CHAPTER XIX

I LEARN A LOT MORE

Frean's last words rendered me speechless, all my old suspicions regarding Theodore Varney boiling to the surface of my mind. The fact of my genuine regard for the man wasn't enough to stay them. First suspicions are hard to dispossess.

"But that's impossible!" I exclaimed at length. "Varney's been investigated pretty nearly back to Adam, and there was absolutely nothing to show him guilty of the smallest legal offense, let alone being head of a crime trust."

Frean looked at me with a sort of pitying expression. "Investigated by you personally?"

"No, by Blunt, too."

"Then Blunt, being the man he is, may have found out more than he has told you. As a rule, clients aren't let in on everything till the case is finished, sometimes not even then."

"I admit that. But why should I get a code message from the King in Philadelphia, while Varney was at Sea Bright? And where would be the sense in having Joyce smuggled into the house? And why would Varney write of himself: 'Varney moves on second?' No, there's no sense in it; it isn't logical."

"On the contrary," said Frean, "I think if you consider it carefully, it will appear entirely logical. I believe that those two messages were meant simply to throw you off the track. How do you know that the first one actually came from Philadelphia? There was no address, was there?"

"No, but there was the postmark on the envelope."

"And what was to stop them using another envelope, from a letter, say, that Varney had got that day? I believe that the second message was even dropped purposely for you to find. Those messages were a bait, if you ask me; they may have wanted to see what you'd do with them, to see how much you knew. Haven't you said that they must have known for over a week before you left that you were an impostor?"

"Yes, they must have, according to Joyce's stay in the hospital."

"Well, and as for Joyce himself, he simply comes back to his master. There isn't anything to prove your theory that there was a plot to remove Jules. He may have gone back to the bottle of his own sweet will, and Corby's drinking with him doesn't show anything. Joyce may have been planted with Mr. Fremstad for a reason and, his work done, returns to his master. Mr. Fremstad may be the potential victim."

"That's a new idea."

"Well, of course, I'm only guessing," added Frean. "Fremstad may be a member for all I know. The one and only positive fact that I do know is that Varney is the Black King. I can prove it just as I can prove that Roupell is the King's bishop. But you see what it means? Suffering and disgrace for Brenda Gelette. Of course, she has no idea of the truth. For her sake and because I was in fear of my own life--perhaps that was the stronger reason--I've kept this under my hat. But now it's up to you, Lawton. You can't hit Varney without hitting his niece, but if you still decide to go through with the thing, I'm ready to do my bit. I've the necessary proof under lock and key at home, but if you don't use it, no one else shall."

"There can be no question of Miss Gelette in this," I said. "These fellows have got to be smashed, no matter who suffers, but I'll only believe Varney guilty when I see the indisputable proof. Look here," I added, fixing my eyes on him, "are you trying to slip anything over on me? If you're not playing straight, Frean, I'll clean your clock for you! I'll show you absolutely no mercy."

He made a weary, impatient gesture that was convincing in itself. "What could I put over on you? Look at that gun and think what I could have done if I was still your enemy. No, I've come to you for help and am telling you nothing but the truth. I've no spite against Brenda Gelette, either; if I had, I could have informed on her uncle long ago if I cared to face the risk. There's a decent spot in the worst of us, Lawton, and I'd do a lot to save her from suffering. Surely, if you knew that Joyce and Corby and I were members of the Black Company, you must have suspected Varney; otherwise why should we three be in Sea Bright?"

"At first I suspected him, but afterward I thought there was a plot of some kind against him, and that you had come down to help it along. Of late I haven't known what to think, for we could prove no connection between him and his crime trust. When did you find out, and does he know? And what are these proofs you mention?"

"No, he isn't aware that I know. I don't wonder you've difficulty in believing him a member of this gang; I had myself and I've known him far longer than you. I've known him off and on for the past ten years, our families having met in the Berkshires one summer. Of course I'd no idea when I joined the society that Varney was its head."

"But the proof?"

"I've got the best in the world, not only about Varney but Roupell. I got possession of code messages showing Varney to be the Black King and Roupell to be the King's bishop; they passed between them via Corby. These messages also contained a reference to the murder of Ashton. I obtained possession of them long enough to take photos of them. They were in Varney's and Roupell's handwriting. I guess that's proof enough."

Frean had hardly finished speaking, when the desk telephone rang, and, taking down the receiver, I heard the welcome and well-known lisping voice of Blunt. It was a fortunate happening, for I didn't know his private address, and, it being Sunday night, I had been wondering how to get in touch with him before morning.

