McAllister and His Double

by Edward P. Hendrick

  The Extraordinary Adventure of the Baron de Ville

  I

  "I want you," said Barney Conville, tapping Mr. McAllister lightly uponthe shoulder.

  The gentleman addressed turned sharply, letting fall his monocle. Hecertainly had never seen the man before in his life--was sure of it,even during that unfortunate experience the year before, which he had sofar successfully concealed from his friends. No, it was simply a case ofmistaken identity; and yet the fellow--confound him!--didn't look like achap that often _was_ mistaken.

  "Come, come, Fatty; no use balkin'. Come along quiet," continued Barney,with his most persuasive smile. He was a smartly built fellow with ablack mustache and an unswerving eye, about two-thirds the size ofMcAllister, whom he had addressed so familiarly.

  "Fatty!" McAllister, _bon vivant_, clubman, prince of good fellows,started at the word and stared tensely. What infernal luck! That sameregrettable resemblance that had landed him in the Tombs over Christmaswas again bobbing up to render him miserable. He wished, as he hadwished a thousand times, that Wilkins had been sentenced to twenty yearsinstead of one. He had evidently been discharged from prison and was athis old tricks again, with the result that once more his employer wasplaying the part of Dromio. McAllister had succeeded by judiciousbribery and the greatest care in preserving inviolate the history of hisincarceration. Had this not been the case one word now to the determinedindividual with the icy eye would have set the matter straight, but hecould not bear to divulge the secret of those horrible thirty-six hourswhich he, under the name of his burglarious valet, had spent locked in acell. Maybe he could show the detective he was mistaken without goinginto that lamentable history. But of course McAllister proceeded byexactly the wrong method.

  "Oh," he laughed nonchalantly, "there it is again! You've got meconfused with Fatty Welch. We do look alike, to be sure." He put up hismonocle and smiled reassuringly, as if his simple statement wouldentirely settle the matter.

  But Barney only winked sarcastically.

  "You show yourself quite familiar with the name of the gentleman I'mlookin' for."

  McAllister saw that he had made a mistake.

  "No more foolin', now," continued Barney. "Will you come as you are, orwith the nippers?"

  The clubman bit his lip with annoyance.

  "Look here, hang you!" he exclaimed angrily, dropping his valise, "I'mMr. McAllister of the Colophon Club. I'm on my way to dine with friendsin the country. I've got to take this train. Listen! they're shouting'All aboard' now. I know who you're after. You've got us mixed. Yourman's a professional crook. I can prove my identity to you inside offive minutes, only I haven't time here. Just jump on the train with me,and if you're not convinced by the time we reach 125th Street I'll getoff and come back with you."

  "My, but you're gamer than ever, Fatty," retorted Barney withadmiration. Thoughts of picking up hitherto unsuspected clews flittedthrough his mind. He had his man "pinched," why not play him awhile? Itseemed not a half bad idea to the Central Office man.

  "Well, I'll humor you this once. Step aboard. No funny business, now.I've got my smoke wagon right here. Remember, you're under arrest."

  They swung aboard just as the train started. As McAllister sank into hisseat in the parlor car with Barney beside him he recognized JoeWainwright directly opposite. Here was an easy chance to prove hisidentity, and he was just about to lean over and pour forth his sorrowsto his friend when he realized with fresh humiliation that should heseize this opportunity to explain the present situation, the wholewretched story of his Christmas in the Tombs would probably be divulged.He would be the laughing-stock of the club, and the fellows would neverlet him hear the last of it. He hesitated, but Wainwright took theinitiative.

  "How d'y', Chubby?" said he, getting up and coming over. "On your way toBlair's?"

  "Yes. Almost missed the confounded train," replied McAllister,struggling for small talk.

  "Who's your friend?" continued the irrepressible Wainwright. "Kind o'think I know him. Foreigner, ain't he? Think he was at Newport lastsummer."

