THE LOST HOUSE by Richard Harding Davis I It was a dull day at the chancellery. His Excellency the AmericanAmbassador was absent in Scotland, unveiling a bust to Bobby Burns, paid for by the numerous lovers of that poet in Pittsburg; the FirstSecretary was absent at Aldershot, observing a sham battle; the MilitaryAttache was absent at the Crystal Palace, watching a foot-ball match;the Naval Attache was absent at the Duke of Deptford's, shootingpheasants; and at the Embassy, the Second Secretary, having lunchedleisurely at the Artz, was now alone, but prepared with his life toprotect American interests. Accordingly, on the condition that the storyshould not be traced back to him, he had just confided a State secret tohis young friend, Austin Ford, the London correspondent of the New YorkREPUBLIC. "I will cable it, " Ford reassured him, "as coming from a Hungariandiplomat, temporarily residing in Bloomsbury, while en route to his postin Patagonia. In that shape, not even your astute chief will suspect itsreal source. And further from the truth than that I refuse to go. " "What I dropped in to ask, " he continued, "is whether the English aregoing to send over a polo team next summer to try to bring back thecup?" "I've several other items of interest, " suggested the Secretary. "The week-end parties to which you have been invited, " Ford objected, "can wait. Tell me first what chance there is for an international polomatch. " "Polo, " sententiously began the Second Secretary, who himself was acrackerjack at the game, "is a proposition of ponies! Men can be trainedfor polo. But polo ponies must be born. Without good ponies----" James, the page who guarded the outer walls, of the chancellery, appeared in the doorway. "Please, Sir, a person, " he announced, "with a note for the Ambassador, he says it's important. " "Tell him to leave it, " said the Secretary. "Polo ponies----" "Yes, Sir, " interrupted the page. "But 'e won't leave it, not unless hekeeps the 'arf-crown. " "For Heaven's sake!" protested the Second Secretary, "then let him keepthe half-crown. When I say polo ponies, I don't mean----" James, although alarmed at his own temerity, refused to accept thedismissal. "But, please, Sir, " he begged; "I think the 'arf-crown is forthe Ambassador. " The astonished diplomat gazed with open eyes. "You think--WHAT!" he exclaimed. James, upon the defensive, explained breathlessly. "Because, Sir, " he stammered, "it was INSIDE the note when it was thrownout of the window. " Ford had been sprawling in a soft leather chair in front of the openfire. With the privilege of an old school-fellow and college classmate, he had been jabbing the soft coal with his walking-stick, causing it toburst into tiny flames. His cigarette drooped from his lips, his hatwas cocked over one eye; he was a picture of indifference, merging uponboredom. But at the words of the boy his attitude both of mind and bodyunderwent an instant change. It was as though he were an actor, and thewords "thrown from the window" were his cue. It was as though he werea dozing fox-terrier, and the voice of his master had whispered in hisear: "Sick'em!" For a moment, with benign reproach, the Second Secretary regarded theunhappy page, and then addressed him with laborious sarcasm. "James, " he said, "people do not communicate with ambassadors in noteswrapped around half-crowns and hurled from windows. That is the way onecorresponds with an organ-grinder. " Ford sprang to his feet. "And meanwhile, " he exclaimed angrily, "the man will get away. " Without seeking permission, he ran past James, and through the emptyouter offices. In two minutes he returned, herding before him anindividual, seedy and soiled. In appearance the man suggested thatin life his place was to support a sandwich-board. Ford reluctantlyrelinquished his hold upon a folded paper which he laid in front of theSecretary. "This man, " he explained, "picked that out of the gutter in SowellStreet, It's not addressed to any one, so you read it!" "I thought it was for the Ambassador!" said the Secretary. The soiled person coughed deprecatingly, and pointed a dirty digit atthe paper. "On the inside, " he suggested. The paper was wrapped arounda half-crown and folded in at each end. The diplomat opened ithesitatingly, but having read what was written, laughed. "There's nothing in THAT, " he exclaimed. He passed the note to Ford. Thereporter fell upon it eagerly. The note was written in pencil on an unruled piece of white paper. Thehandwriting was that of a woman. What Ford read was: "I am a prisoner in the street on which this paper is found. The housefaces east. I think I am on the top story. I was brought here threeweeks ago. They are trying to kill me. My uncle, Charles Ralph Pearsall, is doing this to get my money. He is at Gerridge's Hotel in CravenStreet, Strand. He will tell you I am insane. My name is Dosia PearsallDale. My home is at Dalesville, Kentucky, U. S. A. Everybody knows methere, and knows I am not insane. If you would save a life take this atonce to the American Embassy, or to Scotland Yard. For God's sake, helpme. " When he had read the note, Ford continue to study it. Until he was quitesure his voice would not betray his interest, he did not raise his eyes. "Why, " he asked, "did you say that there's nothing in this?" "Because, " returned the diplomat conclusively, "we got a note like that, or nearly like it, a week ago, and----" Ford could not restrain a groan. "And you never told me!" "There wasn't anything to tell, " protested the diplomat. "We handedit over to the police, and they reported there was nothing in it. Theycouldn't find the man at that hotel, and, of course, they couldn't findthe house with no more to go on than----" "And so, " exclaimed Ford rudely, "they decided there was no man, and nohouse!" "Their theory, " continued the Secretary patiently, "is that the girl isconfined in one of the numerous private sanatoriums in Sowell Street, that she is insane, that because she's under restraint she IMAGINESthe nurses are trying to kill her and that her relatives are afterher money. Insane people are always thinking that. It's a very commondelusion. " Ford's eyes were shining with a wicked joy. "So, " he askedindifferently, "you don't intend to do anything further?" "What do you want us to do?" cried his friend. "Ring every door-bell inSowell Street and ask the parlor-maid if they're murdering a lady on thetop story?" "Can I keep the paper?" demanded Ford. "You can keep a copy of it, "consented the Secretary. "But if you think you're on the track of a bignewspaper sensation, I can tell you now you're not. That's the work of acrazy woman, or it's a hoax. You amateur detectives----" Ford was already seated at the table, scribbling a copy of the message, and making marginal notes. "Who brought the FIRST paper?" he interrupted. "A hansom-cab driver. " "What became of HIM?" snapped the amateur detective. The Secretary looked inquiringly at James. "He drove away, " said James. "He drove away, did he?"' roared Ford. "And that was a week ago! Yegods! What about Dalesville, Kentucky? Did you cable any one there?" The dignity of the diplomat was becoming ruffled. "We did not!" he answered. "If it wasn't true that her uncle was at thathotel, it was probably equally untrue that she had friends in America. " "But, " retorted his friend, "you didn't forget to cable the StateDepartment that you all went in your evening clothes to bow to the newKing? You didn't neglect to cable that, did you?" "The State Department, " returned the Secretary, with withering reproof, "does not expect us to crawl over the roofs of houses and spy downchimneys to see if by any chance an American citizen is being murdered. " "Well, " exclaimed Ford, leaping to his feet and placing his notes inhis pocket, "fortunately, my paper expects me to do just that, and if itdidn't, I'd do it anyway. And that is exactly what I am going to do now!Don't tell the others in the Embassy, and, for Heaven's sake, don't tellthe police. Jimmy, get me a taxi. And you, " he commanded, pointing atthe one who had brought the note, "are coming with me to Sowell Street, to show me where you picked up that paper. " On the way to Sowell Street Ford stopped at a newspaper agency, andpaid for the insertion that afternoon of the same advertisement in threenewspapers. It read: "If hansom-cab driver who last week carried note, found in street, to American Embassy will mail his address to X. X. X. , care of GLOBE, he will be rewarded. " From the nearest post-office he sent to his paper the following cable:"Query our local correspondent, Dalesville, Kentucky, concerning DosiaPearsall Dale. Is she of sound mind, is she heiress. Who controlsher money, what her business relations with her uncle Charles RalphPearsall, what her present address. If any questions, say inquiries comefrom solicitors of Englishman who wants to marry her. Rush answer. " Sowell Street is a dark, dirty little thoroughfare, running for onlyone block, parallel to Harley Street. Like it, it is decorated with thebrass plates of physicians and the red lamps of surgeons, but, just asthe medical men in Harley Street, in keeping with that thoroughfare, are broad, open, and with nothing to conceal, so those of Sowell Street, like their hiding-place, shrink from observation, and their lives are assombre, secret, and dark as the street itself. Within two turns of it Ford dismissed the taxicab. Giving the soiledperson a half-smoked cigarette, he told him to walk through SowellStreet, and when he reached the place where he had picked up the paper, to drop the cigarette as near that spot as possible. He then was to turninto Weymouth Street and wait until Ford joined him. At a distance offifty feet Ford followed the man, and saw him, when in the middle ofthe block, without apparent hesitation, drop the cigarette. The house infront of which it fell was marked, like many others, by the brassplate of a doctor. As Ford passed it he hit the cigarette with hiswalking-stick, and drove it into an area. When he overtook the man, Fordhanded him another cigarette. "To make sure, " he said, "C4 go backand drop this in the place you found the paper. " For a moment the manhesitated. "I might as well tell you, " Ford continued, "that I knocked that lastcigarette so far from where you dropped it that you won't be able to useit as a guide. So, if you don't really know where you found the paper, you'll save my time by saying so. " Instead of being confused by thetest, the man was amused by it. He laughed appreciatively admitted. "You've caught me out fair, governor, " "I want the 'arf-crown, and Idropped the cigarette as near the place as I could. But I can't do itagain. It was this way, " he explained. "I wasn't taking notice of thehouses. I was walking along looking into the gutter for stumps. I seethis paper wrapped about something round. 'It's a copper, ' I thinks, 'jucked out of a winder to a organ-grinder. ' I snatches it, and runs. I didn't take no time to look at the houses. But it wasn't so far fromwhere I showed you; about the middle house in the street and on the left'and side. " Ford had never considered the man as a serious element in the problem. He believed him to know as little of the matter as he professed to know. But it was essential he should keep that little to himself. "No one will pay you for talking, " Ford pointed out, "and I'll pay youto keep quiet. So, if you say nothing concerning that note, at the endof two weeks, I'll leave two pounds for you with James, at the Embassy. " The man, who believed Ford to be an agent of the police, was only toohappy to escape on such easy terms. After Ford had given him a pound onaccount, they parted. From Wimpole Street the amateur detective went to the nearest publictelephone and called up Gerridge's Hotel. He considered his first stepshould be to discover if Mr. Pearsall was at that hotel, or had everstopped there. When the 'phone was answered, he requested that a messagebe delivered to Mr. Pearsall. "Please tell him, " he asked, "that the clothes he ordered are ready totry on. " He was informed that no one by that name was at the hotel. In a voice ofconcern Ford begged to know when Mr. Pearsall had gone away, and had heleft any address. "He was with you three weeks ago, " Ford insisted. "He's an Americangentleman, and there was a lady with him. She ordered a riding-habit ofus: the same time he was measured for his clothes. " After a short delay, the voice from the hotel replied that no one of thename of Pearsall had been at the hotel that winter. In apparent great disgust Ford rang off, and took a taxicab to his roomsin Jermyn Street. There he packed a suit-case and drove to Gerridge's. It was a quiet, respectable, "old-established" house in Craven Street, a thoroughfare almost entirely given over to small family hotels muchfrequented by Americans. After he had registered and had left his bag in his room, Ford returnedto the office, and in an assured