The Red Mouse: A Mystery Romance

by William Hamilton Osborne

  III

  Hiram Edgar Love--so read a faded yellow card on the door-panel of Suite10 in the "Drelincourt," an apartment hotel in a section of the citywhich has ever been popular with a class that has been well termed the"fringe of society." The name was not printed, not engraved, but writtenin ancient India ink in copper-plate perfection by the careful, cleanly,genteel Englishman that Hiram Edgar Love had been--Hiram Edgar Love,that long since had been laid to rest in a quiet Surrey churchyardleagues distant, though his name still did yeoman service, for it speltrespectability; it covered a multitude of peccadilloes; his soul wentmarching on! For was it not the shade of Hiram Edgar Love that hadrented the Love suite in the "Drelincourt," his shade that paid therent, his pipe and his slippers that lay near the fireplace for theworld to see?--Hiram Edgar Love the myth, the constantly expected butnever-coming master of the house!

  Before the entrance of this suite Challoner came to a halt.

  "I wonder if she's alone?" he mused, as with something like thepalpitating deference of a stranger he pressed the button underneath thefaded card and waited to learn his fate at the hands of the one woman inall the world for him. Nor was it by any means the first time that hehad asked himself that question; all the way through the streets it hadbeen in his mind every moment, and so absorbed was he with the thought,that he failed to see the familiar nod with which the diminutive god ofthe "Drelincourt" lift acknowledged his advent as he proceeded to carryupward his human freight.

  "Same, sir, I suppose?" asked the boy.

  Challoner made no answer; but leaving the car at the desired landing, hehad turned to the right and directed his steps to the extreme end of thecorridor.

  It was a new experience to Challoner to wait among the shadows of thedimly lighted hall; hitherto his custom had been to let himself in,_sans_ ceremony; but the apparently successful campaign of the racingColonel had changed that--put him on a different footing.

  "If _he's_ there," he assured himself as he pressed the button againimpatiently, "I'll know what to do, all right...."

  But if Hargraves were not there! That was the contingency that sent achill over him. He could deal with a man--but the woman! A woman who hadnever cared and who, he was only too well aware, would never evenpretend to care for him unless he had the wherewithal with which to lureher back.

  "If it were not for Hargraves--" he broke off abruptly, for the door hadopened with such unexpected suddenness that it required not a littleeffort to pull himself together, and demand of the trim, little maid whostood there:--

  "Your mistress--is she at home?"

  "Miss Love is not at home, sir."

  Challoner was not so sure about that; in a trice he was past her, goingthrough room after room until he had covered the entire apartment; andshe had barely recovered from the shock that his strange behaviour hadgiven her than he was back again in the small, square hall, eyeing hersuspiciously.

  "I want to see your mistress."

  "Miss Love is not in, sir," she told him, just as if he did not alreadyknow it.

  "But you know where she went?" he asked meaningly.

  "Indeed, sir, I do not," she replied, not at all disconcerted by hismanner; and her eyes as they fixed their gaze on his were as steady asthe lips that said: "She should be with her father, sir."

  Challoner raged inwardly; he thought he detected a gleam of mockery inher eyes. Once more he plunged through the apartment, seeking someincriminating scrap of paper, some evidence that would betray hisdivinity's whereabouts. But after a few minutes he was back again,standing over the girl, menacingly.

  "I want you to tell me where Letty is?" he said in a tone that toldplainly that such lies were not for him; but it had little effect on themaid: long practice in fencing with Miss Love's admirers had madetrickery her forte.

  "You might try Atlantic City, sir," she suggested blandly; "it's quitepossible that they went there."

  At this, Challoner looked ugly, and seizing her roughly by the arm, heled her to her mistress' boudoir, where, pointing to a Verne-Martincabinet that stood in a corner, he exclaimed:--

  "Who put him there?"

  For answer the girl shrugged her shoulders. She made no attempt todisengage herself from his grasp, merely watched Challoner as his gazerested angrily on a plain gold frame in which was an unconventionalhalf-length photograph--Colonel Richard Hargraves, his arms akimbo upona table, his shoulders forward, his smug, full, self-satisfied facethrust into the face of the world--of Challoner.

  Even on paper Hargraves's lazy eyes seemed to insult and tantalise him,and an insane desire to crush, batter and destroy this counterfeitpresentment came over him. For an instant he had a vague sensation ofsuffocation, almost to choking, and releasing the girl, his hand soughthis throat; it encountered a scarf-pin--a trifle that his wife had givenhim long ago. Tearing it quickly from his scarf, he extended it towardthe maid.

