Chapter XIV
The "Cromwell" Makes its Last Appearance
"You utter idiot," said Roger, half an hour later. "Why didn't youtell me all this sooner? Good Lord, man, there's some devil's workgoing on!"
"How the deuce was I to know you knew nothing about it?" said Aubreyimpatiently. "You'll grant everything pointed against you? When I sawthat guy go into the shop with his own key, what could I think but thatyou were in league with him? Gracious, man, are you so befuddled inyour old books that you don't see what's going on round you?"
"What time did you say that was?" said Roger shortly.
"One o'clock Sunday morning."
Roger thought a minute. "Yes, I was in the cellar with Bock," he said."Bock barked, and I thought it was rats. That fellow must have takenan impression of the lock and made himself a key. He's been in theshop hundreds of times, and could easily do it. That explains thedisappearing Cromwell. But WHY? What's the idea?"
"For the love of heaven," said Aubrey. "Let's get back to Brooklyn assoon as we can. God only knows what may have happened. Fool that Iwas, to go away and leave those women all alone. Triple-distilledlunacy!"
"My dear fellow," said Roger, "I was the fool to be lured off by a faketelephone call. Judging by what you say, Weintraub must have workedthat also."
Aubrey looked at his watch. "Just after three," he said.
"We can't get a train till four," said Roger. "That means we can't getback to Gissing Street until nearly seven."
"Call them up," said Aubrey.
They were still in the private office at the rear of Leary's. Rogerwas well-known in the shop, and had no hesitation in using thetelephone. He lifted the receiver.
"Long Distance, please," he said. "Hullo? I want to get Brooklyn,Wordsworth 1617-W."
They spent a sour twenty-five minutes waiting for the connection.Roger went out to talk with Warner, while Aubrey fumed in the backoffice. He could not sit still, and paced the little room in a fidgetof impatience, tearing his watch out of his pocket every few minutes.He felt dull and sick with vague fear. To his mind recurred thespiteful buzz of that voice over the wire--"Gissing Street is nothealthy for you." He remembered the scuffle on the Bridge, thewhispering in the alley, and the sinister face of the druggist at hisprescription counter. The whole series of events seemed a grosslyfantastic nightmare, yet it frightened him. "If only I were inBrooklyn," he groaned, "it wouldn't be so bad. But to be over here, ahundred miles away, in another cursed bookshop, while that girl may bein trouble--Gosh!" he muttered. "If I get through this business allright I'll lay off bookshops for the rest of my life!"
The telephone rang, and Aubrey frantically beckoned to Roger, who wasoutside, talking.
"Answer it, you chump!" said Roger. "We'll lose the connection!"
"Nix," said Aubrey. "If Titania hears my voice she'll ring off. She'ssore at me."
Roger ran to the instrument. "Hullo, hullo?" he said, irritably."Hullo, is that Wordsworth----? Yes, I'm calling Brooklyn--Hullo!"
Aubrey, leaning over Roger's shoulder, could hear a clucking in thereceiver, and then, incredibly clear, a thin, silver, distant voice.How well he knew it! It seemed to vibrate in the air all about him.He could hear every syllable distinctly. A hot perspiration burst outon his forehead and in the palms of his hands.
"Hullo," said Roger. "Is that Mifflin's Bookshop?"
"Yes," said Titania. "Is that you, Mr. Mifflin? Where are you?"
"In Philadelphia," said Roger. "Tell me, is everything all right?"
"Everything's dandy," said Titania. "I'm selling loads of books. Mrs.Mifflin's gone out to do some shopping."
Aubrey shook to hear the tiny, airy voice, like a trill of birdsong,like a tinkling from some distant star. He could imagine her standingat the phone in the back of the shadowy bookshop, and seemed to see heras though through an inverted telescope, very minute and very perfect.How brave and exquisite she was!
"When are you coming home?" she was saying.
"About seven o'clock," said Roger. "Listen, is everything absolutelyO. K.?"
"Why, yes," said Titania. "I've been having lots of fun. I went downjust now and put some coal on the furnace. Oh, yes. Mr. Weintraubcame in a little while ago and left a suitcase of books. He said youwouldn't mind. A friend of his is going to call for them thisafternoon."
"Hold the wire a moment," said Roger, and clapped his hand over themouthpiece. "She says Weintraub left a suitcase of books there to becalled for. What do you make of that?"
"For the love of God, tell her not to touch those books."
"Hullo?" said Roger. Aubrey, leaning over him, noticed that the littlebookseller's naked pate was ringed with crystal beads.
"Hullo?" replied Titania's elfin voice promptly.
"Did you open the suitcase?"
"No. It's locked. Mr. Weintraub said there were a lot of old books init for a friend of his. It's very heavy."
"Look here," said Roger, and his voice rang sharply. "This isimportant. I don't want you to touch that suitcase. Leave it whereverit is, and DON'T TOUCH IT. Promise me."
"Yes, Mr. Mifflin. Had I better put it in a safe place?"
"DON'T TOUCH IT!"
"Bock's sniffing at it now."
"Don't touch it, and don't let Bock touch it. It--it's got valuablepapers in it."
"I'll be careful of it," said Titania.
"Promise me not to touch it. And another thing--if any one calls forit, don't let them take it until I get home."
Aubrey held out his watch in front of Roger. The latter nodded.
