The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"How stupid," he muttered to himself. "I had quite forgotten that Padini was here. That is Padini, without a shadow of a doubt, carrying out the programme that Anstruther made out for him."

The music was not far off; it seemed to Jack that he could almost hear the scraping of the bow. It was not lost upon him, however, that the whole of the pieces were Chopin's compositions. The music ceased presently with a sudden twang, much as if the E string had violently parted. A moment later, by the aid of the friendly mirror, Jack saw Carrington's door open, and the figure of Padini come in. Carrington glared at the intruder.

"What do you mean by keeping me waiting all this time?" he growled. "Didn't you get my telephone message?"

"And hadn't I got my work to do?" Padini retorted. "I dare say you consider yourself to be an exceedingly clever fellow, but once you elect to match your wits with Anstruther, you will find yourself a lost man. It is no use you being in a hurry; as a matter of fact, I should have kept you a full hour longer, only I have broken my E string, and I don't happen to have another one on the premises."

With an angry gesture Padini threw his violin on the table. In a mechanical sort of way Carrington looked at the severed string. He was always a suspicious man, for it was an axiom of his never to trust anybody, and he was wondering now if this were not part of some dodge being worked out by his visitor. His face grew a little anxious as he held one end of the broken string between his thumb and finger.

"I suppose you call this a simple fracture," he said. "String worn out, and all that kind of thing. If you will look at it carefully, you will see that it has been half cut; you can actually see how far the knife has gone."

Padini examined the string carefully. His face also had grown a little gray and anxious.

"It is exactly as you say, my friend," he exclaimed. "But I wonder how that was done, and why. It is not as if I left my violin about--one is not so careless with a genuine Amati like mine. I brought the fiddle back with me from my afternoon recital, and I am prepared to swear that there was nothing the matter with it then. I locked it up in my box, and there it stayed till a couple of hours ago. Now what does this mean? Does anybody suspect us? Has Anstruther's clever scheme come to the knowledge of anybody? The police, perhaps, might have discovered----"

"The police have nothing whatever to do with that," Carrington said angrily. "What have any of us done to bring ourselves within the reach of the law--at present? The man that we have most to fear is Seymour. How you came to let him slip through your fingers the other night is an absolute mystery to me."

Padini shrugged his shoulders, and something like an oath escaped him. By aid of the friendly mirror Jack obtained a perfect view of his face. It was white and sinister; the dark eyes gleamed like living coals.