CHAPTER XI

TELLS SOMETHING OF TWO GENTLEMEN WHO WERE ENCOUNTERED UNEXPECTEDLY

Mr. Bartholomew Scanlon stood up with much calmness.

“I’m obliged to you,” said he nodding first to Mrs. Kretz and then to her daughter. “And I’ll think over what you’ve said. It might lead to something.”

“There is my husband,” said the elder woman. “He thinks women are foolish. You’ll not speak to him?”

“About this? No. I’ll mention it to no one. And,” pausing in his movement toward the door, “if you hear or see anything else which may be useful to Mr. Campe, don’t make me wait for it.”

“I will speak to you at once,” promised Mrs. Kretz, intent upon the blue stocking.

In the hall, outside the kitchen door, Bat Scanlon’s manner changed. Bulky as he was and with forty years resting upon him, he was still a well-conditioned athlete. Slower than he was at twenty, he was supple enough when he set himself to it; and now he moved down the hall swiftly and with the lightness of a boy.

No one was in sight; the first door he came to stood open; it was a sort of storage room for the servants, and no one was there. The next door led to the vaults under the castle; this was closed. But a turn of the knob showed that it was not locked.

“The soft one oozed in by this route,” thought Bat, as he closed the door. “And some thoughtful friend prepared the way for him, for witness the fact that there are bolts on the door, as well as a lock.”

Silently he rebolted the door; with some slivers of wood from the storage room, pointed with his pocket-knife, he so jammed the bolts that it would be no easy task to shoot them back.

“In this way,” murmured Bat, putting away the knife, “I place some small impediment in the path of the soft party should he desire to back out of the premises in a hurry.”

Quietly the big man went through the lower floor; each room was visited and examined narrowly. But he found no one; there were no traces of any one. At the foot of the stairs he paused; from above came the voice of Campe, and in it there was lightness and ease.

“The billiard ball is also merrily clicking,” said Mr. Scanlon. “Evidently he is still engaged with the golden-haired Helen, and she is making him forget his troubles.” He began quietly to ascend the stairs. “But it might pay him to keep an eye open; for who knows when her ambition might break out afresh, and she might take another swing at him with the sword.”

As his head appeared above the landing, he came in sight of the billiard room door. This was open and a stream of light flowed out into the hall. Standing flat against the wall, his back to the staircase, and peering around the door-frame into the billiard room was the soft-looking man.

Gently Mr. Scanlon advanced; quietly he touched the man upon the shoulder; then, as the head turned, skilfully he chipped him upon the jaw. The body buckled, and crumpled into a soft mass in Scanlon’s arms. Lowering it to the floor the big man stepped into the doorway. In the billiard room were Campe and Miss Hohenlo.

“Hello,” said the former with a startled look, but a manner expressive of relief. “I _thought_ I heard somebody shuffling around out there.”

“I’d like to speak to you a moment,” said the big man, “if,” with a glance at the spinster, “Miss Hohenlo will pardon us.”

Miss Hohenlo shook her faded hair and gestured prettily with her beautiful hands.

“Frederic has so many little secrets of late, and so many matters he seems anxious to keep from me, that one, more or less, will make no difference. I’ll rehearse my next play while you are gone.”

Campe came out into the hall. Scanlon stood between him and the body until he closed the door.

“Now, sit tight,” admonished the big man, “and give me a lift.”

With a face as grey as ashes, Campe looked at the senseless man.

“Who is it?” he asked. “And how did he get here?”

“As an answer to the first question, I’ll say I don’t know,” said Scanlon. “To the second, he came in by way of the cellar; and the door leading therefrom was unfastened by some one in the house.”

“Again!” Campe looked as though death itself had clutched him. “Again!”

“You’ve never thought it wise to put me up in these affairs of yours,” said Scanlon, “so I’ll now have nothing to say in them. However, that’ll not stop me from doing any little thing that I think needs doing.”

Campe put a trembling hand upon the big man’s arm.

“Bat,” said he, quietly enough, “no man was ever more bedeviled than I am, and I’ve not been exactly frank with you----”

But Scanlon stopped him.

“Some time we’ll both be in a humour for a talk,” said he, “and we’ll save the matter till then. Just now there is another bit of business to work off. Get hold of it by the legs.”

