The Million Dollar Mystery - Harold MacGrath (best books under 200 pages .TXT) 📗

accounts for man's lack of interest on the suffragette question.

WITH HER HE WAS HAPPY, FOR HE HAD NO TIME TO PLAN OVER THE FUTURE
WITH HER HE WAS HAPPY, FOR HE HAD NO TIME TO PLAN OVER THE FUTURE

Only Susan suspected the true state of affairs, being a woman. Having had no real romance herself, she delighted in having a second-hand one, as you might say. She intercepted many a glance and pretended not to see the stolen hand pressures. The wedding was already full drawn in her mind's eye. These two young people should be married at Susan Farlow's when the roses were climbing up the sides of the house and the young robins were boldly trying their fuzzy wings. It struck her as rather strange, but she could not conjure up (at this wedding) more than two men besides the minister, the bridegroom and the butler.

By forsaking his accustomed haunts, under the advice of Jones, the hidden warfare ceased temporarily. You can't very well kill a man when you don't know where to find him. He ate his breakfasts haphazardly, now here, now there. He received most of his assignments by telephone and wrote his stories and articles in his club, in the writing rooms of hotels, and invariably despatched them to the office by messenger. The managing editor wanted to know what all this meant; but Norton declined to tell him.

It irked him to be forced to rearrange his daily life—his habits. It was a revolution against his ease, for he loved ease when he was not at work. He had the sensation of having been suddenly robbed of his home, of having been cast out into the streets. And on top of all this he had to go and fall in love!

There was no longer a shadow opposite the apartments of the Countess Perigoff. Braine came and went nightly without discovering any one. This rather worried him. It gave him the impression that the shadow had found out what he had been seeking and no longer needed to watch the coming and going of either himself or the Countess Perigoff.

"Olga, it looks as if we were at the end of our rope," he said discouragedly. "We have failed in our attempts so far. The devil watches over that girl."

"Or God," replied the countess gloomily. In nearly every instance their success has been due to chance. "Somehow I'm convinced that we began wrong. We should have let Hargreave escape quietly, followed him, and made him fast when the right opportunity came. After a month or so his vigilance would have relaxed; he would have arrived at the belief that he had eluded us."

"Indeed!" ironically. "He wasn't vigilant all these years in which he did elude us. How about the child he never sought but guarded? Vigilance! He never was anything else all these seventeen years. The truth is, success has developed a coarseness in our methods. And now it is too late for finesse. We have tried every device we can think of; and there they are—the girl free, Norton unharmed, and the father as secure in his retreat as though he wore an invisible cloak. My head aches. I have ceased to be inventive."

THEY WERE TO BE MARRIED
THEY WERE TO BE MARRIED

"The two are in love with each other."

"Are you sure of that?"

"I have my eyes. But I begin to wonder."

"About what?"

"Whether or not Jones suspects me and is giving me rope to hang myself with. Not once have the police been called in and told what has really happened. They are totally at sea. And what has become of the man over the way?"

"By the Lord Harry!" exclaimed Braine, clapping his hands. "I believe I've solved that. We shot a man coming out of Hargreave's. Since then there's been no one across the way. One and the same man!"

"But that knowledge doesn't get us anywhere."

"No. You say they are in love?"

"Secretly. I don't believe the butler has an inkling of it. It is possible, however, that Susan has caught the trend of affairs. But, being rather romantic, she will in nowise interfere."

Braine smoked in silence. Presently a smile twisted his lips.

"You have thought of something?" she asked.

"You might try it," he said. "They have accepted your friendship; whether with ulterior purpose remains to be learned. She has been to your apartments two or three times to tea and always got home safely."

"No," she said determinedly. "Nothing shall happen here. I will not take the risk."

"Wait till I'm through. Break up the romance in such a way that the girl will bar Norton from the house. That's what we've been aiming at; to get rid of that meddling reporter. We've tried poisons. Try your kind."

"What do you mean?"

"Lies."

"Ah! I understand. You want me to win him away from her. It can not be done."

"Pshaw! You have a bag full of tricks. You can easily manage to put him into an equivocal position out of which he can not possibly squirm so far as the girl is concerned. A little melodrama, arranged for the benefit of Florence. Fall into Norton's arms at the right moment, or something like that."

"I suppose I could. But if I failed..."

"You're too damnably clever to fail in your own particular work. Something has got to be done to keep those two apart. I've often thought of raiding the house and boldly carrying off the whole family, Susan and all. But a wholesale affair like that would be too noisy. Think it over, Olga; we have gone too far to back down now. There's always Russia; and while I'm the boss over here they never cease to watch me. They'll make me answer for a failure like this."

She eyed him speculatively. "You have money."

"Oh, the money doesn't matter. It's the game. It's the game of playing fast and loose with society, of pilfering it with one hand and making it kow-tow with the other. It's the sport of the thing. What was your thought?"

