma was approaching even
as he cogitated, but so unprepared was he for the
revelation that it was with a distinct sensation of
shock he beheld Madame Dumois coming toward
him down the avenue. The full significance of the
scene burst upon his brain and the momentary flash
of self-disgust for his stupidity was followed by
the exultation of achievement. He had solved the
case!
With the slenderest of clues to work upon and
the most difficult of clients to handle; blindfold,
knowing nothing of his subject's past or her rela-
tions with the stern old woman who was so relent-
lessly running her to earth, without even a name


I24 SUSPENSE
to guide him, he had found her! Nothing remained
but to produce her and take his fee.
Then, unaccountably, the girl's face, as he had
last seen it, rose before him, frightened, appealing
in its very helplessness and despair. What would
be her fate at the hands of his grim client? She
was so young, with a sufficiently long future before
her in which to atone for any mistake of the past.
He shrank even in thought from the suggestion
of crime in connection with her, and for the first
time in his professional career he hesitated in the
face of his duty. -
And the scar! If indeed it was a birthmark as
he had concluded, why had Madame Dumois not
only eliminated it from her description, but deliber-
ately denied its existence when he himself had re-
ferred to it? What had Betty Shaw to fear from
her?
If he could only have felt assured of his client's
motive in seeking out the girl, his course would
have been clearly defined, but his experience forced
him to conclude it could only be in a spirit of retri-
bution for some real or fancied offense. If she
were trying to find a missing relative, a daughter,
perhaps, who had disappeared, her anxiety would
have been more marked in spite of her iron self-
control, and why would the other have flown from
her? There could have been no reason for her
secrecy with one professionally bound to preserve


I26 SUSPENSE
angular gloved hand upon his coat sleeve trembled
too. It was the first sign of emotion she had be-
trayed in the detective's presence, but whether.
anxiety or vindictiveness actuated it, he was at a
loss to determine. -
“The resemblance can only be a casual one, on
the strength of your description.” He evaded the
direct question. “Then, too, remember that the
young woman whom I have seen bears a mark
upon her face. That would seem to prove my mis-
take, would it not?” -
They had turned and were walking together up
the path which led to the house and for a short
space the old lady maintained silence. When she
replied her voice was low, but quite steady once
In Ore.
“But as you suggested it might be a fresh scar.”
She gave him a shrewd sidelong glance. “If my
description of her appearance were so casual, and
the mark would seem to disprove it, you must have
surer grounds on which to base your theory.”
He flashed one of his rare, winning smiles upon
her.
“Madame Dumois, if you were not beyond the
necessity of making a career for yourself, permit
me to say quite without impertinence that you would
have been an ornament to my profession.”
A delicate flush tinted her cheeks like old ivory
and a spark twinkled in her eyes.


TEN THOUSAND SHEEP 127
“You are a most refreshing young man!” She
tapped his arm with a long forefinger. “But you
have not replied to my question.”
“I have based my theory on more than the young
woman's appearance,” Herbert Ross admitted
quietly. “Some of the data which you considered
irrevelant furnished me with a clue to work from.
But that is beside the point. I came this afternoon
to find if you have been able to secure the photo-
graph we talked of.”
They had mounted the steps and the old lady
rang the bell before she replied.
“Yes. I will get it for you at once.”
While he waited in the gloom of the drawing
room he tried again to force his mind to a decision,
and once more the girl's face loomed before his
mental vision, but this time with a haunting en-
treaty in her soft eyes, and the pitiful scar seemed
to plead for at least a respite from final judgment.
He cursed himself for a soft-hearted weakling, a
susceptible fool to be swerved from his course by
the girl's unconscious appeal to the innate chivalry
he had believed to have been burned out long ago
by the fire of his experiences and vicissitudes in his
chosen profession. If only the photograph would
prove him mistaken!
The rustle of Madame Dumois' gown sounded
upon the stair and in another moment she had
entered the room and silently placed in his hand


TEN THOUSAND SHEEP 129
sleeves. “But there is a resemblance, you say. It
must be the girl I am searching for Go to her at
Once, Mr. Ross. I cannot endure the strain of wait-
ing longer!”
“One must have patience, Madame Dumois, in
a case of this sort. If the young woman knows of
your search, and is hiding from you; if she has
committed a wrong and fears retribution >>
“That is beside the point!” She glared at him.
“Never mind what I want of the girl, Mr. Ross.
That is not your province. Only produce her for
me and I will be responsible for the consequences.”
Madame Dumois set her jaws with a snap,
although her breath came quickly and her old eyes
flashed.
The detective rose.
“I will see the subject I have in mind at the
earliest possible opportunity, and if my suspicions
are verified, I will bring her to you.”
Late that night, Betty, all unconscious of the
meeting between the two people who had so un-
expectedly crossed her path that day, sat before the
fire in her room, with a paper spread out between
her hands. It was not the Egyptian translation to-
night, however, which held her absorbed, but the
copy of Mrs. Atterbury's strange letter.
She knew nothing of codes or ciphers and racked
her brains vainly for a clue which would enable


I80 SUSPENSE
her to glean the hidden meaning from the cryptic
sentences. The word “sheep” she felt intuitively
would prove a starting point, since it had appeared
in the first secret message; “comet,” too, must have
been indispensable, for the wording of the letter
was obviously forced to give it space. But “ten
of the thousand circulars quoting sheep prices for
March” read lucidly enough and seemed devoid of
any suggestion of ambiguity, yet ->
All at once Betty started forward in her chair
and with parted lips and eyes shining with re-
pressed excitement she scanned the page once more.
She had found it! The key which she had sought
so vainly lay revealed and the words of the hidden
message leaped out at her as in letters of fire.
Her mobile face in the light from the glowing
hearth reflected each successive emotion as she read,
and her expression changed from avid interest to
a dawning horror. Then quite suddenly she threw
back her head and laughed silently, in a convulsion
of ironic mirth which ended in a little sob; and she
sat staring at the name “Marcia Atterbury,” which
she herself had obediently signed to the note that
morning, with a slowly gathering menace in her
eyes. As the firelight flared and died again, the
spreading birthmark upon her cheek seemed to move
as if the five curved tentacles which radiated from
it were writhing to grasp their prey and her small
hands clenched until the paper tore.
*


TEN THOUSAND SHEEP 131
At last she rose with a determined air, and
thrusting the letter into the bosom of her loose,
dark robe, she took her electric torch from its
hiding place behind a loosened tile of the hearth.
Then extinguishing her lamp, she crept to the
door, unbolted it softly and stood for a moment
listening with every nerve tense. No sound echoed
back to her from the sleeping house, no light pierced
the darkness save the threadlike ray which played
from her hand, and with cautious, silent footsteps
she descended the stairs, and entering the library,
closed the door behind her.


CHAPTER VIII.
The Orchid Lady.
terbury paused in the doorway. “You have
quite enough work to keep you occupied, I
imagine. Don't leave the house until I return,
Betty, for you may be called to the other telephone.
Welch is so stupid I dare not trust him with mes-
sages and I am expecting a rather important one
from Doctor Bayard.”
“I doubt if I shall be able to finish before lunch,
but I'll try.” Betty glanced rather ruefully at the
loose assortment of letters scattered about the desk
top.
“Do, please, for this afternoon I shall want you
to go on an errand for me which may keep you until
late. Don't tire yourself, though, my dear.”
She nodded a careless farewell, and a few
moments later her car whirled off down the drive.
Betty waited until its rather bizarre stripes had
disappeared and then resolutely applied herself to
her task. Seated there at the desk in her severely
simple morning frock, with every hair in place and
I SHALL return in time for lunch.” Mrs. At-
I32 º


134 SUSPENSE
morning papers or anything else you may require.”
“But I much prefer to talk to you.” The smile
deepened and an impish, mocking light danced in
his pale eyes. “It really is time that we became
better acquainted, now that we are to see so much
more of each other.”
Betty gasped. She did not understand the final
observation but the man's audacity disconcerted
her. Instinctively disliking him from the moment
of their first meeting, his appearance on the occa-
sion of Mrs. Atterbury's dinner party had not
tended to raise him in the girl's estimation. His
immoderate drinking, the strange toast he had pro-
posed like a challenge flung into the spirit world,
and his reckless abandonment to whatever mood
swayed him lingered disquietingly in Betty's mind,
and she longed to be rid of his presence.
“I am very busy, as you see.” She took up her
pen suggestively. “Mrs. Atterbury will expect me
to have finished with her letters 5 y
“Busy 2 By Jove, I should think you were! What
an industrious little person! Our charming hostess
certainly believes in Satan's influence over idle
hands, and has guarded you well against him.” He
reached down deliberately and picked up one of
the letters. “Quite distinctive, your handwriting;
like your personality, it baffles by its lucidity.”
Betty's quick eye had followed the action and
noted the purpose beneath his studied carelessness.


THE ORCHID LADY I35
“Give me that letter, please.” She spoke courte-
ously, but there was a hint of underlying firmness
in her tone.
“But there is no harm.” He smiled. “Surely
you know that Mrs. Atterbury consults me about
all her affairs. Whatever you may write for her, I
may read.”
“That is for Mrs. Atterbury to say,” retorted
Betty, flushing with resentment at the man's in-
solence. “I will ask her on her return. Mean-
while, her correspondence is in my charge.”
Wolvert shrugged and the smile changed to a
snarl which showed his long, white teeth like sud-
denly bared fangs, but the letter fluttered from his
fingers to the desk. -
“Mrs. Atterbury is to be congratulated on her
choice of a secretary. Your honesty exceeds your
tact, my dear young lady. You are inexperienced
and in a strange position; do not handicap yourself
by making enemies. A friend at court might be
very useful to you, more useful than you can
realize.”
He had bent still lower, until his dark saturnine
face was within a few inches of her own, and he
spoke with calculated significance. For the first
time a little shudder of fear swept over her, but she
met his eyes calmly.
“I have need of no one's friendship, Mr. Wol-
vert, on the score of usefulness, for I ask no favors


I86 SUSPENSE
and grant none. Mrs. Atterbury is my employer
and I serve her interests.”
He straightened and, thrusting his hands in his
pockets, strolled to the window, where he stood
with his back turned to the room, whistling softly
between his teeth.
Betty pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her
and when he wheeled about, she was apparently ab-
sorbed once more in her work.
“I, too, am wholly at Mrs. Atterbury's service.”
He strode back to her side. “You must not doubt
that, Miss Shaw. I like you for your loyalty, even
if you are ungracious to me. Will you not give
me your hand, and say that we shall be friends?”
“If you insist.” Betty forced a smile. “I am
sorry if I appeared ungracious, but I am really very
busy. Rudeness to any friend of Mrs. Atterbury
is furthest from my thoughts.”
She placed her hand shrinkingly in his, and he
raised it to his lips in exaggerated gallantly.
“‘The friends of my friends are my friends,
he quoted. “You will find me at your service also,
Miss Shaw. I will leave you now to your labors,
and see if I am sufficiently in Welch's good graces
to coax a cocktail from him.”
When the door had closed behind him Betty
rubbed her hand resentfully as if a stain remained
from contact with his lips. Her thoughts were dis-
quieting. What if she had indeed made an enemy
y 22
*


THE ORCHID LADY 187
of him? Was the extent of his influence in the
household great enough to sow seeds of suspicion
against her, and render her already difficult position
all but intolerable? Was a new obstacle to be added
to those which even now crowded everywhere about
her path?
At luncheon she learned from Mrs. Atterbury's
own lips what the visitor had meant about their see-
ing more of each other. Both Jack Wolvert and
Madame Cimmino were to be house guests for a
time, the latter having temporarily closed her apart-
ment, and Wolvert coming on the plea of quiet and
seclusion in which to finish a new composition.
Betty glanced at him with fresh interest. She had
frequently heard snatches of brilliantly executed
melody from the music room during the evening
and knew that a master hand was touching the keys,
but she had never entertained the idea that it might
be Wolvert.
All idle thoughts were driven from her mind,
however, when at the conclusion of the meal, Mrs.
Atterbury summoned her to her room. As on the
occasion of her appearance at the opera, a new cos-
tume was spread out before her, this time a gown
and cloak of daintiest gray, with soft silvery furs.
“My dear, I am sending you to execute another
errand for me, since you were so successful with
the last. This should be no more difficult than the
other, and it will give you a glimpse of a new side


I38 SUSPENSE
of city life. Here are some furs and a suit of which
you have been in need.”
“But, Mrs. Atterbury, I really cannot accept
these costly things from you,” Betty stammered.
“The salary you are paying me—”
“Nonsense, child! Consider them as commis-
sion for the extra work which is apart from our
original understanding, and for your rare discre-
tion. The last errand must have seemed strange to
you and this one will doubtless be more of an enig-
ma, but I can assure you that when I am free to
explain it to you fully you will appreciate the rea-
son for my reticence, as well as the necessity for
putting to use all your finesse and diplomacy.”
“I had no thought of prying or curiosity, Mrs.
Atterbury.” The girl's face flushed. “I am ready
to do whatever you require, as I told you when you
engaged me. Where am I to go this afternoon?”
“To the Carnival Room at the Café de Luxe. A
table for two has been reserved in your name, but
you will go alone, as before. You will find a tea
dance in progress and presently a lady will join
you at the table.”
“A lady?” Betty murmured. .
“Yes.” Mrs. Atterbury paused, and then went
on carefully. “A young lady with golden hair and
very richly gowned. She has a letter to deliver to
you. You will be able to identify her absolutely
by the enormous bunch of purple orchids which she


THE ORCHID LADY I39
will wear. Please remember this carefully, Betty,
for it is imperative. Should any persons approach
you except the lady I describe, cut them, abso-
lutely. If they persist, conduct yourself just as
you would if accosted by any stranger and return
home immediately. Do you understand quite
clearly?”
“Quite, Mrs. Atterbury. When shall I be
ready?”
“The car will be brought around for you at four
and will wait to bring you home.”
When, at the hour named, Betty descended the
stairs, demure but radiant in the dovelike cos-
tume, Mrs. Atterbury intercepted her at the draw-
ing-room door.
“Charming, my dear! But why do you wear a
veil? It really spoils the whole effect and you do
not need it.”
“My face!” Betty seemed to shrink within her-
self. “The birthmark, you know. I—I find the
people here look at me so strangely.”
Her employer shot a keen glance at her.
“You must not permit yourself to grow self-con-
scious. The mark is not an absolute disfigurement,
as I have told you, and even if it were, it is irre-
mediable. You can only make yourself needlessly
wretched by thinking morbidly of it.” Her level
tones sharpened with the note of stern authority
which the girl remembered. “Remove the veil at


140 SUSPENSE
once and do not wear it when you go on an as-
signment for me.”
Betty's fingers trembled as she obeyed. Could
Mrs. Atterbury have divined her subterfuge?
When she raised her eyes, however, the other
woman was smiling graciously.
“Ah! that is better. The fur brings out your
color, my dear. Remember to hold no communi-
cation with anyone except the lady you are going
to meet.”
The Café de Luxe was the most cosmopolitan of
the newer establishments which had sprung up
mushroomlike throughout the theatre district of
the city to meet the latest demands of an amuse-
ment-crazed public. Garishly appointed, it was as
blatant in character as the clientele to whom for the
most part it catered. The many mirrors and daz-
zling-colored lights, combined with the blare of the
orchestra and the heated, heavily perfumed air, con-
fused Betty for a moment and a sensation of faint-
ness stole over her.
Through the parted lobby curtains she beheld a
vista of crowded tables each with its mutually en-
grossed couple, and behind them in a roped-off
square the dancers, jerking and swaying like mar-
ionettes. As she hesitated, a small, white-gloved
hand was laid upon her arm and a merry voice, glad
with surprise, sounded in her ears.
“Ruth! Where have you been all this while?


THE ORCHID LADY 141
Everyone is asking about you! Fancy meeting you
here! Isn't this simply fascinating?”
Betty turned slowly. A plump, fair-haired girl
with a pretty, doll-like face stood beside her. She
was dressed in the extreme of fashion but valley
lilies instead of orchids were clustered at her belt.
Betty bestowed upon her a slow, deliberate stare of
non-recognition, which the other returned in wide-
eyed bewilderment which swiftly changed to con-
fusion and dismay when her eyes encountered the
birthmark. With a crimson face, she murmured a
halting apology and turning, fled precipitately.
Betty watched the stranger until she vanished in
the congested group at the entrance door, then made
her way into the restaurant.
The headwaiter bowed profoundly and with elab-
orate circumstance led her to a retired spot behind
a cluster of palms, where covers had been laid for
two. A low bowl of purple orchids graced the cen-
ter of her table, but she noted that all those nearby
were decorated only with daffodils in tall vases.
Were the flowers meant for a sign by which her
own identity was to have been disclosed to the mys-
terious other woman?
The waiter hovered obsequiously about and Betty
ordered tea to be rid, for the moment at least, of
his unwelcome attention. Her eyes mechanically
swept the moving kaleidoscope of faces about her,
but all seemed too preoccupied to give a passing


I42 SUSPENSE
glance to the solitary figure half-hidden behind the
towering palms.
The tea, long since placed before her, grew cold
untasted; the tintinabulation of the orchestra ceased,
then after an interval recommenced, and still Betty
sat alone. The hands she clenched beneath the
tablecloth were icy, but her cheeks burned and her
heart pounded suffocatingly.
How long must she wait? She had not been told
the hour of this strange appointment, but Mrs. At-
terbury had remarked that morning that the errand
might keep her out until late. The incident of the
girl with the valley lilies kept recurring to her
thoughts, and as the minutes lengthened into a half-
hour she felt an all but overmastering impulse to
spring up and run from the chattering, inconsequent
throng to the seclusion of the waiting car, even if
it meant facing the unleashed fury of her employer.
All at once she became conscious that a young
man had appeared beside her; a strange young man,
with a clean-cut face and square shoulders beneath
an irreproachably fitting coat. Betty's swift glance
encompassed his general appearance, but her eyes
fixed themselves upon his lapel where nodded a
single orchid of a livid purple hue.
The young man bowed stiffly and without waiting
for an invitation, pulled out the opposite chair and
seated himself.
“So sorry to have been late, but I was unavoid-


THE ORCHID LADY 143
ably detained,” he began in a loud, forced voice.
Then bending swiftly across to her he added in a
rapid undertone: “The lady could not come, but I
am here in her place. Put your muff on the table
... and I will slip the packet into it.”
Betty eyed him steadily.
“You have made some mistake.” She spoke
in a low voice with quiet distinctness. “I do not
know you.”
“Good heavens, don't make a scene! It is all
right, I tell you! Can't you understand? The lady
was unable to come in person but she sent me to
deliver it to you. Look! Don't you recognize
this?” He spoke with half-savage insistence and
the girl noticed that beads of perspiration had
started upon his brow. He touched the flower in
his buttonhole, then pointed to the others in the
bowl between them, but she gave no sign of com-
prehension. - -
“I do not know who you are, or what you are
talking about,” Betty said coldly. “I must ask you
to leave my table at once.”
“What sort of a game are you trying to play?”
he demanded. “You are the woman I came here
to find. I recognized you at once from the de-
scription—”
Betty rose.
“Wait!” The young man put out a detaining
hand. “What is the good of all this bluff? I give


THE ORCHID LADY 145
came to a realization of the flight of time. Surely
she should have reached the house on the North
Drive long before this! Had an hour gone by
while she sat huddled there, weakly giving way to
tears?—
Tears! Betty's very heart stood still for a
moment in deathly fear. Then she switched on the
light and seized the mirror from the leather case
before her. The face which stared back at her was
pale, the eyes puffed and reddened, but a dab of cos-
metic and powder would conceal the ravages of
her emotion from even Mrs. Atterbury's keen eyes
until she could reach the haven of her own room.
The necessary articles were in her wristbag and
she applied them quickly, then turned off the light
once more and peered again from the window. The
streets were narrow and unfamiliar, even squalid;
where was she being taken? . .
Pressing a button, she caught up the speaking
tube.
“I wished to go directly home and I cannot un-
derstand why we have not reached there. Did Mrs.
Atterbury give any different instructions?”
“No, miss, only to drive back along the Western
Parkway, but I find the streets are closed for re-
pairs, and I have to go around. I’m sorry; I'll
hurry, miss.”
The car zig-zagged for several blocks further,
then turned a corner sharply and swung into the


I46 SUSPENSE
North Drive, shooting forward with lightning
speed. Betty held her breath as the car skidded
between the towering entrance gates and she drew
a deep sigh of relief when it swooped under the
porte cochere and came to a jarring halt before the
lighted doorway.
Mrs. Atterbury was awaiting her and drew her
into the library.
“What has happened?” Her tone was low but
vibrating as if she spoke with bated breath. “The
lady did not appear?”
Betty shook her head.
“A man came instead. He wore an orchid bou-
tonniere, and he tried to make me listen to him.
He had your letter with him, and wanted to put it
in my muff but I pretended not to understand, but
to be insulted at his daring to address me. He
would not go, so I left him.”
She described her experience of the afternoon in
detail, omitting only to mention the girl who had
accosted her in the lobby, and Mrs. Atterbury heard
her without interruption to the end, then placing
her hand beneath the girl's chin, she lifted her
face to the light.
“You have been crying, my child. Is there some-
thing which you have not told me?”,
Betty was thankful for the burning blush which
swept to her brow.
“I did cry a little, in the car coming home,” she


THE ORCHID LADY 147
admitted. “It was silly of me, I know, but the man
frightened me, he was so persistent, and rather
fierce. I’m very sorry I failed, Mrs. Atterbury.”
“‘Failed!' My dear, you have succeeded! You
carried out my instructions to the letter, and no
one could ask more. I regret that you were an-
noyed, but the gentleman who came to meet you
did not himself understand the situation. I can
promise you that you will not have that sort of
thing to contend with another time.” Mrs. Atter-
bury's black eyes flashed ominously, but they soft-
ened when they rested again upon the girl's face.
“Now run and dress, Betty, for we dine very
shortly. And remember, child, that I am very well
pleased with what you have done, and I shall not
forget it.”
Betty's heart was, heavy, nevertheless, as she
obeyed. The adventure at the opera had brought
a thrill of excitement and she had given little
thought to its possible consequences, but the after-
noon through which she had just passed brought a
swift revulsion of feeling and she tore off the costly
furs as if they stifled her. She was filled with
loathing of her task and its instigators and a grow-
ing dread of the future. Why was she singled out
to be the bearer of these mysterious missives? She
had been prepared to carry out the agreement un-
der which she had been engaged, but she shrank
from the role of confidential messenger and hoped


THE ORCHID LADY I49
As she approached it, she was conscious only of
a heap of soft, brown fur with a deep purple blur
of orchids nestling in it, but she halted abruptly a
few feet away. The other rose slowly and for a
moment the two young women stared at each other.
It was the girl of the art shop! The blonde, fairy-
like creature who had regarded her with such evi-
dent repulsion and fear! Betty stood rigid with
amazement and then the truth came to her in a flash
of understanding. -
The purchase of the mirror was a mere subter-
fuge to get her to the shop at a certain hour, where
this other woman had doubtless been directed to
note her appearance for future recognition. She
remembered how the stranger's eyes had lingered
on her birthmark, which she evidently described to
the man who had attempted to take her place on the
previous day. Every action, no matter how trivial,
which was suggested by Mrs. Atterbury must be a
part of some deep-laid, far-reaching plan.
The same look of fear was intensified now in
the eyes fastened upon her and a tiny gloved hand
was extended as if to ward off a blow.
“I couldn't come yesterday, for I was really ill.”
The stranger spoke in a low, fluttering voice. “I
sent him, I played fair, why would you not deal
with him? Here is what you have come for; take
it, and let me go!”
She drew from her breast a long, sealed, blank


I50 SUSPENSE
envelope and held it out, but Betty's fingers had
not closed upon it before the other's touch was with-
drawn as though contaminated. She glided quickly
to the door, but paused upon its threshold and
turned, her golden head erect.
“Remember!” she cried, her flute-like tones sud-
denly shrill. “Tell those who sent you that I shall
have nothing more to do with this affair. If a fur-
ther attempt is made to drag me into it I shall kill
myself. I will accept no more commands, expose
myself to no future danger. I am almost mad now,
but I shall have enough sanity left to take myself
beyond your reach. I have kept my wretched com-
pact; see to it that you keep yours.”
The doorway was empty, but ā-ſaint elusive per-
fume lingered in the air, and upon the floor at
Betty's feet lay a crushed and trampled orchid, its
livid petals outspread like the wings of some
wounded tropic bird.
Betty stood staring down at it for a moment, then
abruptly thrusting the envelope into her muff, she
turned and made her way to the street.


