Lord John in New York

In order that jewel-thieves, ever on the alert for a prize, should not stalk the messenger, Roger's agent had engaged the services of a private person. A relative of his, an American girl who had acted as stenographer in Naples, was giving up her position to return to New York. Taking advantage of this fact, and his confidence in her, the agent had given Miss Mary Gibson charge of the Eye of Horus. Having no connection with any jewel firm it was believed that she might pass unsuspected. The curio being thousands of years old, was not subject to duty, and could, it was hoped, be placed by Miss Gibson directly in the hands of its owner, before anyone discovered that it had been in hers. Roger Odell had intended to meet the young woman; but his suddenly arranged journey upset that plan, and the day before my visit to Dr. Thorne I had received the following cable:

"Stenographer will go straight from ship to Priscilla Alden. If ship late, meet her there early morning after. Will be expecting you."

Had I not come to an understanding with Roger before he sailed for Rio Janeiro, this message would have been gibberish. But he had asked me to take over the jewel because he hoped thus to bring me into touch with Maida. If I could bestow the opal in Roger's bank, Miss Odell (whose vows did not bind her to absolute seclusion) might run up to New York and compare it with her own curio. I had caught eagerly at the plan. Gladly would I have waited hours on the dock for Miss Gibson, but fearing I might be suspected as his agent, if thieves were on the watch, Roger had thought it best for the young woman not to be met. In order to avoid attention, she was to proceed as if she had been the insignificant stranger she was supposed to be. She was to inquire on shipboard for an hotel in New York, taking lady guests only. The Priscilla Alden would be mentioned, and she would send a wireless, engaging a room. As clients of the Priscilla Alden were allowed no male visitors after ten p.m., my call would have to depend upon the time the ship docked. Even before Roger's cable, I had ascertained that the Reina Elenora was likely to get in late, and I made up my mind to spend the night at my own old hotel in New York. That would enable me to present myself early next day at the Priscilla Alden.

While I described my nightmare dreams to the doctor (keeping Maida's name to myself), Miss Murphy left Mr. Genardius for a few moments. A rich old lady patient drew up at the gate in an automobile and sent her chauffeur to fetch the young woman. There was a verbal message to be delivered, and while Miss Murphy committed it to heart, doubtless the bandaged man listened at the keyhole. He heard enough to realise that John Hasle was close upon the trail of Miss Odell's enemies.

Thorne was sympathetic. He talked of nerve-shock in various forms, from which most returning soldiers suffered.

As he fumbled among medicine bottles he went on: "I'll prescribe you a tonic; I keep a few things at hand here, and I can fix you up from my stock. Some of the ingredients are rare. You couldn't get a prescription made up nearer than New York. No, by George! there's one thing missing from my lot! Luckily it's not one of the rare ones. Did you come in a car? What, you walked? Well, I'll get the boy to sprint into the village on his bike, to the pharmacy. He can be back inside fifteen minutes. I'll write to the druggist."

Thorne touched an electric button. No one came in response. Impatiently the doctor flung the door open to glare at Miss Murphy. Miss Murphy was not visible, however, and away dashed the master of the house, leaving me in his private office to wonder at his absence. This office being behind the outer room gave no view of the front gate, therefore I could not see what Thorne saw. It wasn't until he appeared that I learned why he had bolted. The boy whom he had intended to send for the missing ingredients had been run down by a motor-car, while bicycling to the post-office. The chauffeur had, through coincidence, been despatched by a patient waiting for Thorne. He had taken a corner too sharply, and knocked the boy off his bicycle, but Joey was more frightened than hurt. He had been picked up by the chauffeur, a foreigner, and when Thorne had looked from the window, it had been to see the lad lifted half conscious from the returning car. At the gate stood not only Miss Murphy, but the owner of the automobile, who had hurried out on hearing the young woman's cry. So it was that the waiting-room had been left empty.

