McAllister and His Double

  The Golden Touch

  I

  McAllister, with his friend Wainwright, was lounging before the fire inthe big room, having a little private Story Teller's Night of their own.It was in the early autumn, and neither of the clubmen were reallysettled in town as yet, the former having run down from the Berkshiresonly for a few days, and the latter having just landed from the Cedric.The sight of Tomlinson, who appeared tentatively in the distance andthen, receiving no encouragement, stalked slowly away, remindedWainwright of something he had heard in Paris.

  "I base my claim to your sympathetic credence, McAllister, upon theimpregnable rock of universally accepted fact that Tomlinson is ahighfalutin ass. I see that you agree. Very good, then; I proceed. Inthe first place, you must know that our anemic friend decided lastspring that the state of his health required a trip to Paris. Hetherefore went--alone. The reason is obvious. Who should he fall inwith at the Hotel Continental but a gentleman named Buncomb--Colonel C.T. P. Buncomb, a person with a bullet-hole in the middle of hisforehead, who claimed to belong to a most exclusive Southern family inSavannah. Incidentally he'd been in command of a Georgia regiment in theCivil War and had been knocked in the head at Gettysburg--one of thosebig, flabby fellows with white hair. If all Tomlinson says about hiscapacity to chew Black Strap and absorb rum is accurate, I reckon theColonel was right up to weight and could qualify as an F. F. V. He kneweverybody and everything in Paris; passed up our friend right along theFaubourg Saint Germain; and introduced him to a lot of duchesses andcountesses--that is, Tomlinson _says_ they were. Can't you see 'em,swaggerin' down the Champs-Elysees arm in arm? In addition, he took ourmournful acquaintance to all the _cafes chantants_ and students' balls,and gave him sure things on the races. Oh, that Colonel must have been aregular doodle-bug!

  "In due course Tomlinson gathered that his new friend was a miningexpert taking a short vacation and just blowing in an extra half millionor so. He believed it. You see, he had never met any of them at theWaldorf at home. He was also introduced to a young man in the same lineof business, named Larry Summerdale, who seemed to have plenty of money,and was likewise _au fait_ with the aristocracy.

  "Well, one night, after they had been to the Bal Boullier and had had alittle supper at the Jockey Club, the Colonel became a trifle moreconfidential than usual, and let drop that their friend Summerdale had abrother employed as private secretary by a copper king who owned awonderful mine out in Arizona called The Silver Bow. The stock in thisconcern had originally been sold at five dollars a share, but recently arich vein had been struck and the stock had quadrupled in value. No oneknew of this except the officers of the company, who, of course, wereanxious to buy up all they could find. They had located most of iteasily enough, but there were two or three lots that had thus far eludedthem. Among these was the largest single block of stock in existence,owned by the son of the original discoverer of the prospect. He had twothousand shares, and was blissfully ignorant of the fact that they wereworth forty thousand dollars. Just where this chap was no one seemed toknow, but his name was Edwin H. Blake, and he was supposed to be inParis. It appeared that the Colonel and Larry were watching out forBlake with the charitable idea of relieving him of his stock at five,and selling it for twenty in the States.

  "Next day, if you'll believe it, the Colonel didn't remember a thing;became quite angry at Tomlinson's supposing he'd take advantage of anyperson in the way suggested; explained that he must have been drinking,and begged him to forget everything that might have been said. Ofcourse, Tomlinson dropped the subject, but after that the Colonel and herather drifted apart. Then quite by accident, two or three weeks later,our friend stumbled on Blake himself--met him right on the race-track,through a Frenchman named Depau.

  "Now our innocent friend had been sort of lonely ever since he'd lostsight of Buncomb, and this Blake turned out to be an awfully good sort.Tomlinson naturally inquired if he'd ever met the Colonel or LarrySummerdale, but he never had, and finally they took an apartmenttogether."

  "He must have been pleased when Tomlinson told him about the value ofhis stock," remarked McAllister, lighting another cigar.

  "I'm comin' to that," replied Wainwright. "It seems that Tomlinson sofar forgot his early New England traditions as to covet that stockhimself. Shockin', wasn't it?

