CHAPTER XVI

A PARLEY

Nature was kind that morning. A flood of sunshine greeted Curtis when

he turned into Fifth Avenue with the detective, as the latter had

suggested that they might walk a little way before taking a taxi, there

being plenty of time before the hour fixed for the meeting in Schmidt's

office. It was a morning when life and good health assumed their

fitting places in the forefront of those many and varied considerations

which form the sum of human happiness. The world had suddenly resumed

its everyday aspect of bustle and content. New York smiled at its new

citizen, and the new citizen beamed appreciatively on New York.

"I cannot explain matters to you fully even yet----" Steingall was

saying, when an automobile drew up close to the curb, and a well-known

voice cried joyously:

"Just in time. Where's the fire? There's bound to be a blaze when you

two run in a leash."

Devar bounced out of the car, and Brodie grinned with pleasure. The

chauffeur was beginning to like the excitement of acting as

supernumerary on the staff of the Detective Bureau.

"Will you jump in, or shall I prowl with you down Fifth Avenue?" asked

Devar, blithely ignoring Steingall's somewhat strained welcome.

"We are keeping an appointment," said Curtis. "I, for one, shall be

more than pleased if the combination which proved so effective last

night may remain intact this morning."

"Steingall daren't cut adrift from me," said Devar. "If you knew the

truth about him, you'd find that he is deeply superstitious, and I'm a

real mascot for bringing good luck. Perhaps he is not aware, John D.,

that I was the impresario who 'presented' you to an admiring public.

Tell him that, and see if he has the nerve to say I'm not wanted."

"Come along, Mr. Devar," said the detective, apparently yielding to a

sudden resolve. "I think I can make use of you--justify your presence,

that is. Tell your chauffeur to wait for us at 42d Street."

Off went Brodie, jubilant at the prospect of his services being in

requisition again. He had not yet learnt the application to all things

mundane of Disraeli's quip that it is the unexpected which happens.

"Now, I want you two gentlemen to attend closely to what I have to

say," said Steingall seriously, placing himself between them, so that

his words might not reach other ears than those for which they were

intended. "Mr. Hunter's murder has passed long ago out of the common

class of crimes. It will be inquired into thoroughly, of course, and

punishment will be dealt out impartially to those responsible for its

commission. But--and this is the point I want to emphasize--neither of

you know, nor am I at liberty to inform you--just what bounds the

authorities may reach, or stop at. Have I made my meaning clear?"

"Yes," said Curtis.

"We're to be good little boys, and sit still, and say nothing, and do

as we're told," said Devar.

"I'm not asking impossibilities," said Steingall, who had a dry humor,

and seldom missed a chance of gratifying it. "I have merely laid down

a proviso which must be observed, not for a day, or a week, but as long

as any of us is alive. State affairs are not the property of

individuals. They come first, all the time. If they don't suit our

convenience, we must simply adjust ourselves to the new conditions."

"You alarm me, Steingall," cried Devar. "Have we been drawn into an

international squabble? Don't tell me that Devar's canned salmon is

really a deadly sort of bomb."

"I've heard more improbable things. But you would not be your father's

son, Mr. Devar, if you can't keep a tight lip when statements are made

in your presence which may astonish you. Mr. Curtis and you are now

about to meet a very clever man, Otto Schmidt, the lawyer, and I fancy

your name will help in the argument. Is your father in New York?"

"He arrives here from Chicago to-night."

"He has never met Mr. Curtis?"

"No, but he jolly soon will."

"But, if it were possible to get hold of him by telephone or telegraph

to-day, he would say he had never heard of him?"

"I guess that's so. What are you driving at?"

"Schmidt must know your father. They are bound to have come together

in more than one important deal."

"Well?"

"It seems to me that, if the father's evidence is not available, the

son's gains a trifle more weight."

"Dash me if I can imagine where you are getting off at, Steingall."

"You regard Mr. Curtis as a friend?"

"I am proud of the fact."

"Stick to that, and you will do him good service."

"Well, that's easy."

The detective seemed to be picking his words with a good deal of care.

He covered several paces in silence, and Curtis, who had reverted to

his normal habit of sober gravity, took no part in the conversation.

