The Alternative, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  A YOUNG LADY ENTERS

  Mr. Van Pycke got down in front of the Purdwell mansion. It must beadmitted that he almost funked when he opened the door of the cab andlet in a gust of wind and snow that almost took his breath away. But hesteeled himself and slipped out into the seething blizzard. He blinkedaround in all directions as the taxicab chortled off into the whitewhirlwind. So dense was the flying snow that he could scarcely see thehouses on the inner side of the pavement; he was nearly a minute ingetting his bearings. Then he shuffled off through the great drifts onthe walk, pointed toward a fashionable apartment building whose lightsglimmered fantastically against the whistling, shifting screen.

  It may be added that Mr. Van Pycke was cursing himself for a fool atevery wretched step of the way. Never, in all his life, had he seensnowdrifts so deep and never so stubborn. He said to himself that he'dbe d--d if he pay a cent of taxes until civic affairs were administeredby an assembly that knew enough to keep the sidewalks clear of snow. Healso experienced the doleful fear that his nose was freezing in spite ofall that he could do to prevent it.

  Bosworth's taxicab floundered heroically on for two blocks. Then it gaveout and came to a frantic stop, pulsing and throbbing and jerking itsvery vitals out in the effort to go ahead.

  "She's stuck, sir," said the driver, opening the door.

  "Where are we?" demanded young Mr. Van Pycke. "Please come inside andclose the door. I hate a draft. That's better. Now we can talk it over.Are we lost?"

  "Lost, sir? C'tainly not. I know w'ere we are, all right. Only we can'tbudge out of this snowdrift. It's the woist ever."

  "I suppose we'll have to sleep here," said Bosworth, resignedly. He wascomfortably sleepy by this time.

  The driver struck a match, the better to inspect his amiable fare. "Notif I know myself," he growled. "If you should happen to lose your watchwhile you're in this condition, I'd be jugged for it. I'll take you tothe Lackaday Hotel in the next block below and turn you over to thechambermaids. Come along, pardner. I'll see that you get there allright."

  Buzzy sat up and glared at him in the darkness. "Strike another match,confound you," he commanded. "How the devil am I to see your number?Never mind; I sha'n't report your impertinence, after all. I dare sayyou meant well. I am a bit drunk. But I can get along all right bymyself. You say the Lackaday is back there in the next block?"

  "Yes, sir. The number you wanted is about three blocks furder up. If ithadn't a been--"

  "Let me out. I'll walk back. You--you've taken me past the number Iwanted."

  "The ticket says 714, sir, plain as day," began the driver. "You didn'tsay nothin' about the Lackaday--"

  "You're quite right, my man. And you didn't say anything about stoppingin the middle of the block for the night, did you? Well, there you are!That squares us."

  He clambered out into the snowdrift and unbuttoned his overcoat. The manseemed undecided whether to let him go or to drag him back into thevehicle. Bosworth found what he was looking for in his waistcoat pocket.He pressed it into the driver's hand.

  "I'm sorry it isn't more," he said regretfully. "It may be a dollar, orit may be a five, but no matter which it is, it ought to be more. NowI'll tell you what I want you to do. If you can't get this thing goingby 'leven o'clock, I want you to go up to Martin's and have 'em send afour-horse sleigh to No. 511. It's the first residence north of theLackaday, and it's the number I've been compelled to select as a lastresort. Understand?"

  "Yes, sir. Martin's livery, sir. I'll attend to everything, sir. Thankyou, sir."

  He stood there in the blinding snow, watching his fare struggle to thesidewalk. Then he decided to follow along behind him until the "younggent" was safely within the doors of No. 511. He had driven Mr. VanPycke before and he knew that it was not a dollar bill.

  Bosworth reached the steps leading up to the rather imposing doorway atNo. 511. There was a heavy, stubborn iron gate at the foot, which hehad some difficulty in opening because of the snow. While he was workingwith it, a man came plump up against him. Together they seized upon thegate and yanked with all their might and main.

  "Thanks," said Buzzy, when it was open.

  "Don't thank me," snapped the other. "I'm going in myself."

  They mounted the six or eight steps to the storm doors, side by side,enveloped in the snow that scuttled around the corner of the bigLackaday hotel next door. With a great stamping of boots they flounderedinto the shelter of the outer vestibule.

  The light in the hall beyond shone through the glass doors, illuminatingthe box-like coop in which they paused, each selfishly to occupy himselfin catching his breath and at the same time shake the snow from hisperson. In the act of knocking the snow from the tops of their silk hatsthey glanced up simultaneously, each having arrived at the moment whenit was convenient for him to inquire into the identity of his fellowvisitor.

