Lord John in New York

"No," said Roger bluntly. "I hoped John would make you see reason."

"I do see it," the girl answered. "I didn't last night."

"How I wish you weren't over twenty-one!" her adopted brother growled.

Maida laughed, almost gaily. "As it is, I'm an old maid, and must be allowed to go my own way."

"May I motor you and Roger to Pine Cliff, if you must go?" I begged.

She gave me a long look before answering. Then she said, "Yes."

I shall never forget that run from New York to Long Island. I made the most of every moment; but my heart turned to ice whenever a voice seemed to mutter in my ear, "You're going to lose her. You've failed, John Hasle, in the big crisis of her life and yours."

But I wouldn't believe the voice. So far as my own story was concerned, I thought this chapter of it had come to a close with the closing of the gate at the Sisterhood House between me and Maida Odell. Yet after all it hadn't, quite. There was more to come.

A little veiled woman had opened the gate at the sound of the motor-horn, evidently expecting Miss Odell. And the same little woman shut us out when the new sister had gone in. I noticed her particularly, because she shrank from our eyes, though her face was covered with the conventional mist of gauze. And it seemed that she was glad to get rid of us. Not rudely, but with eagerness, she pushed the gate to; and as she did so I noticed her hand. The left hand it was – small, daintily shaped, with delicate, tapering fingers; but the third finger was missing.

Teano was not in my rooms when I arrived once more at my hotel; but opening the door of 212 I found him at the telephone. So absorbed was he that he did not hear me enter, and I stood still in order not to disturb him. I supposed that he had called up the Agency, and was talking of my business.

"If I could get out of the job, I would," he almost groaned. "But they'd put another man on, and that would be worse for Jenny. Everyone heard of 'Three-Fingered Jenny' at the time of the gang's getaway. The only thing I can do is to keep her out of the business at any cost, and go along on other lines. I'll call you up again, Nella, if I get anything on my own, about Jenny."

"Who, pray, are Nella and Jenny, Mr. Teano?" I asked, realising that he meant to play me false.

He jumped as if I had shot him, and dropped the receiver. "I – thought I'd locked the door," he stammered.

"It's a good thing you didn't," I said. "I've heard enough to guess you came on some clue you didn't expect. That's why you forgot to lock the door, before you called up 'Nella.'"

"Nella's my sister," Teano blurted out. "She's employed in the Priscilla Alden, the hotel where only ladies stay. She's the telephone girl on the thirteenth floor."

"Thanks for the explanation," I replied with more coolness than I felt. "As for 'Jenny' – well, before I ask more questions I'll tell you what I think. 'Jenny' is the woman for whose sake you took up your profession. You'd lost, and wanted to find her. Now, you have found her – or rather, her fingerprints – unmistakable, because they happen to be those of her left hand. Rather than get her into trouble, you'd sacrifice my interests."

Teano remained dumb as the impish child, when I finished and waited for him to speak; so I went on. "I don't want to hurt a woman; yet you see I know so much I can carry on this case without you. Suppose we work together? I'll begin by laying my cards on the table. I can save you the trouble of a search if I choose. I know where 'Jenny' is, and can take you to her."

"You – you're bluffing!" Teano stammered.

"I swear I'm not. Luckily you're a private detective. The police needn't get an inkling of this case, unless you fail me, and I turn to them. All I want is to find out who instigated the affair of night before last. Who carried it out isn't so important to me, though it may be to you. And by the by, has 'Jenny' any personal interest in a little boy of four or five who is dumb?"

"My God!" broke out the detective.

"Don't you think I can be as useful to you as you can to me?" I insinuated. "Why not be frank about 'Jenny'? I promise to hold every word in confidence. Hang up that receiver. You'd better sit down or you'll fall! Now, let's have this out."

The man was at my mercy; yet I knew he was no traitor. "Probably," I reflected, "I'd have done the same in his place."

We sat facing each other, across the bare little table; and Teano began the story of Jenny. There was drama in it, and tragedy, though as yet the story had no end. The sad music was broken; but I began to see, as he went on, that he and I might find a way of ending it, on a different key.

