Chapter VI: Part 6

“Take charge of these two men,” directed Kenyon. And Gypsy Brady and his followers had the skipper and engineer in their midst, forward, in a moment. Then, with Kenyon at the wheel and Slim at the engine, the _Vixen_ headed toward the flying _Wizard_.

But the _Vixen_ was a swift boat, and easily closed the gap between herself and the yacht; before long they were in the wash alongside and the spray was drenching them. The leap from the _Vixen’s_ cabin top to the _Wizard’s_ rail would be no great feat, if they could get near enough, for the yacht had a rather low freeboard.

“Take the wheel, Garry,” said Kenyon, at last. “I’m going to make the try.”

Webster looked aghast.

“I could no more steer this craft than I could build a bridge across the Sound,” confessed he.

Kenyon felt a firm hand laid upon the spokes, and shifting his gaze from Webster found Dallas at his side.

“I will take the wheel,” said she quietly. Then, noting his surprise, she added, “You need feel no fear. If the vessel will answer, I’ll bring her up.”

“Good girl!” exclaimed Webster.

But Kenyon said nothing. He leaped upon the cabin, and stood gathering himself for the spring. With the ease of an expert the girl drove the _Vixen_ close under the starboard rail of the _Wizard_, and held her there for a moment.

“Now,” she cried, clearly.

And Kenyon leaped. A sea struck the bow at the same moment and destroyed his calculations; notwithstanding this, however, he grasped the yacht’s rail with one hand and drew himself quickly upon her deck. Then the Vixen fell off; but still he could hear her engine pulsing and see her lights glimmering through the mist. Then he turned his attention to the vessel upon whose deck he stood.

All her deck lanterns were lighted. In her waist a man, breathing heavily, lay stretched near the bulwarks; another stood at the wheel, a revolver in his hand, while a third was at the port rail, also armed with a like weapon. There came a snapping of firearms, apparently from the, to Kenyon, invisible _Piedmont_. The man at the rail swore furiously and began firing downward; the other man left the wheel and joined him in the fusillade.

“They seem to be enjoying the pastime immensely,” commented Kenyon, under his breath, “so it would be a pity to interrupt them.”

He softly crossed the deck and made his way down the iron steps leading to the engine-room. This was also brilliantly lighted; the engine was throbbing swiftly, but there was no sign of anyone in charge.

“All the better for me,” muttered the adventurer, as he dropped his Colt back into his pocket. “I suppose the matter upon deck has them all interested.”

In an instant he had shut off steam, and the engine began to slow down; then he ascended the iron stairs once more and gained the deck. The revolver shots still continued from the _Piedmont_; but those upon the _Wizard_ were not replying. From the shelter of the housing Kenyon looked aft. As before, only two unwounded men were visible, and these, all unconscious, in their excitement, that the engine had stopped, were crouched under the bulwarks reloading their weapons. The _Piedmont_ had clung to the larger vessel; and now that she had all but lost her headway, the attacking party came alongside and leaped upon the deck of the _Wizard_.

While the two sailors were being seized, Kenyon slipped down into the cabin, a strong suspicion forming in his mind. So when, a little later, Farbush came bursting in, followed by Hong Yo, who was assisted by a couple of men, they found the adventurer seated coolly in a steamer chair, rolling a cigarette. And as they stood staring with eyes of wonder, he looked up and smiled.

“Ah, gentlemen,” he greeted, “how do you do?”

For a moment neither Hong Yo nor Farbush was able to speak; then the former waved his hand in dismissal to the two men who had helped him down into the cabin; when they were gone, he turned to Kenyon once more.

“Well?” asked he, and his deathly face was set like stone.

“I’m sorry to say that it does not seem to be at all well,” replied Kenyon. He lit the cigarette and pointed to a couple of chairs. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Where is Forrester?” inquired Farbush. His face was flushed, and there was anger and suspicion in his eyes.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Both men sat down and looked at him silently for a time. Apparently they were wholly unable to account for him. At length Hong Yo spoke again.

“What are you doing on board the _Wizard_?” he asked.

“My errand is exactly the same as your own,” smiled Kenyon. “I came to find Forrester.”

A light of intelligence crossed the countenance of Farbush.

“Ah, I think I understand!” exclaimed he. “You received my message after all.”

“It is very seldom that I miss anything of importance,” evaded Kenyon, evenly. “It is a thing that I have drilled myself to, you see.”

“And when you learned the circumstances, you suspected Forrester of the burglary,” cried Farbush, triumphantly. “Hong Yo said that you would not--that like himself you had confidence in the traitor.”

Kenyon drew the cigarette smoke deeply into his lungs, and expelled it slowly.

“I am astonished at Hong Yo’s trusting anybody,” commented he.

“It was not trust,” spoke the Chinaman, coughing hollowly. “It was my fixed belief that it was to his advantage to remain faithful.”

“A fool can never be trusted even to see an advantage,” declared Farbush.

“I would not be quite so confident of his folly,” advised Kenyon. “He seems to have been shrewd enough to escape us to-night. He suspected that the yacht would be stopped on her way out, apparently; so he did not venture aboard her. And, to gain time possibly, he sent her out in charge of three of her crew. There is no knowing where he has gone in the meantime.”

“Have you searched the yacht?” asked Farbush.

“No.”

“Then he may be aboard, after all.”

A half-dozen men searched the _Wizard_ from end to end; but, as Kenyon had reasoned, Forrester was not on board. Steam was gotten up and the _Wizard_ was headed toward Pelham Bay, the two power-boats following in her wake.

