Chapter 6 of The Crevis by William J. Burns and Isabelle Ostrander. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The First Counter-Move The little paragraph in the newspaper, which irrelevant as it would seem, had caught the keenly discerning eye of Henry Blaine, grew in length and importance from day to day until it reached a position on the first page, and then spread in huge headlines over the entire sheet. Instead of relating merely the incidents of a labor strike in a manufacturing city, and that city a far distant one, it became speedily a sociological question of almost national import. The yellow journals were quick to seize upon it at the psychological moment of civic unrest, and throw out hints, vague but vast in their significance, of the mighty interests behind the mere fact of the strike. The great financial question involved, the crisis between capital and labor, the trusts and the common people, the workers and the wasters, in the land of the free. Henry Blaine, seated in his office, read the scareheads and smiled his slow inscrutable, illuminating smile. The smile which, without menace or rancor, has struck terror to the hearts of the greatest malfactors of his generation, which without flattery or ingratiation had won for him the friendship of the greatest men in the country. He knew every move in the gigantic game which was being played solely for his attention, long before a pawn was lifted from its place, a single counter-changed. He had known it, from the moment that the seemingly unimportant paragraph had met his eyes, and he also knew the men who sat in the game, whose hands passed over the great chess board of current events, whose brains directed the moves. And the stakes? Not the welfare of the working men in that distant city, not the lifting of the grinding heel of temporal power from the supine bodies of the humble, but the peace of mind, the honorable, untarnished name, the earthly riches of the slender girl who sat in that great darkened house on Bel Air Avenue. Henry Blaine sat back quietly, and waited for the decisive move which he knew to be forthcoming, waited and not in vain. The spectacular play to the Gallery of One was dramatically accomplished. It was heralded by extras bawling through the midnight streets, and full-page display headlines in the papers the next morning. Promptly on the stroke of nine, Henry Blaine arrived at his office, and as he expected, found awaiting him an urgent telegram from the chief of police of the city with a striket assume such colossal importance, earnestly asking him for his immediate presence and assistance. He sent a tentative refusal and waited. Still more insistent messages followed in rapid succession, from the mayor of that city, the governor of that state, even its representative in the Senate at Washington, to all of which he replied in the same emphatic negative strain. Then late in the afternoon there eventuated that which he had anticipated, Mohamed came to the mountain. Blaine read the card which his confidential secretary presented, and laid it down upon the desk before him. Show him in, he directed shortly. He did not rise from his chair, nor indeed change his position in iota, but merely glanced up from beneath slightly raised eyebrows when the door opened again, and a bulky, pompous figure stood almost obsequiously before him. Come in, Mr. Carlos," he invited Cooley, take this chair, what can I do for you? It was significant that neither man made any move toward shaking hands, although it was obvious that they were acquainted at least. The great detective's tone when he greeted his visitor was as distinctly ironical as the latter's was uneasy, although he replied with a mirthless chuckle which was intended to be airily nonchalant. Nothing for me, Mr. Blaine, that is not to-day. One can never tell in this period of sudden changes and revolt, when our city may be stricken, as another was just a few hours ago. There is no better, cleaner, more honestly prosperous metropolis in these United States today than Illington, but... Mr. Carlos, the political boss who had ruled for more than a decade in almost undisputed sway, paused and gulped, as if his oratorical eloquence stuck suddenly in his throat. The detective watched him passively, a disconcerting look of inquiring interest on his mobile face. It is because of our stricken sister city that I am here, went on the visitor. I know I will not be in great favor with you as an advocate, Mr. Blaine. We have had our little tilts in the past when you are disapproved of my methods of conducting my civic office, and I distrusted your motives. But that is forgotten now, and I come to you merely as one public-spirited citizen to another. The mayor of Grafton has wired me, as has the chief of police, to urge you to proceed there at once, and take charge of the investigation into last night's bomb-outrages in connection with the Great Strike. They inform me that you have repeatedly refused today to come to their assistance. Blaine nodded. That is quite true, Mr. Carlos. I did decline the offers extended to me. But surely you cannot refuse. Good heavens, man! Do you realize what it means if you do? It isn't only that there is a fortune in it for you. Your reputation stands or falls on your decision. This is a public charge! The people rely upon you.  The voice of the boss ascended in a shrill false settle of her monstrance. There may be two opinions as to that, Mr. Carlos. Blaine returned quietly. As far as the financial argument goes, I think you discovered long ago that its appeal to me is based upon a different point of view than your own. You forget that I am not a servant of the public, but a private citizen, free to accept or decline such offers as are made to me in my line of business as I choose. This affair is not a public charge, but a business proposition which I decline. As to my reputation depending upon it, I differ with you. My reputation will stand, I think, upon my record in the past, even if every yellow newspaper in the city is paid to revile me. Carlos rested his plump hands upon his widespread knees and leaned as far forward in his eager anxiety as his obese figure would permit. But why, he fairly wailed, his carefully rounded oratorical tones forgotten. Why on earth do you decline this offer, Blaine? You have nothing big on hand now. Nothing your operatives can attend to. There isn't a case big enough for your attention on the calendar. You know as well as I do that Illington is clean and that the lead is on for keeps. The police are taking care of the petty crimes. There is absolutely nothing doing in your line here at the moment. This is the chance of your career. Why on earth do you refuse it? Well, Mr. Carlos, let us say, for instance, that my health is not quite as good as it was, and I find the air of Illington agrees with it better just now than that of Grafton. Blaine leaned back easily in his chair, and after a slight pause he added speculatively, with deliberate intent, I didn't know you had interest there. The boss purpled. Look here, Blaine! He bellowed. What do you mean by that? Merely following a train of thought, Mr. Carlos, returned the detective imperturbably. I was trying to figure out why you were so desperately anxious to have me go to Grafton. I tell you, I am here at the urgent request of the mayor and the chief of police. The fat man protested, but faintly, as if the unexpected attack had temporarily winded him.  Presumably, because Grafton is some fourteen hundred miles from Illington, remarked Blaine, his quietly unemotional tones hardening suddenly like tempered steel, going to try to pull off something here in town which you think could be more easily done if I were away? Cards on the table, Mr. Carlos. You tried to bribe me in a case once, and you failed. Then you tried bullying me, and you found that didn't work either. Now you've come again with your hook baited with patriotism, public spirit, the cry of the people, and all the rest of the guff, the newspapers you control, have been handing out to their readers since you took them over. What's the idea? The boss rose, with what was intended for an air of injured dignity, but his fat face all at once seemed sagged and wrinkled like a pricked balloon. I did not come here to be insulted, he announced in his most impressive manner. I came, as I told you, as a public-spirited citizen, because the officials of another city called upon me to urge you to aid them. I have failed in my mission, and I will go. I am surprised, Blaine, at your attitude. I thought you were too big a man, to permit your personal antagonism to me, to interfere with your duty. For the first time during their interview, Blaine smiled slightly. Have you ever known me, Mr. Carlos, to permit my personal antagonism to you, or any other man, to interfere with what I conceive to be my duty? Before he replied, the politician produced a voluminous silk handkerchief, and mopped his brow. For some reason he did not feel called upon to make a direct answer. Well, what reason am I to give to the mayor of Grafton and its political leaders for your refusal? That talk about me trying to get you out of Illington Blaine is all Bosch, and you know it. I'm running Illington, just as I've run it for the last ten years, in spite of your interference, or any other man's, and I'm going to stay right on the job. If you won't give any other reason for declining the call to Grafton, then your preference for the heir of Illington, then the bets go as they lay. He jammed his hat upon his head, and strode from the room, with all the ferocity his rotund figure could express. The first decisive move in the game had failed. The door was scarcely closed behind him when Blaine turned to the telephone and called up Anita Lawton on the private wire. Can you arrange to meet me at once at your working girls' club? He asked. I wish to suggest a plan to be put into immediate operation. Very well. I can be there in fifteen minutes. When the detective arrived at the club, he was ushered immediately to the small ante room on the second floor, where he found Anita anxiously awaiting him. Miss Lawton, he began, without further greeting than a quick hand-class. You told me the other day that your girls here were all staunch and faithful to you. Your secretary downstairs had previously informed me that they were trained to hold positions of trust, and that you obtained such positions for them. I want you to obtain four positions, for four of the girls in whom you place the most implicit confidence. Why, certainly, Mr. Blaine, if I can, do you mean that they are to have something to do with your investigation of my father's affairs? I want them to play detective for me, Miss Lawton. Have you four girls unemployed at the moment? Say, for instance, a filing clerk, a stenographer, a governess, and a switchboard operator, who are sufficiently intelligent and proficient in their various occupations, to assume such a trust? Why, yes, I think we have. I can find out, of course. Where do you wish to place them? That is the most difficult part of all, Miss Lawton. You must obtain the positions for them. These three men, who stand in loco parentis toward you, as you say, and your spiritual advisor, Dr. Franklin, who so obviously wishes to ingratiate himself with them, would none of them refuse a request of this sort from you at this stage of the game, particularly if they are really engaged in a conspiracy against you.  Find your filing clerk to Mr. Malo, your most expert stenographer to Mr. Rockamore, your switchboard operator to Mr. Carlos, and your governess into the household of your minister. I have learned that he has three small children, and his wife applied only yesterday at an agency for a nursery governess. The last proposition may be the most difficult for you to handle, but I think if you manage to convey to the Reverend Dr. Franklin the fact that your three self-appointed guardians have each taken one of your girls into their employ in order to help them, and that his following their benevolent example would bring him into closer rapport with them no objection will be made, provided of course the young woman is suitable. I will try, Mr. Blaine, but of course I can do nothing about that until tomorrow, as it is so late in the afternoon, however I can have a talk with the girls if they are in now, or would you prefer to interview them?  I will leave you now. Remember that the girls must be absolutely trustworthy, and the stenographer who will be placed in the office of Mr. Rockamore must be particularly expert. Anita Lawton descended quickly to the office of the secretary. Emily, she said, is Loretta Merfrey in, or Fafine des Sauchées? I think they both are, Miss Lawton. Shall I ring for them? Yes, please, Emily. Send them to me one at a time in the enter-room, and let me down when Agnes Olson and Margaret Hefferman come in. I wish to talk with all four of them, but separately. Loretta Merfrey was the first to put in an appearance. She was a short, dumpy, black-haired girl of twenty, and she bounced into the room with a flashing, wide-mouthed smile. How are you, dear Miss Lawton? We've missed you round here so much lately, but of course we knew that you must be very much occupied.  