manner asked that a card on which hehad written "Henry W. Page, Dalesville, Kentucky, " should be taken toMr. Pearsall. In a tone of obvious annoyance the proprietor returned the card, sayingthat there was no one of that name in the hotel, and added that no suchperson had ever stopped there. Ford expressed the liveliest distress. "He TOLD me I'd find him here, " he protested. , "he and his niece. " Withthe garrulousness of the American abroad, he confided his troubles tothe entire staff of the hotel. "We're from the same town, " he explained. "That's why I must see him. He's the only man in London I know, and I'vespent all my money. He said he'd give me some he owes me, as soon as Ireached London. If I can't get it, I'll have to go home by Wednesday'ssteamer. " And, complained bitterly, "I haven't seen the Tower, nor Westminster Abbey. " In a moment, Ford's anxiety to meet Mr. Pearsall was apparently lostin a wave of self-pity. In his disappointment he appealing, patheticfigure. Real detectives and rival newspaper men, even while they admitted Fordobtained facts that were denied them, claimed that they were given himfrom charity. Where they bullied, browbeat, and administered a thirddegree, Ford was embarrassed, deprecatory, an earnest, ingenuous, wide-eyed child. What he called his "working" smile begged of you notto be cross with him. His simplicity was apparently so hopeless, hisconfidence in whomever he addressed so complete, that often even theman he was pursuing felt for him a pitying contempt. Now as he stooduncertainly in the hall of the hotel, his helplessness moved the proudlady clerk to shake her cylinders of false hair sympathetically, the German waiters to regard his predicament with respect; even theproprietor, Mr. Gerridge himself, was ill at ease. Ford returned to hisroom, on the second floor of the hotel, and sat down on the edge of thebed. In connecting Pearsall with Gerridge's, both the police and himself hadfailed. Of this there were three possible explanations: that the girlwho wrote the letter was in error, that the letter was a hoax, that theproprietor of the hotel, for some reason, was protecting Pearsall, andhad deceived both Ford and Scotland Yard. On the other hand, withoutknowing why the girl believed Pearsall would be found at Gerridge's, it was reasonable to assume that in so thinking she had been purposelymisled. The question was, should he or not dismiss Gerridge's as apossible clew, and at once devote himself to finding the house in SowellStreet? He decided for the moment at least, to leave Gerridge's out ofhis calculations, but, as an excuse for returning there, to still retainhis room. He at once started toward Sowell Street, and in order to findout if any one from the hotel were following him, he set forth on foot. As soon as he made sure he was not spied upon, he covered the remainderof the distance in a cab. He was acting on the supposition that the letter was no practical joke, but a genuine cry for help. Sowell Street was a scene set for suchan adventure. It was narrow, mean-looking, the stucco house-fronts, soot-stained, cracked, and uncared-for, the steps broken and unwashed. As he entered it a cold rain was falling, and a yellow fog that rolledbetween the houses added to its dreariness. It was now late in theafternoon, and so overcast the sky that in many rooms the gas was litand the curtains drawn. The girl, apparently from observing the daily progress of the sun, hadwritten she was on the west side of the street and, she believed, inan upper story. The man who picked up the note had said he had foundit opposite the houses in the middle of the block. Accordingly, Fordproceeded on the supposition that the entire east side of the street, the lower stories of the west side, and the houses at each end wereeliminated. The three houses in the centre of the row were outwardlyalike. They were of four stories. Each was the residence of a physician, and in each, in the upper stories, the blinds were drawn. From the frontthere was nothing to be learned, and in the hope that the rear mightfurnish some clew, Ford hastened to Wimpole Street, in which the housesto the east backed upon those to the west in Sowell Street. These houseswere given over to furnished lodgings, and under the pretext of rentingchambers, it was easy for Ford to enter them, and from the apartmentsin the rear to obtain several hasty glimpses of the backs of the threehouses in Sowell Street. But neither from this view-point did he gatherany fact of interest. In one of the three houses in Sowell Streetiron bars were fastened across the windows of the fourth floor, but inprivate sanatoriums this was neither unusual nor suspicious. The barsmight cover the windows of a nursery to prevent children from fallingout, or the room of some timid householder with a lively fear ofburglars. In a quarter of an hour Ford was again back in Sowell Street no wiserthan when he had entered it. From the outside, at least, the threehouses under suspicion gave no sign. In the problem before him there wasone point that Ford found difficult to explain. It was the only one thatcaused him to question if the letter was genuine. What puzzled him wasthis: Why, if the girl were free to throw two notes from the window, didshe not throw them out by the dozen? If she were able to reach a window, opening on the street, why did she not call for help? Why did she not, by hurling out every small article the room contained, by screams, bybreaking the window-panes, attract a crowd, and, through it, the police?That she had not done so seemed to show that only at rare intervalswas she free from restraint, or at liberty to enter the front room thatopened on the street. Would it be equally difficult, Ford asked himself, for one in the street to communicate with her? What signal could he givethat would draw an answering signal from the girl? Standing at the corner, hidden by the pillars of a portico, the waterdripping from his rain-coat, Ford gazed long and anxiously at the blankwindows of the three houses. Like blind eyes staring into his, they toldno tales, betrayed no secret. Around him the commonplace life of theneighborhood proceeded undisturbed. Somewhere concealed in the singlerow of houses a girl was imprisoned, her life threatened; perhaps evenat that moment she was facing her death. While, on either side, shutfrom her by the thickness only of a brick wall, people were talking, reading, making tea, preparing the evening meal, or, in the streetbelow, hurrying by, intent on trivial errands. Hansom cabs, prowlingin search of a fare, passed through the street where a woman was beingrobbed of a fortune, the drivers occupied only with thoughts of apossible shilling; a housemaid with a jug in her hand and a shawl overher bare head, hastened to the near-by public-house; the postman madehis rounds, and delivered comic postal-cards; a policeman, sheddingwater from his shining cape, halted, gazed severely at the sky, and, unconscious of the crime that was going forward within the sound of hisown footsteps, continued stolidly into Wimpole Street. A hundred plans raced through Ford's brain; he would arouse the streetwith a false alarm of fire and lead the firemen, with the tale of asmoking chimney, to one of the three houses; he would feign illness, and, taking refuge in one of them, at night would explore the premises;he would impersonate a detective, and insist upon his right to searchfor stolen property. As he rejected these and a dozen schemes asfantastic, his brain and eyes were still alert for any chance advantagethat the street might offer. But the minutes passed into an hour, andno one had entered any of the three houses, no one had left them. In thelower stories, from behind the edges of the blinds, lights appeared, but of the life within there was no sign. Until he hit upon a plan ofaction, Ford felt there was no longer anything to be gained by remainingin Sowell Street. Already the answer to his cable might have arrived athis rooms; at Gerridge's he might still learn something of Pearsall. He decided to revisit both these places, and, while so engaged, to sendfrom his office one of his assistants to cover the Sowell Street houses. He cast a last, reluctant look at the closed blinds, and moved away. Ashe did so, two itinerant musicians dragging behind them a small streetpiano on wheels turned the corner, and, as the rain had now ceased, oneof them pulled the oil-cloth covering from the instrument and, seating himself on a camp-stool at the curb, opened the piano. Aftera discouraged glance at the darkened windows, the other, in a hoarse, strident tenor, to the accompaniment of the piano, began to sing. Thevoice of the man was raucous, penetrating. It would have reached therecesses of a tomb. "She sells sea-shells on the sea-shore, " the vocalist wailed. "Theshells she sells are sea-shells, I'm sure. " The effect was instantaneous. A window was flung open, and an indignanthouseholder with one hand frantically waved the musicians away, and withthe other threw them a copper coin. At the same moment Ford walked quickly to the piano and laid ahalf-crown on top of it. "Follow me to Harley Street, " he commanded. "Don't hurry. Take yourtime. I want you to help me in a sort of practical joke. It's worth asovereign to you. " He passed on quickly. When he glanced behind him, he saw the two men, fearful lest the promised fortune might escape them, pursuing him at atrot. At Harley Street they halted, breathless. "How long, " Ford demanded of the one who played the piano, "will it takeyou to learn the accompaniment to a new song?" "While you're whistling it, " answered the man eagerly. "And I'm as quick at a tune as him, " assured the other anxiously. "I cansing----" "You cannot, " interrupted Ford. "I'm going to do the singing myself. Where is there a public-house near here where we can hire a back room, and rehearse?" Half an hour later, Ford and the piano-player entered Sowell Streetdragging the piano behind them. The amateur detective still wore hisrain-coat, but his hat he had exchanged for a cap, and, instead of acollar, he had knotted around his bare neck a dirty kerchief. At theend of the street they halted, and in some embarrassment Ford raised hisvoice in the chorus of a song well known in the music-halls. It was avery good voice, much too good for "open-air work, " as his companionhad already assured him, but, what was of chief importance to Ford, itcarried as far as he wished it to go. Already in Wimpole Street fourcoins of the realm, flung to him from the highest windows, had testifiedto its power. From the end of Sowell Street Ford moved slowly from houseto house until he was directly opposite the three in one of which hebelieved the girl to be. "We will try the NEW songs here, " he said. Night had fallen, and, except for the gas-lamps, the street was empty, and in such darkness that even without his disguise Ford ran no risk ofrecognition. His plan was not new. It dated from the days of Richardthe Lion-hearted. But if the prisoner were alert and intelligent, eventhough she could make no answer, Ford believed through his effort shewould gain courage, would grasp that from the outside a friend wasworking toward her. All he knew of the prisoner was that she came fromKentucky. Ford fixed his eyes on the houses opposite, and cleared histhroat. The man struck the opening chords, and in a high barytone, andin a cockney accent that made even the accompanist grin, Ford lifted hisvoice. "The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home, " he sang; "'tis summer, and the darkies are gay. " He finished the song, but there was no sign. For all the impression hehad made upon Sowell Street, he might have been singing in his chambers. "And now the other, " commanded Ford. The house-fronts echoed back the cheering notes of "Dixie. " Again Fordwas silent, and again The silence answered him. The accompanist glareddisgustedly at the darkened windows. "They don't know them songs, " he explained professionally. "Give 'em, 'Mollie Married the Marquis. '" "I'll sing the first one again, " said Ford. Once more he broke into thepathetic cadences of the "Old Kentucky Home. " But there was no response. He was beginning to feel angry, absurd. He believed he had wastedprecious moments, and, even as he sang, his mind was already workingupon a new plan. The song ceased, unfinished. "It's no use!" he exclaimed. Remembering himself, he added: "We'll trythe next street. " But even as he spoke he leaped forward. Coming apparently from nowhere, something white sank through the semi-darkness and fell at his feet. It struck the pavement directly in front of the middle one of thethree houses. Ford fell upon it and clutched it in both hands. It was awoman's glove. Ford raced back to the piano. "Once more, " he cried, "play 'Dixie'!" He shouted out the chorus exultantly, triumphantly. Had he spoken it inwords, the message could not have carried more clearly. Ford now believed he had