Part 6

Henry had good reason to be thankful to Pat, who had saved him from what might have been an extremely serious contretemps. We all had, for that matter. Pat had a head on her lovely shoulders. True to her romantic disposition, she waved adieu to McGinity from a mullioned window, high up in the castle, where she must have appeared to him in the likeness of a fairy princess, as he rode off, in company with Olinski, to the railroad station.

Henry appeared in a placid and cheerful mood during the rest of the morning. He had managed things pretty well so far. Knowing the value of publicity, I considered McGinity and the tabloid he represented, with its tremendous circulation, the best medium Henry would be able to find for the exploitation of his discovery. I knew he hated making terms with the reporter, his keen dislike and distrust of newspapermen seemed inherent, but McGinity had somehow to be caught and tamed, and unless it were done quickly, McGinity might be catching him. And that would never do.

Towards noon, Henry sent for me, and I joined him in the library, where I found him rummaging amongst the books and papers on his desk. He looked worried. There was something heavy bearing on his mind. As it turned out, there were several things that harassed him.

"What now?" I asked, a note of impatience in my voice.

"Livingston," he began, with a sudden compression of his lips, and motioning me to sit down, "will you answer a question that has been occurring to me all morning? During the time that this reporter, McGinity, and Pat were together, last night, did he show--well, any sentimental interest in her? I want to know--particularly."

"No, I'm sure he did not," I replied promptly. "I recall hearing him use such expressions as 'your delightful companionship,' 'this incredulous you,' and 'beautiful princess!'"

"What!" Henry exclaimed, with an awkward attempt to suppress an unbelieving smile; "do I understand you to say you attach no sentimental significance to such expressions?"

"Why, certainly," I answered. "I attributed his romantic talking to the after-effects of the knockout blow. At times, he appeared to be dazed."

Henry regarded me gravely for a moment, then he said: "Livingston, you are without a doubt the perfect ass!" He brought his fist down with a thud on his desk to emphasize more completely his opinion of me.

"Whatever do you mean?" I demanded.

"Listen to me," said Henry, leaning over the desk towards me. "What happened last night between Pat and this reporter is going to bring an alarming new situation in our household. Pat has become romantically interested in this young scallywag, and I feel sure he's fallen in love with her."

"You wouldn't say that unless you'd some grounds for it," I observed. "Have you?"

"Nothing that I can personally vouch for," was the reply; "it's only something that I suspect after putting two and two together. Now, after hearing you repeat those silly, sentimental expressions that fell from the reporter's lips, while Pat was treating him to supper, and speculating on what he may have said to her during the quarter of an hour you were secreted in the elevator, I feel I have grounds for my suspicions."

He leaned still further across the desk as he continued. "Now, this McGinity fellow was in his right mind and senses, take my word for it, when he called our Pat 'incredulous you,' 'beautiful princess,' and so on, and also in a perfectly normal state of mind, this morning, when he turned down my offer to square and hush up last night's unfortunate affair. I guess Olinski was right. I must have been 'cock-eyed.' Anyway, the amount I offered him was $50,000. It was a good bargain, a damned good bargain. What's surprising you?"

"Do you mean to say McGinity turned down such a large offer of money, which had nothing to do with holding out on the story, nothing in the nature of a bribe, simply a stated sum in lieu of damages, say for assault and detention?"

"I do," Henry replied. "The young nincompoop fixed his own price, and declared he would be well satisfied if he got it."

"And what was that?"

"All he wanted, he said--now, listen carefully to what I'm telling you--all he wanted was the exclusive rights to the Mars story, the release terms of which he promised faithfully to obey. As for last night's occurrences--assault and detention, as you term them--he simply said: 'Let's forget that.'"

"Is that a fact?" I asked, amazed.

Henry nodded, and continued. "Do you get it? He's in love with our Pat, or he wouldn't have turned my offer down. Think of it--$50,000. Enough to start him in the newspaper publishing business on his own hook."

"Supposing it's true, that a romantic attachment has sprung up between them, what shall you do?"

