Part 41 (1/2)

”Find where Keralio lives--then, perhaps, we'll find the lost diamonds.”

CHAPTER XVIII

”This way,” whispered d.i.c.k, as he darted swiftly from door to door, ”keep close behind me, and stick to the wall, or he'll see you.”

But Francois was so utterly f.a.gged after his long walk from the Elevated road, carrying his heavy suitcase, that he worried about nothing save his own discomfort. Unable to find a taxi, he had been compelled to tramp the entire distance, and the fatigue of it had made him peevish. He could have saved himself at least a mile if he had taken a more direct road, but Keralio's orders were explicit. He must always follow a circuitous route so as to throw possible pursuers off the scent. There was no disobeying the orders of the chief, so on he trudged, looking neither to right nor left, up one street, down another, now crossing an empty lot, now darting through a narrow alley, through the wastes and dreariness of Bronxville.

As he approached his journey's end, he accelerated his pace, going along so fast that it was as much as d.i.c.k and Steell could do to keep up with him. The night was dark and foggy, and at times they could not see him for the mist. But as he came within the glare of each lamp post, they could make out his lithe figure, scurrying along as if the devil himself were at his heels.

”Let's get up closer,” gasped d.i.c.k, who was winded from the long chase.

”I guess their den is in this neighborhood. He'll slip in somewhere and we'll lose him if we keep so far away.”

”No--he may see us,” whispered Steell cautiously. ”We can make him out all right.”

They increased their pace a little. The valet was less than two blocks away, and once he actually stopped and looked around as if to see if he was followed. Quickly Steell and d.i.c.k darted under a doorway, and, seeing nothing to arouse his suspicion, Francois went on.

The lawyer was taking no chances to-night. It was too good a game to spoil. That they were on the right trail at last he was morally certain. Ray's experience had given him the first clue. After that it was easy. For two days d.i.c.k had shadowed the valet, and seen him changing crisp $10 bills in half a dozen different places. The lawyer could have had him arrested at once, but he was after bigger game. It was not enough to arrest Francois. He was only the tool. They must get the man higher up, the man who employed him. That man, the lawyer felt equally confident, was Keralio. He was the master counterfeiter.

The first step to take was to find out where the counterfeiting was done, where Keralio had his plant, and the only way to do this was to follow the valet to his master's secret den.

For several days they had shadowed the Frenchman constantly, until to-night they were rewarded by seeing him start with a suit case in the direction of the Bronx. They quickly gave chase, the lawyer confident of results. It was not part of his plan, however, to hurry matters or do things prematurely. To-night they would merely reconnoiter. They would content themselves by watching the premises, seeing who came and went, and trying to obtain a glimpse of the interior. If the evidence was incriminating enough to make a raid successful, it would always be time enough to call in the police. Keralio, he was also well convinced, had something to do with the missing diamonds, and possibly the present investigation would throw some light on the mystery surrounding Kenneth himself. He had made no mention of his suspicions to Helen, but he could not help feeling that in some way, yet to be discovered, his old comrade had become involved with a band of crooks.

How otherwise explain his acquaintance with Keralio, an utter stranger of dubious antecedents. How explain the loss of the diamonds? The explanation Kenneth had given was decidedly fishy. Parker did not believe a word of it--in fact, frankly expressed, his opinion was that his vice-president had disposed of the gems. Had he himself not seen Kenneth driving about the Bronx with Keralio at an impossible hour?

Had not Helen discovered Francois conversing on intimate terms with his master? It all looked decidedly bad; only time could unravel it all.

It was a fearful thing to suspect a man of Kenneth's standing, but everything pointed to his being involved in a vast network of crime.

He was aroused from his reflections by an exclamation of warning from his companion.

”Quick--there he goes!” whispered d.i.c.k.

The valet had suddenly made a sharp turn to the right, and was lost to view. But quick as he was, d.i.c.k was quicker. The young man was a little ahead of the lawyer, and, putting on a spurt of speed, he reached the corner just in time to see the Frenchman and suitcase disappear into a grimy, dilapidated looking tenement at the end of a blind alley.

”We've run the fox to earth,” whispered Steell exultantly.

”Could any melodrama wish for a more appropriate _mise-en-scene_?”

grinned d.i.c.k.

”Come opposite, and find out what we can see from the outside.”

Crossing the street they took up positions in the shadow of a doorway.

The house which the Frenchman had entered was all dark and apparently tenantless, except on the top floor where lights could be faintly seen behind hermetically sealed shutters. Straining his ears, Steell thought he could hear the steady hum of machinery in motion. With an exclamation of satisfaction, he turned to his companion:

”We've got 'em, d.i.c.k, we've got 'em. Do you hear the presses going?”

The young man listened. The sound was plainly audible, but it was a m.u.f.fled sound, as if the walls and windows were padded with mattresses to prevent any sounds of the operations within from reaching inquisitive, outside ears.

”Let's go upstairs,” whispered Steell.