The Mask

A >> Arthur Hornblow >> The Mask

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

The butler stared and stood motionless, as if not knowing what to make
of it.

"But you came home long ago."

"Who came home?"

"You did."

"No, I didn't. I've been in San Francisco all the time. How could I
be here if I was sick in a San Francisco hospital?"

"Then who is the other Mr. Traynor?"

Now it was Kenneth's turn to be surprised.

"The other Mr. Traynor?" he echoed stupefied.

"Yes--the gentleman who looks more like you than you do yourself. He
arrived here a month ago. We all took him for you."

For the first time a light broke in on the darkness. Who was the
person who looked so like him that he could successfully impersonate
him? Who could it be but the man who left him for dead on the
_Abyssinia_ after murderously assaulting him? Suddenly a horrible
thought came to him. Grasping the butler's arm he exclaimed:

"My wife? Is she well?"

"Yes, sir. Mrs. Traynor's quite well."

"And Dorothy?"

"Quite well, sir."

"Thank God!"

The servant hesitated.

"That is--sir--Miss Dorothy----"

"Out with it, man. Out with it."

"Mrs. Traynor's being greatly worried sir, lately. Miss Dorothy was at
her aunt's in Philadelphia----"

"Yes, yes----"

"Someone's run away with Miss Dorothy. She's been kidnapped."

"My God!"

"But Mrs. Traynor has a clue. She got a letter yesterday, saying where
the child was. She wouldn't confide in any of us and she left here
only half an hour ago to go to the place."

Again Kenneth was seized by panic.

"Gone to a kidnapper's den. Great God! She's running a terrible risk.
Where has she gone? I'll go to her."

"I don't know, sir, but Mr. Steell may know----"

"Ah, that's right. I'll go and see Steell."

Not waiting to say more he rushed down the steps, and, hailing another
taxi, went off at full speed in the direction of Wilbur Steell's office.

CHAPTER XX

The startling news from Philadelphia that Dorothy had suddenly
disappeared and was believed to have been kidnapped, fell upon the
Traynor home with the crushing force of a bombshell. At first Helen
refused to credit the report. It seemed impossible that any new
suffering was to be inflicted upon her after what she had already
endured. White faced, her whole being shaken by emotion, she read and
re-read her aunt's letter, telling of the child's mysterious
disappearance, and when at last she could read it no more because of
the tears that blinded her, she threw herself limp and broken hearted
into Ray's arms. Hysterically she cried:

"What have I done that I should be made to suffer in this way? My God!
Where is my child? This maddening suspense will kill me."

Ray tried to soothe her. Reassuringly, she said:

"Don't worry, dear. Everything will be all right. A general alarm has
been sent out. The police all over the country are searching high and
low. It's only a question of a few hours and you'll have good news."

But the hours passed and no news came to cheer the distracted,
broken-hearted mother. Dorothy had disappeared completely, leaving no
trace, no clue behind.

There was neither rest nor peace for the Traynor household that day.
Helen, almost out of her mind from grief and worry, refused to eat or
sleep until news of the missing child was received. In her agony she
went down on her knees and prayed as she had never prayed before that
her child be restored to her.

Her little daughter was, she felt, the one link that still bound her to
life. To her husband she felt she could not turn for sympathy. The
romance of their early married life had been shattered forever by the
extraordinary change that had come over him. He had long since ceased
to be to her any more than a name. In her heart, she had come to
despise and detest him as much as before she had worshiped the very
ground he trod. It was an astonishing revulsion of feeling which she
was powerless to explain; she only knew that the old love, the old
passion he had awakened was now quite dead. He inspired in her no more
affection or feeling than the merest stranger. Ever since his return
from South Africa they had lived apart. Ever since that first night of
his return when their tete-a-tete in the library was interrupted by the
bogus telegram, he had quite ceased his amorous advances. He seemed
anxious to avoid her. Only on rare occasions, and then it was by
accident, did they find themselves in each other's company.