  "That may fetch the truth from her," he said to himself, and aloud:"Tell me where Letty is, and ... no"--the girl was reaching for thejewel, but he held it from her--"no, tell me first," he added hoarsely,toying with the pin.

  "Well, then, if you must know, sir," she stammered, "she went toGravesend--the races, sir."

  Challoner's mind received this information with a certain morbidexultation; and thrusting his face into hers and pointing with the pinto the portrait, he cried:--

  "Then she _is_ with him?"

  The girl was silent; she was figuring the value of the pin. It was worthfifty dollars, she finally decided, and looking up at Challoner,admitted the truth with a nod.

  The pin fell into her ready grasp.

  When Challoner spoke again his voice was calm and steady.

  "Sit down there." He motioned to a seat and he took the one opposite."We'll wait until they come back--just wait."

  For minutes that seemed hours they sat facing each other, Challonerdogged but quiescent, the girl with a growing unrest upon her--a catwith a cornered mouse.

  At last a buzzer sounded.

  "Stay where you are!" Challoner commanded, as the girl made a movementto go. "If it's somebody else," he added quickly, still looking at her,but with a changed eye, "we don't care about them; they can go away."

  Again the buzzer sounded.

  "Has she a key?" he whispered.

  "Yes," she answered, matching his tone.

  "Has he?" persisted Challoner.

  The girl held up her hand for reply: the jingling of keys in the outerhall, followed by the clink of metal in the lock, had reached theirears; then came the closing of the door, the click of high heels, theswish of skirts, the odour of violets, and then Letty Love, in all herpink and white loveliness, tall, supreme, her face flushed, her lipsparted, her eyes sparkling, stood framed in the doorway. At the sight ofthe man and the girl sitting there like two culprits, she burst intolaughter--a long peal of laughter that was her stock in trade, and whichran the gamut of her deep, contralto voice. And still neither the mannor the girl spoke, but continued to look ill at ease. To Miss Love thesituation was amusing--too amusing for words.

  "Inconstant!--Naughty Lawrence!" she exclaimed, leaving his namestranded in the air--a coquettish way she had in speaking--and pointingher tiny gloved finger at him: "Perhaps I interrupt?" And now turning tothe girl: "Patricia, I didn't know you could be so interesting...."

  The maid gasped with relief as she left the room in obedience to adismissing wave of her mistress' hand.

  "Well, why don't the rest of you come in?" Challoner growled, fasteninghis eyes on the woman.

  Letty Love opened her blue eyes wide--eyes that could look the innocenceof a child or the wisdom of the ages--and feigned not to understand. Andthen as if his meaning had dawned upon her, she said with a good-naturedsmile:--

  "Oh--why, I'm alone!"

  "It's a good thing you are," he told her pointedly.

  At once a hardness crept into her voice, and she asked coldly:--

  "For whom?" And for a moment she delayed pulling off her w
raps.

  "For the other man."

  "Silly boy! How ridiculous you are!" she returned lightly, as she tossedher wraps over a chair and began to pull off her gloves.

  Challoner went over to the photograph, picked it up and wheeling roundsaid threateningly:--

  "Did you put _him_ in that frame?"

  "I did," she answered sweetly. "I'm very domestic, you know," and shesmiled one of her most bewildering smiles; "I always arrange theselittle things myself."

  "And what did you do with mine?"

  Letty looked dubious. She touched a button, and to the maid who enteredasked with mock anxiety:--

  "Patricia, what did you do with the half-tone of this gentleman that Igave you?"

  The maid regarded first one and then the other somewhat curiously.

  "It's in my room, Madam."

  "With the other notables?" And Letty Love lifted her eyebrows."Patricia's room is quite a picture-gallery," she went on gaily. "Youmay investigate it, if you like--no?" And dismissing the maid, went overto the piano and began to strum the refrain of a popular song.

  Challoner's lips emitted:--

  "You--" They closed on a gasp of rage, disappointment, despair andimpotent admiration. Had he dared, he would have gone on his knees toher then and there, taken her in his arms and kissed her; but thewoman's indifference appalled him, and instead he gritted his teeth, dughis nails into the palms of his hand. Then, for the first time, itdawned on him that she had worn for Hargraves the gown that he,Challoner, had selected for her--a gown white, immaculate, simple, whichfollowed religiously the lines of the superb figure, that left nothingto be desired, of Letty Love, full-throated, full-bosomed, with herjet-black hair that gave no sign of fastening, with her blue eyes anddark eyebrows, with her milk-white flesh, which, artificial though itwere, concealed nothing, revealed nothing but the loveliness of thewoman.

