The Mask

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"Ze alarm is given. Zey have spotted several of ze bills. Half a
dozen of ze cleverest sleuths in ze country have been put on our trail.
Zey will not succeed. Ze scent is cold. We've got zem completely
doped."

Keralio looked anxious.

"Is there any danger of them having shadowed you and followed you here?"

"No--_mon cher, pas le mains du monde_. It took me three hours to come
here from ze Pennsylvania station--such a crazy in and out route I gave
ze chauffeur. If they succeed in following such a labyrinth as that,
they deserve to get us."

Keralio smiled and pointed to a bottle of brandy on the table.
Approvingly, he said:

"Good boy! There, take a drink and a cigar----"

After the valet had refreshed himself, he again confronted his chief.

"What else _a votre service_?"

Keralio pointed carelessly to a seat. In a commanding tone, he said:

"Yes--I have more work for you. Sit down. I will tell you."

The valet took a chair and waited. Keralio looked at him meditatively
for a moment. Then suddenly he asked:

"When did you leave the house?"

"This afternoon at three o'clock."

"When did Mrs. Traynor return from Philadelphia?"

"Yesterday--furious at the hoax played upon her? Miss Dorothy is
perfectly well----"

Keralio smiled.

"Of course. I sent that telegram."

The valet grinned. Admiringly, he exclaimed:

"You are admirable! _Quel homme, mon dieu, quel homme_!"

Paying no heed to the compliment, Keralio went on:

"What did Handsome say?"

"He is puzzled himself and can't understand. Everyone's up in the air.
They think it is a discharged maid who did it for spite."

"The next time Mrs. Traynor receives a sudden message about her baby it
will not be a hoax."

The valet looked up in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

Keralio did not answer the question immediately, but sat nervously
twisting his fingers, a moody sullen look in his pale saturnine face.
At last, breaking the heavy silence, he said:

"That woman insulted me. You saw it. You were there----"

The valet nodded.

"You mean she put you out--ah, _oui_, she has a _diable_ of a temper
when angry."

Keralio nodded.

"Yes--that I can never forgive. She shall ask my pardon on her knees.
I will break her spirit, humiliate her pride. I have been taxing my
brain how to do it. At last I have hit on a plan--one that cannot fail
and you shall help me."

"In what way _s'il vous plait_?"

Bending forward, his black eyes flashing, Keralio said earnestly:

"That woman is devoted to only two beings in this world--her husband
and her baby. Sooner or later, perhaps only in a few days, she will
discover that Handsome is an impostor. He is such a fool that exposure
is inevitable. The blow will almost kill her. Above all, it will
humiliate her pride to know that unwittingly she has allowed that
drunken brute, that poor counterfeit of her husband, to caress and
fondle her. Next in her affections comes her baby. If any danger
threatened the child, she would stop at nothing, she would make any
sacrifice to ward off the danger. I propose to bring about just that
situation----"

The valet half started up from his chair. Hardened and callous as he
was in crime, he was hardly prepared to go to that extreme.

"Death?" he exclaimed, horror stricken, "you would kill ze child?"

"No fool--not kill the child. I'll kidnap it--that's all. We'll bring
the child here and, then I'll write the mother, telling her where it is
and to come to it, but warning her that if she values the child's life,
she must tell no one, and must come here unaccompanied. Once she is
here, I will take care of the rest. Do you understand?"

The valet breathed more freely.

"So you will that I----"

His chief nodded.

"Precisely. You'll take the flyer to Philadelphia. Say you come from
the mother. They'll have no suspicion. Take the child and come here
at once. Understand?"

"_Oui_, monsieur."

Keralio rose. In commanding tones, he said:

"Then go at once."

The valet went to get his hat. As he approached the door Keralio
halted him and said:

"What's Handsome doing--keeping sober?"

"He has to, for I lock up all ze liquor. He lives like a lord, buying
swell clothes, riding in ze automobile. Last night he lost at ze club
$10,000 he had drew from ze bank."

Keralio gave a low whistle.

"The deuce he did! Living high, eh? Well--that's all right. Let him
enjoy it. His gay life won't last long--only just as long as it suits
my purpose."

"Hush! Not a word--here he is!"

From the landing outside came the sound of a heavy body lurching. Then
came the noise of someone groping for the handle, followed by a furious
pounding on the wooden panels.

"Open up there, will you!" shouted a hoarse voice.

