The House of Mystery Part 19

"Don't make any fuss, my dear. I'm a medium myself an' I've been exposed four times. Take it from me, _your_ play is to be a lady--and a sport."

Suddenly, Mrs. Markham lifted herself from the piano keys and spoke:

"Annette, my dear, control yourself. Come to me, dear--my poor, insane niece. Mr. Norcross, I will explain these intruders later. Come to me, dear!" She had stepped toward Blake, who stood with his left arm about Annette. Blake felt Annette shrink away from him, felt her sway toward her aunt. He raised the revolver.

"Stay where you are!" he commanded. "Annette, listen to me. I control you now--I! Until I say otherwise, keep your face on my shoulder. Do not look up. Keep your mind on what I am saying."

Annette's first movement away from him ceased. She gave a little inarticulate murmur of obedience. Simply as a child, she settled her face into the hollow of his shoulder.

He turned to Norcross.

"You old fool--" then he caught the face of him who had been king of the American railroads. Norcross had settled into a chair; more, he had shriveled into it. His mouth had fallen open as from senile weakness; his eyes, suddenly grown old, glazed and peering, seemed to struggle with tears. His hands moved uncertainly, feebly.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Norcross," he said, "I came here to-night to take away this girl, whom I intend to marry, and I'm excited. Now listen--Annette, I want you to listen also. Keep your mind upon me alone, dear, and remember I told you not to be frightened. This girl is ward of that she-devil there. Since her childhood, Mrs. Markham has been hypnotizing her--for her own purposes. So good a subject has she become that Mrs. Markham uses her to play ghost for these seances--without her own knowledge--"

"Stop!" cried Mrs. Markham.

"Now, my dear," protested Rosalie, "I've been in the house four weeks jest watchin' you work. Your play is to shut up until you see what we've got in our hand. If you don't, you'll put your foot in it!"

As though aware of her presence for the first time, Mrs. Markham turned and looked Rosalie straight in the face. And as though realizing the common sense in this counsel, she seated herself. Only a gnawing at her under lip indicated her mental disturbance.

Now Annette, as though beginning to realize the situation, was sobbing softly. Blake patted her shoulder; and the pa.s.sion went out of his voice. But he still held the revolver alert in his free hand.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "STAY WHERE YOU ARE," HE COMMANDED]

"Her method is fairly established. In a few minutes, I will permit you to see the trap between the ceiling of that cabinet room there and the floor of the room above. The trap is hollow; in it, for safety, she keeps those phosph.o.r.escent robes"--he nodded toward the white heap on the floor--"all her cabinet paraphernalia, and the notes on such as you. Full information on your love affair with Helen Whitton has been in that trap for weeks." Then, seeing how raw was the nerve which he had touched in the old man, he added:

"I beg your pardon again, sir; but I must speak of this. Mme. Le Grange there--my agent in this house--is an expert on such matters. She informs me that those notes are the work of a private detective--that the information comes from an old aunt of Helen Whitton who must have been her confidante. Do you see now what happened? Every night of a seance, Mrs. Markham has prepared for you by sending this girl to bed early--by sitting beside her and putting her to sleep. That is what Miss Markham, in her innocence, calls it. It _is_ sleep--the hypnotic sleep. Miss Markham is in bad condition. Her nerves are those of the overworked hypnotic horse. Mrs. Markham has used that as a pretext for putting her to bed early. Shall I particularize? Do I need to go on?"

"Oh, pray do! You are very interesting!" spoke Mrs. Markham from the piano stool.

"I will--since you wish it," returned Blake with an equal sarcastic courtesy. "When sleep was established, Mrs. Markham made her rise and dress herself in those phosph.o.r.escent robes"--he pointed to the gauzy heap on the floor--"put her back on the couch, and gave her directions.

She was to rise at a signal--you know it--'Wild roamed an Indian maid.'

Must I tell you any more?" he burst out. "Do you know that three nights ago I looked into her sitting-room above that trap and saw her--saw her go down to you--heard what she said to you!"

Annette was gasping and moaning.

"Oh, did I do that?" she said.

"No, sweet, _she_ did it," he said. He turned to Rosalie. "Take this revolver and keep order for me. Annette ought not to stand any longer."

Still keeping her head on his shoulder, he seated her beside him on a couch. "She has never heard this before, Mr. Norcross, and you must know what a shock she is suffering. This is a desperate case, and it required a desperate remedy. That accounts for this drama to-night.

Mme. Le Grange there is housekeeper of this place, and my agent.

