"So that's your little game, is it?" Lawrence reflected, with a grimsmile, as he lighted the cigarette with care, and flicked the match intothe street. "Looks as if there might be a bit of fun in this."
Buttoning his coat, he started briskly down Longacre Square, swinginghis stick with the air of a man who was just beginning a constitutional.In front of the Astor he paused a second, as if half minded to enter thebrilliant hostelry. Then, without warning, he turned abruptly, steppedinto the street, and headed for the Times Building. As he did so hecaught a glimpse, out of the corner of his eye, of his pursuer, half ablock in the rear.
With a chuckle of amusement, Barry passed the outdoor subway entrance,and walked swiftly into the lower floor of the building. The instant hewas inside, he hastened his steps, hurried past the stairs leading downinto the underground road, pushed his way through the throng whichcrowded the big drug store that occupied the ground floor, and emergedon Forty-second Street.
A crosstown car was just getting up speed as he dashed across thestreet; and with some difficulty he raced forward and swung himselfaboard. A backward glance showed that his bearded friend was nowhere insight, and Lawrence smiled again.
Nevertheless, he did not relax his vigilance. Making his way through tothe front of the car, he sat down on one of the little seats just behindthe motorman, and made no attempt to alight until Madison Avenue hadbeen reached. Here he slipped off, dodged around the front of the car,slid across the slippery pavement, and was engulfed in the comparativeshadow of the Manhattan in an instant.
The three blocks to Forty-fifth were passed in as many minutes. Aroundthe corner of the cross street, however, he sought a secluded doorway,and waited patiently for as much as five minutes, with the pleasant,ever-growing conviction that his man had been eluded.
"Not quite clever enough, my friend," he murmured, as he crossed thedark and rather silent street, heading for the bright entrance of theSt. Albans near Fifth Avenue.
Part way down the block stood a pair of old-fashioned brownstone houses,and, as he passed the shadowy bulk of the first high stoop, Barrychuckled again.
"Not quite clever enough," he repeated amusedly. "You'll have to get upa trifle early to----"
Crash! From behind, something struck his head with a crushing forcethat sent him to his knees, stick flying one way, top hat the other.
With a hoarse cry of anger, he strove dazedly to turn and grapple withthe unknown assailant. Before he could do so the heavy weapon descendedfor the second time. There was a shower of stars, a sickening sense offaintness, and, with a groan, Lawrence toppled forward on his face, tolie still and silent on the icy pavement.
*CHAPTER XII.*
*PUZZLED.*
How long Barry Lawrence lay there unconscious he did not know.Afterward he realized that it could have been no more than a minute ortwo, but at the moment he was too occupied with what was occurring nearhim to waste time on that score.
Even before he opened his eyes he was vaguely aware that a struggle wasgoing on close at hand. The thud of feet, the heavy breathing, mingledwith occasional oaths, subdued, but fervent, told him that, and acted asa spur on his dazed senses.
A moment later, as he pulled himself to a crouching position on thepavement, he discerned through the darkness two figures swaying in closeembrace a dozen feet away.
What did it mean? Who were they? He could not understand why they werefighting there, instead of carrying out the object of their attack onhim. Then, as his sight cleared, he suddenly discovered that one ofthem was the bulky man in the soft hat whom he had lately been pluminghimself on having given the slip so completely. The other was tallerand wore no overcoat; beyond that Lawrence could make out nodistinguishing features.
Suddenly, out of the bewildering chaos of Barry's mind, came the swiftrealization that one of these men was apparently on his side. Therecould be no question that one was fighting in his behalf to prevent theother from carrying out the object of the cowardly attack, whatever thatmight be.
Of reason or motive for that attack, Barry knew none, but he wasstrongly moved for a moment to join in the mix-up, and get in a blow ortwo he was aching to deliver. He even secured his hat and stick, andwas on the point of struggling to his feet, when he remembered that hehad no idea which was the friend and which the enemy. He was not evensure that either of them was a friend.