His estimate of its purport differed from Devar's. That light-hearted

youngster was somewhat annoyed by the detective's implied hint that his

friendship with Curtis rested on no more solid foundation than a

steamer acquaintance, and would hardly bear the test of close scrutiny

if it came to analysis on the score of prior knowledge, or if his

testimony were sought as to Curtis's earlier career. But he had the

good sense to understand that Steingall was actuated by no light

motive, so he held his peace. Curtis went farther. He believed that

the detective was telling Devar what to say and how to say it.

"Now that we have settled the matter of Mr. Curtis's references," said

Steingall, resuming the talk as though it had not been interrupted, "I

reach the next item. Both of you are aware that two men have been

arrested, and one is dead, and that all three were concerned in the

attack on Mr. Hunter."

"Yes," came the simultaneous answer.

"I want you to forget names, except with regard to Lamotte, the

chauffeur. Martiny and Rossi, for the time being, vanish into the

Ewigkeit."

"What--forever?" Curtis could not help saying.

"No, for a week or so." Steingall darted a quick glance to his

questioner. "I have a stupid trick of adopting phrases from my pet

authors," he said. "Does Ewigkeit mean eternity?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, I withdraw it."

"Try Niflheim."

"Or Ruedesheim," suggested Devar wickedly.

Steingall laughed. Despite his German-sounding name, he spoke French

fluently, but German not at all.

"They're off the map," he said. "There, that's good American, and I'll

get on with my story, or rather, with the lack of it. I cannot, of

course, foretell the exact lines our discussion with Schmidt and his

clients will follow, but if I have made you understand that your

combined share in it is to say little, and be thoroughly non-committal

in anything you may have to say, I am content."

"You are as mysterious as an astrologer," vowed Devar. "Having money

to burn one day in Paris, I visited one of those jokers, and he told me

I was born in Capricorn, under the sign of Aries, and I as good as told

him he was a liar, because I was born in Manhattan under an ordinary

roof. By Jove! that reminds me, John D., you're a whale on stars. Did

you spot those two last night, low down in the west?"

"Yes."

"And what did they prognosticate?"

"That you and I would promise Mr. Steingall not to spoil any scheme he

may have in mind by interfering at an inopportune moment."

"I suppose I ought to feel crushed, but I don't," said Devar.

"My dear fellow, if it hadn't been for you and your loyal championship

at the right moment, I might easily have been in jail as an accomplice

of the unknown scoundrels who killed Mr. Hunter."

"That's the right kind of remark," broke in the detective. "I think

I'll offer each of you a post in the Bureau after this business is

ended."

"Give me a pointer on one matter," said Devar. "You spoke of Schmidt's

clients. Who are they?"

He whistled softly when he heard the names of Valletort and Vassilan

and de Courtois.

"Up to the neck in it again!" he crowed. "Oh, it's me that is the

happy youth because I blew in to New York at the right time yesterday."

Otto Schmidt's office was in Madison Square, perched high above the

clatter of 23d Street. The windows of the lawyer's private sanctum

commanded magnificent views of the city to south and west, and in that

marvelously clear air the Statue of Liberty seemed to be little more

than a mile away, while the villas of Montclair and houses on other

heights in the neighboring State were distinctly visible.

Steingall and his friends were the first to arrive, and Schmidt

received them with the air of armed neutrality a lawyer displays

towards the opposite camp. He begged them to be seated, smiled

pleasantly when Curtis asked to be allowed to admire the interesting

panorama spread before his eyes, but gave Devar a contemplative look

when Steingall introduced him.

"Mr. Howard Devar, son of my friend William B. Devar?" he asked.

"Yes," said Devar, feeling that this was safe ground. "My father and

you put it that way since you pulled off the Saskatchewan Combine

together, but I've heard him describe you differently."

Schmidt, who looked more egg-like than ever at this hour of the

morning, disapproved of such flippancy.

"William B. Devar is a fair fighter," he said. "He gives and takes

hard knocks with perfect good humor. But, may I inquire how you come

to figure in a matter which, if I understand aright a message received

from Mr. Steingall, concerns persons with whom you can have little in

common?"

