As I expected I had scarcely given way to three separate fits of coughing, when the door next me opened with a jerk and a rough voice called out,
“Who’s that making all that to do about here? If you don’t stop that infernal noise in a hurry—”
A soft voice interrupted him and he drew back. “I will go see,” said those gentle tones, and Luttra Blake, for I knew it was she before the skirt of her robe had advanced beyond the door, stepped out into the hall.
I was yet bent over my work when she paused before me. The fact is I did not dare look up, the moment was one of such importance to me.
“You have a dreadful cough,” said she with that low ring of sympathy in her voice that goes unconsciously to the heart. “Is there no help for it?”
I pushed back my work, drew my hand over my eyes, (I did not need to make it tremble) and glanced up. “No,” said I with a shake of my head, “but it is not always so bad. I beg your pardon, miss, if it disturbs you.”
She threw back the shawl which she had held drawn tightly over her head, and advanced with an easy gliding step close to my side. “You do not disturb me, but my father is—is, well a trifle cross sometimes, and if he should speak up a little harsh now and then, you must not mind. I am sorry you are so ill.”
What is there in some women’s look, some women’s touch that more than all beauty goes to the heart and subdues it. As she stood there before me in her dark worsted dress and coarse shawl, with her locks simply braided and her whole person undignified by art and ungraced by ornament, she seemed just by the power of her expression and the witchery of her manner, the loveliest woman I had ever beheld.
“You are veree kind, veree good,” I murmured, half ashamed of my disguise, though it was assumed for the purpose of rescuing her. “Your sympathy goes to my heart.” Then as a deep growl of impatience rose from the room at my side, I motioned her to go and not irritate the man who seemed to have such control over her.
“In a minute,” answered she, “first tell me what you are making.”
So I told her and in the course of telling, let drop such other facts about my fancied life as I wished to have known to her and through her to her father. She looked sweetly interested and more than once turned upon me that dark eye, of which I had heard so much, full of tears that were as much for me, scamp that I was, as for her own secret trouble. But the growls becoming more and more impatient she speedily turned to go, repeating, however, as she did so,
“Now remember what I say, you are not to be troubled if they do speak cross to you. They make noise enough themselves sometimes, as you will doubtless be assured of tonight.”
And the lips which seemed to have grown stiff and cold with her misery, actually softened into something like a smile.
The nod which I gave her in return had the solemnity of a vow in it.
My mind thus assured as to the correctness of my suspicions, and the way thus paved to the carrying out of my plans, I allowed some few days to elapse without further action on my part. My motive was to acquaint myself as fully as possible with the habits and ways of these two desperate men, before making the attempt to capture them upon which so many interests hung. For while I felt it would be highly creditable to my sagacity, as well as valuable to my reputation as a detective, to restore these escaped convicts in any way possible into the hands of justice, my chief ambition after all was to so manage the affair as to save the wife of Mr. Blake, not only from the consequences of their despair, but from the publicity and scandal attendant upon the open arrest of two heavily armed men. Strategy, therefore, rather than force was to be employed, and strategy to be successful must be founded upon the most thorough knowledge of the matter with which one has to deal. Three days, then, did I give to the acquiring of that knowledge, the result of which was the possession of the following facts.
1. That the landlady was right when she told me the girl was never left alone, one of the men, if not the father then the son, always remaining with her.
2. That while thus guarded, she was not so restricted but that she had the liberty of walking in the hall, though never for any length of time.
3. That the cross on the door seemed to possess some secret meaning connected with their presence in the house, it having been erased one evening when the whole three went out on some matter or other, only to be chalked on again when in an hour or so later, father and daughter returned alone.
4. That it was the father and not the son who made such purchases as were needed, while it was the son and not the father who carried on whatever operations they had on hand; nightfall being the favorite hour for the one and midnight for the other; though it not infrequently happened that the latter sauntered out for a short time also in the afternoon, probably for the drink he could not go long without.
5. That they were men of great strength but little alertness; the stray glimpses I had had of them, revealing a breadth of back that was truly formidable, if it had not been joined to a heaviness of motion that proclaimed a certain stolidity of mind that was eminently in our favor.
How best to use these facts in the building up of a matured plan of action, was, then, the problem. By noon of a certain day I believed it to have been solved, and reluctant as I was to leave the spot of my espionage even for the hour or two necessary to a visit to headquarters, I found myself compelled to do so. Packing up in a small basket I had for the purpose, the little articles I had been engaged during the last few days in making, I gave way to a final fit of coughing so hollow and sepulchral in its tone, that it awoke a curse from the next room deep as the growl of a wild beast, and still continuing, finally brought Luttra to the door with that look of compassion on her face that always called up a flush to my cheek whether I wished it or no.
“Ah, Monsieur, I am afraid your cough is very bad today. O I see; you have been getting ready to go out—”
“Come back here,” broke in a heavy voice from the room she had left. “What do you mean by running off to palaver with that old rascal every time he opens his —— battery of a cough?”
A smile that went through me like the cut of a knife, flashed for a moment on her face.
