"Do not think of it any longer, Natalie," Coolidge insisted rather gruffly. "They are all right now. I shall telephone for a doctor as soon as we get back, and attend to the rent the first thing tomorrow."

"I know, Uncle, but I cannot forget so easily. Do you know anything about poverty, Captain West?"

"Nothing very direct. Of course, in a way I have occasionally come in contact with suffering of that nature. I have been hungry enough in the army, but usually I have experienced little need. I regret," he added apologetically, "that what I said was taken as criticism. I had no such meaning."

"Criticism!" Coolidge turned the car around as he spoke. "Be as free with that as you please; what I object to is your intruding at every opportunity. It looks as though you were trying to find out something—is that your game?"

"Not at all. I naturally spoke to the kid, and the only topic which occurred to me at the moment concerned the people you were visiting. I see no occasion for any misunderstanding."

"And there is none," she asserted cordially, her eyes meeting his own frankly. "So let's drop the subject, and enjoy our ride. I am not going to have the whole day spoiled because of these people. They are all right now. What is that big building over there?"

Coolidge emitted some answer, but devoted his attention to running the car, his jaw set. It was clear enough that West's explanation was not altogether satisfactory, and his dislike for the younger man had in no way lessened. The young woman, however, easily regained her vivacity, and devoted herself to making the ride homeward as pleasant as possible. West found her unusually entertaining, with a deep sense of humor he had not before suspected, and an occasional lapse into slang which rather surprised him. He had previously entertained the thought that she was rather conventional and not particularly easy to approach, but this conception vanished quickly in a free flow of conversation, to which Coolidge apparently paid small attention. Indeed, there were moments when her extreme frankness of speech rather surprised West, even her voice striking strangely upon his ears, but the happy laugh, and swift glance of the eyes reassured him. No doubt she was playing a part for the benefit of Percival Coolidge in which he must co-operate. Later all would be explained, and made clear. This belief encouraged him to keep up his end of the conversation, ignoring Coolidge entirely, and devoting his attention exclusively to her.

The returning ride seemed very brief, and, almost before West realized it, the car whirled in through the Coolidge gate, and came to a stop at the door. Coolidge by this time had recovered from his spell of ill-nature, or else chose to so appear, and the party separated pleasantly. Natalie disappeared somewhere within, while the two men strolled out to the tennis court where the guests were enjoying a spirited game. All met again at lunch, and then separated, some to motor over to the lake, the others amusing themselves as they saw fit. Both Coolidge and Natalie vanished, while West, finding himself alone, chose a book from the library, and, solaced by a cigar, sought a shady nook on the porch.

The book, however, was but a mark for his thoughts, which continually revolved about the strange surroundings in which he found himself. He was apparently making no progress, was no nearer a solution of the mystery confronting him. Thus far, at least, no direct clue had presented itself. Numerous things had occurred to strengthen suspicion, and to increase interest in the quest. But beyond this—nothing. He liked the girl and was completely enlisted in her service. He disliked Percival, and was convinced the fellow was planning evil. Several incidents had already strengthened this belief; yet there was nothing positive upon which to build; no path of adventure for him to follow. To speculate was easy enough, but real facts eluded him.

Yet, in spite of this feeling of failure, West's reflections centred more upon the young woman than upon the particular problem which he had to solve. The ride back from the city had revealed a phase of her character he had never observed before—she had shown herself vivacious, light of speech, a bit slangy and audacious. He was not altogether sure that this new revealment quite pleased him, and yet it possessed a certain charm. He had before learned to think of her as rather quiet and reserved, and now must change his whole conception. It was difficult to adjust his mind at once to the different standard. He found himself wondering why she had afforded him glimpses of her nature so strangely unlike. What could have occurred within the cottage to thus make so suddenly manifest this new side to her character? The change in her only served to increase the mystery, and, he confessed, his admiration also. Her very freedom evidenced to his mind that he was really accepted, had been taken into a new intimacy; no longer to be held and treated as an interloper, a stranger employed for a purpose. She had deliberately cast aside the conventional, and become natural in his presence—free to speak and act as the spirit moved. This was a victory, and he chose to interpret it as proof that she already really liked and trusted him. Actuated by this feeling, she no longer deemed it necessary to dissemble in his presence. It was a long step in advance.

He had arrived at this very pleasant conclusion, when Sexton appeared in the door, evidently looking for some one. The man espied him there in the shadow of the vines, and came forward.

"Miss Coolidge requests your presence, sir, for a few moments," he said gravely.

"Why, certainly; did she say where, Sexton?"

"In the library, sir; she is waiting there now."

West hesitated an instant. There was a question he was eager to ask, but immediately thought better of it. Interviewing servants was not in his line, and there were other ways of learning the truth.

"Very well," he said quietly. "I will join her at once. Thank you, Sexton," and disappeared into the cool, darkened hall.



CHAPTER IX

AN UNEXPECTED DISMISSAL

The shades had been drawn closely to exclude the sun, and, for a moment after he first crossed the threshold of the library, West was unable to distinguish any occupant. He heard Sexton silently close the door behind him, but it was not until she moved slightly that he was able to perceive her presence directly across from where he stood. Her voice broke the silence.

"You will find a seat next to the window, Captain," she said quietly. "It was very good of you to come."

"The pleasure was mine," he replied. "Only I am blinded coming in here from the bright sunshine without."

"I have had a touch of headache—nervous, no doubt, from the visit this morning—and so ordered Sexton to draw the shades. Your eyes will soon accustom themselves to the lack of light. I see you quite well."

"Oh, I am all right now," and he sank into the vacant chair, facing her, expectantly. "You wished to speak with me, the servant said."

"Yes," she leaned back against the couch on which she rested, with face now clearly revealed, one hand nervously twirling a fan. "Although it is not easy for me to transform into words exactly what I mean. This is a very strange situation in which we find ourselves, Captain West."

"I have felt so," he admitted, surprised at this beginning. "Yet I must confess, I am now becoming quite reconciled."

She sat up suddenly, with eyes searching his face.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Perhaps I ought not to say," he answered boldly. "Yet circumstances seemingly justify frankness between us. I mean that I feel far more deeply interested in the final outcome of this affair today than I did yesterday—it means more to me."

"Indeed! Why?"

"Largely, I imagine, because I am privileged to know you much better. That naturally makes a difference."

"Does it indeed? You imply then an increased interest in myself as an individual brings with it a greater desire to serve me?"

"Assuredly, yes."

"Then you render my task doubly hard," she said soberly, yet with a certain hardness in the tone. "I had not suspected any personal side whatever. You were a total stranger to me, Captain West, and I employed you in this matter merely in a business way, as—as—a detective. Surely you understood this clearly?"

"In a measure that is quite true," feeling the sharp sting of her words. "Yet the comparison is hardly fair, is it? I am not a detective in the sense with which you employ the term. No question of pay even has been discussed between us. The appeal to my services was from an entirely different stand-point. More, you even investigated rather carefully my social and financial standing before taking me into your confidence, or admitting me to your home. Is this not true?"

"Undoubtedly. I had reason to wish assurance in these matters. I had to present you to my friends."

"Yet this very knowledge of my social position placed me on a totally different plane from that of a detective picked up at some agency. You knew I was not serving you for pay."

"Did I?"

"I should hope you did," his voice hardening slightly.

"But for what other end did you volunteer your services?"

"Perhaps that is not so easily explained. It was a spirit of adventure which first led me to answer your advertisement, I presume. At least, I can give it no other name. Then, when we met, you appealed to me personally; I felt a desire to further our acquaintance and—well, your story aroused my interest."

"Is that all?"

"It might have been had not you chosen methods of procedure which led me to other thoughts."

She laughed.

"Oh, I see! All this has happened because I introduced you to the others as my fiance. Why, that is positively funny. Didn't you know that was only a part of the game being played?"

"Yes," he said, ignoring the humour of it, and feeling oddly sober, "I understood, and was playing, the same as you. Only both of us, I think, forget an important fact."

"What, please?"

"That we were young, socially on a level, and that you were an exceedingly charming young woman."

She laughed again, yet this time with more restraint.

"That is quite ridiculous, Captain West. Surely, you are not actually making love to me?"

"No, I am not. I am merely facing the situation very frankly. It would be useless for me to claim lack of interest in you. From our very first meeting, you have appealed to me strongly—more so than any other woman of my acquaintance. Then, perhaps, the peculiarity of our relationship, with the trust you seemed to impose in me, tended to deepen that interest. I confess I began to care for you—as a woman."

"Really you are quite flattering. I never dreamed I possessed such marvellous powers." She remained silent a moment, her eyes shaded by their long lashes; then uplifted them again to his face. "This makes it all the more necessary that I now speak plainly," she went on at length. "That I should explain to you it has all been a mistake. That was why I asked you to come here now."

"All a mistake! Not the trouble you were in surely?"

"Yes. I must have dreamed most of it, I think. I have just had a long confidential talk with Percival Coolidge, and we understand each other perfectly. Everything has been explained. So there is no necessity for our pretending any longer."

West rose to his feet, comprehending her full meaning, yet unwilling to yield his position without further explanation.

"Your words are certainly plain enough," he said slowly, "yet I trust I may be pardoned if I ask a question or so."

"Is it necessary?"

