CHAPTER IX.

MAYNARD’S FOLLY.

But past experiences did not prove of any advantage to Maynard, who still kept the diamonds in his possession, greatly to the surprise of his chum, Henry Townsend.

“Do you mean that you have with you over half a million dollars in diamonds—here on the Bowery at midnight?” asked Townsend, one night as they sat in a popular café in the Bowery.

“That is the situation.”

“I had an idea that the gems you were handling so carelessly were paste.”

“Not a bit of it. They are the real thing.”

“Your entire collection?”

“The same.”

“Then you are running a fearful risk, especially when the nature of our visit to this part of the city is considered. How many members of the dramatic club know that you are carrying the diamonds in your pocket to-night?”

“All of them, I take it. The gems were much admired.”

“Then you’re a fool, Maynard. Why, it’s simply tempting Providence. You alarm me.”

The men were taking a light luncheon in a rear room of the café. They had attended a dress rehearsal of a play soon to be presented in the interest of charity by a dramatic club of which they were both members.

They were now waiting at the Bowery café for the arrival of an acquaintance, one Julius Mantelle by name, who was to conduct them to a private interview with a female fortune teller over whom the city was at that time in a craze.

The appointment had been made that evening during the rehearsal already mentioned, and was for two o’clock at the woman’s rooms, not far from the place where the young men waited.

“I wish you hadn’t mentioned the diamonds,” said Maynard presently. “You have about spoiled my evening. It makes me nervous, now that you mention them, to think of their being here at this time.”

“I should think it would,” said Townsend. “How did you come to do it?”

“Oh, they are to be used during the play, you know, and this was the last full-dress rehearsal, so I carried them down. Then, during the rehearsal, this appointment was made, unexpectedly, as you know, and I had to bring the gems with me or leave them there with the other properties.”

“They would have been safer there,” urged Townsend. “We don’t know what sort of a game we are going up against at the den of this African fortune teller. She is a mystery to the police, and is surrounded by a lot of servants who would, I actually believe, even do murder for her. We don’t even know Mantelle, who made the appointment for us at the hour of two in the morning—an unusual time, to say the least. Yes, I know! He seems to have plenty of money, and is a good entertainer, but what else do we know about him? It will never answer, Maynard. You must get rid of those diamonds before we go to that woman’s den.”

“But how?”

“Let me carry them to the nearest respectable hotel and have them placed in the vault.”

“Oh, I need not trouble you to do that. I can go myself.”

“But it is a risk for you to go,” said Townsend. “If you have been watched or followed, you would never get to the hotel, while no one would suspect me of having the diamonds. Pass them over while no one is in the room with us.”

“Pshaw!” cried Maynard. “You are making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“I have heard it said,” continued Townsend, “that blood never washes off a diamond. The first night these gems were in America your uncle was murdered. A fine record those diamonds have! Come, let me be off with them—that is, if you can trust me with half a million.”

“If you think it is as serious as all that,” said Maynard, “I’ll let you have them, but it looks like we were getting frightened at nothing. To be sure, Anton and Bernice were sentenced to short terms on the recommendation of Nick Carter, and are now both out. I saw Anton yesterday, but he came to the home of his mother, and made all sorts of promises for the future.”

“And where is Bernice?”

“She did not return to Aunt Maynard. I think, however, that Anton knows where she is, and will assist her if he succeeds in getting money from his mother.”

“I don’t like the pair,” said Townsend, “any more than I like the circumstances of the night. You certainly must get rid of the diamonds.”

“I suppose so, but how? If we really are in danger, it is not safe for you to take them. Suppose we call a cab and both go to the Wisconsin? That’s rather a neat little hotel over on Broadway.”

“No, you remain here, and I’ll walk there. You must see the necessity of not seeming to be going away for a purpose.”

“All right, then. Here are the diamonds. Hurry back.”

Young Maynard passed a rather bulky package to Townsend, and the latter hurried away. At the door of the room he paused and turned back.

“I’ll go to the Wisconsin first,” he said, “and if there is no chance there, I’ll go on up Broadway. You wait until I return.”

