The Mask Part 36

"Yes--yes. Throw a few things in my bag. You needn't come, Ken. I'll telephone you directly I get to Philadelphia. Good-bye!"

The next instant she was gone and the gambler, with a muttered curse, went to the sideboard and poured out a gla.s.s of whiskey, with which to drown his disappointment.

CHAPTER XVI

For a person so fastidious and particular, so fond of the luxurious and the elegant, Signor Keralio had certainly selected a queer neighborhood for his abode. Miles distant from the fashionable centers, far away up in the Bronx, he occupied the entire top floor of a dingy, broken down tenement. There were no other people in the house, it being in such bad repair that no one cared to live in it, and as Keralio paid as much as all the previous tenants combined and made no requests for improvements, the landlord was only too glad to leave him undisturbed.

It was situated at the extreme end of a blind alley and, there being no egress from the street save at one end, there was consequently little or no traffic and, for the great part of the day and night, the silence was as deep and unbroken as in the open country.

With his neighbors Signor Keralio was distantly polite, but never intimate. The district was a poor one, being settled mostly by Italian laborers who rose and went to bed with the sun and toiled too long and too hard each day to bother their heads as to why such a fine gentleman as the Signor appeared to be, should live in such squalid quarters. No one had ever been admitted to his flat. If the baker called, he left the bread on the mat; if a chance peddler or book agent happened to wander in, he had to talk through closed doors. The Signor was always busy and could not be disturbed. The lights often burned all night long, and sometimes people drove up in a taxi and went away again. For a while the corner gossips speculated idly as to who he might be, but gradually they lost all interest. When he purchased trifles at the corner grocery he gave out casually that he was a newspaper man and had to work all night, and the fact that m.u.f.fled sounds of hammering and machinery in motion had been heard at all hours, only helped to make the explanation more plausible.

To-night, Keralio was perhaps more anxious than at any time to discourage callers--especially should they happen to be inquisitive secret service agents. Another few days and he would have nothing more to fear. The presses would soon have completed their work and $500,000 worth of as fine a $10 counterfeit as ever deceived a bank teller would be ready for distribution. Half of them had already been run off and, as he held them up to the light and critically examined the silken thread that ran here and there through the specially prepared paper and noted the careful coloring, the beautifully geometrical lathe work and skilfully traced signatures, he silently congratulated himself. Here was half a million dollars' worth of splendid currency. Detection was absolutely impossible. Had not Francois already succeeded in pa.s.sing a lot? After all had been disposed of, he could afford to take a rest.

On the proceeds of this rich haul, he could live like a prince for a few years in Europe, and when that was all gone, he still had the diamonds to fall back upon. Glancing at the clock, he wondered why Handsome did not come. He was anxious to get possession of the diamonds. It was too soon to attempt doing anything with the stones now. The hue and cry would be too loud. All the diamond markets would be watched, if they were not already. He had a suspicion that Parker and Steell suspected something wrong. Francois had seen the President in earnest consultation with the lawyer directly after Handsome had announced the loss. He had not been able to hear what was said, but from their manner he inferred that the diamonds were the sole subject of conversation. They did not question Handsome's ident.i.ty. That never entered their heads, but they doubted his story of losing the stones. They, no doubt, thought he had used the diamonds to make good Wall Street losses.

He chuckled as he thought how admirably his scheme had worked out. He had hinted at Kenneth being heavily short in this street, which at once explained a motive for Kenneth diverting the stones to his own use.

Yes, he had triumphed over them all--except one. Helen Traynor, so far, had foiled him in everything, and the more she resisted and insulted him, the more determined he was to drag her at his feet.

Handsome, poor devil, fondly imagined he would inherit the wife as well as the fortune. How could he guess that he, Keralio, would send a bogus telegram just in time to dash the cup from his lips.

Impatiently he strode up and down the rooms. Why was Handsome late? A frown darkened his face. He had better not trifle with him. He must obey without question or take the consequences. He was in no mood to be defied.

Suddenly, he started and listened. His alert ear had caught the sound of approaching footsteps on the stairs outside. A moment later came three deliberate knocks on the door, a signal which indicated a friendly visitor. Quickly, Keralio went forward and withdrew the bolt.

Francois entered, suit case in hand. Hardly before he could take breath after the long climb, Keralio exclaimed:

"Well, how are they going?"

The Frenchman grinned.

"_a merveille_! Like hot cakes. I've pa.s.sed all of zem. Good work, is it not?"

"And the real stuff?" demanded Keralio.

"Is in here."

The valet pointed to the leather case.

Eagerly Keralio seized the portmanteau, and, opening it, emptied the contents. A perfect shower of greenbacks--genuine ones this time--fell upon the floor. With shaking hands, like a miser who trembles as he handles his h.o.a.rded gold, Keralio picked up the money by armfuls and, taking it to a table, proceeded to count it.

"Is it all here?" he demanded suspiciously.

The valet scowled.

"Do you think I'm holding any back on you? _Ma foi, non_!"

Keralio, still counting, fixed his a.s.sistant with steely, piercing eyes.

"No, Francois, I think you know me too well for that. You know I never forget a service; you also know I never forgive anyone who crosses my will."

The valet shrugged his shoulders. In an injured tone he asked:

"What's all ze talk about? I work well for you. I do your dirty work, _n'est ce pas_? I never complain--I am faithful. What more would you have?"

"Why should you complain? You get your share," rejoined his chief sternly.

The valet was silent and Keralio went on:

"A few days more and we'll be rid of all the new stuff. Then we'll take down the presses and carry away the parts, piece by piece. When we're ready to leave this hole, there won't be a shred of evidence left. Have you heard any news from our man in Washington? What are the secret service men doing?"

"Ze alarm is given. Zey have spotted several of ze bills. Half a dozen of ze cleverest sleuths in ze country have been put on our trail.

Zey will not succeed. Ze scent is cold. We've got zem completely doped."

Keralio looked anxious.

"Is there any danger of them having shadowed you and followed you here?"

"No--_mon cher, pas le mains du monde_. It took me three hours to come here from ze Pennsylvania station--such a crazy in and out route I gave ze chauffeur. If they succeed in following such a labyrinth as that, they deserve to get us."

Keralio smiled and pointed to a bottle of brandy on the table.

Approvingly, he said:

"Good boy! There, take a drink and a cigar----"

After the valet had refreshed himself, he again confronted his chief.

"What else _a votre service_?"

Keralio pointed carelessly to a seat. In a commanding tone, he said:

"Yes--I have more work for you. Sit down. I will tell you."

The valet took a chair and waited. Keralio looked at him meditatively for a moment. Then suddenly he asked:

"When did you leave the house?"

"This afternoon at three o'clock."

"When did Mrs. Traynor return from Philadelphia?"

"Yesterday--furious at the hoax played upon her? Miss Dorothy is perfectly well----"

Keralio smiled.

"Of course. I sent that telegram."

The valet grinned. Admiringly, he exclaimed:

"You are admirable! _Quel homme, mon dieu, quel homme_!"