“That, then, was your boat that we heard all along,” said Farbush, as he leaned over the _Wizard’s_ stern rail, his eyes upon the two low-lying, shadowy crafts.

“Very likely, you did hear us,” answered Kenyon.

“You seem to have quite a crew on board of her,” commented Farbush, peering through the night.

“Of course. Like yourself I was not at all sure as to what resistance I’d meet with. Success only comes to the ready man.”

Just then a great beam of white light shot across the water and brought all three vessels into strong relief. It was the searchlight at Fort Schuyler; the firing had evidently been heard, and they were endeavoring to locate the trouble. At the first swinging sweep of the light the _Vixen’s_ decks were flooded. Kenyon saw Gypsy Brady and his followers still grouped about the rebellious skipper and engineer; at the wheel was a slim, girlish figure enveloped in the long coat, and near by was Garry Webster.

At the first flash Farbush uttered an exclamation; then he turned upon Kenyon with distorted face and upraised hand, his whole frame shaking with what looked like fury. For a moment he stood thus, glaring at the imperturbable adventurer. Then his hand dropped and the look gave place to a smile, while he said, hurriedly:

“What the devil! That confounded light almost startled me out of my wits!”

XXI

KENYON BEGINS TO SEE THE LIGHT

“And, so, the youth he sat him down in the shade of the tree, and
told him many things that he had not heard before.”

--_The Amazing Adventures of Mansour Bi._

IT had been after dawn when Kenyon reached his hotel, and he had slept all day. So it was about six in the evening when he arose and bathed and shaved and put on a well-fitting business suit of gray which his tailor had lately delivered.

“I’ve been living in my evening clothes of late,” said he; “and it feels rather good to get into something else.”

A knock came upon the door.

“Come,” said he.

A bell-hop opened the door, and said:

“A gentleman to see you, sir.”

Kenyon looked at the card. It contained the name:

PHILIP AUSTIN.

“Again it begins,” muttered he. Then to the boy he said: “Send him up.”

The lad closed the door, and Kenyon threw the card upon the table.

“I had intended to have a turn at hunting up that last name,” said he. “But this will probably save me the trouble.”

A few moments later a stout, stoop-shouldered young man was ushered in. He stuck a pair of glasses upon his nose and looked Kenyon over carefully. Then he said:

“Mr. Kenyon, I thought it as well to call upon you.”

“Quite right,” returned the adventurer, affably. “Will you sit down?”

“Thanks.”

All the lights were turned on and Kenyon inspected his visitor with the same care that the latter had bestowed upon himself. As he sat holding out his hands toward the gas logs, for the November evening was decidedly cold, he looked small and placid and good-humored; nevertheless there was a keenness about him that was unmistakable.

“I had expected to hear from you,” said he. “The understanding was, if I remember correctly, that you were to come to me immediately upon my grandfather’s death.” He looked inquiringly at the adventurer. “But, perhaps,” he added, “you had reasons for not doing so.”

“Good reasons,” replied Kenyon, grimly.

“I waited patiently; but when I learned from Miss Gilbert that the old man was dead, and still you did not put in an appearance, I could wait no longer. I got into town this afternoon, and called up about all the hotels in New York, inquiring if they had anyone of your name. I got to this one about a half hour ago, and so I came immediately upon learning you were here.”

“I’m glad you did so,” replied the other. Then as an afterthought, “Have you seen Miss Gilbert to-day?”

“I have never seen Miss Gilbert.” Austin ran his fingers through his sandy hair. “In fact I never knew that there was a Miss Gilbert until the other day.” He looked at Kenyon speculatively for a moment, and then continued. “Do you know that you have her puzzled, more or less.”

“Indeed.”

“At least I so gathered from her letter. She seems to be not at all sure of you. She told me that she desired to believe you a friend to me, but that she could not honestly assure me that you were. She feared that you were leagued with the others.”

Kenyon nodded, coolly; but he was amazed.

“Is it possible,” he mentally exclaimed, “that I have here the mysterious unknown!”

“But look here,” said the young man, “I think this whole situation is really farcical. There is no common sense to it. You see, because I’ve always been messing among inventions and things of that sort, my grandfather got the notion that I was far from practical, and actually not qualified to take care of myself.”

“Old men have rather odd fancies at times,” said Kenyon.

“Just so. And he would not listen to any of my protestations; he ordered me under cover until you had come along and pronounced everything safe. The whole thing was absurd; but what was I to do? Even now I’m going against his wishes.”

“So it would seem,” agreed Kenyon.

“The idea of these partners of his being such formidable and ruthless persons, got to be a sort of obsession with him,” proceeded Philip Austin. “Why, he feared them, as far as I was concerned, as he had never feared anything before. You see,” lowering his voice and leaning toward Kenyon, confidentially, “he had the notion that they wanted my cousin, Scott Austin, to inherit the control of the business, in order that the contraband end of it should continue.”

“Ah!”

“You know, this branch of the business of Austin & Co. was largely carried on by Farbush, at New York, and Hong Yo, at Hong Kong. I don’t think,” and the young man looked at Kenyon, appealingly, “that my grandfather ever profited a dollar by it.”

“Perhaps not.”

“When it became known that the old man was about to die--that he could not live above a few months at most, he sent a young man, a minor partner, Forrester by name, to acquaint me with many things which he felt that I should know--he meaning that I should be his heir. I remember very distinctly expressing myself plainly as to the illegal features of the business of Austin & Co. If I should ever come into control, I promised to smash the contraband end as flat as a board.”