"Perhaps not, but I feel my curiosity is justified. You told me a rather remarkable story and requested my aid in the solving of a strange mystery. Now you abruptly dismiss me from that service. Do you mean the mystery is already solved without my further assistance?"

"I am convinced there was no mystery; that it was only imagination, Captain West. My calling you was a mistake."

"Percival Coolidge assures you of this?"

"Positively; we have discussed it from every angle, and all that appeared mysterious has been made clear."

"There is no one else impersonating you?"

"No."

"The checks at the bank; the strange person using your name; all these were myths?"

She laughed.

"Of course. I really believed all I said to you at the time, but everything has been explained since, and I realize how very foolish I have been. Uncle Percival has been very nice about it. He simply didn't understand before how worried I was."

"No doubt. You sent for me then merely to say I was dismissed?"

"Yes."

"And you told Coolidge, of course, how I came to be here?"

"Yes."

"And the others? What will they think?"

"Why, that can make no difference. They can be told that you were suddenly called away. Let them suppose we had a quarrel, and that our engagement is broken," and she laughed again, evidently vastly amused at the idea.

"But you, personally?" he insisted.

She sobered instantly, also rising, and facing him.

"Captain West, let us be sensible. I invited you here for a certain purpose. You were employed as much as any of my other servants. Is that a sufficient answer?"

"It certainly is. I will depart at once."

"Thank you. The limousine will be at the door. You will return to the Club, I presume?"

"Temporarily, until other arrangements are made."

He bowed and left her standing there in the shadows, the expression of her face veiled, but there seemed no response, no softening in the rigid attitude of her figure. She did not care; was only interested in his immediate departure. The change had occurred with such abruptness, West was unable as yet to realize its full significance, but, with no attempt to combat her decision, left the room, closing the door behind him. In that moment his mood changed. The dismissal had been so curt, his pride rose in rebellion. Finding Sexton in the front hall, he addressed him crisply.

"My bag will be ready in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir; you are going away, sir?"

"Immediately. A call to return to the city at once."

"I am very sorry, sir," he said respectfully, yet in a tone of such earnestness, as to cause West to glance toward him sharply. For an instant it was upon the lips of the younger man to ask a question, but Sexton turned away, and it remained unasked. Promptly at the time mentioned came the servant's soft rap on the door.

"I came for the bag, sir."

West handed it over with a glance at the rather expressionless face.

"You said you regretted to see me leave, Sexton," he remarked jovially. "I presume you meant nothing in particular by that remark?"

"Oh, no, sir," standing motionless, bag in hand. "Only you have been very kind, sir, and—and—of course, it is none of my business, but I hope there is no quarrel, sir?"

"Quarrel! With Miss Natalie, you mean? Why should you suspect that?"

"I—I spoke, sir, very thoughtlessly, sir," he stammered. "You will pardon me, sir."

"Yes, but you must have had a reason, Sexton?"

"Only that she has seemed very much out of humour, sir, since her trip to town," he explained rather lamely. "I have never known her to be so hard to please, sir. I'm sure something is wrong, but that is no reason why I should say what I did, sir."



CHAPTER X

THE BODY OF A SUICIDE

As the car whirled West down the circling driveway, the only sign of life visible about the house was the motionless figure of Sexton on the steps. If either Miss Natalie, or Percival Coolidge, took interest enough in the proceedings to witness his departure, they chose to remain carefully concealed within. His glance searched the front of the mansion vainly; no window revealed an occupant. From behind where the guests were at play, sounded a distant murmur of voices, and laughter, but the house itself expressed only calm indifference. There was no pretence even at speeding the parting guest. He had simply been dismissed, turned out, decently enough, perhaps, considering his status, yet with a certain measure of contempt which rankled nevertheless.

The young man could not altogether reconcile this style of treatment with his preconceived conception of Miss Natalie Coolidge. He had been too deeply impressed by her to easily relinquish his previously formed opinion of her character. This latest action did not at all coincide with her former open friendliness. He had not gone to her as a servant, nor had she in any way treated him as such. What could account for so remarkable a change? Even if she had felt his present usefulness was ended; that she had made a mistake in ever admitting him to her confidence, the dismissal could have been much more pleasantly achieved. She could still have exhibited friendliness, and an interest in his departure. Her words and manner had been extremely abrupt, and her explanation far from satisfactory.

Perhaps it was the influence of Percival Coolidge which accounted for the sudden change in the girl. This explanation seemed probable. The man had in some way regained her confidence, and then, through trickery, had succeeded in poisoning her mind. There was no doubt he would do this, if possible, and the probability was that he had finally discovered a way. From the very first, West had felt the antagonism of the other; there had never been any love lost between them. Coolidge disliked him instinctively, and made no effort to conceal his feelings; he resented the intimacy between him and Natalie, naturally enough, and would use every means possible to get the younger man completely out of the house. No doubt he looked upon him as dangerous. But why? There could only be one answer to this query. His own dishonesty; his secret knowledge of some trickery relative to the funds of the estate. He had convinced the girl of his honesty, but, more than ever, West believed the fellow a rascal. His very helplessness to intervene rendered him the more convinced.

These thoughts flitted through his mind, yet not consecutively, as the car left the grounds, and turned on to the main road, leading citywards. They were still skirting the Coolidge estate, although the house behind was concealed by shrubbery. The road descending into a ravine spanned by a concrete bridge, and a rather dense growth of trees shut out the surrounding landscape. Nothing moving was in sight. Suddenly, just as they cleared the bridge, and began to mount the opposite grade, there came a sharp report, sounding so close at hand the chauffeur clamped on his brake, and glanced anxiously over the side of the car.

"Blow-out, wasn't it, sir?"

"No," said West shortly, staring himself out into the thicket of trees at their left. "It was a shot fired over there; a revolver I should say. Wait a second, Sanders, until I see what has happened."

It was largely curiosity which led him to leave the car. The very conviction that it was a revolver which had been discharged brought a desire to learn the cause of the shot. The sound of either a rifle or a shot-gun in that lonely spot would have been instantly dismissed as natural enough, but a pistol was different. That was no place for such a weapon. It somehow had a grimly sinister sound. Led forward by a dim path, he plunged down the sharp incline of the hill, and pressed his way through the thick fringe of trees beyond. Behind these ran a wire fence, guarding a stretch of meadow, the high, uncut grass waving in the wind. Nothing was in sight except this ripening field of clover sweeping upward to the summit of an encircling ridge. The silence was profound; the loneliness absolute.

It was this fact which startled West from curiosity into suspicion. Surely there had been a shot fired—a revolver shot—almost on the very spot where he stood. He could not doubt the evidence of his own ears. Yet who had fired? For what purpose? and how had the party disappeared so completely during that narrow margin of time? There was no place where a man could hide unless he lay flat in the clover; and what occasion would any one have to thus seek concealment? Even if the shooter knew of the passing automobile, or heard his approach through the trees, there could be no reasonable cause for concealment. Determined now to learn exactly what had happened, West pressed his passage forward through the vines of the fence, and emerged into the field beyond. A half dozen yards and he found the clover trampled, as though a man had passed that way. The trail led into a shallow depression, past a rather large boulder, near which the trampling of the grass was even more plainly revealed, as though the stranger had remained here for some time, had even seated himself, and then, abruptly ended a few yards away. Evidently the fellow had turned back at this point, and retraced his steps.

West, now thoroughly puzzled, and already convinced that some mystery hovered over the place, began to circle through the untrampled clover, but without any defined purpose. All at once, at the lower end of the gully he came, unexpectedly, upon another trail, this one well marked, apparently frequently used, which led straight across the field, and terminated at a small gate leading through the wire fence. Evidently here was a short cut to the road, well known to the servants on the estate, and possibly others. The discovery, however, told nothing further than this, and contenting himself with another glance about the unchanged field of rustling clover, West proceeded along the course of the path, intending to thus rejoin the automobile, waiting his return behind the trees.

Within a few steps of the gate, which was closed, he came to a sudden, horrified pause, staring ahead at a strange something huddled in the path. It was a shapeless thing, bearing no resemblance to a human being, until he advanced closer; then he recognized the form of a man, curled up as a dog sleeps, face down hidden by his arm, and limbs drawn up, as if in a sudden spasm of agony. A hat was in the path beyond, where it had fallen, and a revolver lay glittering in the sunlight a few feet away. There was nothing familiar about either figure or clothing, yet unquestionably there lay the body of a suicide. The single shot they had heard, the tell-tale revolver close to the dead man's hand, were clear evidence of what had occurred.

The unexpectedness of this discovery, the peculiar position of the dead man, the loneliness of that deserted field in which he lay, shocked West and, for a moment left him strangely hesitant. Who was the man? What could have led up to the pitiful tragedy? Yet he advanced step by step nearer to the hideous object in the path. The man had been shot directly behind the right ear, killed instantly, no doubt, as the deadly bullet crashed through the brain. West lifted the arm which concealed the face, already shrinking from the suspicion, which had begun to assail him. Then he knew who the dead man was—Percival Coolidge.



CHAPTER XI

SUSPICION VERIFIED

Affairs progressed far too rapidly for some hours for West to reflect seriously over this experience. He could only act swiftly, answer questions, and do all in his power to assist others. The real meaning of the tragedy he made no effort to solve; for the time being, at least, he must leave that to others.

