CHAPTER XVIII.--TWO INANIMATE WITNESSES.

It was very still in the bachelor apartment, and, as on the occasion of his previous visit, Nestor saw, as he slipped through the doorway leading from the private hall, that the lights were burning low.

On this night there was no opium-drugged victim lying on the couch. There was a movement in the room beyond, and Ned could hear the soft tread of slippered feet and occasionally the rattle of dishes. It was evident that midnight luncheon was being prepared, and that the master of the habitation would soon be on hand.

Closing the door softly--the same having been opened with a skeleton key--Ned stepped across the room to the writing desk which he had examined on that other night. After searching the half-open drawer for an instant, he took out a number of papers and examined them. He also took a check-book out and put it into a pocket. The papers he returned to the desk. The check-book was an old one, there being few blank checks in the binding, but plenty of stubs.

Then Ned looked at the lock of the desk. It had been out of repair at his previous visit, but was in excellent shape now. He removed the new key and inserted the one with the broken stem which had so excited the interest of Albert Lemon and Jap on occasion of his previous visit.

The key with the broken stem did not fit. A new lock had been put on. Next Ned went to a mantel over a gas grate and lifted the cover from a little ivory box which stood there. At the very bottom of the box, under buttons, pins, needles, and odds and ends, he found a key. This one was whole, and it was an exact duplicate of the one with the broken stem.

Ned had been in San Francisco three days, and Jimmie was not far away. On bringing the aeroplane to the plateau on the day of his return to Missoula he had found Ernest Whipple, Jack, Pat, Liu, and a small party of rangers anxiously awaiting him. Also "several tough ones waitin' for an introduction," as Jimmie put it. It seems that the fake foresters had returned to the cave after the fire in the canyon had burned itself out and had at once discovered that the prisoner had vanished, also that Liu, the Chinese boy, had disappeared with him.

There had been a long search for the missing boys, as the outlaws knew very well that the escape meant the bringing of officers to the caves, but they had not been discovered until a short time before the arrival of the aeroplane.

When Ned reached the plateau--in fact, before he reached it--he heard the whistling of bullets aimed at the big bird. The outlaws were trying to cripple the aeroplane and so give the riders a tumble. The boys landed in safety, however, and joined the others.

Seeing the boys thus reinforced, the outlaws had withdrawn, and the rangers had conducted them to a pass which led over the divide. So it was that Ned had left them, making their way down toward the Valley of the Wild Animals, where a large number of rangers were encamped, and where Frank was to come for them with the aeroplane as soon as Ned landed at Missoula.

There were numerous shots fired at the aeroplane as it mounted into the sky again, but no harm was done.

"If they had been shootin' at that cat last night," Jimmie said, in derision, "they would 'a' been eaten alive."

"They are nervous," Frank said, "and don't dare come out of their hiding places so as to get a good sight at us. They are afraid of the rangers, and afraid that we'll drop a bomb or something of that sort down on them."

This explanation of the bad marksmanship, as well as the failure of the outlaws to rush the aeroplane, was accepted by the boys, who had anticipated a fight with the fellows. It was afterwards learned, too, that there were only half a dozen outlaws in the group, and that they had been sent back to guard the caves and not to fight rangers unless they were attacked.

Ned had been very busy since his return to the city, having made many inquiries concerning Albert Lemon and his servant, the Japanese attendant who had given the boy such a chilly reception on the night of the first visit.

Lemon, he had been informed, was a millionaire of eccentric habits. According to Ned's source of information, he would absent himself from his usual haunts for days at a time, and would then return to shut himself up in his rooms, at home to no one, and attended only by Jap.

After a time the clatter of dishes grew louder in the adjoining room, giving notice, doubtless, that the luncheon being prepared was nearly ready to serve. Then the boy seated himself behind a screen which cut off a corner of the room and waited. He had occupied his retreat only a short time when a key turned in the door and the man he had talked with on his first visit entered.

