Seven Keys to Baldpate

"But this country blockhead just looked Sam up and down, and remarks judicious: 'It's certainly wonderful how you know all these things. Wonderful. But you can't fool me,' he says, 'you can't fool Mark Dennen.'"

Mr. Max paused in his narrative for a moment. The sound of voices came up from the office of Baldpate Inn. One, that of the mayor, boomed loudly and angrily. In an evident desire to drown it, Mr. Max went on with spirit:

"Well, gentlemen, it got to be a point of honor, as you might say, for Sam to convince that guy. He told me he never wanted anything so much in his life as for Mark Dennen to give in. It was a hot afternoon, and he'd come aboard that boat for a rest, but he peeled off his collar and started in. He gave Mark Dennen the number of bricks in the Methodist Church, as reported in the Readsboro Citizen at the time it was built. He told him the name of the piece Mark's sister recited at the school entertainment in the spring of 1890. He bounded on all four sides the lot where the circuses played when they came to Readsboro. He named every citizen of the town, living or dead, that ever got to be known outside his own family, and he brought children into the world and married them and read the funeral service over them, and still that bonehead from the woods sat there, his mouth open, and says: 'It's beyond me how you know all that. You New Yorkers are slicker then I give ye credit for. But you can't fool me. You ain't Sam Burns. Why, I went to school with him.'

"They was drawing near Coney now," went on Mr. Max, "and Sam's face was purple and he was dripping with perspiration, and rattling off Readsboro happenings at the rate of ten a second, but that Mark Dennen he sat there and wouldn't budge from his high horse. So they came up to the pier, Sam almost weeping real tears and pleading like his heart would break: 'Mark, don't you remember that time we threw little Bill Barnaby into the swimming hole, and he couldn't swim a stroke and nearly drowned on us?' and still getting the stony face from his old pal.

"And on the pier this Dennen held out his hand to Sam, who was a physical wreck and a broken man by this time, and says: 'You sure are cute, mister. I'll have great times telling this in Readsboro. Once you met one too smart for ye, eh? Much obliged for your company, anyhow!' And he went away and left Sam leaning against the railing, with no faith in human nature no more. 'I hope somebody got to him,' says Sam to me, 'and got to him good. He's the kind that if you work right you can sell stock in a company for starting roof gardens on the tops of the pyramids in Egypt. I'd trimmed him myself,' says Sam to me, 'but I hadn't the heart.'"

Mr. Max finished, and again from below came the sound of voices raised in anger.

"An interesting story, Mr. Max," commented Professor Bolton. "I shall treasure it."

"Told with a remarkable feeling for detail," added Mr. Magee. "In fact, it seems to me that only one of the two participants in it could remember all the fine points so well. Mr. Max, you don't exactly look like Mark Dennen to me, therefore – if you will pardon the liberty – "

"I get you," replied Max sadly. "The same old story. Suspicion – suspicion everywhere. It does a lot of harm, believe me. I wouldn't – "

He jumped from his chair and disappeared, for the voice of Cargan had hailed him from below. Mr. Magee and the professor with one accord followed. Hiding in the friendly shadows of the landing once again, they heard the loud tones of the mayor's booming voice, and the softer tones of Bland's.

"How about this?" bellowed the mayor. "Hayden's squealed. Phones to Bland – not to me. Whines about the courts – I don't know what rot. He's squealed. He didn't phone the combination."

"The rat!" screamed Mr. Max.

"By the Lord Harry," said the mayor, "I'll have it open, anyhow. I've earned what's in there, fair and – I've earned it. I'm going to have it, Max."

"See here, Cargan – " put in Mr. Bland.

"Keep out of the way, you," cried Cargan. "And put away that pop-gun before you get hurt. I'm going to have what's mine by justice. That safe comes open to-night. Max, get your satchel."

Mr. Magee and the professor turned and ascended to the second floor. In front of number seven they paused and looked into each other's eyes. Professor Bolton shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm going to bed," he said, "and I advise you to do the same."

