II
After leaving the office of Richards & Tuttle Mr. James B. Robison went to the Subway station at Wall Street, rode up-town as far as Forty-second Street, walked to Sixth Avenue, took a surface car, jumped off at Forty-eighth, walked to Forty-ninth, waited there for the next car, and, being certain he was not shadowed, rode on to Fifty-sixth Street. He got off, walked north on the avenue and, half-way up the block, paused at the entrance of the employment agency of “Jno. Sniffens, Established 1858.” On the big slate by the door he read that there was wanted a coachman—careful driver; elderly man preferred.
He walked up-stairs one flight and accosted the agent.
“Good morning, Sniffens.”
“Good morning, Mr. Maynard,” answered Sniffens, son of the original Jno., very obsequiously.
“Are they here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
“I've seen fifty-six so far—haven't I?”
“No, sir,” contradicted Sniffens with the air of a man who will tell the truth even if death should resuit. “Fifty-five. You forget you saw the Swede twice.”
“That is true, Sniffens. You are an honest man! Here!” And he gave ten dollars to the agent. “Send in the men.”
He sat down in the inner office and Sniffens went out, presently to return with an elderly man. “This is Wilkinson—worked twenty-nine years—”
“Sorry. Won't do. Here, my man! Take this two-dollar bill for your trouble. Next!”
Much the same thing happened with the next four applicants. The fifth man, however, made Robison listen patiently while Sniffens finished his elaborately biographical introduction. The man's name was Thomas Gray; age fifty-eight; worked twelve years for General James Morris and fourteen for Stuyvesant R. Morris. Very careful. Excellent references. Morris family went abroad to live. Gray had not done anything for five years, but was willing and anxious to work.
Robison, who had been studying Gray keenly, said sharply, and not at all nasally:
“Height and weight?”
“Five foot eleven and a half inches; one hundred and seventy pounds, sir.”
“Deaf?”
“No, sir.”
“No?”
“No, sir; but I don't hear as well as I did.”
“Can you hear this?” And Robison whispered, “Constantinople!”
“Beg pardon, sir!” Gray looked at Mr. Robison's face intently, but Robison shook his head and said:
“No fair looking! That isn't hearing, but lipreading. Close your eyes and listen!” And he whispered, “Bab-el-Mandeb!” No one could have heard him three feet away and Gray was across the room. Robison raised his voice and said, “Did you hear that?”
There showed in Gray's blue eyes a pathetic struggle between telling the truth and getting the job. “I—I only heard a faint murmur, sir.”
“Try again. Listen!” Mr. Robison moved his lips soundlessly and asked, “What did I say, Gray?” The old man drew in a deep breath. It was not so much the money, for the Morris family gave him a pension; but he wished to feel that he was not yet useless, that he was still worth his keep. However, he shook his head and said, determinedly:
“I heard nothing.”
“Open your eyes! You get the job, Gray,” said Mr. Robison. “Come here!”
As Gray approached his new employer Sniffens left the room.
“You are not to tell any one for whom you are working, or where, or why, or for how long, or for what wages. There will be no night work. Are you very careful?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You'll have to take some children to school every day—poor children to a public school in the morning. You are not to ask their names. Do what you are told, no matter how queer it seems to you, so long as you are not asked to break the law of the land or the rules of the road.”
“Very good, sir.”
“I shall send people to ask you questions, and I warn you that I'm going to put you to various tests. I want a man who is honest enough to trust with valuables, wise enough to mind his own business, and faithful enough to do what his employer tells him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Until you prove you are the man I want you will be paid by the day—five dollars. You will feed yourself and sleep home. I supply the livery and a second man. If after one month's trial you are found satisfactory you will get your wages by the month. It's big wages, but I want an honest man!” He looked at Gray sternly.
“Yes, sir. I'm careful and honest, sir. I think you will find that to be true, sir.”
“I trust so. The stable is on Thirty-first Street, near Avenue B. Here is the number.” He gave a card to Gray. “Be there at eight sharp. You will drive a coupé; quiet horse; New York City.”
“Yes, sir. I'll be there, sir.”