"Drunk, as usual!" said Keralio contemptuously.

He suddenly threw the door open and the gambler, burly and unsteady on
his legs, almost fell in. He was in evening dress, his collar and tie
rumpled, his hair unkempt. His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot.
Reeling in, he hiccoughed:

"What'n h--ll do you live so far up town for? I thought I'd never get
here. Say, this is the end of the world, ain't it? Jumping off place,
eh? Stopped several times on the way to get a drink. My cabby nearly
got lost. Been driving me round for three hours trying to locate the
blooming house. Charged me $5. Hell of a good business, ain't it.
Tain't on the level to treat an old pal that way. Y'oughter be ashamed
o' yourself."

"I'm more ashamed of you--for making such a beast of yourself,"
rejoined Keralio angrily. "Stop your cursed noise or you'll have the
police on top of us!"

Without ceremony, he pushed the newcomer into a seat and made a gesture
to Francois to go. The valet went toward the door.

"Remember," said Keralio warningly. "There must be no blundering. I
want the child brought here----"

"_Oui_, monsieur--it shall be as you say."

The door closed and Keralio turned quietly to the miner. Sternly, and
in a manner that brooked no nonsense, he demanded:

"Did you bring the diamonds?"

Handsome grinned, and pointed to his waist.

"I've got 'em all right!" With another hiccough, he added: "But
there's no hurry, old sport. Let's have a drink before we get talking
business."

In two rapid strides Keralio was up to him. Fiercely he said:

"Give me the stones--give me them I say. We've no time for your d----d
fooling. Hand them over. Come----"

For a moment the gambler just sat and looked at his master. A giant in
physical strength compared with the slightly built foreigner, he could
have overpowered him as a child might crush an egg-shell, but he lacked
the mentality, the magnetism of the Italian. He was cowed, dominated
by the stronger mind. Grumbling, he began to fumble at his waist:

"I don't see what's the hurry."

"But I see," exclaimed Keralio, his eyes growing larger, as he already
saw the colossal stones glittering in his hand.

The next instant Handsome had slid his hand under his waistcoat and
unbuckled a belt he wore next his shirt. Unfastening a pocket and
taking out the contents, he growled:

"Here they are! I'm glad to get rid of the d----d things."

With a cry of exultant joy Keralio took hold of the stones and, going
to the window, greedily feasted his eyes on them. Report had not
exaggerated the value and extraordinary beauty of the gems. They were
worth more than a million.

"What do I get out of it?" whined the gambler.

Keralio regarded him with contempt. Dryly he said:

"You get out of it that you're not sitting in the electric chair for
murdering your twin brother. You get out of it that you're playing the
role of the millionaire, basking in the smiles of your brother's
charming wife, and making a drunken beast of yourself--that's what you
get out of it. Isn't it enough?"

Handsome winced. Keralio had a direct way of saying things to which
there was no answer possible.

"All right," he grumbled, "I'm not kicking."

"No--I wouldn't if I were you."

Changing the topic, Keralio carelessly lit a cigarette and, between the
puffs, asked:

"How's your wife?"

"My wife? You mean his wife?"

Keralio smiled.

"Yours--for the time being."

Handsome scowled.

"It isn't so easy as I thought," he replied. "I don't know if she
suspects something's wrong or not, but ever since that evening she was
called to Philadelphia she avoids me like the pest. I can see in her
face that she's puzzled. 'It's my husband, and yet not my
husband'--that's what she's thinking all the time. I can guess her
thoughts by the expression on her face."

Keralio shrugged his shoulders.

"That's your own fault. I gave you the opportunity. You failed to
profit by it. You got drunk the first night you arrived. Kenneth
Traynor was a temperate man. Is it no wonder you excited wonder and
talk? Then you were stupid under questioning and gave equivocal
answers. Your explanation to Parker about the diamonds was more than
unfortunate; it was idiotic. His suspicions were at once aroused. He
may yet give us trouble before we have time to get rid of the stones.
Finding the wife eluded you, you began to stay out late at night. You
caroused, you drank hard, you gambled--all of which follies your
brother never committed. In other words, you are a fool."

The miner pointed to the diamonds which still lay on the table.
Sulkily he asked:

"Is that all you wanted?"

Keralio put the gems away in his pocket, and pointed to the stacks of
newly printed counterfeit money that lay in stacks all over the floor.

"No, you can help me make up bundles of this stuff."