I have been Loretta. Thank you so much for your kind note, and for your share in the beautiful wreath your girl sent in memory of my dear father. Sure were all of us your friends, Miss Lawton! Why wouldn't we be, after all you've done for us? It is because I feel that, that I wanted to have a talk with you this afternoon. Loretta, if a position were offered to you as filing clerk in the office of a great financier of this city, at a suitable salary, would you accept it, if you could be doing me a great personal service at the same time? But I, Miss Lawton, just try me. I take it for the experience alone, without the salary, and jump at the chance, even if you weren't concerned in it at all. But if it would be doing you a service at the same time, I'm more than glad. Thank you, Loretta. The position will be with an associate of my father's. I think President Mallow of the Street Railways. You must attend faithfully to your duties, if I am able to obtain this place for you. But I think the main part of your service to me will consist of keeping your eyes open. Tomorrow morning a man will come here and interview you, a man in whom you must place implicit confidence and trust, and whose directions you must follow to the letter. He will tell you just what to do for me. This man is my friend. He is working in my interest, and if you care for me, you must not fail him. Indeed, I won't, Miss Lawton. I'll do whatever he tells me. You said that I was to keep my eyes open. Does that mean that there is something you wish me to find out for you? She asked truly. I cannot tell you exactly what you are to do for me, Loretta. The gentleman whom you are to meet tomorrow morning will give you all the details. Anita Lawton approached the girl and laid her hand on her shoulder. I can surely trust you. You will not fail me? The quick tears sprang to the Irish girl's eyes, and for a moment softened their rather hard brilliance. You know you can trust me, Miss Lawton. I'd do anything in the world for you. Anita Lawton held a similar conversation with each of the three girls, with a like result. To Fafine Deschaussées, a tall, refined girl with the colorless devout face of her religieuse, the possibility of entering a minister's home as governance for his children was most welcome. The young French girl, homesick and alone in a strange land, had found in Anita Lawton her one friend, and her gratitude for this first opportunity given her seemed overwhelming. Margaret Hefferman rejoiced at the possible opportunity of becoming a stenographer to the great promoter, Mr. Rockamore, and DeMure, fair-haired little Agnes Olson, was equally pleased with the prospect of operating a switchboard in the office of Timothy Carlos, the politician. Meantime, back in his office, Henry Blaine was receiving the personal report of Guy Morrow. The old man seems to be strictly on the level, he was saying. He attends to his own affairs and seems to be running a legitimate business in his little shop, where he prints and sells maps. I went there, of course, to look it over, but I couldn't see anything crooked about it. However, when I left, I took a wax impression of the lock, in case you wanted me to have a key made, and institute a more thorough investigation, at a time when I would not be disturbed. That's good, Morrow. We may need to do that later. At present I want you to merely keep an eye on them, and note who their visitors are. You've been talking with the girl, you say, the daughter. Yes, sir. The young man paused, and sudden confusion. She's a very quiet, respectable, proud sort of young woman, Mr. Blaine. Not at all the kind you would expect to find the daughter of an old crook like Jimmy Bernal. And by the way, here's a funny coincidence. She's a protege of Miss Lawton's, employed in some philanthropic home or club as she calls it, which Pennington Lawton's daughter runs. By Jove, Blaine exclaimed, I might have known it. I thought there was something familiar about her appearance when I first saw her. No wonder Miss Lawton had promised not to divulge her name. It's a small world, Morrow. I'll have to look into this. Go back now, and keep your eye on Jimmy. Very well, sir. Guy Morrow paused at the door and turned toward his chief. Have you seen the late editions of the evening papers, Mr. Blaine? They're all slamming you for refusing to accept the call to Grafton to investigate those bomb outrageous last night. Henry Blaine smiled. There won't be any more of them, he remarked quietly. That strike will die down as quickly as it arose, Morrow. The whole thing was a plant, and the labour leaders and factory owners themselves were merely tools in the hands of the politicians. That strike was arranged by our friend Timothy Carlos to get me away from Illington on a false mission. You don't think, sir, that they suspect? No, but they are taking no chances on my getting into the game. They don't suspect yet, but they will soon, because the time has come for us to get busy. CHAPTER VII THE LEADER The next morning when Raymond Hamilton presented himself at Henry Blaine's office in answer to the latter's summons, he found the great detective in a mood more nearly bordering upon excitability than he could remember having witnessed before. Instead of being seated calmly at his desk, his thoughts mask with his usual inscrutable imperturbability, Blaine was pacing restlessly back and forth with the disquietude, not of agitation, but of concentrated ebullient energy. I sent for you, Mr. Hamilton, he began, after greeting his visitor cordially and waving him to a chair, because we must proceed actively with the investigation into the alleged bankruptcy of Pennington Lawton. We have been passive long enough for me to have gathered some significant facts, but we now must make a salient move. The time hasn't yet come for me to step out into the open. When I do, it will be a tooth and nail fight, and I must be equipped with facts, not theories. I want some particulars about Mr. Lawton's insolvency, and there is no one who could more naturally inquire into this without arousing suspicion than you. I don't need to tell you, Mr. Blaine, how anxious I am to do anything I can to help you. For Miss Lawton's sake, Raymond Hamilton replied eagerly, I should like to have looked into the matter long ago. Indeed, I felt that suspicion must have been aroused in the minds of Malo and his associates, by the fact that I accepted the astounding nudes of the bankruptcy as unquestioningly as Miss Lawton herself, unless they thought me an adult-plated fool, but I didn't want to go ahead without direct instructions from you. I did not so direct you, Mr. Hamilton, for a distinct purpose. I wish the men we believe to be responsible for the present conditions to be slightly puzzled by your attitude, so that when the time came for you to begin your investigation they would be more completely reassured. In order to make your questioning absolutely bonafide, I want you to go first this morning to the office of Anderson and Wallis, the late Mr. Lawton's attorneys, and question them as of having come with Miss Lawton's authority. Don't suggest any suspicion of there being any crookedness at work, but merely inquire as fully as possible into the details of Mr. Lawton's business affairs. They will, in their replies, undoubtedly bring in Mr. Malo, Mr. Rockamore, and Mr. Carlos, which will give you a cue to go quite openly and frankly to one of the three, preferably Mr. Malo, for corroboration. Knowing that you come direct from the late Mr. Lawton's attorneys, he will be only too glad to give you whatever information he may possess, or may have concocted, and so lay open to you his plan of defense. Defense? You think, then, Mr. Blaine, that they anticipate possible trouble, exposure even? Surely such astute far-seeing men as Malo and Rockamore are, at least, would not have attempted such a gigantic fraud if they'd anticipated the possibility of being discovered. Carlos has weathered so many storms, so many attacks upon his reputation and civic honour, that he may have felt cocksure of his position, and gone into this thing without thought for the future, but the other two are men of different calibre, men with everything in the world to lose. And colossal unearned wealth to gain! Don't forget that, Mr. Hamilton. Men of different calibre, I grant you, but all three in the same whirlpool of crime, bound by thieves' laws to sink or swim together. It is because they are astute and far-seeing that they must inevitably have considered the possibility of exposure and safeguarded themselves against it with bogus corroborative proof. If that proof is in tangible form, and we can lay our hands on it, we shall have them where we want them. Now go back to your office, Mr. Hamilton, and dictate this letter to your stenographer, having it left open on your desk for your signature. Don't wait for the letter to be typed, but proceed at once to the office of Anderson and Wallace. You as a lawyer will, of course, know the form of inquiry to use. The detective handed Raymond Hamilton a type-reading sheet of paper from his desk, and the young man, after hastily perusing it, glanced with a blank stare of amazement into Blaine's eyes. I can't make this out, he objected, who on earth is Alexander Gibbs, and what has he to do with Miss Lawton's case? This letter seems to inform one Alexander Gibbs that I have retained you to recover for us the last will and testament of his aunt, Mrs. Dorothea Gibbs. I have no such client, and I know no one in—what's the address? Ellenville, Sullivan County? Blaine smiled. Of course you don't, Mr. Hamilton. Nevertheless you will sign that letter, and your secretary will mail it. That is, after it has lain open upon your desk for casual inspection for a considerable length of time. One of my operatives will receive it in Ellenville. But what has it to do with the matter in hand? Raymond asked. Everything. I understand that you employ quite an office force, for an attorney who has so recently been admitted to the bar, and who has necessarily had little time yet to build up an extensive practice. There may be a spy in your office. Remember that as Miss Lawton's fiance, and her only protector in this crisis, you are the one whom they would safeguard themselves against primarily. When I called you up this morning to ask you to come here, you very indiscreetly mentioned my name over the telephone. Your entire office force will know that you have been to consult me.  You realize that we must also safeguard ourselves, Mr. Hamilton. The young man read-end. Of course I did not think I called you by name inadvertently, he stammered. I'll be more discreet in the future, Mr. Blaine. Rise the gist of the letter on your way to your office, particularly the name and address, and place it securely in your vest pocket. When you have left your office to go to Anderson and Wallace, destroy it carefully. You had best perhaps stop in the laboratory of some restaurant or public bar, and burn it, or tear it into infinitesimal pieces.  Hamilton followed Blaine's instructions to the letter, and an hour after he had left the detective he was closeted with the senior member of the firm of Anderson and Wallace. My dear Mr. Hamilton, we have had so little time. Mr. Anderson expostulated.  