He stood guard beside the body until servants came and bore it to the house, but made no effort to follow. Instead he gave his address to Sexton, and continued his journey into the city. After what had passed between them he had no desire to again encounter Miss Natalie; and under these circumstances, actually shrank from meeting her. Just what this man's death might mean to the girl he could not safely conjecture, yet deep down in his own heart, he felt convinced that this act of self-destruction would later prove to be a confession of guilt. Yet, be that as it may, he was already definitely ruled out of the matter. Not, unless she personally sent for him, could he ever venture to go to her again in any capacity. To his mind this decision was final.

He was called for the inquest and gave his testimony. The hearing was brief, and the facts ascertained so clear, there remained no doubt in the minds of any one, but what this was a case of suicide. No particular attempt was made to probe into the cause, the personal affairs of the dead man being left for later investigation. West saw Natalie at the inquest for the very few moments she was upon the stand, but their eyes did not meet, nor did the girl give any evidence of recognition. She was pale, yet calm, answering the questions asked her quietly. These pertained entirely to her last meeting with Coolidge, and had no direct bearing on the verdict. The moment she was released she retired from the room; and West merely lingered long enough to learn the decision of the jury. Somehow the impression the young woman had left upon him in those few moments was not a pleasant one. He could not clearly analyse this result, yet she was either acting a part to conceal her true emotions, or else she was really indifferent.

It was not until the following day that reason began to reassert itself, and he succeeded in marshalling the facts of the case more clearly in his own mind. He even began to doubt and question his own testimony, yet, before he reached any real conclusion, one of the Club servants approached his chair.

"Captain West, there is a man out here asking to see you."

"A man! Where?"

"I had him wait in the anteroom, sir. He would give no name, and seems to be of the working class; so I thought I better tell you first, sir."

"Very well, Mapes. I'll soon find out what he wants."

It was Sexton, twirling his hat nervously in his hands, and still standing irresolutely in the middle of the floor. As sight of West he took a hasty step forward, eager to explain the cause of his presence.

"You'll pardon me, sir," he burst forth in apology. "But I must see you, sir."

"That's quite all right, Sexton. You have some message?"

"Not—not from any one else, sir. It's just my own business, but—but I thought you would help me, sir."

"Certainly; only too glad. Let's step in here where we can talk quietly."

He pointed the way into a private card room, closing the door behind his visitor.

"Take the seat over there, Sexton. You came in to see me from Fairlawn?"

"No, sir, I didn't. The fact is, I'm not out there any longer."

"Not there! What do you mean?"

"I've been discharged, sir, with two other servants, since the funeral yesterday."

"Discharged! Why I understood you had been employed there for years."

"Several years, sir."

"And now discharged! By whom? Not Miss Natalie surely?"

"Yes, sir. She didn't give no reason; just said we were not wanted any longer. That's one reason why I came here to see you, sir."

"But I hardly know how I can be of help. I have no house of my own, and—well, the truth of the matter is, Sexton, just at present I am not on very good terms with the young lady myself."

"I know that, sir," more confidently. "And it isn't a position I am seeking, at all. I have quite a tidy bit of money laid away, and could get plenty of work. That's not the point, sir. Why should Miss Natalie tell me to go like that? It isn't a bit like her, sir; she ain't seemed natural at all lately, and I tell you there's something wrong goin' on out there. I'm sure o' that, sir."

"Sure of what?"

"Well, for one thing, it's my opinion that Percival Coolidge never killed himself, sir."

West sat up stiffly, as though struck a blow. These words startled him; drove his own mind into sudden activity.

"What makes you think that, Sexton?" he questioned slowly.

"Well, there's more than one thing," as though glad to have made the plunge, and anxious to justify himself. "But first of all that wasn't his revolver they found lying beside him. He always had one in his valise, an' it's there now, or was when I looked to see."

"You didn't tell that to the coroner."

"No, sir; he never put me on the stand. Besides I didn't know about it then. After I thought about it, I told Miss Natalie, sir."

"Oh, you did! and what did she say?"

"She didn't think that proved anything; that he probably had the other in his pocket."

"This was before you were dismissed?"

"Yes, sir; the evening before, sir."

West whistled gravely, his gaze on the other's face.

"And is that all, Sexton?" he asked finally. "Is there any other reason why you doubt Coolidge killed himself?"

"Did you notice where he was shot, sir?"

"Behind the right ear; the wound was plainly visible."

"Not very easy for a man to do himself, sir."

"No, but possible, nevertheless. The coroner was satisfied on that point."

"Yes, sir, but the coroner overlooked one thing, sir. He was sure it was a suicide case, and wanted to get done with it in a hurry. I and Simmons, sir, washed the body to get it ready for burial, an' I combed the hair down over the bullet wound. There wasn't no powder marks on the skin, an' not a hair was singed, sir. That's what makes me say he never killed himself."

West sat silent and motionless, looking straight at the man opposite, endeavouring to decide on a course of action. Someway in the depth of his earnestness, Sexton no longer appeared a servant. He was a man, voicing a man's heart. West realized the change instinctively; here was an intelligent loyal fellow, to be met frankly, and for the time being, at least, on the ground of equality. It would be useless to try to either mislead, or deceive.

"Sexton," he began finally, "this is a pretty serious charge you make, my man, but since I have been thinking things over, I confess some suspicious circumstances have arisen in my own mind. Of course I was not aware of these facts you have just related, but they fit in nicely with some observations of my own. The truth is," he confessed frankly, "I did not tell all I knew to the coroner's jury. I meant to do so, but the right questions were not asked me, and certain details slipped my memory until too late. Do you recall a boulder of rock out in that clover field?"

"Yes, sir, to the right of the path; it is mostly hidden now by the growth."

"Entirely concealed a few yards away. Well, when I crawled through the fence after hearing that shot fired, I saw nothing, and heard nothing. I had advanced into the field several rods when I came upon the trail of some one leading directly north. It was not a path; merely evidence that a single person had passed that way. I followed, and came to this boulder. Here there was every proof visible that the previous party had remained for some time, seated and lying on the ground under protection of the stone. The occupancy was a recent one. Then evidently, whoever it was, had advanced to the right in the general direction of the gate through the fence, near where Coolidge's body was found. The marks of advance did not lead that far, or even to the marked path through the field. They ended on a little rise, some ten yards from the boulder, where the fellow apparently turned about, and retraced his steps."

"How far was that from the gate into the road, sir?" he asked breathlessly.

"Within easy shooting distance for a revolver of that calibre, I should say. Any good marksman could have rung the bell."

"And you saw no one?"

"No; not a sign; the fact is I failed at the time to put two and two together. The thought of a possible murder never occurred to me. It was only afterwards that I began to appreciate what all this might mean, and now what you have said has driven it home."

"You think it was murder then, sir?"

"Yes, I do," replied West gravely. "It has all the marks, but who committed the crime? What was the motive? It will never do for us to make such a charge, after the coroner's verdict, without positive proof."

"No, sir."

"And you know of nothing which might clear this up?"

"No, sir; I've been with the Coolidges, sir, ever since Miss Natalie was a little girl, and I ain't heard of any trouble that ought to end in murder, sir."

"How old was Miss Coolidge when her father died?"

"She must have been seventeen, sir."

"And since then Percival Coolidge had full charge of the estate?"

"Practically, yes, sir; there was another trustee, but he died; and then, as I understand, Miss Natalie had some funds of her own."

West took a cigar from his pocket, and lit it. Although not altogether clear in his own mind, he had begun to see light. For a moment he smoked in silence in an endeavour to figure out his own duty, while Sexton, nervously clinching and unclinching his hands, watched and waited.



CHAPTER XII

AGAINST A STONE WALL

Was this discovery anything to him? What difference could it make whether Percival Coolidge had died by his own hand, or been treacherously shot from ambush? How would it benefit Natalie Coolidge to have the truth revealed? And, if it would benefit her, why should he devote his time and labour to such an effort? She had cast him off, thrown him aside; her affairs had no further interest for him. Let her lawyer take care of them. These were West's first thoughts.

All true, yet this state of mind brought no satisfaction. He was interested; he could not escape his first impressions of the girl, or drive from him a desire to serve her, whether she wished it, or not. She might, indeed, be in equal danger from an assassin. He could not determine this until he learned the cause of the slaying of Percival. Then, on the other hand, suppose some one else's suspicions were also aroused. Who would they naturally look to as guilty of this horrible crime? There was but one answer—Natalie Coolidge. She was seemingly the only person to directly benefit by this sudden death. All these considerations urged him on, overcame his doubt and indecision. Then he desired to learn the truth himself. His eyes rested on Sexton's anxious face.

"I've been thinking it over," he admitted quietly, "and I guess it is up to you and me to find out what this means."

"Yes, sir," hesitatingly. "You—you don't think it was Miss Natalie, sir?"

"No, I do not, Sexton. I have my own reasons for saying that. Yet naturally she is the one to be first suspected. Do you know anything?"

"Only that I am sure she was in the garden, sir, when the shot was fired. I saw her there just after you drove away."

"That is conclusive then, so far as her personal actions are concerned. But there is an odd angle to this matter, and I might as well explain it to you first as last. Perhaps you can help figure the oddness out. I was not engaged to Miss Natalie, Sexton; I was not even a friend. I came to the house, employed to perform a certain task. She introduced me as her fiance merely to explain my presence there, and make the way clear. It was the impulse of a moment."

