The Tracer of Lost Persons

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XV

  The dinner that Kerns had planned for himself and Gatewood was aningenious one, cunningly contrived to discontent Gatewood with home fareand lure him by its seductive quality into frequent revisits to the clubwhich was responsible for such delectable wines and viands.

  A genial glow already enveloped Gatewood and pleasantly suffused Kerns.From time to time they held some rare vintage aloft, squinting throughthe crystal-imprisoned crimson with deep content.

  "Not that _my_ word is necessarily the _last_ word concerning Burgundy,"said Gatewood modestly; "but I venture to doubt that any club in Americacan match this bottle, Kerns."

  "Now, Jack," wheedled Kerns, "isn't it pleasant to dine here once in awhile? Be frank, man! Look about at the other tables--at all thepleasant, familiar faces--the same fine fellows, bless 'em--the samesmoky old ceiling, the same bum portraits of dead governors, the sameold stag heads on the wall. Now, Jack, isn't it mighty pleasant, afterall? Be a gentleman and admit it!"

  "Y-yes," confessed Gatewood, "it's all right for me once in a while,because I know that I am presently going back to my own home--a jollylamplit room and the prettiest girl in Manhattan curled up in anarmchair--"

  "You're fortunate," said Kerns shortly. And for the first time thereremained no lurking mockery in his voice; for the first time his retortwas tinged with bitterness. But the next instant his eyes glimmered withthe same gay malice, and the unbelieving smile twitched at his clean-cutlips, and he raised his hand, touching the short ends of his mustachewith that careless, amused cynicism which rather became him.

  "All that you picture so entrancingly is forbidden the true believer,"he said; and began to repeat:

  "'O weaver! weave the flowers of Feraghan Into the fabric that thy birth began; Iris, narcissus, tulips cloud-band tied, These thou shalt picture for the eye of Man; Henna, Herati, and the Jhelums tide In Sarraband and Saruk be thy guide, And the red dye of Ispahan beside The checkered Chinese fret of ancient gold; --So heed the ban, old as the law is old, Nor weave into thy warp the laughing face, Nor limb, nor body, nor one line of grace, Nor hint, nor tint, nor any veiled device Of Woman who is barred from Paradise!'"

  "A nice sentiment!" said Gatewood hotly.

  "Can't help it; you see I'm forbidden to monkey with the eternal loomsor weave the forbidden into the pattern of my life."

  Gatewood sat silent for a moment, then looked up at Kerns with somethingso closely akin to a grin that his friend became interested in itsscarcely veiled significance, and grinned in reply.

  "So you really expect that your friend, Mr. Keen, is going to marry meto somebody, _nolens volens_?" asked Kerns.

  "I do. That's what I dream of, Tommy."

  "My poor friend, dream on!"

  "I am. Tommy, you're lost! I mean you're as good as married now!"

  "You think so?"

  "I _know_ it! There you sit, savoring your Burgundy, idling over acigar, happy, care free, fancy free, at liberty, as you believe, to roamoff anywhere at any time and continue the eternal hunt for pleasure!That's what you _think_! Ha! Tommy, I know better! That's not the sortof man _I_ see sitting on the same chair where you are now sprawling insuch content! I see a doomed man, already in the shadow of the altar,wasting his time unsuspiciously while Chance comes whirling into thecity behind a Long Island locomotive, and Fate, the footman, sitsoutside ready to follow him, and Destiny awaits him no matter what hedoes, what he desires, where he goes, wherever he turns to-night!Destiny awaits him at his journey's end!"

  "Very fine," said Kerns admiringly. "Too bad it's due to the Burgundy."

  "Never mind what my eloquence is due to," retorted Gatewood, "the factremains that this is probably your last bachelor dinner. Kerns, oldfellow! Here's to her! Bless her! I--I wish sincerely that we knew whoshe is and where to send those roses. Anyway, here's to the bride!"

  He stood up very gravely and drank the toast, then, reseating himself,tapped the empty glass gently against the table's edge until it broke.

  "You are certainly doing your part well," said Kerns admiringly. Then heswallowed the remainder of his Burgundy and looked up at the club clock.

  "Eleven," he said with regret. "I've about time to go to Eighty-thirdStreet, get my suit case, and catch my train at 125th Street." To aservant he said, "Call a hansom," then rose and sauntered downstairs tothe cloakroom, where presently both men stood, hatted and gloved,swinging their sticks.

  "That was a fool bet you made," began Kerns; "I'll release you, Jack."

  "Sorry, but I must insist on holding you," replied Gatewood, laughing."You're going to your doom. Come on! I'll see you as far as the cabdoor."

  They walked out, and Kerns gave the cabby the street and number andentered the hansom.

  "Now," said Gatewood, "you're in for it! You're done for! You can't helpyourself! I've won my twelve-gauge trap gun already, and I'll have toset you up in table silver, anyway, so it's an even break. You're allin, Tommy! The Tracer is on your trail!"

