XVI
KENYON CALLS ON THE MAN FROM SAGINAW
“And the brief news comes in the darkest night,
That leads us on and on.”
—Doggerels of Balmacenso.
GARRY WEBSTER sat in his rooms, a high-ball before him, and a fat black cigar burning between his fingers, when Kenyon was announced early next evening. Webster demonstratively shook him by the hand.
“Sit down and drink something,” said he. “I’m about as glad to see you as I’ve ever been to seen anyone in my life. Why, it’s at least two nights since I dined with you.”
Kenyon waved away the Scotch, but lit a cigar.
“Why all the pleasure?” he inquired, calmly.
“Well, in view of your proceedings of late I think I was warranted in feeling slightly concerned about you. A fellow of your quality and disposition takes a fair chance of having someone run a knife into him. If I were you, Ken, I’d avoid dark and unfrequented spots, and I’d suspect people.”
“That would be an attractive arrangement for a maiden lady,” said Kenyon, dryly, “but I don’t think it quite fills the bill of requirements of a man engaged in a more or less desperate game.”
Webster looked at him observantly.
“It’s still going on, then?” said he.
Kenyon nodded.
“Well, just what phases have you lately passed through. I’m willing to admit that I am all of a-tremble; but at the same time I’m strong on curiosity. Your use of the word desperate seems advised; so if you have anything to tell, tell it quickly.”
“Last night,” spoke Kenyon, knocking the ash from his cigar, and inspecting a loose spot in the wrapper, “I made an attempt to get at the bottom of this case at one blow.”
“And did you?”
“Not quite.”
“Now, look here, Ken,” said Garry, and he looked aggrieved. “This is not the proper treatment for a friend. I would even be disposed to regard it as unnecessarily harsh to an enemy. It’s not charitable, and it’s not kind.”
Kenyon laughed.
“Now don’t rush me,” protested he. “The whole matter has my ideas in such a tangle that it will not require much more to have me completely off my nanny. Since seeing you last, I have had manifold adventures, and have added to my experience in life to an unexpected degree.”
“You go at it like a popular lecturer,” remarked Webster, patiently. He lit another cigar and sipped at the high-ball. “If I don’t do something to calm myself, I’ll be coming over there and doing you a mischief, as they say in the Drury Lane melodramas.”
For the third time within a week, Kenyon related his experiences to his attentive friend. He began with their talk at dinner some nights before and the idea that he had conceived from Webster’s laughing remark. Then he went on to his hunt for Gypsy Brady, his meeting with the cracksman, Big Slim, then until he reached the scene in the lower hall of Farbush’s mansion. Webster brought his fist down upon the table.
“That settles it!” exclaimed he. “This is the end of it. Never again will I permit you out of my sight. You are without mental poise or a shadow of forethought. And as for common sense, I don’t believe you ever had a shred of it in your life. Don’t sit there and laugh! I mean it. The other stuff that you have been meddling with was bad enough, Heaven knows; but this last business is the absolute limit. Think of it! Breaking and entering; masked burglary; safe cracking! Why, it’s unbelievable.”
“You’d better take another drink,” advised Kenyon, quietly. “Your nerves seem to be in a shocking bad way.”
Webster glared at him for a moment, and then burst into a perfect gale of laughter. His round face was scarlet and his eyes were filled with tears when he brought chokingly up and began to splutter and cough.
“Take it,” gasped he, waving his hands. “Take it.”
“Take what?”
“Anything that you see in the way of a reward. You are entitled to it. You win every prize in the show.”
“I have no doubt but that the affair is exceedingly humorous,” said Kenyon. He poured out some Scotch, added a little hot water and sugar, and stirred the mixture meditatively. “But, do you know, I can’t see it. I suppose our points of view are different.” He sipped the toddy, found it to his satisfaction, and then added: “However, I fancy that we have been over all that before.”
“Humorous!” exclaimed Webster. “Why, it’s riotous. Your matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation is really the funniest thing I ever saw. But,” and his manner changed to one of curiosity, “how did you get out of Farbush’s house without having the police called upon?”