found the house, found the woman, and waseager only to get rid of his companion and, in his own person, return toSowell Street. But, lest the man might suspect there was in his actionssomething more serious than a practical joke, he forced himself to singthe new songs in three different streets. Then, pretending to tire ofhis prank, he paid the musician and left him. He was happy, exultant, tingling with excitement. Good-luck had been with him, and, hoping thatGerridge's might yet yield some clew to Pearsall, he returned there. Calling up the London office of the REPUBLIC, he directed that one ofhis assistants, an English lad named Cuthbert, should at once join himat that hotel. Cuthbert was but just out of Oxford. He wished to becomea writer of fiction, and, as a means of seeing many kinds of life atfirst hand, was in training as a "Pressman. " His admiration for Fordamounted to almost hero-worship; and he regarded an "assignment" withhis chief as a joy and an honor. Full of enthusiasm, and as soon as ataxicab could bring him, he arrived at Gerridge's, where, in a corner ofthe deserted coffee-room, Ford explained the situation. Until he coulddevise a way to enter the Sowell Street house. Cuthbert was to watchover it. "The number of the house is forty, " Ford told him; "the name on thedoor-plate, Dr. Prothero. Find out everything you can about him withoutletting any one catch you at it. Better begin at the nearest chemist's. Say you are on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and ask the man to mixyou a sedative, and recommend a physician. Show him Prothero's name andaddress on a piece of paper, and say Prothero has been recommended toyou as a specialist on nervous troubles. Ask what he thinks of him. Gethim to talk. Then visit the trades-people and the public-houses in theneighborhood, and say you are from some West End shop where Prothero, wants to open an account. They may talk, especially if his credit isbad. And, if you find out enough about him to give me a working basis, I'll try to get into the house to-night. Meanwhile, I'm going to makeanother quick search of this hotel for Pearsall. I'm not satisfied hehas not been here. For why should Miss Dale, with all the hotels inLondon to choose from, have named this particular one, unless she hadgood reason for it? Now, go, and meet me in an hour in Sowell Street. " Cuthbert was at the door when he remembered he had brought with him fromthe office Ford's mail and cablegrams. Among the latter was the one forwhich Ford had asked. "Wait, " he commanded. "This is about the girl. You had better know whatit says. " The cable read: "Girl orphan, Dalesville named after her family, for three generationsmill-owners, father died four years ago, Pearsall brother-in-law untilshe is twenty-one, which will be in three months. Girl well known, extremely popular, lived Dalesville until last year, when went abroadwith uncle, since then reports of melancholia and nervous prostration, before that health excellent--no signs insanity--none in family. Becareful how handle Pearsall, was doctor, gave up practice to lookafter estate, is prominent in local business and church circles, bestreputation, beware libel. " For the benefit of Cuthbert, Ford had been reading the cable aloud. Thelast paragraph seemed especially to interest him, and he read it twice, the second time slowly, and emphasizing the word "doctor. " "A doctor!" he repeated. "Do you see where that leads us? It may explainseveral things. The girl was in good health until went abroad with heruncle, and he is a medical man. " The eyes of Cuthbert grew wide with excitement. "You mean poison!" he whispered. "Slow poison!" "Beware libel, " laughed Ford nervously, his own eyes lit withexcitement. "Suppose, " he exclaimed, "he has been using arsenic? Hewould have many opportunities, and it's colorless, tasteless; andarsenic would account for her depression and melancholia. The time whenhe must turn over her money is very near, and, suppose he has spentthe money, speculated with it, and lost it, or that he still has it andwants to keep it? In three months she will be of age, and he must makean accounting. The arsenic does not work fast enough. So what does hedo? To save himself from exposure, or to keep the money, he throws herinto this private sanatorium, to make away with her. " Ford had been talking in an eager whisper. While he spoke his cigar hadceased to burn, and to light it, from a vase on the mantel he took aspill, one of those spirals of paper that in English hotels, where theproprietor is of a frugal mind, are still used to prevent extravagancein matches. Ford lit the spill at the coal fire, and with hiscigar puffed at the flame. As he did so the paper unrolled. To theastonishment of Cuthbert, Ford clasped it in both hands, blotted outthe tiny flame, and, turning quickly to a table, spread out the charredpaper flat. After one quick glance, Ford ran to the fireplace, and, seizing a handfull of the spills, began rapidly to unroll them. Then heturned to Cuthbert and, without speaking, showed him the charredspill. It was a scrap torn from the front page of a newspaper. Thehalf-obliterated words at which Ford pointed were DALESVILLE COUR ---- "His torn paper!" said Ford. "The DALESVILLE COURIER. Pearsall HAS beenin this hotel!" He handed another spill to Cuthbert. "From that one, " said Ford, "we get the date, December 3. Allowing threeweeks for the newspaper to reach London, Pearsall must have seen itjust three weeks ago, just when Miss Dale says he was in the hotel. Thelandlord has lied to me. " Ford rang for a waiter, and told him to ask Mr. Gerridge to come to thesmoking-room. As Cuthbert was leaving it, Gerridge was entering it, and Ford wassaying: "It seems you've been lying to the police and to me. Unless you desireto be an accessory to a murder, You had better talk quick!" An hour later Ford passed slowly through Sowell Street in a taxicab, and, finding Cuthbert on guard, signalled him to follow. In WimpoleStreet the cab drew up to the curb, and Cuthbert entered it. "I have found Pearsall, " said Ford. "He is in No. 40 with Prothero. " He then related to Cuthbert what had happened. Gerridge had explainedthat when the Police called, his first thought was to protect the goodname of his hotel. He had denied any knowledge of Pearsall only becausehe no longer was a guest, and, as he supposed Pearsall had passed outof his life, he saw no reason, why, through an arrest and a scandal, hishotel should be involved. Believing Ford to be in the secret service ofthe police, he was now only too anxious to clear himself of suspicion bytelling all he knew. It was but little. Pearsall and his niece had beenat the hotel for three days. During that time the niece, who appearedto be an invalid, remained in her room. On the evening of the thirdday, while Pearsall was absent, a call from him had come for her bytelephone, on receiving which Miss Dale had at once left the hotel, apparently in great agitation. That night she did not return, but in themorning Pearsall came to collect his and her luggage and to settle hisaccount. He explained that a woman relative living at the Langham Hotelhad been taken suddenly ill, and had sent for him and his niece. Hercondition had been so serious that they had remained with her all night, and his niece still was at her bedside. The driver of a four-wheeler, who for years had stood on the cab-rank in front of Gerridge's, haddriven Pearsall to the Langham. This man was at the moment on the rank, and from him Ford learned what he most wished to know. The cabman remembered Pearsall, and having driven him to the Langham, for the reason that immediately after setting him down there, and while"crawling" for a fare in Portland Place, a whistle from the Langham hadrecalled him, and the same luggage that had just been taken from the topof his cab was Put back on it, and he was directed by the porter of thehotel to take it to a house in Sowell Street. There a man-servant hadhelped him unload the trunks and had paid him his fare. The cabman didnot remember the number of the house, but knew it was on the west sideof the street and in the middle of the block. Having finished with Gerridge and the cab-man, Ford had at once goneto the Langham Hotel, where, as he anticipated, nothing was known ofPearsall or his niece, or of any invalid lady. But the hall-porterremembered the American gentleman who had driven up with many pieces ofluggage, and who, although it was out of season, and many suites in thehotel were vacant, had found none to suit him. He had then set forth onfoot, having left word that his trunks be sent after him. The address hegave was a house in Sowell Street. The porter recalled the incident because he and the cabman had grumbledover the fact that in five minutes they had twice to handle the sameboxes. "It is pretty evident, " said Ford, what Pearsall had in mind, but chancewas against him. He thought when he had unloaded his trunks at theLangham and dismissed the cabman he had destroyed the link connectinghim with Gerridge's. He could not foresee that the same cabman would beloitering in the neighborhood. He should have known that four-wheelersare not as plentiful as they once were; and he should have given thatparticular one more time to get away. His idea in walking to the SowellStreet house was obviously to prevent the new cabman from seeing himenter it. But, just where he thought he was clever, was just where hetripped. If he had remained with his trunks he would have seen that thecabman was the same one who had brought them and him from Craven Street, and he would have given any other address in London than the one he did. "And now, " said Ford, "that we have Pearsall where we want him, tell mewhat you have learned about Prothero?" Cuthbert smiled importantly, and produced a piece of paper scribbledover with notes. "Prothero, " he said, "seems to be THIS sort of man. If he made yourcoffee for you, before you tasted it, you'd like him to drink a cup ofit first. " II "Prothero, " said Cuthbert, "is a man of mystery. As soon as I beganasking his neighbors questions, I saw he was of interest and that I wasof interest. I saw they did not believe I was an agent of a West Endshop, but a detective. So they wouldn't talk at all, or else they talkedfreely. And from one of them, a chemist named Needham, I got all Iwanted. He's had a lawsuit against Prothero, and hates him. Prothero gothim to invest in a medicine to cure the cocaine habit. Needham foundthe cure was no cure, but cocaine disguised. He sued for his money, andduring the trial the police brought in Prothero's record. Needham let mecopy it, and it seems to embrace every crime except treason. The man isa Russian Jew. He was arrested and prosecuted in Warsaw, Vienna, Berlin, Belgrade; all over Europe, until finally the police drove him toAmerica. There he was an editor of an anarchist paper, a blackmailer, a'doctor' of hypnotism, a clairvoyant, and a professional bigamist. Hisgame was to open rooms as a clairvoyant, and advise silly women how toinvest their money. When he found out which of them had the most money, he would marry her, take over her fortune, and skip. In Chicago, he wastried for poisoning one wife, and the trial brought out the fact thattwo others had died under suspicious circumstances, and that therewere three more unpoisoned but anxious to get back their money. He wassentenced to ten years for bigamy, but pardoned because he was supposedto be insane, and dying. Instead of dying, he opened a sanatorium inNew York to cure victims of the drug habit. In reality, it was a sort ofhigh-priced opium-den. The place was raided, and he jumped his bail andcame to this country. Now he is running this private hospital in SowellStreet. Needham says it's a secret rendezvous for dope fiends. But theyare very high-class dope fiends, who are willing to pay for seclusion, and the police can't get at him. I may add that he's tall and muscular, with a big black beard, and hands that could strangle a bull. InChicago, during the poison trial, the newspapers called him 'the ModernBluebeard. "' For a short time Ford was silent. But, in the dark corner of the cab, Cuthbert could see that his cigar was burning briskly. "Your friend seems a nice chap, " said Ford at last. "Calling on him willbe a real pleasure. I especially like what you say about his hands. " "I have a plan, " began the assistant timidly, "a plan to get you intothe house-if you don't mind my making suggestions?" "Not at all!" exclaimed his chief heartily. "Get me into the house by all means; that's what we're here for. Thefact that I'm to be poisoned or strangled after I get there mustn'tdiscourage us. '" "I thought, " said Cuthbert, "I might stand guard outside, while you gotin as a dope fiend. " Ford snorted indignantly. "Do I LOOK like a dope fiend?" he protested. The voice of the assistant was one of discouragement. "You certainly do not, " he exclaimed regretfully. "But it's the