Gilder scrupulously followed the directions of the PoliceInspector. Uneasily, he had remained in the library until theallotted time was elapsed. He fidgeted from place to place, hismind heavy with distress under the shadow that threatened toblight the life of his cherished son. Finally, with a sense ofrelief he put out the lights and went to his chamber. But he didnot follow the further directions given him, for he was notminded to go to bed. Instead, he drew the curtains closely tomake sure that no gleam of light could pass them, and then satwith a cigar between his lips, which he did not smoke, thoughfrom time to time he was at pains to light it. His thoughts weremost with his son, and ever as he thought of Dick, his fury waxedagainst the woman who had enmeshed the boy in her plotting forvengeance on himself. And into his thoughts now crept a doubt,one that alarmed his sense of justice. It occurred to him thatthis woman could not have thus nourished a plan for retributionthrough the years unless, indeed, she had been insane, even as hehad claimed--or innocent! The idea was appalling. He could notbear to admit the possibility of having been the involuntaryinflicter of such wrong as to send the girl to prison for anoffense she had not committed. He rejected the suggestion, butit persisted. He knew the clean, wholesome nature of his son.
It seemed to him incredible that the boy could have thus givenhis heart to one altogether undeserving. A horrible suspicionthat he had misjudged Mary Turner crept into his brain, and wouldnot out. He fought it with all the strength of him, and that wasmuch, but ever it abode there. He turned for comfort to thethings Burke had said. The woman was a crook, and there was anend of it. Her ruse of spoliation within the law was evidence ofher shrewdness, nothing more.
Mary Turner herself, too, was in a condition utterly wretched,and for the same cause--Dick Gilder. That source of the father'ssuffering was hers as well. She had won her ambition of years,revenge on the man who had sent her to prison. And now the joyof it was a torture, for the puppet of her plans, the son, hadsuddenly become the chief thing in her life. She had taken itfor granted that he would leave her after he came to know thather marriage to him was only a device to bring shame on hisfather. Instead, he loved her. That fact seemed the secret ofher distress. He loved her. More, he dared believe, and toassert boldly, that she loved him. Had he acted otherwise, thematter would have been simple enough.... But he loved her, lovedher still, though he knew the shame that had clouded her life,knew the motive that had led her to accept him as a husband.
More--by a sublime audacity, he declared that she loved him.
There came a thrill in her heart each time she thought ofthat--that she loved him. The idea was monstrous, of course, andyet---- Here, as always, she broke off, a hot flush blazing inher cheeks.... Nevertheless, such curious fancies pursued herthrough the hours. She strove her mightiest to rid herself ofthem, but in vain. Ever they persisted. She sought to oust themby thinking of any one else, of Aggie, of Joe. There at last wassatisfaction. Her interference between the man who had saved herlife and the temptation of the English crook had prevented adangerous venture, which might have meant ruin to the one whomshe esteemed for his devotion to her, if for no other reason. Atleast, she had kept him from the outrageous folly of an ordinaryburglary.
Mary Turner was just ready for bed after her evening at thetheater, when she was rudely startled out of this belief. A notecame by a messenger who waited for no answer, as he told theyawning maid. As Mary read the roughly scrawled message, she wascaught in the grip of terror. Some instinct warned her that thisdanger was even worse than it seemed. The man who had saved herfrom death had yielded to temptation. Even now, he was engaged incommitting that crime which she had forbidden him. As he hadsaved her, so she must save him. She hurried into the gown shehad just put off. Then she went to the telephone-book andsearched for the number of Gilder's house.
* * * * *It was just a few moments before Mary Turner received the notefrom the hands of the sleepy maid that one of the leaves of theoctagonal window in the library of Richard Gilder's town houseswung open, under the persuasive influence of a thin rod ofsteel, cunningly used, and Joe Garson stepped confidently intothe dark room.