In fact, he was practically never home, living almost exclusively at
the club, where he went the pace with associates of his choosing,
mostly gamblers and men about town. He had begun to drink hard and
when not in pool rooms or at the races, betting recklessly on the
horses, squandering such huge sums, and overdrawing his check account
so often that the bank was compelled to ask him to desist, he sat in
the barrooms with his cronies till all hours of the morning when he
would be brought home in a condition of shocking intoxication. Happily
Helen was spared the spectacle of the degradation of a man she once had
loved with all the force of her virgin soul. Roberts, the butler,
aided by the other servants, smuggled their intoxicated master up to
his room, where he remained until sober, when he went back to his club
only to repeat the same performance.

To such a man she could not turn for aid or consolation in the hour of
this new misfortune. Indeed, ever since his return, he had been
strangely indifferent to the welfare of the child, never asking after
her or expressing a desire to see her. At times it seemed as if he had
forgotten that he had a child. By some strange metamorphosis he had
developed into an unnatural father as well as a brutal, indifferent
husband.

But to Helen, alone save for the devoted companionship of her sister,
this was anxiety and suffering enough. Only twenty-four hours had
passed since the child disappeared, but to the unhappy mother it seemed
as many years. Constantly at the telephone, expecting each moment to
hear that the police had been successful in finding the child, she was
gradually wearing herself away to a shadow. Breakfast she left
untouched. Lunch she refused to eat. In vain Ray remonstrated with
her. If she went on like that she would fall ill. But still Helen
refused. Tears choked her, and morning wore into afternoon and still
no news.

After lunch Ray went out to see if Mr. Steell could help them,
promising to return as soon as possible. Helen sat and waited alone.
The clock was just striking two o'clock when the front doorbell rang
and a letter was brought to her. She did not recognize the writing,
but eagerly she tore it open. Instinctively, she felt it concerned her
missing darling. The letter read as follows:

No. -- Lasalle Street, Bronx.
Friday.

Madame:

Your child is safe and in good hands. She wants to see her mother. If
you come this afternoon (Friday) to the above address you can see her.
It is the house with the closed green shutters. But if you value your
child's life you must come unaccompanied, and you must inform no one of
the contents of this letter, not even the members of your family. If
you disobey, swift punishment will follow and your child will suffer.
Climb eight flights and knock three times on door at end of
passage.----X.

There was no signature. The person who wrote it evidently had reasons
of his own for wishing to remain concealed. That money would be
demanded was more than probable. What other motive could the kidnapper
have? Money she would give--all she had in the world, if only she
could get back her precious child. That a visit to such a place
unattended was full of danger she did not stop to consider. She only
knew that her child was close by--here in New York--and had asked for
her. Not for a moment did she listen to the warnings of prudence. Go
she must, and immediately. She did not even stop to leave a note of
explanation for Ray. Stuffing some money in a bag, she left the house,
saying she would return soon.

Taking the Third Avenue "L" she left the train at Tremont Avenue, and,
after considerable difficulty, found the house indicated in the letter.
Yes, there were the closed green shutters. At first, on seeing it
apparently untenanted, she thought she must have made a mistake in the
number, but, finding that there was no other place near by that
answered the description as well, she decided to risk climbing the long
flight of stairs.

Arrived on the top floor, breathless from the unusual exertion, she saw
a long narrow passage, and, at the end of that, a door. That, no
doubt, was the place. Her heart beating violently, she went up to the
door and gave the three knocks. For a moment or so there was no
answer. A profound stillness reigned. Then she heard footsteps
approaching, The next instant, the door was thrown open and a man's
voice, which sounded somewhat familiar, told her to enter.

At first when she went in, she could see nothing. All the shutters of
the windows looking on the street were closed, and the only light was
that which filtered through the slats. It was an ordinary, cheap flat,
with no carpets on the floors and little or no furniture. On the
floor, scattered here and there, were nailed-up boxes, and parts of
machinery, some already crated, as if to be taken away.

"So you've come! I thought you would," said a voice behind her.

She turned and found herself face to face with Signor Keralio.

At first she was so astonished that she was speechless. Then her
instinct prompted her to turn and flee. If this man had caused her to
be decoyed to this house it could be for no good purpose. But there
was no way of egress. The front door was closed and locked. Not a
human soul was within call. She was alone in an empty house with the
one man she distrusted and feared more than any one else in the world.