  "One day, when they were lunching at the Trois Freres, our friendhinted that he was interested in mining stock. Blake laughed, andreplied that if Tomlinson owned as much as he did of the stuff hewouldn't want to see another share as long as he lived, and added thathe was loaded up with a lot of worthless stock--two thousand shares--inan old prospect in Arizona that he had inherited from his father, andwasn't worth the paper the certificate was printed on. The leeryTomlinson admitted having heard of the mine, but gave it as hisimpression that it had possibilities.

  "Then he had a sudden headache, and went out and cabled to The SilverBow offices at the _World_ building here in New York to find out whatthe company would pay for the stock. In an hour or two he got an answerstating that they were prepared to give twenty dollars a share for notless than two thousand shares. Good, eh?

  "Well, next day he led the conversation round again to mining stocks,and finally offered to buy Blake's holdings for five dollars a share.When the latter hesitated, Tomlinson was so afraid he'd lose the stockthat he almost raised his bid to fifteen; but Blake only laughed, andsaid that he had no intention of robbing one of his friends, and thatthe old stuff really wasn't worth a cent. Tomlinson became quiteindignant, suggested that perhaps he knew more about that particularmine than even Blake did, and finally overcame the latter's scruplesand persuaded him to sell. Then Tomlinson disposed of some bonds bycable, and that evening gave Blake a draft for fifty thousand francs inexchange for his two thousand share certificate in The Silver Bow ofArizona. He told me it had a picture of a miner with a pick-ax and amule standing against the rising sun on it. Sort of allegorical, don'tyou think?

  "Blake continued to protest that our friend was being cheated, andoffered to buy it back at any time; but Tomlinson's one idea was to getto New York as fast as possible. He had cabled that the stock was on theway, and that very night he slid out of Paris and caught theNorddeutscher Lloyd at Cherbourg. I inferred that he occupied the bridalchamber on the way back all by himself.

  "The instant they landed he jumped in a cab and started for the _World_building; but when he got there he couldn't find any Silver Bow MiningCompany. It had evaporated. It had been there right enough--for tendays--the ten days Tomlinson calculated that it had taken Blake to sellhim the stock. But no one knew where it had gone or what had become ofit.

  "Well, of course," kept on Wainwright, "he nearly went crazy; cabled thepolice in Paris and had 'em all arrested, including Colonel Buncomb;and took the next steamer back. He says they had the trial in a littlepolice court in the Palais de Justice. Buncomb had hired Maitre Laborito defend him. Everybody kept their hats on, and apparently they allshouted at once. The Judge was the only one that kept his mouth shut atall. Tomlinson told his story through an interpreter, and chargedBuncomb, Summerdale, and Blake with conspiracy to defraud.

  "When the Colonel realized what it was all about he jumped into themiddle of the room, pushed his silk hat back of his ears, flapped hiscoat-tails, and sailed into 'em in good old Southern style. I tell youhe must have made the eagle scream. He was a Colonel in the ConfederateArmy, he was--the Thirtieth Georgia. The whole thing was a miserableFrench scheme to blackmail him. He'd appeal to the American Ambassador.He'd see if a parcel of French soup-makers and a police judge couldinterfere with the Constitution of the United States. Every once in awhile he'd yell '_Conspuez_' or '_A bas_' and sort of froth at themouth. He made a great big impression. Then Maitre Labori got in _his_licks. He said Tomlinson was a wolf in sheep's clothing--a rascal--a'vilain m'sieur,' whatever that is.

  "Finally he inquired, with a very unpleasant smile, if Buncomb had everasked him to buy any stock?

  "Tomlinson had to say 'No.' r />
  "Did Larry Summerdale?

  "'No'

  "Didn't Blake tell him the stock was worthless?

  "'Yes.'

  "How did he know the stock wasn't worth what he paid for it?

  "'Well, he didn't absolutely.'

  "The Labori said something with a long rattling 'r' in it like a snake,and turned with a gesture of extreme contempt to the Judge. He remarkedthat one glance of comparison between Colonel Buncomb and Tomlinsonwould show which was the gentleman and which was the rogue. Then thefirst thing our friend knew the court had adjourned--they had all beenturned out--discharged--acquitted. But the thing that most disgustedTomlinson was that as he was coming away he saw the whole push, theColonel and Larry and Blake, all piling into a big Panhard autocar. Theypassed him going about eighty miles an hour. You see, Tomlinson had paidfor that car, and he'd always wanted one to run himself. The last heheard of 'em they were tearing up the Riviera."

  "And what did Tomlinson do then?" asked McAllister.