"Do you understand?" he said. "Do you hear me all right?"
"Yes, splendidly. I think it's wonderful! You know I never talked onlong distance before----"
"Don't touch the bag," repeated Roger doggedly, "and don't let any onetake it until we--until I get back."
"I promise," said Titania blithely.
"Good-bye," said Roger, and set down the receiver. His face lookedcuriously pinched, and there was perspiration in the hollows under hiseyes. Aubrey held out his watch impatiently.
"We've just time to make it," cried Roger, and they rushed from theshop.
It was not a sprightly journey. The train made its accustomed detourthrough West Philadelphia and North Philadelphia before getting down tobusiness, and the two voyagers felt a personal hatred of the brakemenwho permitted passengers from these suburbs to straggle leisurelyaboard instead of flogging them in with knotted whips. When theexpress stopped at Trenton, Aubrey could easily have turned a howitzerupon that innocent city and blasted it into rubble. An unexpected stopat Princeton Junction was the last straw. Aubrey addressed theconductor in terms that were highly treasonable, considering that thisofficial was a government servant.
The winter twilight drew in, gray and dreary, with a threat of snow.For some time they sat in silence, Roger buried in a Philadelphiaafternoon paper containing the text of the President's speechannouncing his trip to Europe, and Aubrey gloomily recapitulating theschedule of his past week. His head throbbed, his hands were wet withnervousness so that crumbs of tobacco adhered to them annoyingly.
"It's a funny thing," he said at last. "You know I never heard of yourshop until a week ago to-day, and now it seems like the most importantplace on earth. It was only last Tuesday that we had supper together,and since then I've had my scalp laid open twice, had a desperado liein wait for me in my own bedroom, spent two night vigils on GissingStreet, and endangered the biggest advertising account our agencyhandles. I don't wonder you call the place haunted!"
"I suppose it would all make good advertising copy?" said Rogerpeevishly.
"Well, I don't know" said Aubrey. "It's a bit too rough, I'm afraid.How do you dope it out?"
"I don't know what to think. Weintraub has run that drug store fortwenty years or more. Years ago, before I ever got into the bookbusiness, I used to know his shop. He was always rather interested inbooks, especia
lly scientific books, and we got quite friendly when Iopened up on Gissing Street. I never fell for his face very hard, buthe always seemed quiet and well-disposed. It sounds to me like somekind of trade in illicit drugs, or German incendiary bombs. You knowwhat a lot of fires there were during the war--those big grainelevators in Brooklyn, and so on."
"I thought at first it was a kidnapping stunt," said Aubrey. "Ithought you had got Miss Chapman planted in your shop so that theseother guys could smuggle her away."
"You seem to have done me the honour of thinking me a very completerascal," said Roger.
Aubrey's lips trembled with irritable retort, but he checked himselfheroically.
"What was your particular interest in the Cromwell book?" he askedafter a pause.
"Oh, I read somewhere--two or three years ago--that it was one ofWoodrow Wilson's favourite books. That interested me, and I looked itup."
"By the way," cried Aubrey excitedly, "I forgot to show you thosenumbers that were written in the cover." He pulled out his memorandumbook, and showed the transcript he had made.
"Well, one of these is perfectly understandable," said Roger. "Here,where it says 329 ff. cf. W. W. That simply means 'pages 329 andfollowing, compare Woodrow Wilson.' I remember jotting that down notlong ago, because that passage in the book reminded me of some ofWilson's ideas. I generally note down in the back of a book thenumbers of any pages that interest me specially. These other pagenumbers convey nothing unless I had the book before me."
"The first bunch of numbers was in your handwriting, then; butunderneath were these others, in Weintraub's--or at any rate in hisink. When I saw that he was jotting down what I took to be code stuffin the backs of your books I naturally assumed you and he were workingtogether----"
"And you found the cover in his drug store?"
"Yes."
Roger scowled. "I don't make it out," he said. "Well, there's nothingwe can do till we get there. Do you want to look at the paper?There's the text of Wilson's speech to Congress this morning."
Aubrey shook his head dismally, and leaned his hot forehead against thepane. Neither of them spoke again until they reached ManhattanTransfer, where they changed for the Hudson Terminal.
It was seven o'clock when they hurried out of the subway terminus atAtlantic Avenue. It was a raw, damp evening, but the streets hadalready begun to bustle with their nightly exuberance of light andcolour. The yellow glitter of a pawnshop window reminded Aubrey of thesmall revolver in his pocket. As they passed a dark alley, he steppedaside to load the weapon.
"Have you anything of this sort with you?" he said, showing it to Roger.
"Good Lord, no," said the bookseller. "What do you think I am, amoving-picture hero?"
Down Gissing Street the younger man set so rapid a pace that hiscompanion had to trot to keep abreast. The placid vista of the littlestreet was reassuring. Under the glowing effusion of the shop windowsthe pavement was a path of checkered brightness. In Weintraub'spharmacy they could see the pasty-faced assistant in his stained whitecoat serving a beaker of hot chocolate. In the stationer's shop peoplewere looking over trays of Christmas cards. In the Milwaukee LunchAubrey saw (and envied) a sturdy citizen peacefully dipping a doughnutinto a cup of coffee.
"This all seems very unreal," said Roger.
