The Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks

C >> Charles Felton Pidgin >> The Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks

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One day, shortly after her return from the West, Mr. Isburn called
her into his private office. He took great interest in electrical
inventions, and had one in his office of a decidedly novel design.
Back of his office chair, standing against the wall, just behind the
door that led into the hallway, was a mahogany bookcase fully seven
feet in height. Upon the top were several valuable statuettes, but
the most noticeable object was a rosy-cheeked apple. It was not
really an apple--only an imitation of one--made of brass. Using the
stem as a handle, the upper portion of the apple could be lifted off,
forming a cover. The apple was fastened firmly to the top of the
bookcase.

While talking over the case in hand with her employer, Miss Dana
chanced to fix her eyes upon the brass apple.

"Mr. Isburn, why do you keep that peculiar ornament on the top of
your bookcase?"

"Oh, you mean the apple. It contains something that is very valuable.
The method of opening it is a secret, but as somebody may succeed in
doing so some day I will show you its contents, for otherwise I might
be unable to prove that it contained anything."

He opened a secret drawer in his desk, inserted his forefinger and,
apparently, pressed a button. The doors of the bookcase flew open as
if by magic, and, at the same time, a bell inside the bookcase rang
sharply. Miss Dana watched each motion of her employer intently.

"That is all done by electricity," said he. "But it does something
else--opens the apple."

He reached up and lifted the cover. Then he removed something from
the apple and placed it in Miss Dana's hand.

"Oh, how lovely!" she exclaimed.

It was a ring made of the finest gold and containing an immense ruby.

"That," said her employer, "I call the Isburn Ruby. It belonged to my
mother, and it is precious to me, both on account of its great
intrinsic value, and as an heirloom."

He dropped it into the brass apple, replaced the cover, and shut the
doors of the bookcase.

"That cover can only be removed when the bookcase doors are open;
they can only be opened by touching the button in the secret drawer
in my desk, and, even then, a notice of the opening is given by the
electric bell. I think the ruby is well protected, but if anybody
steals it I shall call upon you to find the thief."

Miss Dana said, laughingly, that she feared she would never have a
chance to distinguish herself in that direction.

About a fortnight later, Mr. Isburn sat at his desk one morning
opening his mail. He was so preoccupied with an interesting letter
containing an account of the very mysterious disappearance of a young
woman, that he was not aware, for some time, of the presence of a
person who stood beside his desk.

He looked up, suddenly, and saw a pretty girl, dressed in picturesque
Italian costume, holding a basket filled with roses, pinks, and other
cut flowers. Mr. Isburn was passionately fond of flowers and kept a
vase filled with them upon his desk. He selected a large bunch of
flowers made up of the different kinds.

At that moment the door was opened and a clerk appeared: "Mr. Isburn,
there is a call for you on the long distance telephone."

"I will be back in a moment," he said to the flower girl, as he went
into an adjoining room. The telephone bell was being rung
continuously, and he called "Hello" several times before the
tintinnabulation ceased.

The call was from a town some fifty miles away. The operator informed
him that No. 42 wished her to tell him that she had a valuable clue
in case T 697 and would not return for several days. Mr. Isburn knew
that No. 42 was Miss Dana.

He returned to his office. The young Italian girl still stood by his
desk holding the basket of flowers. He gave her more than the amount
she asked for, and, bowing low and smiling, she left the office:
Referring to his call index, he found that T 697 was that of a young
man, Tarleton, belonging to a wealthy family, who was the buyer for a
manufactory of electrical machines. In their construction, a large
quantity of platinum was used, a metal more valuable, weight for
weight, than gold. His purchases had been very heavy, but a checking
up of stock used showed that not half of it had been applied to
actual construction. The question was--"What had become of the
missing metal?" and that question it was No. 42's business to answer.

Mr. Isburn was a frequenter of clubs and social functions, partly
because he enjoyed them, but, principally, because many valuable
clues had been run across while attending them.

He had been invited to be a guest at a reception tendered to an
Indian Maharajah. He knew that the East Indian princes were profuse
in their use of gems and he decided to wear the ruby, for it was a
beautiful stone and would be sure to attract the Maharajah's
attention. On opening the brass apple he found, to his astonishment,
that the ring was gone. Three days later Miss Dana returned and made
her report on the Tarleton case. The young man had stolen the
platinum, sold it, and lost the money in speculation. His rich father
had made good the company's loss, and there would be no prosecution.

"He'll be a bigger criminal some day," remarked Mr. Isburn.