It will take us weeks, months, to settle up so involved in estate. At present we can give you little information. It is by no means certain that Mr. Lawton was an absolute bankrupt. We have not yet assured ourselves that nothing can be saved from the wreckage. You cannot imagine how aghast thunderstruck we were when this present state of affairs was made known to us. We have been Mr. Lawton's attorneys for more than twenty years, and we thought that we knew every detail of his multifarious transactions, but for some reason which we cannot fathom. He saw fit, within the last two years, to change his investments without taking us into his confidence and with disastrous results. Mr. Lawton was always conservative. He took no one fully into his confidence, Raymond Hamilton replied guardably. You knew, of course, that he had ideas about the disposal of his vast wealth which many other financiers would consider peculiar. He would never invest in real estate, to our knowledge. His millions were placed entirely in stocks and bonds, and for years he had stated that his object was, in the event of his death, to save his daughter and the trustees from unnecessary trouble over real estate matters. This makes his latter conduct all the more inexplicable. Mr. Malo has told me that Mr. Lawton made several suggestions to him and to his associates, Mr. Rockamore and Mr. Carlos, to go with him into the unfortunate speculations which ultimately caused his ruin. They were farceing enough to refuse. Just what were these speculations, Mr. Anderson? I can't tell you at this moment. You'll understand that we don't wish to make any statement until we can do so definitely, and we are still, as I said, quite at sea. We'll try to straighten everything out as soon as possible, and give you and Mr. Lawton a full report. In the meantime, why not consult Mr. Malo? He can give you much more explicit information concerning the late Mr. Lawton's speculation and final insolvency than we shall be able to do for some time, or possibly Mr. Rockamore, or even Mr. Carlos, might enlighten you. All three seem to have been more conversant with Mr. Lawton's affairs than we, his attorneys. The dignified old gentleman's voice held a note of paint resentment with which Raymond Hamilton could not help but sympathize. I will adopt your suggestion, Mr. Anderson, and call upon Mr. Malo at once. I can no more understand than you can how it happens that Mr. Lawton should have invited to such an extent in his business associates to the exclusion of you and Mr. Wallace, to say nothing of his own daughter. But doubtless there were financial reasons which we'll learn. I will take up no more of your valuable time, but we'll try to see Mr. Malo immediately. If I learn any facts, you're not now in possession of, I'll let you know at once. Mr. Malo, when approached over the telephone, welcomed most cordially the proposed interview with Ms. Lawton's fiance. When the latter arrived, he was greeted with a warm, limp hand-clasp, and seated confidentially, close to the president of the street wareways. Mr. Anderson did well to suggest you're coming to me, Mr. Hamilton, the magnet remarked unctuously. I believe I am in a position to give you a more comprehensive idea of the circumstances which brought about my esteemed friend's unfortunate financial collapse at the time of his death than my colleagues, because I was closer to him in many ways, and I am confident that he regarded me as his best friend. However, I don't feel that I can in honour violate the confidence of the dead by giving any details just now, even to you and Ms. Lawton, of matters which have not yet been fully substantiated by the attorneys. I know only from Mr. Lawton's own private statements that he was interested, to the point one might say almost of mania, in a gigantic scheme from which we, his friends, tried in vain to dissuade him. He urged me especially to go in on it with him, but because of the very position I hold it would have been impossible for me to consider it, even if my better judgment hadn't warned me against it. Would you give me some idea of the nature of this scheme? Raymond asked. I can't believe, any more easily than Ms. Lawton can, that there could have been anything that was not thoroughly open and above board about her father's dealings. Surely there can be no reason for this extraordinary secrecy, particularly as the newspapers have given to the world at large the unauthorised statement from a source unknown to Ms. Lawton on myself that Pennington Lawton died a bankrupt. The young man drew himself up sharply, as if fearful of having said too much, and for a moment there was silence. Then Mr. Malo leaned back easily in his chair, and removing his tortoise shell-rimmed eyeglasses, tapped the desk thoughtfully with them as he replied. That was regrettable, of course, Mr. Hamilton. It must have been distressing in the extreme to Ms. Lawton, coming just at this time, but it would have had to be revealed sooner or later, you know, such a stupendous fact could not be hidden. There is no extraordinary secrecy about the matter, when the attorneys have completed their settlement of the estate, everything will be clear to you and Ms. Lawton. I must naturally decline to give you any explanation which would be, just now, merely an uncorroborated opinion. I appreciate your feelings in this sudden, almost overwhelming trouble which has come to Ms. Lawton, and I sympathise with both of you most heartily, but one must have patience. You will pardon me, but you are both very young, and that is the hardest lesson of all for you to learn. His watery eyes beamed and fatherly benevolence upon Raymond, and Anita's fiancée felt his gorge rising. The older man reminded him irresistibly of a cat licking its chops before a canary's cage, and it was with difficulty he restrained himself to remark coldly. You told me at the beginning of this interview, Mr. Malo, that I did well in coming to you, since you could give me a more comprehensive idea of the circumstances than anyone else, yet you have disclosed nothing beyond a few vague suggestions. To any other man I should have said insinuations and generalities which we were already familiar with. Can't you give me any real information? My dear boy, I intend to tell you all that I know and can verify. The silky smoothness of the magnet's tones had deepened in spite of himself with a steely undernote. I don't know when the project which spelled his ruin was first conceived by Mr. Lawton, but I believe that he started to put it into active operation over three years ago. He went into it with his usual cold nerve, and then, when the pendulum did not swing his way, he kept heaping more and more of his securities and the pire of his ambition and pride in himself until he was forced to obtain large loans. That he did seek and obtain such loans I can prove to you at the present moment, in one instance at least, for it was through me the affair was negotiated. I think he fully realized his enormous error, but refused to admit it even to himself, and strove by sheer force of willpower to carry a hopeless scheme to success. Sought loans? He, Pennington Lawton, required loans, and obtained them through you? Raymond almost started from his chair. Mr. Malo, you will forgive me, but I can scarcely credit it. I know, of course, that Finn and Sears, even those who conduct their operations on a far lesser scale than Mr. Lawton, frequently seek loans. But your manner and your speech just now led me to believe that you had some other motive in doing what you did for Mr. Lawton. From what you have told me, I gather that it was owing more to your friendship for him than to your financial relations that he called upon you at that time. And it was to my friendship at that time that he appealed, Mr. Hamilton. Appealed? I cannot imagine Pennington Lawton appealing to any man. Why should he appeal to you? Because, my dear boy, he was in a mighty bad fix when he had me to call upon me. Oh, by the way, I have the letter here in my safe. I found it only the other day. The letter? What letter? The letter Mr. Lawton wrote to me from Long Bay, asking me to get Mr. Moore's help in the matter. Here it is. Malo went to his safe, and opening it withdrew from an inner drawer, a paper which he presented to the young lawyer. After a cursory examination, Raymond placed it upon the desk before him, and turning to Mr. Malo said, I am awfully sorry to have annoyed you with this matter, but you understand exactly how Mr. Lawton and I feel about it. Of course, Mr. Hamilton, I realize the situation fully. I am glad to have had this opportunity to explain to you how the matter stood as far as I personally was concerned. You know I will do anything that I can for Mr. Lawton, and I trust that you will call upon me. He rose with ponderous significance, as if to state tacitly that the interview was at an end, but the younger man did not stir from his chair. This letter came to you. When did you say, Mr. Malo? When Pennington Lawton and his daughter were at the breakers at Long Bay about two years ago, last August, as nearly as I can remember. If you still had the envelope, we could obtain the exact date from the postmark, Raymond suggested significantly. The letter I see is only headed Saturday. Yes, it is unfortunate that I did not keep it. The magnet retorted a little dryly. It was by the merest, most fortunate chance, that the letter itself came to light. However, I cannot see at this late date what difference it could possibly make when the letter was mailed, since it establishes beyond any possibility of doubt the fact that it was mailed. As to the matter of the negotiation of the loan, I would prefer that you apply to Mr. Moore himself, for the particular is concerning it. I am sure that he will be quite as glad as I have been to give you such definite information as he possesses. This time the dismissal could not be ignored, and Raymond Hamilton took his departure. But not before he had marked well the particular drawer within the safe from which the letter had been taken. As he went down the corridor, a saucy, red-cheek young woman with business bristness in her manner came from an inner office and smiled boldly at him. She was Loretta Murfrey, the new filing clerk, who had been installed only that morning in Mr. Mallow's office. Had Raymond known her to be the protege of Anita Lawton and the spy of Henry Blaine, he might have glanced at her a second time. The young man proceeded straight to the offices of Charlton Moore, the banker, and found that an interview was readily granted him. Mr. Moore remembered the incident of the loan, and his private account showed that it had been made on the sixteenth of August, two years previously. Mr. Mallow arranged the matter with you for Mr. Lawton, did he not? Raymond asked. Yes, it was a purely confidential affair. Mr. Carlos came with him to interview me. They did not at first tell me that Mr. Lawton positively desired the loan, but they made tentative arrangements asking if I could be in a position to give it to him, should he desire it. And they said they came to me at this early date, desiring to make no definite statement. Mr. Lawton had told them that once before I had accommodated him by carrying a note confidentially at his request. Of course I did not care to commit myself, as you can readily understand Mr. Hamilton, until I was assured the proposition was bona fide. Mr. Mallow and Mr. Carlos suggested that I call Mr. Lawton up on the private wire in his office, but the matter was so delicate that as long as he had not come to me in person I did not care to telephone him. Mr. Mallow showed me a letter which he had recently received from Pennington Lawton corroborating his statement, but in the matter of the amount desired we could not definitely distinguish the figures. Mr. Mallow was sure that it was three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Mr. Carlos was equally certain that it was three hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars. To make certain of the matter they called Mr. Lawton up from my office, here in my presence, and he stated that the sum desired was three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. There was only one odd thing about the entire transaction, and that was a remark Mr. Mallow made as he was leaving. After the negotiations had been completed he turned and said, You understand, Mr. Moore, that Mr. Lawton is so careful, so secretive, that he does not wish this matter ever mentioned to him personally, even if you think yourself absolutely alone with him. Mr. Lawton was a very peculiar man in many ways. Raymond said meditatively. His methods of conducting his affairs were not always easily understood. The negotiations were then completed shortly thereafter? Yes, within a few days. I turned the amount required over to Mr. Mallow and Mr. Carlos, and accepted Mr. Lawton's note. I will show it to you if you care to see it. That will not be necessary, Mr. Moore, but I am going to make a request that may seem very strange to you. Should it be necessary, will you be willing to show that note to someone whom I may bring here to you, someone who may prefer not to see you personally, but merely to be permitted to examine the note in the presence of some responsible people of your own choosing? Certainly, Mr. Hamilton, I think I can safely promise that. But what does it mean? Is there anything wrong with Pennington Lawton's note? Not that I am aware of, Mr. Moore, Raymond answered, laughing rather shortly. I am unable to explain just now, but I think the name of Pennington Lawton carries with it a sufficient guarantee that the note will be honoured when it is presented. An hour later at the close of the busiest day he had experienced since his graduation from the law school, young Hamilton presented himself at Henry Blaine's office. The detective listened in silence to his story, and at its conclusion remarked quietly, You did well, Mr. Hamilton, I am going to call one of my operatives, and ask you to repeat to him in detail the location of that safe in Mallow's office, and the drawer which contains Mr. Lawton's letter from Long Bay. Anyone would think you meant to steal it, Mr. Blaine. Young Hamilton's laugh was now unrestrained. There couldn't possibly be anything wrong with the note or the entire transaction. Mr. Moore proved that