MRS1 The Under Dogs

by Hulbert Footner

  "Never fear, Madam," said the inspector grimly.

  "You have the other one?"

  "Safe outside, Madam. He's handcuffed."

  "Did you search him?"

  By way of answer, the inspector handed over the little green baize bag which had passed through so many hands that evening. My mistress made sure that its contents were intact.

  "Bring him in for a moment," she said.

  How different was the second entrance of that man. The super-boss, the man of mystery, had been brought low indeed. He had been unmasked, of course; one of his eyes was beginning to purple, and his lip was cut. Yet he still showed traces of his power. He kept his head up doggedly, and he preserved his remarkable faculty for keeping his mouth shut.

  I recognised him now, and a great round "Oh!" of astonishment was forced from my breast. It was John McDaniels, the head of the famous detective agency, which had acquired such a name among the rich for the recovery of stolen valuables! Of course! Of course! Now I began to see it all. As the inner workings of the scheme revealed themselves to me, I was all agog with amazement. The detective agency was equally a part of the organisation, of course. One department of the business robbed the rich, and another department recovered their jewels—if the reward was sufficient. Furthermore, the outlawed part of the organisation aided convicts to break prison, while the reputable part instantly "ran them down," if their master was displeased with them. How simple, how ingenious, how efficient!

  My mistress showed no surprise at the sight of him. I learned later that she had recognised him upon his first appearance.

  "Madame Storey wants to have a look at you," said Inspector Rumsey, as he led him in.

  He never batted an eye. Not a muscle of his face changed. He met her gaze point-blank with complete effrontery. Oh, truly a remarkable man!

  "I'm not going to indulge in any moral reflections, McDaniels," said my mistress; "it's not my line, only feel like saying, when I look at this poor girl, that I regard this as the best night's work of my whole life."

  He kept his mouth shut, and continued to stare at her with the hardihood of a savage animal.

  "Have you nothing to say for yourself?" cried the inspector roughly.

  McDaniels cast a look of ineffable contempt upon him. There was old bad feeling between these two. "Not to you," he said.

  "He does right to keep his mouth shut," said Mme. Storey. "What is there for him to say? ... Take him out."

  He was led away. Two men were told off to guard the house until daylight. Then the inspector turned to us.

  "Well, ladies," said he; "I guess the night's work is finished."

  "What say, Melanie," said my mistress, smiling, "shall we beat it out of here?"

  "I ain't got no hat," murmured Melanie abashed.

  We laughed.

  "Well, it's past four," said Mme. Storey. "They'll think we've been on a party."

  "Where you goin' to take me?" murmured Melanie.

  "There's a little flat on Gramercy Park that's been waiting for you for weeks past. If you'll take in Bella and me until breakfast time, we'll all have a chance to tidy up."

  Melanie smiled like an abashed schoolboy.

  If I live to be ninety I will not forget the starry look that appeared in the eyes of the girl as she came out on the stoop of the house, and lifting her face to the sky, breathed deep of the delicious morning air; for it was growing light. It was worth all we had been through. Oh! a hundred times over!

  CHAPTER XXVI

  CONCLUSION

  At half-past ten next morning Mme. Storey was seated at her desk, and I at mine, and all the lurid events of the preceding days had taken on the semblance of a dream. We were reading the letters that had come in during my absence from the office. They were of no great importance, since my mistress was supposed to be in Europe. The door between the two rooms was open, and we were talking idly back and forth. Heavens! how sweet was the feeling of perfect relaxation after having been keyed up so long; how delightful was the free exercise of one's own personality, after having been forced to play an alien part. How I loved the calm and the coolness of our beautiful rooms! When I first came in, I had gone about like a fool, stroking everything.

  Melanie was still asleep upstairs. As soon as we had put her to bed, Mme. Storey had carried me up to her own place, where she had put the services of her expert maid and masseuse at my disposal. In an hour I felt like a new woman. Neither of us had any desire to sleep; it was too good just to be; and we had issued forth in search of the most luxurious breakfast in New York. My mistress looked perfectly radiant. In honour of the occasion she had put on a sports dress of some rare eastern silk, with a gay all-over design of little dancing men. She had dyed Jessie Seipp's crass locks to darkest brown, the colour of her own hair, while waiting for it to grow out, and had subdued the frizzled bush with a net. She looked like a lady again—a lady! she looked like a Duchess!

