The Man in Lower Ten

  CHAPTER XXIX. IN THE DINING-ROOM

  That was Saturday night, two weeks after the wreck. The previous fivedays had been full of swift-following events--the woman in the housenext door, the picture in the theater of a man about to leap from thedoomed train, the dinner at the Dallases', and Richey's discovery thatAlison was the girl in the case. In quick succession had come our visitto the Carter place, the finding of the rest of the telegram, my seeingAlison there, and the strange interview with Mrs. Conway. The Cressontrip stood out in my memory for its serio-comic horrors and its one realthrill. Then--the discovery by the police of the seal-skin bag and thebit of chain; Hotchkiss producing triumphantly Stuart for Sullivan andhis subsequent discomfiture; McKnight at the station with Alison, andlater the confession that he was out of the running.

  And yet, when I thought it all over, the entire week and its events weretwo sides of a triangle that was narrowing rapidly to an apex, a point.And the said apex was at that moment in the drive below my window,resting his long legs by sitting on a carriage block, and smoking a pipethat made the night hideous. The sense of the ridiculous is very closeto the sense of tragedy. I opened my screen and whistled, and Johnsonlooked up and grinned. We said nothing. I held up a handful of cigars,he extended his hat, and when I finally went to sleep, it was to asoothing breeze that wafted in salt air and a faint aroma of goodtobacco. I was thoroughly tired, but I slept restlessly, dreaming oftwo detectives with Pittsburg warrants being held up by Hotchkiss at thepoint of a splint, while Alison fastened their hands with a chain thatwas broken and much too short. I was roused about dawn by a light rap atthe door, and, opening it, I found Forbes, in a pair of trousers and apajama coat. He was as pleasant as most fleshy people are when they haveto get up at night, and he said the telephone had been ringing for anhour, and he didn't know why somebody else in the blankety-blank housecouldn't have heard it. He wouldn't get to sleep until noon.

  As he was palpably asleep on his feet, I left him grumbling and went tothe telephone. It proved to be Richey, who had found me by the simpleexpedient of tracing Alison, and he was jubilant.

  "You'll have to come back," he said. "Got a railroad schedule there?"

  "I don't sleep with one in my pocket," I retorted, "but if you'll holdthe line I'll call out the window to Johnson. He's probably got one."'

  "Johnson!" I could hear the laugh with which McKnight comprehended thesituation. He was still chuckling when I came back.

  "Train to Richmond at six-thirty A.M.," I said. "What time is it now?"

  "Four. Listen, Lollie. We've got him. Do you hear? Through the womanat Baltimore. Then the other woman, the lady of the restaurant"--he wasobviously avoiding names--"she is playing our cards for us. No--I don'tknow why, and I don't care. But you be at the Incubator to-night ateight o'clock. If you can't shake Johnson, bring him, bless him."

  To this day I believe the Sam Forbeses have not recovered from thesurprise of my unexpected arrival, my one appearance at dinner inGranger's clothes, and the note on my dresser which informed them thenext morning that I had folded my tents like the Arabs and silentlystole away. For at half after five Johnson and I, the former asuninquisitive as ever, were on our way through the dust to the station,three miles away, and by four that afternoon we were in Washington. Thejourney had been uneventful. Johnson relaxed under the influence of mytobacco, and spoke at some length on the latest improvements in gallows,dilating on the absurdity of cutting out the former free passes to seethe affair in operation. I remember, too, that he mentioned the curiousanomaly that permits a man about to be hanged to eat a hearty meal. Idid not enjoy my dinner that night.

  Before we got into Washington I had made an arrangement with Johnson tosurrender myself at two the following afternoon. Also, I had wired toAlison, asking her if she would carry out the contract she had made. Thedetective saw me home, and left me there. Mrs. Klopton received me withdignified reserve. The very tone in which she asked me when I would dinetold me that something was wrong.

  "Now--what is it, Mrs. Klopton?" I demanded finally, when she hadinformed me, in a patient and long-suffering tone, that she felt wornout and thought she needed a rest.

  "When I lived with Mr. Justice Springer," she began acidly, hermending-basket in her hands, "it was an orderly, well-conductedhousehold. You can ask any of the neighbors. Meals were cooked and,what's more, they were eaten; there was none of this 'here one day andgone the next' business."

  "Nonsense," I observed. "You're tired, that's all, Mrs. Klopton. And Iwish you would go out; I want to bathe."

  "That's not all," she said with dignity, from the doorway. "Women comingand going here, women whose shoes I am not fit--I mean, women who arenot fit to touch my shoes--coming here as insolent as you please, andasking for you."

  "Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "What did you tell them--her, whichever itwas?"