when he told me how Mr. Mallow and Carlos called up Mr. Lawton in his presence on his private wire and discussed the negotiations. Are you sure that they did, Mr. Hamilton? The detective suddenly leaned forward across his desk, his body tense, his eyes alight with fervent animation. Are you sure Pennington Lawton ever received that message? He must have. According to Mr. Moore, the two men used Mr. Lawton's private wire, the number of which was known only to a few of his closest intimates, and which, of course, was not listed. But someone who knew that the telephone message was coming might readily have been in Lawton's office, seated at his desk, alone, and replied to it in the financier's name. Do you understand, Mr. Hamilton? The note may be a forgery, the letter may be a forgery, that we shall soon know. If it is, and the money so obtained from Moore has been converted to the use of the three Confederates, whom we suspect who have formed a conspiracy to ruin Miss Lawton, and her father's entire fortune may have been seized upon in virtually the same way. Henry Blaine rose and paced back and forth, as if almost oblivious to the other's presence. The mortgage of his was forged. We have proven that. He continued. Why, then, should not every other available security have been stolen in practically the same way? He continued. But how would anyone dare? The whole thing is too bare-faced! Raymond expostulated. A man like Mr. Moore could not have been opposed upon by a mere forgery. But if that note proves to be a forgery, Mr. Hamilton, and the letter as well, we shall have picked up a tangible clue at last. I think I am beginning to see daylight. Late that night, in the huge suite of offices of President Malo of the Street Railways, a very curious scene took place. The stolid watchman, who had been on uneventful duty there for twenty years, had made his rounds for the last time. With superb nonchalance he settled himself from his accustomed nap in his employer's chair. From the stillness and gloom of the semi-deserted office building, two stealthy figures descended swiftly upon him, their feet sinking noiselessly into the rich pile of the rugs. A short, silent struggle, a cloth saturated with chloroform, pressed heavily over his face, and the guardian of the premises lay inert. The shorter, more stocky of the two nocturnal visitors, without more ado, switched on a pocket electric light and made a hasty but thorough survey of the room. The taller one shrank back inadvertently from the drug-stilled body in the chair, then resolutely turned and knelt beside his companion before the safe. He dreaded to think of what discovery might mean. If he, Raymond Hamilton, were to be caught in the act of burglarizing, his career as a rising young lawyer would be at an end. The risk indeed was great, but he had promised Henry Blaine every aid in his power to help the girl he loved. After a minute examination, the operative proceeded to work upon the mass of Safe Door. With the cunning of a Jimmy Valentine, he manipulated the tumblers. Raymond Hamilton, his discomforture forgotten, watched with breathless interest, while the keen, sensitive fingers performed their task. Soon the great doors swung noiselessly back, and the manifold compartments within were revealed. The young lawyer pointed out the drawer from which he had seen President Mallow remove the letter that morning, and it, too, yielded quickly to the master touch of the expert. There on the very top of a pile of papers lay the written page they sought. He'll be all right. We haven't done for him, have we? Raymond Hamilton whispered anxiously, pointing to the watchman's unconscious form, as their mission accomplished they stole from the room. Sheriff Stagnino, he'll come to in a half an hour, none the worse. The operative responded. We have made a good, clean job of it. Henry Blaine could hardly suppress his elation when they laid the letter before him on their return to his office. It's a forgery, just as I suspected, he exclaimed, with supreme satisfaction. Look, Hamilton, I'll show you how it was done. It is incredible. I can scarcely believe it. I know Pennington Lawton's handwriting as well as I know my own, and I could swear that his fingers guided the pen. His writing was as distinctive as his character. It's that very fact, the detective returned, which would have made it easier to copy, but as it happens you are partially right. This was not a forgery in the ordinary sense. Those are Pennington Lawton's own words before you, in his own handwriting. Then how, the young lawyer inquired, in a bewildered tone, Henry Blaine smiled, you do not intend to specialize in criminal law, do you, Mr. Hamilton? He remarked whimsically, if you do, you will have to be up in the latest tricks of the trade. The man who forged this letter, the same man, by the way, forged the signature on that mortage, accomplished it like this. He took a bundle of Mr. Lawton's old letters, cut out the actual words he desired, and pasted them in their proper order on the letter paper. Then he photographed this composite, and electro-typed it, that is, transferred it to a copper plate, and etched it. Then he re-photographed it, and in this way got an actual photograph of a supposedly authentic communication. There is only one man in this country who is capable of such perfect work. I know who that man is, and where to find him. Then, if you can locate him before he skips, and make him talk, you will have won the victory, Raymond exclaimed jubilantly. But the detective shook his head. The time is not yet ripe for that. The man is, in my estimation, a mere tool in the hands of the men higher up. He may not be able to give us any actual proof against them, and our exposure of him will only tip them off. Put him on their guard. We need not show our hand just yet. Is the next move to be, then, the young lawyer asked. I don't mean, of course, that I wish to inquire into your methods of handling the case, but have you any further commissions for me? Only to accompany me tomorrow morning to the office of Charlton Moore and let me examine that note which Mr. Lawton presumably gave two years ago. Afterward I have four little amateur detectives of mine to interview. Then I think we'll be able to proceed straight to our goal. The note also, as Henry Blaine had predicted, proved to be a forgery, and to have been executed by the same hand as the letter. The detective betrayed to the unsuspecting banker no sign of his elation at the discovery, but following their interview he returned to his office and sent for the four young girls whom he had taken from the Anita Lawton Club and installed in the offices of the men he suspected. The first to respond was Margaret Hefferman, who had been sent as stenographer to Rockamore, the promoter. You followed my instructions, Miss Hefferman? Ask Blaine. You kept a list for me of Mr. Rockamore's visitors? Yes, sir. I have it here in my bag. I also brought carbon copies of two letters, which Rockamore dictated and which I thought might have some bearing on the matter in which you are interested, although I could not quite understand them myself. Let me see them, please. Blaine took the documents and list of names, scanning them quickly and sharply with a practiced eye. The names were those of the biggest men in the city, bankers, brokers, financiers, and promoters. Among them, that of President Malo and Timothy Carlis appeared frequently. At only one did Henry Blaine pause, at that of Mark Paddington. He had known the man as an employee of a somewhat shady private detective agency several years before, and had heard that he had later been connected in some capacity with the city police, but had never come into actual contact with him. What business could a detective of his caliber have to do with Bertrand Rockamore? The letters were short and cryptic in their meaning, and significant only when connected with those to whom they were addressed. The first was to Timothy Carlis. It read, Your communication received. We must proceed with the utmost care in this matter. Keep me advised of any further contingencies which may arise. P should know or be able to find out. The affair is to his interest as much as ours, B.R. The second was addressed to Paddington. Have learned from C. that your assistants are under espionage. What does it mean? Learn all particulars at once, and advise. R. You have done well, Miss Heffermin, said Blaine, as he looked up from the last of the letters. I will keep these carbon copies in the list. Let me know how often Mr. Malo and Timothy Carlis call, and try particularly to overhear as much as possible of the man Paddington's conversation when he appears. When the young stenographer had departed, Féphine de Sausset appeared. She was the governess who had been sent to the home of Dr. Franklin, ostensibly to care for his children, but in reality to find if possible what connection existed between Carlis, Malo, Rockamore, and himself. The young French woman's report was disappointingly lacking in any definite result, save one fact. The man Paddington had called twice upon the minister, remaining the second time closeted with him in his study for more than an hour. Later he had intercepted her when she was out with the children in the park, but she had eluded his attentions. I wish you hadn't done so. If he makes any further attempt to talk with you, mademoiselle de Sausset, encourage him. Draw him out. If he tries to question you about yourself, and where you came from, don't mention the Anita Lawton Club, but remember his questions carefully, and come and tell me. S'attali, monsieur, I shall remember. Chris Olson and Lorette Murfrey, the switchboard operator to Carlis and filing clerk to Malo, respectively, added practically the same information as had the two preceding girls. Mark Paddington, the detective, had been in frequent communication with each of their employers. When the young women had concluded their reports and gone, Blaine telephoned at once to Guy Morrow, his right-hand operative, and instructed him to watch for Paddington's appearance in the neighborhood of the little house in the Bronx, where they had located Brinnell, the one-time forger. CHAPTER VIII of the Crevice by William J. Burns and Isabel Ostrander, this LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Guy Morrow faces a problem.  Should he go on with his work? In the event that James Brinnell proved, indeed, to be guilty of the forgeries of which he was suspected by the mastermind, it would mean that he, Morrow, would have betrayed the father of the girl he felt himself beginning to care for.  His acquaintance with Emily Brinnell had progressed rapidly in the few days since his subterfuge had permitted him to speak to her. He had met her father and found himself liking the tall, silent man who went about the simple affairs of his life with such compelling dignity and courteous aloofness. Morrow had even invited him to his little shop and shown him with unsuspecting enthusiasm his process for making the maps which were sold to the public schools. Morrow had seen no evidence of anything wrong, either in the little shop or the home life of the father and daughter, nor had he observed Paddington, who was well known to him in the neighborhood. Even in these few mornings it had become a habit with him to watch for Emily and walk with her to her subway station, and as frequently as he dared he would await her arrival in the evening. After his last telephone conversation with Blaine he called upon the two in the little house across the way, determined to find out if possible if the man Paddington had come into their lives. He felt instinctively that James Brinnell would prove a difficult subject to cross-examine. The man seemed to be a complete master of himself and where he guilty could never be led into an admission unless some influence more powerful than force could be brought to bear upon him. But the girl, with her clear eyes and unsuspecting inexperienced mind, could easily be led to disclose whatever knowledge she possessed, particularly if her interests or affections were aroused. It seemed cowardly, in view of his newly awakened feelings toward her, but he had committed far more unscrupulous acts without a qualm in the course of his professional work. Brinnell was out when he called, but Emily led him into the little sitting-room and for a time they talked in a desultory fashion. Morrow, who had brought so many malfactors to justice by the winning snare of his personality, felt for once at a loss as to how to commence his questioning. But the girl herself, guilelessly, gave him a lead by beginning, quite of her own accord, to talk of her early life. It seemed so strange, she remarked confidingly, to have been so completely alone all of my life except for Daddy, of course. You have no brothers or sisters, Miss Brinnell? asked the detective. None, and I never knew my mother. She died when I was born. Morrow sighed, and