Lord John in New York

by C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson

  Produced by Al Haines

  Cover art]

  LORD JOHN

  IN NEW YORK

  BY

  C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON

  AUTHORS OF "THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR"

  METHUEN & CO. LTD.

  36 ESSEX STREET W.C.

  LONDON

  _First Published in 1918_

  BY THE SAME AUTHORS

  The Lightning Conductor The Princess Passes My Friend the Chauffeur Lady Betty Across the Water The Car of Destiny The Botor Chaperon Set in Silver Lord Loveland Discovers America The Golden Silence The Guests of Hercules The Demon The Wedding Day The Princess Virginia The Heather Moon The Love Pirate It Happened in Egypt A Soldier of the Legion The Shop Girl The War Wedding The Lightning Conductress Secret History The Cowboy Countess This Woman to this Man

  CONTENTS

  EPISODE I

  THE KEY

  EPISODE II

  THE GREY SISTERHOOD

  EPISODE III

  THE GIRL ON THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR

  EPISODE IV

  THE DEATH TRYST

  EPISODE V

  THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT

  EPISODE VI

  THE CLUE IN THE AIR

  EPISODE VII

  THE WATCHING EYE

  EPISODE VIII

  THE HOUSE OF REVENGE

  EPISODE IX

  THE BELL BUOY

  TO A CERTAIN KING

  OF A CERTAIN CINEMA COMPANY

  WHO PUT

  "LORD JOHN IN NEW YORK"

  ON THE SCREEN

  LORD JOHN IN NEW YORK

  EPISODE I

  THE KEY

  "More letters and flowers for you, Lord John," said my nurse.

  Not that I needed a nurse; and, above all things, I needed no moreletters or flowers. The waste-paper basket was full. The room smeltlike a perfume factory. The mantelpiece and all other receptacleshaving an army of occupation, vases and bowls were mobilising on thefloor. This would, of course, not be tolerated in hospital; but I wasoff the sick list, recovering in a private convalescent home. I wasfed up with being a wounded hero; the fragrance of too many flowers,and the kindness of too many ladies, was sapping and mining my brainpower; consequently, I could invent no excuse for escape.

  The nurse came in, put down the lilies, and gave me three letters.

  My heart beat, for I was expecting a note from a woman to whom somehowor other I was almost engaged, and to whom I didn't in the least wishto be engaged. She would not have looked at me before the war, when Iwas only a younger brother of the Marquis of Haslemere--and the authorof a successful detective story called _The Key_. Now, however; simplybecause I'd dropped a few bombs from a monoplane on to a Zeppelinhangar in Belgium, had been wounded in one arm and two legs, andthrough sheer instinct of self-preservation had contrived to escape, Iwas a toy worth playing with. She wanted to play with me. All thewomen I knew, not busy with better toys, wanted to play with me. Mybrother Haslemere, who had been ashamed of my extremely clever, rathersuccessful book, and the undoubted detective talent it showed, wasproud of me as a mere bomb-dropper. So, too, was my sister-in-law. Iwas the principal object of attraction at the moment in Violet's zoo--Imean her convalescent home. She had cried because men were not beingwounded fast enough to fill its expensively appointed rooms; I wascaptured, therefore, to make up for deficiencies and shown off toViolet's many friends, who were duly photographed bending beautifullyover me.

  There was, as I had feared, a letter from Irene Anderson; there wasalso--even worse--one from Mrs. Allendale. But the third letter wasfrom Carr Price. On the envelope was the address of the New Yorktheatre where the play he had dramatised from my book would shortly beproduced. He had come to England a million years ago, before the war,to consult me about his work, which would have been brought out inLondon if the war had not upset our manager's plans. I like CarrPrice, who is as much poet as playwright; a charming, sensitive,nervous, wonderful fellow. I gave his letter precedence.

  "DEAR LORD JOHN," he began, and I judged from the scrawl that he wrotein agitation--"for goodness' sake, what have you done to Roger Odellthat he should have a grouch on you? It must have been somethingpretty bad. I wish to Heaven you'd given me the tip last summer thatyou'd made an enemy of him. Roger Odell, of all men in America! Isuppose the brother of a marquis can stand on his own feet in his owncountry, but even if his brother's an archangel his feet are apt to getcold in New York if Roger Odell turns the heat off.

  "The facts--as I've just heard from Julius Felborn--are these.Yesterday Odell sent for Julius, who went like a bird, for he and Odellare friends. Odell's money and influence put Julius where he is now,as a manager, up at the top, though still young. What was Julius'shorror, however, when Odell blurted out a warning not to produce anyplay dramatised from a book of yours, because he--Odell--would do hisbest to ruin it! Julius asked what the dickens he meant. Odellwouldn't explain. All he'd say was, that he'd be sorry to hurt Juliusand had nothing against me, but _The Key_ would get no chance in NewYork or any old town in the United States where Roger Odell had afinger in the pie.

  "Well, you must have heard enough about Odell to know what such athreat amounts to. There are mighty few pies he hasn't got a fingerin. Not that he's a man who threatens as a rule. He's _made_ a goodmany men. I never heard of his _breaking_ one. But when he decides todo a thing, he does it. Julius is in a blue funk. He's not a coward,but even if he felt strong enough to fight Odell's newspapers and otherinfluence, he says it would be an act of 'base ingratitude' to do so,as he'd be 'walking on his uppers' now but for Odell's help, tidingover rough places in the past. Julius took all night to reflect, andrang me up this morning. I'm writing in his office at the theatre now,after our interview. He says Odell would have put him wise before, buthe saw the pars (in his own papers!) for the first time yesterdaymorning on the way back from the West Indies, where he'd been on ashort business trip. Queer place for such a man to go on a businesstrip! But the whole thing is dashed queer. Now he's off again like awhirlwind to England for _another_ 'short business trip,' so he toldJulius. But J. let drop one little item of information about a woman,or rather a girl. _Can_ that be where _you_ come in on this? _Haveyou taken this girl away_? Anyhow, whatever you've done, theconsequences seem likely to be serious. Julius is inclined to call ahalt, bribe, wheedle or bluster the star into throwing up his part atthe first rehearsal, by way of an excuse, and to put on Chumley Reed's_Queen Sweetheart_, which he kept up his sleeve in case _The Key_failed. But, of course, it _couldn't_ fail, unless it was burked. Thewhole cast was wild over _The Key_. Julius himself was wild, and issick at having to turn it down. But Odell's too big for him. And Iguess O---- has offered to stand the racket for the loss of wastedscenery, which has been begun on an elaborate scale. (Think of thegreat casino act at Monte Carlo!) Unfortunately, I'm constituted so Ican't help seeing both sides of the shield and putting myself inothers' places. I'm sorry for Julius. But I'm twenty times sorrierfor Carr Price. For you, too, my dear fellow, of course. But I standto lose more than you do on this deal.

  "I told you confidentially last June just what depends on the successof _The Key_, and I've counted on that success as certain. So did_she_. I wish to Heaven she weren't so conscientious--yet no, I loveher all the better for what she is. I shan't ask her to break thepromise she gave her father, who, you may remember, is Governor of myown State, not to be engaged definitely till I've made good. But ifI'm to have even my _chance_ to make good snatched away, it's hardlines. I wish to the Lord my dear girl weren't such a howling swell,with such an important parent! No use hustling around to othermanagers. Your book went like hot cakes here. So woul
d your play, butno man will pit himself against Roger Odell, if Odell means fighting.And there's no doubt he does mean it--unless you can undo whatever thefool thing is you've done.

  "Probably this letter will go to England in the same ship with Odell.If you're well enough by the time it reaches you, to crawl about, can'tyou see him? I've told Felborn that when you set your wits to workyou're as much of a wonder as your Prime Minister in _The Key_. I'veworked him up to some sort of superstitious belief in you. The nextthing is, to make him merely _put off_ the rehearsal on some pretext,and do nothing one way or the other till I get a cable. I shan't sleepor eat till I hear whether there's any hope of your straighteningthings with Odell.--Yours, C.P.".

  "Straightening things with Odell!" That might have been simple, ifthings had ever been crooked with Odell. But I had never met, I hadnever seen him. All I knew was what I had read, and vaguely heard fromAmericans: that Roger Odell was a millionaire, still a young man, apopular fellow who had made most of his money out of mines and hadbought up an incredible number of newspapers in order to make his powerfelt in the world. But what grudge had he against me? How did he knowthat I existed? I decided that I owed it to myself as an expert evenmore than to Price and his girl, who was a "governor's daughter," toturn on the searchlight.

  It was nearly my time for an outing. Lady Emily Boynton was coming inabout an hour to collect me in her car, take me to the park and therelet me try a combination of legs and crutches. But in my room was atelephone. In general I cursed the noisy thing. To-day I blessed it.I 'phoned to the doctor that, instead of his coming to me, I shouldprefer to call on him, explaining my reason when we met. Next I rangup Lady Emily to say that I was going to Harley Street. She mustn'ttrouble to send, as I was ordering a taxi in a hurry. And lest sheshould disobey, I hobbled off before her car could arrive--my firstindependent expedition since I had been interned by Violet.

  I hoped that Roger Odell might be caught at some hotel in London, andresolved not to stop going till I found him. I began at the Savoy, andit seemed that luck was with me when I learned that he had arrived thenight before. He had gone out, however, directly after breakfast,leaving no word as to his return. This was a blow, especially as itappeared that he had hired a powerful automobile; and even Americanmillionaires do not hire powerful automobiles to run about town.

  They take taxis.

  I gave myself a minute's reflection, and decided that it would betempting Providence to intern myself again before seeing Odell, or elsedefinitely failing to see him. I refused to leave my name, saying thatI would call later; and on the way to keep my Harley Street appointmentstopped my taxi at a post office. Thence I sent a cable to Carr Price--

  "Count on me to make everything right with Odell. Postpone rehearsalsif necessary, but assure Felborn he can safely prepare production.Will wire further details.--JOHN HASLE."

  Perhaps Price and Felborn would have considered this assurancepremature had they known the little I possessed to go upon. But I hadconfidence in myself, and felt justified in rushing off a cheerfulmessage. Delay and uncertainty were the two fatal obstacles to ourscheme. It seemed fair to presume that, as I've never met nor harmedOdell, his objection to me must be founded on some misunderstandingwhich a few frank words ought to clear up. All I had to do was to seehim; and I _would_ see him if I had to camp at his door for a week.

  Having got off my cable I called oh the doctor, explaining to him, asman to man, that I was being killed with kindness, buried under flowersand jellies, as Tarpeia was buried under shields and bracelets. "Imust get out from under," I said, "or I shall fade like a flower ordissolve into a jelly myself. Can't you save me?"

  "I thought you were enjoying life," he replied. "You're well enough,as a matter of fact, to do almost anything except go back to the front.Your legs won't run to that, my boy, for the next six months at least.If you're such an ungrateful beggar that you want to leave LadyHaslemere's paradise and all its lovely houris, save yourself. Don'tput the responsibility on me."