Together they took up the heavy body and carried it down the hall to Scanlon’s room, where they laid it upon the floor.

“He looks,” observed Bat, “as if he’d got his last jolt; but he’ll live to get many more, so don’t worry. What I want you to do, as a kind of addition to your burden bearing, is to sit here and watch him. Got your gun?”

“Yes,” said young Campe.

“If he comes to, advise him to keep still; if he refuses, poke the barrel in his face. If he insists, hammer him over the head until he grows peaceful.”

“But,” said Campe, “what are _you_ going to do?”

“Look around a little,” replied Bat, who had moved toward the door. “I’ll not be gone long. Don’t say a word now, and watch your man.”

Bat softly opened the door and stepped out into the hall. There was nothing definite in his mind; but, vaguely, he felt that there were more experiences to come.

“If one man came out of the vaults, why not more?” he asked himself. “If some one opened the door leading to those same vaults, how do I know that he is not now opening another, leading somewhere else?”

Quietly he slipped down the hall; the lights were only half up, and the recesses were dim; but there was sufficient illumination for him to see that no one was lurking in its length. Further on the corridor took a sharp turn, and it was in this angle that young Campe’s rooms were located.

“Better luck there, maybe,” breathed Bat, as he stole along.

But, when he turned the corner, he found that particular portion of the hall in darkness. Instantly he realized that if any one were in hiding there, he offered a fair mark; stepping quickly back around the angle he turned out the nearest lights, so that he was as much in the dark as the possible prowler. Again he moved forward; but he had not gone more than half-a-dozen steps when he heard a slight sound ahead. He paused and bent forward to listen. The sound continued, creaking, rasping, complaining.

“A door,” thought Bat. “A door with unoiled hinges--it’s being opened.”

His hand went to his hip, and once more the thick automatic was out and ready. The sound stopped; there was a silence for a time; then began a rustling which was unmistakable--the rustle of a woman’s skirt.

“The golden Helen!” was Scanlon’s next thought. “And promptly on the job!”

The rustling stopped; then a whisper came.

“Paul!”

There was no reply and again came the whisper.

“Paul!”

Once more came the creaking of hinges; another door had opened.

“What is it?” came the answer.

“Hush! Not so loud!” The whisper seemed filled with fear.

Then Bat heard the woman move further forward; she spoke again, but this time so low that he could not catch the words.

“The deuce,” said the man, startled. “How do you know?”

“I feel sure of it,” was the whispered reply.

“Don’t lose your nerve,” said the man, swiftly. “This is the first good chance we’ve had, and we must make the best of it.”

“Be careful,” pleaded the woman.

“I’ll be sure to,” said the man. “And now keep a lookout. If you hear or see anything, give me the signal.”

The hinges of the invisible door creaked as it closed; then the rustling of the skirts began once more. As it approached Bat flattened himself against the wall. Slowly the woman drew nearer; then she was beside him, her skirts brushing him; but that she was unaware of his presence was proved by her continuing in silence and without a pause. But after a few moments Bat heard a slight sound as though she had caught her breath suddenly, and she came to a halt.

“She’s got to the turn in the hall,” said the big man, mentally, “and she’s found the two lights off duty.”

But the fact did not detain the woman, for once more the rustling began and finally the listener heard it die away.

“And now I may as well get on with my scouting,” was Scanlon’s soundless resolution. “The man inside there may be engaged in a matter that would interest me a great deal.”

But he had barely got under way when he halted.

“The skirts!” said he. “And coming back!”

Sure enough they were. _Frou-frou, frou-frou_, they came, more sharply than before, for the wearer was evidently moving at a brisker pace.

“Something new!” said Scanlon. “Maybe she’s dropped to my doings, and she’s going to put the party in the room on to it.”

He felt that he could not chance the passage of the hall once more; his groping hand had touched the wood of a door; now he found the knob, opened the door silently as possible, slipped inside and partially closed it. It was fortunate that he did so; for immediately afterward came a short, snapping sound, and a flare of light filled the hall. Scanlon stooped cautiously to the key-hole, and peered through it; there, holding a lighted match above her golden head, stood Miss Knowles.

