The Folded Paper Mystery E-Book

Hulbert Footner

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Nick Peters was a repairer of watches who fond of friendly arguments with Fin Corveth, a free-lance journalist. One day Peters is murdered, and Corveth finds himself involved in a baffling mystery in which a little brass ball plays an important part for the little brass ball conceals an emerald locket, which in turn conceals a blank square of folded paper. It becomes clear that greater events are afoot than simple murder...

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER I

FINLAY CORVETH hustled in the direction of the Lackawanna terminal. When it was a question of getting the low-down on anything in Hoboken, he immediately thought of Henny Friend, big boss and proprietor of the Boloney Bar. Fin was not more hard-hearted than the run of young men; he was genuinely sorry for his friend lying dazed and half sick amid the wreck of his poor belongings but... Gosh! what a situation was opening up! What a chance for a free-lance writer! Ought to make his everlasting reputation if he handled it right. He thrilled with the possibilities of mystery and danger. “Dearer to me than life!” Nick Peters had muttered. Naturally, a woman was suggested.

Fin took Hudson Street because it was less crowded than Washington. He had not gone a hundred paces before he discovered that he was being followed. It was the first time in his life, so far as he knew, that anybody had ever considered it worth while to follow him. It gave you a feeling like no other. Not exactly fear. Fin did not consider there was much danger of being shot down in the open street. Just wants to see what I’m after, he told himself.

And if there was a sensation of fear mixed with his excitement, he wasn’t going to let anything on. He coolly stopped in front of a small haberdasher’s and made believe to admire the satin ties in the window. His trailer could not stop, because the pavement was empty at the moment and there was no other convenient store window. Slowing down, the man passed behind Fin. Whereupon Fin went on and passing him, got a good look. A weird foreign-looking cuss, tall and excessively lean; dressed in black broadcloth like the deacon of some outlandish church. Fin was reminded of the portraits of Robespierre with his greenish complexion and lank black hair.

He wondered if this was the man who had struck down Nick Peters, and anger made his throat tight. However, this one had not the look of a hired spy such as Nick had described; there was too much crazy fire in his sunken eyes. Perhaps this was the principal, then, the chief of Nick’s enemies. Why go to Henny for information if the man himself was in his grasp? But if I grabbed him without evidence I’d only make a fool of myself, thought Fin. I’ve got to beat him at his own game–lead him on.

The Boloney Bar is on River Street near the Lackawanna ferries. There it functions exactly as in the old days, with its long mahogany bar to pound the seidels on, brass foot-rail, sawdust- covered floor, and free-lunch counter displaying every variety of the delicacy which gave it its name. Behind the bar is a long range of mirrors covered with a film of soap as a protection from fly specks. In the soap Ed Hafker, the chief bartender, is fond of tracing toasts with a flowing forefinger, such as: Prosit! Here’s How! Drink Hearty! Never Say Die!

Fin’s trailer did not follow him inside, but remained watching from across the street. The Boloney Bar is always crowded, for men will make a long pilgrimage nowadays to plant their elbows on the veritable mahogany. Fin was well known there, and his friends the bartenders greeted him jovially as he passed down the line: “‘Lo, Fin!... Howsa Boy?... What’s the good word, Fin?... What’ll you have?”

To which Fin replied: “See you later, fellas. I’m lookin’ for Henny.”

“Well, you know where to find him.”

Henny Friend’s sanctum was in the corner room upstairs. Like other magnates, his days were spent in “conferences.” A diverse collection of humanity passed unobtrusively in and out every twenty-four hours. The door was always locked. Fin knocked, and Henny’s thick voice was heard from within.

“Who is it?”

“Fin Corveth.”

“Half a mo’, Fin.”

When he was ready, Henny pressed a button and the latch clicked. As Fin entered, somebody left by another door. Henny never allowed his callers to meet unless he had an object in it. A huge, toadlike hulk of flesh planted in an oversize chair behind a desk, with an over-size cigar elevated from one corner of his mouth. Notwithstanding his name, he was certainly Italian; swarthy, smooth, and expressionless. “Henny Friend” had been adopted for professional purposes in a German community. His brown eyes were as bright and hard as agate.

“Well, Kid, how’s tricks?”

Fin wasted no time in beating around the bush. With his tough friends he sported a tough accent. “I run into a damn queer story up the street just now,” he said. “I only got the half of it and I thought maybe you could piece it out.”

