CHAPTER XXX.
GLADWIN COMES OUT OF HIS SHELL.
"What the"----
The spurious aristocrat and art collector suppressed his torrid
exclamation. The impulse moved him to seize the uniformed butter-in
and pitch him through the nearest window. He was big and powerful
enough to do it, too.
In the furious glance he got, Travers Gladwin read a warning that in
an earlier stage of his career would have made him feel mighty
uncomfortable. Now he liked the smell of danger and met the message of
wrath without a flicker.
"What's that you've got there?" the thief, having mastered himself,
asked, pointing to the grip.
"'Tis the bag you asked for, sorr," drawled Gladwin.
"I told you to pack it," said the other, sharply.
"All packed, sorr. Hunting clothes, shirts, ties, socks"----
He looked up with a boyish grin and the big chap was stumped for a
moment. The thief said slowly:
"Now take it up to my room and unpack it." It was his turn to grin.
"What, sorr?" asked the dismayed Gladwin.
"I shan't want these things after all," came the velvety rejoinder.
"Unpack it carefully and bring it back here. And kindly be more
careful of the stairs when you come down--one step at a time,
_please_! Now, what are you waiting for?"
Gladwin withdrew reluctantly, stealing a glance at Helen as he sidled
through the curtained doorway. Her eyes never left the face of the man
she thought she loved, but whose character was being swiftly revealed
to her in a new light.
That resourceful individual waited only for the blue uniform to pass
through the portières, when he sprang forward and reached out on both
sides for the heavy mahogany folding doors. He brought them together
swiftly and softly, then ripped down the portières from the pole,
flinging one to the left of the door and the other across the chest.
"Now listen, Helen," he cried, seizing her roughly by the shoulder.
"It may be that we will have to get out of here in a hurry."
"W-w-w-hy, what's the matter?" she stammered, wincing at the crushing
grip of his hand.
He replied with a swift rush of words that fairly stunned her:
"Your aunt may find it out and try to stop us. Now I shall be on the
lookout, but I want you to do everything I tell you--I'll see if the
coast is clear in case we have to go out the back way. In the meantime
I want you to wrap these pictures for me. I wouldn't ask you, dear,
only we haven't a minute to wait."
He darted across the room and opened the narrow door that led into the
backstairs corridor. Helen stared stupidly after him until he
disappeared and then turned toward the chest and went to work wrapping
up the precious canvases like one in a trance. She had scarcely
started when the folding doors opened noiselessly and Bateato stuck in
his head.
Fearing that some harm had come to his master the little Jap had left
the Ritz and sprinted all the way to the Gladwin mansion. He was
breathless and wild-eyed, yet he had entered the house as silently as
a breath of air.
Peeking into the room Bateato noted the ripped-down portières and
devastated picture frames. His Oriental mind told him but one
thing--robbery. Seized with a violent spasm of loyalty to his master
he brushed into the room and exclaimed:
"Whatz thees? Oh, hell--damn!"
Helen was in too good training by this time to swoon, though she
wanted to. She started back in alarm and exclaimed:
"Oh, how you startled me!"
Bateato circled round her like an enraged rat.
"You no fool me--I know you tief--you steal picture--I get pleece--much
pleece--whole big lot pleece, quick."
He headed for the door.
Helen pursued him, crying: "See here! Wait a minute! You don't
understand! Mr. Gladwin!"
The Jap was gone and the hall door slammed after him before she had
reached the folding doors. In another instant Travers Gladwin, who had
been making a vain hunt for a revolver in the upper part of the house
came flying down the stairs and assailed the frightened girl with
another overwhelming shock.
Seeing she was alone he threw himself into the breach headlong:
"Miss Helen, just a moment. I've been waiting for a chance to speak to
you. You must get away from here at once. Do you understand--at once!
Don't waste time talking--go quick while you have a chance. You
mustn't be mixed up in what's coming."
The girl felt that her heart would burst with its palpitations of
fear, but she was incapable of flight. Her limbs seemed like leaden
weights. Some force working without the zone of her mental control
made her stammer:
"W-w-ho are you?"
"Listen," the young man raced on, "and you must believe what I
say--this man you came here to meet and elope with is not Travers
Gladwin at all."
She expressed her horrified disbelief in a frozen stare.
"It's true," he pursued passionately. "He's an imposter! The real
Travers Gladwin you met here this afternoon. He was I; that is, I was
he. I mean I am Travers Gladwin--only I've got this uniform on now. It
is only on your account that I have not caused his arrest and a
sensation. I can't have you mixed up in a nasty scandal. I want to
save you--don't you see I do?--but I can't wait much longer."
"I don't believe what you are saying! I can't believe it! Oh, it's too
horrible!" sobbed Helen, clinging to a fragment of her shattered idol
as a drowning man clings to a straw.
Gladwin was on the point of resuming his appeal when he sensed a heavy
tread. He had divined that the picture thief had left the room to
reconnoitre emergency exits or to learn whether or not the house was
surrounded. He had hoped that he might run into Michael Phelan, but
did not stop to puzzle out why this had not happened. Backing to the
door, he whispered:
"He's coming--question him. That's all I ask. I'll be waiting to see
that you get out in safety--trust me!"
He wriggled backward and disappeared through the folding doors.