"Joey's as right as rain now, or will be when he's pulled himself together," Thorne explained. "My new patient, whoever he is – a stranger to me – seemed to feel worse than Joey. He gave the kid ten dollars! It may have been as much the boy's fault as the chauffeur's. Anyhow, I bet Joey won't complain. Your medicine will be ready as soon as if nothing had happened, for the owner of the auto (Genardius, his name is) offered to drive to the druggist's and back."

It was Miss Murphy who presently handed the doctor a small, neatly wrapped bottle. "That chauffeur brought me this," she announced. "It seems that Joey's accident upset the invalid gentleman more than he realised at first. He was taken faint at the pharmacy, and decided not to consult you this morning. He'll 'phone, and ask for an appointment."

Dr. Thorne tore the wrapper off the phial, and began pouring its colourless contents into a bottle already two-thirds full, which he had prepared. Suddenly he stopped. "I guess I'll let that do for this time! Take a tablespoonful when you get home, and twice more during the day; once just before bed."

Dr. Thorne inspired me with confidence; and, as I was anxious to keep my wits for Maida's sake, I intended to follow directions. Arriving at my hotel, however, I found a cablegram in answer to one I'd sent Haslemere, in London. I had demanded whence came the scandal which darkened the life of Maida Odell. Replying, he refused details, but deigned to admit that his informant was an American, the widow of a naval officer, of "unimpeachable respectability." That word "unimpeachable" was so characteristic of Haslemere that I laughed, but the description answered closely enough to Mrs. Granville to excite me, and I forgot the medicine.

Later, I had remembered it once more when Teano called, bringing the dumb child Nicky, now his adopted son. I set down the bottle and thought no more about it, for I hoped to learn something of the man who had frightened Maida. My hope that Nicky might turn informant seemed, however, doomed to disappointment. It was difficult to elicit facts, because of his dumbness; but Teano and I agreed that the imp took advantage of his infirmity to bottle up secrets. "He's in fear of some threat," pronounced the detective. "It's the same with his mother. Jenny and I were married the day after you found her. She says she's happy, and she ought to know I'm able to protect her. But she's afraid to speak against the Sisterhood. I shouldn't wonder if they've made her swear some oath."

We talked long on the subject, and Teano produced a list of Egyptians living in New York, obtained at my request. Some were rich. The greater number appeared to be engaged in the import of tobacco and curios, or Eastern carpets. A few were doctors; more were fortune-tellers; while one extraordinary creature whose description caught my fancy was a mixture of both: an exponent of ancient cults and religions, and a qualified physician who treated nervous ailments with hypnotism. This man gave weekly lectures on "Egyptian Wisdom applied to Modern Civilisation," and was known as "Doctor" or "Professor" Rameses. The name was, of course, assumed; but Teano had learned that Dr. Rameses was more than respectable; he was estimable. Following his religion, which claimed that each soul was a spark from the one Living Fire, he aimed to help all mankind, and was apparently a true philanthropist.

When Teano spoke of returning to New York it was time for me to start. I invited him into my car, and preparing to depart, I came upon the forgotten medicine. Thorne had prophesied that I would prove a bad patient; but I tried to atone by swallowing an extra large dose. The bottle I slipped into my overcoat pocket, intending to take the stuff again at bedtime.

"Stop at the Priscilla Alden Hotel," I directed my chauffeur; and it was only when Teano spoke of "Nella" that I recalled the sister employed there. I had seen Nella's photograph at Paul's rooms, taken with her fiancé, Maurice Morosini, and had pleased Teano with praise of the girl's beauty. Morosini, too, was of an interesting type. I was sorry to hear from the detective that he had been ordered to join the colours, and would sail at dawn for Naples.

"The worst thing is," Teano went on, as we sped toward New York, "that those two can't even bid each other good-bye. Anywhere but at the Priscilla Alden, Morosini might walk into the hotel, take the elevator and go to her floor for a word."

As Teano talked a pain behind my eyes began to run through my temples, and into the back of my neck to the spine.