"I shall be ruthless," Henry replied, in a stern voice. "Ruthless," he repeated, and then gazed round the room, rather guiltily, as though Orkins might be there to hear him.

"By the way," I said. "What's happened to Orkins? I haven't seen him round the premises since Olinski and McGinity left, shortly after breakfast?"

"Ah!" said Henry. "That reminds me of another strange occurrence. Orkins has gone--gone for good."

"Well, that's a queer thing, isn't it?"

"Decidedly queer," Henry concurred. "He came to me quite unexpectedly this morning and resigned; said he was leaving at once. No explanation, simply that he was going and wanted his back pay. I remonstrated about his not giving the usual two weeks' notice, but he was adamant, so I paid him off and let him go."

"Leaving you no address?"

"No address at all. What do you make of it?"

"It certainly looks queer," I replied. "But I've been rather suspicious of Orkins from the very start."

"Why?" asked Henry.

"It's always been my opinion," I replied, "that he was mixed up in some secret, something that we know nothing about. He was too crafty and reticent to suit me."

"The mere fact that he was crafty and reticent doesn't prove anything," said Henry.

"Well, then," I said, rather testily, "if Orkins didn't sell you out on the comet business, who the devil did?"

"I've no idea," said Henry.

"I think it is pretty certain that he also tipped off the Daily Recorder about your latest discovery, and got well paid for it."

"Even so," said Henry, "these suppositions on your part can have no possible connection with his leaving so abruptly."

"I've got a notion about that too," I said. "Supposing that he did sell you out, in both instances, and was assured that his tips would be treated confidentially, then he must have got scared when McGinity turned up."

"Scared about what?" asked Henry.

"Well, after what happened to the Daily Recorder reporter last night, and Orkins must have known about it--you'd be astonished how quickly news travels among the servants--my idea is that he was afraid McGinity, in reprisal, would betray his duplicity. So he got away as quickly as possible to save his face. But it was a foolish thing to do."

"Foolish?"

"Yes; for newspapers never, under any consideration, betray their source of news information. I doubt if McGinity himself knew where the tips came from. He was simply assigned by his City Editor to get the stories, and Orkins did not figure in them at all as far as he was concerned."

"At any rate," said Henry, "I'm rather sorry to lose Orkins. While he had odd ways, I always felt he could be depended upon. He was the perfect English butler if ever there was one."

"Oh, but he's not English at all," I said. "I learned from one of the other servants, not so long ago, that he's a Slav by birth, and acquired his perfect English name, speech and manners during a long period of buttling in London. By the way, on whose recommendation did you employ him?"

"Can't say," Henry replied, as he lighted a cigar. "Ah!" he added, after a thoughtful pause. "I have it! I employed him on Dr. LaRauche's recommendation, from whom he brought the most exceptional references. It's not likely, though, that Dr. LaRauche would have any ulterior reason in wanting me to give his former servant a place."

"After all," I suggested, "there's no getting away from the fact that Rene LaRauche hates you worse than poison."

"You're wrong, Livingston," said Henry, with emphasis. "Dr. LaRauche is only suspicious of my scientific achievements. He regards me as a rank amateur. A top-notch scientist himself, of international reputation, it is only natural that he should be jealous of any intrusion upon that which he feels is his own field. But hatred? Oh, no!"

"If we're going in for mere theorizing," I said, "here's one to cogitate over. Supposing Orkins, the sly, crafty devil, was a plant in this house; put here by LaRauche to spy on your scientific research work? Then what?"

"Well, give me the truth," Henry answered. "Truth's not so easy to come at in these matters, and I doubt if we shall get any substantial contribution to your theory. Certainly not by remaining quietly here, with our hands folded. Come to think of it, LaRauche borrowed a valuable book of mine more than two years ago, Lowell's 'Mars as the Abode of Life,' which I should like very much to have him return. Now, supposing you drop in on him. Haven't the least idea what you'll get besides the borrowed book, and I doubt if you get that. Anyhow," he added significantly, "you may find out something--one way or another."

