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Show I THE SEALED TRUNK By Henry Kitchell Webster Copjrrlfht by Th Bobb-Merrll. Co. WNU Srr1c THE STORY At ft puh Mo dance Martin Forbes, a newHpaper man, cuts In on Ithoda Whtte'i dance with Max Iwiu, whom Martin Instinctively In-stinctively dislikes. He over-hoars over-hoars a eonveraation between I,ewls and a woman, which he realizes concerns Rhoria. He re-calla re-calla a "blind ad" Inquiring the whereabouts of "Rhoda Mc Fur-land" Fur-land" and BAnses a newspaper story. He believes that in Rhoda' Rho-da' a rial name. 8 he ref uHea to deny or admit It. However. It rncalla her childhood In California. Cali-fornia. Her mothnr dend, she had been happy until mlHf urtune befell her father. Professor Mc-Karland. Mc-Karland. Associated with the blow Is her uncle, William Royce. Thoy move to Chicago, whera her father la engaged 'n mysterious work. Rhoda takes up stenography. Uo.r father dies suddenly, vainly trying to give her a message about "papers' In a trunk. Rhoda goes to live with a fe I low-worker, "Babe" Jennings. Jen-nings. Martin learns that "C. J." of the "blind ad" Is Charles J. Jb'orater, uncle of Lewis. Rhoda admits her name Is MrFarland. A mysterious "Claire Cleveland" asks Rhoda for a certain paper bolonRlng to her which, she claims, was in McFarland'a possession. pos-session. Rhoda'a trunk Is stolen and she suspects Claire. She trails Claire to the Worcester hotel, where Forster lives. Martin Mar-tin Bees Lewis check the trunk at a depot. CHAPTER VII Continued He opened his dull eyes wide, and It she hadn't been too excited she'd have laughed outright at the mixture with the despair in them of a sudden unbelievable hope. He gave her the envelope without a word, and she, without another glance at either of the pair, scurried like a rabbit Into the crowd around the gate. Just before she got to the gateman he slipped aside, and In another second sec-ond Martin was hugging her, "Gosh, Babe, you're a peach I" he said. But If they were to keep Ithoda's trunk from taking an unnecessary and perhaps embarrassing trip to New York there wasn't any time to waste on compliments. "Walt right here," he told her, when she had given him Max's ticket and the precious trunk check, and darted off to And the baggage bag-gage master. "I want to get a trunk off the limited!" limit-ed!" he panted out to that official at the end of a sprint. "The young lady's changed her mind and Isn't going." go-ing." In less than ten minutes the hat trunk with Us gummed-down lid hove in sight having a ride all by Itself on a little electric platform truck. They wouldn't surrender It to Martin, though. It would have to be unlocked first and the contents Identified. He was glad he hadn't told them It was his trunk. The young lady who had changed her mind had been a useful Invention. He'd bring Rhoda round to get It In the morning. lie found Babe getting annoyed and under the Impression that she'd been unwarrantably abandoned, so to pacify her he borrowed five dollars of her and took her Into the station restaurant restau-rant for food. Ills Idea of the meal had been afternoon tea but It turned out a good deal more like a dinner. They had a telephone Instrument brought to their table so that they could call up and tell Rhoda the good news, but It seemed she wasn't there to hear It. "It's funny," Martin commented uneasily. un-easily. "Isn't she usually home by this timet It's after six. l'ou don't suppose anything's happened to her, do you?" "Oh, don't be an old hen !" Babe admonished ad-monished him. "What could have happened to her?" All the same he could see she was as uneasy as he was. They wasted no time about paying pay-ing their bill and getting a tnxl. The studio was dark when Babe unlocked un-locked the door, and their calls evoked no response. "Something has happened to her," Martin said, with sober conviction. But the telephone rang just then and enabled Babe to say as she darted across the room to answer It, "Silly, there she Is now. Turn on the light, will you? It's right by the door." "nello!" he heard Babe saying as he fumbled for the switch. "Is that yon. Red7 Well, what's the matter with your voice? I can't hear you. Yes, Martin's right here. Do you want to talk to him?" Before he could take the receiver from Babe's hand he heard her say, "Red, what Is It? What's the matter? Where are you, anyhow?" And by the time he had crowded into her place, the thread of communication bad been broken. "Number, please?" the operator said when he rattled the hook. She couldn't tell whore the call they had lost had come fr)tn. CHAPTER VIII The Spider It hud been the mere momentum of pursuit rather than any consciously adopted plan that had caused Rhoda to dismiss her taxi and follow Claire Cleveland Into the Worcester hotel. She wasn't more than a minute or two behind her and what she expected, as far as she'd clearly expected anything, had been to see Claire at the desk Inquiring In-quiring for Mr. Forster. Claire was nowhere to be seen. Very likely she, hadn't had to ask at the desk but had ridden straight up In one of the elevators. Having lost contact with her quarry, Rhoda sat down In one of the massive armchairs In the lobby to think things out a little. What ground had she for assuming that Claire had come here to see Forster? For-ster? Well, it was quite reasonable when you considered It. Out of the whole tissue of lies Claire had told at lunch the one emergent truth had been the genuineness of her hatred of Forster and her belief