The Mask

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As he approached his journey's end, he accelerated his pace, going
along so fast that it was as much as Dick and Steell could do to keep
up with him. The night was dark and foggy, and at times they could not
see him for the mist. But as he came within the glare of each lamp
post, they could make out his lithe figure, scurrying along as if the
devil himself were at his heels.

"Let's get up closer," gasped Dick, who was winded from the long chase.
"I guess their den is in this neighborhood. He'll slip in somewhere
and we'll lose him if we keep so far away."

"No--he may see us," whispered Steell cautiously. "We can make him out
all right."

They increased their pace a little. The valet was less than two blocks
away, and once he actually stopped and looked around as if to see if he
was followed. Quickly Steell and Dick darted under a doorway, and,
seeing nothing to arouse his suspicion, Francois went on.

The lawyer was taking no chances to-night. It was too good a game to
spoil. That they were on the right trail at last he was morally
certain. Ray's experience had given him the first clue. After that it
was easy. For two days Dick had shadowed the valet, and seen him
changing crisp $10 bills in half a dozen different places. The lawyer
could have had him arrested at once, but he was after bigger game. It
was not enough to arrest Francois. He was only the tool. They must
get the man higher up, the man who employed him. That man, the lawyer
felt equally confident, was Keralio. He was the master counterfeiter.
The first step to take was to find out where the counterfeiting was
done, where Keralio had his plant, and the only way to do this was to
follow the valet to his master's secret den.

For several days they had shadowed the Frenchman constantly, until
to-night they were rewarded by seeing him start with a suit case in the
direction of the Bronx. They quickly gave chase, the lawyer confident
of results. It was not part of his plan, however, to hurry matters or
do things prematurely. To-night they would merely reconnoiter. They
would content themselves by watching the premises, seeing who came and
went, and trying to obtain a glimpse of the interior. If the evidence
was incriminating enough to make a raid successful, it would always be
time enough to call in the police. Keralio, he was also well
convinced, had something to do with the missing diamonds, and possibly
the present investigation would throw some light on the mystery
surrounding Kenneth himself. He had made no mention of his suspicions
to Helen, but he could not help feeling that in some way, yet to be
discovered, his old comrade had become involved with a band of crooks.
How otherwise explain his acquaintance with Keralio, an utter stranger
of dubious antecedents. How explain the loss of the diamonds? The
explanation Kenneth had given was decidedly fishy. Parker did not
believe a word of it--in fact, frankly expressed, his opinion was that
his vice-president had disposed of the gems. Had he himself not seen
Kenneth driving about the Bronx with Keralio at an impossible hour?
Had not Helen discovered Francois conversing on intimate terms with his
master? It all looked decidedly bad; only time could unravel it all.
It was a fearful thing to suspect a man of Kenneth's standing, but
everything pointed to his being involved in a vast network of crime.

He was aroused from his reflections by an exclamation of warning from
his companion.

"Quick--there he goes!" whispered Dick.

The valet had suddenly made a sharp turn to the right, and was lost to
view. But quick as he was, Dick was quicker. The young man was a
little ahead of the lawyer, and, putting on a spurt of speed, he
reached the corner just in time to see the Frenchman and suitcase
disappear into a grimy, dilapidated looking tenement at the end of a
blind alley.

"We've run the fox to earth," whispered Steell exultantly.

"Could any melodrama wish for a more appropriate _mise-en-scene_?"
grinned Dick.

"Come opposite, and find out what we can see from the outside."

Crossing the street they took up positions in the shadow of a doorway.

The house which the Frenchman had entered was all dark and apparently
tenantless, except on the top floor where lights could be faintly seen
behind hermetically sealed shutters. Straining his ears, Steell
thought he could hear the steady hum of machinery in motion. With an
exclamation of satisfaction, he turned to his companion:

"We've got 'em, Dick, we've got 'em. Do you hear the presses going?"

The young man listened. The sound was plainly audible, but it was a
muffled sound, as if the walls and windows were padded with mattresses
to prevent any sounds of the operations within from reaching
inquisitive, outside ears.

"Let's go upstairs," whispered Steell.

Recrossing the road, they entered the house and began to grope their
way up the narrow, winding staircase. They could make only slow
progress, not only because of the absence of light, but owing to the
rotten condition of the stairs. Indescribably filthy and littered with
all sorts of rubbish and broken glass, in some places the boards had
broken through entirely, leaving gaping holes, which were so many
dangerous pitfalls. Twice the lawyer came near breaking his neck.

