  “Give me a handkerchief, somebody!” commanded Zizi, and not without reason, for her own tiny wisp of cambric was nothing but a wet ball, which she was futilely dabbing into her big black eyes. I hurried into my bedroom and hastily grabbed a fresh handkerchief from a drawer, which I brought to the excited girl. “Thanks,” she said, as she grasped it and plied it diligently; “now, men, we must get busy! It’s after five o’clock, Olive went away before four,—anything may have happened to her—we must rescue her!” “We will!” exclaimed Case Rivers, showing more energy than I knew he possessed. “What about ‘The Link,’ Mr. Brice?” As quickly as I could, I detailed what had happened at the telegraph office, where Sadie Kent had been taken into custody by Hudson’s men. “Did she go quietly?” asked Penny Wise. “She did not!” I returned; “she put up a fearful fight, tore up a lot of papers from a desk drawer, and lit into the policemen like a tiger cat! She tried to bite Hudson, and yet, he was the one who kind-heartedly let her telephone to her mother.” “What!” cried Rivers, “he let her do that!” “I did it myself, really,” I said; and I told how Sadie had begged for the privilege. “There you are!” Rivers said, positively. “That telephone message was not to her mother!” “But I called her up,” I explained, “and she said she was Mrs. Kent.” “That may be,” and Rivers shook his head; “but, don’t you see, that was a code call,—a warning. The person who received it, mother or grandmother, caught on to the state of things and set machinery in motion that resulted in the kidnaping of Miss Raynor.” “What for?” I asked, blankly. “Revenge, probably, but there may be other villainies afoot. Am I right, Mr. Wise?” “Yes, and mighty quick-witted. Then the next step is to go to the ‘mother’s’ house.” “Yes, if we can trace it. It may be a call within a call; I mean, the number Mr. Brice got may be merely a go-between—a link——” “Try it, anyway,” implored Zizi; “every minute is precious. I’m so afraid for Miss Olive. You know, she’s spunky,—she won’t submit easily to restraint, and you don’t know what they may do to her!” “Get Information first,” directed Wise, as I started for the telephone. “Find the address of the number you called. You remember it?” “Yes; of course.” And in a few moments I learned that the house was down in Washington Square. “Get a taxi,” said Zizi, already putting on her long black cape, which swirled round the slender figure as she flung one end over her shoulder. She flew to a mirror, and was dabbing her straight little nose with a powder-puff as she talked. “We’ll all go down there, and I don’t think we’ll have to look any further. Miss Olive is there,—I’m dead sure! Held by the enemy! But she’s game, and I don’t believe we’ll be too late, if we hustle like a house afire!” And so, with the greatest speed consistent with safety, we taxied down to the house in Washington Square. The Kent apartment was on the third floor, and as Zizi dashed up the stairs, not waiting for the elevator, we three men followed her. Zizi’s ring at the bell brought a middle-aged woman to the door, who looked at us rather blankly. I was about to speak, when Zizi, insinuating her small self through the partly opened door, said softly: “We’ve a message from ‘The Link.’” It acted like magic, and the woman’s face changed to an expression of welcome and serious anxiety, as we all went in. It was rather a pretentious apartment, with fine furnishings in ornate taste. We saw no one save the woman who admitted us, and heard no sound from other rooms. “You expected it?” and Zizi’s air of secret understanding was perfect. “Expected what?” said Mrs. Kent, sharply, for she was apparently on her guard. “Sadie’s arrest,” and Zizi’s black eyes narrowed as she looked keenly at the other. But the woman was not to be trapped. She glanced at us each in turn, and seemed to conclude we were not friendly visitors for all Zizi’s pretense. “I know nothing of any arrest,” she said, evenly; “I think you have mistaken the house.” “I think not,” and Penny Wise looked at her sternly. “Your bluff won’t go, madam,—Sadie, ‘The Link,’ is arrested, and the game is up. Will you answer questions or will you wait until you, too, are arrested?” “I have nothing to say,” she mumbled, but her voice trembled, and her nerve was deserting her. Inadvertently she glanced toward the closed door of the next room, and Zizi’s quick eyes followed the glance. “Is Miss Raynor in there?” she flung out so quickly that Mrs. Kent gasped. But she recovered her poise at once and said, “I don’t know what you mean,—I don’t know any Miss Raynor.” “Oh, tut, tut!” and Zizi grinned at her; “don’t tell naughty stories! Why, I hear Miss Raynor’s voice!” She didn’t at all, but as she listened, with her head cocked on one side, like a saucy bird, Mrs. Kent’s face showed fear, and she listened also. A muffled scream was heard,—not loud, but clearly a cry for help. Without further parley, Rivers made a dash for the door and though it was locked, he smashed into the rather flimsy panel and the old hinges gave way. There, in the adjoining room was Olive Raynor, a handkerchief tied across her mouth and her angry eyes flashing with rage. Holding her arm was George Rodman, who was evidently trying to intimidate