The curiosity instinct, which was my second nature, rose, strong and eager, when I heard this announcement. "All right," I said, with a suddenly roused alertness; "I'll call on LaRauche this afternoon."

IX

It was late in the afternoon when I reached the LaRauche house, a big, old-fashioned place, which stood within large enclosed grounds of its own, in a heavily wooded section, on a lonely and unfrequented road, about three miles south of Sands Cliff village.

Outwardly the residence was shabby, neglected, much in the want of fresh paint. The grounds in front were grown up with weeds. At the rear was a level stretch of meadow, backed by woods, which LaRauche used as a flying field. He owned and operated a small plane, in which he carried on experiments in wireless and meteorological observations. Ample private means enabled him to gratify his tastes to the full in the various fields of scientific research and exploration.

Astronomy held a particular attraction for him; he was a geologist and botanist as well. What with one thing and another, his life had been one long mad quest into the mysteries of the universe, and some of them he had solved. An astounding genius, if ever there was one, who was destined, I firmly believed, to spend his last days in a padded cell.

In appearance, he was a ramrod of a man, with hawk-like features surmounted by a mass of untidy, bushy white hair. Endowed with vast energy, he carried his sixty odd years with an air of perpetual youth and freshness. The man in the street who read of his scientific explorations into the unknown--recently he had been entertaining the reading-public with accounts of his plans and preparations to ride in a rocket to the moon--had no conception of the zeal that animated him as a scientific investigator, nor knowledge of the jealous fury that would seize him whenever he was outshone by the superior success of a fellow scientist.

Hot-headed, violently controversial, always quarrelsome, he had a malignant way of convulsing the various learned scientific bodies, to which he belonged, with stinging impeachments of his rivals. He had a turn for the sensational, which is rare in a man of his genius.

The breach between LaRauche and Henry dated back two years. It grew out of the first showing by LaRauche of several reels of motion pictures at the Exploration Club, depicting the life and customs of a hitherto unknown race of dwarfs, or midgets, he claimed to have discovered, living in a most primitive state in the jungles of Central Africa.

Henry and I attended the première, and Henry, in his rather dumb way, with no intention of wounding the feelings of LaRauche, or injuring his reputation, voiced his opinion to one of his intimates that the pictures were fictitious. His chance remark reached the ears of a member of the board of governors of the club, who made an official report of it to that body. Secret investigation by the board disclosed that LaRauche had, indeed, resorted to faking. The official inquiry revealed that he had recruited a small company of Negro midgets from Harlem, dressed them in skins of wild beasts and put them through various African jungle stunts in a wild and wooded section of New Jersey. The midget tribe he so cleverly portrayed subsisted mainly on insects, frogs and toads, and their eating live toads was one of the most realistic and clever fakes I have ever seen.

As a result, LaRauche was expelled from membership for conduct prejudicial to the club. The fact that the club's action was made public turned the current of public feeling against him for a time. It should have covered him with shame and confusion--a very foolish trick for a scientist of his standing to perpetrate in the declining years of his career--but he assumed an utterly contemptuous attitude, and readily admitted once he was cornered that the pictures were intended as a fake, to fool his rivals in the African exploration field.

Naturally, he blamed Henry for his crushing defeat. There was no mistaking his ill will thereafter towards my brother, and he endeavored in many ways to injure Henry's reputation as a scientist. He wrote him letters, couched in violent terms; called him an "amateur meddler" in science; he wanted war to the knife. But it takes two to make a quarrel, and Henry, in his easy way, declined to enter the controversy.

Another crushing blow to LaRauche was Henry's discovery of the comet, which increased his rancor and violent antipathy towards my brother. So it was with no little trepidation that I approached his house.

Parking my car at the side of the road, I paused a few moments at the entrance gate to take a rapid, estimating view of the estate, apparently the only human habitation anywhere about. The grounds were fenced by a dilapidated hedge, and rows of maples and poplars.