Paul Teano and his sister had come to relatives in New York when he was nineteen and she twelve. That was ten years ago. Paul was now a naturalised American citizen, but at the time of the Italian war in Tripoli he hadn't taken out his papers. There had been other things to think of – such as falling in love. In those days Paul was a budding newspaper reporter. He had gone to "get" a fire, and incidentally had saved a girl's life. Her name was Jenny Trent. It was a case of love at first sight with both. The mother took lodgers, and Teano became one. In a fortnight, Jenny and he were engaged in spite of a rival with money and "position" – that of a bank clerk.

Mrs. Trent wanted Jenny to marry Richard Mayne, and Jenny had vaguely entertained the idea before she met Teano. There was something mysterious and different from the men she had known, about Mayne, which piqued her interest. But the mystery ceased to attract her after the Italian's appearance. Teano, afraid of Mrs. Trent's weakness for Mayne – or his presents, would have married Jenny at once, and trusted to luck for a living; but the girl's mother fell ill, and while Jenny was nursing her, Italy's war broke out. Paul was called to the colours, and sailed for "home" with thousands of other reservists. It was hard luck, and harder still to be wounded and taken prisoner in his first battle. Teano's adventures with his Arab captors would make a separate story, as exciting as Slatin's though not so long, for he suffered only a year and six months' imprisonment. At the end of that time he escaped, made his way to Sicily, and thence back to America as stoker in an Italian ship. His first thought was to see Jenny; but at Mrs. Trent's he found himself taken for a ghost. The report had come that he was dead; and Mrs. Trent had "thought it best" for Jenny to accept Dick Mayne. "For Heaven's sake, keep away," pleaded her mother. "She's not happy with Dick. There was trouble at the bank, and he lost his job. Jenny's wretched. But she's got a baby boy to live for – a poor little thing, born dumb. The sight of you will make things harder."

Perhaps Teano might have had strength to remain in the background if an old fellow-lodger had not whispered what "people were saying about Dick Mayne." It was asserted that for years he had led a "double life." Nothing had been actually proved against him, except, that he was a dope fiend. But gossip had it that he was a dope-seller as well, a receiver of stolen goods, and a friend of thieves and gunmen. There was likely to be an awful "bust-up" and then – Heaven help Jenny!

Naturally Teano went to the address given him – that of a tenement house a long way east of Fifth Avenue. There, Fate stage-managed him into the midst of a scene destined to change the course of two lives and put an end to one. His knock was unanswered; but something was happening in the kitchen of the wretched flat. The door was not locked; it had been forgotten. Teano burst in, to find Jenny fighting for her life with a madman. Mayne had snatched a bread-knife from the table, and Jenny's hand dripped blood. Without a word Teano sprang to her defence; but Mayne slipped out of his grasp. Darting to an adjoining room, he rushed back with a Colt revolver. To save Teano, Jenny flung herself between the two men; but Paul caught and put her behind him, leaping on Mayne with a spring of a tiger. Then came a life and death tussle. The revolver went off as both fought to get it, and Mayne fell, shot through the heart.

"You'd have thought things couldn't have been worse with us than they were," the detective groaned. "But you'd have thought wrong. We were up against it, Jenny and me. If I stayed and gave evidence, she was afraid of a scandal. If I made a getaway, she argued, she would be all right, on a plea of self-defence; because it was known by the neighbours what her husband was. I thought the same myself; and she persuaded me for her sake to disappear. That was the mistake of my life. What happened after I went, I don't know. I can only guess. But something caused Jenny to change her mind. I got off without being seen, and lay low to watch the papers. But if you believe me, for three days there was nothing! Then came out a paragraph about Mayne's body being discovered by some friend, who pounded in vain on the door, and at last broke it in, to find the man dead. Doctors testified that he'd been a corpse for forty-eight hours. The revolver lay beside him. The verdict was suicide. He was known for his habits, you see; and just by pulling the catch down, Jenny could get out, leaving the door locked on the inside. Folks thought she'd deserted him – and that and other troubles, brought on by himself, had preyed upon his mind. She and I hadn't been cool enough to plan a stunt like that, in the minutes before she forced me out of the place. But somebody'd helped her; and things that happened later put me on to guessing who.