“Well, shoot!” said Henny, leaning back in his swing chair.

On the way down Fin had naturally figured out what line he would take; tell Henny the whole truth, but omit any reference to the missing brass ball from Nick’s bed.

“In my business I got all kinds of friends...” Fin began.

“Just like me,” said Henny, with a fat chuckle.

“Sure! Well, up on Fourth Street, near Washington Square, there’s a guy named Nick Peters has a little store where he repairs watches and jewelry. It’s a real poor little place, that’s what attracted me inside in the first place, I thought there would be a story in it. He hasn’t even got a safe, but he says when anybody brings him a valuable piece to fix he tells them to come back for it the same night. The rest of the stuff he puts under his pillow.

“He’s a foreigner, but of what kind I don’t know. Never would talk about himself. Lives all alone in a room back of his store. He’s a damn good workman; I’ve watched him often; too good for the cheap jobs he gets. When I asked him why he didn’t go to work for one of the big houses he said he made more on his own. I reckon it’s a fact, because he seems to have all he can do. Works day and night. He’s a good head, Henny; me and him has had many a talk together. He’s what you call a philosopher.”

“Yeah?” said Henny, good-humoredly. He cocked the cigar at a steeper angle.

“Well today, after I left the Three-Hours-for-Lunch Club,” Fin went on, “I fluffed up there to have a talk with Nick, and I found the store closed and the blinds pulled down. The kids in the street said he’d been closed all day. I didn’t know what to make of it, because that guy was always working. I went through the hall of the tenement house to try to get into his room at the back. The door opened in my hand, and, Gosh! Henny, when I looked inside, the place was completely wrecked!”

Henny shrugged cynically, and flicked the ashes off his cigar.

“It was like a madman had been let loose in there,” Fin continued. “The table was turned over, the shelves swept bare, and all Nick’s stuff lying on the floor and trodden on. I couldn’t see Nick first off, but I smelled a sweetish smell on the air. Chloroform. The store in front was just the same. The fellow had even torn the paper from the walls and knocked holes in the plaster. Some of the boards of the floor had been pulled up. Certainly looked like a crazy man’s work, because the watches and bits of jewelry Nick had been repairing was scattered on the floor with the rest.

“I heard a groan from the back room and run in there again. I found Nick lying on the floor between the bed and the wall. He was just coming to, and I laid him on the bed. He looked bad, all bruised and bloody about the head. Made me hot, I can tell you; such a good little guy, never harmed nobody. Well, I gave him water to drink and washed his head. I found he wasn’t hurt bad, but only knocked silly.

“When he was able to talk, either he couldn’t or he wouldn’t tell me what the fellow was after. He said he must have come in by the window and chloroformed him while he slept. The window opened on an air-shaft. Easy enough to climb up that way. Nick said when he came to in the morning the fellow was still there, looking. He snatched a brass ball offen the foot of the bed and cracked Nick over the head with it. That was all he knew. The fellow must have let himself out into the hall then. As I told you, the door was unlocked when I came. That’s the story.”

“Yeah?” said Henny, coolly. “I’m sorry for the guy if he’s a friend of yours; but what’s remarkable about it? It happens ev’y day.”

“There’s two things funny about it,” said Fin. “The fellow that beat him up didn’t take anything. The watches and jewelry and all was still lying around the place. And, secondly, Nick’s going to keep his mouth shut about it. Made me promise to keep away from the police.”

“What do you make out of that?” said Henny.

“This fellow was after something special,” said Fin. “Nick let on as much, but he wouldn’t tell me what. The fellow didn’t get it because, as Nick said, he had it safely put away somewheres outside.”

“What do you come to me for?” asked Henny, with a hard look. “Do you think I beat up this bozo?”

Fin affected to laugh heartily. Like many a lad with an open and honest face, he made it work for him when he had need of it. “Quit your kidding!” he said. “I came to you because you know everything that happens this side of the river, or you can find out if you want.”

Henny was silent for a moment or two, twisting the big cigar between his lips. “You better keep out of this, kid,” he said at last. “ ‘Sall right for me to tell you stories of what’s past and gone. That don’t hurt nobody. But you can’t use this story. It’s too new. The police would get on to it.”

“How could they?” persisted Fin. “They don’t know nothing and they won’t know. Nick Peters won’t say a word, and I’ll change it round like I always do. You know me, Henny. I treat it as fiction... Aw, there’s a swell story in this,” he went on, cajolingly, “and I need it for my Sunday article in the Recorder. Don’t be a crab, Henny.”