As they neared the bookshop, Aubrey's heart gave a jerk ofapprehension. The blinds in the front windows had been drawn down. Adull shining came through them, showing that the lights were turned oninside. But why should the shades be lowered with closing time threehours away?
They reached the front door, and Aubrey was about to seize the handlewhen Roger halted him.
"Wait a moment," he said. "Let's go in quietly. There may besomething queer going on."
Aubrey turned the knob gently. The door was locked.
Roger pulled out his latchkey and cautiously released the bolt. Thenhe opened the door slightly--about an inch.
"You're taller than I am," he whispered. "Reach up and muffle the bellabove the door while I open it."
Aubrey thrust three fingers through the aperture and blocked thetrigger of the gong. Then Roger pushed the door wide, and they tiptoedin.
The shop was empty, and apparently normal. They stood for an instantwith pounding pulses.
From the back of the house came a clear voice, a little tremulous:
"You can do what you like, I shan't tell you where it is. Mr. Mifflinsaid----"
There followed the bang of a falling chair, and a sound of rapidmovement.
Aubrey was down the aisle in a flash, followed by Roger, who haddelayed just long enough to close the door. He tiptoed up the steps atthe back of the shop and looked into the dining room. At the instanthis eyes took in the scene it seemed as though the whole room was inmotion.
The cloth was spread for supper and shone white under the drop lamp.In the far corner of the room Titania was struggling in the grasp of abearded man whom Aubrey instantly recognized as the chef. On the nearside of the table, holding a revolver levelled at the girl, stoodWeintraub. His back was toward the door. Aubrey could see thedruggist's sullen jaw crease and shake with anger.
Two strides took him into the room. He jammed the muzzle of his pistolagainst the oily cheek. "Drop it!" he said hoarsely. "You Hun!" Withhis left hand he seized the man's shirt collar and drew it tightagainst the throat. In his tremor of rage and excitement his arms feltcuriously weak, and his first thought was how impossible it would be tostrangle that swinish neck.
For an instant there was a breathless tableau. The bearded man stillhad his hands on Titania's shoulders. She, very pale but withbrilliant eyes, gazed at Aubrey in unbelieving amazement. Weintraubstood quite motionless with both hands on the dining table, as thoughthinking. He felt the cold bruise of metal against the hollow of hischeek. Slowly he opened his right hand and his revolver fell on thelinen cloth. Then Roger burst into the room.
Titania wrenched herself away from the chef.
"I wouldn't give them the suitcase!" she cried.
Aubrey kept his pistol pinned against Weintraub's face. With his lefthand he picked up the druggist's revolver. Roger was about to seizethe chef, who was standing uncertainly on the other side of the table.
"Here," said Aubrey, "take this gun. Cover this fellow and leave thatone to me. I've got a score to settle with him."
The chef made a movement as though to jump through the window behindhim, but Aubrey flung himself upon him. He hit the man square on thenose and felt a delicious throb of satisfaction as the rubbery fleshflattened beneath his knuckles. He seized the man's hairy throat andsank his fingers into it. The other tried to snatch the bread knife onthe table, but was too late. He fell to the floor, and Aubreythrottled him savagely.
"You blasted Hun," he grunted. "Go wrestling with girls, will you?"
Titania ran from the room, through the pantry.
Roger was holding Weintraub's revolver in front of the German's face.
"Look here," he said, "what does this mean?"
"It's all a mistake," said the druggist suavely, though his eyes sliduneasily to and fro. "I just came in to get some books I left hereearlier in the afternoon."
"With a revolver, eh?" said Roger. "Speak up, Hindenburg, what's thebig idea?"
"It's not my revolver," said Weintraub. "It's Metzger's."
"Where's this suitcase of yours?" said Roger. "We're going to have alook at it."
"It's all a stupid mistake," said Weintraub. "I left a suitcase of oldbooks here for Metzger, because I expected to go out of town thisafternoon. He called for it, and your young woman wouldn't give it tohim. He came to me, and I came down here to tell her it was all right."
"Is that Metzger?" said Roger, pointing to the bearded man who wastrying to break Aubrey's grip. "Gilbert, don't choke that man, we wanthim to do some explaining."
Aubrey got up, picked his revolver from the floor where he had droppedit, and prodded the chef t
o his feet.
"Well, you swine," he said, "how did you enjoy falling downstairs theother evening? As for you, Herr Weintraub, I'd like to know what kindof prescriptions you make up in that cellar of yours."
Weintraub's face shone damply in the lamplight. Perspiration was thickon his forehead.
"My dear Mifflin," he said, "this is awfully stupid. In my eagerness,I'm afraid----"
Titania ran back into the room, followed by Helen, whose face wascrimson.
"Thank God you're back, Roger," she said. "These brutes tied me up inthe kitchen and gagged me with a roller-towel. They threatened toshoot Titania if she wouldn't give them the suitcase."
Weintraub began to say something, but Roger thrust the revolver betweenhis eyes.
"Hold your tongue!" he said. "We're going to have a look at thosebooks of yours."
"I'll get the suitcase," said Titania. "I hid it. When Mr. Weintraubcame in and asked for it, at first I was going to give it to him, buthe looked so queer I thought something must be wrong."
"Don't you get it," said Aubrey, and their eyes met for the first time."Show me where it is, and we'll let friend Hun bring it."
Titania flushed a little. "It's in my bedroom cupboard," she said.