Making an effort to conceal her alarm, she turned and faced him boldly:

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

He smiled--a horrid, cynical smile she knew only too well.

"Has not a man the right to be in his own home?"

She started back in surprise.

"This your home?" she exclaimed, glancing around at the scanty and
shabby furnishings.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, don't judge by appearances. I'm really very comfortable here.
It's away from the world. I like to work undisturbed." Significantly,
he added: "Then, you see, it is all my own. I am quite at home here in
my own house. No one can put me out--not even you----"

She raised her hand deprecatingly.

"Please don't remind me of that. I have forgotten it long ago."

His eyes flashed dangerously as he made a step near and exclaimed:

"You have, but I have not. I have not forgotten that you put me out of
your house ignominiously as one turns out a servant. I have neither
forgotten nor forgiven. That is why you are here to-day."

She looked at him in utter astonishment.

"What do you mean?"

He bowed and, with mock courtesy, waved her to a seat.

"I will tell you. Did you receive a letter to-day?"

"Yes--I did."

"You came here in answer to that letter."

"Yes--I did."

"Do you know who wrote that letter?"

"No--not the least."

"It was I--I wrote the letter."

With a stifled cry of mingled fright and amazement, Helen jumped up
from the chair.

"You wrote the letter?" she exclaimed, incredulously.

He nodded.

"Yes--I wrote the letter."

Her eyes opened wide with terror, her hands clasped together nervously,
she exclaimed:

"Then you are----"

He bowed.

"Exactly. I am the kidnapper of your child----"

Speechless, she stared at him, her large black eyes opened wide with
terror. Looking wildly about her as if seeking her little daughter,
she gasped:

"Dorothy? Dorothy here? Where is she?"

"She is safe," he replied calmly.

"Where is she, where is she? Take me to her!" she cried, distractedly,
going up to him and clasping her hands in humble supplication.

He shook off the hand which, in her maternal anxiety, she had laid on
his arm. Lighting a cigarette, he gave a low laugh.

"Plenty of time. There's no hurry. You're not going yet."

Anxiously, she scrutinized his face, as if trying to read his meaning.

"She's going when I go, isn't she?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"That depends--on you."

"What do you mean?"

Again he waved her to a seat.

"Sit down and I'll tell you."

Trembling, she dropped once more on to a chair and waited. He puffed
deliberately at his cigarette for a few moments and then, turning his
glance in her direction, he smiled in a peculiar, horrible way and his
eyes ran over her figure in a way that made the crimson rush furiously
to her cheek. There was no mistaking that smile. It was the bold,
lustful look of the voluptuary who enjoys letting his eyes feast on the
prey that he knows cannot now escape him.

"Mrs. Traynor," he began in the caressing, dulcet tones which she
feared more than his anger, "you are an exceptional woman. To most men
of my temperament you would not appeal. They would find your beauty
too statuesque and cold. I know you are clever, but love cannot feed
on intellect alone, I have loved many women, but never a woman just
like you. Your coldness, your haughty reserve, your refinement would
intimidate most men and keep them at a distance, but not me. Your
aloofness, your indifference only spurs me, only adds to the acuteness
of my desire. I swore to myself that I would conquer you, overcome
your resistance, bend you to my will. You turned me out of your home.
I swore to be avenged."

He stopped for a moment and watched her closely as if studying and
enjoying the effect of his words. Then, amid a cloud of blue tobacco
smoke, he went on:

"I knew only one way to win you--it was to humiliate you, to place you
in a position where you would have to come to me on your knees."

She half rose from her chair.

"I would never do that," she cried. "I would rather die!"

"Oh, yes, you will," he continued, calmly, making a gesture to her to
remain seated. "When I've told you all, you'll see things in a
different light." Fixing her steadily with his piercing black eyes, he
asked: "Have you noticed any difference in your husband since his
return."

She looked up quickly.

"Yes--what does it mean? Can you explain?"

He nodded.

"Did you ever hear your husband speak of a twin brother he once had?"