  They stared hard for a moment.

  "Hello, dad! Are you lost?"

  Mr. Van Pycke muttered something into the collar of his coat.Fortunately the wind outside was making such a noise that his son didnot hear the remark.

  "Is that you, Bosworth?" he demanded querulously, almost on the instant.

  "Yes, sir,--your long lost son. I--I thought I let you out atPurdwell's?" Bosworth seemed a bit hazy.

  Mr. Van Pycke cleared his throat. "I didn't find any one at home." Itdid not occur to him to ask why Bosworth was there. "So I came up here,unexpectedly, mind you. I thought perhaps the weather being so dreadful,I'd be sure to find Mrs. Scoville at home. No one would think of goingout on a night like this."

  "Do you suppose the Purdwells went out _without_ thinking?" askedBosworth, innocently.

  "Ring the bell," said Mr. Van Pycke, very sharply.

  His son found the button with some difficulty, and gave it a violent andunintentionally prolonged push. In silence they awaited the response ofthe footman.

  "Is your mistress at home, Bellows?" asked Mr. Van Pycke, as the doorwas opened part way to allow the indignant inspection of one who hadcertainly expected beggars.

  Bellows, smileless and resourceful individual, seemed a bit uncertain,not to say upset. He glanced over his shoulder in a very far fromimperious manner, apparently expecting the answer to come from thesoftly lighted hallway behind him.

  "I'll see, Mr. Van Pycke. Will you step inside?"

  "Get a broom, Bellows, and brush off some of this snow."

  "Yes, sir." The footman appeared a moment later with a whisk broom."It's a very nawsty night, sir," he informed them jointly as he beganscattering the snow in all directions. From tip to toe he whisked theshivering Mr. Van Pycke, and then turned upon his silent companion. Theelder slipped into the warm hall, feeling his nose in considerableagitation.

  "Bellows, come in here and take my coat. By Gad, I wonder if I am likelyto catch pneumonia."

  "In a moment, sir."

  "You--you think it likely, Bellows? That suddenly?"

  Bosworth stepped inside, and Bellows gently closed the door beforeturning to the distressed Mr. Van Pycke, senior.

  "Bellows, is my nose frozen?" demanded that gentleman, in tones faintwith dread.

  "No, sir. It looks to me to be quite warm, sir."

  "Is your mistress engaged, Bellows?" inserted Bosworth, quietly. "If sheis, I'll not trouble you to help me off with my coat."

  "I--I think she is, sir. I'll see, however."

  "Very odd," said Mr. Van Pycke, senior, as the man disappeared down thehall.

  "I think there's a dinner going on," said Bosworth, beginning to buttonup his coat.

  "No one would go to a dinner on such a night as this," rasped Mr. VanPycke, who knew all of the eleventh-hour habits of society. He took uphis position over a simmering floor register. "I'm wet to my knees. Myfeet are like ice. I wish that demmed servant would hurry back here andget me a hot drink of some sort. Ring the bell there, Bosworth. I'm--I'mquite sure I feel something stuffy in my chest. Good God, if it shouldbe pneumonia!
" His legs trembled violently.

  Bosworth did not ring the bell. He was staring thoughtfully at thefloor, and paid no attention to his father's maunderings. The humor ofthe situation was beginning to sift through his slowly clearing brain.

  Bellows returned.

  "Mrs. Scoville is at home, and begs the Misters Van Pycke to bear withher for a few minutes. She is at dinner with a few guests. In thedrawing-room there are other guests. You will please to make yourselvesat home until she leaves the table. The gentlemen are to smoke in thedrawing-room to-night."

  "A crowd?" muttered Bosworth. Then his eyes lighted up with suddenrelief. "Thank the Lord, I won't have to do it."

  "Do what?" demanded his father.

  Bosworth's wits were keener. "Go out into the storm without something towarm me up," he equivocated.

  "Bellows, who is in the drawing-room?" asked Mr. Van Pycke, eying thedoor with some curiosity. "They're deuced quiet, whoever they are."

  Bellows grew very red in the face and resolutely pressed his lipstogether. He took Mr. Bosworth's overcoat and hat and laid themcarefully on the Italian hall seat before venturing to reply.

  "You can't hear them for the wind, sir," he said.