I52 SUSPENSE
As she entered, Herbert Ross rose from behind
his desk with extended hand and a beaming smile
of welcome.
“You are punctual, Miss Shaw, in spite of the
rain. How is the work coming on?”
“It is finished.” Betty laid the roll of manuscript
upon the desk before him. “I hope that it will prove
satisfactory, Mr. Ross.”
“You found it difficult?” He spread the papers
out, glancing over them rapidly as he spoke.
“No. I have translated almost literally as you
can see—But I forgot that you were not an Egyptol-
ogist yourself.”
“Nevertheless, I am sure this will be an admirable
addition to our collection of translated papyri.
What sonorous, mouthfilling phrases the old chaps
used in those days!” He quoted from her page:
“‘Hail ye living ones upon earth, ye who pass on
the Nile, scribes all, readers and priests of the ka
all, this the great Pharaoh and royal Xerxes, trium-
phant.”—I will place this at once in the hands of the
keeper of antiquities.” -
He pressed a button in the wall beside him, then
abruptly swung his chair around until he faced her.
His eyes had narrowed slightly and there was no
longer a hint of a smile about his firm lips.
“Miss Shaw, you told me when you were last
here that your time was not wholly your own. Does
that mean that you are employed at indeterminate


CROSSROADS 158
hours? I ask this in reference to future work, of
course.”
Betty nodded, and moistened her lips nervously.
“I did most of this translating at night.”
“Ah! You are free, then, in the evenings? What
is the nature of your work, if I may ask? Are you
a teacher?”
A knock upon the door saved her from an im-
mediate reply. A uniformed attendant entered and
to him Herbert Ross entrusted the manuscript with
instructions to take it to Professor Carmody. When
the door had closed once more he turned to her
inquiringly, and noted a swift pallor which seemed
to have blotted all the wind-blown color from her
face.
“You teach?” he repeated.
Betty shook her head. She dared not risk his
asking where she taught if she took refuge in that
evasion. The truth, or at least as much of it as was
possible under the circumstances, would be safest.
“I am a-a visiting secretary.”
“Indeed. That explains your presence on the
North Drive the other day when you literally ran
into me.” His lips relaxed. “You told me you were
late for an appointment, I remember. You are not
living at present at the address which you gave me,
Miss Shaw.”
It was neither question nor accusation, but a mere
statement of fact casually uttered, and yet a bomb-


154 SUSPENSE
shell could not more effectively have stunned the
girl. Could her former landlady have betrayed her?
Her head whirled and it seemed another voice than
hers which replied quietly:
“No. I am staying temporarily at the home of
my employer, but I have my mail sent to my perma-
nent address.”
“I see. You are not a native of the city, then?
Your home is not here?”
What did this continued catechism portend? In
so far as the translating provided an excuse for
this insistent young man's questions she would reply,
but her personal affairs and former life were surely
no concern of a museum director.
“No, my home is not here.” She paused deliber-
ately. “Perhaps, if this translation proves satis-
factory and you have other work for me, Mr. Ross,
you will mail it. I will arrange to have it for-
warded—”
She got no farther for the door was suddenly
flung wide and a shrivelled grey little man precipi-
tated himself into the room. With bent shoulders
and head thrust forward, he peered eagerly at the
younger man through thick tortoise-shell glasses and
demanded in a high voice crackling with nervous
excitement:
“Ross, who is she? The young woman you said
had undertaken this translation for you? I must
see her—”


CROSSROADS I55
“She is here.” The young man rose. “Miss
Shaw, allow me to present Professor Carmody.”
The girl bowed distantly, but the little professor
advanced to her with outstretched hands.
“My dear young lady, I want to congratu-
late—” He stopped abruptly, amazement and a
dawning recognition in his eyes. “It can't be—is
it possible ?”
“You find my translation satisfactory then, Pro-
fessor Carmody?” Betty darted a swift glance at
him, and then turned her head sharply as if to gaze
from the window. This move presented her profile
to the nearsighted eyes bent upon her, and brought
the birthmark out with cruel distinctness upon her
cheek.
Professor Carmody halted, stammering, and the
look of expectancy died from his weazened face.
“I beg your pardon. I fancied for a moment
that I had met you before. I intruded just now,
Miss—Miss—”
“Betty Shaw.” The girl prompted him steadily.
“Miss Shaw, I wanted to tell you that your work
is admirable! The translation is masterly and I
doubt if even my friend Professor Mallory himself
could have improved upon it. You have kept to the
text with extraordinary fidelity, and retained the
spirit as well as the letter to a marked degree!”
“Thank you.” In spite of herself Betty flushed
at the fervent praise, but she kept her face averted.


156 SUSPENSE
“The work was intensely interesting, but I feared I
had forgotten a great deal.”
“Miss Shaw studied with an associate of Pro-
fessor Mallory,” Ross remarked.
“Really. I should have believed her to have been
a pupil of the great man himself.” Professor Car-
mody's eyes still glistened with enthusiasm. “I shall
be happy to show you several original papyri of
profound interest, if you will call some morning, my
dear Miss Shaw. In this intensely modern age, it
is a genuine pleasure to encounter a young person
who appreciates the wisdom and greatness of the
past.”
He bowed and had turned to the door when
Herbert Ross stopped him with a reminder.
“You, er—you have the check, Professor?”
“Bless me, of course!” The little man fumbled in
his pocket for a moment, then drew out a narrow
slip of paper which he laid upon the desk. “There
are one or two inscriptions from tombs of the
eleventh dynasty, I believe, which have been await-
ing translation. You will find them in that drawer,
there. Good afternoon, Miss Shaw.”
When the sound of his quick, nervous footsteps
had died away down the corridor, Ross handed the
check to Betty. It was made out for fifty dollars
and signed by the secretary of the Egyptological
Society. Murmuring a conventional expression of
thanks, the girl placed it in her handbag and rose.


CROSSROADS I57
“Would you care to undertake some more trans-
lation immediately?” the young man asked, open-
ing the drawer tentatively.
“I should, very much,” Betty responded, her eyes
alight with eagerness.
“In that case, it will be necessary for me to have
your present address, Miss Shaw.” There was no
mistaking the businesslike finality in his tone, and
Betty hesitated. If she refused, she would not only
forfeit the translating which was a fascinating
study, but she might never again see this young
man, her only link with the world beyond Mrs.
Atterbury's forbidding gates. On the other hand,
her reticence would undoubtedly arouse his curiosity
and suspicion and if he were sufficiently interested,
he might institute awkward inquiries and precipi-
tate the very crisis she sought to avoid. Would
frankness be her wisest course? She hesitated only
a moment.
“Mr. Ross, I gave you the address of my board-
ing house because I have undertaken this transla-
tion unknown to my present employer. I work at
it only in my leisure hours, but I do not think she
would approve of my doing anything which lay
Outside of her own immediate interests. She is Mrs.
Atterbury, of Three Hundred and Thirty-five North
Drive. However, I should like all communications
sent to the first address I gave you.”
Herbert Ross drew his hand quickly across his


I58 SUSPENSE
forehead and there was an odd, repressed note in
his voice.
“I quite understand. You will remain for some
little time in your present position? I believe you
said it was temporary.”
“I—I cannot tell.” Betty's tone was very low
and her eyes wandered restlessly to the door. “I
shall have finished this translation, at any rate,
before I leave.”
“Very well.” He arose and held out his hand to
her. “Bring it to me, please, when it is completed.
The terms will be the same as before. I wish you
the best of luck with it, Miss Shaw.”
When she had gone he dropped back into his chair
and sat for some minutes lost in a profound reverie
which, judging by his frown, was not a happy one.
At length he struck the desk an emphatic blow with
his fist as if to register some vital decisions and
springing to his feet, he started precipitately for the
sanctum of Professor Carmody.
“My dear Ross!” The grey little man glanced up
in mild deprecation from a heap of yellowed parch-
ments as the other burst in upon him. “I trust my
abrupt intrusion on your conference did not com-
plicate matters for you. I had completely forgotten,
in my enthusiasm over the young woman's remark-
able work, that she was a subject for your own
especial study.”
“On the contrary, Professor, your entrance was


CROSSROADS 159
fortunate; it lent verisimilitude to the little farce
I have been playing with your valuable assistance.
But I want to ask you a question upon which much
depends. For whom did you mistake Miss Shaw,
when you first saw her?”
Professor Carmody pondered for a space.
“I do not know,” he responded at length, thought-
fully. “I cannot recall her name, but I was forcibly
reminded of a young girl whom I had met in Cairo
Some two years ago, who was studying under Pro-
fessor Mallory. When Miss Shaw turned her head
I realized my mistake at once, for the girl I speak
of had no blemish upon her face. It is rather odd,
as the translation bears unmistakable earmarks of
Professor Mallory's tutelage, but the association of
ideas is undoubtedly responsible for my misappre-
hension.”
“Undoubtedly,” echoed Ross. “Nevertheless, if
you can recall the name of the young woman in
Cairo, by any chance, I shall be grateful.”
It was Professor Carmody's turn to halt his
visitor at the door.
“This Miss Shaw to whom you just presented me
—I trust that, er, she is not under your professional
interest as a suspect? A young person of such a
high order of intelligence, of intellectuality 3.2
“By no means, Professor. She is merely an un-
important witness in a civil case; rather curious, but
with no criminal features. I'll look in on you to-
*


I60 SUSPENSE
morrow. Try to remember the other girl's name
for me; the one in Cairo.”
Twenty minutes later, when the young detective
was ushered into the presence of Madame Dumois,
even that astute lady could read nothing in his grave
non-committal face.
“You have found her?” The aged voice quivered
with the tension of her control, but there was no
hint of a tenderer emotion. “The young person you
suspected, is she the original of the photograph I
showed you?”
Ross shook his head.
“I have been unable to determine.” His voice was
very low. “She has succeeded in eluding me,
Madame Dumois. I am sorry to be obliged to con-
fess it, but I was too confident. Either I have un-
derestimated her intelligence and inadvertently put
her on the defensive, or circumstances have com-
bined to effect her disappearance a second time. She
has slipped from my grasp.”
The old lady uttered an exclamation of bitter dis-
appointment and anger.
“Why did you not take me to her at once?” she
demanded. “A fig for your conscientious scruples,
sir! Had she not proved to be the young woman I
am looking for, what harm could it have done?”
“None, save precipitate the notoriety you wish to
avoid, Madame Dumois.” He leaned toward her
with a ring of passionate earnestness in his tones.


CROSSROADS I61
“Why will you not be frank with me? What is
your interest in this girl? What do you mean to do
with her when you have found her?”
“I repeat, that is solely my affair.” She fixed him
with a shrewd glance. “I might answer your ques-
tion by another, young man. What interest have
you in my motive for instituting this search? You
have found someone whom you believe to be the
one I wish to see, yet you claim to be unable to
produce her. What has my object to do with your
chances of locating her once more?”
His interrogator's keen directness took the young
detective by surprise, but he countered swiftly.
“Everything, my dear Madame! If I were
assured that her disappearance was a purely volun-
tary one, resulting from inclination alone, rather
than any sinister or criminal cause, I could prosecute
my search along far different lines than those I am
compelled to adopt, as long as I am working in the
dark.”
“You have not entirely lost track of your suspect,
then?” The old lady leaned forward in her chair.
“You will be able to find her again?”
“I firmly believe that I shall, but it may require
some little time,” he responded cautiously.
Madame Dumois straightened herself with an air
of conscious triumph.
“In that case, Mr. Ross, our original compact
holds, unless you voluntarily relinquish it. Find


I62 SUSPENSE
her with the information I have already given you,
or drop the case. That is positively my last word
in the matter. I decline to take you or anyone into
my confidence. What I have to say to that young
woman shall be said to her alone, and what dis-
position I shall make of her will be strictly accord-
ing to her deserts. If I did not believe you to be
above suspicion, upon my soul, I should accuse you
of knowing more than you will admit and actually
trying to shield her!”
“My dear lady!” He raised protesting hands. “I
shall not refer you to my chief, or call upon my
record to witness my utter singlemindedness in this,
as in every other case I have handled. It is one of
the generally accepted prejudices against those en-
gaged in my profession that we are devoid of any
finer feeling and insensible to injustice, but I had
believed myself immune from such a suspicion,
especially in the eyes of a person of your rare dis-
cernment.”
“I haven't accused you of bribery, young man
There was a softer, almost contrite note in her dry
tones. “But a baby stare has forced many a hasty
conclusion. However, we won't quarrel about it.
I can assure you of one thing; in placing that young
woman in my hands you'll be saving her from
far worse ones. Whether she has dabbled in crime
or not, the quicker she is located the better for her.”
“I shall do my best,” Ross said earnestly. “Be
p?


CROSSROADS I63
assured that I have no interest in this but to serve
you. My questions may have seemed impertinent,
but they were not prompted by idle curiosity, you
know. I shall not intrude again until I have some-
thing definite to report.”
He bowed over her hand and her withered fingers
tightened about his in a cordial clasp.
“I hope it will be soon, Mr. Ross,” she added in
impulsive candor. “Call whenever you wish and I
shall be at home. I won't promise you any further
information, but I am a lonely old woman and I
find our little tilts highly diverting. If you have not
yet succeeded in my quest you have at least brought
me a new interest in life, and I positively look for-
ward to your visits.” -
“Thank you.” He smiled boyishly. “I will avail
myself of your invitation gladly, Madame Dumois,
but remember I mean to succeed, even if I must
work blindfold.”
The smile did not linger as he made his way down
the path to the Drive. The old lady's shrewd in-
stinct had divined his procrastination and unerringly
probed its cause, and his chief, too, would be clamor-
ing for a report. Why should he hesitate? The
girl was within reach of his hand and his duty was
clear. Scar or no scar, he could not blind himself
to the conviction that in Betty Shaw his search was
ended. What was it that, stronger than his
will, deeper-rooted than his loyalty still held him


164 SUSPENSE
back from the step which sooner or later would be
inevitable?
As the toils closed tighter about the girl and the
clouds which encompassed her grew darker and
more sinister, her face shone clearer before his
mental vision and her steady eyes seemed to meet
his in sorrowful questioning.
He was a detective, but he was also a man; must
he in willful ignorance of the consequences, deliver
her to the tender mercies of Madame Dumois? She
had trusted him, she had replied in simple faith to
the decoy advertisement and placed herself in his
hands. Madame Dumois had also given him her
confidence, relying upon his professional honor.
Which would be the greater betrayal?
Detective McCormick was in the best of humors,
and shook hands heartily with his young operative.
“My boy, that was the finest bit of sheer luck that
has come our way in many a long day!” he ex-
claimed. “Your running into Ide hanging around
the gates of that place out on the North Drive has
given the whole investigation a new turn, and I
shouldn't wonder if the results would be sensa-
, tional.”
“I wouldn't be too sanguine, sir.” Ross spoke
with curious repression. “It was dusk, as I told
you, and I only had a momentary glimpse as I
flashed past in a taxi. I may have been mistaken.”
“You didn't think so the other day.” The Chief


CROSSROADS I65
turned in his swivel chair and stared up at him.
“You were sure enough then of the identification,
and I think myself that you were right. I’ve had
the place covered ever since, and there's something
queer doing there, as sure as shooting!”
“Doesn't seem likely.” Ross shook his head.
“People of the social standing of those who live
on the North Drive couldn't be mixed up in any
game of Ide's. What did you mean ‘queer, sir?
Who's on the job?”
“Clark. The house is owned by a woman named
Atterbury; lived there for years and seems to rate
AI in the neighborhood, but she's laying mighty
low, too low for a person who is on the level. She's
comparatively young and a good looker, but she lives
like a hermit, and there's a young girl in the house-
hold, a girl with a scar on her face, who will bear
watching.”
“I think it's a mistake, sir, it must be.” Ross
spoke with all the assurance he could command.
“There's nothing wrong with the Atterbury woman,
and as for the girl—”
“As for her, what?” demanded his chief, as he
paused. “What do you know about them?”
“Nothing, except in a general way,” he hedged
lamely. “But if she's the Mrs. Atterbury I imagine,
Clark is barking up the wrong tree and he’ll only
make a fool of himself if you let him push this
matter. Ide—if it was really Ide whom I saw—


I66 SUSPENSE
may have been passing by. That is a blind trail,
Chief.”
“Look here, Ross, what's got into you?” McCor-
mick blustered. “You were as keen on the scent as
Clark is now and all of a sudden you back down.
The fellow was Ide, all right; I’ve never known you
to make a mistake yet in spotting a man, and I tell
you this Atterbury woman, whoever she is, has an
ace in the hole, somewhere. What's the dope?”
“Simply that she is too well known, too promi-
nent. You couldn't touch her, sir. It's out of the
question.”
“Is it?” McCormick swore a vigorous oath.
“Nobody ever flew so high yet that I couldn't bring
'em down when I had the goods on them. And I'll
get it, Ross, don't make any mistake about that!
This is the first time you've laid down on anything,
but Clark will stick like a burr and even if Ide is
out of it, there's some other little game being pulled
off up there, you mark my words. We'll get to the
bottom of it before I call Clark off it. But what's
the good word in your own case?”
“Nothing doing.” Ross raised his eyes with an
effort to those of his chief. “I’ve been stalling
Madame Dumois and trying to kid her into giving
me enough data to work on, but you know how it
was with you. She is fighting so shy of possible
notoriety that she won't loosen, but I haven't given
up hope. I found one clue that looked promising,


CROSSROADS 167
but I was on the wrong track. It wasn't the right
girl.”
“Well, keep after the old lady.” McCormick re-
sumed the cigar butt he had relinquished at the
other's appearance. “You can get around her in
time if anyone can. Let me know when something
turns up.”
“Very well, sir.” Ross accepted the hint and
departed, but long after the door had closed behind
him, McCormick sat gazing reflectively before him
with a startled half-incredulous query in his eyes.


CHAPTER X.
Face to Face.
ning with undiminished enthusiasm but her
mind wandered and when midnight came
a few meager lines proved to be the result of her
labors. She paused to read them over before put-
ting them away and the quaint phraseology fell
strangely from her lips upon the stillness of the room.
“To the Stele of Abu I have come in peace to
sepulchre this of eternity which I have made in the
horizon western of the home of Abydos—”
Her voice halted and trembled into silence and
she stood listening with every nerve strained. A
dull jarring crash had sounded from below accom-
panied by the muffled but harsh tones of a man's
voice raised in anger or expostulation.
Hastily disposing of her work she extinguished
the light and groping her way to the door, opened
it. The voice had sunk to an indistinguishable
rumble, and mingled with it was a murmur in a
higher, clearer tone which she had no difficulty in
recognizing as that of Mrs. Atterbury.
Bº: attacked the new translation that eve-
I68


FACE TO FACE 169
The girl hesitated, then crept to the head of the
stairs. The house was in darkness save for a nar-
row shaft of light which glowed from the open
door of the music room. Clinging to the banisters
and keeping well in shadow, Betty made her way
down the staircase and from behind the shelter of
the newel post she peered into the room.
Jack Wolvert was crouched half over the table,
both fists full of crumpled papers and his dark face,
half defiant, half cringing, leered up at his hostess
who stood before him drawn up to her full height
in imperious disdain.
“You’re crazy!” he ejaculated. “What's the good
of playing a waiting game? Come out in the open
and make one big bluff, that's my idea.”
“You’ll find it decidedly dangerous, my man, to
execute your ideas without my sanction.” Mrs.
Atterbury's quiet tones dominated his blustering
whine. “Remember, I am master and I will not
brook any rebellion against my authority. I might
remind you that the last time you took matters into
your own hands the result was unfortunate.”
“Ah-h!” The sound which issued from his lips
was between a snarl and a groan, and Betty saw his
whole body quiver as he cowered back. Mrs. Atter-
bury advanced a step and her cameo-like face sud-
denly hardened.
“We’re all in this for life or death. If one suc-
ceeds, all succeed; if one fails, he fails alone. That


170 SUSPENSE
was my rule, but once I broke it for you. Here-
after you fare with the rest. You have your uses,
I admit, but no one is indispensable to me. You
know what happened to the Comet; remember her
luck when you are tempted to play a lone hand, my
friend.”
Betty waited to hear no more, but turned and
fled silently up the stair, her heart beating tumult-
uously. The level unemotional voice of Mrs. At-
terbury had not raised in pitch or increased in
volume, yet there had been something far more
sinister in its measured utterance than any display
of ungoverned wrath could have evidenced.
The girl sank trembling upon her couch and for
the first time a vision came to her of her own pos-
sible fate should the extent of her knowledge be
even suspected by the ruthless woman downstairs.
She had learned from the cipher letter of the retri-
bution which had overtaken “The Comet,” and
once again the stark face of Breckinridge rose be-
fore her, his sightless eyes fixed on hers in mute
warning.
She covered her face with her hands, striving to
shut out the dread picture imagination conjured for
her. She, like the Comet, was playing a lone hand,
but the stakes were worth the hazard! At that
thought her momentary weakness dropped from her
like a cloak and she straightened, her eyes aflame
with resolution. She would win, she must


FACE TO FACE 173
have gleaned the purport of the first sentence, yet
her eyes were as clear and her voice as steady as
though it had been the most casual of communica-
tions.
Her dictation was interrupted by the abrupt en-
trance of Madame Cimmino.
“Look!” the latter exclaimed with an excited ges-
ture toward the window. “It is Louise Dana, but
in what haste! Without a hat, too, in this most
detestable of climates! Is it that something has
happened? An accident?”
She spoke lightly, but her eyes smouldered as
they met Mrs. Atterbury's, and the rouge stood out
in patches of vivid scarlet against the sudden pallor
which blanched her cheeks.
Mrs. Dana was running swiftly up the path from
the gate, her meretriciously golden head bare and
gleaming in the sunlight. A cloak had been flung
carelessly about her figure, but as she sped past the
window Betty noted that her feet were encased in
the thinnest of boudoir slippers.
With a murmured ejaculation Mrs. Atterbury
hurried from the room followed by Madame Cim-
mino, and the girl was left to her own thoughts.
A bell pealed wildly through the house and its echo
had not died away when there came a slam of the
front door and a piercing cry which reached even
to the secluded library, although Betty could only
distinguish a word or two.


