The Tracer of Lost Persons

  CHAPTER XVI

  "Good heavens!" he said, appalled, and dropped his suit case with acrash.

  "W-what are you d-doing--" She controlled her voice and the waveringweapon with an effort. "What are you doing in this house?"

  "Doing? In _this_ house?" he repeated, his eyes protruding in thedirection of the unsteady pistol muzzle. "What are _you_ doing in thishouse--if you don't mind saying!"

  "I--I m-must ask you to put up your hands," she said. "If you move Ishall certainly s-shoot off this pistol."

  "It will go off, anyway, if you handle it like that!" he said,exasperated. "What do you mean by pointing it at me?"

  "I mean to fire it off in a few moments if you don't raise your handsabove your head!"

  He looked at the pistol; it was new and shiny; he looked at the athleticyoung figure silhouetted against the brilliant light.

  "Well, if you make a point of it, of course." He slowly held up bothhands, higher, then higher still. "Upon my word!" he breathed. "Held upby a woman!" And he said aloud, bitterly: "No doubt you have assistanceclose at hand."

  "No doubt," she said coolly. "What have you been packing into thatvalise?"

  "P-packing into _what_? Oh, into that suit case? That is my suit case."

  "Of course it is," she said quietly, "but what have you inside it?"

  "Nothing _you_ or your friends would care for," he said meaningly.

  "I must be the judge of that," she retorted. "Please open that suitcase."

  "How can I if my hands are in the air?" he expostulated, now intenselyinterested in the novelty of being held up by this graceful and vaguelypretty silhouette.

  "You may lower your arms to unpack the suit case," she said.

  "I--I had rather not if you are going to keep me covered with yourpistol."

  "Of course I shall keep you covered. Unpack your booty at once!"

  "My--_what_?"

  "Booty."

  "Madam, do you take _me_ for a thief? Have you, by chance, entered thewrong house? I--I cannot reconcile your voice with what I am forced toconsider you--a housebreaker--"

  "We will discuss that later. Unpack that bag!" she insisted.

  "But--but there is nothing in it except samples of marble--"

  "What!" she exclaimed nervously. "_What_ did you say? Samples of_marble_?"

  "Marble, madam! Georgia marble!"

  "Oh! So _you_ are the young man who goes about pretending to peddleGeorgia marble from samples! Are you? The famous marble man I have heardof."

  "I? Madam, I don't know what you mean!"

  "Come!" she said scornfully; "let me see the contents of that suit case.I--I am not afraid of you; I am not a bit afraid of you. And I shallcatch your accomplice, too."

  "Madam, you speak like an honest woman! You _must_ have managed to enterthe wrong house. This is number thirty-eight, where I live."

  "It is number thirty-six; my house!"

  "But I _know_ it is number thirty-eight; Mr. Lee's house," he protestedhopefully. "This is some dreadful mistake."

  "Mr. Lee's house is next door," she said. "Do you not suppose I know myown house? Besides, I have been warned against a plausible young man whopretends he has Georgia marble to sell--"

  "There is a dreadful mistake somewhere," he insisted. "Please p-p-put upyour p-pistol and aid me to solve it. I am no robber, madam. I thoughtat first that you were. I'm living in Mr. Lee's house, No. 38 EastEighty-third Street, and I've looked carefully at the number over thedoor of this house and the number is thirty-eight, and the street isEast Eighty-third. So I naturally conclude that I am in Mr. Lee'shouse."

  "Your arguments and your conclusions are very plausible," she said,"but, fortunately for me, I have been expressly warned against a youngman of your description. _You_ are the marble man!"

  "It's a mistake! A very dreadful one."

  "Then how did you enter this house?"

  "I have a key--I mean I found the front door unlatched. Please don'tmisunderstand me; I know it sounds unconvincing, but I really have a keyto number thirty-eight."

  He attempted to reach for his pocket and the pistol glittered in hisface.

  "Won't you let me prove my innocence?" he asked.

  "You can't prove it by showing me a key. Besides, it's probably aweapon. Anyhow, if, as you pretend, you have managed to get into thewrong house, why did you bring that suit case up here?"