"You don't say, sir! What, may I ask, was it you was expected to do?"

"To discover who was masquerading in this city under her name."

"Was there some one, sir?"

"So she told me; we went into that rather thoroughly. She claimed it had been going on for some months; checks had been cashed at the bank; even her servants had been approached by some one so closely resembling her as to deceive them; and she had been reported at various places she never visited. She was very much exercised over it."

"And she engaged you just to find this other woman?"

"Yes; her lawyer and Percival Coolidge only laughed at her story."

"But you believed it, sir?"

"Well, perhaps not at first altogether. It seemed too strange and impossible. I thought something must have got on her nerves and caused her to imagine things. But the first night I remained out there gave me a shock. I do not know whether I left my door unlocked, or whether a pass-key was used, but I woke up suddenly to discover a woman in the room. I only had a glimpse of her, for she slipped out instantly, and disappeared down the hall; but it was moonlight and I would have sworn the intruder was Miss Natalie. I asked her the next day."

"And she denied being there?"

"Absolutely, and convinced me it was true. There is no doubt in my mind, Sexton, but what she really is being impersonated by some one who resembles her most remarkably. Who this person is I have not the remotest idea; nor what her real object can be. Just at this moment, I am inclined to believe it has something to do with the Coolidge estate—a criminal scheme of some kind, and that Percival Coolidge had connection with it."

"I can hardly believe that, sir."

"No doubt you find it difficult. You told me yourself that had always been his room, the one I occupied."

"Yes, sir."

"That woman knew it; she came there to consult with him." He stopped suddenly. "By Gad! Sexton, maybe she came there to kill him. I hadn't thought of that."

"It is too much for me, sir," the other said soberly. "I don't know why any one should want to kill him. But there's got to be a reason somewhere. Where was it the three of you went on Sunday in the runabout, Captain West?"

"To a house over in the factory district; some charity case that Coolidge was interested in—the widow of one of his employees, I believe."

"Did you see the people?"

"No, I didn't go in; waited outside in the car; it was no affair of mine. Why?" he asked in surprise.

"Because, sir, Miss Natalie seemed like a different person when she got back. Not in looks, or nothing like that I don't mean, but in the way she talked and acted. Nothing suited her all the rest of the day. You know how she was to you, sir. Well she was just that snappy with all of us, even after we brought the body back to the house. And she wouldn't look at him, sir, not even after he was dressed proper and laid out. She just went off up stairs, and stayed there; had a bit of toast an' tea, an' that's all."

"I hardly believe," said West thoughtfully, "you can attribute her state of mind to anything that occurred on that trip. Indeed she was in high spirits all the way home."

"I can't help that, sir," Sexton insisted blindly. "It was something that happened yesterday what set her wrong, an' if I was you, sir, I'd find out what happened in that house first of all. Could you find the place?"

"Yes, I think so. I'll look it up, although I don't have much faith in your theory." He glanced at his watch. "I'll go out there now. You come back here about five, and we will talk over any discoveries I may make."

"And what shall I do, sir?"

Both were standing, West with hand on the knob of the door. The light in his eyes hardened.

"Nothing occurs to me now, Sexton, unless you can find an excuse to return to Fairlawn, after something you have forgotten, let us say. If we can learn what Miss Natalie proposes doing it might furnish a clue."

"Very well, sir, and I am to be here at five o'clock?"

"Yes, at five; I will leave word with the doorman to show you in at once."

West picked up a taxi-cab for the trip, bidding the chauffeur to drive to a certain section of the city, and then up and down the various streets until told to stop. He had no idea that his quest would reveal anything of importance relative to the death of Coolidge, yet no better suggestion occurred to him and he felt that he must do something. His conversation with Sexton had greatly strengthened his conviction that this was a murder, and he had determined to ferret out the truth if possible. Yet, thus far there was nothing to build upon, no clue, no motive, no suspicion as to who had perpetrated the deed. He simply faced a blank wall, in which no entrance was apparent, yet there must be one, if he was only fortunate enough to stumble upon it. Deep down in his heart West was conscious that he possessed a motive in this search far more worthy than mere curiosity. That motive was Natalie Coolidge. He smiled at the thought, yet confessed it true. In spite of her curt dismissal, his memory of the girl centred about those earlier hours of their acquaintance. Something mysterious had occurred to make her change so quickly, and he was unwilling to condemn her before learning the real reason. This murder must have some relation to the Coolidge estate; he could conceive of no other motive for such a cold-blooded affair; and hence its solving must prove of vital importance to her and her future. Now, when the verdict of the coroner's jury had been suicide, and when only he, and the servant Sexton suspected otherwise, it was of the utmost importance that they endeavour to unravel the crime. For her sake he could do no less, thus serving and protecting her to the best of his ability.

The chauffeur drove slowly up and down obscure streets for half an hour before West recognized familiar surroundings, and motioned for him to draw up against the curb. He had discovered the place sought, but from the street it exhibited no signs of occupancy, nor did any knocking at the front door bring response from within. He circled the building, finding an uncurtained window at the rear, which merely revealed an unfurnished room. Every door was locked, but, as he passed along the other side to regain the taxi, a man emerged from the next house, and hailed him.

"Say, what're yer snoopin' round there for? Lookin' for somebody?"

"Yes, the parties who were here Sunday. What's become of them."

"Hobart, you mean?"

"Is that his name? I met him down town, and he told me to come here," West explained rapidly. "We had a deal on."

"Oh, yer did, hey," leaning his arms on the fence. "Well, Jim Hobart was the name he giv' me. That's my house, which is why I happen to know what his name was. Something queer about that fellar, I reckon, but 'tain't none o' my business. You ain't a detective, or nothin' like that, are yer?"

"Nothing at all like that," West laughed, although interested. "Why? Did you think the police might be after him?"

"Not for anything I know about, only he skipped out mighty sudden. Paid me a month rent, and only stayed there three days. That looks sorter queer. Then Sunday that fellar what committed suicide out south—I read about in the papers—came to see him in a car. I got a boy workin' in his factory; that's how I come to know who the guy was. The next night Hobart, an' them with him, just naturally skipped out. So I didn't know but what the police might want him for something."

"I don't know anything about that. I just called on a private matter. Where did he go to?"

"Hell, man, I didn't even know he was goin'."

"Who did he have with him here—a family?"

"A woman 'bout his age I should say, an' a younger one. I didn't see 'em only from the window; didn't get no sight o' the girl's face at all, but could tell the way she walked she was young. They didn't have nothin' with 'em; that's all my stuff in the house there."

Feeling the uselessness of trying to learn anything more, West thanked him, and returned to the taxi.

"Back to the Club," he ordered briefly, and settled into his seat to think.



CHAPTER XIII

238 WRAY STREET

The information thus gained had been small enough, yet sufficient to stimulate his belief that he was at least upon the right trail. The sudden departure of this man Hobart, and the fact that no young children were in the family, were important items to consider. Coolidge then had not visited this cottage to aid a widow and orphans. There had been some other object in his call. The girl must have known and understood the real purpose; that was why they both acquiesced so readily to his remaining outside in the car. It was part of their mutual plan to thus leave him in ignorance. Yet they had made a mistake in taking him along at all. This error alone gave him now an opportunity to unravel the riddle. But did it? What did he know? Merely that Coolidge had not gone to this house on an errand of charity; that the occupant called himself, temporarily, perhaps, Jim Hobart; that his family consisted of two women, undescribed except as to age; and that all three had mysteriously disappeared together. He might take it for granted that this disappearance was caused by the death of Coolidge, but, they had left no trail, no inkling as to where they had gone. He might suspect this sudden vanishing had direct connection with the crime he was endeavouring to solve, but he possessed absolutely no proof, and, apparently, any further movement on his part was completely blocked.

More puzzled than ever, although now fully convinced that murder had been committed, West could do nothing but wait the reappearance of Sexton. The latter arrived promptly on time, but, much to West's disappointment, merely nodded his head negatively to the general inquiry as to whether or not he had made any discoveries. The early hour enabled the host to secure a secluded table in the dining room, but there was no effort at conversation until after the meal had been ordered. Then West told his story. The retelling of these incidents of the afternoon, coupled with Sexton's evident interest in the narrative, and the questions the man asked, caused the discoveries made to assume a greater importance than before. His listener seemed to sense the situation clearly.

"It wasn't no mistake, your goin' out there, sir," he said, confidently. "What we know now gives us something to work on anyhow, an' it's just what I thought—that trip Sunday led up to this killin', an' something happened while they was in there to stir Miss Natalie all up. Now we got to find this fellow—what did you say his name was, sir?"

"Hobart—Jim Hobart; that is he was known by that name there."

"And you say he has simply dropped out o' sight?"

"That's true; never left a clue behind him."

"Well, sir, I'm not quite so sure about that. You listen to me, sir. I walked out to Fairlawn from the car-line, an' come in across the fields to the house. I didn't have no good excuse for goin' back there, sir, an' was sorter afraid to meet up with Miss Natalie. She might have thought I was just spyin' 'round. But I didn't have no need for being afraid, for it seems she'd driven into town about noon, an' hadn't got back. There wasn't nobody but the servant around the place, sir. Do you remember Lizzie, the second maid—sorter full face, an' light hair?"

