Oswald Langdon Part 26

Gradually Pierre's habitual craft returns. Whatever happens he must keep cool. Taking a discreet bracer of brandy and examining his pistols, Pierre lies down on the cot. There are toothsome eatables on the table.

These he now devours with ravenous relish, but partakes sparingly of the tempting liquors. Between set teeth Pierre says: "There must be self-control and iron nerves. I will not trust any fict.i.tious strength.

Only a steady brain and hand tensely nerved by my cold-tempered yet dynamic will must keep this watch. If by any possible chance only Paul knows of my plight, then there is hope. Should it transpire that the spying figure seen on Thames bank has followed me home and is responsible for after happenings, longer dallying must cease. Perhaps Paul is now in custody. Those who shall come for Pierre Lanier will witness a change and have short shrift."

Lying with c.o.c.ked pistols held in each hand under the light spread, this determined sentinel watches that cellar entrance.

After a half-hour, steps are heard on the stairs. Pierre's vigilant ear detects his son's gait. Quickly resetting pistol-hammers and placing both weapons under his pillow, the much relieved father feigns sleep under screen of upturned arm, watching lower half of cellar door.

It seems a long while before the door opens. Convinced that his son is alone, Pierre has no use for the pistols. Even should Paul meditate any violence, his father cannot resort to armed resistance. Ready to slay any other who hinders mature plans or attempts his arrest, Pierre Lanier may not hurt this crazed boy.

There is in that depraved soul at least one sacred precinct where this hunted, distracted, youthful head may find sanctuary. At this indulgent bar there is such accusing sense of self-accounting for all unfilial excesses as to preclude harsh judgment.

The door slowly opens. The lock clicks softly. Noislessly tiptoeing across the room, Paul looks long and anxiously at his sleeping father.

At length he notes that most of the refreshments have disappeared. He does not perceive the significance of this fact, but thinks his father has continued in such queer stupor. Gently stroking the paternal brow, Paul sits down. With silk handkerchief immersed in brandy, the son rubs his father's temples and removes dirt-stains caused by fall of previous evening. Slowly lifting the quilt, Paul critically examines foot-bandages. Gently covering the swollen member, he resumes his watch, in subdued undertones uttering most tender, filial sympathies, hopes, and regrets.

It is doubtful if that listening sleeper ever before heard such soothing, softly modulated tones. Hoping that Paul would give some clew to recent events, Pierre lay long in this dissembling stupor. Fearing from his son's nervous preparations that he soon may start out on some night trip up the Thames, Pierre concludes to learn what has happened.

Slowly opening his eyes and staring at Paul, he asks: "What time is it, Paul?"

With much sympathy, Paul replies: "I found you unconscious this morning lying on the cellar floor. I carried you to the cot, and from involuntary movements discovered the sprained ankle. After st.i.tching on the saturated bandages, I brought out refreshments and liquors. You did not use these, but continued unconscious, responding only in mutterings.

I watched all day until evening, and then went out a few minutes for some needed provisions." No reference was made to the previous night's experiences.

Much relieved, Pierre shows great appreciation of his boy's kindly interest.

Paul is pleased at these grateful comments. He now and then glances at his watch. Nervously walking to the door, he returns and sits down by his father's side. With much filial solicitude he says:

"Father, you should never venture out on late night watches. This attack was the result of last night's vigil.

"You are getting older, father, and can't stand night work. It will never do to risk such an attack at night. I cannot bear the thought of sleeping while you are wandering about London, liable to be paralyzed at any moment in some dark alley. I need my father's counsels too badly to risk losing him through such rash exposure."

Growing excited, Paul grasps his dagger, and glowering at the shrinking, reclining form, dramatically waves the glistening blade as he utters the injunction:

"Never go out again at night in London!"

Cowed by this unexpected pose and threat, Pierre Lanier promises to stay in nights.

"I know my dear son is right! My own Paul always will care for his poor old father!"

Paul grows quiet. With shamefaced, submissive mien he sheathes the thin, gleaming blade. Then follow suppressed sobs and hysterical a.s.surances of future obedience.

With childish penitence this hardened youth, steeped in murderous guilt and crazed by tragic memories almost to the point of irresponsible parricide, hiding his face upon his father's breast, cries himself to sleep.

CHAPTER XX

THE CONFERENCE

Their extended visits abroad endear Sir Donald's and Esther's home memories. Northfield seems both haven and rose-scented bower of rest.

Yet there are many pensive reflections. Over brightest views often settle shadows of tragic retrospect.

Neither Sir Donald nor Esther sees cleared future earthly prospects.

Both are uncertain as to issues in which each feels vital interest.

Since they listened to that suggestive declamation, neither cared for another sail on the lake. Those oddly tinted pictures, combining in tragic intermingled groupings blending lights and shades of lake and river, pa.s.s before their soul sights with ever-varying hues.

Neither Sir Donald nor Oswald Langdon has written. London detective bureau has lost all clews to whereabouts of the Laniers.

Sir Donald cannot locate either William or Mary Dodge. The lagging justice momentum is at full stop.

Those red-handed villains continue their insolent defiance of outraged law. For more than a generation one victim has been waiting avenging.

Still the murdered ward lifts unavailing hands toward bra.s.sy heavens, imploring just reckoning upon her brutal slayer. Over earth and sea, in unmerited exile, wanders an unfortunate victim of lying circ.u.mstance, fearless to a fault of personal harm, yet bound by filial fetters in unswerving fealty to family prestige and parental name. Doting father and mother sit around a desolate hearth, helpless to help, powerless to temper or withdraw the barbed arrow which has transfixed their souls.

Tenderly fostered, idolized daughter, modestly brilliant, grandly human, with strong, sweet penchant toward self-sacrifice and for lowly, una.s.suming ministry, yet love-loyal to banished suitor, must bide uncertain issues, enduring that heartsickness which may find no specific.