  "Bellows, I'm catching my death," shivered Mr. Van Pycke. "I feel itcoming. Get me something to drink. My God, look at my shoes! They'resopping wet. Bosworth, don't stand there like a clothing store model! Imust have dry shoes and stockings. I can't--"

  "A clothing store model?" murmured the footman, strangely perturbed.

  "I can't run the chance of pneumonia at my age," went on Mr. Van Pycke."Bellows, do you suppose there's a dry pair of trousers in the house?I'm wet to the knees. I must have shoes. Demmit, Bosworth, dosomething!"

  "My dear father, don't look at me. I'm using my trousers. I dare sayBellows has an extra suit of livery."

  "If you wouldn't mind wearing brown trousers with a yellow stripe downthe leg, sir," began Bellows.

  "Anything," interrupted Mr. Van Pycke, irritably. "But I must also haveshoes."

  Bellows was thoughtful. "I think, sir, that there is an old pair ofriding boots under the stairs, sir. They belonged to poor Mr. Scoville,sir."

  "I don't like the idea of wearing other men's shoes--" objected Mr. VanPycke, with an apprehensive glance at his son.

  "I don't think it would matter, sir," said Bellows, affably. "Mr.Scoville hasn't worn them in two years and a half."

  Mr. Van Pycke's look of horror caused Bellows to realize.

  "I beg pardon, sir. It would be rather grewsome getting into dead men'sboots, sir. I never thought--"

  "That's undoubtedly what Mr. Van Pycke is contemplating, Bellows," saidBosworth, slyly.

  "Sir!" snapped Mr. Van Pycke.

  Bellows' face lighted with the joy of a great discovery. "I have it,sir. If you will wait out here just a few moments, sir, I can havetrousers, shoes, and stockings. Have you a notion, sir, as to the size?"He stood back and looked Mr. Van Pycke over carefully. "I think I canfix it, sir."

  He departed hastily, closing the drawing-room door behind him. Bosworthsat down upon a frail Italian chair and watched his father unbutton hisshoes while standing on one foot, propped against the wall.

  "Dad, he's going to sandbag one of the guests and take off his clothes,"the young man said, smiling broadly. His eyes were quite steady now, andmerry.

  "Why are you here, sir?" demanded his father, irrelevantly, suddenlyremembering that Bosworth had not mentioned his intention to stop atMrs. Scoville's.

  The young man was spared the expediency of a reply by the return ofBellows, with a pair of trousers over his arm, shoes and stockings inhis hand. He seemed in some haste to close the drawing-room door behindhim.

  "You can change in the room at the head of the stairs, sir."

  Mr. Van Pycke, in his stocking feet, preceded the footman up the stairs,treading very tenderly, as if in mortal fear of tacks.

  Buzzy twirled his thumbs impatiently. He yawned time and again, and morethan once cast his glance in the direction of his coat and hat. Neverbefore, in any house, had he been required to sit in a reception halluntil the hostess was ready to receive him elsewhere. He could notunderstand it. Above all places, Mrs. Scoville's, where the freedom ofthe house was usually extended to all who in friendship came.

  From behind closed doors--distant closed doors, by the way--came thesound of laughter and joyous conversation, faintly audible to the youngman in the hall.

  "I feel like an ass," said young Mr. Van Pycke, probably to the newelpost, there being nothing else quite so human in sight. Then he leanedback with a comfortable smile. "I've virtually tried the three eligiblesto-night," he mused. "It's a satisfaction to feel that they haven'tdismissed me in so many words, and it's a relief to feel that theyhaven't had the actual opportunity to accept me. I've done my best. Theblizzard disposes. I'll see Krosson to-morrow about a place in hisoffices."

  Mr. Van Pycke came down stairs even more tenderly than he went up. Therewas a look of pain in his face, and he walked slack-kneed, with his toesturned in a trifle. He was wearing a pair of trousers that had beenconstructed for a much larger man, except as to height.

  "The shoes are too small and the trousers too big," he groaned. "I'mleaving my own up there to be dried out. Bellows says they'll be dry inhalf an hour. I had to put these on for a while. One can't go aroundwith--er--nothing on, so to speak."

  "I'm trying to think who's in there that wears trousers of thatsize--and shape," murmured Bosworth, surveying his father critically.

  "Bah!" rasped the uncomfortable Mr. Van Pycke. "Announce us, Bellows."

  Bellows opened the drawing-room door, took a quick peep within, andthen, standing aside, announced in his most impressive tones:

  "Mr. Van Pycke! Mr. Bosworth Van Pycke!"