174 SUSPENSE
“Mortie—caught—help-l”
“Good God!” It was unmistakably Wolvert's
voice but shaken with the same craven fear which
had actuated it on the day of Betty's arrival.
“What do you mean by coming here? Do you want
to give us all—”
“Silence!” Mrs. Atterbury dominated him and
after a confused murmur from which not a separate
word could be gleaned another door closed and the
hysterical sobs of Louise Dana were hushed.
What had happened to bring that woman in ter-
ror to the house? For it was mortal terror which
had distorted her face as she passed the window
and had rung in her desperate cry. She had come
for help, but what help could she find there? Betty
remembered her single meeting with the florid
middle-aged man whose eyes were lined with weari-
ness and dissipation. What had he “caught,” or
was it that he himself had been caught in some diffi-
culty?
For half an hour Betty restlessly paced the
library, fearing to venture forth lest she be sus-
pected of eavesdropping yet longing to escape to her
own room. The hum of a motor drew her to the
window, and she reached it in time to see the
familiar bizarre stripes of Mrs. Atterbury's own car
whirl past and down the drive, with a fleeting
glimpse of a golden head within it. Whatever her
trouble, the woman had not remained to add its


FACE TO FACE 175
shadow to those already clustering about the house-
hold.
It was with somewhat of a shock that Betty
turned to find her employer standing on the
threshold.
“Yes, she has gone.” Mrs. Atterbury nodded,
following the girl's glance. “Such a ridiculously
nervous, excitable, young woman! Just fancy, my
dear! Mr. Dana—you met him at my last dinner,
if you remember—has been ailing for some days,
and this morning the physician was called and
found that he was suffering an acute attack of
diphtheria. It is very sad, of course, although I
do not doubt that he will pull through, but that silly
wife of his rushed out of the house just as she was
with only a cloak over her negligee, jumped into a
taxi and came straight to me. Unfortunately, the
car broke down a short distance beyond our gates
and what the neighbors will think of her running
about bareheaded I cannot imagine!”
“I am sorry about Mr. Dana,” Betty remarked
in a lowered tone. “Diphtheria is very dangerous,
isn’t it?”
“Not since medicine has become the science that
it is today,” responded the other, indifferently.
“Mr. Wolvert was quite annoyed. Did you hear
him? He is an arrant coward about contagion, like
most men, and he feared she would give the disease
to all of us! It really was stupid of her, but they


176 SUSPENSE
are strangers here, you know, and I am practically
the only friend she has. I arranged by 'phone for
Mr. Dana's reception in a private hospital and she
has gone back to him with her nerves steadied.
What empty-headed fools most modern women
are l’’
Her tone was a skillful blend of indignation and
amusement but she bent her eyes upon the girl in
a keen, unwavering scrutiny as if to satisfy herself
that the explanation was received in good faith.
Betty smiled back at her steadily.
“People are apt to lose their heads when some-
one they love is in trouble, don't you think?” she
asked.
“Some people, not those with any self-control.
I don't believe that you would, for instance, my
dear. I think that you could be counted upon to
act in any emergency which presented itself with
quick decision and courage if you were sufficiently
interested.”
Betty flushed but she replied without a tremor.
“Perhaps I should. I hope so. We never can
tell until the moment comes.”
Luncheon was a constrained meal. Madame
Cimmino maintained a non-committal silence and
her nervous fluttering hands were still, but Wol-
vert's mood had changed to a mocking frivolity
which Betty had learned to recognize as the re-
action of his lawless nature from any emotional


178 SUSPENSE
“For you, mademoiselle!” he mimicked her
slyly. “Why will you not be kind and talk to me?
I know that you disapprove of me most heartily,
but you have promised to be friendly and I am
bored with my own exclusive society. Come and sit
here and tell me what goes on behind those grave,
wise, young eyes of yours.”
He pushed a chair forward coaxingly but she
shook her head.
“I—I have a message for Welch—” she began.
“A plague take Welch!” Wolvert interrupted.
“In all this great house, where no one ever does
anything and nothing ever happens, must you alone
be always busy, you who alone are worth talking
to? You could tell me much, if you would.”
There was a note of studied intent in his tone
which held her as much as the choice of phrase
piqued her curiosity.
“What do you mean, Mr. Wolvert? What could
I tell you?”
He shrugged, laughing lightly.
“Why you are always so still, for one thing, like
a little mouse. Your silence intrigues me. Why
your glance is always so distrait as if you were
listening to a far-off voice.” He knelt upon the
chair his arms folded across its back and brought
his dark face close to hers. “Perhaps you will tell
me also why your smile is so sad and so bitter.
What has life taught you, Little Mouse?”


FACE TO FACE 179
“To keep my own counsel, Mr. Wolvert.” Betty
retreated a step or two, but her eyes met his gravely.
“To walk warily, and to do my appointed work.”
“That is a wise creed.” He seemed to muse
aloud. “But is this your appointed work? To
write at another's dictation, to fetch and carry, to
serve and wait and to be finally dismissed! You are
so demure, so docile, so perfectly in the picture, that
I sometimes wonder if you are not playing a part.”
He paused and she waited breathlessly seeking to
read in his sardonic smile how much of serious pur-
pose lay behind the facetious drawl.
“Your work is still new to you, but are you con-
tent?” He rose and strode around the chair to face
her. His manner had changed and the words fell
in a rapid, insistent undertone from his lips. “Will
you be satisfied always to stay in the background,
to occupy the extra chair, to be commanded when
you might command? You have too much intelli-
gence to be without ambition, too much common
sense to work for a mere pittance when you might
share, too much personality to remain a nonentity.
You are quick-witted and discreet, you would go
far if you were shown the way, and I > *
“Jack!” Madame Cimmino's querulous voice
sounded from the stairs, and Betty shrank guiltily.
Wolvert straightened and uttered an oath beneath
his breath, but the next instant the little mocking
smile was curling about his lips. -


I80 SUSPENSE
“Ah, Speranza! Now that I have ceased tortur-
ing the piano, you come forth from your refuge!
I have been trying to beguile Miss Shaw from her
duty and succeeded only in boring her. Come down
and tell me how you liked my concerto; you must
have heard it for I thundered it to the gods.”
“Miss Shaw does not look bored.” Madame
Cimmino flashed a look of unconcealed hostility at
the girl, her usually dull eyes snapping fire.
“Marcia has sent me for you. She is in her private
sitting-room.”
“At your service, Madame.” He shrugged,
glanced at Betty from beneath lowered lids and
bounded lightly up the stair. Midway he passed
the woman and she caught his arm, murmuring
something in a staccato patter of Italian. He shook
himself free and laughing vanished around the
gallery overhead.
“Will you be satisfied always to be commanded
when you might command?” His words still rang
in Betty's ears and his dark face, sinister and in-
surgent rose before her mental vision. Had he not
spoken as much to himself as to her? He, too,
appeared to be at Mrs. Atterbury's command and
the girl recalled his half-cringing defiance in that
secret quarrel of the previous evening. Was he
contemplating revolt? -
All at once she was aware that Madame Cimamino
stood staring with insolent hauteur into her face.


I82 SUSPENSE
me. In any case I am accountable to my employer
alone for my conduct and I have received no com-
plaint from Mrs. Atterbury. Let me pass, please.”
“Then I warn you!” Madame Cimmino turned
livid. “You are treading on dangerous ground,
more dangerous than you know. Keep your silly
schoolgirl wiles for others, but leave Jack Wolvert
to me or I will make you wish that the earth had
opened and engulfed you before you crossed my
path!”
Betty smiled.
“Your threats do not interest me, Madame Cim-
mino. I shall accept censure only from Mrs. Atter-
bury, and I beg that you will go to her. I really
cannot listen any longer to these unfounded ac-
cusations.”
She turned and left the other inarticulate with
rage. Her own heart was filled with a dull ache of
resentment, not against the hysterical virago and
her absurd charge, but against the perverse fate
which through no act or fault of hers, seemed
rearing difficulty after difficulty in the way of her
purpose. She did not underestimate the-intelligence
of Wolvert or the danger of arousing his suspicions,
while she realized that the jealous animosity of
Madame Cimmino might at any moment precipitate
a crisis. She must walk warily, indeed.
Her message delivered to Welch, she ascended
the back stairs to avoid a second encounter with the


FACE TO FACE I83
woman who had become her enemy, and was round-
ing the gallery shadowed in the gathering dusk,
when a blotch of white lying against the baseboard
caught her eye.
It was a folded paper, crumpled in the center and
even before she opened it, a premonition warned
her of its contents. The cipher letter! The signifi-
cant words leaped out at her anew from the irrele-
vancies with which they were cloaked and on a swift
impulse she thrust the letter into her breast.
Late that night when all was still Betty crept
from her room and down the stairs like an unquiet
wraith intent upon the secret motive which actuated
her, yet on her guard for the slightest warning of
discovery.
The darting ray from her electric torch played
before her, dancing in a diminutive circle of light
upon the wall and piercing the almost opaque dark-
ness like a flash of forked lightning. The midnight
silence was oppressive in its intensity and for the
first time there seemed to be a brooding menace in
the soundless void.
The girl's nerves were tingling and the torch
wavered fitfully in her hand. A hallucination,
vague but terrible, took possession of her that some-
thing unnameable lurked in the shadows watching,
crouched to spring. In vain she summoned her
resolute will to her aid, lashing herself with scorn
for her weakness. A swift unreasoning fear


I84 SUSPENSE
clutched her by the throat and her trembling limbs
all but refused her support.
Doggedly she forced herself to go on but the
distance from stair foot to library door seemed
interminable and when she had traversed it Betty
paused, an unexplainable reluctance staying her
hand upon the knob.
At length she set her teeth and with an impatient
jerk opened the door. Her torch light circled about
the familiar room, the desk with its orderly array
of papers, the center table, the bookcases—
Her breath caught in a strangling gasp. One
bookcase was swinging loosely on its secret hinge
and the safe in the aperture behind was open, a
handful of documents scattered upon the floor.
Slowly her light travelled along the wall creeping
ever nearer and nearer to the hearth. The brass
andirons glittered dazzlingly from the darkness
and the outline of a massive chair leaped into promi-
nence. Something lay relaxed upon its arm, and
the wavering light stopped.
It was a black coatsleeve, motionless but seem-
ingly vibrant with life and from it protruded a
pallid hand shapely and slender, its tapering fingers
loosely extended.
There was a roaring as of many waters in Betty's
ears and her heart seemed to have ceased to beat,
but mechanically she trained the light upward. Jack
Wolvert's face, diabolic in triumph, leered at her.


CHAPTER XI.
The Fourth Pew.
the electric torch rigid in her hand and her
eyes held by the insolent challenging ones so
near hers. Then with an almost physical effort she
wrenched her gaze away just as his cynical voice,
drawling no longer, but keen with malign exulta-
tation, cut the silence like a knife thrust.
“So, Little Mouse! You venture forth from your
hiding place at night when all are sleeping, to nibble
at forbidden dainties, eh?”
He sprang from his chair with the agility of a
cat and seized her wrist in a viselike grip which
forced her tortured fingers to relax their hold and
the torch clattered to the hearth. His hot breath,
laden with the fumes of wine, played upon her neck,
and she felt, rather than realized, the menace in
his low, breathed words.
“I thought there was a traitor in camp ! Who
sent you here to spy upon us, girl? In whose pay
are you? Quick, or I'll—” -
“I don't know what you mean!” Betty whimpered
F: a long moment Betty stood transfixed with
I85


I86 SUSPENSE
into the darkness. “Let me go, you are hurting me,
Mr. Wolvert! I—I-could not sleep, I came down
for a book I left unfinished and you frightened me!”
“That doesn't go; it's too thin'" he growled
harshly. “Young ladies don't prowl about at night
with electric torches for any innocent purpose.
What's the lay?”
“I don't understand!” Betty reeled against him,
then shrank away. “I–I feel faint—”
His grip insensibly relaxed and the girl, seizing
her opportunity, tore herself from his grasp and
vanished into the black void of the hall. She could
hear the crash of the massive chair behind her as he
overturned it in his stumbling pursuit and a rumble
of oaths followed her up the stair. Miraculously
she cleared every obstacle and her alert brain out-
paced her flying feet. One desperate move was
left her to turn certain exposure into possible vic-
tory. Its failure could not increase the peril of
her present position and success would serve to
entrench her more firmly in the confidence of the
woman who would be her judge.
She groped her way noiselessly to her own door,
found the switch in the wall and flooded the room
with light. A pink boudoir candle stood upon her
dressing table and seizing it she thrust it into the
live coals in the grate until it was partly consumed.
Then shielding its flickering flame, she went straight
to her employer's door and knocked boldly.


THE FOURTH PEW 187
A murmur responded, a light flared up within
and Mrs. Atterbury stood on the threshold. In her
white robe with her long, dusky hair in two heavy
plaits upon her shoulders and her waxen expression-
less face, she might have been an effigy taken from
some ancient place of worship; all but her eyes
which gleamed like banked fires suddenly revealed.
“What is it?” she asked calmly. “You are not
well, my dear?”
“Oh, it isn't that. I am quite well, but I thought
you would wish to know that your safe is open
downstairs,” Betty whispered.
“My safe!” Mrs. Atterbury fell back a step and
her pale face grayed.
“Yes, the one in the library. I suppose it is all
right, as Mr. Wolvert is there, but I felt that I could
not sleep without telling you.”
“And what were you doing in the library at this
hour?” The woman's scrutiny fairly burned into
Betty's brain, but her wide ingenuous eyes did not
flinch nor her voice falter.
“I was restless and wakeful and I remembered
a book I had left there, so I lighted my candle and
went down. Everything was dark, but when I
'opened the library door I saw a man with an electric
torch in his hand. He sprang forward and seized
me and I thought it must be a burglar, until he
spoke and I recognized Mr. Wolvert's voice. The
safe was open and papers all scattered about, and


I88 SUSPENSE
somehow his manner frightened me. I–I thought
I had better come straight to you.”
“An electric torch?” Mrs. Atterbury repeated and
paused, her lips pursed thoughtfully. Betty waited
in an agony of suspense. Would the slender thread
of her fabrication bear the weight of this woman's
keen analysis or would it snap beneath her swift
inexorable judgment? Freedom, perhaps life itself,
hung upon the issue.
“You did the proper thing, my dear, and I am
very glad that I can rely on you to let me know at
once if anything seems wrong in the household.”
Mrs. Atterbury's smile announced the verdict. “But
in this instance, everything is quite all right. Mr.
Wolvert was going over some private accounts for
me at my request, and doubtless you startled him
by your sudden appearance as much as his presence
surprised you.”
“I am sorry I disturbed you—” Betty began in
well-simulated contrition, but the other stopped her
with a gesture.
“You did not, but in any case it would have been
your duty, my dear. However, I do not approve
of your going about the house so late at night, for
Welch has an inordinate apprehension of burglars
and is likely to blaze away promiscuously with his
revolver if he hears any untoward sound. Be care-
ful in future. And now good night, Betty, and
thank you.”


THE FOURTH PEW I89
The reaction from the strain through which she
had passed was so great that the girl all but
collapsed when her own door had been closed once
more behind her. She had forestalled Wolvert's
betrayal, but would her version of the evening's
encounter prevail against his narration, bearing as
it must the stamp of truth?
Then another contingency presented itself to her
mind. What if Wolvert's visit to the library had
been, like her own, a surreptitious one? She re-
membered his significent phrase of the afternoon:
“You have too much common sense to work for a
mere pittance when you might share.” She had
fancied then that he was but voicing his own in-
most thought, the aftermath of his open rebellion
which Mrs. Atterbury had so imperiously quelled
on the previous night. Had he turned traitor to
the mysterious compact that bound him and all of
their circle in a sinister secret alliance? Had she,
by this betrayal, made of him an implacable enemy?
Even if she had succeeded in lulling her employer's
possible suspicion, her presence in the library had
disclosed her true position in the household to Wol-
vert and she realized that a powerful weapon lay
within his reach if it were to be war to the knife
between them.
To her amazement, the matter was not again
referred to in the days that immediately ensued and
if Wolvert had gone to Mrs. Atterbury with his


190 SUSPENSE
tale, or learned of the girl's disclosure, he gave no
sign. While he did not openly avoid her, he made
no effort to arrange a tête-à-tête, only his gaze
burning with a strange intensity of questioning,
filled her with troubled unrest.
Madame Cimmino treated the girl with frigid
indifference, but unconsciously played into her hands
by constant demands upon Wolvert's time and at-
tention.
Mrs. Atterbury's manner did not betray an iota
of change and the days followed one another in an
unbroken routine until the following Sunday, when
there occurred an event which plunged Betty deeper
than ever into the toils of difficulty and danger.
The breakfast gong, sounding a full hour earlier
than usual, aroused the girl from slumber and she
descended to find Mrs. Atterbury already at the
table, the coffee urn bubbling at her elbow.
“My dear, I am going to send you to church
this morning,” she began, nodding as Betty lifted
inquiring eyes to hers. “It is another letter which
I wish you to obtain from one of our outstanding
members, and he has arranged to meet you there.
You may object to making use of a house of wor-
ship for a mundane transaction, even though the
cause be a worthy one, but the better the day, the
better the deed, you know.”
“I have no scruples.” Betty smiled slightly. “It
will be interesting to, see what the churches here
-


THE FOURTH PEW 191.
are like; I have not attended service since coming
East.”
“St. Jude's is one of the most prominent in the
city. The minister is noted and the congregation
representative of the best society. I am not a
church-goer myself, as you have seen, but laziness,
not prejudice, is responsible for my dereliction.
You won’t be bored, I promise you, and the inci-
dental errand will not be complicated by any such
annoying misunderstanding as on the last occasion.
You will enter by the door leading to the center
aisle and tell the usher that you wish to be placed
in the fourth pew from the back of the church on
the right as you face the altar. Be careful of this,
as the location is of the utmost importance. Seat
yourself at the end of the pew next the aisle and
pay no attention to anyone. When an envelope is
presented to you, no matter in what manner or from
what quarter, accept it without a word and at the
conclusion of the service bring it home to me.”
“I shall remember, the fourth pew from the
back,” Betty repeated. “The service commences at
eleven, does it not?”
“Yes. The car will be here for you at a quarter
before the hour, but it will be necessary for you
to return without it. However, I will direct you
explicitly and you will be in no danger of losing
your way a second time. Come to me when you
are ready.”


I92 SUSPENSE
Betty's pulse quickened in spite of her inward
reluctance to perform the task before her. That it
had been given her, proved to her own satisfaction
that her daring move on the night of her discovery
had really achieved the result she had hoped for,
and that she was more firmly established than ever
in her employer's confidence.
Attired in the gray suit and silvery furs, she
presented herself for Mrs. Atterbury's final instruc-
tions, and the latter regarded with approval her
dainty appearance and unveiled face.
“You have determined like a sensible girl to over-
come that absurd self-consciousness about your
birthmark? That is well.” She placed an ivory-
bound prayer book in the girl's hands. “This adds
the finishing touch to your costume, my dear. You
look quite like a modern Puritan. Now as to the
directions for finding your way home. St. Jude's
is on the corner of Carlton Avenue and Brinsley
Square. Walk five blocks north and two east and
you will come to the terminus of the Highmount
trolley line. Take a green car and ride to Wellesley
Place. There you can connect with a red bus which
will drop you three blocks from the corner here,
at the same spot you alighted when returning from
Madame Cimmino's apartment. Do you think you
will be able to remember?”
“I think so,” Betty replied slowly. “About the
letter, Mrs. Atterbury; it makes no difference who


THE FOURTH PEW I93
offers it to me in this instance, I am to accept it
without question?”
“Certainly. There will be no difficulty about
that. There is the car, now. Remember, Betty,
the fourth pew.”
The girl nodded reassuringly and started upon
her way. To her relief, there had been no sign
of either of the house guests that morning and it
was with freer breath that she found herself de-
parting even for an hour from their vicinity. The
gloom and apprehension which enveloped her and
insensibly sapped her nerves in the environment of
mystery and repression within the house, lifted as
soon as she was beyond the gates, although a little
frown gathered upon her brow.
Beneath the lamp post stood the same idly-
lounging figure she had seen on the day of her
unexpected encounter with Herbert Ross, and he
peered keenly into the limousine as it whirled by,
making no attempt to cloak his eager interest.
Whatever the motive of his protracted vigil, his
presence alone indicated that it had not yet borne
result, yet it served as a goad to her own secret
intent.
A short, shrill whistle sounded upon the air as the
car rounded the corner, but Betty was only subcon-
sciously aware of it, so preoccupied was she with her
own thoughts. Since the night of her encounter
with Wolvert in the library and Mrs. Atterbury's


THE FOURTH PEW I95
like balm upon her troubled spirit and insensibly she
relaxed beneath its gentle influence.
The vaulted arches high above, shadowy and
vague in the half-light, rang with the clear, swelling
notes of the white-robed choir which she could
glimpse above the sea of heads before her; and when
their echo had died away, the sonorous well-rounded
tones from the pulpit fell with soothing monotony
upon her ear, lulling her to a temporary forgetful-
ness of her errand.
Not for long, however. A late comer, a woman,
was ushered into the pew beside her and Betty's
drugged senses awoke to instant alertness. She had
been given no hint as to what manner of person
would keep the strange appointment with her and no
one could so unobtrusively pass an envelope to her
as an occupant of the same pew.
She darted a furtive glance at her unknown com-
panion, but could form no conclusion. The woman
was of middle age, neatly but plainly dressed in
contrast with the brilliant assemblage about her, and
her comely serene face bore no indication of one
engaged upon a secret mission.
The seat behind Betty was occupied by a govern-
ess and three restive children; that before her con-
tained two elderly ladies, an anaemic youth and a
bent old man, his white head nodding above a gold-
topped cane. Surely none of these could have en-
tered the church with an ulterior motive.


I96 SUSPENSE
Betty had been placed so that the left side of her
face was turned to the aisle and the birthmark
prominently visible. She realized that this must
have been planned to proclaim her identity, but the
woman seated beside her politely ignored her ex-
istence and as the lengthy sermon drew to a close,
the girl was forced to conclude that the unknown
associate in the transaction would approach her on
the way out.
A hymn, a prayer, and then from the pulpit the
familiar: “Let your light so shine before men—”
proclaimed the collection. The opening notes of the
offertory sounded from the choir and Betty
abstracted some money from her purse and idly
watched the approach of the smug-faced rotund
little man who minced down the aisle, pausing at
each pew to extend apologetically his felt-lined
silver salver.
She heard the rustle of banknotes and clink of
coins as he drew nearer, and when he had reached
the pew immediately in front of her, Betty saw that
the salver was heaped high with offerings.
The bearer paused over long and she glanced up
to find that his small pouched eyes were fixed as
though fascinated upon her face. A swift fore-
warning of the truth darted across her mind, even
before she observed that with surprising dexterity
he had whipped from his pocket of his frock coat an
envelope which he laid upon the pile of currency.


THE FOURTH PEW I97
Two short strides brought him to her side and he
thrust the salver nervously before her. She had no
need to glance again into his face to confirm her
thought for upon the envelope had been scrawled an
odd, fantastic mark, meaningless to others but of
unmistakable significance to her. It was the outline
of an irregular formless blotch with five curving
tentacles reaching out from it; a crudely sketched
representation of the scar upon her cheek!
With a hot flush mounting to her brow, Betty
dropped her offering upon the salver and deftly
palmed the envelope, not daring to raise her eyes.
The woman beside her was intently fumbling in her
purse and the swift furtive movement of the girl
had been unobserved.
The bearer of the salver emitted a gasping breath
that was almost a snort, and as the stranger's bank-
note was added to the rest he bowed and passed
on with obvious relief to the next pew.
Wedging the envelope between the pages of her
prayer book, Betty watched as the smug-faced man
joined his colleague who had passed down the
opposite row and marched beside him with grave
dignity back to the altar rail. The solemnity, the
calm spiritual peace had vanished for the girl and
the warm, incense-laden air stifled her as the reces-
sional died away in the dim recesses of the vestry,
and she knelt mechanically for the final prayer.
The slow, crowded egress from the edifice tor-


I98 SUSPENSE
tured her beyond measure and when at length she
stood in the dazzling sunshine on the steps she drew
a deep breath of profound relief.
It was a blustery day and the treacherous March
wind caught her roughly in its grasp, but she faced
it boldly as though welcoming the physical exertion.
Amazement at the daring manner in which the
missive had been placed in her hands had momen-
tarily numbed her faculties. Its donor was the last
person from whom she would have expected to
receive it. His strutting importance, his bland,
patronizing air of conscious dignity and social
eminence accorded ill with her preconceived idea of
the type of person she would meet.
His predecessors passed in quick, mental review
before her; the weak-chinned, downy-mustached
scion of society in the opera box, the timorous,
fragile, exquisite lady with the orchids, and now
this rotund, pragmatical pillar of the church! What
mysterious bond held these three, widely diversified
as they were, in a common fellowship with Mrs.
Atterbury and her coterie?
So absorbed was she in her reflections that Betty
gave only a passing glance at a man who had el-
bowed his way through the throng at the church
steps and in apparent inadvertance followed her as
she walked north from Brinsley square and turned
eastward in her footsteps. She was vaguely aware
that someone boarded the Highmount car when she


THE FOURTH PEW I99
did, alighting behind her at Wellesley Place. Igno-
rant of the city as she had claimed to be, she could
not fail in the realization that the directions given
her to follow were curiously roundabout ones and
had taken her several unnecessary miles out of her
way. Why had Mrs. Atterbury chosen this route
for her?
Her mind was filled with this new problem and
she did not observe her pursuer enter a taxicab as
she boarded a red bus. It was only when she noted
that the smaller vehicle deliberately stalked the
larger, halting when the bus stopped and following
it doggedly through the mazes of Sunday traffic,
that her interest was aroused, and as one after
another of the passengers descended until she was
left in sole possession of the conveyance and still
the taxi cab clung tenaciously behind, a suspicion
came to her that she might be the subject of espion-
age.
A memory came to her of the circuitous route
followed by the limousine in bringing her home
from the Café de Luxe. Could the motive have
been to elude pursuit? Had the same purpose pre-
vailed in Mrs. Atterbury's mind when she issued
these devious directions for her messenger's return?
Betty alighted at her corner and walked swiftly
off toward the North Drive without a backward
glance, but her acute ear told her that the taxicab
had turned and was trailing slowly in her wake.