involuntarily his hand reached forward in an expression of complete sympathy. Daddy has been mother and father to me, the girl went on impulsively. We have always lived in this neighborhood ever since I can remember, and of course we know everyone around here, but with my downtown position and father's work in the shop we've had no time to make real friends, and we haven't even cared to before. Before when, he asked with a kindly intonation, not at all in keeping with the purpose which had actuated him in seeking her friendship. Before you brought my kitten back to me. She paused, suddenly confused and shy, and then added hurriedly, We have so few guests, you know. Daddy somehow doesn't care for people, as a rule that is. I'm awfully glad that he has made an exception with you. But surely you have other friends. For instance, that young fellow I've noticed now and again when he called upon you. Morrow's thoughts had suddenly turned to that unknown visitor, toward whom he had taken such an unaccountable dislike. Young fellow? What young fellow? Emily Brinell's voice had changed slightly, and a reserved little note intruded itself, which reminded Morrow all at once of her father. I don't know who he is. I'm such a newcomer in the neighborhood, you know, but I happen to see him from my window across the way, a short, dapper-looking young chap with a small dark mustache. Oh, that man! Her lip curled disdainfully. That's Charlie Penald. He's no friend of mine. He just comes to see father, now and again on business. I don't bother to talk to him. I don't think Daddy likes him very much either. She caught her breath in sharply as she spoke, and looked away from Morrow and sudden reserve. He felt a quick start of suspicion, and searched her averted face with a keen, penetrating glance. If this Charlie Penald, whoever he might be, wished to see James Brinell on legitimate business, why did he not go to his shop openly and above board in the daytime? Could he be an emissary from someone whom the old forger had reason to evade? If he were, did Emily know for what purpose he came, and was she annoyed at her own error and involuntarily disclosing his name? He's a map-maker, too? Leap from Morrow's lips? He's interested in maps. He gives Daddy large orders for them, I believe. Emily spoke too hurriedly, and her tones lacked the ring of sincerity which was habitual with them. The trained ear of the detective instantly sensed the difference, and his heart sank. So she had lied to him deliberately, and her womanly instinct told her that he knew it. She began to talk confusedly of trivialities, and Morrow, seeing that it would be hopeless to attempt to draw her back to her unguarded mood, left her soon after, heart sick and ejected. Should he continue with his investigations or go to Henry Blaine and confess that he had failed him? Was this girl, charming and innocent as she appeared, worth the price of his career? This girl with the blood of criminals in her veins, who would stoop to lies and deceit to protect them? Yet had not he been seeking deliberately to betray her and those she loved under the guise of friendship, was he any better than she or her father? Then too another thought came to him. Might she not be the tool, consciously or unconsciously, of a nefarious plot? He felt that he could not rest until he had brought his investigations to a conclusion which would be satisfactory to himself, even if he decided in the end, for her sake, never to divulge to Henry Blaine the discoveries he might make. A few days later, however, Morrow received instructions from Blaine himself, which forced his hand. The time had come for him to use the skeleton key which he had had made. He must proceed that night to investigate the little shop of the mapmaker and look there for evidence which would incriminate him. The photographic and electrotyping apparatus. Early in the evening he heard Emily's soft voice as she called across the street, in pleasant greeting to Miss Quinlan, but he could not bring himself to go out upon the little porch and speak to her, although he did not doubt his welcome. He waited until all was dark and still, before he started upon his distasteful errand. It was very cold, and the streets were deserted. A fine, dry snow was falling, which obliterated his footprints almost as soon as he made them, and he reached the now familiar door of the little shop without meeting a soul abroad save a lonely policeman dozing in a doorway. He let himself into the shop with his key and flashed his pocket-lamp about. All appeared the same as in the daytime. The maps were rolled in neat cases or fastened upon the wall. The table, the press, the binder were each in their proper place. Morrow went carefully over every inch of the room and the curtained recess back of it, but could find no evidence such as he sought. At length, however, just before the little desk in the corner where James Brinnell kept his modest accounts, the detective's foot touched a metal ring in the floor. Looking back from it, he seized the ring and pulled it. A small square section of the flooring yielded, and the raising of the narrow trapdoor disclosed a worn, sanded stone stairway leading down into the cellar beneath. Blaine's operative listened carefully, but no sound came from the depths below him. So after a time, with his light carefully shielded, he assayed a gingerly descent. On the bottom step he paused. There was small need for him to go further. He had found what he sought. Emily Brinnell's father was a forger indeed. CHAPTER IX Guy Morrow after a sleepless night presented himself at Henry Blaine's office the next morning. The great detective, observing his young subordinate with shrewd kindly eyes, noted in one swift glance his changed demeanor, his pallor, and the new lines graven about the firm mouth which added strength and maturity to his face. If he guessed the reason for the metamorphosis, Blaine gave no sign but listened without comment until Morrow had completed his report. "'You obeyed my instructions,' he asked at length, when you discovered the forgery outfit in the cellar of Brinnell's shop, you left everything just as it had been, left no possible trace of your presence?' "'Yes, sir. There's not a sign left to show anyone had disturbed the place. I am sure of that.' "'Not a footprint in the earth of the cellar steps?' "'No, sir.' "'And the outfit, was there any evidence that had been used lately?' "'No. Everything was dust-covered, and even rusty, as if it had not been touched in months, perhaps years. The whole thing might have been merely a relic of Jimmy Brinnell's past performances, in the life he gave up long ago.  "'Rather too dangerous a relic to keep in one's possession, guy, simply as a souvenir, a reminder of things the man is trying to forget, to live down. You can depend on it. The outfit was there for some more practical purpose. You say Paddington has not appeared in the neighborhood, but another man has? A man Brinnell's daughter seems to dislike and fear?' "'Yes, sir. There's one significant fact about him, too. His name. He's Charlie Penald. It didn't occur to me for some time after Miss Brinnell let that slip, that the name is the same as that of the precious pair of old crooks over in Brooklyn, the one Sarracchi and I traced Brinnell by. "'Charlie Penald,' Blaine repeated thoughtfully, I hadn't thought of him. He's old Walter Penald's nephew. The boy was running straight the last I heard of him, but you never can tell. "'Guy, I'm going to take you off the Brinnell trail for a while, and put you on this man Paddington. I'll have Sarracchi look up Charlie Penald and get a line on him. In the meantime, leave your key to the map-making shop with me. I may want to have a look at that forgery outfit myself. You're going to take me off the Brinnell trail?' Moro's astonishment and obvious distaste for the change of program confronting him was all revealing. But I'll have to go back and make some sort of explanation for leaving Sarracchi abruptly, won't I? Will it pay to arouse their suspicions? That is, sir, unless you've got some special reason for doing so?' Blaine's slow smile was very kindly and sympathetic, as he eyed the anxious young man before him. "'No, you will go back, of course, and explain that you have obtained a clerkship which necessitates your moving downtown. Make your peace with Miss Brinnell, if you like. But remember, Guy, don't mix sentiment and business. It won't do. I may have to put you back on the job there in a few days, and I know I can depend on you not to lose your head. She's a young girl and a pretty one. But don't forget, she's the daughter of Jimmy Brinnell, the man we're trying to get. And Lawton had a daughter, too. Remember that. And she's been defrauded of everything in the world, but her lover, and her faith and her father's memory. His voice had gradually grown deeper and more stern, and he added, in brisk business-like tones, far removed from the personal element, "'Now get back to the Bronx. Come to me to-morrow morning, and I'll have the data in the Paddington matter ready for you.' The young detective had scarcely taken his departure when Raymond Hamilton appeared. He was in some excitement and glanced nervously behind him as he entered, as if almost in fear of possible pursuit. Mr. Blaine, he began, "'I'm confident that we're suspected. Here's a note that came to me from President Mallow this morning. He asked if I inadvertently carried away with me that letter of Paddington Lawton's written from Long Bay two years ago, in which I had shown such an interest during our interview the other day. He has been unable to find it since my departure. That's a rather broad hint, it seems to me.' "'I should not consider it as such,' the detective responded. Guilty conscience, Mr. Hamilton.' "'That's not all,' the young lawyer went on. He says that a curious burglary was committed at his offices the night after my interview with him. His watchman was chloroformed, and the safe in his private office opened and rifled. Yet nothing was taken, with the possible exception of that letter. Mallow asked me openly if I knew of an ulterior motive which anyone might have possessed in acquiring it, and even remarks that he is thinking of putting you, Mr. Blaine, on the mysterious attempt at robbery. That would be a joke, wouldn't it, if it wasn't really, in my estimation at least, a covert threat? Why should he, Mallow, take me into his confidence about an affair which took place in his private office? He did not make the excuse of pretending to retain me as his attorney. I think he was merely warning me that he was suspicious of me.' "'Probably a coincidence,' Blaine observed easily. I wonder if you'll think so, when I tell you that twice since yesterday my life has been attempted.' Raymond spoke quietly enough, but there was a slight trembling in his tones. "'What?' Blaine started forward in his chair, then sank back with an incredulous smile, which none but he could have known was forced. "'Surely, you imagine it, Mr. Hamilton, since your automobile accident, when you were run down and so nearly killed, on the evening you sent for me to undertake Miss Lawton's case, you may well be nervous.' As he spoke he glanced at the other's broken arm, which was still swathed in bandages. But these were no accidents, Mr. Blaine, and I have always doubted that the first one was, as you know. Yesterday afternoon a new client's case called me down to the sixth ward at four o'clock. In order to reach my client's address it was necessary to pass through the street in which that shooting affray occurred, which filled the papers last evening. Two men darted out of a house, shot presumably at each other, then turned and ran in opposite directions without waiting to see if either of the shots took effect. You know that isn't usual with members of rival gangs down there. Remember too, Mr. Blaine, that it was prearranged for me to walk alone through the street at just that psychological moment. It seemed to me that neither man shot at the other, but both fired point-blank at me. I dismissed the idea from my mind as absurd, the next minute, and would have thought no more about it, beyond congratulating myself on my fortunate escape, had not the second attempt been made. The sixth ward, Blaine remarked meditatively, that's Timothy Carlos's stamping ground, of course, but go on, Mr. Hamilton, what was the second incident? Late last night I had a telephone message from my club that my best friend, Gordon Brook, had been taken suddenly ill with a serious attack of heart trouble, and wanted me. Brook has heart disease, and he might go off with it any time, so I posted over immediately. The club is only a few blocks from my home, so I didn't wait to call my machine or a taxi, but started over. Just a little away from the club, three men sprang upon me and attempted to hold me up. I fought them off, and when they came at me again, three to one, the idea flashed upon me, that this was a fresh attempt to assassinate me. I shouted for help, and then ran. When I reached the club, I found Brook there, sitting in a poker game, and quite as well as usual. No telephone message had been sent to me from him. I tried this morning, before I came to you, to have the number traced, but without success. Do you blame me now, Mr. Blaine, for believing, after these three manifestations, that my life is in actual danger? I do not. The detective touched an electric button on his desk. I think it will be advisable for you to have a guard, for the next few days, at least. A guard? Raymond repeated indignantly.  