by Don Wilcox
Hello, there. What the devil are you doing down here?”
Archie couldn’t see her. Evidently Drake and the others could. But not for long. Archie heard her utter a little cry of astonishment. That was all. Then there was only the baffled gasping of Mac and Krug and the dumbfounded growl of Marcus Drake.
“Where’s she going? Keep your light steady there. She’s trying to get away.”
“She’s turnin’ invisible,” Krug said in an awe-stricken voice.
“It’s a trick!” Marcus Drake snapped, as if that assertion made him the master of the situation.
It was a trick, all right. Archie had suspected, from his conversations with Hamilton Craig, that this miracle of science was one of the secrets that Dr. Silverhead had never shared with anyone else. Now Archie could see with his own eyes how completely mystified were these onlookers.
The girl must have completely disappeared before their eyes. Marcus Drake felt impelled to explain what had happened. His two satellites must be convinced this was no spirit, but only a trick.
“She’s covered herself in some invisible wrap. No, don’t shoot. Keep close against the walls so she can’t slip through you. She’ll make a break for the ladder in the well.”
“Which way do we go, Boss?”
“Right up after her. She’ll not get far with this.”
Archie took the precaution to hold back while the three men crossed from the mouth of the tunnel onto the hanging ladder. None of them stopped to notice the white card that had fallen into,the dust.
Archie stored the card in the leather book and carefully pinned it in his pocket.
Again he shot a hasty glance around the premises, but the second card was not to be found.
His recent pursuers were still ascending when the daring inspiration struck him. He would still rescue that body. What could more certainly baffle and convict them?
No time to waste fishing from the surface with a rope and hook. With supreme determination he let himself down over the brick wall into the chilly water. The descent was made with almost complete silence.
Low splashes accompanied his attempt to locate the submerged form with his feet. From high overhead came someone’s savage assertion that that damned spirit had by-passed them again.
Drake retorted that they’d shine a light down as soon as they made the rail.
Which meant that Archie had seconds to go. He located the limp form, locked his arms under the chest, and drew the weight up through the surface of the water.
Then it happened—swiftly, inescapably.
The bottom of the well thrust upward, hurling Archie off his balance. It tipped to one side. The water became a waterfall. And Archie and the body of the murdered man plummeted down into a pitch-black oblivion.
CHAPTER XIX
The Craigettes Carry On
By the following evening the affairs at the mansion were becoming badly disorganized. For the first day and a half three Craigettes had been carrying on without any supervision. Hamilton Craig had not been seen. Moreover, his lieutenant, Archie Burnette, had mysteriously disappeared.
To make matters worse, three of the six usherettes could not be accounted for. Perhaps they were in Archie’s book, perhaps they were lost; or—and this was a matter of much speculation and worry—perhaps they were out on conquests of their own.
From their first entrance through these doors Cornelia and Genevieve had sensed a personal jealousy over Hamilton Craig. The passing days had intensified these feelings. And now, when the girls should have been concerned over the personal safety of their missing companions, they were in reality disturbed by this jealous fire. Were Patsy and Grace and Hetty in the company of Hamilton Craig; or were they with Archie, whose word carried such weight with the bachelor architect?
Cornelia, Genevieve and Linda Lee did not openly quarrel about this problem, but each had set about strengthening her own campaign of conquest.
If Craig should come back tonight or tomorrow, he would discover some pronounced personality changes.
Cornelia was following her hunch that what this wealthy architect needed was a wife with a strong instinct for business. During the absence of her superiors she had taken personal command. She had declared the Craigette uniforms passé and had donned a tailored business suit, which gave her the air of a woman executive. She monopolized the reception desk, determined to run up a record of rental contracts before Craig’s return.
However, Cornelia’s high pressure tactics had worked adversely, and by this evening she could not deny that business was bad.
Cornelia was checking over the books when Genevieve came down. Genevieve was wearing pink. She might have been dressed for a party—a long flowing pink gown, a pink rose in her hair, pink slippers.