CHAPTER XII.
The Fangs of the Wolf.
GG ISFORTUNE seems to be treading upon
M the heels of our friends more relentlessly
this season than before.” Doctor Bayard
looked up from his salad with a sympathetic sigh.
“Our poor dear Professor dying in Chicago, Morti-
mer dangerously ill, and yet another gone down
under the strain of financial worries and cares.”
Betty glanced quickly at his grave ascetic face
crowned with its wealth of snowy hair and then her
eyes wandered to her employer.
Mrs. Atterbury was sitting very straight in her
chair, her expression as immobile as ever, but the
girl fancied that a shade of weariness had clouded
the glitter of the keen, black eyes and the fine lines
had deepened about the firm, chiselled lips.
“Professor Blythe will recover.” There was a
finality in her tone which brooked no argument.
“He has been in a far more critical condition than
this and regained his health almost miraculously.”
“But consider the attendant circumstances, my
dear Marcia.” Wolvert's voice, coolly ironical,
201


202 SUSPENSE
intervened. “The previous illnesses must have
weakened his constitution, and—er—complications
may set in at any time.”
“As a diagnostician, Jack, let me remind you that
your conclusions have been erroneous more than
once.” Mrs. Atterbury raised her eyebrows signifi-
cantly. “As for Mortie Dana, we have every reason
to believe that he will pull through. The doctor's
report is highly satisfactory, although of course he
is likely to be quarantined for some time to come.”
“That would seem to be a foregone conclusion.”
Wolvert was in no wise abashed by the snubbing he
had received. “Louise is in no danger of contagion,
however, and the change of air will do her good.”
Betty could not repress a little gleam of interest.
She had wondered why Mrs. Dana did not come
again to the house, but had not previously heard of
her departure from town.
“Personally, I shall be pleased if she remains
away indefinitely.” Madame Cimmino shrugged.
“She gets upon one's nerves, with her hysterics.
One never knows when she may make a scene.”
“To say nothing of the possibility of conta-
gion—” Wolvert caught his hostess' eye and
turned in obvious haste to Doctor Bayard. “But of
whom were you speaking just now, Doctor, who
has gone to pieces?”
The doctor held his wineglass up to the light and
gazed into its amber depths reflectively as he replies.


FANGS OF THE WOLF 203
“My old friend—Cote. I had heard depressing
reports of his mental condition, but I would not
believe them until I had investigated personally.”
He shook his venerable head. “I returned only a
few days ago from a visit to him and I seriously
fear that his usefulness is passed. He is unable to
handle his financial affairs and his permanent re-
tirement is all that can be looked for.” -
“But surely the others in his firm will assume his
obligations!” Wolvert's bantering tone had sharp-
ened. “It is almost as vital to them that his affairs
should be straightened out as it was to him. They
must be made to understand the situation.”
“You talk like a child!” exclaimed Madame Cim-
mino. “What is to prevent them from going into
voluntary bankruptcy, now that he is incapacitated?
Others have done that before, when driven to the
wall.”
Betty sat with downcast eyes and a politely de-
tached air but her hands were clenched tightly in
her lap and her breath came quickly. If those about
her at the luncheon table remembered her presence
they must have believed their conversation unintelli-
gible to her, yet every word was fraught with mean-
ing, and she waited with leaping pulses for the next
disclosure.
“That would scarcely be possible in this instance.”
There was an implacable note in the old Doctor's
measured tones. “His is not a corporation, you


204 SUSPENSE
know; he has one silent partner who without doubt
will carry out the contract entered into by my friend
when he learns of it. Unfortunately, it will be
necessary to locate this partner first and I have not
the address.”
“That can be arranged.” Mrs. Atterbury rose.
“Jack, come and play the new concerto for Doctor
Bayard.”
Betty had been granted permission to go out for
an hour but her heart was heavy as she dressed.
The discovery of the previous day that the supposed
museum director was shadowing her had come with
a shock which had benumbed her brain, but the
reaction aroused all her faculties to the alert against
this new threatened danger. Through the long
hours of the night she lay in silent combat between
the dictates of common sense and a strange, incom-
prehensible influence which sought to undermine her
surer judgment and defy the evidence of her reason.
Herbert Ross a spy! It was unthinkable! His
merry, candid eyes, his grave sympathetic manner,
the latent boyishness and straightforward simplicity
—all belied the possibility of such a role, and yet
her coolly analytical mind forced her to the con-
templation of hitherto unconsidered trifles which,
viewed in the light of her discovery, assumed new
and alarming proportions.
His confessed ignorance of Egyptiana in contra-
distinction to his avowed position of museum offi-


206 SUSPENSE
knowledge that she might be trailed from the house
at Wolvert's instigation or perhaps by the man on
Mr. Ross was absent when she reached the
museum and to her inward dismay she was ushered
into the study of Professor Carmody. The shri-
velled little man greeted her with flattering warmth
and reviewed the inscription from the Stele of Abu
in glowing terms, but she felt his nearsighted eyes
upon her in recurring perplexity and doubt and she
longed to bring the interview to an end.
The tinkle of a telephone in an adjoining office
interrupted her tentative move of departure and
Professor Carmody returned from it rubbing his
withered hands in obvious relief.
“That was our young friend, Ross,” he an-
nounced in high feather. “He will be here directly
and he begs that you will wait. In the meantime,
I have here a genuine papyrus of rare antiquity,
presented to me by Professor Mallory himself. It
dates from the pre-dynastic period and some of the
symbols, as you see, are Sammarian in form.”
“But it has been restored" Betty cried protest-
ingly, resentment of the sacrilege overruling her
caution. “What a pity! The word 'suten' or king,
has been inserted here where the text would clearly
indicate priest' and the whole tenor of the theme is
changed. Surely Professor Mallory did not sanc-
tion such a desecration!”


FANGS OF THE WOLF 207
*
“Then you have seen the papyrus before?” Pro-
fessor Carmody spoke in quiet satisfaction as if a
mooted question had been settled in his own mind.
“I was under the impression that I had met you in
Cairo, but your name had escaped me. You know
the great man himself?”
“No. I studied with an associate of his, in this
country,” Betty stammered desperately. “I have
never been in Cairo and I do not know Professor
Mallory, but I have seen a copy of the papyrus
before this attempt was made to restore it.”
“I myself presented it to the museum here, and
the restoration was done at another's suggestion,
overruling my objection.” The professor returned
the ancient scroll to its glass case as he added,
dryly: “I was not aware that a copy was in ex-
istence.”
Betty writhed, but resolutely turned the conver-
sation to some newly-discovered monoliths which
had created a mild sensation in archeological circles,
and the arrival of Ross on the heels of his mes-
sage shortly brought the disquieting interview to a
close.
The young man ushered Betty into his private
office, but she declined the chair he indicated and
stood before him with her grave eyes fastened upon
his in cold disdain.
“There really was no need of my waiting to see
you, Mr. Ross,” she observed. “The translation is


208 SUSPENSE
finished and approved by Professor Carmody and
the matter is closed.”
“I don’t 11nderstand l’’ he exclaimed in haste,
adding lamely: “I have other work for you, you
know. There is more translating to be done—”
Betty shook her head decisively.
“I shall undertake no more at present.” There
was finality in her tone, and her expression had
hardened. “As I have explained, my time is not at
my own disposal and I am late now for an engage-
ment. If you will permit me—”
“But surely you will not relinquish the work
without a reason' If your other duties interfere,
perhaps some arrangement can be made—”
“My other duties concern no one but myself!"
Betty retorted, in a flash of temper which instantly
subsided. “I do not wish, for reasons of my own,
to continue with this work and nothing further re-
mains to be said. Good afternoon, Mr. Ross.”
“Wait, please.” His tone was quiet, but there
was a compelling quality in it which halted Betty
against her will. “Something has occurred to an-
noy you and make the work distasteful. Won't you
tell me what it is that I may take steps to remedy
it? Surely you owe me an explanation.”
“The work is not distasteful; it has merely ceased
to interest me. In undertaking it I assumed no
obligations to continue it indefinitely, Mr. Ross, and
I do not feel that any explanation is due from me.”


FANGS OF THE WOLF 209
“Is it that meddling old fool Carmody?” Ross
demanded. “Has he offended you in any way?”
“By no means. I am not offended in the least, I
have simply changed my mind. My secretarial
work is sufficient occupation.” -
“But you were so absorbed, so enthusiastic about
the translation.” His eyes narrowed and he leaned
forward. “I cannot believe that it has ceased to
interest you; it must be more suitable for a young
woman of your attainments, more congenial than
the task to which you have been assigned.”
There was no mistaking the deliberate intent in
his tone and Betty countered swiftly.
“Mr. Ross, may I ask why you are so solicitous
in this matter? On my last interview with you, you
asked me many irrelevant and highly personal ques-
tions. I responded to your advertisement, I came in
good faith to accept the work if it were offered me.
I did not anticipate a cross-examination, or inter-
ference with my private affairs.” Resentment was
fast getting the better of her discretion and she
spoke with all the bitterness of a lost illusion. “I
might ask you in turn how long you have been
officially connected with this museum, and whether
that advertisement was really inserted in good faith
or with an ulterior motive. I would demand also to
know why you have been following me about the
streets, but the motive for your annoyance does not
interest me. *I decline absolutely to have anything


210 SUSPENSE
further to do with this work, and I must request
that you let me go at once.”
Herbert Ross sprang from his chair and placed
himself between her and the door.
“Miss Shaw, you shall not leave until one thing
is plain to you. I have tried to be your friend.
You have repelled every overture from me, but be-
lieve it or not as you please, my only desire is to
protect you. If I have followed you in the street,
it was from a motive far removed from any intel.
tion to annoy you.” The young man, too, seemed
in danger of losing his self-control. His face
flushed and his voice grew hoarse. “Suppose I were
to tell you that I have followed you because I could
not help myself, because in spite of appearances, in
spite of my certain knowledge, I believe in you, I
want your friendship, your confidence, your—your
liking—”
“I cannot suppose you would venture such an
assertion, Mr. Ross; you are far too shrewd to in-
sult my intelligence.” Betty made as if to pass him
lout he suddenly laid his hands upon her shoulders
and looked deep into her eyes.
“Will you at least try to believe this? I mean to
be your friend whether you desire it or not. If the
time ever comes when you need the help of a man,
call me up here. Professor Carmody can reach me,
and you will find me at your side.”
His hands fell and he walked swiftly to the


FANGS OF THE WOLF 211
window where he stood with his shoulders turned
to her and his head bowed.
Betty regarded him thoughtfully, a little soft
gleam of compunction appearing unbidden in her
eyes. She opened her lips to speak, but paused
uncertainly and in another moment she had slipped
silently from the room.
She stumbled down the steps of the museum and
entered the park, her feet mechanically seeking the
right path. The naked trees and clustering skele-
tons of shrubbery upon the brown patches of lawn
were blurred and shapeless before her and she
seemed to see again the face of Herbert Ross as he
wistfully proffered his friendship, the stab of pain
in his clear eyes when she refused it.
Once she hesitated and turned as if to go back,
but the vague impulse died and she pressed reso-
lutely on. He had found her by a trick, a mere
subterfuge; perhaps his offer of friendship was an-
other trap to gain her confidence now. He had
sought her out, followed her, spied upon her, and
for what purpose than to serve those who were
working against her, who might even now be
planning a coup which would mean the demolition
of her own hopes and drag her down into the ruins?
Matters were in a state of armed truce now be-
tween them. When they met again—if they met—
it must be open war.
Betty had taken no note of distance or direction


212 SUSPENSE
and she came to a realization of her surroundings
only when the roar of traffic sounded in her ears,
and she found that she had traversed the park and
was within a few blocks of the North Drive. As
she hurried homeward she forced her thoughts reso-
lutely to the future and the work which still lay to
her hand, but the long hours of early evening
loomed before her, robbed of the absorbing study
which had proved such a stimulating relief from the
continuous mental strain; and the days to come
would be empty indeed with the budding friendship,
which had come to mean so much to her, brought
so swiftly to an end. -
She was dispirited, tired in mind and body as she
entered the gates of home, and her feet lagged
wearily along the path. The house looked blank
and forbidding, and the wind soughed dismally in
the sagging branches of the trees.
Faintly the high-strung wailing note of a dog's
whine reached her and she remembered her en-
counter with Demon when first she walked in the
snowy garden. Would the dog know her again, if
chance should deliver her to his mercy?
Memory returned to her also of that other en-
counter in the same hour when, unconscious of her
presence, Wolvert had passed her place of conceal-
ment as if racing with the very fiends of darkness,
cowardly fear stamped upon every lineament of his
dark face. Why had he avoided her since their


FANGS OF THE WOLF 213
mutual surprise meeting in the library? Was he
deliberately evading the issue or delaying it for
some sinister purpose of his own?
She had reached the clump of trees through
which the path wound, and even as her thoughts
were centered on Wolvert the man himself stepped
from the tangle of evergreens which had screened
her on the former occasion, and confronted her. It
was evident from his smile and air of easy assur-
ance that he had lain in wait for her, and Betty's
first feeling of dismay was superseded by a sensa-
tion of relief that the long anticipated moment had
arrived and the contest between them at immediate
issue.
“You have been long upon your foraging expedi-
tion, Little Mouse, and you have strayed far from
your hiding place.” He laid his hand upon her arm
in an insolent assumption of familiarity. “Not so
fast, my dear. The mistress you serve so conscien-
tiously is not in need of your presence and the time
has come for an understanding between us.”
“I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Wolvert.”
She met his sneering smile with one of calm defi-
ance. “I think we understand each other fairly
well.”
“Perhaps, but the knowledge has not yet accrued
to our mutual advantage. We have been working
at cross purposes and that means disaster. I
warned you once that a friend at court is not to be


214 SUSPENSE
despised, but as an enemy you would not find it
advisable to cross swords with me. I do not under-
estimate your pluck and resourcefulness; sheer ad-
miration for your audacity has stayed my hand
against you so far. Your move in carrying the war
into my camp by going to Mrs. Atterbury with your
naive little story was a bold one. Gad, you even
explained away the evidence against you, the electric
torch, better than I did later, I don't mind con-
fessing; but do you suppose I could not have
smashed your transparent subterfuge to atoms if I
had wished?”
“Why did you not, in that case?” Betty asked
coolly. “I am not in the least afraid of you or what
you can do. Come now to Mrs. Atterbury if you
care to; I will go with you to face her and she shall
choose between us.”
His grip upon her arm tightened.
“Do you think that I am imbecile enough to call
your bluff?” he demanded. “When I find you
seriously in my way I shall crush you like this!
Until then, my dear, you will prove mildly amusing.
You interest me as I never thought to be interested
again in a woman. Your eyes, your smile are
branded upon my brain even as that brand is upon
your cheek like a hand reaching out for the un-
attainable. You might set a man's blood on fire,
sear his very soul and drive him to madness, but
you would never bore him. Little, quiet, inscrutable


FANGS OF THE WOLF 215
mouse, with you beside him there is nothing that a
man who gambles with life might not win!”
“You talk in riddles, Mr. Wolvert.” Betty dis-
engaged her arm and stepped back from the savage
light in his empassioned eyes. “Your opinion of me
is flattering, but if you are detaining me for further
expression of it, I must beg leave to continue on
my way to the house.”
“You may go when you have answered one ques-
tion: what is your game? I knew from the moment
I saw you that you were superior to the position
you chose to occupy, but not until I encountered you
in the library did I guess the truth. How much
do you know? Are you a free lance or in some-
one’s pay?”
“If I had an ulterior motive in entering Mrs.
Atterbury's service, is it likely that I would make
a confident of you whether you are her ally or a
traitor?” Betty shrugged. “Your attitude is a
matter of absolute indifference to me; why should I
reply to your questions?”
“Because you may find me useful.” He came
close to her once more. “What is it you desire
within those walls that you court danger to obtain?
Perhaps I can get it for you. What is your pur-
pose? It may be that I can aid in its accomplish-
ment. Traitor or not, I am at your service!”
“But why?” A swift thrill of fear darted
through her, and she glanced about, but the tall
*


216 SUSPENSE
bushes ringed them on all sides and they seemed as
isolated as in a wilderness. “Suppose that another
purpose actuated me than to fulfill the duties for
which I was engaged—and I do not for a moment
admit that there is any truth in your wild assertion
—why should you offer me your aid? Why should
you, Mrs. Atterbury's guest and friend, conspire
with one you profess to regard as a deceitful and
dishonest servant?”
“Because you have driven me mad!” He seized
her, dragging her into a half-savage embrace. “Be-
cause I want you as I’ve never wanted any other
woman!”
“Let me go!” Betty panted struggling with all her
strength, but her heart sank within her for no help
could reach her from the house and her efforts to
free herself were unavailing against the man's brute
grasp.
He laughed exultantly and drew her closer.
“‘Little Mouse,” I called you; Little Wild-Cat!
But I'll tame you, or break you with my hands!
What I want I take, and you're mine, do you under-
stand; you're mine!”
All at once a new sound broke upon Betty's ears.
The dog's continuous whine, of which she had been
dimly aware like an undercurrent in the swift tor-
rent of Wolvert's words, had changed suddenly to
a deep, full-throated cry which seemed to her ex-
cited fancy to be drawing nearer and nearer. A


FANGS OF THE WOLF 217
swift thought like a prayer mounted in her brain
and by a supreme effort she extricated her head
from the stifling folds of her captor's coat where
he had crushed her to his breast.
- The cry came again and with it the soft rush of
padded feet on moist yielding ground. Betty drew
a deep breath and screamed with all the power of
her pent-up fear.
“Demon | Here! Come here!”
With an oath, Wolvert's arms dropped from
about her and he sprang backward as a huge, dark
shape lunged through the undergrowth and sprang
full at his throat. The force of the impact hurled
Betty aside and when she had picked herself up she
turned to find Wolvert stretched upon the ground,
the great dog standing over him, with every hair
a-bristle and yellow fangs bared in a snarl, as he
hesitated at the sound of her voice.
“Demonſ”
He turned his shaggy head obediently to glance
up into her eyes, but one great paw remained
planted upon Wolvert's breast.
“Guard him, Demon! If he moves, take him by
* the throat!” An inarticulate murmur issued from
the lips of the prostrate man and the snarl changed
to a growl of menace.
“Don’t let him get away! Until your master
comes. Demon, on guard"
The dog's eyes answered her and he dropped his


CHAPTER XIII.
Justice Nods.
at dinner and Mrs. Atterbury explained that
he was suffering from one of his severe head-
aches and had taken an opiate. Her manner gave
no indication that she possessed an inkling of the
truth, but Betty's apprehensions were not lulled into
a false security. That Wolvert had not immediately
betrayed her in blind rage argued that he was biding
his own time for a personal revenge all the more
complete and she realized that when the hour came
she could expect no mercy.
Madame Cimmino's dull eyes glowered at her in
undiminished animosity and suspicion, but she
forced herself to a show of civility in the presence
of her hostess; and in the greater danger which
menaced her Betty gave little heed to the woman
who looked upon her as a rival.
The following day, however, Wolvert reappeared,
his debonair, ironic spirit of raillery unquenched.
There was an unaccustomed pallor on his dark face
and it was noticeable that he held one arm stiffly,
J ACKWOLVERT did not put in an appearance
220


JUSTICE NODS 221
but to Madame Cimmino's solicitous queries he
responded only with a petulant shrug.
Throughout the morning meal he kept up a
running fire of facetious comment directed with
suave impertinence at Betty and she seized the first
opportunity to retire to her work in the library.
She had anticipated this attitude on his part but
her nerves were beginning to play her false and she
wondered despairingly how long the crisis would be
delayed. For the first time she felt a doubt of her-
self; not that her resolution should falter but lest
her strength fail under the strain and at the crucial
moment sheer weakness rob her purpose of its ful-
fillment.
Mrs. Atterbury followed her into the library as
she seated herself before the desk.
“Not that this morning, my dear.” She shook
lmer head with a slow smile. “The letters must wait.
Have you ever been in a courtroom, Betty?”
“No.” The girl turned to her, wonderingly.
“There is a county court house at home, but I have
never been inside it. Do people go here—women,
I mean—unless—?”
She faltered and Mrs. Atterbury completed the
question for her.
“Unless they are prisoners or witnesses, you
mean? Indeed, yes! There are seats apportioned
off for spectators and a particularly grewsome and
revolting murder trial will bring out as many femi-


222 SUSPENSE
nine auditors as a fashionable divorce. As you
know, I personally avoid all horrors, but there is a
case now before the Bar which presents some very
interesting features to a student of human nature.
A poor wretch named Huston is on trial for the
murder of his wife, who by all accounts richly de-
served to be done away with. Would you mind
running down there for an hour this morning, my
dear? Do you think you could venture into the
presence of a murderer without succumbing to
hysterics?”
“I think so,” the girl responded quietly. “In all
probability I may have been in the presence of one
before this, without knowing it.”
“What a strange thought!” Mrs. Atterbury eyed
her keenly. “You have an odd philosophy all your
own, as I have discovered; but what put such an
idea into your head, Betty!”
“The very people one passes in the street may
have murder in their hearts or upon their con-
sciences. Who can tell?” Betty paused and drew
a deep breath. “Consider the number of murder
mysteries which are never solved; this Breckenridge
case, for instance.”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Atterbury shifted
her gaze to the window.
“Haven't you been reading about it in the
papers?” persisted the girl, inwardly quaking at her
own temerity, but determined to discover if the


JUSTICE NODS 223
woman before her would betray any knowledge of
what had taken place beneath her roof. “They call
it the greatest sensation of years.”
“I remember the name, but I carefully avoided
the details.” Her employer observed coolly.
“That sort of thing repels me and it is not from
any interest in this present trial that I am sending
you there this morning. There will be a man in
the courtroom who has a message for me and for
certain reasons, as on the other occasions when you
have acted for me, it is inadvisable for me to appear
personally in the transaction. I have tested you,
my dear, and I feel that you are to be trusted, at
least as far as is compatible with my oath. We are
all members of a powerful secret organization
working for broad humanitarian ends. I need not
assure you that there is nothing unlawful about it,
for you can realize that I would not lend my name
or influence to any purpose no matter how
charitable, the methods of which could be ques-
tioned. It is necessary, however, for diplomatic
and political considerations, that the work shall
proceed as quietly as possible until the strained
relations which exist between certain European
powers shall have been adjusted. That is all I am
at liberty to tell you now, but later everything will
be made plain to you, and you will never regret
the slight services you have rendered.”
“I am sure tº at I shall not,” Betty remarked


224 SUSPENSE
quietly. “It is good of you to take me into your
confidence, Mrs. Atterbury, and you know that I
will respect it, but it was unnecessary as far as I
am concerned. It is enough for me that you
wished me to go upon these errands.”
“You are a model!” There was unusual warmth
in her tone, but her eyes, as they rested upon the
girl, narrowed with a slow, amused contempt.
“Unguestioning obedience is rare and you will find
it a valuable asset. Now, my dear, I shall want
you to be in the courtroom by eleven. Dress very
plainly; your old dark cloak will do. Present this
card.at the door and you will be ushered into a
seat which has been reserved for you. Remain
until court adjourns at the end of the morning
session and hang back until you are among the
last of the spectators to leave. A man will ap-
proach you as before and give you a letter for me.
Take no more notice of him than you did of the
others, and come straight home. You must use
the public conveyances, as the car is being over-
hauled, but I will direct you when you are ready.”
The route laid down to her was even more cir-
cuitous than that of the previous Sunday and Betty
followed it faithfully, keeping a sharp lookout for
a possible trailing taxicab, but those which sur-
rounded her in the mazes of traffic seemed bent
solely on their own affairs and nowhere did she
glimpse the kindly, keen gray eyes of Herbert Ross.