  The two gentlemen stepped into the long, dimly lighted room. Bellowsdisappeared quickly down the hall. Mr. Van Pycke, his sense of dignityincreased by the desire to offset the only too apparent lack of it,advanced into the middle of the room, politely smiling for the benefitof a group of ladies and gentlemen congregated at the lower end, nearthe windows. So far as he could see, they were engaged in the vulgaroccupation known as staring.

  Bosworth Van Pycke stopped just inside the door, clapping his hand tohis forehead. His mouth fell open and his eyes popped wide withamazement--almost horror. He sat down suddenly in the nearest chair andcontinued to gaze blankly at the figures down the room. He heard hisfather say "Good evening" twice, but he heard no response from thegroup. His abrupt, incontrollable guffaw of understanding and joy causedhis now annoyed parent to whirl upon him in surprise.

  "Oh, this is rich!" Bosworth was holding his sides, laughingimmoderately.

  "Bosworth!" hissed his father, with a conscious glance at his feet andlegs. "What the devil amuses you?"

  For answer his son strode over and clutched him by the arm, turning himaround so that he faced the silent, immovable group.

  "See that man back there without trousers? The bare-legged, bare-footedchap? Well, dad, you've got on his pants."

  "Good God!" gasped Mr. Van Pycke, nervously hunting for the bridge ofhis nose with his glasses. "Is the poor fellow naked?"

  "Half naked, dad, that's all. Look closely!"

  "Sh! Demmit all, boy, he'd knock me down! And the ladies! What the devildoes he mean, undressing in this bare-faced--"

  "Bare-legged, dad." With a fresh laugh he leaned forward and chucked thenearest lady under the chin. As she was standing directly in front ofVan Pycke, senior, that gentleman, in some haste, moved back to avoidthe retort physical.

  "Bosworth! How--how dare you?" he gasped.

  "Can't you see, dad? This is the richest thing I've ever known. Don't beafraid of 'em. They're wax figures, every one of them!"

  Mr. Van Pycke started. Then he stared.

  "Well, upon my soul!" he gasped. He repeated this remark four or fivetimes during a hasty parade in front of the group, in each instancepeering rudely and with growing teme
rity into the pink and white face ofa surpassingly beautiful lady.

  "It seems to me that I recognize this one," he said, with a cackle ofjoy. "I've seen her in Altman's window. 'Pon my soul I have, Bosworth."

  "I don't know what Laura's game is, but, by Jove, it's ripping, I'll saythat for it," said Bosworth, his face beaming. "How many of them arethere?" He counted. "Fourteen. Seven spiketails and seven directoires.Great!"

  The two gentlemen withdrew to the upper end of the room, to better theeffect. From the dining-room, four rooms away, came the more distinctsounds of laughter and conversation.

  "There is a _real_ party out there," said Bosworth, rubbing his chincontemplatively. "I wonder what's up?"

  Mr. Van Pycke sat down and twirled his thin mustache, first one side andthen the other, murmuring "By Jove!" over and over again in a mostperplexed way. Bosworth stood, with his chin between finger and thumb,thoughtfully viewing the inanimate group. For several minutes his faceindicated the most penetrating contemplation of the exhibit down theroom. He was still a trifle dizzy, but in no danger of losing hisattitude of sober reflection.

  There were blond ladies and brunettes, old ladies and young ones, andsome who were neither; all beautifully, elaborately gowned in the latestmodels from Paris. Their starry glass eyes gazed into space with thesame innocuous stare that baffles all attempts to divert it throughplate-glass windows. Some were sitting, some were standing. Gentlemen inevening clothes, with monocles or opera hats--mostly plebeian persons,from Eighth Avenue, you'd say--stood vaguely but stanchly injuxtaposition to ladies who paid no heed to them, but who, however, werenot unique in their abstraction. Fuzzy-mustached gentlemen were they,with pink cheeks and iron-clad shoulders. They stared intently but notattentively at the chandeliers or the wall-paper, unwinking gallants whoseemed only conscious of their clothes.

  The effect was startling, even grewsome. For five minutes Bosworthsurveyed the waxy, over-dressed group in profound silence, cudgeling hisbrain for a key to the puzzling exhibition.

  "For the life of me," he said at last, "I can't understand it."

  "I understand it perfectly," said his father, still somewhat dismayed bythe steady gaze of the last pair of blue eyes he had encountered. "Mrs.Scoville is ordering some new gowns, and the--er--modistes have sent upsamples. Perfectly clear to me."