Townsend closed the door and walked through the outer room to the street. As he did so, a dark, lithe, muscular man of perhaps thirty years, who had been standing at the cigar case for a moment, stepped to the street door and spoke a few words to a man standing there. Then he turned to the cigar case again, and as he did so was accosted by a young man as dark and as sinister of face as himself.

“Well?” asked the elder man.

“The young fellow took them off with him.”

“Where?”

“To a hotel.”

“I see,” said the other. “To the Wisconsin. Get a cab—quick.”

“But the night is dark, and he is walking.”

“Never mind that now. Get a cab, pick up Number Two at the corner, and drive quickly to the Wisconsin. Number Two knows what to do on arrival.”

The young man hastened away, and the other paid for a package of cigars he had ordered and took his departure.

Young Maynard waited half an hour for the return of his friend, but he did not come. As he was about to go in search of him, Julius Mantelle entered the room.

“I am late,” said the fresh arrival, throwing himself into a chair and ringing for an attendant. “I met a friend out here, and he steered me up against a jolly bunch that just let go of me. Where is Townsend?”

“He was called away,” replied Maynard, becoming every instant more anxious for his friend. “I am expecting him every moment.”

When the attendant arrived, Julius ordered brandy and cigars, and set out to make himself at home. He was a man of sallow skin and slender build. His eyes were dark and dull in repose, but they flashed like those of a snake under excitement. His nose was broad at the nostrils, his lips were thick, his hair jet black, and curly. He spoke English with a slight French accent. Maynard had known him only a few weeks, having met him at the house of a mutual acquaintance. From that first day Mantelle had seemed to court the acquaintance and companionship of the young millionaire.

“Townsend is late,” said Mantelle presently. “We shall miss the appointment.”

Maynard could hardly retain his seat in his chair. He was fearful that his friend had come to some injury in his service. Surely, he had been absent long enough to have executed his commission twice over. He was not thinking of the appointment. He was wondering how he could obtain news of his friend without exciting curiosity of the man sitting there.

“Shall we go without him?” asked Julius, after a time.

“By no means,” was the reply. “I shall wait for a few minutes, and then look him up if he does not return.”

“In that case,” said the other, “we may as well call the appointment off. I am confoundedly sleepy, anyway. See you to-morrow.”

Mantelle went away, and Maynard sprang for the phone. Two millions in diamonds would have appeared as small to him as did the half million involved when it came to a question of the safety of his friend. He began to understand now that he had made an awful mistake in carrying the diamonds about with him.

At the phone he called up the Wisconsin Hotel, asking for the clerk. When that rather important individual was on the wire Maynard asked:

“Was there a young man there within the hour asking to leave a package in the safe until morning?”

“No,” came the short reply.

Maynard gave a brief description of his friend’s personal appearance, and asked:

“Was such a person there for any purpose?”

“Yes,” was the reply.

“Did he make his business known?”

“He immediately went to one of the rooms in response to a call left at the desk for him,” was the answer.

Maynard experienced a feeling of relief, but only for a moment.

“Is he there still?” he then asked.

“He came down almost immediately, and went away,” was the reply.

Maynard hung up the receiver, his face white and drawn. There was still much information to be asked at the hotel, but not by phone.

“Something has happened,” he thought. “Townsend may be dead, for all I know. It was a horrible mistake to permit him to go away alone with the diamonds. Why should he go to a room at the Wisconsin and leave immediately? Why should he keep me here in suspense when he understood how anxious I was as to the result of his mission? I can never solve the problem alone. I wonder if it is possible to reach Mr. Carter to-night? I wonder if he will come?”

The excited young man called the detective’s private number and waited with wildly beating heart. Presently a response came over the wire.

“Is Mr. Carter there?” he asked.

“Talking,” was the reply, much to Maynard’s relief.

In a few words Maynard explained the exact situation.

“I may be unnecessarily alarmed,” he said, “but I feel that something ought to be done at once. Can you come?”

“Immediately,” was the prompt response, and Maynard hung up the receiver to walk and worry until the detective laid a hand on his shoulder.