RGL e-Book Cover©
Based on a public domain clip-art image
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.
RGL e-Book Cover©
Based on a public domain clip-art image
Detective Story Magazine, 22 July 1919. with "When the Winner Lost"
I, SELWYN TRASK, was exactly five days old when I missed my first meal. This, in the case of the normal, healthy youngster would have occasioned a storm of protest. Immediately nurses would have scurried about, a bottle of milk would have been sterilized and warmed, and soon the difficulty would have met. In my extremity, however, I made no protest; there was nothing I could do but notch my belt tighter, bite the bubble of a drinking fountain for a pint or so of "Lake Michigan straight," and whistle with what cheer I could summon. Chicago, on a frosty evening in late October, is singularly unconcerned over the fate of any penniless male, no matter what his age.
That evening I faced the raw lake wind until ten o'clock. Then I turned in on a straight-backed bench in the La Salle Street Station. Next evening I was in exactly the same predicament, only much hungrier. Even good thick water of the kind Chicago drinks does not assuage hunger effectually.
It was not so much the lack of food that bothered me, though. In the fourteen months immediately preceding my rebirth as Selwyn Trask I had passed up the officers' mess many times without a regret. Once, when Pershing's pincers were closing about St. Mihiel, I had spent thirty-two hours in the air, only coming down occasionally for fresh gas—and once for a new gunner, my pal getting nicked by a fragment of H.E. shell.
I knew what going hungry meant, but out there it was different. A chap was certain that if he had a mouth and stomach left when he got down to the airdrome, hot grub would be waiting and a fresh pack of fags to take the acrid taste of machine-gun smoke out of his mouth. Here no one cared the slightest. True, if one collapsed from hunger an ambulance came and made its belated ministration. I found myself figuring morbidly on how many days my disgustingly healthy constitution would make me hold on before I could claim rightfully this sanctuary in the county hospital. I had heard of fanatics existing for forty days without food, but even my fevered imagination could not picture me stalking about the Loop for that length of time. From the bottom of my heart I envied Jules, the deaf-mute who used to scrub the floor of our airdrome mess-room. He at least ate heartily and commanded the respect of the men around him. I could do neither, thanks to Morris. A detective agency had trailed him to Chicago for me, but there he had vanished.
When I am alone with thoughts of revenge they work me up to a white heat of anger. I stride along, faster and faster, my fists and teeth clenched, and then suddenly I remember the absurdity of letting such emotions master, and let down. Once on that last evening of hunger I had been considering what I should do to Morris if I should come upon him suddenly. I must have covered half a mile at a rapid pace before I brought up short. In the lighted mirror of a jeweler's window I saw a white face staring back at me. It was mine, but I saw that I was changing fast. During the war I had known how to smile, even when Archie was bracketing around my plane, but the set mask of anger startled me. It looked older than I should look, and the light line on my cheek I had received during student days at Prague stood up plainly as a scar. The face I saw might smile, but that smile would be the grim defiance of a gray wolf cornered by a dozen huskies. In the revulsion of feeling that followed immediately I wondered what I would look like in a week, in a fortnight, but at that moment I recognized the truth. The consuming fury that had dominated me, keeping me from all thoughts of retrieving my fortunes by simply going to work in a sensible manner, was weakness rather than strength. I had been a fool to trust Morris, but that chapter had ended. Now I was on the bottom rung. I would have to try climbing, with nothing but my own ability to aid me.
For a block I walked, wondering how I could make a start. All the stores were closed, of course. At any rate, I could ill afford to wait a week for a pay envelope. That second I found a white card, hung in the window of a dairy lunch room. "Dishwasher Wanted," it stated.
Without pausing to consider, I turned in sharply. The manager, to whom I was directed, curtly told me to go to the back door. I complied, standing in a greasy entryway back of the kitchen, where the continuous clatter of cheap cutlery and cheaper porcelain told me that the job I was seeking would be no sinecure.
"We got a washer about an hour ago," said the manager abruptly, appearing in the doorway. "Sorry. If you'll leave your name we'll——"
I motioned in negation. Then pride was swept aside by a rush of hunger that was overmastering. "Haven't you got something for me to do whereby I can earn a meal?" I cried. "I'll wash floors or——"
"No, nothing. We don't employ tramps, anyway!" He turned his back.
I stood there fully five seconds, the hot blood rushing to my cheeks. I longed to walk up to him and knock him down, but a remnant of common sense restrained me. As I started to go out, however, a white-aproned figure sidled out furtively. I saw he was an oldish chap with washed-out blue eyes and scraggly mustache.
"Here!" he whispered, leaning out and extending a coin to me. "This ain't charity. I been hard up myself and just want to pass it along." I saw the coin was a quarter. It was the first token of human feeling I had found in Chicago. If the manager had not called me a tramp I think I should have accepted the coin. It was a little too much for me to stomach, however. I thanked the cook, or whatever he was, and left without making any move toward his extended hand. Just at that moment, with utter irrelevance, I cursed the Germans roundly for letting themselves get licked so easily. Up in the clouds, with a Browning in front of me, they weren't used to despising me!
I crossed recklessly between the cars on Adams Street, scarcely caring to avoid accident. No one ran me down, though, and I found myself at the foot of the broad steps of the Federal Building. Repair work was going on in the entrance, and the usual crowd of street idlers had congregated. I gathered from snatches of conversation I overheard that some crank had thrown a bomb into the entrance a few weeks previously, ripping out part of the masonry and killing four or five people. The sensation evidently was still fresh enough to attract loafers; as I took my place in the nondescript ranks I smiled bitterly at the irony of my being there beside tramps who at least had the excuse of not being familiar with every known variety of high-explosive bomb.
A firm hand closed on the biceps of my right arm. "I'd like a word with you!" said an even voice behind me.
I turned, my muscles contracting involuntarily, but the calm masterfulness of the blue eyes that met mine assured me I had no decent alternative. His face was lean, cut in bold lines of nose, jaw, and lips. No one could mistake that he meant business. As I studied the dynamic contour of his face I noted subconsciously a certain official tilt to his black felt and a tell-tale straightness in the manner he carried his shoulders.
"Pinched?" I queried caustically, stepping in the direction he indicated. It would not have mattered to me, for that, at least, would have assured me of board and lodging for a time, but I felt resentfully curious to know what new stigma could be fastened upon me.
"Not at all," he answered abruptly. "Turn south here!"
He swung around the corner of Dearborn. For two blocks he said nothing more, and I obtained a good opportunity to look him over from head to foot. He seemed an inch or two taller than myself; I guessed him at slightly over six feet. His strides, even for a man of that height were enormous. After a second of watching the black trouser leg swinging methodically back and from his jersey jacket I understood; he was out of proportion in that his trunk was even shorter than mine, while his legs were at least six inches long: He carried himself with pride and decision, though; no one could think of poking fun at him.
He led me through the doorway of the Great Northern Hotel, across the lobby, and down the steps to the grill. Selecting a table in a corner far from the small coterie of late diners, he ordered, without consulting my preferences, soup, filet mignon, French-fried potatoes, combination salad, coffee, pie à la mode—I swallowed hard to keep from showing too avid interest. "Two orders of each," he concluded curtly, "as quickly as possible. And now," he went on, extending a hammered copper cigarette case across the table, "I must tell you first of all that I have a definite reason for inviting you here to-night. This is business, not charity."
It was the second time in an hour that I had been assured that proffered assistance was not alms, but this time I believed. The imperative directness of the stranger was hard to associate with indiscriminate action of any kind. "So I guessed," I answered dryly "else I shouldn't be sitting here."
He nodded. "The dinner's an investment. I think it will bear good dividends, but that is beside the question now. I don't waste many words, and you don't look talkative. I'll come right down to cases before the waitress returns. How highly do you value your life?" A steely flash hardened the blue eyes.
I grinned. The outrageous question coming straight from the shoulder, pleased me immensely. It sounded like the talk I had been accustomed to hearing. "The price was never lower," I answered. "State your proposition!"
He regarded me an instant shrewdly. "What are you, a draft dodger?" he asked.
In spite of myself a quick flush mounted to my cheeks. Half rising I unbuttoned my coat, turning outward the lapel to show the war cross I wore.
"Your pardon!" he said quickly, placing a hand on my shoulder and forcing me down into the seat again. "Wounded, eh?"
"Yes, but that's not why I'm here," I retorted. "Now, see here! My name is Selwyn Trask. Why I have been walking the streets or why I'm here to-night is strictly my own business. What is yours?"
"A fair question, but I can't answer it as fully as I'd like," he returned, leaning forward. "When I saw you out there by the post office, crossing the street without looking at the cars that almost hit you, I was nearly certain that you were the man I wanted. Now I am sure of it. I want a desperate man, but a man who knows how to be a gentleman, who can conduct himself with ease and surety in a company of gentlemen."
I said nothing, for I flattered myself that even my unwarranted disgrace had not deprived me of address and personality, even though it had made my real name undesirable.
While the waitress set down the soup and toast crisps I saw my host eying me silently. The sight of something real to eat was too much for my sharpened appetite to stand, however. With a bow to him I ladled out a generous portion for each of us and started. I felt his eyes upon me, calculating, appraising; but his affair, whatever it might be, was of less interest to me just then than the viands.
"I am looking for a man possessing youth, good appearance, the ability to use money lavishly without seeming to notice expense, and yet who is sufficiently at odds with fortune to risk his life willingly for a commensurate reward. So far you seem to fill the bill." My host spoke in a low tone, but with unmistakable seriousness.
"My experience ought to fit me for the place," I answered dryly, "provided recommendations are not necessary."
"They mean nothing to me," he retorted. "No one can place a man with me unless my estimate of him is a sufficient recommendation."
"You are in the habit of hiring men from the streets?"
"Yes, when I come across the man I want. I don't mind telling you that I have had a man watching the idlers near the post office ever since the War Exposition and the chill drove them out of Grant Park."
"I am flattered," I observed, grinning.
"Not at all," he cut in abruptly. "Have you ever gambled?"
"Surely. House, rouge et noir, poker, faro, craps and other dice games, and, of course, the usual thing in an occasional tip on the ponies." I could tell him this with a clear conscience.
"How much is the most you ever have lost in one evening?"
I considered. "A trifle over a thousand, one night at poker at the Knick——" I bit my tongue. "At a place in New York," I finished hastily.
"Good!" he exclaimed, without seeming to notice my slip. With the air of one having made a decision he addressed himself to the meal, and though my curiosity was just becoming aroused, I could get him to talk no more about the matter until dessert and coffee had been placed before us. Then, after sampling the pie and sipping the coffee, he held out the copper cigarette case again.
"I want you," he began, striking a match, "provided you are willing to take the place."
"Why, you haven't told me yet what the job is!" I protested, looking at him in amazement.
"No, and I shan't tell you just yet, either."
"Well"—I looked him squarely in the eyes—"I have good reason to know that there are enough crooked affairs being conducted in this country to-day so that I cannot think of taking a place without some description of it being given."
"I shall want you to take a suite of rooms at the Black Friar Hotel," he said evenly. "There you will install yourself as a gentleman of some wealth. For perhaps a week or ten days I shall ask nothing of you except that you enjoy yourself thoroughly, and that you purchase a wardrobe commensurate with your new position. All your bills will be taken care of. Your valet will be furnished. In the drawer of your desk you will find a check book with a large enough sum entered to your name so that you will have no difficulty in keeping up your end no matter where you may go."
"Yes, that will be splendid," I retorted: "but what is the risk you spoke of? Where does my part of it come in?"
My host shook his head slowly. "That I cannot explain in full," he answered. "Probably your part never will become wholly clear to you—unless disaster comes. I can just assure you of this: No matter what you are asked to do you may be certain that all is in a worthy cause."
"Oh, certainly!" I laughed mirthlessly visions of blackmail schemes, bribery, confidence games, and other crimes coming to mind. "Just tell me what that worthy cause is, will you? I object to being a blind tool."
"What you ask is impossible," he answered quietly. "I can and will give you one pledge that probably will convince you, however. No one connected with my organization is working for dishonest gain. As time goes on you doubtless will fathom the greater part of our object. If at any time you are requested to do any work that seems unjustifiable or wrong, ask for me. I doubtless will be able explain to your satisfaction. If at the time I cannot, then, under oath of secrecy, you will be allowed to withdraw. Of course, after you have been with us a short time you will understand just how unprofitable it would be for you to betray us."
I colored, unpleasant pictures conjured up by his last words. "I do not wish to join any enterprise that I ever may consider it my duty to betray!" I said shortly, thinking this would end the matter.
"You won't!" he promised coolly, tamping out his cigarette. "Now for terms. What salary a month do you want, exclusive of expenses?"
I had to smile, for though it galled me to take orders from a man I do not respect, there was something in the hawk-like face and cold blue eyes of my host that made his assumption of authority natural and even compelling. "A thousand," I answered, without the slightest idea whether the work I was accepting would occupy a week's time or the rest of my natural life.
"Fair enough!" He rose with decision. "Stay here," he commanded, "and I'll send for Mitsui. He will be your valet."
WHEN a plane is dropping from the clouds in a tail spin, the aviator has a hard job of waiting. If he works his controls before the rudder comes up from vertical he merely accentuates the spin and lessens his own chances. He must sit still, ready for instant action, but guided by developments.
After enfilading a Walvet scout once at a height of four thousand feet my Nieuport had slipped into one of these deadly spirals. I knew what to do but knew also that unless circumstance favored me I might hit the ground before I could flatten out. I just waited, my muscles all tightening under my skin, while the machine gunner behind me yelled frantic directions through the speaking tube. At two thousand feet the chance came. The heavy nose, aided by a gust of wind, tossed the tail up, halting the spin for the fraction of a second. One pull on the ailerons and hydroplanes and we were safe.
Sitting alone at table there at the Great Northern I experienced the same sensation I had felt when I knew we were in the tail spin. I was committed, but to what I had no idea. One notion struck me forcibly. My host had been in dead earnest; no matter what other wrong impressions his appearance might convey he was used to wasting neither time nor words. The risk he promised me would arrive in due time. Of that I was certain. Merely resting my chance for life upon my own skill had no terrors for me, if that were to be the issue. What I feared most was that in some way dishonor might be connected with the project, and I had been fed up on even the thought of that. Besides, I knew that I had been watched constantly. When I had come in from New York a detective had occupied the berth opposite mine. When I went back to the observation car he had decided upon a smoke at the same time. When I dropped the name of Tarrant I flattered myself that I did a good job of it, for I saw him no more.
"Mr. Trask! Mr. Selwyn Trask!" A boy in uniform passed near my table, and I beckoned to him. "Your car is waiting, sir," said the page, "at the south entrance."
I thanked him, and made my way up the single flight and out onto Jackson Boulevard. A single large limousine was at the curb, and in spite of the fact that I was prepared for any development, the big car gave me a thrill to my finger tips. There was no hocus-pocus about it, at any rate. I love fine machinery.
The interior of the car was unlighted, but as the door stood open, I stepped in. The reflection of the boulevard lights and the dimmed lamps of the motors showed me a great bulk of a man, huddled on one of the extension seats, facing backward. His greatcoat collar was turned up, and I could not make out his face, but I saw that he had to hunch forward a trifle to allow for the sloping roof of the car.
"Mr. Mitsui?" I asked doubtfully. I had expected a slim, lithe Jap.
"Ye-ah! Right in, sir!" The voice was deep from his chest, and there was nothing about it that should have inspired mirth, but I grinned in spite of all. Something in the drawling inflection, that rose slightly with each word, suggested anything but the Orient. I flung myself on the deep upholstery of the back seat and tried to make out the features veiled under the brim of his derby while we turned and glided away to our destination. Though in this I was unsuccessful, I did manage to make out that my new valet's size was not magnified by the coat. His eyes evidently detected a shiver I tried to repress, for one huge arm reached to the seat beside me, and came back with a fur robe. Without asking leave, he threw this about my shoulders and snapped the hook down over my ankles. In the course of this operation I had obtained a good chance to study his hands. Each was as broad and as capable as an entrenching tool, and the knuckles projected in homely fashion among knotted veins and tendons. The fingers, however, were of extraordinary length, and, although large, seemed both capable and graceful in a fashion. His wrists, covered with black hair on the backs, seemed slim in proportion to the bulging forearm and biceps behind. I resolved mentally that if I ever had to cross Mitsui I would try not to let those hands get hold of me.
As we came to a stop he pressed something forward into my hand. "The room key, sir," he rumbled. "The registering is done. If you will please to go up——"
"Sure. When will I see you?"
"In ten minutes, Mr. Trask." He remained seated, and as I stepped under the canvas canopy I saw the limousine drive away with the huge figure still huddled forward on the extension seat. I thought to myself that Mitsui was going to make an odd valet, but I rather liked the situation. I felt instinctively that he knew his business and mine also, and that I could depend on him as far as I was willing to go with him. I look for more action from men who say little.
At my floor I left the elevator and followed the door numbers around the corridor. At the figure which corresponded to the set on the keyplate, I entered. From the illumination of the corridor I managed to locate a set of buttons and snapped on all the lights.
The room was long but scarcely of three paces width; I saw that it extended to the front of the building and served as a waiting room and ante-chamber for visitors. A small desk and chair of mahogany and reed, and three chairs and a table in the window bay, all still covered by the linen dusters, completed the furnishings. On the left stood one central door, while at the right were two, spaced equidistantly from the center.
Tossing my hat in the tiny wall closet, I opened the door leading into the outside bedroom. I saw a pleasant chamber, perhaps twenty by twelve feet. It was situated at the southwest corner of the floor, so that three large windows opened to the south and two to the west. An extra-size double bed of mahogany, fitted with a canopy of flowered silk, stood in an alcove. A chaise longue was drawn up invitingly near the three south windows, and rockers and two straight chairs, all of comfortable lines, were placed sedately about with the prim arrangement that bespoke the ideas of a chambermaid rather than those of an occupant. A chiffonier, a writing desk, and a floor lamp completed the array.
A door in the south wall led into the bathroom, and from this another opened into the valet's bathroom. This in turn adjoined his bedroom, which was much the same as the first, except that it possessed only two windows instead of five, and the bed was less ornate. A steamer trunk and a large suit case standing in the clothes press showed that Mitsui had taken possession.
