CHAPTER XVIII
SAUNDERS SCORES
It lacked but five minutes to the hour of ten next morning when the card of the Minister's secretary was handed to Father Murray. The priest sent down a polite request for the visitor to come to his room, and at once telephoned for Mark. Both men arrived at the same moment and were introduced at the door. Father Murray, at Saunders' own request, kept the detective in the background. Saunders had, in the meantime, been learning all he could about the Ministry and its interior—"for emergencies," he explained to Mark.
The secretary proceeded to business without delay.
"I have come on behalf of His Excellency," he said, "and to express his regrets."
"I scarcely expected regrets," answered the priest; "for at ten o'clock I was to have a definite answer."
"It is impossible, Reverend Sir, to give you that. His Excellency bade me offer full assurance that a definite answer will not long be delayed; but a somewhat unforeseen situation was found in Baltimore—a situation that was unforeseen by you, though rather expected by His Excellency."
"I cannot imagine," Father Murray spoke rather tartly, "what that situation could be."
"Let me explain then." The secretary talked as one sure of his ground. "I take it that neither Baron Griffin nor yourself, Reverend Sir, would be at all interested in the movements of the Grand Duchess?"
"Not particularly," answered the priest.
"Then I am sorry to say that the dead girl in Baltimore is surely your niece. The other—"
"At the Ministry—" Mark put in.
"Wherever she is," parried the secretary. "The other is the Grand Duchess."
"Perhaps, Mr. Secretary," quietly suggested Father Murray, "you will admit that I ought to know my own niece?"
"There is a great resemblance, Reverend Sir, between the two ladies. I have seen the dead girl, and have examined her belongings. Her apparel was made, it is true, in Paris; but your niece has recently been there. Her bag bears the initials, 'R.A.' The mesh bag is plainly marked in gold cut initials with the same letters. The dressing case is also marked 'R.A.' Even the handkerchiefs are thus marked."
"As she was a guest of my niece, and of course left Killimaga very hurriedly after the abduction," said Father Murray, "it is quite probable that the Grand Duchess took the first clothes and other effects that came to hand. She may even have purposely used things belonging to Miss Atheson in order not to have anything in her possession that might betray her identity."
"True, that is possible," the secretary admitted; "but it is not probable enough to satisfy His Excellency. Without a doubt, he ought to satisfy himself. In the meantime, while the doubt remains, it is clear that your answer cannot be given."
"Suppose we place this matter, then," said the priest, "where the answer will come in response to a demand? There is still the British Embassy and the Department of State."
"It will be plain to you, Reverend Sir," said the secretary, "that such a course would not be of assistance. Frankly, we do not want publicity; but, certainly, neither does your Department of State. In fact, I think that this affair might offer considerable embarrassment to the President himself at this time. And you? Would you wish the reporters to hear of it and have it published with all possible embellishments and sent broadcast? A few days will not be long in passing. I can vouch for the fact that the lady is quite comfortable. Why not see it from His Excellency's point of view?"
"Just what is that point of view?"
"I will be frank. You gentlemen know the situation. His Excellency's entire career is at stake. If this lady is the Grand Duchess and she does not go back to her throne—"
"Her throne?" Mark broke out in astonishment.
"Her father is dead. She is the reigning Grand Duchess, though she does not know it yet. You see the situation? His Excellency must be sure."
"But how does he mean to arrive at certainty?" asked Father Murray.
"That will be our task."
"And in the meantime?"
"She is safe."
"And if we seek the Department of State?"
"It will be the word of the minister from a friendly power against yours—and they will not find the lady."
"You would not—"
"They will not find the lady."
"Then," Mark spoke fiercely. "You have not kept your word."
"We have. She is safe, and shall be safe. Patience, if you please, and all will be well."
"It looks," said Father Murray, "as though we had no other choice."
Mark glanced at the priest, astonished that he should acquiesce so easily, but Father Murray gave him a quick, meaning look.
"That, Reverend Sir," answered the secretary, "is true. Since you see it so, I will bid you good day—to meet you again, shortly."
Scarcely had the secretary left the room when Father Murray was at the telephone calling Saunders.
"Come down," he directed, "at once."
Saunders was with them before either Mark or the priest spoke again.
"Well?" Saunders lost no time.
Father Murray gave him an outline of what had passed. Mark said nothing. A picture of despair, he was sitting with his head bowed upon his breast.
"And now, Mr. Saunders," said Father Murray, "it is your business to counsel—to be a real detective. What do you suggest?"
"She is at the Ministry," said Saunders. "Let that be my first statement. She is occupying a room which opens on a balcony of the second floor. There is a guard in the next room, which also opens on the same balcony. She is well watched. But I was in front of that house three hours last night, and again this morning—rather, I was in the house across the way. I had a good chance to communicate the news of your arrival to her—"
"What!" Mark was on his feet now.