“And Forrester told the other partners at Hong Kong and New York?”

“He must have. At any rate they both appeared at Seattle; and what they said and did must have frightened my grandfather thoroughly. It was then that he ordered me to lay low until you came along to take charge of things.”

“Why I, in particular?”

“His first thought was to secure the services of General Nunez. But he learned that Nunez was dead. It seems that he had heard much of you through Nunez; and, rather naturally, you were the next person considered.”

That the young man was speaking the plain truth Kenyon never questioned for a moment; he saw that the time had arrived to make some sort of a finish to the case, and that to have a free and frank understanding would perhaps serve him better than anything else. So, beginning with his coming upon the _Blenheim_, he related his adventures since arriving in New York. Philip Austin listened as Webster had listened, in astonishment, and silence. When he had heard all, he remarked, slowly:

“Do you know, that is all very wonderful? I now begin also to get an idea of what Miss Gilbert hinted at in her letter.” He looked at Kenyon, curiously, and then laughed. “Things do turn out strangely, don’t they?”

“Undoubtedly,” Kenyon answered. Then with a change of tone: “Who is Miss Gilbert?”

“I don’t know,” answered the other frankly. “You see I had little or no knowledge of my grandfather’s household. I never visited there; we did not even correspond, for he always fancied that I was next door to a fool for not giving up my experimenting in chemicals and mechanics and settling down to practical business. But,” and young Austin wrinkled his brow, “it seems to me that I did hear something about his adopting the daughters of an old friend, years ago, when I was quite a youngster. However,” and he nodded his head confidently, “whoever she is, she must be all right; for the old man seems to have trusted her in everything.”

Kenyon had passed the other his cigarette-case; and now they smoked silently for some time. Finally the sandy-haired young man spoke, and his voice was grave.

“Do you know, what you have said has astounded me! All along I have been holding this thing lightly, as a sort of hallucination which a man desperately ill is likely to be seized with. I could not seriously consider that, at this late day, any such ornate scheme of murder would be undertaken by the settled and prosperous members of a great business enterprise.”

“One can never tell,” replied Kenyon. “The crooked element in the business of Austin & Co. may have proven so very profitable that Hong Yo and Farbush would rather risk their necks than give it up.”

Just then the telephone bell rang.

“Pardon me,” said Kenyon, rising. He took down the receiver and called. “Hello! Who is it?”

“Kenyon of Saginaw wants the other Kenyon,” answered a voice.

“Well, here he is. But how’s the head?”

“Fine and fancy. I’m still under wraps, but it’s only to make sure. I really don’t need ’em. It felt so good to-day, that I went out hunting that guy, the ‘Stalker.’”

“And did you find him?”

“In a minute! You see I had picked up a fellow that knew him, and he pointed him out to me. Well, I wasn’t taking any chances of mixing it with him; I wasn’t just ready for _that_ yet. So I followed the plug around to see where he was stabling. I wanted to be able to pick him up any time I wanted him, you see. And after a while he gets so funny in his actions that I felt sure that he had something on. You know, you told me that if I could dig up any more news about this Selden’s Square thing, to do it; and it struck me that I was just ripe to find something out if I stalked the ‘Stalker.’”

“And did you?” eagerly.

“I did. You see, when--”

“Just a moment. Come over to the hotel. I’ll leave word at the office to have them send you right up.”

“All right, bo, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Kenyon then called the office, after which he hung up and turned to Austin.

“We will possibly have some news of consequence in a little while,” said he.

“I hope so,” returned the other, “as the thing stands it’s rather unsatisfactory. This little matter of Forrester is really aggravating.”

Promptly at the expiration of ten minutes, the pugilist from Saginaw was shown in. He seemed all eagerness, and at Kenyon’s invitation immediately began his story.

“As soon as I falls to it that I’m due for some information, why, I begins to play the fox myself, see? So the more this Stalker throws his gaze around, the hotter I’m on the Sherlock thing. After getting a lot of stuff together at different places, he hikes out and gets a train for South Norwalk. But he can’t shake me, so I’m about three seats behind him all the way down. Once or twice I notices him piking me off. It’s the bandages on my top that does it; he’s sure that he’s seen them before and is trying to locate them. But I keep the innocent look, and have my nose pointed into a magazine; it’s a plain thing to me that I’ve got him guessing.

“He gets out at South Norwalk. I pike him on the platform waiting to see if I follow him. But I have the wisdom with me, and make my duck on the other side. He waits awhile; but as I’m not to be seen he starts straight off. He gets a buggy and I get another. About five miles outside the town he meets another party, quite a big stuff, who has another buggy, and hands over the things that he’s brought along. They talk for some time, and then his Stalkers turns his horse and starts back. I’m pulled off the road into a kind of wagon track, all this time, you see, so he drives by and goes on his way to the station, while I pull out and starts to follow up the other party.”

“Excellent!” praised Kenyon.

“It was only a chance,” continued the other. “I thought it might have something to do with the affair you were asking me about, you see. Well, at last the big guy comes to kind of a fine-looking old house standing away back in a little woods, and there he meets a girl with yellow hair that seems mighty glad to see him.”

