Читать книгу Dangerous Ground: or, The Rival Detectives - Lynch Lawrence L. - Страница 6

While the stranger was thus communing with himself, and while Van Vernet was striding toward that fashionable quarter of the city which contained the splendid Warburton mansion, Richard Stanhope, perched upon one corner of a baize covered table, his hands clasped about one knee, his hat pushed far back upon his head, his whole air that of a man in the presence of a familiar spirit, and perfectly at his ease, was saying to his Chief:

“So you want me to put this business through alone? I don’t half like it.”

“You are equal to it, Dick.”

“I know that,” with a proud curve of the firm lips, “but I’m sure Van expected to be in this thing, and – ”

“Vernet has another case in hand. I have given him all his time until it is finished, with the privilege of joining you here and assisting in the Raid to-morrow night, if he can do so without interfering with his other duties. You seem to fear to offend Vernet, Dick?”

“I fear no one, sir. But Van and I have pulled well together, and divided the honors equally. This Raid, if it succeeds, will be a big thing for the man, or men, engineering it. I know that Van has counted upon at least a share of the glory. I hate to see him lose the chance for it.”

“You are a generous friend, Dick, and Van may rejoice that you are his friend instead of his rival. Now, leaving friendship to take care of itself, do you feel that the success of the Raid depends upon Vernet’s assistance?”

“Perdition! No.”

“You know the ground?”

“Every inch of it!”

“And Van does not.”

“One pilot is enough.”

“You know the people?”

“Well, rather!”

“Do you doubt the success of the undertaking?”

“No, sir. I see only one chance for failure.”

“And that?”

“I have made this Raid a study. If anything occurs to prevent my leading the expedition, and you put another man at the head, it will fail.”

“Even if it be Vernet?”

“Even Vernet. Satan himself would fail in those alleys, unless he knew the ground.”

“And yet you would share your honors with Vernet for friendship’s sake? Dick, you are a queer fish! But why do you suggest a possibility of your absence?”

“Because,” sliding off the table and pulling his hat low over his eyes, “The Raid is thirty-six hours distant, and one never knows what may happen in thirty-six hours. Is there any thing else, sir?”

“Yes; I’ve a dainty bit of mystery for you. No blind alleys and thieves dens in this; it’s for to-morrow evening, too.”

Stanhope resumed his former position upon the corner of the table, pushed back his hat, and turned an attentive face to his Chief.

“Your Raid will not move until a little after midnight; this other business is for ten o’clock. You can be at liberty by eleven. You know Follingsbee, the lawyer?”

“By reputation; yes. Is he in the mystery?”

“He’s negotiating for a client; a lady.”

“A lady!” with a stare of dismay. “Why didn’t you turn her over to Van; you know he is just the man to deal with women, and I – ”

“You are afraid of a petticoat! I know; and I might have chosen Vernet, if the choice had been given me. But the lawyer asked for you.”

Stanhope groaned dismally.

“Besides, it’s best for you; you are better than Vernet at a feminine make up.”

“A feminine make up!”

“Yes. Here is the business: Mr. Follingsbee desires your services for a lady client; he took care to impress upon me that she was a lady in every sense of the word. This lady had desired the services of a detective, and he had recommended you.”

“Why I?”

“Never mind why; you are sufficiently vain at present, You have nothing on hand after the Raid, so I promised you to Follingsbee; he is an old friend of mine. To-morrow evening, at ten o’clock, you are to drive to Mr. Follingsbee’s residence in masquerade costume.”

“Good Lord!”

“In a feminine disguise of some sort. Mr. Follingsbee, also in costume, will join you, and together you will attend an up-town masquerade, you personating Mrs. Follingsbee, who will remain at home.”

“Phew! I’m getting interested.”

“At the masquerade you will meet your client, who will be introduced by Follingsbee. Now about your disguise: he wants to know your costume beforehand, in order to avoid any mistakes.”

“Let me think,” said Stanhope, musingly. “What’s Mrs. Follingsbee’s style?”

“A little above the medium. Follingsbee thinks, that, with considerable drapery, you can make up to look sufficiently like her.”