  The man's eyes shone with pride as he observed her finished appearance;for was it not he who had taught her to gown herself like that, showedher how to live, lifted her into the high places?

  "And this is how she repays me!" he muttered to himself, and then aloud:"What's the matter with you, Letty--is it because my money has givenout...."

  This startled the woman into earnestness, and rising to her feet, shedrew herself to her full height, and pointing to the door declared withan injured air:--

  "No man can talk to me of money in this house!"

  Challoner's face was a study, but he did not move.

  "Especially when it's all gone!" he sneered, searching her countenance.Never until now had he realised the monumental, stupendous power ofmoney. Now that he had none and the car of juggernaut was slowlycrushing him, he could understand that he belonged in the ditch with themaimed, the lame, the dying. There was no necessity for a reply fromLetty. The woman's face revealed the contempt with which she regardedhim. What mattered it to her that the man had surrendered everythingthat was worth while in life, that he had sacrificed himself at hershrine! She was one who demanded the firstlings of the flock; he wasnothing save carrion for daws to peck at. The fruit was devoured; ofwhat value was the rind?

  "You had better go," she said superciliously; "there is no need ofcoming any more."

  In a sort of daze Challoner was shambling toward the door when thetelephone-bell rang. Instantly it roused all the deviltry and cunningthat had oozed from him the moment before. Seizing the receiver, hethrust it silently against his ear.

  "Hello!" began the voice at the other end.

  Challoner did not answer.

  "Is that you, Letty?" the voice went on.

  Still Challoner did not answer. Then, as the woman stepped forward, hehanded the receiver to her, at the same time placing his left hand overthe mouthpiece, and said:--

  "It's Hargraves--tell him to come up, will you?"

  She shook her head.

  Again the voice at the other end of the wire sounded, but she could notanswer, for the thickness of Challoner's hand lay between her andcommunication. The suspense was unbearable--getting on her nerves. Therewas nothing to do but to comply with his wish; and upon her eyessuddenly yielding to his, he released the mouthpiece, standing on guardthe while she obeyed him. Then he drove her, literally drove her into afar corner of the room.

  "Now, let him come! We'll see ..." he exclaimed, holding a revolver inhis right hand; and as he stood there watching her as a tiger does atigress, it was with a certain sense of gratification that he notedwritten across her face the altogether new sensation of fear, terror,and therefore respect for him. And he rejoiced in the knowledge that thehand that could no longer count out banknotes to her or sign cheques wasa hand that held life and death within its grasp. Letty Love realisedthis, too, as she stood there cowed, trembling, listening, watching thedoor. Suddenly there flashed through her mind a way out of thesituation, and smiling, she said lightly:--

  "Oh, pshaw, Lawrence, the heavy is not your line! Come--suppose we havesomething to drink."

  And without waiting for him to answer, she crossed the room and pressedthe button there. Somewhat sheepishly Challoner slipped the revolverback into his pocket and dropped into a chair, while she ordered themaid to fetch some Bengal--a cordial, a distilled delight that had comedown to her from a period so remote that the memory of man runneth notto the contrary. In his lifetime Hiram Edgar Love had possessed gallonsof it; it had come to him in the night from the mysterious East, in theteeth of the revenue guns. And Challoner knowing it for the thing itwas, his face flushed with the pleasure of anticipation. Letty took herplace beside a small table, and presently a silver-topped, cut-glassdecanter was in her hand, which she held over a glass, saying:--

  "Will you help yourself or shall I ..."

  Challoner nodded.

  "Go ahead--fill it for me, Letty."

  Challoner drank--drank. He forgot Hargraves, forgot everything but theface of Letty Love, a kiss that he wanted, but that somehow he could notget, an utterance in a thick voice, a momentary hand-to-hand struggle,not with Hargraves, but with her, then, somehow, she eluded him and hewas left alone--alone in the darkness that the Bengal had cast upon him!

  But in all this there was no Hargraves.

  * * * * *

  A few hours later when he awoke, he was still sitting at the table, buthe was alone. He rose hastily, even steadily, and scoured the otherrooms; there was no one there. He looked for the Bengal; but that, too,had disappeared. All of a sudden the jewels that were on herdressing-table--jewels that he had given her--caught his attention, andfor the moment the temptation was strong to take them for the money thatwas in them. But even his dull wits soon recognised the folly of such aproceeding, since it was for her that he needed the money, and somewhatreluctantly he put them back in their case, muttering to himself as heleft the house:--

  "Letty must believe in me--things are bound soon to come my way."

