The Riddle and the Ring; or, Won by Nerve

by Gordon MacLaren

  "Should say not!" The Englishman's tone was indignant; and Barrysuddenly had a suspicion that, if the fellow had not taken too muchalready, the limit was not far off. While his enunciation was perfect,there was an expression about his eyes which was unmistakable.

  "Should say not!" the other repeated. "You know jolly well John Brandonwould never disgrace the old name. A plot against me--a beastly plot;that's what it was!"

  He took a long drink, and sat staring oddly at Lawrence.

  "Say, Oscar," he burst out abruptly, "you must have been in the States abally while, by Jove!"

  "I have," Barry smiled. "How did you guess it?"

  "You talk just like these blooming Yankees; 'pon my soul, you do! I'vebeen listening for that bit of an accent you used to have, old chap; andI give you my word, it's gone--you've lost it. Funny thing; eh, what?"

  For a second Barry sat silent, his interest thoroughly aroused. Was itpossible that he was on the point of finding the key to the enigma whichhad so puzzled him.

  "Accent!" he repeated the next moment. "Did my accent used to be sobad?"

  Brandon laughed.

  "Not bad," he chuckled. "Just enough to notice now and then. By Jove!Have you forgotten how we always said you'd be taken for a foreignersooner or later? You wouldn't now, old chap. Give you my word, I'dthink you were a blooming Yankee if I didn't know you so well."

  *CHAPTER XXXII.*

  *AN EXTRAORDINARY INTERVIEW.*

  It was at least three-quarters of an hour later when Lawrence left thehotel and walked slowly toward Forty-second Street. He was puzzled,perplexed, and rather piqued; for, in spite of all his efforts, he hadbeen unable to extract from the Englishman a single additional factwhich would help him solve the problem which vexed him.

  Brandon evidently took him for some one else, and the resemblance musthave been astonishingly great; for it was evident that the Briton hadspent a year, if not more, with Barry's double at Cambridge.

  It was the famous English university, of course, and not the equallywell-known Massachusetts college. Lawrence had realized that very earlyin the talk; but, in spite of his repeated efforts, he had been unableto elicit a single additional particular concerning his double, save thefact that Oscar Nordstrom had evidently spent some years as a student inEngland. While Brandon had plainly been on the most friendly terms withNordstrom, he seemed curiously ignorant regarding the man's antecedents.

  "It's a queer thing from beginning to end," he murmured as he pushedthrough the whirling doors of the Knickerbocker. "I wish I could findout who I'm supposed to be. I'll wager anything that this would solvethe whole mystery."

  For a moment he stood in the lobby glancing mechanically around. It wasmuch too early to expect Jock, and he had just made up his mind to passthe time comfortably in the smoking room, when suddenly his eyes strayedto the face of a woman moving slowly and gracefully toward him from theelevator. She was tall and slim and very blond; and there was somethingabout her attractive face which touched a chord in Barry's memory.Somehow the sight of her seemed to bring with it visions of a smooth,sandy beach, with the ocean stretching out beyond it, of merry sailingparties and clambakes, of drives and automobile excursions, and a hostof other summer pleasures.

  "Southampton, of course," he muttered. "But what the mischief is hername?"

  The next instant their eyes met, and he saw that the recognition wasmutual. She gave a sudden start, and stood for a second staringincredulously at him, a wave of color flaming into her face. Then, ashe moved forward, she seemed to recover herself, and came slowly to meethim.

  "How do you do?" she said, in a low, soft voice, which had in it an oddnote which Barry could not quite fathom. "This is a very, very greatsurprise."

  Hat in hand, Lawrence clasped the slender fingers she extended to him,and smiled. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered her.

  "Isn't it?" he agreed pleasantly. "But here in New York one isconstantly having surprises like this."

  She raised her eyebrows a trifle. "Surely not quite--like this," shemurmured.

  He laughed, racking his brain desperately for the forgotten name. "No,of course I didn't mean just that," he returned. "This is anexception."

  He hesitated a second, wondering if she would help him out; but she madeno effort to speak. Leaning against the back of one of the crimsonvelvet chairs, she seemed content simply to look at him.