that he hated her. He might be, Rhoda perceived, just as unpleasant a person as Claire had painted him, or he might be perfectly benevolent, a potential friend. The advertisement ad-vertisement In the paper, that Rhoda would learn something to her advantage advan-tage by applying to him, might be true. He couldn't be dangerous not physically physi-cally dangerous If he couldn't even walk without the aid of two canes. And If he was the man who bad brought her and Babe down-town this morning, as she didn't doubt he was, he now knew where she worked If not where she lived; and this meant she couldn't avoid him unless she mowd out of the studio and got a new Job. If she was going to see him, what better bet-ter strategic opportunity could she have for the visit than while Claire was there quarreling with him? She started across the lobby toward the desk to ask if Mr. C. J. Forster lived there. She needn't actually go up to Mr. Forster's apartment unless she wanted to. An Inquiry at the desk wouldn't commit her to anything. But, In the strangest way, it did. The clerk didn't directly answer her question, whether Mr. C. J. Forster lived there or not. He asked for her name Instead. But the moment she gave it (as Rhoda White) his manner became alert and deferential. "Oh, yes, Miss White," he said, and nodded to a bell-boy. His irfner so strangely suggested that he iiTaw all about her and had been eagerly awaiting her arrival, both manifest impossibilities, that she felt like backing away and saying it was all a mistake. She was faintly amused and faintly frightened, but more than either she was curious to follow the adventure through and see what happened. The clerk had probably prob-ably mixed her up with some one else. Anyhow, Mr. Forster must be a pretty Important person in this hotel to evoke a zeal like that, even though it was mistaken. The bell-boy, on getting Instructions, conducted her over to the elevators. "Right up," he said to the elevator boy, "all the way." The bell-boy followed fol-lowed her in and the car ran all the way to the twenty-fourth floor, regardless re-gardless of signals. In the mixture of Rhoda's emotions the element of fear gained a little at the expense of amusement. She began be-gan to feel that she'd started something some-thing she might not be able to stop. The twenty-fourth floor appeared to be the topmost There were red "Down" lights only over all the elevator eleva-tor doors. It didn't appear to be a regular hotel floor either, at least not the whole of it, for the broad corridor corri-dor was cut off by a transverse partition par-tition of oak and ground glass, as in an office building. The bell-boy went over and pressed the bell button beside a solid door which had no legend nor numerals whatever upon its panel. There was no immediate response. "Where are you taking me?" Rhoda asked, trying to hide her nervousness, He seemed surprised at the question. ques-tion. "Mr. Forster doesn't come down to his office much," he said. "He's got a regular house up on the roof of the hotel. This little private elevator takes you up to it. It'll be down in a minute." "Heavens!" Rhoda exclaim jd. "Does he own the hotel?" "And how !" said the boy. The door opened upon a small private pri-vate elevator with a big man In it He was dressed not in the hotel livery but In a blue serge suit with a double-breasted double-breasted coat Rhoda stared. Where had she seen him before? "Miss White," the hell-boy said. "It's all right," miss, the man said, for she'd Involuntarily backed away at the sight of him. "Mr. Forster's expecting ex-pecting you." Reluctantly, beginning now to tremble a little, she stepped Into the elevator, denouncing to herself as she did so the impulse to exclaim that It was all a mistake, and to run. There wasn't anywhere to run to, for one thing. But she might have tried It anyhow If she'd remembered two seconds sec-onds sooner who the man in blue serge was. He was the man who'd come to their studio last night pretending to be a name-taker for the new city directory. di-rectory. His manner remained perfectly civil as he led her out of the elevator and ushered her across a broad hall Into a room, where he asked her if she would mind waiting a few minutes. Mr. Forster, she said, would see her directly. If the jaws of some trap were closing upon her she wasn't meant to be aware of them yet. He closed after him as he went out the door they had come In by and she noted In her first panicky glance about the room that Its other doors were j closed also. There was complet silence. She checked her Impulse to flight with the reflection that It wouldn't do any good. If they wanted her they had her. How had it happened? How could they have known she'd come here when she had only turned Into the hotel on the spur of the moment. In pursuit of Claire. She'd never even heard of C J. Forster until Martin had told her about him last night. Her notion that the hotel clerk and all the rest of them had mistaken her for some one else would no longer serve as an explanation. The man in the blue serge suit must have recognized her, though his stiff face had not betrayed be-trayed the fact. It had been as Mr. Forster's agent that he had come to the studio last night to see whether she lived there. It had been on the strength of his report that Mr. Forster himself In his limousine had followed her and Babe this morning, offered them the lift Babe had so gladly accepted, ac-cepted, and Incidentally, found out where they, worked. That seemed to hang together. It