Chapter VII: A Mysterious Woman in Black

"Old King Brady, your life is in danger."

"From what?"

"The man you are persecuting."

"You mean Paul La Croix, I presume?"

"I do. Go back to New York at once."

"Madam, I shall do nothing of the kind."

"Then you must suffer for your obstinacy."

"I am prepared for anything, madam."

"Remember, I have given you fair warning. You cannot arrest La Croix on Canadian soil for smuggling."

And the veiled woman in deep mourning, who accosted the old detective in a dark street in Toronto, turned as if to walk away.

This happened several weeks after the Bradys reached Buffalo.

They had been vainly searching for La Croix and his wife.

On the night in question, Old King Brady had gone out from his hotel alone, when the woman in mourning met him in the street.

The light of a street lamp fell upon them.

She gave a slight start and began to follow him.

When he discovered this and turned around, asking why she was dogging his footsteps, she gave the above recorded answer.

By her mentioning his name, he realized that she knew him, and he at once suspected she was La Croix's wife.

He resolved to fathom the mystery of her identity.

Seizing her arm, he exclaimed:

"Hold on a moment."

"Well?" she asked, pausing obediently.

"I want to know who you are that takes such a deep interest in my welfare. I want to know who it is that knows me--who knows all about the private business which has brought me to this city. Speak out. Who are you?"

"Your friend," replied the mysterious unknown.

"What is your name?" he persisted.

"I must decline to tell you."

"But I won't take a refusal. You must speak."

"No. Allow me to retain my incognito. It were best for us both."

Old King Brady was determined to know her, however, and he seized her long crepe veil and attempted to remove it from her face.

A subdued cry of anger escaped her.

"Let that be!" she exclaimed, imperiously.

"Madam, I must see who you are!" he persisted.

"Is this the gratitude you show for the favor I have done you?"

"You have aroused my curiosity."

"Stand back, sir. Don't you dare lay a hand on me again."

"Why," he laughed, "is it dangerous?"

"Very!"

"How?"

She drew a slender dagger from the folds of her dark dress, and as the lamplight glanced upon the blade, it flashed as she drew it back.

Old King Brady was startled.

He did not expect to see anything like this.

Raising the dagger, the mysterious woman hissed:

"If you attempt to penetrate my identity, I shall stab you!"

There was a ring of intense earnestness to her voice, and it froze the smile that rose to the old detective's face.

He regarded her with a puzzled look.

It now began to dawn upon his mind that she was not Mrs. La Croix after all. The voice was different. She was shorter and stouter than the smuggler's wife. Her actions were different.

To gain time to form a different tactic he exclaimed:

"How can you be a friend of mine if you are going to stab me?"

"I am bound to keep my identity a secret," she replied, firmly.

"What object have you in befriending me?"

"You are a brave man and a dutiful officer. I know you are only following up this case because you were ordered to do so. I therefore don't wish to see you perish."

"How do you know I'm doomed to get killed?"

"Because I heard your enemies plot your destruction."

"In that case they know we are here on their trail?"

"Yes. Every move you make is being keenly watched by spies."

"Our enemies must be well-disguised and keep well under cover."

"You haven't thus far detected them, have you?"

"No," admitted Old King Brady.

"Then that shows how secure they are. A number of times they have been as close to you as I am. Yet you did not know it. By this you can realize how easy it would be for them to attack you unexpectedly, kill you, and escape."

"Even that thought won't scare me off the case."

"You are very obstinate and persevering."

"Those two elements will yet make me win this fight."

"Foolish man. Don't delude yourself. Your enemies are very powerful people. They will beat you in the end."

"I don't agree with your idea."

"Is my warning in vain?"

"Entirely so."

The veiled woman sighed and bowed her head in thought. Finally she strode away, saying in impatient tones:

"Very well. Since I can't dissuade you from your set purpose, I shall not bother myself any further about the matter."

She seemed to be very angry at the old detective.

He strode after her.

"Wait a moment longer!" he exclaimed.

"No. I have no more to say," she replied, sharply. "Don't attempt to follow me. If you do, it will be as much as your life is worth."

"Humbug!" he replied.

"So you doubt me, eh? Well, look behind you."

He glanced over his shoulder and caught view of the shadowy figures of several men lurking about the trees lining the street.

Old King Brady was astonished.

She evidently had a body-guard of watchful men.

"Who are those people?" he demanded.

"My friends," she replied, quietly. "If they saw you attack or follow me, they would put a sudden end to your career at long range."

"By firing?"

"Yes."

"Let me walk as far as the corner with you."

"Very well, Mr. Brady. I have no objection to that."

The journey was made in utter silence, and the old detective noticed that the shadowy men were following them.

When they reached the corner, Old King Brady glanced around, looking for Harry, who agreed to meet him there.

The boy was nowhere in sight.

Old King Brady then coughed and dropped his handkerchief as a signal.

For a moment there was no notice paid to it, but presently he heard a distant hissing sound of singular penetration.

It was an answer to his signal and meant that he was seen and understood.

With a satisfied feeling the old detective now said to the veiled woman:

"I shall leave you here. Don't think I am ungrateful for your kindness. On the contrary, I appreciate it very much. But my duty compels me to pay no heed to your valuable warning. I must run down my quarry. Good-night, madam."

"Good-night, sir."

He tipped his hat and strode away to the Walker House, where he was staying.

She stood watching him until he was several blocks distant and then gave vent to a low, peculiar whistle.

Instantly four men came gliding from the shadows, and grouped around her, as she started to walk away.

She was heading for the railroad depot.

When she was gone, Harry Brady slid down from the dense foliage of a nearby tree where he had been a hidden watcher.

The boy had seen the woman and her body-guard, and knew that his partner wanted him to shadow her from that point.

Accordingly he glided along after them.

Dodging from tree to tree, slinking along in the densest shadows and never exposing himself for an instant in a ray of light which would betray him, Harry dogged them to the railroad station.

He saw them purchase tickets and board a train.

Gliding over to the ticket office he asked the agent:

"Where did those five people buy tickets for?"

"Montreal," replied the man, "on the Grand Trunk road."

"Thank you," said Harry, politely.

And the boy ran behind a freight car to shelter him from the gaze of the passengers in the waiting train.

Finding an opening between two of the cars he peered through.

Directly opposite him sat the woman in black, with two of her male companions in the seat ahead and two behind her.

She was close to the window.

Just then she drew her veil aside and Harry saw her face.

A startled cry escaped the boy.

"By jove!" he gasped. "She's Clara La Croix, the girl smuggler!"

And so she was!