Handsome opened wide his eyes at sight of the crisp currency. Greedily
he exclaimed:

"Say--that's some money! Ain't they beauties?"

Keralio made an impatient gesture and, taking off his coat, made a
gesture to his companion to do likewise.

"Come--there's no time to talk. We must get rid of it all before
morning. For all I know the detectives may be watching the house now."

CHAPTER XVII

"I'm sure it was Mary," exclaimed Ray positively. "I never did like
the girl. She was sullen and vicious and would stop at nothing to get
even with us for discharging her."

"Perhaps you are right," said Helen, "although it is hard to believe
that a woman would do such a cruel thing to a mother. Just imagine how
worried I was all the way to Philadelphia, only to find when I got
there that no message had been sent, and Dorothy was perfectly well."

It was evening. The two women were sitting alone in the library on the
second floor, Ray busy at her trousseau, Helen helping her with a piece
of embroidery. The master of the house was absent, as usual. He had
not come home to dinner, having telephoned at the last minute that he
was detained at the club, a thing of such common occurrence since his
return from South Africa that Helen had come to accept it as a matter
of course. Indeed, things had come to such a pass that she rather
welcomed his absence. She preferred the sweet, amiable companionship
of her little sister to that of a man who had suddenly become exacting,
over-bearing and quarrelsome.

"Why don't you let Dorothy come home?" asked Ray. "Then you wouldn't
have this constant worry about her."

"I think I will, now that we are more settled and things are quieter.
I wrote to auntie to-day that I might go to Philadelphia one day next
week to bring her home. You are right. I shall not be happy until
she's with me. I have such terrible dreams about her. If anything
were to happen that child, I think it would kill me."

Ray nodded approvingly. Sympathetically, she said:

"Yes, dear. You'll feel better satisfied when she's with you. Besides
she'll be a companion for you--especially when I'm married----"

Helen sighed and turned away her face so her sister should not see the
tears that suddenly filled her eyes. Sorrowfully, she said:

"It will be terrible to lose you, dear. Of course, I'm happy over your
marriage. It would be very selfish in me to want to stand in the way
of your happiness. I'm sure I wish you and Wilbur every joy
imaginable. But I shall certainly feel very lonely when you are gone."

The young girl looked closely at her sister. She realized that her
sister was no longer the happy, contented woman she once was, and she
readily guessed the cause. Helen had not taken her into her
confidence, but she had ears and eyes. Living in the house in such
close intimacy, she could not help noticing that the relations between
the wife and husband were no longer what they had been. Guardedly she
said:

"But you have Kenneth."

Helen sighed and was silent.

Ray looked up. More gently she said:

"Haven't you your husband, dear?"

Her sister shook her head. There was a note of utter discouragement
and melancholy in her voice as she answered:

"He is seldom home--his club seems to have more attraction for him. I
rarely see him except at breakfast time." She was silent for a moment,
and then added quickly: "Would you believe that he hasn't been home a
single night since the time I was called to Philadelphia?"

Ray opened her eyes.

"He's out all night?"

"Yes--all night. The other morning it was seven o'clock when he came
home--and his dress suit and shirt looked as if he had been in a fight."

The young girl put down her work and looked at her sister in dismay.

"Sis!--what's the matter with Ken all at once?"

Helen made no reply, but covering her face with her two hands, burst
into tears. Ray rose quickly and going over to where she was sitting,
sat on the edge of the chair and put her arms about her. Soothingly
she said:

"Don't cry, dear, don't cry. He will soon be himself again. His
terrible experience on the steamer upset him dreadfully. His nervous
system underwent such a shock that it has entirely changed his
character. Wilbur says it is quite a common phenomenon. Only the
other day he read in some medical book an article on that very subject.
The writer says any great shock of that kind can cause a temporary
disarrangement of the moral sense and perceptions. For example, a man
who, under ordinary circumstances is a perfect model of a husband, with
every good quality and virtue, may suddenly lose all sense of conduct
and become am unprincipled _roue_. In other words, we have two natures
within us. When our system is working normally we succeed in keeping
the evil that's in us under control; but following any great shock, the
system is disarranged, the evil gains the ascendancy, and we appear
quite another person. This explains the dual personality about which
Wilbur and I had an argument the other day. Don't you remember?"