onlyplan I could think of. " "It seems to me, " said his chief testily, "that you are not so veryhealthy-looking yourself. What's the matter with YOUR getting inside asa dope fiend and MY standing guard?" "But I wouldn't know what to do after I got inside, " complained theassistant, "and you would. You are so clever. " The expression of confidence seemed to flatter Ford. "I might do this, " he said. "I might pretend I was recovering from aheavy spree, and ask to be taken care of until I am sober. Or I couldbe a very good imitation of a man on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I haven't been five years in the newspaper business without knowing allthere is to know about nerves. That's it!" he cried. "I will do that!And if Mr. Bluebeard Svengali, the Strangler of Paris person, won't takeme in as a patient, we'll come back with a couple of axes and BREAK in. But we'll try the nervous breakdown first, and we'll try it now. I willbe a naval officer, " declared Ford. "I made the round-the-world cruisewith our fleet as a correspondent, and I know enough sea slang to foola medical man. I am a naval officer whose nerves have gone wrong. I haveheard of his sanatorium through----" "How, " asked Ford sharply, "have Iheard of his sanatorium?" "You saw his advertisement in the DAILY WORLD, " prompted Cuthbert. "'Home of convalescents; mental and nervous troubles cured. '" "And, " continued Ford, "I have come to him for rest and treatment. Myname is Lieutenant Henry Grant. I arrived in London two weeks ago on theMAURETANIA. But my name was not on the passenger-list, because I did notwant the Navy Department to know I was taking my leave abroad. I havebeen stopping at my own address in Jermyn Street, and my references areyourself, the Embassy, and my landlord. You will telephone him at oncethat, if any one asks after Henry Grant, he is to say what you tell himto say. And if any one sends for Henry Grant's clothes, he is to send MYclothes. " "But you don't expect to be in there as long as that?" exclaimedCuthbert. "I do not, " said Ford. "But, if he takes me in, I must make a bluff ofsending for my things. No; either I will be turned out in five minutes, or if he accepts me as a patient I will be there until midnight. If Icannot get the girl out of the house by midnight, it will mean thatI can't get out myself, and you had better bring the police and thecoroner. " "Do you mean it?" asked Cuthbert. "I most certainly do!" exclaimed Ford. "Until twelve I want a chance to get this story exclusively for ourpaper. If she is not free by then it means I have fallen down on it, andyou and the police are to begin to batter in the doors. " The two young men left the cab, and at some distance from each otherwalked to Sowell Street. At the house of Dr. Prothero, Ford stopped andrang the bell. From across the street Cuthbert saw the door open andthe figure of a man of almost gigantic stature block the doorway. For amoment he stood there, and then Cuthbert saw him step to one side, sawFord enter the house and the door close upon him. Cuthbert at once ranto a telephone, and, having instructed Ford's landlord as to the parthe was to play, returned to Sowell Street. There, in a state nearlyapproaching a genuine nervous breakdown, he continued his vigil. Even without his criminal record to cast a glamour over him, Ford wouldhave found Dr. Prothero, a disturbing person. His size was enormous, hiseyes piercing, sinister, unblinking, and the hands that could strangle abull, and with which as though to control himself, he continually pulledat his black beard, were gigantic, of a deadly white, with fingers longand prehensile. In his manner he had all the suave insolence of theOriental and the suspicious alertness of one constantly on guard, butalso, as Ford at once noted, of one wholly without fear. He had notbeen over a moment in his presence before the reporter felt that tosuccessfully lie to such a man might be counted as a triumph. Prothero opened the door into a little office leading off the hall, andswitched on the electric lights. For some short time, without any effortto conceal his suspicion, he stared at Ford in silence. "Well?" he said, at last. His tone was a challenge. Ford had already given his assumed name and profession, and he now ranglibly into the story he had planned. He opened his card-case and lookedinto it doubtfully. "I find I have no card with me, " he said; "but I am, as I told you, Lieutenant Grant, of the United States Navy. I am allright physically, except for my nerves. They've played me a queer trick. If the facts get out at home, it might cost me my commission. So I'vecome over here for treatment. " "Why to ME?" asked Prothero. "I saw by your advertisement, " said the reporter, "that you treatedfor nervous mental troubles. Mine is an illusion, " he went on. "I seethings, or, rather, always one thing-a battle-ship coming at us head on. For the last year I've been executive officer of the KEARSARGE, and theresponsibility has been too much for me. " "You see a battle-ship?" inquired the Jew. "A phantom battle-ship, " Ford explained, "a sort OF FLYING DUTCHMAN. The time I saw it I was on the bridge, and I yelled and telegraphed theengine-room. I brought the ship to a full stop, and backed her. But itwas dirty weather, and the error was passed over. After that, when I sawthe thing coming I did nothing. But each time I think it is real. " Fordshivered slightly and glanced about him. "Some day, " he added fatefully, "it WILL be real, and I will NOT signal, and the ship will sink!" In silence, Prothero observed his visitor closely. The young man seemedsincere, genuine. His manner was direct and frank. He looked the part hehad assumed, as one used to authority. "My fees are large, " said the Russian. At this point, had Ford, regardless of terms, exhibited a hopefuleagerness to at once close with him, the Jew would have shown him thedoor. But Ford was on guard, and well aware that a lieutenant in thenavy had but few guineas to throw away on medicines. He made a movementas though to withdraw. "Then I am afraid, " he said, "I must go somewhere else. " His reluctance apparently only partially satisfied the Jew. Ford adopted opposite tactics. He was never without ready money. Hispaper saw to it that in its interests he was always able at any momentto pay for a special train across Europe, or to bribe the entire workingstaff of a cable office. From his breast-pocket he took a bluelinen envelope, and allowed the Jew to see that it was filled withtwenty-pound notes. "I have means outside my pay, " said Ford. "I would give almost any price to the man who can cure me. " The eyes ofthe Russian flashed avariciously. "I will arrange the terms to suit you, " he exclaimed. "Your caseinterests me. Do you See this mirage only at sea?" "In any open place, " Ford assured him. "In a park or public square, butof course most frequently at sea. " The quack waved his great hands as though brushing aside a curtain. "I will remove the illusion, " he said, "and give you others morepretty. " He smiled meaningfully--an evil, leering smile. "When will youcome?" he asked. Ford glanced about him nervously. "I shall stay now, " he said. "I confess, in the streets and in mylodgings I am frightened. You give me confidence. I want to stay nearyou. I feel safe with you. If you will give me writing-paper, I willsend for my things. " For a moment the Jew hesitated, and then motioned to a desk. As Fordwrote, Prothero stood near him, and the reporter knew that over hisshoulder the Jew was reading what he wrote. Ford gave him the note, unsealed, and asked that it be forwarded at once to his lodgings. "To-morrow, " he said, "I will call up our Embassy, and give my addressto our Naval Attache. "I will attend to that, " said Prothero. "From now you are in my hands, and you can communicate with the outsideonly through me. You are to have absolute rest--no books, no letters, no papers. And you will be fed from a spoon. I will explain my treatmentlater. You will now go to your room, and you will remain there until youare a well man. " Ford had no wish to be at once shut off from the rest of the house. Theodor of cooking came through the hall, and seemed to offer an excuse fordelay. "I smell food, " he laughed. "And I'm terrifically hungry. Can't I have afarewell dinner before you begin feeding me from a spoon?" The Jew was about to refuse, but, with his guilty knowledge of what wasgoing forward in the house, he could not be too sure of those he allowedto enter it. He wanted more time to spend in studying this new patient, and the dinner-table seemed to offer a place where he could do sowithout the other suspecting he was under observation. "My associate and I were just about to dine, " he said. "You will waithere until I have another place laid, and you can join us. " He departed, walking heavily down the hall, but almost at once Ford, whose ears were alert for any sound, heard him returning, approachingstealthily on tiptoe. If by this maneuver the Jew had hoped to discoverhis patient in some indiscretion, he was unsuccessful, for he found Fordstanding just where he had left him, with his back turned to thedoor, and gazing with apparent interest at a picture on the wall. Thesignificance of the incident was not lost upon the intruder. It taughthim he was still under surveillance, and that he must bear himselfwarily. Murmuring some excuse for having returned, the Jew againdeparted, and in a few minutes Ford heard his voice, and that of anotherman, engaged in low tones in what was apparently an eager argument. Only once was the voice of the other man raised sufficiently for Ford todistinguish his words. "He is an American, " protested the voice; "thatmakes it worse. " Ford guessed that the speaker was Pearsall, and that against hisadmittance to the house he was making earnest protest. A door, closingwith a bang, shut off the argument, but within a few minutes it wasevident the Jew had carried his point, for he reappeared to announcethat dinner was waiting. It was served in a room at the farther end ofthe hall, and at the table, which was laid for three, Ford found a manalready seated. Prothero introduced him as "my associate, " but from hispresence in the house, and from the fact that he was an American, Fordknew that he was Pearsall. Pearsall was a man of fifty. He was tall, spare, with closely shavenface and gray hair, worn rather long. He spoke with the accent ofa Southerner, and although to Ford he was studiously polite, he wasobviously greatly ill at ease. He had the abrupt, inattentive manners, the trembling fingers and quivering lips, of one who had long beena slave to the drug habit, and who now, with difficulty, was holdinghimself in hand. Throughout the dinner, speaking to him as though, interested only ashis medical advisers, the Jew, and occasionally the American, sharplyexamined and cross-examined their visitor. But they were unable to triphim in his story, or to suggest that he was not just what he claimed tobe. When the dinner was finished, the three men, for different reasons, wereeach more at his ease. Both Pearsall and Prothero believed from the newpatient they had nothing to fear, and Ford was congratulating himselfthat his presence at the house was firmly secure. "I think, " said Pearsall, "we should warn Mr. Grant that there are inthe house other patients who, like himself, are suffering from nervousdisorders. At times some silly neurotic woman becomes hysterical, andmay make an outcry or scream. He must not think ----" "That's all right!" Ford reassured him cheerfully. "I expect that. In asanatorium it must be unavoidable. " As he spoke, as though by a signal prearranged, there came from theupper portion of the house a scream, long, insistent. It was the voice of a woman, raised in appeal, in protest, shaken withfear. Without for an instant regarding it, the two men fastened theireyes upon the visitor. The hand of the Jew dropped quickly from hisbeard, and slid to the inside pocket of his coat. With eyes apparentlyunseeing, Ford noted the movement. "He carries a gun, " was his mental comment, "and he seems perfectlywilling to use it. " Aloud, he said: "That, I suppose is one of them?" Prothero nodded gravely, and turned to Pearsall. "Will you attend her?"he asked. As Pearsall rose and left the room, Prothero rose also. "You will come with me, " he directed, "and I will see you settle in yourapartment. Your bag has arrived and is already there. " The room to which the Jew led him was the front one on the second story. It was in no way in keeping with a sanatorium, or a rest-cure. The wallswere hidden by dark blue hangings, in which sparkled tiny mirrors, thefloor was covered with Turkish rugs, the lights concealed inside lampsof dull brass bedecked with crimson tassels. In the air were the odorsof stale tobacco-smoke, of cheap incense, and the sickly, sweet smell ofopium. To Ford the place suggested a cigar-divan rather than a bedroom, and he