Officer 666 Part 35

CHAPTER x.x.x.

GLADWIN COMES OUT OF HIS Sh.e.l.l.

"What the"----

The spurious aristocrat and art collector suppressed his torrid exclamation. The impulse moved him to seize the uniformed b.u.t.ter-in and pitch him through the nearest window. He was big and powerful enough to do it, too.

In the furious glance he got, Travers Gladwin read a warning that in an earlier stage of his career would have made him feel mighty uncomfortable. Now he liked the smell of danger and met the message of wrath without a flicker.

"What's that you've got there?" the thief, having mastered himself, asked, pointing to the grip.

"'Tis the bag you asked for, sorr," drawled Gladwin.

"I told you to pack it," said the other, sharply.

"All packed, sorr. Hunting clothes, shirts, ties, socks"----

He looked up with a boyish grin and the big chap was stumped for a moment. The thief said slowly:

"Now take it up to my room and unpack it." It was his turn to grin.

"What, sorr?" asked the dismayed Gladwin.

"I shan't want these things after all," came the velvety rejoinder.

"Unpack it carefully and bring it back here. And kindly be more careful of the stairs when you come down--one step at a time, _please_! Now, what are you waiting for?"

Gladwin withdrew reluctantly, stealing a glance at Helen as he sidled through the curtained doorway. Her eyes never left the face of the man she thought she loved, but whose character was being swiftly revealed to her in a new light.

That resourceful individual waited only for the blue uniform to pa.s.s through the portieres, when he sprang forward and reached out on both sides for the heavy mahogany folding doors. He brought them together swiftly and softly, then ripped down the portieres from the pole, flinging one to the left of the door and the other across the chest.

"Now listen, Helen," he cried, seizing her roughly by the shoulder.

"It may be that we will have to get out of here in a hurry."

"W-w-w-hy, what's the matter?" she stammered, wincing at the crushing grip of his hand.

He replied with a swift rush of words that fairly stunned her:

"Your aunt may find it out and try to stop us. Now I shall be on the lookout, but I want you to do everything I tell you--I'll see if the coast is clear in case we have to go out the back way. In the meantime I want you to wrap these pictures for me. I wouldn't ask you, dear, only we haven't a minute to wait."

He darted across the room and opened the narrow door that led into the backstairs corridor. Helen stared stupidly after him until he disappeared and then turned toward the chest and went to work wrapping up the precious canvases like one in a trance. She had scarcely started when the folding doors opened noiselessly and Bateato stuck in his head.

Fearing that some harm had come to his master the little j.a.p had left the Ritz and sprinted all the way to the Gladwin mansion. He was breathless and wild-eyed, yet he had entered the house as silently as a breath of air.

Peeking into the room Bateato noted the ripped-down portieres and devastated picture frames. His Oriental mind told him but one thing--robbery. Seized with a violent spasm of loyalty to his master he brushed into the room and exclaimed:

"Whatz thees? Oh, h.e.l.l--d.a.m.n!"

Helen was in too good training by this time to swoon, though she wanted to. She started back in alarm and exclaimed:

"Oh, how you startled me!"

Bateato circled round her like an enraged rat.

"You no fool me--I know you tief--you steal picture--I get pleece--much pleece--whole big lot pleece, quick."

He headed for the door.

Helen pursued him, crying: "See here! Wait a minute! You don't understand! Mr. Gladwin!"

The j.a.p was gone and the hall door slammed after him before she had reached the folding doors. In another instant Travers Gladwin, who had been making a vain hunt for a revolver in the upper part of the house came flying down the stairs and a.s.sailed the frightened girl with another overwhelming shock.

Seeing she was alone he threw himself into the breach headlong:

"Miss Helen, just a moment. I've been waiting for a chance to speak to you. You must get away from here at once. Do you understand--at once!

Don't waste time talking--go quick while you have a chance. You mustn't be mixed up in what's coming."

The girl felt that her heart would burst with its palpitations of fear, but she was incapable of flight. Her limbs seemed like leaden weights. Some force working without the zone of her mental control made her stammer:

"W-w-ho are you?"

"Listen," the young man raced on, "and you must believe what I say--this man you came here to meet and elope with is not Travers Gladwin at all."

She expressed her horrified disbelief in a frozen stare.

"It's true," he pursued pa.s.sionately. "He's an imposter! The real Travers Gladwin you met here this afternoon. He was I; that is, I was he. I mean I am Travers Gladwin--only I've got this uniform on now. It is only on your account that I have not caused his arrest and a sensation. I can't have you mixed up in a nasty scandal. I want to save you--don't you see I do?--but I can't wait much longer."

"I don't believe what you are saying! I can't believe it! Oh, it's too horrible!" sobbed Helen, clinging to a fragment of her shattered idol as a drowning man clings to a straw.

Gladwin was on the point of resuming his appeal when he sensed a heavy tread. He had divined that the picture thief had left the room to reconnoitre emergency exits or to learn whether or not the house was surrounded. He had hoped that he might run into Michael Phelan, but did not stop to puzzle out why this had not happened. Backing to the door, he whispered:

"He's coming--question him. That's all I ask. I'll be waiting to see that you get out in safety--trust me!"

He wriggled backward and disappeared through the folding doors.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

A VISIT TO THE EXILED PHELAN.

But where, oh, where was the exiled Phelan when the bogus Gladwin went on his backstairs investigation? Puzzled as he was by the fast moving events of the night, stripped of the uniform of his authority, still his police instincts should have warned him of this new character in his dream.

Michael Phelan, however, was busy--busy in a way one little would suppose.