Putting her in this house was part of the remedy. Fifteen minutes ago, she and I entered the room where Miss Markham lay in hypnotic trance, waiting to go down to you. I supplemented Mrs. Markham's suggestion by a command of my own--you know what it was. I took a risk. One never knows whether a hypnotic subject--even such a perfect one as this--will obey a supplementary suggestion. Had it failed, had she started back toward the ladder, I should have turned on the lights and seized the spook in the vulgar manner, and Mrs. Markham would have had the thousand excuses which a professional medium can give in such circ.u.mstances. But Annette obeyed--she even woke on my command before she had fulfilled the whole of Mrs. Markham's suggestion--because we love each other. That made the difference." He drew Annette's head closer on his shoulder. "I'm going to take her away to-night. She's done with all this." He turned to Mrs. Markham. Her hand still rested on the keyboard. Her face was pale, but her lips wore a sneering smile.

"It is your turn, Madame," he said.

"I lose gracefully," answered Mrs. Markham, "yet if Mr. Norcross will think very carefully, he may realize that I am not all a loser."

Rosalie crossed the room to Dr. Blake. "Here, you take this thing," she said, extending the revolver, "it makes me nervous, an' I told you at the start there wasn't no use of it."

And now, something had clicked in Norcross again. His mouth had closed like a vise, light had come back to his eyes; he was again the Norcross of the street.

"You're a devil," he said, "but you're a marvelously clever woman--"

"So clever," responded Mrs. Markham in dulcet tones, "that I intend never to worry about finances again--by your leave, Mr. Norcross."

"That means blackmail, I suppose," said Norcross.

"Now, Mr. Norcross, I beg of you," protested Mrs. Markham, "I have _never_ used harsh names for unpleasant truths with you! Do me the same courtesy. You will agree, I think, that the Norcross interests would suffer if people knew that Robert H. Norcross was running to spirit mediums--my business is little appreciated. The newspapers, Mr.

Norcross--"

"Would any newspaper believe you?" asked Norcross.

"An admirable method," responded Mrs. Markham, "an admirable method of getting these people before the public as witnesses"--her gesture indicated Dr. Blake and Rosalie--"would be to sue for custody of my niece, whom this young man intends, I believe, to take away tonight.

Certain unusual features of this case would charm the newspapers."

Rosalie shook Blake's shoulder.

"Doctor!" she cried, "can't you see what she's aiming at? She's trying to drag us into her blackmailing. She's tryin' to make this look like a plant." She whirled on Norcross.

"Listen, Mr. Norcross. I'll tell you what this was done for! Do you know a youngish lookin' man, smooth-shaven, neat dresser, gray eyes, about forty-five, got something to do with Wall Street, wears one of them little twisted-up red and white society b.u.t.tons in his b.u.t.tonhole, has a trick of holding his chin between his fingers--so--when he's thinkin'? Because _he_ started it. He's the n.i.g.g.e.r in your woodpile. He came here a week before you ever saw Mrs. Markham, bringin' the notes about Helen Whitton--the dope that she's been feedin' you. If you'll put that together with what the spirit--she--Miss Markham, told you tonight about declarin' dividends--"

"Mrs. Granger," interrupted Mrs. Markham, "you are a shrewd woman, but you carry your deductions a little far--"

"Deductions, your grandmother!" retorted Rosalie Le Grange, "To think how close you come to foolin' even _me_ that's played this game, girl and woman, for twenty-five years! If I hadn't caught you so anxious to stop that little girl from seein' that you kept Practical Methods of Hypnotism' hid behind the bookcase, I'd have gone away from here believin' that she was deep in the mud as you was in the mire. You certainly sprung a new one on me!"

The eyes of Norcross lighted, as though with a new idea, and he broke abruptly into this feminine exchange:

"I do not believe that this is a plant. Mrs. Markham, shall we bargain?"

"I like the life in London," said Mrs. Markham. "I have been waiting to retire."

"Twenty-five thousand dollars?"

"Oh dear, no! Fifty."

Norcross drew a check book, flipped it on his knee. Mrs. Markham raised a protesting hand.

"Yes, you will--you'll take it in a check or not at all," he said. "I want this transaction recorded. I'll tell you why. It is worth just that to keep this story out of the papers. I was caught, and I pay. It is worth no more. I will give you this check to-night. You will cash it in the morning. I shall have the cancelled check as a voucher. If ever you ask me for a dollar more, you go to State's Prison for extortion--on the testimony of these three witnesses. My legal department is the best in the country. In short, it is worth fifty thousand dollars to me. It is not worth fifty thousand and one. Also, you sail to London within a week. Does that go?"

Mrs. Markham drummed a minute with her fingers, and her face went a shade paler.

"It does," she said in a low voice.

Blake bent over Annette.

"Do you hear that?" he asked. "Do you know what it means? It is called blackmail!"

"Oh, Aunt Paula, Aunt Paula!" whispered Annette. Her face settled closer on Blake's shoulder, and she burst into a torrent of weeping.