West nodded, wondering what all this might be leading to.

"Well, she an' I always hit it off together, an' I talked with her quite a bit. She's goin' to quit too, because of something what happened, so it was safe enough to question her. She told me, sir, that Miss Natalie had a telephone call this morning that took her into the city. Lizzie she went to the 'phone when it rang, an' it was a man's voice. He wouldn't leave no message, but insisted on speaking to Miss Natalie. Lizzie had to call her down from upstairs."

"Did the girl overhear the conversation?"

"Not so as to make very much out of it, sir. She was sorter interested, the man's voice being strange, and hung around in the hall listening, but about all she could make out was what Miss Natalie said. It seemed like he was givin' her some kind of address, which she didn't exactly understand, an' so she repeated it after him two or three times to be sure."

"What was the address?"

"238 Ray Street, sir."

"You are certain of that?"

"That was what Lizzie said; she was pretty positive, sir; an' then about an hour later, Miss Natalie ordered her car, an' drove into town."

"Alone?"

"Yes, sir; it was the electric she took."

West remained silent, tapping with his knife on the table. This might prove important, and he could not afford to ignore the information. While to his mind it was hardly likely Hobart had called the girl, yet the possibility remained.

"I never heard of a Ray Street," he said at length, "but of course, there may be one. Oh, Charlie," he stopped a waiter passing. "Bring me up a City directory, will you. You will find one in the office down stairs. Tell the Secretary Captain West wishes it and will return it at once."

The first course had been served when the man returned with the book, placing it on a chair next West, who immediately deserted his soup to inspect the volume.

"Ray Street," he said doubtfully, fingering the pages. "There is no such street here, Sexton. Are you sure you got that right?"

"That's what she said, sir; I made her say it over twice."

"Ray Street; wonder if it could be spelled with a W? By Jove, it is—Wray! Here we have it, only five blocks long, extending from Conway to Grogan. Rather tough section I should judge."

"I don't know, sir. I never heard of any of those streets before. How do you get there?"

"By car you mean? Well, let's see on the map. Oh yes, that's plain enough; Milwaukee Avenue to Gans, and then walk east three blocks. It wouldn't do any harm to take a look around there either. Perhaps that is where Hobart went; he might have been the one calling Natalie. Rather a wild guess, but it will give us something to do. What number was it?"

"238, sir."

"Good; we'll try our luck after we finish dinner; there will be a couple of hours of daylight yet. Are you game, Sexton?"

"Quite so, sir."

The sinking sun was still above the sky-line of the buildings fronting on Milwaukee Avenue, when the two men alighted at the intersection of Gans Street. West hardly took the adventure seriously, being more influenced by curiosity than any other motive, but Sexton was deeply in earnest, in full faith they were upon the right trail. Doubtful as he was, West had neglected no precautions. The map assured him that they were invading a disorderly section of the city, where to be well-dressed would only invite suspicion, and might lead to trouble. To avoid this possibility, he had donned his most shabby suit, and wore a cap largely concealing his face. In one pocket of his jacket within easy reach lay hidden his service revolver loaded, and he had induced Sexton to accept a smaller weapon in case of emergency.

Gans Street was not inviting, the saloon on the corner being flanked by several small factories. The brick side-walk was in bad condition, and littered with junk of all kinds, while the road-way was entirely uncared for, and deeply rutted from heavy traffic. Half way down the block, was a tannery, closed now for the night, but with its odour yet permeating the entire atmosphere. Altogether, the scene was desolate and disagreeable enough, but the street was deserted of pedestrians, the factory doors tightly closed for the night.

The two men pressed their way through along the narrow passage, finding less obstruction as they advanced, the second block being composed entirely of houses, largely of the tenement type, and apparently principally populated by children. Wray Street, once attained, was of an entirely different character, being lined with homes, usually humble enough outwardly, yet the throughfare was clean, and the small yards had generally an appearance of neatness in marked contrast to its surroundings. 238 was a three story brick, on the corner, the second story evidently utilized for living purposes, and the ground floor occupied as a saloon. The upper story exhibited no signs of occupancy, the windows unwashed, and two of them boarded up. The saloon possessed a fairly respectable appearance, the lettering across the front window proclaiming it as "Mike's Place," and seemed to be doing some business, several entering and departing by way of its hospitable door, while the two lingered in uncertainty opposite. Standing there idly however did not appeal to West.

"Well, let's go over," he said impatiently. "There is nothing to be learned here."

It was an ordinary bar-room, and their entrance apparently aroused no special interest. Besides the man behind the bar, a rather rough looking foreigner, a Pole in West's judgment, three customers were in the place, two with feet upon the rail talking with the drink dispenser, and, one at a small table moodily contemplating a half emptied stein of beer. There were three other tables in the room, and the Captain with a swift glance about, drew out a chair and sat down, his action being imitated by Sexton. The bar-tender came forward around the end of the bar, while the man nearest shifted his position slightly so as to look them over, conversation instantly ceasing. Something indefinable in the fellow's attitude, and steady stare, gave West a feeling of hostility, which was not dispelled by the gruff greeting of the bar-tender.

"Well, what is it you fellers want?"

"A stein apiece, and a sandwich—you serve them, don't you?"

"Sure; ham or beef?"

"Ham."

There was no cordiality, no welcome in either manner or speech. It was plainly evident the proprietor of the saloon felt no enthusiasm over his unknown customers. The eyes of the two men met understandingly, but the few words exchanged between them were entirely foreign to the situation. Mike came back with the beer and sandwiches, pausing this time to wipe off the table, as an excuse for speech.

"You guys live 'round here?" he asked gruffly, "Don't remember ever seein' yer in here before."

"No," returned West indifferently, looking directly into the hard face. "I'm a smoke inspector, an' we just dropped in on our way back to the office. Why?"

"Oh, nuthin'; only we don't get much trade outside the neighbourhood. I wish ter hell ye'd get after that tannery; can't hardly breathe here sometimes."

"That's what we were looking after; had some complaints lately."

"Sure, I been kickin' 'bout it for a month. You fellers have another beer on me."

He walked back toward the bar, pausing an instant to whisper a word to the taller man who still stood there staring moodily at the table. What he said apparently determined action, for the fellow addressed, crossed the room to where West and Sexton sat, deliberately pulled up a vacant chair, and joined them.

"Bring me another, Mike," he ordered. "That is, if these gents don't object to my joining 'em awhile."



CHAPTER XIV

TRAPPED

West smiled pleasantly, glad the man had taken the initiative, thus naturally opening up a way for asking certain questions. Whatever his own immediate object might be in thus scraping an acquaintance made no difference. It would doubtless develop in time, but meanwhile here was the opportunity sought to discuss the affairs of the neighbourhood. Yet the subject must be approached with due caution. The very indifference of the bar-tender coupled with the evident desire of this hanger-on to form an acquaintance, served to reveal the real nature of "Mike's Place." Plainly enough strangers were viewed with suspicion, and this was no ordinary saloon, catering to whatever trade drifted within its doors. More than likely it was rather a thieves' hang-out, ever suspicious of the activity of the police.

Yet this fellow bore no outward semblance to the common conception of the under-world. Nor did his actions or words exhibit any motive other than ordinary good-fellowship. He was well dressed, easy of manner, with an exceptionally intelligent face, blue eyes meeting West's gaze frankly, a carefully trimmed moustache, with white teeth good humouredly showing when he smiled, and threads of grey in his hair. His very appearance invited confidence and comradeship, while his outspoken words increased this impression.

"Excuse my butting in," he explained genially. "But it's damn dull around here tonight. Nobody to talk with but a couple o' bums. You see I don't belong around here; just dropped in for a bit of business with Mike."

"I see," admitted West, puzzled, and wondering how far he dared venture. "You can get lonelier in a big city than anywhere else."

"You bet you can. I like some one I can talk to; some guy with ideas. You see I run a broker's office down town, an' its pretty blame slow around a dump like this—you get me?"

"Sure; this seems to be a pretty quiet place."

"Quiet! Hell! it isn't always so quiet. I've dropped in here when it was lively enough, believe me. But tonight it's the limit. Fact is I come up for a little excitement, as much as anything else, but must have struck an off night. You're a smoke inspector, Mike says?"

West nodded.

"Know Fred Karvan, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes; friend of yours?"

"Used to be; we were kids together down on the southside. He's got a pretty soft job now; stands in strong with the City Hall, they tell me. Mean to drop in and see him some of these days."

"You'll find him a mighty good fellow," asserted West to whom the name was entirely unfamiliar.

"Well, I'm not so sure about that. He's got pretty stiff the last few years they tell me. But then you work under him, and ought to know. Head of your department, isn't he?"

"Yes, but I only meet him in a business way, of course."

"Sure; but that is the way you get to know them best. Been a soldier, haven't you?"

"Yes, but what made you think that?" in some surprise at the unexpected query. The man laughed, lighting a cigar carelessly.

"Oh, it has not been so long since, that the evidence is obliterated. I've got a habit of noticing things. The way you sit, and square your shoulders told me you'd been in uniform; besides you're the right age. Get across to France?"

"Had over a year there," wondering what the fellow could be angling after. "You didn't get in?"

