“I have an appointment at Professor Ashleigh’s,” he told her. “I cannot tell you anything more than that. Good-bye!”
He kissed her for a moment passionately. Then suddenly he tore himself away. She heard him run lightly down the stairs. Some instinct led her to the back window. She saw him emerge from the house and pass down the yard. Then she went to the front. The man in the blue serge suit was talking to the landlady below. She sank into a chair, puzzled and unhappy. Then she heard heavy footsteps. The door was opened. The man in the blue serge suit entered, followed by the protesting landlady.
“There’s no sense in coming here to worry the young lady,” Mrs. Malony declared irritably. “As for Mr. Craig, I told you that he’d gone out.”
“Gone out, eh?” the man repeated, speaking in a thick, disagreeable tone. “Why, I watched him in here not ten minutes ago. Now then, young lady, guess you’d better cough up the truth. Where’s this precious uncle of yours?”
“My uncle has gone out,” the girl replied, drawing herself up. “He left five minutes ago.”
“Sneaked out by the back way, maybe,” the man sneered.
“If there was any fear of your stopping to speak to him, I should think he would,” the girl retorted boldly. “My uncle is rather particular about his acquaintances.”
The man laughed.
“What’s that in your hand?” he demanded.
“Something my uncle gave me before he went out,” the girl replied. “I haven’t looked at it yet myself.”
“Give it here,” he ordered.
She spread it out upon the table.
“You may look at it if you choose,” she agreed. “My uncle did not tell me not to show it to any one.”
They read it together. The few lines seemed to be written with great care. They took, indeed, the form of a legal document, to which was affixed the seal of a notary and the name of a witness.—
I, John Craig, being about to receive the just punishment for all my sins, hereby bequeath to my niece, Mary Carlton, all monies and property belonging to me, a list of which she will find at this address. I make one condition only of my bequest and I beg my niece to fervently respect it. It is that she never of her own consent or knowledge speak to any one of the name of Ashleigh, or associate with any of that name.
John Craig.
The man folded up the paper.
“I’ll take care of this,” he said. “It’s yours, right enough. We’ll just need to borrow it for a time. Go and get your hat and coat on, miss.”
“I shall not,” the girl objected. “My uncle told me, if anything happened to him, that I was to remain here.”
“And remain here she shall, so long as she likes,” Mrs. Malony insisted. “I’ve given my promise, too, to look after her, and Mr. Craig knows that I am an honest woman.”
“You may be that,” the man replied, “but it’s just as well for you both to understand this. I’m from the police, and what I say goes. No harm will come to the girl, Mrs. Malony, and she shall come back here, but for the present she is going to accompany me to headquarters. If you make any trouble, I only have to blow my whistle and I can fill your house with policemen.”
“I’ll go,” the girl whispered.
In silence she put on her hat and coat, in silence she drove with him to the police-station, where she was shown at once into an inspector’s office. The man who had brought her whispered for a moment or two with his chief and handed him the paper. Inspector French read it and whistled softly. He took up the telephone by his side.
“Say, you’ve something of a find here,” he remarked to the plain-clothes man. “Put me through to Mr. Quest, please,” he added, speaking into the receiver.
The two men whispered together. The girl stole from her place and turned over rapidly the pages of a directory which was on the round table before her. She found the “A’s” quickly. Her eye fell upon the name of Ashleigh. She repeated the address to herself and glanced around. The two men were still whispering. For the moment she was forgotten. She stole on tiptoe across the room, ran down the stone steps, and hastened into the street.
4.
The Professor, who was comfortably seated in Quest’s favourite easy-chair, glanced at his watch and shook his head.
“I am afraid, my friend,” he said, “that Craig’s nerve has failed him. A voluntary surrender was perhaps too much to hope for.”
Quest smoked for a moment in silence.
“Can’t understand those fellows letting him give them the slip,” he muttered. “He ought to have been under close surveillance from the moment he set foot in New York. What’s that?” he added, turning to the door.
His servant entered, bearing a note.
“This was left a few minutes ago, sir,” he announced, “by a messenger boy. There was no answer required.”
The man retired and Quest unfolded the sheet of paper. His expression suddenly changed.
“Listen!” he exclaimed.
To Sanford Quest.
Gather your people in Professor Ashleigh’s library at ten o’clock to-night. I will be there and tell you my whole story.
John Craig.
The Professor sat for a moment speechless.
“Then he meant it, after all!” he exclaimed at last.
“Seems like it,” Quest admitted. “I’ll just telephone to French.”
The Professor rose to his feet, knocked the ash from his cigar, struggled into his coat, and took up his hat. Then he waited until Quest had completed his conversation. The latter’s face had grown grave and puzzled. It was obvious that he was receiving information of some importance. He put down the instrument at last with a curt word of farewell.
“Let me send a couple of men up with you, Professor,” he begged. “You don’t want to run any risk of having Craig there before we arrive.”
The Professor smiled.
“My friend,” he said, “it is seldom in my life that I have had to have recourse to physical violence, but I flatter myself that there is no man who would do me any harm. We will meet, then, at my house. You will bring the young ladies?”
“Sure!” Quest replied. “I am just sending word up to them now.”
The Professor moved towards the door.
“If only this may prove to be the end!” he sighed.
Quest spent the next hour or so in restless deliberations. There were still many things which puzzled him. At about a quarter past nine Lenora and Laura arrived, dressed for their expedition. Quest threw open the window and looked out across the city. A yellowish haze which, accompanied by a sulphurous heat, had been brooding over the city all day long, had suddenly increased in density. The air was stifling.
“I’m afraid we are in for a bad thunderstorm, girls,” Quest remarked.
Laura laughed.
“Who cares? The automobile’s there, Mr. Quest.”
“Let’s go, then,” he replied.
They descended into the street and drove to the Professor’s house in silence. Even Laura was feeling the strain of these last hours of anxiety. On the way they picked up French and a plain-clothes man, and the whole party arrived at their destination just as the storm broke.