“My father is in one of his impatient moods,” said she, “you had better go. I hope you will be successful,” she murmured, glancing wistfully at my basket.
“What is that?” again came thundering on our ears. “Successful? What are you two up to?” And we heard the rough clatter of advancing steps.
“Go,” said she; “you are weak and old; and when you come back, try and not cough.” And she gave me a gentle push towards the door.
“When I come back,” I began, but was forced to pause, the elder Schoenmaker having by this time reached the open doorway where he stood frowning in upon us in a way that made my heart stand still for her.
“What are you two talking about?” said he; “and what have you got in your basket there?” he continued with a stride forward that shook the floor.
“Only some little toys that he has been making, and is now going out to sell,” was her low answer given with a quick deprecatory gesture such as I doubt if she ever used for herself.
“Nothing more?” asked he in German with a red glare in the eye he turned towards her.
“Nothing more,” replied she in the same tongue. “You may believe me.”
He gave a deep growl and turned away. “If there was,” said he, “you know what would happen.” And unheeding the wild keen shudder that seized her at the word, making her insensible for the moment to all and everything about her, he laid one heavy hand upon her slight shoulder and led her from the room.
I waited no longer than was necessary to carry my feeble and faltering steps appropriately down the stairs, to reach the floor below and gain the landlady’s presence.
“Do you go up,” said I, “and sit on those stairs till I come back. If you hear the least cry of pain or sound of struggle from that young girl’s room, do you call at once for help. I will have a p
oliceman standing on the corner below.”
The good woman nodded and proceeded at once to take up her work-basket. “Lucky there’s a window up there, so I can see,” I heard her mutter. “I’ve no time to throw away even on deeds of charity.”
Notwithstanding which precaution, I was in constant anxiety during my absence; an absence necessarily prolonged as I had to stop and explain matters to the Superintendent, as well as hunt up Mr. Gryce and get his consent to assist me in the matter of the impending arrest.
I found the latter in his own home and more than enthusiastic upon the subject.
“Well,” said he after I had informed him of the discoveries I had made, “the fates seem to prosper you in this. I have not received an inkling of light upon the matter since I parted from you at Mr. Blake’s house. By the way I saw that gentleman this morning and I tell you we will find him a grateful man if this affair can be resolved satisfactorily.”
“That is good,” said I,” gratitude is what we want.” Then shortly, “Perhaps it is no more than our duty to let him know that his wife is safe and under my eye; though I would by no means advocate his knowing just how near him she is, till the moment comes when he is wanted, or we shall have a lover’s impetuosity to deal with as well as all the rest.” Then with a hurried remembrance of a possible contingency, went on to say, “But, by the way, in case we should need the cooperation of Mrs. Blake in what we have before us, you had better get a line written in French from Mrs. Daniels, expressive of her belief in Mr. Blake’s present affection for his wife. The latter will not otherwise trust us, or understand that we are to be obeyed in whatever we may demand. Let it be unsigned and without names in case of accident; and if the housekeeper don’t understand French, tell her to get someone to help her that does, only be sure that the handwriting employed is her own.”
Mr. Gryce seemed to perceive the wisdom of this precaution and promised to procure me such a note by a certain hour, after which I related to him the various other details of the capture such as I had planned it, meeting to my secret gratification an unqualified approval that went far towards alleviating that wound to my pride which I had received from him in the beginning of this affair.
“Let all things proceed as you have determined, and we shall accomplish something that it will be a life-long satisfaction to remember,” said he; “but you must be prepared for some twist of the screw which you do not anticipate. I never knew anything to go off just as one prognosticates it must, except once,” he added thoughtfully, “and then it was with a surprise attached to it that well nigh upset me notwithstanding all my preparations.”
“You won a great success that day,” remarked I. “I hope the fates will be as propitious to me tomorrow. Failure now would break my heart.”
“But you won’t fail,” exclaimed he. “I myself am resolved to see you through this matter with credit.”
And in this assurance I returned to my lodgings where I found the landlady sitting where I had left her, darning her twenty-third sock.
“I have to mend for a dozen men and three boys,” said she, “and the boys are the worst by a heap sight. Look at that, will you,” holding up a darn with a bit of stocking attached. “That hole was made playing shinny.”
I uttered my condolences and asked if any sound or disturbance had reached her ears from above.
“O no, all is right up there; I’ve scarcely heard a whisper since you’ve been gone.”
I gave her a pat on the chin scarcely consistent with my aged and tottering mien and proceeded to shamble painfully to my room.
CHAPTER XVII
THE CAPTURE
Promptly next morning at the designated hour, came the little note promised me by Mr. Gryce. It was put in my hand with many sly winks by the landlady herself, who developed at this crisis quite an adaptation for, if not absolute love of intrigue and mystery. Glancing over it—it was unsealed—and finding it entirely unintelligible, I took it for granted it was all right and put it by till chance, or if that failed, strategy, should give me an opportunity to communicate with Mrs. Blake. An hour passed; the doors of their rooms remained unclosed. A half hour more dragged its slow minutes away, and no sound had come from their precincts save now and then a mumbled word of parley between the father and son, a short command to the daughter, or a not-to-be-restrained oath of annoyance from one or both of the heavy-limbed brutes as something was said or done to disturb them in their indolent repose. At last my impatience was to be no longer restrained. Rising, I took a bold resolution. If the mountain would not come to Mahomet, Mahomet would go to the mountain. Taking my letter in the hand, I deliberately proceeded to the door marked with the ominous red cross and knocked.