  "I suppose she's ordering a few suits of men's garments--garments iswhat they say in the clothing stores--to lend variety to her wardrobe,"said Bosworth, dryly.

  Mr. Van Pycke coughed indulgently. "Bosworth, you shouldn't take so manycocktails before--"

  "Yes, father," interrupted Bosworth, humbly. "I quite agree with you.For a while I thought it might be the cocktails, but now that you seethem, too, I am very much relieved."

  "I am very sorry to see a son of mine--"

  "Hello!" said Bosworth, his gaze suddenly encountering a table near thefireplace on which were piled a number of small boxes. One could see ata glance that they were jeweller's boxes. "Looks like Christmas."

  He got up and strode over to the table.

  "Christmas is a week off," said Mr. Van Pycke. "What's up? Some onecoming down the chimney? It wouldn't surprise me, by Jove!"

  His son was gazing, as if thunderstruck, at the contents of more than adozen boxes of various sizes. He whistled softly, to best express hiswonder.

  "Great Scott!" he said, after a moment. "There's half a million dollars'worth of dog-collars, pendants, tiaras, rings, and--" He was holding up,for his father's benefit, a rope of pearls that could not have cost lessthan a hundred thousand dollars. "Take a look at this, dad!"

  Mr. Van Pycke made his way painfully to his son's side. "Astounding!" hemurmured, touching a tiara with respectful fingers.

  "Say!"

  The two Van Pyckes jumped. The voice that uttered the raucousmonosyllable was masculine, and it seemed to burst from a spot not farremoved from their elbows. Bewildered, they stared this way and that inquest of the rude owner of that voice.

  "Keep your hands off o' them jewels," said the voice, levelly.

  Bosworth's indignant gaze discovered the man in the very centre of thegroup of "dummies." The young man experienced a queer shiver of dismay.Was he losing his senses?

  A pink-cheeked gentleman with a crepe mustache arose from a chair in theextreme background. He leveled a menacing finger, with Bosworth as theobject of its concern.

  "Move back from that table, gents," remarked the vivified object nearthe windows. The Messrs. Van Pycke fell back several paces, stillstaring blankly at the figure.

  Bosworth gulped. "Are you--alive?" he demanded, putting his fingers tohis temple.

  "Alive? What do you think I am? A corrupse?" exclaimed the figure.

  "I meant to say, are you the only live one in--in the crowd?"

  The man looked about him, perplexed. Then he understood. "Oh, you meanthese freaks? Say, my disguise must be all right. I look like a waxwork,do I? I--"

  Mr. Van Pycke had recovered his dignity. "What the devil is the meaningof all this, sir? Explain yourself."

  The man picked his way carefully through the group of wax figures. Hewas a sturdy person whose evening clothes did not fit him, now that oneobserved him carefully. When he was clear of the group, he calmly turnedback the lapel of his coat, revealing a nickel-plated star.

  "Does that star signify anything, gents? It says I'm here on this job,that's all. Just to see that nobody walks off with the sparklers. I'mfrom Wilkerson's Private Detective Agency. See? Now, I'd like to knowwhen and how you got into this room."

  He faced them threateningly.

  The Van Pyckes started.

  "What do you mean?" exclaimed Bosworth, turning quite red.

  "Just what I say, young feller. When did you come in here?"

  "You say you are a detective!" sneered Bosworth.

  The man from Wilkerson's blinked his eyes suddenly. "I--I guess Idropped off to sleep for a couple of minutes. Up for three nights--"

  "Do you recognize these trousers?" demanded the young man, pointing tohis father's ridiculous legs.

  The detective peered rather closely. Mr. Van Pycke drew back and glaredat him through his glasses.

  "By thunder, they _don't_ fit him, do they? Say, there's something wrongwith you guys. Where'd you get them pants, you?"

  "Me?" murmured Mr. Van Pycke.

  "Yes, _you_!"

  "I'll have you pitched from this house, you impertinent scoundrel!"roared Mr. Van Pycke, threatened with apoplexy.

  "Where'd you get them pants?" repeated the sleuth, steadily. "And themshoes! Say, this has a queer look. I'll have to--here! What's the matterwith you? What you laughin' at? It won't be so blamed funny, youngfeller, let me tell you that. You guys can't--"

  "You're a fine detective, you are," laughed Bosworth.

  "I'm Doxey, the star man of the agency," retorted the detective,angrily.