  "Do you know," Lawrence exclaimed, forced to say something, "that when Isaw you, my mind went back instantly to that wonderful, smooth beach,with the cloudless blue sky above and the waves dashing up almost towhere we sat on the sand."

  She smiled faintly. "I thought of that, too," she murmured; "but I sawit all in the moonlight. With that flood of silver dancing on the water,making everything almost as bright as day, except where the shadows ofthe trees behind were denser than ever."

  Lawrence did not remember any trees near the Southampton beach; but,supposing this to be a sort of poetic license, he nodded agreement.

  "It was a wonderful summer," he added. "Somehow it doesn't seem possiblethat three years have passed since then."

  A low, silvery laugh issued from her lips, and she tapped him lightly onthe arm.

  "Always the same flatterer," she said softly. Suddenly her face grewpensive. "Does it really seem that long to you? I've often wondered.Men have so many things to occupy them--especially such men as you. Awoman has only her remembrances to treasure zealously, and bring out nowand then to gloat over. And memories are rather barren thingssometimes."

  For an instant Lawrence stood aghast. What did she mean? Certainly hecould recall nothing of a tender nature having passed between them, andher words were decidedly significant. He pulled himself together with aneffort; but, before he could speak, she broke the silence.

  "Your voice puzzles me," she said abruptly. "It doesn't seem possiblethat you can have been long enough in America to have lost every traceof accent. Of course, it was never very noticeable; but one who knewyou well could always tell."

  Barry's jaw dropped, and his face took on an expression of utterastonishment. His accent--again! What in the world did it mean? Was itpossible that she was taking him for----

  "You were talking about that summer at Southampton, of course?" hemanaged to ask in an odd voice.

  "Southampton?" she exclaimed, her eyes fixed intently on his face. "Idon't understand. You don't mean that you've forgotten--Cannes?"

  Lawrence stood as one in a trance. "Cannes!" he muttered hoarsely,wondering whether his brain was giving way. "I have never been inCannes in all my life." Then, as the belated memory came to him atlast, he gasped out: "Aren't you Miss Vera Pell?"

  The woman's face turned white, and one slim, gloved hand stole upward toher lips. Her eyes, wide, almost black with the emotion which wasrending her, were fixed on his face with a look of absolutebewilderment.

  "Are you jesting?" she managed to gasp at last. "You know that I amMrs. Walbridge Gordon. You could never forget--it is impossible."

  As Barry did not answer, a look of utter horror flashed into her face.She swayed a little, and put out one hand to steady herself.

  "Who--are--you?" she asked, in a low, trembling voice. Then swiftly shelaughed an uneven, hysterical sort of laugh. "You are jesting with me.It is impossible that there should be two men so absolutely alike onearth. You must be----"

  She broke off abruptly, and her eyes flashed past Barry's shoulder tothe door. The next instant a spasm of fear ripped swiftly across herface, and her white teeth came together over her lips with a cruel forcewhich brought forth a tiny fleck of blood to glisten there.

  "Go!" she whispered in a harsh voice. "My husband is coming. He mustnot see you here."

  "But--who?" Lawrence managed to mutter.

  "Go, I tell you--quickly!" she repeated. She was trembling violently;and that look of fear had come back into her face to stay. "Youmu
st--for my sake."

  Without a moment's hesitation Barry obeyed, slipping around a bigpillar. With his back squarely toward the entrance, he passed quietlyand easily through the crowd toward the telephones in the narrow passagebehind the desk.

  His brain was in a seething turmoil; but overtopping every other emotionwas anger at the man who had arrived so inopportunely. If he could onlyhave delayed a single, brief minute longer, the name trembling on thewoman's lips would have been uttered, and Lawrence would have possessedat last the key to the mystery which was driving him almost frantic.

  Who was he supposed to be? Who was the man he so resembled? Why had hebeen given a thousand dollars to pass himself off for this unknown for asingle week?

  These and a dozen other questions passed swiftly through Barry's brainas he perfunctorily fumbled the leaves of the telephone book to givesome excuse for lingering there.

  What did it all mean? Was he ever to know?