Kenyon and Austin exchanged looks, but the other continued:

“They went inside and I lingered around for a while to see if there would be anything doing; but as all was quiet along that section of the pike, I drove along a little farther until I sights a young heck cutting wood. In a minute I was framed up against him, handing him the wise talk; and he told me all he knew--that is, all of it that I wanted to hear. The people at the old house in the woods had only come last night. As far as he knew a man and a woman arrived then--late. But this morning about a dozen men landed. He had no idea what was up; but he had a kind of hunch that it wasn’t quite level. So after that I got back to the station and caught a train for New York.”

“It’s Forrester and the girl Anna,” said Austin, promptly.

“Precisely.” Kenyon picked up a time-table and began studying it. “I rather think I’ll pay them a visit to-night.”

“Good,” cried the other. “And shall I go with you?”

“Glad to have you.” Kenyon then went to the ’phone and called up Webster.

“What is it,” answered the young man from Chicago.

“Another adventure. Are you game for it?”

“Only try me,” came the eager reply.

“Very well, I’ll pick you up on the way to the station.”

The motor-car which Kenyon ordered was announced, and he and Austin had drawn on their overcoats when the little pugilist said:

“I say, if you think you could use a guy of my tonnage, pal, why, just give the word.”

“I wouldn’t think of trying to do without you,” replied Kenyon. “Come along.”

XXII

THE LIGHT GROWS STRONGER

“The plans of men have various terminations.”

--_The Strategy of Nunez._

THE little party left the train at South Norwalk; it was shortly after nine o’clock when they engaged a carry-all from a liveryman and began the journey along the road which the youth from Saginaw indicated.

“Rather a dark night,” commented Webster.

“Like ink,” replied Philip Austin.

A lamp hung at each side of the trap, and they projected their struggling rays for a very short space ahead; the horses, with ears cocked, jogged briskly along. The road, when they had left the town well behind, grew lonely and still.

The lines of rail fencing went wavering by in the lamp-light; trees by the wayside seemed vast and shadowy and full of strange murmurings; now and then, from far across the fields, they caught the flicker of a light in a farmhouse.

At length after they had been on the road about a half hour or more, they heard a faint whistle.

“This is the place where the Stalker met the other party,” whispered the pugilist. “I can tell it by the cross-roads.”

Kenyon drew in the horses, and a man emerged from the shadows. He peered into the vehicle and seemed disappointed.

“Excuse me,” said he. “I thought you were some friends of mine.”

“Sort of a lonely place to wait, isn’t it,” asked Kenyon, examining the man keenly.

“It’s not very lively,” returned he, rather surlily. “Going on to Cranberry?”

“Beyond that,” answered Kenyon. He was about to drive on when the man suddenly placed his hand upon the shaft, as though struck by a thought.

“Say,” said he, “did you have anybody walking ahead?”

“No. Why?”

The man ignored the question.

“Did you see anyone on the road as you came along?” continued he.

“No.”

“It’s damned funny!” muttered the fellow, and with that he turned away and was lost in the darkness.

Kenyon touched the horses with the whip; a little further on he remarked: “That would appear to be one of the men who arrived this morning, eh?”

“It must be,” answered Webster. “And apparently he’s posted at the cross-roads as a sort of lookout.”

“Did it strike you that he seemed a little bewildered?” asked Austin.

“He’s ‘seeing things at night,’” put in the pugilist. “And when a guy begins to do that in a nice, dark, lonely place, it kind of gets him going.”

“Someone probably passed along the road, and paid no attention to his signal, if he gave one,” suggested Kenyon.

“Um-m-m!” grunted Webster. And as they proceeded slowly along he narrowly scanned the roadside; also he listened attentively for any sounds that the night might hold, beyond his line of vision.

After a time the youth from Saginaw said:

“See that bunch of deeper black over there? Well, I’m pretty sure them’s the trees that I told you about. The house stands right in the thick of them.”

A dense black mass loomed against the sky to the right; and as they looked they caught the glimmer of light through it. Kenyon was about to pull up the horses when a second whistle fell upon their ears; so, instead, he shook the reins and went jogging on.

“Apparently Mr. Forrester is a most cautious person,” said he, in a low tone. “He seems to have the place as thickly picketed as the camp of a flying column. I wonder why.”

“He fears visitors, perhaps,” suggested Webster.

“Then why does he remain so close to the city? Why did he not put a long distance between himself and pursuit.”

“Depend upon it,” put in Austin, confidently, “he has some excellent reason. And I feel that we are to have it made plain to us before long.”

Some little distance further along they took down a section of fence, drove into a field and unhitched. After tying the horses securely they made their way softly back across the fields in the direction of the gloomy grove where they had seen the twinkling light. The earth was hard with early frost. Here and there the thin ice, that had formed upon some shallow pools, crackled under their feet; there were fences to climb, and once they came upon a small creek which had to be waded with some discomfort. But finally they arrived at the edge of the grove.

“Well,” commented Kenyon, as they paused for a moment among the trees, “he doesn’t seem to have safeguarded all the approaches, at any rate.”

Softly they advanced toward the house. In places the earth was littered with fallen leaves which were dry and would have made a great crackling under the feet of four men; but by instinct, it seemed, Kenyon led them along the wind-swept spaces, soundless and like shadows.

The house stood in a narrow clearing. Several of the lower windows were brilliantly lighted and threw bars of radiance across the lawn.

“It has quite a colonial look,” said Webster. “Witness the high, narrow windows, the small lights of glass, the many stone steps, and the tremendous main door.”

Austin suddenly clutched Kenyon by the arm.

“Look there!” he breathed.

“What is it?” in the same low tone.

“At the window, to the right. It was a woman.”

