The Million Dollar Mystery Part 14

Nor did she.

"There will be no next time," gravely. "But I am going to ask you a direct question. Is my father alive?"

The butler's brow puckered. "I have promised to say nothing, one way or the other."

She laughed.

"Why do you laugh?"

"I laugh because if he were dead there would be no earthly reason for your not saying so at once. But I hate money, the name of it, the sound of it, the sight of it. It is at the bottom of all wars and crimes. I despise it!"

"The root of all evil. Yet it performs many n.o.ble deeds. But never mind the money. Let us give our attention to this personal. Doubtless it originated in the same mind which conceived the letter. Your father would never have inserted such a personal. What! Give his enemies a chance to learn his secret? No. On the other hand, I want you to show this personal to all you meet to-day, Susan, the reporter, to everybody. Talk about it. Say that you wonder what you shall do.

Trust no one with your real thoughts."

"Not even you, Mr. Jones," thought the girl as she nodded.

"And tell them that you showed it to me and that I appeared worried."

That night there was a meeting of the organization called the Black Hundred. Braine asked if any one knew what the Hargreave butler looked like.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THAT NIGHT THERE WAS A MEETING OF THE ORGANIZATION]

"I had a glimpse of him the other night; but being unprepared, I might not recognize him again."

Vroon described Jones minutely. Braine could almost see the portrait.

"Vroon, that memory of yours is worth a lot of money," was his only comment.

"I hope it will be worth more soon."

"I believe I'll be able to recognize Mr. Jones if I see him. Who is he and what is he?"

"He has been with Hargreave for fourteen years. There was a homicidal case in which Jones was active. Hargreave saved him. He is faithful and uncommunicative. Money will not touch him. If he does know where that million is, hot irons could not make him own up to it. The only way is to watch him, follow him, wait for the moment when he'll grow careless. No man is always on his mettle; he lets up sooner or later."

"He is being watched, as you know."

Vroon nodded approvingly. "The captain of the tramp steamer _Orient_, by the way, was seen with a roll of money. He was in one of the water-front saloons, bragging how he had hoodwinked some one."

"Did he say where he'd got the cash?" asked Braine.

"They tried to pump him on that, but he shut up. Well, we have agreed that Felton shall watch from the street and Orloff from the window.

Orloff will whistle if he sees Jones removing anything from any of the rooms. The rest will be left to Felton."

"And, Felton, my friend," said Braine softly--he always spoke softly when he was in a deadly humor--"Felton, you slept on duty the other night. Hargreave stole up, consulted Jones, and got away after knocking me down. The next failure will mean short s.h.i.+ft. Be warned!"

"I saw only you, sir. So help me. I was not asleep. I saw you run down the street after the taxicab. I did not see any one else."

Braine shrugged. "Remember what I said."

Felton bowed respectfully and made his exit. He wished in his soul that he might some day catch the master mind free of his eternal mask.

It was an iron hand which ruled them and there were friends of his (Felton's) who had mysteriously vanished after a brief period of rebellion. The boss was a swell; probably belonged to clubs and society which he adroitly pilfered. The organization always had money.

Whenever there was a desperate job to be undertaken, Vroon simply poured out the money necessary to promote it. Whenever Braine and Vroon became engaged in earnest conversation they talked Slav. Braine was never called by name here; the boss, simply that.

Well, ten per cent. of a million was a hundred thousand. This would be equally divided between the second ten of the Black Hundred. Another ten per cent. would go to eighty members; the balance would be divided between Vroon and the boss. But his soul rebelled at being ordered about like so much dirt under another man's feet. He would take his ten thousand and make the grand getaway.

The next afternoon the countess called upon Florence. Nothing was said about the adventure, and this fact created a vague unrest in the scheming woman's mind. She realized that she must play her cards more carefully than ever. Not the least distrust must be permitted to enter the child's head. Once that happened good-by to the wonderful emeralds. Was it that she really craved the stone? Was it not rather a venom acquired from the knowledge that this child's mother had won what she herself, with all her cleverness, was not sure of--Braine's love? Did he really care for her or was she only the cats-paw to pluck his hot chestnuts from the fire?

When Florence showed her the "personal," her vague doubts became instantly dissipated. The child would not have shown her the newspaper had there been any distrust on her part.

"My child, your father is alive, then?" animatedly.

"We don't know," sadly.

"Why, I should say that this proves it."

"On the contrary, it proves nothing of the sort, since I have yet to discover a treasure in this house. I have hunted in every nook, drawer; I've searched for panels, looked in trunks for false bottoms.

Nothing, nothing! Ah, if I could only find it!"

"And what would you do with it?"

"Take it at once to some bank and offer the whole of it for the safe return of my father, every penny of it. I don't know what to do, which way to turn," tears gathering in her eyes and they were genuine tears, too. "There are millions in stocks and bonds and I can not touch a penny of it because the legal doc.u.ments have not been found. I can't even prove that I am his daughter, except for half an old bracelet, and my father's lawyers say that that would not hold in any court."

"You were born in St. Petersburg, my dear. Have the emba.s.sy there look up the birth registers."

"That would not put me into possession. Nothing but the return of my father will avail me. And there's a horrible thought always of my not being his real daughter."

"There's no doubt in my mind. I have only to recall Katrina's face to know whose child you are. But what will you live on?" Here was a far greater mixup than she had calculated upon. Supposing after all it was only a resemblance, that the child was not Hargreave's, a subst.i.tute just to blind the Black Hundred? To keep them away from the true daughter? Her mind grew bewildered over such possibilities. The single and only way to settle all doubts was to make this child a prisoner. If she was Hargreave's true daughter he would come out of his hiding.

She heard Florence answering her question: "There is a sum of ten or twelve thousand in the Riverdale bank, under the control of my father's butler. After that is gone, I don't know what will happen to us, Susan and me."

"The door of Miss Farlow's will always be open to you, Florence,"

replied Susan, with love in her eyes.

This interesting conversation was interrupted by the advent of Norton.

He was always dropping in during the late afternoon hours. Florence liked him for two reasons. One was that Jones trusted him to a certain extent and the other was that ... that she liked him. She finished this sentence in her heart defiantly.

To-day he brought her a box of beautiful roses, and at the sight of them the countess smiled faintly. Set the wind in that quarter? She could have laughed. Here was her revenge against this meddler who took no particular notice of her while Florence was in the room. She would encourage him, poor grubbing newspaper writer, with his beggarly pittance! What chance had he of marrying this girl with millions within reach of her hand?

The peculiar thing about this was that Norton was entertaining the same thought at the same time: what earthly chance had he?

In the second-story window of the house over the way there was a worried man. But when his gla.s.ses brought in range the true contents of the box he laughed sardonically. "This watching is getting my goat.

I smell a rat every time I see a shadow." He wiped the lenses of his opera gla.s.ses and proceeded to roll a cigarette.

When the countess and Norton went away Jones stole quietly up to Florence's room and threw up the curtain. Two round points of light flashed from the watcher's window, but the saturnine smile on Jones'

lips was not observed. He went to the door, opened it cautiously, a hand to his ear. Then he closed the door, turned back the rug and removed a section of the flooring. Out of this cavity he raised a box.

There was lettering on the lid; in fact, the name of its owner, Stanley Hargreave. Jones replaced the flooring, tucked the box under his arm and made his exit.

The man lounging in the shadow heard a faint whistle. It was the signal agreed upon. The man Felton ran across the street and boldly rang the bell. It was only then that Florence missed the ever present butler. She hesitated, then sent Susan to the door.