Adventure Tales, Volume 6 Read online

  I looked at him curiously in the half-darkness of the room. “The light?” I murmured.

  “Yes,” he agreed, “let’s silence the light, too.”

  So Ashenhurst, no doubt vastly wondering at this strange conduct on the part of my friend, extinguished his lamp, and in darkness we began our vigil. The moments seemed to crawl as we awaited the zero hour.

  From his busy smoking and an occasional restless movement, I knew that Lavender was thinking hard. My own thoughts were bewildered and incoherent, and Ashenhurst’s, I fancy, were no better. What Lavender’s “funny idea” might be puzzled me profoundly; I had seen and heard all that he had seen and heard, and I was quite at sea. This, however, was the usual way of things, and I knew better than to question his decisions.

  In the darkness the ticking of the little nickel-plated clock became intolerable. It seemed that hours had passed before Lavender stirred and came upright.

  He moved quietly to the window, and in the poor light from the street lamp opposite, looked at his watch. I noted that he kept out of sight of the street.

  “Ten minutes more,” he whispered; and again it seemed that the moments crawled.

  Ashenhurst moved to my friend’s side, and stood behind the curtains. I instantly followed, overpoweringly curious. Lavender drew our heads together and spoke in a sharp whisper against our ears.

  “If he does not come tonight, Gilruth and I shall stay here all night. If he comes, as usual, Gilruth shall stay the night alone, and I shall go home.”

  But he came—whoever he may have been.

  Lavender’s ears were sharp, but it was the ears of Ashenhurst that first caught the distant patter of feet, as his clutch on our arms betrayed. In a moment we all heard them, swift and terrible in the silence; and convinced as I was that the thing could not be, I felt my scalp stir.

  Then the half-darkness opened, and the white figure raced past, as Ashenhurst, with a sharp breath, flung both arms about my shoulders and clung. Lavender’s face was a mask set with glittering eyes. And incredible as it might be, it was the stone figure of the white faun that shot by under the window. The lamplight shone on its white clustered curls and shining shoulders, and made a glory of its body in the instant of its passing.

  In the stunned silence that followed, Lavender leaped for the electric lamp on the table and snapped on the current, then leaped again for the door.

  “Stay here with Ashenhurst, Gilly,” he crisply ordered. “If there should be trouble, call me at home in an hour, or any time after that. At any rate, see me in the morning.”

  A moment later we heard him plunging down the stairs on light feet, heard the street door close behind him, and from the open window saw him run off in the darkness in the direction taken by the fleeing figure.

  III

  The rest of the night was uneventful. In effect, we slept upon our arms, vaguely alarmed by Lavender’s final remark; but no further sound disturbed the quiet of the little street, and the house itself was silent as a tomb. Not a soul, apparently, had been aroused by Lavender’s departure. In the morning, not much refreshed, we both betook ourselves to Lavender’s room, for Ashenhurst declared himself much too curious, not to say nervous, to think of work that day.

  We discovered the detective deep in a file of The Playbill, borrowed from a neighboring public library reading-room. His feet were on the piano bench on which stood his typewriter, and the room was thick with tobacco fumes. He was shaved but otherwise his appearance was negligée in an extreme degree. He greeted our advent with an appraising grin.

  “Had breakfast? So have I! Well, watchmen, what of the night?”

  Ashenhurst replied for us both that it had been excessively tame. “Anything,” he added, “would have been anti-climax after our adventure.”

  “Yes,” agreed Lavender, “destiny is frequently a bit of an artist. My own adventures ended at the same time.”

  “He got away, then?” I eagerly inquired.

  “Clean as a whistle! I rather expected he would. My start was a trifle late. The best I hoped for was a glimpse, but I was denied even that. The street was blank from end to end when I emerged from the house, and the boulevard was equally deserted. That, of course, is significant, eh?”

  “You mean that he didn’t run far? That he may have turned in some place?”