  We found our breakfast at Antoine's recherché little place on Park Avenue. Need I say how we enjoyed it? You must take a plunge into the underworld to appreciate to the full the delights of fine napery and silver, of delicate food. A table by a window with a rose or two upon it; an awning to mitigate the brightness of the morning sun; it was like heaven. And now we were back at Gramercy Park waiting for Melanie to wake up. Melanie and Mme. Storey were much of a size, and Grace, Mme. Storey's invaluable maid, had brought down an outfit from her mistress's wardrobe for Melanie.

  The door from the hall opened, and a lady and gentleman came into my office. I closed the door into Mme. Storey's room. I was surprised, for, of course, we expected no visitors of importance; and these were people of importance, one could see in a glance from their clothes, and from their assured manner. The lady was a beauty, though no longer in her first youth. All their breeding and assurance could not conceal the fact that both were very much excited.

  "Is Mme. Storey here?" the gentleman asked.

  "May I ask the nature of your business?" I said politely.

  "I cannot tell that to any one but her," he said. "I am Walbridge Sterry."

  As soon as he spoke, I recognised them, for, of course, their photographs have been published. "Mme. Storey will be glad to see you," I said.

  Opening the door again, I announced them. I followed them in. Mme. Storey arose with a smile. We both supposed they had gone to the police and had been referred by them to us.

  Mr. Sterry said with an air of great relief: "How fortunate we are to find you. We just came on a chance. Nobody is in town now."

  Mme. Storey and I exchanged a glance. So they had not been to the police! They did not know that we had the tiara! What a piquant situation was developing.

  "Well, as a matter of fact I am supposed to be in Paris," said Mme. Storey dryly.

  "Indeed! I must have missed the announcement of your departure," Mr. Sterry said politely. "I shall not waste time in explanation," he went on. "I do not know if you happen to be aware of it—the newspapers have gossiped about it, but I purchased the Pavloff tiara from Prince Yevrienev."

  "I have read it," said Mme. Storey.

  "Well, it's been stolen!" he said, flinging down his hands.

  "Stolen!" echoed his wife.

  "Ah!" said Mme. Storey, who could not resist drawing them on just a little. "The recovery of stolen goods is hardly in my line."

  "I know! I know!" cried Mr. Sterry; "but surely this is an exceptional case. They say that you can perform miracles. In the first place, I want a little disinterested and intelligent advice. I have not been to the police yet—you know the police! Should I go to them and have a great hue and cry raised in the press. Or should I keep our loss a secret, and conduct a private search?"

  "We think it was stolen by a woman," Mrs. Sterry chimed in. "It appears that last night my husband's valet brought a strange girl into the house to sup with the other servants. He says she left early; but we found upon questioning him that he did not actually see her out of the door. The natural
assumption is that she concealed herself in the house until later."

  "She must have had confederates though," put in Mr. Sterry, "for she possessed the combination to the safe. A curious feature is that there were other jewels of value in the safe which she never touched."

  "Only fancy!" said Mrs. Sterry with a shudder. "She must have been hidden in the room when we came in!"

  With a peculiar smile, Mme. Storey pulled open the drawer of her desk. How she loves a dramatic moment like this! She took out the little green baize bag, and laid it on top. When Mr. and Mrs. Sterry saw it, their eyes almost leaped out of their heads. When Mme. Storey opened the bag, and took out the gleaming crown of little suns, soft cries of astonishment broke from them.

  "Is this it?" asked my mistress with an offhand air.

  "Yes! Yes!" they cried breathlessly.

  "Oh, what a blessed relief!" sighed Mrs. Sterry, handling her precious tiara. "I have almost come to hate it! It is such a responsibility."

  "I quite hate it!" said her husband bluntly. "But what are we going to do? We can't sell the thing..."