Helen nodded. Sadly she said:

"I begin to think you are right. Certainly he has changed. If he had
been like this when I first met him I should never have married him.
It is not the Kenneth I learned to love." Bitterly, she added: "As he
is now, I feel I dislike and detest him. Unless he soon changes for
the better, I shall leave him. In self respect I can't go on living
like this?"

Kissing her sister again, Ray rose and went back to her seat.
Confidently, she said:

"Don't worry, dear. I'm sure everything will be all right soon. You
see if I'm not right. By my wedding day--only three weeks away
now--you'll think as much of Ken as ever----"

"I hope so, dear, but three weeks is a long time to wait----"

The young girl laughed.

"Why that's nothing at all. Just imagine Ken is ill or gone away from
you on a visit for that length of time----"

As she spoke the door opened, and Francois entered with a silver
salver, which he presented to his mistress.

"A letter for Madame."

Helen looked at the envelope and threw it down with a gesture of
impatience. Crossly, she exclaimed:

"Francois, I do wish you'd be more careful. Can't you read. Don't you
see the letter is addressed to Mr. Traynor?"

The valet nodded.

"_Oui_, madame. But as Monsieur is out I thought that possibly
madame----"

Incensed more at the fellow's impudent air than by what he actually
said, Helen lost her temper. Angrily, she exclaimed:

"Don't think. People of your class are not hired to think; they are
paid to do as they are told. You've been very careless in your work
recently. The next time it happens I shall have to tell you to find
another place."

The valet smiled. An insolent look passed over his sallow, angular
face. Dropping completely his deferential manner and fixing the two
women with a bold, familiar stare, he said impudently:

"You needn't wait till next time. I'll quit right now, _parbleu_.
It's a rotten job, anyhow."

Indignant, Helen pointed to the door.

"Go!" she cried. "The housekeeper will settle with you. Never let me
see your face again."

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and went toward the door. As he
reached it, he turned round, a sneer on his face:

"You'll see me again all right, but ze circumstances may be different?
My lady may not be so proud ze next time."

With this parting shot, he went away, and a moment later they heard him
going up to his room to pack his things.

Ray turned to her sister. Reprovingly, she said:

"Weren't you a little severe with him?"

Helen shook her head. Quickly, she said:

"I never could bear the sight of the man. He is treacherous and
deceitful. I'm not at all sure that he's honest. It was only after
he'd been here some time that I learned he was formerly with Signor
Keralio. That was enough to set me against him. Like master, like
valet, as the saying goes, and it's usually a true saying. On several
occasions lately I have noticed things that seemed suspicious. The
fellow is more intimate now with Kenneth than I, his wife, have ever
been. Only the other day I discovered them in earnest and intimate
conversation. Directly I appeared they separated and Francois, instead
of continuing to converse on terms of apparent social equality, was
once more the fawning valet. I didn't take the trouble to ask Kenneth
what it all meant. So many singular things have happened since his
return, that this only adds one more to the list."

"May I come in?" said a voice.

Helen looked up quickly. It was Wilbur Steell who was standing at the
door with his head half in the room, laughing at them. The two women
had been so busy talking that they had not heard the sound of
approaching footsteps. With an exclamation of joy Ray jumped to her
feet and ran up to him.

"It's Wilbur--my precious Wilbur!"

Helen nodded approvingly, as she noticed the girl's enthusiasm.
Certainly her sister had changed. She was hardly the cold,
self-centered Ray of six months ago. With a smile she said:

"It's astonishing how a man can alter a girl--if he's the right kind."

The lawyer laughed.

"It works both ways. The right kind of woman can make a man change his
ways--even a hardened old bachelor. Who could have guessed that I
would ever fall in love?"

Helen sighed.

"What is love? We have it to-day; it eludes us to-morrow. A few weeks
ago I thought I loved my husband better than any being in the world.
To-day, I can hardly look him in the face. How do you account for it?"

Dropping into a chair, the lawyer look serious.

"I can't account for it, nor can I blame you. Kenneth has returned
from South Africa a changed man. Whether the wreck and the loss of the
diamonds affected his mind I do not know. Only a psychologist could
determine that. But he is not the same. Where is he to-night?"

Helen threw up her hands.

"Do I ever know?" she exclaimed wearily. "I haven't seen him since
morning, and don't expect to see him before breakfast to-morrow. He's
at his club or drinking and carousing, or in some gambling house
playing roulette. How do I know?"