Something queer was the matter. I was conscious that Teano was asking alarmed questions, and that Nickey was staring. I was thankful that we had got to New York before the attack overwhelmed me, for I must leave the letter at the Priscilla Alden. As the motor slowed down in front of the hotel I remember pushing Teano aside and stumbling out of the car, the letter in my hand. I wasn't even aware of dropping the envelope addressed to Miss Gibson. Only Nickey, peering from the depths of the car, saw the fall, and would have darted to retrieve it, had not a man grabbed the letter as it touched the pavement. Teano was occupied with me, and so it seems was Maurice Morosini, who had been wandering up and down before the hotel, in the hope that Nella might come out. He sprang to help Paul, and there was no one for Nickey to tell, in his queer way, by gestures and rough sketches on a slate, what had happened. Afterward the detective did learn in this fashion that the man who picked up the letter was a chauffeur from a car following us, which had stopped when we stopped. But then it was too late for the knowledge to be useful.

Despite protests from the doorman, Teano and Morosini half carried, half dragged me into the hotel. Once inside, they suggested that it would be inhuman not to give me shelter; they made great play with my name and title, and threatened reprisals if I should be turned out.

"I suppose under the circumstances we'll have to give his lordship a room and get a doctor in," groaned the manager. "But it's against rules. However, we'll smuggle Lord John up to the thirteenth floor, where there's a small room vacant."

It's an ill wind that blows nobody good, and Morosini must have praised the saints for my illness when he found it giving him the chance he would have bought with half a year of life. He was going to the thirteenth floor of the sacred Priscilla Alden; and on that floor was Nella Teano!

One glance he threw at Paul across my head, as the two helped me out of the lift, and then his heart bounded with great joy, for close by was the telephone window.

"The only room disengaged to-night is farther down the corridor," the manager explained. "I wish we could spare this one just opposite, but there's a lady coming into it later," and he threw a regretful glance at a door barred by a chambermaid, her arms full of linen and towels. She had been getting ready Number 1313 for its next occupant, but in her surprise dropped a wad of sheets and pillow-cases. Stooping to pick them up, a sharp word from the manager sent her flying; and Morosini noticed that she had forgotten to take her pass-key from the lock.

I had revived enough to walk mechanically, like a man in a dream, without support, so Morosini left me to the guidance of Teano and the manager, and ran back to the lighted window which framed his adored one. She sprang to her feet as Morosini held out his arms.

"Oh, Maurice!" she gasped.

"Give me a kiss to take with me – perhaps to my death," he implored. The girl gave it, leaning over the narrow edge of her window. Nella Teano would have dared anything rather than refuse what might be a last request; yet the danger was great, and she started at sound of the lift. "What shall we do?" she gasped. "You mustn't be seen – "

But Morosini did not await the end of her sentence. For the girl's sake he must hide. Besides, he hoped to snatch another moment when the coast should be clear. With a bound he crossed the corridor, opened the door of 1313, and shut himself in. Meanwhile the manager, telephoning to the office from my room, had learned that the doctor he wished to get was in the hotel, just leaving a patient. Out hurried the manager to meet the doctor at the lift and discuss the case before returning to my room. That room, as fate would have it, happened to be on the other side of a narrow court, opposite 1313, the windows facing each other.

Poor Morosini had thought himself blessed by Heaven in his unhoped-for chance to see Nella. He still thought the same, as he stood inside the room across from the telephone bureau; but luck had turned. Hardly had the door closed upon Morosini, when the chambermaid crept back to lock number 1313, and regained the forgotten pass-key. Nella would desperately have called the girl, making some excuse, or, if worst came to worst, even telling her the truth. At that instant, however, the doctor came from the lift, to station himself in front of the telephone window. He could see the manager advancing, and so also could the maid. In fear of meeting this awe-inspiring personage again, she snatched the key with frenzy and fled, while Nella sat doomed to silence.