guessed, correctly, that when Prothero had played at palmistryand clairvoyance this had been the place where he received his dupes. But the American expressed himself pleased with his surroundings, andwhile Prothero remained in the room, busied himself with unpacking hisbag. On leaving him the Jew halted in the door and delivered himself of alittle speech. His voice was stern, sharp, menacing. "Until you are cured, " he said, "you will not put your foot outside thisroom. In this house are other inmates who, as you have already learned, are in a highly nervous state. The brains of some are unbalanced. Withmy associate and myself they are familiar, but the sight of a strangerroaming through the halls might upset them. They might attack you, mightdo you bodily injury. If you wish for anything, ring the electric bellbeside your bed and an attendant will come. But you yourself must notleave the room. " He closed the door, and Ford, seating himself in front of the coal fire, hastily considered his position. He could not persuade himself that, strategically, it was a satisfactory one. The girl he sought was on thetop or fourth floor, he on the second. To reach her he would have topass through Well-lighted halls, up two flights Of stairs and tryto enter a door that would undoubtedly be locked. On the other hand, instead of wandering about in the rain outside the house, he was nowestablished on the inside, and as an inmate. Had there been time for asiege, he would have been confident of success. But there was no time. The written call for help had been urgent. Also, the scream he hadheard, while the manner of the two men had shown that to them it was acommonplace, was to him a spur to instant action. In haste he knew therewas the risk of failure, but he must take that risk. He wished first to assure himself that Cuthbert was within call, and tothat end put out the lights and drew aside the curtains that covered thewindow. Outside, the fog was rolling between the house-fronts, both rainand snow were falling heavily, and a solitary gas-lamp showed only adeserted and dripping street. Cautiously Ford lit a match and for aninstant let the flame flare. He was almost at once rewarded by the sightof an answering flame that flickered from a dark doorway. Ford closedthe window, satisfied that his line of communication with the outsideworld was still intact. The faithful Cuthbert was on guard. Ford rapidly reviewed each possible course of action. These wereseveral, but to lead any one of them to success, he saw that he mustpossess a better acquaintance with the interior of the house. Especiallywas it important that he should obtain a line of escape other than theone down the stairs to the front door. The knowledge that in the rear ofthe house there was a means of retreat by a servants' stairway, or overthe roof of an adjoining building, or by a friendly fire-escape, wouldat least, lend him confidence in his adventure. Accordingly, in spite ofProthero's threat, he determined at once to reconnoitre. In case of hisbeing discovered outside his room, he would explain his electric bellwas out of order, that when he rang no servant had answered, and that hehad sallied forth in search of one. To make this plausible, he unscrewedthe cap of the electric button in the wall, and with his knife cut offenough of the wire to prevent a proper connection. He then replaced thecap and, opening the door, stepped into the hall. The upper part of the house was, sunk in silence, but rising from thedining-room below, through the opening made by the stairs, came thevoices of Prothero and Pearsall. And mixed with their voices came alsothe sharp hiss of water issuing from a siphon. The sound was reassuring. Apparently, over their whiskey-and-soda the two men were still lingeringat the dinner-table. For the moment, then--so far, at least, as theywere concerned--the coast was clear. Stepping cautiously, and keeping close to the wall, Ford ran lightlyup the stairs to the hall of the third floor. It was lit brightly by agas-jet, but no one was in sight, and the three doors opening upon itwere shut. At the rear of the hall was a window; the blind was raised, and through the panes, dripping in the rain, Ford caught a glimpse ofthe rigid iron rods of a fire-escape. His spirits leaped exultantly. Ifnecessary, by means of this scaling ladder, he could work entirelyfrom the outside. Greatly elated, he tiptoed past the closed doors andmounted to the fourth floor. This also was lit by a gas-jet that showedat one end of the hall a table on which were medicine-bottles and a traycovered by a napkin; and at the other end, piled upon each other andblocking the hall-window, were three steamer-trunks. Painted on eachwere the initials, "D. D. " Ford breathed an exclamation. "Dosia Dale, " he muttered, "I have found you!" He was again confrontedby three closed doors, one leading to a room that faced the street, another opening upon a room in the rear of the house, and opposite, across the hallway, still another door. He observed that the first twodoors were each fastened from the outside by bolts and a spring lock, and that the key to each lock was in place. The fact moved him withindecision. If he took possession of the keys, he could enter the roomsat his pleasure. On the other hand, should their loss be discovered, analarm would be raised and he would inevitably come under suspicion. Thevery purpose he had in view might be frustrated. He decided that wherethey were the keys would serve him as well as in his pocket, and turnedhis attention to the third door. This was not locked, and, from itsposition, Ford guessed it must be an entrance to a servants' stairway. Confident of this, he opened it, and found a dark, narrow landing, aflight of steps mounting from the kitchen below, and, to his delight aniron ladder leading to a trap-door. He could hardly forego a cheer. Ifthe trap-door were not locked, he had found a third line of retreat, ameans of escape by way of the roof, far superior to any he might attemptby the main staircase and the street-door. Ford stepped into the landing, closing the door behind him and thoughthis left him in complete darkness, he climbed the ladder, and witheager fingers felt for the fastenings of the trap. He had feared tofind a padlock, but, to his infinite relief, his fingers closed upontwo bolts. Noiselessly, and smoothly, they drew back from their sockets. Under the pressure of his hand the trap door lifted, and through theopening swept a breath of chill night air. Ford hooked one leg over a round of the ladder and, with hands freesmoved the trap to one side. An instant later he had scrambled to theroof, and, after carefully replacing the trap, rose and looked abouthim. To his satisfaction, he found that the roof upon which he stood ranlevel with the roofs adjoining its to as far as Devonshire Street, where they encountered the wall of an apartment house. This was ofseven stories. On the fifth story a row of windows, brilliantly lighted, opened upon the roofs over which he planned to make his retreat. Fordchuckled with nervous excitement. "Before long, " he assured himself, "I will be visiting the man who ownsthat flat. He will think I am a burglar. He will send for the police. There is no one in the world I shall be so glad to see!" Ford considered that running over roofs, even when their pitfalls werenot concealed by a yellow fog, was an awkward exercise, and decided thatbefore he made his dash for freedom, the part of a careful jockey wouldbe to take a preliminary canter over the course. Accordingly, amongparty walls of brick, rain-pipes, chimney-pipes, and telephone wires, he felt his way to the wall of the apartment house; and then, with aclearer idea of the obstacles to be avoided, raced back to the pointwhence he had started. Next, to discover the exact position of the fire-escape, he dropped tohis knees and crawled to the rear edge of the roof. The light from theback windows of the fourth floor showed him an iron ladder from the edgeof the roof to the platform of the fire-escape, and the platform itself, stretching below the windows the width of the building. He gave a sighof satisfaction, but the same instant exclaimed with dismay. The windowsopening upon the fire-escape were closely barred. For a moment he wasunable to grasp why a fire-escape should be placed where escape wasimpossible, until he recognized that the ladder must have been erectedfirst and the iron bars later; probably only since Miss Dale had beenmade a prisoner. But he now appreciated that in spite of the iron bars he was nearer thatprisoner than he had ever been. Should he return to the hall below, evenwhile he could unlock the doors, he was in danger of discovery by thoseinside the house. But from the fire-escape only a window-pane wouldseparate him from the prisoner, and though the bars would keep him atarm's-length, he might at least speak with her, and assure her thather call for help had carried. He grasped the sides of the ladder anddropped to the platform. As he had already seen that the window farthestto the left was barricaded with trunks, he disregarded it, and passedquickly to the two others. Behind both of these, linen shades werelowered, but, to his relief, he found that in the middle window thelower sash, as though for ventilation, was slightly raised, leavingan opening of a few inches. Kneeling on the gridiron platform of thefire-escape, and pressing his face against the bars, he brought his eyeslevel with this opening. Owing to the lowered window-blind, he could seenothing in the room, nor could he distinguish any sound until above thedrip and patter of the rain there came to him the peaceful ticking ofa clock and the rattle of coal falling to the fender. But of any soundthat was human there was none. That the room was empty, and that thegirl was in the front of the house was possible, and the temptationto stretch his hand through the bars and lift the blind was almostcompelling. If he did so, and the girl were inside, she might make anoutcry, or, guarding her, there might be an attendant, who at once wouldsound the alarm. The risk was evident, but, encouraged by the silence, Ford determined to take the chance. Slipping one hand between the barshe caught the end of the blind, and, pulling it gently down, let thespring draw it upward. Through an opening of six inches the room layopen before him. He saw a door leading to another room, at one side aniron cot, and in front of the coal fire, facing him, a girl seated in adeep arm-chair. A book lay on her knees, and she was intently reading. The girl was young, and her face, in spite of an unnatural pallor and anexpression of deep melancholy, was one of extreme beauty. She wore overa night-dress a long loose wrapper corded at the waist, and, as thoughin readiness for the night, her black hair had been drawn back intosmooth, heavy braids. She made so sweet and sad a picture that Fordforgot his errand, forgot his damp and chilled body, and for a momentin sheer delight knelt, with his face pressed close to the bars, andgazed at her. A movement on the part of the girl brought him to his senses. She closedthe book, and, leaning forward, rested her chin upon the hollow of herhand and stared into the fire. Her look was one of complete and hopelessmisery. Ford did not hesitate. The girl was alone, but that at anymoment an attendant might join her was probable, and the rare chancethat now offered would be lost. He did not dare to speak, or by anysound attract her attention, but from his breast-pocket he took theglove thrown to him from the window, and, with a jerk, tossed it throughthe narrow opening. It fell directly at her feet. She had not seen theglove approach, but the slight sound it made in falling caused her tostart and turn her eyes toward it. Through the window, breathless, andwith every nerve drawn taut, Ford watched her. For a moment, partly in alarm, partly in bewilderment, she satmotionless, regarding the glove with eyes fixed and staring. Then shelifted them to the ceiling, in quick succession to each of the closeddoors, and then to the window. In his race across the roofs Ford hadlacked the protection of a hat, and his hair was plastered across hisforehead; his face was streaked with soot and snow, his eyes shone withexcitement. But at sight of this strange apparition the girl made nosign. Her alert mind had in an instant taken in the significance of theglove, and for her what followed could have but one meaning. She knewthat no matter in what guise he came the man whose face was now pressedagainst the bars was a friend. With a swift, graceful movement she rose to her feet, crossed quickly tothe window, and sank upon her knees. "Speak in a whisper, " she said; "and speak quickly. You are in greatdanger!" That her first thought was of his safety gave Ford a thrill of shame andpleasure. Until now Miss Dosia Dale had been only the chief feature in a newspaperstory; the unknown quantity in a problem. She had