These rasping human paradoxes are warrant for much bewildering thought.

At such even Sir Donald Randolph's speculative, complacent optimism well may stagger.

How ironical seems talk of "time's compensation"! Who now may prate, "Evil is good misunderstood"? Surely such cogent blending requires some powerfully focalized far observatory height!

As to London detective tactics, Sir Donald is becoming pessimistic. To Esther he says: "Indeed, there is little in results to justify further employment of this much vaunted agency. That there have been perplexities I am fully aware. Having given the subject such careful thought, I am not disposed either to minimize obstacles or to cavil at well-meant efforts.

"Upon review of incidents in this fruitless pursuit, I am impressed with the fact that all clews obtained came from your infatuation for hungry or sick people. The Paris hospital confession, finding of Mary Dodge in Calcutta suburb seclusion, revelations of this unhappy sufferer from Lanier subornation, and saving of both intended victims through timely intervention at that deserted house--all are due to your unconscious cooperation.

"I fail to see that I have directly contributed to these discoveries. It is not apparent that any of my well-matured plans even promised success.

Every subtly framed purpose has failed.

"London sleuths are camping on cold trails, tracing misleading clews, poising for unavailing swoop upon flown quarry, densely ignorant of real Lanier purposes. These highly paid pursuers of ever-eluding outlaws knew nothing of that murderous a.s.sault upon William and Mary Dodge until after I had cabled the news to London. Their shifts had been so ineffective that no plausible theory could be advanced for farcical arrests, unwarranted detentions, failure to prosecute for undisputed felonious a.s.saults, strange releases, or continued custody of the intended victim.

"But for my promise made to Oswald Langdon, I now might abandon this search. There seems no justification for further employment of detectives. The expense has been large. Results are unimportant.

"That fellow so trustingly followed my advice, and promptly sailed without purposed haven on the tramp steamer, it now would be heartless desertion not to continue even doubtful agencies in solution of this most vexing problem."

Sir Donald well knows that his daughter feels interest in the success of this pursuit. Though mute as to proposed tactics, her startled mien, hopeful inquiring glances, close attention, quivering lips, turned-away, drooping eyelids, reserved silences, and far-off looks, cannot dissemble. Sir Donald sees these signs and interprets them aright. To Esther he says: "I will continue this undertaking. Loyalty to human duty shall be my concern. Results may owe other allegiance. There may be accounting for those interlopers who, crossing boundaries of warranted care, trespa.s.s upon exclusive 'preserves' of more imperious power. Such presumption may be 'les majeste' against Providence."

With such sentiment Sir Donald dismisses all idea of quitting this search.

Determined to do his utmost toward solution of all difficulties hindering unraveling of this web, he will visit London and talk over the whole matter with head of detective bureau.

In company with Esther, Sir Donald reaches London. They stop at a prominent hotel. He soon calls at the bureau headquarters and waits for appearance of the chief, who is closeted upon some important job. After about an hour Sir Donald is admitted. The chief warmly grasps him by the hand, expresses pleasure at his call, and with enthusiasm says:

"After years' unavailing pursuit of the Laniers, there is now hope of success.

"For months all trace of these villains had been lost, and our agency was about to quit the job, when by chance a sure clew is found. For some time both have been disguised in London. They occupy a bas.e.m.e.nt room in a suburb of the city. Recently this discovery was made. One of our men was watching near a river boathouse for a burglar suspect who sometimes frequented that locality. A rowboat is seen drifting down the Thames. In the uncertain light it seems to have no occupant. As the boat nears, a stooping form appears to waken from a sort of stupor. The boat is turned toward the sh.o.r.e and fastened by a rope. The man walks rapidly down the bank, followed by this spy. After a long chase, he is trailed to an old stairway, down which the stranger disappears.

"This was three days previous to present time. Double shifts were set to watch this bas.e.m.e.nt entrance, resulting in seeing two men go out and in.

From their strange conduct it became evident that both were in disguised hiding from some dreaded exposure, or were premeditating crime. The older limps in his walk. He goes out only in daylight, soon returning to their room. Nights are favored by the younger man, who acts very strangely. During all next day after this discovery employes of our agency watched that cellar entrance. The older man limped out toward evening, and was followed to a stall, where he purchased a few eatables.

Soon after his return, the other pa.s.sed out and moved rapidly away. He was followed to the river-bank. Unfastening the same boat used on previous evening, he rowed upstream. Our spy followed, keeping out of view. Soon this trailer is surprised to see just ahead a form emerge from cl.u.s.tering bushes, and watching the boatman, skulk along in same direction. To avoid detection our spy moves more slowly, at times waiting in shelter of bank shrubbery. In this way he is some distance back down the stream from the boat. The rower frequently pauses at points along banks of the river, and then moves on. Opposite a projecting bank there is a long stop. Here the man stands up. He moves back and forth across the river. The other watcher stands a little way down the stream, intently looking. Through uncertain shadows the one in rear dimly sees flash of a blade. It seems as if a thrust is made at some object in the water. After several minutes the man is seated, and turns downstream. It appears that the boat is simply drifting. Fore-most sentinel starts back, keeping nearly opposite. This compels the one farther down to make a circle and hide among some bushes several rods from sh.o.r.e. Coming back to the rear, he discreetly trails along at some distance, keeping boat and other spy in view. Near the boathouse the rower turns toward sh.o.r.e. Forward watcher stops a few rods upstream until the boat is fastened, then follows down the bank. After a long tramp our employe sees the forward man pa.s.s down those rickety cellar stairs, and the other spy cross over narrow alley into a small shanty, with window opposite that bas.e.m.e.nt entrance.