  In a little while he was back again at Cradlebaugh's, wandering aboutthe rooms looking for Pemmican. Finally he saw him coming out of one ofthe rooms and hailed him with:--

  "Hargraves showed up yet?"

  The unwholesome looking factotum shook his head; at the same time henoted that Challoner was in a different mood than when he had talkedwith him earlier in the evening. Pemmican wondered as he turned away;but then it was not given to him to know that Challoner's experiencethat night had served immeasurably to strengthen a desperate purpose.True, that the joy that had been Challoner's--"his by rights," as hetold himself--had been wrested away from him, for he was satisfied thatHargraves's absence from Cradlebaugh's meant that he was with LettyLove. But little by little the agony of jealousy was becoming apleasurable sensation--a passion that obsessed him. So that far frombrooding, he felt as feels the man of destiny: Whatever was to happenwould happen. He would wait days, weeks, months, if necessary, forHargraves.

  A day rolled round. Night again at Cradlebaugh's, and Challoner still athis post of observation, waiting. It was past midnight wh
en ColonelHargraves finally appeared. Challoner felt his presence even before hestepped up to the buffet; and summoning to his aid all the suavity ofmanner that he possessed, for he knew he must be careful, as the other,doubtless, would be on his guard, he called out:--

  "Colonel Hargraves!"

  Hargraves turned quickly, and seeing it was Challoner, a flicker of aself-congratulatory smile broke over his large, round face, as heanswered:--

  "Why, hello, Challoner!"

  The momentary gleam of triumph did not escape the other, and it requireda supreme effort to force back the blood that was rushing to his temple.

  "I want a word with you, Colonel!" And with a wave of the hand: "RoomA--will that suit you?"

  Colonel Hargraves hesitated for a moment; he moved a bit to one side andstared hard; but the other bore his look of keen suspicion with perfectserenity. The Colonel shrugged his shoulders. Finally he said:--

  "Oh, very well, Challoner--that suits me."

  To Room A they went; Pemmican followed with decanters. Possibly hesuspected, feared, realised that the air was charged with electricity.In any event Pemmican was in charge of Cradlebaugh's; it was forPemmican to see and to know.

  There was a table in Room A, with chairs about the table; and a standagainst the wall. There were also two large, heavy leather loungingchairs with arms. Pemmican placed his burden upon the stand against thewall, lingered for an instant, and then went softly out. Neither of themen spoke until after he had left the room and closed the door. Wheneach had seated himself at the table, Challoner got down to business.

  "Hargraves," he began with sinister familiarity, "you have ten thousanddollars in your pocket, I believe?"

  Colonel Hargraves repressed a movement of impatience with difficulty. Henodded, and unconsciously took the attitude of the counterfeitpresentment in the apartment of Letty Love.

  "Ten thousand dollars," repeated Challoner with provoking coolness, ashe likewise planted both elbows on the table, and added somewhatominously: "And I'm broke!"

  There was a pause in which the men looked straight into each other'seyes; then Challoner rose, walked over to the table, half filled twoglasses, and placing them on the table, leaned far over it, declaring:--

  "And yet, Colonel Hargraves, you and I are going to sit in a tenthousand dollar game to-night!"

  Challoner drained his glass; his example, however, was not followed bythe Colonel. Instead, he put his arms akimbo, his fists resting on hiships, and tilting back his head, he said with an air of contempt:--

  "Indeed! What with?"

  "With your ten thousand!" It was well said. Challoner's cool,passionless voice gave to the declaration the character ofinfallibility.

  "And you--" Hargraves muttered in a puzzled way.

  "Not a dollar," admitted Challoner.

  Colonel Hargraves rose; he threw into his glance all his knowledge ofChalloner's past.

  "You must take me for a fool!" he burst out, and started for the door.

  But he had gone only a few steps when he felt Challoner's clutch;turning, he felt the power of Challoner's eyes; and presently undertheir compelling influence he found himself once more taking his seat.He made no attempt to analyse his sensations, but he realised thatChalloner had made a new impression. In all the eventualities he hadforeseen, he calculated on Challoner's being a weakling, a wreck. But tohis astonishment he saw within those eyes nothing but success. Challonerhad become a man not to be disregarded--a man of strength.