“Came back looking for little me,” was Mr. Scanlon’s conclusion. “Well, look away, Helen of the crown of gold; for behind the door I’m going to stick.”

The match burned out; there followed the sound of some one moving along the hall, and when silence had fallen once more, Scanlon began to stir. But as he came from behind the door he caught a trickle of light in the room. He stood staring at it for a moment; and then it dawned upon him what it was.

“Still another door,” murmured he.

Gently he approached the light; it came, as he judged, from under a door and through its key-hole. He listened; from the adjoining room he caught the sound of rustling paper, and now and then the closing of a drawer.

“Isn’t he the thorough little ransacker, though?” continued Mr. Scanlon, immediately interpreting these sounds. “Well, there’s no use in putting him to needless trouble; I’d better go in and have a few words with him--if I can open the door.”

Fortunately he found that he could; the door swung in, and a man, who stood under a light examining some papers at a table, lifted his head. He put a handkerchief to his lips and coughed; then he nodded.

“How do you do?” said he.

Mr. Scanlon was equally polite.

“I felt that I’d see you again,” stated he. “But I had no idea it would be to-night.”

The drawn-looking man turned over a few of the papers; then gathered up the lot and threw them into a drawer.

“Unexpected little things have a way of happening,” said he. “And it’s as well that they do; for they are really of that elemental spice which makes life worth while.” He dumped the contents of another drawer upon the table, and nodded toward a chair. “Won’t you sit down?” he asked.

“I don’t mind if I do,” said Mr. Scanlon, sociably.

And so he sat down in the chair. And while the drawn man busied himself with the fresh batch of papers, Bat took out the tobacco pouch and the little packet of papers and rolled himself a cigarette. This he lighted, and puffed away comfortably.

“You seem to be hard at it,” commented he, after a pause, during which he watched the labours of the other.

The drawn man admitted that this was so by a gesture.

“It’s a more or less difficult proposition,” said he. “This room is a regular dumping-place for documents. They seem to have been snatched up and brought here in barrels. Not the slightest care has been taken to keep them properly classed.”

“Tut, tut!” observed Mr. Scanlon. “That’s what I call just common carelessness. They might have known that you’d call.”

The drawn man coughed.

“As to that,” said he, “I’m not so sure. We’ve made an effort to avoid any extreme of publicity, you see.”

“Quite, quite!” remarked Bat, understandingly. “Advertising’s a fine thing, but not in all lines of endeavour.”

The other raked over the papers impatiently.

“Here,” said he, “we have an old will, a contract for hauling stone, a marriage certificate, a receipt from the Mexican government for the loan of ten millions of dollars, an estimate for steel rails, and a laundry bill.”

“That’s rather mixing them,” said Bat, framed in cigarette smoke. “But keep at it; better luck next time.”

Returning the papers to the drawer, the drawn man next opened a heavy chest. He threw an armful of documents upon the table, and plunged into them with covetous hands.

“I would say that’s a promising lot, from its general appearance,” commented Scanlon. “Of course,” casually, “I haven’t the least idea what you’re looking for, but here there seems to be a holding to one thing, a kind of a tight, official, important look, as it were.”

The covetous hands became eager; Bat noticed this; he threw down his cigarette; his muscles tightened; the automatic thrilled in his grip.

“So you are short of ideas about what we want,” spoke the other, still searching. “Has it never occurred to you to ask?”

“Once or twice,” replied Scanlon. “But I never got down to it. For instance, I met a friend of yours downstairs a while ago”--here the drawn man coughed, his eyes lifting for an instant--“and I thought of putting the question to him.”

“Why didn’t you?” asked the drawn man, deep in the papers again.

“He hadn’t come to, up to the time I left,” replied Bat. “I suppose I must have hit him harder than I meant to do.”

“Oh, well,” said the drawn man, tolerantly, “things of that sort _will_ happen. They are hardly to be avoided, in fact.”

He yawned and stretched his arms wide; the light over his head smashed as he struck it and went out. There came the rattle of the automatic, and the splintering of window glass; the dogs, always at large in the courtyard at night, barked furiously. Bat heard the voice of Kretz from the wall; the rifle sounded sharply, and then silence, broken only by the sound of running feet beyond the wall.