At last they reached the top, both out of breath from the long and
perilous climb.

"Hush--there it is!" whispered Dick pointing at the end of a narrow
hall to a door from underneath which issued a faint glimmer of light.

Cautiously, noiselessly, treading on tiptoe, the lawyer and his
companion crept along the passage until they came to the door. They
listened. There was not a sound. Even the hum of machinery which they
had heard in the street, had ceased. Could the inmates have taken
alarm?

All at once they heard people talking. Instantly, Steell recognized
the voice of Keralio. He was questioning someone, no doubt the valet.
They listened.

"Well, did you carry out my orders?"

"_Oui_, monsieur, ze last of ze ten-dollar bills has been passed. I
have ze money here."

"I did not mean that," broke in Keralio impatiently. "I mean as
regards the child----"

"_Oui_, monsieur. Didn't you receive my telegram. I brought the child
from Philadelphia yesterday evening."

Steell, puzzled, turned to his companion.

"What child are they talking about?" he whispered.

"I have no idea. Some more mischief they're up to, I guess."

Again Keralio's voice was heard asking:

"Where is Handsome to-day? I told him to come. Why isn't he here?"

"He's drinking again, monsieur. When he's drunk you can't do anything
with him. He's getting ugly about ze diamonds."

Steell nudged his fellow eavesdropper.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered. "He spoke of diamonds!"

Keralio was heard bursting into a peal of savage laughter.

"Getting ugly is he? What does he want?"

"He says you promised him half of ze proceeds when ze diamonds were
sold, and that now you are trying to do him out of it---- He says he's
sick of ze whole thing and will squeal to ze police unless you do ze
right thing."

Straining every nerve to hear, Steell glued his ear to the door.

Keralio burst out fiercely:

"Squeal, will he, the dog? I'd like to know what will become of him
when the final reckoning's paid. Will he tell the police that he was a
drunken adventurer in the South African mining camps before his twin
brother, Kenneth Traynor, arrived at Cape Town? Will he tell the
police that he set the steamer afire, murdered his own brother, and,
profiting by the extraordinary resemblance, returned to New York,
passing himself off as the man who went away. No, he won't tell all
that, will he? But I will. Did you bring the money? Let me see it."

The talking suddenly ceased, and was followed by a deep silence.
Steell, staggered at this unexpected revelation, almost stumbled in his
eagerness to hear more. Turning to his companion, he exclaimed in a
horror-stricken whisper:

"My God! Did you hear that? It's even worse than I feared. They've
done away with Kenneth. That man at the house is an impostor!"

"An impostor?" ejaculated Dick. "Impossible. Don't we all know
Kenneth when we see him?"

"Nothing's impossible!" rejoined the lawyer hurriedly. "Kenneth had a
twin brother--the resemblance was so extraordinary as children that no
one knew them apart. The brother disappeared years ago. They thought
him dead. Kenneth must have come across him in South Africa. This
brother killed him and took his place. It's all clear to me now.
We're in a den of assassins!"

Inside the conversation began again.

"Hush! Listen!" whispered Steell.

The voice of Keralio was once more raised in angry tones.

"Didn't I tell you that I wanted the child brought here at once?"

"_Oui_, monsieur, but I could not. I had ze rest of ze money to get
rid of and ze suitcase to carry. I will bring her in a taxi to-morrow."

"Where is she?"

"Safe in the care of the woman who runs my boarding house."

"When did you bring her from Philadelphia?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"Did you have any trouble?"

"_Non_, monsieur. I didn't even have to go to ze house, although I had
a plausible story all ready. I was going to say that Mrs. Traynor had
sent me to fetch Miss Dorothy because her mother wanted her home for ze
coming marriage of Miss Ray. But it wasn't necessary to lie about it.
I found ze child playing in ze street near the house. I merely told
her her mamma wanted her to come home, gave her some candy, and she
followed me willingly enough."

"By this time the alarm has been given."

"_Sans doute_, monsieur. They probably telegraphed Mrs. Traynor last
night that ze child was missing----"

The voices again stopped. Steell, his face white, and fists clenched,
turned to his companion:

"Good Heavens, Dick, did you hear that? They've kidnapped Mrs.
Traynor's little girl--no doubt, with the idea of demanding ransom.
Thank God, we're in time to frustrate that crime----"

"Hush!" exclaimed his companion. "Listen!"

