The Yellow Crayon

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER III

  At precisely ten o'clock on the following morning Duson broughtchocolate, which he had prepared himself, and some dry toast to hismaster's bedside. Upon the tray was a single letter. Mr. Sabin sat up inbed and tore open the envelope. The following words were written upona sheet of the Holland House notepaper in the same peculiar colouredcrayon.

  "The first warning addressed to you yesterday was a friendly one. Profitby it. Go back to Lenox. You are only exposing yourself to danger andthe person you seek to discomfort. Wait there, and some one shall cometo you shortly who will explain what has happened, and the necessity forit."

  Mr. Sabin smiled, a slow contemplative smile. He sipped his chocolateand lit a cigarette.

  "Our friends, then," he said softly, "do not care about pursuit andinquiries. It is ridiculous to suppose that their warning is given outof any consideration to me. Duson!"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "My bath. I shall rise now."

  Mr. Sabin made his toilet with something of the same deliberation whichcharacterised all his movements. Then he descended into the hall, boughta newspaper, and from a convenient easy-chair kept a close observationupon every one who passed to and fro for about an hour. Later on heordered a carriage, and made several calls down town.

  At a few minutes past twelve he entered the bar of the Fifth AvenueHotel, and ordering a drink sat down at one of the small tables. Theroom was full, but Mr. Sabin's attention was directed solely to onegroup of men who stood a short distance away before the counter drinkingchampagne. The central person of the group was a big man, with anunusually large neck, a fat pale face, a brown moustache tinged withgrey, and a voice and laugh like a fog-horn. It was he apparently whowas paying for the champagne, and he was clearly on intimate terms withall the party. Mr. Sabin watched for his opportunity, and then risingfrom his seat touched him on the shoulder.

  "Mr. Skinner, I believe?" he said quietly.

  The big man looked down upon Mr. Sabin with the sullen offensiveness ofthe professional bully.

  "You've hit it first time," he admitted. "Who are you, anyway?"

  Mr. Sabin produced a card.

  "I called this morning," he said, "upon the gentleman whose name youwill see there. He directed me to you, and told me to come here."

  The man tore the card into small pieces.

  "So long, boys," he said, addressing his late companions. "See youto-night."

  They accepted his departure in silence, and one and all favoured Mr.Sabin with a stare of blatant curiosity.

  "I should be glad to speak with you," Mr. Sabin said, "in a place wherewe are likely to be neither disturbed nor overheard."

  "You come right across to my office," was the prompt reply. "I guess wecan fix it up there."

  Mr. Sabin motioned to his coachman, and they crossed Broadway. Hiscompanion led him into a tall building, talking noisily all the timeabout the pals whom he had just left. An elevator transported them tothe twelfth floor in little more than as many seconds, and Mr. Skinnerushered his visitor into a somewhat bare-looking office, smellingstrongly of stale tobacco smoke. Mr. Skinner at once lit a cigar, andseating himself before his desk, folded his arms and leaned over towardsMr. Sabin.

  "Smoke one?" he asked, pointing to the open box.

  Mr. Sabin declined.

  "Get right ahead then."

  "I am an Englishman," Mr. Sabin said slowly, "and consequently am notaltogether at home with your ways over here. I have always understood,however, that if you are in need of any special information such as weshould in England apply to the police for, over here there is a quickerand more satisfactory method of procedure."

  "You've come a long way round," Mr. Skinner remarked, spitting upon thefloor, "but you're dead right."

  "I am in need of some information," Mr. Sabin continued, "andaccordingly I called this morning on Mr.--"

  Mr. Skinner held up his hand.

  "All right," he said. "We don't mention names more than we can help.Call him the boss."

  "He assured me that the information I was in need of was easily to beobtained, and gave me a card to you."

  "Go right on," Mr. Skinner said. "What is it?"

  "On Friday last," Mr. Sabin said, "at four o'clock, the Duchess ofSouspennier, whose picture I will presently show you, left the HollandHouse Hotel for the New York, New Haven & Hartford Depot, presumably forher home at Lenox, to which place her baggage had already been checked.On the way she ordered the cabman to set her down at the Waldorf-AstoriaHotel, which he did at a few minutes past four. The Duchess has notreturned home or been directly heard from since. I wish to ascertain hermovements since she arrived at the Waldorf."

  "Sounds dead easy," Mr. Skinner remarked reassuringly. "Got thepicture?"

