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Show 1 The glEALIEi) TTMIUMM I Uiy EEenry Mitchell Webster Z Copyright by The Bobba-Merrlll Co. WNU Bervico CHAPTER X Continued 10 It didn't startle Mux, for he answered an-swered readily enough, ".'o, I Just happened to run across her there." "So you helped her buy her tloket and check her trunk and then you saw her off on the train. And now you've heard my trunk has been stolen you think that must be the one you checked?" "Well, It seems kind of queer, her going on" to New York like that without with-out letting you know anything about It. You said you'd lost some money, didn't you? She's got that, too, If you auk me. She certainly talked as If he had plenty. She told me she was taking her vacation late so that the big burg would be running full time when Blie got there." Involuntarily Itlioda started at that. Unbe had been talking about that sort of vacation ever since she and Rhoda had beguD living together. She'd used that very phrase. Max couldn't have made It up. He had met Babe at the station then and she had made him think she was going to New York. Why? Why had she gone to the Station? Sta-tion? Why, for that matter, had Max gone there himself? Had he meant to go to New York on that train? With her three hundred dollars and her trunk? Well, how about Claire? Where did he come In? Or didn't she come In? Had he ditched Claire, or tried to? Was that what the telephone message had been about? Never mind that now. Whatever Max had tried to do he'd failed. Rhoda remembered how he'd looked when ho came luto the room. "I wlBh you'd tell me," she said, looking at him In as childlike a manner man-ner as she could manage, "what the terrible thing wns that Babe did to you." "Never mind about that I" he growled at her. "Oct off It 1 It's no business of yours. You've got enough to worry about with what she did to you." "I don't think," she told him cheerfully, cheer-fully, "that I've anything to worry about at all. I think she's got my trunk back. You see I was talking to her on the telephone Just now, when you came In here." This proved one dart too many and he came for her; not blindly, either. He seized her arm with a wrench that made her want to cry out, and jerked her to her feet. "Get out of here!" he said. "I'll make It worth your while to talk to me some other time, If you get out now before my uncle finds you here." For an Instant she stared up at him blankly, the realization breaking over her that he didn't know she'd already een his uncle; that he thought she was voluntarily waiting for him. "All right." she said, "I'll go. But you'll have to show me the way out." He didn't altogether release her, but his grip on her arm relaxed as he started leading her toward the door ihe had come In by. Half-way to It they were halted by Conley's voice. He had come Id by one of the smaller doors. Conley came up to them briskly. "Let the girl alone," he continued. "She's no affair of yours. Mr. Forster wants her to wait here." Now Max did let go her arm, but It wasn't In obedience to Conley's order. "Lay oT It," he said. "You aren't In on this. Tills young lady's a friend of mine and now she's talked to me she doesnt want to see C. J." Conley agreed with a grin, "I guess she doesn't. But she don't leave this room until the boss comes back." Glancing up at Max, Rhoda could see that that word, "back" troubled him, though he hadn't yet made out the Implication In It. Rhoda started for the door, and she kept on going, though Conley barked at her, "Come back here, you!" She was aware that Max Interposed to chock Conley's rush for her. The last thing she hoard before she closed the door after her was the thud of a heavy blow, and she Inferred from the fact that she wasn't Immediately pursued and dragged back, that the recipient of It must have been Conley. She walked It seemed safer somehow some-how than breaking Into a run down the broad corridor and around the corner, cor-ner, retracing her way In, although It was a stalnvRy she hoped to find rather than the elevator. However, by almost unbelievable good luck, she found the elevator there waiting for her, with both Its own door and the outer guard gate standing wide open. There was no attendant there. It was one of those mysterious little elevators ele-vators you were supposed to run your-eelf. your-eelf. She swiftly scrutinized the little row of push buttons, and pressed the ene marked "Down." There was a faint, protesting buzz, but nothing happened. In less desperate haste she might have reflected that an automatic auto-matic eleTator which could descend Its shaft while Its guard gate stood open would be a veritable death-trap, but on the verge of panic as she was, she couldn't think at all. Then she heard a door open some wheie aoer stepped back Into the corridor, cor-ridor, poised for flight but not knowing which way to flee. A big, booming voice swept over her and, even before she consciously recognized It or took any meaning from what It said, all but paralyzed her with childish terror. ". . . Very well. But I warn you, you are making a serious mistake. I shall find her in spite of you, and If necessary, In spite