  "There was nothing he could do in Paris, so he came home on a ten-dayboat and went to visit his uncle up at Methuen, Mass. Gay place,Methuen! Saturday night you can ride down to Lawrence on the electriccar for a nickel and hear the band play in front of the gas works. Butthe simple life has done him good."

  II

  One evening, several months later, McAllister and a party of friendsdropped into Rector's after the theatre for a caviare sandwich beforeturning in. The hostelry, as usual, was in a blaze of light and crowded,but after waiting for a few moments they were given a table just vacatedby a party of four. McAllister, having given their order, noticed acouple seated directly in his line of vision who instantly challengedhis attention. The girl was ordinary--slender, dark-haired,sharp-featured, and clad in a scarlet costume trimmed withermine--obviously an actress or vaudeville "artist." It was hercompanion, however, that caused McAllister to readjust his monocle.Curious! Where had he seen that face? It was that of a heavy man ofapproximately sixty, benign, smooth-shaven, full-featured, and with anexpanse of broad white forehead, the centre of which was marked in acurious fashion by a deep dent like a hole made by dropping a marbleinto soft putty. It gave him the appearance of having had a third eye,now extinct. It fascinated McAllister. He was sure he had met the oldfellow somewhere--he couldn't just place where. But that hole in theforehead--yes, he was certain! Listening abstractedly to his friends'conversation, the clubman studied his neighbor, becoming each momentmore convinced that at some time in the past they had been throwntogether. Presently the pair arose, and the man helped the woman intoher ermine coat. The hole in his forehead kept falling in and out ofshadow, as McAllister, his eyes fastened upon it like some bird charmedby a reptile, watched the head waiter bow them ostentatiously out.

  "Fellows!" exclaimed McAllister, "look at those people just going out;do you know who they are?"

  "Why, that's Yvette Vibbert, the comedienne," said Rogers. "She's atHammerstein's. I don't know her escort. By George! that's a queer thingon his forehead."

  McAllister beckoned the head waiter to him.

  "Alphonse, who's the gentleman with Mademoiselle Vibbert?"

  Alphonse smiled.

  "Zat is Monsieur Herbert." He pronounced it Erbaire.

  "Well, who's Monsieur Erbaire?"

  Alphonse elevated his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, protruded hislips, and extended the palms of his hands.

  "Alphonse says," remarked McAllister, turning to the group around thetable, "Alphonse says that you can search _him_."

  III

  McAllister had speculated for a day or two upon the probable identity ofthe man with the hole in his forehead, and then had finally given it upas a bad job. One didn't like to dig up the past too carefully, anyhow.You never could tell exactly what you might exhume.

  The next Sunday afternoon, while running his eyes carelessly over the"personals," his notice was attracted to the following:

  BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES.--Advertiser wants party with four thousand dollars ready cash; can make twelve thousand dollars in five weeks; no scheme, strictly legitimate business transaction; will bear thorough investigation; must act immediately; no brokers; principals only. HERBERT, 319 Herald.

  The name sounded familiar. But he didn't know any Herbert. Then therehovered in the penumbra of his consciousness for a moment the ghost of ascarlet dress, an ermine hat. Ah, yes! Herbert was the man with the holein his forehead that night at Rector's, that Alphonse didn't know. Butwhere had he known that man? He raised his eyes and caught a glimpse ofTomlinson, the saturnine Tomlinson, sitting by a window. Of course!Buncomb--Colonel C. T. P. Buncomb--Tomlinson's high-rolling friend ofthe Champs-Elysees--turned up in New York as Mr. Herbert--a man who'dtriple your money in five weeks! The chain was complete. If he kept hiswits about him he might increase the reputation achieved at Blair's. Itwould require _finesse_, to be sure, but his experience with Convillehad given him confidence. Here was a chance to do a little moredetective work on his own account. He replied to the advertisement,inviting an interview. The "Colonel" would probably call, try some oldswindling game, McAllister would lure him on, and at the proper momentcall in the police. It looked easy sailing.

  Accordingly the appointed hour next day found the clubman waitingimpatiently at his rooms, and at two o'clock promptly Mr. Herbert wasannounced. But McAllister was doomed to disappointment. The visitor wasnot the Colonel at all, and didn't even have a bullet-hole in hisforehead. A short, thick-set man, arrayed carefully in a dark blueovercoat, bowed himself in. In his hand he carried a glistening silkhat, and his own countenance was no less shining and urbane. Thickbristly black hair parted mathematically in the middle drooped on eitherside of his forehead above a pair of snappy black eyes and ratherbulbous nose.

