The Man in Lower Ten

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  CHAPTER XX. THE NOTES AND A BARGAIN

  I went back slowly to where the woman sat alone.

  She smiled rather oddly as I drew near, and pointed to the chair Bronsonhad vacated.

  "Sit down, Mr. Blakeley," she said, "I am going to take a few minutes ofyour valuable time."

  "Certainly." I sat down opposite her and glanced at a cuckoo clock onthe wall. "I am sorry, but I have only a few minutes. If you--" Shelaughed a little, not very pleasantly, and opening a small black fancovered with spangles, waved it slowly.

  "The fact is," she said, "I think we are about to make a bargain."

  "A bargain?" I asked incredulously. "You have a second advantage of me.You know my name"--I paused suggestively and she took the cue.

  "I am Mrs. Conway," she said, and flicked a crumb off the table with anover-manicured finger.

  The name was scarcely a surprise. I had already surmised that this mightbe the woman whom rumor credited as being Bronson's common-law wife.Rumor, I remembered, had said other things even less pleasant, thingswhich had been brought out at Bronson's arrest for forgery.

  "We met last under less fortunate circumstances," she was saying. "Ihave been fit for nothing since that terrible day. And you--you had abroken arm, I think."

  "I still have it," I said, with a lame attempt at jocularity; "but tohave escaped at all was a miracle. We have much, indeed, to be thankfulfor."

  "I suppose we have," she said carelessly, "although sometimes I doubtit." She was looking somberly toward the door through which her latecompanion had made his exit.

  "You sent for me--" I said.

  "Yes, I sent for you." She roused herself and sat erect. "Now, Mr.Blakeley, have you found those papers?"

  "The papers? What papers?" I parried. I needed time to think.

  "Mr. Blakeley," she said quietly, "I think we can lay aside allsubterfuge. In the first place let me refresh your mind about a fewthings. The Pittsburg police are looking for the survivors of the carOntario; there are three that I know of--yourself, the young woman withwhom you left the scene of the wreck, and myself. The wreck, you willadmit, was a fortunate one for you."

  I nodded without speaking.

  "At the time of the collision you were in rather a hole," she wenton, looking at me with a disagreeable smile. "You were, if I remember,accused of a rather atrocious crime. There was a lot of corroborativeevidence, was there not? I seem to remember a dirk and the murderedman's pocket-book in your possession, and a few other things thatwere--well, rather unpleasant."

  I was thrown a bit off my guard.

  "You remember also," I said quickly, "that a man disappeared from thecar, taking my clothes, papers and everything."

  "I remember that you said so." Her tone was quietly insulting, and I bitmy lip at having been caught. It was no time to make a defense.

  "You have missed one calculation," I said coldly, "and that is, thediscovery of the man who left the train."

  "You have found him?" She bent forward, and again I regretted my hastyspeech. "I knew it; I said so."

  "We are going to find him," I asserted, with a confidence I did notfeel. "We can produce at any time proof that a man left the Flier a fewmiles beyond the wreck. And we can find him, I am positive."

  "But you have not found him yet?" She was clearly disappointed. "Well,so be it. Now for our bargain. You will admit that I am no fool."

  I made no such admission, and she smiled mockingly.

  "How flattering you are!" she said. "Very well. Now for the premises.You take to Pittsburg four notes held by the Mechanics' National Bank,to have Mr. Gilmore, who is ill, declare his indorsement of them forged.

  "On the journey back to Pittsburg two things happen to you: you loseyour clothing, your valise and your papers, including the notes, andyou are accused of murder. In fact, Mr. Blakeley, the circumstances weremost singular, and the evidence--well, almost conclusive."

  I was completely at her mercy, but I gnawed my lip with irritation.

  "Now for the bargain." She leaned over and lowered her voice. "A fairexchange, you know. The minute you put those four notes in my hand--thatminute the blow to my head has caused complete forgetfulness as tothe events of that awful morning. I am the only witness, and I will besilent. Do you understand? They will call off their dogs."

  My head was buzzing with the strangeness of the idea.

  "But," I said, striving to gain time, "I haven't the notes. I can't giveyou what I haven't got."

  "You have had the case continued," she said sharply. "You expect to findthem. Another thing," she added slowly, watching my face, "if you don'tget them soon, Bronson will have them. They have been offered to himalready, but at a prohibitive price."

  "But," I said, bewildered, "what is your object in coming to me? IfBronson will get them anyhow--"

  She shut her fan with a click and her face was not particularly pleasantto look at.

  "You are dense," she said insolently. "I want those papers--for myself,not for Andy Bronson."

  "Then the idea is," I said, ignoring her tone, "that you think you haveme in a hole, and that if I find those papers and give them to you youwill let me out. As I understand it, our friend Bronson, under thosecircumstances, will also be in a hole."

  She nodded.

  "The notes would be of no use to you for a limited length of time,"I went on, watching her narrowly. "If they are not turned over to thestate's attorney within a reasonable time there will have to be a nollepros--that is, the case will simply be dropped for lack of evidence."

  "A week would answer, I think," she said slowly. "You will do it, then?"

  I laughed, although I was not especially cheerful.

  "No, I'll not do it. I expect to come across the notes any time now,and I expect just as certainly to turn them over to the state's attorneywhen I get them."

  She got up suddenly, pushing her chair back with a noisy grating soundthat turned many eyes toward us.

  "You're more of a fool than I thought you," she sneered, and left me atthe table.