  "Coward!" I said. (I would have hissed it, but, except in novels, itis physically impossible to hiss the word "coward.")

  "The same to you," he retorted. "Get someone to send you on somemission and I'll back you up. I'll certify that you're strong enoughto undertake it, if it doesn't depend on your legs, and is not toostrenuous."

  "I may need to run over to America," it suddenly occurred to me to say,as if by inspiration. "I should have to depend on brains, not legs.Would New York be too strenuous?"

  "I hear they're pretty strenuous over there, but--well----"

  "You don't know what I go through every day at that confounded home formilksops when your back is turned," I pleaded, as he hesitated. Thatsettled it. We both laughed, and I knew he'd see me through. Fiveminutes before nothing had been further from my mind than a trip to NewYork; but now I felt that it had been my secret intention from thefirst. It was strongly impressed upon me that I should have to go.Why, I could not tell. But the thing would happen.

  It was two o'clock and luncheon time when I got back to the Savoy, butOdell had not returned. I wired (I would not 'phone lest I should beunearthed like a fox from his hole) to the convalescent home, sayingthat all was well and I had the doctor's authority to stop out as longas I liked. I then ate a substantial meal and inquired again at thedesk. No Odell. I said I would wait. Would they kindly let me know,in the reading-room, when Mr. Odell arrived? I being wounded and inkhaki, they waived suspicion of a nameless caller. I was given thefreedom of the Savoy, and I waited. I waited three hours, and read allthe magazines and papers. Then I wandered into the foyer and orderedtea. While I was having it, up trotted a sympathetic clerk with aflurried manner to inform me that Mr. Odell was not coming back at all.A telegram had just been received, saying that important businesscalled him home at once. He was on his way by automobile to Liverpool,whence he would sail next morning on the _Monarchic_. His luggage wasto be forwarded by messenger in time to go on board the ship.

  For a few seconds I felt as if what remained of my tea had been flungin my face, scalding hot. But by the time I'd thanked my informant,paid my waiter and picked up my crutches, I knew why I had had thatpresentiment. I taxied to Cook's and learned that, owing to the war, Icould get a cabin on any ship I liked. From Cook's to the doctor's;found him going out, dragged him home with me, and utilised hisservices in wrestling with the matron and nurses. "The play of my bookis being produced in New York, and I must be there, dead or alive," Iexplained. This seemed to them important, even unanswerable. It wouldnot to my sister-in-law. But she was having influenza at home, and Isneaked off before she knew (having got leave from the War Office),sending her a grateful, regretful telegram from Liverpool.

  Even the amateur sleuth doesn't let a ship carry him away to seawithout making sure that his quarry is on board. Roger Odell's namewas not on the passenger list, but neither was mine; we were latecomers. Nevertheless, I knew he was certain to have a good cabin, andI inquired casually of a steward on the promenade deck whether he had"Seen Mr. Odell yet?" He fell into my trap and answered that he hadnot, but his "mate" would be looking after the gentleman who was in thebridal suite.

  I pricked up my ears, remembering that, according to Carr Price, therewas a girl in the case. Something unexpected had happened to upsetOdell's plans in England. Could he be running off with anybody's wifeor daughter?

  "I didn't know that Mr. Odell was on his honeymoon," I ventured as afeeler.

  The steward looked nonplussed, then grinned. "Oh, you're thinking ofthe bridal suite, sir!" he patronised my ignorance. "There's nothingin _that_. Probably the gentleman wired for the best there was. He'salone, sir. Do you wish to send word to him? I can fetch my mate----"

  I broke in with thanks, saying that I would see Mr. Odell later. Nodoubt I would do so; but how I should recognise him was the question.Meanwhile, I limped about the deck, hoping to come across a chairlabelled "Odell," and vainly searchin
g I met a deck-steward. He tookpity on my lameness, and offered to get me a chair at once. "Wherewould you like to sit, sir?"

  I wanted to say, "Put me next to Mr. Roger Odell," but that was toocrude a means towards the end. I looked around, hesitating andhoping--in a way I have which sometimes works well--for an inspiration,and my wandering eyes arrived at a girl. Then they ceased to wander.She was extraordinarily pretty, and therefore more important thantwenty Roger Odells. She was just settling into her deck-chair. Tothe right was another chair, with a rug and a pillow on it. To theleft was an unfilled space.

  "There's room over there," I said. "It seems a well-sheltered place."

  "It is, sir," replied the steward. Without allowing an eye to twinkle,he solemnly plumped down my chair at the left of the girl, not toonear, yet not too far distant. She glanced up, as if faintly annoyedat being given a neighbour, but seeing my crutches, melted and gave mea brief yet angelic look of sympathy. If she had been a nurse in mysister-in-law's home I should never have left it. For she was one ofthose girls who, if there were only half a dozen men remaining in theworld at the end of the war, would be certain to receive proposals fromat least five. She was the type of the Eternal Feminine, the woman ofour dreams, the face in the sunset and moonbeams. Perhaps you haveseen such a face in real life--just once.

  The girl had on a small squirrel toque and a long squirrel coat. Shewas wrapped in a squirrel rug to match. She had reddish-brown hair.All the girls who can take the last men in the world away from all theother women have more or less of that red glint in their hair. Yet sheseemed far from anxious to take the man who came striding along thedeck and stopped in front of her as the ship got under way.

  What she did was to look up and cry out a horrified "Oh!" Her cheeks,which had been pale, flamed red. She half threw off her fur rug, andwould have struggled out of her chair if the man had not appealed toher mercy.

  "Don't run away from me, Grace," he said, "after all these months."

  The name "Grace" suited the girl, or rather expressed her. The manstared with hungry eyes. I was sorry for him. Somehow, I seemed toknow how he felt. He had an American voice and looked like anAmerican--that good, strong type of American who can hold his ownanywhere: not tall, not short, not slim, not stout, not very dark, notvery fair; square-jawed, square-shouldered; aggressive-featured,kind-eyed; one rebellious lock of brown hair falling over a whiteforehead.

  "But--I _have_ been running away from you all these months. I've beendoing nothing else. I could do nothing else," she reproached him.They had both forgotten me. Besides, I was not obtrusively near.

  "Don't I know you've been running away--to my sorrow?" he flung back ather. "I heard of you in the West Indies. I went there to hunt youdown. You'd gone. I dashed home. You hadn't come back. I wastold--I won't say by whom--that you were in England. I ran over andgot on your track yesterday; flashed off to Bath in a fast auto;reached there just as you'd left for Liverpool to sail on this ship.So now I'm here."

  She looked up at him, tears on her lashes. "Oh, Rod!" was all shesaid. It did not need that name to tell me who he was, but eyes andvoice told me something more. She was not flirting with him. She wasnot pretending to wish that he had not come. With all her heart andsoul she did wish it, yet--_she loved him_. I wondered if he knewthat, or if not how much he would give to learn it.

  "You can't get away from me this time," he said, not truculently, butpleadingly, as if he were afraid she might somehow slip out of hishands. "We'll have five days and a half--I hope six--together. If Ican't persuade you in five days and a half----"

  "You couldn't in five hundred years and a half! Rod, what do you_think_ of me? Do you suppose I want you to _die_?"

  "Do you suppose I'm _afraid_?"

  "No. But I am--for you. Nothing on this earth can induce me to changemy mind. You only make us both miserable by keeping on. Oh, Rod, herecomes Aunt Marian! This is her chair."

  Roger Odell glanced in the direction the girl's eyes gave him. I didlikewise. A woman was coming, a tall woman in brown. A generation agoshe would have been middle-aged; in our generation such women areyoung. She looked about thirty-eight, and so I put her down as tenyears older. She was dusky olive, with a narrow face, banded blackhair, and a swaying throat: rather a beautiful Leonardo da Vinci sortof woman.

  Evidently she was as much astonished to see Odell as the girl had been,but she had a different way of showing it. She did not seem to mindhis presence when she got over her surprise. She shook hands and lethim put her into her chair, tucking the brown fur rug around her bodyand under her slim feet. I thought she seemed more Italian thanAmerican. She was very agreeable to Odell, in a cool, detached way,but when she inquired if he ought not to be going below to lunch, evena man of his determination was obliged to take the hint. "We arehaving something brought to us on deck," she explained. "Come back ifyou like when you have finished."

  My lameness gave me an excuse for troubling the deck steward, whofetched me a plate of cold chicken at about the time when moreelaborately furnished trays were placed before the two ladies. Theyhad more to eat than I, but they finished sooner; at least, it was sowith the younger. There was no sea on, yet she left her luncheonalmost untouched, and after five minutes' playing with it went indoors.No sooner had she got safely away than Odell came back to accept theinvitation given by "Aunt Marian," only to find it no longer worth hisacceptance. (Recalling her words, I realised that she had neverexpected "Grace" to stay.) Odell asked for a chair, nevertheless, andhad it put next to hers, evidently meaning to annex the placepermanently. These were the right tactics, of course. Even I shouldhave adopted them; but they were opposed to a more subtle and deadlystrategy. "Grace" proceeded to prove that being on board the same shipwith her did not mean being in her society. She did not appear on deckagain. Odell was forced to realise that he had made the girl aprisoner in her cabin.

  That afternoon the list of passengers was given out, and I searchedeagerly for her name. I had not far down the alphabet to go. Thereshe was among the "C's"--"Miss Grace Callender." The name was anelectric shock; and seeing it I could guess but too easily why the girlmight love a man and run away from him.

  Nobody who read the newspapers three years ago could have helpedknowing who Grace Callender was; and if they forgot, she wouldcertainly have been recalled to their minds a year and a half later.I, at least, had not forgotten. I owed to the "Callender-GrahamTragedy" one detail which had helped to make the success of my novel,and had suggested its name, _The Key_. Miss Callender was (and is) anAmerican heiress, but England has its own reasons for being interestedin American heiresses. Therefore, at the time of the two greatsensational events in Grace Callender's life, London papers gave longparagraphs to the story.

  Her parents--cousins--were both killed in a motor accident in Francewhile she was a schoolgirl at home in charge of her aunt, a half-sisterof the father, Graham Callender. Both parents were rich, having, fortheir lifetime, the use of an immense fortune, or rather the incomederived from it. The principal could not be touched by them, butpassed to their only child. This arrangement had come about through afamily quarrel in the previous generation; but, as Graham Callender andhis wife were of opinion that injustice had been done, they wishedtheir daughter to atone for it by her marriage. Half the money oughtrightly to have gone to Philip Callender-Graham, a cousin who had beendisinherited in their favour. He had died poor, leaving a couple ofsons a few years older than Grace. The two had been educated at GrahamCallender's expense, and had spent their holidays at his houses in townand country. Grace had grown up to look upon both almost as brothers,though they were only her second cousins. She was fond of the pair--alittle fonder of Perry, the elder, than of his younger brother Ned. Asfor the brothers themselves, it appeared later that both were in lovewith Grace; but Ned kept his secret and let Perry win the prize. Theengagement of Grace Callender and Perry Callender-Graham was announcedon the girl's ninet
eenth birthday. One night a few months later, andjust one week before the day fixed for the wedding, PerryCallender-Graham was found dead in a quiet side street near RiversideDrive.