  *CHAPTER XXXIII.*

  *GONE!*

  Lawrence presently closed the book and ventured back into the lobby. Aswift survey of the place told him that Mrs. Walbridge Gordon was nolonger there; so he made his way to the cafe and settled down in onecorner to wait for Hamersley.

  He rather wished he did not have to talk to Jock just then. It would bea difficult matter at any time to explain what had happened to him thenight before without breaking the pledge of secrecy he had made to thelittle man in black. Besides, at the present moment his mind was so fullof the extraordinary experience he had just been through, and itsprobable relation to the mystery which surrounded him, that there waslittle room for anything else.

  Nevertheless, when the big bulk of the Yale man loomed up before him,and that booming voice resounded in his ears, Barry was glad, after all,that he had come. When one is perplexed and muddled and utterly at sea,there is nothing like a good friend whose discretion can be trusted andwhose interest and sympathy is assured, even if he lacks the clevernessto suggest a solution of the difficulty.

  The result was that Lawrence hailed Hamersley with pleasure, silencedthe upbraiding tirade Jock started, and began to pour into his ears anaccount of the extraordinary things which had been happening for thepast few days. He made no mention of Shirley Rives, and he refrainedfrom saying anything about the man in black, the conditions the latterhad imposed, or the money which had changed hands. He simply told hisfriend that he had undertaken certain trivial matters concerning whichhe was sworn to secrecy. What had occurred after that strange interviewin the Pennsylvania Station, including mention of the Englishman and anaccount of his interview with Mrs. Walbridge Gordon, he had nohesitation in narrating; and, when the story was finished, the bigfellow's eyes were starting out of his head.

  "Whew!" he exclaimed, leaning back in his chair and staring at Lawrence."If I didn't know you better, old boy, I'd say you'd been hitting thepipe. Shadowed, kidnaped, mistaken for another man, and---- Say! Didyou find out what that woman's name was?"

  "I did; but it wouldn't be quite right to mention it, would it? I onlybrought her in because it bore on the case."

  "Hum! I suppose you're right. Awkward fix for a woman to be in, ain'tit? I reckon she and this double of yours must have known each otherpretty well."

  "I judged so," Barry returned grimly. "Do you know, Jock, I made themistake of my life in giving that detective the slip. If I'd onlystayed quietly there in that empty house until his employers showed up,there isn't a doubt in my mind that by this time I'd be wise to thewhole shooting match."

  Hamersley nodded. "No doubt," he agreed. "Still, a fellow can't alwaysplan so far ahead. When a thug holds you up with a gun and carries youoff that way, the natural thing is to go him one better, and make asneak. Jove! I wish I'd been along. That chase over the roofs musthave been some time, all right."

  "It wasn't quite so entertaining while it was happening," Barry said."You could have taken my place, and welcome, if you'd been around."

  "Why don't you turn the tables on this gang of snoopers?" inquiredHamersley suddenly.

  Barry started slightly. "You mean that----"

  "Turn around and follow them. Get after that duck with the beard.Strikes me he's the head one of the push. Get him in a corner and makehim come over with the information. Two can play at the game, can'tthey?"

  "By Jove!" Lawrence exclaimed jubilantly. "I believe you're right, Jock.That's a whopping good idea of yours, old fellow!"

  "Didn't expect anything but good ones from me, I hope?" Hamersleyreturned. "That's my specialty, you know."

  Filled with enthusiasm over the notion, they made haste to leave thehotel. There seemed no time like the present for starting in, so theyleisurely paused on the sidewalk to give any spies who were about ampleopportunity to get on the job; then, turning eastward, sauntered alongthe south side of Forty-second Street.

  Unfortunately, the scheme did not seem to pan out as they expected.Though they kept the sharpest sort of a lookout around them, suddenlyturning to glance into shop windows, whirling about as if to retracetheir steps, and taking the most roundabout route possible to the YaleClub, not a suspicious pedestrian or taxi did they see.

  "Too big a crowd, I reckon," Hamersley sighed as they paused before thebuilding on Forty-fourth Street. "We'd better take dinner here andstart out afterward when the streets aren't so full."

  "I can't dine with you, Jock," Barry said regretfully. "I've got adate."

