VII
While Clement Seadon had been active, Mr. Neuburg had not been idle. He had sat and smoked for a while. Then having decided upon a plan, he rose and searched for something in his baggage. When he had found it, he opened his one of the pair of doors between his room and Clement’s bathroom, and for several moments did something to the foot of Clement’s door.
Having done this to his complete satisfaction, he sat and smoked and thought again. Three minutes after the time Clement had seen Siwash Mike enter the gluemaker’s, the telephone bell rang in Mr. Neuburg’s room. With one glance at the floor near the door he had just shut and bolted, he rose and answered the ring.
What he heard over the wire gave him apparently a pleasant surprise, for though his curiously impassive face showed no sign, he said, “Eh, but you have been quick, I did not expect you for a day or two.... No, say nothing now.... I will see you this night, about ten o’clock. And now listen——” And in his slightly purring voice he gave a string of directions. They were very guarded, for telephones have eavesdroppers, but quite explicit to understanding ears.
He hung up the telephone, dropped back into his chair again and thought and smoked. But after a perceptible minute this curious, immobile-faced man, allowed himself the luxury of a great laugh. It was a terrible laugh, but a short one. It was perhaps well it was so, for very quickly after there came the scratch at the communicating door, which betokened that Méduse Smythe had returned to her room, and was ready to serve him.
He sprang up at once, and again glancing at the floor by the other communicating door, let Méduse in. The woman said, “I have come back by myself. The girl wished to go for half an hour’s motor drive alone in the Battlefield Park.... No, the Englishman was not with her. She may be going to meet him, but I don’t think so.... The whole thing seemed a sudden thought on her part. Can I do anything?”
“You will,” he smiled at her with his mirthless grin. “This Seadon may be meeting her, but even if he is or isn’t, I want you to go down to the lobby, watch for him coming in, and when he comes in, come up here as swiftly as you can and tell me. No, do not telephone up. Come yourself. I need you....” She made a step to go. “When you join me in this room don’t be surprised at anything. When I say things to you, play up—play up, remember that.”
It seemed only a few minutes before she was back in the room. Mr. Neuburg came through the intercommunicating bathroom at the sound of the key in her door. He looked at her, indicating the necessity for quiet.
“He came in just as I reached the lobby,” she said. “He did not see me. He came up straight to his room, I think.”
Mr. Neuburg caught her by the wrist, and both very stealthily went back to his room. He led her close to the doors that communicated with Clement Seadon’s bathroom. He paused, listened. He could hear no sound from the Englishman’s side of the doors. He looked at her, grinned, and pointed to the floor near their feet.
On the floor was a yellow-painted lead pencil. It was lying alongside a white line Mr. Neuburg had chalked on the floor. The woman Méduse stared down at it, wondering what on earth it all meant.... And as she stared down the pencil began to move.
There was no sound. The silence was profound. There was nothing to indicate a reason for the pencil’s movement. And the pencil moved ... slowly, stealthily, cautiously it moved away from the chalk mark. It moved six inches and then it stopped. Mr. Neuburg looked into her face and grinned. His hand indicated the door leading to Clement Seadon’s bathroom.
Then the woman, looking closer at the pencil, understood. Round the waist of the pencil was a thin line, a line of thread. The thread ran from the pencil under the closed door. Undoubtedly it was attached to the inner door of the pair by a piece of wax. She understood at once that the Englishman was in the other room. Thread and wax would be invisible in the dim light and in the almost imperceptible space between the double doors; but as Clement’s door opened, its movement would be shown by the movements of the pencil.
The pencil had moved. The Englishman had opened his door. He was at the opening of the door now—listening for what he might learn through the closed door of Mr. Neuburg’s room.
The woman Méduse in a flash understood how the Englishman had learned the name of Joe, which he had used to get her away from Heloise at lunch time. Mr. Neuburg, in his brilliant manner, had solved that riddle.
Mr. Neuburg, in his brilliant manner, was going to make the most of his knowledge. Very quietly he led the woman back to the door through which she had entered. He left her standing there with a soundless command to silence. He went to his chair and lowered himself softly into it. He picked up a newspaper and rustled it. He cleared his throat. He moved so that his chair would creak. He did this for a long ten minutes. Then abruptly he sprang up, making a definite noise, and moved towards her. “Ah, you are back, my dear Méduse,” he said aloud. “Where is the girl?”
Méduse played up—played up well.
“She wished to go for a drive alone in the Battlefield Park. No, the Englishman was not with her. She may be going to meet him, but I do not think so. The whole thing seemed a sudden thought on her part.”
“We cannot help it, anyhow,” said Mr. Neuburg, smiling in his sinister manner. “I do not think, on the whole, her seeing him will have much effect. I have good news—Siwash Mike has arrived.”
The companion Méduse was a little startled at that, but she played up. “But—is that possible? You did not expect him for a day or two.”
“It is a fact. He has arrived, my mild Méduse. I had a telephone message from No. 7 Sault Algonquin this afternoon.”