Morosini's first hint of trouble came with the grating of the key in the lock. He dared not try the door at the moment, for he could hear the voice of the manager. What could he do if Nella were unable to open the door? If there were a ledge or cornice running under the window, he might attempt to creep along it and find a way of descent by a fire escape. He had switched on a light, and had seen the window, covered with a dark blind, when a faint rattle of paper attracted his eyes to the door. A white envelope was being slipped underneath. Morosini seized it, and read in Nella's handwriting, "I'll try to get a pass-key and let you out, but can't tell how or when. Turn off the electricity. It can be seen through the transom."

Meanwhile, in my room, while I lay in a half-doze on the bed, the doctor listened to Teano's story of my sudden seizure. The medicine bottle was found and produced, and as I had mentioned my visit to Thorne, the detective could supply some information. The New York doctor got into communication with the Long Island man over the 'phone, and thus started the train which enabled us later to make valuable deductions. The bandaged patient had doubtless tampered with the bottle in the shelter of his automobile, and remained at the pharmacy until the return of his chauffeur. The nature of the added ingredient was discovered eventually by analysis; and had I taken one more of the doses directed by Dr. Thorne, nothing could have saved my life. As it was, the effects were temporary; and when some nauseous stuff had been poured down my throat, increasing the heart action, consciousness of surroundings came like the waking from a dream. Teano it was who had run out with the hotel doctor's prescription and returned with it made up. So great had been his haste that Nella's appeal detained him at her window only for an instant. He had no time to give help, for my life might depend on promptness, but he promised aid later.

As it was, the effect of his treatment satisfied the doctor. He stopped by my bedside till I crudely invited him to go, and let me sleep. All I needed to restore me was a night's rest. My presence in the hotel was not to be talked about, but the manager would look in from time to time, and call the doctor if needed. I slept fitfully, glad of the cool air blowing through the open window. Suddenly light struck my eyelids. I was roused with a start, and sat up in bed. My impression was that someone had come in and switched on the electricity. But the room was dark, save for a radiant circle on the wall at the foot of my bed. From a bright surface of crystal framed in gold, a woman's face looked out.

For a dazed second, I thought I had to do with a ghost. I realised that what I saw was the reflection of a reflection. My narrow bed stood with its back to the wall beside the window. Opposite the window, and therefore facing the foot of the bed, was a round mirror in a gilt frame. A dark blind had suddenly been thrown up, across the narrow court, and a woman, pausing before the glass in her room, sent into the dusk of mine her image. She was taking off her hat, looking at herself; and there she was fantastically, at the foot of my bed, for me to look at too. The effect was so extraordinary that it held me fascinated, until another woman came into the room.

When Maurice Morosini heard the sound of a key in the lock, it was music to his ears. He believed that at last (hours had gone) Nella found herself able to open his prison. But another second undeceived him. A voice was saying, "One moment, madam. Let me find the electric switch before you go in."

All the young man's blood seemed to flow back upon his heart. The thought in his mind was, that Nella would suffer disgrace. While a hand groped for the switch he flung himself on the floor, and crept under the bed.

"My moment will come," he reflected, "when the woman falls asleep. Then I can let myself out."

But the occupant for whom 1313 had been reserved was in no hurry for sleep. Morosini heard her moving about, and ventured to peep. He saw a small woman, young and rather pretty, of what might be classified as the "governess type." She did not undress, but seemed restless. Fussing round the room, she shot up the green blind and opened the window. Then she flew to the door. There had been a faint knock. Maurice peered from his hiding-place, and saw another woman come in. She, too, was plainly dressed, but older and with a harder, more experienced face.

"What can Nella be doing?" the trapped prisoner wondered. If she were still at the telephone bureau she must know that 1313 now had an occupant. Poor girl! Her misery must be equal to his.