  McAllister somewhat uneasily invited his guest to be seated.

  Mr. Herbert smilingly took the chair offered him.

  "Mr. McAllister?" he inquired affably.

  "Ye-es," replied the clubman. "I noticed your advertisement in the_Herald_, and it occurred to me that I might like to look into it."

  Mr. Herbert smiled slightly in a deprecating manner.

  "I admit my method savors a trifle of charlatanism," he remarked, "butthe situation was unusual and time was of the essence. Are we quitealone?"

  "Oh, yes, certainly! Will you smoke?"

  Mr. Herbert had no objection to joining McAllister in a cigar.

  "The gist of the matter is this," he explained, holding the weed in thecorner of his mouth as he spoke--a trick McAllister had never acquired."I have a brother who is employed in a confidential capacity by thepresident of a large mining company--The Golden Touch. The stock hasalways sold at around four or five. Recently they struck a very richlode. It was kept very quiet, and only the officers of the companyactually on the field know of it. Needless to say, they are buying inthe stock as fast as they can."

  "Of course," answered McAllister sympathetically. He felt as if he hadrun across an old friend again. Things were looking up a bit.

  "Well, I have located a block of which they know absolutely nothing. Itwas issued to an engineer in lieu of cash for services at the mine. Hesuddenly developed sciatica, and is obliged to go to Baden-Baden. Atpresent he is laid up at one of the hotels in this city. Of course he isignorant of the find made since he left Arizona, and of the fact thathis stock, once worth only five dollars a share, is now selling attwenty."

  "Well, he's a richer man than he supposes," commented McAllisternaively.

  Mr. Herbert smiled with condescension.

  "Exactly. That is the point. If I had five thousand dollars I could buyhis thousand shares to-morrow and sell it to the company at fifteenthousand dollars' profit. You furnish the funds, I the opportunity, andwe divide even. I've a sure thing! What do you think of it?"

  "By George!" exclaimed the clubman, slapping his knee delightedly, "I'vea mind to go you! . . . But," he added shrewdly, "I should
want to seethe prospective buyer of my stock before I purchased it."

  "Right you are; right you are, Mr. McAllister," instantly returned Mr.Herbert. "Now, I'm dead on the level, see? To-morrow morning you can godown and see the president of The Golden Touch yourself. The offices arein the New York Life Building."

  "All right," answered McAllister. "To-morrow? Wait a minute; I've anengagement. Why can't we go now?"

  Mr. Herbert nodded approvingly. Ah, _that_ was business! They would goat once.

  McAllister rang for Frazier, who assisted him into his coat and summoneda cab. On their way down-town Herbert waxed even more confidential. Hebelieved, if they could land this block of stock, they might perhaps digup a few more hundred shares. Conscientious effort counted just as muchin an affair of this sort as in any other. McAllister displayed thedeepest interest.

  Arrived at the New York Life Building, the two took the elevator to thefifth floor, where Herbert led the way to a large suite on the LeonardStreet side. McAllister rarely had to go down-town--his lawyer usuallycalled on him at his rooms--and was much impressed by the marblecorridors and gilt lettering upon the massive doors. Upon a door at theend of the hall the clubman could see in large capitals the words,

  THE GOLDEN TOUCH MINING CO.

  _Office of the President._

  They turned to the left and paused outside another door marked"Entrance." Herbert thought he'd better remain in the corridor--thePresident might smell a rat; so McAllister decided to enter alone. In anadjoining suite he could see some men testing a fire-escape consistingof a long bulging canvas tube, which reached from the window in thedirection of the street below. Someone was preparing to make a descent.McAllister wished he could stop and see the fellow slide through; butbusiness was business, and he opened the door.

  Inside he found himself in a large, handsome office. Three gum-chewingboys idled at desks in front of a brass railing, behind which severaltypewriters rattled continuously. On learning that McAllister desired tosee the President, one of the boys penetrated an inner office, andpresently beckoned our friend into another room hung with large maps andphotographs and furnished with a mahogany table, around which wereranged a dozen vacant but impressive chairs. In the room beyond,evidently the holy of holies, he could see an elderly man at a roll-topdesk smoking a large cigar.

