The Copper House A detective story
person, simply known as B.22, told off to escort Jenin; I see Rastakov
keeping an eye on them both; earnest consultations take place in the
baron's apartments. To my surprise, I learn that this Bernard Jenin
is in possession of nothing less than the Tarraschin document, and I
gather that there is a plot to rob him of it.
"Then, having for a month past played the silent part of an unseen
spectator, I decide to step in!
"I saw Rastakov go straight from the baron's room to that of Jenin,
and I put a spoke in his wheel. I warned Jenin to look out carefully
for a better hiding-place, and safer friends; he hardly said a word,
but simply vanished. I wondered which way he had gone, but I could not
follow him, because it became necessary for me, once for all, to take
up a definite attitude as regarded the baron. I now learn for the first
time, that Jenin dashed off to the Copper House, that Rastakov promptly
followed him, and that they have, in all probability, murdered him
there."
* * * * *
Maurice Wallion told his story rapidly, and almost without a pause. The
silence which succeeded it lasted so long that it began to get on Leo's
nerves. It seemed to him as though the mere fact of having listened to
this fantastic tale brought with it some sort of responsibility--an
awakening sense of duty.
"Do you think, too, that Jenin is dead?" he asked, just to break the
silence.
"One can think anything, when one knows nothing," replied Wallion
gravely. "I would rather have no theory than one which can be proved
to have no foundation. But that Jenin, as soon as I have rescued him
from one danger should run straight into another--that he should turn
up so apparently unnecessarily at the Copper House, right in the
middle of the hornets' nest, seems so senseless, that Lona Ivanovna's
revolver-shot only puts the finishing touch to the story! The only
thing that really puzzles me is why Sonia Bernin should have cried out:
'Sergius!'"
"Where do you suppose Tarraschin's document can have got to now?"
"Possibly into Lona Ivanovna's, or more accurately, into Andrei
Bernin's hands. At any rate, Rastakov did not get hold of it."
"How can you be sure of that?"
"In this way: if he had been able yesterday to report the discovery of
the document to the baron, and he in his turn to Ortiz, they would have
not made such a frantic search amongst all my belongings later in the
evening. They would have held all the trumps in their hands, and would
have considered me comparatively harmless. But instead of that, they
have turned my room at the office topsy-turvy, and have tried to do the
same thing here, to find that paper, and that assures me that Rastakov
has not discovered it at the Copper House--yet!"
"That seems probable," Leo agreed; "so you knew how they had ransacked
your office?"
"Yes, Robert Lang telephoned it. But they carried off nothing more
important than a photograph of Sonia Bernin."
"They didn't even get that!" cried Leo, triumphantly. "Look what I
have! I got there first!"
There was such simple pride in the young man's look and words, that the
Problem-hunter burst out laughing, and gave him a hearty slap on the
back.
"Ah, now you are playing tricks on me," said he; "it's the Finger of
Destiny, or the Master Mind, or whatever else you like to call it. It
is quite evident that we two must coöperate!"
"Yes, we _must_ do something," declared Leo, who had certainly never
shown himself so decided in the whole of his life. "I am glad you
summoned me home from California. We mustn't let things slide: we must
keep a sharp look-out on what is going on at the Copper House."
The Problem-hunter looked pleasantly surprised at the reiterated "we
must," and began to think that this young fellow had something in him
after all.
"You heard what I said about Ortiz," said he warningly. "Don't imagine
that the Man in the Whirlpool is a myth, and can be abolished in half
an hour. He exists, and he is dangerous."
"Dangerous!" exclaimed Leo, coloring a little in his excitement. "With
you to back me, who can call a man from the other side of the world,
without saying a word to him! I know nothing of Ortiz, but at any rate,
he has got you for an enemy!"
It was plain to see that the young man, like almost all those who met
Wallion, had surrendered unconditionally to his suggestive personality.
The calm voice and the keen eyes inspired Leo with unlimited
confidence, and, at this moment, his mobile, rather undecided face took
on a look of the journalist's, with his determined mouth and chin.
Wallion, who was watching him, took up his tumbler quickly to hide a
smile, and said: "Unfortunately, though we know nothing about Ortiz,
he knows all about us. He has the advantage of us there. But he and his
satellites are suffering from one drawback: there are too many of them.
'A chain is no stronger than its weakest link.'"
"And it's just that link we have got to find," cried Leo.
"Yes, that's exactly what I was trying to do yesterday afternoon,
while I was keeping Fayerling's counterspies at arm's length. I found
that the man we know under the pseudonym of B.22, who escorted Bernard
Jenin to Stockholm, has in some way incurred the baron's suspicions. I
profited by this, and managed to fall in with B.22."
Here the journalist looked at his watch, and broke off: "I say, how
time has flown! It is past six already!"
He extinguished the lamp, and they could see a glimmer of daylight
between the thick curtains, which he now flung open. Waves of bright
sunshine streamed into the room, and when the window was opened a
refreshing morning-breeze blew softly in on their heated faces. They
both inhaled it with enjoyment, and Wallion said: "Another day! I
wonder if Gabriel Ortiz slept last night--not without dreaming, I'll
wager. As long as there is a doubt about Tarraschin's memorandum ...
but who knows, everything may be cleared up in an hour's time!"