Any man would be disturbed, to put it mildly, over the conviction that his life was threatened every hour, but it was of her I was thinking, of Anita. I could not bear to think of leaving her alone to face the world, penniless and hedged in on all sides by enemies. But I want no guard. I can take care of myself, as well as the next man. Look at the perils and dangers you have faced in your unceasing warfare against malefactors of every grade. It is common knowledge, that you have invariably refused to be guarded. The years during which I have been constantly face-to-face with sudden death have made me disregard the possibility of it. But I shall not insist in your case, Mr. Hamilton, if you do not wish it, and allow me to tell you that I admire your spirit. However, I should like to have you leave town for a few days, if your clients can spare you. Leave town? Run away? Raymond started indignantly from his chair, but Blaine waved him back with a fatherly hand. Not at all, on a commission for me, in Miss Lawton's interest. Mr. Hamilton, you have known the Lawtons for several years, have you not? Ever since I can remember, the young lawyer said with renewed eagerness. Two years ago, in August, Pennington Lawton and his daughter were at the Breakers, at Long Bay, were they not? Yes, Anita and I were engaged then, and I ran out myself for the weekend. I want you to run out there for me now. The hotel will be closed at this time of year, of course, but a letter which I will give you to the proprietor, who lives close at hand, will enable you to look over the register for an hour or two in private. Turn to the arrivals for August of that year, and trace the names and home addresses on each page, then bring it back to me. Is it something in connection with that forged letter to Malo? Asked Raymond quickly. Perhaps, the detective admitted. He shrugged and then added leniently. I think, before proceeding any further with that branch of the investigation, it would be well to know who obtained the note paper with the hotel letterhead, and if the paper itself was genuine. Bring me back some of the hotel stationery, also, that I may compare it with that used for the letter. A discreet knock upon the door heralded the coming of an operative, in response to Blaine's touch upon the bell. There has been a slight disturbance in the outer office, sir, he announced. A man who appears to be demented insists upon seeing you. He isn't one of the ordinary cranks, or we would have dealt with him ourselves. He says that if you will read this, you will be glad to ascend to an interview with him. He presented a card, which Blaine read with every manifestation of surprised interest. Tell him I will see him in five minutes, he said. When the operative had withdrawn, the detective turned to Raymond. Who do you think is waiting outside? The man who threatened Pennington Lawton's life ten years ago, the man whose name was mentioned by the unknown visitor to the library on the night Lawton met his death, Herbert Armstrong. Good heavens! Raymond exclaimed. What brings him here now? I thought he had disappeared utterly. Do you think it could have been he in the library that night, come to take revenge for that fancy drawing at last? That is what I'm going to find out, the detective responded, with a touch of grimness in his tones. But you don't mean it isn't possible that Mr. Lawton was murdered, that he didn't die of heart disease after all? I traced Armstrong to the town where he was living in obscurity, and followed his movements. Blaine's reply seemed to be purposely irrelevant. I could not, however, find where he had been on the night of Mr. Lawton's death. Now that he has come to me voluntarily, we shall discover if the voice Miss Lawton overheard in that moment when she listened on the stairs was his or not. Come back this afternoon, Mr. Hamilton, and I will give you full information and instructions about that long-bay errand. In the meantime, guard yourself well from a possible attack. Though I do not think another attempt upon your life will be made so soon. Take this, and if you have need of it, do not hesitate to use it. We can afford no half-measures now. Shoot and shoot to kill. He opened a lower drawer in his massive desk, and drawing from it a business-like-looking revolver of large caliber presented it to the lawyer. With a warm hand-clasp he dismissed him, and going to the telephone called up Anita Lawton's home. I want you to attend carefully, Miss Lawton. I am speaking from my office. A man will be here with me in a few minutes, and I shall see him close to the transmitter of my phone, leaving the receiver off the hook. Please listen carefully to his voice. I only wish you to hear a phrase or two when I will hang up the receiver and call you up later. Try to concentrate with all your powers, and tell me afterward if you have ever heard that voice until now. If it is the voice of the man you did not see, who was in the library with your father just before he died.  I will listen carefully, Mr. Blaine, and do my best to tell you the truth. The detective pulled a large leather chair close to the telephone, and Herbert Armstrong was ushered in. The man was pitiful in appearance, but scarcely demented as the operative had described him. He was tall and shabbily clothed, gaunt almost to the point of emaciation, but with no sign of dissipation. His eyes, though sunken, were clear, and they gazed levelly with those of the detective. Come in, Mr. Armstrong. Blaine waved genially toward the arm-chair. What can I do for you? The man did not offer to shake hands, but sank wearily into the chair assigned him. Do you can stop hounding me, Henry Blaine, you and Pennington Lawton brought my tragedy upon me as surely as I brought it upon myself, and now you will not leave me alone with my grief and ruin to drag my miserable life out to the end.  The man's voice had run its gamut in the emotion which consumed him. From a menacing growl of protest it had risen to a shrill wail of weakness and despair. Henry Blaine was satisfied. Excuse me, Mr. Armstrong, he said gently, the receiver is off my telephone here at your elbow. It would be unfortunate if we were overheard, if you will allow me. But he got no further. Quick as he was, the other man was quicker. He sprang up furiously and dashed the telephone off the desk. Is this another one of your damned tricks? He shouted, if it is, whoever was listening may hear the rest. You and Pennington Lawton between you drove my wife to suicide, but you'll not drive me there. I'm ruined and broken and hopeless, but I'll live on. Live till I'm even, do you hear? Live till I'm square with the game." His violence died out as swiftly as it had arisen, and he sank down into the chair, his face buried in his bony hands, his thin shoulders shaken with sobs. Blaine quietly replaced the telephone and receiver and seated himself. Come, man, pull yourself together, he said not unkindly. I'm not hounding you. Blaine never harmed you, and now he is dead. He was my client, and I was bound to protect his interests. But as man to man, the fault was yours and you know it. I tried to keep you from making a fool of yourself and wrecking three lives, but I only succeeded in saving one. But your men are hounding me, following me, shadowing me. I have come to find out why. And I would like to find out where you were on a certain night last month, the ninth, to be exact, responded Blaine quietly. What a fair of it is yours! The other man asked wearily, adding, How should I know, now? One night is like another to me. If you hate Pennington Lawton's memory as you seem to, the ninth of November should stand out in your thoughts in letters of fire. The detective went on, in a quiet, even tone. That was the night on which Lawton died. Lawton? Herbert Armstrong raised his haggard face. The meaning of Blaine's remark utterly failed to pierce his consciousness. The day doesn't mean anything to me, but I remember the night, if that's what you want to know about. Although I'm hanged if I can see what it's got to do with me, I'll never forget that night, because of the news which reached me in the morning, that my worst enemy on earth had passed away. Were you in Illington the evening before? Asked Blaine. I was not. I was in New Harbor, where I live, playing pinocchio all night long with two other down-and-outs like myself, in a cheap hall bedroom. I, Herbert Armstrong, who used to play for thousands a game, in the best clubs in Illington, and I never knew that the man who had brought me to that pass was gasping his life away. Think of it, we played until dawn, when the extras, cried in the street below, gave us the news. If you will give me the address of this boarding-house you mentioned, and the names of your two friends, I can promise that you will be under no further espionage, Mr. Armstrong. I don't care whether you know it or not, if that's all you want." The gauntman shrugged wearily. I'm tired of being hounded, and I'm too weak and too tired to oppose you, even if it did matter. He gave the required names and addresses, and slouched away, his animosity gone, and only a dull, miserable lethargy sagging upon his worn body. When the outer door of the offices had closed upon him, Henry Blaine again called up Anita Lawton. This time her voice came to him, sharpened, by acute distress. I did not recognize the tones of the person's voice, Mr. Blaine, only I am quite, quite sure that he was not the man in the library with my father, the night of his death, but, oh, what did he mean by the terrible things he said? It could not be that my father brought ruin and tragedy upon any one. Much less drove them to suicide. Won't you tell me, Mr. Blaine? Raymond won't, although I am convinced he knows all about it. I must know. You shall, Miss Lawton. I think the time has come when you should no longer be left in the dark. I will tell Mr. Hamilton when he comes to me this afternoon, for the interview we have arranged, that you must know the whole story. But Raymond Hamilton failed to appear for the promised interview. Henry Blaine called up his office and his home, but was unable to locate him. And Miss Lawton began making anxious inquiries. And finally the mother of the young lawyer appealed to the detective, but in vain. Late that night the truth was established beyond per adventure of a doubt. Raymond Hamilton had disappeared, as if the earth had opened and engulfed him. End of chapter 9 Chapter 10 of The Crevice by William J. Burns and Isabelle Ostrander. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Margaret Hefferman's Failure The disappearance of Raymond Hamilton, coming so soon after the sudden death of his prospective father-in-law, caused a profound sensation. In the small hours of the night, before the press had been apprised of the event, and when every probable or possible place where the young lawyer might be had been communicated with in vain, Henry Blaine set the perfect machinery of his forces at work to trace him. It was dawn before he could spare a precious moment to go to Anita Lawton. On his arrival he found her pacing the floor, wringing her slim hands in anguish. He is dead.  I shall never see him again. I feel it. I know it. My dear child! Blaine put his arms about her shoulders in fatherly compassion. You must pull all such morbid fancies from your mind. He is not dead, and we shall find him. It may all be a mistake. Some important matter concerning a client made it necessary for him to leave the city overnight.  No, Mr. Blaine, you know as well as I, that Raymond is just starting in his profession. He has no clients of any prominence, and my father's influence was really all that his rising reputation was being built upon.  