The lounge-lizards, Verrazzano and Whiskey Phil, eyed her with approval as she crossed to Cornelia’s desk.
Cornelia’s eyes flashed jealous fire. “I suppose you think that should be the new Craigette uniform.”
“I’m going out with Mr. Dodge,” said Genevieve haughtily. “Anything to kill the evening. Business is so dull around here.” Her eyes lingered a little too long on Cornelia’s bookkeeping figures. But she tossed her head in the air and started off as if business matters were beneath her contempt. Cornelia called her back,
“Your weekly check. And you needn’t stare at it. You see—” Cornelia jotted some figures with a pencil—“I have made a slight deduction for the Craigette Protection Fund. You haven’t heard of it? It is my own invention. Each girl will contribute. The fund will be useful when we land bigger contracts and tour the country with a show.”
“And who takes care of the money?” Business matters were no longer beneath Genevieve’s contempt.
“Leave that to me. I’ll invest it—and not in pink slippers.”
The brickbats were beginning to fly when Benjamin Dodge arrived, breaking up the quarrel. Genevieve was glad enough to be rescued even though she made it plain to her escort that she was really much too aristocratic to be associating with him.
A few minutes later a young bond salesman came to call on Cornelia, and Carlo Verrazzano threatened to walk out in a huff. He began to howl like an injured puppy. “So long have I waited for the beeoootiful Cornelia!” Cornelia had her own strategy. She called her two gentlemen friends into conference, she added Whiskey Phil to the circle and conferred with the three of them. The Craigette Protection Fund must be used to insure the welfare of the six usherettes.
“Body guards will be needed,” said Cornelia, “brave, strong, fearless men. Men who will be ready to answer any emergency call.”
The bond salesman frowned and picked up his brief-case. He guessed he would not be available. Furthermore, he suspected that these girls were quite capable of taking care of themselves.
“Three of them have disappeared,” said Cornelia.
“Then I suggest you call the police,” said the bond salesman, “unless these two gentlemen are the brave strong bodyguards you are looking for. Good evening.”
The door slammed and Cornelia was left with her two doubtful applicants. She decided to adjourn the conference. She had work to do. Whiskey Phil took the hint and floated off toward the nearest bar. Verrazzano rolled his eyes and began cooing about a moon that was due to rise in another hour or two. Cornelia fired him out of the house.
It might have been a peaceful evening for Cornelia if she could have spent it filling a scratch-pad with dollar signs and figures with lots of zeros. But presently Linda Lee intruded upon her solitude.
“Don’t tell me,” said Cornelia, “that you’ve been over at the doctor’s laboratory again.”
“Isn’t he the most fascinatin’ puhson?” said Linda. “He talks in such big words, and I can’t undahstand a thing he says. He’s really mahvelous.”
Cornelia shrugged. She had little in common with this giddy Southern girl who knew nothing at all about business.
But tonight, to Cornelia’s surprise, Linda Lee dro
pped a remark that had the right ring to it. “If the doctor’s invention was successful it would make a fortune for someone.” For whom? Linda Lee did not know. Why didn’t she ask? Because the doctor never answered her questions anyway. He just went on talking.
“How big a fortune?”
“Oh, a few millions, Ah guess,” Linda Lee answered carelessly. “Where is everybody, Cornelia? Isn’t there any excitement around?”
“Plenty of excitement,” said Cornelia, “if you have the wits to see it. Where did you leave the doctor? Come on, you’re taking me over to see him.”
Linda Lee led the way through the mansion. She didn’t think the doctor would be very sociable, since he was still busy grinding a lens. But if Cornelia insisted—
Cornelia stopped and caught Linda Lee by the arm. Someone was coming up the rear of the walk, limping.
Into the light of the rear porch came Patsy. She clutched the rail of the steps for support. Her Oriental costume was bedraggled, her red hair in disarray, her wrist was bleeding. But as always, her eyes glowed with belligerence.