  "It was here. It's mine. I left it here in this passageway."

  "In _my_ house?" she asked incredulously.

  "In number thirty-eight; that is all I know. I'll open the suit case ifyou will let me. I have already described its contents. If it hassamples of marble in it you _must_ be convinced!"

  "It will convince me that it is your valise. But what of that? I know itis yours already," she said defiantly. "I know, at least, that you arethe marble man--if nothing worse!"

  "But malefactors don't go about carrying samples of Georgia marble," heprotested, dropping on one knee under the muzzle of her revolver andtugging at the straps and buckles. In a second or two he threw open thecase--and the sight of the contents staggered him. For there, thrown inpellmell among small square blocks of polished marble was a complete kitof burglar's tools, including also a mask, a dark lantern, and ablackjack.

  "What--w--w--what on earth is this?" he stammered. "These things don'tbelong to me. I won't have them! I don't want them. Who put them into mysuit case? How the deuce--"

  "You _are_ the marble man!" she said with a shudder. "Your crimes areknown! Your wretched accomplice will be caught! You are the marbleman--or something worse!"

  Kneeling there, aghast, bewildered, he passed his hand across his eyesas though to clear them from some terrible vision. But the suit case wasstill there with its incriminating contents when he looked again.

  "I am sorry for you," she said tremulously. "I--if it were not for themarble--I would let you go. But you are the marble man!"

  "Yes, and I'm probably a madman, too. I don't know what I am! I don'tknow what is happening to me. I ought to be going, that is all I know--"

  "I cannot let you go."

  "But I must! I've got to catch a train."

  The feebleness of his excuse chilled her pity.

  "I shall not let you go," she said, resting the hand which held thepistol on her hip, but keeping him covered. "I know you came to rob myhouse; I know you are a thoroughly bad and depraved young man, but forall that I could find it in my heart to let you go if you were not alsothe _marble man_!"

  "What on earth is the marble man?" he asked, exasperated.

  "I don't know. I have been earnestly warned against him. Probably he isa relative of my butler--"

  "I'm not a relative of anybody's butler!"

  "You _say_ you are not. How do I know? I--I will make you an offer. Iwill give you one last chance. If you will return to me the jewels thatmy butler took--"

  "Good heavens, madam! Do you really take me for a professional burglar?"

  "How can I help it?" she said indignantly. "Look at your suit case fullof lanterns and masks--full of _marble_, too!"

  Speechless, he stared at the burglar's kit.

  "I am sorry--" Her voice had altered again to a tremulous sweetness. "Ican't help feeling sorry for you. You do not seem to be hardened; yourvoice and manner are not characteristically criminal. I--I can't seeyour face very clearly, but it does not seem to be a brutally inhumanface--"

  An awful desire to laugh seized Kerns; he struggled against it;hysteria lay that way; and he covered his face with both hands andpinched himself.

  She probably mistook the action for the emotion of shame and despairborn of bitter grief; perhaps of terror of the law. It frightened her alittle, but pity dominated. She could scarcely endure to do what shemust do.

  "This is dreadful, dreadful!" she faltered. "If you only would give meback my jewels--"

  Sounds, hastily smothered, escaped him. She believed them to be groans,and it made her slightly faint.

  "I--I've simpl
y got to telephone for the police," she said pityingly. "Imust ask you to sit down there and wait--there is a chair. Sitthere--and please don't move, for I--this has unnerved me--I am notaccustomed to doing cruel things; and if you should move too quickly orattempt to run away I feel certain that this pistol would explode."

  "Are you going to telephone?" he asked.

  "Yes, I am."

  She backed away, cautiously, pistol menacing him, reached for thereceiver, and waited for Central. She waited a long time before sherealized that the telephone as well as the electric light was out ofcommission.

  "Did _you_ cut all these wires?" she demanded angrily.

  "I? What wires?"

  She reached out and pressed the electric button which should have rung abell in her maid's bedroom on the top floor. She kept her finger on thebutton for ten minutes. It was useless.

