Chapter XXXIII Gone!
Lawrence presently closed the book and ventured back into the lobby. A swift survey of the place told him that Mrs. Walbridge Gordon was no longer there; so he made his way to the café and settled down in one corner to wait for Hamersley.
He rather wished he did not have to talk to Jock just then. It would be a difficult matter at any time to explain what had happened to him the night before without breaking the pledge of secrecy he had made to the little man in black. Besides, at the present moment his mind was so full of the extraordinary experience he had just been through, and its probable relation to the mystery which surrounded him, that there was little room for anything else.
Nevertheless, when the big bulk of the Yale man loomed up before him, and that booming voice resounded in his ears, Barry was glad, after all, that he had come. When one is perplexed and muddled and utterly at sea, there is nothing like a good friend whose discretion can be trusted and whose interest and sympathy is assured, even if he lacks the cleverness to suggest a solution of the difficulty.
The result was that Lawrence hailed Hamersley with pleasure, silenced the upbraiding tirade Jock started, and began to pour into his ears an account of the extraordinary things which had been happening for the past few days. He made no mention of Shirley Rives, and he refrained from saying anything about the man in black, the conditions the latter had imposed, or the money which had changed hands. He simply told his friend that he had undertaken certain trivial matters concerning which he was sworn to secrecy. What had occurred after that strange interview in the Pennsylvania Station, including mention of the Englishman and an account of his interview with Mrs. Walbridge Gordon, he had no hesitation in narrating; and, when the story was finished, the big fellow’s eyes were starting out of his head.
“Whew!” he exclaimed, leaning back in his chair and staring at Lawrence. “If I didn’t know you better, old boy, I’d say you’d been hitting the pipe. Shadowed, kidnaped, mistaken for another man, and—— Say! Did you find out what that woman’s name was?”
“I did; but it wouldn’t be quite right to mention it, would it? I only brought her in because it bore on the case.”
“Hum! I suppose you’re right. Awkward fix for a woman to be in, ain’t it? I reckon she and this double of yours must have known each other pretty well.”
“I judged so,” Barry returned grimly. “Do you know, Jock, I made the mistake of my life in giving that detective the slip. If I’d only stayed quietly there in that empty house until his employers showed up, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that by this time I’d be wise to the whole shooting match.”
Hamersley nodded. “No doubt,” he agreed. “Still, a fellow can’t always plan so far ahead. When a thug holds you up with a gun and carries you off that way, the natural thing is to go him one better, and make a sneak. Jove! I wish I’d been along. That chase over the roofs must have been some time, all right.”
“It wasn’t quite so entertaining while it was happening,” Barry said. “You could have taken my place, and welcome, if you’d been around.”
“Why don’t you turn the tables on this gang of snoopers?” inquired Hamersley suddenly.
Barry started slightly. “You mean that——”
“Turn around and follow them. Get after that duck with the beard. Strikes me he’s the head one of the push. Get him in a corner and make him come over with the information. Two can play at the game, can’t they?”
“By Jove!” Lawrence exclaimed jubilantly. “I believe you’re right, Jock. That’s a whopping good idea of yours, old fellow!”
“Didn’t expect anything but good ones from me, I hope?” Hamersley returned. “That’s my specialty, you know.”
Filled with enthusiasm over the notion, they made haste to leave the hotel. There seemed no time like the present for starting in, so they leisurely paused on the sidewalk to give any spies who were about ample opportunity to get on the job; then, turning eastward, sauntered along the south side of Forty-second Street.
Unfortunately, the scheme did not seem to pan out as they expected. Though they kept the sharpest sort of a lookout around them, suddenly turning to glance into shop windows, whirling about as if to retrace their steps, and taking the most roundabout route possible to the Yale Club, not a suspicious pedestrian or taxi did they see.
“Too big a crowd, I reckon,” Hamersley sighed as they paused before the building on Forty-fourth Street. “We’d better take dinner here and start out afterward when the streets aren’t so full.”
“I can’t dine with you, Jock,” Barry said regretfully. “I’ve got a date.”
“Part of the game you couldn’t tell me about, I’ll bet,” the Yale man returned shrewdly. “Well, meet me here at eight, then.”
Having left his friend, Lawrence returned at once to the St. Albans. As he took his key, the clerk handed him a letter, the precise, old-fashioned handwriting of which he recognized with a quick thrill.
“Wonder what the old geezer has to say now,” he said to himself as he sailed up in the elevator. “If he’s thought up any more conditions, I’ll balk, hanged if I won’t.”
There were none, however. The letter contained five one-hundred-dollar bills and a few lines of symmetrical writing on a single sheet of note paper:
You are doing admirably. Keep on as you have begun, and use the inclosed in case your expense money does not hold out.
Barry scratched his head, and sat staring at the note.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he exclaimed. “Don’t want me to do anything but spend money. It’s the weirdest thing I ever ran across, sure. What in creation does it mean? What does he get out of it? If I only——”
The room telephone tinkled imperatively; and, cramming money and letter into his pocket, Lawrence sprang up and took down the receiver.
“Hello!” came in a woman’s voice. “Is this Mr. Lawrence—Mr. Barry Lawrence?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Hold the wire, please. Mrs. Ogden Wilmerding wishes to speak to you.”
In the brief pause which followed, Barry stood there the picture of amazement. What in the world could Mrs. Wilmerding want with him? He did not know her—had never seen her. She was not the sort of woman to give her personal attention to such trivial matters as an invitation to call or to take dinner, anyway. Was it possible that anything had happened to——
“Mr. Lawrence!”
The name came snapping over the wires with the force of a pistol shot, and made Barry jump.
“Yes!” he gasped. “This is Mr. Lawrence.”
“Get a taxi and come to my house at once. Do you understand?”
Barry flushed a little at the peremptory tone, coming as it did from a woman he fancied he disliked so greatly.
“But I am just dressing for dinner,” he expostulated, trying with not much success to make his tone cool and dignified.
“Dinner!” snapped the voice. “What’s that to me? Go without your dinner, as I shall. My niece is gone!”
Lawrence felt an odd pounding in his head which made him certain that he could not have caught her meaning.
“Gone?” he repeated dazedly. “Where?”
“Don’t be a fool! Should I be doing this if I knew? She went out after lunch and hasn’t returned. A letter was just delivered which—— But we’re wasting time. Are you coming?”
“Yes. At once. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
There was no response save a sharp click, and Barry turned from the instrument, his face ghastly. Shirley gone—disappeared! For a second he stood there, his lips moving. Then, with an exclamation of fury, he snatched hat and coat, tore open the door, and ran down the hall toward the elevator.