Chapter XIII: The Morning’s Mail

Just as the clock struck eleven, the following morning, Kingdon Cole emerged in a tingle and glow from his cold shower. He had retired shortly before dawn, so he had considered himself entitled to sleep till a late hour, and now he felt the exuberant strength and freshness that make a man eager for work.

He stepped to the window, raised the shade, and looked out upon a gray and drizzly world. He scowled a little. Like all highly sensitized persons, he was easily susceptible to the weather. When the sky was clouded, his face was apt to wear a frown. When the sun shone, his face shone with it. A glance in the evening at the weather forecast could have told him what mood he was to be in the next day, granting that weather predictions were always accurate.

He turned from the window as Toots, with a plaintive “meow,” rubbed her curled back against his leg. “Hungry?” inquired Cole, looking at the cat with an expression of grave responsibility.

Toots held her tail erect and seemed to think the question wholly superfluous. With a dutiful air Cole brought in the milk bottle, also two letters which he found outside his door. After a glance at the handwriting he tossed them on the table and proceeded to appease Toots’ hunger. He went about it with all the awkwardness of an overgrown boy, spilling a part of the milk beside the saucer, then stood aside and watched Toots lick it up.

Over his coffee and toast, a few minutes later, he started to read his mail. One of the letters was addressed in a strange feminine handwriting, and he opened it first. He suddenly stopped eating and took in the contents at a glance. The note read:

“Come back. I trust you. +Miss B.+”

Beneath the signature was a row of X’s. Cole counted seven of them; they were the insignia of The Unknown Seven, of course. It was gratifying to know that the mysterious Miss Brown still had faith in him, despite the suspicions of the other members of the organization, but her frankness puzzled him. If the others thought him guilty of duplicity, why did she not think likewise? She had seen and heard precisely the same things that the others had seen and heard. As far as he knew, she had no facts on which her favorable opinion of him could have been based. What, then, was the reason for her attitude?

“Woman’s intuition, I suppose,” mused Cole with a glance at Toots. “That probably accounts for it. But how does the charming Miss Brown expect me to find my way back to the headquarters of The Unknown Seven? To locate the building would be about as ticklish a job as finding a needle in a haystack. I don’t see why she—— Yes, I do! She has naturally taken it for granted that I had sense enough to make a mental note of the street and number when I made my hasty exit last night. She doesn’t know what a half-cocked idiot I am. Shucks!”

Cole made a wry face. Somehow he must manage to find the headquarters of The Unknown Seven. Unless he answered Miss Brown’s summons, she would naturally suppose that her faith in him had been misplaced and that he was remaining away because of a sense of guilt. Cole resolved he would canvass every block in lower Manhattan before permitting such a thing to happen. How to go about it was another matter, however. A systematic search would eventually lead him to the building, but that would mean a waste of valuable time. He must find the headquarters of The Unknown Seven without delay, not only because Miss Brown had faith in him, but also for the more practical reason that he would not know what to do with the hunchback until he had positive knowledge of Malcolm Reeves’ death.

He had no fear that his prisoner would escape from Doctor Latham’s house. He had left the hunchback in a predicament from which the astute physician would not be able to release him without a great deal of difficulty; but Cole did not depend on that alone. Tony Pinto, a ragged urchin whose habitat was the picturesquely squalid section around Chatham Square, was watching the doctor’s residence. Cole, who had earned the lad’s everlasting gratitude by once doing him a small service, had instructed him to keep a sharp eye on the place. Tony had the wits of a fox and the legs of a deer, and a great ambition to become a detective. If an attempt should be made to spirit the hunchback away, Tony would find it out and report to Cole instantly.

Finishing his breakfast he lighted his pipe and composed himself for hard thinking. The tobacco smoke grew so thick in the room that Toots blinked at him reproachfully. Suddenly an idea came to him. He recalled having heard Grover Carlin say that a number of the members of The Unknown Seven had offices in the building. Cole had recognized several of the members, the previous evening, from photographs that had appeared from time to time in the newspapers, in connection with their social and financial activities. Right here was a clew to the location of the headquarters.

He picked up the telephone directory and found the name of Vincent de Witte, one of the men whom he had recognized. He glanced at the financier’s office address, and he saw his clew slipping out of his fingers. The address was somewhere in Union Square, much too far north to be anywhere near the building he was searching for. Next he looked up the address of Stephen Aldrich, but with no more success. The philanthropist’s offices, according to the directory, were in the Times Square district.

Cole tried two other names, then tossed the book away in disgust. It came to him that men like De Witte and Aldrich were engaged in multifarious enterprises and probably had two or more suites of offices in different sections of the city. Likely as not the business enterprises which they were conducting in the headquarters building were under corporate names, not generally known to the public. It was not to be expected that men so shrewd as The Unknown Seven had proven themselves to be would leave even the remotest clew to the location of their rendezvous. Cole saw he must try something else.