A faint radiance of moonlight from without showed him for asecond as he passed between the heavy draperies. Then these fellinto place, and he was invisible, and soundless as well. For aspace, he rested motionless, listening intently. Reassured, hedrew out an electric torch and set it glowing. A little disc oflight touched here and there about the room, traveling veryswiftly, and in methodical circles. Satisfied by the survey,Garson crossed to the hall door. He moved with alert assurance,lithely balanced on the balls of his feet, noiselessly. At thehall door he listened for any sound of life without, and foundnone. The door into the passage that led to the store-room wherethe detectives waited next engaged his business-like attention.
And here, again, there was naught to provoke his suspicion.
These preliminaries taken as measures of precaution, Garson wentboldly to the small table that stood behind the couch, turned thebutton, and the soft glow of an electric lamp illumined theapartment. The extinguished torch was thrust back into hispocket. Afterward he carried one of the heavy chairs to the doorof the passage and propped it against the panel in such wise thatits fall must give warning as to the opening of the door. Hisevery action was performed with the maximum of speed, with noleast trace of flurry or of nervous haste. It was evident thathe followed a definite program, the fruit of precise thoughtguided by experience.
It seemed to him that now everything was in readiness for thecoming of his associates in the commission of the crime. Thereremained only to give them the signal in the room around thecorner where they waited at a telephone. He seated himself inGilder's chair at the desk, and drew the telephone to him.
"Give me 999 Bryant," he said. His tone was hardly louder than awhisper, but spoken with great distinctness.
There was a little wait. Then an answer in a voice he knew cameover the wire.
But Garson said nothing more. Instead, he picked up a penholderfrom the tray on the desk, and began tapping lightly on the rimof the transmitter. It was a code message in Morse. In the roomaround the corner, the tapping sounded clearly, ticking out themessage that the way was free for the thieves' coming.
When Garson had made an end of the telegraphing, there came abrief answer in like Morse, to which he returned a shortdirection.
For a final safeguard, Garson searched for and found thetelephone bell-box on the surbase below the octagonal window. Itwas the work of only a few seconds to unscrew the bells, which heplaced on the desk. So simply he made provision against anyalarm from this source. He then took his pistol from hiship-pocket, examined it to make sure that the silencer wasproperly adjusted, and then thrust it into the right side-pocketof his coat, ready for instant use in desperate emergency. Onceagain, now, he produced the electric torch, and lighted it as heextinguished the lamp on the table.
Forthwith, Garson went to the door into the hall, opened it, and,leaving it ajar, made his way in silence to the outer doorway.
Presently, the doors there were freed of their bolts under hisskilled fingers, and one of them swung wide. He had put out thetorch now, lest its gleam might catch the gaze of some casualpasser-by. So nicely had the affair been timed that hardly wasthe door open before the three men slipped in, and stood mute andmotionless in the hall, while Garson refastened the doors. Then,a pencil of light traced the length of the hallway and Garsonwalked quickly back to the library. Behind him with steps asnoiseless as his own came the three men to whom he had just giventhe message.
When all were gathered in the library, Garson shut the hall door,touched the button in the wall beside it, and the chandelierthrew its radiant light on the group.
Griggs was in evening clothes, seeming a very elegant younggentleman indeed, but his two companions were of grosser type, asfar as appearances went: one, Dacey, thin and wiry, with a ferretface; the other, Chicago Red, a brawny ruffian, whose stolidfeatures nevertheless exhibited something of half-sullen goodnature.
"Everything all right so far," Garson said rapidly. He turned toGriggs and pointed toward the heavy hangings that shrouded theoctagonal window. "Are those the things we want?" he demanded.
"Yes," was the answer of English Eddie.
"Well, then, we've got to get busy," Garson went on. His alert,strong face was set in lines of eagerness that had in itsomething of fierceness now.
But, before he could add a direction, he was halted by a softbuzzing from the telephone, which, though bell-less, still gavethis faint warning of a............