The Perils of Pauline Part 43

"Well, as long as you do, it is all right."

A half mile down the main road to Westbury a runabout was drawn up, and a converted gypsy was alternately pretending to repair an imaginary break and relieving his nerve-strain by pacing the road. Balthazar's fantastic garments had given way to a plain sack suit and motor duster, but the profit of his employment by Raymond Owen was worth the discomfort of becoming "civilized."

The muttering of a distant motor made him fall to his knees and, wrench in hand, wiggle hastily under the machine.

To all appearance he was bitterly pre-occupied with the woes of a stalled tourist when a motorcycle chugged to a stop beside the runabout and Owen called him.

"I thought you had failed of our appointment, master," he said eagerly as he crawled out. "I have waited for more than half an hour."

"It is sad that you should be inconvenienced, old friend," answered Owen.

"I have done what you commanded me, master," Balthazar said with an ingratiating smile. "I have found them."

"Found whom?"

"The friends I spoke about at our last meeting--the little band that earns money by--making it."

"Oh, yes--your counterfeiters. Are they to be trusted?"

"Master, all guilty men are to be trusted. There is always protection in knowing the sins of others."

"Sometimes, Balthazar, I almost suspect you of possessing a brain.

But, remember, I have told you that I shall soon be through--unless you accomplish something."

"Master, it is because I dare not risk your freedom--your life. For myself I care nothing. I live to serve you, who have been my benefactor."

"You lie, of course," remarked Owen casually. "But what of the new plan?"

"They are in Bantersville, only twelve miles from Castle Marvin. A house that has been long occupied and with no houses near."

"And they are still manufacturing coins there?"

"Yes; but they are becoming frightened. Two of the distributors have been arrested. They would be glad of a safer, a swifter method of making money."

"Come along, then."

Owen mounted the motorcycle while Balthazar sprang to the seat and started the runabout. They sped briskly over the roads, turning at last into an old weed-grown wagon path fringed copse-like by the branches of ever-hanging trees. The machine swished through the barrier leaves and came out upon a small clearing where there stood a gaunt house, evidently long deserted.

Balthazar drove on along the road for almost a quarter of a mile before he stopped the machine, Owen following without question. They left the runabout and the motorcycle and walked back to the house.

"It is an excellent location," commented Owen, as Balthazar lead the way into a bas.e.m.e.nt entrance. "Who did you say was the man in charge of the--concern?"

"Rupert Wallace. He is a world-traveler like yourself, though no match for you in mind, master."

Balthazar, as he spoke, was rapping lightly on a wall, which had no sign of a door. It was pitch dark where they stood. But suddenly with hardly a sound, two sliding doors opened to the Gypsy's signal and a faint light from a gas jet on the wall gleamed on an inner pa.s.sage.

Balthazar, closely followed by Owen, walked quickly down the secret hall, and, without signal this time, another set of silent doors opened upon a brightly lighted room.

A crabbed, withered woman admitted them.

The room was overheated because of the presence of a gas forge on which a cauldron of metal was being melted. On one side there was a stamping press, and on the other a set of molds.

Wallace noted Owen's curiosity, and stepping to the table in the middle of the room, picked up a handful of half-dollar pieces.

"You are interested in our work--the work of supplying the poor with sufficient funds to meet the increased cost of living," he said, smiling. "These are some of our product. We are proud of them. The weight is exactly that of the true fifty-cent piece. And only one man in fifty could tell the difference in the ring of the metal."

Owen looked at the coins in sincere admiration.

"It is very remarkable," he said. "But Balthazar tells me--"

"I know. You have a little business of secrecy for myself and my friends. You may speak here in perfect safety, Mr. Owen. Gossip is not a fault--or a possibility--of our profession."

"I do not believe there is anything to say but what Balthazar has already told you, except--"

Owen hesitated.

"Except what, master? Is there a change in the plan?" asked Balthazar.

"I think there might be. Something occurred today that might give us a favorable lead. Miss Pauline received as a gift a terrier dog. I believe it could be made use of."

"In what way?" asked the counterfeiter.

"By stealing it and bringing it here."

"I don't understand--ah, yes; indeed I do."

"Excellent, master," exclaimed Balthazar. "It could be done today.

Can I have two of your men, Rupert?"

"Yes; take Gaston and Firenzi. They are always to be trusted."

At his words two men, stepped forward. One of them had been working at the metal pots. But in response to a hurried word from Rupert he quickly threw off his cap and ap.r.o.n, and caught up a hat and coat.

Rupert Wallace stepped to the side of the room where a pair of upright levers stood out of the floor like the levers of an automobile.

He pulled the one nearest him and the sliding doors parted softly.

Owen and Balthazar, with their new escort, stepped through. For a moment, Wallace waited. Then he drew back the other lever, and the departing guests found as they reached the end of the secret pa.s.sage, that their path opened, almost magically before them, in the hushed unfolding of the second door.

"Goodbye, Cyrus," said, Harry as Pauline strolling down the garden with him, tossed to her new pet a dainty from the box of bon-bons she carried.

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

"That the oysters on the half sh.e.l.l would be better for his health."

"I didn't give him oysters on the half sh.e.l.l."

"No; but you gave him everything else in the house. He is stuffed like the fatted calf--or like the prodigal son--I don't care which--"

"If he likes candy he shall have candy," declared Pauline, sitting down on an arbor bench and extending another sugar-plum to the dog.