  There were no marks of violence on his body, and apparently he had notbeen robbed. In his pockets were several letters which could have nobearing on the cause of his death, an empty envelope, a sum of money, ajewel-case containing a diamond pendant, probably intended as a giftfor his fiancee, and two keys which seemed to be new. Both werelatchkeys: one rather large and long, looking as if it might belong tothe front door of a house; the other was small, not unlike the key tothe door of the dead man's flat. Neither fitted any door of theprivate hotel in which he lived, however, and consequently suggestedmystery. But as three specialists certified death by natural causes,the police came to regard the keys as of no importance. The doctorstestified to a condition known as "status lymphaticus," which cannot bediagnosed during life, but which may cause a slight shock to be fatal.It was thought that Callender-Graham--whose body lay close to a streetcrossing--might have started back to save himself from being run overby a swift automobile suddenly turning the corner, and in the shock offalling have died of heart failure.

  Grace Callender was grieved and distressed, but not prostrated withsorrow, as she would have been over the loss of an adored lover.Everyone who knew her knew that she had been going to marry her cousinnot because she was in love, but in order to give him the fortunewrongfully diverted from his father. In these peculiar circumstances,many people prophesied the thing which happened a year later: herengagement to Ned Callender-Graham, through whom the restitution couldequally well be made. He seemed to be a popular fellow, even betterliked in general than his dreamy, poetical brother; and as his friendsguessed that he had unselfishly stood in the background for Perry'ssake, all were pleased with his good fortune. The engagement went onfor six months; and then a week before the wedding was to take place,Ned Callender-Graham was found dead in the same street and almost onthe same spot where his brother had fallen a year and a half before.

  This extraordinary coincidence was rendered even more remarkable by thefact that nearly every detail of the first tragedy was repeated in thesecond. Not only had the brothers met their death in the same street,and almost on the eve of marriage with the same girl, but, according todoctors' evidence, they had died in the same way and at practically thesame hour. Ned, like Perry, was afflicted with status lymphaticus.There was no trace of violence on his body. He had not been robbed,for his pockets were full of money. He carried his brother's watchwhich Perry's will had left to him--the watch which Perry had worn onthe night of his death--and two or three letters, together with anempty envelope. Stranger than all, perhaps, he had in his possessiontwo new latchkeys--duplicates of the keys found in his dead brother'spocket.

  This time, owing to the almost miraculous resemblance between thecases, foul play was suspected. But it seemed that the brothers had noenemies and, so far as could be learned, no serious rivals with MissCallender. The girl and her aunt clung to the belief that Perry andNed had died natural deaths, and that the ghastly coincidence was nomore than a coincidence. Miss Marian Callender's theory was that Nedhad fallen a victim to his love for his brother, a too sensitiveconviction of guilt in taking Perry's place, and an unhappysuperstition which he had confided to her--though, naturally, not toher niece. He believed himself to be haunted by his brother's spirit,which influenced him to do things he did not wish. He said one daythat he doubted if Perry would ever let him marry Grace, but wouldcontrive to break off the engagement in some way, even if all went welluntil the last moment. Miss Marian Callender suggested that theapparently mysterious keys were the same keys which Perry hadpossessed, they having been given, with other souvenirs of the deadman, to his brother; that it was characteristic of Ned to keep them byhim, as well as the watch, in a kind of remorseful loyalty to thebrother he had superseded; and that the same half-affectionate,half-fearful superstition had led him that night into the street wherePerry had fallen. Once there--at an hour the same as that of Perry'sdeath a week before his appointed marriage--in all probability Ned hadimagined himself confronted by his brother's accusing ghost. The twowere known to be temperamentally as well as physically alike, thoughNed was undoubtedly stronger physically. It was not strange if Perryhad a peculiar weakness of the heart that Ned should have the same; andthe shock of a fancied meeting with Perry's spirit at such a time andsuch a place might easily have been too great for a man already at highnervous tension. Others than Miss Marian Callender talked freely withreporters and detectives, repeating her story that Ned Callender-Grahamhad felt oppressed with a sense of guilt, that he had worried himselfinto an emotional state which he had tried to hide, and that he hadattended spiritualistic seances. All this, together with the fact thatthere was no evidence of murder, caused the second verdict to be thesame as the first. But Grace Callender found herself so stared at andpointed at, and gossiped about wherever she went, that her life becamea burden. She knew that terrible nicknames were fastened upon her,that she was called "Belladonna" and "The Poison Flower," as if herpromise to marry had brought death upon her lovers. She heard womenwhispering behind her back, "If I were a man I simply shouldn't _dare_be engaged to her in spite of her millions"; and what she did not hearshe imagined. She in her turn grew superstitious, or so it was said.She began to feel that there must be something fatal about her; that acurse which the father of Perry and Ned was said to have pronounced onher parents in his first fury at losing a fortune had been visited onher. Though she had twice come near her wedding she had never yetdeeply loved a man; nevertheless, because of the "curse" and in fear ofit, she resolved to give up all hope of happiness in love, never tomarry, nor even engage herself again.

  All this I remembered distinctly, not alone because my memory is ablotting-pad for such cases, but because the story had captured myimagination, and because I had used the detail of the keys for my ownbook, only substituting one for two.

  "By Jove!" I said. "The key! Now, can that be the clue to RogerOdell's veto?"

  I set myself deliberately to think the matter over from this new pointof view. Evidently he was desperately in love with Grace Callender.Could the mere fact that I had named a book of mine _The Key_, andturned my plot upon a mysterious key found in a dead man's pocket,have inspired Odell with revengeful rage? Except for the title, andthe key in the pocket, there was nothing in my book or in Carr Price'splay which bore even the vaguest likeness to the Callender-Grahamtragedy. I didn't see how the most loyal lover could feel that I had"butted in" upon what to him was sacred; still, the new idea had somesubstance in it. Not only had I hit on a possible clue to the man'senmity, but into my mind from another direction suddenly flashed soastounding a ray of light that I was almost blinded. I could hardlywait to try weapons with Odell.

  How to get at him and hold him, so to speak, at my mercy was the nextdifficulty. I had to think that out too, and I did it by process ofdeduction. For reasons of my own, I had not yet secured a seat in thedining-saloon, but now I limped down below with my inspiration. Othershad made their arrangements and gone, but I managed to catch the headsteward.

  "I suppose you're assigning seats for people who want to sit alone atthese small tables?" I began.

  "We have assigned only one such, sir," he cautiously admitted. "Allwe're able to give."

  "Why all?" I wanted to know. "There are plenty of tables and only afew passengers."

  "Yes, sir, that's true. But also, there's only a few stewards. Wehaven't enough to spare for scattering around."

  "Is Mr. Roger Odell the one fortunate person to whom you've been ableto give a table to himself?" I threw out this question like a lasso.

  "Why, yes, sir, as a matter of fact he is," the caught stewardconfessed. "We've several tables with parties of two or three, but forone alone----"

  "I may wish to be alone just as much as Mr. Odell does," I argued."But the next best thing to being alone
is to sit with another man whowants to be alone. Then there's no fear of too much conversation. Putme at Mr. Odell's table." As I spoke I slipped a five-pound note intoa surprised but unresisting hand. (I had to bribe high to outbribe amillionaire.) Even as his fingers closed mechanically on the paper thesteward's tongue began to stammer, "I--I'm afraid he may object, sir."

  "He may at first; but not after three minutes. All I ask is to be putat the table when Mr. Odell is seated, and without his knowingbeforehand that he's obliged to have a companion. If he still objectsafter three minutes of my company I've had my money's worth. I'llleave him in possession of the table; you can put me where you like."

  It was a bargain. The steward pointed out the table selected by Odell.

  I was dressed and ready for dinner before the bugle sounded, but didnot go down until I thought that most of the passengers would bealready seated. Hovering in the doorway, I saw that Odell was alreadyin his place. Then I made straight for the table and sat down in thechair opposite his.

  He had been gloomily eating his soup, and looked up from it with aglare.

  "I think you must be making a mistake," he remarked with an effort atcivility. "I asked to be alone."

  "So did I," I said.

  "But not at this table."

  "At this very table."

  "Then I'll leave it to you."

  "Please don't," I said. "If one of us goes, I'll be the one, as I'mthe last comer. But will you meanwhile be kind enough to answer twoeasy questions? First, are you Mr. Roger Odell of New York?"

  "Yes, to question number one. If the next's as easy, perhaps I'llanswer that too."

  (He looked faintly amused. The space between his straight blackeyebrows was growing visible again. I had still two minutes and a halfout of the three.)

  "Thank you," I said. "The next should be even easier. Why have youwarned Julius Felborn that if he brings out Carr Price's play, _TheKey_, you'll quash it?"

  The man's face changed. From half-amused boredom it expressed whiterage. "You are that fellow John Hasle," he said. His voice was lowand in control, but his look was vitriolic. All the same, I liked him.He was a man, and I had a man's chance with him.

  "Yes, I'm that fellow John Hasle. Let me introduce myself," I replied.

  "You've hunted me down. You said you wanted to sit alone. That wasnot true."

  "I said, 'I asked to sit alone.' I wanted to sit with you. It was myway of getting to do it. I took not only the table and theopportunity, but my ticket to New York with the same object. I think Ihave the right to inquire what's your motive for wishing to injure meand to expect that you'll answer. If you think differently, I'll getup at once and go. But I believe I shall have succeeded in spoilingyour appetite."

  "You're a cool hand," he said, with no softening of the eyes which gaveme look for look. "Sit still. If you get up and hobble away on thosecrutches you'll have the whole room gaping at us." (Not for the firsttime were my crutches a blessing in disguise:) "Whether you've a rightto question me or not, I don't mind telling you that I think Americansare better at detective literature than any Englishman, speakinggenerally, and a whole lot better than John Hasle, speakingparticularly."

  "I think," said I, "that I shall be able to prove my detective powersto you later on, speaking very particularly."

  "Ah, indeed! In what way?"

  "'Later on' was what I said."

  "All right. I'm in no hurry."

  "I am. Because several matters have got to be settled before I canprogress much further. For one thing, you haven't answered my secondquestion. Your opinion of my book or my British limitations as adetective has nothing to do with your attitude toward the play."

  "If you know so much, perhaps you know more."

  "Frankly, I don't. I ask you to tell me the rest as frankly."