"It was a mere toss-up whether I or my friend, John Delancy Curtis,

took the floor against the combination of noble lords who have retained

you to look after their interests, or protect them, I ought to say; but

fate favored him, so I am a mere bottle-holder. To push the simile a

bit farther, Mr. Schmidt, I may describe Mr. Steingall as the referee

and watch-holder. When he cries 'Time' someone will go to Sing-Sing."

Perhaps some attribute of the father revealed itself in the son,

because Steingall, who thought at first that Devar had allowed his

tongue to run away with him, fancied that the lawyer dropped his

inquiries somewhat suddenly.

"The Earl of Valletort and Count Vassilan are due now," he said,

glancing at a clock.

"Oh, they will be here without fail," said the detective. "Mr. Clancy,

of the Bureau, is bringing de Courtois."

"Bringing him?" repeated Schmidt.

"Yes."

"Unofficially?"

"That depends wholly on de Courtois. He has to come, whether he likes

it or not. Whether he will be allowed to go away again is another

matter."

Schmidt's eyelids fell in thought. Probably he reflected that there

are two sides to every argument, and he had heard but one. Certainly,

John Delancy Curtis did not strike him as the dare-devil meddler, if

not worse, he had been depicted by the fiery Earl.

"The Earl of Valletort and Count Ladislas Vassilan," announced a clerk,

and Curtis took one square look at his rival. He needed no more to

confirm Hermione's unfavorable opinion. The Count's appearance was not

prepossessing. His nose was still swollen, and the earnest effort of a

doctor to paint out two black eyes had not been wholly successful.

His lordship looked mightily displeased when he discovered the presence

of Curtis and Devar, but he was a self-confident man, and regarded

himself as a personage of such importance that he assumed the lead in

this company at once. Moreover, it was evident that he had resolved to

keep a firm rein on his temper.

"Now, Mr. Schmidt," he said brusquely, "your time and mine is valuable.

Why have Count Vassilan and I been summoned here this morning by the

police authorities?"

Schmidt looked at Steingall, and the detective seemed to be almost at a

loss for words.

"I am--not aware--there is any particular call--for hurry," he said.

"Are you, my lord, and Count Vassilan thinking of returning to Europe

to-morrow?"

The Hungarian laughed, not mirthfully, but with the forced gayety of a

man who had considered how to act, and meant to adopt a decided

attitude.

"Certainly not," said the Earl stiffly, with uplifted eyebrows.

Steingall pursed his lips, and his forehead seamed in a reflective

frown.

"I ought to explain," he said, "that I put that question as offering

what appeared to me an easy way out of a situation which bristles with

difficulties otherwise."

His hesitancy had suddenly been replaced by slowness of utterance, but

it is reasonable to suppose that, of those present, Curtis and Schmidt

alone noted the marked distinction.

"My good man," said the Earl, "you must have the strangest notion of

the reason which accounts for my presence in New York. I came here to

rescue my daughter from a set of designing ruffians, some of whom I

knew of, and others whom I had never heard of. Why you should think

that I may have it in mind to leave the country without being

accompanied by Lady Hermione Grandison I cannot tell, and it is in the

highest degree improbable that she will be prepared to sail to-morrow.

Apart from my private arrangements, too, I mean to remain here until I

have punished at least one person as he deserves."

"Jean de Courtois?" inquired Steingall.

"No, sir. That man who stands there, and whose name is given as

Curtis."

The Earl nearly grew wrathful. It annoyed him to find that Curtis was

not looking at him at all, but was greatly interested in Schmidt. That

was another trait of Curtis's. He had learnt long ago to select the

ablest among his adversaries, and watch that man's face. Mere

impassivity supplied no real cloak, for Curtis, in his time, had dealt

with Chinese mandarins whose countenances betrayed no more expression

than a carved ivory mask.

"But it was de Courtois who meant to marry Lady Hermione?" persisted

Steingall.

"That remains to be seen. The person who did marry her signed himself

John Delancy Curtis."

Instantly the detective turned to Otto Schmidt.

"It will assist the inquiry if you tell us whether or not such a

marriage, if it took place under the assumed conditions, that is, by

use of a marriage license not intended for one of the parties, is

legal," he said.

"I have no doubt whatever that, in the circumstances, the courts will

find it to be illegal," was the answer.

"What circumstances?"