Suddenly, through the screen of trees, I noticed an old brick house, set in a hollow, at the base of a hill that sloped gently down from LaRauche's place. It was set far back from the road, in a clump of trees, and possessed a considerable range of stables and outhouses, the possible use of which immediately roused my curiosity, as there were no indications that farming was being carried on. It struck me as odd that they should be there. There was a reason for the several outbuildings I saw on LaRauche's grounds; a hangar, a small frame building, set between two tall antennae towers of steel, apparently used for broadcasting, and a glass-domed brick structure, where, no doubt, he carried on his astronomical observations.

All this was running through my mind, as I walked up the gravel-path towards the LaRauche house, when I heard a rustle in the hedge. Glancing in this direction, I was amazed to see a grizzly bear emerge from the hedge and make towards me. A cold sweat broke out on me. I was terrified. I quickened my step, so did the bear, a ferocious-looking beast. I broke into a run. The bear followed, close on my heels, in its peculiar loping fashion.

Before I reached the house, a loud, gruff voice, emanating from the other side of the hedge, stopped the bear's pursuit. I saw a middle-aged man on the far side of the hedge. From that fleeting glimpse I had of his general build and swarthy complexion, I judged him to be an Italian. I was greatly relieved when the bear disappeared through a hole in the hedge and joined his master on the other side.

But this was not the only unusual and surprising event of that afternoon. In answer to my ring, the door opened and revealed the tall, dignified figure of Orkins. I immediately deduced from his presence there that LaRauche had some hold on him which made him Orkins' master. I was also convinced that my theory that he had been planted in our household by LaRauche to spy on Henry's work, was a very probable one.

I suppose I let my suspicions show themselves in my face, for Orkins questioned me before I could speak. I was still a little breathless from running.

"You are no doubt surprised, Mr. Royce, to find me here?" he said.

"Yes--I suppose so," I replied, evasively.

"Dr. LaRauche was kind enough to re-engage me after my leaving your brother, Henry, so suddenly this morning," he went on. "How did your brother take it?"

"I prefer not to say anything--about that," I answered. "In fact, I'm not going to!"

"Yes, yes. I quite understand your attitude, Mr. Royce," he said. "Just as you like."

"My business is with Dr. LaRauche," I said. "Is he at home?"

"Dr. LaRauche is very busy," Orkins answered, coldly. "He is not receiving callers today."

"I think he will give me a few minutes' interview on rather urgent business," I said. "Just give him my card, if you please."

Orkins took my card gingerly, backing away from the doorway as he glanced at it. He still seemed taken aback, afraid, as though he felt my business with LaRauche concerned him. I stepped through the doorway into a small outer hall. "Just so--just so," muttered Orkins. "It's highly probable that Dr. LaRauche will see you," he added. "Please wait here," motioning for me to enter the main hall.

After he had vanished up the stairs, I looked from the hall into the library, a room filled with books from floor to ceiling. I was staring at this vast array of books with interest when a wisp of a woman appeared at the head of the stairs. It was Mrs. LaRauche.

"Ah! Mr. Livingston Royce," she said as she came down the stairs. "You want to see my husband? Well, he's very busy. Why, he hasn't allowed himself a real night's sleep for several weeks."

Mrs. LaRauche was very much younger than her husband; a slim, smallish woman of rather sallow complexion, with sandy hair, pale-blue, restless eyes, and rather untidily dressed.

We shook hands cordially. She had always treated Henry and me with the most punctilious respect. I had not seen her for about two years, and I formed the opinion at once that her husband's break with Henry had not changed her friendly feelings towards us.

I noticed a great change in her. She seemed to have lost her old-time vivacity. She appeared tired and worn, and had aged considerably. I felt anxious and perturbed about her. Something, I was quite sure, had happened. And, of course, it had to do with her husband.

There was an atmosphere of mystery about her and the house, and it was further deepened when Mrs. LaRauche led me from the hall into the library. She gave me the impression at once of one who lives in constant fear. There was a sign of caution and watchfulness in her eyes, expressed in nervous, terrified glances over her shoulder.