She led the way upstairs, Metzger following, and Aubrey behind Metzgerwith his pistol ready. Outside the bedroom door Aubrey halted. "Showhim the suitcase and let him pick it up," he said. "If he makes awrong movement, call me, and I'll shoot him."
Titania pointed out the suitcase, which she had stowed at the back ofher cupboard behind some clothes. The chef showed no insubordination,and the three returned downstairs.
"Very well," said Roger. "We'll go down in the shop where we can seebetter. Perhaps he's got a first folio Shakespeare in here. Helen,you go to the phone and ring up the McFee Street police station. Askthem to send a couple of men round here at once."
"My dear Mifflin," said Weintraub, "this is very absurd. Only a fewold books that I had collected from time to time."
"I don't call it absurd when a man comes into my house and ties my wifeup with clothesline and threatens to shoot a young girl," said Roger."We'll see what the police have to say about this, Weintraub. Don'tmake any mistake: if you try to bolt I'll blow your brains out."
Aubrey led the way down into the shop while Metzger carried thesuitcase. Roger and Weintraub followed, and Titania brought up therear. Under a bright light in the Essay alcove Aubrey made the cheflay the bag on the table.
"Open her up," he said curtly.
"It's nothing but some old books," said Metzger.
"If they're old enough they may be valuable," said Roger. "I'minterested in old books. Look sharp!"
Metzger drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the bag. Aubrey heldthe pistol at his head as he threw back the lid.
The suitcase was full of second-hand books closely packed together.Roger, with great presence of mind, was keeping his eyes on Weintraub.
"Tell me what's in it," he said.
"Why, it's only a lot of books, after all," cried Titania.
"You see," said Weintraub surlily, "there's no mystery about it. I'msorry I was so----"
"Oh, look!" said Titania; "There's the Cromwell book!"
For an instant Roger forgot himself. He looked instinctively at thesuitcase, and in that moment the druggist broke away, ran down theaisle, and flew out of the door. Roger dashed after him, but was toolate. Aubrey was holding Metzger by the collar with the pistol at hishead.
"Good God," he said, "why didn't you shoot?"
"I don't know" said Roger in confusion. "I was afraid of hitting him.Never mind, we can fix him later."
"The police will be here in a minute," said Helen, calling from thetelephone. "I'm going to let Bock in. He's in the back yard."
"I think they're both crazy," said Titania. "Let's put the Cromwellback on the shelf and let this creature go." She put out her hand forthe book.
"Stop!" cried Aubrey, and seized her arm. "Don't touch that book!"
Titania shrank back, frightened by his voice. Had everyone gone insane?
"Here, Mr. Metzger," said Aubrey, "you put that book back on the shelfwhere it belongs. Don't try to get away. I've got this revolverpointed at you."
He and Roger were both startled by the chef's face. Above the unkemptbeard his eyes shone with a half-crazed lustre, and his hands shook.
"Very well," he said. "Show me where it goes."
"I'll show you," said Titania.
Aubrey put out his arm in front of the girl. "Stay where you are," hesaid angrily.
"Down in the History alcove," said Roger. "The front alcove on theother side of the shop. We've both got you covered."
Instead of taking the volume from the suitcase, Metzger picked up thewhole bag, holding it flat. He carried it to the alcove theyindicated. He placed the case carefully on the floor, and picked theCromwell volume out of it.
"Where would you want it to go?" he said in an odd voice. "This is avaluable book."
"On the fifth shelf," said Roger. "Over there----"
"For God's sake stand back," said Aubrey. "Don't go near him. There'ssomething damnable about this."
"You poor fools!" cried Metzger harshly. "To hell with you and yourold books." He drew his hand back as though to throw the volume atthem.
There was a quick patter of feet, and Bock, growling, ran down theaisle. In the same instant, Aubrey, obeying some unexplained impulse,gave Roger a violent push back into the Fiction alcove, seized Titaniaroughly in his arms, and ran with her toward the back of the shop.
Metzger's arm was raised, about to throw the book, when Bock darted athim and buried his teeth in the man's leg. The Cromwell fell from hishand.
There was a shattering explosion, a dull roar, and for an instantAubrey thought the whole bookshop had turned into a vast spinning top.The floor rocked and sagged, shelves of books were hurled in everydirection. Carrying Titania, he had just reached the steps leading tothe domestic quarters when they were flung sideways into the cornerbehind Roger's desk. The air was full of flying books. A row ofencyclopedias crashed down upon his shoulders, narrowly missingTitania's head. The front windows were shivered into flying streamersof broken glass. The table near the door was hurled into the oppositegallery. With a splintering crash the corner of the gallery above theHistory alcove collapsed, and hundreds of volumes cascaded heavily onto the floor. The lights went out, and for an instant all was silence.
"Are you all right?" said Aubrey hastily. He and Titania had fallensprawling against the bookseller's desk.
"I think so," she said faintly. "Where's Mr. Mifflin?"
Aubrey put out his hand to help her, and touched something wet on thefloor. "Good heavens," he thought. "She's dying!" He struggled to hisfeet in the darkness. "Hullo, Mr. Mifflin," he called, "where are you?"
There was no answer.
A beam of light gushed out from the passageway behind the shop, andpicking his way over fallen litter he found Mrs. Mifflin standing dazedby the dining-room door. In the back of the house the lights werestill burning.
"For heaven's sake, have you a candle?" he said.
