XXI
KENYON BEGINS TO SEE THE LIGHT
“And, so, the youth he sat him down in the shade of the
tree, and told him many things that he had not heard before.”
—The Amazing Adventures of Mansour Bi.
IT had been after dawn when Kenyon reached his hotel, and he had slept all day. So it was about six in the evening when he arose and bathed and shaved and put on a well-fitting business suit of gray which his tailor had lately delivered.
“I’ve been living in my evening clothes of late,” said he; “and it feels rather good to get into something else.”
A knock came upon the door.
“Come,” said he.
A bell-hop opened the door, and said:
“A gentleman to see you, sir.”
Kenyon looked at the card. It contained the name:
PHILIP AUSTIN.
“Again it begins,” muttered he. Then to the boy he said: “Send him up.”
The lad closed the door, and Kenyon threw the card upon the table.
“I had intended to have a turn at hunting up that last name,” said he. “But this will probably save me the trouble.”
A few moments later a stout, stoop-shouldered young man was ushered in. He stuck a pair of glasses upon his nose and looked Kenyon over carefully. Then he said:
“Mr. Kenyon, I thought it as well to call upon you.”
“Quite right,” returned the adventurer, affably. “Will you sit down?”
“Thanks.”
All the lights were turned on and Kenyon inspected his visitor with the same care that the latter had bestowed upon himself. As he sat holding out his hands toward the gas logs, for the November evening was decidedly cold, he looked small and placid and good-humored; nevertheless there was a keenness about him that was unmistakable.
“I had expected to hear from you,” said he. “The understanding was, if I remember correctly, that you were to come to me immediately upon my grandfather’s death.” He looked inquiringly at the adventurer. “But, perhaps,” he added, “you had reasons for not doing so.”
“Good reasons,” replied Kenyon, grimly.
“I waited patiently; but when I learned from Miss Gilbert that the old man was dead, and still you did not put in an appearance, I could wait no longer. I got into town this afternoon, and called up about all the hotels in New York, inquiring if they had anyone of your name. I got to this one about a half hour ago, and so I came immediately upon learning you were here.”
“I’m glad you did so,” replied the other. Then as an afterthought, “Have you seen Miss Gilbert to-day?”
“I have never seen Miss Gilbert.” Austin ran his fingers through his sandy hair. “In fact I never knew that there was a Miss Gilbert until the other day.” He looked at Kenyon speculatively for a moment, and then continued. “Do you know that you have her puzzled, more or less.”
“Indeed.”
“At least I so gathered from her letter. She seems to be not at all sure of you. She told me that she desired to believe you a friend to me, but that she could not honestly assure me that you were. She feared that you were leagued with the others.”
Kenyon nodded, coolly; but he was amazed.
“Is it possible,” he mentally exclaimed, “that I have here the mysterious unknown!”
“But look here,” said the young man, “I think this whole situation is really farcical. There is no common sense to it. You see, because I’ve always been messing among inventions and things of that sort, my grandfather got the notion that I was far from practical, and actually not qualified to take care of myself.”
“Old men have rather odd fancies at times,” said Kenyon.
“Just so. And he would not listen to any of my protestations; he ordered me under cover until you had come along and pronounced everything safe. The whole thing was absurd; but what was I to do? Even now I’m going against his wishes.”
“So it would seem,” agreed Kenyon.
“The idea of these partners of his being such formidable and ruthless persons, got to be a sort of obsession with him,” proceeded Philip Austin. “Why, he feared them, as far as I was concerned, as he had never feared anything before. You see,” lowering his voice and leaning toward Kenyon, confidentially, “he had the notion that they wanted my cousin, Scott Austin, to inherit the control of the business, in order that the contraband end of it should continue.”
“Ah!”
“You know, this branch of the business of Austin & Co. was largely carried on by Farbush, at New York, and Hong Yo, at Hong Kong. I don’t think,” and the young man looked at Kenyon, appealingly, “that my grandfather ever profited a dollar by it.”
“Perhaps not.”
“When it became known that the old man was about to die—that he could not live above a few months at most, he sent a young man, a minor partner, Forrester by name, to acquaint me with many things which he felt that I should know—he meaning that I should be his heir. I remember very distinctly expressing myself plainly as to the illegal features of the business of Austin & Co. If I should ever come into control, I promised to smash the contraband end as flat as a board.”
“And Forrester told the other partners at Hong Kong and New York?”
“He must have. At any rate they both appeared at Seattle; and what they said and did must have frightened my grandfather thoroughly. It was then that he ordered me to lay low until you came along to take charge of things.”
“Why I, in particular?”
“His first thought was to secure the services of General Nunez. But he learned that Nunez was dead. It seems that he had heard much of you through Nunez; and, rather naturally, you were the next person considered.”
That the young man was speaking the plain truth Kenyon never questioned for a moment; he saw that the time had arrived to make some sort of a finish to the case, and that to have a free and frank understanding would perhaps serve him better than anything else. So, beginning with his coming upon the Blenheim, he related his adventures since arriving in New York. Philip Austin listened as Webster had listened, in astonishment, and silence. When he had heard all, he remarked, slowly:
“Do you know, that is all very wonderful? I now begin also to get an idea of what Miss Gilbert hinted at in her letter.” He looked at Kenyon, curiously, and then laughed. “Things do turn out strangely, don’t they?”