  "This is a veritable miracle," he went on, with a wondering glance at my mistress. "How did it come into your hands?"

  "It was recovered at four o'clock this morning from the person of John McDaniels, whom I was watching in respect to other matters."

  Husband and wife exchanged an odd look. "McDaniels?" said the former, "you don't mean the well-known detective?"

  "None other," said my mistress.

  "Well," said Mr. Sterry, "this grows queerer and queerer. My wife and I have already been to McDaniels' office, and we found it closed."

  "Yes," said Mme. Storey dryly. "It would be."

  "He enjoyed a considerable reputation among people we know for his success in recovering stolen valuables," said Mr. Sterry.

  "Naturally he could get them back, since it was he who had stolen them," said Mme. Storey dryly.

  "Incredible!"

  "What about the girl who entered our house?" asked Mrs. Sterry.

  "I can't tell you anything about her," said my mistress coolly. "One of McDaniels' many tools, I suppose. I content myself with breaking up the traffic."

  "And may we take it with us now?" asked Mrs. Sterry eagerly.

  "Certainly. If you will give me a receipt to hand to the police."

  The conversation became general then, and Mr. Sterry led the way around gracefully to the question of Mme. Storey's fee.

  "Not a cent!" she said, when she saw what he would be after.

  He insisted. He would not take no for an answer. "I could not rest easy under such an obligation," he said.

  "Well," said Mme. Storey, in her large way. "What is it worth to you?"

  "Say, twenty thousand?"

  "Too much. Halve it, and send a cheque to my friend, Katherine Couteau Cloke for her work in the prisons. That's the worthiest cause I know."

  "It shall be done," he said. "But it should come as from you."

  "No," she said firmly. "You don't owe me a cent in this case, my dear sir."

  As the Sterry's were leaving, Mme. Storey said casually. "By the way, have you discharged the valet?"

  "Not yet," said Mr. Sterry, "but of course I shall."

  "But consider," said Mme. Storey, "this woman, whoever she may have been, was evidently a high-class thief, and a past-mistress of the art of fascination. How can you blame a simple youth for yielding to the blandishments of such a one? If he is a satisfactory servant in other respects, I'd think it over. This will have taught him a lesson."

  "Very well, I will think it over," said Mr. Sterry.

  "That was the least I could do for poor Alfred," said my mistress, smiling, when the door closed.

  Soon afterwards Melanie came downstairs. The girl looked lovely. To be sure, she was still thin and hollow-eyed as a result of her horrible imprisonment, but a touch of make-up in Grace's skilful hands had done wonders—that and happiness. Mme. Storey's pretty clothes became her wonderfully. As I have remarked before, Melanie had an instinct for nice things and knew how to wear them. She was still shy with us, and said very little, but her eyes were eloquent.

  "We're going to have lunch up at my place," said Mme. Storey. "Let's go."

  It had previously been agreed between my mistress and I that it would be impracticable to bring about a meeting between Melanie and George at the office, since George must know that that was Mme. Storey's address.

  "I've got an errand uptown," I said. "I'll join you later."

  Mme. Storey and Melanie went off in one taxicab and I in another. I had myself driven to the little stationery store on Columbus Avenue. I had a good deal of trouble identifying myself to the worthy Mrs. Harvest. She did not care much for the change in my appearance.

  "Is George here?" I asked.

  "No," she said, "but I think I can get hold of him. Come back in half an hour."

  I think he was there all the time, and that this was just a regular formula she had adopted. However, I had myself driven around the Park, and returned later, as she requested. I found the handsome, blond George in the little rear sitting-room. He opened his eyes at the sight of me.

  "What's the big idea?" he said.

  "Well," said I, "I just got tired of looking like a frump, a has-been, a school-ma'am from the back counties. A friend of mine showed me how to fix myself up. How you like it?"

  "It's all right," he said without enthusiasm. For George there was only one woman in the world. Well, my feelings were not hurt.

  "What's the news?" he asked with a painful eagerness.

  "Nothing special," I said. "I had a bit o' luck, and I want to blow a good-looking fellow to lunch, that's all."

  "I ain't exactly advertising myself in public," he objected.