Keralio proceeded:

"Now you understand what you are to do. You bring the child here
to-morrow morning. Meantime, I have already written in a disguised
hand to Mrs. Traynor telling her that her child is safe--for the
present, and that if she wants to see her she must come here to-morrow
afternoon. I warned her that if she communicated with the police or
informed any of her friends, the child would be put to death before it
would be possible to effect a rescue. That ought to bring her here----"

"Would monsieur go as far as to kill----"

"Why not," demanded Keralio fiercely. "I permit nothing to stand in
the way of my will. That woman can save her child's life, but she must
pay the price I ask. She shall learn what it costs to dismiss me from
her house----"

The valet was heard to chuckle as he said:

"I don't love her any too much myself. She discharged me from her
employ the other day so haughtily I felt like a whipped cur."

Again there was silence, followed by a muffled hammering.

"They're taking the printing press apart," whispered Dick, who through
the keyhole, had managed to get a glimpse of machinery. "If we don't
act quickly, they'll get away with all the evidence. Hadn't we better
go and call the police?"

For answer, the lawyer put his fingers to his lips with a warning
gesture, and beckoning the young man to follow, retraced his steps on
tiptoe along the narrow, dark hall and down the filthy, winding
staircase. Not a word was spoken by either man until they reached the
street. Once in the open air, the lawyer turned and said:

"Dick, we've uncovered as black a plot as was ever hatched in hell. If
we don't queer the game and put them all in the chair it won't be my
fault. We can't bring poor Kenneth back to life, but we can and will
revenge his cowardly murder. It will be a positive joy to me to see
that arch-scoundrel Keralio electrocuted."

"What do you propose to do?" asked his companion. "Hadn't we better
call Mrs. Traynor on the telephone and warn her before it's too late?"

The lawyer was silent for a few moments. Then meditatively, he said:

"No, that would be a mistake. No doubt, by this time, she has received
Keralio's anonymous letter. She is probably frantic with anxiety over
the news of her child's disappearance, and will respond eagerly to any
clue that promises to take her to her child. If we warned her she
would pay no heed. She might pretend to, but only to pacify us.
Afraid that punishment might be visited on the child, she would obey
the warning not to talk, and she will come here to Keralio's flat
to-morrow at the time the letter stated. Of course, she has no idea
Keralio wrote the letter. But even if she had, it would make no
difference. I know her. She would run any risk to save her child."

"I think you're right," replied Dick, "but how, then, will you help
her? There is no knowing what Keralio's object is in enticing her
here--you can be sure it's nothing good."

"Precisely--that's why we, too, must be on hand, together with a strong
force of detectives. We'll get them all. There will be no possible
escape. We'll surround the house with men. They'll be caught like
rats in a trap."

The lawyer turned to go.

"Where are you bound now?" asked Dick.

"To police headquarters!"

CHAPTER XIX

"There--take a little water--you're much better now!" said the nurse,
soothingly.

The patient swallowed greedily the cooling drink handed to him, and,
tired even by that small effort, fell back on his pillows exhausted.

"Where am I?" he inquired of the comely young woman, who in neat
service uniform, hovered about the bed.

"You're in St. Mary's Hospital."

"In New York?" he queried.

"No--San Francisco----"

He was too weak to question further, but his hollow blue eyes followed
her as she moved here and there, attending skilfully and swiftly to the
duties of the sick room. Presently he made another venture:

"Have I been ill long?"

"Yes--very long."

"What's the matter?"

"Concussion of the brain, pneumonia and shock. You are much better
now, but you mustn't talk so much or you may have a relapse."

He asked no more, but passed his hand over his brow in a bewildered
sort of way. Presently, he began again:

"Does my wife come to see me?"

The nurse stopped in her work and looked at him curiously. In
surprise, she exclaimed:

"Your wife! Have you a wife?"

It was his turn now to be surprised. In somewhat peevish tone he said:

"Of course I've a wife--everyone knows that."

"What's her name?"

"Helen--Helen Traynor." Enthusiastically, he added: "Oh, you'd just
love my wife if you only knew her. She's the sweetest, the most
unselfish----"

The nurse looked at him curiously.