“Did this guy give you a description of the guy what hit him?” asked Henny.

Fin shook his head. “He couldn’t see him good.”

“Well, I’ll ask around,” said Henny, cautiously. “Go down and have a drink and come back in fifteen minutes.”

From the bar Fin could see Robespierre (as he termed him to himself) still loitering in front of the bank across the street. That’s all right, old fella, he thought; this joint has a door on the alley!

When Fin was admitted to Henny’s room for the second time, the big man was not alone. Beside his desk sat a comely, well-dressed lad, like Henny, of Italian extraction, and, like Henny, with a smooth blank face and wary eyes. Quick work! thought Fin. However, he dissembled his excitement.

“This is my friend Tony Casino,” said Henny. “Meet Fin Corveth, Tony.”

Fin shook hands. The Italian lad got up and sat down with a bit of a swagger.

“Well, spill your stuff, Fin,” said Henny.

Fin felt embarrassed in having to speak of burglary and assault in such company. However, he plunged ahead. “Fellow I know, a watchmaker, was beaten up today,” he said. “I just wanted to get the rights of it.”

Tony cocked an inquiring eye in Henny’s direction.

“‘S all right,” said the latter, with a comfortable grin. “Fin ain’t lookin’ for revenge. He on’y wants the story. He’s one of these, now, fiction-writers. He’ll change the names and all.”

Tony, assured there was no danger in it, swelled a little at the idea of seeing his exploit in print. “Yeah,” he said, with a great air of unconcern, “that was my job, all right. I didn’t aim to hurt the old Slovak, but it took longer than I figured to search the place, and he come out of the gauze before I was troo. So I hadda bump his bean. I didn’t hurt him much.” Tony spoke in an oddly husky voice for one so young, and dropped the words out of the corner of his mouth like a ventriloquist.

Fin held in his anger. It was no time to indulge private feelings. “Sure,” he said, propitiatingly, “he wasn’t hurt much. Who hired you to do the job?”

“I don’t know the guy’s name,” said Tony, coolly, “and I wouldn’t tell it if I did. I seen him hanging around town once or twice. He was a guy you wouldn’t forget easy, and one night he come into the bar downstairs. I seen him lookin’ at me, and I seen him askin’ Ed who I was. So I let him buy me a drink. After we had three or four we got friendly, and after he stalled around awhile he put it up to me–would I take on a little job for a hundred smackers paid down and a grand to follow.”

Fin perceived that he need have no delicacy in discussing these matters with Tony.

“I says sure I would,” Tony went on. “Give me the dope. And he told me a story how years ago a Slovak jeweler stole an emerald off him that belonged to his family, and disappeared. The guy finally traced him here to Hoboken, and found him keeping a little repair shop. He couldn’t have the Slovak arrested, he said, because he didn’t have no proof he stole the emerald, but he’d give me a hundred smackers tosearch his place, and if I found the emerald and brought it to him, it would be worth a grand to me.

“Maybe it was all hooey. What did I care? I saw a hundred in it, anyhow, and I took it on. I prospected around the joint and I found the Slovak hadn’t no safe, so it looked like a cinch. I found I could get in easy through the cellar, and up the air-shaft to the window of his back room. He always left it open nights.

“I fixed on last night to pull it off. The Slovak worked late in his store ev’y night. I watched until he put his light out, then I waited an hour for him to go by-by and went in. I give him a whiff of chloroform to keep him quiet. Then I searched the place. Cheese! I near pulled it down, lookin’, because the New York guy told me if he had it he would hide it good. Well, I didn’t find no emerald at that. The rest of the stuff wasn’t worth lifting. I’m no small change artist... Well, you know the rest,” Tony concluded; “the Slovak come to while I was there, and I had to put him to sleep again.”

“What did you hit him with?” asked Fin, casually.

“Didn’t have nothing with me,” said Tony, “so I unscrewed a brass knob offen the bed, dropped it in my handkerchief, and soaked him with that.”

“That was a neat one!” said Fin, with a grin that concealed more than it expressed.

“Well, that’s all,” said Tony, with his conceited swagger. “I told you there was nothing to it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Fin. “That was a good touch about the emerald. What like emerald was it, did he say?”