  "Er--ye--es. Baron de Ville. Picked him up at the club--friend ofPierrepont's. Takin' him out to Blair's--so hospitable, don'cher know."He stammered horribly, for he found himself sinking deeper and deeper.

  "Like to meet him," remarked Wainwright. "Like all these foreignfellers."

  McAllister groaned. He certainly was in for it now. The 125th Streetidea would have to be abandoned.

  "Er--_Baron_"--he strangled over the name--"_Baron_, I want to presentMr. Joseph Wainwright. He thinks he's met you in Paris." Our friendaccompanied this with a pronounced wink.

  "Glad to meet you, Baron," said Wainwright, grasping the detective'shand with effusion. "Newport, I think it was."

  The "Baron" bowed. This was a new complication, but it was all in theday's work. Of course, the whole thing was plain enough. Fatty Welch was"working" some swell guys who thought he was a real high-roller. Maybehe was going to pull off some kind of a job that very evening. Perhapsthis big chap in the swagger flannels was one of the gang. Barney wasthinking hard. Well, he'd take the tip and play the hand out.

  "It ees a peutifool efening," said the Baron.

  The train plunged into the tunnel.

  "Look here," hissed McAllister in Barney's ear. "You've got to stickthis thing out, now, or I'll be the butt of the town. Remember, we'regoing to the Blairs at Scarsdale. You're the particular friend of a mannamed Pierrepont--fellow with a glass eye who owns a castle somewhere inFrance. . . . Are you satisfied yet?" he added indignantly.

  "I'm satisfied you're Fatty Welch," Barney replied. "I ain't on to yourgame, I admit. Still, I can do the Baron act awhile if it amuses youany."

  The train emerged from the tunnel, and McAllister observed that therewere other friends of his on the car, bound evidently for the samedestination. Well, anything was better than having that confounded storyabout the Tombs get around. He had often thought that if it ever did hewould go abroad to live. He couldn't stand ridicule. His dignity was hischief asset. Nothing so effectually, as McAllister well knew, concealsthe absence of brains. But could he ever in the wide, wide world workoff the detective as a baron? Well, if he failed, he could explain thesituation on the basis of a practical joke and save his face in thatway. Just at present the Baron was getting along famously withWainwright. McAllister hoped he wouldn't overdo it. One thing, thankHeaven, he remembered--Wainwright had flunked his French disgracefullyat college and probably wouldn't dare venture it under thecircumstances. There was still a chance that he might convince hiscaptor of his mistake before they reached Scarsdale, and on the strengthof this he proposed a cigar. But Wainwright had frozen hard to his Baronand accepted for himself with alacrity, even suggesting a drink on hisown account. McAllister's heart failed him as he thought of having topresent the detective to Mrs. Blair and her fashionable guests and--byGeorge, the fellow hadn't got a dress-suit! They never could get over_that_. It was bad enough to lug in a stranger--a "copper"--and palm himoff as the distinguished friend of a friend, but a feller without anyevening clothes--impossible! McAllister wanted to shoot him. Was ever achap so tied up? And now if the feller wasn't talking about Paris!_Paris!_ He'd make some awful break, and then-- Oh, curse the luck,anyway!

  Then it was that McAllister resolved to do something desperate.

  II

  "I'm perfectly delighted to have the Baron. Why didn't you bringPierrepont, too? How d'y' do, Baron? Let me present you to my husband.Gordon--Baron de Ville. I'll put you and Mr. McAllister together. We'rejust a little crowded. You've hardly time to dress--dinner in justnineteen minutes."

  "Zank you! It ees so vera hospitable!" said the Baron, bowing low, andtwirling his mustache in the most approved fashion.