"Hello, thith you, Mr. Lawton?" came his sleepy, lisping drawl. "Yeth, thith ith Blunt talking.... Yeth, ith quite all right. Nobody's listening in; I've theen to that. I'm at the Waldorf, and a taxi with a couple of my men will call in ten minutes to bring you here. Can you leave without the houthe detective and my man in front theeing you?"

"Yes, I can go down the back way and leave by the employees' entrance on the side street. But look here----"

"Wait. I want you to get thith right. The car will wait for you at the employees' entrance. If possible, I don't want my man to know you've left; a certain party is watching him, and if my man thinks you still in, the other party will, too. Thee? Bring Mr. Frean with you----"

"How in thunder did you know----"

"Oh, a little bird told me," he drawled. "We have the case about cut and dried. Tell Frean that thith ith his one and only chance to square the game. He can either come with you and face the Black King here, or wait to be scooped. It's all one to me. Ta, ta! Thee you later." And the wire clicked as he rung off.

"Lisping Jimmie?" queried Frean, as I hung up the receiver. He was pale and his voice trembled, though he tried to appear composed. "What's up? What did he say about me?"

I related the conversation.

"What did I tell you?" said Frean, with a fatalistic shrug. "He wasn't telling you anything. You can't beat him. He must have old Varney dead to rights. Well, I've beaten him to it; I've squared the game already, and he doesn't have to put on the screws. You won't go back on me, Lawton? You know I told you everything of my own free will before I knew of this round-up?"

I wasn't so sure that he hadn't known of it, at least suspected its imminence and made a virtue of necessity. But I said nothing. I couldn't blame him for trying to get the best out of his unenviable position. Far better to appear as a voluntary penitent, a savior of my life and all that, than to await inevitable arrest. He was a born turner of State's evidence.

I was rather floored by the unexpected and sudden turn of events. Rather irritated, too. I hate to be thought stupid, and yet I had sadly underestimated Jimmie Blunt. But resentment at the thought of his keeping everything so quiet till the last moment was stilled when I recollected how often I had disobeyed his strict injunctions. I was cut up, too, about Varney. For all Frean's convincing talk, I had held a sneaking hope that he was honestly mistaken about the man. But Blunt's being at the Waldorf, and his words concerning the Black King, admitted of no other construction.

"I suppose Blunt's waiting to play his big ace, pull off a grand dramatic tableau. They all do," said Frean, with a sneer. "Well, I'll play my part; can't do anything else. Mind if I take a slug of brandy? It's going to be a beastly scene. I'd stay out of it if I were you."

"I hadn't a chance to decline. I suppose I'm a necessary supernumerary."

"Rather you're the necessary angel of the show, and the stage manager wants to give you full value. You're entitled to a front seat. Well, you've done some good with your money, Lawton, though Miss Gelette may not see it that way all at once."

"Forget it, will you? I can think of that part without your help. Are you coming?"

He nodded, picked up the revolver and threw it on a chair. "Keep it as a souvenir, Lawton. Remember what I could have done with it, and that you've sworn to help me."

I had always known him for a secret coward, and now, instead of pity, I felt a mighty disgust. He was in a state verging on absolute funk, and helped himself to another hooker before quitting the room.

I was familiar with every twist and corner of the building, and had left by the employees' entrance more than once in my abortive attempts to elude the oppressive vigilance of Nast.

"I'm just as glad we're taking this route," said Frean, as we dodged the elevators and went down the back stairs. He wiped his damp forehead. "Some of our friends may be watching the front entrance, and might risk everything for a crack at us. After all, it's something to have a fellow like Blunt watching over one. I've learned to believe in the majesty of the law. It's a mighty good thing for me that it exists."

We got down the back stairs and out of the employees' entrance, halfway down the block, without glimpsing any one but a stray bell boy. A taxi was waiting with purring engine, and a couple of men were posted on either side of the open door.

"Mr. Lawton?" queried one, as we approached. "Yes, sir, the Blunt Agency. The Waldorf, Jack," he added to the chauffeur. "Let her go."

Frean and I jumped in, followed by the two men, the door slammed, and we were off.

The next moment I stopped a tremendous wallop behind the ear that sent me to the floor. I heard Frean's half-hysterical giggle, and for a brief time the closed and darkened car rocked as I tried to put up some kind of a fight against hopeless odds.

I think at that I might have had some kind of a show but for Frean. He was half crazy with fear and hatred--a deadly mixture--and he went at me like a wild cat with everything he had, while he urged on the other three. For another man had appeared from nowhere.

"Don't give him a chance!" he kept snarling. "Throw it into him, boys! He'll take more killing than a bull."

Finally some one got an elbow under my chin, my head was forced back, and a sweetish-smelling sop jammed over my mouth and nose. And so I quit.