A faint odor of cigarette smoke hung in the air. I walked over to throw up the window, for though I smoke myself there is little I detest more than stale tobacco in a bedchamber. As I did so I stopped short. The curtain was sucked outward by the draft, but this was not what attracted my attention. A wisp of smoke, still clinging to its ephemeral form, passed out into the night! I watched it, fascinated. I knew that even in the deadest atmosphere cigarette smoke dissipates in a few minutes. Some one had been in this room when I entered the suite! It could not have been Mitsui, for I had seen him drive away, and neither my erstwhile host nor he had mentioned any other companion.
Guardedly I made my way to the door, examining the clothes press and the space beneath the bed. One thing was certain—the room was empty now. I retraced my steps, glancing into each nook and corner of my own chamber, but without success. There was no smoke in my room, anyway. The interloper evidently had not bothered with it.
That second I noted a faint curl of smoke from the floor near the desk. A cigarette stub, flattened by a heavy heel, still glowed faintly where a fraction of the spark had escaped extinction. I stooped and picked it up. The cork tip was broken and the label smirched, but I recognized, with a start, the same monogram that had decorated my dinner fags! This meant probably that the intruder was in some way connected with my host. Doubtless he had a perfect right to visit my apartment. Nevertheless, I crossed the hall and pressed my ear to the panel of the living-room door. A faint rustling as of paper being folded sounded from within.
Reason told me I had no need of stealth, but a natural instinct of caution bade me open the door without noise. Gripping knob tightly I turned it. Then, a millimeter at a time, I increased the aperture until I could obtain a fair view of the interior. The shades were drawn making the single electric bulb which glowed through frosted glass on the wall nearest me, a dim but sufficient illumination. Faced away from me at the opposite end of the room stood a man, fumbling with packs of papers. His face was bent down, but I could distinguish his fingers as they quietly slipped rubber hands to one side and shuffled through the documents.
With something of a thrill I noted that a heavy automatic lay on the table beside him. This token did not strike me favorably at all. If he had the right to look at those papers, why did he carry a gun? I resolved to find out, Already I felt a growing sense of responsibility for the interests of my employer.
Advancing on tiptoe across the bare stretch of floor, I reached the sound-snuffling thickness of rug it safety. Here I dropped on all fours, creeping round the center table. Once my quarry stopped as if to listen and my heart jumped, but, apparently reassured, he began again.
Now only eight feet intervened. No more cover offered; I had to cross the open floor behind him. With the greatest care I rose to my feet.
At that second one of my shoes squeaked audibly! The intruder whirled, reaching for his revolver. I was not quite ready, but I sprang, nevertheless. He warded me off with his left arm, and I just managed to retain my balance by seizing the edge of the table. When I turned he was covering me with the revolver.
"What can you wish here?" he inquired with the cool politeness I knew so well in certain French officers I had met in the service. His diction was perfect, however I scarcely could tabulate him as a foreigner.
"That's what I'm asking you!" I replied hotly. "These are my rooms. What are you doing here?"
"Ah! So?" His black brows lifted in surprise. "So you take this suite now, eh?"
"Yes," I replied, angry for letting him get the upper hand. "Tell me what you want here! One cry for help will bring the hotel porters and the police," I added significantly.
He smiled disdainfully. "Ah, that is what you call a 'bluff,' is it not? I know your business; it is not the kind which calls on the gendarmes—the police—for assistance."
He glanced quickly to one side and started to back toward the door. In that instant I saw my opportunity. An apache in the Paris regiment had taught me a few tricks of savate, and one of them fitted this exigency remarkably well.
With a sudden well-timed kick I knocked the revolver from his hand, and then I closed with him. The attack was a complete surprise, for he doubtless had considered himself out of danger. As I hit him he slipped on the edge of the rug and I fell on top of him.
He was not muscular, but lithe as an eel. Twice when I thought I had him pinioned he slipped out of my grasp. Once one of those slim, wiry arms slid up to my neck, and I had to exert all my strength to break this grip before I could subdue him further.
Finally he seemed to tire and gave up. I seated myself on his chest, holding his arms to the floor.
"And—now what?" he questioned grimly, between gasps for breath.
"Damned if I know!" I answered. "We just stay right here till my valet gets back, I guess." I did not dare to attempt to tie him, for I had experienced his slipperiness. If I once let go of him I was sure he would really escape. Besides, I could see no sign of a rope on the premises except the electric cord leading to the floor lamps, and this lay five paces distant.
A few seconds later the gigantic bulk of Mitsui appeared in the doorway. As I looked up thankfully I could have sworn that the shadow of a smile was puckering the corners of his wide-set slanted eyes. That same second it disappeared, however, and I could not be sure.
"I think I've caught a burglar," I said to him. "He was pawing through those papers when I came in." I jerked my thumb in the direction of the littered desk.
Mitsui grunted. Motioning me to arise, he seized my prisoner by the shoulders with those great, capable hands and raised him to his feet. Holding him securely by neck and belt, Mitsui marched him to the doorway.
"Can I help you any?" I asked, anxious to see what disposition would be made of my captive.
"No; you stay," retorted Mitsui, indicating the room by a jerk of his head. "We have a way"—and he stopped impressively, glaring at the prisoner—"a way of taking care of these fellows." Then, with no more explanation, valet and captive vanished through the doorway, and I was left alone in my new quarters.
ON Mitsui's suggestion I remained in my room during the next two days. Under any other circumstances forty-eight hours within walls would have been unendurable, but my ingenious valet showed me immediately that there was much for me to do. As I found out shortly, he never commanded, but the manner in which he consulted my pleasure in regard to necessaries told me unmistakably that he had previously received like "suggestions" himself.
Promptly at eight-thirty the next morning I was visited by the first of a procession of outfitters. Tailors, haberdashers, and shoe salesmen measured me, fitted me, and showed me samples of this and that until my patience was exhausted. I finally drew Mitsui aside. "Look here!" I whispered, standing on tiptoe to reach his ear. "Ordinarily I have no objection to buying clothes. You know more about this game than I do, though. You know just what I'm supposed to have. Go ahead and pick it out and don't bother me."
"A'right!" he rumbled, nodding slowly.
The tailor who was to cut four of my new suits, I found out then, called himself a maker of "character clothes." His plan, as he explained to Mitsui, was to measure and gauge a man, and then supply him with suits for the occasion desired according to his estimate of the man's character and temperament. This seemed to suit Mitsui. Slouched forward on the edge of the table, his heavy arm resting on his right knee, Mitsui described me at length.
As I listened I realized that Selwyn Trask was indeed a remarkable person. It seemed that he just had come from New Zealand, where he had been wool grower on a large scale. "Lived in Auckland," "several large ranches," "eighty thousand acres of grazing land," were a few of the descriptive phrases. My valet painted him as a young and ambitious multimillionaire who had become impatient with life in the provinces. He was visiting the United States, particularly the cities of New York and Chicago, for social and industrial purposes. Now and then I noticed the character-clothes tailor glance at me rather doubtfully, but Mitsui's heavy, even tone never varied. I began to suspect that he would have found a way somehow toward delineating my wardrobe character had I not offered him the assignment.
Lunch was served in the rooms, and more from curiosity than fellow feeling, I invited Mitsui to eat with me. I had not placed him satisfactorily in my own mind yet. He accepted with dignity.
In the course of the salad I completed the survey of his strange face I had been making. "Mitsui," I asked, "where on earth were you born?"
"Yezo."
I stared blankly. The name meant nothing to me: it might have been a town, a river, or an ocean so far as knew.
"It is north island of kingdom of Nippon," he explained gravely.
"Oh, Japan!" I exclaimed. "That's what your name sounds like, but one scarcely would take you for an Oriental. Except for your eyes I—why, I'd call you Scandinavian!"
To my surprise Mitsui grinned, exhibiting a wide mouthful of flashy gold fillings. Never before or since have I seen as much precious metal in the mouth of a human being. "Ye-ah?" he asked with that same rising inflection I had noted at first.
"Yes!" I retorted. "If I heard you talk and didn't see your face I'd name you as a naturalized citizen from Copenhagen."
"Hammerfest," he corrected, the grin fading. "My mother was Norsk. From her I got my size."
I longed to hear the story of how the woman from Hammerfest came to Yezo, but his manner did not invite further questions. "Well, you seem to know your business as a rich man's valet," I said. "Now, if it's not against the rules, will you tell me a little about why I'm being fitted out like a horse and buggy?"
"Horse?" he asked slowly, not comprehending.
"Yes. Why am I supposed to be a millionaire, and what's going to happen to me if some one asks me something about sheep raising in Australia? I had tea with an Anzac scout down in the ward of the clearing hospital at St Nazaire once, but that's the nearest I've been to New Zealand."
Without a word, Mitsui arose and pulled open a drawer in the table. "These," he said, placing three pamphlets before me, "describe raising of sheep. You read them. This," and he dropped a tiny leather bound volume on top of the pamphlets, "describe New Zealand. You learn all necessary from it. A friend you trust come for dinner to-night. His name Hoffman. He tell about New Zealand all you want."
I nodded at him in admiration. "You fellows seem to have this all cooked up for me all right," I commented. "Guess I won't need brains to get along."
Mitsui's slant eyes canned me carefully. "That's not so, sir!" he answered, emphasis in his tone. "J. M. want a much intelligent man for your place." He stopped suddenly, and I would have sworn a look of terror flashed into his countenance, but instantly his broad face was immobile as ever.
"'J.M.?'" I queried, masking my curiosity with indifference. "Who is he?"
"I talk too much," growled the valet, glancing away, and applying himself with, I suspected, more anger than appetite to the remainder of the meal.
"Perhaps you had better explain a little more," I suggested, "for fear I might make some kind of break." The further I went with Mitsui, however, the less respect I retained for my own inquisitorial abilities. He regarded me thoughtfully for a time, and then made some irrelevant observation concerning my wardrobe.
With an exclamation of impatience I left the table, seizing the printed matter on New Zealand I was to study. I was not in the habit of cross-questioning a valet to find out whatever I wanted to know. The reticence of every one connected with this affair piqued me, but since I had accepted the assignment blindly I would carry on. When the time came for me to show, I knew I could give a good account of myself, no matter who this mysterious "J. M." might be.
While I skimmed through the pages of condensed information relative to wool growing in one of the pamphlets, Mitsui gathered the dishes on a tray. Halfway to the door with this burden he stopped. "Do not ask more," he said, and I noted that his voice was deep with earnestness; "but 'J. M.' our boss. He sent you here."
He turned slowly. "Tell no one I say this!" he concluded, and as I promised he balanced the tray on one arm and reached for the knob of the door. Before he could touch it, however, the door swung ponderously open! Mitsui stepped back, facing a scowling, Vandyke-bearded newcomer in the doorway.
"You needn't hurry, Mitsui," darkly hinted the interloper, who must have had a pass-key to the outer door. "My name is Hoffman," he flung at me, as if this would be a complete explanation.
My valet bowed, and seemed to be having difficulty in holding the tray. I took this from him in time and set it on the table.
"Just how much does he know?" demanded Hoffman, advancing menacingly toward Mitsui and jerking his thumb at me. "How much has your loose tongue given away?"
Mitsui seemed stricken dumb.
"If you mean about 'J. M.'" I ventured, "I know next to nothing, though I'll admit I am curious as all get-out. He sent me here. That's all."
"Enough!" growled Hoffman.
"It was slip, sir," said Mitsui humbly. "Anyway"—and he stepped to Hoffman's side and whispered a sentence in his ear I could not catch.
"So?" said the latter in a pleased but doubtful tone. His expression changed back again quickly, however. "Well, that is not a matter for your judgment. In there!"
He motioned to the bedchamber across the hall. With bowed head Mitsui preceded him.
I had no intention this time of missing anything, so I followed. Taking two pairs of handcuffs from his pocket, Hoffman snapped one cuff from each on each of my valet's wrists. The remaining cuff he locked over the pipes of the radiator. Throwing a chair back of the captive so that he could sit down, Hoffman turned brusquely away.
"Can't I give him a little air?" I questioned, for the closed room was heated almost to the suffocation point.
Hoffman looked me over coolly from head to foot, and then turned to the window. "Not likely to be any eavesdroppers on that ledge," he remarked, glancing to the sidewalk below. "Open it three inches and turn off the radiator."
I obeyed. Waiting until Hoffman's back was turned, I bent to Mitsui's ear. "Anything I can do?" I whispered. A single shake of negation was his only answer, as he stared out moodily at the lake.
IF I had not possessed Mitsui's word for the fact that the artist, Hoffman, was a friend who could be trusted, I would have put him down as an enemy. Throughout the next hour he spent with me, telling the story of New Zealand wool growing, he never warmed up one degree. Always his dark eyes seemed rather to glare at me, and his lips to wear a half sneer.
I was at a loss to account for his attitude, for though I disliked his pert mustache and dandified air, I saw he was far from effeminate. His shoulders maintained a straight line of leanness, even when he slouched in the heavy leather chair opposite me, and his slim fingers were quiet. I make it a rule always to take any man seriously who has no little nervous mannerisms such as rubbing his hands, biting his nails, or pulling at his mustache. The absence of these signs means that his nerve is good.
He performed the task I expected of him with thoroughness. For all I knew, there might be more to sheep raising than he told me in that sixty minutes, but the same amount of information would have taken me weeks to unearth and understand, working in a library. At the end of his discourse he branched out, describing Auckland, its thoroughfares and its clubs, even assigning me a certain town mansion on Shellendale Avenue, and granting me membership in two of the more exclusive clubs.
"This is just like a travelogue," I remarked when he stopped to light a fresh cigarette. "One would be led to suspect that you knew New Zealand."
"Yes. Lived in the same house I have described, belonged to the same clubs—even had something of an interest in raising the same sheep. Ought to know it. The two years cost me thirty thousand dollars. Because I know it so well is the reason why you have been given this character."
"Oh! Selwyn Trask, then, might just as well have come from Egypt?"
He inclined his head affirmatively, but before he could answer, a light knock sounded on the door to the corridor. With the same quickness he might have exhibited had he been on his mark and straining for the pistol report, Hoffman was on his feet and out of the room before I could swing my legs from the chair.
When I arrived at the door of the antechamber I just saw him finish scribbling a message on a calling card. He handed this to the boy and took inside a large bundle in exchange.
"Try these on and see if they will fit. They're probably a little out of date, but they'll do until your other clothes come from the tailor." He tossed the package to me.
Cutting the strings with my pocket knife, I undid the wrappings. On top, swathed in tissue paper, lay six dress collars, several ties in their individual cases, two pairs of white kid gloves, and a dress vest. From the pocket of the latter hung a silk watch cord. A dress hat, shoes, a neatly folded full-dress suit, and tuxedo coat completed the contents of the other three boxes.
"Rather taking a chance on fit," I observed doubtfully, eying the outfit. "If friend 'J. M.' missed a chance to try out my waist with a tape measure these trousers probably will fit well—around the shoulders. I use only a twenty-six belt."
"Try them," advised Hoffman laconically. I saw no reason for not obeying, so took the clothes across the hall into the bedchamber.
"If you'll dress," Hoffman called after me, "we'll go out for a little while. Make it 'tuck.' There'll be no ladies."
When I entered the room I received the shock of my life. Mitsui was gone! The window was still open three inches, the radiator was turned off just as I left it, but the handcuffs, with one of each pair opened, were hanging to the pipes!
Not knowing just what significance this might have, I ran back and communicated the startling news to Hoffman.
"The devil!" he exclaimed, starting up and crossing to examine the evidence for himself. In silence he unlocked the cuffs and turned them over in his hands. I saw that they were of prodigious strength, locking with six bars. No human being could have shed them unaided.
"What's the verdict?" I asked after five minutes of silence.
Hoffman straightened abruptly, shrugging his shoulders. "You know as much as I," he retorted, a certain bitterness in his tone. "In this business, though, nothing ought to surprise one." The last seemed almost soliloquy. "It won't interfere with our little outing at all, though," he added, regaining his normal tone.
While I was dressing the grim thought occurred to me that I was going to enjoy earning my thousand a month once I could get down to cases with all this hocus-pocus and unexplained happening. Though I had not yet left my suite, several odd and seemingly opposed events occurred. When I could hold the threads in hand I felt sure none of the handcuffs I locked would come open mysteriously.
A strange sense of familiarity mocked me as I donned the pair of shoes provided for me. They fitted like gloves, and yet I knew they were not unlike mine. I did not consider the matter seriously at the moment, for 8-C feet are not in the least rare.
Whoever picked out the outfit for me, however, had exercised the same intelligence in respect to all the articles. The shirt, collars, trousers, and vest all fitted, provided I did not stand too straight. The man who had owned them previously evidently had not been through the course of sprouts at Patricksbourne airdrome as I had done.
It was not so difficult for me to slouch a little, however. I watched myself in the mirror, leaning just a trifle forward and to the right, dropping my right shoulder half an inch.
At that second my eyes widened, and a cold rush swept through my body. I had noticed the thin band of Warren cord on my left sleeve!
This would mean nothing whatever except for the fact that on an occasion five years previously I had brought exactly similar cord from Scotland and had used it a dress on a suit the next winter. Combined with the extraordinary fact that the suit fitted—— Like a madman I tore off the collar and examined it. No clue here! the collar was new.
On the second I bethought myself of a certain test. Turning inside out the lining of the right breast pocket, I found the tailor's name. Sewed on, just as I had feared to find it, was the linen square, bearing the name "J. Laskert,—Fifth Avenue, New York," and below this the script letters, "K. F. T." That was my tailor; those were the initials of the name I thought left behind me; the suit had been made for me four years before!
Unmindful of the fact that the white bow, still tied, was hanging around my collarless neck, I ran across the hall. Hoffman was sitting smoking quietly, just as he had been during my lesson on sheep.
"I've come to the end!" I announced abruptly, stopping squarely before him. Explanations of a sordid nature were racing through my brain. "You can tell 'J. M.' that he can find another man to pay his thousand dollars a month to. I've seen enough to make me certain that I wish no more connection with this project, whatever it is."
Hoffman looked me over from head to foot coldly, the same half sneer on his lips. "Scared out?" he asked, insulting me deliberately.
