  And so again Coe went over the room. “Lord!” he cried, “I’m sick and tired of looking for a mousehole when the mousehole isn’t here! Not a baby mouse could get in or out of this box,—let alone a swashbuckler villain, carrying a drugged unconscious man on his back!” For that was the way Coe visualized it,—he felt sure the abductor had entered by his confounded secret entrance, had drugged or chloroformed the sleeping Webb, and had returned the way he came, carrying his prey. For how else could it have been done? And anyway details didn’t matter. Even if Webb had been cajoled,—say by a tale of Elsie in immediate danger,—or her sudden illness,—even so, the secret entrance must have afforded the way in. And so the secret entrance had to be found, and Coe vowed he wouldn’t leave the room until he left through that entrance itself! Patiently he went over the walls again,—the floor, the ceiling, noting unmarred decorations that precluded an opening of any sort. But this he soon finished and set himself to work with his brain, thinking up some other type of entrance than any he had yet thought of. “Suppose the whole side wall swings out,” he thought. “Suppose this wall between his house and the next—swings like a door,—no, that’s too wide,—suppose it swings on a pivot,—a central pivot,—oh, shucks, it couldn’t! Well, suppose the whole hall door came out in one piece,—frame and all. Suppose the frame is hinged on like a door,—then the bolted door wouldn’t matter.” But this ingenious plan likewise failed to work, because the door wasn’t built that way. It was just an ordinary, regular made and regular hung door. The windows, too, failed to prove themselves freak windows of any sort but insisted on remaining the regulation, prosaic windows of commerce. The chimney was the only outlet left. Coe had peered up this so many times; poked up it with so many rods and poles; invented and discarded so many clever schemes of how it might work; that he felt no hope of further light from this source. He glared at the great fireplace with an air of righteous indignation. Why,—oh, why couldn’t it obligingly turn out to be some sort of a mechanism that would solve his puzzle. He scrutinized every inch of it. All he got for his trouble was the conviction that certain parts of it had been recently touched up with gilding,—where the gilt iron filigree work decorated the edges of the wide opening. Moreover, the newer gilding was of a slightly different shade and lustre from the old. Of course, all this meant, that in their housekeeping zeal the Webbs or their servants had touched up some points of the oak leaf design that needed such renovation. They were here and there among the leaves and acorns that surrounded the opening of the fireplace. Grasping at any straw Coe went downstairs and made inquiry, learning that there had been no such gilding done. Coe went back and sat looking at the oak leaves. It seemed more conspicuous now,—indeed, he wondered how he could have missed seeing it sooner. Then he realized it was not really conspicuous,—it had doubtless been done last housecleaning time. But it was too bright for that theory. No, sir, that gilt had been applied to those scratched or marred leaves lately, and it had been done carefully and well. Done by somebody who knew how,—not a professional decorator, necessarily, but some one who knew about that sort of thing. Why, he used to do it himself, when he lived at home,—and he remembered even yet the way the gold paint got all over his fingers and the way it smelled of— Great Scott! of bananas! It did! Every metal paint he had ever used,—gilt, bronze, copper,—all smelled of bananas,—acetate of amyl,—or something like that! Had Oscar’s reference to a banana odour proved valuable after all? And what could it mean? Why, the answer flashed across his eager brain,—it meant that the entrance,—the secret entrance, was somehow connected with that fireplace,—that the kidnapper had scratched the gilt leaves so badly when making his exit, that he had, to escape detection, to retouch the marred places! To work uninterruptedly Coe went and closed the room door and locked it. Then he sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace, and pondered. Not the chimney. No. He had long ago discarded that as a course of exit. But the fireplace, somehow. He peered and scrutinized; he fingered and pinched; he reasoned and cogitated; and at last his patient effort was rewarded by seeing the tiniest bit of rust or rubbed enamel that looked as if it might mean a hidden spring. And it did! Careful manipulation, gentle urging, without forcing made the fireplace give up its secret at last, and the whole grate with its back piece, all, swung round on a pivot into the house next door, and the fireplace that belonged in there swung into Coleman