“I got a little glimpse of her,” said Saginaw. “And, say, she looked as if she was tip-toeing around.”

“That was my impression, too,” replied Austin, wonderingly. “Every movement seemed caution itself.”

“A servant, perhaps,” suggested Webster.

They remained in the shadow of the trees for some little time watching the window indicated; but the woman did not reappear.

“I should like to get nearer the house,” said Kenyon. “But it’s rather a ticklish proceeding to cross those shafts of light; for there is really no knowing how many of those dozen men may be lying about in the dark.”

“Perhaps the windows at the rear are not lighted,” suggested Webster.

“Good! I’ll work my way around there and see. It will perhaps be best for the rest of you to remain where you are. Don’t break cover until you hear me call or are sure that I’ve gotten into trouble.”

And with this he crept softly away into the darkness. While in the front of the house he kept to the trees; but when he reached the side where the light did not fall he ventured into the clearing, as the progress was less difficult there.

He had not taken a dozen steps when a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder; and a rough voice said:

“I thought I heard somebody out there! So, now then, neighbor, give an account--”

He only reached this far when Kenyon’s arm shot around with a sort of hooking motion. The blow traveled no more than five inches, yet the man dropped as though he had been shot. Kenyon bent over him for a moment.

“He seems good for a half hour,” he muttered. “But I’ll have to risk his coming to and giving an alarm.”

He wasted no time over the fallen man, but continued on his way. When he gained the rear of the house he found that all was darkness. But he heard the constant murmur of voices from somewhere near at hand, and so did not dare to advance farther. At length, however, a door opened, and a man stepped out bearing a lantern. In the rays of this Kenyon saw two men seated upon an old-fashioned settle near the door; it was these whose voices he had heard.

The man with the lantern stood in the doorway for a moment; behind him Kenyon caught a glimpse of a dimly lighted hall of great width that seemed to run directly through the building. The three exchanged some remarks which Kenyon could not catch; the two men upon the settle arose, and the third closed the door. Then they struck into a narrow path among the trees and disappeared. Kenyon waited until the sounds of their footsteps had died away; then he advanced boldly, opened the door and entered.

No one was to be seen; the lights were dim, as he had noticed from the outside. Softly but deliberately he walked down the length of the wide hall and turned into a room where a bright light was burning. But the room, also, was empty, and he paused, looking about him. There was a doorway hung with heavy portières, leading to a room beyond, and as Kenyon stood examining the place the voice of Forrester reached him from this latter.

“I tell you, my dear, it is all for the best. You shall see that before the night is over.”

“I hope so, Griscom,” said the voice of Anna. “But I can’t help being nervous.”

“Oh, of course not; and to tell you the honest truth, I am also a bit that way. It’s the suspense that does it.” There was a short pause, during which Kenyon heard the rustling of papers; then Forrester proceeded: “I don’t fear Hong Yo in the least; and as for Farbush, well, you know how I classed him long ago. It’s the other--that close mouthed, swift-eyed Kenyon that I really dread.”

“And I,” echoed Anna. “He is so secretive, he seems to know so much that we thought no one knew; and he is so cold and observing; he appears to be weighing one’s thoughts, continually, and casting about for some means of profiting by the result.”

“It must have been some sort of an evil influence that prompted me to encourage the old man in his desire to have this same fellow,” said Forrester, and there was a note of complaint in his voice that made Kenyon smile.

“I never could understand what made you do it,” said the girl.

“I thought it for the best. Like fools, Farbush and Hong began making threats as to what they would do if young Philip Austin succeeded to the business. The old man became frightened. One day he told me that he intended to send for a man who he knew could be trusted to protect Philip.”

“And that man was Kenyon.”

“Yes. God knows where old Stephen had ever heard of him. And I had to encourage this notion, or perhaps have him invoke the law.”

“The last would never have done,” said the girl, hastily.

“Of course not. I saw at once that the only safe thing to do was to find the man, somehow, and arrange matters with him, if he was willing to make a deal.”

“And the result of your efforts was those three foolish persons who wandered into the net like so many stupid flies.”

Kenyon heard a fist strike a table impatiently; then Forrester cried:

“I’ll never forgive myself for that blunder! It was caused by over-anxiety. I desired to gain time.”

“But to write four letters; to direct them to different places! Was that not taking a desperate chance?”

“Something had to be done. I could think of nothing better. Old Stephen did not know where Kenyon was at that time, but he was trying to trace him. I found, in his desk, a list of four places where the person sought _had_ been, and then conceived the plan of writing a letter to each of these places, in the hope that one or the other of them would reach him in some way. I named the house in Selden’s Square as the place--Farbush taking it blindly at my request--and the night upon which old Stephen died as the time of meeting.

“All this was meant to save time. The idea was sound, and the whole trouble resulted from the old man’s not knowing Kenyon’s first name. So I was forced to address the letters simply to _Mr._ Kenyon. And the cursed post-office delivered three of them to strangers.”

“Griscom! Griscom! It was not all ill-luck. You were foolish, indiscreet.”

“But I fancied the man who wrote me from Butte was the right person.”

“Were you sure? Was there anything to warrant your doing what you did. You at once told him everything. He might have ruined all.”

“Why, my dear, have you, too, turned against me! Farbush has gibed at me for the past week for that mistake, and though Hong says little, I know he holds it over my head.”