I had determined that nothing he could say would move me, however. "No," I answered. "If you know my record at all you know that I am not a coward. If you still have doubt I can find time to oblige you in any manner you suggest." I felt myself bristling like a schoolboy but Hoffman's calm assumption of superiority, coupled with his quite evident ability had galled me somewhat.
He bowed, and I thought a glint of amusement came into the corners of his eye. "Some time when you have more time to yourself," he promised. "There's nothing delights me more than friendly bout with the gloves. But why, if you are not frightened do you want to drop out of this enterprise?" His expression shaded into coldness again.
"Because I don't like it!" I retorted. "I haven't any special reason for confiding in you, but I don't mind saying that I have taken an assumed name for a real reason. Nearly three thousand people believe that I ought to be in jail, and though I proved myself innocent to the authorities I can't set myself right with the three thousand until—— Oh, well, never mind the story."
"Yes? I don't see any connection."
"You don't?" I still was a trifle angry. "Well, this is where it comes in: I am in Chicago, broke, and living under an assumed name. Presumably nobody knows me. I am approached by a perfect stranger, who asks me to go to work for him on a blind assignment at a thousand a month and expenses. I know there must be a nigger in the woodpile somewhere. It has to be dirty work of some kind. He knows my circumstances and thinks I can't afford to refuse."
"Oh, rot!" exclaimed Hoffman impatiently. "If you're so deuced honorable, why don't you wait until you see something about your job that convinces you that it is dishonorable? You're fighting a shadow."
"I have. This dress outfit proves it to me. Tell me—aren't you connected in some way with the depositors?"
"The depositors?" he echoed, patently puzzled. "My dear boy, I am not connected with any one, really. In fact, I can scarcely be said to be in on this project at all." His face showed nothing except that he was telling the truth. "And I can add something to that statement, too," he went on. "You are not here because of your identity, or because of any crime you are thought to have committed in the past. I don't know who you are and I don't care a Continental!"
"Then why did you send me this dress suit?" I flared.
"Why?" He stopped and regarded me critically. "Doesn't it fit pretty well?"
"Yes, it fits!" I retorted. "The person who sent it knew it was going to fit. It was made for me about four years ago!"
"Made for you?" he repeated, astonished.
"Yes. And coincidences like that just don't happen!"
A smile crept into his black eyes. "I suppose," he began quietly, "that this suggests some dastardly plot to your mind. You think probably that some one is trying to blackmail you or get hold of you in some way. I don't know the first thing about the incident of those clothes. I do know that I received indirect word from 'J. M.' that there would be a suit up her for you to-night in which you could make a decent appearance. From what you tell me you apparently don't care to be known by your former name, but that is nothing to me. I don't know your reason, and I care nothing whatever to know. This much I can tell you: 'J.M.' didn't hire you without knowing every single thing about you; you can bank on that. Therefore the fact that the dress suit fits you causes me no surprise. If I were you, though, I'd forget all about my self-consciousness. No matter if you are His Satanic Majesty himself in disguise, you'll do for our purposes if 'J. M.' says so."
I squirmed inwardly at his words, but kept calm. "Well, I don't believe any legitimate enterprise could want a man with my reputation connected with it. I shall get out to-night."
"Look her!" Hoffman had risen, glowering at me. "I don't mind telling you, young man, that if I thought there was a chance in the world of my being put in your place to-night, I'd tell you to get out in a hurry! Right now I am more jealous of the change you have than you can imagine. I did my best two months ago to qualify, but I failed. I'm too well known around here.
"One day about two weeks ago, after 'J. M.' had tried out three other young men for this place—all of them failed to make a go of it, by the way—he told me that he had found the man. He just said that a certain scandal had occurred, and that the young fellow concerned would be just about desperate enough to make good. He didn't tell me what the scandal was, and I didn't inquire. Now, if you still insist on quitting I shall have to send you to 'J.M.' myself. I have done my best."
He was telling the truth all the way, and I was sure of it. The question of what this mysterious omniscient person might want of me still burned in my brain, but many of my fears had been dispelled. "Well," I decided, "if you know all about me and still feel that I can be of use to you, I'm satisfied."
"Fine!" commented Hoffman. "Now get your check book out of the table drawer. I'm going to see just how well you gamble."
BEFORE leaving, Hoffman cashed a check for one thousand dollars at the hotel cashier's desk and had me do the same, endorsing my signature. Then he called a car and led the way to the street.
I noted that the machine left the Loop district, threading northward over the Chicago River. When the traffic of the markets and lake-shipping docks were left behind, it turned west.
"We're going out to a joint kept by an ex-prizefighter. It's three or four miles yet, on Milwaukee Avenue," Hoffman explained. "On the way I'm going to give you a few instructions."
"Ready!" I replied, smiling. I was happy to be out again and anxious for the fireworks to begin.
"Well, I am putting a difficult task up to you," he began. "If you know gambling pretty well, it won't be so bad, though. I want you, from now on, to be a consistent loser!"
"Fairly easy, in most games," I could not help remarking.
"Yes, if money means nothing to you." He gazed at me squarely. "You named your own salary. The money you lose will not come out of that: therefore it means nothing to you. Simply obey instructions."
"Very well!" I replied. "Tell me how much you want me to lose, what the game is, and I'll do it."
"I think they shoot craps out here."
"That's why I have a tuxedo on, eh?" I asked ironically. "Of all the games of chance I care the least for craps. It always has struck me as a game for guttersnipes."
Hoffman smiled. "Never mind that part. They'll be 'passing' for perhaps five dollars, which is a fairly steep game for Milwaukee Avenue. You lose thirty or forty."
"I may not be able to do that at craps," I objected. "The play is all on the table."
"Not with these chaps," he retorted. "You'll see what I mean, but don't let on. You just lose."
"All right!" I said grimly. One of the main reasons that I hated the game of craps was because there was always so much opportunity for crooked work in handling the bones.
Our car did not stop in the street, but drew up in an alley near a billiard parlor. The back room, shut off by swinging doors, concealed the tables, of which there were three in full operation. They were not "house" games; that is, while the proprietor took a certain toll for each person during an hour of play, the dice were not managed by him. The game was open, and Hoffman and I had no difficulty horning in. He seemed to be accepted as a habitué, and on his whispered recommendation I was accorded a chair.
The clientele was despicable. Whereas perhaps one-third of the men assembled might be called gentlemen by stretching the term, the remainder were the calloused, hard young rowdies of the neighborhood—the same nonworking element that has thrown the clean games of billiard and pool in disrepute all over the country by the mere fact of its continued loafing in these havens of refuge.
Concealing my disgust, I joined immediately, while Hoffman contented himself with a half dollar or a dollar on each throw. I waited until two or three had indicated their desires, and then I took the rest. The man with the dice was naming the total amount, which usually was five dollars, except when the thrower was nearly broke. Then the crowd allowed him to pass for two or three, if he wished.
After fifteen minutes I had lost eighteen dollars. There was no particular secret about it. One chap had the dice all of the time, and while he occasionally failed to roll seven or eleven on his first throw, he invariably ended by making his point. Each time he threw the bones he glanced at the faces held between his thumb and forefinger, and attempted to manage the speed and direction of each dice. Finally he failed on "Little Joe"—a pair of twos—one of the dice rolling over just too far and killing him on seven.
The next two men did not last as long. When my turn came with the dice I was an even twenty dollars to the bad, while Hoffman, having recouped once, was only six dollars out. I immediately proposed a toss for twenty, hoping to end it quickly, but I had no takers. I had to stick to the five-dollar pass. Eleven turned up. I was only fifteen out. The next time I dropped a two and a one, making craps, and lost the dice.
At that second policemen flooded the joint. I heard Hoffman's exclamation as he grabbed for my arm and drew me to one side. We started for the side door, but two blue-coated huskies confronted us. A squad at that moment, with ready clubs, marched through the back entrance, facing us forward.
"This will ruin us!" Hoffman whispered in my ear with agitation.
"Let's make a break," I suggested. "These cops won't expect it."
I saw a grin of pleasure come to the corners of his mouth, and he nodded. A second later, as we were being huddled aboard a wagon like sheep into a dipping runway, Hoffman jumped suddenly sidewise. Without difficulty I broke the hold on my collar and followed him at a fast sprint.
A clamor broke out behind us, and a shot was fired—I presume, in the air. The pounding steps of one uniformed heavyweight followed, but we distanced him, hopping on to a moving car, and rode downtown. Probably because of the number of prisoners taken, the police made no serious effort to pursue us.
"You'll do," Hoffman commented explosively as we made ourselves comfortable to await the return of breath. "That will be the last—the last of places like that."
"Suite me!" I rejoined. "What now?"
Hoffman held back further explanations until we alighted. Hailing another taxi, he entered, beckoning me to follow.
"That was narrow," he concluded, when the door was closed. "If Selwyn Trask had been arraigned for shooting craps in that place he would have had to vanish back to Australia. Well," and I felt the grip of his fingers on my shoulder, "that was simply preparatory. Now we start."
For some moments he said nothing more, and I had time to note that the car was running south on Michigan Avenue. "It will come hard," he went on finally, "but in all the gambling you do from now on you must not win any considerable sum of money. Our whole project and your life depend on your strict obeyance of this principle. Because I am not going with you all the way I shall not attempt to act the same, but you must see to it that you establish a reputation for possessing more money than sense. When you lose a hundred dollars, assume a careless manner. Act as if cutting cards for anything under a thousand merely bored you."
"May I ask just what I am supposed to attain by doing this?"
"Yes." Hoffman leaned toward me, and his tone was deadly serious. "We believe that if you do exactly as stated you will attract the attention of one or more men who will be on the outlook for chaps of the stamp of Selwyn Trask."
"Sharks?"
"Well, yes, in a way." Hoffman weighed his words. "Not the ordinary steamship-cabin variety, however. If any one of the men with whom you play invites you anywhere, go!"
"I see. I am attempting to attract some sort of invitation."
"Yes," answered Hoffman grimly. "From then on I shall not be with you much of the time, but close tab will be kept on you just the same."
THE Carlton Chess Club, as the hall name plate called it, was a very different sort of organization. As Hoffman and I passed through the hall and reception room we were met by a company of gentlemen in evening clothes. Hoffman offered me my introduction, and without the least semblance of formality or stricture, such as ordinarily obtains in a club devoted mainly to gambling, we chatted. I alluded briefly to "my impressions of America." One of the party, Michelson by name, had been in New Zealand many years before, But his reminiscences were sufficiently hazy so I had no difficultly in keeping in character.
The rooms occupied the entire floor, and while in the first chamber from the corridor a very discreet game of auction bridge was in progress, most of the five or six other assemblages were playing poker of one kind or another. I was told later in the evening that the auction game represented the only really heavy gambling in the house. Some ten or twelve rich men of the city who enjoyed bridge kept it up, cutting in by turn whenever more than the "quorum" of four attended. The house encouraged the assembly, for though it was said they played for a dollar a point, money never was mentioned. On the few occasions when the police had seen fit to interfere they had met these men first. While they lodged indignant protests at being disturbed the other occupants had time to hide all the telltale material. Special slots in the floor and walls were provided in the other rooms for chips, so these bits of evidence could be hustled out of sight in a very few seconds. Hoffman told me that while the auction players won and lost large sums, the money itself mattered little to them, and that they would take no newcomers. For that reason, although bridge always has been one of my best games, I was introduced to a group in the third room, where a game known as "blind opener" poker was in progress.
Only four were at the table, and they welcomed both Hoffman and myself. Because the particular form of the game was new to me, I watched three pots before taking cards. It really was not complicated, however. The dealer put in one white chip for his ante. This was worth fifty cents. The first man to the left opened the pot before seeing his hand, by dropping in one red chip, worth a dollar. The next man looked at his cards. He then had three choices. He might drop out if he did not care for the possibilities of his hand; this cost him nothing. He might elect to "stay," in which case he covered the red-chip opener. If he held a fair starting hand—say a pair of queens, or better—he immediately raised. This raise might be any amount up to two dollars, in addition to the red chip he had to contribute in order to stay. The man following would stay on, nearly any pair, and would reraise the pot on a pair of aces or better, probably.
So it went. The chief difference between this form and ordinary poker, so far as I could judge, was that most of the betting occurred before the draw. By the time all were satisfied there was a fair idea in the minds of all concerning the strength of hands "on the go," excepting the possibility of a bluff, of course. Now and then a real tiff would occur after cards were dealt, but this was the exception. Usually there accumulated from five to thirty dollars before the draw, and this seemed to be sufficient to satisfy the players.
There was just one part that marred the sport, and to my mind it was a very grave drawback. Each time a pot amounted to five dollars or more—which was nearly every time—a white chip, costing fifty cents, had to be dropped through a slit in the center of the table provided for the purpose. This was the "house's percentage," and in a long session at the table it could mean only one thing; that was that the house got almost all of the money of the table. Since I was there to lose, however, I could not cavil at this contrivance so much in my favor.
I bought thirty dollars' worth of chips, as did Hoffman. There was little excitement in the play at first; though I held nothing exceptional I stayed in the first eight pots. One of these I won with kings and treys, and one I lost after a strong session of raising and re-raising before the draw. I had been dealt three ten-spots, while my opponent went in with a pat flush. On the rest I either dropped before the preliminary betting was finished, or was too palpably out of the running even to risk a call after the cards were dealt. Hoffman, playing "close to his chin," as I expected, was five or six blue chips to the good, while I was out a similar number, and losing steadily.
I have purposely neglected calling attention to the other men at the table because I left them so shortly, and because none of them but Hoffman figured in my later adventures. They were just ordinary wealthy young chaps, none of whom I liked very much.
It was with something of relief to me that a diversion came. Part of the group in one of the next rooms broke up, leaving only three at the table. The house attendant, knocking at the door, inquired if one of us would care to fill in to keep both tables going.
"You're having hard luck, Trask," said Hoffman, "why don't you try it?"
I rose, glad of the chance. Only six or seven remained of my second quota of chips, and these I passed over to Hoffman. "Maybe they'll bring you the fortune I couldn't get," I said. "Will you introduce me?"
"I can see to that, sir," put in the attendant, eying with respect a man who could carelessly donate twelve dollars to another without a thought. I bowed to the men I was leaving and passed back to the next room.
Once when I was engaged in an air duel in the Tours salient I engaged a straggling Boche whose Gotha seemed to be acting up. Though my "typewriter" riddled him from tip to tip, he did not fall. As sometimes happens when all calculations of both parties go amiss, we both had to swerve sharply to avoid a collision in midair. In that second, with wings almost scraping, I had a fair look at his face. He had thrown his goggles up in the emergency, and though he did not know me, I recognized him instantly! He was Peter Schleimann, a young blade with whom I had chummed during my two university years at Prague. For the first and last time during my military career a chill of horror paralyzed my fingers. I could no more train that gun on him, although he was my recognized opponent, than I could jump from my seat into the abyss below. I swerved away and he took advantage of my indecision to escape.
On entering that second poker group in the Chess Club rooms I had a second when that same chill—which is, I suspect a revulsion of the nervous consciousness at some dreaded thing unknown, suspected, or put out of mind temporarily, that forces itself to be reckoned with again—stopped me at the door. Though I was not in the least frightened, I found it an effort to walk forward for the round of introductions.
Fortunately, after mentioning my name, the attendant presented me first to an elderly man called Bakewell, who beamed genially at me as he clutched my hand. Next in order was a short, slim chap with black eyes that snapped continually. He was called Latisse, and looked as French as his name. I remembered a New York firm of wine importers by that name, and wondered vaguely if he might be connected.
Then came the ordeal. The third member of the group was probably the last man on earth I expected to find in this company—my valet, Mitsui! After once glancing at me he had turned to the window, awaiting the introduction. As he wheeled about slowly, a huge dandy in perfect attire, I thought I detected one of his slant eyes narrow a trifle more, which puzzled rather than reassured me. He could rely on the fact that I would say nothing, but what was his position? On which side was he now? In the tangle of events so far I could be pardoned for being suspicious of him.
"Baron Taku, Mr. Selwyn Trask!" I bowed to Mitsui, and the attendant added jocosely: "The baron knows little English, but is a most excellent poker player." I could guess that this must be the case, for from his courtly manner of acknowledging the introduction to his supposed master I could credit him with being an artist in any game embodying bluff.
Poker itself, though usually interesting while it is played, is merely repetition of inanimate detail when retold. Suffice it to say of that game that I followed instructions to the letter. In three hours of play I squandered nearly two hundred dollars, some of which I could have saved by taming my recklessness. Since I was supposed to do just this, however, I affected a total disregard for all minor transactions involving as little as a five-dollar bill. When it was my turn to furnish the drinks I bought the best champagne, though no one else had thought this necessary.
I was rewarded in this by a flicker of interest in Latisse, who sat at my left elbow. "In order to liven things up a bit" on several occasions I "high-spaded" him for ten dollars, and lost each time but one with what I flattered myself was extraordinary nonchalance. Even before I had become Selwyn Trask I would have watched my gambling more carefully than this.
When he was dealing the last time I pulled a bill from my pocket as usual, pretending I thought it a ten-spot, though in reality it was a fifty. When he exclaimed in surprise I waved away his objection in lordly fashion and asked him if he cared to cover it. He smiled, with what seemed to be delight, and did so. Looking at his hand, he asked me immediately if I had found a spade. Since the only card of that suit which I held was a five-spot, I felt perfectly safe in telling him so. To my surprise, he admitted that he had no spades at all, so I won the fifty.
This was not at all as I had intended, but in the course of the evening I managed to lose sufficient, anyway. The "baron" was way ahead, cashing in more chips than I lost, while Latisse won perhaps one hundred dollars. Bakewell was nearly as heavy a loser as I, but in spite of the genial manner in which he had begun the game, he ended with a savage scowl, damning his luck with every deal.
Because both in my "character" and in reality I hate to mix with this sort of a sport I was a trifle relieved when the game broke up. Latisse and the baron shook me warmly by the hand as I went to join Hoffman, and the former expressed a hope that he would see me often at the club, in "order to keep things going with a bit of zip."
I promised to return, but did so rather condescendingly. "Of course you know," I concluded, "the stakes are so low that it is really very mild amusement after all!"
