Part 42 (2/2)

It was his opportunity. He immediately left the zone of the city desk for a telephone booth. But as he pa.s.sed the line of desks and busy reporters he did not note the keen scrutiny of a smooth-faced, gray-haired man who stood at the side of Norton's desk awaiting the reporter's return.

”Why, Jones,” cried the surprised Norton. ”What are you doing all this way from home?”

”Orders,” said Jones, smiling faintly as he delivered a note to the reporter.

”Anything serious?”

”Not that I am aware of. Miss Florence was rather particular. She wanted to be sure that the note reached your hands safely.”

”And do you mean to say that you came away and left her alone in that house?”

Again Jones smiled. ”I left her well guarded, you may be sure of that.

She will never run away again.” He waited for Norton to read the note.

It was nothing more than one of those love orders to come and call at once. And she had made Jones venture into town with it! The reporter smiled and put the note away tenderly. And then he caught Jones smiling, too.

”I'm going to marry her, Jones.”

”That remains to be seen,” replied the butler, not unkindly.

”Well, anyhow, thanks for bringing the note. But I've got to disappoint her to-night. I'm off in a deuce of a hurry to interview General Henderson. I'll be out to tea to-morrow. You can find your way out of this old firetrap. By-by!”

The moment he turned away the smile faded from Jones' face, and with the quickness and noiselessness of a cat he reached the side of the booth in which Gregg believed himself so secure from eavesdropping.

The half dozen words Jones heard convinced him that Norton was again the object of the Black Hundred's attention. He had seen the man's face that memorable night when the balloon stopped for its pa.s.senger.

Before Gregg came out of the booth Jones decided to overtake Norton and forewarn him, but unfortunately the reporter was nowhere in sight.

There was left for Jones nothing else but to return home or follow when Gregg came out. As this night he knew Florence to be exceptionally well guarded, both within and without the house, he decided to wait and follow the spy.

When Braine received the message he was pleased. Norton's a.s.signment fitted his purpose like a glove. Before midnight he would have Mr.

Meddling Reporter where he would bother no one for some time--if he proved tractable. If not, he would never bother any one again. Braine gave his orders tersely. Unless Norton met with unforeseen delay, nothing could prevent his capture.

When Norton arrived at the Henderson place, a footman informed him from the veranda that General Henderson was at 49 Elm Street for the evening, and it would be wise to call there. Jim nodded his thanks and set off in haste for 49 Elm Street. The footman did not enter the house, but hurried down the steps and slunk off among the adjacent shrubbery. His mission was over with.

The house in Elm Street was Braine's suburban establishment. He went there occasionally to hibernate, as it were, to grow a new skin when close pressed. The caretaker was a man rightly called Samson. He was a bruiser of the bouncer type.

It was fast work for Braine to get out there. If the man disguised as a footman played his cards badly Braine would have all his trouble for nothing. He disguised himself with that infernal cleverness which had long since made him a terror to the police, who were looking for ten different men instead of one. He knew that Norton would understand instantly that he was not the general; but on the other hand he would not know that he was addressing Braine.

So the arch-conspirator waited; and so Norton arrived and was ushered into the room. A single glance was enough to satisfy the reporter, always keen-eyed and observant.

”I wish to see General Henderson,” he said politely.

”General Henderson is doubtless at his own house.”

”Ah!”

”Don't be alarmed--yet,” said Braine smoothly.

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