meant no more to himthan had the initials on her steamer-trunk. Now, through her beauty, through the distress in her eyes, through her warm and generous naturethat had disclosed itself with her first words, she became a living, breathing, lovely, and lovable woman. All of the young man's chivalryleaped to the call. He had gone back several centuries. In feeling, hewas a knight-errant rescuing beauty in distress from a dungeon cell. Tothe girl, he was a reckless young person with a dirty face and eyesthat gave confidence. But, though a knight-errant, Ford was a modernknight-errant. He wasted no time in explanations or pretty speeches. "In two minutes, " he whispered, "I'll unlock your door. There's a ladderoutside your room to the roof. Once we get to the roof the rest's easy. Should anything go wrong, I'll come back by this fire-escape. Wait atthe window until you see your door open. Do you understand?" The girl answered with an eager nod. The color had flown to her cheek. Her eyes flashed in excitement. A sudden doubt assailed Ford. "You've no time to put on any more clothes, " he commanded. "I haven't got any!" said the girl. The knight-errant ran up the fire-escape, pulled himself over the edgeof the roof, and, crossing it, dropped through the trap to the landingof the kitchen stairs. Here he expended the greater part of the twominutes he had allowed himself in cautiously opening the door into thehall. He accomplished this without a sound, and in one step crossed thehall to the door that held Miss Dale a prisoner. Slowly he drew back the bolts. Only the spring lock now barred him fromher. With thumb and forefinger he turned the key, pushed the door gentlyopen, and ran into the room. At the same instant from behind him, within six feet of him, he heardthe staircase creak. A bomb bursting could not have shaken him morerudely. He swung on his heel and found, blocking the door, the giantbulk of Prothero regarding him over the barrel of his pistol. "Don't move!" said the Jew. At the sound of his voice the girl gave a cry of warning, and sprangforward. "Go back!" commanded Prothero. His voice was low and soft, andapparently calm, but his face showed white with rage. Ford had recovered from the shock of the surprise. He, also, was in arage--a rage of mortification and bitter disappointment. "Don't point that gun at me!" he blustered. The sound of leaping footsteps and the voice of Pearsall echoed from thefloor below. "Have you got him?" he called. Prothero made no reply, nor did he lower his pistol. When Pearsall wasat his side, without turning his head, he asked in the same steady tone: "What shall we do with him?" The face of Pearsall was white, and furious with fear. "I told you----" he stormed. "Never mind what you told me, " said the Jew. "What shall we do with him?He knows!" Ford's mind was working swiftly. He had no real fear of personal dangerfor the girl or himself. The Jew, he argued, was no fool. He would notrisk his neck by open murder. And, as he saw it, escape with the girlmight still be possible. He had only to conceal from Prothero hisknowledge of the line of retreat over the house-tops, explain hisrain-soaked condition, and wait a better chance. To this end he proceeded to lie briskly and smoothly. "Of course I know, " he taunted. He pointed to his dripping garments. "Do you know where I've been? In the street, placing my men. I have thishouse surrounded. I am going to walk down those stairs with this younglady. If you try to stop me I have only to blow my police-whistle----" "And I will blow your brains out!" interrupted the Jew. It was a mostunsatisfactory climax. "You have not been in the street, " said Prothero. "You are wet becauseyou hung out of your window signalling to your friend. Do you know whyhe did not answer your second signal? Because he is lying in an area, with a knife in him!" "You lie!" cried Ford. "YOU lie, " retorted the Jew quietly, "when you say your men surroundthis house. You are alone. You are NOT in the police service, you area busybody meddling with men who think as little of killing you as theydid of killing your friend. My servant was placed to watch your window, saw your signal, reported to me. And I found your assistant and threwhim into an area, with a knife in him!" Ford felt the story was untrue. Prothero was trying to frighten him. Out of pure bravado no sane man would boast of murder. But--and at thethought Ford felt a touch of real fear--was the man sane? It was a mostunpleasant contingency. Between a fight with an angry man and an insaneman the difference was appreciable. From this new view-point Fordregarded his adversary with increased wariness; he watched him as hewould a mad dog. He regretted extremely he had not brought his revolver. With his automatic pistol still covering Ford, Prothero spoke toPearsall. "I found him, " he recited, as though testing the story he would telllater, "prowling through my house at night. Mistaking him for a burglar, I killed him. The kitchen window will be found open, with the lockbroken, showing how he gained an entrance. Why not?" he demanded. "Because, " protested Pearsall, in terror, "the man outside willtell----" Ford shouted in genuine relief. "Exactly!" he cried. "The man outside, who is not down an area with aknife in him, but who at this moment is bringing the police--he willtell!" As though he had not been interrupted, Prothero continued thoughtfully: "What they may say he expected to find here, I can explain away later. The point is that I found a strange man, hatless, dishevelled, prowlingin my house. I called on him to halt; he ran, I fired, and unfortunatelykilled him. An Englishman's home is his castle; an English jury----" "An English jury, " said Ford briskly, "is the last thing you want tomeet---- It isn't a Chicago jury. " The Jew flung back his head as though Ford had struck him in the face. "Ah!" he purred, "you know that, too, do you?" The purr increased to asnarl. "You know too much!" For Pearsall, his tone seemed to bear an alarming meaning. He sprangtoward Prothero, and laid both hands upon his disengaged arm. "For God's sake, " he pleaded, "come away! He can't hurt you--not alive;but dead, he'll hang you--hang us both. We must go, now, this moment. "He dragged impotently at the left arm of the giant. "Come!" he begged. Whether moved by Pearsall's words or by some thought of his own, Prothero nodded in assent. He addressed himself to Ford. "I don't know what to do with you, " he said, "so I will consult withmy friend outside this door. While we talk, we will lock you in. We canhear any move you make. If you raise the window or call I will open thedoor and kill you--you and that woman!" With a quick gesture, he swung to the door, and the spring lock snapped. An instant later the bolts were noisily driven home. When the second bolt shot into place, Ford turned and looked at MissDale. "This is a hell of a note!" he said III Outside the locked door the voices of the two men rose in fiercewhispers. But Ford regarded them not at all. With the swiftness ofa squirrel caught in a cage, he darted on tiptoe from side to sidesearching the confines of his prison. He halted close to Miss Dale andpointed at the windows. "Have you ever tried to loosen those bars?" he whispered. The girl nodded and, in pantomime that spoke of failure, shrugged hershoulders. "What did you see?" demanded Ford hopefully. The girl destroyed his hope with a shake of her head and a swift smile. "Scissors, " she said; "but they found them and took them away. " Fordpointed at the open grate. "Where's the poker?" he demanded. "They took that, too. I bent it trying to pry the bars. So they knew. " The man gave her a quick, pleased glance, then turned his eyes to thedoor that led into the room that looked upon the street. "Is that door locked?" "No, " the girl told him. "But the door from it into the hall isfastened, like the other, with a spring lock and two bolts. " Ford cautiously opened the door into the room adjoining, and, except fora bed and wash-stand, found it empty. On tiptoe he ran to the windows. Sowell Street was deserted. He returned to Miss Dale, again closing thedoor between the two rooms. "The nurse, " Miss Dale whispered, "when she is on duty, leaves that dooropen so that she can watch me; when she goes downstairs, she locks andbolts the door from that room to the hall. It's locked now. " "What's the nurse like?" The girl gave a shudder that seemed to Ford sufficiently descriptive. Her lips tightened in a hard, straight line. "She's not human, " she said. "I begged her to help me, appealed to herin every way; then I tried a dozen times to get past her to the stairs. " "Well?" The girl frowned, and with a gesture signified her surroundings. "I'm still here, " she said. She bent suddenly forward and, with her hand on his shoulder, turned theman so that he faced the cot. "The mattress on that bed, " she whispered, "rests on two iron rods. Theyare loose and can be lifted. I planned to smash the lock, but the noisewould have brought Prothero. But you could defend yourself with one ofthem. " Ford had already run to the cot and dropped to his knees. He found themattress supported on strips of iron resting loosely in sockets at thehead and foot. He raised the one nearer him, and then, after a moment ofhesitation, let it drop into place. "That's fine!" he whispered. "Good as a crowbar. '" He shook his head insudden indecision. "But I don't just know how to use it. His automaticcould shoot six times before I could swing that thing on him once. Andif I have it in my hands when he opens the door, he'll shoot, and he mayhit you. But if I leave it where it is, he won't know I know it's there, and it may come in very handy later. " In complete disapproval the girl shook her head. Her eyes filled withconcern. "You must not fight him, " she ordered. "I mean, not for me. Youdon't know the danger. The man's not sane. He won't give you a chance. He's mad. You have no right to risk your life for a stranger. I'll notpermit it----" Ford held up his hand for silence. With a jerk of his head he signifiedthe door. "They've stopped talking, " he whispered. Straining to hear, the two leaned forward, but from the hall there cameno sound. The girl raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Have they gone?" she breathed. "If I knew that, " protested Ford, "we wouldn't be here!" In answer to his doubt a smart rap, as though from the butt of arevolver, fell upon the door. The voice of Prothero spoke sharply: "You, who call yourself Grant!" he shouted. Before answering, Ford drew Miss Dale and himself away from the line ofthe door, and so placed the girl with her back to the wall that if thedoor opened she would be behind it. "Yes, " he answered. "Pearsall and I, " called Prothero, "have decided how to dispose ofyou--of both of you. He has gone below to make preparations. I am onguard. If you try to break out or call for help, I'll shoot you as Iwarned you!" "And I warn you, " shouted Ford, "if this lady and I do not instantlyleave this house, or if any harm comes to her, you will hang for it!"Prothero laughed jeeringly. "Who will hang me?" he mocked. "My friends, " retorted Ford. "They know I am in this house. They knowWHY I am here. Unless they see Miss Dale and myself walk out of it insafety, they will never let you leave it. Don't be a fool, Prothero!" heshouted. "You know I am telling the truth. You know your only chance formercy is to open that door and let us go free. " For over a minute Ford waited, but from the hall there was no answer. After another minute of silence, Ford turned and gazed inquiringly atMiss Dale. "Prothero!" he called. Again for a full minute he waited and again called, and then, as therestill was no reply, he struck the door sharply with his knuckles. On theinstant the voice of the Jew rang forth in an angry bellow. "Keep away from that door!" he commanded. Ford turned to Miss Dale and bent his head close to hers. "Now, why the devil didn't he answer?" he whispered. "Was it because hewasn't there; or is he planning to steal away and wants us to thinkthat even if he does not answer, he's still outside?" The girl noddedeagerly. "This is it, " she whispered. "My uncle is a coward or rather he is verywise, and has left the house. And Prothero means to follow, but he wantsus to think he's still on guard. If we only KNEW!" she exclaimed. As though in answer to her thought, the voice of Prothero called tothem. "Don't speak to me again, " he warned. "If you do, I'll not answer, orI'll shoot!" Flattened against the wall, close to the hinges of the door, Fordreplied flippantly and defiantly: "That makes conversation difficult, doesn't it?" he called. There was a bursting report, and a bullet splintered the panel of thedoor, flattened itself against the fireplace, and fell tinkling into thegrate. "I hope I hit you!" roared the Jew. Ford pressed his lips tightly together. Whatever happy retort may haverisen to them was forever lost. For