"Money saved him," said Miss Dana. "While I was in the town a workman
stole a pound of brass screws--he is a poor inventor and needed them
to complete a model, and he got six months in jail."

"Miss Dana, what punishment would be adequate for the thief who stole
my ruby?"

She laughed, and said: "Anybody smart enough to do it, should have a
reward."

"The reward," said he, "will go to the one who finds and returns it."

"You are joking, Mr. Isburn."

"I wish I were. No, it is gone. I cannot imagine how it was possible
for any one to get possession of that ring. Only you and I knew how
to open the bookcase doors, and I would as soon suspect myself as
you."

"I am glad that you have that opinion," said Miss Dana. "I have
thought several times that I was sorry that you told me about it, for
I have felt that if anything happened I should be an object of
suspicion."

"Oh, no," cried Mr. Isburn. "No such suspicion ever entered my mind.
I could not be so mean and ungenerous as to think such a thing. The
only person I suspect is an Italian girl who came in here to sell
some flowers. It was the day I received the long distance telephone
message from you in regard to the Tarleton case. I was only out of
the room a few minutes, and when I came back she was standing just
where I left her."

"It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack to find that
girl," said Miss Dana.

"Yes, those Italian girls look very much alike. She was one of medium
height, as a great many women are. You are of medium height, Miss
Dana, so that is a very poor clue to work upon. She had dark hair."

"Mine is light," remarked Miss Dana.

"I did not notice the colour of her eyes--probably black."

"Mine are blue."

"Her complexion was dark."

"Well, I surely have not a dark complexion."

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Isburn.

"You talk as though you were, in some way, connected with this
affair."

"But I am."

"How so?" and Mr. Isburn's voice betrayed his astonishment.

"Don't you remember saying if the ring was lost or stolen that you
should call upon me to recover it?"

"Why, yes, I do remember. If you find it, you shall have a big
reward. If found, I am going to give the ring to a young lady."

"Who is she? Pardon my hasty inquisitiveness."

"My niece, Rose Isburn. She is my only brother's daughter. He has
just died and left her in my charge. Nothing has happened since I
began my professional career that has so puzzled and disgusted me as
the loss of that ring. I thought myself acute, and I am outwitted by
a chit of a girl. I think I'll sell out, take my niece to Europe and
marry her off to a Prince or a Duke."

"Don't do it!" laughed Miss Dana. "Leave her your money, and let her
choose some honest, clean, young American."

"Well, I think you are right," answered Mr. Isburn, laughing at
Mary's half serious, half comic air, "but I must first sell my
business. Will you find me a purchaser? I want to travel, and loaf
the rest of my life. I've had my fill of adventure and excitement."

"Perhaps you can find a purchaser while I'm finding the ring. As you
say, your description of her is very meagre. But she was a flower
girl and that is one point gained."

"But she may be selling oranges or dragging a hand-organ to-day."

"True," replied Miss Dana, "and she may be selling flowers again to-
morrow," and the conversation dropped.

About a week later, Miss Dana entered Mr. Isburn's private office.
There was a smile upon her face, as she cried:

"I have been successful!"

"You usually are," Mr. Isburn remarked, not comprehending to what she
alluded.

"You will be somewhat surprised, no doubt, when I tell you--that I
have recovered the ruby!"

Mr. Isburn sprang to his feet.

"I know that you are a truthful young woman, Miss Dana, but, pardon
me, I shall disbelieve your statement, until the ruby is once more in
my hands."

"I have not only recovered the ruby, but I have induced the Italian
girl who took it--"

"By George!" cried Isburn, "I always suspected her."

"I have induced the culprit, Mr. Isburn, to come here and place it in
your hands."

"Well, you're a wonder, Miss Dana. You should give up being a
detective and become a teacher of morals."

Miss Dana ignored his suggestion. "I have her in my office and the
door is locked. You see, I have the key here," and she held it up for
his inspection.

"She is quite overcome at being discovered. I am going to talk with
her for a few minutes. You may come, say, in ten minutes. The door
will be unlocked if she is ready. I shall be with her to witness the
restitution of your property."

Never did ten minutes pass so slowly as did those to Mr. Isburn. He
placed his watch upon his desk and watched each minute as it slowly
ticked away. When the time was up, he went to the door of Miss Dana's
office. He turned the knob--the door opened at a slight pressure, and
he entered. In a chair by the window, with her head bowed, sat a
young Italian girl. As Isburn approached her; he glanced about the
room, but Miss Dana was not present.