Latisse's black eyes flashed instantly, with what I saw to be cupidity. "Come again!" he urged. "Sometimes it is possible for monsieur to find a little more excitement than to-night."
On leaving Hoffman congratulated me on the manner in which I had conducted myself. We dropped in for a sandwich and cup of coffee at an all-night restaurant, and then he bade me good night.
"Just keep up the program you have started," he concluded in answer to a question concerning Mitsui's presence. "It was not intended that you be placed at the same table with him, but perhaps it worked out just as well, from what you say." This was all the satisfaction I could get out of him.
When I got back to my hotel apartment, Mitsui was there waiting to care for me as assiduously as before. During my bath and preparations for sleep he made not the slightest mention of his incomprehensible action, and though I ached to find out how and why he had escaped from his handcuffs, only to make his appearance at the gambling club, I knew it would take more persistence than I could summon at four in the morning.
Just as he was turning out the lights in my room I rose on my elbow to speak to him. "Do you think I am earning my salary?" I queried.
He nodded ponderously. "Ye-ah!" he answered.
"But I fail to see where my share of the danger, if any, is coming in."
He wheeled, the trace of a sinister grin on the corners of his wide mouth. "You keep track this one Latisse, and not worry!" he said and snapped out the light.
IN the course of the next week I visited the Carlton Chess Club three times, and each time I played in the company of Charles Armand Latisse. He sought me out and seemed to find in my extravagance a kindred spirit much to his liking. After two of the sessions we went to his home to prolong the night of dissipation by games of three-cushion billiards. I found that he was easily my master at this branch of sport, but we always placed a good-sized bet on the result, nevertheless. Since he was generous with odds, I won nearly as many games as I lost.
I found that he kept house with his mother and sister in a rambling mansion on Woodlawn Avenue, of which the greater portion was kept closed permanently. A crew of servants cared for the mother, who was blind and an invalid as the result of a motoring accident several years previously. The daughter I did not meet until the second occasion.
Latisse himself was not a man I would have sought for an intimate. He seemed always cold, in spite of the snapping eyelids and the pretenses he made at friendship. I attributed this to his incessant gambling, which in time will chill the decent qualities of any one. In spite of the open-handed manner in which I accepted his propositions on all bets, he was the sort of opponent with whom one does not care to make a run of three while he is not watching. Whenever he left the room I put up my cue until his return.
On the second night he was leading me eleven to nine in a game I had determined would be the last. I was sleepy and ready to retire. A knock sounded on the door of the billiard room, and he excused himself. I heard a servant's voice delivering some message. I hung up my cue, determining mentally to call the game lost and pay my score when he returned. As my left hand was black with the dust it had scuffed from the green cloth, I rolled up my sleeves and started to wash at the lavatory in the alcove. Due doubtless to the running water, I heard no one enter.
"Mr. Trask?" It was a girl's voice, hesitating, yet vibrant with resolve.
"Eh?" I started back, surprised beyond measure, for though Latisse had mentioned his sister I had not dreamed of seeing her up in the billiard room at five in the morning.
As I looked again I dropped the towel hastily and rolled down my sleeves. Though dressed in one of those middy khaki-skirt-and-boots effects so unbecoming to women generally, Miss Latisse commanded my instant attention. She was an inch or so taller than her brother, and of a straight slimness wholly refreshing after his dissipated slouch. At the second I turned I drew my breath with a gasp, thinking, "She is the most beautiful woman I have seen!" In the succeeding seconds I had to revise this estimate somewhat. Her mouth might be lovely when she smiled; at the moment it held too much of strength and sternness. Her eyes were too cold, also, not with the calculating chill of her brother's eyes, but with extreme reserve. Even the service cap which concealed her hair seemed to partake of the general severity.
"I must ask you to pardon my intrusion, Mr. Trask," she went on hastily, not giving me time for a word, "and also for my odd costume. My name is Elise Latisse, Charlie's sister."
I bowed with what dignity and grace I could summon, without collar, necktie, and coat. "At your service, I am sure."
She advanced to the edge of the billiard table and clasped one of the balls nervously.
"I-I have taken the trouble to look you up." she said, "and so we will dispense with all formalities. In order to speak to you I have forged a message to my brother which will keep him away for several minutes."
I bowed gravely again, not knowing what she could be driving at.
"Do you think the kind of life you and my brother are living is a credit to you?" she burst out. "He is steadily ruining himself." she continued in that quiet calmness of tone that with some women means the deepest emotion, "and it is the influence of men like you that is dragging him down."
"I'm afraid I cannot accept that responsibility," I countered. "I have known your brother only two weeks, and in that time I have not invited him or persuaded him to do anything at all." Though I caught myself watching the finely molded curves of her chin and throat with a strange fascination, I could not afford, in the light of my responsibility, the guardianship of any chap like Charles Armand Latisse.
"Yes, but where have you been together?" she flared, looking me straight in the eyes. "Downtown in some gambling resort, or up here, wagering money at billiards. Oh, you are not the first! No matter what I do to prevent it, he manages to pick up acquaintances, one after another, with whom to do this sort of thing."
I shrugged my shoulders. Inclination suggested strongly that I enlist in whatever scheme she had in mind, but prudence forbade. It well might run counter to the plans of my employers.
"Whatever influence I have with Charles I should probably lose if I tried to help him in any way," I answered. "Men don't take kindly to the interference of outsiders."
I could see that she had come to despise me as a liar as well as a scoundrel who was leading her brother astray, and it hurt almost intolerably, but I was gripping the ends of my resolve not to reveal too much, so said no more.
"Well," she hesitated, "in watching you I thought that perhaps you might help me if you would.You seemed a little—perhaps a trifle above most of Charles' other associates." She turned with a little gesture of despair.
It was not within the boundaries of human nature to allow her to go in this way. For two full years I had not spoken as many words to any woman, and Elise Latisse, in spite of her odd and imperative mannerisms, somehow made me hungry for her approval. Though I did not recognize it at the time, this simply was a manifestation of the attraction any good and beautiful woman possesses for men. Though at her worst probably in the billiard room at that unearthly hour in the morning, I could not endure her contempt.
"Wait!" I said. I was sparring for time, and pretending to hesitate in order to gain a chance to think. "Perhaps I might be able to do something of the kind you desire."
I saw her eyes light up for the first time, and my senses reeled. I mentally "raised back" on my initial estimate of the girl. When she smiled with something of expectancy I knew that Selwyn Trask could not rest until he deserved that smile for himself. She was more than alluring! She was a goddess!
"Yes?" she hinted, and I came to myself to realize that I had presumed.
"Pardon, I was just thinking." I have no excuses to offer for myself, except those that any young fool might summon. In one and one-half minutes I had fallen head over heels in love with a girl I had not seen before, and whose brother I despised!
There seemed to be but one thing to do, and I did it. Stepping quickly to her side, I said rapidly, for I knew my revelation was perhaps the worst thing I could have thought of under the circumstances: "I am not a New Zealander. My name is not Selwyn Trask. I have been a war aviator, but now I am engaged in more important business. Your brother knows not ing of it, and if you tell him what I have told you I will not be able to b of the slightest assistance. If you can keep this to yourself, I will probably be able to—"
"Why, I didn't know you two had met!" I recognized Charles' suspicious, rasping voice behind us, and realized for the first time that I was holding both of Elise's hands.
"Oh, neither did I until a moment ago," I replied, searching my brain for an excuse. "As it happens, we have met before, under rather unusual circumstances. I-I had the pleasure the other day of making Miss Latisse's engine run when it seemed a bit obstinate." I stepped back. "As you left without saying when you would be back, I was just going, when I met Miss Latisse in the hall."
"Since when have you been running an ambulance car?" demanded Charles, turning on the girl.
"I was out Tuesday with Marion Ferris," Elise explained easily. She was a thoroughbred, and I breathed easier.
"Well, I want to know who brought that note?" her brother continued, abandoning his first attack but coming more irritably to the second.
"I don't know. He was short and heavy-set, and seemed to be in a hurry."
Charles growled. "Well, I didn't find any one, and they're not likely to get me out at five in the morning." He checked himself. "You'd better hike for bed!" he advised. "It's rather late for young ladies to be receiving friends."
I could have knocked him down for that, but Elise was fully capable of handling the situation. "I am dressed for the day, not going to bed, like you night owls!" she retorted, flinging up her chin. "Good-morning, Mr. Trask! Come and see me some day soon!" And she had left.
I explained to him that I was willing to call off the last game and pay my bet. This seemed to suit him, so in ten minutes I was ready to be off for my hotel.
"Just a minute, Trask," he said, seeming to get over his grouch for the moment. "I have a live lead which you can follow if you desire. I have seen something of the way you enjoy gambling, and I know that the games down at the Carlton are far too tame for you."
"Yes," I answered, affecting a yawn, although my senses were tingling with eagerness. "Five hundred or a thousand dollars seems like such a petty sum that I can't do my best. I find myself playing carelessly—and, of course, losing constantly."
He nodded, the beady, avaricious look deep in his black eyes. "It's that way, of course," he acquiesced. "As for me," and he dropped his glance in affected modesty, "that sum of money is really important; I can't do what I'm going to propose for you."
"A really live game somewhere?"
"Yes!" He came closer. "I know a place where many of the richest men in the Middle West go to gamble," he whispered. "They play cards, faro, roulette, and all games there for just what you wish. In many of the pastimes the sky is the limit!"
"Really now!" I exclaimed, in a delighted tone. I felt the same crook coming in the middle finger of my right hand that used to exhibit itself when a Boche plane came scudding nearer and nearer to the range of my machine gun. This probably was what I was after! "What is the name of the club?"
Latisse shook his head. "That I cannot tell you " he rejoined still in a whisper. "All is secret on the pain of death. The men who go would not have it known that they gamble. Therefore an elaborate plan is arranged by which every one abides. If you wish to go you must remember that if you exhibit curiosity in the wrong place, or blab a single word of what you have heard or seen, your life is forfeit!"
"A still tongue is one of my greatest assets," I said with a hint of sarcasm. I was thinking of how I had thrown my life into the keeping of this scoundrel's sister merely for a smile.
"It had better be!" he said emphatically. "Do you want to go?"
"Naturally!" I retorted. "You couldn't keep me away now with a loaded gun!"
He smiled in the grim, avaricious fashion I had noted before.
"Well, I will tell you how. To-morrow evening you will walk to the corner of Jackson Boulevard and Michigan Avenue at precisely ten minutes of eight. A taxi will swing up to the curb at the southeast corner on the exact second. Without asking any questions you will board it and stay quiet inside until further orders are given to you."
"Sounds spooky enough to be interesting!" I commented.
"It has to be. You will never know where you were taken, and I advise you to be content with the Carlton if you have any idea you would like to find out! If you have your car followed you never will see the light of day again. Or if you tell any one even indirectly about the place the vengeance of the organization will reach you. Every member is watched closely. This is necessary in order that the whole place should not be taken in some time by the police, like an ordinary joint."
I did my best to convince Latisse that I was thrilled over the prospect of gambling in this manner. Actually I was a trifle excited, though disappointed, It looked as though I had been hired merely to spy upon a company of profligates similar to that famous one which supports the Prince of Monaco in such truly regal fashion. I did not see why such extreme measures were necessary in order to suppress it. If I were to risk my life merely to keep some wealthy old idler from throwing his money to the winds I could not enthuse greatly over the work. Any ham detective would be glad of the assignment at fifty dollars a week. Since I had accepted my salary for doing nothing, however, I was morally bound to go on. I assured Latisse that the next evening would find me trysting with the taxi at Jackson and Michigan, and left, declining the offer of his car for the trip home. After nights like I had been spending I simply had to pump oxygen into my lungs; this I accomplished usually by walking home if the distance was not over three miles.
I just had turned the corner, swinging on at a fast pace, when back in the shadow I heard the light steps of some one running in pursuit. "Mr. Trask!" called a light voice. It was Elise!
I stopped and met her where a post shielded us from the avenue lamps. "What can take you out now?" I asked, delighted to see her, yet wondering.
She waited a second to regain her breath and then looked up at me with unmistakable seriousness. "I hope you will not think me an absolute idiot," she pleaded, "but after what you said I could not help thinking and thinking. I just had to come after you. Charlie hasn't done anything—anything bad, has he?"
"Charlie?" I echoed. "No, Miss Latisse, not so far as I know. Why?"
"Well," she hesitated, "I didn't know but that—— Oh, I really can't say what I thought. Charlie has been so strange at times lately that I have been afraid . When you said that you were on business more important than war I—
"So far as I know now, Miss Latisse," I assured her, "your brother has little or nothing to do with it."
"Really?" She smiled in relief. "Oh, I'm so glad!" For a second she looked at me. "You may not think this is anything but a coincidence, Mr. Trask, but I must say it, since you have been so kind. I—I want to warn you to be careful."
I waited, astonished thoroughly at the turn of her conversation, but sure that she would elaborate.
"It maybe isn't much of anything," she went on with a nervous laugh, "but I'm illogical enough to be afraid of coincidence."
"Enough coincidence makes logic."
"Well," and her eyes narrowed, "the last man whom Charlie had home here to play billiards with went off somewhere and never showed up again. The papers said that foul play was suspected, but nothing ever was heard of him."
"Whew! Do you really imagine there was any connection between the games with your brother and —?"
She started. "They all disappeared after Charlie had ceased to see them!" she said with a hint of defiance in her tone. "I just wished to warn you, Mr. Trask. Though I am afraid for my brother in many ways I know that he had nothing to do with the murder or abduction. I thought possibly that—Oh, no matter!" She turned, thoroughly angry.
"Wait!" I pleaded; but she was walking quickly back toward her home.
I WAS so perturbed that I gave up the idea of walking back to the hotel. Crossing to Cottage Grove I hailed a street car, northbound, and gave myself to unpleasant speculations all the way to the Loop. The position in which I found myself was unenviable. For a salary I was walking into a trap which already had caused the disappearance or death of one former acquaintance of Latisse; though I had done my best to assure Elise of her brother's innocence there was little doubt in my mind that he would prove to be guilty. He looked equal to anything. Added to this was the bitter reflection that Elise, in whose hands I had placed myself unreservedly, doubtless considered me an enemy of her brother and herself. All in all I was thoroughly miserable, for no alternative to simply going ahead with whatever orders awaited could present itself now.
At the hotel I roused Mitsui, told him the story from beginning to end—omitting only the incident of my early conversation with Elise and the story of my unreasonable love for her, which I knew his semi-Oriental mind would discount heavily—if, indeed Mitsui could have understood it at all.
He listened, with his slits of eyes almost closed, and a smile of satisfaction disclosing his too gilded teeth. I thought him half sodden with sleep, but the moment I finished I saw this was a mistake. He leaped to his feet, throwing off the coat to his pajama suit and reaching for his clothes. "Now it goes, ye-ah?" He grinned, dressing with rapidity.
"Seems that way," I agreed. "What am I to do?"
"Sleep!" he answered succinctly. "I come to wake you after a while." He jerked one of his monstrous thumbs in the direction of my chamber.
I needed no second invitation. Though I was thoroughly worried, fatigue of body overcame my anxiety. I just remember hearing the door slam as he went out.
Unspeakable dreams harassed me from the moment I closed my eyes. One of these stood out clearly from the fuddle. I was chasing a taxi that ran round and round in a big circle. Elise was inside, and I thought she was dying. Of a sudden, just as I hopped on the running board and tried to open the door, a yellow giant flourishing a war cross weighing many tons pushed the taxi, with me hanging on desperately, into the river.
I had fallen out of bed. As I slowly came to a realization of my position I found myself clutching the wooden foot of the bed, while blankets and comforter were wound around my neck. When I extricated myself I was conscious of an empty feeling. I looked at my watch. It was five-thirty in the afternoon!
Mitsui evidently was detained. I dressed, donning a tuxedo for the evening. Then, not daring to go out for fear of missing the valet, I ordered dinner in my rooms. Though I made this meal a sumptuous affair, not knowing when or where the next would occur, and ate just as slowly as possible, I still was alone at seven-thirty. An attempt to phone Hoffman, the only member of the project whom I had even the possibility of reaching, proved futile. Mr. Hoffman had not been seen at his studio apartment since the day previous, and had left no word concerning the time of his return.
A twenty minutes of eight I dared not wait any longer. Descending in the elevator, I walked to the corner of Jackson and Michigan, arriving just three minutes before the appointed time. A flood of cars was coming from the west, joining the great north and south artery in waves directed by the traffic policemen. As I watched the machines approaching, speculating on which would most likely be for me, a nondescript car of the type used by almost all the taxi companies swung from the eastbound throng and drew up at the curb. The door swung open as it stopped. "Mr. Trask?" inquired the driver.
"Yes!" Without waiting for a further invitation I jumped, closing the door behind me. It latched with a sinister click, unlike the ordinary door, suggesting imprisonment to my sharpened senses. Furtively I tried the catch but with the success I expected. It was locked, and I was irreparably committed to my adventure, whatever it might be. Even the cold hilt of the automatic in my jacket pocket could not bring back all of my assurance. Locked in this little moving coffin of a car they could do with Selwyn Trask just about as they pleased.
I had resolved to do my best to find out the car's approximate course and destination, but once inside I saw that I was to be allowed none of the usual sight-seeing incident to such a ride. The windows of the car were of frosted glass, and though I tried to lower one of the panes, this could not be done. In case of a necessity arising, I could shoot through the lock on one of the doors, but otherwise my escape was barred as effectually as my sight.
Months of cloud-flying had given me one sense more than I had possessed before that training, however, and this stood me in good stead now. As the car started I took out an envelope and pencil and followed the turnings roughly on paper. As I was used to gauging turns in clouds and mist where no landmark could be distinguished, I flattered myself that this taxi could not confuse me greatly; instead of turning a few degrees in one way or another, its activities were confined to right angles and circles in the width of a street itself.
At the start it turned into Michigan, southward. At the end of the first block I registered a swerve. Then came some of the mummery intended to throw me off the scent. The car performed what I judged to be a complete circle, and headed on westward. Before we had time to pass a full block, however, another turn came. This ought to be an alley, I said to myself. From the south entrance of the alley we emerged to perform more gyrations. Up one block, down another, completely circling a third, we worked gradually west and south, finally to straighten out in a direction I graphed as southerly on my envelope. Whatever might lie at the end of the journey, the driver certainly could not expect his fare to know much concerning the destination.