JUSTICE NODS 225
However, the idle artisan was again beneath the
lamp-post at the gate and a man in overalls with
a plumber's kit emerged from a house midway of
the block and sauntered after her, boarding the
same car. When she mounted the steps of the
courthouse, after many changes of conveyance and
crosstown divergencies, a man brushed against her
with a swift glance at her scarred cheek. Without
the kit of tools and buttoned into a greatcoat which
covered him to his knees, she yet had no difficulty
in recognizing in him the erstwhile plumber's
assistant, and Detty's lips tightened. -
Others, then, beside Ross held her under espion-
age, and the mysterious words of the little dress-
maker, Miss Pope, flashed across her memory:
“Before you know it you'll be caught, too, and
you'll never be able to get free !” Had Mrs. Atter-
bury employed her in these errands not only for
their accomplishment but to identify her secretary
irrevocably with the organization of which she had
spoken? Was she to be scapegoat as well as cats-
paw P. The price she must pay for her temerity
was looming more sinisterly before her with each
passing hour, but her will was all the more in-
domitably fixed. Though she stood within the very
shadow of the law she would still fight on.
Finding her way with some difficulty to the grand
jury room, Betty presented her pass to the gray-
haired doorman. She had received it in a sealed
f


226 SUSPENSE
envelope from Mrs. Atterbury and had made no
attempt to tamper with it, but as the court atten-
dant extricated the card and read the words pen-
cilled upon it he eyed her with amazement, in which
an added respect was mingled, and without a word
led her to a seat apart from the other spectators.
It was near the press rail, facing the jury box
and almost on a line with the Bench, beside a nar-
row aisle leading to a single door. Betty seated
herself and once again her mission was temporarily
forgotten in absorbed interest in the scene before
her.
She had no difficulty in picking out the prisoner;
a mild-faced, sandy-haired little man, shrunken and
bowed in his place beside his lawyers. Just back
of him sat a slender woman in rusty black, whose
face was hidden from Betty's gaze and whose
tremulous hand reached out in pathetic tenderness
to the man before her.
Betty looked again at the prisoner and the
puzzled look in her eyes gave place to a flash of
recognition. She leaned forward in her chair,
agape with amazement and startled interest, until
the consciousness of shrewd glances from the
assembled representatives of the press made her
draw back in belated caution.
Vaguely, almost subconsciously, she observed the
stolid jury and the stern, inflexible countenance of
the judge. The faces of the spectators, too, passed


JUSTICE NODS 227
before her in meaningless review, not one impress-
ing itself individually upon her agitated mind.
As the case progressed, and witness succeeded
witness, it became evident that the whole defense
hinged upon an alibi which the prisoner's attorneys
found difficulty in proving. The testimony offered
was inconclusive and the prosecutor riddled it with
ease or blasted it with deftly turned ridicule.
The hideous story was gradually unfolded in all
its revolting detail, and Betty's heart sank within
her as the evidence, circumstantial, but damning,
was heaped upon the prisoner's bowed head. The
little woman behind him did not waver in her atti-
tude of protective tenderness and something in her
tremulous, almost furtive, gestures appealed to
Betty as being vaguely familiar, although the face
was still turned from her.
A particularly brilliant shaft of ironic wit from
the prosecutor created a stir of amusement among
the spectators and as the clerk of the court rapped
for order, Betty's eyes again sought the judge.
Beneath the huge mural painting of Justice he sat
immovable, his thin lips set in a straight line, his
cold, gray eyes fastened with grim intentness upon
the prisoner. No mercy tempered his jurisdiction,
she felt certain; no slightest benefit of a doubt
would be permitted to weigh in the scales for any
unfortunate mortal whose life might hang in the
balance. She shuddered, her gaze once more


228 SUSPENSE
descending to the little ignominiously isolated group
below and at that instant the woman behind the
prisoner turned her head and the cold light from
the tall window fell full upon her face.
It was little Miss Pope? The timid, nervous,
self-effacing seamstress who had warned her of
danger and begged her to leave almost beneath the
argus eyes of Mrs. Atterbury, and whose strange
words had returned to the girl's mind within the
hour, after a lapse of many eventful days, What
connection could exist between her and the wretched
creature at the Bar? Were Mrs. Atterbury's affairs
also somehow involved in this tragic crisis?
Her employer had declared herself uninterested
in the case herself and no mention had been made
of Miss Pope, yet she must have known the girl
would recognize her. The letter was to be de-
livered by a man; could it be that it would come
from the prisoner himself or one of his friends?
He seemed singularly alone in his trouble and sat
as if hypnotized, gazing straight before him in a
dull stupor of misery. Once his eyes met Betty's
and the girl swiftly paled, but there was no con-
sciousness of recognition in their fixed stare.
Until the morning session ended the girl sat
tense and motionless, listening to the testimony, but
only receiving a general impression of its tenor. A
conflict was raging within her, and she faced the
most vital problem which had ever presented itself


JUSTICE NODS 229
for her decision. Heretofore her path, beset with
difficulties as it was, had been plainly marked before
her and her will had driven her on relentlessly over
every obstacle, but now she had reached without
warning an insurmountable barrier and she hesi-
tated which course to pursue around it.
A rustle of papers and shuffling of feet in the
press enclosure and a concerted movement among
the spectators aroused her from her thoughts and
apprised her that court had adjourned. The judge
rose in all the awful majesty of his black robes
and sweeping down from the Bench, came toward
her along the narrow aisle. Betty noted the stern
preoccupation in his averted eyes and the grim,
inexorable set of his lean, shaven jaw and her vision
blurred in pity for the hapless victim of circum-
stances whose doom seemed already sealed.
The judge passed her so closely that his robe
fluttered against her knee; then he disappeared
through the door which led to his private chambers.
Betty, fumbling for her glove, glanced down into
her lap and then sat as if petrified with her eyes
fairly starting from her head.
There upon her knee, half hidden by her muff,
lay a small thick envelope, its square, blank expanse
staring up at her in uncompromising self-evidence!
The judge himself! Mrs. Atterbury's organization
must be indeed powerful when it could command
the services of an administrator of justice!


230 SUSPENSE
Betty slipped the envelope into the capacious
pocket of her cloak and rose as if in a trance. The
shock of surprise had fairly taken her breath away
and she strove vainly to collect herself as she lim-
gered in obedience to her employer's instructions
until only a few stragglers remained in the court-
room. Little knots of people had gathered in the
corridor outside and she was threading her way
through them when a convulsive clutch fell upon
her arm, and looking up hastily, she found herself
face to face with Miss Pope.
The little dressmaker's eyes were reddened and
sunken and she seemed to have aged many years
in the brief period that had elapsed since their last
meeting.
“Miss Shaw!” The name fell from her lips in a
quivering whisper. “You remember me, don't you?
I made those dresses for you at Mrs. Atter-
bury's—”
“Yes.” Betty took her hand in a little sympa-
thetic squeeze. “I remember you, of course, Miss
Pope. I recognized you in the courtroom and I
am so sorry that a friend of yours is in trouble.”
“He is my brother, and he is innocent!” The
whisper changed to a low wail, and she clung to
the girl’s arm as if for support. “Oh, Miss, you
don't know what it means to sit there day after
day and listen to them hounding him to his death,
knowing all the time that a word would save him!


JUSTICE NODS 281
But there's nobody to say it, and they'll send him
to the chair; him that never hurt a fly, he was so
tender-hearted ſ”
“Your brother!” Betty murmured. “But the
name—?” |
“My half-brother, I should say. He's fifteen
years younger than me, but he's all I have in the
world and I love him like a mother and sister in
one. Oh, Miss, if you only knew !”
“We cannot talk here.” Betty interrupted the
little woman's grief-stricken outburst and drew her
aside nervously. “I have not much time, I must
return almost at once, but I should so like to com-
fort you. You look faint and ill; isn't there a
lunchroom near where we can get some coffee?”
“There's a little place just around the corner
where I usually go, but I can't eat. It's just as if
my heart had settled up in my throat and closed it.”
Her face was working piteously. “I shall go crazy
if I can't talk to somebody, Miss. I feel as if each
hour was the end; that I couldn't go on any
longer.”
Betty led the way to the modest little restaurant
and when they were seated opposite each other at
the narrow, linoleum topped table and the order
given, she leaned compassionately toward her sor-
rowful guest.
“Tell me what you can, Miss Pope. I sympa-
thize with you deeply, more deeply than you know,


282 SUSPENSE
and I would do anything that I could to help you
in your trouble. I have not forgotten that you
tried to do me a good turn, even if you could not
explain, and I am grateful.”
Miss Pope's faded eyes lighted with sudden in-
terest.
“You’re still there, in that house? You haven't
been dismissed yet, and you are free to come and
go as you please! Oh, Miss Shaw, keep your eyes
open and think twice of anything you are asked
to do. Don't let yourself be led into what you
don't understand. I'm talking too much, I know,
but I can't seem to even think straight these days.”
She paused, and the old look of hopeless misery
dulled her eyes once more. “Since Robbie's wife
was killed, and they took him away, it seems as if
I'd lived in a nightmare.”
“How did it all happen?” asked Betty.
“Robbie and his wife lived apart. She's dead,
and the least said about her the better, but she
was a disgrace to a decent man. One morning,
about three months ago, they found her dead in
her bed with her head beaten in. Robbie was ques-
tioned, but he didn't know anything about it, he
hadn't seen her in nearly a year. He was left free
then and the police went after another man, but,
because they couldn't find him, they fastened on
Robbie again. You heard the evidence this morn-
ing, Miss. He has a temper, for all he's so meek-


JUSTICE NODS 233
looking, and he had cause enough to kill her,
Heaven knows, but he never did it, never, although
he had made threats, like anybody who is tried
beyond endurance.”
She paused in her rapid flow of words and wiped
her eyes on a wisp of handkerchief while Betty sat
silent, with every nerve taut.
“There was a terrible snowstorm, the biggest one
of the year, on the night she was killed,” Miss Pope
went on. “Robbie is the chauffeur for the King
family, of Hempstead; it's Mr. King who is paying
for the defense. He ordered Robbie to take the
car into town that night to meet some folks who
were arriving from the West, but Robbie never
got there; he was stalled in a snowdrift all night
on a lonely part of the road. That's why he's got
no alibi.”
“Did no one see him or talk to him?” Betty's
voice was low and strained.
“Only one person and we can't find her. She
won't come forward and speak for him; most
likely she forgot all about him an hour after,
although we've advertised and done everything we
* can.”
“Does he know who she is?” Betty asked, her
eyes upon her plate.
“No, Miss. It was some little time before he
got stalled, when he was plowing along in the storm
through that string of fashionable colonies on the


234 SUSPENSE
North Shore that run together with no beginning
or end. He doesn't rightly know where he was,
when somebody called out to him and he stopped
to see a young lady beside the road in a little run-
about car that had got stuck. The engine was
frozen and Robbie offered to tow her home,
although it would have been a hard job. The young
lady said it wasn't necessary, she didn't mind
leaving the car there all night if he would take
her to where she was going; that it wasn't far.
She perched herself up beside Robbie at the wheel
and directed him on the way, and a couple of miles
further on he set her down at a big house. He
wouldn't know it again if he saw it, because the
snow was driving so hard against the lights that
he could only see a few feet in front of him. The
young lady offered him some money but he
wouldn't take it. Oh, if she'd only come forward
now!”
Betty looked up slowly.
“Maybe she will. It isn't too late even now.”
“We've about given up hope.” Miss Pope shook
her head. “Robbie was in prison waiting for his
trial when I came to sew for you, but the lawyers
were so sure the young lady would be found and
his name cleared that I wasn't worrying, except
about the disgrace of his being suspected at all.”
“Does Mrs. Atterbury know of your trouble?”
The question came as an afterthought.


NAKED FOILS 237
vibrate until its dangling chains tinkled a protest.
The clock ticked off five slow minutes, then ten, and
the cigar butt between his strong white teeth was
chewed to a pulp before the door opened quietly
once more and Herbert Ross entered.
“You sent for me, sir?” His voice was gravely
respectful, and his clear eyes were very sober, as
he raised them steadily to meet those of his superior.
“Where the devil have you been?” McCormick's
tone was ominously calm.
“I came as quickly as a taxi would bring me,
sir.”
“I don't mean now.” The chief threw his cigar
butt into the cuspidor and seated himself with de-
liberation behind his desk. “I mean since your last
report; a report, let me remind you, which amounted
to nothing.”
“I have been working on the case, sir, as far as
I was able along the lines laid down at that time.
I thought it was understood that I was not to put
in an appearance until I had something definite to
report.”
“When would that have been?” McCormick
leaned back in his chair. “Look here, Ross, I've
sent for you because something is going on that I
don't understand, or rather I don't want to under-
stand it, the way things seem to lie now. I want
to give you a chance to explain, if you can. I’ve
taken a personal interest in you from the time you,
-


NAKED FOILS 239
detective waved his hand, as if brushing something
tangible aside. “The next thing I know you come
to me with a complete change of front and do your
level best to make me lay off the Ide matter, claim-
ii.g. to know that the Atterbury woman is too high
|up, socially and every other way, for anybody
around her place to be mixed in anything shady.
When I told you I had enough dope already to work
on and mentioned the girl with a scar on her face
you did everything you could to throw me off the
trail.” -
“That is rather a sweeping assertion, Chief.”
Ross's face had gone very white. “Mrs. Atterbury
is well known on the Street as one of the biggest
women traders, powerful enough to swing the mar-
ket in a crisis, and her social connections are irre-
proachable and of long standing. I know nothing
about the girl with the scar or any other member of
her household.”
“Don’t you?” The Chief eyed him steadily.
“When you reported to me in the Dumois case, you
said you had found one clue that looked promising
but that it didn't turn out to be the girl you were
after. But you didn't mention, Ross, that the girl
whose trail you dropped so quickly, without giving
Madame Dumois a chance to identify her, had a
scar on her face. Don't try to flim-flam me, the old
lady herself has tipped me off to that, and I tell you
the whole thing dovetails too well to be a coinci-


240 SUSPENSE
dence. Are you shielding that girl?—But no, I
should not have asked that, Ross. I have never yet
had cause to doubt your professional honor.”
The young man flushed darkly.
“Thank you, sir, I’m not going to make a fool of
myself and bring ridicule on the office by following
a wild goose chase. I hope I am experienced enough
to know when to drop a false clue! The girl I
located has had a mark upon her face from birth;
the one for whom Madame Dumois is searching has
no blemish whatever and never had. I have the
old lady's word for it and that is conclusive enough.
As for the other girl at Mrs. Atterbury's I have
nothing to say about her. She may be a daughter,
or a dependant for all I know.”
“Or a pretty shrewd accomplice!” McCormick
banged the desk and swung his chair around to face
his operative. “You remember the case J. Tod-
hunter Crane put in my hands? He'd done business
with a girl with a scar; Mrs. Haddon Cheever
brought a similar affair to my notice, but weakened.
She knew the result to her if the police got hold of
it, but she, too, described the girl. I’ve got enough
to take her on suspicion now, if I can get her iden-
tified, and things are coming to a head. The police
will beat me to it, if I don't hustle.”
“But what is a scar? If you are going to pull a
suspect on a serious charge with no other evidence
than that he or she has a birthmark, Chief, you're


NAKED FOILS 241
going to let yourself in for trouble.” The young
man's tone was a shade too eager and McCormick
watched him from beneath lowering brows. “You
can’t drag a woman of Mrs. Atterbury's position
through the mire unless you are mighty sure some
of it will cling to her skirts.”
“What if I tell you that I’ve got her already?
At least, not enough to tap her on the shoulder
with, but a line that connects her in a way she'll
find it hard to explain, with a lot that has puzzled
us for the past five years. In fact, ever since Brooke
Hamilton came to me from Chicago; you remember
the case?”
“Great Lord!” Herbert Ross shrank as if he had
received a sudden blow, and his voice was a hoarse
whisper. “You don't mean that Mrs. Atterbury
is mixed up in that—?”
“If I’m not mistaken, she's the brains of the
whole outfit. I’ll have to prove it, of course, but
I’m pretty confident that I can put it over. Oh, it's
not just that you spotted Ide outside her gate, or the
evidence of the girl—”
“Remember, I’m not certain about Ide. I warned
you of that!” The young man broke in, but his
superior smiled.
“I am. I could put my hand on him within an
hour, but I’m giving him a little more rope. You
know that Larne murder out in Denver the other
day?”


242 SUSPENSE
“Of course. ‘The Comet' they called her.”
“She was deep in the game and just on the point
of squealing when “Red” Rathbone put her out of
the way in a fit of jealousy, but we got to her for
a little dope first up in Wyoming, and it's a straight
tip to the North Drive bunch. Added to that, the
Professor is under lock and key out in Chicago;
we're holding him on the old Hamilton affair, but
I'm working on him, and I've got a hunch he's in
league with the others here. In fact, every clue
focuses true, and you mark my words, the round-
up will be the most sensational in years! My boy,”
McCormick rose and circling the desk, laid one
hand upon the younger man's shoulder. “It’s not
my habit to talk to my operatives about cases they're
not concerned with, but I can't help feeling that
you're in pretty deep in this. You haven't chosen
to be frank with me, but my cards are on the table,
and I'm going to speak plainer still. If you've been
fascinated by the scarred face, and let yourself be
kidded into the knight-errant stuff, forget it!
They're all tarred with the same brush and it's a
mighty black one!”
“I—I don't understand, sir!”
“Because you don't want to. Many a good fel-
low has fallen for the old injured innocence gag
and come to, to find his job gone, his career blasted
and no guy willing to trust him with a plugged
nickel. If there's another reason,” the Chief's face


NAKED FOILS 243
hardened perceptibly, “if this Atterbury woman's
financial resources have dazzled you, just remember
you're selling what you can't buy back again. A
lot of us believe we haven't got a price until the
offer is put up to us... I'm giving you a chance be-
fore you close the deal.”
“Bribery!” Ross stood as if turned to stone and
McCormick studied him with an almost paternal
anxiety. At length the younger man squared him-
self and said doggedly: “After that, sir, there's
only one thing left for me to say. Unless you take
me off it, I'll finish up the Dumois case, and I'll find
the girl if she's above ground. I don't think you
can recall a case that I've relinquished, admitting
failure. After that, I’m through; I'll hand in my
resignation to you and quit the game for good.”
“I’m sorry,” McCormick remarked simply, but
his face clouded in profound disappointment. “I
spoke as man to man, and I didn't think you'd fall
down this way. If you're on the level, Ross, for
God’s sake prove it! As to your resignation, we'll
discuss that later. I’ll be the first to apologize if
I’ve misjudged you, but you've got to show me. Go
out now and make good.”
There was an unaccustomed blur before Her-
bert Ross's eyes as for the only time in their long
association he left the presence of the Chief with-
out the cordial handclasp which had conveyed so
much of trust and understanding. He did not
e


NAKED FOILS 245
with her was taking possession of his thoughts,
when not a block from his destination he came upon
Betty herself just as she took an envelope furtively
from her muff and dropped it into a mail-box.
Jumping from the taxi, he dismissed the chauf-
feur summarily and hastened toward her. He
fancied that she looked pale and careworn in the
fresh morning sunlight, but when she saw him an
unmistakable light leaped into her eyes.
It died instantly, however, and she bowed with
cold aloofness, affecting not to notice his out-
stretched hand.
“Miss Shaw, I am not going to pretend that this
meeting is not of my seeking for I was on my way
to try to see you if I could.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“I fancied that our last meeting was quite con-
clusive, Mr. Ross.”
“I told you that I meant to be your friend,
whether you wished it or not, and it is as your
friend that I am here.” He spoke very gravely.
“Won't you let me walk with you for a little way?
What I have to say is vital to you and in speaking
I am practically betraying a trust, but I am con-
vinced that you stand in a false position; that
through no fault of your own, you are in actual
danger!”
Betty paused, regarding him steadily, but made
no comment.


246 SUSPENSE
“You know my name, but I can tell you nothing
more of myself; I can offer you no personal guar-
antees of my good faith. I only ask you to believe
that I speak with good authority. You may con-
sider it an unwarranted intrusion into your affairs,
but I must warn you. Miss Shaw, give up this
position you hold! Give it up on whatever pretext
is possible, or run away if you have to, only go at
once, before it is too late!”
“Mr. Ross, this is a most extraordinary request!
Will you be good enough to explain? My position
is a highly advantageous one; why should I re-
linquish it?”
“For your own safety. You do not know the
sort of trap you are in, or the people for whom you
are working. They are using you as a tool, and
worse—”
“I think you must be a little mad!” Betty ex-
claimed. “My employer is a most charming and
sympathetic person, the salary is high and the work
very congenial—But I don't know why I should
trouble to defend my occupation to you, Mr. Ross,
The little I know of you would not predispose me
in your favor, and your wild assertions are ridicu-
lous!”
“I cannot explain. Oh, won't you understand
that my hands are tied, and I can only warn you of
your danger? Please try to trust me, and believe
that I am trying to protect you.” In his eagerness


NAKED FOILS 247
he laid his hand upon her arm, but she shook it off
coldly.
“You cannot be in earnest! I am a secretary
and companion to a person whose reputation is un-
assailable. Surely you can tell me in what way am
I being used as a tool?”
“The letters you write, the commissions you exe-
cute for her! Are the letters always intelligible to
you? Do you know the real purpose of the errands
upon which you are sent and what lies behind
them?”
“Mr. Ross, your questions would be impertinent
if they could be taken seriously. Mrs. Atterbury's
correspondence is the usual one of a woman with
large financial interests and a host of friends.”
Betty spoke hastily, her calmly disdainful attitude
giving place to half-suppressed eagerness. “Every
letter passes through my hands and I may say that
her private affairs are an open book. Her charities
are innumerable and her friends come to her with
all their troubles, sure of help and comfort. The
errands I attend to for her are such as anyone who
disliked shopping would relegate to another. Really,
you have been grossly misinformed; I am in no
trap, I can assure you.”
Herbert Ross gazed at her flushed face with eyes
that had narrowed swiftly. Her change of manner
was too palpable to be spontaneous, and it had come
only when he had betrayed a knowledge of her


248 SUSPENSE
activities. She might be a tool indeed but a willing
one, closing her eyes to what she did not wish to
see. Although his whole nature rebelled against the
thought, a fertile seed of doubt was sown.
“It can't bel” He seemed to muse aloud. “You
are inexperienced, trusting, blind! You believe
what you are told by this woman, and completely
under her influence, but you must open your eyes
to the truth. Surely the thought must have come
to you at times that everything was not well; have
you never had a misgiving?”
She lifted her eyes to his in a bland, wondering
Stare.
“Misgiving of what? If we are to continue this
conversation, Mr. Ross, you really must not talk in
riddles. What could be wrong?”
His detective instinct was uppermost now and
he realized that instead of quizzing her, he himself
was being shrewdly drawn out. Was she trying to
discover how much he really knew that she might
the better arm herself against him? The seed had
not taken firm root as yet, however, and in a swift
revulsion of feeling he inwardly cursed his momen-
tary suspicion. Her eyes were as clear and steady
as the sun' Surely they could mask no scheming,
no subterfuge. Yet if McCormick had spoken truly,
the most innocent and unsophisticated mind must
have found food for puzzled thought in that house
of mystery.


