The Blue Lights Part 28

She glanced about the room in desperation. Nearer and nearer came the creaking footfalls on the stairs. She dared not leave the room now, and thereby meet the approaching man face to face on the landing; yet to remain where she was would result only in her being obliged to make some lame and halting excuse for her presence, and go, as soon as the man entered the room.

Even this she could not count upon. The fellow, no doubt a desperate and unscrupulous ruffian, might attack her, might detain her a prisoner until the child had been safely removed to another place, beyond all hope of discovery. All the work of the past twelve hours would come to nothing. And even should he let her go, in safety, he could not fail to suspect the reasons for her presence and warn his companions.

Clearly the only thing to do was to remain in the room, in hiding. There was but one place in which she could hope to escape instant detection--the closet. Yet even this promised but temporary safety; the man would be almost certain to open it, for some reason or other, and discover her presence.

It was her only chance, however, and she took it. Even as the footsteps of the approaching man sounded upon the landing outside, Grace flew across the room and into the closet, closing the door softly behind her.

In her haste, one arm of a velveteen coat which hung upon a hook, became jammed in the door, with the result that it would not entirely close. She realized that it was too late to remedy the trouble now, and crouched back trembling with excitement.

The jamming of the door had caused it to remain slightly open, with a s.p.a.ce half an inch broad between it and the casing. Through this, Grace could see a part of the room before her. She watched the door to the hallway intently, as it was thrown open.

The man she had seen in the pastry shop came in, several packages in his hands. These he placed upon a table, and at once began to prepare breakfast. A small alcohol lamp served for coffee, and b.u.t.ter, rolls, and fruit he produced from the paper bags before him. There was also a bottle of milk. Grace wondered if this was intended for the child.

The man went about his preparations silently. Grace occasionally obtained a good view of his face. He was apparently about thirty years of age, dark and swarthy. There was something familiar about his manner, his general appearance; although what it was, she could not tell. She was certain, however, that she had seen him before.

Once or twice he made a move, as though to approach the closet; but each time it was something else that claimed his attention. Once it was to get a package of cigarettes that lay upon one of the modeling stands.

Grace wondered what she would have done, had he kept on toward her, and opened the closet door.

She fell to thinking, in momentary s.n.a.t.c.hes, about home, and Richard.

How curious it seemed for them both to be here in Paris, separated for all these days, yet so near each other! She wondered if Richard had written to her, and what he would think, not to have heard from her.

Then she remembered that after all he had been in Paris but a few days--there was scarcely time for a letter to have reached him. She thought of Uncle Abe, pottering about among the flower beds, of Aunt Lucy grumbling good naturedly over her wash tubs, of Rose, singing her queer camp meeting songs in the spring twilight, of Don, and the other dogs, the chickens, and her beloved flowers, and wondered how all of them were getting along with Richard and herself both away.

Her reveries were interrupted by a sudden sound which made her start forward, tense with excitement. The man in the studio had gone for a moment beyond the line of her vision, into a corner of the room to her left. She could not see what he was doing there, and it was while waiting for him to reappear that she had fallen into her day dream.

The sound which startled her was the voice of a child, not crying, this time, but speaking clearly and distinctly. "I want to go home!" it said, in a high nervous voice. "I want to see my mamma!"

The man answered roughly, impatiently. "You can't go now. Be quiet and come and eat your breakfast."

He appeared suddenly in the line of view commanded by the crack in the door, and Grace saw that he held a small boy by one hand, and was leading him to the table. Here he placed him in a chair and set before him a gla.s.s of milk and a roll. "Hurry up now!" the man growled. "Eat your breakfast. I've got to go out."

The man's words set Grace's heart to beating with renewed quickness. If the man was going out, she would be able to escape, and take the boy with her.

She did not doubt that he was Mr. Stapleton's child. The girl's dress which he had worn on the former occasion had been removed, and in place of it he wore a suit of dark blue, somewhat dirty and worn. His face still appeared to be very dark, and his hair, which had formerly been long and curly, was cropped close to his head. He appeared to be well, but very nervous. Grace watched him eagerly as he devoured the roll and milk.

When he had finished, the man took him by the hand and again led him to the corner of the room beyond Grace's sight. She strained her face against the opening in the door, striving in vain to see what he was doing; but it was useless.

She heard the boy begin to object, begging the man in a querulous voice to let him go out and play. His captor, however, silenced him with a sharp word, accompanied by a blow. "Get in there, and keep quiet!" Grace heard him say, and after that all was silent. A moment later the man reappeared, put on his hat, and, going out, locked the door carefully behind him. Grace wondered if the maid had told him of her call, and thereby roused his suspicions.

She waited until she heard the front door close, and then, emerging quickly from the closet, went toward the side of the room to which the man had gone with the child.

At first sight, there appeared to be no place where the latter could have been hidden. The two walls were of gray-tinted plaster, cracked and stained with age. There was a rickety chair and a battered plaster figure of a centaur, against which leaned an easel and a ma.s.s of sketches, covered with cobwebs and dust.