He said “No. 7 Sault Algonquin” precisely and clearly. He wanted the Englishman behind the door to hear it. Clement Seadon behind the door heard it, and chuckled silently. He was certainly having great good fortune.
“Did—did Siwash say where he had found Henry Gunning? I suppose he has found him?” The woman was not playing up so well, Mr. Neuburg frowned bleakly; and yet, swiftly, he made her question serve his ends.
“Siwash knows better than to talk of matters like that over the telephone,” he said. “I take it that he has discovered the lurking place of our besotted friend Gunning. But I shall not know until to-night. I meet him at Algonquin at 10:30. He will report then.”
He said the last words very clearly. The Englishman was to hear them. Clement heard them and congratulated himself.
There was a pause in Mr. Neuburg’s room, then Clement heard the massive man speak again, “What are you doing to-night—you and the girl?”
“O-oh,” said the woman. “We are going to a concert of old habitant French songs. One of the ladies from the Empress told the girl she must not miss it for the world, so she booked seats.... But if you wanted me at Algonquin, I could have a headache.”
“You will not have a headache,” said Mr. Neuburg, very distinctly. “I do not want you at Algonquin. I want you by that girl’s side. But, and attend to this carefully, my dear Méduse, if anything untoward occurs you must come to the gluemaker’s immediately. Understand that—you must come yourself. I will not have telephoning. I do not trust a woman on the telephone in so delicate a business as this. Follow carefully what I have to say. You may take a taxi, if you like, as far as the docks, but you must not take it into the Sault Algonquin, or to the door of No. 7. You understand? No curiosity, particularly that of the gluemaker’s neighbors, must be aroused. For that reason you will not knock at the door, which, you know, is in a cart gate, or wait about outside. All you need do is to push against the little door in the gate. It will be open. It will purposely be left open. Now you understand that perfectly?”
The woman understood that perfectly. She repeated the directions to show that she had it perfectly. Mr. Neuburg said, “That is good. I do not think anything untoward will occur, but we must always plan for any event. And now that you know everything, you had better go back to your room and await the girl. We cannot risk suspicion of any sort. Let us hope that Siwash will bring us definite and good news of Henry Gunning, and that what I hear at 10:30 to-night may mean a speedy finish to our big scheme.”
Clement echoed the sentiments. He hoped, in fact he felt certain, that what Siwash Mike would have to say about the vanished Henry would give him (Seadon) facts which, in addition to the other damning material he had, would enable him to settle the accounts of these rogues swiftly and for all time when he spoke of them in his talk with Heloise Reys to-morrow morning.
He felt, indeed, that it was all part of fate working on his side.
Siwash Mike’s coming fitted into the situation as neatly as if it had all been thought out. Clement thought it might have been thought out, ordained, by Providence.
And not only had good fortune sent along Siwash Mike to-day, but good fortune had also stepped in to enable him to make the most of Siwash Mike. To be present when that rogue reported to his master was not going to be child’s play, but it was going to be simpler than he had first thought. The way down the cliffside to the gluemaker’s of Algonquin was a certain way in, but it would be difficult and dangerous in the dark. Now, thanks to his abounding good luck, he had overheard that all he had to do was to push against the little door in the big cart gate of the gluemaker’s, and it would be open. Good fortune had favored him with an easy entrance. How could he reject this offer of good fortune? He could not.
And Mr. Neuburg, as he sat in his own room and smoked, thought much the same thoughts. How could this Englishman reject this offer which good fortune apparently had offered him? No, the fellow could not.... He would go to the gluemaker’s of the Sault Algonquin at 10:30 to-night.
And Clement Seadon went.
He put on old clothes. He carried an automatic pistol in his pocket. He also wore rubber-soled brown shoes. His adventure was not going to be easy and without danger, and he was prepared for all eventualities. But, on the whole, his great good luck had given him an exhilarating sense of confidence, and as he passed through the dark streets of the lower town of Quebec, and into the cañon of lowering and silent blackness that night made of the Sault Algonquin, he felt sure of his success.
There was no one about. He reached the gluemaker’s unobserved. The face of the house was black, enigmatic. There was no sign of life or light. He pressed upon the little door in the big cart gate. Yes, it was yielding ... it was open. With a sharp movement he opened it wide enough to let his body through, slipped inside.
Under the arch of the house, the cartway was a cave of almost impenetrable blackness. Moving very slowly and very easily, Clement stole to the left. The door of the house must be there. He felt along the house wall. There was no window ... for yards there was nothing. Then his hand dropped into the recess of the door, slid across the woodwork, found the handle.... Softly, gently he turned. The door answered under pressure—it opened. Clement was inside a pitch black room.
There was just a faint sound ... something small fell ... something as small as a pencil.... Only in that terrific silence would he have heard so small a sound. Then complete silence ... silence bearing down like a shroud.... Slowly, cautiously Clement closed the door behind him ... took one, then another, then another step into the room.... Something tautened and snapped across his instep, a thread.... Things happened....
A hoarse whisper ... a sudden rush of movement ... a torch clicked, wavered, struck into his eyes with its brilliant and dazzling light ... there was a sweep of movement.... Men bore down on him in a terrific rush....