"So your name is Traynor, is it? We've tried to find out for a long
time. But there were no marks on your clothes when you were picked up.
We did not know who you were and so have not been able to communicate
with any of your friends. We guessed you were a man of social position
by your hands and teeth, and we knew your name began with a T because
of the monogram on the signet ring on your finger."

"Pick me up?" he echoed. "Where did they pick me up? What has
happened? Was it an accident?"

"You were found unconscious, drifting in the ocean, clinging to a spar,
and were brought here by a sailing vessel. You had a fracture of the
skull and you were half drowned. It is supposed that you were one of
the passengers of the _Abyssinia_, which took fire and went down two
days after leaving Cape Town, but as several passengers and officers
whose bodies were never found also had names beginning with T, it was
impossible to identify you."

As he listened, the vacant, stupid expression on his face gradually
gave place to a more alert, intelligent look. Indistinctly, vaguely,
he recalled things that had happened. Slowly his brain cells began to
work.

He remembered cabling to Helen from Cape Town telling her of his
sailing on the _Abyssinia_. He recalled the incidents of the first day
at sea. The weather was beautiful. Everything pointed to a good
voyage. Who was traveling with him? He could not remember. Oh, yes,
now he knew. Francois, his valet, and that other queer fellow he had
picked up at the diamond mines--his twin brother. Yes, it all came
back to him now.

Why had he gone to the diamond mines? Yes, now he knew--to take back
to New York the two big stones found on the Company's land. He had
them safe in a belt he wore round his waist next to his skin. The
second night out he went to bed about midnight and was fast asleep when
suddenly he heard shouts of "Fire! Fire!" Jumping up and looking out
of his cabin he saw stewards and passengers running excitedly about.
There was a reddish glare and a suffocating smell of smoke. Quickly he
buckled on the belt with the diamonds, and, slipping on his trousers,
went out. The electric lights had gone out. The ship was in complete
darkness. From all sides came shouts of men and screams of frightened
women. It was a scene of utter demoralization and horror. He was
groping his way along the narrow passage, when, suddenly, out of the
gloom a man sprang upon him, and, taken entirely by surprise, he was
borne to the deck before he had time to defend himself. He could not
see the man's face and thought it was one of the passengers or sailors
who had gone mad, but when he felt a tug at his belt where the diamonds
were, he knew he had to do with a thief. He fought back with all his
strength, but he was unarmed, while the stranger had a black jack which
he used unmercifully, raining fearful blows on his head. The struggle
was too unequal to last. Weak from loss of blood, he relaxed his grip,
and the thief, dealing one fearful parting blow, tore away the belt and
disappeared. His life blood was flowing away, he felt sick and dizzy,
but just as the thief turned to run he managed to get a glimpse of his
face. Now he remembered that face--it was the face of his twin
brother--the man he had rescued from starvation on the _veldt_.

Yes, it all came back to him now, like a horrible nightmare. What had
happened since then? How could he tell, since all this time his mind
had been a blank? Helen, no doubt, believed him dead. Mr. Parker and
all the others thought he had gone down with the ship. But what of his
valet, Francois, and his cowardly, murderous brother--were they saved?
If so, the thief had the diamonds, and had probably disposed of them by
this time. Perhaps there might still be time to capture the would-be
assassin and save the gems for the Americo-African Company. Brother or
no brother, he would have no more pity on the unnatural, miserable
cutthroat. The first step was to let his friends know where he was.
He must telegraph at once to Helen.

Yet, on second thought, it would not be wise to do that. If Helen
really believed him dead and was now mourning his loss, it might be
almost a fatal shock if suddenly she were to receive a telegram saying
he was alive. Such shocks have been known to kill people. A better
plan would be to get well as soon as possible, leave the hospital, and
go to New York. Once there, he could go quietly to his office and
learn how matters were.

The days passed, the convalescent making speedy progress toward
recovery, and in a few weeks more he was able to leave the hospital.
Making himself known quietly to a San Francisco business acquaintance,
he was quickly supplied with funds and immediately he turned his face
homeward.

The long, overland journey was tedious and exhausting, especially in
his present weakened condition, and even those who knew him well would
hardly have recognized in the pale emaciated looking stranger with ill
fitting clothes and untrimmed full growth of beard who emerged from the
train at the Grand Central Station, the carefully dressed, well groomed
Kenneth Traynor who, only a few months before, had sailed away from New
York on the _Mauretania_.