It was not the old, half-dazed, disreputable Lemon who stepped into the room, but a young man handsomely dressed and evidently very wide awake and in the best of spirits. After seeing that the window shades were closely drawn he turned on the lights and dropped into a chair at the writing desk.

Ned saw him rummage the pigeon-holes for a moment, extract a folded paper, and fall to checking off the items. The boy had examined this sheet while at the desk, and so knew what it contained. After checking the items the man drew out a long pocket-book and placed its contents on the writing board.

The boy gave a quick start when he saw what the book had contained, for a large package of yellow-back bank notes lay exposed to view. The man counted them carefully, compared the total with the figures he had marked on the sheet, and then sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile on his face.

"Everything correct!" he said.

Then he lighted a cigar and turned to the door opening into the inner room.

"Jap!" he called softly. "Oh, Jap!"

The door opened and the servant looked in.

"Come here!" Lemon commanded. "What have you been doing?" he added, as the Jap stood before him.

"Nothing," was the reply.

"You are not telling the truth," Lemon said. "You have been seen about the city, in tea houses, talking with strangers."

"I have not been out of the rooms," the other insisted, stubbornly.

"Let it pass," Lemon said, in a moment. "There may be some mistake. Any one been here?"

"No one."

The servant appeared to have a perfect knowledge of English. He looked into his master's face with a bland smile, but now and then his eyes sought the screen behind which Ned was hidden.

"Well, some of the boys will be up here to-night," Lemon said. "See that there is plenty to eat. Go, now."

The servant turned to the door opening into the private hall, stood with his hand on the knob for an instant, and then, apparently changing his mind, went out through the doorway by which he had entered. If Lemon had been listening intently he would have heard a quick movement in the back room as Jap closed the door.

In a moment there was another movement in the private hall, and then Ned heard the corridor door open. He pushed the screen aside and stepped out before the astonished occupant of the rooms.

"What does this mean?" Lemon demanded, a quiver of excitement--or it might have been consternation--in his voice.

While he spoke he moved toward a table where a revolver lay in full view.

"Never mind that," Ned said, coolly. "We can arbitrate our differences without its assistance. Besides, it is not loaded."

"What are you doing here?" Lemon almost shouted, his face growing white, either with rage or fear. "Leave the room immediately."

Ned dropped into a chair and motioned toward another.

"Sit down!" he ordered.

"Your impudence is amazing," Lemon said, but he took the chair.

In a moment, however, he turned to the door.

"Jap!" he called.

Again the door opened and the servant looked in.

"Are you armed?" Lemon asked.

The servant nodded, fixing a pair of inscrutable eyes on Ned's face as he did so.

"Very well," was the reply. "Stand there by the door. How did this man gain entrance here?"

The only reply was a shrug of the shoulders.

"Let it pass for the present," Lemon said, with a smile of triumph. "Stand there and shoot when I give the word."

The servant nodded again. Ned remained seated, his eyes fixed coolly on the face of the master.

"Now, what do you want?" demanded Lemon. "You don't look exactly like a common sneak thief."

"You doubtless remember," Ned began, in a level voice, "that I did myself the honor of calling at these rooms not long ago in quest of information of one--of one Felix Emory?"

Lemon started at the name, but gained confidence as he glanced toward the servant at the door.

"Yes, I remember," he said. "What about it?"

There was a sharp ring at the corridor door before Ned spoke again. The Jap looked inquiringly at his master.

"Company may prove of value just now," Lemon said. "Will you see who is there?"

It was clear to Ned that Lemon expected some of the associates he had mentioned as "the boys" when giving instructions about the luncheon, and there was a smile of welcome on his face when a bustle in the hall told of an arrival.

There was only one man, however, and Lemon at first seemed disappointed, but in a moment he had his face under perfect control again.

"Father!" he cried, springing to his feet. "It is good to see you here!"

The newcomer, a man of perhaps sixty, well dressed and with the air of a man to whom marked attention was due, stood looking into Lemon's face for an instant and then grasped his hand.

"You have changed little, my son," he said.