  "Come on, de Ville." McAllister slapped his Old-Man-of-the-Sea upon theback good-naturedly. "You can give Mrs. Blair all the _risque_ Parisgossip at dinner." They followed the second man upstairs. Although anold friend of both Mrs. Blair and her husband, McAl
lister had never beenat the Scarsdale house before. It was new, and massively built. Theywere debating whether or not to call it Castle Blair. The second manshowed them to a room at the extreme end of a wing, and as the servantlaid out the clothes McAllister thought the man eyed him rathercuriously. Well, confound it, he was getting used to it. Barney lit acigarette and measured the distance from the window to the ground with adiscriminating eye.

  "Well," said the clubman, after the second man had finally retired, "areyou satisfied? And what the deuce is going to happen now?"

  Barney sank into a Morris chair and thrust his feet comfortably on tothe fender.

  "Fatty," said he, as he blew a multitude of tiny rings toward the blaze,"you're a wizard! Never seen such nerve in my life--and you only out twomonths! You've got the clothes, and, what's more, you've got the realchappie lingo. It's great! I'm sorry to have to pull in such an artist.I am, honest. An' now you've got to go behind prison bars! It'ssad--positively sad!"

  "Look here!" demanded McAllister. "Do you mean to tell me you're such abloomin' ass as to think that I'm a crook, a professional burglar, who'sgot an introduction into society--a what-do-you-call-him? Oh,yes--Raffles?"

  Barney grinned at his victim, who was just getting into his dress-coat.

  "Don't throw such a chest, Fatty!" he said genially. "I think you've gotRaffles whipped to a standstill. But you can't fool me, and you can'tlose me. By the way, what am I goin' to do for evenin' clothes?"

  "Dunno. Have to stay up here, I guess. You can't come to dinner in thosetogs. It would queer everything."

  "I'm goin', just the same. Not once do I lose sight of you, old chappie,until you're safely in the cooler at headquarters. Then your swellfriends can bail you out!"

  It was time for dinner. The little Dresden china clock on the mantelstruck the hour softly, politely. McAllister glanced toward the door.The room was the largest of a suite. A small hall intervened betweenthem and the main corridor. His hand trembled as he lit a Philip Morris.

  "Come on, then," he muttered over his shoulder to Barney, and led theway to the door leading into the bath-room, which was next the door intothe hall and identical with it in appearance. He held it politely ajarfor the detective, with a smile of resignation.

  "Apres vous, mon cher Baron!" he murmured.

  The Baron acknowledged the courtesy with an appreciative grin and passedin front of McAllister, but had no sooner done so than he received aviolent push into the darkness. McAllister quickly pulled and locked theheavy walnut door, then paused, breathless, listening for some sound. Hehoped the feller hadn't fallen and cut his head against the tub. Therewas a muffled report, and a bullet sang past and buried itself in theenamelled bedstead. Bang! Another whizzed into the china on thewashstand.

  McAllister dashed for the corridor, closing both the outer and innermeans of egress. At the head of the stairs he met Wainwright.

  "What the devil are you fellers tryin' to do, anyway?" asked the latter."Sounds as if you were throwin' dumb-bells at each other."

  McAllister lighted another cigarette.

  "Oh, the Baron was showing me how they do '_savate_,' that kind ofboxing with their feet, don'cher know!"

  Chubby was entirely himself again. An unusual color suffused hisordinarily pink countenance as he joined the guests waiting for dinner.He explained ruefully that the Baron had been suddenly taken with asharp pain in his head. It was an old trouble, he informed them, andwould soon pass off. The nobleman would join the others presently--assoon as he felt able to do so.

  "I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill."]

  There were murmurs of regret from all sides, since Mrs. Blair had lostno time in spreading the knowledge of the distinguished foreigner'spresence at the house.

  "Who's missing besides the Baron?" inquired Blair, counting heads. "Oh,yes, Miss Benson!"

  "Oh, we won't wait for Mildred! It would make her feel so awkward,"responded his wife. "She and the Baron can come in together. Mr.McAllister, I believe I'm to have the pleasure of being taken in byyou!"