“Undoubtedly,” Kenyon answered. Then with a change of tone: “Who is Miss Gilbert?”
“I don’t know,” answered the other frankly. “You see I had little or no knowledge of my grandfather’s household. I never visited there; we did not even correspond, for he always fancied that I was next door to a fool for not giving up my experimenting in chemicals and mechanics and settling down to practical business. But,” and young Austin wrinkled his brow, “it seems to me that I did hear something about his adopting the daughters of an old friend, years ago, when I was quite a youngster. However,” and he nodded his head confidently, “whoever she is, she must be all right; for the old man seems to have trusted her in everything.”
Kenyon had passed the other his cigarette-case; and now they smoked silently for some time. Finally the sandy-haired young man spoke, and his voice was grave.
“Do you know, what you have said has astounded me! All along I have been holding this thing lightly, as a sort of hallucination which a man desperately ill is likely to be seized with. I could not seriously consider that, at this late day, any such ornate scheme of murder would be undertaken by the settled and prosperous members of a great business enterprise.”
“One can never tell,” replied Kenyon. “The crooked element in the business of Austin & Co. may have proven so very profitable that Hong Yo and Farbush would rather risk their necks than give it up.”
Just then the telephone bell rang.
“Pardon me,” said Kenyon, rising. He took down the receiver and called. “Hello! Who is it?”
“Kenyon of Saginaw wants the other Kenyon,” answered a voice.
“Well, here he is. But how’s the head?”
“Fine and fancy. I’m still under wraps, but it’s only to make sure. I really don’t need ’em. It felt so good to-day, that I went out hunting that guy, the ‘Stalker.’”
“And did you find him?”
“In a minute! You see I had picked up a fellow that knew him, and he pointed him out to me. Well, I wasn’t taking any chances of mixing it with him; I wasn’t just ready for that yet. So I followed the plug around to see where he was stabling. I wanted to be able to pick him up any time I wanted him, you see. And after a while he gets so funny in his actions that I felt sure that he had something on. You know, you told me that if I could dig up any more news about this Selden’s Square thing, to do it; and it struck me that I was just ripe to find something out if I stalked the ‘Stalker.’”
“And did you?” eagerly.
“I did. You see, when—”
“Just a moment. Come over to the hotel. I’ll leave word at the office to have them send you right up.”
“All right, bo, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Kenyon then called the office, after which he hung up and turned to Austin.
“We will possibly have some news of consequence in a little while,” said he.
“I hope so,” returned the other, “as the thing stands it’s rather unsatisfactory. This little matter of Forrester is really aggravating.”
Promptly at the expiration of ten minutes, the pugilist from Saginaw was shown in. He seemed all eagerness, and at Kenyon’s invitation immediately began his story.
“As soon as I falls to it that I’m due for some information, why, I begins to play the fox myself, see? So the more this Stalker throws his gaze around, the hotter I’m on the Sherlock thing. After getting a lot of stuff together at different places, he hikes out and gets a train for South Norwalk. But he can’t shake me, so I’m about three seats behind him all the way down. Once or twice I notices him piking me off. It’s the bandages on my top that does it; he’s sure that he’s seen them before and is trying to locate them. But I keep the innocent look, and have my nose pointed into a magazine; it’s a plain thing to me that I’ve got him guessing.
“He gets out at South Norwalk. I pike him on the platform waiting to see if I follow him. But I have the wisdom with me, and make my duck on the other side. He waits awhile; but as I’m not to be seen he starts straight off. He gets a buggy and I get another. About five miles outside the town he meets another party, quite a big stuff, who has another buggy, and hands over the things that he’s brought along. They talk for some time, and then his Stalkers turns his horse and starts back. I’m pulled off the road into a kind of wagon track, all this time, you see, so he drives by and goes on his way to the station, while I pull out and starts to follow up the other party.”
“Excellent!” praised Kenyon.
“It was only a chance,” continued the other. “I thought it might have something to do with the affair you were asking me about, you see. Well, at last the big guy comes to kind of a fine-looking old house standing away back in a little woods, and there he meets a girl with yellow hair that seems mighty glad to see him.”
Kenyon and Austin exchanged looks, but the other continued:
“They went inside and I lingered around for a while to see if there would be anything doing; but as all was quiet along that section of the pike, I drove along a little farther until I sights a young heck cutting wood. In a minute I was framed up against him, handing him the wise talk; and he told me all he knew—that is, all of it that I wanted to hear. The people at the old house in the woods had only come last night. As far as he knew a man and a woman arrived then—late. But this morning about a dozen men landed. He had no idea what was up; but he had a kind of hunch that it wasn’t quite level. So after that I got back to the station and caught a train for New York.”
“It’s Forrester and the girl Anna,” said Austin, promptly.
“Precisely.” Kenyon picked up a time-table and began studying it. “I rather think I’ll pay them a visit to-night.”
“Good,” cried the other. “And shall I go with you?”
“Glad to have you.” Kenyon then went to the ’phone and called up Webster.
“What is it,” answered the young man from Chicago.
“Another adventure. Are you game for it?”
“Only try me,” came the eager reply.
“Very well, I’ll pick you up on the way to the station.”
The motor-car which Kenyon ordered was announced, and he and Austin had drawn on their overcoats when the little pugilist said:
“I say, if you think you could use a guy of my tonnage, pal, why, just give the word.”
“I wouldn’t think of trying to do without you,” replied Kenyon. “Come along.”