  "Very well. Perhaps the medicine will go to the spot quicker if youunderstand what it's for. It sounds sort of melodramatic, and maybe itis so; but my wish--my intention--to strangle your play at birth, orcrush it afterwards, has revenge for its motive."

  "Revenge for what?"

  "For the cruel act of a member of your family to a member of mine."

  "There's only one other member of my family beside myself--my brother."

  "Exactly! That's the man. There's only one other member of _my_family beside myself. That's my adopted sister. I care more for herthan anyone else in the world--except one. Through your brother, mysister's health and her hopes are both ruined. If you didn't knowbefore, you know now what you're up against."

  "I assure you I didn't know," I said. "This is the last thing thatoccurred to me. I admit I thought of something else----"

  "Oh, is there something else? It's not needed. Still, you may as wellout with it, so I can put another black mark against the name."

  "I'll tell you, when I'm ready to talk of the detective test I spokeof. But about my brother injuring your adopted sister. There must besome mistake----"

  "Not on your life, if you're Lord John Hasle and your brother's theMarquis of Haslemere."

  "I can't deny that."

  "It's a pity!"

  "So _he_ often says. He's not proud of me as an author. He'd be stillless proud of me on the stage. You'll be doing him a real service ifyou prevent _The Key_ from being produced, and so keep the family nameout of the papers in connection with the theatre."

  "Oh, will I?" Odell echoed. He looked rather blank for a moment; thengathered himself and his black eyebrows together. "You're mightyintelligent, aren't you?" he sneered.

  "I've always thought so. I'm glad you agree. But there's no use ourrotting on like this. We're wasting time. Will you tell me whatHaslemere can possibly have done?"

  "Yes! What he positively _did_ do!" the man broke out fiercely, thencontrolled himself and glanced quickly round the room as if looking forsomeone. But not even Miss Marian Callender had come into the saloon.Both she and her niece must have been dining in their own suite. "LordHaslemere wrote a letter to your British Lord Chamberlain, or whateveryou call his High Mightiness, and caused him to have my sister'spresentation at Court cancelled three days before it should have comeoff in May last year."

  "Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "What an extraordinary thing to do!"

  "What a monstrous, what a beastly thing to do! A defenceless girl. Abeautiful girl. One of the best on earth. It broke her heart--thehumiliation of it, and the shock. She wasn't very strong, and she'dbeen looking forward to making her bow to your Royalties. Lord knowswhy she should have cared so much. But she did. She loved England.She has English blood in her veins. She had a sort of loyal feeling toyour King and Queen. That is what she got for it. She's never beenthe same since, and I doubt if she ever will be. All her friends knewshe was going to be presented--and then she wasn't. The damned storyleaked out somehow, and has been going the rounds ever since. That'swhy, if your play is produced in New York, I shall see it gets what itdeserves--or, anyway, what your family deserves."

  "How do you know Haslemere wrote that letter?" I asked.

  "My sister got it from a woman who was to present her--a friend of LordHaslemere's wife. She'd seen the letter."

  "Then she must have seen some reason alleged."

  "She did. That to his certain knowledge Miss Madeleine Odell wasn't aproper person to be introduced to their Majesties. Maida not a properperson! She's a saint."

  "What lie about her could have been told to my brother?"

  "I know what lie was told, because it has been told to others. It'sblighted her life for years, go where she would on our side of thewater. She hoped it wouldn't have got so far as England; and if ithadn't, she'd have settled down in that country to enjoy a littlepeace. But there it was, like a snake in the grass! The thing I'dgive my head to find out is, _who spread the lie_?"

  "You don't know, then?"

  "No, I don't. It's a black mystery."

  "Better let me use my despised detectiv
e talents to solve it."

  "Oh, _that's_ what you've been working up to, is it?"

  "No. How could it be, as I hadn't heard the story when I began towork? But I'm willing to take it on as an extra by and by. My brotherand I are scarcely friends. I'm not responsible for his act, andwhatever the motive, I don't excuse it. Why go out of his way to hurta woman? Yet I may be able to atone."

  "Never!"

  "Never's a long word. But just here the time has come to mention thetwo things I promised to tell you 'later on.' I thought what you hadagainst me might be the name and the plot of my book, dramatised byCarr Price."

  "What the devil is the name or plot of your play to me?"

  "Ah, that was what I wanted to know. It occurred to me as possiblethat you resented the incident of a key being found in a dead man'spocket, and the title of the book and play which might recall a certaindouble tragedy to the public mind."

  The blood rushed to the man's face. He understood instantly, and didnot choose to pretend ignorance. "How dare you presume that I have aright to resent any such reference?" he challenged me.

  "I dare, because of the second of the two things I reserved to tell youlater: the wish I have to prove my detective powers for your benefit.I couldn't help seeing to-day your meeting on deck with Miss Callender.I couldn't help hearing a few words. Because I play at being adetective I keep my wits about me. Also I have a good memory for namesand stories connected with them. Mr. Odell, will you separate me inyour mind from my brother and give Carr Price's play a chance for itslife if I tell you who killed Perry and Ned Callender-Graham, and proveto Miss Callender that there's no reason why she need be afraid to giveher love to any man?"

  Odell stared as if he thought I had gone mad or he was dreaming.

  "Who _killed_ Perry and Ned Graham?" he repeated. "No one killed them."

  "You are wrong," I said quietly.

  "That's your opinion!" he blurted out.

  "That's my opinion. And if I'm right, if those two were murdered, andif the murderer or murderers can be found, won't Miss Callender feelshe may safely marry a man she loves without delivering him up todanger?"

  "Yes," Odell admitted. "Great Heaven, _if_ you were right!"

  "Supposing I am, and can prove it?"

  "There's nothing on God's earth I wouldn't do for you."

  "Well," I said, "I believe there's something in that opinion of mine.Don't dream that now I am getting at this truth I would bury it even ifyou did worse than crush my play. I'll go on, anyhow, but----"

  "You say you are getting at the truth," he broke in. "What do youthink--what do you know? But how can you, a stranger, _know_ anything?"

  "A stranger to you and those connected with the case, but not to thecase itself. You may thank that despised detective instinct of minefor my keen interest in its details."

  "If you thought you'd unearthed the clue to a mystery, why didn't youadvertise yourself by pointing it out to the police a year and a halfago?"

  "I certainly should if I'd got hold of it then, though not for themotive you suggest, Mr. Odell. My publishers were giving me all thepublicity I wanted. As it happens, I picked up the clue in questiononly--a short time ago."

  "Only a few hours ago" were the words which all but slipped out. I bitthem back, however. My line with a keen business man like Roger Odellwas not to give away something for nothing. It was to sell--for aprice.

  He tried to keep his countenance, but his eyes lit. I saw that myhint, like a spark to gun-cotton, had set him aflame with curiosity.Already, in spite of himself, he began to look on me less as an enemythan an agent; perhaps (a wonderful "perhaps" he could not helpenvisaging) a deliverer.

  "For God's sake, speak out and say what you mean!" The appeal wasforced from him. He looked half ashamed of it.

  "I can't do that--yet," I returned. "I might tell you my suspicions;but that wouldn't be fair to myself, or you, or--anyone concerned. Imust land first. Once off the ship, twenty-four hours are all I shallneed to find--I won't say the '_missing_ link,' because I have reasonto think it will not be missing, but the link I can't touch this sideof New York. I will make a rendezvous with you at the end of thattime, either to tell you I've put two and two together with the link,or else to confess that the ends of the chain can't be made to fit."

  Odell stared at me hungrily.

  "You want only twenty-four hours to do what the best police in theworld haven't done in a year and a half," he growled at me. "You thinksomething of yourself, don't you?"

  "You see, I've known myself for a long time," I said modestly. "You'veonly just been introduced to me, and were prejudiced to begin with.About that rendezvous--do you consent to my appointing the place?"

  "Yes," he agreed. "Your hotel?"

  "No. In the manager's private office at the Felborn Theatre; the time,twenty-four hours after we get away from the dock. That will be themost convenient place for both of us in case of my success, for JuliusFelborn and Carr Price can be called in to fix a date for the firstrehearsal of _The Key_."

  The man could not keep back a laugh. It was harsh and short; but itwas a score for me and he knew it. "The Felborn Theatre let it be," hesaid grimly.

  The weather was fine and we made almost a record trip in point of time.There was nothing for Odell to regret in the briefness of the voyage,for Grace Callender remained in her cabin till he sent a message by heraunt, promising not to try for a word or a look if she came on deck.After that she appeared again, as if to show appreciation, and Odelldidn't abuse her confidence. He kept himself to the other side of thedeck; but there was no reason why I should give up my place near thetwo ladies. After the first night's dinner _en tete-a-tete_, Odell andI had no more meals together; consequently, the Misses Callender, auntand niece, were unaware of our acquaintanceship. They had no reason toshun their lame neighbour, and my crutches gave me their sympathy, asthey have given me various other blessings. Instead of my picking up adropped book, as a man usually contrives to do if he yearns to know agirl on shipboard, Grace Callender retrieved one for me. After that, Iwas permitted, even encouraged, to draw my deck-chair closer to theirsand "tell them things about the war." I noticed that the girl caughteagerly, nervously, at any subject which could hold her attention for amoment, even that of my book and Carr Price's play. I, having thesecret clue, guessed that she was for ever trying to escape from athought too engrossing. Her aunt, Miss Marian Callender, had the cluealso; and often I caught her long dark eyes--eyes like those of LaGioconda--fixed with almost painful intentness on Grace. "She knowsthat her niece is thinking about Odell," I told myself. Evidently sheapproved the girl's decision to put him out of her life. If she hadbeen Odell's friend and sympathiser, a woman of her superior age andstrong personal charm (for she had a sort of hypnotic charm, like avelvet-petalled flower with a penetrating perfume) could surely haveinfluenced an impressionable girl, especially one so devoted to her asGrace Callender was.

  It was nine o'clock on an April morning when we escaped from thecustom-house men and spun away from the White Star docks in aglittering grey car. When I say "we," I refer to myself and the twoMisses Callender. They had befriended me to the extent of recommendingme to an hotel and offering to motor me to it; and I was maliciousenough to hope that Odell might see me going off with them. There waslittle doubt in my mind that he did so, and none at all of whatfeelings must have been roused by the sight. These would have beenstill more poignant had he known that it was Grace who impulsivelyinvited me, Marian who merely followed with a polite echo. They livedin a large old-fashioned house in Park Avenue, where the car droppedthe ladies and by their order took me on to the Hotel Belmont. ThereCarr Price was waiting, for when--the day before our landing--theCallenders had mentioned the Belmont I marconied him to meet me at thehotel.

  "Why did you wire 'Don't come to the dock?'" he asked almostresentfully.

  "Because I thought it might annoy Roger Odell if I dangled you underhis nose," I expl
ained.

