VII
Clement Seadon was manifestly uneasy. Not barring the path which led from Heloise to the archscoundrel at Sicamous made him feel safe. Not even the exquisite beauty of this delightful place could tranquilize him. He felt that some slip, some chance warning to Neuburg, might bring a calamity. Neuburg, that monster, with his cold, quiet, and uncannily placid intelligence, would act like a flash. He was, Clement felt, being so desperately driven that he would not hesitate to act desperately to attain his ends.
There was no doubting the fiend’s terrible capacity. Clement was sure that, in some way, Neuburg had already arranged to get control of Heloise’s money—or some of her money—through this bank, and his confederate in the bank, at Revelstoke. He had already his evil fingers on that loot. All that he needed was to secure Heloise to make his control of her money complete. And, at a crisis, he would stop at nothing to secure Heloise—that meant her silence—in order to get that money.
Her silence. Clement shuddered. He saw, again, the mental picture of how Neuburg, as Nachbar, had secured the silence of Roberts of Oregon. The dead cannot give evidence.
Clement tried to quiet his nerves by going for a long tramp through the deep spruce woods that clung to the sides of the austere mountains, but half-way through it he became panicky and hurried back to the hotel in case he might miss some crucial message.
There was no message. He had to wait hours before anything came. Then it came from Sicamous. That message, however, was significant enough for those who could get an inkling of the ominous riddle behind it.
The agent at Sicamous reported that a young, dark-faced, slim man with his right arm in a sling had arrived at Sicamous. He had gone to Mrs. Wandersun’s shack. He called himself Lucas, and looked like a halfbreed.
“Siwash on the spot,” commented Clement.
The next fact was that a wire had come through from Méduse Smythe at Winnipeg, saying she was coming straight through to Banff. Immediately on receipt of this, things happened. The man Lucas—despite his bad arm—went off up the lake in a canoe, apparently to Gunning’s shack. On his return there was a bustle. Mrs. Wandersun, in the language of the agent, flacked about like a worried hen.
She had run down to the station and had sent off a train letter to Heloise Reys—to await arrival at Banff—and also another to Méduse Smythe.
Having got rid of these letters, Mrs. Wandersun immediately prepared herself for a journey. That done, she bounced into her neighbor’s shack with a lamentable story of a friend taken dangerously ill up the lake. She said she had wired to his relatives, and she thought they were coming on. She said she was going to her sick friend with the young man Lucas to run the power boat for her, and she asked her neighbors if they would mind telling anybody who might arrive before Lucas returned, that he was coming back from the sick man in order to take them up to him.
Having impressed this upon her kindly friends, she got into the motor boat with Lucas, and went up the lake. Lucas had not returned yet. The agent had not pressed his inquiries for fear of stirring up suspicion.
Clement had listened to the reading of this report with a face grim and white. When it was finished he said, “This seems to be the first move in the definite plot. Once she arrives in Sicamous, Heloise Reys will be spirited away into the wilds. You can see how they have planned it. Nobody but Lucas is to take her there; they don’t want outsiders to figure in this.”
“An’ it seems to me that they don’t want anybody—even Miss Reys—to get there before they are ready for her,” said Gatineau.
“Yes, that seems likely.—Now the letters.”
The one addressed to Heloise Reys was a simple letter stating that Henry Gunning had returned to Sicamous and had gone along the lake to his home. The letter said that Gunning was quietlike, and not quite his usual self. He said he was going to rest up for a while as he felt sort of seedy. The writer concluded by giving directions how to find his shack, and declared himself ready to do all in his power to help Miss Reys. He signed himself—Joe Wandersun.
“Joe Wandersun!” cried Gatineau. “Well, I’m gormed! How did he write that when he’s snug in jail at Montreal?”
“He didn’t write it. It’s a forgery.”
“You mean his wife forged that——?”
“His wife—no. Remember Roberts, man, and how forgery apparently played its part in that case. The same capable scoundrel forged this.”