  McAllister was beginning to lose his nerve; everything seemed somethodical and everybody so busy. Telephones rang incessantly; buzzerswhirred; the machines clacked; and the man inside smoked on serenely,unperturbed, a wonderful example of the superiority of mind over matter.Who was he? McAllister began to fear that he was going to make an ass ofhimself. Then the magnate slowly raised his eyes; retreat became nolonger possible. With a start, McAllister found himself face to facewith the man with the bullet-hole in his forehead. The latter bowedslightly.

  "I am President Van Vorst," he announced in a dignified manner.

  McAllister hastily tried to assume the expression and manner of a yokel.

  "Er--er--" he stammered; "you see, the fact is, I want to sell somestock."

  The Colonel eyed him sternly.

  "Stock? What stock?"

  "In the Golden Touch."

  The President slightly elevated his eyebrows.

  "Stock in The Golden Touch? How much have you got?"

  "About a thousand shares."

  "Nonsense!" remarked the Colonel.

  "No, it isn't," replied McAllister. "I have, really. What'll you pay forit?"

  "Five dollars a share."

  "No, no," said McAllister, edging nervously toward the door. "I thinkit's worth more than that."

  "Come back here," muttered the other, getting up from his chair andscowling. "What do you know about the value of The Golden Touch, Ishould like to know?"

  "Perhaps I know more than you think," answered McAllister, with an inaneimitation of airy nonchalance.

  "See here," said the Colonel excitedly, "is this on the level? Can youdeliver a thousand?"

  "Certainly."

  The President sank back in his chair.

  "Then you have located Murphy's stock!" he exclaimed. "You've beaten us!That cursed certificate was issued just before--" He paused, and lookedsharply toward McAllister.

  "Just before you made that strike," finished the clubman significantly.

  "Hang you!" cried the Colonel angrily. "What do you ask?"

  "Eighteen."

  "Too much. Give you ten."

  McAllister started for the door.

  At that instant a telegraph-boy entered and handed the President aflimsy yellow paper.

  "Give you twelve," added the Colonel, casting his eye rapidly over thetelegram.

  "Can't do business on that basis."

  "Well, you've got us cornered. I'll break the record. I'll give youfifteen."

  McAllister hesitated.

  "All right," said he rather reluctantly. "Cash down?"

  "Of course," replied the Colonel. "I'll wait here for you. You might aswell look at this now." And he showed the clubman the paper.

  STAFFORD, ARIZONA.

  _Struck very rich ore on the foot-wall. Recent assays show eight per cent. copper, carrying five dollars in gold to the ton. Try and locate Murphy's stock._

  "You see," added the Colonel, "I've got to get it, if it busts me!"

  "Well, you shall have it in half an hour," replied McAllister.

  Out in the corridor Herbert wanted to know exactly what had happened,and laughed heartily when McAllister described the interview. Oh, thatold Van Vorst was a sly dog! He'd steal the gold out of your teeth ifyou gave him the chance. Carrying five dollars in gold to the ton! Thatwas even better than his brother had advised him. Well, the next thingwas to capture Murphy's stock.

  On their way to the Astor House to see the sick engineer, McAllisterstopped at the Chemical National Bank, on the pretext of procuring themoney to pay for the stock, and there called up Police Headquarters.Conville presently came to the wire, and it was arranged between themthat the detective should communicate with Tomlinson and bring him atonce to the New York Life Building. There they would await the return ofMcAllister and follow him to the offices of the mining company.

  McAllister then rejoined Mr. Herbert in the cab and drove at once to thehotel. The polite clerk informed the strangers that Mr. Murphy was bad,very bad, and that they would have to secure permission from the trainednurse before they could visit him. They might, however, go upstairs andinquire for themselves.

  Mr. Murphy's room proved to be at the extreme end of a musty corridor,in which the pungent odor of iodoform and antiseptics, noticeable evenat the elevator, gave evidence of his lamentable condition. A soft knockbrought an immediate response from a muscular male nurse, who was atlast persuaded to allow them to interview his patient on the expresscondition that their call should be limited to a few moments' durationonly. Inside, the smell of medicine became overpowering. McAllistercould discern by the dim light a figure lying upon a bed in the farcorner shrouded in bandages, and moaning with pain. Near at hand stood atable covered with liniment and bottles.