"That the lady quitted her supposed husband as soon as she discovered

the fraud which had been practised on her."

Steingall weighed the point for a moment.

"I see," he nodded. "If she refused to remain with him, the marriage

would be declared void. But if she elected to treat the marriage as a

binding act, no matter how it was procured, and continued to live with

her husband, that vital fact would affect the question of validity?"

"As you say, it would be a vital fact."

The detective was clearly impressed, but Lord Valletort swept aside

these quibbles of jurisprudence.

"My daughter's actions will be revealed in detail to a judge," he said

loftily. "At present I fail to see what bearing they have on the

discussion, unless, indeed, you mean to arrest Curtis immediately on a

charge which I am prepared to formulate."

"No, that is not why I requested your lordship and Count Vassilan to

come here this morning," said Steingall, gazing anxiously at the clock.

"I would prefer to await the arrival of Detective Clancy with Jean de

Courtois, but, if the Frenchman refuses to come, he is within his

rights, and I suppose I shall have to apply for a warrant, though, if I

choose, I can arrest him merely on suspicion."

"Suspicion of what?" demanded the Earl.

"Of complicity in the murder of Mr. Hunter last night."

"The man was tied in his room at the time of the murder," cried the

Hungarian hoarsely, speaking for the first time since he had entered

Schmidt's office. He was obviously excited, and excitement is a

powerful foe of good resolutions, with which the moral pavement is

littered in Hungary and elsewhere.

"That does not affect the charge of complicity," said Steingall

thoughtfully. "A man may be an accomplice, though the actual crime is

committed at a time and place when he is far distant. It is possible

for an accomplice to be in Paris, or on the high seas, while a victim

is falling under an assassin's knife in New York. A man, or a number

of men, can even be what I may term unconscious accomplices, in the

sense that their actions and instructions have brought about a crime,

though their intent may have stopped short of actual violence. I

assure you, my lord, the arm of the law reaches far when life is taken,

and the death of a popular and prominent journalist like Mr. Hunter

will be inquired into most searchingly."

The detective spoke so impressively that Lord Valletort eyed him with a

species of misgiving, while Count Vassilan, whose knowledge of English

was excellent, had broken out into a perspiration.

A smooth, mellifluous voice suddenly intervened. Otto Schmidt thought

fit to assume a role for which Lord Valletort was manifestly ill

equipped.

"We seem to be dealing with two items which, though related, by

accident, as it were, yet differ widely. The Earl of Valletort is

interested only in his daughter's marriage, Mr. Steingall."

The detective wheeled round on him.

"Precisely, Mr. Schmidt, but it happens, unfortunately, that the

marriage of Lady Hermione and Mr. Curtis was the direct outcome of the

murder of Mr. Hunter. More than that, Mr. Hunter met his death because

of the plot and counter-plot attending the preliminary arrangements for

her ladyship's marriage. The two events, so far apart in their nature,

thus become indissolubly connected."

"And is that why we are to have the pleasure of seeing Monsieur de

Courtois?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps, before he comes, you will be good enough to give us some

idea, informally of course, as to the statement,--or, shall I say

revelation?--he may make."

"It is asking a good deal of a police official," said Steingall,

smiling pleasantly, "but if I am assured that the discussion will

really be regarded as informal, I am ready to speak quite openly."

"It is a characteristic of yours, Mr. Steingall, which has often

commanded the admiration of the New York bar," said Schmidt.

"Then," said the detective, "I must begin by telling you that Mr.

Clancy and I were in Morris Siegelman's saloon in East Broadway shortly

after midnight last night."

A curious click issued from the throat of that distinguished Hungarian

magnate, Count Ladislas Vassilan, and everyone present noticed it

except the chief of the Detective Bureau. He, it would appear, was

busy marshaling his thoughts.

"For all practical purposes, our inquiry began there," he continued.

"We intercepted a note written by a certain gentleman, and intended to

be conveyed to a Pole named Peter Balusky. He, and a Hungarian, Franz

Viviadi, together with a French chauffeur, whose real name is Lamotte,

but who has been passing recently as Anatole Labergerie, are now under

arrest. Mr. Curtis has recognized Lamotte as the driver of the

automobile out of which Mr. Hunter stepped to meet his death, and

Lamotte himself has confessed his share in the crime. The precise

connection of Balusky and Viviadi with it remains yet to be determined.