NAKED FOILS 249
“Nothing has ever occurred, no slightest whisper
or suggestion from Mrs. Atterbury or her friends
to lead you to feel that something was going on
which you could not understand? Think, Miss
Shaw ! You are not stupid; surely some inkling
of the truth must have reached you.”
“Mr. Ross, you refuse to speak plainly and I
cannot imagine what you are hinting, but I can see
that you are really in earnest, and there is a terrible
mistake somewhere. Mrs. Atterbury's friends are
people of the world, learned men and brilliant
womer, whom it is an education as well as a pleasure
for a girl like me to meet. Believe me, you are
laboring under an absurd illusion! I am very happy
in my position and I would not think of giving it
up and going away for no reason.” -
“I can easily obtain another for you,” he pleaded.
“You will not suffer by the change. This woman
is nothing to you; surely you would be willing to
relinquish this for a better position—”
“Nothing could induce me to leave Mrs. Atter-
bury.” Betty spoke with calm finality, but across
her face had flitted unbidden that hardened, crafty
expression which robbed it of its candid charm,
and sudden, passionate determination flashed from
her eyes. It was gone in an instant but not before
Herbert Ross had grasped its significance and his
latent suspicion burst into full flower.
“They are all tarred with the same brush.” The


250 SUSPENSE
Chief had spoken with a wisdom which no puerile
emotion had stultified, and Ross's heart turned to
lead within him.
“Then there is nothing further for me to say.
I have warned you, I have done my utmost to pro-
tect you, but if you wilfully refuse to listen to me
you must abide by the consequences.” His voice
trembled in spite of himself and he cried out in
bitter denunciation: “There must be some desper-
ate game of your own which you are playing here!
If you are not an active accomplice of this woman,
what hidden purpose holds you to this house, what
common bond links you with these people? Who
are you, what have you done that others should
hunt you down, and what are you doing now?”
The girl's face blanched swiftly, but her eyes
blazed a menace and she drew herself up to her full
height before him.
“I have listened patiently to your vague melo-
dramatic attack upon my employer and her friends,
but you have gone too far, Mr. Ross, when you ex-
tend your mad accusations to me! You have fol-
lowed me, spied upon me, but this final insult is too
much to be endured ' I must ask you not to annoy
me again. Let me pass, please!”
He stepped back almost mechanically as with her
head proudly erect she swept by him and on down
the Drive. His gaze followed her until she disap-
peared, his thoughts a chaos of conflicting emotion.


NAKED FOILS 251
The swift light which had glowed in her eyes at
the moment of their meeting only to be so quickly
effaced, her refusal of his proffered hand, the atti-
tude of disdainful aloofness which she has main-
tained, until driven to the wall, and then her simu-
lation of naive innocence—what could these chang-
ing moods portend? She had striven desperately
to disarm his suspicion and when that failed had
met him with passionate defiance.
If she were innocent of deliberate voluntary com-
plicity in the machinations of Mrs. Atterbury, would
not a girl in her position have welcomed the oppor-
tunity of fleeing from such a situation? She must
be more than a mere tool, and yet
It could not be true! Her little sensitive face,
piquant despite its scar, rose once more before his'
mental vision. Her clear steady eyes seemed
searching his own, proudly yet piteously implor-
ing. He must believe in her! In spite of appear-
ances which would have been conclusive proof to
any other man, he must have faith to the end.
But why should he disdain that proof if anyone
else would have accepted it? Why should he be-
lieve in her? What was she to him that he must
struggle to find excuses for her in his own mind,
champion her against all reason, hold desperately to
a blind faith where no grounds for it existed?
Then all at once a swift self-revelation came and
his heart gave a mighty leap within him as he


NAKED FOILS 253
“Where have you been?” There was a menacing
undercurrent in the level unemotional tones, but the
girl chose desperately to ignore it.
“I went for a walk. You gave me permission,
Mrs. Atterbury.”
“Who is the young man with whom you were
talking?”
Betty's eyes opened widely.
“I don’t know.” Her hand had flown to her
breast and chance directed her fingers to the little
brooch she wore. On a swift inspiration she added:
“I dropped my scarab and he came along and found
it for me. I thanked him, naturally.”
Mrs. Atterbury hesitated eying the girl's candid
face keenly.
“You’did not enter into conversation with him?
He asked you no personal questions, did not seek
to draw you out about yourself?” The wrath had
given place to a cautious repressed note, and Betty
took instant advantage of the hesitancy.
“Certainly not!” Her tone was the epitome of
wounded pride and resentment. “I am not in the
habit of forming promiscuous acquaintances. If I
have given you such an impression, Mrs. Atterbury,
I am very sorry—”
“My dear, you must not be offended.” A smile
curved the set lips and her employer laid a concilia-
tory hand upon her arm. “I spoke only for your
well being; I feel responsible for you, you know,


254 SUSPENSE
and a young girl cannot be too careful, especially
in a huge city like this. Come, we will say no more
about it, child, but do not talk to strangers upon any
pretext whatever, and let me know instantly if any-
one tries to converse with you or engage your at-
tention.”
For the rest of the day Betty maintained an atti-
tude of reproachful dignity, however, which enabled
her to keep to herself and gave her ample time to
formulate her immediate plans. Events were
rapidly approaching a crisis, and she realized that
not an hour could be lost.
At midnight she stole forth, the half-consumed
candle from her dressing-table serving in lieu of her
electric torch, and was descending the stairs, when
a dim flickering glow from the music room made
her pause in affright. She had assured herself that
the household had long since retired to slumber;
who, then, was this nocturnal intruder? Could it
be Wolvert, lying in wait for her?
Hastily blowing out her candle flame, she crept
down the stairs and peered cautiously in at the door
of the music-room. A huge portrait of Beethoven
covered a central space in the left wall and before
it, silent and motionless, stood a tall figure in a
straight, white gown.
The girl paused in awed amazement; there was
something detached and remote about the strange
apparition, like a worshipper at some mysterious


CHAPTER XV.
The Portrait of Beethoven.
flowing white threaded its way unerringly
among the grouped furniture and passing
her so closely that she might have stretched forth
her hand and touched it, glided through the door-
way and up the stairs. The light she carried
glimmered with diminishing radiance until it was
suddenly extinguished and there came the echo
of a softly-closing door.
The girl waited motionless, her very heartbeats
stilled for an interminable length of time, but the
house remained wrapped in utter darkness and no
sound disturbed the eerie silence.
At last, convinced that the somnambulist had
settled once more to rest and that no eye but her
own had witnessed the weird visitation, Betty ven-
tured from her hiding place, and groping her way
to the smokers’ star.u, procured a match. Its flame
sputtered angrily in her fingers as she applied it to
her candle and she glanced about her in fresh terror
lest its stroke had been heard, but the shadows were
empty.
Bº: held her breath as the tall figure in
256


PORTRAIT OF BEETHOVEN 257
With faltering steps she approached the portrait
and stood for long gazing into the benign eyes
which seemed to meet hers with an almost living
response. What was there about the huge picture
which had so impressed itself upon her employer's
unquiet mind that her subconscious instinct drew
her to it? Surely not the subject alone, for Mrs.
Atterbury had never evinced the slightest interest
in it in the girl's presence.
Betty stepped back a few paces and regarded the
portrait critically. Including the massive gold
frame which surrounded it, the space it occupied
was approximately five feet by eight or ten, and
it had been hung with no consideration of the light-
ing effect, either from window or chandelier. The
spacing, too, was bad, and its position was far too
low upon the wall.
Had there been some special design in placing
it there? Was it merely for ornamental purposes,
or did it serve as a screen for something behind?
Betty thought of the bookcase in the library which
swung out, masking the safe that had been built
into the wall; could it be that within a few paces
of her another and more secret repository was
concealed?
The frame appeared as though it had not been
moved from its place for years, its dull burnished
gold seemingly embedded in the wall and the ivory
tint of the paper behind it was unsullied by even


PORTRAIT OF BEETHOVEN 259
It gave beneath her hand and she stepped back
quickly as the portrait itself lurched and swung
widely out from the frame, grazing her shoulder
before she could spring aside from its path. At
the same instant a bell shrilled loudly through the
sleeping house and its echo had not died away
before a hubbub of voices arose from above.
Betty paused only to give a maddened push with
all the strength of her terror behind it, to the
picture which yawned from the wall, then turning,
she fled wildly to the stairs.
Her candle was extinguished in the sudden
draught, but she had found the banisters and glided
up as swiftly and silently as a ghost. Lights ap-
peared behind her as she rounded the corner of
the hall, but she reached her room without en-
countering anyone and turned the key softly in the
lock behind her.
The steady gleam of the live coals in the grate
illuminated the room with a rosy glow and Betty
thrust her candle end deep into the smoldering
embers. Then, taking a fresh, unused one from
the many-branched sconce above the mantel, she
placed it in the candlestick upon her dressing table
from which she had taken the first.
Loosening her robe, she jumped into bed, and
pulling the covers about her, lay listening to the
hubbub outside. She could clearly distinguish in
the general uproar the high-pitched staccato voice


260 SUSPENSE
of Madame Cimmino and Welch's deep-throated
bellow of rage.
The sounds came nearer and she heard a thun-
dering knock upon a door down the hall. A
startled cry from Mrs. Atterbury answered it and
a door was slammed back. An excited babel arose
once more, and high above it Madame Cimmino
shrilled:
“It was you! You have walked again! See,
here is your candle half burned and still warm, and
there are drops of wax upon the floor before the
picture. Would you ruin us all that you will not
have a guard at night?”
Another murmur, and then the voice of Wol-
vert, smooth and silky, dominated the others.
“It is all right, Marcia. The portrait is back
in its place. You must have closed it before you
came upstairs, although it is a mystery to me how
you reached your room so quickly. I thought som-
nambulists moved step by step, but you must have
fairly flown. I wonder that the alarm did not
awaken you, or our lights and yells, but at least
no harm has been done.” -
His last words conveyed a swift suggestion to
the girl's mind, and lest she court suspicion by
effacing herself, she sprang from bed, and switch-
ing on the lights, opened the door.
“What is the matter? Is anyone ill?” She
blinked realistically in the sudden glare and her


PORTRAIT OF BEETHOVEN 261
clear, young voice rang out above the others.
Madame Cimmino turned like an avenging fury. *
“What is it to you?” she screamed. “Go back
to your bed and do not meddle! Sancta Maria!
Must we find you always at our heels? This comes
of admitting an outsider—”
“Speranza, you are beside yourself!” Mrs.
Atterbury's voice, poised and dominant once more,
broke in sternly. “You have been startled, I know,
but that does not excuse your lack of self-control.
Everything is quite all right, Betty. Welch
happened to touch one of the wires of the burglar
alarm and aroused the house. Don't allow it to
disturb you, it was just a stupid mistake.”
Betty closed her door with a little sigh of relief
for her narrow escape, and the confusion of voices
in the hall gradually subsided until silence reigned
once more. Mrs. Atterbury's burned candle and
the wax which had fallen from her own combined
to form unassailable if falsely corroborative evi-
dence that her employer alone had been in the music
room, and Betty breathed a prayer of thankfulness
for the fortuitous chance which had saved her from
exposure. The portrait of Beethoven was before
her eyes when she at length fell asleep, and in the
darkness, as her heavy lids closed, she seemed again
to see it swing from its massive frame and in the
aperture loomed that which she had scarcely noted
in the excitement of the moment; the dull sheen of


262 SUSPENSE
a sheet of steel, with the combination knob in the
center. The safe was there as she had suspected,
but would chance, which had served her so well that
night, enable her to glimpse what lay within it?
Her first waking thought reverted to it in the
morning, but when she descended at the sound of
the breakfast gong she sensed a new tension in the
atmosphere which put her instantly on her guard.
Mrs. Atterbury was in her accustomed place at
the head of the table but she avoided the girl's eyes
as she bade her good morning and her level tones
were oddly shaken. Welch turned from the side-
board at the sound of her voice and the silver dish-
cover which he held clattered to the floor. His face
was pasty and gray and he stared at Betty in a sort
of horror until a sharp word from his hostess sent
him hastily about his duties.
Madame Cimmino pushed back her plate abruptly
and swept from the room as the girl seated herself,
and Wolvert glanced up with a nod, but his usually
facile tongue was stilled and his eyes seemed to
blaze as they rested upon her. Into his expression
Betty read a shadow of that terror which had lurked
there on two previous occasions and when she
turned in growing wonder to her employer she
found stamped upon her face also a look of dazed
consternation akin to fear.
She drank her coffee and essayed to eat with her
face averted, feeling that their eyes were fixed upon
*


PORTRAIT OF BEETHOVEN 263
her in an intensity which seemed to burn into her
consciousness. Had they discovered some clue to
her presence in the music room on the previous
night? Did they know that it was she who had
tampered with the portrait and were they even now
planning her punishment?
The food choked her and the ghastly pretense of
a meal seemed unending, but at last Mrs. Atterbury
roSe.
“You need not attend to the mail this morning,
my dear.” She tried to speak casually, but the odd
quaver persisted in her tones. “I shall be too busy
to dictate replies, and it will have to wait until
another time. There is a pile of mending in the
sewing-room, however, which I wish you would go
over carefully.”
Betty accepted her dismissal and ascended to the
secluded room on the top floor, where she spent a
lonely and anxious morning. The hours dragged
and the silence wrought upon her nerves until she
bit her lips to keep from shrieking out in the sheer
agony of protracted suspense. Why were they
waiting to visit their vengeance upon her if they
were assured of her guilt? Anything would be
better than this hideous uncertainty.
That the task which had been arranged for her
was the most transparent of subterfuges for getting
lier out of the way became apparent when she ex-
amined the work laid out upon the table. The linen


264 SUSPENSE
was of the coarsest variety, evidently from the
servants' quarters, and it had long outlived its use-
fulness. It was yellowed, too, and creased, as
though it had been laid away, forgotten in some
musty recess, and she made but little progress, her
thread tearing through the frail, worn fabric with
each stitch.
What was going on below? Her window opened
upon a rear view and from it she could see only the
tops of the cedars, and the garage roof, but no
sound of a motor approaching or leaving the house
came to her in her solitude and she felt cut off from
all the world.
The silence within doors remained unbroken, save
once when she fancied that the echo of faint, hyster-
ical sobbing reached her ears, but she could not be
sure that her overstrained nerves were not playing
her false.
Gradually the conviction grew within her that the
ill-suppressed excitement and dismay were due to
some cause other than the event of the night before,
yet something which concerned her vitally. She
could not forget the glances of horror and fear
• which had been directed at her. What could it be?
/What contingency had arisen of which she herself
was in ignorance, yet which wrought the others to
a condition bordering on panic? Was it that
through her they dreaded interference and possible
disaster from an outside source?


266 SUSPENSE
please you very much, and we will have an oppor-
tunity to talk privately there.”
Betty turned obediently and side by side they
went up the stair. In spite of the indulgent tone,
the girl was filled with foreboding, but Mrs. Atter-
bury was still smiling as she closed the door and
motioned Betty to a low chair near the window.
“I want to speak to you, Betty, about the birth-
mark on your cheek.” She began without preface.
“I am afraid that you must have thought me need-
lessly tyrannical in ordering you to go unveiled, but
it was the only way to put a stop to the self-con-
sciousness which was growing upon you and would
only have increased until your life became a burden.
When I engaged you, you assured me that you did
not mind the mark, and scarcely ever thought of it,
but you were unaccustomed to the city and did not
realize that strangers will stare at anything unusual
in your appearance. Have you ever made an at-
tempt to have the blemish removed?”
Betty gazed at her in wordless astonishment for
a moment before she found her voice.
“Oh, yes, but it could not be done, and the doctors
tell me that only a worse disfigurement would result
from tampering with it. I did try once, but I hurt
myself dreadfully. I really don't mind going un-
veiled now, Mrs. Atterbury.”
“But you would be glad if the blemish did not
exist?” Her tone was beguilingly insinuating. “It


PORTRAIT OF BIFETHOVEN 267
cannot be wholly eradicated, of course, but I have
learned of a method of treatment by which it could
be rendered almost invisible. I was interested on
your account, child, and procured the necessary
materials. I have them here.”
“Oh, please, no!” Betty cried in genuine alarm.
“I would not dare use acids or anything of that
sort! When I attempted it before, it nearly caused
blood-poisoning. Nothing could induce me to ex-
pose myself to such danger a second time.”
“But, my dear, this is absolutely harmless. Do
you think I would suggest or even permit you to
run any risk of injury?” She opened a drawer of
her dressing table and took from it several small
jars and a camel's hair brush. “It does not act
upon the birthmark itself and would not irritate the
most sensitive skin. It is merely a covering which
almost defies detection. This solution of wax forms
a sort of enamel and the other jars contain merely
paint to produce a natural effect. I do not approve
of cosmetics for young girls on general principles,
but this is a different matter, and you will marvel
at the result. The birthmark will seem to have
disappeared absolutely.”
“But won't that militate against my usefulness,
Mrs. Atterbury?” The girl looked unflinchingly
into her eyes. “The people you send me to meet
identify me by means of this mark. How will they
recognize me if it is covered?”


268 SUSPENSE
Mrs. Atterbury drew her breath in sharply be-
tween her teeth, and her fingers tightened about the
little jar, but she replied coolly:
“You will not be called upon to go on any errands
of that sort for some time to come. In describing
your appearance the scar was naturally mentioned
but it is not essential for your identification. Re-
member I am not asking you to hide it solely for
your own benefit, Betty. I find that it has a dis-
agreeable effect upon my guests and those about us
in the household and I am considering their feelings
as well as yours when I insist that you disguise it
as much as possible. This may seem brutally frank
to you, but you know that the blemish makes no
difference to me personally, nor to anyone who
really cares for you. Come, sit here, and let me
show you what a magical change I can effect.”
Betty drew back and stood very straight and tall
before her employer.
“I am sorry, Mrs. Atterbury, but I cannot allow
anyone to touch my face. You are very kind to
have taken this interest in me and I appreciate it. I
will gladly accept the preparations and use them
myself if you will give me the directions, but if
anyone else attempted it I should go mad with
nervous torture. I hope you understand; I may
seem abnormally sensitive to you, but I really could
not endure it.”
Mrs. Atterbury, with a shrug, capitulated:


PORTRAIT OF BIFETHOVEN 269
“Very well, my dear, you must do as you like, of
course. The directions are upon each jar. Use it
this afternoon and let me see at dinner how much
it has improved your appearance.”
Betty took the articles murmuring her thanks and
went to her own room. There she carefully ex-
tracted a small quantity of their contents from each
of the jars, wrapped it in paper and burnt it in the
grate. This done she seated herself before her
dressing-table, and with cosmetics of her own ap-
plied herself to her task.
She worked long and painstakingly, but at length
the result was achieved to her satisfaction and she
sat back and surveyed herself in the mirror.
The mark was almost obliterated, only the faint-
est shadow of deeper color showing beneath the
rose-pink glow which tinted her cheeks from brow
to neck, and with the disfigurement banished her
whole expression changed. It was as if a different
personality were reflected before her, and Betty's
first gleam of pleasure at her handiwork gave place
to a little frown of doubt and uncertainty, not un-
mixed with trepidation. What motive lay behind
this suggestion from Mrs. Atterbury?
At dusk when Betty descended the stairs she dis-
covered a man standing in the shadowed doorway
of the drawing room. At first she though it was
Wolvert, but a second glance showed that the in-
truder was of more slender build and younger, and


274 SUSPENSE
peace, but Mrs. Atterbury's voice sounded from the
hall and she knew that at any moment the others
would descend for dinner. Why had Ross taken
this desperate chance to communicate with her?
Was it to implore forgiveness for his accusation, or
in final warning of disaster?
She fumbled at her breast in a desperate impulse
to brave discovery if necessary but to glean at all
costs the purport of his message, when the door
opened and Welch stood on the threshold, announc-
ing dinner.
How she managed to struggle through the hour
that followed she could scarcely remember. The
expression of half-startled amazement with which
the others greeted her changed appearance and the
awkward attempt to bridge over their surprise
lingered but vaguely in her thoughts. She could
feel their gaze turning to her again and again in the
pauses of the disjointed conversation, but she kept
her face assiduously averted, fearing lest they read
in her eyes the knowledge she had gained from the
charred fragment of paper.
To her relief Mrs. Atterbury dismissed her as
soon as the meal was concluded, drawing her aside
at the foot of the stairs to whisper commendingly:
“My dear, the improvement is marvellous, as I
told you it would be. Use the wax regularly in
: future and you will have no cause to pity yourself,
I can assure you. No one would believe there was


276 SUSPENSE
Opening her door softly, Betty listened to the
low murmur of voices from below. It seemed to
come from the music room, and she waited until she
had distinguished each voice and assured herself
that all three of Mrs. Atterbury's guests were with
her before venturing down the hall.
The main staircase was out of the question and
she chose the one at the rear. It descended to the
servant's quarters, but she knew that the cook had
long since retired and the rattle of silverware told
her that Welch was busied in the dining-room.
There remained only Caroline to be considered and
she was seldom in evidence at this hour.
Betty moved to the head of the stairs and listened
again intently. No sound penetrated from the
lower regions of the house and the hall light was
dim. Cautiously, with her heart pounding in her
throat, she descended to a narrow landing midway
of the staircase, when the kitchen door was sud-
denly opened emitting a broad stream of light and
Caroline appeared, bearing a steaming pitcher.
Trapped, Betty glanced wildly about her and saw
a small door at the left of the landing. Flinging it
open she sprang into the black void beyond, her
forehead striking smartly against the edge of a
shelf. As she grasped it to steady herself her
, fingers came in contact with glass jars placed solidly
in rows; evidently she had stumbled into a store-
closet.