  "It's a wonder my father isn't wearing your trousers, Mr. Doxey. Itwould have been quite as easy, and I really think they'd fit him betterthan they fit you. Don't lose your temper, please. Good detectives neverlose their tempers. Please remember that. Now, if you'll be good enoughto cast your eyes upon that shameless person near the cabinet overthere, you'll--"

  "Great Scott!" gasped Mr. Doxey, his eyes bulging.

  "That's right! Keep your eye on him. I don't know who your friend is,Mr. Doxey, but my father is temporarily inhabiting his trousers--andshoes. You must have slept soundly not to have been disturbed whenBellows took them off. You'll find--"

  "Come off!" growled Doxey. "The old man didn't come here without pants,did he? And if he had his own on, what in thunder was he trading with--"

  Bosworth held up his hand imperatively.

  "Good detectives don't discuss their deductions with--never mind! Isha'n't say it. Now, it may interest you to know that we are closepersonal friends of Mrs. Scoville. We--"

  "Don't haggle with the demmed scoundrel," protested Mr. Van Pycke,vigorously.

  "Now, don't
get fresh--don't get fresh!" said Mr. Doxey, his fusty blackmustache coming loose on one side and drooping over his lip.

  "Don't bite it!" cautioned Bosworth, hastily. Mr. Doxey stuck it back inplace with a white kid paw of huge dimensions.

  "I am Bosworth Van Pycke, and this is my father, Mr. Van Dieman VanPycke," said Bosworth, bowing very low.

  "Van Pycke? Wait a minute. I got a list of the guests here in my pocket.I'll see if you're among 'em. If you belong here, why ain't you outthere eatin' with the rest of 'em?" Mr. Doxey looked up suspiciouslyfrom the paper he had taken from his coat pocket. "I don't like thispants gag. It sounds fishy."

  "Fishy?" murmured Mr. Van Pycke. "What the devil does he mean by that,Bosworth?"

  "It's his way of calling me a liar, dad, that's all."

  "Say, there ain't any Van Pyckes on this list. And this is the _correct_list, too. The butler gave it to me himself. I--"

  Bosworth suddenly lost his playful manner. He was tired of the game.

  "That will do, Mr. Doxey. Be good enough to go back to your corner," hesaid coldly. "I mean it. Don't stand there glaring. It has no effect onme. I _am_ Mr. Bosworth Van Pycke. I don't blame you for protecting thejewels--even from Van Pyckes--but there's nothing more for you to do, sofar as we are concerned. We are waiting for Mrs. Scoville and herguests. And, say, on your way back to your chair--or was it a couch?--begood enough to drape a table cover about the limbs of that unfortunateperson with the bald head--and bald legs, I might add."

  Mr. Doxey looked from one to the other with interest, not to saycuriosity. Something in the young man's manner carried conviction.

  "Are you the--the Buzzy Van Pycke who gave the supper for Carmen theother--"

  "I am," Bosworth interjected. "I didn't see you there, Mr. Doxey."

  Mr. Doxey snickered. "My wife wouldn't 'a' stood for me--"

  "My good man, there were a number of married men there. All of 'em, nodoubt, were being shadowed by detectives. I thought perhaps you mighthave got in--but, there! I am tattling. Please sit down, Mr. Doxey."

  He threw himself into a comfortable chair and crossed his legs. Then heproceeded to light a cigaret.

  Mr. Van Pycke, senior, had been sitting for some minutes, a strangelypreoccupied look in his eyes, his lips twitching as if with pain.

  "I guess I'll just set out here," said the detective, looking from oneto the other shrewdly. "The town's full of those Raffles crooks. How doI know--"

  "Quite right, Doxey. How could you know? You sleep too soundly."

  "If you're what you say you are, why don't you call in the footman toidentify you?"

  "Bellows has already announced us, Mr. Doxey. I'm hanged if I'll ask himto do it over again. Now that I think of it, he almost burst while doingit. It's not my fault that you did not hear him."

  Mr. Doxey looked uncomfortable.

  "Well, just keep your hands off from the jewels," he said.

  Mr. Van Pycke, senior, spoke for the first time in many minutes. It waseasy to see where his thoughts had been directed during the triflingdialogue. His gaze was attached to the patent-leather shoes he wore.

  "I don't see how that demmed dummy ever got into these shoes. They'realmost killing me. Confound it, Bosworth, don't grin like an ape! Youare tight, sir,--disgustingly tight!"

  "I'll lay you a fiver I'm not so tight as the shoes, dad."