was a queer sort of room she was In large, well proportioned, with a high barrel-vaulted celling, beautifully beauti-fully but rather heterogeneously fur- H J tl 4 fkfil "He's Got a Regular House Up on the Roof of the Hotel." nlshed, partly as a drawing-room and partly as an office, since there was an enormous flat-topped desk, bare except for a bronze bust of Napoleon, In the middle of it. What was It that made the place seem so queer? Why, there wasn't a window In the whole room I The early twilight of a cloudy autumn au-tumn afternoon was already closing in, which might be why she hadn't noticed the absence of daylight In the room when she first came in. But was that the only reason? Probably not. There were pictures all around the walls, big, handsome oil paintings regularly spaced, all of them heavily framed and in shadow boxes with a special light over each, and they broke up the wails more or less as windows would. The biggest of them all was above the fireplace down at the end of the room. It was a landscape which Rhoda decided looked as If It had been painted from stage scenery rather than from nature Itself. The thing that held Rhoda's Interest down at that end of the room was the fire that was blazing In the grate Just before It It was an unusually picturesque fire, with Its leaping flames, and Rhoda stared at It a full half-minute wondering why she didn't hear It purr or crackle before she discovered that It wasn't a fire at all. It was a highly Ingenious electrical counterfeit, and must have cost a lot of money. No doubt Mr. Forster was correspondingly corresponding-ly proud of it, though why, she wondered, won-dered, was the chair that was obviously obvi-ously his placed on the wrong side of his desk, not where he could watch the leaping artificial flames, but with his back to them? The door opened and Mr. Forster, supported sup-ported by one of his canes and on the arm of the man In the blue serge suit, came Into the room. He paused Just Inside the door for a sharp, faintly puzzled look at her, as If he'd expected his appearance to produce some sensation that hadn't come off. Then he gave way what had been in his mind by saying, "We've already met today, you see." "Yes," she answered, a little vaguely, vague-ly, "I know." The puzzle that had again come up sharply In her own mind was why he should have taken her being here for granted. She couldn't talk to him, though, during his slow painful progress prog-ress across the room toward the big chair she'd assumed was his. After he was seated he Indicated the chair at the end of the desk, facing the imitation imi-tation fire, as the one be wanted her to take. Then he said to his attendant, attend-ant, "That's all ; you needn't wait. I sha'n't want you until I ring." Was It pure imagination on her part, or had he given that order as if he meant something special by it? The man's going was noiseless, and since Forster didn't Immediately speak to her after he'd gone out It seemed almost as if he were waiting for something. The Intensity of the silence si-lence again became noticeable and frightened her a little. He may have observed this, for what he finally said was. In a low husky voice. "I'm very sensitive to sound don't like sudden noises or loud voices. I've got this room practically sound-proof. That's a felt celling up there, though you wouldn't know It. I suppose you've been wondering why I sent for you." So he'd sent for her, had he? Most likely he'd left i messate of some sort at the paper which she'd have received re-ceived If she'd gone back to work this afternoon. That pretty well disposed of her misgiving that she'd been lured Into a trap. If he'd contemplated anything any-thing ugly or dangerous, like detaining her here against her will, he wouldn't openly have summoned her to his apartment, ne thought she'd come in answer to his summons. Well, It wouldn't do any harm for the present to let him go on thinking so. So her answer was merely a hesitating admission ad-mission that she had wondered what he'd wanted of her. He seemed a little put out by the way she phrased it. "I don't want anything of you at all," he assured her earnestly. "The only thing I want Is to do something for you. This Is going to be the best thing you ever did, coming com-ing to see me. Think, now. Didn't your father ever tell you anything about me?" That was the connection, then. A part, at least, of what Claire had been telling her at lunch was true. She answered with cautious vagueness. "I don't know. He may have." "Well, of course." he said, "you were a pretty small girl when I hired him. I knew about you, though. I even saw' you a few times out walking with him. I remember your red hair. That's how I recognized you this morning. And I'm glad I found you at last. There have been times when I was about ready to give It up." "Why," she asked, "were you so anxious to find me?" "Why?" he echoed. "Of course I I wanted to find you. I've never have lost you If I hadn't been sick myself when your father died. I was a mighty good friend to your father. You might say I was the only one he had. ne was a fine man. Smart, too, there's no denying that. Only not practical, and smartness don't get you anywhere without that. "But what I want to tell you Is that you've found a friend, that's the long and short of it. I'm an old man, old enough to be your grandfather, and I'm still an old bachelor without chick or child of my own, So I want you should feel you can come to me with any of your troubles; ask me for anything any-thing