"Yes," replied Mr. Magee, but had no idea what he had said. As for the old man's advice, he had no intention of taking it. Melodrama – the thing he had come to Baldpate Inn to forget forever – raged through that home of solitude. Men spoke of guns, and swore, and threatened. What was it all about? And what part could he play in it all?

He entered number seven, and paused in amazement. Outside one of his windows Miss Norton stood, rapping on the glass for him to open. When he stood facing her at last, the window no longer between, he saw that her face was very pale and that her chin trembled as it had in the station.

"What is it?" cried Magee.

"I mustn't come in," she answered. "Listen. You said you wanted to help me. You can do so now. I'll explain everything later – this is all I need tell you just at present. Down-stairs in the safe there's a package containing two hundred thousand dollars. Do you hear – two hundred thousand. I must have that package. Don't ask me why. I came here to get it – I must have it. The combination was to have been phoned to Cargan at eight o'clock. I was hiding outside the window. Something went wrong – they didn't phone it. He's going to open the safe by force. I heard him say so. I couldn't wait to hear more – I saw him."

"Who?" asked Mr. Magee.

"I don't know – a tall black figure – hiding outside a window like myself. The man with one of the other keys, I suppose. The man Mr. Bland heard walking about to-night. I saw him and I was terribly frightened. It's all right when you know who the other fellow is, but when – it's all so creepy – I was afraid. So I ran – here."

"The thing to do," approved Mr. Magee. "Don't worry. I'll get the money for you. I'll get it if I have to slay the city administration of Reuton in its tracks."

"You trust me?" asked the girl, with a little catch in her voice. The snow lay white on her hair; even in the shadows her eyes suggested June skies. "Without knowing who I am, or why I must have this money – you'll get it for me?"

"Some people," said Mr. Magee, "meet all their lives long at pink little teas, and never know one another, while others just smile at each other across a station waiting-room – that's enough."

"I'm so glad," whispered the girl. "I never dreamed I'd meet any one like you – up here. Please, oh, please, be very careful. Neither Cargan nor Max is armed. Bland is. I should never forgive myself if you were hurt. But you won't be – will you?"

"I may catch cold," laughed Mr. Magee; "otherwise I'll be perfectly safe." He went into the room and put on a gay plaid cap. "Makes me look like Sherlock Holmes," he smiled at the girl framed in the window. When he turned to his door to lock it, he discovered that the key was gone and that it had been locked on the outside. "Oh, very well," he said flippantly. He buttoned his coat to the chin, blew out the candles in number seven, and joined the girl on the balcony.

"Go to your room," he said gently. "Your worries are over. I'll bring you the golden fleece inside an hour."

"Be careful," she whispered, "Be very careful, Mr. – Billy."

"Just for that," cried Magee gaily, "I'll get you four hundred thousand dollars."

He ran to the end of the balcony, and dropping softly to the ground, was ready for his first experiment in the gentle art of highway robbery.

CHAPTER IX

MELODRAMA IN THE SNOW

The justly celebrated moon that in summer months shed so much glamour on the romances of Baldpate Inn was no where in evidence as Mr. Magee crept along the ground close to the veranda. The snow sifted down upon him out of the blackness above; three feet ahead the world seemed to end.

"A corking night," he muttered humorously, "for my debut in the hold-up business."

He swung up over the rail on to the veranda, and walked softly along it until he came to a window opening into the office. Cautiously he peered in. The vast lonely room was lighted by a single candle. At the foot of the broad stair he could discern a great bulk, seated on the lowest step, which he correctly took to be the mayor of Reuton. Back of the desk, on which stood the candle, Mr. Max's head and shoulders were visible. He was working industriously in the immediate vicinity of the safe door. Occasionally he consulted the small traveling-bag that stood on the desk. Many other professions had claimed Mr. Max before his advent into Reuton politics; evidently he was putting into operation the training acquired in one of them. Mr. Bland was nowhere in sight.

Shivering with cold and excitement, Mr. Magee leaned against the side of Baldpate Inn and waited. Mr. Max worked eagerly, turning frequently to his bag as a physician might turn to his medicine-case. No word was spoken in the office. Minutes passed. The bulk at the foot of the stairs surged restlessly. Mr. Max's operations were mostly hidden by the desk at which, in summer, timid old ladies inquired for their mail. Having time to think, Mr. Magee pictured the horror of those ladies could they come up to the desk at Baldpate now.