  "Er--ye--es!" muttered Chubby vaguely, for at the moment he wascalculating how long it would have taken that other Baron, the famousTrenk, to dig his way out of a porcelain bath-tub. "Too beastly badabout de Ville, but these French fellows, they don't have the advantageof our athletic sports to keep 'em in condition. Do you know, I hardlyever get off my peck? All due to taking regular exercise."

  The party made their way to the dining-room and were distributed intheir various places. As McAllister was pushing in the chair of hishostess his eye fell upon a servant who was performing the same officefor a lady opposite. _Could_ it be? He adjusted his monocle. There wasno doubt about it. It was Wilkins. And now the detective was locked inthe bath-room, and the burglar, his own double, would probably pass himthe soup.

  "What a jolly mess!" ejaculated the bewildered guest under his breath,sinking into his chair and mechanically bolting a _caviarehors-d'oeuvre_. He drained his sherry and tried to grasp the wholesignificance of the situation.

  "I do hope the Baron is feeling better by this time," he heard Mrs.Blair remark. He was about to make an appropriately sympathetic replywhen Miss Benson came hurriedly into the room, paused at the foot of thetable and grasped the back of a chair for support. She had lost all hercolor, and her hands and voice trembled with excitement.

  "It's gone!" she gasped. "Stolen! My mother's pearl necklace! I had iton the bureau just before tea! Oh, what shall I do!" She burst intohysterical sobs.

  Two or three women gave little shrieks and pushed back their chairs.

  "My tiara!" exclaimed one.

  "And my diamond sun-burst! I left it right on a book on thedressing-table!" cried another.

  There was a general move from the table.

  "O Gordon! Do you think there are burglars in the house?" called Mrs.Blair to her husband.

  "Heaven knows!" he replied. "There may be. But don't let's get excited.Miss Benson may possibly be mistaken, or she may have mislaid thenecklace. What do you suggest, McAllister?"

  "Well," replied our hero, keeping a careful eye upon Wilkins, "the firstthing is to learn how much is missing. Why don't these ladies go rightupstairs and see if they've lost anything? Meanwhile, we'd all bettersit down and finish our soup."

  "Good idea!" returned Blair. "I'll go with them."

  The three hurriedly left the room, and the rest of the guests, with theexception of Miss Benson, seated themselves once more.

  Everybody began to talk at once. By George! The Benson pearls stolen!Why, they were worth twenty thousand dollars thirty years ago in Rome.You couldn't buy them _now_ for love or money. Well, she had better sitdown and eat something, anyway--a glass of wine, just to revive herspirits. Miss Benson was finally persuaded by her anxious hostess to sitdown and "eat something." Mrs. Blair was very much upset. How awkward tohave such a thing happen at one's first house party.

  The searchers presently returned with the word that apparently nothingelse had been taken. This had a beneficial effect on the generalappetite.

  Meanwhile McAllister had been watching Wilkins. Wilkins had beenwatching McAllister. Since that Christmas in the Tombs they had not seeneach other. The valet was unchanged, save, of course, that his beard wasgone. He moved silently from place to place, nothing betraying theagitation he must have felt at the realization that he was discovered.People were all shouting encouragement to Miss Benson. There was a greatchatter and confusion. The tearful and hysterical Mildred was makingpitiful little dabs at the viands forced upon her. Meanwhile the dinnerwent on. McAllister's seat commanded the door, and he could see, throughthe swinging screen, that there was no exit to the kitchen from thepantry.

  Wilkins approached with the fish. As the valet bent forward and passedthe dish to his former master McAllister whispered sharply in his ear:

  "You're caught unless you give up that necklace. There's a CentralOffice man outside. _I_ brought him. Pass me the jewels. It's your onlychance!"

&nb
sp; "Very good, sir," replied Wilkins without moving a muscle.

  The guests were still discussing excitedly Miss Benson's loss.McAllister's thoughts flew back to the time when, locked in the samecell, he and Wilkins had eaten their frugal meal together. He couldnever bring himself now to give him up to that detective fellow--thatubiquitous and omniscient ass! But Wilkins was approaching with the_entree_. As he passed the _vol au vent_ he unostentatiously slippedsomething in a handkerchief into McAllister's lap.

