The Luminous Face

Prescott stared. Was this Manning Pollard? Talking so unlike himself! Clearly, it was not!

“Who are you?” Prescott said, curiously; and then, illogically, “Mr Pollard, who are you?”

“I’m not Manning Pollard. If you’ve come to arrest him, you’ve got the wrong man.” But though blustering, the speaker was white with fear. Overcome with surprise and terror, he fell back into his chair and began to swear fluently.

“None of that, now,” said Prescott, dumfounded, but vigilant. “If you’re not Manning Pollard you’re his twin brother! Is that it?”

“No – oh, no.”

“Well, then, who are you?”

“I’m – oh, hang it all – I’m Horace Taylor.”

“And just what are you doing in Pollard’s rooms? And why do you look so much like him? You’re his very double!”

“Double, double, toil and trouble!” Zizi chanted softly, to herself, but no one noticed her.

“I am,” said Taylor, bitterly, “and he has betrayed me. I’ll make a clean breast of it. I’ve done nothing wrong – and I didn’t know he was going to. I’m – well I’m his half-brother.”

“You’re the exact image of him in form and feature, but your manner is utterly different.”

“Yes, because he has had education and culture – and I’ve had none.”

“Well, out with your story.”

“Manning Pollard is the son of the man who was also my father. We are exactly alike, though I’m a couple of years older.”

“Are you a legitimate son?”

“I am not – but neither is Manning, though he was legally made so, by his parents’ marriage some years after he was born.”

“You know all that?” cried Zizi. “You were up in Coggs’ Hollow day before yesterday.”

“Yes, miss. I saw you there, at the clerk’s office. I knew then there was trouble brewing for Manning.”

“Double, double, toil and trouble – ”

“Yes, miss, exactly that! Manning hired me to personate him here in his rooms the night of – well, you know that night, Mr Prescott. He – oh, thunder! shall I tell it all?”

“Yes, tell it all,” Prescott was breathless with curiosity and interest.

“Well, he paid me heaps to meet him at a certain spot.”

“Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street?”

“Yes, in the crowd. He had supplied me with clothes just like his own, and given me full instructions.”

“What were the instructions?” Prescott demanded.

“I was to meet him there, at about six, and I was to assume his identity for a time. I was to come here, come up to his rooms, here, dress for dinner, take a taxi and go away at exactly twenty-five past seven. While here I was to telephone once or twice, also to call a bellhop and see him.”

“What a plot!” exclaimed Prescott, “oh, what a plot!”

“I did all this, and then, later, when I went into the Astor for the theater tickets, Manning met me there, and in the crowd, we changed identities again, he got into the cab I had got out of, and he went on to the dinner and I went home.”

“You knew what his object in all this was?”

“I did not! Before God I never would have consented if I had. He told me it was to play a joke on some of his friends, and the price he offered was so great I consented.”

“And you telephoned to the cleaner’s and all that?”

“Yes; and called the bellboy to take the letter – which Manning had prepared. Then afterward, when I read the papers I felt sure that Manning had killed Robert Gleason. I never taxed him with it, for it was none of my business and if it was true I didn’t want to know it.”

“This explains Mr Barry seeing Pollard over in Brooklyn – it was you, I suppose.”

“I suppose so. What are you going to do with me?”

“Hold you for the present, but if your story is true, you’re merely a dupe. How come you here now?”

“Manning came down to my place about an hour ago, and said for me to come right up here and personate him again for an hour or so, and then he said he’d never trouble me again.”

“You came willingly?”

“Oh, the poor chap was so upset, seemed in danger, and said I could save his life by doing this.”

“You have. Of course he’s miles away by now. What a mess – oh, what a mess!”

Prescott was disgusted. First that such a gigantic hoax had been put over on him, and second that he had utterly lost all chance to catch the perpetrator thereof.

“You put it over neatly enough,” Prescott growled, looking at the man, Taylor.

“Yes, but I nearly muffed it. While I was dressing here that night, some guy called up to know Robert Gleason’s address. I hadn’t a notion, but I chanced to see a little address book on the desk, and I soon found it.”

“Yes, that was the butler of Davenport’s patient,” Prescott remembered. “Well, it was one great game. And we’ve lost our man!”

And then Pennington Wise came.

“Taylor?” he said, looking curiously at the double. “Well, you are an exact duplicate!”

“What do you know about this?” cried Prescott, “Where’s Pollard?”

“Dead,” replied Wise, gravely. “I’ve just left your place, Taylor, and your precious half-brother shot himself there fifteen minutes ago.”

“Spill it,” commanded Prescott.

“I knew when I got the message from Pollard that the dupe would be here so I sent you, Prescott, while I went down to Taylor’s home. As I expected, Pollard was there. He made a full confession, seeing the game was up, and then eluding my watchfulness, he shot himself. I called the police in and I came up here to tell you.”

“I can’t get over it,” said Prescott, his eyes wide with wonder. “What a scheme!”