It took us nearly an hour of moderately rapid riding to come to the next turn. I guessed our rate to be fifteen miles an hour. This time, when we swung round a corner, I recognized that we had left the brick and asphalt for the more uneven surface of a country road. Just as I was marking this fact on the envelope, I felt the brakes applied. The light in the interior of the car went out, and we stopped. I hid the evidence I had collected, in my sock, and sat back.
A key clicked, and the left door of the taxi swung open. With a certain uneasiness I saw that all outside was in pitch darkness of a depth of shade never attained by night in any latitude. The car evidently had stopped inside some sort of building.
"All right, Mr. Trask!" A faint light, from what I deemed to be a tiny electric flash, illumined the car doorway, and a hand reached forward to assist me in alighting. I gripped it and stepped to the cement floor. As I did so the light was put out instantly. I felt rather than saw a group of dark figures waiting.
With dispatch a cloth cap that smelled like new brilliantine was placed on my head. From the front a flap was lowered; this fitted my face and neck, snapping with buttons behind. Apertures were left for eyes and nose, but that was all. Accompanying this mask was a long, loose robe, which they dropped over my head, making what really was a domino disguise.
"You understand the purpose of this organization, Mr. Trask?" The same colorless voice spoke again.
"I think so. It is for the purpose of entertainment."
"Yes. You have been told of the rules of conduct you must follow, and the one penalty attached to attempted treachery or to carelessness?"
"Death?"
"Yes." The voice acquiesced with a total lack of emphasis, quite as if my question-answer had dealt with a minor matter. This was the sort of talk to which I was used to listening, though it was far from what I had expected. Knowing a little about sophomore secret societies formed for purposes not dissimilar, and college fraternities with their folderol and bombastic nonsense, I had looked for skulls, flickering green lights, and solemn vows. Instead I was being told that even carelessness on my part would incur the penalty of death, and in the same tone as a grocer telling a customer that sugar had risen a cent a pound.
"Any information you may desire, that does not conflict with our main purpose of secrecy, will be furnished by an attendant. You will know these by their red masks. I wish to say once and for all that you will not find this a social club. Every member wishes to be left entirely to himself, and you will oblige by not attempting conversation on any topic. Also, nothing but cash is used here. Though we know you to be financially responsible, we are compelled to bar checks because of the difficulty in getting them cashed with perfect safety. When the time comes that you wish to go home, notify an attendant. He will do the rest. At five-thirty all must leave, except those who desire to remain all the next day. If you stay you cannot go home before the next midnight. Is that clear?"
"Yes; but suppose I want to come out here to-morrow night. How do I let you know?"
"Your next appointment must be made in advance, unless exceptional circumstances arise. Ordinarily you will notify the attendant at what time you will return, and he will do the rest. If for some reason you are away for an indeterminate period, you may let the man who introduced you know when you wish to come back."
"All right, that's enough."
"Guard!" My informant's tone changed quickly, summoning a subordinate. In a second another heavy cloth was thrown over my head, effectively shutting off any chance I might have had to see anything, and, from behind, hands went rapidly through my pockets. Nothing was disturbed, so far as I could judge, except my automatic.
"A gat, sir!" rumbled the heavy voice of my searcher.
"Take it. Give it to him again when he leaves." The speaker evidently turned me. "Do not attempt to bring firearms of any description here again," he said coldly. "You will be protected fully, and we wish no trouble arising from any quarter that we cannot handle quickly."
I did not answer, for at that moment the guard propelled me forward a distance of eight or ten feet. Then he held me still, and I felt the floor on which I stood sink gradually. No noise whatever, except a slight scraping, accompanied this movement, but it kept on for perhaps twenty seconds. We were descending, probably in an electric elevator, but to what depth I could not imagine. Though an aviator gets fairly accustomed to determining turns made in the flying plane, he never advances much in his ability to "feel" rises and falls in altitude with any exactitude.
A clank of metal and a slight jolt announced that we had reached the bottom of the shaft. I was led from the platform, and heard the elevator rising behind me. Then the guard took me, faced me about, and gave me a slight shove.
"Walk ahead!" he commanded. I obeyed, feeling his hand upon my right shoulder. The reason for his staying behind soon made itself manifest. We were passing through a narrow sort of tunnel, of which the sides were only a few inches beyond my shoulders. I put out one hand to guide and found that the wall was smooth, and cold, probably of steel sheeting, as every few feet a row of rivets met my fingers. Our footsteps clanked loudly in the narrow confines, and this I judged that the roof of the tunnel could not be high above.
I counted the paces. These were thirteen in number when I was halted by the guard. He squeezed past, a door opened with slight noise, and I heard him whisper, "New one—number two eighty-six."
He led me forward again, and the door closed. Then the heavy cloth was whisked from my head, and I was in the heart of one of the strangest assemblages in the world!
ODDLY enough, as I looked about me, blinking my eyes in the flood of light which blinded after the absolute darkness of my hoods, the thought of the man who disappeared, whom Elise had mentioned, came strongly to mind. Scattered over the huge low-ceiled room in which I found myself, were little groups of players huddled beside or over tables. A few were walking about, while others stood behind the players at some of the tables, merely watching. All who were seated at the tables wore the same black domino hood and cape as myself, while most of those who walked about had hoods of scarlet. These were the attendants, and I calculated mentally that there were perhaps fifteen in sight.
The room itself was a beauty. Roofed with heavy rafters that hung only eight feet from the floor, it gave the appearance of a huge, squat bungalow. The lighting was superb; though no direct glare came from any point—the lamps themselves all being Tiffany finish, and placed about the wall and in niches in the rafters overhead. Three immense rugs of London smoke chenille covered the floor, while in the center of the room a group of davenports, easy-chairs, and chaises longues, all in the same shade, stood ready for any players who desired a rest or a quiet cigar between games.
The tables, mostly glass-topped affairs supported by single gray steel pillars two inches in thickness—built into place, I took for granted—were arranged about the sides. A faro set and two roulette wheels occupied three corners, while in the fourth a bay showed two doors, opening where I could not guess.
"You may join any table you choose, change from one to another at your pleasure, or drop out for a time when you are tired," said the attendant at my elbow.
I nodded and walked to the first group. Five of the silent figures here were absorbed at cards. Through the whole of two hands, which I watched, not a single word was spoken! The attendant, who had followed, now touched my arm again. "The chips speak for themselves," he whispered, motioning at one of the players, who just was equalling a stack of blues shoved forward by another. As I saw plainly, this was a call.
"How do I get chips?" I asked.
"Sit down, draw out the money you wish to invest, and place it in the center. The banker will give you chips When you want more, do the same. When you want to drop out, cash in with him."
I saw, with something akin to pleasure, that so far as appearances went, at least, there was nothing of the "house percentage" intruding all of the time. It really seemed like a private game, with all of the players masked.
I watched one more hand, as much to see how the details were carried on silently, as for any other reason, for I knew the game. It was what is colloquially known as "seven-card pique," though it bears no relation whatever to piquet, being a corruption of ordinary stud poker. Two cards were dealt around first, face down. Then the next card was turned face up for each player. The highest card had the privilege of betting or checking the bet. The next man to the left then could bet, drop, raise or simply check. Thus it went on with the first card until all were satisfied.
Then another card was dealt, and the process repeated. In all, four cards were turned face up for each player, and the seventh and last card dealt face down. Opportunity thus was given for five bets on each hand. All of this money went into the center of the table, and when the final call came, the best five-card poker hand that could be made out of any of the seven-card aggregations won the money.
"Chips at this table are worth five, ten, twenty-five," assured my monitor. "At the end table of this row they sell for twice this amount, while across there," and he waved his black-draped arm, "is a cheaper game. Beside it, under that cluster of lights, is what we call the 'King's table.' Any time a member gets tired of this sort of betting he can go there and make any wager he desires. If no other member wishes to cover the money, the house will oblige him. One of the attendants will play against him."
I bowed complete understanding and though I was I rather short of money—having only about seven hundred dollars left of the amount I had drawn for the first expedition with Hoffman—I took the empty chair at the table and bought five hundred dollars' worth of chips.
The first three hands I played for all they were worth. On one I stayed until the last card, dropping when a flush was no longer a possibility. This cost me ninety-five dollars. The second deal gave me a pair of eights and a queen up. The next card was a five-spot. I stayed, though the second man filled two queens on the board. My reward was another five, giving me two small pair with two cards to go. The man next to me on the right raised fifty dollars with a possible straight showing, the man with queens up re-raised a hundred. I stayed along, figuring I might as well drop what I had in my pocket on a good chance as fritter it away by trying to be prudent. My next card was an ace, which did me no good whatever. The bets and raises this time cut out all but the two players I have mentioned and myself. I stayed, knowing that any one of four cards in the deck—neither an eight nor a five had been dealt to any one else as far as I could tell—would give me e winning hand.
The last card a third eight. Looking over the possibilities gave me some assurance. I could be beaten by the man with a pair of queens only if he had drawn the case queen and another pair or three of a kind in his blind, or a pair to match one of his off cards on the board. The man with the supposed straight was out of it, unless, of course, he had three of a kind in the blind to match one of his exposed cards. My full house looked like a winner.
The queens checked. The man with the straight bet one hundred dollars. I counted the chips I had left, finding just one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Immediately I bought two hundred dollars' worth of blues and pushed the whole stack into the center. The man with queens dropped, as I expected, and the straight called. I won, raking in eleven hundred and sixty dollars.
Because I knew the amount would not last long if I chose to lose, I played the third hand to win, also. I was a little self-conscious about starting in right away to lose to those strangers; if I showed them first that I could win they would take my losing more for granted.
From the first I knew I had an excellent chance. My two blind cards were the ace and jack of hearts, while the first card exposed was the ten of the same suit. Discounting as negligible the possibility of a royal straight flush, I still had an excellent chance for either a straight or flush. All the way I bet, with my ace as highest card showing and no pairs exposed. At the end I was raised, as my opponents had me figured for three tens, because of my early enthusiasm. As it happened I caught the six and nine of hearts, making a flush. This won, and I cleaned up a large sum which I did not attempt to count.
At that moment my real work began. I had to lose, and as nearly as I could figure it I was something like two thousand to the good. I played conservatively, but dropped nearly every time before the final cards were dealt. Seven hands went by like this, and my stacks had diminished perceptibly. I was handed three sixes on the go. Much against my inclination I dropped them at the first bet, but when two hands later I got a pair of kings in the hole, the itch in my fingers grew too strong. I played them and won with kings over seven.
Because I was not employed to sit there at one table all night, I cashed in then, receiving a trifle over two thousand dollars in all. This, in four five-hundred-dollar bills and a few of small denomination, I thrust into my pocket as I rose from the table. Seeing an opening at the table which the attendant had designated as one at which a game twice the size of my first venture was being played, I moved over and sat down. Feeling that I might as well have the full benefit of the task in hand, I put in all my money in chips. This did not represent such a tremendous pile, with blues retailing at fifty dollars each, but I saw that I could have some fun with it. I never have gambled so seriously as this before in my life, but so long as my employer wished it, I was willing.
Twenty minutes passed, and the luck that had started with me at the first table held. I had amassed such a pile of assorted colors before me that the bank bought back five thousand dollars from me. With five of those yellow notes tossed to me, I began to come back to my senses. This never would do! From that point on I lost consistently.
A half hour later when I was nearly back to my original quota of chips, a startling interruption occurred. One of the doors in the bay of which I have spoken burst open suddenly, and a wild-eyed creature brandishing a butchers cleaver raced in, yelling at the top of his lungs.
"I'll see it through!" he shrieked, while every one jumped to get the width of a table between himself and the maniac.
It stopped suddenly. Before he had gone ten paces across the floor, one of the attendants calmly leveled an automatic. With the sharp report the intruder crumpled. A bullet had bored a clean hole in his forehead! Within five seconds three of the other attendants were at the body, covering it with a cloth, and when I turned again they had taken it out.
The attendant who had fired the shot looked about him, his scarlet mask now gleaming in a sinister manner to me. "Your pardon, gentlemen," he remarked calmly. "We did not suspect that we had any such beast in our establishment."
That was all. No one commented on the sudden tragedy, but from the way I felt I knew that most of the players were a trifle sickened by the sight. It is one thing to be told that death is the penalty for any transgression, and another to see the judgment made and carried out coldly on the spur of the moment as it had been. Two or three of the black figures departed shortly, and I felt like following.
My opportunity came a little later. Without thinking of the cards I had—my mind holding tenaciously to the picture of that madman's face as he fell—I had won several thousand dollars.
A huge figure rose from another table, where the "cheaper game" had been in progress. I saw the black-clad bulk of a man walk out to the "King's Table" and whisper to the attendant.
"Who wants to deal a cold hand for five thousand dollars?" queried the latter in the same unexcited tone he had used in apologizing for the madman.
I arose, cashed in my winnings, and went to the table. The attendant arranged the stakes, and dealt us our cards one at a time, face up. I got a jack, a deuce, a nine, an ace and a three. Until the fall of the last card I had my opponent beaten, but with it he filled a small pair, winning the money.
As he raked in the bills I happened to glance down at his hands. They were more than large. They were hands such as I had seen on only one other person before. They could belong to no one but Mitsui! I lifted my startled glance to the slits in his mask and fancied I could make out his slant eyes grinning at me.
"Any more?" queried the attendant.
"No," I answered, inwardly perturbed. "I've had enough for to-night." This valet of mine was showing entirely too much versatility for my peace of mind.
"So for I," answered my opponent; and I was certain it was Mitsui. "This make twenty thousand I win to-night."
I bowed to him and followed the attendant. "I wish to come back here to-morrow night," I told him. "Shall I wait at the same place, same time?"
"No," he answered curtly. "Never twice the same. Corner of Van Buren and Dearborn at eight-fifteen. Right?"
"Yes." I followed him to the side wall through which we had entered, and submitted to the operation of being swathed in cloth and led into the narrow tunnel. The last glimpse I had of the gambling hall showed me Mitsui in the hands of his attendant, ready to follow me through the door.
My guide put me on the elevator, and it started to rise slowly. We had gone only five or six feet upward, however, when the guide's grip on my arm tightened convulsively. Back somewhere in the tunnel behind came a horrible cry in Mitsui's voice! It was somehow muted, as if an inverted glass tumbler had covered his mouth, but even with the hood and cloth over my ears I could not mistake real agony. Gooseflesh rose on my arms, though the temperature in the elevator shaft was stifling.
"Did you hear something?" queried the guide. "It sounded to me as if some one called."
Startled into a sharpened consciousness by the dark and the queer happening, I detected a note in his voice that I did not like. Pretending not to hear him distinctly through the cloth, I had him repeat the question. Then I denied hearing anything other than the slight scrape of the elevator.
"Probably I was wrong," he muttered, but I did not feel in the least safe until I was in the taxi, being whirled back to the Loop. The feeling was strong "in my bones" that if I had exhibited too much curiosity concerning that wild cry in the tunnel I would not have come back at all.
WHEN my parts were being assembled in Storkland prior to my appearance on earth, the chief mechanic of the storks made one mistake. He gave me a bump of curiosity fully as intolerant as that of any woman. Fact is, I've always thought men much more curious than women, anyway; it is only that women have so much more greatly restricted means for the satisfaction of that trait that make them seem prying. While a man can go to a dozen different sources for his information, his wife cannot. If she wants to find out something about him or about some friend of his she has only her eyes and ears plus what her husband will tell her. No wonder she seems persistent at times! Just let a man run into a life-sized mystery, however, and watch him! If he can imagine a score of wires to pull he does so forthwith. If he cannot, he chafes under the restriction and shows just how fiery his curiosity is.
I unlocked the door to my suite, thinking to be alone. I was anxious to get hold of Hoffman and 'J. M.' in order to tell them about the shriek in the tunnel and the actual murder I had witnessed. Imagine my consternation, then, on opening the door, to find Mitsui there before me! He bowed with dignity, and took my wraps. Apparently, he was not in the least perturbed by his adventures.
"Look here!" I exploded. "This monkey work is getting on my nerves. How did you get back here before me?"
His slant eyes narrowed, but he stood waiting, just as if to determine how much I had discovered before taking any chance at enlightening me.
"Go on; tell me all about it!" I urged. "Not more than an hour ago I was gambling with you. Something happened that made me think you wouldn't get back at all to-night, and yet here you are, waiting for me. And my taxi came along at a good clip, too. What's the answer?"
"What has happen?" inquired Mitsui. "You say——"
"You know as well as I do!" I replied. "I am not trying to tell you about it. I'm not going to keep explaining myself to you. 'J. M.' is paying me to keep my mouth shut."
"So for me, too," retorted Mitsui, bowing. His face was that of a Japanese idol, but I could have sworn that he was grinning at me inwardly.
"Well, Mitsui," I went on, giving him up as a bad job, "I'm glad to see they didn't kill you, anyway. I thought from the way you yelled that maybe they'd stick a knife into the Norwegian half of you. That tunnel isn't a cheery place at best." I stopped, fascinated by the odd change which had taken place in his expression.
"You hear—that!" he queried, seizing the whole of my left forearm in one of his great hands.
"Yes," I admitted, unlocking his grasp with some difficulty. "When 'J. M.' gets here I'm going to report the whole thing. If there's anything you don't know he'll tell it to you if it's right for you to know."
Mitsui's hands had dropped to his sides. "It cannot be help now," he said.
"Oh, well, I wouldn't let it worry me," I retorted, seeing no reason for his seeming resignation. "There's one thing I would like to hear about, though. When I first came up here Hoffman cuffed you to the radiator in the other room. Why did he do that, and how did you manage to get away?"
Instantly a sheepish look came to his face, and he hunched his shoulders for all the world like a schoolboy caught throwing spitballs. "That not important now," he said.
"Then I can be informed, doubtless," I rejoined, with a hint of irony.
"Ye-ah," he said reluctantly. "Oh, it nothing. I was hungry. No lunch, no dinner that day."
"So you had some means of unlocking them?"