What could he do?
The answer came on the very heels of the unspoken question. The gate inthe low, old-fashioned iron fence close beside him was partly open.Beyond loomed the friendly shadow of the high stoop.
Instinctively, with his brain still a little muddled from the blow hehad received, Barry crept silently through the gate, casting a swift,sidelong glance at the struggling pair. He saw that the taller man wasevidently getting the worst of if, and apparently trying his best tobreak away. In another moment the fellow with the beard would befree--free to return and complete his work; for by this time Lawrencehad come to the conclusion that he was the one responsible for theassault.
Without a second's delay the Harvard man slipped through the gate andclosed it softly behind him. Rising to his feet, but stooping low, hefelt his way forward, went down a couple of steps, and pushed againstthe iron grille which gave access to a space under the stoop, and thenceto the basement door.
To his surprise it yielded to his touch, and a moment later he wasensconced in the little square, dark space, the grille closed andlatched, peering through the openings in the ornate wrought ironwork.
He was no more than safe before he heard the beat of running feet on thepavement, and saw a tall, thin figure dart past his hiding place, anddisappear toward Madison Avenue. An instant later another, bulkiershadow appeared more slowly, and paused by the low fence.
It was the mysterious person with the beard, and Barry shrank swiftlyback, wondering what he meant to do.
There was a moment's pause; then the low gate was pushed open, and thestranger stepped toward the grille. Reaching it, he shook it briskly,but the latch held. From where he had retreated in the shadow, with onearm thrown up to prevent his face from being seen, Barry heard theunknown give a guttural growl of mingled surprise and impatience. Abrief pause followed, during which his irregular breathing sounded clearand distinct. Then he turned and walked back to the sidewalk, the gateclicking behind him.
For a minute or two Barry did not move, but at length, unable torestrain his curiosity, he stole to the grille and peered through. Thestranger was still standing near the fence, gazing intently up and downthe street. Presently he disappeared toward Madison Avenue, and Barry,after waiting a few moments, undid the grille and stole out.
Peering over the fence, the Harvard man watched the mysterious strangermove slowly down the street, staring keenly into every doorway as hepassed it. Finally, at the corner, he paused, glanced swiftly back,stood for some time undecided, then vanished from sight.
The instant the man was gone, Barry emerged, and made his way straightback to the hotel. He managed to brush his top hat into some semblanceof decency, and rid his coat of the bits of ice and snow which clung toit. Happily the elevator boy was half asleep, and did not noticeanything unusual in his appearance, so that Lawrence reached his roomswithout attracting undue comment.
His first move was to examine the lump on his head, which felt about thesize of a billiard ball. He had a feeling that his hair must be smearedand clotted with blood, and was agreeably surprised to find that theskin had scarcely been broken. The weapon, whatever it was, hadevidently struck just the right spot to produce momentaryunconsciousness, without doing any very permanent damage.
Stripping off his clothes, and getting into pajamas and a loose dressinggown, Barry bathed the bump carefully with warm water, then with cold,placed a wet towel against it, and sat down to think over the night'sexperiences.
They had certainly not lacked interest and excitement. When he startedout
in that whimsical manner from the Waldorf he had expected nothingquite like this.
The last adventure naturally received his attention first. Who was thebearded man, and why had he such an interest in Lawrence? Rememberingthe distasteful encounter with Tappin at the Waldorf, Barry wonderedwhether it were possible that the bank president had set his detectivesagain on the trail.
Swiftly he thrust the idea aside. Though he realized that the suddendisplay of affluence on the part of one who had so short a time ago beenin abject poverty was sufficient reason for Tappin to make anothereffort to find out what had become of the missing funds, Lawrence didnot see how there could possibly have been time to get intocommunication with the agency, and summon a detective to the hotel.
"I left them at table," he murmured aloud, his forehead wrinkled in apuzzled manner. "No one could know where I was going--I didn't evenknow myself; yet that fellow was waiting outside the Broadwayrestaurant."