“Here's five dollars for you. You don't have to pay any fee to Sniffens. I've paid him.”
“Thank you, sir. Good day, sir.”
At seven-thirty the next morning Gray was at the stable. It was not a very good-looking place. He rang the bell, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. No one answered. He rang a second and a third time, and still there was no answer. He listened, his ear close to the door. He heard the muffled sound of a horse pounding in a well-littered stall.
At eight o'clock—Gray heard a clock within chime the hour—the door opened. Gray entered. A man was hitching up a dark bay horse to a coupé. Mr. Robison was sitting in a sumptuous green-plush armchair in the carriage-room. Behind him, on a mahogany table, was a small valise, opened.
“Good morning, Gray,” said Robison.
“Good morning, Mr. Maynard,” said Gray, respectfully.
Robison took a clean white-linen handkerchief from his pocket and said:
“See that brick over there?” He pointed to a common red brick on a little shelf near the street door.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, wrap it up in this handkerchief—here on this table. No—don't dust it. Just as it is!” He watched Gray's face keenly. The old man's countenance remained English and impassive.
“Put it in the valise.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In yonder box you'll find some tenpenny nails. Fetch three and wrap them up in the sheet of paper you'll find in the valise. Then lay them on top of the brick.”
Gray did as he was bid. If he thought his employer was crazy he did not look it.
Robison then took from his pocket a sealed envelope, threw it into the valise, and closed the valise.
“You will find your livery in the dressing-room—door to your left. Put it on. Then drive so as to be before 197 West Thirty-eighth Street at exactly nine minutes after nine. Compare your watch with that clock. Wait there—Thirty-eighth Street—until a footman in dark-green livery comes out alone. If he asks you, 'James, did Ben win?' you will say to him, 'The answer is inside. Take it!' You will then return to this stable, fasten the horse to that chain, put on your street clothes, go home, and return to-morrow at eight sharp. But—” He paused.
“Yes, sir.”
“Pay attention, Gray! If, instead of the servant alone, the servant comes out of, 197 West Thirty-eighth Street accompanied by a gentleman who gets in, you will drive him to my office.”
“Where, sir?”
“This is my office—here. You will drive back here quickly and disregard everything your passenger may say or whatever orders he may give you. You understand? These are your orders that I now give you. They are not to be changed under any circumstances, no matter what happens. Have you understood?”
“Yes, sir. I'll follow orders, Mr. Maynard.”
“See that you do.” And Mr. Robison walked out of the stable.
At nine-nine sharp Gray stood in front of 197 West Thirty-eighth Street. At nine-fifteen a footman in dark-green livery came out of the house. He was followed by Mr. Robison himself. The man opened the door of the carriage and Gray's employer got in.
“Will you go to the office, sir?” asked the footman. Gray heard him.
“No! Metropolitan Museum!” answered their master, distinctly.
“Metropolitan Museum!” said the footman to the coachman.
Gray was torn by doubt, anger, and fear. Should he drive to the Metropolitan or back to the stable?
He decided to go back to the stable. If he were discharged he would not regret losing so unsatisfactory a job. If, on the other hand, driving back should prove to be the right thing he would greatly strengthen his position.
He arrived at the stable, fastened the horse to the chain, and went to change his clothes. He heard Mr. Robison tap on the glass of the door and saw him beckon to him and then heard him shout, “Open the door!” But Gray went to the dressing-room and changed his clothes. As soon as he was done the second man came in, showed him two envelopes, and said:
“You win! You get the ten dollars! I get the five-spot. That's how he pays. You obeyed orders. You are the first man that's succeeded in holding the job over one day. The Lord only knows what test Mr. Maynard will prepare for you to-morrow! It may be the children's lunch stunt or the runaway lunatic. Run out! Mr. Maynard won't like you to be here when he comes in. You can go out into the street by that door without going through the carriage-room.”
Gray put the ten dollars in his pocket and walked out. “Rum go, that!” he muttered. It was indeed. He nodded his head with a sad sort of triumph to show that though he had not solved the mystery he had at all events grasped the situation and was, moreover, ten dollars to the good.