  "May I go now, sir?" he asked almost inaudibly.

  "Have you taken anything else?" inquired his master.

  "Nothing."

  "On your honor as a gentleman----'s gentleman?"

  Wilkins smiled tremulously.

  "Hon my onor, Mr. McAllister."

  "Then, go!--You seem to have a _penchant_ for pearls," McAllister addedhalf to himself, as he clasped in his hand the famous necklace. Commonhumanity to Miss Benson demanded his instant declaration of itspossession, but the thought of Wilkins, who had slipped unobtrusivelythrough the door, gave him pause. Let the poor chap have all the time hecould get. He'd probably be caught, anyway. Just a question of a fewdays at most. And what a chance to get even on the Baron!

  But meanwhile the service had halted. The butler, a sedate person withwhite mutton-chops, after waiting nervously a few minutes, started topass the roast himself.

  Miss Benson had been prevailed upon to finish her meal, and after dinnerthey were all going to have a grand hunt, everywhere. Afterward, if thenecklace was not discovered, they would send for a detective from NewYork.

  Suddenly two pistol shots rang out just beside the window. Men's voiceswere raised in angry shouts. A horse attached to some sort of vehiclegalloped down the road. The guests started to their feet. A violentstruggle was taking place outside the dining-room door. McAllistersprang up just in time to see the Baron break away from Blair's coachmanand cover him with his pistol. The jehu threw up his hands. He was asorry spectacle, collarless, and without his coat. Damp earth clung tohis lower limbs and his defiant eyes glowed under tousled hair, while abloody, swollen nose protruded between them.

  "Here! What's all this?" shouted Blair. "Put up that pistol! Who areyou, sir?" Then the host rubbed his eyes and looked again.

  "By George! It's the Baron!" yelled Wainwright.

  "The Baron! The Baron!" exclaimed the others.

  "Baron--nothin'!" gasped Barney, still covering the coachman, while withthe other hand he tried to rearrange his neckwear. "I'm Conville of theCentral Office, and this man has aided in an escape. I'm arrestin' himfor felony!"

  The detective's own features had evidently made a close acquaintancewith mother earth, and one sleeve was torn almost to the shoulder. Hiseye presently fell upon McAllister, and he gave vent to an exclamationof bewilderment.

  "You! _You_! How did you get out of that wagon so quick? I've got younow, anyway!" And he shifted his gun in McAllister's direction. Thewomen shrieked and crowded back into the dining-room.

  The coachman, who had not dared to remove his eyes from the detective,now began to jabber hysterically.

  "Hi think 'e's mad, I do, Mr. Blair! Hi think we all are! First houtcomes Mr. McAllister, whom I brought from the station only an 'our agoan' says as 'ow 'e must go back at once to New York. So I 'arnesses upLady Bird in the spyder an' sends Jeames to put hon 'is livery. Just asJeames comes back an' Mr. McAllister jumps in, hout comes _this_ party_'ere_ an' yells somethin' about Welch an' tries to climb in arter Mr.McAllister. Jeames gives the mare a cut an' haway they go. Then this'ere party begins to run arter 'em and commences shootin'. _Hi_ tackles'im! _'E_ knocks me down! _Hi_ grabs 'im by the leg, an' 'ere we are,sir, axin' yer pardon--Hello, why _'ere's_ Mr. McAllister _now_! May Iask as 'ow you _got_ 'ere, sir?"

  But Barney had suddenly dropped the pistol.

  "Quick!" he shouted wildly. "Harness another horse! We've still gottime. I can't lose my man this way!"

  "Well, who _is_ he? Who _was_ it you shot at?"

  "Welch! Fatty Welch!" shrieked the Baron. "There's two of 'em! But theone I want has started for the station. I must catch him!"