Suddenly Mr. Max ran out into the center of the office. Almost on the instant there was a white puff of smoke and a roar. The inn seemed about to roll down the mountain after all those years of sticking tight. The mayor looked apprehensively up the stair behind him; Mr. Max ran to the open safe door and came back before the desk with a package in his hand. After examining it hastily, Mr. Cargan placed the loot in his pocket. The greedy eyes of Max followed it for a second; then he ran over and gathered up his tools. Now they were ready to depart. The mayor lifted the candle from the desk. Its light fell on a big chair by the fire, and Mr. Magee saw in that chair the figure of Mr. Bland, bound and gagged.

Mr. Cargan and his companion paused, and appeared to address triumphant and jesting comment in Mr. Bland's direction. Then they buttoned their coats and, holding aloft the candle, disappeared through the dining-room door.

"I must have that package." Standing on the balcony of Baldpate Inn, her yellow hair white with snow, her eyes shining even in shadow, thus had the lady of this weird drama spoken to Mr. Magee. And gladly he had undertaken the quest. Now, he knew, the moment had come to act. Max he could quickly dispose of, he felt; Cargan would require time and attention.

He hurried round to the front door of the inn, and taking the big key from his pocket, unlocked it as a means of retreat where the men he was about to attack could not follow. Already he heard their muffled steps in the distance. Crossing the veranda, he dropped down into the snow by the side of the great stone steps that led to Baldpate Inn's chief entrance.

He heard Cargan and Max on the veranda just above his head. They were speaking of trains to Reuton. In great good humor, evidently, they started down the steps. Mr. Magee crouched, resolved that he would spring the moment they reached the ground. They were on the last step – now!

Suddenly from the other side of the steps a black figure rose, a fist shot out, and Mr. Max went spinning like a whirling dervish down the snowy path, to land in a heap five feet away. The next instant the mayor of Reuton and the black figure were locked in terrific conflict. Mr. Magee, astounded by this turn of affairs, could only stand and stare through the dark.

For fifteen seconds, muttering, slipping, grappling, the two figures waltzed grotesquely about in the falling snow. Then the mayor's feet slid from under him on the treacherous white carpet, and the two went down together. As Mr. Magee swooped down upon them he saw the hand of the stranger find the mayor's pocket, and draw from it the package that had been placed there in the office a few moments before.

Unfortunately for the demands of the drama in which he had become involved, Mr. Magee had never been an athlete at the university. But he was a young man of average strength and agility, and he had the advantage of landing most unexpectedly on his antagonist. Before that gentleman realized what had happened, Magee had wrenched the package from his hand, thrown him back on the prostrate form of the highest official of Reuton, and fled up the steps. Quickly the stranger regained his feet and started in pursuit, but he arrived at the great front door of Baldpate Inn just in time to hear the lock click inside.

Safe for the moment behind a locked door, Mr. Magee paused to get his breath. The glory of battle filled his soul. It was not until long afterward that he realized the battle had been a mere scuffle in the dark. He felt his cheeks burn with excitement like a sweet girl graduate's – the cheeks of a man who had always prided himself he was the unmoved cynic in any situation.

With no thought for Mr. Bland, bound in his uneasy chair, Mr. Magee hurried up the broad staircase of Baldpate. Now came the most gorgeous scene of all. A fair-haired lady; a knight she had sent forth to battle; the knight returned. "You asked me to bring you this, my lady." Business of surprise and joy on the lady's part – business also, perhaps, of adoration for the knight.

At the right of the stairs lay seventeen and the lady, at the left a supposedly uninhabited land. As Mr. Magee reached the second floor, blithely picturing the scene in which he was to play so satisfactory a part – he paused. For half-way down the corridor to the left an open door threw a faint light into the hall, and in that light stood a woman he had never seen before. In this order came Mr. Magee's impressions of her, fur-coated, tall, dark, handsome, with the haughty manner of one engaging a chauffeur.

"I beg your pardon," she said, "but are you by any chance Mr. Magee?"