  “That is one explanation. Another is that an auto was waiting for him at the corner, engine running and all ready for a quick start. That, as a matter of fact, is what I had in mind when I ran out. I thought that at least I might hear it departing. Not a sound! You may be right about his turning in some place; it’s the logical assumption, for I wasn’t far behind him, surely.”

  “In heaven’s name,” broke in Ashenhurst, “what was it? Who was he, if it was a man?”

  “I can’t say, of course; but I did get an idea during the night, and it has involved all this reading without much result.” He indicated the scattered journals and smiled faintly.

  “Why The Playbill?” I asked.

  “Why not?” countered Lavender. “The fellow is no amateur, I fancy. He ran like a professional of some kind—and jumped like a Russian dancer. Consider that, now, in connection with his amazing make-up, and there emerges somebody connected with the stage. Don’t you think?”

  “Um-m! Maybe!” I was not enthusiastic.

  “Oh, it’s a long shot, of course. But we must consider probabilities until they are shown to be improbabilities. I base my idea on more than a superficial appearance. I’ve been trying to guess what lies behind.”

  “I lay awake guessing half the night,” contributed Ashenhurst bitterly.

  “And exactly what did you expect to find in The Playbill?” I insisted.

  “These are old Playbills. The file goes back three mouths, and ends with last week’s issue. I consider it at least possible that this ingenious fellow had been out of a job for a time. And this valuable weekly carries several columns of cards of professional gentlemen who are ‘at liberty.’ I’m not looking for any particular person; I’m looking for anybody who fits the description I have imagined. You see, if I am right, this fellow is not the principal in the case. What the case is, we have yet to discover; but I think this man is only a subordinate. He may not even know why he runs as he does!”

  “I can’t believe that, Lavender,” I demurred.

  “It’s very easy to believe,” he assured me. “If for no other reason, I believe him to be a subordinate because he shows himself. If the game is important—and it’s too mad not to be—the principal would not show himself so openly. He might be caught. Suppose instead of waiting upstairs in Ashenhurst’s room, I had been waiting for him in a passageway. I’d have had him, or seen where he went. I think the principal doesn’t care whether this fellow is captured or not. He’d rather the man wouldn’t be caught, of course, but it is not of great importance one way or another.”

  “And this principal?” queried Ashenhurst.

  “Is working elsewhere,” said Lavender.

  “Elsewhere! Then why, for heaven’s sake—?”

  Lavender shrugged. “Well, well,” he said, “I may be wrong. I’m no super-detective, Ashenhurst. It’s bad business, I know, to imagine a case and then twist the facts to fit it; but I assure you it’s as safe a gamble as any other method. Any way you tackle a case, you’re as likely to be wrong as right.”

  “But, confound it, Jimmie!” I exploded, “why should this fellow show himself at all, in that crazy regalia?”

  “Exactly,” agreed Lavender. “Why should he? There is only one conceivable reason that holds water: he wants to be seen. If a man paints himself black and parades the city between sandwich-boards, he’s bound to attract attention. Obviously then, he does it in order to attract attention. But whose attention does our friend want to attract? Just as obviously, he wants to attract Ashenhurst’s attention.”

  “Good Lord!” exclaimed that young man. “Well, he succeeded!”

  “He did, indeed. Oh
, I’m sure enough of my ground as far as I have gone. You live in Cambridge Court, and so this fellow runs in Cambridge Court. But other people live in Cambridge Court. You, however, sit up late; your window, at midnight, is the only one in the block that shows a light. There was no other light when I ran out last night, and I am sure there had not been for some time. Further, this fellow ran by four nights in a row—at least four. There may have been other, earlier nights when you didn’t hear the footsteps, but on four nights anyway, he ran past your window. The first two nights you did not look out; the third night you did. He heard your exclamation, and felt sure that he had attracted your attention. Last night was the test, as I read it; and last night we all looked out. And last night, he knew he had attracted you.”

  “The deuce he did!”

  “Yes,” I said, “how do you know that, Jimmie?”