"Never a word or a line has Jenny sent me from that day to this. Do you know why? Because a pack of thieves got hold of her and the child. One of Mayne's secret pals must have come along and offered to save her and the boy. I don't believe she knew what she was letting herself in for, till she was in. But – well, a girl called 'Three-Fingered Jenny' travelled with a gang of international thieves last year in France, and I bounced over there like a bomb when I heard. You see, when I found her struggling with Mayne, he'd been trying to cut off her finger, because she would stick to an old ring of mine; refused to give it up. She'd just time to tell me that and show me what he'd done. I saw the poor finger would have to come off. My poor little Jenny! She'd loved her pretty hands! The European war broke out just as I was getting on her track – or thought I was – and I lost her again. I'd stake my life she never stole a red cent's worth. But they may have forced her to act as a decoy – using the child to bring her up to time. I've always felt the gang's game would be to train the boy for a dip. It was a frame-up on Jenny from the first. Why, the little chap would do star turns, and never spill. He's dumb. Made for the job. I've seen babies in the business, sharp as traps! Now you see, my lord, what a knockout I had, finding those finger-marks on the window-sill: – three, of a small left hand, the third finger missing; and traces that a child had been let out of the window by a rope. The footprints are below in the court. 'Jenny and her boy,' I said to myself. I've prayed God I might find them; but it's the devil has sent them to me at last."

"I'm not so sure of that," I said, and told Teano where and how I had seen a slender little woman with big, scared eyes and a left hand with its third finger missing.

When I had explained my rapidly developed theory, we discussed the means of proving it. We might as well batter at the gates of Paradise as those of the Grey Sisterhood. We would be turned away, as with a flaming sword. Trust the Head Sister for that! But we were not at the end of our resources.

That evening towards dusk, two ruddy-faced coastguards left a somewhat dilapidated car in charge of a local youth. They walked for a short distance, where a group of pines on a promontory had suggested the name "Pine Cliff." They rang a gate bell, although aware that tradesmen were the only males of the human species allowed to cross the threshold. When their summons remained unanswered, they tugged again with violence, until a grille opened like a shutter. "Who is there?" questioned a timid voice.

The elder of the coastguards, seeing his companion start at the sound of her voice, answered, to give his comrade breathing space. They had come, he announced, by order, to search the garden for a suspected hiding hole of smuggled opium. Not that the Sisterhood was implicated! This was an old place, and had been used by dope smugglers. The coast police had received the "tip" that this had happened again.

The veiled eyes behind the grille vanished; and a moment later another voice took up the argument. As Teano had recognised Jenny's voice, I knew the Head Sister's. The idea was absurd, said the latter. We could not be admitted. I stepped aside, not trusting my disguise, and Teano held out a folded document to which we had given an official semblance.

"I don't want to make trouble for you, ladies, but – " he hinted. The paper and a glimpse of a red seal said the rest. Bolts slid back indignantly, and the gate was flung open. I beheld the Head Sister, tall and formidable. Behind her I glimpsed a group of other forms less imposing, among them Maida, flowers in her hands, and surrounded with children. As for Teano, no doubt he saw only the shy figure retiring from the gate.

"This is preposterous!" exclaimed the Head Sister. "But search the garden if you must. You will find nothing." She moved away to join her satellites, motioning to the door-keeper that the gate might be closed. Before the gesture could be obeyed, however, Teano put himself between the tall woman and the little one.

"Beg pardon, madam. I admit we've got in on false pretences," he said sharply; "but we're detectives sent to arrest Three-Fingered Jenny, and here's our warrant."

He flourished the faked document. Before the mistress of infinite resource had time to collect her forces – we had swept Jenny outside the gate, and slammed it. We raced with her to Teano's waiting car, and – cruel to be kind – stopped to explain nothing till Pine Cliff was more than a mile away.

I took the wheel and gave Paul a place by Jenny. I heard him plead, "Don't you know me, Jen?" But not once did I turn my head until Teano spoke my name.

"She's my Jenny," he said, "and she cares, but she doesn't want to be rescued! It's a question of her boy. She won't give him up."

"Quite right," I agreed. "Why should she give him up? Has she left him in the Sisterhood House?"

"No, he's lost," Jenny answered. "I don't know where he is – since this morning. But the House has been our home for weeks. The Head Sister took us in, and promised to save Nicky from bad people and bad ways. He'll go back there, and – "

"But where is he now?" I cut in, having slowed down the car. "Can't we head him off? The child has money, I know. Where would he go and spend his earnings?"