  "Roger Odell's nose!" Price gasped. "Where--where----"

  "Was it? On the _Monarchic_. And I didn't pull it; neither did hepull mine. I even have hopes that the two features may come to terms.To-morrow, at exactly this hour, you're due to know why. But meanwhileI want you to promise me patience, blind faith and--unquestioning help.There's no time to waste over it, so here goes! Who's the mostinfluential man you know in New York?"

  "George Gould," he said.

  "Pooh! a mere millionaire. He's no use to me. Do you know anyone inthe police force--high enough up to do you a favour?"

  Price pondered for an instant. "I know Sam Yelverton. Is that namefamiliar to you?"

  "It is. Think we'll find him in now if you take me to call?"

  "If this is our lucky day we shall."

  "Let's put it to the test. I've noticed that New York has taxis aswell as London."

  "And you'll notice the difference when you've paid for one. But thisis on me."

  The omen of luck was good, for we found our man at the policehead-quarters, and, true to his promise, Carr Price sat as still andexpressionless as an owl while I did the talking. I had beenintroduced to the great Sam Yelverton by my own request as the authorof _The Key_, and it really was a stroke of luck that he had read andliked it. He looked interested when I said that I'd got an idea for mybook from a _cause celebre_ in New York--"The Callender-Graham affair,"I explained.

  "Ah, the latchkeys in the dead men's pockets!" he caught me up.

  "Exactly. Now it's a question of a play by Mr. Price, on the samelines as my book and with the same title, soon, _very_ soon, to beproduced at the Felborn Theatre. It will be of the greatest assistanceto him and to me in working out an important detail if I can have NedCallender-Graham's latchkeys--anyhow, the smaller one--in my hands fora few hours to-day. Indeed, I'm afraid we can't get much 'forrarder'if you refuse."

  (This was the literal truth, for, unless I could obtain the moreimportant of those two keys and do with it what I hoped to do, I shouldbe unable to "deliver the goods" to Roger Odell. I should stand withhim where I had stood before the "hold up" interview, and the playwould be pigeon-holed indefinitely. Price's eyes were starting fromhis head, but he kept his tongue between his teeth.)

  Mr. Yelverton seemed amused. "I guess I may be able to manage that,"he said, "if one or both of those keys are still in our hands, as Ibelieve they are. If I do the trick for you I'll expect a box for theplay on the first night, eh?"

  "It's a bargain, isn't it, Carr?" said I.

  The dazed Price assented.

  "Oh, and by the way, Mr. Yelverton"--I arrested the famous man as hepicked up the receiver of his desk telephone--"if the letters and theempty envelopes found on the bodies of the two brothers are still amongyour police archives, would it be possible for me to have a look atthem?"

  Yelverton--a big man with a red face and the keenest eyes I ever saw,deep set between cushiony lids--threw me a quick glance. "You doremember the details of that case pretty well, Lord John!" he said.

  "I'm an amateur follower in your famous footsteps," I reminded him. Hesmiled, called up a number and began telephoning. I admired the clearway in which he put what he wanted--or what I wanted--without wasting aword. He asked not only for the keys, but for the whole dossier in thedouble case of the Callender-Graham brothers. Then came a moment ofwaiting in which my heart ticked like a clock; but I contrived toanswer Mr. Yelverton's mild questions about our weather on shipboard.At last a sharp ring heralded an end of suspense.

  "Sorry, Lord John," the big man began, taking the receiver from thegenerous shell of his ear. "They're sending round the dossier, but ourchaps have got none of the Callender-Graham 'exhibits in theirpossession--haven't had for nearly a year. I feared it was likely tobe so. You see, there was no proof that any crime had been committedon either of the two brothers; in fact, the theory was against it.When the police definitely dropped the case--or cases--the family wasentitled to all personal property of the deceased. Everything found onthe body of Ned Callender-Graham was handed over to the relatives bytheir request, as had been done a few weeks after the elder brother'sdeath, even the letters and those empty envelopes you were intelligentenough to single out for observation. We had done the same, naturally,but, in every sense of the word"--he grinned--"there was nothing in'em."

  "The keys on Ned's body were handed over to the Misses Callender,then?" I inquired, stiffening the muscles of my face to mask mydisappointment.

  "Yes. Perhaps, as you remember so much, you recall the fact that thefirst two keys were given to the relatives. Miss Marian Callender andher niece believed that Ned had Perry's keys in his pocket, which wouldmean there were but the two. The Callender ladies are the solesurviving relatives, or, anyhow, the nearest ones. But I've saved mybit of good news from head-quarters till the last. They 'phoned thatthere are duplicate keys. I thought I recalled something of the sort.Not sure but I suggested making them myself. That pretty millionairessgirl might get herself engaged a third time, and if there were any moredead men found with latchkeys in their pockets, sample specimens mightbe very handy for our fellows."

  Sam Yelverton finished with a laugh; but I couldn't echo it. I thoughtof Odell, of Grace Callender's lovely face and her young, spoilt life.I remembered the cruel nicknames "Belladonna" and "Poison Flower." Ifeven the police prepared for a third tragedy, in case she thought againof marriage, no wonder the poor girl refused the man she loved.

  "Will duplicates do for you, or do I lose my stage-box?" the big manasked.

  I said aloud that I thought duplicates would answer my purpose, andsilently to myself I said that they must do so.

  Ten minutes later a policeman of some rank (what rank I couldn't tell,he being my first American specimen) brought in a parcel ofconsiderable size. It contained many affidavits concerning theCallender-Graham tragedy; and on the top of these documents was asmall, neatly labelled packet containing two keys.

  The larger was entirely commonplace; and even the smaller one was atfirst glance a rather ordinary latchkey, of the Yale order. To anexperienced and observant eye, however, it was of curious workmanship.

  "Not a Yale, you see," said Yelverton, taking a magnifying glass from asmall drawer of his tidy desk and passing it on to me. "What do youmake of the thing?"

  "Foreign, isn't it?" I remarked carelessly.

  "Yes, we thought so. German--or Italian. Both the brothers hadtravelled abroad. On a Yale you would read the words 'Yaleparacentric,' and a number. There's neither name nor number on that."He flung a gesture toward the key in my hand.

  "May I take it away and keep it till to-morrow morning, to work out myplot with?" I asked. "The big one I don't care about. I give you myword I'll send this back in twenty-four--no, let's say twenty-fivehours. I have an engagement for the twenty-fourth hour."

  "All right," replied Yelverton good-naturedly. "You might bring thebox-ticket with you. Ha, ha!"

  "I will," I laughed. "And as to the dossier, may I sit somewhere outof your way and glance through it in case there's anything we can workup to strengthen the realism of our scenario? Of course, we'llguarantee to use nothing that might recall the Callender-Graham case tothe public or dramatic critics."

  "You can sit in the outer office and browse over the bundle tilllunch-time, if you like," said Yelverton. "There's a table there in aquiet corner. I shall be off on business before you finish, I expect.See you later--at the Felborn Theatre, your first night. Wish youluck."

  I thanked him and got up. Carr Price followed suit.

  "Weren't you a bit premature mentioning the Felborn?" he reproached mein the next room, beyond earshot of Mr. Yelverton's secretaries andstenographers.

  "No," I reassured him. "To-morrow, at this time or a little later,you'll know why. Meanwhile, don't worry, but take my word--and a taxito the theatre. Tell Felborn I'm on the spot, and there's a trucebetween Odell and me, an armistice of twenty-four"--I pulled
out mywatch--"no, twenty-two and a half hours. Ask him to lend me hisprivate office to-morrow morning from nine till ten o'clock. Afterthat time you and he had better hold yourselves ready to be called into discuss dates."

  "You're either the wonder child of the British Empire or its championfool," remarked Price somewhat waspishly, as he prepared to leave mealone with the Callender-Graham dossier.

  "You've got till to-morrow to make up your mind which," said I, sittingdown to my meal of manuscripts in order not to waste a minute out ofthe twenty-two and a half hours which remained to me. It would nothave been wise to add that I didn't know which myself.

  Many of the papers I passed over rapidly. Others gave me informationthat I couldn't have got from Odell without a confession of ignorance,or from the Misses Callender without impertinence. Among the latterwas one summarising much of the family history; and, profiting by somesmart detective's researches, I learned a good deal about Miss GraceCallender and her almost equally interesting aunt.

  Even before the girl reached the age of sixteen, it seemed, she hadbegun to have offers of marriage. After her parents' death, when shewas not quite fifteen, she had lived for a while with Miss MarianCallender at the house in Park Avenue left to her by her father. Shehad been taught by French governesses, German governesses and Englishgovernesses, but all had failed to prevent a kind of persecution byyoung men fascinated with the child's beauty or her money. At lastMiss Callender senior had sent her niece to a boarding-school in thecountry where the supervision was notoriously strict, and had herselfgone to Italy, her mother's native land, for a few months' visit.Eight or nine years before this Marian Callender had fallen in lovewith an Italian tenor, singing with enormous success in New York. Thelady's half-brother--Grace's father--had objected to the marriage, andfor that reason or some other the two had parted. Gossips said thatthe singer, Paolo Tostini, had not cared enough for Marian Callender totake her without a _dot_; and all she had came from her millionairehalf-brother. At Graham Callender's death Marian's friends weresurprised that she was left a yearly allowance (though a magnificentlygenerous one) only while she "continued unmarried and acted as Grace'sguardian." In the event of Grace's marriage, the girl was free tocontinue half the same allowance to her aunt if she chose. This wasgenerally considered unjust to Marian, and the only excuse for thearrangement seemed to be that Graham Callender feared Paolo Tostinimight come forward again if the woman he had jilted were left with afortune.

  The police of New York had apparently thought it worth while to ferretout further facts in connection with the singer, who had not againreturned to America. They learned that the once celebrated tenor hadlost his voice and had spent his money in extravagance, as many artistsdo. He was living in comparative poverty with his father (a skilledmechanician and inventor of a successful time lock for safes) and hisyounger brother in Naples at the time of Miss Marian Callender's visitto Italy, and Grace's school life. Although these facts were inquiredinto only after some years had passed, and the two brothersCallender-Graham had died, Marian's movements must have been easilytraced, for it was learned that she had openly visited the Tostinis attheir small villa between Posilipo and Naples. The family had alsocalled and dined at her hotel, where they were not unknown. After thattheir circumstances had apparently improved, and it appeared notimprobable that Marian Callender had helped her late lover's people.

  When she returned to New York it was to find that Grace was beingbombarded with love letters at school, and that the hotel in thevillage near by had for its principal clients a crowd of young menwhose whole business in life was lying in wait for the heiress. Inconsequence, Marian brought her niece back to the house in Park Avenue;and soon after, before the girl had been allowed to come out insociety, Antonio, the younger brother of Paolo Tostini, arrived in NewYork. His business was that of an analytical chemist. He hadfirst-rate recommendations, and was an extremely brilliant, as well assingularly good-looking young man, some (who remembered the tenor)thought even handsomer than Paolo. Antonio Tostini, thanks to his ownability and the introductions he had from Miss Callender and others,got on well both in business and society. No one was surprised, and noone blamed her, when Marian Callender threw the clever young Italianand Grace Callender together--except that the girl was young to make upher mind, and her dead father had favoured a match with one of thedisinherited cousins.