“Mah goodness!” Linda Lee gasped. “Did you-all get hit by a freight train?”
“I fell—damn it!” said Patsy. “Where’s Craig? Has he come back?”
“He’s been missing for two days,” said Cornelia, helping Patsy to a chair. “Where on earth have you been? Where did you fall from?”
“That,” said Patsy, “I wouldn’t know. I was a card when I started falling, but I was me when I landed.”
CHAPTER XX
The Man with the Beard
The clerk in the novelty store on Fourteenth Street scrutinized his masterpiece with satisfaction.
“There, you see. No false face was necessary, sir. Your best friends won’t know you now. I have changed the shape of your mustache, I’ve added spectacles, a goatee and triangular eyebrows.”
The subject appraised himself in a mirror. “A very good job. Of course my tallness—but I can’t expect you to change that.”
“As long as you wear that coat, sir, the padding alters your build. Now if your walk doesn’t give you away, I’m sure you are perfectly disguised.”
The customer stroked his goatee, as though already fond of it. He paid his bill and walked out with a confident step.
By the time Patsy had acquired three or four bandages she decided to come to life and tell what had happened. Linda Lee was massaging her injured ankle, Cornelia was trying to make her keep the thermometer in her mouth. And Genevieve, recently returned from an evening with Benjamin Dodge, stopped by, trying to remain aloof.
“Don’t you dare call the police,” said Patsy for the fifth time. “Hamilton told me there might be some trouble, but it’s his own private fight.”
“She calls him Hamilton,” said Grace.
“Here’s how it happened.” Patsy took a deep breath. “We were going to take in the midnight revue, Hamilton and I. As we were going down the walk to his car, those two night watchmen fell in with us. One of them said, ‘Give us a ride down the street, pal,’—but Hamilton said, ‘Nothing doing.’ They were supposed to be on duty here. So one of them, the tall one with the crooked nose, started cussing for no reason at all. He said, ‘If you won’t take us riding, we’ll take youse for one.’
The next thing I knew they were fighting. The tall guy tried to pull a gun, and then Ham knocked it out of his hand.”
“She calls him Ham,” said Genevieve.
“When it comes to a good fight,” Patsy continued, “I always forget to faint the way a lady is supposed to. They thought I was running away, but I wasn’t. I was heading for the pile of bricks the builders had left by the walk. My bare fists are not much good, and when I slipped a brick off that tall bird’s head, he figured I was worth a left to the jaw. Next thing I knew I was turning into thin air, hoping Hamilton would remember to pick me up, though I knew the chances were two to one they would K.O. him.”
“Mah goodness!” said Linda Lee. “That’s a lot of fighting ovah a cah ride.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said Cornelia. “There’s some feud that we don’t know about. We’ve got to keep this out of the papers. Business is bad enough.”
“I woke up just once during these last forty-eight hours,” Patsy went on. “What I found made me so fighting mad that I turned right back into a card. Ham was beside me, bound and gagged. We were in an empty room, somewhere high up. He had rescued me from the fight, all right, and I imagine he had worked a long time to get me out of his pocket.”
“So you came to life and untied him?” Cornelia asked.
“I came to life and should have untied him, but I was such a chicken-livered weakling—it makes me furious to think of it—of all the luck! Just as I started to work on the ropes, we heard the two thugs coming up the stairs. Hamilton told me to hide, but darn it——I passed into thin air again.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Linda Lee.
“The next thing I knew I was floating down past the hospital wall, coming back to myself. I landed with an awful bounce on this ankle, and here I am.”
“And where,” asked Genevieve, “is our Hamilton?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out,” said Patsy, her lips tightening. “He’s probably in one of the third floor rooms behind a locked door.”
Obviously the thing to do was to rescue Hamilton Craig.
Patsy was ready, willing and almost able. She tried her weight on her bandaged ankle and said, “That’ll do. All I need is a reliable weapon. Are you girls with me?”