“Considerable drapery; then I have it. Last season, when Van and I were abroad, we attended a masquerade in Vienna, and I wore the costume of the Goddess of Liberty, in order to furnish a partner for Van. In hiring the costume, I, of course, deposited the price of it, and the next day we left the city so hurriedly that I had no opportunity to return it, so I brought it home with me. It’s a bang-up dress, and no one has seen it on this side of the water, except Van. How will it do?”

“Capitally; then I will tell Follingsbee to look for the Goddess of Liberty.”

“All right, sir. You are sure I won’t be detained later than eleven?”

“You have only to meet the lady, receive her instructions, and come away.”

“I hope I shall live through the ordeal,” rising once more and shaking himself like a water-spaniel, “but I’d rather face all the hosts of Rag Alley.”

And Richard Stanhope left the Agency to “overhaul” the innocent masquerade costume that held, in its white and crimson folds, the fate of its owner.

Leaving him thus employed, let us follow the footsteps of Van Vernet, and enter with him the stately portals of the home of the Warburtons.

Crossing a hall that is a marvel of antique richness, with its walls of russet, old gold, and Venetian red tints; its big claw-footed tables; its massive, open-faced clock, with huge weights a-swing below; its statuettes and its bass-reliefs, we pass under a rich portierie, and hear the liveried footman say, evidently having been instructed:

“This is Mr. Warburton’s study, sir; I will take up your name.”

Van Vernet gazes about him, marking the gorgeous richness of the room. A study! There are massive book-cases filled with choicest lore; cabinets containing all that is curious, antique, rare, beautiful, and costly; there are plaques and bronzes; there is a mantle laden with costly bric-a-brac; a grand old-fashioned fire-place and fender; there are divans and easy chairs; rich draperies on wall and at windows, and all in the rarest tints of olive, crimson, and bronze.

Van Vernet looks about him and says to himself:

“This is a room after my own heart. Mr. Warburton, of Warburton Place, must be a sybarite, and should be a happy man. Ah, he is coming.”

But it is not Mr. Warburton who enters. It is a colored valet, sleek, smiling, obsequious, who bears in his hand a gilded salver, with a letter upon it, and upon his arm a parcel wrapped in black silk.

“You are Mr. Vernet?” queries this personage, as if in doubt.

“Yes.”

“Then this letter is for you.”

And the valet bows low, and extends the salver, adding softly:

“I am Mr. Warburton’s body servant.”

Looking somewhat surprised, as well as annoyed, Van Vernet takes up the letter, breaks the seal and reads:

Sir:

My business with you is of so delicate a nature that it is best, for all concerned, to keep our identity a secret, for a time at least. Your investigation involves the fair fame of a lady and the honor of a stainless name.

Come to this house to-morrow night, in the costume which I shall send for your use. The enclosed card will admit you. My valet will show you the domino by which you will recognize me. This will enable me to instruct you fully, and to point out to you the persons in whom you are to take an interest. This letter you will please destroy in the presence of my valet.

A. W.

After reading this strange note, Van Vernet stands so long, silently pondering, that the servant makes a restless movement. Then the detective says, with a touch of imperiousness.

“Give me a match.”

It is proffered him in silence, and in silence he turns to the grate, applies the match to the letter, and lets it fall from his fingers to the fire-place, where it lies a charred fragment that crumbles to ashes at a touch.

The dark servant watches the proceeding in grave silence until Vernet turns to him, saying:

“Now, the domino.”

Then he rapidly takes from the sable wrapper a domino of black and scarlet, and exhibits it to the detective, who examines it critically for a moment and then says brusquely:

“That will do; tell your master that I will follow his instructions —to the letter.”

As the stately door swings shut after his exit, Van Vernet turns and glances up at the name upon the door-plate, and, as he sets his foot upon the pavement, he mutters:

“A. Warburton is my employer; A. Warburton is the name upon the door: I see! My services are wanted by the master of this mansion: he asks to deal with a gentleman, and – leaves him to negotiate with a colored servant! There’s a lady in the case, and ‘an honorable name at stake;’ Ah! Mr. A. Warburton, the day may come when you will wear no domino in my presence; when you will send no servant to negotiate with Van Vernet!”