  "Told her you were sick in a hospital and wouldn't be out for a year!"she said triumphantly. "And when she said she thought she'd come in andwait for you, I slammed the door on her."

  "What time was she here?"

  "Late last night. And she had a light-haired man across the street. Ifshe thought I didn't see him, she don't know me." Then she closed thedoor and left me to my bath and my reflections.

  At five minutes before eight I was at the Incubator, where I foundHotchkiss and McKnight. They were bending over a table, on which layMcKnight's total armament--a pair of pistols, an elephant gun and an oldcavalry saber.

  "Draw up a chair and help yourself to pie," he said, pointing to thearsenal. "This is for the benefit of our friend Hotchkiss here, who sayshe is a small man and fond of life."

  Hotchkiss, who had been trying to get the wrong end of a cartridge intothe barrel of one of the revolvers, straightened himself and mopped hisface.

  "We have desperate people to handle," he said pompously, "and we mayneed desperate means."

  "Hotchkiss is like the small boy whose one ambition was to have peoplegrow ashen and tremble at the mention of his name," McKnight jibed. Butthey were serious enough, both of them, under it all, and when they hadtold me what they planned, I was serious, too.

  "You're compounding a felony," I remonstrated, when they had explained."I'm not eager to be locked away, but, by Jove, to offer her the stolennotes in exchange for Sullivan!"

  "We haven't got either of them, you know," McKnight remonstrated, "andwe won't have, if we don't start. Come along, Fido," to Hotchkiss.

  The plan was simplicity itself. According to Hotchkiss, Sullivan wasto meet Bronson at Mrs. Conway's apartment, at eight-thirty that night,with the notes. He was to be paid there and the papers destroyed. "Butjust before that interesting finale," McKnight ended, "we will walk in,take the notes, grab Sullivan, and give the police a jolt that will putthem out of the count."

  I suppose not one of us, slewing around corners in the machine thatnight, had the faintest doubt that we were on the right track, or thatFate, scurvy enough before, was playing into our hands at last. LittleHotchkiss was in a state of fever; he alternately twitched and examinedthe revolver, and a fear that the two movements might be synchronouskept me uneasy. He produced and dilated on the scrap of pillow slip fromthe wreck, and showed me the stiletto, with its point in cotton battingfor safekeeping. And in the intervals he implored Richey not to makesuch fine calculations at the corners.

  We were all grave enough and very quiet, however, when we reached thelarge building where Mrs. Conway had her apartment. McKnight left thepower on, in case we might want to make a quick get-away, and Hotchkissgave a final look at the revolver. I had no weapon. Somehow it allseemed melodramatic to the verge of farce. In the doorway Hotchkisswas a half dozen feet ahead; Richey fell back beside me. He dropped hisaffectation of gayety, and I thought he looked tired. "Same old Sam, Isuppose?" he asked.

  "Same, only more of him."

  "I suppose Alison was there? How is she?" he inquired irrelevantly.

  "Very well. I did not see her this morning."

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p; Hotchkiss was waiting near the elevator. McKnight put his hand onmy arm. "Now, look here, old man," he said, "I've got two arms and arevolver, and you've got one arm and a splint. If Hotchkiss is right,and there is a row, you crawl under a table."

  "The deuce I will!" I declared scornfully.

  We crowded out of the elevator at the fourth floor, and found ourselvesin a rather theatrical hallway of draperies and armor. It was veryquiet; we stood uncertainly after the car had gone, and looked at thetwo or three doors in sight. They were heavy, covered with metal,and sound proof. From somewhere above came the metallic accuracy of aplayer-piano, and through the open window we could hear--or feel--thethrob of the Cannonball's engine.

  "Well, Sherlock," McKnight said, "what's the next move in the game? Isit our jump, or theirs? You brought us here."

  None of us knew just what to do next. No sound of conversationpenetrated the heavy doors. We waited uneasily for some minutes, andHotchkiss looked at his watch. Then he put it to his ear.

  "Good gracious!" he exclaimed, his head cocked on one side, "I believeit has stopped. I'm afraid we are late."

  We were late. My watch and Hotchkiss' agreed at nine o clock, and, withthe discovery that our man might have come and gone, our zest in theadventure began to flag. McKnight motioned us away from the door andrang the bell. There was no response, no sound within. He rang it twice,the last time long and vigorously, without result. Then he turned andlooked at us.