her, but without complete success. Zizi flew to Olive’s side, and snatched off the handkerchief. Rodman was perfectly cool. “Let that lady alone,” he said; “she is my affianced wife.” “Affianced grandmother!” retorted Zizi. “You can’t put that over, Mr. Rodman!” “Save me!” Olive said, looking from me to Penny Wise and back again. Her glance fell on Rivers, but returned to me, as her face assumed a look of agony. I couldn’t quite understand, as she must know that with us all there her danger was past. “Are you his betrothed?” Case Rivers said, bluntly. “No!” Olive replied, in an indignant tone; “never!” “Then——” and Rivers seemed about to remove Rodman’s hand from Olive’s arm by force, but Rodman himself spoke up: “One moment, please,” he said, quietly, and bending over, he whispered in Olive’s ear. She turned deathly white, her lips quivered, and she seemed about to fall. Whatever the brief words were, they wrought a marvelous change in the girl’s attitude. She lost her air of defiant wrath, and seemed a helpless, hopeless victim of the man who held her. “Are you engaged to me?” Rodman said, looking at Olive, with a threatening scowl. “Yes,” she managed to whisper, but so agonized was her face that it was palpable she spoke under coercion. I was uncertain what to do; Wise, too, looked nonplussed, but Rivers, though a stranger to Olive, seemed imbued with an irresistible chivalry, and drawing nearer to her, he said: “Is that man forcing you to say that against your will?” Rodman’s grip tightened on Olive’s arm, and his glowering face looked sternly into hers. She made no reply in words, but her piteous glance told all too clearly that Rivers’ assumption was correct. And yet, what could we do? Olive had assented to Rodman’s assertion, and we could scarcely demand a girl from her fiancÉ. Zizi mastered the situation by saying, triumphantly: “We’ve got ‘The Link!’ She’s under arrest!” “What!” cried Olive, and then, dropping her arm, Rodman whirled toward her: “There!” he cried, “your secret is out! Unless——” He made a gesture as if to put his arm round her. With a cry of revulsion, Olive shrank from him, and her face showed that she preferred his threatening attitude to his endearing one. “You let that lady alone, unless she desires your attentions,” said Rivers, his innate desire to protect a woman in distress showing in his repressed eagerness to get at Rodman. “You mind your own business!” shouted Rodman, angrily, as he put out his arm and drew Olive to him. “You’re mine, now, aren’t you, dearie?” The disgust on the girl’s face, and the shrinking of her form as she tried to draw away from the leering face so near hers was too much for Rivers. He assumed a threatening attitude, and said, “You take your hands off that lady! She doesn’t want——” In defiance, Rodman drew Olive nearer, and raising her bowed head was about to kiss her angry, beautiful face, when she uttered a despairing scream. That was the match in the powder-keg! Unable to hold back longer, Rivers sprang forward and wrenched Olive from Rodman’s grasp. With a snarl, Rodman lunged at Rivers, who deftly stopped him with an uppercut. Rodman came back with a smashing facer, and Rivers replied in kind. Zizi, who had flown to Olive’s side, and was tenderly soothing her, watched the two men, breathlessly. Something savage in her nature responded to the combat, and she flushed and paled alternately as one or the other of the angry men seemed to have the upper hand. Olive hid her face in her hands, not wanting to look, but Zizi was with the fight, heart and soul. It was give and take, with such rapidity that I trembled for Rivers’ safety. Rodman was a formidable antagonist, and far heavier than the gaunt man who met and returned his blows. But Rivers was skilled, and made up in technique what he lacked in strength. So desperate was the struggle, so blindly furious the two men, that Pennington Wise and I were fearful of results. With a simultaneous impulse we made a dash to separate the combatants, but were obliged to get back quickly to save ourselves from the rain of blows. Never had I seen such a wild, unbridled fight compressed into such a short time, and I wondered what Rivers had been in a fighting way before he lost his identity. Fighting and boxing had never been favorite forms of entertainment with me, but this contest absorbed me. It was primitive, instinctive,—the rage of Rodman pitted against the angry indignation of Rivers. I had not thought of the latter as a weakling, but neither had I looked upon him as a strong man, and I should have judged that in a bout with Rodman he would have gone under. But not so; his lean, gaunt frame was full of latent strength, his bony fists full of dexterity. He rushed in, fell back, sidestepped, with the dazzling quickness of a trained fighter. He showed knowledge and skill that amazed me. Rodman, too, fought for all he was worth, but he impressed me as being not an experienced fighter,—and not a fair one. Wise, too, was watching Rivers with wonder and admiration, and he also kept his alert gaze on Rodman. Fascinated, we watched as Rodman clinched, and Rivers with a smile, almost of contempt, threw him off. Then Rodman, bellowing like an angry bull, made a head-on rush for Rivers, who neatly sidestepped, letting his