“I don’t say they could be made to pay it, but there’d be some mighty unpleasant experiences coming to them! No, Miss Powell, don’t kill yourself,—surely a marriage with some man other than Mr. Webb would be a better fate than suicide!”
“No, not to my way of thinking. But I must think of my mother and sister! Oh, Mr. Coe, do help me! I think I shall go distracted!”
“Small wonder! You poor child! I wish, now, we had more time. The birthday is drawing perilously near. Something must be done. Of course, you can’t describe either man well enough for positive identification?”
“No; the taxi driver, the second one was a decent looking man, of medium build, with a grave, rather stern face. He was dark, I think,—with brownish hair. I saw his back mostly, and didn’t notice his face at all. I thought of him merely as a means to an end, and when the red car came along, I thought only of giving up the money. And the man in the red car wore a mask,—just a small one, but it covered his eyes and nose and came down partly over his mouth. But I noticed several gold filled teeth in the lower jaw. Unusually bright they were.”
“That would be a help, if we could get any other hint which way to look. But, as I said, the master mind behind all this scheme is so diabolically clever, that he has discounted all chances of discovery and, I’ve no doubt, feels secure from police and detectives.
“Now, I’m for spending another night in that room of Kimball Webb’s, and I’ll bet there’ll be no Poltergeist this time!”
“Why?”
“Why, don’t you see it! The arch villain,—I feel sure there’s one principal and two or more subordinates,—the chief devil, we’ll say, has a means of access to that room. It was he who was responsible for all the Poltergeist performances, he who pulled bedclothes off Webb, and later, off yours truly,—he who made a ghost appear,—”
“How?”
“Oh, lots of ways for that. I’ll tell you some other time. I must skittle, now. Go to sleep and dream of Webb’s return. But,—and this is very serious, Miss Powell,—if I don’t succeed in getting him back,—if the villains are scared off or any such matter, you must make up your mind to marry somebody else. For I should hate to see you in the clutches of that wretch of a Loan Broker! You’ve no idea what it would mean!”