They undoubtedly visited the Central Hotel last night. They

undoubtedly were the paid agents of some person or persons interested

in preventing the marriage of Lady Hermione Grandison. They

undoubtedly received letters and wireless messages which seem to

implicate others, far removed from them in social position, in the

plot, or undertaking, that her ladyship's marriage should not take

place. As a lawyer, Mr. Schmidt, you will see that I cannot possibly

enter into full details, but I think I have said sufficient to prove my

main contention, which is, you will remember, that it will be

difficult, very difficult, to dissociate the two incidents--I mean the

marriage and the murder."

During quite an appreciable time there was no sound in the spacious

apartment other than the heavy breathing of Count Ladislas Vassilan.

He had openly and candidly abandoned all pretense. He was now nothing

more nor less than a burly, well-fed, well-dressed evil-doer quaking

with fear.

"Difficult, you say, Mr. Steingall?" repeated the lawyer, selecting, as

was his way, the word which supplied the key to a whole sentence.

"Very difficult," corrected the detective.

"But not impossible?"

"I would not care to hazard a reasoned opinion, but it seems to me

that, in certain conditions, the District Attorney might elect to

confine the inquiry to its main issues, which are, of course, the

causes of the crime, and the conviction of the persons actually engaged

in it."

"Why did you want to bring Jean de Courtois here?"

"Because he is the connecting link between the one set of circumstances

and the other."

"Is he coming, do you think?"

Steingall looked at the clock, and showed a disappointment which he did

not try to conceal.

"I fear not," he said. "I told Clancy only to try and persuade him to

come. The Frenchman is pretending to be ill, but he is not ill, only

frightened."

"Frightened of what?"

"Of the consequences of his own acts. In a sense, Mr. Hunter was his

ally, but only from a journalist's standpoint, which centered in the

sensation which would be provided by the projected marriage."

Schmidt's eyelids had fallen and risen regularly during the past few

minutes. They dropped now for a longer period than usual. As for Lord

Valletort and his would-be son-in-law, they were profoundly and

unfeignedly ill at ease. Even a British Earl cannot afford to play

fast and loose with the law, and it did seem most convincingly clear

that they had brought themselves within measurable reach of the law by

the tactics they had employed prior to their arrival in New York.

Oddly enough, their own possible connection with the murder of the

journalist was a good deal more patent to them than to Curtis and

Devar, who were vastly better posted in the evidence affecting them.

Still more curiously, not a word had been said about Martiny or Rossi.

"Let us suppose," said Schmidt, when his eyes had opened again, "that

Lady Hermione elects to return to Europe at once with her father, the

Earl----"

Steingall shook his head with a weary smile, and the lawyer's voice

ceased suddenly.

"Out of the question, Mr. Schmidt, out of the question. I am sure of

it. Why, little more than half an hour ago I found her with Mr. Curtis

in their apartments at the Plaza Hotel----"

"Ridiculous!" shrieked Lord Valletort in a shrill falsetto. "My

daughter passed the night in her apartment in 59th Street. I myself

saw her go there."

"Probably. Your lordship would know the facts if you watched her

departure from the Plaza Hotel. But a woman has the inalienable

privilege of changing her mind, and Lady Hermione has returned to her

husband. In fact, I am given to understand that she and Mr. Curtis are

arranging a new marriage, not because the earlier ceremony is illegal,

or can be upset, but in deference to certain natural scruples which

such a charming young lady would be bound to entertain. . . . There

can be no manner of doubt as to the correctness of what I am saying,"

and the detective's tone grew emphatic in view of the Earl's pish-tush

gestures. "You have a telephone there, Mr. Schmidt. Ring up the

Plaza, and speak to the lady yourself."

The lawyer did nothing of the sort. He eyed Curtis in his

contemplative way, being aware that the quiet man standing near a

window had favored him with his exclusive attention during the

proceedings.

But Lord Valletort was moved now to stormy protest. He was convulsed

with passion, and seemed to be careless what the outcome might be so

long as he lashed Curtis with venom.

