He began to detect the mystery of the peppermints. Each night, Bruce had sat by the window reading, with the peppermints close at hand, as he smoked his cigarettes. He had rarely drawn the shades. Some one had observed him; a clever person had opened the package from the drug store as it lay on the steps. The doped peppermints had been substituted.
Some criminal mind was at work. It possessed the knowledge that belonged to Bruce Duncan as the heir of his uncle.
Duncan realized the difficulty of his position. He had no clue except the gaping space beneath the hearth.
He did not even know the time or place of the meeting. He did not know the names of the six men who could help him. He was sworn to secrecy by his uncle's message, and no provision had been made for this dilemma.
CHAPTER IV. VINCENT REMEMBERS A FACE
THREE weeks had passed since Bruce Duncan's visit to his uncle's lawyer. Adventures had apparently ended, so far as Duncan was concerned. Unless new factors developed, episodes of the past would pass into oblivion.
New factors, however, were already entering the game. Oddly, strange incidents were beginning many miles from New York - incidents that chance, alone, was guiding. Budding events had begun aboard a train on the Pennsylvania Railroad, during its day trip east from Pittsburgh.
The Eastern Limited was swinging along the curving roadbed as it followed its course on the mountainside above the river. The scene from the window of the sleeping car was one of rugged grandeur, but it held no interest for a passenger named Harry Vincent.
He was the only person seated in the car; the other passengers - of whom there were very few - had gone either to the diner or to the observation car.
For three hours during that afternoon, Harry had been watching a closed door. It was the door of the drawing room at the end of the car, and his interest in what might be behind that door had kept him in his seat.
At three o'clock, Harry had first discovered that there was a passenger in the drawing-room. The conductor had gone to the door of the compartment and had knocked upon it. The door had been opened slightly; the conductor had not entered. He had merely checked a ticket through the partly opened door and had gone on his way.
Harry had observed a dim face in the drawing-room. Then the door had closed. From then on, he had been puzzling over the matter.
The train was not so fast as some of the other limiteds that ran from Chicago to New York. Why should a single passenger - and Harry held a hunch that there was but one person in the drawing-room - have chosen a compartment all alone, on a car nearly empty?
With nothing to do but while away the time during the long day trip, Harry had pondered on this matter.
To him it spelled mystery. There was only one solution. The person in the drawing-room must have chosen this train and taken the available compartment because it would mean seclusion from observation.
Twice, between three and six o'clock, the door had opened slightly as though some one within were studying the car to see who was there. There had been several persons in the car both times.
THE train stopped at Altoona, and Harry still sat alone in the car. He realized that they had passed the famous Horseshoe Curve without the sight even attracting his attention.
Now they were on their way again, and it was growing dark. The closed door still intrigued Harry Vincent, and he watched it more intently than before. He detected a motion. He buried his head suddenly behind his newspaper.
Peering upward over the top of the paper, he saw the door open wide. A man stepped out, turning quickly so that his back was toward Harry, and the door closed. Then the fellow disappeared along the passage that led to the door of the car. Harry dropped his paper and followed. He reached the next car, but no one was in sight when he came to the aisle. He walked through rapidly and entered the second car. By this time he should have gained on the other man. But there was no one in the aisle.
He was puzzled for the moment. Then he retraced his footsteps. It was obvious that the other man had not gone through the train.
When he reached his own car, Harry pushed back the curtain of the smoking compartment and entered.
A man was seated by the window, staring into the outside darkness.
The stranger had assumed a position that confirmed Harry's suspicions. The man had his forehead pressed against the window, with both elbows on the sill, and his hands against his face.
As Harry sat down beside the man and lighted a cigar, the stranger relaxed himself. He did not turn in Harry's direction. But as Harry sat drowsily looking at the floor, he was sure that the other man was studying him in the mirror across the smoking compartment.
Harry spoke without looking at the other man.
"It's a long trip."
"Yeah," confirmed the other.
This was encouraging to Harry. Evidently the secretive passenger had satisfied himself that Harry was simply an ordinary traveler.
"Do you make it often?" questioned Harry in a casual way.
"Once in a while," came the reply.
HARRY turned his head slightly toward his companion. Now he saw the man's face. It was a sallow, smooth-shaven face. The man's eyes were dark and shifty. He did not seem intent upon hiding has features now, but Harry did not watch him long.
Instead, he looked straight ahead and made occasional remarks that might enable him to involve the other man in conversation. He received responses that were brief and few.
The porter entered the smoking compartment, and the stranger took that opportunity to leave. When Harry went back into the car, he saw that the drawing-room door was closed and he felt sure that the mysterious passenger had returned to his seclusion.
The porter came through the car, and Vincent called to him.
"What's the next stop, porter?"
"Harrisburg, sah."
"Many people getting off there?"
"No, sah. None off this car. All going through to New York, sah."
Harry went to the diner and enjoyed the meal which he had so long delayed. The train was pulling into Harrisburg when he came back to his car.
In the passageway he encountered a man who had a small valise. He recognized him instantly as the passenger of the drawing-room.