  "You laid deliberate plans to rob this house," she said, her cheeks pinkwith indignation. "I am not a bit sorry for you. I shall _not_ let yougo! I shall sit here until somebody comes to my assistance, if I have tosit here for weeks and weeks!"

  "If you'd let me telephone to my club--" he began.

  "Your club! You are very plausible. You didn't offer to call up any clubuntil you found that the telephone was not working!"

  He thought a moment. "I don't suppose you would trust me to go out andget a policeman?"

  "Certainly not."

  "Or go into the front room and open a window and summon some passer-by?"

  "How do I know you haven't confederates waiting outside?"

  "That's true," he said seriously.

  There was a silence. Her nerves seemed to trouble her, for she began topace to and fro in front of the passageway where he sat comfortably onhis chair, arms folded, one knee dropped over the other.

  The light being behind her he could not as yet distinguish her featuresvery clearly. Her figure was youthful, slender, yet beautifully rounded;her head charming in contour. He watched her restlessly walking on thefloor, small hand clutching the pistol resting on her hip.

  The ruddy burnished glimmer on the edges of her hair he supposed, atfirst, was caused by the strong light behind her.

  "This is atrocious!" she murmured, halting to confront him. "How daredyou sever every electric connection in my house?"

  As she spoke she stepped backward a pace or two, resting herself for amoment against the footboard of the bed--full in the gaslight. And hesaw her face.

  For a moment he studied her; an immense wave of incredulity swept overhim--of wild unbelief, slowly changing to the astonishment of dawningconviction. Astounded, silent, he stared at her from his shadowy corner;and after a while his pulses began to throb and throb and hammer, andthe clamoring confusion of his senses seemed to deafen him.

  "'This is atrocious,' she murmured, halting to confronthim."]

  She rested a moment or two against the footboard of the bed, her biggray eyes fixed on his vague and shadowy form.

  "This won't do," she said.

  "No," he said, "it won't do."

  He spoke very quietly, very gently. She detected the alteration in hisvoice and started slightly, as though the distant echo of a familiarvoice had sounded.

  "What did you say?" she asked, coming nearer, pistol glittering inadvance.

  "I said 'It won't do.' I don't know what I meant by it. If I meantanything I was wrong. It _will_ do. The situation is perfectly agreeableto me."

  "Insolence will not help you," she said sharply. And under the sharpnesshe detected the slightest quaver of a new alarm.

  "I am going to free myself," he said coolly.

  "If you move I shall certainly shoot!" she retorted.

  "I am going to move--but only my lips. I have only to move my lips tofree myself."

  "I should scarcely advise you to trust to your eloquence. I have beenduly warned, you see."

  "Who warned you?" he asked curiously. And, as she disdained to reply:"Never mind. We can clear that up later. Now let me ask you something."

  "You are scarcely in a position to ask questions," she said.

  "May I not speak to you?"

  "Is it necessary?"

  He thought a moment. "No, not necessary. Nothing is in this life, youknow. I thought differently once. Once--when I was younger--six yearsyounger--I thought happiness was necessary. I found that a man mightlive without it."

  She stood gazing at him through the shadows, pistol on hip.

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "I mean that happiness is not necessary to life. Life goes on all thesame. My life has continued for six years without that happiness whichsome believe to be essential."

  After a silence she said: "I can tell by the way you speak that you arewell born. I--I dread to do what I simply must do."

  He, too, sat silent a long time--long enough for an utterly perverse andwhimsical humor to take complete possession of him.

  "_Won't_ you let me go--_this_ time?" he pleaded.

  "I cannot."

  "You had better let me go while you can," he said, "because, perhaps,you may find it difficult to get rid of me later."

  Affronted, she shrank back from the doorway and stood in the center ofher room, angry, disdainful, beautiful, under the ruddy glory of herlustrous hair.