“I hardly think there was any chance of that, at the worst. But, as it was, I simply laid low, as we used to say at school. Farbush stormed and raved and threatened down below, and waved his revolver for a time, while the others protested. I could not quite gather what it was about, for they all spoke at once. But it had something to do with the safe, for they all three came up the stairs, I lying snug behind an offset in the wall while they entered the office.”
“Then, when Farbush saw the result of your acetylene flame, I suppose there was a renewal of the tempest?”
“It had begun when I slipped down the stairs,” answered Kenyon. “But I was safely out at the front door, and on my way down Fifth Avenue, I suppose, before it reached its height.”
“The estate of Stephen Austin,” mused Webster. “That, apparently, is what all this trouble is about.”
“From the clever moves of the girl who plucked the envelope from my hands in Farbush’s office, and her anxiety to get safely away with it, I should think so myself.”
“I can hardly understand how she got into the office—unless there was more than one door.”
“There was not.”
“But you saw her leave the room, and you locked the door behind her.”
“I locked the door, yes. But I did not see her leave the room.”
Webster looked at his friend inquiringly.
“I distinctly remember you saying that she walked to the door and blew out the candle.”
“Precisely; but I said nothing about seeing her leave the room.”
“By George!” Webster slapped his knee suddenly. “It was a bluff. She did not go out, at all.”
“No; she was in the office all the time I worked upon the safe. I reasoned the matter out afterwards. While she was fumbling with the combination, she must have caught sight of me. It was a shadow, perhaps, or more likely my reflection in the polished door of the safe. When she covered her face with her hands, I thought she was crying of disappointment; but really she must have been stifling a scream, or shrewdly thinking up a plan of action.”
“I prefer the last,” stated Webster.
“So she arose, took up the candle, and walked toward the door. Every step plainly said that she had given up the fight, that she had no further hope. Almost in the doorway, she blew the candle out. I naturally supposed that she went on; instead, she darted behind something in the office,—there were lots of things that would screen her,—and so waited until I had found what she appeared to want so badly.”
“Clever!” exclaimed Webster, emphatically. “She has nerve, too. Not one girl in a thousand could think so clearly under such circumstances. Do you know, I’m almost sorry that she was caught.”
“It does seem rather provoking.”
“And this young man, Forrester, was on the premises all the time. I suppose he was a guest, and was hidden away much after your own style.”
“I shouldn’t wonder.”
“But old Farbush was the wise fox, eh? He suspected something and probably was lying in wait.”
“I suppose so.”
“And it’s more than likely that the coveted packet immediately passed back into his hands when he confronted the pair in front of the rifled safe.”
Kenyon muttered a reply that was not intelligible. He was drawing steadily at his cigar, holding it clinched between his teeth, and frowning thoughtfully. Webster had noticed his replies being rather brief and absent for the last few minutes, and said:
“What’s the new one, Ken; you might as well tell it all. You can’t surprise me any more than you have already done.”
“I was thinking that, on the whole, I would have done a great deal better if I had waited awhile before leaving Farbush’s house.”
“But why? You might have been caught.”
“Of course; I would have been taking a chance. But, then, what else had I been doing during the entire night.”
“Well, that’s true. But what do you suppose a little lingering on the scene would have brought you?”
“It might have confirmed a suspicion that I’ve had ever since. And that is, that Anna and Forrester met with the surprise of their lives when the office lights were turned on and they saw the safe broken open.”
“But, great Cæsar! Ken; how could that be. The girl, according to your own reasoning, saw you crack the safe.”
“Don’t go too fast, old chap; I didn’t say so. I didn’t mention any names; for I’m not altogether sure that it was Anna who was in the office with me. The girl who snatched the packet wore a heavy cloak and a hood; Anna was in white when I saw her a moment later as she stood beside Forrester in the lower hall.”
“But she might have thrown the cloak off.”
“Then it would have been upon the stairs, and I would have seen it. She had not time to dispose of it in any other way, even had there been a reason for it. From the time that the light was switched off in the office, until it was turned on in the hall below, was only a moment.”
“But you heard the footsteps on the stairs—and there was only one girl below.”