Lemon smiled and indicated Ned with a slight motion of the hand.

"Permit me to present to you my father, Mr. Leon Lemon," he said, "and this, father, is a boy burglar who broke into my rooms in quest of plunder a short time ago," he added. "We were having quite a cheerful talk when you came. I don't know his name, unfortunately."

The old gentleman gave a start and attempted to rise from his chair.

"Don't distress yourself," Lemon said. "He is quite harmless. Besides, Jap has him covered with the cannon he delights to carry."

"This is a strange situation," the other said, wiping the sweat of excitement from his face.

"One of the incidents which add to the joy of life," Lemon said. "You remember Felix Emory?" he added. "Well, his pretense for this call is that he came to ask about him. Go ahead, Mr. Burglar."

"Perhaps you will also remember," Ned went on, "that on my former visit here I exhibited a key with a broken stem--the key to that writing desk?"

Lemon's face hardened and he glanced furtively at the servant, but said not a word.

"This key," Ned said, producing the one mentioned, "was found in the pocket of the man who was found dead in the Rocky Mountains. You think you left it in the suit of clothes you gave Emory?"

"Possibly," was the strained reply. "But we have had enough of this," Lemon added. "Call the police, Jap."

"Just a moment," Ned went on, when the Jap moved toward the door. "When you could not find the key, Mr. Lemon, why didn't you use the duplicate. The duplicate you kept in the box on the shelf? Why did you think it necessary to break the lock?"

"The servant did that," was the angry reply.

"I see," Ned replied, coolly, "perhaps that was done while you were up in the mountains with Emory--before he was killed?"

"Possibly," Lemon gritted out.

"Now, since talking with you," Ned continued, "I have been up in the mountains. There I found a man using a typewriter. By the way, have you a machine here?"

"Certainly not," was the angry reply.

"But you formerly used one here?"

"Never!" was the reply.

"That is strange," Ned said, "for when I came in here not long ago I took the liberty of looking through some papers in your desk, for which I ask your pardon. Well, I discovered that the machine you used here carried a defective letter 'c.' It looked in the writing like an 'o.' The machine the man was using under the divide had the same defect. If you will observe the sheet you were examining a few moments ago, you will note the imperfect letter."

Lemon's teeth clinked together sharply, but he did not speak.

"When I came here last," Ned continued, "you lay in an opium stupor on that couch. You had recently returned from a trip to Lake Kintla, where Emory was found dead. While in that section you visited a cavern on the eastern slope of the divide. There is where you used the typewriter taken from these rooms."

"My son never learned the keyboard," said the old gentleman, an angry snap in his eyes. "He has never found it necessary to earn money."

Lemon turned to the old man and bowed, gratefully.

"When you lay on the couch that night," Ned continued, "there was the smear of the typewriter on the middle finger of your left hand, close to the nail. I use a double keyboard machine myself, and sometimes smut my finger on the ribbon when I turn the platen. Some papers I chanced upon in the mountains bear the mark of a smudged hand. You are careless in using the machine. You even left a blue record ribbon in the cave headquarters where the dead man was found. That was my first valuable clue!"

"What papers did you steal while in the mountains?" demanded Lemon, springing to his feet, his face deadly white, his fists swinging aimlessly in the air.

"Lists," Ned replied. "Lists of Chinamen brought from over the border, and lists of opium cases smuggled in. I have the papers in my possession now. They match with the statement you examined just before I made my appearance in the room--just before you counted the money you received from this illegal traffic."

The old man leaped at Ned, but the boy moved away and stood by the door. The Jap stepped closer. There came a sound of whispering, a noise of footsteps, from the hall outside. Then the door was opened and Greer, Slocum, Chang Chee and two others entered, glancing keenly at Ned as they passed him, still standing by the door.

"Do you mean to accuse my son of crime?" shouted the old man, not noticing the new-comers in his rage and excitement. "You scoundrel!"

"How do you know," Ned asked, with a smile at the others, "that this man is Albert Lemon, your son?"