  "Wot is it?" whined the sick engineer. "Carn't yer leave me in peace?Wot is it, I s'y?"

  For the third time in his life McAllister's heart nearly stopped beatingat the sound of that voice. It was, however, unmistakable. Should itcome from the heavens above, or the caverns of the hills, or the watersbeneath the earth, it could originate in but one unique, extraordinaryindividual--Wilkins! It was a startling complication, and for an instantMcAllister's brain refused to cope with the situation.

  "You really must pardon us!" Herbert began, "but we've come to see ifyou wouldn't sell some of your Golden Touch mining stock."

  "'Oly Moses!" wailed the sick engineer, turning his head to the wall."Oh, my leg! Wot do you come 'ere for, about stock, when I'm almostdead? Go aw'y, I s'y!"

  McAllister pulled himself together. He had intended buying the stock,and on r
eturning to the company's offices to have Conville arrestHerbert and the Colonel, without bothering about the sick engineer. Hewas pretty sure he had evidence enough. But now, with Wilkins to assisthim, he undoubtedly could force a confession from them both.

  "Go ahead," he whispered to Herbert; "I'm no good at that sort ofthing."

  So Mr. Herbert started in to persuade his invalid confederate to partwith his valueless stock for McAllister's money. He waxed eloquent overthe glories of the Continent and the miraculous cures effected atBaden-Baden, as well as upon the uncertainties of this life, and miningstock in particular.

  Meanwhile the sick man tossed in agony upon his pallet and cursed theinconsiderate strangers who forced their selfish interests upon him atsuch a moment. Outside the door the nurse coughed impatiently. At last,after an unusually persistent harangue on the part of Herbert, theinvalid, inveighing against the sciatica that had placed him thus attheir mercy, and more to get rid of them than anything else,reluctantly yielded. Fumbling among the bed-clothes, he produced asoiled certificate, which he smoothed out and regarded sadly.

  "'Ere, tyke it," he muttered. "Tyke it! Gimme yer money, an' go aw'y!"

  As yet he had not recognized McAllister, who had remained partiallyconcealed behind his companion.

  "Now's your chance!" whispered the latter. "Take it while you can getit. Where's the money?"

  McAllister drew out the bills, which crackled deliciously in his hands,and stepped square in front of the sick engineer, between him andHerbert.

  "Mr. Murphy"--he spoke the words slowly and distinctly--"I'm the personwho's buying your stock. This gentleman has merely interested me in theproposition." Then, fixing his eyes directly on those of Wilkins, heheld out the bills. A look of terror came over the face of the valet,and he half-raised himself from the pillow as he stared horrified at hisformer master. Then he sank back, and turned away his head.

  "Now answer me a few questions," continued McAllister. "Are you the bonafide owner of this stock?"

  Wilkins choked.

  "S' 'elp me! Got it fer services," he gasped.

  "And it's worth what you ask--five thousand dollars?"

  Wilkins glanced helplessly at Herbert, who was examining a bottle ofiodine on the mantelpiece. Then he rolled convulsively upon his side.

  "Oh, my leg!" he groaned, thrashing around until his head came within afew inches of McAllister's face. "_It's rotten_," he whispered under hisbreath. "_Don't touch it!_ . . . Oh, my pore leg! . . . _Just pretend topass me the money_. . . . 'Ere, tyke yer stock, if yer 'ave to! . . . _Iwouldn't rob yer, sir, indeed I wouldn't!_ . . . W'ere's yer money?"

  A gentle smile came over McAllister's placid countenance. Who said therewas no honor among thieves? Who said there was no such thing asgratitude and self-sacrifice? He did not realize at the moment that itwas the only thing Wilkins could possibly have done to save himself. Hissimple faith accepted it as an act of devotion upon the other's part.With a swift wink at his old servant, McAllister stepped back to whereHerbert was standing.

  "I don't know," he said doubtfully. "How can I be sure this sick man'sname is really Murphy, or that he is the fellow that worked at the mine?I guess I'd better have him identified before I give up my money."

  "Don't be foolish!" growled Herbert. "Of course he's the man! My brothergave his description in the letter, and he fits it to a T. And then hehas the certificate. What more do you want?"

  "I don't know," repeated McAllister hesitatingly. He shook his head andshifted from one foot to the other. "I don't know. I guess I won't doit."