“There was only one girl below, yes. And I heard the footsteps on the stairs. But there was also a pair of stairs leading to the floor above. The girl who snatched the packet may have gone up; I’m not sure.”
Webster stared for a moment.
“That’s so,” said he, slowly. “I’m beginning to get hold. There were two girls in the house; and you are inclined to suspect that it was the girl called Dallas who was with you in the office.”
“Precisely.”
“Why, then,” wonderingly, “there must have been three different designs upon the safe going forward at the same time.”
Kenyon shrugged his shoulders and took another cigar.
“I don’t think it possible for any merely human mind to get at the true inwardness of this strange game. At one moment the people engaged seem entirely in cahoots; in the next they are apparently making off-side plays of a decided personal nature. We have discussed their attitudes toward each other before, and the thing is beyond reason. Forrester is a friend to Dallas. He wishes her well, at any rate, as far as I can see. And yet he is a firm friend and stands high in the favor of Hong Yo, who would, I have no doubt, murder her in cold blood.”
“I think I said some time since that the thing is a puzzle,” spoke Webster. “And I have had no reason to change my mind. But what do you propose to do next?”
“I think a visit to Bellevue might have some results. Either of the two of my remaining namesakes might be able to talk to visitors by this time.”
“Excellent.”
A short time later they were engaged with the same youthful surgeon whom they had spoken with before.
“I suppose you have heard of the fate of the man from Butte,” said he after he had greeted them.
“He’s dead, is he not?”
“Yes; fished out of the East River the other morning. And they found a new wound upon him—a knife thrust through the heart. It really is the most remarkable series of events that ever came under my notice. It would seem as though there was a conspiracy of some sort on foot; and the people behind it do not value human life very highly.”
“I should say not,” answered Kenyon, dryly. “But how are the other patients?”
“Number two, as I call the one hailing from West Point, is still in rather a bad way, but is recovering. The one from Saginaw left the hospital this afternoon.”
“But he is still in New York?” eagerly.
“Oh, yes; he can be found at the Hotel Suisse on Third Avenue.”
They thanked the surgeon and departed.
“A cabman should know of the Hotel Suisse,” suggested Webster.
So one was summoned, and it proved that he had the necessary information. A rapid drive landed them in front of a small, clean-looking hotel in the neighborhood of the Cooper Union. A stout German with a gleaming bald head was at the desk.
“Oh, dot Kenyon?” replied he, in answer to their inquiries. “Ja, I know him! He have der room dhirty-dhree got. He is a young kind of a fellar und has a pandage aroundt his head. Nicht wahr?”
“That’s the man. Can he be seen?”
“I will findt me oud.”
A colored boy was summoned.
“Mistah Kenyon is in de pool-room, sah,” he informed the clerk.
“All ride. Jusdt show dese chentlemens pack dere, yet.”
They found the person they sought perched upon a window-sill, intently watching a game of billiards. He was a compactly-built youth of about twenty-two or three, neatly dressed, and with the flattened nose and swollen ear of the prize-fighter. He slipped down from his perch, and at their invitation went with them to a quiet corner of the room. When he found that they were looking for information upon the subject of the attack made upon him, he at once manifested great interest.
“Police business?” inquired he.
“No; we have private reasons for seeking information in this matter,” answered Kenyon. “Anything you can tell us will be appreciated in the proper way.”
The little pugilist’s eyes snapped.
“Now, that’s good talk!” exclaimed he. “You see, pal, I’m a stranger in a strange land, and my roll ain’t any too thick. New York is no place, just now, for a man in my line; and even if it was, I couldn’t take anyone on, the way I’m fixed here,” and he tapped his bandaged head significantly.
“Your name is Kenyon, isn’t it?”
“Well, neighbor, it is and it isn’t. I’ve used it ever since I broke into this mixing business, but my right name is Farral. You see, I was raised in Kenyon, Iowa, and when I found myself looking around for a name to put upon the fight cards in Chi. a few years ago, why, I just picked the name of my old town. Young Kenyon is a name the sporting editors know, and,” with some pride, “they also know that I work hard at me job.”
“Tell me about this errand of yours to New York,” invited Kenyon.