“It was in the shape of a heart, the guy said,” answered Tony, “about so big.” He measured an inch with thumb and forefinger. “It was in two halves joined together with a gold band,” he said, and there was a little ring in the top to hang it by. Been in his family hundreds of years, he said. All hooey, I guess. Said I was to bring it to him just as I found it if I wanted the grand.”

“What like guy was this New York guy?” asked Fin.

Tony shook his head. “I won’t furnish no description,” he said. “It ain’t professional.”

Henny nodded in agreement.

“Have you seen him since last night?” asked Fin.

“Sure. I met him on the ferry-boat Bergenthis aft., as agreed. He was sore as hell too, not to get the emerald, but what did I care? I already had the hundred off him.”

“Will you see him again?”

“Nah! Why should I?”

“It’s a good story, all right,” said Fin. “I’ll have to fake up what we don’t know about it... What did you do with the brass knob after?” he asked, very carelessly.

“Cheese! I dropped it in me pocket and forgot all about it,” said Tony. “I found it there later, and I was for pitching it in the river first off, but it made an elegant dropper without being incriminating–get me?–so I kept it. Just about that time I met Kid River, a pal of mine. He had a job over in Manhattan tonight and he was looking for a nice dropper, so I give it to him.”

Fin quietly absorbed this piece of information. There was nothing more he could say without showing his hand. He threw out a little smoke screen of flattery. “Cheese! Tony, you sure are one nervy kid! It’s a treat to hear you! You must tell me some more stories!” And so on.

Tony could take any amount of this. “Sure; any time you like,” he said, condescendingly.

The meeting broke up.

Fin made his way down to the bar alone. He accepted a beer from Ed Hafker, and they fell into idle talk across the mahogany.

“Do you know a guy called Kid River?” asked Fin.

“Sure. He comes in here.”

“I’d like to know him. I hear he’s got a good story.”

“I’ll tell him when I see him.”

“Know where he lives?”

“In the old tenement at Second and River. One block up.”

“What’s his right name?”

“You can search me. Everybody calls him Kid River.”

Fin was in no haste to be gone. Ed must have one with him first.

Robespierre was still loitering across the street. Fin naturally supposed that this was the man who had hired Tony Casino. He silently addressed him over his beer glass: What wouldn’t you give to know that the emerald heart was inside the brass ball, old fella? Your man lifted it without knowing that he lifted it!

CHAPTER II

THE old tenement house had a row of broken letter-boxes in the vestibule but nobody troubled to put names in them. The people who lived in this house gave little work to the letter-carrier. Fin as before, applied to the sidewalk children for information.

“What floor does Kid River live on?”

Several voices answered at once, “Top floor front, left-hand door.”

Another said, “He ain’t home.”

“Is there anybody there?” asked Fin.

“Sure. His girl is home.”

Still another voice volunteered: “They had a fight this afternoon. I heard her hollerin’.”

Fin made his way up four flights of dark and smelly stairs, and knocked at the designated door. It presently opened a crack, revealing part of a pale, pretty face not over-clean and unmistakably tear-stained.

“What you want?” she demanded, sullenly.

“Is Kid River home?” Fin asked, pleasantly.

“Nah!” she said, and made to close the door; but Fin had inserted a toe in the crack.

“Aw, don’t be a crab, sister,” he said, with his most insinuating grin. “I ain’t no bill-collector.”

The girl took another look at Fin’s mirthful blue eyes and white teeth, and opened the door wider. She bridled slightly, and put a hand to her hair. “What do youse want with Kid River?” she asked, with a sniff.

“I just want to get a story out of him.”

“A newspaper guy?” she asked, suspiciously. “Not exactly,” said Fin. “I write fiction for the Sunday papers and the magazines.”

“Cheese! the Kid is popular this afternoon,” she said, with a sneer. “Youse are the second stranger that’s been after him.”

Fin pricked up his ears. “Who was the first?” he asked, carelessly.

“An old guy,” she said, indifferently. “Real swell dressed.”

This was certainly not Robespierre. A new factor in the case. “Swell dressed?” he said. “Real swell or Hoboken swell?”

“New York swell,” she answered. “Cheese! you want to know a lot!”

“Always on the lookout for a story,” said Fin, grinning. “Whadda ya mean, New York swell?”

“Great big buy,” she said; “pop-eyed. Had a white edge on his vest, and a spiky mustache, and carried a cane.”

“A cane!” said Fin, scornfully. “Go on!”