"Signorita," he said, "I am informed that you have come to restore
the ring which you took from me." Then he noticed by her side was the
same basket in which she had brought the flowers, but this time it
was empty.

She rose to her feet and looked into his eyes with a glance of mute
appeal. She took up the basket, and walked towards the door,
beckoning to him to follow. Without resenting the incongruity of the
situation, he did so. They passed through the hallway and into his
private office.

She lifted the cover of one side of the basket and took from it a
small parcel. She removed the tissue paper disclosing a bunch of
cotton wool. From this she extracted the jewel that he prized so
highly.

He reached forward to take it, but she drew back. She first shut down
the cover of the basket. Then she went to the desk, opened the
private drawer and pressed the button. The bookcase doors flew open.
Her next move was to place the basket in front of the bookcase.
Stepping upon it, which enabled her to reach the apple, she removed
the cover, and dropped the ring into its receptacle, replaced the
cover, stepped down and took up her basket, then closed the bookcase
doors.

"And that's how you did it," ejaculated Isburn, greatly astonished at
her coolness and audacity. "But how did you find out how to open the
bookcase doors?"

"You told me," said the girl in good English, the first words she had
spoken.

"I told you?" he cried.

The Italian girl had a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"Have you forgotten the old adage, Mr. Isburn, that it is a good plan
to set a thief to catch a thief?"

Isburn sank into a chair. "Can I believe my ears? Miss Dana?"

"Exactly," said the young woman. "This is one of my make-ups. This is
what I wore when I discovered the clue that led to the arrest of
Corona in that Italian murder case."

"But I don't understand yet," cried Isburn. "How could you be here as
an Italian flower girl when you telephoned me from a place more than
fifty miles away?"

"Money will do a great deal," replied Miss Dana, "but you must tell
your subordinates what to do for the money. I induced the operator in
that little country town to give you to understand that I was still
there. The fact was, I left the noon before, located young Tarleton,
turned him over to the police, and was in the city by 8 o'clock. I
told the operator to keep on ringing until you came for you were very
deaf. Pardon me for that, but I was afraid you would hear the bell
when the bookcase doors opened. Now, you know all, and I await my
discharge."

Mr. Isburn looked serious. "Miss Dana, I see but one matter to be
arranged now, and that is your half-interest in the business. You
know I told you that if you found the ruby I would take you as a
partner."

"Oh, that's all a joke," cried Miss Dana. "What I did was for fun. I
only wished to show you how the thing could be done, and I beg your
pardon for causing you so many hours of uneasiness on account of
the supposed loss of your valuable ring."

"Yes," said Mr. Isburn, "I feel as though you should make some
atonement for the disquietude you have caused me. I shall insist upon
going to Europe with Rose, and you must manage the business while we
are gone, as full partner."

"The staff won't take orders from a woman." "Yes, they will, if you
tell them how you fooled me. If they object then, call for their
resignations and engage a new force."

CHAPTER XXXII

"IT WAS SO SUDDEN"

The Hotel Cawthorne was, in some respects, a correct designation but
in others a misnomer. It had rooms to let, or rather suites, and it
had a clerk. So far, a hostelry. It had no dining room, no bar, no
billiard room, no news-stand, no barber shop, no boot-black, no
laundry--and in these respects, at least, it belied its name.

Some childless couples, some aged ones with married children, many
young men, a few confirmed old bachelors, and a few unmarried women
roomed therein. On stormy days, or when their inclinations so
prompted, the tenants could have meals served in their rooms at a
marked increase over hotel rates.

But the "Cawthorne" was exclusive, and for that reason, principally,
Miss Dana had chosen it as her city domicile. Tenants were not
introduced to each other, and one could live a year within its walls
without being obliged to say good morning to any one, with the
possible exceptions of the housekeeper, or the elevator man, but that
was not compulsory, but depended upon the tenant's initiative.

Every hotel has an "out"; at the "Cawthorne" it was an "in." The "in"
was Mr. Lorenzo Cass, the clerk and general _factotum_. His besetting
sin was inordinate curiosity, but it was this oftentime disagreeable
quality which particularly commended him to the ex-Rev. Arthur
Borrowscale, the owner of the "Cawthorne."