  Herbert seemed annoyed.

  "Look here," he demanded of the sick engineer, "are you so awful sickyou can't come over to the company's offices and be identified?"--adding_sotto voce_ to McAllister, "if he does, old Van Vorst will probably buythe stock himself, and we'll lose our chance."

  The sick man moaned and grumbled. By 'ookey! 'Ere was impudence for yer.Come an' rob 'im of 'is stock, an' then demand 'e be identified.

  "We'll take you in our cab. It ain't far," urged Herbert, noddingvigorously at Wilkins from behind McAllister.

  "Oh, I'll go!" responded the engineer with sudden alacrity. "Anything tohoblige."

  He hobbled painfully out of bed. The nurse had by this time returned,and was demanding in forcible language that his patient should instantlyget back. Seeing that his expostulations had no effect, he assistedWilkins very ungraciously to get into his clothes. With the aid of astout cane the latter tottered to the elevator and was finally ensconcedsafely in the cab. All this had occupied nearly an hour; twenty minutesmore brought them to the New York Life Building.

  As McAllister and Herbert assisted their supposed victim into thebuilding, the clubman caught a glimpse of the lean Tomlinson andathletically built Conville standing together behind the pillars of theportico. The elevator whisked them up to the fifth floor so rapidly thatthe sick man swore loudly that he should never live to come down again.As they turned into the corridor toward the entrance of the office,McAllister saw his confederates emerge from the rear elevator. Thingswere going well enough, so far. Now for the _coup d'etat_!

  The boy admitted them at once into the inner sanctum. As before,President Van Vorst sat there calmly smoking a cigar. At his right, in acorner by the window, stood a heavy iron safe.

  "Well," said McAllister briskly, "I've brought the stock, and I'vebrought its former owner with it. Do you recognize him?"

  "Well, well!" returned the President, stepping forward with greatcordiality and clasping Wilkins's hand in his. "If it isn't my oldengineer, Murphy! How are you, Murphy, old socks? It's nearly a year,isn't it, since you were at Stafford?"

  "Yes," replied Wilkins tremulously, "an' I'm a very sick man. I've gotthe skyathicer somethin' hawful."

  McAllister produced the stock from his coat-pocket.

  "Do you identify this certificate?" inquired the clubman.

  "Of course! Now think of that! I've been lookin' for that thousandshares ever since Murphy left the mine," said the Colonel with a show ofirritation.

  "Well, are you ready to pay for it?" demanded McAllister sharply.

  The Colonel hesitated, looking from one to the other. Clearly he couldnot determine just how matters stood.

  "Well," he remarked finally, "I can't pay for it just this minute, butI'll go right out and get the money. You see, I didn't expect you backquite so soon. Who does the stock belong to, anyhow--you, or Murphy?"

  "At present it belongs to me," said the clubman.

  As McAllister spoke he stepped in front of the door leading into thedirectors' room. From below came faintly the rattle of the street andthe clang of electric cars, while in the outer office could be heard themerry tattoo of the typewriters. Could it be possible that in thisopulently furnished office, with its rosewood desk and chairs, itsPersian rugs and paintings, its plate glass and heavy curtains, he wasconfronting a crew of swindlers of whom his own valet was an accomplice?It was almost past belief. Yet, as he recalled Wainwright's vividdescription of the fall of Tomlinson, the scene at Rector's, theadvertisement in the _Herald_, and the strange occurrences of themorning, he perceived that there could be no question in the matter. Hewas facing three common--or rather most uncommon--thieves, all of whomprobably had served more than one term in State prison--desperatecharacters, who would not hesitate to use force, or worse, should itappear necessary. For a moment the clubman lost heart. He might bemurdered, and no one be the wiser. Then a vague shadow flickered againstthe opaque glass of the main door, and McAllister gained new courage.Conville was just outside, with Tomlinson--although the latter could notbe regarded as a valuable auxiliary in the event of a hand-to-handstruggle. Was he safe in counting on Wilkins? What if the ex-convictshould go back on him? How did the valet know but that, by assistinghis master, he was sending himself to State prison? McAllister had afleeting desire to turn and dart from the room. What business had amiddle-aged clubman turning detective, anyway? Then he braced himself,took a good grip of his stout
walking-stick, and turned to the Colonelwith an assumption of calmness which he was very far from feeling. Thenoonday sun streamed into the windows and threw into strong relief themuscular figures of the group about him.