“That’s what I said. And he had one of them single eyeglasses too, but he didn’t put it up, or I’d a give him the razz.”

Thus Fin obtained a pretty good description of the man, whoever he might be. “What did you tell him?” he asked.

“Nottin’!” she said, quickly. “He was too fresh with his my girl this, and my girl that, and pinching my arm and all. I hate an old freshie! I shut the door in his face and left him standing!”

This sounded as if it might be true, and Fin breathed more freely. Still he was anxious. It appeared there was to be a race for the brass ball. He must make no mistakes!

“Thanks for the hint,” he said, facetiously. “I see I gotta watch my step around here.”

She gave him a sidelong look as much as to say that what was “fresh” in an old gallant might be something else from a young one. “You can come in if you want,” she said, leaving the door. “It’s a hell of a dump,” she added, with youthful bravado. “I’ve been accustomed to better.”

She did not belie the room. A sordid setting for love’s young dream. To be sure, there was the view over the river, but it is doubtful if they ever looked at it. The girl in her soiled and sleazy silk dress was of a piece with the room. Yet Fin had seen worse looking girls installed in splendor on Park Avenue. There was something touching in the way her half-grown brown hair curled at her neck. This one simply had not had any luck, he thought.

“You’re worth better,” he said.

She gave him an extraordinary look, half sullen, half wistful. To her Fin was like a creature from another world. She was wondering, without hope, if this might prove to be her Prince Charming.

It made Fin uncomfortable. “Where is the Kid?” he asked, to create a diversion.

“Search me,” she said, sullenly. “If I knew I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know who you are. I’m not going to get him into trouble.”

“He don’t seem to have treated you any too well,” suggested Fin.

“That’s all right. Wouldn’t do me no good to have him sent up.”

“Come on,” said Fin, grinning. “On the level, do I look like a cop?”

She shook her head.

“When will he be back?”

“I don’t care if he never comes back!” she said, with a painful sneer.

“Has he left you flat?” asked Fin.

She made no answer, but her eyes filled with tears; however, they were tears of anger, not grief, Fin noted. He saw her thin hands clench.

“It’s a dirty shame!” he said. “A good-looking girl like you!”

With a grievance on one side and plenty of sympathy on the other, it does not take two long to reach an understanding. The girl said, eagerly:

“I’d tell you where you could find him if you’d promise to hand him a stiff one for me.”

“I’ll do that,” said Fin, quickly. He salved his conscience with the assurance that most men would lie to a woman for no reason, whereas this was a matter of life and death.

“All right,” she said. “He’s on a job tonight; I don’t know where it is; but when he comes off a job he always goes to Sheeny Moe’s speakeasy. Sheeny takes the stuff off him and gives him a hide-out if he wants it. Sheeny’s place is the last house on Essex Street by the tracks. An old shanty standing by itself. It’s a bad neighborhood. Have you got the nerve to go there?”

“I reckon,” said Fin, grinning.

“Some time near morning he’ll come there... Knock him down, will you?” she said, passionately. “Knock him down and say, ‘That’s for Milly, you skunk!’ Will you? Will you?”

“Sure!” said Fin, grinning. “What’s the guy look like?”

“He’s your height,” she said, “but slimmer. Walks with a kind of lope like a kangaroo... Here, I’ll show you his picture.”

From a drawer in the dresser she took a little photograph of the sort you get in a slot machine. It depicted two smiling, comely young faces pressed cheek to cheek, taken evidently before the rift appeared in the lute. Somehow the cheap photograph gave Fin a wrench. It would have been hard to explain. Well, he knew What it was to be young.

Handing it back he said, “Well, I must be Pulling my freight.”

“There’s no rush,” said the girl, wistfully. “You won’t find the Kid until near morning.”

“I got other work to do, sister. So long.”

“Will you come to see me tomorrow?” she murmured, lowering her eyes.

Fin lied blithely, “Surest thing you know!”

It was evident from her pale, downcast face that she was not deceived. The young man was attacked by sudden compunctions. She was so pale, so listless in her movements.

“Have you got anything in the house?” he asked, diffidently.

She slowly shook her head.

“Oh, gee!” murmured Fin, compassionately. He was always broke, but he could spare a dollar to one who was hungry. He folded the bill up small and tucked it under the pillow on the bed. It seemed more delicate to dispose of it that way. “So long, kid!” he cried. “Keep your dander up!” He scuttled downstairs, whistling to drive away painful thoughts... The poor kid! The poor kid! Didn’t look a day over seventeen. How she would bloom out if somebody was good to her!