Mitsui grinned, exhibiting his gold-faced teeth, and picked up the mahogany chair at his side. Holding one of the solid legs in his hands, the weight of the chair itself—at least twenty-five pounds—passing unnoticed, his grip tightened. Slowly I saw the fingers knot and gnarled bunches start up under the skin on the back of his black haired hands. Then a ridge fully three inches in height swelled and stiffened along the backs of his wrists and forearms. The wood snapped as if it had been a toothpick. "I broke them," he replied simply.
His exhibition had made the story easy to believe. I nodded, and made for my chamber, renewing the vow that I had made on first acquaintance with Mitsui. If ever I came to blows with him I certainly would endeavor to kill or disable him before those hands got near my throat.
I was donning my pajamas and Mitsui was laying out my outfit for the morrow, when the phone rang. Mitsui came back after answering, a grim flash in his eye "For you," he said tersely. "That Latisse, I think."
I hurried to take the receiver. The voice at the other end was easily recognizable, though it sounded more agitated than even I had learned to expect from Charles Armand Latisse.
"I have need of seeing you right away, Trask," he said. "Something of a private nature. I can't explain over the wire, and I don't want to mention my name for fear some one else is listening. You know who I am, don't you?"
"Surely," I replied. "Can't you come up here?"
"No!" he cried with emphasis. "Impossible! I must not be seen with you now. Get a taxi and come, but be sure no one is following you from the hotel!"
My brain tore through the possibilities. It might be a trap. Probably these scoundrels had learned something about me. "Well, I'm all undressed for bed," I protested. "If you want to see me I'm afraid I'll have to ask you come to the hotel."
"Oh, no, Trask!" Real distress was in his voice now. "It's—it's about my sister," he broke out. "You can help, if you will."
"I'll come," I replied instantly, visions of all sorts of calamities crossing my mind. "There hasn't been an accident?"
"No, but there may be. Hurry!" With that, he hung up. I realized, in that second, that I would really not be incurring any additional hazard by going to his home. If the men I was employed to watch knew me already, they would have no difficulty knocking me on the head next evening when I attended the club. I hurried down, secured a cab, and started.
It seemed to me, as we were getting out of the Loop, that another taxi started after us, but once out on Michigan Avenue I slipped a ten-dollar bill to the driver. "Make it sixty miles an hour," I said, "and I'll pay the fine if you are nabbed." He complied instantly, whirling down the avenue at a rate that made the few cars we passed seem to be standing still. By the time we got to the Latisse home there was a clear stretch of several blocks behind us.
Latisse was waiting for me, evidently, as he opened the door before I had an opportunity to ring. In the light from the street lamps I saw his face was ashen, and his usually immaculate cravat so far awry that his collar gaped in front. Without speaking he clasped drew me inside. His manner, as well as his clammy hand, sent a shiver through me, but I was fairly comforted by the weight of one automatic in each of my coat pockets.
He led the way upstairs to a den-like office adjoining the billiard room. The door was locked, and as he fumbled with the key I noted that his fingers were next to uncontrollable. I did not trust that sort of excitement in him however, so chose my seat near to and facing the door. Here I could cover him, and at the same time deal with any intruders. Latisse locked the door from the inside, however, and took the chair in front of the desk.
"First there is one relatively unimportant thing I'll speak of now you're here," he said. "Did you go out to the club last night?"
"Yes, of course," I answered, wondering what on earth this could have to do with his night call.
"How much did they take away from you?"
"Practically nothing," I replied "I was five thousand ahead until one chap wanted to deal a cold hand for that amount. Then I was back to even and came home. It's a great place."
"Yes," Latisse glanced about him with apparent caution. "I advise you not to speak of it any more to any one, even to me. There is just one detail that I left for settlement until I saw whether or not you like to gamble the way they do at—at the place."
"You just had better believe I do," I answered, affecting an enthusiasm I was far from feeling.
"Well," he said, hesitating, "such a place cannot be run on nothing, and, as I suppose you noticed, there is no charge for anything there the exception of roulette. You may play, drink—up to a certain amount, for they never allow any one to become even partially intoxicated—or have meals there without extra charge. The dues however, as you may well imagine, are high. They are two thousand dollars for each six months, in advance. If you wish you can draw a check to me."
"Moderate, very I moderate," I agreed, reaching for my check book. "I suppose that includes the taxi hire, eh?"
"Yes, you have no bills to pay except those you incur while gambling, and those are settled in cash on the spot." He watched me greedily while I made out the payment. My employer had not mentioned the matter of my joining this organization, and I suspected that Charles Latisse took a sizable commission out of each member he brought in, but the details were no affair of mine. Where I could gamble, and was supposed to lose constantly, a matter of two thousand dollars payment for the privilege was a mere drop in the bucket. I becoming decidedly impatient however, to find out just why he had wanted to see me, and I could tell by the heightened nervousness of his expression that he was coming to it.
"Now then, what has occurred to make you get me out of my hotel at this time in the morning?" I asked directly.
"This is an awful thing, Trask," he said then, without further preamble, "and it it's all the worse because I can't explain. It would cost me my life, and even more."
I said nothing. Up to that second I had doubted that anything in the world could be dearer to Charles Armand Latisse than his own life, and except for his extraordinary agitation I was not yet willing to believe. The man seemed to be holding himself from nervous collapse by a narrow margin, however.
"I want your promise that you won't demand an explanation from me," he went on. "Promise me that, please!"
"I promise," I replied quietly; "but not that I won't try to find out for myself."
That seemed to satisfy him. "You won't be able to find out," he went on, "so I can talk plainly. I want you to marry my sister to-morrow morning!"
A QUICK surge of anger carried me to my feet, and I glared at Latisse. He seemed to shrink down in his chair, but I noted that his hand did not seek his revolver as upon that former occasion.
"What is that, insult?" I demanded. "I can tell you right now, Charles Latisse, that I have been with men long enough not to be very sensitive about myself, but Elise is different. I want you to understand that even you can't cast aspersions——"
He stopped me with a ghastly smile and a gesture with a hand trembled visibly. "For Heaven's sake, Trask, don't jump at conclusions!" he protested. "You care something about my sister, don't you?"
I was tongue-tied. Even in this ridiculous situation I could not tell him that I was madly in love with Elise.
"You do like her awfully well, at least, don't you?" he persisted, almost pitifully.
"Yes, damn it, I do!" I burst out. "What that has to do with your insane proposal, though I can't see. Your sister scarcely knows me from Adam."
"But she likes you!" he broke in. "A dozen times she has said she admires you. She has wanted me to get you to go into business with me, or something like that." He cackled a laugh that was entirely devoid of mirth.
"What is wrong?" I demanded. "Why do you come to me?"
"Everything is wrong," he answered, wetting his thin lips. "I—I think I shall go to South America."
"Never mind about yourself!" I interrupted. "What has happened to Elise?"
"Nothing—yet. Oh, Trask, I just can't explain!"
"You have to, now you've gone so far," I retorted grimly. "Out with it!"
His teeth clenched desperately. "I want to save her from something—something worse than death. She does not even suspect that anything threatens her. She must not know. When I go you just tell her anything you want to tell. Say I forged a check, or stole, or anything."
"Just what have you done?"
He glanced at me affrightedly. "Nothing. That is, the law isn't after me."
"Is it after her?"
"No. I don't want you to question me, Trask. If things go on Elise will either kill herself or—or worse than that will happen. If she marries you, and you go back to Auckland——"
"That's nonsense! First, she wouldn't marry me. Second, I'm not going back to New Zealand, perhaps for years."
"But you'll ask her? You'll try? Even if you stay here she will be better protected. Elise is a good girl, and she is beautiful. You never could find a better wife."
"I had almost decided as much," I answered dryly, "but I don't believe my qualification as an impromptu husband are as apparent."
"They are! Elise would accept you. Maybe you'd have to argue to get her to marry you to-morrow, but——"
"Yes, I guess so! No, Latisse; I can't consider the idea at all! In the course of time when Elise gets to know me better, I may ask her that question, but not now."
He rose unsteadily. "Then you never will see her again!" he declared with a solemnity that could come only from sincere belief.
"Why do you say that?" I cried. "Can't you protect her yourself against this danger, whatever it may be?"
He shook his head. "No one can—unless, maybe, her husband."
"It's something connected with the club!" I cried with sudden divination. Instantly I could have bitten my tongue off at the root, for Latisse started, shaking from a new palsy of terror.
"No!" he cried; but I knew from the expression on his face that he was lying. "No, something else!"
"Well, do you seriously think I could save her, even if she married me?" I asked, just in order to get his mind off my slip of tongue.
"Yes, I think so," he replied, but I noticed that he was watching me furtively.
"Then I'll do it!" Something inside had been urging me all the while to make the attempt, for on principle I hate to buck against providence. Elise was undoubtedly the girl for me; if this was he manner preordained for our courtship there could be no use in attempting to dodge the issue. In the excitement of the moment the matter of supporting a wife entirely slipped my mind.
Latisse grasped my hand instantly. "Wait here!" he said hoarsely. "I'll call her."
"Now?" I questioned incredulously. "At three o'clock in the morning?"
He had gone, however. In that second terror seemed to grip my heart. I did not dare tell her this preposterous story. As the seconds passed I paced the little room, cold perspiration starting on my brow. After a moment I opened the door and listened for her step.
She was slow in coming, or so it seemed. Every minute sapped my nerve somewhat. I tried to focus my mind on the mysterious danger that threatened her, but I could do nothing but listen with strained attention for her coming.
Fifteen of the longest minutes of my life passed before I heard the tap-tap of her satin mules on the stairs. Then I went to meet her. Consternation! The woman who lifted her serious eyes to mine was a dazzling vision in a dainty pink silk! Though I had admired her intensely even in semi-military attire I now saw how blind I had been. I think it must have been the fact that she wore a kimono that befuddled my wits most. It had been so long since I had spoken to a girl of any kind in aught but conventional attire, that I felt really embarrassed. Through my head whirled the phrase, "Oh, the beauty of her!" and my tongue seemed paralyzed. This was the girl I was being urged to marry!
"Elsie!" I faltered, forgetting to release the hand she had given to me in greeting.
"Mr. Trask! I—Charlie said that you wished to see me on some matter you said was important. Is it——"
"Oh, I am so sorry to get you up at this hour," I blundered. "It really wasn't so import—yes, I mean, it is important to me, but you probably won't think—— Oh, I don't know what I am saying!"
She almost smiled, but the serious expression returned. "Come into the den," she invited. "We can talk there."
I did so, and by the time I had her seated and had drawn my own chair close my wits had returned more nearly to normal.
"Has something happened to Charlie?" she queried.
"No. It's something personal, Miss Latisse," I answered, positive now that I was making perhaps the greatest mistake of my life. "I know that you will think me insane, but I am not. Something has come up that I cannot explain that makes it necessary for me to act most strangely. I have come to ask you to marry me, Elise!" Then, as I saw her eyes widen and the color leave her cheeks, my tongue loosened and I told her of my love. For the life of me I cannot recall the things I said, for I watched her eyes. From fright and wonder they changed to bewilderment, and then—and I despaired—to something akin to anger. For a time she had listened to me, but at the last she was only waiting to speak. I stopped short, feeling the chill of her hastily summoned reserve.
"I'm sure that I am highly honored Mr. Trask," she replied; and I knew that I had lost. "I feel like complimenting you upon your delivery, also, but of course you cannot reasonably expect me to accede to your proposal. Just why, now have you asked me to marry you?"
"I—I love you," I replied thoroughly miserable.
"I don't believe you," she retorted calmly, though I saw the flesh was white beneath her finger nails from her grip upon the chair arm. "You are not the sort of man to ask as unreasonable a thing without some compelling motive. What caused you to come? Will you win a fortune from some relative's will by marrying by to-morrow?"
I winced. "I have told nothing but the truth, Elise," I said humbly, "though I don't blame you for doubting me." I saw the flush of anger fading from her cheeks, but she did not speak. "You were right, of course, in supposing that I—I had a motive for wanting to make sure of you right away If you will only believe me when I tell you that this motive has nothing in the world to do with myself! In the ordinary course of events I would have asked you to marry me, but not for at least a month. Before that I should have tried earnestly to make you love me. The way it has come about, though——"
"What?"
"Circumstances!" I replied, desperate now. "Dearest, if you care anything at all for me marry me to-morrow—or this morning, I mean. I give you my word of honor that I will not lay one finger upon you, ever, if you say. If, after a month or two goes by, you wish to be released I promise that I shall make no contest of your suit for divorce. The life of one, perhaps two people, hangs in the balance!"
She rose to her feet. "What are you saying?" she cried. "What sort of mummery is this? I am to save the lives of two people by marrying you to-morrow?"
"To-day."
"Well, to-day, then."
"Yes."
"Well," and her voice was shaking now, "may I be so impertinent as to inquire just whose life I am saving?"
I bowed my head. There was only one way out. "You are one of the two, Elise, dear," I said. "Please don't ask me to explain. The secret is not mine."
Her breath escaped in a short gasp. "I?" she echoed, and laughed. "Mr. Trask, I must say you are audacious! I am in no danger, real or fancied." She must just then have read truth in the misery of my expression, for she paled and the mocking note left her voice. "Even if there were some truth in what you say," she went on, "I would far rather face the danger than run into a marriage to escape it. I really must decline your offer definitely!"
The door swung open, and Charles Latisse stepped to her side. "You must, Elise!" he cried, and his face worked from nervousness and emotion. "I asked him to do it!"
For a second I thought she would collapse. "Oh, you asked him to propose to me!" she replied, enunciating with difficulty. "Well, now nothing in the whole world could get me to consider the offer for one single second!" Head up, she swept from the room.
I said nothing, for my self-reproach and bitterness were too deep for words To my intense surprise, however Charles Latisse seemed quieter. He shut and locked the door, and then walked across the room and seated himself at the desk. From his pocket he withdrew his automatic. I was so sick at heart that I made no move to get at my own. "Shoot and be damned!" I muttered.
"Exactly!" he replied, grinning with ghastly humor. Then as calmly as if he had not been distraught for an instant, he lifted the revolver to his own forehead!
A small desk dictionary lay on the table beside my elbow. As I saw his finger tightening on the trigger I picked up the book and hurled it at the weapon. By sheer luck it caught the muzzle squarely, knocking the revolver spinning from his hand.
"For God's sake why?" I queried, catching his arms before he could pick up the automatic again. It had been a narrow escape for me, for locked in that narrow room with him would have meant only one thing to any jury. Besides, Selwyn Trask would have been exposed immediately.
"The jig's up," he answered dully. "You might as well let me finish it."
"I should not! Look here! If you're a brave enough coward to take your own life, why don't you spend your life in some useful way? Why not lose it protecting your sister?" In that second he bowed forward and surrendered to an hysteria of sobbing. Knowing that I could do little or nothing with him in that state, and that not for some time, at least, would he be able to summon sufficient nerve for suicide, I left him—I am ashamed to say with the shred of a hope that he would finish the job sooner or later. I thoroughly detested Charles Armand Latisse even when he showed the single admirable quality of a sort of love for his sister.
BEFORE going to bed that night—or rather morning for it was nearly five before I reached the hotel—I wrote and mailed the following note to Elise:
My Dearest: At the end of this night of madness I am heartsick. I ask you to believe that I love you, no matter what construction you may put upon my actions. That one fact is unchangeable in me. Even you should deny me the chance ever of seeing you again I shall always love you. In time you will find that I could not help doing just as I did, and then, please, if you cannot do so before, forgive me. I pray that you will be most careful. The secret belongs to Charles, and I was convinced that the danger he spoke of was real. Perhaps he will tell you. At any rate, take care, and if any emergency arises remember that I stand ready to help out in any way within my power. Won't you let me come to see you again, just as a good friend? Ever yours, S It was my first love letter, since sophomore college days, and it certainly was the first of my life that was thoroughly sincere. For that reason, probably, it sounded flat, stilted, and unconvincing to me. I felt better, however, when I knew it was on its way. It could do no harm, at any rate.
That evening I attended the gambling club again. The experience was a mere repetition of the former evening, except that nothing the slightest out of the way happened. At one o'clock, when I had lost eighteen hundred dollars, I took my leave. While the guard and I were passing back through the tunnel I noticed one peculiar fact, however. Two or three paces before we got to the elevator, the floor clicked! It was as if the metal of which it was composed had snapped, or two parts had come together. No noise of any volume accompanied this phenomenon, but the click was perceptible to touch even through the soles of my shoes. I made a mental note of the incident, though what bearing it could have upon the whole adventure I could not imagine.
Until the afternoon I slept. Then before dinner, when the desk clerk downstairs solemnly assured me there was no mail for me, I decided to call up Elise.
"I was just trying to decide whether or not I should answer your note, Mr. Trask," she said after I had explained that anxiety for her safety had prompted my call. "Now it will not be necessary. I am perfectly willing to have you visit here if you wish to come and see me—as a friend. My mother, although she is partially paralyzed, would like to meet you, I am sure. You are—rather different at times."
It was cold comfort, perhaps, but I left the phone hugely happy. Down in my heart I knew now that some time Elise would listen to me again. Only the dread specter of the danger Charles had conjured up spoiled my daydream. At any rate I would lunch with Elise and her mother next day, and then, perhaps, I could obtain some hint of the nature of the mysterious threat.
That evening at the club cost my employer a trifle over four thousand dollars. I played at every table and lost consistently I was beginning to lose interest in gambling, anyway, and dropping a few thousand was not as difficult as it had been the first time I attended. Though I conscientiously attempted to learn more about the arrangement of the place I found that indiscriminate meandering about was frowned upon by the owners. I came away satisfied that more information could be obtained only through accident. When "J. M." was ready for the showdown I was ready.
He did not come near me next day though, and because I was more anxious to keep my appointment with Elise than to see my sharp-featured employer, I said not a word to Mitsui.
At twelve-thirty I made my way up the steps of the Latisse home. When the maid admitted me Elise came forward to take my wraps. I noted that she did not offer to shake hands, although her greeting was pleasant enough. Evidently she was willing to re-establish friendly relations, but not to give me the slightest chance of presuming.