furious antagonist have it on the side of his head. Even this didn’t knock any sense into Rodman, and he was about to plunge again, when Wise, seeing a chance, said: “Now, Brice!” Springing in, I hooked my arm around Rivers’ neck, and yanked him away from Rodman, now struggling, half-spent, in Wise’s grasp. “Let up, Rivers!” I cried, sternly; “what do you mean?” He glared at me, not sensing what I said, and then, Rodman, breaking loose, came at him madly, Rivers slithered out of my clutch and caught the other a smashing blow on the ear. This, landing just as Rodman was off his balance from his break-away from Wise, spun him around and sent him down with a crash which knocked all the fight out of him, and he made but a half-hearted attempt to rise. Satisfied, Rivers turned to me, and then, with a half-apologetic glance at Olive, murmured: “Sorry! Couldn’t help it, Miss Raynor. Brute!” The last was addressed to his fallen foe, and was met by a vindictive glance, but no other retort. Rodman, however, was pulling himself together and we were of one mind as to our next procedure, which was to get Olive Raynor away from that house. “Beat it,” Wise decreed; “you’re a good one, Mr. Rivers! My hat’s off to you. Now, if you’re fit, and you look it, will you and Mr. Brice take Miss Raynor home, and I’ll stay here and clear up this little disturbance. Hop along with them, Ziz; I’ll join you all at the house as soon as I can.” The faithful taxi was waiting, and Rivers and I put the two girls in, and followed them. Rivers was very quiet and seemed preoccupied. He looked not at all like a conqueror, and I guessed that the fight had stirred some chord of remembrance, and he was now struggling with his lost memory. In silence we went most of the way home. Before we reached the house, however, he shook off his reverie with an impatient gesture that said, as clearly as words could have done, that he had failed to catch the elusive thread that bound him to the past and that he had returned to the present. Olive saw it, too, and putting out her hand, said, frankly: “I owe you deep gratitude, Mr. Rivers. I suppose I was in no real danger, with you men there, but I must confess I was glad to have that wretch punished.” Her lovely face glowed with righteous indignation, and Zizi’s pert little countenance showed deep satisfaction. “You gave it to him, good and plenty, Mr. Rivers,” she fairly crowed; “it was a treat to see you put it all over him! Now, you’ve knocked him out physically, Penny Wise will mop up the floor with him mentally and morally! What did he do to you, Miss Olive? Why did he make you say you were his girl?” The look of agony returned to Olive’s face, as if she had just recollected what the man had said to her. “He threatened me,” she said, slowly; “with an awful threat! I can’t think about it! Oh, I don’t know what to do! I can’t tell it—I can’t tell it to anybody——” “Wait till you get home,” I counseled her, and Rivers added, “And wait till Mr. Wise comes. He’s the man you must tell, and he will advise you. But, I say, we’re getting at things, eh, Brice? ‘The Link’ under arrest, Wise onto Rodman, and he won’t let go of him, either, and Miss Raynor safe,—whew! I feel as if we should just forge ahead now!” “Sure we will!” declared Zizi, her little face glowing with anticipation. “Never you mind. Miss Olive, dear; whatever that man threatened, Penny Wise will look after him.” “But——” began Olive, and then stopped, for we had reached her home. “Oh, my darling child,” exclaimed Mrs. Vail, as we went in, “where have you been? I’ve been nearly crazy!” I think we all felt a sudden twinge of shame, for none of us had thought to relieve the poor lady’s suspense as to Olive’s fate! We ought to have telephoned, at least. But she was now smiling and happy at the safe return of her charge and eager to know all the details of the adventure. Both Olive and Zizi went off with Mrs. Vail, who was chattering volubly, and I was left alone with Rivers. “The fight,—on which let me congratulate you,—stirred some old memory?” I said, inquiringly. “For a few moments, yes;” he returned, looking deeply thoughtful. “But it was both vague and evanescent, I couldn’t nail it. Oh!” and he made an impatient gesture, “it is maddening! I seem just on the edge of complete recollection,—and, then,—it’s gone again, and my mind is a positive blank regarding it. But, it’s no use worrying, Brice,” and he spoke cheerfully, “I’m sure it will come, some day. Until then I shall be Case Rivers, and if I die under the name, I’ll try, at least, not to disgrace it.” “You didn’t disgrace it today,” I said, heartily. “You put up a first-class fight, and in a righteous cause.” “I couldn’t stand it to see Miss Raynor bullied by that brute,” he returned, simply, “and then, too, I felt a natural antagonism toward him on my own account. No,” as I started to speak, “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t think I knew him before I lost my memory. Maybe I did, but it wasn’t that that startled me to thinking back. It was something else,—some other impression, that made me have a fraction of a reminiscence of something,—oh, I don’t know what, but I’m going to take it as an omen of future good fortune.” |
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