Fin hustled up Washington Street, seething with excitement. He was on his way back to see how Nick Peters was getting along. His spirits were alternately up and down. Well, he was still hot on the trail of the brass ball; he hadn’t done so badly for a novice sleuth. But, gosh! there were a thousand things that might happen before he got it safe in his hands. The trouble was, the damn thing was of so little apparent value. Kid River was going to use it for a blackjack tonight. After he had cracked his man on the bean, ten to one he’d throw it away. It was maddening.

It suddenly occurred to Fin it was dinnertime and he was hungry as a hunter. Nick would need to be fed, too. He stopped and looked up and down the street for the nearest delicatessen store. When he stopped a man behind him stopped, and by that he learned he was being followed again. This was a man he had not seen before–a cagy individual with two sharp eyes in a face as blank as a death mask. Private detective was written all over him.

Where does he come in? thought Fin. Gosh! what’s the use of asking? There’s an army of them! Is he after me or is he trying to find Kid River through me? If it’s Kid River, I’m a lap ahead because I know where to look.

Fin foresaw hot work during the coming night, and a mouse with cold feet scampered up and down his spine. It would provide the test of his nerve that every young man dreads a little while he welcomes it. He thought desirously of a gun he had hidden in the bottom of his trunk in New York, but he would not turn in his tracks to fetch it, because it seemed important not to let his trailer know he had been spotted. So he kept on his way. Entering a delicatessen store, he bought the makings of a supper for two, and carried it on to Nick Peters’ without another glance behind him.

The store contained literally nothing but Nick’s workbench and stool, and a kitchen chair for waiting customers. During Fin’s absence Nick had cleaned up as well as he was able, and one could never have guessed from his calm face that anything had happened. He was working under pressure to make up for the time he had lost. He was wearing a black skull cap to hide the abrasions on his bald poll. A gaunt little man with deep-sunken eyes, when he screwed in the watchmaker’s glass he had the look of a kindly gnome.

As Fin entered, Nick dropped the glass from his eye and glanced with strained intensity in the young man’s face. Seeing instantly that Fin had not brought back what he desired, he put back the glass and resumed work with a bitter half smile. He had expected nothing better.

Fin, reading that look, said, “Just the same, I’ve got a clue.”

“What’s that?” asked Nick, eagerly. He spoke excellent English, but with an accent Fin had never been able to identify.

“Lock up for half an hour and let’s have some supper,” said Fin. “You’ll be needing it. I’ll tell you everything while we eat.”

Before they sat down in the rear room Fin took care to see that the door on the hall was locked, and the window on the airshaft. He pulled down the blind to discourage spies. Nick looked on at these precautions with his bitter smile.

“What matter if they come again?” he said. “The prize is gone.”

“Sure,” said Fin, “but we’ve still got our skins to save.”

Nick shrugged apathetically. “You have,” he said. “You are young. You got your life before you.” His deep-sunken eyes dwelt on the young man with wistful kindliness. “You’re a good fellow,” he went on. “Keep out of this. Stay away from here.”

“A fat chance!” said Fin, more moved than he cared to show.

As they sat down to Leberwurst, salad, and rye bread, Fin said, with a touch of resentment, “You wouldn’t tell me anything, but I found out a few things for myself.” He described the lantern-jawed individual who had followed him away from Nick’s place earlier.

“I know him,” murmured Nick.

“If you know him, why don’t you have him arrested?” said Fin.

“It’s not so simple,” said Nick.

“At first I thought he was back of it all,” said Fin, “but later I got on the track of one who seemed to have more sense. This one suspects there may be something in the brass ball.” Fin described the fat man. “I reckon he’s the main guy.”

Nick slowly shook his head.

“Then who is?”

“A great personage,” murmured Nick.

Fin stared at him. “But you know this fat man?”

“I think I see sometime in this street, watching,” said Nick. “A new man. There are so many! I notice this one because he is American. So I call him to myself, ‘the American.’ “

“Good God!” cried Fin, amazed. “So many of them! And all pitted against you!” He looked around the bare little room as if seeking the answer. “What does it mean, Nick?”

The little watchmaker shrugged wearily.

“What’s the connection between the fat man and Robespierre?” demanded Fin.

“No connection. There are two parties.”

“Two parties!” echoed Fin.