Her face turned white as death and her heart throbbing violently, she
stared helplessly at her persecutor. She tried to be calm, but she
could not. Yet, why be so alarmed, why should this single question so
agitate her? In the deepest recesses of her being she knew that it was
her unerring instinct warning her that she was about to hear something
that would entail worse suffering than any she had yet endured.

"Yes--yes--why do you ask?" she gasped.

"You all thought the brother dead."

"Yes."

"You were mistaken. He is alive."

"Where is he?" she faltered.

"Here in New York."

"Where?"

"In your house. The man who returned home was not your husband. He
was your husband's twin brother."

She looked at him as one bewildered, as if she did not understand what
he was saying, as if words had suddenly lost their meaning. Her face,
white as in death, she faltered:

"Not Kenneth--then where is Kenneth?"

"He is dead!"

Her powers of speech paralyzed, her large eyes starting from their
sockets from terror, an expression of mute helpless agony on her
beautiful face, she looked up at him with horror. Not yet could she
fully grasp the meaning of his words. At last the frightful spell was
broken. With an effort the words came:

"Then you," she cried. "You are his assassin!"

He shook his head as he replied carelessly:

"No--not I--his brother!"

She gave a cry of anguish and, starting to her feet, made a movement
forward, her hands clutching convulsively at her throat. Air! air!
She must have air. She felt sick and dizzy. The room was spinning
round like a top, and then everything grew dark. Lurching heavily
forward she would have fallen had he not caught her.

Instantly she shrank from the contact as from something unclean, and
with a low moan sank down on a chair and buried her face in her hands.
Her instinct had told her true. Her loved one was dead, she would
never see him again, and that man who had come into the sanctity of her
home and fondled her in his arms was his murderer. Oh, it was too
horrible!

The bitter, cynical smile was still on Keralio's lips as he went on:

"You see the folly of resisting me. Had you surrendered at that time
all might have been well. The price was not too much to pay. I would
have been discreet. No one but ourselves would have known that you and
I were----"

He did not complete the sentence, for at that moment she sprang forward
like an enraged tiger cat, and, seizing a cane that stood close by,
struck him across the face with all the force of her outraged womanhood.

"Murderer! Assassin!" she cried indignantly. "How dare you talk like
that to me? I will denounce you to the whole world. I will not rest
till I see you and that other scoundrel punished and my poor husband is
avenged. On leaving here I shall go direct to the police."

Imbued with strength she never dreamed she possessed, she was about to
hit him again when he seized the cane and threw it away. But across
his pale, handsome face lay a telltale red mark, the smart of which
burned into his soul.

His eyes flashed with anger and he made a visible effort to control
himself. He took a step forward and, as he advanced she saw an
expression in his face which prompted her to retreat precipitately. It
was a dangerous look, the look of a man who knew he had a helpless
woman in his power, a man who was desperate and would stop at nothing
to encompass his ends. Now thoroughly frightened, she looked around
for some way to escape. The windows were impossible, the only way was
by the door and he barred the way. Besides, she would never go without
her child.

He noticed the movement and look of alarm, and he smiled. Continuing
to advance, he said:

"There's no use making a fuss. No one could hear you if you shouted
for help till the crack of doom. You are alone with me--and absolutely
in my power. Do as I ask and there is nothing you shall not have.
Refuse, and I answer for nothing. Come----"

Her whole body trembling, her face white with terror, she kept on
retreating:

"Leave me alone!" she gasped, "or I will scream."

"Scream away," he laughed. "There's no one here to hear you."

Suddenly he made a quick lunge forward and seized her. She struggled
and resisted with all the energy born of despair, pushing, twisting,
scratching. But they were too unevenly matched. She was like an
infant in the grasp of an Hercules. Slowly, she felt her strength
leaving her. His iron grasp gradually closed on her, nearer and nearer
he drew her into his embrace.

With a last, superhuman effort, she managed to wrench herself free, out
of his grip, and breaking completely away, she fled into the next room.
But he was after her in a minute and again seized her, but not before
she screamed at the top of her voice:

"Help! Help! Kenneth! Wilbur! Help! Help!"

