The White Room

"It was taken from a dead hand."

"From the hand of Rufus. Is he dead? Am I free? Oh, great heavens, am I free?" and Mrs. Baldwin clapped her hands hysterically.

"No. It was taken from the hands of the woman who was killed at Ajax Villa. Evidently the man who wore it-"

"Rufus," whispered Mrs. Baldwin-

"Had a struggle with his victim. She might have seen the blow coming, and putting out her hand to ward it off, must have clutched the locket as it hung to the watch-chain."

"Rufus wore it on his watch-chain," said Mrs. Baldwin; "it is his locket. I gave it to him. He is a burglar. Now he is a murderer. He will come and kill me. Where's the pistol?" and she fumbled under the sofa-pillow, grey with fear.

"We don't know that he's a murderer yet," said Tracey soothingly; "you go slow, ma'am."

"I tell you if that locket was found in the dead woman's hand, Rufus killed her," said Mrs. Baldwin, crushing her hands together.

"What is Rufus like in looks?" asked Tracey.

"Fat and red-faced, with grey hair. Always smiling-always smiling-a kind-looking man-with a black heart. A criminal-a brute, a-"

"Tracey," interrupted Arnold, rising, "she is describing Jasher."

"That's so," said the American, without surprise; "ever since Bocaros confessed that Jasher was his friend I have suspected. Well, now we know at last who killed Mrs. Brand."

"Another woman-another woman," moaned Mrs. Baldwin, "another victim."

"It will be his last," said Tracey grimly; "thank God he's not Gerty's poppa. I'm sorry for the children, though."

Mrs. Baldwin rose. "They must never know-never!"

"If Jasher, or Rufus as you call him, is caught he'll speak out, and the whole business will come to light," said Tracey.

"I don't know about that," said Arnold, with a troubled look; "let us see what we can do. Perhaps Jasher may be innocent."

"If there was murder to be done he did it," said Mrs. Baldwin, in a sharp manner; "do what you like, but keep the man out of my life. I'm dangerous. Quite as dangerous as he is."

"It's all right. You say nothing," said Tracey, and thereupon made Mrs. Baldwin lie down. Then he sent Arnold to wait for him outside, and soothed the woman. When he came out, he walked in silence to the gate. "I've mailed that letter," he said, "and sent a wire also. You bet Jasher, not suspecting anything wrong, will be at the little house yonder to-night."

"Will we get in the police?"

"Not just yet," said Tracey hesitatingly; "you see, he's Gerty's step-father after all. I guess we'll make him confess, and then chuck him out of the country. I don't want him to be arrested."

"We can't be sure of his guilt yet, either."

"No. That's a fact. Bocaros is keeping something back."

"What about Mrs. Baldwin?"

"She's all right. I've got her quiet. So long as this man doesn't cross her track she'll lie still. If he does-"

"Well. What if he does?"

"She'll drop him with that pistol of hers."

"Nonsense. She can't shoot!"

"She'll get the bullet into the heart of Jasher somehow, if he is her husband, as seems likely. The woman is mad with fear, and she'll get him out of her life somehow. I say, Calvert, don't say anything to any one of the rubbish she talks."

"No I won't-not if she shoots Jasher. And if he's the murderer, it would be about the best thing that could happen. For the sake of Mrs. Fane and the child, for Laura's sake, I want things hushed up."

"Same here," assented Tracey, "for the sake of Gerty and the kids. And for Momma Baldwin's sake also," he added; "I'm real sorry for her. She's a good sort, and will sleep better when Jasher's caught."

"But, I say, Tracey, why should Jasher have killed Flora Brand?"

"Can't say, unless it has to do with the money. But you go slow, we'll get at the truth this night."

Nothing more was said at the time, and with Luther, Calvert drove back to town. The play had ceased to run, so his evenings were now his own. He and the American had a meal in a Soho restaurant, but neither ate very much. When the meal was ended Tracey proposed to start for the professor's house at once. But Arnold, calling a cab, first drove to his lodgings. When there he produced two Derringers, and giving one to Tracey, put the other into his pocket.

"But what's this for?" asked Tracey.

"I think there's going to be a row," said Arnold, leading the way downstairs. "Jasher will show fight if he is the villain Mrs. Baldwin makes him out to be. Then there's Bocaros. I do not trust Bocaros."

"Oh, he's all right," said Luther, as they entered a hansom; "he's on the money tack, and so long as you give him the dollars he'll make it hot for Jasher."

"Do you think Bocaros knows the truth?"

"I'm sure of it. He only told so much as he was obliged to this afternoon. A deep cuss is the professor. I say, it's raining!"

"Worse," said Arnold, drawing up the collar of his coat, "a mist is coming on. We'll get lost in those fields."

"Don't mind, so long as Jasher don't get lost."

The cab drove on. The fog was not very thick in town, but as they neared Troy it became more dense. By the time they turned down Achilles Avenue a dense white pall lay over the earth, and the air was as cold as a December day. The cabman professed his inability to drive them further. On hearing this Tracey hopped out, followed by Calvert. "It's just as well," said the latter; "we don't want to make the thing too public."

He paid the cabman lavishly, and then the two men set off down the side-road which ran through the ancient village of Cloverhead. They passed along the lane which led to the stile on the verge of the fields, and at the back of the manor saw a light on the ground floor. "Mrs. Baldwin's bedroom," said Tracey as they jumped the stile; "she's in bed early-it's just eight o'clock. I guess her nerves have given way."

"I wonder she isn't afraid to sleep on the ground floor," said Arnold.

"Oh, she's only lost her nerve lately. She didn't mind before. I guess she'll change her bedroom soon and get up to the garret. Say, what a fog."

It was indeed a thick white fog, and to make things more uncomfortable it was raining steadily. The low-lying meadows underfoot were slushy, muddy, and slippery. The two men toiled through the dense curtain of mist more by instinct than by sight. Tracey knew the path to the little house well, as he had often passed over the fields to see Bocaros. By the feel of their boots they managed to keep to the somewhat irregular path which ran from the stile, and so by devious ways they succeeded in making their way across the waste. At last they came to gorse bushes looming out of the fog, and beyond this was a dim yellow light.

"I guess the professor hasn't disappointed us," said Tracey, as they felt their way to the door; "he's in there."

"Alone, probably," said Calvert.

Tracey shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. It's not the night to tempt a cat out let alone a comfortable scoundrel like Jasher, who hates, I bet, to get his feet wet. But the business is urgent, else Bocaros would not send for him, so fog or no fog, he's there."

"But Tracey was wrong. When they entered the warm study and took off their coats they formed a trio with the professor. He explained that Jasher had not arrived. Then they sat down and talked over the matter. The Greek had by this time turned King's evidence to save his own skin, and to get money out of Calvert.