Green Fancy Part 42

"Up in--Where?" almost shouted Barnes, starting up.

The man explained where the cottages were situated, Barnes listening as one completely bereft of intelligence.

"Seems he was to leave by auto early this mornin', and they didn't know anything was wrong till Joe Keep--he's driving a Fierce-Arrow that Mr.

Norton has for rent--till Joe'd been settin' out in front for nearly half an hour. The man's wife was waitin' fer him up at the main buildin' and she got so tired waitin' that she sent one of the clerks down to see what was keeping her husband. Well, sir, him and Joe couldn't wake the feller, so they climb in an open winder, an' by gosh, Joe says it was terrible. The feller was layin' on the bed, feet an'

hands tied and gagged, and blood from head to foot. He was inconscious, Joe says, an'--my G.o.d, how his wife took on! Joe says he couldn't stand it, so he snook out, shakin' like a leaf. He says she's a pippin, too.

Never seen a purtier--"

"Is--is the man dead?" cried Barnes, aghast. He felt that his face was as white as chalk.

"Nope! Seems like it's nothing serious: just beat up, that's all.

Terrible cuts on his head and--"

"What is his name?" demanded Barnes.

"Something like Hackensack."

"Have they caught the thief?"

"I should say not. The police never ketch anything but drunks in this burg, and they wouldn't ketch them if they could keep from stumblin'."

"What time did all this happen?" Barnes was having great difficulty in keeping his coffee from splashing over.

"Doc Smith figgers it was long about midnight, judgin' by the way the blood co'gulated."

"Did they get away with much?"

"Haven't heard. Joe says the stove pipe in the feller's room was knocked down and they's soot all over everything. Looks like they must have been a struggle. Seems as though the burglar,--must ha' been more'n one of 'em, I say,--wasn't satisfied with cracking him over the head. He stuck the point of a knife or something into him,--just a little way, Joe says--in more'n a dozen places. What say?"

"I--I didn't say anything."

"I thought you did. Well, if I hear anything more I'll let you know."

"Anything for a little excitement," said Barnes casually.

He listened at the door until he heard the waiter clattering down the stairway, and then went swiftly down the hall to No. 30. Mr. Prosser was sleeping just as soundly and as resoundingly as at midnight!

"By gad!" he muttered, half aloud. Everything was as clear as day to him now. Bolting into his own room, he closed the door and stood stock-still for many minutes, trying to picture the scene in the cottage.

No stretch of the imagination was required to establish the facts.

Sprouse had come to him during the night with Prince Ugo's blood on the hands that bore the treasure. He had surprised and overpowered the pseudo Mr. Ha.s.selwein, and had actually tortured him into revealing the hiding place of the jewels. The significance of the scattered stove pipe was not lost on Barnes; it had not been knocked down in a struggle between the two men. Prince Ugo was not, and never had been, in a position to defend himself against his wily a.s.sailant. Barnes's blood ran cold as he went over in his mind the pitiless method employed by Sprouse in subduing his royal victim. And the coolness, the unspeakable bravado of the man in coming direct to him with the booty! His amazingly clever subterfuge in allowing Barnes to think that room No.

30 was the scene of his operations, thereby forcing him to remain inactive through fear of consequences to himself and the Countess if he undertook to investigate!

He found a letter in his box when he went downstairs, after stuffing the tin box deep into his pack,--a risky thing to do he realised, but no longer perilous in the light of developments. It was no longer probable that his effects would be subjected to inspection by the police. He walked over to a window to read the letter. Before he slit the envelope he knew that Sprouse was the writer. The message was brief.

"After due consideration, I feel that it would be a mistake for you to abandon your present duties at this time. It might be misunderstood.

Stick to the company until something better turns up. With this thought in view I withdraw the two days' limit mentioned recently to you, and extend the time to one week. Yours very truly, J. H. Wilson."

"Gad, the fellow thinks of everything," said Barnes to himself. "He is positively uncanny."

He read between the lines, and saw there a distinct warning. It had not occurred to him that his plan to leave for New York that day with Miss Cameron might be attended by disastrous results.

On reflection, he found the prospect far from disagreeable. A week or so with the Rushcroft company was rather attractive under the circ.u.mstances. The idea appealed to him.

But the jewels? What of them? He could not go gallivanting about the country with a half million dollars' worth of precious stones in his possession. A king's ransom strapped on his back! He would not be able to sleep a wink. Indeed, he could see himself wasting away to a mere shadow through worry and dread. Precious stones? They would develop into millstones, he thought, with an inward groan.

He questioned the advisability of informing Miss Cameron that the crown jewels were in his possession. Her anxiety would be far greater than his own. There was nothing to be gained by telling her in any case; so he decided to bear the burden alone.

The play was not to open in Crowndale until Tuesday night, three full days off. He revelled in the thought of sitting "out front" in the empty little theatre, watching the rehearsals. At such times he was confident that his thoughts would not be solely of the jewels. He would at least have surcease during these periods of forgetfulness.