"Where's Roger?" she cried piteously, and stumbled into the kitchen.
With a candle Aubrey found Titania sitting on the floor, very faint,but unhurt. What he had thought was blood proved to be a pool of inkfrom a quart bottle that had stood over Roger's desk. He picked her uplike a child and carried her into the kitchen. "Stay here and don'tstir," he said.
By this time a crowd was already gathering on the pavement. Someonecame in with a lantern. Three policemen appeared at the door.
"For God's sake," cried Aubrey, "get a light in here so we can seewhat's happened. Mifflin's buried in this mess somewhere. Someonering for an ambulance."
The whole front of the Haunted Bookshop was a wreck. In the paleglimmer of the lantern it was a disastrous sight. Helen groped her waydown the shattered aisle.
"Where was he?" she cried wildly.
"Thanks to that set of Trollope," said a voice in the remains of theFiction alcove, "I think I'm all right. Books make goodshock-absorbers. Is any one hurt?"
It was Roger, half stunned, but undamaged. He crawled out from under acase of shelves that had crumpled down upon him.
"Bring that lantern over here," said Aubrey, pointing to a dark heaplying on the floor under the broken fragments of Roger's bulletin board.
It was the chef. He was dead. And clinging to his leg was all thatwas left of Bock.
Chapter XV
Mr. Chapman Waves His Wand
Gissing Street will not soon forget the explosion at the HauntedBookshop. When it was learned that the cellar of Weintraub's pharmacycontained just the information for which the Department of Justice hadbeen looking for four years, and that the inoffensive German-Americandruggist had been the artisan of hundreds of incendiary bombs that hadbeen placed on American and Allied shipping and in ammunitionplants--and that this same Weintraub had committed suicide whenarrested on Bromfield Street in Boston the next day--Gissing Streethummed with excitement. The Milwaukee Lunch did a roaring businessamong the sensation seekers who came to view the ruins of the bookshop.When it became known that fragments of a cabin plan of the GeorgeWashington had been found in Metzger's pocket, and the confession of anaccomplice on the kitchen staff of the Octagon Hotel showed that thebomb, disguised as a copy of one of Woodrow Wilson's favourite books,was to have been placed in the Presidential suite of the steamship,indignation knew no bounds. Mrs. J. F. Smith left Mrs. Schiller'slodgings, declaring that she would stay no longer in a pro-Germancolony; and Aubrey was able at last to get a much-needed bath.
For the next three days he was too busy with agents of the Departmentof Justice to be able to carry on an investigation of his own thatgreatly occupied his mind. But late on Friday afternoon he called atthe bookshop to talk things over.
The debris had all been neatly cleared away, and the shattered front ofthe building boarded up. Inside, Aubrey found Roger seated on thefloor, looking over piles of volumes that were heaped pell-mell aroundhim. Through Mr. Chapman's influence with a well-known firm ofbuilders, the bookseller had been able to get men to work at once inmaking repairs, but even so it would be at least ten days, he said,before he could reopen for business. "I hate to lose the value of allthis advertising," he lamented. "It isn't often that a second-handbookstore gets onto the front pages of the newspapers."
"I thought you didn't believe in advertising," said Aubrey.
"The kind of advertising I believe in," said Roger, "is the kind thatdoesn't cost you anything."
Aubrey smiled as he looked round at the dismantled shop. "It seems tome that this'll cost you a tidy bit when the bill comes in."
"My dear fellow," said Roger, "This is just what I needed. I wasgetting into a rut. The explosion has blown out a whole lot of books Ihad forgotten about and didn't even know I had. Look, here's an oldcopy of How to Be Happy Though Married, which I see the publisher listsas 'Fiction.' Here's Urn Burial, and The Love Affairs of aBibliomaniac, and Mistletoe's Book of Deplorable Facts. I'm going tohave a thorough house-cleaning. I'm thinking seriously of putting in avacuum cleaner and a cash register. Titania was quite right, the placewas too dirty. That girl has given me a lot of ideas."
Aubrey wanted to ask where she was, but didn't like to say sopoint-blank.
"There's no question about it," said Roger, "an explosion now and thendoes one good. Since the reporters got here and dragged the whole yarnout of us, I've had half a dozen offers from publishers for my book, alyceum bureau wants me to lecture on Bookselling as a Form of PublicService, I've had five hundred letters from people asking when the shopwill reopen for business, and the American Booksellers' Association hasinvited me to give an address at its convention next spring. It's thefirst recognition I've ever had. If it weren't for poor dear oldBock---- Come, we've buried him in the back yard. I want to show youhis grave."
Over a pathetically small mound near the fence a bunch of big yellowchrysanthemums were standing in a vase.
"Titania put those there," said Roger. "She says she's going to planta dogwood tree there in the spring. We intend to put up a little stonefor him, and I'm trying to think of an inscription, I thought of DeMortuis Nil Nisi Bonum, but that's a bit too flippant."
The living quarters of the house had not been damaged by the explosion,and Roger took Aubrey back to the den. "You've come just at the righttime," he said. "Mr. Chapman's coming to dinner this evening, andwe'll all have a good talk. There's a lot about this business I don'tunderstand yet."
Aubrey was still keeping his eye open for a sign of Titania's presence,and Roger noticed his wandering gaze.