The stranger moved aside and turned his head away as he allowed him to pass. The train was slowing as Harry reached his seat. Without hesitation the young man picked up his suitcase and hurried through to the car ahead - directly opposite the exit by which the stranger was leaving.
CHAPTER V. MEN IN THE DARK
THE man who had occupied the drawing-room on the Eastern Limited entered a telephone booth in the Harrisburg station. There was an empty booth behind him. Harry Vincent went into it, and pretended to be calling a number.
The partitions in telephone booths are by no means sound-proof. Harry knew this and smiled when he heard the number which the stranger called. There was something about the man's voice that seemed familiar now.
The number had been obtained. Vincent heard words that gave him the final clue to the stranger's identity.
"Hello, Wally," said the man. "This is Steve."
Steve! That filled the gap in Vincent's memory. He knew now that the fellow was Steve Cronin, the New York gangster who was in hiding. Steve Cronin was known to Harry Vincent, but Cronin did not know Vincent.
Some time ago, Cronin had murdered a man in a New York hotel, and had escaped for parts unknown.
Harry had seen Cronin then, but at that time the man had had a black mustache. Now he was clean-shaven.
The New York police wanted Steve Cronin. That was not Harry's concern, however. His instructions came from one source only - from a mysterious person called The Shadow. At present, Harry was under no orders.
Yet The Shadow had been somewhat concerned with Cronin at the time of the murder in the Metrolite Hotel. Whatever information Harry could obtain about the man's present actions might prove useful. So he listened carefully.
Cronin's conversation wa
s brisk and unilluminating. He seemed to be cutting short the remarks that were coming over the phone.
"Tell me later," Harry heard him say. "Meet me an hour from now. I'll be at the Gorham Hotel. I'll be registered as Stephen Bell. Come up to my room. I'll leave the door open."
The receiver banged on the hook, and Steve Cronin walked from the booth.
HARRY VINCENT was at the Gorham Hotel twenty minutes later. The place was an old one that had known better days. There were a few men hanging around the lobby. Harry looked at the register and saw the entry of "Stephen Bell, Room No. 322."
The clerk was busy, and Harry walked away from the desk. He sat in a leather chair and read a newspaper. At the same time he kept a careful watch and was suddenly elated when he saw Steve Cronin come down the stairs and go out the door.
Evidently the man intended to go on some errand before his friend, Wally, arrived. Cronin had said that the door would be open. Perhaps it was open now. Harry decided to act. He went up the stairs and found Room No. 322. The door was unlocked.
The room was dark, and Harry did not turn on the light. There was to be a meeting here; it would be excellent if he could listen in. Where would be the best place to hide? Under the bed would place him in a precarious position if found, for he was unarmed. The closet might do; there at least he could defend himself if discovered.
He turned toward the door which he had closed behind him. Then he became suddenly motionless as the door opened slowly. Hidden in the darkness, he was momentarily safe as a man entered and closed the door.
"Steve," came a whispered voice.
Harry responded to a daring plan which came to him on the instant.
"That you, Wally?" he whispered in return. "Don't turn on the light. Sit down on the bed."
The man who had entered the room obeyed. Harry found a chair and sat by the window.
"It wasn't my fault, Steve," came the man's voice in the darkness of the room. "I spotted the guy the minute he stepped off the train last night. I followed him to his hotel. I figured he'd stay there a while.
Instead of that, he hopped out and took a cab. Cabs ain't plentiful around here. I spotted the number of his cab and got one myself. Figured the only place he could have gone was to the station. I was right enough. His cab was there when I got there. But I couldn't find him at all."
VINCENT did not reply. The speaker continued:
"I hope you ain't sore, Steve. I done my best. He must be coming back here. I've watched his hotel. He left his bag there. What took you so long getting in?"
"Slow train," growled Harry, trying to imitate the voice of Steve Cronin.
"What's the racket, Steve?" came the question. "I've been working blind since I got your tip. Let me in on it, won't you?"
"I'll tell you later."
"You act like you are sore," said the man in the dark. "You don't talk this way often, Steve. It don't sound like you. What's the matter?"
"Tell you what, Wally," returned Harry. "You run along a while. Come back in half an hour. Let me think it over a bit."
"All right," said the man reluctantly. "Don't see why you want me to go away, Steve; but this is your game. I didn't think you'd be this way about it. Why don't you turn the lights on and be sociable?"
"The bulls are after me."
"I know that, Steve. But they ain't anywhere around here. They don't know you're in Harrisburg. But you're the boss, Steve. I'll be back in an hour or so."
He rose from the bed and stood listening beside the door.
"Did you hear anything, Steve?" came his whisper.
"No," said Harry softly.
"Sounds like some one outside the door."
"I don't hear it."
Wally stood motionless. Harry could not see him in the darkness, but he knew the man was intent.
Harry's nerves were tingling now. He sensed immediate danger and wondered how he should act. He reached out and placed his hand on the window sill, then peered out. Three stories down. No escape there.
A few seconds passed, and they seemed a long time. Then suddenly two actions occurred with amazing quickness. The door swung open, and a hand pressed the light switch. The room was instantly illuminated.
One of Harry's hands clutched the window sill; the other gripped the arm of the chair as he stared at the scene before him.