  "I don't half like this," he said. "That woman is in; you heard me askthe elevator boy. For two cents I'd--"

  I had seen it when he did. The door was ajar about an inch, and a narrowwedge of rose-colored light showed beyond. I pushed the door a littleand listened. Then, with both men at my heels, I stepped into theprivate corridor of the apartment and looked around. It was a squarereception hall, with rugs on the floor, a tall mahogany rack for hats,and a couple of chairs. A lantern of rose-colored glass and a desk lightover a writing-table across made the room bright and cheerful. It wasempty.

  None of us was comfortable. The place was full of feminine triflesthat made us feel the weakness of our position. Some such instinct madeMcKnight suggest division.

  "We look like an invading army," he said. "If she's here alone, we willstartle her into a spasm. One of us could take a look around and--"

  "What was that? Didn't you hear something?"

  The sound, whatever it had been, was not repeated. We went awkwardly outinto the hall, very uncomfortable, all of us, and flipped a coin. Thechoice fell to me, which was right enough, for the affair was mine,primarily.

  "Wait just inside the door," I directed, "and if Sullivan comes, oranybody that answers his description, grab him without ceremony and askhim questions afterwards."

  The apartment, save in the hallway, was unlighted. By one of thosefreaks of arrangement possible only in the modern flat, I found thekitchen first, and was struck a smart and unexpected blow by a swingingdoor. I carried a handful of matches, and by the time I had passedthrough a butler's pantry and a refrigerator room I was completely lostin the darkness. Until then the situation had been merely uncomfortable;suddenly it became grisly. From somewhere near came a long-sustainedgroan, followed almost instantly by the crash of something--glass orchina--on the floor.

  I struck a fresh match, and found myself in a narrow rear hallway.Behind me was the door by which I must have come; with a keen desireto get back to the place I had started from, I opened the door andattempted to cross the room. I thought I had kept my sense of direction,but I crashed without warning into what, from the resulting jangle, wasthe dining-table, probably laid for dinner. I cursed my stupidity ingetting into such a situation, and I cursed my nerves for making my handshake when I tried to strike a match. The groan had not been repeated.

  I braced myself against the table and struck the match sharply againstthe sole of my shoe. It flickered faintly and went out. And then,without the slightest warning, another dish went off the table. It fellwith a thousand splinterings; the very air seemed broken into crashingwaves of sound. I stood still, braced against the table, holding the redend of the dying match, and listened. I had not long to wait; the groancame again, and I recognized it, the cry of a dog in straits. I breathedagain.

  "Come, old fellow," I said. "Come on, old man. Let's have a look atyou."

  I could hear the thud of his tail on the floor, but he did not move. Heonly whimpered. There is something companionable in the presence of adog, and I fancied this dog in trouble. Slowly I began to work my wayaround the table toward him.

  "Good boy," I said, as he whimpered. "We'll find the light, which oughtto be somewhere or other around here, and then--"

  I stumbled over something, and I drew back my foot almost instantly."Did I step on you, old man?" I exclaimed, and bent to pat him. Iremember straightening suddenly and hearing the dog pad softly towardme around the table. I recall even that I had put the matches down andcould not find them. Then, with a bursting horror of the room and itscontents, of the gibbering dark around me, I turned and made for thedoor by which I had entered.

  I could not find it. I felt along the endless wainscoting, past miles ofwall. The dog was beside me, I think, but he was part and parcel now, tomy excited mind, with the Thing under the table. And when, after aeonsof search, I found a knob and stumbled into the reception hall, I was asnearly in a panic as any man could be.

  I was myself again in a second, and by the light from the hall I ledthe way back to the tragedy I had stumbled on. Bronson still sat at thetable, his elbows propped on it, his cigarette still lighted, burning ahole in the cloth. Partly under the table lay Mrs. Conway face down. Thedog stood over her and wagged his tail.

  McKnight pointed silently to a large copper ashtray, filled with ashesand charred bits of paper.

  "The notes, probably," he said ruefully. "He got them after all, andburned them before her. It was more than she could stand. Stabbed himfirst and then herself."

  Hotchkiss got up and took off his hat. "They are dead," he announcedsolemnly, and took his note-book out of his hatband.

  McKnight and I did the only thing we could think of--drove Hotchkiss andthe dog out of the room, and closed and locked the door. "It's a matterfor the police," McKnight asserted. "I suppose you've got an officertied to you somewhere, Lawrence? You usually have."

  We left Hotchkiss in charge and went down-stairs. It was McKnight whofirst saw Johnson, leaning against a park railing across the street, andcalled him over. We told him in a few words what we had found, and hegrinned at me cheerfully.

  "After while, in a few weeks or months, Mr. Blakeley," he said, "whenyou get tired of monkeying around with the blood-stain and finger-printspecialist up-stairs, you come to me. I've had that fellow you wantunder surveillance for ten days!"