  Mr. Doxey snickered. Van Pycke, pere, glared at him in a shocked sort ofway for a moment, and then, disdaining the affront, fell to tenderlypressing each of his insteps, very much as if trying to discover a spotthat had not yet developed a pain.

  The detective took a seat where he could watch the two gentlemen and atthe same time keep an eye on the door through to the dining-room farbeyond. Bosworth smoked in silence for some time.

  "What's the meaning of all this?" he asked, after a while, indicatingthe group of dummies with a comprehensive sweep of his hand.

  "I'm not here to answer questions," said Mr. Doxey, succinctly.

  "Oh!" said Bosworth.

  Mr. Van Pycke stirred restlessly. "By Jove, I think I'll--'I'll have togo upstairs and change these shoes for my own, wet or dry. I can't stand'em any longer. I dare say my trousers are dry by this time, too." Hearose with great deliberateness. He took two delicate steps toward thehall door; then Mr. Doxey's irritatingly brusque voice brought him upwith a jerk.

  "Hold on, there! None o' that--none o' that! You set right where youare, mister. I guess I'll just keep you in plain view for a while. Finework, me lettin' you go upstairs, eh? Fine work, I don't think!"

  "Confound you, sir, I'll--" began Mr. Van Pycke, drawing himself to hisfull height with a spasmodic effort that brought its results in pain.

  "Sit down, father," advised Bosworth, gently. Mr. Van Pycke sat down."There's some one coming," added his son a moment later. He arose andturned toward the portieres at the upper end of the room, prepared togreet the beautiful Mrs. Scoville.

  The portieres parted at the bottom. All eyes were lowered. The mostunamiable looking bulldog that ever crossed man's path protruded hissquat body into the room, pausing just inside the curtains to survey thetrio before him in a most disconcertingly pointed manner. His whole bodyseemed to convert itself into a scowl of disapproval.

  Bosworth sat down dismayed. His father swore softly and drew his feet abit nearer to the legs of the chair. Both of them knew the dog. Theyknew, moreover, that the only living creature in the whole world exemptfrom peril was the beast's mistress, the fair lady to whom they had cometo pay coincidental devoirs. All other persons came under the head ofprey, so far as Agrippa was concerned--Agrippa being the somewhatominous name of the pet.

  "How--how does he happen to be loose?" murmured Bosworth, with a sideglance at the detective.

  "Is he dangerous?" asked Mr. Doxey.

  "He's a man-eater," said the other, quite uncomfortably.

  "Nobody told me about a watchdog."

  "Ah, now I understand why he's loose," said Bosworth, promptly. Mr.Doxey looked thoughtful for a moment, and then opened his lips to resentthe imputation, half rising from his chair to obtain greater emphasis inhis delivery.

  Agrippa emitted a prophetic growl. Mr. Doxey resumed his seat in somehaste.

  "Will he bite?" he demanded instead.

  "Bite? Hang it all, man, he'll chew us to ribbons if we move. I--I knowthat dog. We don't dare to twiddle until Mrs. Scoville comes in to callhim off. He's got us treed, that's all there is to it. I wouldn't movemy little finger for fifty dollars cash. Look at his eyes! Observe thesize of his incisors!"

  "I believe you," said Mr. Doxey, with a belated shudder.

  "Demmed outrage!" sputtered Mr. Van Pycke. "Now I _can't_ take themoff."

  Mr. Doxey was seized by an inspiration. He smiled. "Why don't you goupstairs and change 'em?" he asked. Mr. Van Pycke moved one foot,evidently agitated by a desire to kick Mr. Doxey. Agrippa growled. "Justto see if he _will_ bite," added the detective, with a nervous laugh.

  "You go to the devil, sir!" grated Mr. Van Pycke, but entirely withoutmuscular emotion.

  Conversation lagged. For five minutes the three men sat immovable,staring with intensely wakeful eyes at the grim figure of Agrippa, whohad eyes for all of them. He had moved farther into the room, possiblyfor the purpose of indulging in a more or less unobstructed scrutiny ofthe mysterious group of ladies and gentlemen beyond. Agrippa was puzzledbut not disturbed. He was not what you would call an inquisitive dog.

  "I have never been so insulted in my life," said Mr. Van Pycke, withoutraising his voice above a polite monotone.

  "Neither have I," said Mr. Doxey.

  "You, sir? You are the _insult_, sir. How can you be insulted? It isimpossible to insult an insult. I won't put up with--"

  "Keep cool, father," warned Bosworth. "You came very near to moving yourleg just then. I warn you."