If he had met with any accident his identity would have been discovered, and we would be notified, unless, as in the case when he was run down by that motor-car, he did not wish them to let you know for fear of worrying you. Blaine watched the young girl narrowly as he spoke. Was she aware of the two additional attempts only the day before, on the life of the man she loved? He merely followed a dear, unselfish impulse, because he knew that in a few hours at most he would be with me. But now it is morning, the dawn of a new day, and no word from him. Those terrible people who tried to kill him that other time to keep him from coming to me in my trouble have made away with him. I am sure of it now. The detective breathed more freely, evidently Raymond Hamilton had had the good sense to keep from her his recent danger. You can be sure of nothing, Miss Lawton. Save the fact that Mr. Hamilton is not dead, Henry Blaine said earnestly. You do realize, perhaps, the one salient fact that criminal experts who deal with cases of disappearance have long since recognized. The most difficult of all things to conceal or do away with in a large city is a dead body. Anita shivered and clasped her hands convulsively, but she did not speak, and after a scarcely perceptible pause the detective went on. You must not let your mind dwell on the possibilities. It will only entail useless, needless suffering on your part. My experiences have been many and varied in just such cases as this, and in not one in fifty does serious harm come to the subject of the investigation. In fact, in this instance, I think it quite probable that Mr. Hamilton has left the city of his own accord and in your interests. In my interests, Anita repeated, roused from her lethargy of sorrow by his words, as he had intended that she should be. Left the city? But why? When he called upon me yesterday morning I told him of a commission which I wished him to execute for me, in connection with your investigation. I gave him some preliminary instructions, and he was to return to me in the afternoon for a letter of introduction, and to learn some minor details of the matter involved. He did not appear at the hour of our appointment, and I concluded that he had taken the affair into his own hands, and had gone immediately upon leaving my office to fulfill his mission. Oh! Perhaps he did! The young girl started from her chair, her dull, tearless eyes suddenly bright with hope. That would be like Raymond. He is so impulsive, so anxious to help me in every way. Where did you send him, Mr. Blaine? Can't we telephone, or wire, and find out if he really has gone to this place? Please! Please do! I cannot endure this agony of uncertainty, of suspense, much longer. Unfortunately we cannot do that, Blaine responded gravely, to attempt to communicate with him, where I have sent him, would be to show our hand irretrievably to the men we are fighting, and undo much of the work which has been accomplished. He may communicate with you, or possibly with me, if he finds that he can contrive to accomplish it safely. Then if he has gone to this place, wherever it is, is he in danger? Anita faltered tremblingly, by no means the only danger is that his identity and purpose may be disclosed, and our plan is jeopardized, the detective reassured her smoothly. I know it is hard to wait for news, but one must school oneself to patients under circumstances such as this. It may be several days before you hear from Mr. Hamilton, and you must try not to distress yourself with idle fears in the meantime. But it is not certain. We have no assurance that he really did go upon that mission. The light of hope died in her eyes as she spoke, and a little sob rose in her throat. Oh, Mr. Blaine, promise me that you will leave no stone unturned to find him. My dear child, you must trust in me, and have faith in my long years of experience. I have already, as a precautionary measure, started a thorough investigation into Mr. Hamilton's movements yesterday, and in the event that he has not gone on the errand, I spoke of, it can only be a question of hours before he will be located. You did not see him yesterday? No. He promised to lunch with me, but he never came, nor did he telephone or send me any word. Surely, if he had meant to leave town, he would have let me know. Not necessarily, Miss Lawton. Blaine's voice deepened persuasively. He was very much excited when he left my office. Interested heart and soul in the mission I had entrusted to him, remember, too, that it was all for you, for your sake alone. And I may not know where he has gone, a need to ask wistfully. I think, perhaps, that is why Mr. Hamilton did not communicate with you before leaving town. The detective replied significantly. He agreed with me that it would be best for you not to know, in your own interest, where he was going. You must try to believe that I am doing all in my power to help you, and that my judgment is, in such matters, better than yours. I do, Mr. Blaine. Indeed, I do trust you absolutely. You must believe that. She reached out an impulsive hand toward him, and his own closed over it paternally for a moment. Then he gently released it. Anita sighed, and sank back resignedly in her chair. There was a moment's pause before she added. It is hard to be quiescent when one is so hedged in on all sides by falsehood and deceit, and the very air breathes conspiracy and intrigue. I have no tangible reason to fear for my own life, of course, but sometimes I cannot help wondering why it has not been imperiled. Surely it would be easier for my father's enemies to do away with me altogether than to have conceived and carried out such an elaborate scheme to rob me and defame my father's memory. But I will try not to entertain such thoughts. I am nervous and overwrought, but I will regain my self-control. In the meantime I shall do my best to be patient and wait for Raymond's return. Henry Blaine felt a glow of pardonable elation, but his usually expressive face did not betray by a single flicker of an eyelash that he had gained his point. He knew that Raymond Hamilton had never started on that mission to Long Bay, but if the young girl's health and reason were to be spared, her anxiety must be allayed. Courageous and self-controlled, as she had been through all the grief and added trouble which besieged her on every hand, the keen insight of the detective warned him that she was nearing the breaking point. If she fully realized the blow which threatened her in the sudden disappearance of her lover, together with the sinister events which had immediately preceded it, she would be crushed to the earth. You must try to rest. Blaine rose in motion toward the window through which the cold rays of the wintry sun were stealing and putting the orange glow of the electric lights to shame. See, it is morning, and you have had no sleep. But you must not go just yet, Mr. Blaine. I cannot rest until I know who that man was, whose voice I heard over your telephone this morning. What did he mean? He said that his wife committed suicide, that he himself had been ruined, and all through my father and you. It cannot be true, of course, but I must know to what he referred. I will tell you. It is best that you should know the truth. Your father was absolutely innocent in the matter, but his enemies and yours might find it expedient to spread fake reports which would only add to your sorrow. You know you must remember since your earliest childhood how everyone came to your father with their perplexities and troubles, and how benevolently they were received, how wisely advised, how generously aided. Not only bankers and financiers in the throes of a panic, but men and women in all walks of life came to him for counsel and relief. I know, I know! Linda whispered with bowed head the quick tears of tender memory starting in her eyes. Such a one who came to him for advice in her distress was the wife of Herbert Armstrong. She was a good woman, but through sheer ignorance of evil she had committed a slight indiscretion. Nothing more than the best of women might be led into at any time. We need not go into details. It is enough to tell you that certain unscrupulous persons had her in their power and were blackmailing her. She fell their victim through the terror of being misunderstood, and when she could no longer accede to their demands, she came to your father, her husband's friend, for advice. Herbert Armstrong was insanely jealous of his wife, and in your father's efforts to help her he unfortunately incurred the unjust suspicions of the man. Armstrong brought suit for divorce, intending to name Mr. Lawton as correspondent. Oh! How could he? Anita cried indignantly. The man must have been mad. My father was the soul of honour. The whole world knows that. Besides, his heart was buried.  He never even looked at another woman, safe perhaps in kindness, to help and comfort those who were in trouble. But when did you come into the case, Mr. Blaine? That man whose voice I heard today must have been Herbert Armstrong himself, of course. Why did he say that you, as well as my father, were responsible for his tragedy? Because Mr. Lawton became aware of Armstrong's ungovernable jealousy and the terrible length to which he meant to go in his effort to revenge himself, he, your father, came to me to establish Mrs. Armstrong's innocence and his in the eyes of the world. Armstrong's case, although totally wrong from every standpoint, was a very strong one. But fortunately I was able to verify the truth and was fully prepared to prove it. Just on the eve of the date set for the trial, however, a tragedy occurred which brought the affair to an abrupt and pathetic end. A tragedy? Mrs. Armstrong's suicide, you mean? Asked Anita in hushed tones. How awful! She was deeply in love with her husband, his unjust accusations and the public shame he was so undeservedly bringing upon her broke her heart. I assured her that she would be vindicated, that Armstrong would be on his knees to her at the trial's end. Your father tried to infuse her with courage, to gird her for the coming struggle, to defend her own good name. But it was all of no use. She was too broken in spirit. Life held nothing more for her. On the night before the case was to have been called, she shot herself. Poor thing, Anita murmured, with a sob running through her soft voice. Poor, persecuted woman! Why did she not wait, knowing her own innocence and loving her husband as she did? She could have forgiven him for his cruel suspicion, when it was all over. But surely Herbert Armstrong knows the truth now. How can he blame you and my father for the wreck which he made of his own life? Because his mind has become unhinged. He was always excitable and erratic, and his weeks of jealous wrath, culminating in the shock of the sudden tragedy, and the realization that he had brought it all on himself, were too much for him. He was a broker and one of the most prominent financiers in the city. But with the divorce fiasco and the death of Mrs. Armstrong, he began to brood. He shunned the friends who were left to him, neglected his business, and ultimately failed. Sinking lower and lower in the scale of things, he finally disappeared from Illington. You can understand now why I thought it best when you told me of the conversation you had overheard in the library here a few hours before your father's death, and of the mention of Herbert Armstrong's name, to trace him, and find out if it was he who had come in the heart of the night and attempted to blackmail Mr. Lawton. I understand. That was why you wanted me to hear his voice yesterday, and see if I recognized it. But it was not at all, like that of the man in the library on the night of my father's death. And do you know, Mr. Blaine, she leaned forward and spoke in still lower tones, when I recall that voice. It seems to me sometimes, that I have heard it before, there was a certain timbre in it, which was oddly familiar. It is as if someone I knew had spoken, but in tones disguised by rage and passion, I shall recognize that voice when I hear it again, if it holds that same note. And when I do, Blaine darted a swift glance at her from under narrowed brows. But why attribute so much importance to it? He asked. To be sure, it may have some bearing upon our investigation, although at present I can see no connecting link. You feel, perhaps, that the violent emotion super-induced by that secret interview added to your father's heart trouble, indirectly caused his death? Anita, again, sank back in her chair. I don't know, Mr. Blaine. I cannot explain it even to myself. But I feel instinctively that that interview was of greater significance than anyone has considered as yet. That we must leave to the future. The detective took her hand, and this time Anita rose and walked slowly with him toward the door. There are matters of greater moment to be investigated now. Remember my advice. Try to be patient. Yours is the hardest task of all, to sit idly by and wait for events to shape themselves, or for me to shape them. But it must be. If you can calm your nerves and obtain a few hours sleep, you will feel your own brave self again when I report to you, as I shall do later today. Despite his night of ceaseless work, Henry Blaine, clear-eyed and alert of brain, was seated at his desk at the stroke of nine when Srirachi was ushered in. The young detective who had trailed Walter Penult from Brooklyn to the quiet backwater where Jimmy Brunel had sought in vain for dissociation from his past shadowy environment. It has become necessary, through an incident which occurred yesterday, for me to change my plans, Blaine announced. I had intended to put you on the trail of a young crook, a relative of Penult, but I find I must send you instead to Long Bay to look up a hotel register for me and obtain some writing paper with the engraved letterhead from that hotel. You can get a train in an hour, if you look sharp. Try to get back to night or tomorrow morning at the latest.  