"I – can't tell," she stammered. "He's always wanted me to take him to Coney Island – to some amusement park. But – "

"To Coney Island we'll go," I exclaimed.

*****

What followed was a wild adventure. I had never been to Coney Island. But I seemed to have been born knowing that it was a place dedicated to the people's pleasure. No doubt it was a toss-up which amusement ground to choose. By hazard, we began with Constellation Park; and almost at once came upon traces of Nicky. "A little dumb boy with black eyes, all alone, with plenty of money, and a grin when asked if he were lost?" Oh, yes, he was doing every stunt. We tracked him through peanuts and ice cream, lions' dens and upside-down houses, to the Maze of Mystery.

The name was no misnomer. Hampton Court, and the Labyrinth of Crete itself could have "nothing on it." In a bewildered procession Teano, Jenny and I wandered through streets of mirrors, complicated groves, walled concentric alley ways, with unexpected and disappointing outlets until at last a pair of elf-eyes stared at me from a distant and unreachable surface of glass. I cried out; so did Jenny and Teano, for all of us had had the same glimpse and quickly lost it.

"Nicky," gasped Jenny, just behind my back. "And, oh, Red Joe's got hold of him! It's all up – if we can't get between them. It's Red Joe I stole him back from when we went into the Sisterhood."

I looked back to console her – and she was gone. Teano, too, had suddenly separated from us, whether accidentally or for a purpose, I could not tell. But the maze would have put any rabbit warren to shame. When you thought you were in one place, you found to your astonishment that you were in another, with no visible way of getting out.

Then again, eyes looked at me from a mirror which might be far off or within ten yards. There were mirrors within mirrors, dazzling and endless vistas of mirrors. Child's eyes, mischievous as a squirrel's, met mine, peering from between crowding forms of grown-ups. The man Jenny had spoken of as "Red Joe" (I picked him out by a ferret face and rust-red hair) was trying to push past a fat father of a family, to reach the child in grey. Whether Nicky knew that he was a pawn in a game of chess, who could tell? There was but one thing certain. He was having "the time of his life."

"If I could get him for Jenny, what would Jenny do for me in return?" I asked myself. It might turn out that she could unlock the door that had shut between me and Maida Odell.

A desperate, a selfish desire to beat Red Joe, seized me; but now the mirrors told, if they did not deceive, that glassy depths of distance between us were increasing in space and mystery. Suddenly I reached a turning-point. Nicky was straight ahead. He paused, looked, made ready to dart away like a trout from the hook. But – inspiration ran with my blood.

I pulled a wad of greenbacks from my pocket and smiled. Red Joe had flattened pater familias unmercifully, and was squeezing past. A hand, a thief's hand if I ever saw one, caught at Nicky's collar. But he dipped from under, slipped between a surprised German's legs, and – I grabbed him in my arms.

EPISODE III

THE GIRL ON THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR

When Teano first spoke to me of his sister, nothing was further from my thoughts than a meeting with the telephone girl at the Priscilla Alden, a hotel sacred to ladies. But unexpected things happen in the best regulated lives, especially in New York, as anyone may learn by the Sunday papers. Not many days after the gate of the Sisterhood House shut for the second time between Maida and me, I changed my residence from New York to a hotel about five miles from Pine Cliff. Roger Odell and Roger's bride had gone to South America on one of those business trips which financiers seem to take as nonchalantly as we cross a street. His last words to me were: "You know, I rely on you to look after Maida, as well as she can be looked after, under that brute of a woman's thumb."

I did the best I could; but whether my wounds or my love sickness were to blame, the fact was that something had made me a bundle of raw nerves.

I slept badly, and my dreams were of some hideous thing happening to Maida; or else of the mummy-case being stolen. In my waking hours I chased back and forth between town and country, trying to find in New York the "Egyptian-looking man" who had disturbed Maida's peace of mind, and who had reasons for wishing me to forget the number of his automobile: trying to make sure on Long Island if a connection existed between this man and the head of the Sisterhood.