He gazed hard into the monkey’s face graven into the bowl of his pipe. What with the drizzle outside and the chaotic condition of his mind, he scowled into the tobacco haze that surrounded him. Why the deuce hadn’t Miss Brown telephoned him instead of mailing him a letter? Why was it that women of her type were so prone either to underrate or overrate the intelligence of the sterner sex? They never accepted men at their true valuation, but their opinions were always colored by bias of one kind or another. Cole squinted at Toots while these thoughts ran through his mind. He had a distinct impression that that dainty specimen of femininity always regarded him with a sort of lofty tolerance. Miss Brown, on the other hand——

Suddenly he remembered the other letter. At first glance he had recognized the cramped hand of Hector Englebreth’s secretary. He snipped off the margin of the envelope. Without doubt the letter contained a sharp reminder that Cole had promised to give his client a supplementary report on the condition of Malcolm Reeves. He anticipated a crisply phrased note as he drew out the inclosure. Then a surprise came to him. The envelope contained not only a letter, but a check besides. It was for a generous amount. Evidently his client had sent him something on account. Thoughtful of Englebreth! Cole put the check aside and glanced at the note, and then he received a second surprise. He read:

“+Dear Sir+: Mr. Englebreth desires me to notify you that he no longer requires your services. Inclosed please find check for services rendered to date.”

Cole stared hard at the few typewritten lines. The stiffly worded communication was signed by Hector Englebreth’s secretary. The prim type and the severe plainness of the engraved name and address in the upper left-hand corner seemed to convey a breath of the heavy, tomblike atmosphere that pervaded the Englebreth house.

He chuckled lightly as he flung the letter aside. It was not the first time that his independent conduct had lost him a client, and the fact that he was now cut off from all official contact with the Reeves mystery did not worry him in the least. There was nothing to prevent him from attacking the problem on his own account. The curt dismissal puzzled him, however. He wondered what he had done to displease Englebreth. His client’s warning, spoken just as Cole was leaving the somber old house the other day, flashed across his mind.

“Be careful,” Englebreth had said.

The words had had a cryptic sound. Cole had wondered at their meaning then, and he wondered now. Had Englebreth dismissed him because of his failure to heed a warning which he had not understood? Once before it had occurred to him that perhaps his client had learned, in some mysterious manner, of his relations with The Unknown Seven. Was that what had been in Englebreth’s mind when he uttered that strange warning? Did his client suspect that Cole was betraying him by conducting secret negotiations with an enemy? The idea did not seem very plausible, but he could think of no other solution. On the whole he felt Englebreth had treated him rather shabbily. He had worked hard and loyally on the case. The abrupt dismissal was, in reality, a reflection on his honesty. In his resentment he resolved to demand an explanation of his former client.

He glanced dubiously at the telephone, recalling that on several occasions Englebreth had expressed a dislike to holding conversations over the wire, and he decided that an interview, face to face, would be more satisfactory. He poured out another saucerful of milk for Toots, and half an hour later he was ringing the doorbell of the Englebreth house on Fifth Avenue.

The drizzle and the leaden sky conferred an added touch of melancholy upon the dismal mansion. The chill, which he always felt on entering the house, had a keener edge this time. The rooms, with the window shades lowered as always, seemed darker and more oppressively silent than usual. The manservant who admitted him regarded him with an air of thinly veiled suspicion.

“I’ll see if Mr. Englebreth is at home, sir,” he announced. His feet made no sound as he crossed the thickly carpeted floor and passed through a door that turned silently on its hinges. In a few moments he was back. “Mr. Englebreth is not at home,” he declared, dropping the habitual “sir.”

Cole got up from his chair and gave the servant a playful poke in the ribs. It was a grotesque piece of levity in that house of frigid dignity, but he could not resist the temptation.

“You’re a cheerful liar,” he told the man. Then, while the servant gaped after him in a scandalized way, he strode to the door of the library and pushed it open. In his wheel chair, beside the black walnut table, sat Hector Englebreth. A faint color tinged his white face as he saw the detective.

“Good morning, Mr. Englebreth,” said Cole genially, and he drew up a chair and sat down. “I know that ‘not at home’ is a polite way of saying ‘get out,’ and so I walked right in. Hope you don’t mind.”

Englebreth leaned forward in the chair and scowled forbiddingly. His long white fingers beat a restless tattoo on the table. “Why have you come?” he demanded. “Did you not receive my letter?”

“I did, and the check, too. Many thanks. The check was quite satisfactory, but the letter left too many things unsaid. I am here to ask you why I am being fired off the job.”

Englebreth glanced meaningly at the door. Instead of the long dressing gown which he usually wore, he was dressed in a suit of plain gray.

“I shall be going out in a few minutes,” he declared stiffly.