  "Excuse me, sir," interrupted the old butler, who alone had preservedhis equanimity, addressing Mr. Blair. "My impression is, sir, that itmust have been Manice, sir--the new third man, sir. I saw him step out.He must have taken Mr. McAllister's coat and hat!"

  There was an immediate chorus of assent. Of course that was it. The manhad disguised himself in McAllister's clothes.

  "He's got the necklace!" wailed Mildred. "Oh, I _know_ he has!"

  "Yes! Yes!"

  "Of course he's got it!"

  "After him! After him!"

  "Necklace! What necklace?" inquired Barney, more bewildered than ever.

  "My mother's pearl necklace! She bought it in Rome. And now it's gone.He's got it."

  Barney made a move for the door.

  "Run and harness up, William!" directed Blair. "Put in the Morganponies. Hustle now. The train isn't due for fifteen minutes and you canreach the station in ten. Don't spare the horses!"

  William, with a defiant look at the detective, hastened to obey theorder.

  Barney was running his hands through his hair. He certainly had stumbledon to somethin', by Hookey! If he could only catch that feller it wouldmean certain promotion! He had to admit that he had been mistaken aboutMcAllister, but this was better.

  "You see, I was right!" remarked our hero to the detective in his usualsuave tones. "You should have done just what I said. You stayed too longupstairs. However, there's still a running chance of your catching ourman at the station. Here, take a drink, and then get along as fast asyou can!"

  He handed Barney a glass of champagne, and the detective hastily gulpedit down. He needed it, for the fifteen-foot jump from the bath-roomwindow had shaken him up badly.

  "Trap's ready, sir!" called William, coming into the hall, and Barneyturned without a word and dashed for the door. The whip cracked andMcAllister was free.

  "Well, well, well!" remarked Blair. "Don't let's lose our dinner,anyway! Come, ladies, let's finish our meal. We at least know who thethief is, and there's a fair chance of his being caught. I will notifythe White Plains police at once! Don't despair, Miss Benson. We'll havethe necklace for you yet!"

  But Mildred was not to be comforted and clung to Mrs. Blair, with thetears welling in her eyes, while her hostess patted her cheek and triedto encourage a belief that the necklace in some mysterious way wouldreturn.

  "No, it's gone! I know it is. They'll never catch him! Oh, it'sdreadful! I would give anything in the world to have that necklaceback!"

  "_Anything_, Miss Benson?" inquired McAllister gayly, as he rose fromhis place and held up the softly shining cord of pearls. "But perhapsif I held you to the letter of your contract you might claim _duress_.Allow me to return the necklace. It's a great pleasure, I assure you!"

  "Hooray for Chubby!" shouted Wainwright. The company gasped withastonishment as Miss Benson eagerly seized the jewels.

  "By George, McAllister! How did you do it?" inquired his excited host.

  "Yes, tell us! How did you get 'em? _Where_ did you get 'em?"

  "Who was the Baron?"

  "How on earth did you know?"

  They all suddenly began to shout, asking questions, arguing, andexclaiming with astonishment.

  McAllister saw that some explanation was in order.

  "Just a bit of detective work of my own," he announced carelessly. "Idon't care to say anything more about it. One can't give away one'strade secrets, don'cher know. Of course that assistant of mine maderather a mess of it, but after all, the necklace was the main thing!"And he bowed to Miss Benson.

  Beyond this brilliant elucidation of the mystery no one could extract asyllable from the hero of the occasion. The Baron did not return, andhis absence was not observed. But Joe Wainwright voiced the sentimentsof the entire company when he announced somewhat huskily thatMcAllister made Sherlock Holmes look like thirty cents.<
br />
  "But, say," he muttered thickly an hour later to his host as theysauntered into the billiard-room for one last whiskey and soda, "did younotice how much that butler feller that ran away looked like McAllister?'S livin' image! 'Pon my 'onor!"

  "You've been drinking, Joe!" laughed his companion.