One of My Sons Part 24

"'Hus.h.!.+' came from the doorway where the curtain blew in and out.

"'Hush and quick,' came in hoa.r.s.e echo from Mother Merry's quivering lips.

"Suddenly the room was empty. Of the half-dozen drunken figures I had seen moving about me the minute before, not one was in sight. I heard a creak, then a scuffle, and then a bang, and the room stood empty.

Only a few bottles and a pack or two of cards were left on the dirty top of the old pine table, as proof that a tough crowd had been there raising Cain. The old woman cleared the table and shoved the lot into a cupboard; then she sat down. Never have I seen a woman so steady and at the same time so frightened.

"'There is room for one more,' she quickly said, pointing to where the men had disappeared. 'It's over the water, and the floor is full of holes, but the police haven't got on to it yet. Will you go down?'

"'I wasn't with the crowd,' I told her.

"'That won't help you. You're in the house--Ah!'

"It was almost a cry she gave; the door to the upper rooms had opened and the sailor who had struck me as such a peculiar chap stood in the room before us. 'I forgot,' she wailed out. 'What am I to do with _him_?'

"The sailor, who was no sailor, stared straight before him, as well he might, for he had left a lighted room and found a dark one. Yet in that stare there was a look of pain easily to be seen by the light thrown out by the red-hot stove. He didn't mind Mother Merry's cry. He had something else on his mind. He looked like a man suddenly wakened up, and I had a strange idea that his dreams, if he had had them, held him just then in a closer grip than the facts he had come among.

"'Is it so late?' he sighed; and I started, for the voice was the voice of a gentleman.

"The words, and the way he said them, seemed to bring fresh trouble to Mother Merry.

"'Oh, the ill-luck!' she wailed. 'The cops are at the door. The place has been threatened for a month, and to-night they are closing round.

Will you face them, or shall I open the trap again--Oh, don't!' she groaned, as he gave a sudden reel backward; 'it makes me feel wicked.

I ought to have warned you.'

"'It would have made no difference,' he said. 'I should still have gone up. Help me, if you can, and remember what you have sworn.

To-morrow I will send money. O G.o.d! O G.o.d! to leave _now_----'

"'You cannot leave. Hark, that is the second signal! In another moment they will be here. Do you want to fall into their hands?'

"'I had rather die. Quick! Some place! Money is no object. Let that fellow I see over there help me. He looks as if he wasn't afraid of the police. Let him change togs with me.'

"'I am a private detective,' I whispered, going very close to him in the dark. 'My name is Yox, and you will find papers to support the name and business in my coat pocket. They may hold you for a day, but no longer,' and I handed over my coat.

"'I am sorry that I cannot confide my name to you with the same ease I do this coat,' he replied, as he threw me the garment which had so disfigured him. 'But my name is the secret I would defend with my life. Say that you are Benjamin Jones.'

"'First fork over the cash which you say is no object to you!' I cried.

"'You must trust me for that,' he answered. 'If I get off without discovery you will receive a hundred dollars at your address within the week. I have left all I had above.'

"'Chaff!' I muttered.

"'He will pay,' Mother Merry a.s.sured me.

"'Then here's my cap,' I grumbled, not any too well pleased.

"He took it, and though it was a common one enough, he looked like another man in it.

"'Support me in my character!' he ordered, just as that blowing curtain was caught and held back by a hand from without and the face of a policeman looked in.

"'Hey, there! lamps up!' was the order. We got a light flashed over us from the doorway.

"The man at my side advanced to meet it, and I saw him talking with the officer who had pushed his head through the upper half of the door. Then everything about and before me became mixed in the rush the police made from every side, and I failed to see anything again for some minutes. When a minute's quiet came about again, and I had the chance to use my eyes, I did not find the man to whom I had lent my coat and my name. He had been allowed to slip away.

"But I had no such luck. The place being turned over, and only a few women found, they turned on me. But I was game, and was soon able to show them I was one of their own sort. At which there naturally came the question as to who the other fellow was. But I did not help them out on this, and it ended in my being taken to Jefferson Market with the rest.

"We all got off next day and without much trouble. I have always thought that fellow paid the fines; at all events, one week from that day I found an envelope addressed to me, lying on my desk at the office. It contained bills to the amount agreed upon.

"Now, Mr. Underhill, who was this man? I have been asking myself that question ever since I pocketed his money. The fellow who can pay out hundreds like that is a man to know."

I waited for the answer, which was slow in coming. But then Underhill was always slow. When he did speak it was lazily enough.

"Didn't you say you had some clue to his ident.i.ty; a match-box or something of that kind, which you found in one of the pockets of the coat he gave you?"

"Yes, I have that."

"And that there were initials on it which you had not been able to decipher?"

"Oh, yes, initials; but what can a fellow make out of initials?"

"Not much, of course. Have you that match-box with you?"

"I just have. I sport it everywhere. I think so much of it I have even talked of having my name changed to fit the letters of this monogram."

"Let me see it, will you?"

The fellow drew it out.

A minute pa.s.sed, then Underhill drawled out:

"It's not as easy to make out as I expected. Will you let me compare it with a collection I have in a book here? I may have its mate."

"Sure, sir."

Underhill came my way. The sudden heat into which I was thrown by this unexpected move acted as a double warning. I must beware of self-betrayal, and I must take care not to give away my presence to the sharp-eyed, sharp-eared man whose perspicacity I had reason to dread. I therefore rose as quietly as possible and met Underhill's entering figure with a silent inquiry, nicely adjusted to the interest I was supposed to feel in the matter. He was no less careful, but there was a sparkle in his eye as he handed over to my inspection the match-box he had just taken from Yox, which contradicted his air of unconsciousness, and led me to inspect with great interest the monogram he displayed to my notice. It was by no means a simple one, as you will see by the sub-joined copy.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

As I studied it, Underhill wrote on a sheet of paper lying open on the table:

"I have seen that match-box a dozen times." Then, separating the letters of the monogram, he wrote them out in a string, thus:

L L D G

"Leighton Gillespie?" I inquired in a kind of soundless whisper.

"Leighton Le Droit Gillespie," he wrote.

It was the name with which my own mind was full; the name with which it had been full ever since the inquest.