  His perverse mood changed, too; he leaned forward, studying herminutely--the splendid gray eyes, the delicate mouth and nose, the full,sweet lips, the witchery of wrist and hand, and the flowing, roundedoutline of limb and body under the pretty gown. Could this be _she_?This lovely, mature woman, wearing scarcely a trace of the young girl hehad never forgotten--scarcely a trace save in the beauty of her eyes andhair--save in the full, red mouth, sweet and sensitive even in itssudden sullenness?

  "Once," he said, and his voice sounded to him like voices heard indreams--"once, years and years ago, there was a steamer, and a man and ayoung girl on board. Do you mind my telling you about it?"

  She stood leaning against the footboard of the bed, not even deigning toraise her eyes in reply. So he made the slightest stir in his chair; andthen she looked up quickly enough, pistol poised.

  "The steamer," said Kerns slowly, "was coming into Southampton--sixyears ago. On deck these two people stood--a man of twenty-eight, a girlof eighteen--six years ago. The name of the steamer was the _Carnatic_.Did you ever hear of that ship?"

  She was looking at him attentively. He waited for her reply; she madenone; and he went on.

  "The man had asked the girl something--I don't know what--I don't knowwhy her gray eyes filled with tears. Perhaps it was because she couldnot do what the man asked her to do. It may have been to love him; itmay have been that he was asking her to marry him and that she couldn't.Perhaps that is why there were tears in her eyes--because she may havebeen sorry to cause him the pain of refusal--sorry, perhaps, perhaps alittle guilty. Because she must have seen that he was falling in lovewith her, and she--she let him--knowing all the time that she was tomarry another man. Did you ever hear of that man before?"

  She had straightened up, quivering, wide eyed, lips parted. He rose andwalked slowly into her room, confronting her under the full glare oflight.

  Her pistol fell clattering to the floor. It did not explode because itwas not loaded.

  "Now," he said unsteadily, "will you give me my freedom? I have waitedfor it--not minutes--but years--six years. I ask it now--the freedom Ienjoyed before I ever saw you. Can you give it back to me? Can yourestore to me a capacity for happiness? Can you give me a heart to lovewith--love some woman, as other men love? Is it very much I ask ofyou--to give me a chance in life--the chance I had before I ever sawyou?"

  Her big gray eyes seemed fascinated; he looked deep into them, smiling;and she turned white.

  "Will you give me what I ask?" he said, still smiling.

  She strove to speak; she could not, but her eyes never faltered.Suddenly the color flooded her neck and cheeks to the hair, and thequick tears glimmered.

  "I--I did not understand; I w
as too young to be cruel," she faltered."How could I know what I was doing? Or what--what you did?"

  "I? To _you_?"

  "Y-yes. Did you think that I escaped heart free? Do you realize what_my_ punishment was--to--to marry--and _remember_! If I was too young,too inexperienced to know what I was doing, I was not too young tosuffer for it!"

  "You mean--" He strove to control his voice, but the sweet, fearlessgray eyes met his; the old flame leaped in his veins. He reached out tosteady himself and his hand touched hers--that soft, white hand that hadheld him all these years in the hollow of its palm.

  "Did you _ever_ love me?" he demanded.

  Her eyes, wet with tears, met his straight as the starry gaze of achild.

  "Yes," she said.

  His hand tightened over hers; she swayed a moment, quivering from headto foot; then drawing a quick, sobbing breath, closed her eyes,imprisoned in his arms; and, after a long while, aroused, she looked upat him, her divine eyes unclosing dreamily.

  "Somebody is hammering at the front door," he breathed. "Listen!"

  "I hear. I believe it must be the Tracer of Lost Persons."

  "What?"

  "Only a Mr. Keen."

  "O Lord!" said Kerns faintly, and covered his face with her fragranthands.

  Very tenderly, very gravely, she drew her hands away, and, laying themon his shoulders, looked up at him.

  "You--you know what there is in your suit case," she faltered; "_are_you a burglar, dear?"

  "Ask the Tracer of Lost Persons," said Kerns gently, "what sort of acriminal I am!"

  They stood together for one blissful moment listening to the loudknocking below, then, hand in hand, they descended the dark stairway toadmit the Tracer of Lost Persons.