  “Because,” said Lavender, “I saw him look up. You fellows were excited, and were concentrating on a running statue. You didn’t exactly believe in it, but the statue was in your minds—naturally. So all you saw was a running statue—an impossibility. I knew perfectly well that it was not a statue, and was determined not to be too surprised by the sight. So I watched carefully; and as he fled past he looked up at the window—just a half turn of the head as he leaped, but he looked! I saw him! And your lights were out, and my head was half-visible; I took care that it should be. Ergo, our friend believes he saw you looking out, and today he knows that he has succeeded in attracting your attention.”

  “Perhaps he saw us all,” I remarked.

  “I hope not,” said Lavender vigorously, “and I think not. I kept you a trifle behind me, in deep shadow. You see, my own plans were laid.”

  Ashenhurst whistled solemnly for a moment. “And what’s the next step?” he asked, at length. “Will he run again, tonight?”

  “Oh, yes, I think he will run every night until something happens.”

  “What?” we demanded in the same breath.

  “I don’t know,” answered Jimmie Lavender.

  Ashenhurst whistled again while he thought that over. “You make me nervous,” he said finally.

  “You have a right to be nervous, perhaps,” Lavender nodded. “Although probably you are not in any serious danger. But Gilruth will stay with you every night from now until—well, until the thing happens, whatever it is—and I shall not be far away.”

  There was a silence for a moment, during which Lavender looked hard at Ashenhurst. Suddenly he spoke.

  “I don’t want to be impertinent, Ashenhurst, but is there any secret about you? Anything in your life that you wish to conceal? Anything somebody else would like to know?”

  “Good Lord, no!” The student’s reply was prompt and final.

  “You don’t conceal a treasure anywhere in your room, by any chance?”

  Ashenhurst laughed loudly. “Not by a large majority!”

  Lavender’s thoughts again revolved. Evidently something puzzled him very much. After a moment he began again.

  “Do you ever go out at night?”

  “Well, not very often. If you say ever, why, of course, I do, sometimes. But my exams are coming on, and I have to study pretty hard. I suppose I haven’t been out after supper for weeks. I’m not much of a social climber, anyway,” finished the student with a smile.

  “And you are never home during the day?”

  “Never except on Sundays. I work pretty hard at the office.”

  “I’ll be hanged if I understand it,” declared Lavender, almost indignantly. “My idea is a very pretty one indeed, but I can’t make it work. There’s something missing; something wrong. Now what the devil can it be?”

  “I assure you I’m not concealing a thing,” said Ashenhurst, with some dignity.

  Lavender laughed good-humoredly. “I know you’re not, old man! If you were, it would simplify things, immensely. But how about this family—what’s the name?—Harden! How about the Hardens? What have they to conceal?”

  “God knows,” replied Ashenhurst, mystified. “They’re as harmless an old couple as ever I met.”

  “And the other roomers?”

  “Same thing! Two old maids!”

  “And the other floors?”

  “Know ‘em only by sight; but they seem all right to me. An old man and his daughter downstairs—name of Palmer. Don’t know what he does. Not much of anything, I guess. Upstairs, family named Carr. They’ve got roomers, too—young fellow named Pomeroy, and another young fellow named Peterson. Steady workers, and go to bed early. Oh, the whole house is so respectable it’s almost discouraging!”

  “It does seem rather hopeless,” admitted Lavender. “You don’t happen to know who occupies the houses just beside yours? Next door, both ways?”

  “Seen ‘em, that’s all. All respectable!”

  “It’s a respectable world,” said Lavender dryly. “Well, I must get to work, I suppose. I’ve a long day ahead of me. You fellows can do as you please, but I think you’d better separate during the day. Gilruth can join you after dark—and do it quietly, Gilly! Stay with Ashenhurst all night. I may show up before midnight, and I may not. I’ll be there if I think it’s necessary. And listen! Don’t let our stone friend see you as he gallops past! Keep your light out—and you, Ashenhurst, stare hard out of the window. Gilruth mustn’t be seen, but I want you to be seen. And neither of you are to leave the room on any account unless I tell you to.”