Then Kenyon heard a sudden rustling of skirts, an ejaculation; a succession of kisses and a smothered flood of endearments. Finally Anna’s voice was heard, saying:

“But let them plot and struggle! What do we care? We have what we want--what we have always wanted. It does not make any difference to us who succeeds to Stephen Austin’s business, now.” There was a great rustling of paper, as though someone had plunged eager hands among a heap of loose sheets. “Five hundred thousand dollars!” came the girl’s voice, high and triumphant. “A half million of money.”

“Not money, my dear, but something just as serviceable. Negotiable securities. How fortunate you heard old Stephen trying to tell Dallas where they were that day while he lay dying.”

“I did not dream that she understood. I almost died upon the night I met that man upon the stairs, for then I understood that she had told him.”

“Ah, woman’s intuition!” cried Forrester in delight, while Kenyon’s shoulders shook sardonically. “And so when we found the safe opened and the securities gone, you knew the very place to look for them.”

They both laughed at this; then there were more endearments.

“It would be interesting and perhaps somewhat profitable,” mused Kenyon, as he patiently waited, “to know just how little acuteness and how much chance there is mingled with the majority of successful moves. I think I’d back the latter to win.”

“But in spite of all our good luck,” said Anna, after a time, “I cannot help dreading the coming of Hong Yo and Mr. Farbush. Oh, my dear, why did we not continue on. We could have left the country, and they would never have known where we had gone.”

“But think of the continuous suspense that we should have been in; we should forever be fearing pursuit. No, no; trust me! The way I have selected is the best. They can do us no harm.”

“No harm? They may murder you! You know what they are. And you cannot even defend yourself.”

“But I have _others_ engaged who can defend me.” Forrester laughed, but Kenyon noted that it was forced and husky.

“Oh, this birth-curse,” the man proceeded, a species of despair now in his voice. “The mere thought of blood makes me smother with fear.”

“Humph!” was the listening adventurer’s silent comment. “The blood-horror was not a bluff, after all. What a peculiar situation.”

Apparently it was fully appreciated by the two in the adjoining room. The girl softly murmured her sympathy, and the man said, in a lowered tone:

“It’s a curse that I’ve carried through life like an incubus. A thousand times has it held me back when I’ve had victories in my very hands. Look at the case with old Stephen. Hong did not trust me. He made me plead my disability in order that the old man should not tell me too much, and so give me an advantage over himself and Farbush! Oh, if I could only shake it off! If I could only rid myself of it for good!”

The girl was still comforting him when there came the steady tramp of footsteps upon the hard ground without and the sound of voices.

“They have come!” Kenyon heard the girl exclaim, and there was terror in her tones.

“Be brave!” Forrester whispered, as the great hall door opened, and a gust of cold air swept through the passage and into the rooms in a way that made the lights dance. Then footsteps were heard in the hall--slow, painful footsteps--and the door closed with a bang. Kenyon peered through the portières to get a view of the newcomers. He saw Forrester and Anna standing beside a table in the centre of the room. In a doorway stood Farbush, his face white and ominous with rage; and leaning upon him was Hong Yo, looking like the spectre of death itself, but gazing at the young man and girl with laughing mockery in his slit-like eyes.

XXIII

WHAT KENYON HEARD AND SAW

“The end, when it comes, comes quickly.”

--_An Adage of Hong Yo._

FOR a moment there was silence, then, as Kenyon watched, he saw long, shuddering spasms of laughter shake the emaciated frame of Hong Yo, while one yellow claw was weakly raised, pointing in ghoulish mirth at Forrester.

Kenyon felt his skin prickle.

“What a hideous beast!” he muttered, his face showing his repugnance. “If it were possible to see his soul, I wonder what it would look like?”

“You were longing for our society, were you?” spoke Hong Yo, in his slow, careful English. “And we had all but given you up.”

He was racked by a fit of coughing; Farbush led him to a chair, and when the paroxysm had subsided, he was breathless and almost without life.

“Will you sit down?” Forrester said to Farbush.

The latter did so, silently. He sat far back in the chair, drumming with noiseless fingers upon its arms, his hard eyes full of fury, his thin, cruel mouth shut in a straight line.

“Our friend Hong is to be the speaker, however,” concluded Kenyon, from his vantage behind the portières. “That seems to be understood between them.”

After a few moments the Chinaman had recovered somewhat, but when he spoke it was in a faint, gasping wheeze.

“That was a pretty ruse--that of the yacht.”

Forrester stared at the speaker in surprise.

“The yacht?” said he inquiringly.

A ghastly grin crossed Hong Yo’s face; he waved a hand in a feeble gesture of impatience.

“We met her before she had passed North Brother Island. We expected to find you on board--and these,” pointing to the securities upon the table.

Forrester laughed.

“Is it possible that _you_ went in chase of the _Wizard_? Why, that little matter was laid down for the astute Mr. Kenyon’s private use.”

The watcher saw Farbush start.

“Kenyon!” exclaimed the man.

“Why, to be sure. I was confident that, with his infernal cleverness, he’d think of the yacht when he found that Anna had gotten the securities.”

“Ah! So you admit the cracking of the safe now?” Farbush leaned toward the younger man, and his thin lips curled back from his teeth. “You denied it strongly enough upon the night that it was done.”

“I still deny it,” answered Forrester. He seated himself beside the table and began gathering up the securities. “In fact I don’t mind admitting that such a neat and effective job is entirely beyond me.”

Hong Yo and Farbush exchanged glances.

“The securities were locked in the safe,” said Hong Yo. “And you admit that Anna took them; then she--or you--must have forced the safe.”