of herself. She Is a minor and I am her guardian In effect, at any rate. Her Interests are in my hands and I shall protect them." It was six years since she had heard those heavy menacing tones. It was her uncle, William Itoyce the ogre! She fled now, as a child would, running run-ning blindly down one corridor, up another, turning corners at random. There must be a stairway somewhere. She was Just getting over this panic and beginning to try to feel ashamed of it when It was renewed by the sound of heavy and, to her ears, ogre-Ish ogre-Ish footsteps coming briskly along the transverse corner which she was approaching. ap-proaching. She was passing, at the Instant, a door which stood ajar. Instinctively In-stinctively she pushed It open and stepped Into the room It gave upon. The room was dark, but she perceived per-ceived at once It wasn't empty, since a woman's silhouette was visible against one of the windows. The woman hadn't heard her come In since she neither spoke nor moved. But the footsteps which had frightened fright-ened Rhoda were now Just outside the door and pausing there. The man was coming In too. She wasn't cornered cor-nered yet, however, for another door communicating with the adjoining room stood open too, and she retreated through it Just before the man switched on the light. The next moment she heard Max Lewis demanding angrily, "What the devil are you doing here?" He hadn't seen her, though ; he was speaking to the woman. CHAPTER XI To the Rescue Babe and Martin stood staring at each other across a dead telephone. "What do you suppose made her voice sound so funny?" Babe asked. "Sure It was hers, are you?" he shot at her. "Oh," cried Babe disgustedly, "don't I know Red's voice? Look here, have you really got anything on your mind, or are you Just generally cuckoo about her, I mean?" "I've got that Cleveland woman on my mind," he answered, "and a man named C. J. Forster, who wants to get hold of her pretty badly, and I don't know why. He's been advertising for her and somehow or other has managed man-aged to find her." Babe asked, rather tensely, how he knew. "It was Forster," he told her, "who brought you two down to work this morning In his limousine. Where did he pick you up? Just as you were leaving the building here?" She answered with a nod. "I guess It's my fault. If anythlng's happened," she said, pretty humbly for Babe. "I know how he found her, all right. You see, I answered his ad myself. He telephoned one In, the morning after Max had brought me home. Max had asked me that night if her real name wasn't Rhoda McFarland. I took the ad over the phone and got Forster's name and address. I'd tried to get Red to answer It the night before be-fore but she. wouldn't. It said 'something 'some-thing to her advantage' and I thought It probably was. So I called him up at lunch time at the Worcester and told him if he'd write her s letter, care of me, I'd forward it ta her. I didn't see how that gave hei away, but It must have, somehow. I suppose you'd like to beat me up for butting in like that." He patted her zhoulder Instead. "It's no use worrying about that now," he said. "I'm glad you told me. It's between him and the Cleveland woman, wom-an, then. They are fighting each other, that's one good thing. But one of them hat got her, somehow. If that had been a plain broken connection she'd have called again. . . ." The telephone bell Interrupted him. Babe was nearer and caught up the Instrument before he could get to It. "Red!" she cried, "Is that you?" Eut it wasn't Rhoda. Babe was looking rather puzzled. "No," Martin heard her say. "She hasn't come back yet We're expecting her. . . . This is her friend, Babe Jennings. Say, who Is this?" Martin started over to take the telephone tele-phone away from her, but she clung to It pressing the mouthpiece tight against her chest. "Martin !" she cried excitedly, "I think It's the woman at the station the Cleveland woman 1 Listen and see If she sounds like she did when you telephoned to her this afternoon." He'd been motioning at her frantically frantical-ly to take the transmitter away. "She can hear every word you say when you hold it like that. Talk to her! Ask her where she Is. Give me the receiver so I can hear what she says." But all he was In time to hear was the click of disconnection. Claire had hung up on them. "Weil," Martin remarked as he himself him-self bung up, "thanks to that chest trick of yours she knows how we framed her and Max this afternoon. But she hasn't got Rhoda or she wouldn't have called up here to ask for her. That makes the Worcester our best bet. I'm going there now and try to find her. You stick tight, you understand to that telephone so that you can answer the second she calls, If she does call again." With that he snatched his hat and fled. Fifteen minutes later, in a telephone booth In the lobby of the Worcester hotel, he looked up Forster's number and telephoned from there. When a man's voice answered with a "Hello? Who Is this?" he said that he was a reporter from the News and he wanted a personal Interview with Mr. C. J. Forster. The rather surprising surpris-ing answer came back, "This Is Mr. Forster speaking. What