"You are the only person in this infernal city whose actions are

consistent," he roared at him. "It is quite evident that you have

ascertained by some means that my daughter is exceedingly wealthy, and

you have managed to delude her into the belief that your conduct is

altruistic and above reproach. But you make a great mistake if you

believe that I can be set aside as an incompetent fool. I shall go

straight from this office to that of the District Attorney, and lay the

whole of the facts before him. I----"

"Does your lordship wish to dispense with my services?" broke in

Schmidt, speaking without flurry or heat. The angry Earl choked, but

remained silent, and the lawyer kept on in the same even tone:

"May I suggest, Mr. Steingall, that you and Mr. Curtis and Mr. Devar

should step into another room while I have a brief consultation with

Lord Valletort and Count Vassilan?"

"I cannot become a party to any arrangement----" began Steingall, but

Otto Schmidt bowed him and his companions out suavely. Those two

understood each other fully, no matter what divergencies of opinion

might exist elsewhere.

When the door had closed on the three men in a smaller room, Devar was

about to say something, but Steingall checked him with a warning hand.

Walking to a window, he stood there, with his back turned on his

companions, and stared out into the square beneath. Once they fancied

they saw him nod his head in a species of signal, but they might have

been in error. At any rate, their thoughts were soon distracted by the

entrance of the stout lawyer.

"On some occasions, the fewest words are the most satisfactory," he

said, "so I wish to inform you, Mr. Steingall, that Lord Valletort and

Count Vassilan intend to sail for Europe by to-morrow's steamer. They

have empowered me to offer to pay the passage money to France of the

music-teacher, Jean de Courtois, though not by the same vessel as that

in which they purpose traveling. As for you, Mr. Curtis, the Earl

withdraws all threats, and leaves you to settle your dispute with the

authorities as you may think fit. May I add that if you choose to

consult me I shall be glad to act for you. I would not say this if it

was merely a professional matter, but there are circumstances--

Certainly, I shall be here at eleven o'clock on Monday. Till then,

sir, I wish you good-day. Good-day, Mr. Devar. Remember me to your

father. By, by, Mr. Steingall. You and I will meet at Philippi."

Once the three were in Madison Square, Devar could not be restrained.

"Steingall," he said, "if you don't tell me how you managed it, I'll

sit down right here on the sidewalk and blubber like a child."

"You were present. You heard every word," said the detective blandly.

"Yes, I know you scared them stiff. But who, in Heaven's name, are

Peter Balusky and Franz Viviadi? Where, did you find 'em? Did they

drop from the skies, or come up from-- Well, where _did_ you get 'em?"

"Clancy and I bagged them quite easily after Mr. Curtis and you left

Siegelman's cafe. All we had to do was wait till Vassilan quit. They

were hanging about all the time, but afraid to meet him. . . . Now,

you must ask me no more questions. I am going to Clancy. He is

keeping an eye on Jean de Courtois."

"Did you ever intend to have the Frenchman brought to Schmidt's office?"

"Of course I did. What a question! Good-by. There's your car. I'm

off," and the detective swung himself into a passing streetcar.

"Do you know," said Devar thoughtfully, "I am beginning to believe that

Steingall says a lot of things he really doesn't mean. I haven't quite

made up my mind yet as to whether or not he hasn't run an awful bluff

on the noble lord and the most noble count. And the weird thing is

that Schmidt didn't call it. Did it strike you, Curtis, that----"

Then he looked at his friend, whose silent indifference to what he was

saying could no longer pass unnoticed.

"What is it, old man?" he asked, with ready solicitude. "Are you

feeling the strain, or what?"

"It is nothing," said Curtis. "A run in the car will soon clear my

head. Perhaps you and I might arrange for a long week-end, far away

from New York."

A second time did Devar look at his friend, but, being really a

good-natured and sympathetic person, he repressed the imminent cry of

amazement. Somehow, he realized the one spear-thrust which had pierced

Curtis's armor. It was hateful that such a man should be told he had

married Hermione for her money. It was hateful to think that this

might be said of him in the years to come. It was even possible that

she herself might come to believe it of him, and John Delancy Curtis's

knight-errant soul shrank and cringed under the thought, even while the

memory of Hermione's first kiss of love was still hot on his lips.