Coe’s astonished ken! The back of the fireplace, was a mere gate,—hung on a pivot, instead of on side hinges, and it swung as easily as if recently oiled, which it doubtless had been. Half dazed, Coe went through the opening,—a wide enough one, as the grates were exceedingly shallow, though very broad. He found himself in a pleasant bedroom, almost a duplicate of Webb’s own, as to size, shape and arrangement. The secret entrance was found at last! Eagerly Coe examined every part of it. The grates in the two rooms were alike,—the Webb one much cleaner and brighter than the other. Coe’s mind flew back to the story of the servant or somebody who smelled a newly kindled fire without reason therefor. It was, of course, because some hand had turned the revolving grates around when there was or had been a fire in one side and not in the other. “Slick!” mused Coe, admiringly. “Very slick!” And then, he remembered the Poltergeist! What easier than to enter noiselessly, pull the bedclothes off the drowsy sleeper, and with a toss of the sheets over the victim’s face, escape again before discovery could be made? And this was the way Kimball Webb had been abducted. The kidnapper had come through the opening, had chloroformed Webb, and had carried him back with him. The grate opening was wide enough for that. Or, would be if the victim were, say, dragged through after the abductor. Oh, it was possible—possible? Why, it was what had been done! The mystery of the disappearance was explained as to means. And the ghost that had been meant to frighten Coley Coe and had only roused his hilarity. That too, had been prepared and exhibited by the same clever Artful Dodger responsible for all the rest. Yes, the discovery explained everything. And, the rogue, having so marred the gilt acorns, that attention must necessarily be drawn to them, had crept back and touched them up with gold paint,—that smelled of bananas! Thus overreaching his own cleverness! Good old Oscar! To remember to mention the banana odour! Hesitatingly, Coe went through to the other house. He looked about the room. Unused, evidently. Dust on furniture, windows closed. Dry atmosphere and blinds drawn. He switched on a light. That had not been cut off. Then he remembered the people were away and the house was closed. Well, one of them could have returned from his summer resort to carry out his fell purpose, and return again. Who were the people? Oh, yes, the Marsden St. Johns. Coe didn’t know one iota about them, but he proposed to find out. He tried to learn the character of its inhabitant from the room itself. But it seemed to him the abode of a lady. There were no clothes in the wardrobe, but a stray hairpin or two, and a scantily furnished workbasket were indicative of a departed feminine incumbent. Still, this didn’t make it probable that a lady had carried Webb off. Her room, in her absence, might well be used by another. Coe returned to Webb’s room, closed the fireplace carefully, unlocked the door and went down stairs. He went to Miss Webb and asked about the people next door. “A delightful family,” she said, “but very quiet. They are away much of the time. They leave very early for their summer place, and close the house the first of April. Then they return about October. But before the holidays they go South, and after the holidays to California or somewhere else, so that, as a matter of fact, they’re almost never at home,—if you can even call it their home.” “Who occupies the front room on the third floor?” “I think Miss Marsden, the old spinster aunt.” Coe nodded. He felt sure the kidnapper was not the one who belonged in the room with the turning fireplace. Of course, she knew nothing about it. Really, it was mysterious enough still! He told Miss Webb of his discovery. Naturally, she wanted to go up at once and see it. Calling Mrs. Webb in they all three went up and Coe showed his treasure trove. “Well, of all things!” exclaimed Mrs. Webb; “why, it’s big enough to crawl through!” “To go through without crawling,” returned Coe, as, squatting, he fairly shuffled through on his feet. “And you think that’s the way Kim went out?” asked Henrietta, as Coe returned. “I know it’s the way,—but I think he was taken out unconscious.” “Of course he was!” cried Mrs. Webb. “He never would go through into a strange house of his own accord.” “Well, where is he?” asked Henrietta, as if, Coe, having done so much must now produce the missing man. “I don’t know. But, Miss Webb, are you sure the Marsden St. Johns had nothing to do with the kidnapping?” “Of course they didn’t! They were away, and aside from that the thing is preposterous! Why, we scarcely know them, and moreover, they’re the quietest, most reserved people. That’s why we like them. “Steal Kimball! They’d be more likely to protect him! But I