an exchange of repartee, the momentdid not seem propitious. "Perhaps now, " jeered Prothero, "you'll believe I'm in earnest!" Ford still resisted any temptation to reply. He grinned apologeticallyat the girl and shrugged his shoulders. Her face was white, but it waswhite from excitement, not from fear. "What did I tell you?" she whispered. "He IS mad--quite mad!" Ford glanced at the bullet-hole in the panel of the door. It was on aline with his heart. He looked at Miss Dale; her shoulder was on a levelwith his own, and her eyes were following his. "In case he does that again, " said Ford, "we would be more comfortablesitting down. " With their shoulders against the wall, the two young people sank tothe floor. The position seemed to appeal to them as humorous, and, whentheir eyes met, they smiled. "To a spectator, " whispered Ford encouragingly, "we MIGHT appear tobe getting the worst of this. But, as a matter of fact, every minuteCuthbert does not come means that the next minute may bring him. " "You don't believe he was hurt?" asked the girl. "No, " said Ford. "I believe Prothero found him, and I believe there mayhave been a fight. But you heard what Pearsall said: 'The man outsidewill tell. ' If Cuthbert's in a position to tell, he is not down an areawith a knife in him. " He was interrupted by a faint report from the lowest floor, as thoughthe door to the street had been sharply slammed. Miss Dale showed thatshe also had heard it. "My uncle, " she said, "making his escape!" "It may be, " Ford answered. The report did not suggest to him the slamming of a door, but he saw noreason for saying so to the girl. With his fingers locked across his knees, Ford was leaning forward, hiseyes frowning, his lips tightly shut. At his side the girl regardedhim covertly. His broad shoulders, almost touching hers, his strongjaw projecting aggressively, and the alert, observant eyes gave herconfidence. For three weeks she had been making a fight single-handed. But she was now willing to cease struggling and relax. Quite happilyshe placed herself and her safety in the keeping of a stranger. Halfto herself, half to the man, she murmured: "It is like 'The Sieur deMaletroit's Door. "' Without looking at her, Ford shook his head and smiled. "No such luck, " he corrected grimly. "That young man was given a choice. The moment he was willing to marry the girl he could have walked out ofthe room free. I do not recall Prothero's saying I can escape death byany such charming alternative. " The girl interrupted quickly. "No, " she said; "you are not at all like that young man. He stumbled inby chance. You came on purpose to help me. It was fine, unselfish. " "It was not, " returned Ford. "My motive was absolutely selfish. It wasnot to help you I came, but to be able to tell about it later. It is mybusiness to do that. And before I saw you, it was all in the day's work. But after I saw you it was no longer a part of the day's work; it becamea matter of a life time. " The girl at his side laughed softly and lightly. "A lifetime is notlong, " she said, "when you are locked in a room and a madman is shootingat you. It may last only an hour. " "Whether it lasts an hour or many years, " said Ford, "it can mean to menow only one thing----" He turned quickly and looked in her face boldlyand steadily: "You, " he said. The girl did not avoid his eyes, but returned his glance with one assteady as his own. "You are an amusing person, " she said. "Do you feelit is necessary to keep up my courage with pretty speeches?" "I made no pretty speech, " said Ford. "I proclaimed a fact. You are themost charming person that ever came into my life, and whether Protheroshoots us up, or whether we live to get back to God's country, you willnever leave it. " The girl pretended to consider his speech critically. "It would bealmost a compliment, " she said, "if it were intelligent, but when youknow nothing of me--it is merely impertinent. " "I know this much of you, " returned Ford, calmly; "I know you are fineand generous, for your first speech to me, in spite of your own danger, was for my safety. I know you are brave, for I see you now facing deathwithout dismay. " He was again suddenly halted by, two sharp reports. They came fromthe room directly below them. It was no longer possible to pretend tomisinterpret their significance. "Prothero!" exclaimed Ford, "and his pistol!" They waited breathlessly for what might follow: an outcry, the sound ofa body falling, a third pistol-shot. But throughout the house there wassilence. "If you really think we are in such danger, " declared Miss Dale, "we arewasting time!" "We are NOT wasting time, " protested Ford; "we are really gaining time, for each minute Cuthbert and the police are drawing nearer, and to moveabout only invites a bullet. And, what is of more importance, " he wenton quickly, as though to turn her mind from the mysterious pistol-shots, "should we get out of this alive, I shall already have said what underordinary conditions I might not have found the courage to tell you inmany months. " He waited as though hopeful of a reply, but Miss Daleremained silent. "They say, " continued Ford, "when a man is drowning hiswhole life passes in review. We are drowning, and yet I find I can seeinto the past no further than the last half-hour. I find life began onlythen, when I looked through the bars of that window and found YOU!" With the palm of her hand the girl struck the floor sharply. "This isneither the time, " she exclaimed, "nor the place to----" "I did not choose the place, " Ford pointed out. "It was forced upon mewith a gun. But the TIME is excellent. At such a time one speaks onlywhat is true. " "You certainly have a strange sense of humor, " she said, "but when youare risking your life to help me, how can I be angry?" "Of course you can't, " Ford agreed heartily; "you could not be soconventional. " "But I AM conventional!" protested Miss Dale. "And I am not USEDto having young men tell me they have 'come into my life tostay'--certainly not young men who come into my life by way of atrap-door, and without an introduction, without a name, without even ahat! It's absurd! It's not real! It's a nightmare!" "The whole situation is absurd!" Ford declared. "Here we are in theheart of London, surrounded by telephones, taxicabs, police--at least, hope we are surrounded by police and yet we are crawling aroundthe floor on our hands and knees dodging bullets. I wish it werea nightmare. But, as it's not"--he rose to his feet--"I think I'lltry----" He was interrupted by a sharp blow upon the door and the voice ofProthero. "You, navy officer!" he panted. "Come to the door! Stand close to it sothat I needn't shout. Come, quick!" Ford made no answer. Motioning to Miss Dale to remain where she was, heran noiselessly to the bed, and from beneath the mattress lifted one ofthe iron bars upon which it rested. Grasping it at one end, he swung thebar swiftly as a man tests the weight of a baseball bat. As a weapon itseemed to satisfy him, for he smiled. Then once more he placed himselfwith his back to the wall. "Do you hear me?" roared Prothero. "I hear you!" returned Ford. "If you want to talk to me, open the doorand come inside. " "Listen to me, " called Prothero. "If I open the door you may act thefool, and I will have to shoot you, and I have made up my mind to letyou live. You will soon have this house to yourselves. In a few momentsI will leave it, but where I am going I'll need money, and I want thebank-notes in that blue envelope. " Ford swung the iron club in shorthalf-circles. "Come in and get them!" he called. "Don't trifle with me!" roared the Jew, "I may change my mind. Shove themoney through the crack under the door. " "And get shot!" returned Ford. "Not bit like it!" "If, in one minute, " shouted Prothero, "I don't see the money comingthrough that crack, I'll begin shooting through this door, and neitherof you will live!" Resting the bar in the crook of his elbow, Ford snatched the bank-notesfrom the envelope, and, sticking them in his pocket, placed the emptyenvelope on the floor. Still keeping out of range, and using his ironbar as a croupier uses his rake, he pushed the envelope across thecarpet and under the door. When half of it had disappeared from theother side of the door, it was snatched from view. An instant later there was a scream of anger and on a line where Fordwould have been, had he knelt to shove the envelope under the door, three bullets splintered through the panel. At the same moment the girl caught him by the wrist. Unheeding theattack upon the door, her eyes were fixed upon the windows. With herfree hand she pointed at the one at which Ford had first appeared. Theblind was still raised a few inches, and they saw that the night was litwith a strange and brilliant radiance. The storm had passed, and fromall the houses that backed upon the one in which they were prisonerslights blazed from every window, and in each were crowded many people, and upon the roof-tops in silhouette from the glare of the street lampsbelow, and in the yards and clinging to the walls that separated them, were hundreds of other dark, shadowy groups changing and swaying. Andfrom them rose the confused, inarticulate, terrifying murmur of a mob. It was as though they were on a race-track at night facing a greatgrandstand peopled with an army of ghosts. With the girl at his side, Ford sprang to the window and threw up the blind, and as they clung tothe bars, peering into the night, the light in the room fell full uponthem. And in an instant from the windows opposite, from the yards below, and from the house-tops came a savage, exultant yell of welcome, aconfusion of cries' orders, entreaties, a great roar of warning. At thesound, Ford could feel the girl at his side tremble. "What does it mean?" she cried. "Cuthbert has raised the neighborhood!" shouted Ford jubilantly. "Orelse"--he cried in sudden enlightenment--"those shots we heard. " The girl stopped him with a low cry of fear. She thrust her arms betweenthe bars and pointed. In the yard below them was the sloping roof of thekitchen. It stretched from the house to the wall of the back yard. Abovethe wall from the yard beyond rose a ladder, and, face down upon theroof, awry and sprawling, were the motionless forms of two men. Theirshining capes and heavy helmets proclaimed their calling. "The police!" exclaimed Ford. "And the shots we thought were for thosein the house were for THEM! This is what has happened, " he whisperedeagerly: "Prothero attacked Cuthbert. Cuthbert gets away and goes to thepolice. He tells them you are here a prisoner, that I am here probablya prisoner, and of the attack upon himself. The police try to make anentrance from the street--that was the first shot we heard--and aredriven back; then they try to creep in from the yard, and those poordevils were killed. " As he spoke a sudden silence had fallen, a silence as startling as hadbeen the shout of warning. Some fresh attack upon the house which theprisoners could not see, but which must be visible to those in thehouses opposite was going forward. "Perhaps they are on the roof, "' whispered Ford joyfully. "They'll bethrough the trap in a minute, and you'll be free!" "No!" said the girl. She also spoke in a whisper, as though she feared Prothero might hearher. And with her hand she again pointed. Cautiously above the topof the ladder appeared the head and shoulders of a man. He wore apoliceman's helmet, but, warned by the fate of his comrades, he camearmed. Balancing himself with his left hand on the rung of the ladder, he raised the other and pointed a revolver. It was apparently at the twoprisoners, and Miss Dale sprang to one side. "Standstill!" commanded Ford. "He knows who YOU are! You heard that yellwhen they saw you? They know you are the prisoner, and they are gladyou're still alive. That officer is aiming at the window BELOW us. He'safter the men who murdered his mates. " From the window directly beneath them came the crash of a rifle, andfrom the top of the ladder the revolver of the police officer blazed inthe darkness. Again the rifle crashed, and the man on the ladder jerkedhis hands above his head and pitched backward. Ford looked into the faceof the girl and found her eyes filled with horror. "Where is my uncle, Pearsall?" she faltered. "He has two rifles--forshooting in Scotland. Was that a rifle that----" Her lips refused tofinish the question. "It was a rifle, " Ford stammered, "but probably Prothero----" Even as he spoke the voice of the Jew rose in a shriek from the floorbelow them, but not from the window below them. The sound was fromthe front room opening on Sowell Street. In the awed silence that hadsuddenly fallen his shrieks carried sharply. They were more like thesnarls and ravings of an animal than the outcries of a man. "Take THAT!" he shouted, with a flood of oaths, "and THAT, and THAT!" Each word was punctuated by the report of his automatic, and to theamazement of Ford, was