  "That's all right," said I. "I know a quiet little place."

  "Well, if you want it," he said. "I certainly owe it to you."

  We drove down East Sixty-Second Street. There was nothing grand about the exterior of Mme. Storey's charming little house that would intimidate George, but he pointed out that this was obviously no restaurant. "I never said anything about a restaurant," I replied uncandidly. "This is my friend's house."

  In the quaint and unusual interior, his instinct recognised something rare and fine. He scowled suspiciously, but manlike, hated to betray any reluctance before a woman. He followed me upstairs to the amusing 1850 living-room that looks toward the little garden in the rear. Mme. Storey was waiting there. Melanie had been spirited out of sight.

  "Do you recognise your friend, Jessie Seipp?" asked my mistress, holding out her hand with a smile.

  "No!" he said bluntly. "But... but... Yes, I do! What does it mean? What is the game?"

  "The game is over. I am Rosika Storey, and this is Bella Brickley, my secretary."

  A trapped look came into his face. His wary glance flashed around the room, calculating the chances of escape.

  "We don't want you," said Mme. Storey. "John McDaniels and Kate Pullen were our marks. They are behind the bars."

  "And Melanie? Melanie?" he cried, wild with anxiety.

  "Look behind you," she said.

  Melanie was in the doorway. I have already told you how beautiful the girl was when her ordinarily hard expression was softened. She looked now like another Rosalind, boyish and tender.

  George looked at her as if he beheld her in a dream—a world of wistfulness in his eyes. He was afraid to put his dream to the test. "Melanie ... Melanie," he whispered in a kind of terror.

  She smiled enchantingly.

  They approached each other slowly. He was hushed with emotion. "Melanie ... is it really all right?" he whispered.

  Mme. Storey and I could stand no more. We were already at the door. "Lunch is in the room underneath this," she called hack over her shoulder. "Come down when you like."

  Black Kate died of heart disease while awaiting trial. I doubt if there was a soul on earth to lament her passing. We never did learn precisely what
she had made Melanie suffer during her imprisonment. The very recollection of that time was a torment to the girl, and we avoided any reference to it.

  In the cellar of that ugly little house on Varick Street, two human skeletons were discovered buried in the earth. These murders, for murders they certainly were, could not be proved against John McDaniels, but he was convicted on a score of counts, and received in the aggregate sentences far exceeding the years he can expect on earth. Nor is he ever likely to receive a pardon. "The blackest criminal ever tried in our courts!" the District-Attorney termed him, nor did anybody feel that the description was overdrawn.

  The only thing I regretted was the escape of Skinny Sam. When I voiced my regret, Mme. Storey said, smiling soberly:

  "But, Bella, I couldn't single out Sam from amongst the other inmates just because he was a horrible little wretch, and I despised him. I was faced by a difficult moral problem, my dear. Strictly speaking, I ought to have handed them all over to the State, but I had appealed to their friendliness, and if, after that, I had betrayed them, I could never have looked myself in the face. The only possible distinction I could make was between slaves and slave-drivers. I caught the drivers, and gave the slaves a chance."

  Poor old Pap was found wandering the streets in a half-crazed condition, a day or two after, and was returned to Sing Sing to serve out an old sentence. Mme. Storey subsequently exerted her influence to secure a pardon for him. She has supported him ever since in a suitable home.

  We never saw Bill Combs again. I suspect he was too much of a man ever to come to a woman cap in hand. Nor did we ever hear of Fingy Silo or Tim Holder. Presumably, all three of them succeeded in keeping out of jail, or we should have known of it. Some time later Sam was arrested for robbing a woman under peculiarly atrocious circumstances—just what you might expect. It went hard with him, for he had an old sentence to serve in addition. We did not feel obliged to interfere in this case. He had had his chance.

  Abell did come to see us—in fact, under another name, he is working for Mme. Storey at this moment. She has never had cause to regret giving him a chance. He is one of the best men we have. We were the means of bringing about a reunion between him and his beloved family, one of the most touching scenes I ever beheld. George Mullen is making a place as a master-electrician, and Melanie is raising a family.