With extreme care, she examined the walls and floor. It seemed most likely that some trapdoor existed, affording an entrance to a secret closet in which the boy had been placed. A few moments' effort showed no traces whatever of such a hiding place. The floor was of planks, covered with dust, and the cracks between the boards were filled with dirt and showed nowhere evidences of having been recently moved. The walls she sounded gently with the handle of a modeling tool which she s.n.a.t.c.hed up from the table; but they gave forth a uniformly solid sound.

She stood, surveying the place in perplexity. Then a sudden thought occurred to her. The ceiling! It swept low down, at the corner of the room, and above it she knew there must be an attic. She went over and began to examine the dusty plaster surface with minute care.

A sound of footsteps upon the stairs sent her scurrying back into the closet. She wondered why the man had returned so soon. Greatly to her surprise, she saw, as soon as the door opened, that the newcomer was not the one who had left her a short time before, but an older man, more heavily built. As he turned and glanced toward the side of the room where she was hidden, she saw that he wore a heavy black beard. It was the kidnapper himself--the man whom she had seen at Mr. Stapleton's house the night before!

He appeared to be annoyed, at not finding anyone in the studio, and after a moment sat down and lighting a cigar, began to read a newspaper which he drew from his pocket.

Grace watched him intently, hardly daring to breathe for fear he might hear her. An hour pa.s.sed, and the air in the closet became close and hot. She felt so nervous that she could have screamed, when the door of the room suddenly opened and Durand appeared.

The two greeted each other with a nod. "Where have you been?" the older man demanded, somewhat angrily.

"I had to get a new battery." He took a short black cylinder from his pocket and laid it on the table.

"Is the boy here?"

"Yes."

"Good! Now listen to your instructions." He lowered his voice, glancing swiftly toward the closed door of the room. "At eight o'clock I shall go to the banker's house and get the money. At eight fifteen, or a little before, Francois will get his signal and repeat to you. If he flashes the blue light, you will release the boy, leave the room, lock the door, and go at once to the Place du Trocadero. From the little tobacco shop you will telephone the address of this place--No. 42, isn't it?--to Monsieur Stapleton. That will be about half past eight. Do not telephone before that. Then wait for me in front of the shop. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly. And if I get the red signal?"

"In that event, do not release the boy, but lock the door and come to the tobacco shop, as before. I will communicate with you there. Old Martelle is perfectly safe. But I do not think there will be any trouble. You will get the blue light."

"You seem sure."

"I am. This man Stapleton is not going to take any more chances. Once I am in the automobile, I am safe."

"They could arrest you while you are walking to the Arc de Triomphe, after leaving the house."

"That is true; but what would they gain. They would not get the boy, would they? And they have no evidence to show that I stole him. Further, Francois reports this morning that he overheard Stapleton and his wife talking. There is to be no interference--at least not until I get away in the machine. They will follow me, of course. I fully expect it. But you know the steps I have taken to take care of _that_ game." He laughed grimly. "No--no--the thing is absolutely safe. We will get away without the least trouble."

"Nevertheless, if anything goes wrong, and I do not get the red signal, what shall we do then?"

"We'll talk that over, when the time comes. You meet me at Martelle's."

"But suppose you can't be there? They might get you, you know."

The man with the beard frowned darkly, and an evil expression came over his face. "If you get the red signal, and I do not meet you at Martelle's at half past eight, come back here, get the boy, and take him to Lavillac. And before you do so, cut off his left hand, and send it to Stapleton with a letter telling him that if I am not set free at once, you will send his head. That will bring them to terms."

Grace shuddered as she heard the man's words.

His companion nodded. "I understand," he said. "But I hope it won't be necessary."

"It won't. They can't get me. I've planned too carefully. That American detective, Duvall, is a joke. He was out on the Boulevard du Bois de Boulogne this morning with one of the Prefect's men. They are figuring to have an automobile at the Avenue Malakoff and follow me." He laughed loudly. "Much good that will do them!"

"How about Francois?"

"Oh--in a week or two, after we are safely away, Francois will sprain his wrist, and be forced to give up his position as Monsieur Stapleton's chauffeur. He will join us in New York."

The younger man puffed meditatively at his cigarette. "What's become of that woman Lefevre had snooping around? Seen anything of her, since last night?"

"No. She hasn't been about. Not much danger of _her_ finding out anything."

The other rubbed his chin, in deep thought. "She nearly got you, last night," he presently remarked.

"Oh, no. Not a chance. I knew she was in the house, and I figured she would telephone to headquarters as soon as she learned who I was. All I had to do was to signal you, through the window, and the thing was done.

Of course I didn't expect the Prefect's man to get there quite as soon as he did; but you handled him all right." As he spoke, the man rose, went to a small mirror that hung on the wall, and carefully removed the black beard which was so distinguis.h.i.+ng a feature of his appearance.