THE CLOSING NET 277
Behind her she heard slow heavy steps mounting
the stairs and she scarcely breathed as they paused
on the landing within arm's length of her refuge.
Had the woman seen her? But even as the fear
gripped her, Betty heard the complaining creak of
the stairs once more and the ponderous tread “
ascended, diminishing to silence along the upper
hall.
Waiting no longer, she slipped from the closet
and fairly flew down to the kitchen. Welch had not
yet made his rounds and the heavy back door, un-
latched, swung wide at her touch. With a sob of
thankfulness she found herself out in the pine-
scented darkness, with only the whisper of the wind
in the evergreens and the distant shriek of whistles
upon the river to break the silence. She was free!
There was a low light in the upper story of the
garage and with it to guide her she sped around the
corner of the house on the opposite side from that
on which the music room was located, crouching
low beneath the window sills and darting from one
sheltering clump of trees to another. She found
the path but the darkness confused her and more
than once she strayed from it to strike against a
wide spreading branch or sink to her knees in a
tangle of underbrush.
The distance seemed interminable to the gate, and
Betty was commencing to fear that she had lost her
way when a low rumbling growl reached her ears,


278 SUSPENSE
and a cautious masculine voice, silencing it, brought
a soft little cry from her own lips.
“I knew it must be you!”
Although they had parted in bitterness and anger
she" seemed to have forgotten it, for her hand
reached out and found his in the black void of the
night.
For a long minute they stood silently together,
then a pleading paw raked at her knee, and Demon's
eyes glistened up to her in reproachful greeting.
With a murmured laugh that was half a sob Betty
released her hand and stooping, patted the great
shaggy head.
“You had my note?” Ross's tone was breathless,
“I thought that fellow was to be trusted! The dog
came to me a half-hour ago but he remembered my
voice and I kept him here for fear he would mistake
you in the dark and attack you. You must listen
to me. Whatever you think of me, whether you are
still resentful or not makes no difference now. You
are in frightful danger and you must escape from
these people while you can. Come! We have no
time to lose. There is a car waiting around the
corner and your absence from the house may be
discovered at any moment.”
Betty slowly drew back.
“Come where?” she asked. “My place is here.”
“Here? In this den of criminals? Here to wait
until the house is surrounded and you are captured


THE CLOSING NET 279
witt, the rest to face the hideous ignominy of a
trial? Do you know what you are guilty of in the
eyes of the law? Not only compounding a felony
but being accessory after the fact to a murder! Not
the most adroit counsel could save you from im-
prisonment, if not worse!” -
“Murder!” Betty's voice was a mere whisper.
“Do you know that a man was done to death be-
neath that roof even while it sheltered you? That
the police and every detective in the country have
been moving heaven and earth to find a clue to his
murderers and a trail has been picked up which
leads unmistakably here? Even if you know noth-
ing about it you must have seen it in the papers;
they've been full of the case for nearly three weeks,
ever since the body was found—”
“I know.” She spoke in unguarded haste. “You
mean Breckenridge. I saw his picture in a paper
which I bought downtown and, I recognized
him—” -
“Recognized him!” repeated Ross, aghast. “Do
you mean that you were dragged into even this?
You knew him?”
“I saw him once.” Betty hesitated and then went
on impetuously as if glad to rid herself of the
hideous burden she had borne so long. “I came
downstairs alone at midnight, and I found him lying
dead upon the floor. I don't know how he got in
or who killed him. There wasn't the slightest trace


THE CLOSING NET 281
“Oh, my dear, give it up and come away with
me!” He had drawn close to her and the thrilling
tenderness in his tone made the blood leap in her
veins. “I will take you where you will be safe,
r where not a breath of this hideous monster of crime
can touch you. You are the bravest little woman
in the world but you are acting from a mistaken
sense of loyalty, I know, I feel it. Dear, I love
you! Whatever you think of me, whatever the
future may hold, I love you! When I have seemed
to be hounding you down I was trying always to
protect you. Before I knew the truth, when every-
thing seemed blackest against you and I believed
the worst I loved you. Criminal or not, I wanted
to hold you against all the world! Won't you trust
me, dear? Won't you let me save you while there
is yet time?”
“Oh, please!” Betty cried a trifle breathlessly.
“You cannot realize what you are saying. You
know nothing of me, nothing, and as to my leaving
here, I–I am not free to go.”
“And do you think that I will allow you to re-
main here another hour?” he cried. “Do you think
* that I will let you face this unspeakable danger, you
whom I love?—For I do love you, Betty! Whether
you believe me or not, whether you listen or turn
from me, I love you! That is why I trusted you
from the first, believed in you when appearances
were blackest, had faith, blindly, instinctively


282 SUSPENSE
-
against reason and logic and circumstantial evidence
of the most conclusive kind! The net is closing
around this horrible high priestess of crime and her
accomplices; it will be only a matter of hours now
before the end. Oh, my dear, drive this mad,
quixotic idea from your thoughts and come with
me!” -
Betty slowly retreated a step or two from him.
“I do believe in you—in your friendship, I mean.
I know that you want to help me, that you have
my interests, my very safety at heart and I am
grateful. But there is something stronger than the
fear of death. Don't make it any harder for me
than it is. I realize my position; I know the danger
in which I stand alone, the end that waits for me
if they discover my purpose, or the consequences
if the police come. And still I must remain! No
power on earth can move me!”
“I can't believe you do fully realize your danger!”
Ross pleaded. “I did not mean to tell you, I did
not want to frighten you until I had taken you to a
place of safety, but dear, you must know the truth.
It is not the Atterbury creature or the others of her
gang for whom the police are searching, but you—
you! The newspapers today fairly blazed with it
and every detective in the city is out after ‘the girl
with the scar'ſ Do you know what you have been
doing, what you have been guilty of on these com-
missions as the tool of this woman?”



f
-
- - -
THE CLOSING NET: 283
“Yes,” answered Betty quietly. “I knew, but if
I had refused, someone else would have gone in my
place and I would have been dismissed, my own
plan thwarted. I suppose I was hard and bitter,
but it seemed to me that the ends justified any
means. Those people came voluntarily to meet me;
they had an alternative but they made their choice.
If I had gone to the police myself I would not only
have defeated my own purpose, but theirs also. Let
the detectives search for the girl with the scar! I
am safe until they trace me here and by that time I
may have succeeded in my plan. No one can know
where I am to be found but you, and I am not
afraid that you will betray me!”
“But I have!” he groaned. “My chief knows.
As a private detective myself I was employed in the
first place to find you, you can guess by whom. My
chief learned that I was on the trail of a girl with
a scar and he thinks I’ve double-crossed him and
gone crooked in trying to protect you. He's honest
and he's got bull-dog courage; you can’t bluff him
or buy him.”
“Not even with information?” Betty asked on a
swift inspiration. “Will he hold off for only a day
or two, just to give me another chance, if you can
tell him something that will be of great value to
Phim?”
“What do you mean, dear? What have you
learned?” The question sprang eagerly from his


º ºº
284 , . SUSPENSE
lips. “I could not bribe McCormick, but I might
stall him until I can take you out of his reach—”
“McCormick!” A sentence she had read a week
before stood out across the girl's consciousness in
letters of fire. “Listen! There's a man who uses
the title of Professor—Professor Stolz, they called
him here—who has just been arrested in Chicago.”
Ross uttered a startled exclamation, but she went
On :
“I believe he has escaped or broken parole before,
because he is being held on an old verdict concern-
ing someone named Hamilton, but your Mr. Mc-
Cormick is trying to find new evidence against him.
He's an accomplice of Mrs. Atterbury and the evi-
dence is in this house. Have you ever heard of a
woman called ‘The Comet’ ”
“Yes! Maisie Larne! She was murdered in
Denver, in a fit of jealousy, by a man nicknamed
“Red” Rathbone—” -
“She was murdered because she sold out Mrs..
Atterbury's accomplice, this person called ‘Red,’ to
detectives in Laramie, Wyoming, and they com-
municated with the federal authorities in Washing-
ton, and spoiled that particular plot. “Red” escaped
to Denver, she followed him and she was killed by *
a man known as ‘Bud’—”
“Bud Malone! And we never suspected it! The
Chief will get him—” -
“He’s on his way to Japan,” interrupted Betty.
º º - º


{
- -
THE CLOSING NET 285
“Then he is as good as in our hands! We will
have all the ports watched and he can’t escape,”
Ross cried. Then impetuously he held out his hands
to her. “I can't endure it that all this hideous
knowledge should have come to you! It is as if you
were being steeped in defilement! You know that
you can trust me! Tell me what this impossible
task is which you have set your hand to. Let me
undertake it for you, let me bear the burden?”
“Please, please don't ask me! You cannot help
me, no one can. I must see it through alone!”
“Then you—you mean that I am to leave you
here?” His arms dropped to his sides. “Nothing
can move you? I may not even stay to protect you,
lest I draw suspicion upon you! I can't! No man
could leave the woman he loved in such peril!
What if Tºwere to take you away now by sheer
force?”
“But you will not.” Betty spoke softly but with
absolute finality. “I trusted you, I came to you
here because you asked it, you will not take ad-
vantage of my faith to destroy it. And you must
not mention—love. I am grateful to you for risk-
ing your chief's displeasure, your very career for
my sake, but I must stand alone. There is stern
work ahead of me and I shall succeed; I feel it in
my very heart and nothing can make me turn from
that which lies before me.”
Herbert Ross drew a deep breath and his voice


286 SUSPENSE
was husky with pent-up emotion as he said
solemnly:
“Then may God keep you, dear! It may be that
you are right; such bravery as yours should have
its reward, no matter what your object may be.
Remember that day and night I shall be on guard
as near as I can get to you without bringing harm
upon your head. Take this and wear it; do not
leave it for an instant out of reach, and if danger
threatens you blow as loudly as you can upon it.
A man will be stationed where he can hear it and
pass the signal along, and you will find me at your
side. I must not keep you now, but God! how I
dread to let you go back into their clutches!”
Betty fingered the slender chain he had placed
about her neck. A whistle hung upon it and she
thrust it quickly beneath her cloak.
“I shall not forget, nor be afraid, knowing that
you are here. I am glad, too, that you do not think
me a criminal, even if I have broken the law. When
I thought that you were trailing me, spying upon
me, I felt that I hated you, but now—”
“‘Now’?” he repeated gently, as she hesitated.
“I am deeply grateful, and we—we shall be
friends.” Betty held out her hand once more, but
shyly this time. “Thank you, oh, thank you for all
that you have done for me, for all that you would
do, and—goodnight.”
He took her small hand,in both his own and held


THE CLOSING NET 287
it tightly for a moment without words. Then she
slowly withdrew it and turning moved off into the
darkness with the great dog trotting noiselessly at
her heels.
For the first time since she had entered that house
her spirit was light within her and a great peace and
contentment filled her heart. Despite the danger in
which she stood, all fear had fallen from her, for
was not he there, on guard? Surely nothing would
harm her now, no power of darkness or evil would
touch her while he waited there, while that little
whistle hung about her neck to summon him to her
aid. He had believed in her when all the world
would have doubted, because he cared for her. And
she? -
Betty stopped in the wintry path and her clasped
hands flew to her breast. What could this strange
feeling of happiness mean, which had come to her
in the face of her danger, and why had that danger
itself become minimized at the mere thought of his
watchful presence. Why did she trust him so
wholly? Could it be that her faith, her trust in
turn, was rooted in something deeper than friend-
... ship?
Even as she asked herself the question, the girl's
own heart, awakened and singing, gave her answer.
It was love!


290 SUSPENSE
Betty was in a fever of impatience, but she reso-
lutely fixed her eyes upon the tiny clock on the
mantel and waited in an excess of caution until the
hands pointed to half-past one. Then with her
dark robe girded about her and her felt-covered
feet making no sound, she opened her door.
The next moment she started back in amazement
A chair had been placed a short distance down the
hall near the entrance to Mrs. Atterbury's bedroom
but it was empty and an oddly huddled figure lay
beside it upon the floor. It was a woman, collapsed
as though she had been overcome by slumber and
slipped from her chair, but there was something
about the inert, helpless figure and hoarse stertorous
breath not unlike that of the other downstairs which
warned Betty that this was no ordinary sleep.
Holding her breath she drew near the recumbent
form and recognized Caroline. The woman's face
was empurpled like that of Welch and her relaxed
chin had fallen upon her breast giving her an ex-
pression of repellant brutish vacuity. Betty had
always considered her a stolid unintelligent creature
whose chief virtue was faithfulness, but now it was
as if something malevolent and bestial had made
itself manifest, betraying her real nature in her un-
consciousness.
Hesitating no longer, Betty stole to the stairs and
was descending as on the previous night, when
again a light in the music room warned her of an


292 SUSPENSE
spring eluded his search. Once he turned his head
slightly and she caught a glimpse of a heavy, pro-
truding, unshaven jaw and flattened nose. The low
visor of his cap concealed the forehead and eyes,
but the profile was startling in its ferocity and sullen
strength.
Although she realized that the clumsy fingers
might at any moment touch the knob and a shrill
alarm peal through the house the girl lingered, held
by a slender thread of hope. Welch was sleeping,
perhaps drugged, and there was a chance that he
might not have attached the alarm system for the
night before unconsciousness descended upon him.
In that case, if she could but remain undiscovered
until the burglar had accomplished his purpose and
was gone, she could examine the rifled safe for her-
self.
“You’re ahead of time, Mike. Admiring the por-
trait?” A low, sarcastic drawl sounded from the
doorway and the man turned with an oath, holding
something in his free hand which glittered omin-
ously. Betty cowered back, her fluttering heart
still and cold within her breast.
Leaning nonchalantly against the wall by the
'door, his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown
and his dark face wreathed with a derisive smile,
stood Jack Wolvert.
The man before the picture swore again, but in
a relieved fashion.


TURNED TABLES 295
her mouth and nostrils to keep out the pungent
fumes which stole upon the air. Would they pene-
trate the closed doors above and give warning that
treachery was afoot?
“Hal” Wolvert's ejaculation of triumph broke
the protracted tension, just as the heavy door, with
a grating jar, split like a crust before their eyes
and fell outward, yawning upon one hinge.
“Got it!” Mike pushed back his cap and wiped
his brow. “Armor plate's made of cheese com-
pared to that! Now which is the pay dirt?”
Wolvert knelt beside him and threw the light
upon the gaping cavity. Betty's eyes were water-
ing but the fumes were gradually passing away and
she could see that the interior of the safe was filled
with packets of paper, neatly pigeonholed in rows.
“Three hundred thousand!” Wolvert crooned,
gloatingly. “Three hundred thousand and maybe
more! God, what a haull Think of it, Mike, the
pickings of five years, salted down and waiting
for us, to say nothing of rich veins that have
scarcely been tapped yet!”
“I can lick my chops over 'em just as well when
I’ve got 'em safe away from here!” Mike glanced
apprehensively over his shoulder and Betty could
see his eyes glistening like those of a cat in the
shadow of his visored cap. “Hurry up and pick
out the live wires from the dead ones. The old
girl may take it into her head to walk again!”


TURNED TABLES 297
Wolvert glanced over his shoulder at the label
and shrugged.
“Small change, a thousand or so, but take it along
if you want it. It's easy money.”
“A thousand cold iron men look good to me. I
ſcan feel 'em rolling into my hand right now, but
those big figures make me afraid the alarm clock's
liable to go off any minute an' wake me up. Say,
get a move on, Jack. I’m gettin' a cold chill like
someone was watchin' me!” -
Betty gasped inaudibly and shrank still further
back in her retreat, but Wolvert only shrugged in
impatience.
“That Crane contract is the main thing; it's
worth more than all the rest put together, to us!”
he grumbled. “Get your head out of the light,
Mike ſ”
“Is this it, in the long blue envelope?” The other
had overcome his momentary uneasiness and re-
sumed his search. “Feels kinder thick.”
“No, don't pay dividends any more. It's the
West—what's that?”
Betty had caught at the leg of the piano as her
* cramped limbs wavered beneath her and a little
silver ring which she wore rapped smartly upon the
polished surface of the wood. For one thrilling
moment she held her breath, but the lantern swept
around the opposite side of the room to the door
and then flashed back and Mike swore once more.


298 suspenSE
“I’ve had enough of this, I tell you! I don't feel
right and I've got a hunch that I'd better be movin'.
Let the bloomin' contract go if you can't find it;
we've got enough as it is!”
“Nothing doing!” Wolvert spoke through set
teeth in a tone which the listening girl remembered
with a shudder. “You don't beat it unless you
take that with you!”
“Oh, don't I?” snarled Mike, leaping to his feet
in swift rage. “I’ll show you, my fine gentleman,
that you ain't dealin' with a skirt now, to bully or
soft-soap as you feel like it! I wouldn't be here
if I wasn't through takin' orders from no-
body—!”
“Easy there with the bluff!” Wolvert interrupted
coolly. “You can't get along without me, you
know. What you've got there is just so much
waste paper to you, if I don't negotiate it for you.
Don't be a quitter!”
“Nobody ain't ever called me that yet, but I'm
hep that there's somethin’ wrong. Give it up, Jack,
an’ let's lay the plant—”
“Here it is!” Wolvert swooped down upon a
single folded paper and waved it exultantly. “Take
it, Mike, and keep it well; it's a gold mine! Now
come on and set the stage.”
Before Betty's amazed eyes a curious scene was
enacted. Seizing one after another of the heavy
leather chairs which were grouped about the room,


TURNED TABLES 299
Wolvert and his accomplice noiselessly overturned
them, easing them gently to the floor where they
lay at grotesque angles. Next they turned their at-
tention to the smokers’ stand, rolling the smaller
articles upon it in every direction until the rug was
strewn with cigarettes and matches. The stand it-
self they placed upon its side against the wall as if
it had been flung there with violence.
“How about the piano?” Mike's eyes travelled
speculatively to the shadowed corner and Betty's
senses reeled. “Gonna bang it up a little?”
“No, don't overdo the wreckage. Just move the
center table over against it.” Wolvert was busy
scattering the remaining contents of the safe about
before it. “Too bad we can't smash that bit of
crockery; it would be the last finishing touch.”
He gestured toward a priceless Royal Worcester
vase which stood upon a teakwood taboret near
the portrait, and Mike grinned. `
“That's easy! Watch me knock it to
Smithereens!”
“And have the house about our ears?” Wolvert
sneered, but the other paid no heed. -
He had caught up a small silk prayer rug and,
wrapping it about the vase, laid it upon the floor.
Then, raising a sausage-like roll of cloth heavily
weighed which he took from his bag, he struck it
a blow with all the force of his brawny arm behind
it. There was a dull thud and a soft, shivery tinkle,


TURNED TABLES 301
trick,” responded his co-conspirator. “It’s got to
look as though you were scared off, you know.
Don't forget to leave the chloroform too. Come
on with it, I’m ready.” -
“Remember, Two Forty-seven Porter Street.
I'll wait till midnight and if you don't show up
by then I'll clear for the old hang-out in Baltimore.
Here goes, pleasant dreams!”
He pulled the cork from the phial and a cloying
sweetish odor choked the air. Producing a grimy
handkerchief, Mike poured a few drops upon it
and applied it to the head and throat of the pros-
trate man.
“Not—too—much!” The smothered tones died
away in a mumble, and placing the phial upon the
floor beside the recumbent figure Mike gave one
last sweeping glance about the room and slipped
like an eel through the door, the flash of his lantern
vanishing with him into the gloom.
Waiting only until the rasp of a softly opening
window had assured her that the intruder was
gone, Betty crept from her hiding place, her pulses
leaping madly. She had made a desperate resolve
and realized that she must put it into immediate
execution, before the fumes of the anaesthetic had
cleared from the momentarily dulled brain of the
man lying before her.
Lighting her candle, she placed it upon the floor
and crept on her hands and knees toward the phial,


302 SUSPENSE
keeping well out of the possible upward range of
Wolvert's vision.
The half-stupified man stirred and muttered as
her fingers closed about the phial, but she dared
not hesitate. With a shaking hand she poured an
ounce of the pungent liquid over the grimy hand-
kerchief which lay beneath her hand, and creeping
to Wolvert, suddenly dropped it like a cone down
over his upturned face, holding the sides drawn
tightly down.
His limbs twitched and his head moved feebly,
but she did not relinquish her pressure until the
muscular action ceased and the body lay limp and
flaccid as that of the dead. Then, with a little sob
of exultation, she flung herself upon the safe and
seizing the blue envelope of which Mike had spoken,
she tore it open.
A swift glance over the single folded sheet of
letter paper and long narrow slip, much creased
and yellowed with age, which formed its contents,
and Betty clasped it convulsively to her breast. Her
face was transfigured as she crept to her candle
and with it crossed to the hearth.
A moment more and a clear flame sprang up,
flaring fitfully in her trembling hands, then died
and only a tiny heap of fluffy black flakes among
the heavier wood ashes told of her desperate plan's
consummation.
She turned to escape, but a glance at the motion-


TURNED TABLES 303
less form halted her in mid-flight. Suppose she
had killed him!
Betty's heart contracted and fearfully she ap-
proached him once more. The handkerchief had
(slipped from his face and its deathlike pallor seemed
'to confirm her misgiving.
Kneeling beside him, she had placed her hand
upon his breast, when a lurching shuffle in the hall
made her recoil.
Stumbling and clinging to the wall for support,
Welch reeled in at the doorway, and his drug-dulled
eyes burst into sudden flame as they lighted upon
her.
“D— you!” he bellowed. “Got you with the
goods at last!”


306 SUSPENSE
“We’re sold out !” A high-pitched male voice
squeaked like that of a cornered rat from the door-
way and Ide's glassy eyes fastened venomously on
the girl. She became conscious, too, that Madame
Cimmino's cries were stilled, the tumult had sub-
sided and she herself was the cynosure of all eyes.
Straightening, her hands fell to her sides and she
stepped forward. -
“Something woke me,” she began unsteadily. “I
didn't know what it was at first, then I heard a
thumping, banging noise down here as if furniture
was being moved around. I got up and opened my
door just as there came a heavy thud like the sound
of a body falling and terrible groans that died
slowly away.
“I was frightened and I didn't know what to do.
Mrs. Atterbury had told me not to venture down-
stairs late at night for Welch might mistake me for
a burglar and injure me, but I did not want to dis-
turb her unnecessarily and I thought I had better
investigate.
“I lighted my candle and crept downstairs. There
was a funny sweetish odor on the air and I traced it
to this door. When I looked in I saw Mr. Wolvert
lying there and all the room upset, but no sign of
anyone else. I ran to him and was kneeling beside
him, trying to feel if his heart was still beating,
when Welch stumbled into the room and accused
me. Oh, have the burglars killed him?”


|UNMASKED - 307
It was superb acting but the girl was wrought up
to such an emotional pitch that she was scarcely
conscious of its effect. She lived in her vivid
imagination each phase of the story she was nar-
rating and it bore the impress of truth.
The rest looked at one another, reading in each
face the belief which confirmed their own. It was
Madame Cimmino, however, who broke the silence
crying out in a paroxysm of jealous fury:
“What is it to you if he lives or dies? He is
not yours, but mine! My husband!”
“Betty.” Mrs. Atterbury spoke for the first time
and her tones were dull and lifeless as she wrenched
her eyes with an almost visible effort from the rifled
safe. “You had better go to your room, if you are
not afraid of being alone. You might try to revive
Caroline if you will; she is lying ill in the hall up-
stairs. Cook is a heavy sleeper, but should she
awaken and attempt to come down, please detain
her; we must have no more excitement.”
Betty accepted her dismissal with a swift leap
of her heart. Her task was accomplished; there
remained only to make her escape and the way
seemed clear before her.
“I am not afraid, Mrs. Atterbury,” she said
quietly. “If you need me, please call.”
She slipped up the stairs and past the still un-
conscious form of Caroline with feet that trod on
air. To throw on her cloak and boots and steal out


310 SUSPENSE
tercept and guard her? Had Jack Wolvert been
conscious enough to realize her swift attack on him,
and recovering, denounce her? In terror at the
thought her hands flew to her breast and encoun-
tered the whistle hanging from its slender chain
beneath her gown. Her fingers closed convulsively
upon it and a little sob of gratitude tore its way
from her throat. If actual peril came there was one
chance left to her; she was not utterly at the mercy
of these wolves.
When Mrs. Atterbury unlocked the door and en-
tered an hour later, she found the girl curled up on
the couch seemingly asleep. She stood over her for
a long moment staring down at the tranquil face
upon which the birthmark glowed in the light from
the grate, and listening to the gentle regular breath-
ing. At last she turned away and Betty, opening
her eyes cautiously, beheld her employer crouching
before the hearth, her dark, unbound hair increas-
ing the pallor of her waxen face and her inscrut-
able gaze fixed upon the gleaming coals. The girl
fell into a troubled slumber at dawn, but when she
awakened the other still sat immovable, staring into
the dead embers with unseeing eyes.
“You are awake, Betty? Run to your own room
and dress and then come back to me quickly. We
have much to do today.” She barely glanced at
the girl, and her tones were lifeless.
“Was—was the burglar caught?” Betty stam-


|UNMASKED 311
mered as she rose to obey. “Did you lose very
much of value?”
“The man whoever he was escaped, but the police
have been notified,” Mrs. Atterbury replied with-
out turning her head. “I cannot tell how much has
been taken until I have made an inventory of what
is left. Hurry, please.”
Betty returned to her room, to find Caroline on
the couch at the bed's foot. The woman seemed
dazed and shaken, but her eyes followed Betty
craftily and the girl realized that her presence meant
continued surveillance.
Wolvert appeared little the worse for his ex-
perience of the previous night when he joined the
others at breakfast and he greeted Betty with per-
fect sang-froid, but she fancied that a speculative
gleam lightened his pale eyes when they rested on
her; and as the day wore on, he attached himself
to her with an assiduity which left her in no doubt
of his lurking suspicion.
Although the subject of the burglary was avoided
as much as possible, there was a tension in the
atmosphere which no one attempted to disguise, an
air of repressed apprehension greater than the exi-
gency demanded. In spite of Mrs. Atterbury's as-
sertion that the day would be a busy one, a state
of enforced idleness prevailed and Betty wandered
about like an unquiet ghost with some one of the
household inevitably at her heels.