"It is certainly a most singular case," said the lawyer meditatively.
"Mr. Parker and I have gone carefully over his accounts at the
Company's office. Everything is perfectly regular. There only remains
the missing diamonds. We have detectives working on half a dozen clues
but so far we have accomplished nothing. We have also gone to
Washington to get the secret service men interested in the case on the
ground that if the diamonds are here they were smuggled in and no duty
was paid. But we found the secret service men busy following up
counterfeiters. The country is being flooded with counterfeit $10
bills--a splendid reproduction, almost defying detection. It is
believed that the plates and presses from which they are made are right
here in New York and the whole secret service force is at work trying
to run the counterfeiters to earth. This is why our diamond case is
going so slowly. They are so busy following up the counterfeiters they
have no time for us."

Ray, much interested, leaned eagerly forward.

"A counterfeit ten dollar bill, did you say?" she demanded.

"Yes--it is a remarkable counterfeit. You would not know it from a
good one. Only an expert can tell the difference. But all these
crooks overreach themselves. Clever as they are, they usually leave
some mark which betrays them. For example, in printing this bill which
bears the head of Lincoln, they have spelled his first name
'Abrahem'--in other words, the engraver made an 'e' when it should have
been 'a.'"

Ray jumped up, quite excited. Her eyes flashing, she cried.

"Isn't that strange! I have a new $10 bill, and I noticed to-day the
queer spelling of Abraham. Wouldn't it be funny if I had one of the
counterfeits?"

The lawyer smiled.

"It wouldn't be funny; it would be a tragedy, considering that in a
short while from now I am to pay your bills. Where is the bank note?"

"I'll run up and get it. It's in my purse."

When she had disappeared, Steell turned to his hostess and said:

"Have you seen Signor Keralio lately?"

"Hardly--you know I dismissed him from the house."

The lawyer sat thoughtfully drumming his fingers on the table.
Musingly, he said:

"Somehow I have a hunch that that fellow knows something about the
diamonds. Does Kenneth ever see him?"

"I asked him the other day. He said he did not."

"That's strange!" exclaimed the lawyer. "It was only yesterday morning
that I saw them together in a taxicab."

"Where?" demanded Helen, surprised.

"Away uptown. I had business up in the Bronx. I was driving my car
and was near 200th street and going north when suddenly I had to steer
to one side to allow a taxicab to pass. There were two men in it. I
just chanced to glance inside and, to my surprise, I recognized your
husband and Keralio."

"What time was that?"

"Very early--about nine o'clock."

"What direction?"

"They were coming south."

"Then he must have been with Keralio all night, for he didn't come
home."

The lawyer was silent. Certainly here was a mystery which needed more
detective talent than he possessed to clear up. Yet he would not rest
until it was solved. To-morrow he would get Dick Reynolds busy, and
they would go to work in earnest. The first thing to find out was what
took Keralio and Kenneth to the Bronx.

"Does Keralio live in the Bronx?"

"I don't know," said Helen.

"I'll find out," said the lawyer, grimly.

At that moment Ray returned, holding out a new ten-dollar bill.

"I was right," she cried. "The name Abraham is spelled with an 'e.'
Do you really think this is a counterfeit?"

The lawyer took the bill and examined it critically.

"I have no doubt of it," he answered. "There are other
indications--the general appearance, the touch of the paper. Where did
you get it?"

For a moment the young girl was puzzled.

"Let me think. Where did I get it. Oh yes, I know. Francois gave it
to me."

"Francois!" exclaimed Helen.

The lawyer started and looked up in surprise.

"Francois, your brother-in-law's valet?"

"Yes--I wanted a $20 bill changed to pay for some things that came home
from the store, and he went out and brought me some old bills and this
new one."

The lawyer gave vent to a low, expressive whistle.

"Francois gave it to you, eh? Where is Francois?"

"I discharged him to-day for insolence," said Helen.

"He's gone!"

"Yes--he went shortly before you came in."

The lawyer jumped to his feet, a look of exultation on his face.
Quickly, he said:

"Didn't you say that this Francois was formerly with Signor Keralio?"

"Yes--he was with him for years."

The lawyer gave a wild whoop of joy.

"Then we've got it--at last."

"Got what?" cried the women.

"A clue--a clue!" cried the lawyer, excitedly. "Can't you see it?
Francois is hand in glove with Keralio--the master rogue who is making
this counterfeit."

"What do you propose to do?"

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

CHAPTER XVIII

"This way," whispered Dick, 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 fagged 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.

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