He spent the early part of the forenoon in wandering nervously about the hotel,--upstairs and down. The jewels were locked in his pack upstairs. He went up to his room half a dozen times and almost instantly walked down again, after satisfying himself that the pack had not been rifled.

Exasperation filled his soul. Ten o'clock came and still no sign of the lazy actors. Rehearsal at eleven, and not one of them out of bed.

Peter came to the hotel soon after ten. He had forgotten Peter and his decision to send him down to the Berkshires that day, and was sharply reminded of the necessity for doing so by the appearance of the man who had registered just before midnight. This individual strolled casually into the lobby a few seconds behind Peter.

He acted at once and with decision. The stranger took a seat in the window not far away. Barnes, in a brisk and business-like tone, informed Peter that he was to leave on the one o'clock train for the south, and to go direct to his sister's place near Stockbridge. He was to leave the automobile in Crowndale for the present.

"Here is the money for your railroad fare," he announced in conclusion.

"I have telegraphed Mrs. Courtney's man that you will arrive this evening. He will start you in on your duties to-morrow. I understand they are short-handed on the place. And now let me impress upon you, Peter, the importance of holding yourself ready to report when needed.

You know what I mean. Remember, I have guaranteed that you will appear."

The stranger drank in every word that pa.s.sed between the two men. When the one o'clock train pulled out of Crowndale, it carried Peter Ames in one of the forward coaches, and a late guest of the Grand Palace Hotel in the next car behind. Barnes took the time to a.s.sure himself of these facts, and smiled faintly as he drove away from the railway station after the departure of the train. Miss Cameron, her veil lowered, sat beside him in the "hack."

For the next three days and nights rehearsals were in full swing, with scarcely a moment's let-up. The Rushcroft company was increased by the arrival of three new members and several pieces of baggage. The dingy barn of a theatre was the scene of ceaseless industry, both peaceful and otherwise. The actors quarrelled and fumed and all but fought over their grievances. Only the presence of the "backer" and the extremely pretty and cultured "friend of the family" in "front" prevented sanguinary encounters among the male contenders for the centre of the stage. The usually placid Mr. Dillingford was transformed into a snarling beast every time one of his "lines" was cut out by the relentless Rushcroft, and there were times when Mr. Bacon loudly accused his fiancee of "crabbing" his part. Everybody called everybody else a "hog," and G.o.d was asked a hundred times a day to bear witness to as many atrocities.

Each day the bewildered, distressed young woman who sat with Barnes in the dim "parquet," whispered in his ear:

"Can they ever be friendly again?"

And every night at supper she rejoiced to find them all on the best of terms, calling each other "dearie," and "old chap," and "honey," and declaring that no such company had ever been gotten together in the history of the stage! Such words as "slob," "fat-head," "b.o.o.b" or "you poor nut" never found their way outside the sacred precincts of the theatre.

Mr. Rushcroft magnanimously offered to coach "Miss Jones" in the part he was going to write in for her just as soon as he could get around to it.

"No use writing a part for her, Mr. Barnes, until I get through beating the parts we already have into the heads of these poor fools up here.

I've got trouble enough on my hands."

And so the time crept by, up to the night of the performance. Miss Cameron remained in ignorance of the close proximity of the jewels, and the police of Crowndale remained in even denser ignorance as to the whereabouts of the man who robbed Mr. Ha.s.selwein of all his spare cash and an excellent gold watch.

Ha.s.selwein's story was brief but dramatic. He was recovering rapidly from his experience and the local newspaper, on Tuesday, announced that he would be strong enough to accompany his wife when she left the "city" toward the end of the week. (Considerable s.p.a.ce was employed by the reporter in "writing up" the wonderful devotion of Mrs. Ha.s.selwein, who, despite the fact that she was quite an invalid, conducted herself with rare fort.i.tude, seldom leaving her husband's room in the hospital.)

According to the injured man, his a.s.sailant was a huge, powerful individual, wearing a mask and armed to the teeth. He came in through an open window and attacked him while he was asleep in bed.

Notwithstanding the stunning blow he received while prostrate, Mr.

Ha.s.selwein struggled to his feet and engaged the miscreant--(while the word was used at least twenty times in the newspaper account, I promise to use it but once)--in a desperate conflict. Loss of blood weakened him and he soon fell exhausted upon the bed. To make the story even shorter than Prince Ugo made it, not a word was said about the jewels, and that, after all, is the only feature of the case in which we are interested.

Barnes smiled grimly over Ugo's failure to mention the jewels, and the misleading description of the thief. He was thankful, however, and relieved to learn that the one man who might recognise Miss Cameron was not likely to leave the hospital short of a week's time.

No time was lost by the Countess in getting word to her compatriots in New York. Barnes posted a dozen letters for her; each contained the tidings of her safety and the a.s.surance that she would soon follow in person.