  In the beginning of a flippant retort Kerns experienced a curioussensation of hesitation. Something in Gatewood's earnestness, in hisjeering assurance and delighted certainty, made him, for one moment,feel doubtful, even uncomfortable.

  "What nonsense you talk," he said, recovering his equanimity. "Nothingon earth can prevent me driving to 38 East Eighty-third Street, gettingmy luggage, and taking the Boston express. Your Tracer doesn't intend tostop my hansom and drag me into a cave, does he? You haven't putknock-outs into that Burgundy, have you? Then what in the dickens areyou laughing at?"

  But Gatewood, on the sidewalk under the lamplight, was still laughing asKerns drove away, for he had recognized in the cab driver a man he hadseen in Mr. Kern's office, and he knew that the Tracer of Lost Personshad Kerns already well in hand.

  The hansom drove on through the summer darkness between rows of electricglobes drooping like huge white moon flowers from their foliated bronzestalks, on up the splendid avenue, past the great brilliantlyilluminated hotels, past the white cathedral, past clubs and churchesand the palaces of the wealthy; on, on along the park wall edged by itsdouble rows of elms under which shadowy forms moved--lovers strolling incouples.

  "Pooh," sniffed Kerns, "the whole world has gone love mad, and I'm theonly sane man left."

  But he leaned back in his cab and fell a-thinking of a thin girl withred hair and great gray eyes--a thin, frail creature, scarcely more thana child, who had held him for a week in a strange sorcery only torelease him with a frightened smile, leaving her indelible impressionupon his life forever.

  And, thinking, he looked up, realizing that the cab had stopped in EastEighty-third Street before one of a line of brownstone houses, allexternally alike.

  Then he leaned out and saw that the house number was thirty-eight. Thatwas the number of the Lees' house; he descended, bade the cabman awaithim, and, producing his latch key, started up the steps, whistlinggayly.

  But he didn't require his key, for, as he reached the front door, hefound, to his surprise and concern, that it swung partly open--just amere crack.

  "The mischief!" he muttered; "could I have failed to close it? Couldanybody have seen it and crept in?"

  He entered the hallway hastily and pressed the electric knob. No lightappeared in the sconces.

  "What the deuce!" he murmured; "something wrong with the switch!" And hehurriedly lighted a match and peered into the darkness. By the vagueglimmer of the burning match he could distinguish nothing. He listenedintently, tried the electric switch again without success. The matchburned his fingers and he dropped it, watching the last red spark dieout in the darkness.

  Something about the shadowy hallway seemed unfamiliar; he went to thedoor, stepped out on the stoop, and looked up at the number on thetransom. It was thirty-eight; no doubt about the house. Hesitating, heglanced around to see that his hansom was still there. It haddisappeared.

  "What an idiot that cabman is!" he exclaimed, intensely anno
yed at theprospect of lugging his heavy suit case to a Madison Avenue car andtraveling with it to Harlem.

  He looked up and down the dimly lighted street; east, an electric carglided down Madison Avenue; west, the lights of Fifth Avenue glimmeredagainst the dark foliage of the Park. He stood a moment, angry at thedesertion of his cabman, then turned and reentered the dark hall,closing the door behind him.

  Up the staircase he felt his way to the first landing, and, lighting amatch, looked for the electric button.

  "Am I crazy, or was there no electric button in this hall?" he thought.The match burned low; he had to drop it. Perplexed, he struck anothermatch and opened the door leading into the front room, and stood on thethreshold a moment, looking about him at the linen-shrouded furnitureand pictures. This front room, closed for the summer, he had not beforeentered, but he stepped in now, poking about for any possible intruder,lighting match after match.

  "I suppose I ought to go over this confounded house inch by inch," hemurmured. "What could have possessed me to leave the front door ajarthis morning?"

  For an instant he thought that perhaps Mrs. Nolan, the woman who came inthe morning to make his bed, might have left the door open, but he knewthat couldn't be so, because he always waited for her to finish her workand leave before he went out. So either he must have left the door open,or some marauder had visited the house--was perhaps at that moment inthe house! And it was his duty to find out.

  "I'd better be about it, too," he thought savagely, "or I'll never makemy train."

  He struck his last match, looked around, and, seeing gas jets among theclustered electric bulbs of the sconces, tried to light one andsucceeded.

  He had left his suit case in the passageway between the front and rearrooms, and now, cautiously, stick in hand, he turned toward the dimcorridor leading to the bedroom. There was his suit case, anyway! Hepicked it up and started to push open the door of the rear room; but atthe same time, and before he could lay his hand on the knob, the doorbefore him opened suddenly in a flood of light, and a woman stood there,dark against the gas-lit glare, a pistol waveringly extended in thegeneral direction of his head.