“Your conclusion is natural enough,” replied Forrester, “but is scarcely correct. Anna did get the securities, as I said, but not from your safe,” to Farbush.

“No,” said the girl, “from Dallas Gilbert.”

The two men started, but said nothing; Forrester smiled.

“You will be astonished to hear, I feel sure, that Dallas and Kenyon have established a sort of co-partnership in this matter of ours. He was on the premises upon the night the safe was opened; in fact, I’m quite convinced that it was he that did the opening.”

There was a moment’s silence; then Hong Yo said:

“Yesterday you would have surprised us with this; but not now. We were quite convinced, last night, that Kenyon, like yourself, is playing a game of his own.”

“And we may astonish _you_ some,” spoke Farbush, “by telling you that not only is he leagued with Dallas Gilbert, but with young Philip Austin, as well.”

Forrester stared; Anna clasped her hands, nervously.

“I saw Austin with Kenyon last night,” said Farbush, “as plainly as I see you now.”

Both Forrester and Anna were visibly amazed; but not any more than was Kenyon himself.

“That’s a point that I missed, somehow,” he muttered. “Either that, or it’s some sort of a blind to fool Forrester.”

“But all this has no real connection with our visit,” said Hong Yo, hollowly. “The Stalker said that you had a matter of importance to settle with us.”

“I have,” replied Forrester. He placed his hand upon the packet of securities. “It is about these.”

Hong Yo coughed. The almost fleshless hand trembled as he lifted it to his lips; then he said:

“I imagined that. But go on.”

“I want to withdraw from the arrangement that we made. I am not fitted to carry it out. As you are aware, I cannot go far enough. This booty is to be my share; the remainder I leave for you and Farbush.”

“Oh!”

The burning little eyes shone through the puckered, slanting lids; the bloodless lips smiled. It was like the horrid mirth of a demon in a mediæval poem.

“Now that our plans seem apt to go astray,” mocked he, “you have thought it well to feather your own nest.”

“I offered all along to do this very thing,” cried Forrester. “I knew when murder was seriously entertained, that I must withdraw.”

Hong Yo arose. His step was wavering and strengthless; there seemed to be only a flutter of life in his shrunken frame; but, to the watching Kenyon, his purpose was as deadly as the look in his eyes.

“You persist in this?” asked he, slowly.

“I do,” said Forrester, quietly.

Farbush sat with one leg crossed over the other; his face had suddenly grown expressionless, his body seemed tensely flexed.

“He expects a climax, I fancy,” thought Kenyon.

“Did it never occur to you,” gasped Hong Yo, steadying himself by laying his left hand upon the back of a chair, “that we might not be willing to fall in with your views.”

Forrester smiled, confidently. The fresh, boyish candor which had so struck Kenyon, at first sight of him, was perfect.

“Oh, I think you will,” said he. “I don’t see how you can very well refuse.”

“And why?”

Hong Yo had drawn nearer, and Kenyon noted the yellow claw once more stealing toward the breast of his blouse. But Forrester did not give way; he only smiled, quietly.

“You see,” he answered, “you are hardly in a position to refuse me. I have dropped my connection with your plot for good and all. With these securities I disappear never to be heard of again. Without them, I remain in New York to tell what I know.”

As the last word left his lips, the knife of the Chinaman flashed in the lamp-light. Anna screamed; but for a moment Forrester retained his calmness.

“He expects help,” was the thought that flashed through Kenyon’s mind.

But the help for some reason did not come; and then the confidence suddenly died, leaving the young giant white and apparently paralyzed with fear. Hong Yo was taking the step that would bring him within striking distance; and like a fascinated thing Forrester awaited the blow. Again Anna screamed; and now she threw herself upon Forrester’s breast. The knife was raised and would have fallen, but there came a sharp, answering cry, the sound of swift-moving feet, and two strong white hands clutched the arm of Hong Yo.

“Dallas!” cried Kenyon in amazement; and with the name upon his lips, he whipped out his long revolver, thrust aside the portières, and stepped into the room.

Farbush had leaped to his feet, but with what intention will never be known; for at sight of Kenyon and the murderous Colt he shrank back. Dallas uttered a little cry of joy; she sprang to meet Kenyon with outstretched hands.

“You!” she exclaimed.

“To be sure,” said he. “I am still trying to furnish proof of my rectitude.”

He pressed her hand as he spoke, and his brown eyes twinkled humorously; but, at the same time, they never left Hong Yo and Farbush, and the black muzzle of his huge weapon was not once lowered.

Then the adventurer swiftly stepped to the table and laid a hand upon the packet of securities.

“I think,” said he, coolly, “that I will take charge of these, just now.”

He slid them into his overcoat pocket, and then glanced sharply around as he caught a queer sound from Hong Yo. The Chinaman was swaying weakly; his hands vaguely clutched at the empty air, and his pale lips were muttering in his own language. Then suddenly he pitched forward and lay still. Farbush crept forward, cowed, to look at him.

“He’s dead,” said he.

And just then, through the doorway, came Philip Austin, Garry Webster, and the bandaged youth from Saginaw.

“We heard the screams,” said Webster, “and thought you might need us.” Then seeing the stark form of Hong Yo, he exclaimed: “Hello! What’s this?”

“It looks quite a bit like the end to me,” replied Kenyon.

XXIV

CONCLUSION

“And so they were married and lived happily ever afterwards.”

--_The End of Any Good Story._

GARRY WEBSTER and Philip Austin were at dinner in the former’s apartments some few nights later, when Kenyon was announced.