tell you they were not at home then.” “Let me go through,” and Miss Webb looked at the open way. “Certainly, the people are not home,—come along,” Coe agreed. “Why, Henrietta,” cried her mother, “I don’t think you ought to.” But curiosity triumphed, and soon all three stood in the room in the next door house. “What awful housekeeping!” Mrs. Webb cried, and her daughter’s expression of distaste spoke volumes. Coley Coe stood smiling to himself, at the way the aristocratic ladies descended to the vulgar depths of prying. They peered into cupboards and bureau drawers until he was positively shocked. But it brought about a strange result. “Why, here’s the diamond pendant!” exclaimed Henrietta. And sure enough, in a small drawer in the dresser was the very jewel case Mrs. Webb had last seen in her son’s hands the night before his mysterious disappearance. “Impossible!” Coe cried. But it was, beyond all shadow of a doubt. The four magnificent stones, hung one below another, of perfectly graduated sizes, sparkled and scintillated as Henrietta let it dangle from her finger. “I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Webb, utterly bewildered. “Who could!” exclaimed Coe. “I’m all at sea. Tell me more about those St. Johns. What sort of people can they be?” “Oh, they aren’t thieves,—they can’t be!” Miss Webb stared, wide-eyed, at the gems. “And yet, how else explain all this? Tell me, Mr. Coe, why did they take Kimball away?” “It looks to me as if whoever took him, did it to get the diamonds, at least partly for that.” “But the St. Johns are wealthy; they could buy these stones and never miss the money.” “Well, let’s look further. Suppose somebody utilized this empty house of the St. Johns to—” “Oh, they don’t own the house,” Mrs. Webb interrupted, “they rent it.” “Millionaires, and rent a house!” “Yes, they’re in the city so little, you know. And it’s a most desirable house. Fenn Whiting owns it.” “What?” Coley Coe was stunned. “Yes, it belongs to Mr. Whiting. It was left to him with several other houses by an uncle who died years ago.” “Oh! Whoopee! Wow! I beg your pardon, Mrs. Webb, but I must be allowed to yell! Fenn Whiting owns this house! My heavens and earth!” “What is the matter? Are you crazy, Mr. Coe? Why does it so please you to learn that?” “Oh, because—because—excuse me, ladies, I must run away,—I’ve most important business. I’ll see you again later,—this evening, say,—and then I’ll tell you,—oh, a whole heap of things!” “Wait a minute,” as he started back through the fireplace. “Help us through, please!” “I beg pardon, Miss Webb! I guess I am crazy! Come, give me your hand.” The trip was safely made by all three, and then Coe carefully closed the fireplace, and noted that it showed no crack or crevice where the pivot turned. “Please don’t tell about this just at present,” he requested. “It’s all most important! We shall not only recover Mr. Webb very soon now but bring his abductor to justice and punishment, and also find Miss Powell, and oh, maybe it will all be in time for the wedding.” “What shall I do with this?” and Miss Webb held out the jewel box helplessly. “Oh,—put it—haven’t you a safe?” “No.” “Well, lock it up in your room somewhere. Nobody knows you have it so there’s no danger of theft. Hide it securely.” And with a brief word of good-bye Coe ran downstairs and out of doors. First of all, he went to Fenn Whiting’s home. Only to be told that that gentleman was not at home. He was expected any minute, however, and Coe waited. This time he did not go up to Whiting’s rooms, but waited down in the lobby. But his wait was in vain. He grew restless, and began to cast about in his mind how to find the man he sought. He telephoned various clubs and homes of friends, and some business houses but not a word of information could he get concerning Mr. Whiting. At last, in hopeless despair he went away, after leaving word to telephone him as soon as Mr. Whiting came home. “I do have the hardest stunts to do,” poor Coley Coe told himself. “Now I’ve found my criminal and I can’t lay my hands on him. And something tells me I may never lay my eyes on him!” He went to the Powells, for he must tell them that he had a hope at least of recovering Elsie before long. Yet, had he? However, he told the Powells the whole story of what he had found in the way of a secret entrance. “I should think it was secret!” Gerty exclaimed. “I don’t see how you were clever enough to find it!” “I was stupid not to find it sooner,” Coe bewailed. And then he told his further discoveries. Allison was present, and with the two Powell ladies made a most interested audience. Mrs. Powell was in a nervous and broken down state, but she rallied perceptibly at Coe’s hints of good news. “You see,” he told them, “Mrs. Seaman’s tip about the toothpick paper put me on a