Here are your instructions. Twenty minutes' low-voiced conversation ensued, and Srirachi took his departure. He was followed almost immediately by Guy Morrow. What is the dope, sir? The latter asked eagerly as he entered. There's an extra out about the Hamilton disappearance. Do you think Paddington's had a hand in that? I want you to tail him, Blaine replied, noncommittally. Find out anything you can of his movements for the past few weeks, but don't lose sight of him for a minute until tomorrow morning. He's supposed to be working up the evidence now for the Snedeker divorce, so it won't be difficult for you to locate him. You know what he looks like. Yes, sir. I know the man himself. If you call such a little rat a man, we had her run in once, and it isn't likely I'd forget him. Then be careful to keep out of his sight. He may be a rat, but he's as keen-eyed as a ferret. I'd rather put someone on him whom he didn't know, but we'll have to chance it. I wouldn't trust this to anyone but you, Guy. The young operative flushed with pride at this tribute from his chief, and after a few more instructions he went upon his way with alacrity. Once more alone Henry Blaine sat for a long time lost in thought. An idea had come to him, engendered by a few vague words uttered by Anita Lawton in the early hours of that morning, an idea so startling, so tremendous in its import that even he scarcely dared give it credence. To put it to the test, to prove or disprove it, would be irretrievably to show his hand in the game, and that would be suicidal to his investigation should his swift suspicion chance to be groundless. The sharp ring of the telephone put an end to his cogitations. He put the receiver to his ear with a preoccupied frown, but at the first words which came to him over the wire his expression changed to one of keenest concentration. Am I speaking to the gentleman who talked with me at the working girl's club? A clear fresh young voice asked. This is Margaret Teferman, Mr. Rockamore's stenographer, that is, I was, until ten minutes ago, but I have been discharged. Discharged! Blaine's voice was eager and crisp as he reiterated her last word. On what pretext? It was not exactly a pretext, the girl replied. The office boy accused me of taking shorthand notes of a private conversation between my employer and a visitor, and I could not convince Mr. Rockamore of my innocence. I must have been clumsy, I'm afraid. You have the notes with you? Yes. The visitor's name was Paddington? Yes, sir. Blaine considered for a moment. Then his decision made he spoke rapidly in a clear undertone. You know the department store of Mead and Rathbun? Meet me there in the ladies' writing room in half an hour. Where are you now? In a booth, in the drugstore, just around the corner from the building, where Mr. Rockamore's offices are located. Very good. Take as round about a route as you can to reach Mead and Rathbuns, and see if you are followed.  Oh, I don't think I've been followed, but I'll be very careful. If everything is all right, I will meet you at the place you named in half an hour. Goodbye. Henry Blaine paced the floor for a time in undisguised perturbation. His move in placing inexperienced girls from Anita Lawton's club in responsible positions, instead of using his own trained operatives, had been based not upon impulse, but on mature reflection. The girls were unknown, whereas his operatives would assuredly have been recognized sooner or later, especially in the offices of Carlos and Rockamore. Moreover, the ruse adopted to obtain positions for Miss Lawton's protégés had appeared on the surface to be a flawlessly legitimate one. He had counted upon their loyalty and zeal to outweigh their possible incompetence and lack of discretion, but the stolid German girl had apparently been so clumsy at her task as to bring failure upon his plan. So much for amateurs, he murmured to himself disgustedly. The other three will be discharged as soon as excuses for their dismissal can be manufactured now. My only hope from any of them is that French governess, if she will only land Paddington, I don't care what suspicions the other three arouse. Margaret Hefferman's placid face was a little pale when she greeted him in the ladies' room of the department store a short time later. "'I'm so sorry, Mr. Blaine,' she exclaimed, but in carefully lowered tones. "'I could have cut my right hand off before I would hurt Miss Lawton, after all she has done for me, and already the first thing she asks I must fail to do. You are sure you were not followed?' asked the detective, disregarding her lamentations with purposeful breastness, for the tears stood in her soft bovine eyes, and he feared an emotional outburst which would draw down upon them the attention of the whole room. "'Oh, no, I made sure of that. I wrote uptown and halfway down again to be certain, and then changed to the east side line.' Very well. He drew her to a secluded window-seat where, themselves almost unseen, they could obtain an unobstructed view of the entrance door and of their immediate neighbors. "'Now, tell me all about it, Miss Hefferman.' "'It was that office-boy, Billy.  Oh, vase he is yawning and sleepy. Who would think he was a spy?' Her tone was filled with such contempt that involuntarily the detective's mobile lips twitched. The girl had evidently quite lost sight of the fact that she herself had occupied the very position in the pseudo-employee of Bertrand Rockamore which she derided in his office-boy. He did not attempt to guide her in her narrative of the morning's events, observing that she was too much agitated to give him a coherent account. Instead, he waited patiently for her to vent her indignation and tell him in her own way the substance of what had occurred. I had no thought of being vouched, else I should have been more careful." She went on resentfully. This morning only he was late, that Billy, and I did not report him. I was busy, too. I was busy, too, for there was much more correspondence than usual to attend to, and Mr. Rockamore was irritable and short-tempered. In the midst of his dictation Mr. Paddington came, and I was bundled out of the room with the letters and my short handbook. They talked together behind the closed door for several minutes, and I had no opportunity to hear a word, but presently Mr. Rockamore called Billy and sent him out on an errand. Billy left the door of the inner office open just a little, and that was my chance. I seated myself at a desk close beside it and took down in shorthand every word which reached my ears. I was so much occupied with the notes that I did not hear Billy's footsteps until he stopped just behind me and whistled, righted my ear. I jumped, and he laughed at me and vent into Mr. Rockamore. Then he came out, he shut the door tight behind him, and grinned as if he knew just what I had been up to. I did not dare open the door again, and so I heard no more of the conversation, but I have enough, Mr. Blaine, to interest you, I think. She fumbled with her bag, but the detective laid a detaining hand on her arm.  What happened after the interview was over? That boy Billy went to Mr. Rockamore and told him, after already I have said he was irritable this morning, he had seemed nervous and excited, as if he were angry or worried about something. But when he sent for me to discharge me, he was quite hot with rage. Never have I been so insulted or abused, but that would be nothing if only I had not failed Miss Lawton. For her sake I tried to lie, to deny, but it was of no use. My people fare good looslings, but that does not help one in a business career. It is much more a nuisance. He could read in my face that I was guilty, and he demanded my shorthand book. I had to give it to him, there was nothing else to be done. But I understood that you had the notes with you, Blaine commented, then paused as a faint smile broke over her face, and a demure dimple appeared in either cheek. I gave him a notebook. She explained naively. He was quite pleased, I think, to get possession of it. No one can read my shorthand but me anyway, so one book did him as much good as another. He tried to make me tell him why I had done that. Why I had taken down the words of a private conference of his video visitor. I could not think what I should say, so I kept silent. For an hour he bullied and questioned me. But he could find out nothing, and so at last he let me go. If now I could get my hands on that billy. Never mind him, Blaine interrupted. Rockamore didn't threaten you, did he? He said he would fix it so that I obtained no more positions in Ellington. The girl responded sullenly. He will tell Miss Lawton that I am deceitful and treacherous, and that I should no longer be welcome at the club.  Miss Lawton will understand. Shall I not read the notes to you? I have had no opportunity to transcribe them, and indeed they are safer as they are. Yes, read them by all means, Miss Hefferman. If you have nothing more to tell me, I do not think we are being overheard by anyone, but remember to keep your voice lowered. I will, Mr. Blaine. The girl produced the notebook from her bag, and swept a practice eye down its cryptic pages. Here it is. These are the first words I heard through the open door. They were spoken by Mr. Rockamore, and the other Paddington replied, this is what I heard.  Oh, don't you, Rockamore, want me to explain? I'll go into details, if you like. I'm hanged if I'm interested. My share in our little business deal with you was concluded some time ago. There's an end of that.  You can't put anything over on us. I'm not trying to. The deal you spoke of is over and done with, and I guess nobody will squeal. We're all tired with the same brush, but this is something quite different. We've are pretty good pals, Rockamore. So naturally, when I heard something about you, which might take a lot of explaining to smooth over, if it got about, I kept my mouth shut. I think a good turn deserves another, at least among friends, and when I got in a hole, I remembered what I did for you, and I thought you'd be glad of a chance to give me a leg up. In other words, you come here with a vague threat and try to blackmail me. That's it, isn't it? Blackmail is not a very pleasant term, Rockamore, and yet it is something which even you might attempt. Get me. Of course the others would be glad to help me out, but I thought I'd come to you first, since I, well, I know you better. How much do you want? Only 10,000. I've got a tip on the market, and if I can raise the coin before the stock sores and buy on margin, I'll make a nice little coup. Want to come in on it, Rockamore? Go to the devil. Here's your check. You can get it certified at the bank.  Stick to the small pride, Paddington. There you are, game. But don't fish for salmon, Vite Troutfly. Thanks, old man. I always knew I could call on you in an emergency. I only hope my tip is a straight one, and I don't go short on the market. If I do, don't come to me.  That's the last cent you'll ever get out of me. It suits me now to pay for your silence, because as you very well know, I don't care to inform my colleagues or have them informed that I acted independently of them, but I've paid all that your knowledge is worth and more. It might have been worth more even to others than to you or your colleagues, for instance. Then a billy came up behind me and whistled, concluded Miss Hefferman. As she closed her notebook, shall I transcribe this for you, Mr. Blaine? We have a tight pressure at the club. No, I will take the notebook with me, as it is, and lock it in my safe at the office. Please hold yourself in readiness to come down and transcribe it whenever it may be necessary for me to send for you. You have done splendidly, Miss Hefferman. You must not feel badly over having been discovered and dismissed. You have rendered Miss Law in a valuable service, for which she will be the first to thank you. Telephone me if any one attempts to approach you about this affair, or if anything unusual should occur. Scarcely an hour later, when Henry Blaine placed the receiver at his ear in response to the insistent summons of the phone, her voice came to him again over the wire. Mr. Blaine, I'm at the club, but I thought you should know that after all I was, what is it you say shadowed this morning? Just a little way from me in Rathbund's, my handbag was cut from my arm. It was lucky, Hain, that you took the notebook with you. As for me, I go no more for any positions. I go back, soon as ever I can, by Germany.