With Tappin eliminated, what motive remained? Was the bearded man acommon thief who had marked him down as a profitable undertaking? Hadhe by any chance caught a glimpse of the serpent ring? Barry had notbeen oblivious to the fact that the unique jewel had attracted attentionin many quarters that evening; and now, as he lifted his hand, andsurveyed the great, square, dully gleaming stone, with its strangesetting, he wondered suddenly whether there was anything uncanny aboutthe thing. He had read before of jewels like this coming out of themysterious East, and leaving a trail of violence in their wake. Perhapsthere was something about it----
"Pshaw!" he exclaimed aloud, springing to his feet. "I'm getting dippy!This is New York City, and the twentieth century. Such things can'thappen here. I'm going to bed."
But after the lights were out, and he had stretched himself luxuriouslybetween the fine sheets, the puzzle returned to torment him. How long itmight have kept him restlessly awake he did not know. Fortunately hismind suddenly jumped to the more restful and infinitely more attractivesubject of Shirley Rives.
She affected him in a way no girl had ever done before. There was animpalpable charm about her which he could not define, but which was verypowerful; a curve to her lips that fascinated him even to think of now.
If he only had a little influence in the proper quarters it might bepossible to find her a position. But, no! That wouldn't do at all. Herealized suddenly that hateful gossip and slander had started fromslighter beginnings than that.
Still, something must be done. It was intolerable to think of her beingplaced again in the horrible position from which he had rescued her thatevening. Something should be done. He must think up a scheme.Probably one would come to him in the morning, when he was fresh, andnot so utterly fagged out as he was this minute.
So he dropped asleep, the last thing before his eyes a vivid mentalpicture of the girl's face as he had last seen it, turned back to glanceat him over her shoulder; the last thought in his mind a little paean ofthanksgiving to the god of chance who had directed his footsteps thatevening to such wonderful and wholly unexpected purpose.
*CHAPTER XIII.*
*THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE.*
Barry slept late, and, having brought some order out of the chaos in hisrooms, descended to breakfast with luxurious ease in the St. Albansrestaurant. The subdued lights, the gleam of silver and glass anddelicate white napery, the silent, swift-footed attention of his waiter,were all very pleasing to Lawrence, and combined to make last night'sadventure seem more remote than ever, more the sort of accident whichmight happen to any one rather than a plot directed especially towardhimself.
He spent little time considering it, for his mind was almost entirelytaken up with thoughts of Miss Rives, and how it would be possible forhim to serve her.
It would not be an easy matter; he realized that. The charming Southerngirl was not the sort to accept favors from any one and every one. Theutmost tact would have to be exercised in hitting upon just the rightkind of thing, and Barry finished his leisurely breakfast without theshadow of an idea striking him. His only consolation was that the tendollars he had given her would keep poverty at bay for two or three daysat least.
"And before the end of that time I'll surely devise a way," hereflected, as he strolled out into the hotel lobby.
"A letter for you, Mr. Lawrence," the clerk said deferentially, as hepassed the desk.
Barry took the missive with outward indifference, but with not a littleinward curiosity. He stared at the unfamiliar hand, then tore open theflap hastily. The contents were brief, merely two lines ofundistinguished writing without superscription or signature:
For the week agreed upon, you will be good enough to lunch and dineentirely alone.
Barry frowned. Somehow, the communication brought bitterly to his minda recollection of his self-imposed isolation. He was not likely to havecompany at luncheon or dinner. For months he had gone his way alone,shunning his old friends, avoiding their usual haunts, and crossing thestreet on the rare occasions in which he saw them approaching. Afterall this trouble to avoid cold snubs or equally abhorrent pity, he couldnot imagine himself inviting them now. The request was ratherunnecessary.