"This is Miss Chapman's afternoon off," he said. "She got her firstsalary to-day, and was so much exhilarated that she went to New York toblow it in. She's out with her father. Excuse me, please, I'm goingto help Helen get dinner ready."
Aubrey sat down by the fire, and lit his pipe. The burden of hismeditation was that it was just a week since he had first met Titania,and in all that week there had been no waking moment when he had notthought of her. He was wondering how long it might take for a girl tofall in love? A man--he knew now--could fall in love in five minutes,but how did it work with girls? He was also thinking what uniqueDaintybits advertising copy he could build (like all ad men he alwaysspoke of building an ad, never of writing one) out of this affair if hecould only use the inside stuff.
He heard a rustle behind him, and there she was. She had on a gray furcoat and a lively little hat. Her cheeks were delicately tinted by thewinter air. Aubrey rose.
"Why, Mr. Gilbert!" she said. "Where have you been keeping yourselfwhen I wanted to see you so badly? I haven't seen you, not to talk to,since last Sunday."
He found it impossible to say anything intelligible. She threw off hercoat, and went on, with a wistful gravity that became her even morethan smiles:
"Mr. Mifflin has told me some more about what you did last week--Imean, how you took a room across the street and spied upon that hatefulman and saw through the whole thing when we were too blind to know whatwas going on. And I want to apologize for the silly things I said thatSunday morning. Will you forgive me?"
Aubrey had never felt his self-salesmanship ability at such a low ebb.To his unspeakable horror, he felt his eyes betray him. They grewmoist.
"Please don't talk like that," he said. "I had no right to do what Idid, anyway. And I was wrong in what I said about Mr. Mifflin. Idon't wonder you were angry."
"Now surely you're not going to deprive me of the pleasure of thankingyou," she said. "You know as well as I do that you saved my life--allour lives, that night. I guess you'd have saved poor Bock's, too, ifyou could." Her eyes filled with tears.
"If anybody deserves credit, it's you," he said. "Why, if it hadn'tbeen for you they'd have been away with that suitcase and probablyMetzger would have got his bomb on board the ship and blown up thePresident----"
"I'm not arguing with you," she said. "I'm just thanking you."
It was a happy little party that sat down in Roger's dining room thatevening. Helen had prepared Eggs Samuel Butler in Aubrey's honour, andMr. Chapman had brought two bottles of champagne to pledge the futuresuccess of the bookshop. Aubrey was called upon to announce the resultof his conferences with the secret service men who had been looking upWeintraub's record.
"It all seems so simple now," he said, "that I wonder we didn't seethrough it at once. You see, we all made the mistake of assuming thatGerman plotting would stop automatically when the armistice was signed.It seems that this man Weintraub was one of the most dangerous spiesGermany had in this country. Thirty or forty fires and explosions onour ships at sea are said to have been due to his work. As he hadlived here so long and taken out citizen's papers, no one suspectedhim. But after his death, his wife, whom he had treated very brutally,ga
ve way and told a great deal about his activities. According to her,as soon as it was announced that the President would go to the PeaceConference, Weintraub made up his mind to get a bomb into thePresident's cabin on board the George Washington. Mrs. Weintraub triedto dissuade him from it, as she was in secret opposed to thesemurderous plots of his, but he threatened to kill her if she thwartedhim. She lived in terror of her life. I can believe it, for Iremember her face when her husband looked at her.
"Of course to make the bomb was simple enough for Weintraub. He had aninfernally complete laboratory in the cellar of his house, where he hadmade hundreds. The problem was, how to make a bomb that would not looksuspicious, and how to get it into the President's private cabin. Hehit on the idea of binding it into the cover of a book. How he came tochoose that particular volume, I don't know."
"I think probably I gave him the idea quite innocently," said Roger."He used to come in here a good deal and one day he asked me whetherMr. Wilson was a great reader. I said that I believed he was, and thenmentioned the Cromwell, which I had heard was one of Wilson's favouritebooks. Weintraub was much interested and said he must read the booksome day. I remember now that he stood in that alcove for some time,looking over it."
"Well," said Aubrey, "it must have seemed to him that luck was playinginto his hands. This man Metzger, who had been an assistant chef atthe Octagon for years, was slated to go on board the George Washingtonwith the party of cooks from that hotel who were to prepare thePresident's meals. Weintraub was informed of all this from someonehigher up in the German spy organization. Metzger, who was known asMessier at the hotel, was a very clever chef, and had fake passports asa Swiss citizen. He was another tool of the organization. By theoriginal scheme there would have been no direct communication betweenWeintraub and Metzger, but the go-between was spotted by the Departmentof Justice on another count, and is now behind bars at Atlanta.
"It seems that Weintraub had conceived the idea that the leastsuspicious way of passing his messages to Metzger would be to slip theminto a copy of some book--a book little likely to be purchased--in asecond-hand bookshop. Metzger had been informed what the book was,but--perhaps owing to the unexpected removal of the go-between--did notknow in which shop he was to find it. That explains why so manybooksellers had inquiries from him recently for a copy of the Cromwellvolume.
"Weintraub, of course, was not at all anxious to have any directdealings with Metzger, as the druggist had a high regard for his ownskin. When the chef was finally informed where the bookshop was inwhich he was to see the book, he hurried over here. Weintraub hadpicked out this shop not only because it was as unlikely as any placeon earth to be suspected as a channel of spy codes, but also because hehad your confidence and could drop in frequently without arousingsurprise. The first time Metzger came here happened to be the night Idined with you, as you remember."