  From these rough notes, crudely classifying Antonio Tostini's courtshipof Grace Callender, I gathered that the young Italian had fallendesperately in love with the girl. He had assured friends whom theyhad in common that even if, to marry him, she were obliged to give upher fortune, he would still think himself the happiest man on earth towin her. Grace's aunt, who had tried to keep the girl out of othermen's way, evidently favoured her old love's brother. She chaperoned ayachting party, of which Grace and Antonio were the most importantmembers, a party in which the Callender-Grahams were not included,though they wished for invitations. This match-making effort onMarion's part stifled all suspicion that she discouraged Grace frommarrying in order to retain a charming home, a large, certain income,and all kinds of other luxuries for herself. She had taken Grace'srefusal of Antonio Tostini almost as hard as he had taken it himself.She had even been ill for several weeks when for the third time Gracehad sent him away, and he returned in despair to Italy. It was notlong after this affair (the dossier informed me) that, in accordancewith her father's desire, the girl engaged herself to PerryCallender-Graham, and Marian consented to the inevitable. Heraffection and support during the tragic experiences that followed hadgiven great comfort to Grace, and, so far as was known, Antonio Tostinihad had the good taste never to appear on the scene again.

  Here were many details which I had been anxious, but not decently able,to learn, as the Misses Callenders' shipboard friendship had confineditself to lending me books, telling me what to do in New York, invitingme to call, listening to talk about the war or the play, and allowingme to snapshot them on deck.

  Having looked through the dossier, I took my departure with the key.It was only a duplicate, yet I couldn't rid myself of a queer,superstitious feeling for the thing, as if it were offered to me by theunseen hand of a dead man.

  I taxied back to my hotel and mentioned to a clerk that I wanted to seehouses and flats in the direction of Riverside Drive. Could he directme to an agent who would have the letting of apartments in thatneighbourhood? If my foreign way of expressing myself amused him, hehid his mirth and looked up in a big book the addresses of severalagents.

  I had not cared to be too specific in my questions, but I chose theaddress nearest the street I wanted, taxied there, found the agent, andinquired if there were anything to be let. It was the street in whichPerry Callender-Graham and Ned, his brother, had met their death.

  "I have been recommended to that particular street by an Americanfriend in England," I said. "He has told me that it's very quiet.There are several apartment houses in it, are there not?

  "Yes," replied a spruce young man who looked willing to let me halfresidential New York. "But it's a favourite street; I'm afraid there'snothing doing there now. As for houses, they're all owned, or havebeen rented for many years. A little farther north or south----"

  "Hold on," I pulled him back. "Somebody might be induced to let. Myfriend was telling me about a charming flat--oh, apartment you callit?--in that street which a friend of _his_ took---let me see, it musthave been three years ago or thereabouts. Anyhow, not later. He hadreason to believe I might get that very flat. Stupid of me! I can'tremember the number or name--whichever it was--of the house. I knowthe flat was a furnished one, however; and if your agency----"

  "Oh, if the apartment was furnished, and changed hands three years ago,there's only one it _could_ be, if you're sure it's in that street?"

  "I'm sure," I replied. I staked all on that sureness, thoughlogically---- But I would not let my mind wander to any otherdeduction than the one to which, for better or worse
, I pinned my faith.

  "We had the letting of a furnished apartment in the Alhambra, as thehouse is named, put into our hands three years ago on the 30th of lastmonth," said the youth, referring to a book. "To my certain knowledgeno other furnished one was to be had in the street at that time, andthere hasn't been since. Isn't likely to be either, so far as I cansee. That was the grand chance. German-American lady and gentleman,Mr. and Mrs. Maurice Lowenstein, going unexpectedly to Europe, and gladto get rid of their apartment to a good tenant at a nominal price."

  "You found the good tenant?" I asked.

  "We did, sir--or the tenant found us. Wanted a furnished apartment,not too large or expensive, in a quiet street, quietness the greatconsideration. Above all, the proprietors mustn't want to use theplace again for at least five years. That just fitted in, because ourclients were anxious to let for seven years; the husband had a businessopening in Hamburg. The new tenant took the place for that period; andas there's a long time to run yet, I shouldn't have thought there wasmuch hope for you. However, your friend may have private information."

  "Does the new tenant live there altogether?" I wanted to know.

  "Only comes up from the country occasionally. Expensive fad, to rent aNew York apartment that way. But what's money _for_? Some people haveit to burn."

  "Quite so," I admitted. "Have you ever met the tenant?"

  "Only once--when the apartment was engaged; fixed up in one interview.The rent comes through the post."

  "It must be the apartment my friend talked about!" I exclaimed.

  "Can't be any other. Is the name of your friend's friend Paulling?"

  "Why, yes, I have the impression of something like that. By the way, Imight be able to find an old photograph, to make quite sure. Would yourecognise it?"

  "I might--and I mightn't. Three years is a long time."

  "Well, I'll do my best through some acquaintances," I finished. "Ifwe're speaking of the same person, you may be able to introduce me andsave the delay of communicating with my friend in England."

  Each was flattering himself on his discretion, the whole catechismhaving been gone through without the question on either side, "Is theperson a man or a woman?" Eventually we parted with the understandingthat I should return later if, after looking at the Alhambra from theoutside, I fancied it as much as I expected to do. And then I was tobring the photograph with me.

  So far so good. But the next steps were not so simple.

  I stopped my taxi at the corner (not to advertise myself withunnecessary noise) and limped the short distance which PerryCallender-Graham and his brother Ned must have travelled on the secreterrands that led them to their death. The Alhambra was neither aspicturesque nor as imposing as its name suggested. It was just asubstantial brick building, six or seven storeys in height, withfacings of light-coloured stone, and large, cheerful windows. Luckilyfor my lame leg, the entrance was but a step above the street level.As I arrived the door was opened by a chocolate-brown negro inchocolate-brown livery. He helped a smart nurse to pass out with ababy in a white and gold chariot, and while he was thus engaged Ihobbled into the hall. A hasty glance at a name board on the wallopposite gave me the list of occupants and the floor on which eachtenant lived. Evidently there were two flats to each storey. T.Paulling had an apartment on the third, so also had G. Emmett. I hadto risk something, and so when the brown hall-porter turned to me(which he did with embarrassing swiftness) I risked inquiring for Mr.Emmett. I believed, I added, that he was expecting me.

  "That's all right, sir. He's in," was the welcome reply, with acompassionate grin at the crutches which guaranteed the harmlessness ofan unknown visitor. "I'll take you in the elevator."

  Up we shot to the third floor, where I feared that my conductor mightinsist on guiding me to the door of Mr. Emmett. Fortunately, however,someone rang for the lift and the porter shot down again, directing meto the right.

  The instant he was out of sight I turned to the left, and, with thepolice key in my hand, I stood before the door of T. Paulling.

  My blood leaped through my veins, and the hand that tried the key inthe lock shook with the rush of it. I heard its pounding in my ears,and through the murmurous sound the question whispered, "What if thekey won't fit? Down goes the whole theory. You'll have to confessyourself a fool to Roger Odell."

  As I blundered at the lock in haste and fear that someone might pass,or that this might be one of T. Paulling's rare days at the flat, I wasaghast at my late self-confidence. Face to face with the test, itseemed impossible that my-boast to Odell and Carr could succeed. Ifelt callow and stupid, altogether incompetent. The key seemed toolarge and the wrong shape, which meant that the mystery of thebrothers' death was closed to me, like the door. A voice not far offmade my nerves jump, and--the key slipped into the lock! Fromsomewhere above or below came the sound of voices, but I could not beseen from the lift. Almost before I knew what I was doing or what hadhappened, I was on the other side of the door, in a dark and stuffyvestibule.

  The sound of voices was suddenly stilled. It was as if with a singlestep I had won my way into another world. I drew a long breath ofrelief after the strain, for the silence and darkness said that thetenant was not at home, and I might hope to have the flat to myself.

  I groped for an electric switch, touched it, and flooded the vestibulewith light. It was small, with nothing to distinguish it from anyother vestibule of any other well-furnished flat. Beyond led a narrowcorridor which, when lit, showed me several doors. I opened thenearest, switched on another light, and found myself on the thresholdof a moderate-sized sitting-room or study, with bookshelves rangedalong one of the walls. The window was so heavily curtained that I hadno fear of the sudden illumination being noticed from the street. Theair was heavy and smelled of moth powder. The mahogany table in thecentre of the room and the desk under the window were coated with thinfilms of dust, but everything was stiffly in order: no books lyingabout, no woman's work, no trace of cigarette ash, dropped glove, norpile of newspapers with a tell-tale date.

  I walked over to the desk and, pulling out the swivel chair, sat down.In the silver inkstand the ink had dried. In a pen-rack were two pens,one stub, the other an old-fashioned quill, both almost new, butfaintly stained with ink. Neither, it struck me, could have been usedmore than once or twice. There were several small drawers; all wereempty. No paper nor envelopes, no sealing-wax nor seal, not so much asan end of twine. But the blotting-pad--the only movable thing on thedesk beside the inkstand and pen-rack--was more repaying. It alsoappeared to be nearly new. Just inside the soft green leather coverlay two sheets of plain, unmonogrammed grey-blue paper with twoenvelopes to match. I annexed one of the latter and made a mental notethat, in the police dossier of the Callender-Graham case the emptyenvelope found in the pocket of the younger brother was said to beblue-grey in colour and of thick texture. No record had been keptconcerning the colour of the envelope in Perry's pocket, as littleimportance had been attributed to it, until the coincidence of thesecond envelope was remarked later.

  The blotting-pad was as new-looking as the pens. The two uppermostsheets were of unspotted white, but the middle pages had both beenused, and traces were visible of two short notes having been pressedagainst the paper while the ink was still very wet. Apparently thesedocuments had had neither heading nor signature, and consisted of a fewlines only. On another page a longer letter began "Dearest," and hadbeen signed with an initial. There was no mirror in the room in whichto reverse these writings, and, carefully separating the used sheetsfrom their unsoiled fellows, I folded and slipped them into an innerpocket. There was nothing else in the room which could help me, withthe exception, perhaps, of the books; and most of these were in sets,bound in a uniform way. These had a book-plate and the monogram"M.L.," no doubt meaning Maurice Lowenstein. Of new novels or otherpublications there were none: an additional proof (if it had beenneeded after the clue of the dried ink and almost unused
blotter) thatthe new tenants were seldom in the place.