Nella did know. She had seen the young woman go in. When no alarm followed, however, the girl's stopped heart beat again. But the situation had become impossible. She seized the first chance to call Teano. "It's too late for you to help, even if you could get in again," she whispered into the telephone, fearing to be overheard by some one passing. "A lady has gone into 1313 for the night. And I'm supposed to shut my window and go off duty in half an hour. Here comes Shannon, the night watchman, now."

As she spoke, a woman knocked at the door of 1313. Nella listened; soon she could hear voices speaking earnestly. Then they grew loud and shrill. "The women are quarrelling!" she thought. "Can it have anything to do with Maurice?" The transom snapped shut as she asked herself the question. The speakers were afraid of being overheard. That, at least, proved they believed themselves alone together!

"Well, here I am. I've given you time enough to make up your mind, haven't I, Miss Gibson?" began the new-comer.

"Yes, and I have made it up," answered the younger. "I don't say you're not acting in good faith. The note you brought to the dock looks like Mr. Odell's handwriting. And it's just as you said it would be. I found no letter of instructions waiting here. All the same, Miss Parsons, I won't give up the jewel till morning, when I've made sure the person I expected is not going to call."

"You are silly!" cried the other. "Now, how could I have known there was a jewel coming with a Miss Gibson on this ship, if I wasn't all right?"

"That's true," the younger woman admitted. "I don't see how you could have known except from Mr. Odell. But I'm not taking chances! If nobody else shows up before nine to-morrow morning, why then – "

"I have to go west to-morrow morning," explained Miss Parsons, her voice quivering with impatience. "I can't wait. I told you so on the dock. You must give me the thing now."

"I won't – so there!" shrilled Miss Gibson.

The older woman stared at the obstinate young face in desperate silence. Then she broke out fiercely, all effort at suppression over. "I believe you want me to bribe you!" And she pulled from a velvet handbag a roll of bank-notes.

Mary Gibson drew in her breath with a gasp. "Why– you've got hundreds and hundreds of dollars! I believe you're a fraud! You're after me to steal the jewel. Get out of this room, you thief, or I'll call – "

The sentence broke off with a queer gurgle. The woman who called herself Miss Parsons had snatched a long hatpin from the other girl's hat on the table, and stabbed Mary Gibson through the heart. She fell without a cry.

This was the tragedy mirrored on my wall at the foot of my bed. I saw the fall. I saw the murderess stoop; I saw her rise with something in her hand – something that gleamed green and blue, like a wonderful butterfly's wing. As I stumbled out of bed and groped for the dressing-gown which Teano had unpacked, I saw the woman tiptoe towards the door. Then a man's face came into the picture.

The murderess turned and saw the face also. But instead of trying to escape, she did a wiser thing. Wide open she flung the door and screamed at the top of her lungs, "Help! Murder! A burglar has killed my friend!"

The big night watchman, who had paused on his round for a chat with Nella, seized Morosini as the Italian sprang on the woman at the threshold.

"Maurice!" shrieked Nella, betraying her secret, yet caring not at all. Her one thought was of the man she loved. "He's innocent. He came to see me, not to steal, or murder."

Morosini realised quickly how the case stood. He was lost if he could not get free, he thought. And so it might have been, if that lighted picture had not appeared on the wall at the crucial instant. I came tottering around the corner in time to shout:

"Don't let that woman go: she committed the murder. I saw it. I've enough evidence to convict her, and the jewel she did it for is in her hand now."

Miss Parsons stared at me like a mad creature, flung from her the Eye of Horus, and rushing back into the room of death, was out of the window before we could reach her.

Never before had the Priscilla Alden been smirched by scandal. The managers were in despair. But the suicide from a window on the thirteenth floor, and the story of my vision in the room opposite, combined with the romance of Nella and Morosini, attracted new clients instead of driving away the old.

"Miss Parsons," identified in death, proved to be an ex-convict, who had mysteriously disappeared from the ken of the police months before. Thanks, however, to that page of The World, missing from Dr. Thorne's office, her tragedy in an attempt to steal the Egyptian Eye of Horus carried me one step further on my own quest.