As I watched her hanging my hat, coat, and stick on the hall tree a sudden chill crept down my spine, and my eyes riveted themselves upon an object leaning against the wall in the corner. It was a curved cane of some Himalayan wood, and would not have been especially remarkable except for its head. Two carved serpents with garnets for eyes formed the handle, and I gazed at them spellbound as if their basilisk eyes had turned me to stone. Before he absconded my partner had carried just such a cane.
"That is a remarkable stick!" I said, a queer dryness in my throat. I picked it up and examined it more closely. "Is it your brother's?"
Elise frowned, as if in annoyance. "No," she returned with some abruptness. "It was left by an acquaintance of my brother's."
I had some difficulty assuming a careless manner. This stick might have belonged to Morris, but that would have to be proven. For the second or two I spent glaring into the garnet eyes the whole shame of my trouble came back to me, and for the time I thanked my lucky stars that Elise had not accepted me while the disgrace still clouded my real name. Morris was known to have come to Chicago. Might not this actually be his cane? At the thought my hands clenched so suddenly I nearly broke the slender rod.
"In college we used to say that a man's cane revealed his character," I went on, assuming a lighter tone. "Now, from this I should say that the owner, if he lives up to the cane, is a slender, dapper chap with a black mustache trimmed and pomaded. Probably he is beginning to get a little gray around the temple but still he is extraordinarily fussy about his clothes and his clubs. Married, of course and henpecked when he is at home—which is seldom."
The ghost of a smile came to Elise's lips. "I don't care much for that particular science you learned at college," she said.
"Why, didn't I describe him?" I waited on her words with the most extreme anxiety, for I knew Morris did not look as I had said.
"No, not very closely. The real owner is squat, heavy-set, and almost entirely bald. He is not neat—rather piggish, I should say, although he spends enough money on his clothes. And his manners are as far from precise as one could imagine."
"Really?" I simulated a laugh. "But I ought not to be surprised, I suppose. I have met a half-dozen cane carriers in this town of just that type. Bakewell, Maurice Morris, John Swazey." I watched her face closely, but she did not recognize the name of Morris. Down the hall I saw the figure of her brother, so I did not pursue the subject further.
"Will Charles have lunch with us?" I asked, as we strolled through the living rooms.
"No; He never eats lunch now. We will just have a bite in with mother, if you don't object. I have to help her a little because she hasn't much use of either arm."
She introduced me to Mrs. Latisse, who reclined in a wheel chair beside the table. She glanced at me searchingly out of anxious blue eyes, and I saw she was thinking of me in regard to Elise. The hollows in her cheeks, and the wrinkles kept her from looking well, but I saw that she must be a lovable lady to her family. I paid her as much respectful attention during the meal as I found possible, but all the while my thoughts were in a tumult. Elise was glorious as a hostess and nurse for her mother, and I could not help watching her avidly. Then the bitter memories of Morris kept coming to mind again and again. Withal I was happy when the meal was over. Elise's description fitted my partner, and a lump of angry desire kept rising to my throat whenever I thought of what finding him might mean to me.
After luncheon was over Elise asked me to wheel Mrs. Latisse to the music room. There Elise seated herself at the piano and sang to her own accompaniment for half an hour. There always has been magic in melody for me. For opera I care little or nothing, except for the few parts in those of the lighter variety where melody breaks through untrammeled. The songs Elise sang were new to me, but from their nature I imagined they must have been popular about the time I was born; they were ballads, and were innocent of any jazz strains. During the singing Mrs. Latisse closed her eyes, and then I knew why she had looked at me so sharply at first. Each man who visited Elise must have represented a chance for the greatest loss in the world to the dear old lady. I mentally promised that if I came to the beginning of the long straight road with Elise, I should take pains to have her mother know she would be gaining a son instead of losing a daughter.
During the music I noticed Charles wandering about uneasily in the hall. At first I attributed this merely to the nervous state in which I had seen him last, but finally I began to watch him closely. It soon became apparent that my presence bothered him for he glanced in about every five minutes to find out if I had gone. Then I heard wood rattle against the porcelain cane rack, and I was alert in an instant. When a second later I heard the front door close softly, I rose and made my adieus speedily.
In the hall I had a view of the street from a window as I was donning my wraps. A taxi, similar to one in which I had driven out to the gambling club, stood at the curb. Charles was speaking to some one whose face I could not see, but from the size of the man my heart jumped violently. Then Charles gave him the snake cane, and glanced back at the house. In that instant I saw the other's face. It was Maurice Morris!
IN that second I knew what it means to see red. All the pain and shame that man had caused me rose in one insufferable gust of anger. Jerking my automatic from my pocket, heedless of the fact that Elise was beside me, I ran to the doorway. Murder was in my heart, and had I reached Morris I do not believe I even should have cried to him to surrender. I have called my desire the wish to murder, but there must be some other name for it If ever a man deserved to die it was he. Luck was with him this time, however.
Just as my fingers clutched the knob of the plate-glass storm door, I saw Charles Latisse climb into the car after Morris, and the machine start. For one moment I had an almost irresistible impulse to throw open the door and pepper away at the taxi, but this could not accomplish my purpose. I stopped with the door unopened and replaced the gun in my pocket.
"Who was he?" Elise asked quietly, stepping to my side. The fact that she did not seem extraordinarily disturbed startled me more than if she had fainted or screamed.
"Th-the m-man I am after!" I answered. "Maurice Morris. What name does he use here?"
Elise regarded me thoughtfully. "Tell me first, Mr. Trask," she said, "just why you are looking for him. I am not entirely certain that I should help you."
"The absconding president of the Belleville Avenue Trust and Savings Bank!" I said bitterly. "How much is Charles mixed up with him?"
She paled. "I don't know. I hope not at all. Are you telling me the truth, Mr. Trask?"
"I am," I answered shortly. "I've told you so much of the truth that I am entirely in your hands. I have nothing against your brother that I know of, but he is keeping the worst company in the world. The sooner I get hold of Morris the better it is for Charles."
"So I thought when I first met him," she said, shivering a little. "The way he looked at me made me distrust him. He gave the name of Hosmer Burton."
"He has called on you, then?" I asked, mentally jotting down the new alias.
"Twice only. When he asked for this evening or this afternoon I told him I had made an engagement already."
The thought of the mysterious danger Charles had mentioned occurred strongly to me just then. "Keep away from him!" I urged. "I don't know how soon I can trap him, but if he is here in the meantime don't admit him. Put it on the grounds of personal aversion, previous engagements, anything, only don't allow yourself to be alone with him. And Elise"—I hesitated—"You won't tell Charles about this, will you?"
She held our her hand to me and faced me honestly. "I will not tell any one," she promised. "You may trust me. There is something about you, Mr. Trask, that forces a person to believe you whether she wishes to do so or not." With that she withdrew her hand from mine and waved me good-by as she fled up the stairs.
Had my wits worked a little more quickly I never should have let her escape, for I had detected the suggestion of a twinkle in her eye as she spoke. However, that was beside the stern business that confronted me. I left, promising myself that myself that on the next occasion I saw Elise I should gain her consent to marry me. Meanwhile I must find "J. M."
I wasted no time getting downtown to the hotel. Mitsui met me at the door of my suite. "We just want you," he said, as he closed the door. "'J. M.' he in there," and Mitsui waved his hand at the closed door of the living room. "He been waiting half an hour."
Throwing off my wraps I entered the room designated. "J. M."—as every one seemed to call him—was there, smoking a cigar. He was lounging in a wicker chair, with his long legs couched on the edge of the table, and instantly I entered he arose. Because he had become so interesting to me I noted that he seemed sterner than on the one former occasion I had seen him. He wore a suit of blue serge, untailored at the waist, high collar, and blue bow tie. On first glance one would see that he had a long, homely neck, only part hidden by his stand-up collar. After a second's nearness only the set of his broad but curiously pointed chin would be remembered. He was far from handsome as a man, yet the first impression I had received of him—that of his being a superior for whom one might be glad to work—was strengthened before he uttered a word.
"Tell me all about it, Trask," he asked, seating himself quietly and waving me to a chair. "I have the ends pretty well in hand now, but I would like to hear your report."
"Well," I began, rather at a loss concerning the part of my adventures which would interest him, "I have been trying to earn my money, and if losing several thousand dollars is your idea of that still, I have succeeded."
His eyes smiled, though his broad mouth kept its firm line. "Yes, that part of it was understood," he replied. "Now just take for granted that I know nothing, and tell me every detail from beginning to end."
I did so, starting with Mitsui and Hoffman, and the early adventures in piker gambling. As I talked, I noted a peculiar dullness creeping into his blue eyes, and I stopped, thinking I was losing his attention.
"Go on," he remarked instantly. "You were saying that you met this Latisse at the Carlton Chess Club."
I continued the story, and as I came to the part where Elise had told me of the friend of her brother's who had disappeared, a grim expression came to his face.
"Yes, she meant Grover Bankart," he put in.
The name was unknown to me, so I went on as if he had not spoken. Every detail I related except my first taking of Elise partially into my confidence. This I thought he might as well not hear about. When I related my uncanny experience with Mitsui at the gambling house, the dullness became even greater in my employer's eyes. I saw that it meant concentration.
"The devil!" he exclaimed as I told of the shriek in tunnel. "He never returned, and that is why!
"But he is out there now!" I protested.
"Oh, Mitsui, yes. This one whom you met at the Carlton, and then again at the Casque and Gauntlet, was Baron Taku, Mitsui's brother, one of my best men. He was along always to keep in touch with you and to help, if help became necessary."
A great light began to dawn upon me. I had at times been suspicious of the whole crew with whom I was working—at least until I had connected up Morris with Latisse. No man could get the benefit of a doubt with me who even spoke civilly to Maurice Morris—or whatever he called himself. Mitsui had seemed untrustworthy, bobbing up as he did at unexpected places. I had suspected even the artist Hoffman of sinister designs, but now with "J. M." himself directing affairs and Mitsui sufficiently explained, I knew that I was on the right side.
"I called that gambling house the Casque and Gauntlet," he continued. "That is the main fact which I had to ascertain, but I think it is plain enough now. The number of the taxi you took is placed against them. They keep their own taxi service, you know. Besides, I had an aviator flying over the vicinity of the road house each of the nights you went out there. Each time, at the precise hour, the lights Of a car were observed approaching and vanishing there."
"So it is some kind of road house, or automobile tavern?"
"Yes, on the surface," he replied significantly. "You have seen a little of what it is below the level of the ground."
I bethought myself of the graphs which I had made, and drew them from my pocket. "J. M." was agreeably surprised at my foresight and congratulated me. He thereupon obtained a map of Chicago from the encyclopaedic dictionary in the bookcase, and laid out my penciled peregrinations.
"They don't jibe exactly," he remarked, when he had tested both on the map, "but both go to the immediate vicinity of the Casque and Gauntlet. I guess that puts on the finishing touch," he added grimly; "except——"
He stopped. I did not speak, for I thought he would elucidate. "You are a man of rare sense and ability, Mr Trask. Because I want you to aid me through to the finish in this horrible affair, I shall tell you more than I have told any other living being with the exception of my companion, Hoffman, whom you have met.
"Mitsui and Hoffman have told me that you know me only as 'J. M.'" he said. "That stands for Jeffrey Masters, or 'Jigger' Masters to my friends." His blue eyes flashed with a genuineness of feeling.
"Right-o!" I answered
"I am an investigator, as doubtless you have guessed. Until last June I was working for the government on war problems. Then this case came up. It is not necessary for me to elaborate, but I may say that long before I was assigned to work on it I had become interested from a purely professional viewpoint. This Middle Western region has staged in a few months more mysterious disappearances—all of prominent men in the financial world, or their sons, too—than the history of crime records in any other given year. Then one of the assistant secretaries of one of our busiest departments at Washington disappeared out here. The circumstances baffled every one, but I saw the connection between that particular instance and the series of crime that had been committed against private citizens."
"This Grover Bankart was one of the victims, you say," I inquired.
Masters caught his breath sharply. "Not exactly," he answered in an odd tone. "Bankart had many reasons for wishing to disappear."
"You mean——"
"I mean," Masters continued evenly, "that Grover Bankart is one of the geniuses—or devils, if you prefer the term—who is responsible for the Casque and Gauntlet. For five years I have been looking for him for various pieces of work all over the country. Never before has he dared a big job as this. Now"—and Masters stretched out a long finger and then slowly clenched his fist—"I've got him."
"And his confederate?" I suggested, wondering if by any chance Morris could be linked up with Bankart.
A grim smile came to Master's lips. "Hoffman has accused me more than once of being too fond of poetic justice," he said. "In your mixing with that cheap come-on, Latisse, have you met any of his friends."
I could feel the color leaving my cheeks. "Morris!" I cried. "Then you knew I would recognize him!"
Masters nodded. "Just too late I found out that Morris was one of the pair I had been looking for so long. Your bank went under, and Morris came out here with his spoils and aided Bankart in starting the Casque and Gauntlet, buying the road house from the former owners. Of course I didn't know that at the time. When finally I got to work on this case, and found it necessary to secure a young man to play the part of Selwyn Trask, I tried out several without success. Then the notion occurred of winning your co-operation. I sent a detective East to size you up. Just then you were free to leave New York, and you came on to Chicago on a wild hunt for Morris."
I blushed. "Then I didn't fool him when I changed my name!"
Masters grinned. "No. If you were going to stick with me in the business I would have to give you a little instruction in disguises and methods of losing troublesome people. My detective simply changed his identity, too, and shadowed Selwyn Trask.
"The reason I didn't tell you more about the job at first was because I was afraid you might act too rashly."
"You were right," I admitted. "I never could have contained my anger if I had known Morris was connected with that club." Then I told him of my meetings with Elise, and the queer attempt Charles had made to marry us off. In the same connection I mentioned the fact that Morris also had been to see the girl, though I did not know positively that the warning Charles had given had the remotest bearing upon Morris in any way.
Masters' forehead wrinkled. "I knew about some of that, of course," he answered. "Though you didn't know it, one or two of my men were near you constantly, except when you were at the club. Taku was the only one beside yourself who got in there, and we did not dare to follow your car. It would probably have meant your death before we could get anything tangible on the gang. In respect to that queer notion of Charles Latisse, I'm afraid I can't shed any light just yet, though. I wouldn't wonder, though——" He stopped short, as a thumping, as of a heavy body being dragged along, sounded from the hall way outside our suite.
I went to the door and flung it open. Charles Armand Latisse stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb as if for support. The second I saw his face I knew something terrible was wrong with him. Never handsome, mainly because of the sinister emotions that had lined it ineradicably, it now was horrible, grotesque! His beady eyes seemed to protrude from a mask of sickly white, and the constant flickering of the lids only accentuated the impression that he could be only on the point of collapse. I never had had the slightest sympathy for him, even when he was concerned for his sister's safety, because I always had felt that by severing his relations with the club entirely he would have made her life much more pleasant—and safe. Now I reached forward took him by the arm, and led him to a chair in the anteroom. If this should prove to be nothing but a snare I thought that the three of us could handle him without difficulty; his looks however, denied this possibility.
"Lo, Trask," he eats muttered quickly, breathing in deep gusts like a victim of alcoholism. "Didn't figure it well. Haven't much time, so let me talk." His head fell forward on the desk, but with an effort he turned his face toward me and continued: "I'm done. They got me, which is worse than if the police—— Oh, Trask, it's horrible!"
"What's the matter with you, man?" I demanded. "You look sick, very sick. Can't I do something?"
"Sick?" he retorted faintly, a grisly grin wreathing his pallid lips. "Yes, I am sick—poison. I have about five minutes—maybe——"
I started to my feet. "I'll get a doctor!"
"No!" he protested with feeble emphasis. "I took it; meant to die. Paper in coat pocket says so. Don't worry. Let me talk. Oh!" A spasm of pain shut off words for an instant. I was torn between the feeling of necessity for doing something for the man, and the knowledge that if I left him he would die before help could come, and his message would then be lost.
"Had to die," he groaned, mouthing his words terribly. Another convulsion racked him, and I began to fear that I would not hear what he had to disclose. A second or two later he quieted a little, though. "They've got her," he went on, his voice growing fainter.
"They? The club, you mean?" I demanded. "Who?"
"Hosmer—Burton and—and——" His voice stopped as a spasm of pain came.
"Who has he got?" I demanded in a louder tone, as he seemed to be sinking. My heart was thumping a wild tattoo of terror.
"Elise!" he wailed. "Only one who cared anything—she loved me and tried——"
I clutched his wrist. "Tell me about it, quick!" I shouted, not even interested in knowing whether any one overheard me.
"Burton," he gasped, writhing in pain, "Burton wanted her. She—she wouldn't marry—or see him at all. He had me—said he'd put me on the spikes didn't give her over. He said he'd take her to the club. I loved Elise, and would have shot her first, but——" His voice petered out, and his face began to assume a bluish hue.
"What happened?" I cried, beside myself.
It was ten seconds before he could answer. "While I rode with him he knocked me on the head and tied me. Then—then he took Elise. I tried to save her, but—Burton——" Flecked foam interrupted his speech. I shook him savagely, but life had fled.
The second I that he could be of no more use, I threw him aside like an empty sack. I hated and detested Charles Latisse at that moment more that I had thought it possible to or detest any one. Through his devilish machinations he had succeeded in getting his sister—the only woman in the whole world for me—into the clutches of that cold-blooded monster at the Casque and Gauntlet!
Morris, of all men in the world! Was he to rob me a second time, this time of Elise? I could not bear the thought. Had I been alone I must have gone raving mad. A film of red danced before my eyes and my fists clenched in a sudden ecstasy of horror and anger. That second I wished that my old "circus" was within wireless signal distance; however, I would go there and get her away from that gang, alone if necessary! Of a sudden I noticed that the blood was running from my lips where my teeth had bitten through!
"I heard it all," said a quiet voice beside me. "Did you care for this man's sister?" It was Masters, and with calm persuasiveness he led me back into the living room.
"Yes!" I admitted bitterly. "I love her! Oh, how I wish that beast of brother had lived ten seconds longer, so he could have told me more about it! Does Morris intend to——"
"I think I could tell you," broke in Masters, seizing me by shoulders, and looking down solemnly into my eyes; "but I would prefer that you put this out of your mind until to-night. I need your help."
"To-night?" I echoed in consternation, "surely you don't think I am going to wait until then, when Elise is in their hands?"