"No; I was over the limit. I was thinking you might be interested in looking over a collection of war relics Mike has got stowed away here somewhere. He had two boys over there, and I reckon they must have put in most of their time gathering up souvenirs. Anyhow they brought back the greatest collection of war junk I've ever seen. Say, Mike, what did you do with those war relics the boys sent home?"

The fellow addressed leaned over the bar, his face glowing with sudden interest.

"They vas in the back-room, all spread out. Why you ask? The gentlemen would see them, what?"

"Yes; this one was a soldier himself. Maybe he can tell more about them than the boys could. How is it? You fellows like to see the things?"

West hesitated for just an instant, his eyes turning unconsciously toward Sexton, who had not spoken. He felt no suspicion, merely a vague doubt as to what this invitation might conceal. Yet it had all been natural enough, and promised an opportunity for him to learn something more of the place. An accident might reveal the very discovery he was eagerly seeking. Besides there could be no danger; both he and Sexton were armed, and apparently the invitation was innocently extended. To refuse to accept would be churlish.

"Certainly," he said at last, quaffing the last of his beer and rising to his feet. "It will be nothing new to me, I imagine, but we'll have a look."

The other man, who had been leaning against the bar, had disappeared, while the fellow at the table had seemingly fallen asleep. Mike came forward with a bunch of keys in his hand.

"I keep dot room locked," he exclaimed gruffly, "for some beoples run off with all dings they get their fingers on. Hey, you, Carl," and he roughly shook the sleeper into semi-consciousness, "wake up, and see to the bar awhile. I've got some business. Whoever comes, you keep them here—understand. All right, gents."

The three stood close behind him as Mike inserted the key, and opened the door. It was already growing dusk without, and the tightly closed room, with shade drawn at the single window, was so dark that West could scarcely discern its shape and contents. Mike, without hesitation, stepped within, his great bulk blotting out whatever view there was.

"Come right in, gents," he insisted. "Von minute, an' I turn on the light."

West never understood why he responded so recklessly to this invitation, and advanced without hesitation. He had no suspicion of any trick, no conception of being in any danger. He stepped in directly behind the leader, and Sexton followed. An instant later, the door closed, with the sharp click of a night latch, and Mike flashed on the light. As he did so, he wheeled about, and shot one mighty clinched fist straight into West's face. This was done so suddenly, so unexpectedly, the man attacked found no opportunity to even throw up a hand in self-defence. The giant Pole flung his whole weight into the crashing blow, and the ex-soldier went down as though struck by a pole-ax. For an instant, he realized that Sexton was in a fierce struggle; that his assailant stood poised above him ready to land again if he moved; then consciousness left him entirely.

He woke up, sitting in a chair, his hands bound to the arms with strips of cloth. For a moment everything about seemed tinged with yellow, the various objects in sight vague and shapeless. It hurt him to move his head, and his mind functioned dully. He could not think, or bring back to memory a recollection of what had occurred. Yet slowly the mist cleared and the objects about him assumed natural form. He was in a room of some size—not the one in which he had been attacked he felt sure—fitted up with a long table, and a number of chairs. There was no other furniture; the walls were bare, and only a small rag rug partially covered the floor. At first he perceived no other occupants; only as, painfully, he finally twisted his head to the right, his eyes distinguished two men seated against the wall. The sight of their faces restored instantly his memory of what had occurred. The Pole rested back, with feet on the table and eyes closed, but the other—the younger man—was watching him closely, an unlighted cigar gripped in his teeth.

"So, you've come out of it," the latter said unpleasantly. "I'd begun to think Mike had handed you a real knock-out that time. Ready to answer a few questions?"

West, his brain clearing rapidly, sat up straighter in the chair, determined to play out his part the best he could.

"Perfectly ready," he replied struggling to control his voice. "Only I should like to know what all this means? Why attack me?"

"You'll find that out soon enough, Captain; but first I'll do the questioning."

"Not until I know one thing, at least—what has become of the man who was with me?"

"Well, I might as well tell you," carelessly. "He got hurt; the fool compelled me to hit him with a gat; so he's out of it, and you might as well come through clean—that guy isn't going to help you any."

"You mean you killed him?"

"Well, he's out of the game; that's enough. And as for you, your best play right now is to talk up straight." He laughed sneeringly, "Unless you want to call up your friend Karvan, at the City Hall, you know. Hell, but you was easy!"

"Easy?"

"That's what I said. I knew you all right when you first blew in, only I wasn't quite sure. Just had a glimpse of you once before. I naturally guessed your smoke-inspector stunt was a sham. So, I ran that Fred Karvan stuff in on you. You ate it up, which gave you clean away, for I never knew any guy of that name. Do you see the point, Captain West?"

"Yes, I see all that plainly enough, but it does not explain the attack on me. You evidently know my name, and this assault has been deliberately made. Why? What have you against me? I have never seen either of you before."

"Perhaps I'll tell you when you explain. What brought you into this neighbourhood. Hunting some one, wasn't you?"

"Not exactly."

"Oh, don't lie; that will bring you nothing, West. You were sticking your nose into a private matter which does not concern you in any way. That's right, isn't it? Very well, you've had your lesson, and now it is simply up to you to either drop this thing, or else take another. It's up to you how far we go. Now listen. I believe it was merely curiosity that brought you here. That's true, isn't it?"

"Largely, yes."

"You suspected something, and wanted to find out if it was so. Well, you came into a bad neighbourhood. We are not nice to your kind around here. What really caused your seeking me?"

"I do not know that I did," West answered honestly. "In fact I haven't the slightest idea who you are."

The other laughed.

"So you are as green as that. Then I'll give you the information. My name is Hobart, Jim Hobart. I am the guy you were looking for?"

"Yes," West admitted, seeing no reason to refuse an answer.

"I thought so, although darned if I know how you ever located me here. However, the sooner we come to some understanding, the better. What do you know about me?"

"Nothing."

"Is that so! You knew my name when I spoke it. It was the Coolidge matter that sent you hunting me. Oh, hell, you might as well cough up, West, for I've got your number. You thought the girl was here, didn't you?"

"I had reason to believe she came here."

"I see; how did you gain that news?"

"A conversation by telephone was overheard."

"Now we are getting down to facts. And this comprises your entire information, doesn't it? Let's check up. You connected me with the case because you were with the uncle and her on their call Sunday. You discovered in some way that I had since disappeared from that neighbourhood. Then you accidentally got on to this telephone call, and decided to run me down. Some cute little detective, I'll say. But what's the object? What is it you are trying to connect me up with? What possible cause can you have for butting in on this affair?"

"I told you before; merely curiosity."

"And who was the guy with you?"

"An old servant of the Coolidge family."

"It was mere curiosity in his case also, I presume?"

"So far as I know, yes."

Hobart smiled, showing his teeth cruelly.

"West," he said slowly, "you are a damned good liar, but I am about to spike your gun. Go on out Mike, and send in the first witness."



CHAPTER XV

THE EDGE OF COMPROMISE

The two men sat silently watching each other, Hobart pretending a carelessness he was far from feeling, uncertain as to West's real purpose. The latter realized now the true seriousness of his position, yet this only increased his belief in the reality of the crime. Previously his mind had harboured doubts, but the very fact that Hobart would resort to such desperate methods was ample proof of his apprehension of danger. If Percival Coolidge had committed suicide, this fellow would surely have nothing to fear; he could safely ignore any efforts to trap him; indeed would possess no suspicions along that line. It was his own guilty conscience which drove him to desperation. Coolidge had been murdered, and this man was either guilty of the crime, or else knew the one who was, and had personal reasons for protecting the party.

These thoughts took possession of his mind and were convincing. He no longer questioned but what he was on the track of crime, yet his thought at that moment concentrated more vividly on his own personal peril. How could he escape? What was he about to be confronted with? Nothing around him afforded inspiration. He was bound helplessly; Sexton had disappeared, whether dead or a prisoner, he did not know; the walls of the room exhibited no signs of weakness, while Hobart eyed his every movement coldly, evidently enjoying his predicament. Apparently the man comprehended the nature of his thought.

"Perfectly useless, West," he said carelessly. "This place was constructed for the purpose, and you are not the only one who has tested its strength. You will get out when I say so, and not before."

"Do you intend to say so?"

"Well, that depends," shrewdly. "Not if your release means my taking any chances. But frankly, I do not believe it will. So far as I can see you possess no particular interest in this matter—only the attraction a young fellow always feels in a pretty woman. Have I got that doped out right?"

"To an extent at least."

"Yes, to a very large extent. Of course, curiosity also played a part, while everybody possesses a sneaking desire to do a detective act. Miss Coolidge filled you up with a lot of bunk; she was good looking, and you fell for it. Certain things happened that you failed to understand, so you rather naturally jumped to the conclusion that some crime was being concocted. That was what brought you here. Now I take it that, ordinarily, you are a man of some sense. Consequently I mean to try to get you to drop the whole affair, as being none of your business. If you agree to this, I accept your pledge, the door opens, and you go free; otherwise—" he waved his hand expressively.

"Otherwise what?" asked West quietly.

"I will see that you are removed from all temptation; my plans are too important to be interfered with by a meddlesome fool."

"But you can scarcely expect me to give such a promise?"