"Why are you looking out into the street?"
"To see if the house is watched."
"And is it?"
"Fortunately not. We are lucky."
"How odd you look! One might think you were waiting for somebody.
What's up?"
"I am expecting B.22. He was to be here at about seven."
Leo jumped up. "B.22 coming here?"
"Yes, the poor chap is scared stiff, and is inclined to betray Ortiz
to save his own skin. I have promised to help him, as soon as he has
made a full confession, though I doubt whether he will prove a very
creditable witness...."
The door-bell rang; Wallion went to answer it, and a man came
in hurriedly, holding a newspaper in his hand. It was the young
journalist, Robert Lang, and he was so much out of breath that he could
not speak for a minute, but handed the paper to his Chief with a silent
gesture.
"You are out early," remarked Wallion coolly, though he already guessed
the truth.
"No," retorted Lang hastily, "say rather, too late! Wallion, they have
forestalled us again--B.22 is dead!"
"Dead!" echoed Leo and the Problem-hunter together. The latter, to
whom Lang had handed the paper, glanced through it, and came to an
underlined paragraph, which he read aloud:
'SUDDEN DEATH IN THE STREET LAST NIGHT.'
"'About eleven o'clock last night, a middle-aged and rather poorly
dressed man was found dead upon one of the benches in the Railway Park.
The man, who was apparently one of the many unknown strangers who are
so frequently to be met with in Stockholm at the present time, seems to
have died quite suddenly, no doubt in consequence of a heart-attack.
Nothing was found in his pockets, except a card upon which was written
in red ink, "B.22." It is therefore impossible to identify him. He was
dressed....'" A brief description followed. Wallion threw down the
paper, and asked:
"Is the _Morning Post_ the only paper that gives the news?"
"Yes," replied Lang; "it must have been one of their reporters who came
across him."
"Have you verified the report?"
"Yes, the dead man is B.22, there's no doubt about that."
"No," said Wallion slowly; "no doubt about it. We might have expected
it. Poor wretch! the Whirlpool has sucked him in!"
"He makes the third," said Leo, looking much disturbed. "We _must_ give
notice to the police now!"
Wallion, who was standing with his head bent, now looked up.
"The third, if Bernard Jenin is really dead," he said. "But how can
the police help us? What's the good of bringing an accusation against
one Gabriel Ortiz, when no one has any idea where to find him? Or to
arrest Fayerling or Tassler, against whom we have not a shadow of
proof? Or to tell the fantastic history of Tarraschin's memorandum
which none of us has seen? Go to the police, if you like--and in
a week's time we shall be scoffed at as the most arrant liars and
slanderers in Europe, and that is saying a good deal in this year of
grace 1917!"
"But--aren't we right?" asked Leo, amazed.
"We haven't the _right_ to be right, as long as we can't _prove_ that
we are! And you see, they have robbed us of our proof before we could
take advantage of it."
"What shall we do, then?"
The Problem-hunter's gray eyes began to sparkle with indomitable
energy. He spoke rapidly, but in such a tone that every word was
impressed upon their minds.
"Lang, you go straight off to Lawyer Burchardt as soon as his office is
open, and inform him on Mr. Grath's behalf that the Copper House is not
for sale. You may tell the lawyer, under the seal of secrecy, as much
of the truth as is necessary. After that, wait for further instructions
from me."
Robert Lang looked at Leo.
"Yes," said he quickly; "it's quite correct, I have no intention of
selling the Copper House to those people."
"And you, Mr. Grath," continued Wallion, "are presumed to be locked
up in your bedroom at the present minute, fast asleep at the Copper
House. It's a grand position, at the very center of all that's going
on. So, catch the first train out to Karkby, and get back to your room
the same way you left it--as long as nobody sees you doing it!"
Leo drew a deep breath.
"But supposing anyone saw me in Stockholm last night?"
"Nobody would have dreamed that you would be here, and that fellow
outside my door had quite enough to do to look after himself."
"And what about you? what are you going to do?"
"I am coming with you to the Copper House!"
_Part II--The Twentieth of July_
CHAPTER VIII
_Lona Ivanovna asks her first question_
When a house is guarded with such infinite precaution as was the
case with the Copper House, it becomes, as Wallion expressed it, "a
pleasantly exciting adventure" to enter it by broad daylight, without
being seen.
By his advice, they had quitted the train one station beyond Karkby,
and gone the rest of the way on foot, through the wood. They crossed
the southern boundary as an invading army crosses the border of a
hostile country: by forced marches, and with intense caution.
As soon as they reached the top of the hill, they could see at some
distance through the trees, the massive roof of copper which was their
goal. The sun shone brightly in the still atmosphere; no smoke issued
as yet from the chimneys of the great house; the unploughed field in
front of it lay bare and desolate. But, on looking to the left, they
caught sight of a man sitting motionless upon a stone at the outskirts
of the wood, with his face turned towards the field, and a gun between
his knees. It was one of the forest-guards.
"We seem to be in luck," murmured Wallion.
"Luck!" echoed Leo irritably. "They are watching the path and we shall
not be able to go a hundred steps without being seen...."