"We could go away together, to South America."

"And tire of each other within a month," he retorted shrewdly. "No; we are in the same boat. We could not live but for this never-ending excitement. And, more than that, we never could get far enough away from the long arm of the First Ten. We'll have to stick it out here. Can't you see?"

"Yes, I can see."

But in her heart she knew that she would have lived in a hut with this man till the end of her days. She abhorred the life, though she never, by the slightest word, let him become aware of it. There was always that abiding fear that at the first sign of weakness he would desert her. And she was wise in her deductions. Braine was loyal to her because she held his interest. Once that failed, he would be off and away.

The next afternoon the countess, having matured her plans against the happiness of the young girl who trusted her, drew up before the Hargreave place and alighted. Her welcome was the same as ever, and this strengthened her confidence.

The countess was always gesticulating. Her hands fluttered to emphasize her words. And the beautiful diamond solitaire caught the girl's eye. She seized the hand. Having an affair of her own, it was natural that she should be interested in that of her friend.

"I never saw that ring before."

"A gift of yesterday." The countess assumed a shy air which would have deceived St. Anthony. She twisted the ring on her finger.

"Tell me," cried Florence. "You are engaged?"

"Mercy, no!"

"Is he rich?"

"No. Money should not matter when your heart is involved."

As this thought was in accord with her own, Florence nodded her head sagely.

"It's nothing serious. Just a fancy. I shall never marry again. Men are gay deceivers; they always have been and always will be. Perhaps I'm a bit wicked; but I rather like to prove my theory that all men are weak. If I had a daughter I'd rather have her be an old man's darling than a young man's drudge. I distrust every man I know. I came to ask you and Susan to go to the opera with me to-night. You will come to my apartments first. You will come?"

"To be sure we will!"

"Simple little fool!" thought the Russian on the way home. "She shall see."

"I believe the countess is engaged to be married," said Florence to Jones.

"Indeed, miss?"

"Yes. I couldn't get anything definite out of her, but she had a beautiful ring on her finger. She wants Susan and me to go to the opera with her to-night. Will that be all right?"

Jones gazed abstractedly at the rug. Whenever a problem bothered him he seemed to find the solution in the delicate patterns of the Persian rugs. Finally he nodded. "I see no reason why you should not go. Only, watch out."

"Jones, there is one thing that will make me brave and happy. Will you tell me if you are in direct communication with my father?"

"Yes, Miss Florence," he answered promptly. "But do not breathe this to a single soul, neither Susan nor Norton."

"I promise that. But, ah! hasten the day when he can come to me without fear."

"That is my wish also."

"You need not call me miss. Why should you?"

"It might not be wise to have any one hear me call you thus familiarly," he objected gravely.

"Please yourself about that. Now I must telephone Jim."

"Jim?" the butler murmured.

He caught the word which was not intended for his ears. But for once Jones had been startled out of himself.

"Is it wrong for me to call Mr. Norton Jim?" she asked with a bit of banter.

"It is not considered quite the proper thing, Miss Florence, to call a young man by his first name unless you are engaged to marry him, or grew up with him from childhood."

"Well, supposing I were engaged to him?" haughtily.

"That would be a very grave affair. What have you to prove that he may not wish to marry you for your money?"

"Why, Jones, you know that I haven't a penny in the world I can call my own! There is nothing to prove, except your word, that I am Stanley Hargreave's daughter."

"No, there is nothing to prove that you are his daughter. But hasn't it ever occurred to you that there might be a purpose back of this? Might it not be of inestimable value that your father's enemies should be left in doubt? Might it not be a means of holding them on the leash? There is proof, ample proof, my child; and when the time comes these will be shown you. But meantime put all thought of marrying Mr. Norton out of your mind."

"That I refuse to do," quietly. "I am at least mistress of my heart; and no one shall dictate to me whom I shall or shall not marry. I love Mr. Norton and he loves me, knowing that I may not be an heiress after all. And some day I shall marry him."

Jones bowed. This seemed to appear final to him, and nothing more was to be said.

Norton did not return to his rooms till seven. He found the telephone call and also a note in a handwriting unfamiliar. He tore off the envelope and found! the contents to be from the Countess Perigoff.

"Call at eight to-night," he read. "I have an important news story for you. Tell no one, as I can not be involved in the case. Cordially, Olga, Countess Perigoff."

Humph! Norton twiddled the note in his fingers and at length rolled it into a ball and threw it into the waste-basket. He, too, made a mistake; he should have kept that note. He dressed, dined, and hurried off to the apartments of the countess.

He arrived ten minutes before Florence and Susan.

And Jones did some rapid telephoning.

"How long, how long!" the butler murmured. How long would this strange combat last? The strain was terrible. He slept