"It was simple. I did it this morning with a hand mirror. You remember how bright the sun was about nine o'clock? Well, it was shining right into the room where I was, and when I saw that she was probably alone I caught the light on my little mirror and flashed the reflection into her room. I juggled it about as oddly as I could, flashing it across the book she was reading. Then I tried to make it write a word on her wall. Perhaps you would like to know the word, Baron?" He turned to Mark with a smile. "You would? Well, I tried to write 'M-A-R-K.' I think she understood, for she turned toward the window and seemed about to give me some signal. Then she raised her hand in a quick motion of alarm and began reading again. I withdrew the light, just in time, for some woman entered the room."
"I am afraid, Mr. Saunders," said Father Murray, "that you are dangerous, being a very clever man."
"But how, in Heaven's name," asked Mark, "did you get into that house? It is the home of—"
"Sure it is," answered Saunders. "Sure it is. But the family is away, and they left only the chauffeur at the residence. Chauffeurs are fine fellows—under certain circumstances. They have acquired the habit."
"The conditions," laughed Mark, "will, I suppose, appear in your accounts?"
"In my accounts? Yes… Now to the rest of the discussion. I do not believe this affair can be arranged as easily as you think. It looks to me as if they really believe they have the Grand Duchess, and that we are trying to help her get away. They think she has planned the whole thing and that we are part of the plan. Miss Ruth was with Madam Neuville when they caught her. That's one point in their favor. Then the Duchess had things belonging to Miss Ruth, and had them when killed. That's point two for them. The face of Miss Ruth is the face on the portraits of the Grand Duchess. There's point three for them; and it is a fact that the face of the dead girl was slightly disfigured, as you know. The Minister dare not make a slip. He is not going to make one if he can help it. He will do something without delay to avoid all danger of your interference. If you go to court, you'll have publicity. If you go to the Department of State, their delays would make interference too late. If you don't act quick you'll have no chance to act at all. My advice is, to get into better communication with the young lady and then—to do a bit of quiet abduction ourselves."
"That's easy to say, Saunders," said Mark. "But how carry it out?"
"I'll have to think on that. But I'm sure it can be done." Saunders spoke convincingly. "Let me work this thing out as best I can."
"We are in your hands, Mr. Saunders," said Father Murray, "and we trust you."
"Thanks, Father, I'll do my best. Now let us go on—"
But at this moment the telephone bell rang. Father Murray answered the call.
"It's for you, Mark."
Mark took the receiver, and listened for a moment.
"All right; send him up."
He turned to his companions. "A colored man who insists on seeing me personally."
They had but a few minutes to wait. He came up with a bellboy and stood before them, bowing low—a typical Southern darkey, his hair whitened by age.
"Well, uncle, what can I do for you?" It was Mark who spoke.
"Well, sah, seein' as how I found a lettah addressed to you—"
"A letter?"
"Yes, sah." The old darkey was fumbling with his hat, trying to withdraw the letter he had put away so carefully.
"I found it down the street, sah, neah one of them thar big for'n houses."
"Where?" The word was almost shouted as Mark jumped to his feet.
But the trembling fingers had at last grasped and now held forth the precious letter. Mark tore it open, and with a cry of glad surprise began to devour its contents. When he had finished, he handed the letter to Father Murray without a word, and turned to the darkey.
"Thank you, uncle. I am very glad you brought it."
"Yes, sah. I thought as how you might want to get it, seein' as how it was a pretty young lady that threw it out."
"You saw her?"
"Yes, sah. I was right across the street, and she suah is pretty, sah." The old man smiled and bowed as Mark gave him a bill. "Thank you, sah; thank you, sah." And with a broad grin he left the room.
Father Murray was still reading the letter and Mark motioned to Saunders to come to his side. Looking over the priest's shoulder, Mark read the lines again:
"My Dear Mark: His Excellency isn't a very good housekeeper; I have found an envelope in one of the books, and a tiny slip of blue-corded pencil in the drawer of my dressing-table. I should like to pension the man who first put fly-leaves in a book. Fortunately, my maid isn't with me much, and the man in the yard can't see my front window because of the tree. So I have only to listen to the guard in the next room. He is always walking up and down, and when he reaches the uncarpeted space near the door I know he is at the end and ready to turn back. For that one second I can chance throwing this letter out into the street. I shall load it with a cut-glass ball I found on my desk. It is a beautiful little paper-weight, but its beauty won't save it this time. Someone will surely take the letter to you. Where to find you is my worry. But I know that the signal flashes could only mean that you are in the city, so I am risking the New Willard.
"A warship has been sent to take the Grand Duchess home. I cannot convince them that I am only Ruth Atheson. I am sure they are going to send me away. You must get me out of this house quickly, or it will be too late.
"Give me this special signal and I will be ready: At ten-thirty any morning flash the light and keep it still on the top of the gate pillar. Leave it there a moment; then flash it once across the top if you are coming that day, or twice for night. If you receive this letter, answer it by flashing the light into my room to-morrow morning. I shall pray for friendly sunlight.
"Thank you for coming. I don't know how you found out, but somehow I felt that you would. Love to the dear Father, if he is with you. I feel pretty sure he is.
"Ruth."
Saunders was the first to speak.
"I think, Father," he said, "that you have a clever niece. This makes things easy."
The Padre smiled. But Mark was not smiling—one can't do so little a thing to show unbounded joy.