Van Dam brought himself abruptly out of his reverie. There had been enough mystery for one day. Now for the solution of this puzzle. Back yonder, gagged and bound, was a cringing human rat who knew everything Van Dam desired to know, and who would talk, if forced to do so. Roly decided to have the inmost details of this affair, if it became necessary to roast the soles of Cousin Alfred's feet over a slow fire in order to loosen his tongue. Time had flown, but there was a little margin left.
He hurried down the hall, flung open the door behind which his captive lay, then recoiled, with mouth agape. The closet was empty!
"Alfred!" he called. "Alfred!" But his voice echoed lonesomely through the empty rooms. Not a sound broke the silence. There on the floor lay the handkerchief and the two tasseled curtain cords. He felt a chill of apprehension, for unseen eyes were observing him, he was certain. With that vindictive little ruffian at large, the situation altered; each door might hide a menace, each moment add to his peril.
The thought of that rifled safe, and the consequences of discovery, convinced Van Dam that this was no place for a respectable New York society man, so he clapped on his mask and darted down the hall toward the rear of the house.
Past the pantry and into the kitchen he fled, his precipitate haste nearly causing him to collide with another masked figure that had just entered from the garden. Instinctively the two men recoiled. Van Dam saw that the stranger wore a black domino like his own, and that a white gardenia was pinned over his heart—it was a twin to the flower that reposed upon his own breast.
"Emile!" he exclaimed.
With a start the new-comer swept his mask downward, and simultaneously he conjured an automatic revolver from some place of concealment. The face that he exposed was not pleasant to look upon, for it was coarsened by dissipation, and the eyes were both violent and furtive. Underneath his heavy, passionate features, however, lay a marked resemblance to the blind mother who had just left.
"Yes. I am Emile," he panted; then, with a snarl, he raised his weapon until it bore upon Van Dam's breast. "And you are one of the gang, eh?"
"Here! Don't point that confounded thing at me. It might go off." Roly brushed the mask from his own face, explaining, "I'm not one of the gang; I'm a friend."
Emile eyed him intently before lowering his weapon. "I never saw you before."