By the bed stood Wally, a startled figure. He was a rough-looking individual, with an ugly, unshaved ace.
His mouth was agape with astonishment.
At the door stood Steven Cronin, commanding the room. One hand was still on the light switch. The other clutched a revolver which was close against the holder's body. Cronin's lips were parted in a grim smile that revealed a gold tooth at one side of kits mouth. His keen, quick eyes were taking in the situation.
Harry Vincent felt a sinking sensation. He was caught. What would be next?
CHAPTER VI. CRONIN TALKS TERMS
STEVE CRONIN closed the door of the room. He looked at the man called Wally. Then he lowered his gun.
"Oh, it's you, Wally," he said. "Who's your friend over there?"
Wally had raised his hands at the threat of the revolver. He still held them half upward in astonishment as he stared from Steve Cronin to Harry Vincent. Then he looked back to the man at the door.
"It's you, Steve?" he asked.
"Of course."
Wally became active. His senses suddenly returned.
"Cover the guy by the window," he commanded. "Cover him quick, Steve."
Cronin raised the automatic, and Harry put his hands in the air.
"Get up," ordered Wally.
Harry obeyed. The man ran his hands over Harry's clothes.
"He ain't got a gun," said Wally.
Steve Cronin was now the astounded one.
"Sit down," he said to Harry. "You too, Wally. If the guy ain't got a gun, we can talk sense. What's this all about?"
Wally looked at Harry, and seeing that he intended no action, decided to explain matters:
"I come up here," he said, "and walk in the room. This guy was here, and I thought he was you. He said to leave the light off. So I talked to him."
"What did you tell him?" asked Cronin.
"Not much; but I told him some things he'd better not know."
"Who is he?"
"How do I know? I thought he was you. That's why I was surprised when you stepped in the door. I didn't get who you were at first. You look different since you -"
"Never mind that, Wally," interrupted Cronin. He addressed Harry in a voice that boded no good.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
Harry hesitated a moment, then he decided to take matters calmly and to bluff his way out of this unexpected dilemma.
"My name is Vincent," he said quietly. "Harry Vincent."
"You're the guy that was on the train," said Cronin in sudden recognition. "What's your idea of following me? Are you a bull?"
"Listen, Cronin," said Harry, with sudden boldness. "I'm a friend of yours, but you don't know it. I made a big mistake butting in on this business. I'll admit that. But I'm willing to get out."
"I guess you're anxious enough to get out," sneered Cronin. "But you'll wait a while until I find out what you mean by this 'friend' stuff. I never saw you before to-day."
"I've seen you before, Cronin," responded Harry. "I watched you follow a man in New York. I was near by when you killed him. I might have made trouble for you, but I didn't. That proves, at least, I'm not your enemy."
"Why are you trailing me now, then? How did you find me? How did you happen to be on the same train?"
"That was just a coincidence, Cronin. I didn't recognize you on the train. I was getting off at Harrisburg and I happened to call up a friend from the booth next to yours. I heard you say where you were going to be. I realized who you were when I heard your name. I wanted to talk business with you. So I came here to the hotel."
"He was here in the room," explained Wally.
"That's
right," admitted Harry. "I walked in, after I knocked. Then this other fellow came in and called me
'Steve.' He thought I was you, Cronin. I didn't tell him different. Thought I'd have a little fun with him."
STEVE CRONIN sat on the edge of the bed and whistled softly. He studied Harry for fully a minute.
"Look here, Vincent," he said at last. "This story of yours is fishy. That's all right. I expected it to be. I'd have told a fishy story myself if I were you."
"I've told you the facts, Cronin."
"You've told me some facts," resumed Cronin with an easy smile. "But I want more. You know who I am and you know some things about me. If you're a dick, you're dumber than most of them. If you're a crook, you're a smooth one; and that's what I think you are. What's your game?"
Harry became deliberate. Cronin had given him a cue, and he was puzzling how he could use it. He smiled rather knowingly and took the opportunity calmly to light a cigar. Then he confronted Cronin and commenced his bluff:
"Yes, I'm a crook," he announced. "Maybe I'm a good one; maybe I'm not. I play a lone game when I can. I don't go locking for trouble. I let other fellows get into it. Then I use what I find out.
"When I saw you in New York, Cronin, I figured you were after some big game. I didn't have a chance to follow it up. When I saw you on the train to-day, I half figured you were up to something. When I heard you talking on the phone, I knew who you were and I heard enough to know that some game was under way. I came over here to see what I could find out. Now that you know all about it, I'll play with you if you let me in on it. If you want me to get out, say so; and I'll move along."
Cronin whistled softly again as he considered the explanation.
"You're talking sense now, Vincent," he said. "You're speaking my language. You're no fool and neither am I. You know what I'd do ordinarily, don't you? I'd feed you some of the lead out of this gat in my pocket. But I'd be a fool to do it now. I'm in a jam in New York and I'm still laying low. I can't let anything interfere with the game I'm playing now. I can use your help besides. I need some one with more brains than this fellow, Wally, here.
"Besides that, the game is big enough for the three of us. You'll get a cut if you play square from now on.
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