“Have a bite, old boy,” Webster incited. “We have some little things here that I know you’ll appreciate.”

“Thanks, no; I’ve only stopped in to keep you from bothering me upon that confounded telephone of yours. I’ve not had a restful moment at my apartments for days. I’ve either been forced to listen to your frantic calls, or been in constant expectation of their renewal, every moment of the time I’ve been home.”

Webster grinned.

“Oh, well, you know,” said he, “it’s nothing but natural curiosity. I only wanted to know any little thing you’d found out.”

After he had put down his hat, overcoat, gloves, and stick, Kenyon turned his back to Webster’s ruddy log fire and looked comfortable.

“Look what it is to have money,” said he. “Log fires; nice little dinners; expensive hotels. The hardware trade must be an excellent one.”

“No better than the importing of fine oriental stuffs,” replied Webster, calmly, as he went on with his dinner. “Austin has just been telling me about his offer to you.”

“And I renew it,” spoke Austin seriously. “Since I’ve kicked out Farbush and that fellow Forrester, and since Hong Yo is dead, I’ve got the entire thing to myself. I’ll have you in as a partner, if you’ll run the business.”

“I’m going to take you up,” said Kenyon, quietly.

“Bravo!” Young Austin arose and solemnly shook the adventurer’s hand. “Do you know, the sudden shifting of all this upon my shoulders has sort of upset me. I’ve got work to do at my laboratories in Chicago, and will have no time to fool away on a shipping trade at Seattle. Another thing: I have no taste for the thing, and could never grasp its details.”

“And Kenyon is just the fellow for it,” put in Webster. “He knows more about China than most people; and then he’s a regular bull-terrier for holding on. I always said he’d make an excellent business man.”

“Thanks,” smiled Kenyon, “your friendly offices, Garry, are very grateful. And they are much more kindly meant than those of my old co-laborer, Balmacenso.”

Webster lifted his brows.

“You’ve learned something against that worthy revolutionist, then,” said he.

“Yes; among the securities and other papers which I took from Forrester and turned over to Austin were a few letters which I took the liberty of withholding. They were addressed to Forrester and signed with my name--but they were in the handwriting of Balmacenso.”

“The blackguard!” exclaimed Austin.

“Wasn’t he! It was a neat, carefully laid little plan. From certain angles I have nothing but admiration for it. You see, he opened Forrester’s first letter to me at Rio. I know he did it in the hope that it contained money, for I remember telling him one day that if things did not get better for us, I’d have to send North for a loan. And I had you in mind,” bowing to Webster, with much ceremony.

“I should have been most happy,” returned that gentleman, solemnly.

“Forrester’s offer must have struck Balmacenso’s fancy. At any rate he answered it, signing my name. Then came other letters carrying the matter farther along, including a number from your grandfather,” to Austin. “Balmacenso must have known that the _Blenheim_ was due at Rio at a certain time, and wrote that he would sail in her. He always used my name, and not once did I get even so much as a breath of any side of the affair. And in his planning he was rather complete, too. He arranged for the place of meeting and the signal by which he was to be known.”

“And that was?”

“The slapping of a folded newspaper upon the palm of his hand. The latter was scarcely original. It sounds like a ‘personal’ from the _Herald_. Perhaps proximity had something to do with it. Then there was a photo of Balmacenso that had been sent. Dallas fancied I looked like it. So when I, of all persons, happened to appear at the time and place specified, and unconsciously to give the signal, she could not doubt but that I was the man she was waiting for.”

“It sounds like something that might have happened to one of the Barber’s Seven Brothers.”

“Doesn’t it? But fever was a thing that Balmacenso had not counted on; he had been dead some little time when the _Blenheim_ entered Rio harbor; and instead of _his_ sailing on her, _I_ suddenly made up my mind to do so.”

“And so fell into the situation that was to have been his,” said Webster. “It’s plain enough now, old boy. Balmacenso would have grasped right bravely all the things that puzzled you so, that night in Selden’s Square. No doubt but that old Mr. Austin had sent him all the information which the conspirators supposed you to have had. If, now, you only had come upon the rascal’s papers!”

“I did make a search among his effects, thinking to get track of some relatives to whom I could send the news of his death. But there was not a scrap of writing to be found.”

“He had been at pains to secrete carefully anything of the kind, I suppose,” remarked Austin. “The villain!”

“Why, he had been a very decent sort all along,” said Kenyon, beginning to resume his things. “It was being moneyless in a strange country that broke his nerve and drove him to rascality, like as not. There are types of men who cannot bear up under poverty, you know.” He drew on his gloves and took up his stick and hat. “At any rate, I prefer to look at it so, for as I told you some time ago, Garry, he once saved my life.”

He stood with his hand upon the door-knob, about to go, nodding over his shoulder at the two at the table. Then a sudden smile crossed his face, and he turned once more.

“That reminds me,” said he. “You know that we were all rather puzzled by the statement of Farbush’s made the other night, that he had seen us together,” to Austin, “on the night of the adventure on the East River. Well, a chance remark of Anna’s to-day shed some light upon that.”

“Let us have it,” pleaded Webster.

“It seems that Anna once had a glimpse of you in ’Frisco,” continued Kenyon to Austin. “She was walking with Forrester when you went by in a motor-car; and he pointed you out.” Then the speaker turned to Webster. “Do you recall the night that we dined downstairs--the night that Farbush first appeared?”

“Of course.”