  It sounded rather sinister, and we solemnly pledged ourselves to follow his instructions.

  “Can’t I go with you, Jimmie?” I asked, somewhat disconsolately.

  “Today? It wouldn’t be worth your while. Honestly, old man! A lot of tiresome inquiries, that’s all. If there were any chance of danger, rest assured I’d want you right beside me.”

  “I don’t see what you can do,” said Ashenhurst curiously.“You don’t know which way to look, do you?”

  “I’m going to look in a number of directions. I expect to talk with detectives, policemen, citizens, and heaven knows whom else. I’ll be a busy young man for a time. Also, I want to make some close inquiry about a theatrical family by the name of Jordan.”

  “Lavender!” I cried reproachfully. “You’ve been holding out on us! You have found something!”

  “Well,” he laughed, “just an indication—no more. It’s here in The Playbill, and it may not amount to a thing. You may read the notice for yourselves. On my honor, it’s all I have up my sleeve.”

  He selected a paper from the top of the heap and tossed it over to me, then leaned across and placed a finger on a black-face “card,” halfway down a column of advertisements. Ashenhurst, greatly excited, bent over my shoulder and we read the notice together.

  “Living Statuary,” ran the first line; and there followed a brief announcement that the “Famous Jordan Family” was now at liberty and was prepared to accept engagements in vaudeville or circus.

  A premonitory thrill ran along my spine, and my old newspaper instinct whispered significantly. Intuitively, I felt that Lavender was on the right track.

  “You see,” he chuckled, “there are four of them—Tom, Bert, Florence, and Lillian—all of them at liberty.”

  “By heaven!” said Ashenhurst huskily, “I believe one of them’s at large!”

  IV

  The day that followed was a weary one for me; possibly. for Ashenhurst, also. He solved the difficulty, however, by reporting for work, after all, some hours late, whilst I moped in the bookshops and purchased nothing. At six o’clock I joined Ashenhurst, and we supped recklessly at a favorite restaurant where I had hoped we might encounter Lavender. That ingenious person failed to appear, however, and it was with small hope of catching him at home that I called his number on the telephone. To my delight he was in his rooms; had just entered, in fact, when I rang him.

  “You are a clairvoyant, Gilly,” he said. “I was just wondering where I could catch you before you started for Ashenhurst’s. Where are you now?”
r />   I told him, adding the information that Ashenhurst was with me.

  “Good,” came the familiar voice, across the wires, “send him home at once. He is to stay there until one or the other of us joins him. You must not be seen with him at this time. Tell him not to leave his room in any circumstances, once he gets in it. You are to meet me as soon as dark has fallen, beside the fountain in the square. Understand?”

  I understood perfectly, and said so. Ashenhurst was frankly alarmed.

  “He must expect trouble tonight,” he said

  “All I know is what he told me,” said I. “You follow instructions to the letter, Ash, or you may ball up the whole show.”

  “Oh, I’ll behave,” he assured me, and he did, admirably.

  Dusk was already settling over the city, and I calculated that if I took a street car I should reach the park at about the appointed time. But a wagon-load of cement very nearly ruined the program; it broke down in front of my car, and tied up traffic for an unconscionable period. When I had waited as long as I dared, I alighted and hailed a passing taxi, performing the rest of my journey in comfort. Even so, it was black dark when I entered Belden Square and hastened toward the central fountain.

  Lavender, slightly impatient, awaited my coming.

  “We can talk here in safety,” he remarked. “This is about the last place any of our victims will visit tonight. The fountain, I think, has served its purpose. Tonight its counterfeit will run for the last time.”

  “Great Scott!” I exclaimed, amazed. “Is it all cleared up?”

  “I know nearly everything I need to know,” said Lavender, “except the exact ‘why’ of it all. That I merely suspect. But the case ends tonight, I feel certain—happily, I hope, for Ashenhurst. But he has a dangerous part to play. He seems pretty husky.”

  “He’s a whale of a boxer,” said I. “Do you mean that he’s likely to be assaulted?”