you want within reason, that is. "I can give you a better Job than you've got down there with the newspaper, news-paper, where you'd get more money and wouldn't have to work so hard. You could come here and do secretary secre-tary work for me. Settle down and live right here, too. I mean that. You can go home and pack your trunks and move In here this afternoon. The fact Is, It would suit me if you did that very thing." Rhoda had to admit to herself that this was. Intrinsically, a good plausible explanation of his search for her. She had, as it proceeded, found herself wondering why she wasn't believing a word of It She had known nothing of the nature of her father's actual labors but she did remember the passion pas-sion that had inspired them and the hope of sudden great fortune that had still been burning in him the very night he died. He'd begged the doctor for enough of the drug to keep him going a few hours more. Those memories mem-ories couldn't be reconciled with the sort of Job this man was talking about Why was he trying to make It look like that? Why had he gone out of his way to He about It? That was the question In her mind when he wound up his speech, with the suggestion sugges-tion that she pack up her trunks and move in to this palatial apartment of his this very afternoon and the word trunk struck a spark from It. "It may be," Claire had said at lunch, In discussing Forster's reason for advertising for her, "that he thinks you've got some paper of your father's that he wants." Had Rhoda's father been as near success the night he died as he believed he was? That would account for Forster's lying about his Job, for his belittling it all be could. There was a paper, then, and Forster For-ster knew it and had been trying for nobody knew how long to get it. But Claire knew about it too, and Claire had found her first Claire's chemt for getting the paper had failed, probably prob-ably through the treachery of her confederate. con-federate. Max. But Forster hadn't got It either, or he wouldn't be sitting there now telling tell-ing her how kind he meant to Te to her, urging her to go home and pack her trunks and come and have her home with him. She looked up at him now and found him staring at her with a look of consternation. con-sternation. "What's got Into you?" he asked. "What are you thinking about, all of a sudden? What makes you look like that?" "I was thinking," she said, "that even If I did come here to live I couldn't bring all my trunks. You see, the little hat trunk that had all my father's papers In it was stolen whllf I was out at lunch today." CHAPTER IX Some Light and More Darkness She had expected that statement to startle him, but she'd nowhere near guessed what the force of the explosion explo-sion would be. The utter disintegration disintegra-tion of panic that his whole appearance appear-ance betrayed would have been ludicrous ludi-crous if It had not been revolting. His face had gone a sickly shiny yellow. A door had opened and the man In the blue serge suit was In the room. "Yes, sir?" he said Interrogatively. "I didn't ring, Conley," Forster told him without looking around. "Understand "Under-stand now, I sha'n't want you until I ring." It was precisely the same phrase, Rhoda noted, that he'd used In dismissing dis-missing the man the other time. It was no doubt a code order to station himself at some listening post where he could hear everything they said. "What was it you were saying?" Forster asked. "That some trunk of yours had been stolen?" "Yes," she said, "my hat trunk, while I was out at lunch. At least I think that's when It was. When I went back to the studio after lunch, about two o'clock, I found It gone." "Went home after lunch, did you?" he asked, with a Bharp look at her. "What kind of hours do you keep on your job.?" "I had this afternoon off," she told him. "I didn't go back to the paper at all." "Well, then," he demanded, "how did you get my message that you were to come up here and see me?" She hadn't foreseen the question, and her Instinctively truthful answer was, "I didn't." "Well," he persisted, "how did you know who I was or where I lived?" What did you come here for?" She smiled at him as she said, "It's rather complicated. I came here without with-out having planned to and I was surprised sur-prised when I found you were expecting expect-ing me. I didn't know anything about you until last night Even then I hadn't decided to answer the ad"er-tlsement. ad"er-tlsement. I didn't connect you with my father, you see, nor know that you'd been his friend. Well, last night I got a letter from a woman I'd never heard of before, asking me to lunch with her today. She said she'd known my father well and had something very important to talk to me about. I went to lunch with her to find out what it was. What she seemed Interested Inter-ested In was my father's papers, whether he'd left any and whether I had destroyed them. I told her. I hadn't; I'd kept them all together in a trunk. She said she'd given him a letter to keep for her and now she wanted It back. She suggested that I take her home with me to my room, you know and let her help me find It. I told her that that wasn't necessary, but that I'd find it for her If I could. When I said that she excused herself from the lunch table to go out and telephone. When she came back she kept talking and ordering more food so that I couldn't get away. When I finally got away and went home, I found that the trunk with my father's papers In It was gone." (TO BE CONTINUED.) |