At last I realised that I was in no fit state of nerves for a guardian. The hotel people recommended me to a celebrated doctor practising on Long Island; and one morning, ashamed of myself as a "molly-coddle," I went to keep an appointment with him. Thorne was his name and he lived in a grey-shingled house set back from the road behind a small lawn. The place was outside the village; but since abandoning my crutch, I had begun to take as much exercise as possible. I walked, therefore, to the doctor's, rather than use the car presented to me by Roger. This seems a small detail to note, but deductions following certain events proved it to have been important.

I was received by the keen-eyed Thorne, in his private office, and during the catechism to which he subjected me, I thought nothing of what went on in the outer room through which I had passed. I should ill have earned Roger Odell's nickname ("the gilded amateur detective"), however, if I hadn't ferreted it out afterwards and "put two and two together."

It was an ordinary room, with a desk at which sat a young woman who answered the door and kept the doctor's appointments classified. I was vaguely aware that I had interrupted her business of stamping letters, which a boy would post. She had not finished when a few minutes later the next patient arrived. This person gave his name as Mr. Genardius, and confessed that he had no appointment; but his face – covered with bandages – presented such a pitiful appearance that the girl agreed to let him wait. "When the gentleman who's in the office now goes away," she explained, "the doctor's hour for receiving is over. But he may give you a few minutes."

"Isn't the gentleman an English officer, Lord John Hasle?" inquired the would-be patient, whose face as seen under a wide-brimmed, old-fashioned felt hat, and between linen wrappings, consisted of deep-set black eyes, wide nostrils, and a long-lipped mouth.

"Why, yes, he is," admitted the young woman, to whom I had given my name. "Do you know him?"

"Not at all," replied Mr. Genardius, who appeared to her a rather unusual figure in his quaint hat and an equally quaint overcoat. "But as I got out of my automobile I saw him at the gate. I recognised him from portraits in newspapers. He was an army aviator, I believe, who got leave on account of wounds, and came over to see a play produced."

"Oh, yes, The Key– a lovely detective play," was the flattering reply, as reported to me later.

As she spoke, the young woman (Miss Murphy) gave the letters to the boy, who went out, needing no directions. Hardly had the door shut, when Mr. Genardius rose. "Oh, that reminds me!" he exclaimed, "I should have wired to a friend! The doctor is sure to be engaged for some moments. I'll step out and send my chauffeur with the telegram." For an invalid, he walked briskly. The boy hadn't disposed of his letters and parcels, or mounted the bicycle which leaned against the fence, when Mr. Genardius reached the gate. Miss Murphy glanced from the window, interested in the queer personage. She was unable to see the motor from where she sat; but it must have been near, for the black felt hat and the black caped coat came flapping up the garden path again in less than five minutes. The thought flitted through Miss Murphy's head that the bandages worn by the invalid wouldn't make a bad disguise. Mr. Genardius returned to his chair, and selected a newspaper.

About this time came a telephone call, which Miss Murphy answered. And though two days had passed before I realised the need of questioning the young woman, she was able to recall a rustle as of tearing paper at this moment. Her attention was occupied at the 'phone; but when Genardius had departed, and she wished to glance at the theatrical advertisements, she noticed that a page was gone from The World. Had she not remembered the name of the paper, a link would have been missing from the chain of evidence. As it was, I was able to deduce that the torn page contained a news item "exclusive to The World." Mr. Genardius had doubtless read some other newspaper at home, and it had interested him that "Millionaire Roger Odell's Egyptian Present for His Bride" was likely to reach New York that night on an Italian liner.

How The World had got hold of this story remains a mystery. It had leaked out that Roger had bought for a great sum an opal "Eye of Horus," supposed to be the mate of a curious ornament possessed by his adopted sister, and the only other jewel resembling it, in existence. Grace Odell (nee Grace Callender) had admired Maida's fetish. That was enough for Roger. He made inquiries, and learned from a firm of jewellers that a duplicate of Miss Odell's opal had been sold years ago by a certain Sir Anthony Annesley to the Museum of Cairo.

How it had come into Annesley's hands was not known; and he had long ago died. Maida had been satisfied with her fetish, and did not covet its fellow, but Grace's chance word caused Roger to cable an agent in Egypt, and, after bargaining, the Museum authorities had consented to part with the treasure. This information the newspapers had obtained, but the time and the way of the opal's arrival in America had, Roger thought, been kept a dead secret.