“I’ve just contributed to a protective agency,” said Genevieve. “Personally I don’t care for brawls. Cornelia may have my share.”
“Down where I come from,” said Linda Lee, “the men folks are always glad to do the fighting.”
Patsy turned to Cornelia as her one hope in this emergency. Cornelia feigned a willingness to attack the problem vigorously. She believed everything should be talked over thoroughly, however, before plunging. It would be well to find out where the night watchmen were spending the evening, before invading their territory. And what about those lights that would go on automatically whenever a person passed from one room to another? And what about a choice of witnesses in case this action should come up in court?
The more Cornelia talked the angrier Patsy became. “I don’t give a darn about your ifs and ands and whereases. Our job is to find Hamilton Craig and cut those ropes. Are you with me or aren’t you?”
The telephone rang in Craig’s office. Genevieve was glad of the chance to escape.
“Are you with me, Cornelia?” Patsy shot her challenge squarely.
“I’m with you, but I’m not going to lose my temper about it. You’re too hot-headed, Patsy. If you hadn’t started throwing bricks—”
“Oh, so it’s all my fault. I’m the one who tied him into knots. I could use a few bricks right now.”
Cornelia tried to calm her. “Linda Lee is right: we need some men to help us. I have just been talking with Carlo Verrazzano and—”
“Verrazzano!”
Patsy did begin throwing things. All of Cornelia’s precious bookkeeping ledgers began to fly.
It was Genevieve’s telephone conversation that brought a hush over the group. The call evidently came from Hamilton Craig’s office—at this time of night! Someone was coming out to investigate Craig’s strange absence. He should arrive in a few minutes.
“There,” said Cornelia, “I told you we should not be too hasty.”
It was precisely midnight when the doorbell rang and the three girls found themselves face to face with a stranger of most striking appearance. Tall, heavy shouldered, most dignified in bearing, he did not look to be a man accustomed to dealing with situations of violence. But his eyes were keen and he was surprisingly young to be wearing a gray goatee.
He took two steps into the reception room, bowed impressively, and said, “I am very much concerned about Hamilton Craig. I am his best friend. In fact, I have known him a
ll my life. I understand that he has not been seen for the past forty-eight hours. If any of you ladies can assist me—”
He paused, and his eyes were intent upon Patsy, who was waving at him with a bandaged wrist.
“I have just been elected,” said
Patsy. “Follow me!”
CHAPTER XXI
H.C. and Hamilton Craig
Patsy was temporarily on her good behavior. She felt constrained to keep her temper under control in the presence of this tall man who reminded her so much of Hamilton Craig. She felt somewhat restored as a result of first-aid treatment and a cup of hot tea. It was good to be in fresh, comfortable clothes again. Linda Lee had loaned her a starchy white slack suit which went well with her red hair. The tall man’s approving glances told her so.
He was older than Hamilton Craig by ten or fifteen years, she guessed, but he had the same energetic manner, curiously tinged with shyness.
It was evident that he knew much about Hamilton Craig. Such secret knowledge, as where to turn a switch to cut off the lights that would otherwise pop on automatically when anyone walked through these rooms, had been shared with him. Patsy expressed her surprise at this. The tall man did not hesitate to reveal these confidences.
“Craig meant this lighting device to control the comings and goings of a lot of scoundrels who have been nesting in these old empty buildings. But from the way things have gone, the trick wasn’t very successful.”
“Maybe Mr. Craig hired the wrong men as night watchmen,” Patsy suggested.
“Do you think so?”
“Aren’t they the same scoundrels you were talking about, Mr.—?”
“Just call me H.C.,” said the tall man. “Those are my initials.”
The surprising thing was that they were the initials of Hamilton Craig. Patsy mentioned this.
“We are related,” H.C. said lightly. “Those initials run in the family.”
Patsy accepted the explanation. It helped her understand the similarities between these two men—the expression of the eyes, the manner of walking, even the tone of the voice.