"I'm sure you won't mind my asking if your business with my husband is so very important?" she began in a low, tremulous voice. "You see--" She stopped and turned at what seemed to be the sound of footfalls on the stairs. There was a look of terror in her eyes.

"It isn't," I interrupted. "I've merely called, at my brother's request, to ask Dr. LaRauche for the return of Professor Lowell's book on Mars which he borrowed more than two years ago."

She looked greatly relieved. "I'm so glad," she breathed. "Rene goes into a perfect rage if he's interrupted. He's been very upset all morning, but still continues at his work. What he's working on, I haven't the slightest idea."

"Probably working on that rocket to the moon idea," I suggested, smiling.

"Completely mysterious to me," she rejoined.

"You've heard, of course, of my brother's latest discovery?" I ventured.

"No," she replied. "I've heard nothing. My mind has been occupied all morning wondering what's brought Orkins back to us. I've always disliked and distrusted him intensely."

Not feeling free to explain the circumstances, or cloud, under which Orkins had left our household, I glanced out the window. "Your house is in a very lonely location," I observed. "I hope you do not go out much alone. You seem to have some queer animals roaming about. I was chased by a grizzly bear as I walked through your grounds."

Mrs. LaRauche shuddered. "Oh, that terrible beast!" she muttered. "I never go out at night by myself on account of that bear. He's not vicious at all, really a pet, but it's frightening to run into him. Often I hear him, in the dead of night, clawing at our doors, whimpering and growling, and trying to get in."

"Who owns the animal?" I inquired.

"He belongs to our disreputable neighbor, Antonio Ranzetti," she replied, "an Italian animal trainer, who rented and took possession, much against our wishes, of that old brick house in the hollow. Rene would have bought the place, had we known, rather than suffer the annoyance of living next to a menagerie."

"Is it as bad as all that?"

She nodded. "He has a large collection of wild animals in the house and outbuildings, which he is training for the circus," she explained, "and he's just about as secretive in his work as Rene in his scientific researches. He's one of the most expert animal trainers in the world, I believe."

Then she suddenly remembered the book I was after. "I'm sure my husband did not keep your brother's book intentionally," she said. "He's very forgetful of what he calls trivialities." She walked over to a disordered desk, and with a sharp exclamation, picked up the book from among a row of volumes on top of it. "There you are!" she said.

My back was turned towards the door into the hall as I took the book, and expressed my thanks for its return. I was just on the point of departure, seeing I had no further excuse to remain on the premises, when I saw her start, and turn pale. Turning round quickly, I faced Dr. LaRauche, as he entered the library. In looks, he was about the angriest looking man I had ever encountered.

"Ah, Dr. LaRauche!" I said, without turning a hair.

He made no reply, just stood there, glaring, and inspecting me from top to toe. Finally, he spoke. "I know what's brought you here, Livingston Royce," he said. "I expected it."

Coming out of her cowering fright, and finding her voice, Mrs. LaRauche broke in falteringly. "Mr. Royce came after the Lowell book on Mars you borrowed from his brother, Henry, more than--"

A contemptuous exclamation cut her short. "Something more than the borrowed book brought him here," LaRauche said.

"What, for instance?" I asked him, point-blank.

"There's no doubt in my mind that your cunning brother sent you here to spy on me, on my work in its possible relation to his own, and to find out why I reengaged Orkins. But you haven't learned very much, have you?"

"To tell you the truth, I haven't," I replied, nonchalantly. "I'm not the sort of person gifted to see through a brick wall."

"Well, as you haven't found out anything," LaRauche thundered, "the next best thing to do is to go home, and report to your meddlesome brother that you haven't." As he concluded, he waved a hand towards the door.

With a polite bow, I withdrew, and left the house. I had not gone many yards down the gravel-path, when a woman's cry tore the air, a smothered cry of terrorized anguish. The sound died away without repetition. I passed on, convinced that some evil had befallen Mrs. LaRauche. There was more mystery in this house than I had at first imagined.