  Having deduced this fact, I then went through the remaining six roomsof the flat without any discoveries, and finally reached, in its dueorder, the problem I had left for the last. This was the examinationof the lock which the dead brothers' latchkeys had fitted. The workhad to be done with the door open, and therefore I waited until thehour when most people lunch. It would look like burglarious business,what I had to do, and it was important not to be interrupted orarrested.

  The hands of my watch were at one o'clock as mine were on the latchwhich, if I were right, could with a single click solve theCallender-Graham mystery. If I were wrong, not only were four out ofmy twenty-four hours wasted, but my theory fell to the ground and brokeinto pieces past mending.

  I opened the door of the flat and made sure that, for the moment, noone was in the hall. Then, bending down with my back to possiblepassers-by, I whipped out a magnifying glass and pocket electric torchwhich I had bought on my way to the agent's.

  During the next five minutes I had good cause to thank Heaven for themechanical bent that had turned my mind to motors and aeroplanes.

  The same evening, at a little after six, a "commuter's" train landed meat the station of a small Long Island town almost too far away from NewYork to be labelled suburban. Big automobiles and small runabouts werethere to meet the tired business men who travelled many miles for thesake of salt breezes and the latest thing in Elizabethan houses. I wasmore tired than any business man; also, I had encountered as manysetbacks as successes, but nobody and nothing came to welcome me. Iwas able, however, to get a place in an old-fashioned horse-drawnvehicle whose mission was to pick up chance arrivals. There wereseveral of us, and as my rate of locomotion was slow, by the time I hadhobbled off the platform the one seat left was beside the driver. Iwas not sorry, as the other men appeared to be strangers in SandyPlain, and having said I would go to the hotel (for the sake of sayingsomething), I asked my companion if he knew anybody named Paulling.

  "There's two families of that name hereabouts," he replied.

  "My Paullings," I hazarded, "are retiring people, don't make friends,and are away a good deal."

  "Ah, they'd be the Paullings of Bayview Farm!" returned the driver."There's no others answer that description around here that I everheard of, and I've lived at Sandy Plain since before the commutersdiscovered it."

  "Yes, I mean the Paullings of Bayview Farm," I caught him up.

  "The farm's about a mile and a half past Roselawn Hotel," my seat matewent on. "I can take you there after I drop the other folks."

  I thanked him and said he might come back for me if he cared to after Ihad dined, and inquired casually if the Paullings were staying at theirfarm just then.

  The driver shook his head. He didn't know. Few persons did know muchabout the Paullings, who weren't old residents, but had rented BayviewFarm two or three years ago. Maybe the hotel folks might be able totell me whether I was likely to find them.

  They could not do so, I soon learned. Mr. Paulling was said to be aninvalid, though he never called in the local doctor. He was often athome alone for weeks together, except for a man-servant, a foreigner asreserved as himself, whom he had brought with him to Sandy Plain.There was another servant sometimes--a woman--also a foreigner; butwhen the Paullings were both away a Mrs. Vandeermans, a countrydressmaker who lived in a cottage near by, looked after the house,going in occasionally to see that all was well.

  I asked as many questions as I dared, but learned little; and as soonas dusk had begun to fall I started off in the nondescript vehiclewhich had returned for me. The driver spent most of the twenty minutesit took him to reach the farm in explaining that it wasn't really afarm except in name. Nothing was left of it but the house and two orthree acres of orchard; all the rest had been sold off in lots by theowner before he let it to the Paullings. What "city folks" admired init was beyond the knowledge of my companion, but when we arrived at thegate and saw the far-off house gleaming white behind a thick screen ofancient apple trees, I realised the attractions of the place,especially for such tenants as I believed the Paullings to be. Thefarm-house, with its wide clapboarding, its neat green shutters, andits almost classic "colonial" porch hung with roses, had the air ofbeing on terms of long familiar friendship with the old-fashionedgarden and the great trees which almost hid it from its neighbours andthe road. Its front windows, closed and shuttered now, would look outwhen open over sloping lawns and flowerbeds to distant blue glints ofthe sea; and altogether Bayview Farm seemed an ideal retreat forpersons who could be sufficient to themselves and each other.

  Those shuttered windows, however, hinted at disappointment for me. Nota light showed, behind one of them, and when I had rung the bell of thefront door, and pounded vainly at the back, I had to make up my mindthat the Paullings were either away or determined to be thought so."Mrs. Vandeermans 'll know all about 'em," my conductor comforted me."She lives next door, a quarter of a mile farther on."

  We drove the quarter mile, only to be struck by another blow. The oneperson at home in Mrs. Vandeermans' cottage was that widowed woman'smother, very old, very deaf, half blind, knowing little about anything,and nothing at all about the tenants of Bayview Farm.

  "My darter's gone to my son's in Buffalo," she quavered when I hadscreamed at her. "He's sick, but she'll be back to-morrow to lookafter me. She knows them Paullings. You come again to-morrowafternoon if you want to talk to her."

  "You seem sure disappointed," remarked my companion, as he drove me andmy crutches back to Roselawn Hotel.

  "I am," I admitted; but the words were as inadequate as most words are.I was bowled over, knocked out, or so I told myself in my firstdepression. Nothing was of any use to me after to-morrow morning atnine o'clock.

  On my way back to New York in a slow train I gloomily thought over thesituation. Certain startling yet not unexpected discoveries made earlyin the day had elated me too soon. I had collected evidence, but onlycircumstantial evidence. I had no absolute proof to give Roger Odell,and nothing less would suffice. I had counted on getting hold of proofat Sandy Plain, from which place on Long Island (I had learned from theagent) cheques came regularly each quarter to pay the rent of the flatin the Alhambra--cheques sometimes signed T. Paulling, sometimes M.Paulling. One had arrived only a few days before with the formersignature, so I had reason to hope that T. Paulling might be unearthedat Sandy Plain.

  I could, I told myself, write to Roger Odell and ask for a delay, butthat would kill such feeble faith in me as I had forcibly implanted inhim. He would think me a fraud, and believe that I had been trying togain time in order to spring some trick upon him. Besides, thePaullings might come to New York, if they were not already there, anddiscover that some person unknown was on their track and had beentearing sheets out of their blotting-book. No, I must keep myappointment with Roger Odell or face the prospect of complete failure.But how to convince him of what I was myself convinced, with thedisjointed bits of evidence in my possession? Just as my train came toa stop with a slight jolt in the Pennsylvania station, I saw as in anelectric flash a way of doing it. Perhaps it was the jolt that gavethe flash.

  I could not wait to get back to my hotel. I inquired of a porter whereI could get a messenger boy. He showed me. I begged two sheets ofpaper and two envelopes. They were pushed under my hand. I scratchedoff six lines to Roger Odell: "Don't think when you get this I'm goingto ask you to put off our interview. On the contrary, I ask you toadvance it. Please be in Julius Felborn's private office at a quarterto nine instead of nine. This is vitally important. If he has a largesafe in his office, get the key or combination so that you can open it.Small safe no use.--Yours hopefully, J.H."

  I finished this scrawl and sent it away by messenger to the club whereOdell had said I might 'phone, if necessary, up to one o'clock thatnight. It was only just eleven.

  The second letter was longer and more troublesome to compose. It wasto
Grace Callender, and I trusted for its effect to the kindness sheprofessed for me. Her aunt also had been friendly and had showninterest in the prospects of Carr Price's play. Neither, however,dreamed that success depended in any way upon Roger Odell.

  "DEAR MISS GRACE," I wrote,--"You will think the request I'm going tomake of you and Miss Callender a very strange one, but you promisedthat if you could help me you would do so. Well, extraordinary as itmay seem, _you can make my fortune if you_ will both come to theFelborn Theatre at the unearthly hour of nine to-morrow morning, andask to be shown into Mr. Felborn's private office. I shall be there,waiting and hoping to see you two ladies arrive promptly, as more thanI can tell depends upon that. You happened to mention in my presencesomething about dining out to-night and returning rather late, so Ifeel there is a chance of your getting this and sending me a line bythe messenger to the Belmont. He will wait for you, and I will waitfor him.--Yours sincerely, JOHN HASLE."

  An hour later the answer came to my hotel. "Of course we'll both bethere on the stroke of nine. Depend upon us," Grace Callender replied.

  "Thank Heaven!" I mumbled. Yet I was heavy with a sense of guilt. Ifit had been only for punishment, or only for my own advancement, Icould not have done what I planned to do. No man could. But GraceCallender's happiness was at stake.

  Roger Odell was five minutes before his time in Felborn's office nextday, yet he found me on the spot. I saw by his face that hiswell-seasoned nerves were keyed not far from breaking-point. But hekept his role of the superior, indifferent man of the world. He hopedI didn't see the strain he was under, and I hoped that I hid myfeelings from him. Each probably succeeded as well as the other.

  "Well, what have you got to tell me?" he asked, when we were alonetogether in Julius Felborn's decorative private office.

  "I've nothing to tell you," I said. "Nevertheless, I believe you willhear something if you've done as I suggested. Have you got the key orthe combination of that big safe in the wall behind the desk?"

  "I have the combination for to-day. Felborn was at the club last nightwhen your letter came, and I asked him for it. There aren't manyfavours he wouldn't grant me. But what has Julius Felborn's safe to dowith the case?"

  "Please open it. We haven't much time to spare." I looked at mywatch. In a quarter of an hour the Misses Callender ought to beannounced. If they failed me after all--but I would not think of that"if."

  Odell manipulated the combination, and the door of the safe swung open.I saw that there was room for a man inside, and explained to Odell thathe must be the man. "It's absolutely necessary for you to hear foryourself," I insisted, "all that's said in this room during the nexthalf-hour. If you didn't hear with your own ears, you'd never believe,and nothing would be said if you were known to be listening."

  "You want me to eavesdrop!" he exclaimed, ready to be scornful.

  "Yes," I admitted. "If you can call it eavesdropping to learn how andby whom Perry and Ned Callender Graham were done to death."

  Without another word Odell stepped into the safe.

  "With the door ajar you can hear every word spoken in this room," Isaid. "In a few minutes you'll recognise two voices--those of MissGrace and Miss Marian Callender. I tell you this that you mayn't besurprised into making an indiscreet appearance. Remember your future'sat stake and that of the girl you love. All you have to do is to keepstill until the moment when the mystery is cleared up."

  "How can it be cleared up by either of those two?" Odell challenged me,anger smouldering in his eyes.

  "It will be cleared up while they are in the room," I amended."Further than that I can't satisfy you now. By Jove! there goes the'phone! I expect it's to say they're here, though it's five minutesbefore the time."

  My guess was correct, and my answer through the telephone, "Let themcome up at once," passed on the news to the man behind the door of thesafe. I went out to the head of the stairs to meet my visitors, andled them into Felborn's office. The two were charmingly though verysimply dressed, far more _les grandes dames_ in appearance than theyhad been on shipboard, and their first words were of amused admirationfor the Oriental richness of Julius Felborn's office. It was evidentthat, whatever their secret preoccupations were, both wished to seeminterested in their bizarre surroundings and in my success which theyhad come to promote. I made them sit down in the two most luxuriouschairs the room possessed. Thus seated, their backs were toward thesafe, and the light filtered becomingly through thin gold silk curtainson to their faces. I placed myself opposite, on an oak bench under thewindow. If the door of the safe moved, I could see it over thefashionable small hats of the ladies with their haloes of delicate,spiky plumes.

