The Greatest Crime Tales of Frederic Arnold Kummer. Frederic Arnold Kummer

I am going to take the case largely because it has interested me, and it will be a pleasure to work it out, not only on your daughter's account, but on my own. You know, to me, such matters are of absorbing interest, like the solving of some complex and baffling puzzle."

      "Then you will go back to New York with me this evening?"

      "I can hardly do that, Mrs. Morton. But I can agree to call on you there to-morrow. It will take me some hours to arrange matters here so that I can leave. I do not think you need worry for a few days at least. If these people had meant to act at once they would not have named the period of thirty days in their threats."

      "Very well." Mrs. Morton rose, and held out her hand. "I will expect you to-morrow. Will it be in the morning?"

      "Very likely. In any event, I will first telephone to you." He entered the address in his notebook. "By the way, perhaps you had better let me keep that photograph."

      "Certainly." Mrs. Morton handed it to him, and he thrust it into his pocket. "The letters you already have?"

      "Yes."

      "Is there anything else?"

      "Yes. One thing. Do not tell your daughter that you have employed me in this case. It—it might alarm her."

      "Certainly not. And that leads me to say that you, on your part, will of course observe the utmost secrecy. Even with Mrs. Duvall."

      "That goes without saying, madam. My professional secrets I share with no one. Even between my wife and myself there is an unwritten law which is never broken. Unless we are working on a case together—unless she can be of service to me, she asks no questions. She would not speak to me, or even recognize me, were we to meet, while I am engaged in work of this sort. You need have no fear on that score."

      "I am very glad to know that. Were these people to suspect that I have placed the matter in the hands of a detective, they would be instantly on their guard, and all means of tracing them might be lost."

      "That is undoubtedly true, and for that reason, I may appear in other characters than my own, from time to time, disguised perhaps, in such a way that even you would not recognize me. Under those circumstances I will suggest a password—one that will not be known to anyone else. Should occasion arise in which I desire to acquaint you with my identity, without making it known to others, I will merely repeat the words—twenty-eight days, or twenty-seven or six or five, as the case may be, on that particular day, and you will know that it is I, and act accordingly. Is that perfectly clear?"

      "Perfectly, Mr. Duvall."

      "Very well. Then we will leave further details until to-morrow." He shook hands with his caller, escorted her to her automobile, then returned to the library and began a careful study of the two notes which Mrs. Morton had left with him. Here Grace found him, half an hour later.

      "Well," she said, coming up to him with a smile. "Shall I begin to pack our things?"

      Duvall put his arm about her.

      "Yes, dear," he said. "We'll leave on the sleeper to-night. You can get Mrs. Preston to come and take charge of the house while we are gone. It may be two weeks. That is, if you want to go along."

      "Want to go along? Why, Richard, I'm just dying for a trip to New York. I haven't been there since before Christmas, as you know, and I've got to get a spring outfit. Of course I'm going." She went gayly toward the hall stairs.

      "Then you must be ready right after lunch," he called after her.

      "But why so soon, if we are taking the sleeper?"

      "Because we are going up to town this afternoon and see a few moving pictures."

      "Moving pictures?" Grace paused at the door, an expression of the utmost astonishment upon her face. "Why, Dick, you never go to moving pictures. You've always said they didn't interest you."

      "We're going, just the same."

      "What's come over you?" Grace asked.

      "Nothing. I'm curious to see some of them, that's all. Never too old to learn, you know. If I am not mistaken, I saw a new feature film advertised in the newspaper this morning." He took a paper from the desk and glanced through it. "Here it is. Ruth Morton, in The Miser's Daughter. Have you seen it?"

      "No. But I've seen Miss Morton often—in pictures, I mean. She's a lovely creature, and a splendid actress, too."

      "Then this film ought to be a good one, don't you think?"

      Grace burst into a rippling laugh.

      "You're getting positively human, Richard," she exclaimed. "Here I've been telling you for months past what a lot you've been missing, and you only made fun of me, and now you actually suggest going yourself. Was the lady who called interested in the motion picture business?"

      Duvall laughed, but made no reply.

      "What's the mystery?" Grace went on, with an amused smile. "You haven't told me, you know. Has she lost her jewels, or only her husband?"

      Duvall raised his hand.

      "No questions, my dear. This is a professional matter. But I don't mind telling you this much, if I ever become a motion picture 'fan,' you'll have her to thank for it."

      "Really. Then I'm glad she came. I hate going alone. And it seems I shall also have to thank her for a trip to New York. She has my eternal gratitude. Now I'm going up to pack."

      Duvall resumed his seat, and once more took up his examination of the letters Mrs. Morton had left with him, but they told him little. There were the usual individual peculiarities in the typewritten characters, but that was about all he could discover. The letter paper, while of excellent quality, was such as might be bought at any first-class stationery store. The death's head seal, of course, was highly individual, but to trace anyone by means of it presented almost insuperable difficulties. To find the seal, one must of necessity first find its owner, and then the chase would be over. He replaced the letters in his pocket book, and went to his room to make ready for their journey.

      Chapter 4

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      Mrs. Morton returned to New York that afternoon, greatly pleased with the results of her trip. That she had been able to enlist the services of Richard Duvall gave her a sense of security. She found Ruth at home, safe and well, with no further threats or warnings to disturb her peace of mind. The girl was absorbed in her new rôle. The picture promised to be the most successful of her career.

      The following morning Mrs. Morton rose early, in order to go through the mail before Ruth had an opportunity to do so. The shock caused by the first threatening letter had passed from the girl's mind. The second she knew nothing of. Mrs. Morton was determined that if any more arrived, she should not see those either.

      Trembling with eagerness she opened the pile of letters, but found nothing. With a sigh of relief she turned away. Perhaps, after all she had exaggerated the importance of the matter. Half an hour later, while Ruth was eating her breakfast, a messenger boy arrived with a telegram, addressed to Miss Ruth Morton. The maid, seeing no reason to do otherwise, brought it to the girl as she sat at the table. Mrs. Morton, who had been at the rear of the apartment, hurried in as she heard the sound of the doorbell, but by the time she had reached the dining room, Ruth had already opened and read the message. She sat staring at a bit of yellow paper, her face pale and drawn.

      "What is it, dear?" Mrs. Morton cried, hurrying to her side.

      Ruth picked up the telegram and handed it to her mother.

      "Another threat," she said, quietly. "These people, whoever they are, seem to be in deadly earnest."

      Mrs. Morton took the telegram and hurriedly read it.

      "Even the beauty of the rose," the message said, "cannot endure for twenty-seven days." There was no signature to the telegram.