The noise and turmoil of the big metropolis, in striking contrast to
the quiet and seclusion of the sick room in which he had lived for so
many weeks, astonished him. The crowds of suburbanites rushing
frantically for trains, elbowing and pushing in their anxiety to get
home, the strident hoarse cries of newsboys, the warning shouts of
wagon drivers as they drove recklessly here and there at murderous
speed, the blowing of auto horns, the ceaseless hum and roar of the big
city's heavy traffic--all this bewildered and dazed him. At first he
did not remember just in what direction to turn, whether he lived in
the East or West side, uptown or down. But as he got more accustomed
to his surroundings, it all came back to him. How stupid--of course he
had to go downtown to 20th Street. Once more he was himself again.
Hailing a taxi, he started for Gramercy Park.

Conflicting emotions stirred his breast as he drew near his home. What
joy it would be to clasp Helen once more in his arms. How delighted
she would be to see him! Then he was filled with anxiety, a sudden
feeling of dread came over him. Suppose some misfortune, some calamity
had happened during his absence! Helen might have met with some
accident. Baby might have been ill. The worst might have happened.
He would never have heard. Perhaps he was only going home to find his
happiness wrecked forever.

The driver made his way with difficulty down Fifth Avenue, threading
his way in and out the entanglement of carriages and automobiles,
until, after a ten minutes' run, turned into Gramercy Park and pulled
up short on the curb of the Traynor residence.

Eagerly Kenneth put his head out of the window and scanned the windows
for a glimpse of the loved one, but no one, not even a servant, was
visible. The house looked deserted. His misgivings returned.
Stepping out hastily, he paid the driver, and, running up the steps,
rang the bell.

Roberts, the faithful old butler, who had been in the family service
for years, came to open. Seeing a rather shabbily attired person
outside, he held the door partly closed and demanded, suspiciously:

"Who is it you wish to see?"

Irritated at the manner of his reception, Kenneth gave the door a push
that nearly knocked the servant over. Angrily, he exclaimed:

"What's the matter, Roberts? Didn't you see it was me?"

The butler, who had recovered himself, and now believed he had to do
with a crank or some person under the influence of liquor, again barred
the way. Trying to push the unwelcome visitor out, he said soothingly:

"Come now, my good man, you've made a mistake. You don't live here."

Struck almost speechless with amazement at the brazen impudence of one
whom he had always regarded as a model servant, Kenneth turned round as
if about to make a wrathful outburst. As he turned, the light from the
open door fell full on his face and now for the first time Roberts saw
the visitor's features. With a startled exclamation the man fell
backward. For a moment he was so surprised that he could not speak.
Then, in an awe-stricken whisper, he cried:

"Who are you?"

For a moment Kenneth thought the man had suddenly become insane. For
his own servant not to know him was too ridiculous. At that moment he
caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of the hat stand. Ah, now he
understood. The beard and emaciated face had made quite a
difference--no wonder the man failed to recognize him. Breaking into
laughter he exclaimed:

"No wonder you didn't recognize me, Roberts. I have changed a little,
haven't I? I've grown a beard since I saw you last and been through a
regular mill. But you know me now don't you--I'm your long lost
master."

The servant shook his head. Still closely scrutinizing Kenneth's face
as if greatly puzzled, he said:

"You're not my master, sir. Mr. Kenneth Traynor left the house some
ten minutes before you arrived."

Kenneth stared at the man as if he thought he had gone clean out of his
mind.

"I went out ten minutes before I arrived," he echoed. "What kind of
nonsense is that, Roberts?"

"I didn't say _you_ went out," replied the servant, beginning to lose
his patience. "I said Mr. Kenneth Traynor went out. You are not Mr.
Kenneth Traynor."

"Then who in the name of heaven am I?"

"I haven't the remotest idea," retorted the man. Condescendingly, he
went on: "I admit you look a little like the master." Impatiently he
added:

"You must excuse me. I want to close the door."

Instead of obeying the hint to withdraw, Kenneth strode further into
the house, the protesting and indignant butler at his heels.

"You must really go," said the servant.

Kenneth turned around.

"Roberts--don't be a fool. Don't you know me? I know why you don't
recognize me. You all think me dead, but I'm very much alive. I did
not go down on the _Abyssinia_. I was picked up and taken to San
Francisco and have been in a hospital there ever since. I have just
come home. Where's my wife?"

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