312 SUSPENSE
As dusk drew down the espionage became more
openly manifest and the girl's self control faltered
beneath the protracted strain. Was she destined
to be held in duress until the raid which Herbert
had predicted took place and escape was forever
cut off? A new anxiety was added to the rest; if
she were to continue this ghastly farce indefinitely
a few minutes of absolute privacy in her own room
would be essential, but how was this to be obtained?
No suggestion of leaving the house had been
made by anyone during the day, but toward evening
Welch was dispatched with a telegram to the near-
est office. He went with marked reluctance, a fur-
tive look of fear in his heavy-lidded eyes, still dazed
from the effects of the drug. Betty watched his
departing figure in bitter envy from behind the
library curtains. Would her moment never come?
“You are very quiet, Little Mouse.” Wolvert
had come up silently behind her in the gathering
gloom of the room. “Last night's excitement has
depressed you?”
“On the contrary,” she responded coolly. “I am
sorry, of course, for Mrs. Atterbury's loss, but I am
quiet because I have been thinking. So many things
about the affair puzzle me.”
“Indeed? What, for instance?” He flung him-
self into a chair and smiled up at her.
“Why it was that I did not hear the smash of
that vase in your struggle, and why, although your
*


UNMASKED 313
hands were tied after you were chloroformed, of
course, the burglar did not also gag you. It was no
doubt an oversight on his part, but it impressed me
as being odd.”
The mocking smile had vanished and he was star-
ing at her with a narrowed intensity of gaze as if to
read her very soul. When he replied it was in a
hurried, uneasy tone distinctly at variance with his
usual aplomb.
“It was the crash of the vase that awakened you,
perhaps, and the thief must have been frightened
away. He left his tools, you know, and he prob-
ably did not dare stop to finish his work with me.—
But I did not realize that we had such an efficient
detective in our midst!”
He added the last sentence with deliberate in-
tent and Betty met his gaze with a little mocking
light in her own eyes.
“I think the burglar finished his work with you
very thoroughly, Mr. Wolvert!”
Leaving him to ponder over the ambiguity of her
remark she passed out to the hall just as Welch
burst in at the side door, his ratlike eyes fairly
starting from his head. Sheer panic was written
upon his pasty face and he charged headlong up the
stairs like a maddened beast.
Betty was torn with the conflict of hope and fear.
Had he encountered Herbert on guard, or was the
house already surrounded by officers of the law?


314 SUSPENSE
No comment was made upon his abrupt return,
but Betty sensed a redoubled tension in the air. To
her relief, however, the onus of suspicion seemed
to have been lifted from her, although the house
was so palpably under guard by the masculine
members of the group that immediate escape was
out of the question.
Betty had no need, as the hours lengthened, to
feign fatigue. Her nervous exhaustion was mani-
fest in her drawn face, and Mrs. Atterbury at length
laid her hand upon the girl's arm.
“You are tired, my dear. Go to bed if you like
but you will be obliged to sleep, for a while at least,
with closed windows. Welch has connected all
those on the second floor with the alarm system
down here, and if one is raised during the night
the whole house will be aroused again.”
Betty understood the covert warning, but rejoiced
that the privacy so vital to her was assured. Mur-
muring good night she ascended the stairs and dis-
appeared around the gallery.
Scarcely had the soft thud of her closing door
broken the silence, when Welch entered from the
dining-room and approached the circle seated about
the hearth, took his place uninvited among the rest.
“How're we going to make our get-away?” he
demanded gruffly. “That's what I want to know.
with the place surrounded—”
“Rot!” interrupted Wolvert. “For a thorough-


UNMASKED 315
going coward, commend me to a strong-arm bully
every time. Yes, I mean you, Welch, don't try to
bluff me, my man! You're in a blue funk and you'd
conjure up a copper behind every tree! Why
haven't they closed in on us, if the bulls are on the
job?”
Welch muttered sullenly beneath his breath, but
Doctor Bayard leaned forward in his chair.
“That is a reasonable conclusion,” he remarked
in his quiet, well-bred tones. “I admit, however,
that taken in conjunction with the crowning mis-
fortune which has come to us, the possibility is dis-
quieting. You have examined the papers thor-
oughly, Marcia? You are sure that practically
everything of value has been taken?” -
“Everything.” Mrs. Atterbury spread out her
hands in an eloquent gesture. “We are cleaned
The result of five years of planning and scheming
and desperate risk has vanished in an hour!”
“Except what we may have saved from our in-
dividual profits,” Wolvert observed smoothly. “You
at least will not starve, my dear Marcia.”
Mrs. Atterbury darted a vicious glance at him, as
Madame Cimmino said with a shudder:
“Unless the end has come, and we are lost! As
for me I shall kill myself before again the doors of
a hideous American prison close on me!”
“Don’t be morbid, Speranza.” Mrs. Atterbury
shrugged impatiently. “I am not even thinking of


316 SUSPENSE
that. I am concerned only with one question:—
Who among us is the traitor?”
Wolvert raised his eyebrows.
“Us?” he queried. “You speak with painful
directness, Marcia! Surely you except our own
immediate circle!”
“If you ask me, it was an inside job,” asserted
Welch bluntly. “I was doped and so was Caroline.
There's no gettin' around that!”
• Ide coughed nervously.
“I hope the loyalty of none of us is in question.”
His thin high voice quavered. “Personally I—”
“Personally, you're absolved ſ” interrupted Wol-
vert with a sneer. “You wouldn't have the nerve
to chloroform a blind kitten!”
“Someone has betrayed us,” Mrs. Atterbury re-
iterated. “Only one who possessed the most inti-
mate knowledge of our plans and the deals we are
working on now could have chosen so well among
all the papers in the safe. With one trifling excep-
tion everything missing was negotiable.”
Wolvert darted a keen glance at her.
“‘One exception’?” he repeated. “What was
that?”
“The packet containing the Westcote documents,”
replied Mrs. Atterbury. “That has vanished with
with the rest.”
“Impossible!” Wolvert started visibly. “He
didn't take that!”


UNMASKED 317
“What does it matter?” Dr. Bayard shrugged.
“It was worthless!”
“But he didn't take it, I know!” insisted Wol-
vert, caution forgotten in his surprise. “It must
be there! There's some mistake—”
“Why are you so sure?” Mrs. Atterbury flashed
at him. “How can you know that it was not
stolen?”
“Because I was certain it was there when we
first went through the safe after I recovered con-
sciousness, don't you remember?” he stammered,
taken aback. “I distinctly saw a blue envelope 32
“There was no blue envelope in the safe.” Mrs.
Atterbury spoke with absolute finality. “It had
disappeared.”
“Then by God! it is an inside job!” Wolvert
sprang from his chair. “And I know who is back
of it—that girl!”
“What!” Doctor Bayard exclaimed, as the rest
sat spellbound. “The young woman upstairs?”
“The young spy, d-n her!” retorted Wolvert,
his dark face ablaze. “I had a hazy idea that I
saw her last night while the thief was pressing the
sponge over my mouth but I laid it to delirium. I
tell you she was in league with him, and what is
more, I don't think he was one of our gang gone
crooked. I didn't tell you before because I didn't
want to throw you all into a panic but I’m con-
vinced he's a 'tec and she was working in with him.


3.18 SUSPENSE
He heard Welch coming and beat it, but she didn't
have a chance and we've kept too close a watch on
her for her to get away since!”
“I knew it!” Madame Cimmino shrilled. “I
knew there was something wrong when she came!”
“I, too!” exclaimed Ide. “I’ve had a deucedly
queer feeling since I first met her at your dinner,
Marcia, as if I had seen her before somewhere.”
“She's the only outsider!” Welch put in dazedly.
“I always said no good would come of draggin' in
strange girls and usin' them for a blind, but you
knew it all!”.
He glared at Mrs. Atterbury who sat gazing in-
tently straight before her.
“It is impossible,” she said at last. “I chose the
girl myself, and she has kept her position per-
fectly—” -
“Too perfectly!” Wolvert snarled. “She was too
good to be true, going wherever you sent her with-
out question. You've been a blind fool! She was
planted here, I tell you! That advertisement was a
trick and you fell for it! ‘Stranger in city and with-
out relatives!’ Bah! it was too easy!”
Mrs. Atterbury's immobile face was distorted
with gathering menace but her voice was still con-
trolled. n
“She is not a detective. I have encountered a
few of them and I know the earmarks. Whose
game could she be playing?”


UNMASEQED 321
“I know her now! I was sure I'd seen her be-
fore! It's old Westcote's daughter!”
The girl's hand flashed from her breast to her
lips and a shrill, ear-splitting whistle cleaved the air
as Welch sprang upon her with a bull-throated roar.
The world crashed down about her head and
darkness came; a darkness filled with shots and
shouts and vague struggling forms. Then all at
once a shaft of brilliant light seemed to break over
her and full in its radiance the face of Herbert Ross
hovered close.
“Herbert!” It was little more than a whisper
but her weak, hot hands fluttered out and clutched
him convulsively and in her eyes shone the light
of a faith which had not faltered. “I knew—I
knew that you would come!”
“My wonderful, "brave dear!” His voice had a
curious, throaty catch in it. “You have been in
frightful danger but you are safe now, thank God!”
Betty smiled wanly. \
“I was not afraid, for I knew that you were there.
No harm could come to me while you waited.”
“You mean that?” His arms tightened about
her. “Oh, my dearest, you had such faith in me?”
“As you trusted me, believed in me through
everything. And—and for the same reason.”
“You mean that you care?” he whispered close to
her ear. “Dear, is it that? Is it—love?”
Her eyes gave him his answer and for a moment


CHAPTER XIX.
The Honor of the Name.
HIEF McCORMICK’S honest face beamed
( as he sat back in his office chair and regarded
the pale young girl before him with the
frank, genuine admiration of one colleague for
another.
“It was wonderful! I couldn't have engineered
it better myself. You've pulled off the greatest
stunt in years, Miss Shaw.”
“Westcote,” she corrected him, smilingly. “I’m
glad to drop my friend's name at last, and sail under
no more false colors. But I did very little, Mr.
McCormick. If it hadn't been for Herbert I would
have been murdered as poor George Breckinridge
was, and the man called ‘Mike' would have
escaped.”
“‘Herbert,’ eh?” The detective glanced quizzi-
cally at the self-conscious young man who stood
beside the girl’s chair. “I suppose congratulations
are in order, but first let us get down to business.
You used the name of some friend, Miss West-
cote?”
323


326 SUSPENSE
with her hands tearing at her breast, and would
have fallen if I had not rushed out and caught her.
I managed to get her to the couch in the library
and brought her the water she begged for, but I
knew the meaning of her terrible thirst. I had
had pneumonia myself and no matter what mis-
fortune her visit had brought to father, I could
not help being sorry for her. #
“She was a tall, dark, willowly creature and
must have been very handsome in her youth. Her
eyes were bright with fever and the hectic patches
on her thin cheeks heightened their glitter, but she
had a hardened expression which made the general
effect she produced coarse and repellent.
“She seemed half delirious and kept moaning that
she must go, but it would have been death to her
to face the storm, even if she had not been too
weak to rise from the couch. I told her that she
would have to remain and let me send for a doctor,
and at length she realized herself the futility of
further effort.
“‘Who are you?' she gasped, clinging to my
!hand. I told her and she stared long at me before
she spoke again. |
“‘I have a letter here, a message from your
father which must be delivered tonight, or the con-
sequences for him will be disastrous. I cannot go;
I feel as if I were dying! Will you take my place?
Your father must not know, he would sacrifice


HONOR OF THE NAME 327
himself and his own vital interests rather than have
you brave the storm. My car is waiting. Can you
do this? Remember, it means much to him!'
“Her eyes were burning into mine and something
in her deadly earnestness decided me. I nodded
and she fell back in relief. When she had gathered
her remaining strength together, she went on:
“‘You have only to permit my chauffeur to take
you to a certain house and deliver this letter to
the man servant who opens the door. The
chauffeur will explain what is necessary to him,
and then bring you home immediately. I will
accept your hospitality for tonight because I must,
but I shall be able to go in the morning. No doctor
is necessary and I forbid you to send for one. I
will not see him! You must lose no time, but go
at once. Call my chauffeur in and I will give him
his instructions.”
“I aroused the housemaid to prepare a bed and
get the stranger into it without disturbing father,
and then I started on my journey. I shall never
forget that ride! For hours we plowed through
drifts and over hummocks, the car swaying and
rocking like a ship and the intense cold penetrating
my very bones.
“The miles seemed endless and I was so numb
and dazed that I scarcely realized when we en-
tered the city, the string of lights were a meaning-
less blur.


328 SUSPENSE
“We drew up at last before a big house and I
managed to descend, although my limbs were half
frozen. The door opened before I could ring, and
the man servant stared at me as if he saw a ghost,
but the chauffeur called sharply to him and he ran
down bareheaded in the snow and talked to him.
Then he returned and conducted me into the hall
where a great hearth fire was burning, and I gave
him the square, blank, sealed envelope which the
woman had handed to me. He took it and ascended
the stairs, to return presently with a goblet of
mulled wine. His manner was respectful enough,
but I thought the way he stared at me was very
strange and he was evidently relieved when he con-
ducted me outside and saw me once more safely in
the car.
“I slept nearly all the way home and the
chauffeur had difficulty in rousing me. The dawn
had come, clear, but intensely cold, as I stumbled
up to bed.
“When I awakened, the woman was raving in
delirium and I was compelled to call a doctor in
spite of her prohibition. Of course, I had to tell
father of our strange guest and he flared out in
fury and would have driven her from the house
if he could. I was horrified, for he is the dearest,
most tender-hearted man in the world, but no ink-
ling of the truth came to me. He asked if she had
sent anything back to town by her chauffeur, and


330 SUSPENSE
a letter proving father's guilt had fallen into the
hands of a blackmailing gang, through a dishonest
law clerk, who found them in going over the man's
private papers to settle up his estate.
“The blackmailers had for years preyed on father
and he was broken and on the verge of ruin from
the continued strain. Imagine how I felt when I
realized that I had been used as a tool to deliver
to his enemies the very money wrung from my
own father!
“The check and letter denouncing him were in
the possession of this Mrs. Atterbury, who was the
leader of the greatest band of criminals ever or-
ganized in America. Their operations covered
every state in the Union and they had extorted
hundreds of thousands from unhappy victims all
over the country. It was to Mrs. Atterbury's house
that I had been sent, but the dying woman would
not tell me the address. She admitted, however,
that it was the meeting place for the sub-leaders
of the gang and the incriminating documents were
kept there.
“A wild idea came to me to get into that house
somehow and destroy that check and letter which
held father in such hideous bondage, and the
woman's next words showed me the way.
“It appeared that Mrs. Atterbury always em-
ployed a private secretary who was not a member of
the gang as a blind, and chose a girl who was alone


HONOR OF THE NAME 331
and friendless. If she proved really stupid but
trustworthy, she was frequently sent to collect
money from victims so that if she later became
suspicious she would be technically guilty with the
rest and they could hold that as a weapon over her.
That had not yet occurred, because Mrs. Atterbury
dismissed each one after a short period and replaced
her with another young and fairly unintelligent
stranger. The time had come for the present in-
cumbent to be sent away before she learned too
much, and I made up my mind to take her place,
if I could.
“The woman was sinking rapidly and I begged
her to tell me her name.
“‘I have come into your life unknown and in a
cruel, base fashion; let me go out of it a stranger.
A stranger, that is it! Once I was called Lucille
and that will do for the end; Lucille L’Etrangere!
Only, if you have still more compassion left for
me in your warm, young heart, save me from burial
at their hands! Put me away quietly somewhere,
I beg of you, in an unmarked grave!”
“She died at dawn and then I went down and
had it out with father. I hope never to live through
another such hour! His grief and shame were
pitiful, but he seemed relieved, too, that I knew the
truth at last. He had been driven to the wall, and
was almost mad.
“He arranged for the woman's burial in a little


832 SUSPENSE
forgotten graveyard nearby. The coroner was an
old friend and everything was managed very
quietly and without question.
“When it was over I told father that I would
be able to save him from further persecution if he
would consent to go to a sanitarium and spread
the rumor that his mind was permanently wrecked
so that the gang would cease their activities in his
direction until my purpose was accomplished. I
withheld the details of my plan, for he would never
have consented to my facing the danger, but his
tortured mind was on the verge of giving way and
he agreed helplessly to my proposal.
“In the meantime I had received a letter from an
old school friend, Betty Shaw, who is like me in
type and coloring, but has a huge birthmark like
a clutching hand upon her cheek. She had moved
West ages ago, but when her mother died she went
to Chicago to earn her living, and there received
a proposal from an old sweetheart who is now in
British Columbia. Her letter was to tell me that
she had gone out there to marry him, and I re-
solved to take her name and imitate her appearance,
so that if I succeeded in gaining a position with
Mrs. Atterbury and she wrote for reference out
to the Western town where Betty had lived, my
supposed identity could be established beyond
question.
“I closed our house, leaving no address, painted


336 SUSPENSE
on Brinsley Square, and the envelope containing the
money was presented to me on the collection plate!”
She described the event in detail and when she
had finished the detective asked eagerly:
“It was a fat, smug-faced little man, with heavy
pouches under his eyes and a cocky air about him?
That's Hobart Wallace, or I'm a Dutchman!
Among the papers we found in Mike Hannigan's
bag when we nabbed him at the Porter Street
address on your plucky tip, were two hundred
shares in a fake copper mine with his endorsement.
He would have let himself be bled dry rather than
have an inkling of that reach the press!”
“I was sent on one more errand,” the girl con-
tinued, “to the courtroom where the Huston trial
was in progress. I recognized the prisoner as the
young chauffeur who had rescued me in the storm
and brought me home the night the strange woman
came, and as I listened to the testimony and learned
that the murder of his wife had been committed
on that night and his life depended on the alibi
which I alone could supply, I faced the worst
moment of all! Seated with him was poor Miss
Pope, the dressmaker, who had risked everything
to warn me to leave Mrs. Atterbury. I met her
afterward in the corridor, and when she told me
that Huston was her half-brother, all she had in
the world to care for, and I heard his story from
her lips, I did not know what to do! My father's


HONOR OF THE NAME 339
broke off and faced the girl. “Did you ever hear
of a peppery old lady named Madame Dumois?”
“Oh, yes!” She dimpled, delightfully. “Her-
bert is going to produce me in—in a little while!”
Then her face clouded and she shuddered.
| “There is one question I have not dared to ask,
although it has beaten into my brain day and night
since that awful hour. Who killed George Breckin-
ridge?”
“Jack Wolvert,” the Chief responded slowly.
“He has confessed, and will pay the penalty of his
crime.”


TREASURE TROVE 34ſ
or two before he started on his foolhardy expedi-
tion and when he found himself face to face with
Wolvert he let his feelings get the better of him
and in his resentment blustered out how much he
knew against the gang. If he had only realized it
he was confirming his own death-warrant, for he
had found out too much to go free. Wolvert didn't
wait to consult the head of the gang, Mrs. Atter-
bury, but seized a knife from the sideboard and a
fight for life began. It must have been a silent
one and quickly over, for no one heard it except
Welch who slept on the ground floor at the back.
He arrived on the scene in time to see Wolvert
plunge the knife in Breckinridge's breast.
“Afterward, in desperation, they consulted as to
the best method of disposing of the body and Wol-
Vert suggested taking it up the road and leaving it.
Welch tied up the dog and then went off to a junk
dealer and fence whom he knew, and hired a horse
and cart which he brought back to the gate.
“Wolvert, meanwhile, had gone to tell Mrs. At-
terbury the truth and it must have been at that time
you discovered the body, Miss Westcote.
“When Welch returned, the two men between
them carried the body wrapped in an old rug down
to the gate, where they loaded it on the wagon and
drove to the secluded spot on Vanderduycken Road.”
“The body must have been discovered very
soon,” the girl murmured with a little shiver. “I


342 SUSPENSE
heard the extras announcing the murder in the early
afternoon.”
“It was found at dawn. The junk dealer's wagon
had been seen and it was traced down finally and
spots found which the chemists proved were human
blood. The man wouldn't confess who had used
his wagon, though he was put through the third
degree. He claimed that if it was out at all he had
known nothing of it and easily proved his own alibi.
“The case was at a standstill when one of Breck-
inridge's friends, to whom he had hinted that he
was being besieged for hush-money came to me.
With what I already knew of the Atterbury gang
I put two and two together, but the police were not
far from the truth. If we hadn't forestalled them
it would only have been a matter of hours before
they knocked at the gates on the North Drive and
in the cellar of the house they would have found
convincing proof; pieces of a rug, blood-stained
and charred, where an unsuccessful attempt had
been made to destroy it in the furnace. Shreds
from the same rug were found twisted about the
buttons of the dead man's coat, and clotted in his
wound.
“But let us have done with that, Miss Westcote,”
the detective added hastily as he saw her pale lips
quiver. “There are still a few points to be cleared
up in my mind. How did you get all that infor-.
mation about the outside members of the gang?”


TREASURE TROVE 349
cards and spades and then beat me to it! Don't
forget my offer; if ever you want to go into the
business, there's a partnership here for you.”
“Thank you,” Ruth Westcote responded de-
murely. “I have already agreed to become a part-
ner in a different concern and I hink it is going to
be a success!”
Her eyes, soft and glowing with a new, tender
light turned to those of Herbert Ross, and he smiled
back at her.
“It ought to be,” he said, “for it is founded on
the greatest thing in the world!”
:k >k >k >k >k >k >k >k
“Young man!” Madame Dumois fixed her gold
pince-neg more firmly on her high arched nose and
glared at the guileless individual who stood before
her. “It is a good three weeks since I sent for you,
to find out if you had made any headway with my
case, and your McCormick person informed me you
were out of town. What have you got to say for
yourself?”
“Quite a good deal, if you will listen, Madame
Dumois.” Herbert Ross smiled ingratiatingly. “I
'only learned of your message yesterday, when I re-
turned. Very important business called me away;
I wonder if you can guess what is was?”
“The missing young woman?” she demanded
eagerly.


350 SUSPENSE
Ross nodded and the smile broadened into a boy-
ish laugh.
“Yes! The young woman you employed me to
find l’’
“And you have found her?” She eyed him
warily, puzzled by his manner.
Ross's face changed and he drew down his lips
lugubriously at the corners, but the twinkle re-
mained.
“She is a most elusive person!” he sighed.
“I don't need you to tell me that!” the old lady
retorted bitterly. “And I cannot see any cause
for levity! I would not have believed your Mr.
McCormick capable of finding a lost canary, but I
admit I expected more of you!”
“You have heard no news of the young woman
for whom you are searching?” he asked.
A faint spot of color appeared in her faded cheeks
and her keen, gray eyes snapped.
“Nothing that I consider authentic. Why do
you ask that, Mr. Ross?”
“Because I was under the impression that her
natural guardian had communicated with you.” He
spoke in bland surprise.
“‘Her natural guardian!’” she repeated indig- .
nantly. “Her natural guardian is a natural born fool,
as I’ve often told him to his face! But it appears to
me that you have learned more about this affair than
I meant you to. Just what do you know?”


TREASURE TROVE 351
“That you returned from Europe to find your
only brother in a sanitarium, his home closed and
his daughter missing. You interviewed him, but
he would give you no satisfaction, and knowing
something of the independent character of the
young lady—”
“Independent!” Madame Dumois drew a deep
breath. “She defied me when she was three years
old ! The only member of the family who dared to
stand up to me!” -
“Knowing that she possessed the courage of her
convictions,” Ross continued, “you made up your
mind to find out for yourself where she was and
what she was doing.”
“What she was up to !” The old lady corrected
him grimly. “Never since she was born have I
known what she was going to do next!”
“I have seen your brother, Mr. Westcote, and I
am happy to be able to tell you that his health is
much improved.”
“I gathered that from his letter—” A flash
of her old humor crossed her face. “He called me
a meddlesome busybody, and that is more spirit than
he has shown in years! I don't know how you have
found out all this, but I cannot say that I am sorry.
I did not care to put myself or my family affairs
at the mercy of a detective agency, that was the
reason why I would not tell you my motive in seek-
ing her, yet I trust and like you, Mr. Ross.


352 SUSPENSE
“Thank you,” he responded gravely.
“Now, if you will only find this perverse, incor-
rigible, young woman for me—” -
“What if I have?” his eyes danced. “I did not
say that I had failed, Madame Dumois.”
“You have—you have found her?” The old lady
gasped, and her sharp eyes blurred. “She hasn't
gotten into any trouble, Mr. Ross? Where is she?”
“At home.” He caught the two trembling
wrinkled hands in his. “At our home, breaking in
the new cook I believe. I have come to take you
to her.”
Madame Dumois looked long into his happy face
and the color slowly came back to her own. A dry
smile hovered about her lips, and then broke into
a chuckle.
“Well! I do not usually indulge in slang, but
that is one on the lawyers! I won't have to change
my will again! When I quarreled with my brother
and made up my mind that Ruth had disgraced the
family by this unaccountable disappearance, I added
a codicil in your favor. You were the best type of
young American I had encountered in many a long
day, and as the choice lay between you and a cat
asylum, I decided on you. Now it is all in the
family, and I am proud of you both. She is the
most provoking, self-willed, irrepressible young
woman in the world, and the dearest! Take me to
her!” y
Aº-
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ºw


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1942