"Well, I don't know about that. It doesn't pay to be too obstinate. You have been in the army, I understand; then you are aware there is a harsh side to life, a way to make or break men. All right, now I've got the power; I can keep you locked up here; I could even kill you if necessary. You are utterly helpless. There is an argument worth your consideration. But I will give you yet another which may have even more weight."

"What?"

The door opened quietly, and then closed, leaving Natalie Coolidge standing there in the light, her eyes slightly frowning as she looked silently at the two men.

"The lady, of course," explained Hobart, rising to his feet, "you will, at least, be gentleman enough to accept her word!"

She waited, seemingly unable to quite grasp the situation, or realize the part she was called upon to perform, but as West failed to respond, finally asked a question.

"What is it, Jim? You sent for me?"

"Yes, as a last resort. You recognize this man?"

"Of course," indifferently; "what is he doing here?"

Hobart laughed.

"It seems the fellow hasn't taken his dismissal very seriously, Natalie," he explained, "and remains very much interested in your affairs. That covers the principal known facts in the case."

"You mean he followed me here?"

"He was on the trail, but just for what particular purpose I have failed to learn; the lad is a bit close mouthed, but it looks to me as though he was in love with you."

The girl smiled, tossing her head as she stepped forward.

"In love with me," she echoed. "That is a joke, yet I had some such suspicion when I told him to quit the job. He acted like a fool then, and began to question me as though he had a right. It was that being engaged business most likely."

"Sure; he thought he had you copped, fortune and all, and it looks to me like he needs another jolt to put the idea entirely out of his head. That is what I brought you in for. I'll explain first just how it happened. This army guy blew in here before dark, along with another fellow, Sexton, who used to be a servant out at Fairlawn—you know him?"

"Yes; he was discharged yesterday."

"I was standing by the bar talking with Issy, and I was sure I knew this lad's face. I was stumped a bit at first where I had seen him; then all at once it came to me—he was the guy sitting out there alone in the automobile over on Arch Street. I knew then what he was over here for, and got to talking with him. He give himself away the first thing, and that is why we got him up in this dump."

"How did he know I was here?"

"Some of your precious help out there heard you talk to me over the 'phone, and passed it on."

"And what does he want? What do these men want?"

"Well Sexton don't want much of anything—he's knocked out; the fool made a fight, and had to be hit; and, as to this bird, I rather think he was just naturally nosing around out of curiosity, and because he was stuck on you. I don't figure he is anything to be afraid of, but I am not going to have the fellow gum-shoeing around. I'll take his word to get out, and stay out; otherwise he and I are going to have a little seance of our own. That's all there is about it."

West had said nothing, watching the others, and waiting to choose some course of action. His mind was confused, uncertain, yet he found encouragement in Hobart's statement of the case. The fellow felt no serious fear of him; had no suspicion as yet that anyone believed Percival Coolidge murdered. The probability was that not even the girl dreamed of such a thing. Whatever her connection might be with this man, she must be innocent of so foul a crime. If he could only speak to her alone; bring to her the truth; reveal to her the real character of this man Hobart, there would be no doubt of the result. In spite of the strange situation he yet retained faith in the girl; she had been deceived, led astray in some manner, but his first impression of her true nature still controlled his thought. He could only believe her a victim of scheming villains, driven by circumstances to play a part utterly foreign to her character. His only hope of learning the facts from her own lips, or of re-establishing her faith in him, lay in a moment's conversation alone. His mind instantly leaped to this conclusion, and his eyes met her own. They were wide-open, full of curiosity yet not unkind. He spoke swiftly.

"That sounds fair enough, Hobart," he said quietly, taking the chance as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "I am not hunting trouble in any way, or seeking to butt in where I am not wanted. Your guess as to my purpose in coming here is about right. I had no other object but to be of some service to this young lady. If I can talk with her a moment alone, and thus assure myself as to her wishes, I'll give you any pledge you want, and forget all about the affair. Is that satisfactory?"

"Alone, you said? You want to see her alone?"

"Absolutely; no other arrangement will answer. I want her to talk freely; to answer my questions with no interference."

Hobart glanced toward his companion inquiringly, evidently inclined to deny the request.

"Hell, you don't want much," he said rather gruffly. "What do you think about this proposition, Natalie?"

The girl smiled, her eyes still on West's face.

"Fair enough," she admitted as though the whole matter was a joke. "The man can do me no harm, and I am willing enough to be interviewed. It looks like the easiest way out."

His mood changed, influenced, no doubt, by her confidence in the result.

"All right, if you say so. It is my guess you are equal to the job. How much time do you want, West?"

"Ten or fifteen minutes. I want to get down to the bottom of this thing."

"Oh, you do, hey? Modest as ever, I see. Well, here's luck to you. You needn't be afraid of the guy, Natalie; we got his gat before we brought him up here, and if he makes any break, I'll be out in the hall ready to take a hand. You're still for it?"

"Yes," indifferently, seating herself on a convenient chair. "We might as well talk it out now as any time. You go on, Jim, and leave it to me."

Hobart was not entirely satisfied, hesitating as he lit a fresh cigar, his keen eyes watchful of them both. However, it was plain to be seen the girl had made her decision, and he evidently knew her well enough to realize the uselessness of revolt.

"All right, then," he replied finally, turning to the door. "Suit yourself, only watch your step. Anyhow, I'll be within calling distance, if this guy gets gay."

"Don't worry about that," a flash of anger in her eyes. "I am no baby, Jim Hobart. Go on now, and leave Captain West to me."

He closed the door behind him, and the two were alone in the room. No sound reached them from without, not even an echo of Hobart's footsteps in the hall. West looked across at the girl, who sat motionless, her eyes shaded by long lashes, and ringless fingers clasped in her lap. She appeared indifferent, uninterested, scarcely aware of his presence. He wondered if Hobart was listening at the door; what had become of Mike, and whether Sexton was alive or dead. For the moment he could scarcely make himself realize the true situation. His silence served to arouse her interest, for she suddenly lifted her head and looked at him.

"Well," she said soberly. "You have something to ask?"

"Much—yes; but first, are we alone?"

"Certainly—why?"

"This man Hobart, you are sure he is not listening at the door?"

She glanced about; then laughed.

"Little good that would do him; there is no key-hole, no chance for sound to penetrate. We are quite alone, Captain, and you are perfectly free to say whatever you please."

"But even then, is this wholly fair?"

"What do you mean?"

"I came here," he explained earnestly, "with no bad intention; no desire to injure any one, Miss Coolidge; my only thought the possibility of being of some service to you."

"That is very interesting, I am sure. I am quite grateful."

"Then I am going to ask you a favour. Release my hands and feet. You need not be afraid; I give my pledge to make no attempt at escape while we are together. Will you do this?"



CHAPTER XVI

WEST MAKES HIS CHOICE

The girl neither answered, nor hesitated, but crossed the room swiftly, her hands seeking the lashings about his wrists. Her movement thrilled him, and his blood leaped at the soft touch of her fingers.

"Really, I did not realize you were tied into the chair," she exclaimed indignantly. "Hobart is a fool to do such a thing. Why, what has caused him to become so frightened? Tell me, Captain West, how all this occurred?"

"You know nothing?"

"Only what has been said since I entered the room. Mike simply told me they had a man here who Hobart thought was a detective, and he wanted me to come in a moment. I came, and found you. Now, please, what does it all mean?"

She slipped back to her seat again, her eyes on his face, as he arose and stretched his limbs to restore circulation. To his quick glance her face expressed only sympathy, and innocent interest. Any doubt he may have felt as to the sincerity of the girl vanished instantly; whatever of crime was concealed here, she had no suspicion. He could tell her the whole story without fear.

"I'll try and explain, Miss Natalie," he began rather lamely, "although perhaps, you may not wholly understand the motives which have prompted me. This, of course, is really no business of mine, and the only thing that has involved me is the deep interest I have felt in you."

"In me! why that is rather interesting. It was to serve me you came here?"

"At least I thought so. Shall I make it more definite? No doubt you are aware that you are an unusually pretty woman. Well, at least, I think so for one, and our first meeting, with its subsequent adventures, was romantic enough to shake me out of a commonplace existence. In fact, I became quite deeply interested in you."

"Why really, Captain," she interrupted, slightly puzzled. "I perhaps do not fully comprehend to what you refer. Do you mean there was something between us? Some special intimacy?"

"Oh, no; not that; probably no dream of what was occurring in your mind. Yet the circumstances of our meeting were peculiar; they rendered a very brief acquaintance into what promised to become a real friendship."

"How do you mean?"

"Surely you cannot have forgotten so soon," he exclaimed in surprise at her attitude, seating himself once more and facing her determinedly. "I came to you in response to a strange advertisement; you trusted me so completely as to introduce me to your friends as your fiance, and later confided to me the special trouble you were in. I pledged you my assistance, and it was surely very natural that, under these circumstances, I as a young man, should have become rather deeply interested—"

"In both the case, and the girl."

"Yes; so much so, indeed, that even when I was rather harshly dismissed, I could not accept it without a protest. I had grown to feel that this was not a mere business arrangement between us. Do you understand now?"

"I can see it from your stand-point. But nevertheless, I am surprised, Captain West. You—you mean you actually fell in love with me?"