  "Part of the game you couldn't tell me about, I'll bet," the Yale manreturned shrewdly. "Well, meet me here at eight, then."

  Having left his friend, Lawrence returned at once to the St. Albans. Ashe took his key, the clerk handed him a letter, the precise,old-fashioned handwriting of which he recognized with a quick thrill.

  "Wonder what the old geezer has to say now," he said to himself as hesailed up in the elevator. "If he's thought up any more conditions, I'llbalk, hanged if I won't."

  There were none, however. The letter contained five one-hundred-dollarbills and a few lines of symmetrical writing on a single sheet of notepaper:

  You are doing admirably. Keep on as you have begun, and use theinclosed in case your expense money does not hold out.

  Barry scratched his head, and sat staring at the note.

  "Well, I'll be hanged!" he exclaimed. "Don't want me to do anything butspend money. It's the weirdest thing I ever ran across, sure. What increation does it mean? What does he get out of it? If I only----"

  The room telephone tinkled imperatively; and, cramming money and letterinto his pocket, Lawrence sprang up and took down the receiver.

  "Hello!" came in a woman's voice. "Is this Mr. Lawrence--Mr. BarryLawrence?"

  "Yes, what is it?"

  "Hold the wire, please. Mrs. Ogden Wilmerding wishes to speak to you."

  In the brief pause which followed, Barry stood there the picture ofamazement. What in the world could Mrs. Wilmerding want with him? Hedid not know her--had never seen her. She was not the sort of woman togive her personal attention to such trivial matters as an invitation tocall or to take dinner, anyway. Was it possible that anything hadhappened to----

  "Mr. Lawrence!"

  The name came snapping over the wires with the force of a pistol shot,and made Barry jump.

  "Yes!" he gasped. "This is Mr. Lawrence."

  "Get a taxi and come to my house at once. Do you understand?"

  Barry flushed a little at the peremptory tone, coming as it did from awoman he fancied he disliked so greatly.

  "But I am just dressing for dinner," he expostulated, trying with notmuch success to make his tone cool and dignified.

  "Dinner!" snapped the voice. "What's that to me? Go without yourdinner, as I shall. My niece is gone!"

  Lawrence felt an odd pounding in his head which made him certain that hecould not have caught her meaning.

  "Gone?" he repeated dazedly. "Where?"

  "Don't be a
fool! Should I be doing this if I knew? She went out afterlunch and hasn't returned. A letter was just delivered which---- Butwe're wasting time. Are you coming?"

  "Yes. At once. I'll be there in five minutes."

  There was no response save a sharp click, and Barry turned from theinstrument, his face ghastly. Shirley gone--disappeared! For a secondhe stood there, his lips moving. Then, with an exclamation of fury, hesnatched hat and coat, tore open the door, and ran down the hall towardthe elevator.

  *CHAPTER XXXIV.*

  *THE PUZZLE GROWS.*

  It seemed an eternity to Barry Lawrence before the taxi finally swervedin toward the curb and stopped with a grinding jar before themarble-fronted house facing the park. He was on the sidewalk in aninstant, and, telling the man to wait, ran up the curving steps to theornate doorway.

  Evidently the footman was on the watch, for the door swung open beforeBarry had even time to press the bell, and, without a word, the servanttook the visitor's coat and hat and led the way at once toward theelevator.

  The long drawing-room was filled with a soft radiance from shaded lampsand ornate electric globes cunningly hidden in the heavy, carvedcornice; and the amazing richness of its furnishing showed now to evenbetter advantage than it had that morning.

  But Lawrence was not thinking of furnishings. As he stepped through thewide doorway his eyes sought at once the single figure the great roomcontained--the figure of a woman of middle age, richly dressed andwearing many jewels, who had been pacing back and forth the length ofthe apartment, but who stopped abruptly as the man entered, and turnedswiftly toward him. She was tall, a bit angular, sharp in her movements,and the wildest stretching of the imagination could not have conceivedher handsome. But there was something about the way she carried herhead, and an expression in the rather rugged face, which gave one animpression of bigness, mental and moral. Such a woman might be brusqueand sharp and domineering; she could never be unjust or petty.