Roger nodded. "He asked for the book, and to my surprise, it wasn'tthere."
"No: for the excellent reason that Weintraub had taken it some daysbefore, to measure it so he could build his infernal machine to fit,and also to have it rebound. He needed the original binding as a casefor his bomb. The following night, as you told me, it came back. Hebrought it himself, having provided himself with a key to your frontdoor."
"It was gone again on Thursday night, when the Corn Cob Club met here,"said Mr. Chapman.
"Yes, that time Metzger had taken it," said Aubrey. "He misunderstoodhis instructions, and thought he was to steal the book. You see, owingto the absence of their third man, they were working at cross purposes.Metzger, I think, was only intended to get his information out of thebook, and leave it where it was. At any rate, he was puzzled, andinserted that ad in the Times the next morning--that LOST ad, youremember. By that, I imagine, he intended to convey the idea that hehad located the bookshop, but didn't know what to do next. And thedate he mentioned in the ad, midnight on Tuesday, December third, wasto inform Weintraub (of whose identity he was still ignorant) whenMetzger was to go on board the ship. Weintraub had been instructed bytheir spy organization to watch the LOST and FOUND ads."
"Think of it!" cried Titania.
"Well," continued Aubrey, "all this may not be 100 per cent. accurate,but after putting things together this is how it dopes out. Weintraub,who was as canny as they make them, saw he'd have to get into directtouch with Metzger. He sent him word, on the Friday, to come over tosee him and bring the book. Metzger, meanwhile, had had a bad frightwhen I spoke to him in the hotel elevator. He returned the book to theshop that night, as Mrs. Mifflin remembers. Then, when I stopped in atthe drug store on my way home, he must have been with Weintraub. Ifound the Cromwell cover in the drug-store bookcase--why Weintraub wascareless enough to leave it there I can't guess--and they spotted meright away as having some kind of hunch. So they followed me over theBridge and tried to get rid of me. It was because I got that cover onFriday night that Weintraub broke into the shop again early Sundaymorning. He had to have the cover of the book to bind his bomb in."
Aubrey was agreeably conscious of the close attention of his audience.He caught Titania's gaze, and flushed a little.
"That's pretty nearly all there is to it," he said. "I knew that ifthose guys were so keen to put me out of the way there must besomething rather rotten on foot. I came over to Brooklyn the nextafternoon, Saturday, and took a room across the street."
"And we went to the movies," chirped Titania.
"The rest of it I think you all know--except Metzger's visit to mylodgings that night." He described the incident. "You see they weretrailing me pretty close. If I hadn't happened to notice the cigar atmy window I guess he'd have had me on toast. Of course you know howwrongly I doped it out. I thought Mr. Mifflin was running with them,and I owe him my apology for that. He's laid me out once on thatscore, over in Philadelphia."
Humourously, Aubrey narrated how he had sleuthed the bookseller toLudlow Street, and had been worsted in battle.
"I think they counted on disposing of me sooner or later," said Aubrey."They framed up that telephone call to get Mr. Mifflin out of town.The point in having Metzger come to the bookshop to get the suitcasewas to clear Weintraub's skirts if possible. Apparently it was just abag of old books. The bombed book, I guess, was perfectly harmlessuntil any one tried to open it."
"You both got back just in the nick of time," said Titania admiringly."You see I was all alone most of the afternoon. Weintraub left thesuitcase about two o'clock. Metzger came for it about six. I refusedto let him have it. He was very persistent, and I had to threaten toset Bock at him. It was all I could do to hold the dear old dog in, hewas so keen to go for Metzger. The chef went away, and I suppose hewent up to see Weintraub about it. I hid the suitcase in my room. Mr.Mifflin had forbidden me to touch it, but I thought that the safestthing to do. Then Mrs. Mifflin came in. We let Bock into the yard fora run, and were getting supper. I heard the bell ring, and went intothe shop. There were the two Germans, pulling down the shades. Iasked what they meant by it, and they grabbed me and told me to shutup. Then Metzger pointed a pistol at me while the other one tied upMrs. Mifflin."
"The damned scoundrels!" cried Aubrey. "They got what was coming tothem."
"Well, my friends," said Mr. Chapman, "Let's thank heaven that it endedno worse. Mr. Gilbert, I haven't told you yet how I feel about thewhole affair. That'll come later. I'd like to propose the health ofMr. Aubrey Gilbert, who is certainly the hero of this film!"
They drank the toast with cheers, and Aubrey blushed becomingly.
"Oh, I forgot something!" cried Titania. "When I went shopping thisafternoon I stopped in at Brentano's, and was lucky enough to find justwhat I wanted. It's for Mr. Gilbert, as a souvenir of the HauntedBookshop."
She ran to the sideboard and brought back a parcel.
Aubrey opened it with delighted agitation. It was a copy of Carlyle'sCromwell. He tried to stammer his thanks, but what he saw--or thoughthe
saw--in Titania's sparkling face--unmanned him.
"The same edition!" said Roger. "Now let's see what those mystic pagenumbers are! Gilbert, have you got your memorandum?"
Aubrey took out his notebook. "Here we are," he said. "This is whatWeintraub wrote in the back of the cover."