Mr. Borrowscale had not given up the ministry on account of advanced
age, for he was only forty; nor on account of physical infirmity, for
he was a rugged specimen of manhood and enjoyed the best of health.
His critics, and all successful men have them, declared that he had
forsaken the service of God for that of Mammon. While officiating, he
had received a large salary. Being a bachelor, he had lived
economically and invested his savings in real estate. He was the
owner of six tenement houses--models of their kind, and the
"Cawthorne." Before leaving college, he had loved a young girl named
Edith Cawthorne. She had died, and at her grave he had parted with
her,--and love of women, but, that sentiment was not wholly dead
within him, the name of his hotel attested.

He had another attribute; he was intensely moral. The "Cawthorne" was
his pride, but he had a constant fear that some undesirable--that is,
immoral--person would find lodgment in his caravansary. For certain
reasons, Mr. Cass was indispensable. He had been a "high roller"
until he came under the Rev. Mr. Borrowscale's tutelage.

"Mr. Cass, you know the bad when you see it--I do not. The reputation
of my house must be like Caesar's ghost--above suspicion."

He had said "ghost." He had seen but two plays--"Hamlet" and "Julius
Caesar," and for that reason his dramatic inaccuracy may be excused.

So Mr. Cass became a moral sleuth, and woe betide an applicant for
rooms, and occasional board, who could not produce unimpeachable
references, and point to an unsullied record in the past.

Miss Dana's respectability and social standing had been abundantly
vouched for, and her financial responsibility had been demonstrated
by monthly payments in advance.

It was the first evening Quincy had been out since his illness.

"Is Miss Dana in?" asked Quincy as he presented his card to Mr. Cass.

"I am quite positive she is. I am strengthened in this belief by the
fact that she had her supper sent up to her room. A fine specimen of
womanhood, and a remarkable appetite for so lovely a creature."

Quincy had an inclination to brain him with the telephone stand, but
restrained his murderous impulse.

"Will you please send up my card?" was his interrogatory protest
against further enumeration of Miss Dana's charms and gastronomic
ability. "No need to do so, Mr. Sawyer," for he had inspected the
card carefully. "We have a private telephone in each room. Will you
await her in the public parlour?"

"Hasn't she more than one room?"

"Oh, yes; a three room suite, sitting-room, boudoir, which I am sure
she uses more as a study, a chamber--and private bath."

Quincy said, "I would prefer to see her in her sitting-room."

"Oh, certainly," replied Mr. Cass. "Our rules are only prohibitive in
the case of single chambers or alcove suites, when the caller and
tenant are of opposite sexes. The proprietor--he was formerly a
clergyman--is tenacious on certain points."

"And so am I," was Quincy's response, for his temper was rising, "and
you will oblige me by communicating with Miss Dana at once, and
informing her of my desire to see her."

"Oh, certainly," replied Mr. Cass, "but my employer, who, as I have
said, was formerly a clergyman, is tenacious on another point; all
tenants who receive visitors in their rooms must have their names
entered in a book prescribed for the purpose, and also the names of
their callers."

Quincy's murderous instinct was again aroused, but Mr. Cass was
unmindful of his danger and made the required entry. The humourous
side of the affair then struck Quincy, and taking a memorandum book
from his pocket, he said:

"I, too, am tenacious on one point. I never visit a hotel for the
first time without writing down the name of the clerk. Will you
oblige me?"

"Oh, certainly. Cass, Mr. Lorenzo Cass."

"Do you spell it with a 'C'?" asked Quincy, innocently, as he
pretended to write.

"Oh, certainly. C-a-s-s-."

"Thank you," said Quincy.

"We make it a rule, or rather my employer does, that tenants and
their callers shall be treated with civility and their wants attended
to promptly."

Again Quincy eyed the telephone stand with a view to its use as a
weapon.

"Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling! Miss Dana--yes, Mr. Cass--Mr. Quincy Adams
Sawyer, Junior, wishes to call upon you in your sitting-room. Is it
agreeable to you? Very well, he will come right up."

Mr. Cass replaced the receiver with deliberation, first unwinding a
tangled coil in the cord.

"Take the elevator--third floor--number 42--she insisted upon taking
that suite for some personal reason--"

Quincy waited to hear no more but started for the elevator. Mr. Cass
reached it as soon as he did, and motioned for the elevator man to
postpone the ascent until he had finished his remarks.

"The outside door is locked at eleven, Mr. Sawyer, but you have only
to turn the upper handle to insure an exit."

"Your clerk is quite loquacious," remarked Quincy as they slowly
mounted upward.

"What's that?"

"He has a sore tongue," said Quincy, as the elevator door was closed
behind him.