  "I'm quite sure a dog couldn't _add_ anything to the pain I'm alreadysuffering from these demmed shoes. Come here, doggie! Nice doggie!" T
hewheedling tones made no impression on Agrippa. "What an unfriendlybeast!"

  The figures in wax down the room were not more rigid than the fourcreatures above--three men and a dog. A little French clock on themantelpiece clicked off the seconds in a more or less sonorous manner;Mr. Van Pycke's sighs and the detective's heavy breathing were quiteplainly distinguishable, even though the wind howled with lusty lungs atevery window in an effort to monopolize attention.

  "I shall have that dog shot the very first thing," mused Mr. Van Pyckealoud.

  "I guess not," protested Bosworth. "He's a corker. I wouldn't take athousand for him."

  Then they shot simultaneous glances of apprehension at each other. Eachwondered if he had let his cat out of the bag.

  Bosworth was quick to say to himself: "I see through the governor'sgame. Well, I'm a dutiful son. I've tried for three of them to-night andFate has been against me. It means that I'm intended for somethingbetter than matrimony."

  Bosworth's father was thinking: "If I don't ask her at once, he'llpropose. And she'll take him in a second if he does. I'll not give himthe chance. I'll get it over with inside of five minutes. And I _will_kill that demmed dog."

  Agrippa pricked up his ears and turned his head ever so slightly in thedirection of the portieres behind him. A moment later the light, quicktread of some one was heard in the adjoining room, accompanied by theswish of silky garments.

  Three pairs of eyes were lifted to the portieres. A young woman appearedbetween the heavy silk curtains. For a second she held an attitude ofpolite inquiry. Then a wrinkle of perplexity crept into her smooth,white forehead. She looked in surprise from one to the other of themotionless gentlemen, ignoring the detective as completely as if he hadnot been there at all.

  What surprised her most was the fact that the Messrs. Van Pycke, notedas the most courteous of men, remained rooted to their chairs.

  "Good evening," said Bosworth, allowing his gaze to stray from her nowindignant face to the commanding jowl of Agrippa. "Pardon me for notarising--pardon all of us, I might say,--but it is quite out of thequestion. By Jove! Do you happen to know Agrippa? If you don't, pleaseescape while you can. He's--"

  "Agrippa? Oh!" She had a very soft, musical voice. It was doublyattractive because of an uncertain quaver that bespoke amazement. "Areyou Mr. Van Pycke?" She looked at the young man with unmistakableinterest--or was it curiosity?

  "I am Mr. Van Pycke's son," said Bosworth, cautiously inclining hishead.

  The young lady smiled suddenly. "You poor men!" she cried. "Agrippa!Come here, sir!"

  Agrippa's dominion was ended. He turned to her, a very humble dog. Sheleaned over and boxed his ears with a soft, white hand--but so gentlythat Agrippa would have smiled if he knew how. He did wag his stubbytail by way of acknowledgment. "Please don't stir," she said to thethree appalled observers. "I'll take him away. He's a very naughty dog."

  She departed, Agrippa's collar in her fingers. A moment later shereturned. The three men were standing, but, by curious coincidence, eachhad taken a position behind the chair he had occupied.

  "Mrs. Scoville begs me to say that she is sorry to have kept you waitingso long, and that she will be down as soon as she has changed hergown."

  "Her gown?" murmured Bosworth.

  "Changing it for what?" muttered Mr. Van Pycke, dreadfully bewildered.

  "For a street gown. She's going out, you see."

  Mr. Doxey coughed by way of attracting attention. "Do you know thesegents, Miss Downing?"

  The smile deepened in her face. Bosworth never had seen a smile soravishing. He smiled in sympathy, without knowing just why he did it.

  "It isn't necessary to watch them any longer," she said very sweetly.Mr. Doxey retired to the group near the windows.

  "Thanks," said Bosworth, bowing to her.

  "Pardon me," said his father, "but I understood Mrs. Scoville was atdinner."

  "That was some time ago, Mr. Van Pycke," the girl said quickly. "Shejust _had_ to change her gown, you know."

  "Spilled something on it?" he queried. "These confounded servants areso--"

  "Won't you sit down?" she interrupted. Bosworth noted a sudden touch ofnervousness in her manner. For some reason she bit her lip as she lookedin the direction of the dummies.

  "If you don't mind," mumbled Mr. Van Pycke, "I think I'll go upstairsand change my shoes and trousers." He started for the door.

  Miss Downing stood aghast--petrified.