was It you wanted to speak to me about?" Apart from the fact that you wouldn't have expected Forster to an-swef an-swef his own phone, there were two queer things about this. The rhythm His Gaze Was Questing About the Lobby. of his talk wasn't right. The man wasn't speaking for himself. He was being prompted. This meant, of course, that he wasn't Forster but was Impersonating him under ordnrs from some one else. The other strange thing was that his voice was one that Martin half recognized ; fell, at least, that he ought to be able to recognize. "I don't much want to talk about It over the telephone," Martin said, and then added casually "and I don't believe you do, either." Evidently they whoever they were at the other end had to go Into conference con-ference over this remark, for It produced pro-duced quite a silence. Finally the man who said he was Forster asked, "Who are you? What's your name?" On Martin's telling him he said: "If you've really got anything to say yon can have your Interview. But you'U have to tell me what It's about." "It's about," said Martin, "the disappearance dis-appearance of Miss Rhoda McFarland. Do I get my Interview?" There was a long silence at that. Evidently they were having an argument argu-ment about It. "Nothing doing," the voice said at last. "I don't know that she's disappeared. disap-peared. I don't know that there's any such person." "You don't want to say, then, why you've been advertising for her?" The only answer he got to that question ques-tion was a click which meant that the other -receiver had been slammed down on the hook. So Martin hung up, too, and left the booth. The first thing to find out was the number of Forster's apartment, and of course, the obvious way would be to walk up to the desk and ask the clerk. But Instinctively he shied at that. Forster was no ordinary transient tran-sient guest here. A man as rich as he was, and permanently domiciled here, would have special defenses. You wouldn't be able to mention his name without starting something. The better way would be to drift Into casual talk with somebody, a bell hop or the girl who sold theater tickets, lead up to his question and ask It Idly. But It wasn't so easy as It looked, to frame that question so It would sound casual. And If he failed, If his question roused suspicion, he'd be worse off than If he'd gone straight to the clerk In the first place. His gaze was questing about the lobby, noting everything that everybody every-body did, studying faces in the hope of finding one dull and friendly and unsuspicious un-suspicious enough to suit his purpose. The man who had Just come down In one of the elevators and now stood talking to the captain hadn't a face like that; very much the contrary, In fact, bleak and rocky as a chunk of the great American desert and he talked as if he were biting off the heads of finishing nails. Martin stared at him, regardless of the risk of catching his eye, antll, In his own mind's eye, he btf ptit a derby hat on his head and a brown overcoat over-coat on his back and a little leather notebook In his hand, and recognized him. He was the man who had come to the studio last night, getting names for the new city directory. And this Identification led on so quickly to another an-other that it was like firing the second barrel of a shotgun. This was the man whose voice he had just now been trying to remember, the man on the telephone who had been pretending he was Forster. It seemed a reasonable guess that the Instructions Blue Serge was giving giv-ing the captain were that any reporter or other Inquisitive person asking questions about C. J. Forster or trying try-ing to get through to him was to be dealt with In a special manner. Satisfied that the captain understood these Instructions, whatever they were, Blue Serge left him and crossed the lobby to the desk. Here his business was not with the clerk but with the manager, who promptly came out of his little private office to talk with him. The manager was taking orders, too, with an alertness which showed he recognized their Importance. Leaving the desk and a completely Instructed manager behind It, the man In the blue serge suit now started across the lobby In a new direction ; one that would bring him, unless he veered off, uncomfortably close to Martin's Mar-tin's chair. But before this embarrassment embar-rassment became acute he was diverted divert-ed by one of the bellboys who crossed his path. The boy seemed perfectly unaware of him, but Blue Serge, after a sharp look, turned on his heel and went back to the desk, summoned the manager again, brought him out Into the lobby a little way, and nodded after the boy. Then he went off and disappeared into an elevator. The manager, returning to his office, paused for a word to the bell captain. The bell captain spoke to the boy Blue Serge had pointed out. The boy, with a look of surprise, went into the manager's office to come out again a minute or two later flushed, Indignant, and, withal, profoundly puzzled. Something Some-thing had happened to him that he seemed utterly at a loss to account for; discipline, evidently, that he felt to be undeserved. He was coming