“Neuburg?”
“Neuburg or Newman or Nachbar, or whatever you like to call him. Forgery is part of his game. And there’s another point. You see it contains a hint of Gunning’s illness—illness is also part of this devil’s game.”
“It says nothing about a dangerous illness.”
“No. Perhaps they’re going to use that as a weapon of shock, to make her lose her head at a moment when it will pay them for her to lose her head. But the other letter—the one addressed to Méduse Smythe?”
The other letter contained a few lines only. They ran:
“All clear. Have seen Landor at Revelstoke. Break your journey there for signatures, etc. Be as clever as you are, my dear, for you are to have a shock at Sicamous. Play up. The Englishman who does not look brainy is safely interned at Montreal.”
There were no initials even, and the message was written in block capitals.
“Bold,” said Gatineau, putting the message down.
“Not so very bold,” said Clement. “The Englishman who doesn’t look brainy is interned at Montreal, you understand. He feels quite safe. He doesn’t think anybody will see that message but Méduse.”
“And you were right about their springing the dangerous illness upon Miss Reys at the last moment. That’s what he means by the shock, eh? And Landor of Revelstoke——”
“The smart young man in the bank is undoubtedly Landor. It all fits in. Miss Reys is to call on the bank on her way to Sicamous to register her signature, and so on. Landor is the man who will interview her. All that is part of their plan for getting hold of her money. You can see how the hellish thing is developing.”
“But how can they get money out of her—how keep her unsuspicious?”
“How did Nachbar plan to keep Roberts of Oregon from giving evidence?”
“My God!” muttered Gatineau. Then he said, “But the money. No woman would transfer a huge sum to a local bank, a bank that may, perhaps, only be going to serve her for a few days?”
“I am waiting for The Chief’s telegram,” said Clement. “That will tell us how much she has in the bank at Revelstoke. It seems illogical that she should have a large sum—yet I fear——”
The fear was realized. In the afternoon The Chief’s wire came. It said:
“Heloise Reys deposited sum £20,000 cash and securities extent £120,000 in Montreal Branch Dominion Consolidated from England before leaving that country. Same time opened account £5,000 cash Revelstoke branch. Week ago authority in own handwriting to transfer all funds securities Revelstoke branch. Most securities easily negotiable. New message. Neuburg is Nachbar. Warrant being issued.”
Of the whole of that pregnant message one passage, and one alone, stood out with a terrible significance.
Neuburg is Nachbar!
Neuburg was Nachbar, the murderer. Neuburg was the cold-blooded genius who slew Roberts of Oregon in the wilds, and for the sake of a huge sum of money. The telegram told that the girl, Heloise, had to hand a great sum of money, and she was being lured into the wilds—lured towards Nachbar, the brute who would let nothing stand between him and his greedy desire.
Neuburg was Nachbar the murderer—and Heloise was to be his next victim. Only dimly he heard Gatineau saying, “He wants to get all that money—£145,000. It’s all under the hand of his tool at Revelstoke. I see how it is. But what beats me is how any one would think of transferring——”
“Did she?” snapped Clement. “Wasn’t it forgery? Nachbar is a forger as well. Couldn’t he have forged that letter ordering the transfer?”
Gatineau cried, “Forgery! Yes, that’s it. That’s damn likely. But even though that letter was forged, I don’t see how they are going to work it. What’s the game?”
Clement suddenly became completely aware of the detective and what he was saying. He echoed the words, “What’s the game? I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. I’m going down to Sicamous now to find out.”
“Now?” gasped Gatineau.
“Now. I can’t wait here passive. Anything might happen. That girl might be prevented coming here, might go right through, might be turned aside. I’m not going to run any more risks. I’m going to Neuburg. Can we catch a train?”
“With a car, easy. There’s one due.”
“Get that car.”
“But to rush right in like this. Is it wise—safe?”
“I don’t care. We’ve been passive too long, anyhow. Come along. Find that car. It’s our turn to attack.”