He tried to gag her mouth to stifle her cries, but it was too late.
His quick ear caught the sound of approaching footsteps in the outside
hall. Almost at the same instant there was a loud knocking at the door.

Keralio fell back, his face white and tense. Had his plans failed at
the eleventh hour, could anyone have played him false? If the game was
up, they should never take him alive. Leaving Helen, he drew a
revolver, and, going quickly into the inner hall, he waited in grim
silence for the visitors to force an entrance.

"Open the door, or we'll break it in!" shouted a stern voice outside.
"There's no use resisting. The place is surrounded."

Still no answer. Keralio stood grimly in the shadow of the parlor
doorway, revolver in hand, while Helen cowered in the inner room, in
momentary expectation of a tragedy.

Crash! The front door fell in, shattered into a thousand splinters,
and through the breach thus made rushed Wilbur Steell, Dick Reynolds,
and half a score husky Central Office detectives, revolvers in hand.

"There is he!" cried the lawyer, pointing to Keralio.

Quick as a flash, the Italian raised the revolver and fired, the bullet
entering the plastered wall an inch away from the lawyer's head.
Almost simultaneously, another pistol shot rang out, but this time the
aim was truer, for, with a cry of baffled rage, Keralio threw his arms
above his head and fell to the floor dead. Quickly, one of the
detectives stooped down and compared his face with a photograph he had
taken from his pocket.

"Yes----" he exclaimed; "that's the fellow--well known counterfeiter.
Did time in San Quentin and Joliet. Known as Baron Rapp, Richard
Barton and a dozen other aliases. He's one of the slickest rogues in
the country. We've got the valet safe downstairs. I guess he'll get
twenty years."

But Steell had not waited to hear about Keralio. There were others
more important to think about. Rushing into the inner room, he found
Helen prostrate, half fainting from fright.

"Thank God, I'm in time!" he exclaimed.

"Dorothy," she murmured weakly. "Save Dorothy! She's somewhere here."

Going into another room, the lawyer found the little girl fast asleep
on a bed. Bringing her to her mother, he said tenderly:

"Here's your treasure. Now you can be happy."

She shook her head. The nightmare of what Keralio had told her, still
obsessed her.

"No--" she shuddered; "--never again. They have killed him!"

To her surprise, the lawyer, instead of sharing her sorrow, actually
smiled.

"Helen," he said; "I have a great surprise for you. A friend has
accompanied me here. He called at your house to-day, but you had just
left, so he called on me. You have not seen him since he sailed away
three months ago on the _Mauretania_."

She listened bewildered. Her color came and went. What did he mean?
Could it be possible that--no, had not Keralio said he was dead?
Trembling with suppressed emotion, she whispered:

"Tell me--what is it--tell me----"

For all reply, the lawyer went to the door and beckoned to someone who
had waited in the outer hall. A moment later a man entered, a tall,
well set figure that was strangely familiar. Straining her eyes
through her tears, it seemed to her that her mind must be playing her
some trick, for there before her, stood Kenneth, not the impostor her
instinct had warned her to detest and avoid, but the real Kenneth she
had loved, the father of her child. With a joyous exclamation, she
tottered forward.

"Kenneth!" she cried.

The man, his athletic form broken by sobs, opened his arms.

"My own precious darling!"

A moment later they were clasped in each other's arms. Ah, now she
knew that he had come home! This, indeed, was the husband she loved.
There was no deception this time. Wonderingly, she turned to Steell.

"How did it happen?" she asked wonderingly.

"We'll tell you later--not now," he replied.

She shuddered as she asked in a low voice.

"But where is his brother?"

"Dead! He shot himself at the club. Kenneth and I went to confront
him at the club before coming here. It was his only way out."

The detective stepped forward. Addressing the lawyer and holding out
two enormous diamonds that sparkled like fire in the sunlight, he said:

"We've just found these, together with a lot of counterfeit money."

The lawyer laughed as he took charge of the diamonds.

"It'll please Mr. Parker to see these. Come, Dick. Our work is done."

Kenneth put his arms around his wife.

"Safe in port at last, dear."

"You'll never go away again," she murmured through her tears.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14