After cordial greetings on both sides, for they had not seen each
other for nearly a year, Quincy exclaimed, as he sank into a
proffered easy chair: "Mary, I am a murderer at heart."

"That is not strange, Quincy. I have read that the friends of police
officers and detectives often imbibe, or rather absorb, criminal
propensities. Who is the intended victim, and how do you expect to
escape arrest, conviction, and punishment, after incriminating
yourself by a confession to a licensed detective?"

"If I had killed your hotel clerk it would have been due to emotional
insanity, and I should expect an acquittal--and, perhaps, a
testimonial."

"I got a testimonial to-day from Mr. Isburn. He said I was a wonder."

"I agree with him."

Miss Dana flushed perceptibly.

"He had what he considered a good reason for his compliment. I am
afraid yours rests on unsupported grounds."

"Not at all. Have I not known you since you were a child? Can he say
as much? Did I not work with you on Bob Wood's case? The help yon
were to me in trying to solve the mystery of the return of my
father's bill of exchange I will never forget," and for a long time
Quincy and Mary talked over the miraculous return of his father.

Finally Quincy said, "I interrupted you. You said that Mr. Isburn
considered he had good reasons for complimenting you. Will you tell
me what they were?"

"It is a long story."

"I'm all attention."

"Then I'll begin at once. If you need a stimulant at any stage of the
narrative, just signify your want and I'll ring for it."

"Is there a bar?"

"No, but there's a cellar."

"I may need some Apollinaris," said Quincy, as he settled himself
more comfortably in the easy chair; "as my flesh is again strong, I
always take my spirit very weak."

Mary had that sweetest of woman's charm--a low-pitched voice, and as
she told the story of the loss of the great Isburn ruby and its
recovery Quincy's thoughts were less on the words that he heard than
the woman who uttered them. In his mind he was building a castle in
which he was the Lord and the story-teller was the Lady.

He was awakened from his dream by Mary's query:

"Didn't I fool him nicely?"

"You certainly did. And so he's going to give you a half-interest in
the business. If he keeps his word"--

"Which I very much doubt," interrupted Mary.

"I'll buy the other half and we'll be partners."

He came near adding "for life," but decided that such a declaration
would be inopportune. "Why should you engage in business, Quincy? You
are not obliged to work."

"That's the unfortunate part of it. I wish I were. I have so much
money that I don't know what to do with it, except let it grow. But,
speaking seriously, I've no intention of remaining a do-nothing. I'm
treasurer of my father's grocery company but I have no liking for
mercantile business. I can give away, but can neither buy nor sell--
to advantage. I heard a story not long ago that set me thinking."

"I told you my story, Quincy, why not tell me yours?"

"I will. It's a mystery--unsolved, and, I think, unsolvable. But I
feel that my vocation will be the solving of mysteries. My mother
wrote detective stories and I must have inherited a mania for
mysteries and criminal problems. But I'll tell you what set me
thinking."

Then he related the story that had been told him by Jack and Ned. As
he concluded, he asked: "Do you think it was signed?"

"Of course it was, but not by the dead man."

"By whom, then?"
"By Mrs. Bliss. She materialized the form by her mediumistic
prowess, but she signed the will."

"But Jack and Ned saw the form, as they called it, take the pen and
write his name."

"They thought they did. She hypnotized them so they saw whatever she
impressed upon their minds."

"Can sensible, highly educated people be so influenced?"

"The bigger the brain the more easily influenced. She couldn't have
so impressed an idiot, or an illiterate, unreceptive man. Let me tell
you how a hundred people were fooled lately."

"I should be delighted to hear you tell it."

"You should have sympathy for them, after your spiritualistic
experience," said Mary with a smile.

"There is a married couple in this city whom we will call Mr. and
Mrs. Cartwright, because those are not their names. They have been
married less than two years. He is 68 and she 28, so you see it was
what they call a December and May union. It was worse. He is a bank
president and his god is money--his diversion sitting in his elegant
library and reading _de luxe_ editions of the world's literary
masterpieces. She is young, and beautiful, and craves society,
attention, admiration.

"She didn't get the last two at home, but society furnished them. He
attended her to parties and receptions and then went back to his
library until it was time to escort her home.

"One night when he went for her she could not be found. No one had
seen her leave--she had mysteriously disappeared. Mr. Isburn gave me
the case. I'll make the story short for it is eleven o'clock." "I
know how to get out. Mr. Cass told me." "Your knowledge of a method
of egress does not warrant an extension of your visit to midnight,
does it?" asked Mary laughingly.

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