"I felt a very, very deep interest in you," he admitted gravely, "a greater interest than I have ever felt in any other woman. That is my sole excuse for becoming involved in your affairs. I could not bear to see you make a mistake it might be in my power to prevent."

"What mistake?"

"Well, first of all, trusting in this man Hobart."

She laughed, her eyes glancing up quickly into his face.

"And why now, please? Remember your confession; I may think this only jealousy."

"You are not so silly as that," earnestly. "Moreover, I may as well be perfectly frank. I did confess an interest in you, and in a measure, I still feel eager to serve you in every possible way; but you have changed so greatly, Miss Natalie, that my confidence in you has been severely tried."

"You no longer believe?"

"I hardly know; I fail utterly to understand you of late; you seem an entirely different girl. For one thing, you have deliberately deceived me."

"Indeed! in what?"

"In your visit to Arch Street with Percival Coolidge. That was no mission of charity to a poor widow and children."

"What then?"

"An arranged conference with this fellow Hobart. He rented that cottage for no other purpose, and left it the next day. You made a mistake when you took me along."

She straightened up slightly in the chair, yet spoke rather indifferently, her voice cold.

"No doubt I did," she said tersely. "Indeed I have already discovered, Captain West, that I made an even greater mistake when I first took you into my service. You have proven altogether too inquisitive. Now I will be plain with you. Whatever need I once supposed I had for your services ended with the explanation I received in that Arch Street cottage. I told you so very distinctly after our return home. You recall that interview, no doubt?"

He bowed, waiting for her to go on.

"You were then and there dismissed from my service. That should have been sufficient. I knew nothing of your silly feeling of personal interest in me; nor did I realize any occasion for discussing with you the reasons causing me to change my plans. You were my employee, and I discharged you; that was all. It is true Percival Coolidge took me to that cottage to have certain mysterious things explained, and they were explained to my complete satisfaction."

"By Hobart?"

"Yes."

"You knew the fellow before?"

She hesitated slightly, although there was no perceptible change in the answering voice.

"For several years; he was in my father's employ; the—the whole trouble originated in a joke, and—and was quite amusing, once I understood. Of course, after that, I had no further need for you. Why did you persist in annoying me?"

West hesitated an instant, his mind struggling with the situation. Was she honest, truthful, in this statement? Could he say anything which would change her viewpoint? She must have been deceived by these men, yet how could he expose them so she would comprehend? He was so little certain of the facts himself, that he had nothing but suspicion to offer.

"Why do you not answer, Captain West?"

The girl's eyes were clear, insistent, a little amused; they somehow aroused his determination.

"I will endeavour to make you understood, Miss Natalie," he explained slowly. "I would not have you feel that I deliberately pushed myself into this affair. When I left Fairlawn after your dismissal, I had no thought of ever seeing you again. I have already told you the interest I had felt in you up to that time, but your abruptness during our last interview, left me angry, and with no inclination to seek your presence again. You can scarcely blame me for such a feeling?"

"No," she confessed. "I—I was so excited and nervous I was not very nice."

"You certainly hurt me. I departed with a sense of wrong rankling, and no desire to come back. But fate intervened. You know, perhaps, that I overheard the shot which ended the life of Percival Coolidge, and I was the first to discover his dead body. This made no particular impression on me at the time. I supposed it a case of suicide, and so bore witness at the inquest. The whole matter would have ended there; but the next day you discharged Sexton also, and the man sought me out at the Club."

She leaned forward, her lips parted, a new light in her eyes.

"He told you something? He made you suspicious?" she asked breathlessly.

"He caused me to see the affair from a somewhat different point of view—a point of view which, I confess, revived my interest in you. I began to believe you had been deceived, and your treatment of me arose through a misunderstanding; I thought you a victim, and that I would be a cad if I failed to stand by you. We put this and that together, carried out some investigations quietly, and arrived at a definite conclusion."

"What investigations?"

"In the field where the body was found first," West went on steadily, but no longer looking at her, "tracing the different tracks through the clover. Then I looked up that cottage in Arch Street, and thus learned about Hobart. Somehow he seemed to fit into the picture, and your mysterious visit there made me anxious to interview the man. He had left no address however, just faded out of sight suddenly, which increased suspicion. Then, when we were completely baffled, Sexton learned about your conversation over the telephone."

"How? Was he at the house?"

"Yes; he went out at my suggestion."

"And heard me repeat this number?"

"It makes no difference how he got the information; we knew you were coming here this afternoon, and jumped at the conclusion that you were going to meet Hobart for some reason."

"Very bright, I am sure," and there was a tone of relief in her voice. "And that is your whole story, I suppose? What does it amount to?"

"Not very much, perhaps."

"And the two of you came out here seeking to learn my business, to pry into my personal affairs. That was not a very gentlemanly act, Captain West, and I hardly see how you can justify yourself."

"I had two purposes," he insisted, "either of which justify. I felt it a duty to locate this man Hobart; and also to warn you of the danger you were in."

"Warn me!" she laughed scornfully. "That is ridiculous enough surely. I have a perfectly good reason for being here, but I am not accountable to you in any way for my movements. A duty you say—a duty to locate this man? A duty to whom?"

"To the State, if no one else," he answered gravely. "Percival Coolidge did not commit suicide; he was murdered."

"Murdered!" she came to her feet with utterance of the word. "You cannot think that!"

"I know it, Miss Natalie; the evidence is beyond question; he was murdered in cold blood."

"But by whom? for what purpose?"

"These points are not yet determined; I am only sure of the crime."

"Yes, but—but you suspect Jim Hobart. Isn't that true? You came here seeking him—yes, and me. You even think I know how this death occurred. You—you connect it with my fortune."

"No, Miss Natalie," he protested stoutly, moved by her agitation. "The cause is a mystery, and who did it equally mysterious. The evidence thus far unearthed is all circumstantial."

"Then why did you come out here searching for Hobart?"

"Because of his strange meeting with Percival Coolidge the very day of his death; because his sudden disappearance furnished the only clue."

"And that is all the knowledge you possess, absolutely all?"

"Yes; I am no more than groping in the dark. My main object in coming was to put you on your guard."

"You have repeated these suspicions to no one else? The Police?"

"To no one. Only Sexton and I have even talked the matter over. We are both too loyal to you to ever say a word which might be to your injury."

She suddenly held out her hand, and he took it, conscious of the firm clasp of her fingers.

"I thank you, Captain West," she said sincerely, "and believe your purpose was honourable. You have told me frankly all you suspect, and doubtless you have reasons. You have simply made a mistake, that is all. Percival Coolidge was not murdered; he killed himself because he had muddled my affairs, and knew he was about to be discovered. You have got upon a wrong trail. Will you accept my word for this, and drop the whole matter here?"

West was almost convinced, but not quite; the explanation had not been sufficiently explicit.

"This man Hobart—who is he? What connection does he have with your affairs?"

She hesitated slightly, yet her eyes did not fall, or her apparent cordiality change.

"Mr. Hobart," she explained, "I have known for years. I told you before he was once in my father's employ. Now he is a private detective, and was employed on my case, before I advertised for you. I thought then he was not accomplishing anything, but at our interview Sunday, all was cleared up."

"In the presence of Percival Coolidge?"

"Yes; he was given a week in which to straighten matters. That was why he killed himself."

"But why is it necessary for you to meet Hobart in a place like this—a veritable thieves' den?"

She shrugged her shoulders, releasing his hand.

"He has not completed his work, and does not think it best for us to be seen together. I know him so well I am not at all afraid, even here. Is that all, Captain West?"

"It seems to explain everything," he admitted, yet far from satisfied.

"And you will drop the whole affair?" she asked anxiously.

"If I say yes—what?"

"You will be released from here of course, and the whole misunderstanding forgotten."

"And otherwise?"

"I have no means of knowing what the men intend to do. They will accept your pledge, I am sure."

"Possibly, but I am not so sure I will consent to give such a pledge."

"Then you do not accept my word; do not believe what I have told you?"

"Not that exactly, Miss Natalie; I could have faith in your word, except that I believe you to be mistaken, deceived. Hobart is not square; he is using you for his own ends. Under these conditions, I would be a coward to give such a promise, and leave you helpless in this man's power."

"You intend then to refuse?"

"I do; I'll fight it out."

She stared at him, scarcely believing her own ears, her lips parted, a look of angry fright in her eyes.

"You are a fool, Captain West," she burst forth at last, unable to hold back the words. "I have done my best for you, and you spurn that. Now look out."

She stepped backward, still fronting him, and, with hand behind her, rapped sharply on the panel of the door.



CHAPTER XVII

FACING DEATH

The change in the girl was so pronounced, her action so impetuous, as to leave West startled and silent. The thought came to him instantly that she was not the innocent victim he had supposed. Her words, and movements expressed disappointment, rather than regret. She was angry at his choice, ready to withdraw from him all sympathy, all assistance. Her plea had failed, and the woman had become a tigress. Then she must have been endeavouring to deceive him; as deeply interested as these others—in getting him safely off the trail of this crime. It was a hard lesson, one that instantly turned all his theories upside down, but the truth came to him with blinding, sickening force—she was as guilty as Hobart; they were both working to the same end, endeavouring to get him safely out of the way. They would accomplish this with lies if possible, if not then with force. It was for no other purpose he had been granted this interview alone—in the hope that he might thus be deceived by her. Now he saw through the trick.