“One look for the brass ball to save it,” said Nick, coolly; “one to destroy it!”

“You’re talking in riddles!” cried Fin. “Why should anybody destroy a valuable emerald?”

“There is more in it than an emerald,” said Nick, with his quiet, bitter smile.

“Good Lord! why do you tantalize me with hints!” cried the exasperated Fin. “Why not tell me the rights of it?”

“I say no more,” said Nick, pressing his lips together.

“How does a poor man like you come to be mixed up with a great personage?” demanded Fin. “If you had this valuable emerald, why do you live so poor?”

“It is not mine,” said Nick. “I keep for somebody.”

“Then you ought to let me go to the police. You need protection here.”

From the first, Nick had become agitated at any mention of the police. “No! No!” he said. “If you go to police you get in the newspapers. I got to keep secret. For sixteen years I keep secret.”

“Can’t you tell me?” said Fin. “I’m your friend. Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you,” said Nick with a quick warm glance. “You are a good fellow... But it is too dangerous. If the brass ball is lost, there is no use. All better be forgotten.”

“Maybe I’ll get it back!”

Nick shook his head gloomily. “You not get it back. What is a brass ball? It will be thrown away.”

“You might as well tell me,” persisted Fin. “I’m in it up to the ears already. They’ve spotted me. There’s a man laying for me outside now. Why not give me the satisfaction of knowing what I’m up against?”

“I will not tell you,” said Nick, firmly. “If the emerald is lost there is no use.”

“But if I bring it back to you?” said Fin, eagerly.

Nick considered. “Yes,” he said, “if you bring it back I tell you the whole story–if you wish to risk your life.”

“Risk!” cried Fin. “That’s all that makes life worth living!... All right, that’s a go! You can depend upon it, I’ll do my damnedest!”

For a while they ate in silence. “Nick,” said Fin, persuasively, “just answer me one question. Which party was it that engineered the attack on you last night? The fat blackguard or the lean?”

“Truly, I do not know,” said Nick.

“I think it was the fat one,” said Fin, thoughtfully, “because he suspected there was something in the brass ball.”

“Maybe so,” said Nick.

As soon as they finished eating, Nick returned to his bench. Some of the watches had been damaged in being flung on the floor and he had extra work to do. Fin sat in the other chair, smoking, and they left the blinds up and the door open to suggest to anyone who might be watching that they had nothing to fear and nothing to conceal. While they talked a workman came in with his watch to be fixed, and another called for his.

Nick would answer no more questions. Instead, he resumed a conversation he had had with Fin before all this happened. It dealt with his favorite theme–the future of man in the universe. Nick, who was no pessimist philosopher (though he had good reason to be, Fin thought) was obliged to concede that man’s present situation in a partly mechanized world was bad; but he had faith in the spirit of man. “When man perfect the machine,” he said, “he master it.”

Fin marveled at such detachment; such sang-froid. Truly, courage chooses strange vehicles. The wizened little man with the watchmaker’s glass screwed into his eye, giving his conscious mind to philosophy and his unconscious to the watch he was repairing, was a first-class hero, he considered. Fin himself, thinking of actual men prowling in the street, was unable to concentrate on man in the abstract.

As it drew on towards midnight Fin got up. “I’ve got to run over to New York,” he said. “I hate to leave you here alone, Nick.”

“I have a gun,” said Nick, quietly. “I lock the window tonight. They not catch me so easy again.”

Nick arose, and their hands involuntarily shot out. Nick gave Fin’s hand a little shake. The watchmaker’s deep-sunken eyes dwelt on the young man with infinite feeling. Fin was never to forget that look.

“There is much I have not say to you,” Nick said, quietly. “Words so poor to express!... I just say this: I am lucky I have you for friend.” Fin, deeply moved, turned away his head. “Don’t, Nick, don’t!” he mumbled. “You make me feel rotten... I want to say you’ve given me something... something big!... I mean... something to measure up to... Hell! I can’t say it right!”

Nick patted his shoulder, and then, when Fin thought all had been said, he suddenly came out with a piece of vital information: “Listen, my friend. In Miss Folsom’s School at Pompton Lakes there is a young girl who look to me for everything. She is called Mariula Peters. She not know her own name, her history. Unless I produce her heritage she must never know. The wolves are waiting to tear her!... I tell you because... well if my skull was not so thick tonight she have no friend in the world. So I am scared for her. I ask you to befriend her. She has noble nature.”