A surprised snarl from within, followed by a sudden shuffling of feet as the two men leaped upright from what I presume had been a recumbent position, warned me to be ready to face defiance if not the fury of despair; and curbing with a determined effort the slight sinking of heart natural to a man of my make on the threshold of a very doubtful adventure, I awaited with as much apparent unconcern as possible, the quick advance of that light foot which seemed to be ready to perform all the biddings of these hardened wretches, much as it shrunk from following in the ways of their infamy.
“Ah miss,” said I, as the door opened revealing in the gap her white face clouded with some new and sudden apprehension, “I beg your pardon but I am an old man, and I got a letter today and my eyes are so weak with the work I’ve been doing that I cannot read it. It is from someone I love, and would you be so kind as to read off the words for me and so relieve an old man from his anxiety.”
The murmur of suspicion behind her, warned her to throw wide open the door. “Certainly,” said she, “if I can,” taking the paper in her hand.
“Just let me get a squint at that first,” said a sullen voice behind her; and the youngest of the two Schoenmakers stepped forward and tore the paper out of her grasp.
“You are too suspicious,” murmured she, looking after him with the first assumption of that air of power and determination which I had heard so eloquently described by the man who loved her. “There is nothing in those lines which concerns us; let me have them back.”
“You hold your tongue,” was the brutal reply as the rough man opened the folded paper and read or tried to read what was written within. “Blast it! it’s French,” was his slow exclamation after a moment spent in this way. “See,” and he thrust it towards his father who stood frowning heavily a few feet off.
“Of course, it’s French,” cried the girl. “Would you write a note in English to father there? The man’s friends are French like himself, and must write in their own language.”
“Here take it and read it out,” commanded her father; “and mind you tell us what it means. I’ll have nothing going on here that I don’t understand.”
“Read me the French words first, miss,” said I. “It is my letter and I want to know what my friend has to say to me.”
Nodding at me with a gentle look, she cast her eyes on the paper and began to read:
“Calmez vous, mon amie, il vous aime et il vous cherche. Dans quatre heures vous serez heureuse. Allons du courage, et surtout soyez maitre de vous meme.”
“Thanks!” I exclaimed in a calm matter-of-fact way as I perceived the sudden tremor that seized her as she recognized the handwriting and realized that the words were for her. “My friend says he will pay my week’s rent and bids me be at home to receive him,” said I, turning upon the two ferocious faces peering over her shoulder, with a look of meek unsuspiciousness in my eye, that in a theatre would have brought down the house.
“Is that what those words say, you?” asked the father, pointing over her shoulder to the paper she held.
“I will translate for you word by word what it says,” replied she, nerving herself for the crisis till her face was like marble, though I could see she could not prevent the gleam of secret rapture that had visited her, from flashing fitfully across it. “C
almez vous, mon amie. Do not be afraid, my friend. Il vous aime et il vous cherche. He loves you and is hunting for you. Dans quatre heures vous serez heureuse. In four hours you will be happy. Allons du courage, et surtout soyez maitre de vous meme. Then take courage and above all preserve your self-possession. It is the French way of expressing one’s self,” observed she. “I am glad your friend is disposed to help you,” she continued, giving me back the letter with a smile. “I am afraid you needed it.”
In a sort of maze I folded up the letter, bowed my very humble thanks to her and shuffled slowly back. The fact is I had no words; I was utterly dumbfounded. Half way through that letter, with whose contents you must remember I was unacquainted, I would have given my whole chance of expected reward to have stopped her. Read out such words as those before these men! Was she crazy? But how naturally at the conclusion did she with a word make its language seem consistent with the meaning I had given it. With a fresh sense of my obligation to her, I hurried to my room, there to count out the minutes of another long hour in anxious expectation of her making that endeavor to communicate with me, which her new hopes and fears must force her to feel almost necessary to her existence. At length, my confidence in her was rewarded. Coming out into the hall, she hurried past my door, her finger on her lip. I immediately rose and stood on the threshold with another paper in my hand, which I had prepared against this opportunity. As she glided back, I put it in her hand, and warning her with a look not to speak, resumed my usual occupation. The words I had written were as follows:
At or as near the time as possible of your brother’s going out, you are to come to this room wrapped in an extra skirt and with your shawl over your head. Leave the skirt and shawl behind you, and withdraw at once to the room at the head of the stairs. You are not to speak, and you are not to vary from the plan thus laid down. Your brother and father are to be arrested, whether or no; but if you will do as this commands, they will be arrested without bloodshed and without shame to one you know.
The Anna Katharine Green Mystery Megapack Page 287