along slowly In Martin's direction. That was luck. But It wasn't until the boy was In the act of passing his chair that the significance of the little play clicked Into a pattern In the reporter's mind. That boy had seen something. He possessed, probably without suspecting it, some piece of damaging Information, Informa-tion, and they'd taken measures to prevent pre-vent his giving that Information away. Martin rose from his chair Just when his doing so Intercepted the boy's progress toward the door. "I guess you're looking for me," he said. The boy stopped In surprise and answered, an-swered, "I'm not looking for anybody, that I know of. What made you think I was looking for you?" Martin took the plunge. "If they Just laid you off," he said, "I think I can tell you why they did. Who's the hatchet-faced man In the blue serge suit who works for Forster? He pointed you out to the manager Just now." "Do you mean Conley? I haven't done anything to him. Say, who are you? How do you know they laid me off?" "Conley's expecting a reporter around here In a few minutes, a reporter re-porter from the Dally News who's trying to find out about the disappearance disappear-ance of a girl. He had you laid off because he thought you knew something some-thing about her." T don't know anything about any girl that's disappeared," protested the boy. "Say, who are you?" "I'm the reporter Conley's expecting In about fifteen minutes. Didn't you see a girl a red-haired girl? Didn't yon answer some questions of hers or take her somewhere?" "Sure!" said the boy. "Forster was expecting her. I took her up to the top floor, to the private elevator. Conley Con-ley ran her up from there." "How do you know Forster es pected her?" Martin asked. "Because we ran her right up the. minute she gave her name. Miss White, It was. She didn't know Forster owned the hotel and 6he seemed sort of scared when she found she was going up to that bungalow of his on the roof. Conley came down in the private elevator to take her up." "What time was this?" "I don't know," ald the boy. "This afternoon some time. Say, do you think they're keeping her up there?" Martin nodded. He hodn't thought so until a moment ago. But a bungalow bunga-low on the roof offered opportunities. "I'm going up to see If she's there, anyhow." "How you going to get In?" the boy wanted to know. "The private elevator's ele-vator's locked up except when they run It themselves. The only stair except the service stair comes down Into Forster's office on the top floor. That's all locked up now." "How about the fire escape?" Moj tin asked. The boy's face lighted at this suggestion, sug-gestion, but chiefly, Martin was disappointed dis-appointed to discover, In admiration of the reporter's nerve In contemplating contemplat-ing It. "There's a fire escape landing outside the window right at the end of the corridor on the top floor. And there's a steel ladder goes up from there that curves over the sort of stone railing at the edge of the main roof. That ladder must be pretty scary, climbing right up over the edge of nothing." It may be confessed that It struck Martin that way. But all he said was that It looked like the best bet. He shook hands with the boy and walked away, with the best air of unconcern he could assume, to the elevators. "As far as you go," he said In response re-sponse to an inquiring glance from the elevator boy. He hoped the phrase would conceal his Ignorance of the actual number of the top floor, and It did. He perceived, though, that even the briefest hesitation on his part when he stepped out of the elevator at the top would be fatal to his plan. The boy would ask him whose room he was looking for. He must choose In advance which way to turn. Very well, he'd turn to the right It seemed at first that he had made a disastrously bad guess, for he found himself walking straight toward a transverse partition of glass and oak with a door in the middle of It marked "C. J. Forster." The door was ajar and there was a light Inside. The elevator hadn't started down. The boy was certainly watching him. The only thing he could possibly do was to push open the door and walk In and see what happened after that Nothing happened. A sense that he had no time to waste all but betrayed him Into a mistake. The project that was on the rails of his mind was the one he'd come up In the elevator with, namely to get out the window at the end of the corridor on to the fire escape, es-cape, and he had his hand on the knob when the thought of something else halted him. The helpful bellboy who had remembered Rhoda had spoken of a stairway leading from the office up into Forster's apartment Ha turned back at once and started through the suite of offices looking for It When he saw It going boldly np from the second room he entered evidently the stenographers' room, since there were four typewriter desks In Ithis first thought was that this was too easy to be true. It wasn't as easy as It looked, however, for he found at" the head of It a solid mahogany ma-hogany door locked. It would take a competent burglar with a full set of tools to get In through that door, he thought despairingly. (TO BE CONTINUED.) |