Part 14 (1/2)

Nor did she.

”There will be no next time,” gravely. ”But I am going to ask you a direct question. Is my father alive?”

The butler's brow puckered. ”I have promised to say nothing, one way or the other.”

She laughed.

”Why do you laugh?”

”I laugh because if he were dead there would be no earthly reason for your not saying so at once. But I hate money, the name of it, the sound of it, the sight of it. It is at the bottom of all wars and crimes. I despise it!”

”The root of all evil. Yet it performs many n.o.ble deeds. But never mind the money. Let us give our attention to this personal. Doubtless it originated in the same mind which conceived the letter. Your father would never have inserted such a personal. What! Give his enemies a chance to learn his secret? No. On the other hand, I want you to show this personal to all you meet to-day, Susan, the reporter, to everybody. Talk about it. Say that you wonder what you shall do.

Trust no one with your real thoughts.”

”Not even you, Mr. Jones,” thought the girl as she nodded.

”And tell them that you showed it to me and that I appeared worried.”

That night there was a meeting of the organization called the Black Hundred. Braine asked if any one knew what the Hargreave butler looked like.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THAT NIGHT THERE WAS A MEETING OF THE ORGANIZATION]

”I had a glimpse of him the other night; but being unprepared, I might not recognize him again.”

Vroon described Jones minutely. Braine could almost see the portrait.

”Vroon, that memory of yours is worth a lot of money,” was his only comment.

”I hope it will be worth more soon.”

”I believe I'll be able to recognize Mr. Jones if I see him. Who is he and what is he?”

”He has been with Hargreave for fourteen years. There was a homicidal case in which Jones was active. Hargreave saved him. He is faithful and uncommunicative. Money will not touch him. If he does know where that million is, hot irons could not make him own up to it. The only way is to watch him, follow him, wait for the moment when he'll grow careless. No man is always on his mettle; he lets up sooner or later.”

”He is being watched, as you know.”

Vroon nodded approvingly. ”The captain of the tramp steamer _Orient_, by the way, was seen with a roll of money. He was in one of the water-front saloons, bragging how he had hoodwinked some one.”

”Did he say where he'd got the cash?” asked Braine.

”They tried to pump him on that, but he shut up. Well, we have agreed that Felton shall watch from the street and Orloff from the window.

Orloff will whistle if he sees Jones removing anything from any of the rooms. The rest will be left to Felton.”

”And, Felton, my friend,” said Braine softly--he always spoke softly when he was in a deadly humor--”Felton, you slept on duty the other night. Hargreave stole up, consulted Jones, and got away after knocking me down. The next failure will mean short s.h.i.+ft. Be warned!”

”I saw only you, sir. So help me. I was not asleep. I saw you run down the street after the taxicab. I did not see any one else.”

Braine shrugged. ”Remember what I said.”

Felton bowed respectfully and made his exit. He wished in his soul that he might some day catch the master mind free of his eternal mask.

It was an iron hand which ruled them and there were friends of his (Felton's) who had mysteriously vanished after a brief period of rebellion. The boss was a swell; probably belonged to clubs and society which he adroitly pilfered. The organization always had money.