153 (3) 1, 2.
Roger glanced at the notation.
"That ought to be easy," he said. "You see in this edition threevolumes are bound in one. Let's look at page 153 in the third volume,the first and second lines."
Aubrey turned to the place. He read, and smiled.
"Right you are," he said.
"Read it!" they all cried.
"To seduce the Protector's guard, to blow up the Protector in hisbedroom, and do other little fiddling things."
"I shouldn't wonder if that's where he got his idea," said Roger."What have I been saying right along--that books aren't merely deadthings!"
"Good gracious," said Titania. "You told me that books are explosives.You were right, weren't you! But it's lucky Mr. Gilbert didn't hearyou say it or he'd certainly have suspected you!"
"The joke is on me," said Roger.
"Well, I'VE got a toast to propose," said Titania. "Here's to thememory of Bock, the dearest, bravest dog I ever met!"
They drank it with due gravity.
"Well, good people," said Mr. Chapman, "there's nothing we can do forBock now. But we can do something for the rest of us. I've beentalking with Titania, Mr. Mifflin. I'm bound to say that after thisdisaster my first thought was to get her out of the book business asfast as I could. I thought it was a little too exciting for her. Youknow I sent her over here to have a quiet time and calm down a bit.But she wouldn't hear of leaving. And if I'm going to have a familyinterest in the book business I want to do something to justify it. Iknow your idea about travelling book-wagons, and taking literature intothe countryside. Now if you and Mrs. Mifflin can find the properpeople to run them, I'll finance a fleet of ten of those Parnassusesyou're always talking about, and have them built in time to go on theroad next spring. How about it?"
Roger and Helen looked at each other, and at Mr. Chapman. In a flashRoger saw one of his dearest dreams coming true. Titania, to whom thiswas a surprise, leaped from her chair and ran to kiss her father,crying, "Oh, Daddy, you ARE a darling!"
Roger rose solemnly and gave Mr. Chapman his hand.
"My dear sir," he said, "Miss Titania has found the right word. Youare an honour to human nature, sir, and I hope you'll never live toregret it. This is the happiest moment of my life."
"Then that's settled," said Mr. Chapman. "We'll go over the detailslater. Now there's another thing on my mind. Perhaps I shouldn'tbring up business matters here, but this is a kind of family party--Mr.Gilbert, it's my duty to inform you that I intend to take myadvertising out of the hands of the Grey-Matter Agency." Aubrey's heartsank. He had feared a catastrophe of this kind from the first.Naturally a hard-headed business man would not care to entrust suchvast interests to a firm whose young men went careering about likesecret service agents, hunting for spies, eavesdropping in alleys, andaccusing people of pro-germanism. Business, Aubrey said to himself, isbuilt upon Confidence, and what confidence could Mr. Chapman have insuch vagabond and romantic doings? Still, he felt that he had donenothing to be ashamed of.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "We have tried to give you service. Iassure you that I've spent by far the larger part of my time at theoffice in working up plans for your campaigns."
He could not bear to look at Titania, ashamed that she should be thewitness of his humiliation.
"That's exactly it," said Mr. Chapman. "I don't want just the largerpart of your time. I want all of it. I want you to accept theposition of assistant advertising manager of the DaintybitsCorporation."
They all cheered, and for the third time that evening Aubrey felt moreoverwhelmed than any good advertising man is accustomed to feel. Hetried to express his delight, and then added:
"I think it's my turn to propose a toast. I give you the health of Mr.and Mrs. Mifflin, and their Haunted Bookshop, the place where Ifirst--I first----"
His courage failed him, and he concluded, "First learned the meaning ofliterature."
"Suppose we adjourn to the den," said Helen. "We have so manydelightful things to talk over, and I know Roger wants to tell you allabout the improvements he is planning for the shop."
Aubrey lingered to be the last, and it is to be conjectured thatTitania did not drop her handkerchief merely by accident. The othershad already crossed the hall into the sitting room.
Their eyes met, and Aubrey could feel himself drowned in her steady,honest gaze. He was tortured by the bliss of being so near her, andalone. The rest of the world seemed to shred away and leave themstanding in that little island of light where the tablecloth gleamedunder the lamp.
In his hand he clutched the precious book. Out of all the thousandthings he thought, there was only one he dared to say.
"Will you write my name in it?"
"I'd love to," she said, a little shakily, for she, too, was strangelyalarmed at certain throbbings.
He gave her his pen, and she sat down at the table. She wrote quickly
For Aubrey Gilbert From Titania Chapman With much gr
She paused.
"Oh," she said quickly. "Do I have to finish it now?"
She looked up at him, with the lamplight shining on her vivid face.Aubrey felt oddly stupefied, and was thinking only of the little goldensparkle of her eyelashes. This time her eyes were the first to turnaway.
"You see," she said with a funny little quaver, "I might want to changethe wording." And she ran from the room.
As she entered the den, her father was speaking. "You know," he said,"I'm rather glad she wants to stay in the book business." Roger lookedup at her.
"Well," he said, "I believe it agrees with her! You know, the beautyof living in a place like this is that you get so absorbed in the booksyou don't have any temptation to worry about anything else. The peoplein books become more real to you than any one in actual life."
Titania, sitting on the arm of Mrs. Mifflin's chair, took Helen's hand,unobserved by the others. They smiled at each other slyly.
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