  When I got past generalities I blurted out, "I've a confession to make.I won't excuse myself or explain, because when I've finished--thoughnot _till_ then--you'll understand. On shipboard I talked of my book,and told you it was called _The Key_, but I didn't tell you that thetitle and one incident in the story were suggested--forgive mystartling you--by the murder of Perry and Ned Callender-Graham."

  "Oh!" exclaimed Grace, half rising, "you asked us here to tell us_that_? It doesn't seem _like_ you, Lord John."

  "Give me the benefit of the doubt and hear me to the end," I pleaded,grieved by her stricken pallor and look of reproach as she sank intothe chair again. Marian was pale also, even paler than usual, but herlook was of anger, therefore easier to meet.

  "You must not use the word 'murder,'" she commented, a quiver in hervoice. "Your doing so shows that you've very little knowledge of thecase."

  "I beg your pardon," I said. "On the contrary, it precisely shows thatI have knowledge of it. The brothers were murdered by the same hand,in the same way, and for the same motive."

  Marian rose up, very straight and tall. "It would be more suitable togive your theories to the police than to us. I cannot stay and let myniece stay to listen to them."

  "I shall have to give not my theories, but my knowledge, my proof, tothe police," I warned her; "only it's better for everyone concerned foryou to hear me first."

  "You've brought us to this place under false pretences!" Marian cried,throwing her arm around the girl's waist. "It's not the act of agentleman. Come, Grace, we'll go at once."

  "For your own sakes you must not go," I insisted. "If you stay andhear me through some way may be found to save the family name frompublic dishonour."

  "Dearest, we _must_ stay," Grace said steadily, when the older womanurged her toward the door.

  Marian looked at her niece with the compelling look of a Fate, but thegirl stood firm. Gently she freed herself from the clinging arm andsat, or rather fell, into the big cushioned chair once more. Her aunthesitated for a moment, I could see, whether or not to use force, butdecided against the attempt. With a level gaze of scorn for me, shetook her stand beside Grace's chair, her hand clenched on the carvingof its high back. I realised the tension of her grip, because her greysuede glove split open across a curious ring she always wore on thethird finger of her left hand, showing its great cabochon emerald. Ihad often noticed this stone, and thought it like the eye of a snake.

  "Say what you wish to say quickly, then, and get it over," she sharplyordered.

  "The double murder was suggested and carried out by a man, but he hadaccomplices, and his principal accomplice was a woman." (MissCallender's command excused my brusqueness.) "They had the sameinterest to serve; purely a financial interest. It was vital to boththat Miss Grace Callender shouldn't marry--unless she married a personunder their influence who would share with them. They preferred somesuch scheme, but it fell through. That drove them to extremes. NowI'll tell you something about this couple--this congenial husband andwife. Afterwards I'll give you details of their plot. They weremarried secretly years ago, and lived together when they could, abroadand on this side. The man was rich once, but lost his money--and thecapacity to make it--by losing his health. Life wasn't worth living toeither unless they could
have the luxury they'd been used to. Theytook an old house on Long Island--Bay View Farm, near Sandy Plain. Theman lived there for several months each year under the name ofPaulling. His wife paid him flying visits. She provided the money,and had a banking account in the town. At Bay View Farm, when MissGrace first engaged herself to her cousin, the two thought out theirplot to suppress Perry. It took them some time to elaborate it, but aweek before the wedding they were ready. The woman, still under thename of Paulling, engaged a furnished flat in New York, near RiversideDrive. She took this flat for a term of years, realising it might beneeded more than once as time went on. In this apartment, in a housecalled the Alhambra, she sat down one day at her desk and wrote ananonymous letter to Perry Callender-Graham. She asked him to call atthat address at midnight the next night and learn a secret concerninghis cousin Grace's birth, which would change everything for them bothif it came out. Her handwriting was disguised by the use of a quillpen, which used so much ink that most of the words left traces on theblotter. The envelope and paper were blue-grey, and thick. Inside wasenclosed a small latchkey and a key to the front door of the house, forthe hall-porter would be in bed by the time she named. PerryCallender-Graham could not resist the temptation to keep theappointment. He went to the Alhambra, let himself in, was seen bynobody, walked up to the third floor, and fitted the latchkey into thedoor on the right side of the hall. As he tried to turn the keysomething sharp as a needle pricked his forefinger. He was startled,yet he went on trying to unlock the door. The key turned all the wayround, but the door stuck. It seemed to be bolted on the inside. Hebegan to feel slightly faint, but he was so angry at being cheated thathe pushed the electric bell, determined to get in at any cost. Noanswer came, however, and at last he gave up in despair. Some vagueidea of warning the police and of going to see a doctor came to hismind, but he was already a dying man. Before he got as far as thestreet corner he fell dead. Exactly the same thing happened in thecase of Ned, when every effort to frighten him into breaking hisengagement had failed, when his love for his brother, his sensitiveconscience and his superstitious fear had all been played upon in vain.Even the same formula was used for the anonymous letter, with aslightly different wording. That was safe enough, for if Perry hadmentioned the first letter to Ned he would have told the police at thetime of Perry's death; it would have been a valuable clue. It wasn'tnecessary to make new keys, for the two originals had beenreturned--'to the family.' They were sent anonymously to Ned as they'dbeen sent to Perry, and he also yielded to curiosity.

  "The same ingenious lock, made for the plotters by a skilledmechanician (whom they had reason to trust), shot out its poisonedneedle at the first turn of the latchkey in his hand. As for thepoison, it, too, was supplied by a trusted one---one who had somethingto gain and vengeance to take as well. As the mechanician specialisedin lock-making, so did the chemist employed specialise in poisons. Theone he chose out of his repertory had two virtues: first, it began tostop the heart's action only after coursing through the blood fortwenty or thirty minutes. Anything quicker might have struck down thevictim in front of the door and put the police on the right track.Secondly, the poison's effect on the heart couldn't be detected bypost-mortem, but presented all the symptoms of status lymphaticus,enlargement of the thyroid gland and so on. As for the lock, thesecond turn of the key caused the needle to retire; and for a furthersafeguard, an almost invisible stop, resembling a small screw-head,could hold the needle permanently in place inside the lock, so that thedoor might be opened by a latchkey and the existence of a secretmechanism never suspected, except by one who knew how to find it. Themechanism is in working order still, ready for use again, in case MissGrace Callender should change her mind and decide to marry."

  "Who is it you are accusing, Lord John?" Grace stammered in a chokedvoice.

  I glanced from the drooping figure in the chair to the tall figurestanding erect and straight beside it. Marian Callender no longergrasped the oak carving. The hand in the ragged glove was crushedagainst her mouth, her lips on the emerald which had pressed throughthe torn suede. The woman gave no other sign of emotion than thisstrange gesture.

  "I accuse Paolo Tostini, with his father, his brother, and hiswife--known still as Miss Marian Callender--as his accomplices," I said.

  Grace uttered a cry sharp with horror, yet there was neither amazementnor unbelief in the pale face which she screened with two tremblinghands. The story I had told--hastily yet circumstantially--hadprepared her for the end. But the keen anguish in the girl's voicesnapped the last strand of Odell's patience. He threw the iron door ofthe safe wide open, and in two bounds was at Grace's side. I saw herhold out both arms to him. I saw him snatch her up against his breast;and then I turned to Marian Tostini, who had not moved from her placebeside the big carved chair. She was staring straight at me, her darkeyes wide and unwinking as the eyes of a person hypnotised. The handin the torn glove had dropped from her lips again and clasped thecarving. She seemed to lean upon the chair, as if for support. Herfingers clutched the wood. The grey suede glove was slit now allacross its back, but the snake-eye of the emerald had ceased to shootout its green glint. The stone hung from its setting like the hingedlid of a box, showing a very small gold-lined aperture.

  "There need be--no stain on the name of--Callender--if you are asclever in hiding the secret as you've been--in finding it out," shesaid, with a catch in her breath between words.

  "What have you done?" I asked.

  "You know--don't you--you who know everything? The ring was my Italianmother's--and her mother's before her. Who can tell how long it hasbeen in our family? It was empty when it came to me, but----"

  "But you put into it some of the same poison Antonio Tostini made upfor Perry and Ned Callender-Graham?"

  "Do you think you can force me to accuse the Tostinis? You shall notdrag a word from me. When Paolo hears I am dead he will die also,before you can find him. Antonio you cannot touch. He is in Italy.Thank Heaven their father is dead! And now I think--I had better gohome or--or to my doctor's. Grace and Roger Odell--wouldn't like me todie here. It might--start scandal. I am feeling--a little faint."

  "Aunt Marian!" Grace sobbed. But Odell held the girl in his arms andwould not let her go.

  "Take Miss Callender away, Odell--quickly," I advised. "I'll attendto--Mrs. Tostini."

  Like one who walks in a dream I shut the safe on my way to the desk,and telephoned downstairs for a taxi. "One of the ladies who calledhas been taken ill, I must drive her to a doctor's," I explained.

  "You think of everything," Marian Tostini said. She laughed softly."My heart has always been weak."

  "Taxi is here, sir," a voice called up through the 'phone.

  "Very well. We'll be down at once. Tell Mr. Felborn his office isfree. Now, Miss Callender--I mean Mrs. Tostini, let me help you."

  "I'm afraid I must say 'Yes,'" she smiled. "My heart--beats so slowly.Tell me, Lord John, as we go--how did you find out--the secret? Itseemed so--well hid!"

  "I guessed part, and bluffed the rest. I had to," I confessed, halfguiltily. The woman could make no ill use of such a confession now."I found the flat--and the lock--and two sheets of blotting paper. Imade out the anonymous letters, and one to your husband. I showed thesnapshot I got of you on shipboard to the house-agent. But he couldn'tbe sure--said Mrs. Paulling wore a veil when he saw her. The name'Paulling' was a clue too--enough like Paolo to be suggestive. Somecriminals love to twist their own names about. And Paolo Tostini is acriminal. He has brought you to this----"

  "If there is guilt, I am the guilty one," she said calmly. "So sorry.I have to lean on you a little. Ah! it's good to be downstairs--and inthe air. My doctor's name is Ryland. His address is The Montague,East 44th Street. It's so near--we can get there, I think, in time.You'll tell him--nothing?"

  "I'll tell him nothing," I echoed.

  As I put her into the taxi I noticed that she had snapped the emera
ldback in its setting, and the green snake-eye glinted up harmlessly oncemore from the limp hand in the torn glove.