scent. I went to Courtney’s to see if I could trace anything, and by sheer luck, Miss Lloyd,—bless her! told me that Fenn Whiting frequently, or at least, occasionally, took her there.” “Why, I thought Fenn looked higher than that!” sniffed Gerty. “Some men look high and low by turns,” commented Joe. “Well, anyhow,” Coley went on, “I took her tip for what it was worth. Then she also informed me that Whiting’s valet, named Bass, possessed just such gold filled teeth as Miss Elsie described, and as the nurse mentioned in connection with the man that brought her that fake message.” “Do explain clearly,” begged Mrs. Powell, “I’m getting all mixed up!” “This is how I dope it out,” Coley said, slowly. “Whiting is the master villain. He has all the earmarks of a depraved, criminal type.” “Why, I never thought so,” Gerty said. “I saw it,” said Allison. “His jaw and the shape of his head gave it away.” “Yes, and his ears. Those points at the top,—and his steely grey eyes. That colour marks the sly, even murderous type.” “Oh, I never dreamed Fenn was so bad!” Gerty almost cried. “Well, he is,” Coe declared. “Now, after Lulie Lloyd’s tip, I went to Whiting’s rooms, and I found a letter from somebody recommending a safe man for him to employ. “At first I thought this meant a reliable man, but it turned out it meant a man who built safes! To make a long story short, Whiting engaged that man to build that fireplace door some time when his tenants were away, and, of course when the Webbs were away also. He owned the house, he could do it, and too, he doubtless paid the fellow well to do it, and keep quiet about it. For the safe builder denied all knowledge of Whiting. Then, I found that the diamonds were hidden in that house,—” “Elsie’s diamonds?” Gerty gasped. “Yes, put there by Whiting of course, after he stole them from Webb that night. A perfect hiding-place!” “Where is Kimball?” “That’s the point of the whole thing. As I reconstruct it all, Whiting sneaked into the room that night soon after Webb went to bed, chloroformed him, and then dragged or carried or shoved him through into the next house. He must have taken his clothes along and put them on the unconscious man. You see, he had that brute of a man with the gold teeth, his own man, to help him.” “How do you know?” Allison’s eyes gleamed with interest. “I don’t know, but it must have been that way. Then, he and his precious helper, managed somehow to get Webb away and carried him off, doubtless in Whiting’s own car, to some place of concealment where he still is.” “And stole the diamonds too!” “Yes; and has since stolen Elsie too,—and, worst of all, has now disappeared himself!” “Whiting stolen?” Allison’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “No; he is the thief, not a victim. He has those two people hidden and he has now hidden himself.” “Why? What for?” Mrs. Powell was unable to comprehend. “This, I think. He wanted to marry Elsie,—he really loves her,—but even more he loved the fortune she would get. He planned to remove Webb and step into his shoes. The rest is all consequent on that determination. He took the diamonds because they were there in Webb’s room, and Whiting’s predatory instinct couldn’t resist the temptation. He hid Webb securely,—time has proved how very securely,—and then he tried every way to win Elsie.” “But he always said he didn’t want her fortune,” Gerty interrupted. “He said he’d just as lief marry her the day after her birthday as the day before.” “He said that, because he knew it was a safe bet if the girl would marry him at all, she’d secure the fortune too. If she had agreed to marry him the day after her birthday, he would have changed his schemes a bit. So, as he couldn’t get Elsie to marry him,—I happen to know how hard he tried,—he determined she shouldn’t marry at all, and kidnapped her. I’m sure he has her somewhere where he can use every influence still, to make her consent.” “And was he at the bottom of the ransom scheme?” asked Joe. “Sure he was. His gold toothed tool trapped Elsie, and they secured the fifty thousand dollars without a bit of trouble. He never meant to return Webb,—or, if he did, he changed his mind when he found how easily he could get cash from Elsie. Oh, you’ve no idea of the depths of this man’s baseness!” “And where is he now?” Allison half rose, as if he couldn’t longer keep himself from meting out punishment to this prince of malefactors. “That’s it,” and Coe’s bright face clouded. “I’ve not the slightest idea! Nor do I see a glimmer of light toward finding out. He has hidden Webb and hidden Elsie so thoroughly, he can, of course, conceal himself with equal surety. I don’t know where to look for him!” “But let’s look all the same!” cried Allison, boyish in his haste. |
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