As he strolled toward the door he looked the note over curiously. Thewriting was irregular, almost to precision, and yet it had a certainpleasing individuality about it. The envelope was postmarked "MadisonSquare, 6 a.m." Evidently it had been taken up in the first collection.The little man in black was apparently still in town.
Reaching the street, Lawrence thrust the communication into his pocket,and turned toward the avenue. Beyond the purchase of a few small thingshe had forgotten the day before, he had nothing whatever to do beforeluncheon, and, strangely enough, the fact was not an unadulteratedpleasure. Time was--and not so very long ago--when he would have lookedupon this condition with unfeigned envy. To be well dressed and wellfed, with money in his pockets and unlimited leisure at his command, hadseemed a state beyond which there was little to desire. He knew now howwrong he had been, and the unsigned note had driven home that knowledge.What good were his money and his leisure if there were no one to enjoythem with him?
"Of course, I'm not prohibited from seeing my friends outside of workinghours," he muttered, with a whimsical sort of sadness. "But the troubleis I haven't any friends left to see."
From force of habit, he glanced up Forty-fourth Street toward the clubas he passed; but he made no attempt to cross the avenue, and continuedon his way downtown. The day was cloudless, and, though it was stillbitter cold, the wind had died down to some degree, and made walkingpossible.
At Forty-second, Lawrence paused a moment or two, waiting for the streamof crosstown traffic to pass. He had just stepped from the curb when ahail from behind made his heart jump, and brought him to a standstill inthe middle of the car track.
"Barry!" came in a familiar voice, raised in protest. "Oh, you Barry!Hold up!"
He turned swiftly, and the blood flamed into his face as he saw hurryingafter him the great, almost hulking figure of Jock Hamersley, the famousYale full back of two seasons ago.
The two fellows had chummed it at Groton. They had kept up theirfriendship to a certain degree ever since, in spite of the fact thatthey had different Alma Maters, and had more than once fought fiercelyagainst each other on the gridiron. There was no one, perhaps, whomLawrence would rather have seen just at this moment than big, lumbering,good-natured, soft-hearted Jock; yet his face flushed and grew tense,and his eyes held a touch of nervous fear as he waited for the other'sfirst words.
Hamersley, his big mouth stretched in a wide grin, fairly flung himselfat Barry, and gripped his hands with a force which made the bones crack.
"You blamed old quitter!" he roared. "Where have you been keepingyourself? Haven't got my lamps on you in months--nobody has! What doyou mean by dropping all your friends as you have?"
The blood began to tingle in Barry's finger tips, and his eyes sparkled.The sound of that boomi
ng voice was sweeter in his ears than the mostravishing music. The sight of that great, muscular figure, clad in aloose, woolly coat of English frieze, was a pleasure greater than themost world-famous masterpiece of painting had ever produced. Of asudden he was smitten with a doubt as to whether his course had beenright or not. He stammered something vague about the trouble at thebank, but Hamersley promptly cut him short.
"Rot!" he bellowed. "Bosh! I'd punch your head, only I'm afraid of theconcussion all that gas would make rushing out. What have you done withthe sense the Lord gave you when you think the boys paid any attentionto that stuff? You're more a fool than I thought you, and that's sayinga lot."
He had linked his arm through Barry's, and the two proceeded brisklydown the avenue together.
Within three minutes Lawrence had a feeling that nothing had everhappened. After that first outburst, Jock slipped back into his oldmanner, quite as if they had parted only the night before. He asked noquestions, even by inference, seeming content with what his companionvolunteered; and by the time they paused before the building where theYale man had offices, Lawrence felt as if he had come into his ownagain.
"You'll lunch with me, of course," the big fellow said.
Barry's face fell. "I'm beastly sorry, Jock," he returned slowly, "butI've an engagement. I'm booked for luncheon and dinner both."
"Humph! Well, drop in at the yacht club around five, and we'll have agood talk. Yes? Right! Don't forget, now."
The Riddle and the Ring; or, Won by Nerve Page 5