"I am going to ask you to do so," he returned quietly. "I think I can give you my word that she will not be harmed before then."
"But how? Why? How can you know?" The words raced out in a flood.
"You must remember," he answered with the same calmness, "that I have been working on this case a long time. While you have been opening door after door for me I have been gathering the full comprehension of the plan. I could go out there now and probably capture the gang with all their apparatus. There is so much to prove, however, that it is simply necessary that I get them red-handed. I must be able to show just how they have made away with their victims."
"How can I help in that?" My voice was shaky, for I knew that my only real chance for rescuing Elise waited on this man's pleasure; but the wait seemed impossible.
His expression grew grimmer. "I employed you to risk your life," he remarked.
"Yes, and I'm ready!" I declared. "Out with it! What do you want?"
"I want you," he said slowly and with emphasis, "to do just what Baron Taku did unknowingly."
I stared at him blankly. I could not imagine what he meant.
"The baron," he continued, "was too much of a gambler to be cautious and follow the instructions given to him. He won money—and you heard the shriek in the tunnel!"
"Yes."
"Well, I want you to go there to-night and win! It does not matter how you do it. Throw your gentlemanly scruples aside if fortune does not favor you. Cheat! The main thing is to win."
"I shall de my best."
"Then," and his tone grew quieter still, but ominous, "you will keep close watch of the time. At ten minutes past twelve you are to be many thousands of dollars ahead, if possible, and are to leave on the dot. While you are coming through the tunnel I shall raid the place!"
The memory of the shriek came to my mind, but I resolutely put it aside. "Yes, on one condition," I replied.
"And that is?"
"That you look immediately for Elise Latisse when you come in. From what I have seen I do not expect to be able to assist you much!"
WHAT were probably the blackest hours of my life occurred between five o'clock that afternoon and the time of my appointment with the Casque and Gauntlet car in the evening. Waiting is bad enough under any circumstances, but for me each ten minutes of that time was torture. Though it was true that alone I could not expect any real assistance at the Casque and Gauntlet, I felt cowardly even in delaying a moment. Hate and abhorrence for Morris added to this feeling. At any moment his loathsome arms might be closing about her. Only Masters' word that he did not expect any harm to befall her directly consoled me in the least. Masters himself left shortly after the conclusion of our interview. Hoffman came up and did his best to keep my mind off the situation. He told me many admirable stories of his adventures in the company of Masters, and the moral of each was the same, namely that Jigger Masters invariably was right; that in following his advice I was doing the best that could possibly be accomplished. I will pass over the time that intervened; in spite of myself I could not follow much of Hoffman's narrative. When eight o'clock struck I was out of the door of the hotel and heading for my appointment.
The Casque and Gauntlet taxi was on the dot, and I was whirled away with the same weavings and mummery as on the first occasions. This did not matter now, except that I could not help one slight shudder of dread at what might ensue if, after all, Masters had mistaken the place. I put this out of mind immediately, as it could do me no good to think of such things. I was strung to a high enough pitch, anyway.
The proceedings in the elevator and tunnel were the same as on the previous occasions.
Five minutes later I was seated at one of the tables inside, with five hundred dollars' worth of chips before me, gambling as I never had gambled before in my life. The game into which I went first was straight poker. I chose it because it was the card game with the highest stakes of the evening. I played carefully, yet with a desperation that meant I should win, given an even break in the luck.
That even break did not come to me at the straight poker table. In one hour, in spite of a little cheating—I never had learned many tricks with cards, the Charlemagne pass to recover a cut and dealing from the bottom being the only means at my disposal—I had to buy another stack of chips. This time I got a thousand, for I meant to have all of the advantage that the "press of money" is supposed to give one at gambling.
There was no use. Right along I bucked the game, for my time was none too long, but the best I could get were hands that took second prize each time. I do not believe that I won a single hand on that thousand dollars' worth of chips. Once I deliberately dealt myself three aces, maneuvering the a cards most carefully for this coup. What was my surprise and disgust to have this beaten after the draw by a measly straight! I could not have prevented it anyway, but this time my cheating merely had lost more money for me.
I left the table a hand or two later, broke flat on my original two investments. I now had just eight thousand five hundred left of the ten thousand I had brought along. A roulette wheel was running in a corner. I made for this, and played it for two thousand more without a win. I was getting frantic; my watch showed the time to be quarter of twelve. Under the circumstances I might have had the luck of the little shrimp who stood at my elbow. In half an hour I saw him take away nearly thirty thousand dollars. With a feeling of close to fatalism I placed a single wager of fifteen hundred on the number 36. If I won this would give me a return of fifty-four thousand dollars, which I knew would be sufficient. With a tugging in my throat I watched the little ivory ball perambulate the wheel and waver, finally falling into 9, on which the lucky shrimp at my side had a fifty dollar wager!
Against every bet that was placed on a number at the table the odds were 37 to 1, a single zero paying the score of the attendant for running the contrivance for the members' convenience. I saw that I could not hope for better chances to win heavily at any other part of the establishment, so I divided my remaining money into five piles of one thousand each.
One after another I bet these, choosing each time the number 36, but my jinx was rampant. The last time the ball almost fell into my slot, but stopped at 35, and I was penniless! A flood of self-reproach swept over me. I had been instructed to win and I had failed! On my winning a good-sized sum here this evening had hung most of our chances for success, for I could not imagine any reason there would be for choosing me as victim now when I went through the tunnel. As I looked at my watch I straightened in sheer desperation; it was two minutes past the hour!
I walked across to the nearest attendant. "I feel rather faint—just lost ten thousand, you know. Do you suppose you could fix me up with a cordial?" I made my voice as weak as possible, though it was trembling with pent-up excitement, anyway.
He bowed. "Right this way," he said, leading me toward one of the doors of the alcove. Back of this was a series of little booths, each with a table. The second the oaken door closed behind us I grappled with him. It was a cowardly sort of thing, perhaps, but I was risking everything, so I did not stop to consider the ethics of attacking him from behind. I knew that if he wished to do way with me he would kill me while I was blinded.
I got a firm hold on his throat, so he could not call, but I saw his hands, thrown upward in the first convulsive attempt to break my grip, start downward after his gun. As I could not release him to beat him to the weapon, there was just one recourse. Throwing all my weight against him I brought his head down under me on the edge of the table. He became limp instantly. I went through his pockets in a hurry, rescuing two automatics, loaded. I brought the butt of these down on his skull with strength to keep him stunned for ten or fifteen minutes, and let him.
Scarcely had I done this, when through the corridor which passed the booths two or more of the red-masked figures came. I could not escape, so I hid back of the partition. When they got opposite me I let them have it with my captured guns. The reports sounded terribly loud, and, in addition, one of the wounded attendants screamed as he was hit. I knew the whole house would be aroused now.
I could not choose my manner of going. Down the corridor lay the only possibility. I dashed this way. Twenty feet farther on I came to a double iron stairway. One wing led up while the other went still deeper into this den of wolves. Without hesitation I chose the latter, for if Elise were here this was my chance to find her.
The bottom of this stair was shrouded in pitch darkness, and as I came down a yell and a shot greeted me. The shot grazed my right cheek, carrying away part of my ear, and I felt the hot blood surge from the wound. Though I could see nothing I pumped two bullets into the circle made by the flash of my adversary's gun, and had the satisfaction of hearing the thud of his body as he fell. I lit a match as there was no means of illumination anywhere in sight. Before me loomed a heavy iron door padlocked on the outside. I was stunned for an instant, and then I was clawing frantically at the pockets of my victim on the floor. If I could find the key I could go on; otherwise I was caught like a rat in a trap!
I found the key—a bunch of several in fact. One fitted, and I tore off the padlock and swung the door open. A well-lighted corridor, empty of attendants, confronted me. Through this came a strong draft, bearing to me the indescribable—though somewhat sickly—scent of man mingled perfumes! the place reeked of human occupancy. I raced along this corridor, trying to orient myself. My chief concern was to find Elise, but how to begin this hunt I had not the slightest idea, and I knew that in a few seconds now the raid would commence. The corridor ended in three doors. I chose the one to the left.
A peculiar sight met my eyes. For a second I did not understand, and then the horror of the sight became partially clear to my brain. Before me was a rectangular chamber, perhaps thirty feet in length. It had a steel roof, which suggested the tunnel to me instantly. Directly beneath, in the center, stood a flat table perhaps twenty by four feet in dimensions. The top of this table was studded with upturned spikes, each a half-foot in length and sharpened to a poniard point!
Three men waited beside this table, eyes upturned. One held a butcher's cleaver similar to the weapon that had been brandished in the hall above by the maniac who had been killed. The others held revolvers carelessly in their hands. The reason why I had not been noted, evidently, was that all were expecting something to happen above; this had drawn their whole attention. This must have been what Charles Latisse had meant when he spoke of Burton's threat to "put him on the spikes!"
I did not wait to reason it out, though I knew the explanation must be the acme of horror, but blazed away. Before a single shot from them reached me I had accounted for all three. I tossed my guns, now nearly empty, to the floor, and reached for the two which had been dropped by my opponents. At that second a heavy body hit me from behind, and hairy arms twined about my throat. I crumpled to the floor, but in doing so I seized one of the guns. As my opponent landed on top of me I shot up under my left armpit, and he grunted. Another bullet and he fell off.
I was alone in the chamber! I looked about me, and to my surprise I saw what seemed to be an open furnace at the far end. The door was ajar, and the fourth man who had attacked me evidently had been stoking.
Thoroughly out of breath, I leaned against the wall a second to get my wind. A curious notion assailed me as I looked up. What could those spikes and that cleaver be for except for some expected victim who should fall through the roof? I shuddered, but picked up two of the corpses from the floor, and dropped them on the spikes. At least I could do so much for the chap who might inherit the fate which I had attempted to win.
Just as I was turning to leave the chamber a sudden clank and jar made me turn, in time to see a black-cassocked figure hurtle down through a gap in the ceiling. As he fell he let out one wild yell, which turned to a ludicrous grunt as he landed upon the corpses. One glance told me it was the little shrimp who had been so lucky upstairs, but I did not wait to speak with him. I had more pressing business elsewhere.
The second of the heavy doors was slightly open as I came into the corridor. Jazz music in deafening bray came out. I peered in, to see what resembled a ballroom, with a dozen couples swaying to the snoring of the saxophones and strumming of the kettles! In a second I knew these must be the attendants of the place. Every one of the men looked to be an out-and-out thug, while the women were most all of stamp one meets so easily. I chanced detection, and made out that Elise was not in the number.
Just as I was about to try the knob of the third door it opened slowly. Out of the aperture came an arm, holding an automatic revolver. One quick shot from my weapon smashed the hand, and instantly I kicked the door open. A man staggered back, cursing.
I let him have two shots, and he dropped. The room was brilliantly lighted, and as I stepped in, crouching, another of my opponents jumped up from a desk on the far side. It was the squat fiend I was seeking, Maurice Morris. He was armed, so I wasted no time in pulling the trigger. No explosion occurred! Hastily I lifted the other gun and fired, but this was empty.
"Tarrant!" he yelled, recognizing me. He fired wildly, knocking the plaster from the wall a foot above my head.
Hurling my useless automatic at him to disconcert his next shot, I ran to him. The bullet stung my thigh, but I knew in a rush of fierce exultation that I had him! Before he could shoot I had knocked his arm up and twisted the wrist until his gun dropped to the floor. Then, as he attempted to seize me, I swung a savage uppercut with all the weight of my body and all the hate of my months of hardship behind it.
The blow caught him fairly on the point of the chin. I had a twinge of pain in my hand, and I knew two fingers were broken, but I did not care. I had felt the bones of his jaw break under my fist, and he collapsed on the floor, blood gushing from his mouth. As he went I jumped on top of him, throttling him vengefully.
It was not necessary. I found his head wobbling in my hands, and as I looked down into the gross features of the man who had robbed me, I knew that my blow had broken his neck.
Seizing his revolver in my left hand, I looked about for more assailants, but none were inside the office. Elise, however, was not in sight. I would have to look further. Back of Morris' desk was a door, locked. I was too impatient now to look for the key, so I kicked it in.
The room into which I had ushered myself was apparently the living room of a tiny underground apartment! No one was there, so I hastily went on, back. The second I opened the door to the next chamber, however, my heart skipped a beat. Elise was lying on a leather couch beside the door. Her face was turned away, but I saw that a rope held her arms to the sides of the couch, and that another coil had been fastened about her ankles.
"Elise!" I cried, running forward.
Quickly she faced me. "Mr. Trask!" she cried. "Oh, have they got you, too?"
"No, indeed!" I answered joyfully. "I've come to get you, little girl. Listen!" The sounds of many shots, fired close together, reached us. "The police are raiding the joint now." With fingers that trembled from eagerness I undid her bonds, and then leaned down toward lips. An intoxication held me, but she put her hands before her face. "Don't kiss me!" she cried with a shudder, and evaded my embrace.
Instantly I was flooded with a wave of shame. I had forgotten that I was covered with blood nearly from head to foot. No wonder she hid her eyes! "I—I forgot!" I stammered.
She looked at me quizzically, yet with a certain tenderness, and then I saw her do something inexplicable. Walking to the washbowl of the room she laved her lips carefully, drying them on her handkerchief. "That—that beast kissed me," she explained: and then, with a little shiver, she walked straight into my arms and lifted her face for my caress.
"I—I love you, Selwyn!" she said. "Will you marry me to-morrow?" And then we both laughed. "You will have to wash your face first, though," she added critically. It was the first fervor of our happiness, and for five minutes I am certain neither of us gave thought to our still unsolved predicament.
"You can call me Kenneth Tarrant now, dear," I said a little later. Then I told her the sordid story of how my father had died during my service abroad, leaving his partner, Morris, in charge of the bank, keeping my interest in trust until my return. I explained how Morris had absconded, taking over two hundred thousand dollars of our depositors' money with him. This had wiped out every cent of the residue of my father's estate and left me to carry a debt of honor amounting to thirty thousand more.
"That is why I came to Chicago first," I told her. "I knew that Morris had come here. Now I can take my place again. Morris is dead, and though I don't know how much of the money I can get back, at least I can face the world all square."
"That is just splendid!" she answered. "I'll be satisfied with just you. Did you do all this by yourself?"
"No." I laughed and told her how Masters had handled the case. "He and the rest will be down any second now," I said. "Before they come I want to tell you about your brother."
"Charlie?" she cried, sitting straight, mixed emotions showing on her face.
"Yes," I admitted sadly. I related his story as decently as I could, painting him rather as a hero who had forfeited his life for his sister than as the scoundrel he really was. Whether she believed much of this I could not tell, but tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
"Well," she said in a choking voice, "I knew it was coming to something like this."
"Let us just try to forget his faults and remember that he did his best to help you at the las," I suggested, and kissed her.
Just then Masters, Hoffman, and four or five others burst in, and I drew away from Elise. "Oh there you are!" exclaimed my chief in relief. "I thought they'd done for you for sure, my boy. They got Mitsui."
"Killed him?" I cried with instant regret for my huge, faithful valet.
"Yes. He got his hands on two of hem first, though—he was after revenge for his brother, you know. Well, Miss Latisse seems not to have been harmed." He smiled. "It's all over now. You may take her home if you wish. I see you wouldn't even give me the satisfaction of getting Bankart—I rather expected you might want Morris."
"Bankart?" I echoed blankly.
"Yes; he was the one you killed in the same room with Morris." I was beginning to get embarrassed, for Hoffman was regarding me with plain envy.
"Didn't think you had it in you, Trask," he said finally. "My very best congratulations, and I'll have to admit that I'm not so anxious to try on the gloves with you now. Did you do that to Morris just with your fist?"
"Yes," I admitted, and showed my two broken fingers.
Masters, however, helped matters a trifle by sending the others away. "I wish to compliment you, Trask," he said, walking to me and placing his hands on my shoulders. "You wrote your name in big characters in that slaughter room!"
"I did have quite a fracas there," I acquiesced lamely. "Would you mind telling me about the whole thing now? I have been in the middle of it all night, but I must admit I am rather confused."
"Tell you?" Master laughed. "My dear chap, you know more about this now than any live man in the world. I was just going to invite you to run along with me and tell me the story. The only point you do not understand, perhaps, that I know, is the purpose back of this whole grim establishment."
"Murder, I would guess," I answered.
"Yes, in a way. The whole thing was a gigantic scheme for making money, however. By their blandishments they induced hundreds of the richest men in this section to enroll. The gambling was for big stakes always, and always for cash. Then, when one member won a big sum of money he never came back. When he was starting home, carrying his roll, the floor of the tunnel would drop from under him, and he would disappear forever. Because of the way in which they laid their plans, the police never could solve the mysteries. At least twenty men have gone this way. One little big man—I believe his name is Roswell K. Nye—president of the Jameston Mutual Life, is out there in the slaughter chamber, waiting to thank you for his life. His wrist is broken, but——"
"I'd rather not meet him!" I said hastily. "But, by the way, while you are explaining, tell me who the chap was I captured up in the hotel room that first day." For the first time I noticed a certain giddiness from my wounds and sat down.
Masers laughed. "Oh, he was one of my men. We had to try you out thoroughly first, of course, and he had part of the job. You made him swear off tackling any more of my candidates!"
"Then there was just one more thing: Why did not Mitsui come back to wake me that day?"
"He was spied on and did not dare," said Masters. "We had to take the chance of your waking and doing the right thing."
I smiled. "Well, I'm glad I did wake up."
"Yes," said Masters, bowing to Elise, "I think you are to be doubly congratulated. Now, while I'm with you, I want to give you this little token." He held out a folded check to me. "That's the thousand-odd dollars coming to you for your services. Because that is so small, considering what you have done, I have directed one of my men to see to it that all the details of the bank tangle were cleared up for you. We will see that each and every cent that Morris stole from you is returned, and that each of the depositors receives a letter explaining the whole situation from beginning to end."
"Thank God!" I exclaimed in relief, shaking his hand strenuously.
"And then there's one last matter," he said, eying Elise with an odd expression. "If ever you want a job at a thousand a month——"
Elise put her arm through the crook of my elbow. "Not any more for my husband, thank you!" she said decidedly.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.