  "My proposition is a perfectly fair one," went on Challoner. "You put upten thousand cash----"

  "And then--go on----"

  Challoner lifted his arm and pointed silently in the direction of the"Drelincourt."

  Incredulity shone in the eyes of Hargraves; his scorn found vent in anattempt at levity.

  "Rather like putting up something that doesn't belong to you, eh,Challoner?"

  Challoner was not feazed; it was the answer he expected.

  "It looks that way, Hargraves," and suddenly thrusting himself forward,"but I can make it uncommonly disagreeable for the other claimant. Youdon't know me--I'm an uncertain quantity--and women are blamed queer. IfI win, I keep the ten thousand--and my chances."

  "And if you don't win?" a bit breathlessly.

  "If you win," went on Challoner, "you keep your ten thousand, and--I'llquit without a murmur."

  In the pause Hargraves thought hard--never in his life had he thoughtharder. The more he studied Challoner, the better he liked theproposition. The moment was fraught with something new and significant.In more ways than one he feared Challoner, for he was by no meanscertain of his own place in the woman's affections. And then in his mindthere was one certainty--Hargraves knew that the game was already his;knew that Challoner, steady though he seemed, was unquestionably drunk.Never was victory more certain than at the present time.

  "If I win," at last he said with great earnestness, "you will swear toleave me--you will leave _us_ alone?"

  Challoner nodded.

  Hargraves seized his glass and extended it to bind the bargain.Challoner seized his, but found it empty. He left his seat and came backwith it filled.

  "It's a go!" he said, and pressed a button.

  With the same sense of responsibility upon him, Pemmican responded; andon Challoner's order he went out and returned with ten new packs ofcards, tossing them on the table with their wrappers unbroken.

  "Cold hands," announced Challoner, "five hundred a throw."

  Hargraves pulled forth his roll of bills and placed it on the table;then, placing a hand on the arm of Challoner, he exclaimed vehemently,so that the other should not forget it:--

  "It's understood now, Challoner, that if I win you're to leave usalone--sure?"

  Pemmican left the room and closed the door behind him. Challoner smiledacross the table, and a new, strange expression crossed his featuresthat Hargraves did not, could not understand.

  "Sure," repeated Challoner, placing the decanter upon the table. Thenthey started in to play.

  * * * * *

  Twenty minutes later Pemmican rushed pell-mell into Room A.

  "There's a big row on," he said to himself; "a row over a lady and agame of cards."

  And so it proved.

  There was a row on between the men who occupied Room A, and but for theisolation of the room it was a row that might well have roused thehouse.

  "You've lost, I tell you!" one of the men exclaimed; the other laughedboisterously, defiantly, victoriously.

  "If I've lost, so have you!" he answered.

  What followed happened in an instant and before Pemmican had been inRoom A thirty seconds. For suddenly one of the men there had whippedfrom his coat-pocket a weapon that glinted in the white light; assuddenly he had taken aim, and then came a flash, a report, a cloud ofsmoke.

  Pemmican looked on, speechless.

  Presently one of the men crossed the room and sank into a chair in adazed sort of fashion, his head lolling across the upholstered arm;while the other glanced about him for an instant, looked at Pemmican,looked at the figure lying on the chair, and then started suddenlytoward the door.

  Three minutes later Pemmican switched off the lights and plunged theroom in darkness.

  "A row over a lady," he murmured breathlessly, "a row over a lady and agame of cards."

  At two o'clock that morning, Officer Keogh of the night squad,patrolling a dimly lighted thoroughfare in the rear of Cradlebaugh's,stumbled over an object lying in deep shadow.

  "Good Lord! It's a man!" said Keogh, stooping down suddenly and assuddenly drawing back. He drew himself together, bent down again, feltcautiously about, wiped his hands and shuddered, and drew back onceagain, as he whispered to himself:--

  "A dead man--shot to death!"

  He rapped wildly with his night-stick--the wild, irregular tattoo thatmakes the slumberer rise suddenly in bed and tremble, and then crouchbetween the bed-clothes shivering--and pending the arrival of assistan
cehe stooped once more and fumbled in the pockets of the dead man.Presently from the breast-pocket of the coat he drew forth a yellowpigskin wallet, and upon its corner in glaring gold, that even in thedim light glittered garishly, appeared the letters, "R. H."

  In this wise the body of Colonel Richard Hargraves, man-about-town, wasfound lying in the gloom at two o'clock that morning.