The Diamond Coterie Part 59

"This is getting too deep for me, Wedron," says O'Meara, when the door has closed behind Constance. "What does it lead up to? For I take it your tactics mean something."

Mr. Wedron laughs a low, mellow laugh.

"Things are shaping themselves to my liking," he says, rubbing his hands briskly. "We are almost done floundering, O'Meara. Thanks to Miss Wardour, I know where to put my hand when the right time comes."

"I don't understand."

"You will very soon. Now hear a prophecy: Before to-morrow night, Clifford Heath will send for you, and lay before you a plan for his defence. He will manifest a sudden desire to live."

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

TWO Pa.s.sENGERS WEST.

Late that night a man is walking slowly up and down the little footpath that leads from the highway, just opposite Mapleton, down to the river and close past that pretty, white boat house belonging to the Lamotte domain.

He is very patient, very tranquil in his movements, and quite unconscious that, crouched in the shadow, not far away, a small figure notes his every action.

Presently a second form emerges from the gloom that hangs over the gates of Mapleton, and comes down toward the river. Just beside the boat house it pauses and waits the man's approach.

The new comer is a woman. The night is not so dark but that her form is distinctly visible to the hidden watcher.

"Well," says the man, coming close beside her, "I am here--madam."

"Yes," whispers the woman. "Have you--" she hesitates.

"Accomplished my task?" he finishes the sentence. "Have you not proof up yonder that the work is done?"

The woman trembles from head to foot, and draws farther away.

"I am only waiting to receive what is now due me," the man resumes. "You need have no fears as to the future; like Abraham, you have been provided with a lamb for the sacrifice."

Again a shudder shakes the form of the woman, but she does not speak.

"I must trouble you to do me a favor, Mrs. Burrill," the man goes on.

"It is necessary that I should see the honorable Mr. Lamotte. So, if you will be so good as to admit me to Mapleton to-night, under cover of this darkness, and contrive an interview without disturbing the other inmates, you will greatly oblige me; but first, my two thousand dollars, if you please."

With a sudden movement the woman flings back the cloak that has been drawn close about her face, and strikes with her hand upon the timbers of the boat house.

There is a crackling sound, a flash of light, and then the slow blaze of a parlor match.

By its light they gaze upon each other, and then the man mutters a curse.

"Miss Wardour!"

"Mr. Belknap, it is I."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Mr. Belknap, it is I."]

There is a moment's silence, and then she speaks again:

"You are disappointed, Mr. Belknap; you expected to meet another, who would pay you your price for--you know what. You will not see that other one; she is hovering between life and death, and her delirious ravings have revealed you in your true character. You may wonder how I have dared thus to brave an a.s.sa.s.sin, a blackmailer. I am not reckless. If I do not return in ten minutes, safe and sound, the boat house will be speedily searched and you, Mr. Belknap, will be hunted as you may have hunted others. Not long since you made terms with me, you attempted coercion, I might say blackmail; to-night, it is in my power to bridle your tongue, and I tell you, that, unless you leave W---- at once, you will find yourself a resident here against your will. Consider your business in W---- at an end. This is not a safe place for you."

With the last words on her lips, she turns and speeds swiftly back toward Mapleton, and Jerry Belknap, private detective, stands transfixed, gazing at the spot from which she has fled, and muttering curses not good to hear.

He makes no attempt to follow her. He recognizes the fact that he is baffled, and, for the time at least, defeated. Grinding out curses as he goes, he turns his steps toward W----.

Then, from out the shadows of the boat house, a small bundle uncoils itself, stands erect, and then moves forward as if in pursuit.

But, something else rises up from the ground, directly in the path of this small shadow; a long, slender body displays itself, and a voice whispers close to the ears of the smaller watcher:

"Remain here, George, and keep a close eye on the house. I will look after _him_."

Then the shadows separate; the taller one follows in the wake of the disconsolate detective.

The other, scaling the park palings like a cat, vanishes in the darkness that surrounds Mapleton.

The reflections of Jerry Belknap, private detective, as he goes, with moody brow, and tightly compressed lips, across the pretty river bridge, and back toward his hotel, are far from pleasant.

He is a shrewd man, and has engineered many a knotty case to a successful issue, thereby covering himself with glory. This was in the past, however; in the days when he had been regularly attached to a strong and reliable detective agency.

For tact, energy, ambition, he had no peer; but one day his career had been nipped in the bud.

A young man, equally talented, and far more honorable, had caused his overthrow; and yet had saved him from the worst that might have befallen him. And, Jerry Belknap, had stepped down from an honorable position, and, determined to make his power, experience, and acknowledged abilities, serve him as the means of supplying his somewhat extravagant needs, had resolved himself into a "private detective," and betaken himself to "ways that are dark."

"There's something at the bottom of this business that I don't understand," mused he as he paced onward; little thinking how soon he is to be enlightened on this and sundry other subjects. "I never felt more sanguine of bringing a crooked operation to a successful termination, and I never yet made such an abject failure. I shall make it my business to find out, and at once, what is this power behind the throne. So, according to Miss Wardour, may Satan fly away with her, I am not to approach the Lamotte's, I am to lose my reward, I am to retire from the field like a whipped cur. Miss Wardour, we shall see about that."

"Call me for the early train going west," he says to the night clerk, on reaching the hotel; "let me see, what is the hour?"

"The western train leaves very early, sir--at four twenty. Then you won't be here to witness Burrill's funeral? It will call everybody out.

The circ.u.mstances attending the man's life and death will make it an event for W----."

"It's an 'event' that won't interest me. If I have been rightly informed, the man is better, placed in his coffin, than he ever was in his boots. I shall leave my baggage here--all but a small valise. I expect to return to W---- soon. If anything occurs to change my plans, I will telegraph you and have it forwarded."

At this moment the door of the office opens and closes noisily, and a man comes rather unsteadily toward them. It is Smith, the book-peddler, and evidently much intoxicated.

"Hallo, Smith," says the night clerk, jocosely, as Mr. Belknap turns away, "you seem to have rheumatism, and I suspect you find more fun than business in W----."

"Town ain't much on literature," retorts Mr. Smith, amiably, "but it's the devil and all for draw poker. I've raked in a pot, and I'm going on to the next pious town, so

'If you are waking, call me early.'

Old top, I'm going west."