“Now, that’s where you stick me, bo; that’s a little passage that’s got me tied hand and foot! Ever since I got that letter I’ve been trying to dope it out, but it won’t work into shape, no matter how hard I try; I’m not strong on the think thing, anyhow, just at the present time. There’s something like bees gets to buzzing in my top whenever I overdo it.”
“But you can tell us just how the thing came about, can’t you? That will not require you to do much thinking.”
“Oh, sure, I can tell it to youse,” cheerfully. “But there ain’t a lot to tell, at that. You see, it’s this way: I’m sitting in my room one morning, fixing up a black eye that I got in a job the night before. Me landlady knocks on the door and chucks a letter over the transom. I opens it, see? Quick! for I think it might be more work, and work is the thing I’m looking for. The letter is from a guy named Forrester, and he tells me to move East as far as New York in a hurry. He allows that he’s got a good thing for me and encloses a check for expenses.
“I’m in South Bend. The time named is the next night; so I packs me bag and takes the cushions for the big town, right on the jump. I don’t know Forrester, you see, but money talks every time. I didn’t know how good the thing was that was waiting for me either, but figured it out as a soft proposition with plenty of backing that the guy wants me to clean up for.
“I’m cheerful and neighborly when they dump me into Jersey City; I cross the river the same way, and I whistle all the way uptown. Then when I duck into this Selden’s Square place I gets my bumps. That’s about all there is to it.”
“Did Forrester not mention the nature of the work he had for you to do?”
“He didn’t mention anything except his own name and the house in Selden’s Square.”
Kenyon glanced at Webster.
“This one seems to have been told less than the fellow from Butte,” remarked the latter. “I wonder why?”
“Perhaps the other one insisted upon knowing more before he made a move.”
The little pugilist looked interested.
“Say,” spoke he, “if youse can put me hep on the game, I’d be obliged. There is something coming to a couple of stick-up guys for trimming me that night, and I’d like to settle the bill when I’m fit.”
“I’m sorry to say that we can tell you little or nothing; we are vastly interested ourselves for certain reasons, but can learn nothing definite. However, this much I’m sure of. One of the men who had a hand in laying you out is a New York crook called the Stalker.”
“The Stalker, eh? I’ll remember that. In a little while my lid will be all right and I’ll hunt him up. And if I find him, he’ll get plenty. Make a note of it.”
Kenyon handed the youth a sum of money that caused a broad grin to spread itself across his face.
“Pal,” said he, “yous’er all fineo. It takes a sport to pass it along that way. And that’s no hop vision. Say,” warming up, “I’ll bet yous’er a friend of the young lady who was to see me at Bellevue yesterday.”
“I thought you were a stranger in New York.”
“That’s right So I am. Me, the perfect stranger, see? I haven’t a friend between here and Pittsburg. The girl is new to me. But she was there with the bells on, just the same. I know a real one when I see her, even if I don’t mix with the motor-car owners. I thinks she’s a friend of yours because she treated me right, and because she asked me about the same line of questions as you handed me.”
“It is possible that I know her. Did she tell you her name.”
“Sure. And her address.” He took a card from his pocket and read:
“DALLAS GILBERT,
The Girls’ Club, Mulberry Street.”
He looked up and continued: “It’s one of these things that rich girls get up for poor ones. And she said she was there every Wednesday and Friday night; and she also hinted, if I ever found anything out about this Selden’s Square thing, to drop around there and tell her about it.”
“And I’ll ask you to do the same,” said Kenyon. He wrote the name of his hotel on one of his own cards and handed it to the pugilist. “It’ll be worth your while.”
“So her name is Gilbert, eh?” said Webster, when they reached the street. “And she’s a girl addicted to helping the poor. I say, Kenyon, that sounds rather good.”
Kenyon looked at his watch.
“I’ll be saying good-night,” remarked he.
“It’s not quite 9.30, and I’ll probably get there at a decent time.”
“Get where?” asked the astonished Webster.
“Why, to this Mulberry Street Club, of course. It is Friday night, you see. I have a few straightforward words to say to Miss Gilbert about a certain packet, and I’m going to say them at once.”