“It won’t take you long to answer my question. Don’t you think I am entitled to an explanation?”

“Of course, if you insist. I instructed my secretary to write you after I had consulted my wife about the matter. Since it is her brother’s life that is at stake, she is more vitally concerned than I am, so I thought it only proper that she should have her say. After I had placed certain facts before her, she agreed with me that your usefulness to us is past.”

“Certain facts? What were they?”

“I think you know,” said Englebreth in a hard, dry tone. His deep-set eyes, oddly brilliant in contrast to his pale face, regarded Cole accusingly. “I am disappointed in you, Mr. Cole. You impressed me as an upright, honest man, and I had hoped for better things from you. One of the harshest experiences in life is the discovery that one has placed his trust in a person who isn’t worthy of it.”

Cole’s face hardened, and there was an ominous gleam in his eye. “I think you had better explain that statement, Mr. Englebreth,” he said with slow emphasis.

Englebreth shrugged. “You are not candid with me. You know quite well what I mean, so why pretend? For instance, can you look me straight in the eyes and tell me that you gave a full and truthful report when you were here the other day?”

“It was truthful,” said Cole, “and as complete as I could make it under the circumstances. If I did not tell quite all I knew, it was because I was uncertain in regard to some of the facts.”

A wraith of a smile twisted Englebreth’s thin lips. “And what about the warning I gave you? I hoped it would serve as a hint that I was aware of certain mysterious movements on your part. Why did you disregard it?”

A long silence ensued. Each man gazed sharply into the other’s eyes. There was a glint of steel in Cole’s, a look of stern reproach in Englebreth’s.

“Well?” said the invalid. The pale, mirthless smile was still hovering about his lips. “What have you to say, Mr. Cole?”

“You have been spying on me evidently?”

“You are using an unpleasant word. I have merely verified certain suspicions that concern you. I have also discovered certain facts which you have seen fit to conceal from me, facts which have a direct bearing on the fate of my brother-in-law. I don’t think there is anything further to be said.”

Cole got up. He could not understand where, or by what means, the invalid had obtained his information, but it was evident that Englebreth’s mind was made up, and that no amount of argument could make him change his views.

“You are wrong, Mr. Englebreth,” he said evenly. “A lot of queer things have happened, things I don’t understand myself. But, believe it or not, I have played fair with you from beginning to end. Some time before long I hope to prove it to you.”

“Indeed!” said Englebreth. “I am sure it will be interesting.”

His tone and the smile that accompanied the words made Cole instinctively clench his fists. Then he turned away, before his anger should get the better of him, and hurried from the house. Out in the drizzle and under the gray sky he shook off his resentment and laughed at himself. It was ridiculous that a peevish old invalid should make him lose his temper. Some day, when he had probed the Reeves affair to the bottom, he would make Englebreth eat his words. Just now he had more important things to consider than the aspersions of an infirm old man.

He crossed the street and was about to board a bus when he chanced to look back and saw a large car draw up in front of the house. A moment later the massive front door opened, and two servants appeared, carrying Englebreth between them. They assisted him into the car, and Cole gazed speculatively after the vehicle, as it glided away down Fifth Avenue. It was a rare thing for Englebreth to venture beyond the gloomy confines of his house, and Cole wondered where he might be going. Perhaps he was about to get into touch with his mysterious source of information. In that case Cole might learn a great deal by following him.

“Taxi, sir,” said a voice, and a cab slowed down at the corner where he stood. Cole’s hesitation lasted only a moment longer.

“Follow that green car over there,” he directed. The chauffeur nodded, and Cole jumped in. The pursuit proved long and devious; again and again Cole chided himself for wasting valuable time. Then the green car stopped in front of an office building, and the chauffeur went inside. Cole dismissed the taxi and took up a position across the street. From where he stood he could catch an occasional glimpse of Englebreth through the partly shaded window of the car.

“Guess I’m chasing a wild goose,” he glumly told himself.

Englebreth’s chauffeur reappeared, accompanied by another man, and the two lifted the invalid from the car and carried him inside the building. Slowly Cole started to cross the street. The man assisting the chauffeur seemed to carry his part of the burden awkwardly, and Cole could hear the infirm man’s peevish protests. The two men entered an elevator with their load, and the cage started upward, just as Cole stepped inside the building.

A strange, unaccountable feeling came over him as he gazed after the disappearing lift. He was conscious of a faint tingling from head to foot. With an abstracted look in his eyes he gazed upward, then to the sides. He moved about along the row of elevators, and even his footfalls had a curious sound, a sound that he seemed to vaguely recognize. The elevator starter approached and inquired what he was looking for, but Cole only shook his head in a preoccupied way.

Suddenly he laughed aloud. In a twinkling all his confused impressions clarified. Once more he glanced upward. He knew, though he could not tell why or how, that far overhead was the rendezvous of The Unknown Seven.