instantly answered from Sowell Street by ascattered volley of rifle and pistol shots. "This isn't a fight, " he cried, "it's a battle!" With Miss Dale at his side, he ran into the front room, and, raising theblind, appeared at the window. And instantly, as at the other end of thehouse, there was, at sight of the woman's figure, a tumult of cries, ashout of warning, and a great roar of welcome. From beneath them a manran into the deserted street, and in the glare of the gas-lamp Ford sawhis white, upturned face. He was without a hat and his head was circledby a bandage. But Ford recognized Cuthbert. "That's Ford!" he cried, pointing. "And the girl's with him!" He turned to a group of mencrouching in the doorway of the next house to the one in which Ford wasimprisoned. "The girl's alive!" he shouted. "The girl's alive!" The words were caught up and flung from window towindow, from house-top to house-top, with savage, jubilant cheers. Fordpushed Miss Dale forward. "Let them see you, " he said, "and you will never see a stranger sight. " Below them, Sowell Street, glistening with rain and snow, lay empty, butat either end of it, held back by an army of police, were black massesof men, and beyond them more men packed upon the tops of taxicabs andhansoms, stretching as far as the street-lamps showed, and on the roofsshadowy forms crept cautiously from chimney to chimney; and in thewindows of darkened rooms opposite, from behind barricades of mattressesand upturned tables, rifles appeared stealthily, to be lost in a suddenflash of flame. And with these flashes were others that came fromwindows and roofs with the report of a bursting bomb, and that, on theinstant, turned night into day, and then left the darkness more dark. Ford gave a cry of delight. "They're taking flash-light photographs, " he cried jubilantly. "Welldone, you Pressmen!" The instinct of the reporter became compelling. "If they're alive to develop those photographs to-night, " he exclaimedeagerly, "Cuthbert will send them by special messenger, in time to catchthe MAURETANIA and the REPUBLIC will have them by Sunday. I mayn't bealive to see them, " he added regretfully, "but what a feature for theSunday supplement!" As the eyes of the two prisoners became accustomed to the darkness, theysaw that the street was not, as at first they had supposed, entirelyempty. Directly below them in the gutter, where to approach it was toinvite instant death from Prothero's pistol, lay the dead body of apoliceman, and at the nearer end of the street, not fifty yards fromthem, were three other prostrate forms. But these forms were animate, and alive to good purpose. From a public-house on the corner a row ofyellow lamps showed them clearly. Stretched on pieces of board, and matscommandeered from hallways and cabs, each of the three men lay at fulllength, nursing a rifle. Their belted gray overcoats, flat, visoredcaps, and the set of their shoulders marked them for soldiers. "For the love of Heaven!" exclaimed Ford incredulously, "they've calledout the Guards!" As unconcernedly as though facing the butts at a rifle-range, thethree sharp-shooters were firing point-blank at the windows from whichProthero and Pearsall were waging their war to the death upon theinstruments of law and order. Beside them, on his knees in the snow, ayoung man with the silver hilt of an officer's sword showing through theslit in his greatcoat, was giving commands; and at the other end ofthe street, a brother officer in evening dress was directing othersharp-shooters, bending over them like the coach of a tug-of-war team, pointing with white-gloved fingers. On the side of the street from whichProthero was firing, huddled in a doorway, were a group of officials, inspectors of police, fire chiefs in brass helmets, more officers ofthe Guards in bear-skins, and, wrapped in a fur coat, the youthful HorneSecretary. Ford saw him wave his arm, and at his bidding the cordon ofpolice broke, and slowly forcing its way through the mass of people camea huge touring-car, its two blazing eyes sending before it greatshafts of light. The driver of the car wasted no time in taking up hisposition. Dashing half-way down the street, he as swiftly backed theautomobile over the gutter and up on the sidewalk, so that the lightsin front fell full on the door of No. 40. Then, covered by the fire fromthe roofs, he sprang to the lamps and tilted them until they threw theirshafts into the windows of the third story. Prothero's hiding-placewas now as clearly exposed as though it were held in the circle of aspot-light, and at the success of the maneuver the great mob raised anapplauding cheer. But the triumph was brief. In a minute the blazinglamps had been shattered by bullets, and once more, save for the fierceflashes from rifles and pistols, Sowell Street lay in darkness. Ford drew Miss Dale back into the room. "Those men below, " he said, "are mad. Prothero's always been mad, andyour Pearsall is mad with drugs. And the sight of blood has made themmaniacs. They know they now have no chance to live. There's no fearor hope to hold them, and one life more or less means nothing. If theyshould return here----" He hesitated, but the girl nodded quickly. "I understand, " she said. "I'm going to try to break down the door and get to the roof, " explainedFord. "My hope is that this attack will keep them from hearing, and----" "No, " protested the girl. "They will hear you, and they will kill you. " "They may take it into their crazy heads to do that, anyway, " protestedFord, "so the sooner I get you away, the better. I've only to smash thepanels close to the bolts, put my arm through the hole, and draw thebolts back. Then, another blow on the spring lock when the firing isloudest, and we are in the hall. Should anything happen to me, you mustknow how to make your escape alone. Across the hall is a door leading toan iron ladder. That ladder leads to a trap-door. The trap-door is open. When you reach the roof, run westward toward a lighted building. " "I am not going without you, " said Miss Dale quietly; "not after whatyou have done for me. " "I haven't done anything for you yet, " objected Ford. "But in case I getcaught I mean to make sure there will be others on hand who will. " He pulled his pencil and a letter from his pocket, and on the back ofthe envelope wrote rapidly: "I will try to get Miss Dale up through thetrap in the roof. You can reach the roof by means of the apartment housein Devonshire Street. Send men to meet her. " In the groups of officials half hidden in the doorway farther down thestreet, he could make out the bandaged head of Cuthbert. "Cuthbert!" hecalled. Weighting the envelope with a coin, he threw it into the air. Itfell in the gutter, under a lamp-post, and full in view, and at oncethe two madmen below splashed the street around it with bullets. But, indifferent to the bullets, a policeman sprang from a dark areaway andflung himself upon it. The next moment he staggered. Then limping, butholding himself erect, he ran heavily toward the group of officials. TheHome Secretary snatched the envelope from him, and held it toward thelight. In his desire to learn if his message had reached those on the outside, Ford leaned far over the sill of the window. His imprudence was all butfatal. From the roof opposite there came a sudden yell of warning, from directly below him a flash, and a bullet grazed his forehead andshattered the window-pane above him. He was deluged with a shower ofbroken glass. Stunned and bleeding, he sprang back. With a cry of concern, Miss Dale ran toward him. "It's nothing!" stammered Ford. "It only means I must waste no moretime. " He balanced his iron rod as he would a pikestaff, and aimed it atthe upper half of the door to the hall. "When the next volley comes, " he said, "I'll smash the panel. " With the bar raised high, his muscles on a strain, he stood alertand poised, waiting for a shot from the room below to call forth ananswering volley from the house-tops. But no sound came from below. Andthe sharp-shooters, waiting for the madmen to expose themselves, heldtheir fire. Ford's muscles relaxed, and he lowered his weapon. He turned his eyesinquiringly to the girl. "What's THIS mean?" he demanded. Unconsciouslyhis voice had again dropped to a whisper. "They're short of ammunition, " said the girl, in a tone as low as hisown; "or they are coming HERE. " With a peremptory gesture, Ford waved her toward the room adjoining andthen ran to the window. The girl was leaning forward with her face close to the door. She heldthe finger of one hand to her lips. With the other hand she beckoned. Ford ran to her side. "Some one is moving in the hall, " she whispered. "Perhaps they areescaping by the roof? No, " she corrected herself. "They seem to berunning down the stairs again. Now they are coming back. Do you hear?"she asked. "It sounds like some one running up and down the stairs. Whatcan it mean?" From the direction of the staircase Ford heard a curious creaking soundas of many light footsteps. He gave a cry of relief. "The police!" he shouted jubilantly. "They've entered through the roof, and they're going to attack in the rear. You're SAFE!" he cried. He sprang away from the door and, with two swinging blows, smashed thebroad panel. And then, with a cry, he staggered backward. Full inhis face, through the break he had made, swept a hot wave of burningcinders. Through the broken panel he saw the hall choked with smoke, thesteps of the staircase and the stair-rails wrapped in flame. "The house is on fire!" he cried. "They've taken to the roof and setfire to the stairs behind them!" With the full strength of his arms andshoulders he struck and smashed the iron bar against the door. But thebolts held, and through each fresh opening he made in the panels theburning cinders, drawn by the draft from the windows, swept into theroom. From the street a mighty yell of consternation told them the firehad been discovered. Miss Dale ran to the window, and the yell turnedto a great cry of warning. The air was rent with frantic voices. "Jump!"cried some. "Go back!" entreated others. The fire chief ran into thestreet directly below her and shouted at her through his hands. "Waitfor the life-net!" he commanded. "Wait for the ladders!" "Ladders!" panted Ford. "Before they can get their engines through thatmob----" Through the jagged opening in the door he thrust his arm and jerkedfree the upper bolt. An instant later he had kicked the lower panel intosplinters and withdrawn the second bolt, and at last, under the savageonslaught of his iron bar, the spring lock flew apart. The hall lay openbefore him. On one side of it the burning staircase was a well of flame;at his feet, the matting on the floor was burning fiercely. He racedinto the bedroom and returned instantly, carrying a blanket and a toweldripping with water. He pressed the towel across the girl's mouth andnostrils. "Hold it there!" he commanded. Blinded by the bandage, MissDale could see nothing, but she felt herself suddenly wrapped in theblanket and then lifted high in Ford's arms. She gave a cry of protest, but the next instant he was running with her swiftly while the flamesfrom the stair-well scorched her hair. She was suddenly tumbled to herfeet, the towel and blanket snatched away, and she saw Ford hanging froman iron ladder holding out his hand. She clasped it, and he drew herafter him, the flames and cinders pursuing and snatching hungrily. But an instant later the cold night air smote her in the face, fromhundreds of hoarse throats a yell of welcome greeted her, and she foundherself on the roof, dazed and breathless, and free. At the same moment the lifting fire-ladder reached the sill of thethird-story window, and a fireman, shielding his face from the flames, peered into the blazing room. What he saw showed him there were no livesto rescue. Stretched on the floor, with their clothing in cinders andthe flames licking at the flesh, were the bodies of the two murderers. A bullet-hole in the forehead of each showed that self-destruction andcremation had seemed a better choice than the gallows and a grave ofquick-lime. On the roof above, two young people stood breathing heavily and happily, staring incredulously into each other's eyes. Running toward them acrossthe roofs, stumbling and falling, were many blue-coated, helmeted angelsof peace and law and order. "How can I tell you?" whispered the girl quickly. "How can I ever thankyou? And I was angry, " she exclaimed, with self-reproach. "I did notunderstand you. " She gave a little sigh of content. "Now I think I do. " He took her hand, and she did not seem to know that he held it. "And, " she cried, in wonder, "I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME!" The young man seemed to have lost his confidence. For a moment he wassilent. "The name's all right!" he said finally. His voice was still alittle shaken, a little tremulous. "I only hope you'll like it. It's gotto last you a long time!"