  Mr. Sabin touched the spring of a small gold locket which he drewfrom an inside waistcoat pocket, and disclosed a beautifully paintedminiature. Mr. Skinner's thick lips were pursed into a whistle. Hewas on the point of making a remark when he chanced to glance into Mr.Sabin's face. The remark remained unspoken.

  He drew a sheet of note-paper towards him and made a few notes upon it.

  "The Duchess many friends in New York?"

  "At present none. The few people whom she knows here are at Newport orin Europe just now."

  "Any idea whom she went to the Waldorf to see? More we know the better."

  Mr. Sabin handed him the letter which had been picked up in the cab. Mr.Skinner read it through, and spat once more upon the floor.

  "What the h---'s this funny coloured pencil mean?"

  "I do not know," Mr. Sabin answered. "You will see that the twoanonymous communications which I have received since arriving in NewYork yesterday are written in the same manner."

  Mr. Sabin handed him the other two letters, which Mr. Skinner carefullyperused.

  "I guess you'd better tell me who you are," he suggested.

  "I am the husband of the Duchess of Souspennier," Mr. Sabin answered.

  "The Duchess send any word home at all?" Mr. Skinner asked.

  Mr. Sabin produced a worn telegraph form. It was handed in at FifthAvenue, New York, at six o'clock on Friday. It contained the single word'Good-bye.'

  "H'm," Mr. Skinner remarked. "We'll find all you want to know byto-morrow sure."

  "What do you make of the two letters which I received?" Mr. Sabin asked.

  "Bunkum!" Mr. Skinner replied confidently.

  Mr. Sabin nodded his head.

  "You have no secret societies over here, I suppose?" he said.

  Mr. Skinner laughed loudly and derisively.

  "I guess not," he answered. "They keep that sort of rubbish on the otherside of the pond."

  "Ah!"

  Mr. Sabin was thoughtful for a moment. "You expect to find, then," heremarked, "some other cause for my wife's disappearance?"

  "There don't seem much room for doubt concerning that, sir," Mr. Skinnersaid; "but I never speculate. I will bring you the facts to-nightbetween eight and eleven. Now as to the business side of it."

  Mr. Sabin was for a moment puzzled.

  "What's the job worth to you?" Mr. Skinner asked. "I am willing to pay,"Mr. Sabin answered, "according to your demands."

  "It's a simple case," Mr. Skinner admitted, "but our man at the Waldorfis expensive. If you get all your facts, I guess five hundred dollarswill about see you through."

  "I will pay that," Mr. Sabin answered.

  "I will bring you the letters back to-night," Mr. Skinner said. "I guessI'll borrow that locket of yours, too."

  Mr. Sabin shook his head.

  "That," he said firmly, "I do not part with." Mr. Skinner scratched hisear with his penholder. "It's the only scrap of identifying matterwe've got," he remarked. "Of course it's a dead simple case, and we canprobably manage without it. But I guess it's as well to fix the thingright down."

  "If you will give me a piece of paper," Mr. Sabin said, "I will make youa sketch of the Duchess. The larger the better. I can give you an id
eaof the sort of clothes she would probably be wearing."

  Mr. Skinner furnished him with a double sheet of paper, and Mr. Sabin,with set face and unflinching figures, reproduced in a few simplestrokes a wonderful likeness of the woman he loved. He pushed it awayfrom him when he had finished without remark. Mr. Skinner was loud inits praises.

  "I guess you're an artist, sir, for sure," he remarked. "This'll fix thething. Shall I come to your hotel?"

  "If you please," Mr. Sabin answered. "I shall be there for the rest ofthe day."

  Mr. Skinner took up his hat.

  "Guess I'll take my dinner and get right to work," he remarked. "Say,you come along, Mr. Sabin. I'll take you where they'll fix you such abeefsteak as you never tasted in your life."

  "I thank you very much," Mr. Sabin said, "but I must beg to be excused.I am expecting some despatches at my hotel. If you are successful thisafternoon you will perhaps do me the honour of dining with me to-night.I will wait until eight-thirty."

  The two men parted upon the pavement. Mr. Skinner, with his small bowlerhat on the back of his head, a fresh cigar in the corner of his mouth,and his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, strolled along Broadwaywith something akin to a smile parting his lips, and showing his yellowteeth.

  "Darned old fool," he muttered. "To marry a slap-up handsome woman likethat, and then pretend not to know what it means when she bolts. GuessI'll spoil his supper to-night."

  Mr. Sabin, however, was recovering his spirits. He, too, was leaningback in the corner of his carriage with a faint smile brightening hishard, stern face. But, unlike Mr. Skinner, he did not talk to himself.