  "I'm afraid you've been deceived in Murphy," he remarked coolly. "Heisn't an engineer at all; he's just an ex-convict."

  The Colonel uttered a swift oath and snatched a Colt from an open drawerof the desk. Herbert turned fiercely upon the clubman. Wilkins droppedhis crutch.

  "What are you giving us!" cried the Colonel.

  "I'll leave it to _him_," added McAllister. "By the way, his name isn'tMurphy at all--it's Wilkins--or Welch, if you prefer."

  "What's this--a plant?" yelled Herbert. "By God, if----"

  "Don't be upset, Mr. Summerdale," said the clubman. "You might lay downthat pistol, Colonel Buncomb. Wilkins is an old friend of mine--in facthe used to work for me."

  The two thieves glared at him, speechless. Wilkins picked up his crutchby the small end, remarking:

  "Better go easy there, Buncomb."

  "I think you gentlemen had the pleasure of meeting another friend ofmine last summer, a Mr. Tomlinson," continued McAllister. "He's told mea good deal about you. I am under the impression that he paid for anautomobile and a little trip you took on the Riviera. How would you liketo turn back the money?"

  Buncomb stood in the middle of the room pale and motionless, while theclubman opened the door into the hall and called Tomlinson's name.

  "Yaas, I'm here, McAllister. What do you want?" replied the club bore ashis lank figure entered the room. At the sight of Buncomb, Summerdale,and Wilkins he stopped short.

  "By Jove!" he drawled, "I'm dashed if it ain't the Colonel--and Larry!"

  "Look here, you--you--chappie!" snarled Buncomb, "clear out of here! Andyou, too, Tomlinson. Understand?" He waved the revolver threateningly.

  "Colonel," remarked McAllister, "I'm here for just one purpose, andthat's to collect the debt you gentlemen owe my friend Mr. Tomlinson.Wilkins, or Welch, or Murphy, or whatever _you_ call him, is ready toturn state's evidence against you. I promise him immunity. There's anofficer just outside. Shall I call him?"

  "Is that straight, Fatty?" cried Summerdale, his face livid with frightand anger. "Are you going to squeal on us?"

  "Sure!" replied Wilkins. "I'm through with you, you miserableshell-gamers! The best thing for you is to hopen the old coal-box hoverthere and count hout what's left of that ten thousand."

  "Curse you!" hissed Summerdale. "How do we know you won't have uspinched whether we pay up or not?"

  "I reckon we'd better take a chance," muttered the Colonel, laying downhis revolver and dropping on his knees before the safe. The little knobspun around, the lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open, but at thesame moment there was a terrific crash of glass behind them.

  "Excuse noise," exclaimed Conville, thrusting his face through thebroken pane and covering Buncomb with a long black weapon. "Kindly keepyour arms up, Colonel--and you too, Larry. How stout you've grown! Thankyou! I was peekin' through the keyhole, and kinder thought this would bea good time to freeze on to what was in the safe without callin' in anexpert."

  The next instant he had unlocked the door with his other hand andsnapped the handcuffs on Summerdale's uplifted wrist. While thedetective was doing the same to the Colonel, McAllister caught sight ofWilkins's frightened glance, and gave a slight nod toward the doorleading into the next room. Like a flash the valet had jumped throughand closed and locked the door behind him. Another door banged. Convillesprang into the hall across the fragments of the shattered glass, withMcAllister at his heels. They were just in time to see Wilkins leap intothe room where the men were testing the fire-escape.

  "Let me try it," said he, and swung himself calmly into the tube. For aninstant he delayed his flight, with only his head remaining visible.

  "Good-by, Mr. McAllister," he called over his shoulder, "and thank youkindly. I won't forget, sir."

  At the same instant Conville bounded through the door and rushed to thewindow. As he reached the sash Wilkins let go, and plunged downwards.His descent was rapid, his position being discernible from the saggingof the canvas.

  Barney started for the elevator in the hope of cutting off the valet'sescape below, but he had miscalculated the force of gravitation. AsMcAllister reached the window he saw the little bulge that representedWilkins slide gently to the bottom. There was a cheer from thebystanders as the convict stepped lightly to his feet. Then he turnedfor an instant, and, looking up at McAllister, waved his hand anddisappeared among the crowd.