I, Spy - 6 Espionage & Detective Books in One Edition. Frederic Arnold Kummer

sat rather disconsolately in her room most of the forenoon, and about one o'clock made ready for a lonely luncheon. She was just about to leave the apartment when the telephone bell rang. Grace hastened to it at once, hoping that the call might be from her husband. A woman's voice, low, firm, determined sounded in her ears.

      "I want to speak with Mr. Duvall," the voice said.

      "Mr. Duvall is out. This is Mrs. Duvall."

      "Very well, Mrs. Duvall. If you want to keep your husband from very serious harm, you had better tell him to steer clear of Ruth Morton's affairs in future. A word to the wise, you know. Good day." The speaker suddenly rang off.

      Grace turned from the telephone, her brain in a whirl. What danger threatened her husband? Ought she not to tell him of the message as soon as possible, so that he might be on his guard? And what did this mysterious reference to "Ruth Morton's affairs" mean? Did it imply that Richard was in any way involved—but that was preposterous. She put the thought from her mind, and went down in the elevator to a lonely and not very enjoyable meal.

      As she left the dining-room, and passed through the lobby, she thought she saw ahead of her a familiar figure. A moment later she realized that it was Richard himself, walking very rapidly toward the main entrance, his satchel in his hand. Was he leaving the hotel? And if so, ought she not to make an attempt to give him the message she had just received, before he did so? She walked quickly after him, but his pace was so rapid that she reached the sidewalk only in time to see him swing himself into a waiting taxi, baggage in hand, and drive quickly off. But what Grace saw, in addition to this, filled her with queer misgivings. Beside her husband in the cab was a woman—very beautiful woman, whom Grace had no difficulty whatever in identifying as Ruth Morton. And she also noticed, in the brief moment that elapsed before the taxi shot toward the Avenue, that the woman seemed to be in tears, and that Richard leaned over with the utmost solicitude and affection and clasped her hand in his. For the first time in her life, Grace Duvall was actually jealous.

      Thoughts of possible danger to her husband, however, were paramount in her mind. Without an instant's hesitation she stepped into a second taxi, whose driver was trying to attract her attention, and told him to follow the car containing the man and woman which had just driven off.

      The chauffeur grinned knowingly, nodded, and started his car. His grin drove from Grace's mind her sudden and unaccustomed jealousy. She knew that Richard must be going away with this girl for some reason connected with his professional work. Of course that work did not usually include consoling beautiful damsels in distress, but there must be extenuating circumstances. She put her unpleasant thoughts from her mind, and proceeded on her mission, to give her husband the warning message she had just received, with a reasonably calm mind.

      After a drive of some fifteen minutes, she saw the cab ahead of them begin to slow up, and observed that her chauffeur did likewise. Presently the first cab stopped before the doors of a big, imposing looking hotel, and Richard and Miss Morton hurriedly entered.

      Grace did not at once get out. She knew that her husband might resent her having followed him, and did not care to put him to any disadvantage by appearing so unexpectedly upon the scene. She waited, therefore, for several minutes, until he would have had time to go to his room, and then, paying off her cabman, she strolled quietly into the hotel lobby.

      There were a few persons sitting about, but Richard was not amongst them. Going to the clerk at the desk, she asked to see Mr. Richard Duvall.

      The clerk regarded her with a supercilious stare, consulted his records in a bored way, then informed her that no such person was registered there.

      Grace was completely taken aback.

      "But I saw him come in, only a few moments ago," she protested.

      "No such person here, Miss." With a frigid smile the clerk turned away, watching her, however, out of the corner of his eye, as though he considered her a suspicious character.

      Grace leaned over and examined the register. There were three entries upon it, in a handwriting clearly that of her husband. "Mrs. Bradley and maid," the first entry said. "Miss Bradley," the second. They had been assigned a suite of rooms. The third and last entry was "John Bradley." His room adjoined the suite. All three were set down as hailing from Boston.

      Grace puzzled for a long time over this mysterious series of entries without arriving at any definite conclusion regarding them. Where was the so-called Mrs. Bradley? And why had her husband assumed the same name? Was he posing as Ruth Morton's brother, and if so, for what reason? She could not make head or tail of the matter, and wondered whether she had better send up her card, or write Richard a note and leave it for him, telling of the warning. While she was debating the matter in her mind, she suddenly saw him emerge from one of the elevators at the opposite side of the lobby, and come toward the desk.

      Grace approached him at once, glad that the matter had been so simply arranged.

      "Richard," she said, in a low voice. "I want to speak to you."

      The gentleman she had addressed regarded her with a frown.

      "My name is not Richard, madam," he said, pointedly. "I am John Bradley. You must have made a mistake." With a polite bow he passed on.

      Grace was completely taken aback. She knew that between them there existed a tacit understanding never to address each other, in public, during the progress of a case, unless requested to do so by some sign. But she felt that she had important information to give her husband, and then, she had been a trifle jealous and annoyed. The thought that she had committed an error filled her with chagrin. Without a word, she left the hotel.

      At a nearby corner she stepped into a telephone booth, and calling up the hotel, asked to speak to Mr. John Bradley. In a few moments she heard Richard's familiar tones.

      "This is Grace," she said quickly. "I'm sorry I spoke to you, just now, but I wanted to tell you that some woman telephoned the hotel to-day, and left a warning to the effect that if you did not keep out of Miss Morton's affairs, you would be in serious danger."

      "How did you know where I was?" Duvall asked.

      "I saw you leave the hotel, and followed you."

      "You should not have done so."

      "But I wanted to give you the message. I thought you ought to know."

      "I understand that, but I wished my presence here to be unknown to anyone. You made a serious mistake. I only hope that no harm will come of it."

      "But—how could harm come of it?"

      "You drove here in one of the hotel's regular cabs, I suppose?"

      "Yes."

      "Then the people I am trying to avoid may trace me here, through the driver of that cab."

      "Oh—Richard—I'm so sorry. Isn't there anything I can do?"

      "Nothing, now, except to make no further attempt to communicate with me here. Good-by."

      Grace returned to her hotel, very thoroughly dissatisfied with what she had done. It seemed to her that by trying to warn Richard of possible danger, she might only have brought it upon him. Apparently he had left their hotel, to avoid the very persons who had telephoned the warning message to her. She arrived at the door, got out of the cab in which she had made the journey, and looked about, hoping that the cabman who had driven her uptown might now be at his usual stand. To her delight, she saw that he was.

      She went up to the man, a slim, keen looking young Irishman, and engaged him in conversation.

      "Do you remember driving me uptown an hour or so ago?" she asked.

      "Sure I do, Miss," answered the man, touching his cap.

      "Then please forget completely where you went, will you?" She handed the man a ten dollar bill. "It is barely possible that someone may try to find out, through you, where I went. Be sure that you give them no information."

      "They'll get nothing out of me, Miss," the man replied, pocketing the bill with a pleased grin.