I, Spy - 6 Espionage & Detective Books in One Edition. Frederic Arnold Kummer
way, as you lay in bed for the purpose of terrifying you."
"But—why—why?" the girl cried.
"I cannot say. But it has occurred to me that these people, whoever they are, that are trying to injure you, may not intend any physical violence at all, at least for the present, but may be depending solely upon the terrible and insidious power of suggestion. You must bear this possibility in mind, and try to control your fears. I can readily believe that thirty days of this sort of persecution, and you would be a physical and mental wreck. But we shall stop it. You need have no fears on that score." Mrs. Morton turned to her daughter with a few words of explanation.
"Mr. Richards, or rather, Mr. Duvall, is not a newspaper man, Ruth, but a detective, who is trying to bring the wretches who are annoying you to justice. I feel every confidence in him."
Ruth turned toward Duvall a very white and pathetic face.
"I hope you will succeed, Mr. Duvall," she said, in a weak voice. "I cannot stand much more."
"I shall, Miss Morton. And now," he turned to Mr. Baker, "I think we had better go, and let Miss Morton get some rest. I will come here in the morning, Mrs. Morton," he continued, addressing the girl's mother, "and we will consider further the question of your moving to a hotel. Meanwhile I do not think you have anything further to fear this evening. Good night."
Before leaving the apartment he made another examination of the marks upon the bedclothes, then closed and fastened both windows, and locked the door of the room.
Mr. Baker left him at the corner.
"You will come to the studio to-morrow, of course."
"By all means. I shall come down with Miss Morton and her mother. That will give us an opportunity to investigate further the matter of the missing photograph, and also to talk over that plan I had in mind concerning the new film you are to show at the Grand to-morrow night. It is barely possible that, by means of a plan I have in mind, we may be able to locate the person or persons responsible for all this trouble."
"I certainly hope so," said Baker, as he took his leave. "This thing is getting on my nerves, too."
Duvall made his way back to his hotel, as much mystified as ever. He had thought for a moment of spending the night on the sidewalk in front of the Mortons' apartment, watching the windows facing on the court, but his experience told him that it would be useless. The alarm which Ruth had made, the closing of the windows of her bedroom, the locking of the door, all made it highly improbable that any further attempt would be made to annoy her during the night. He walked along in a state of intense preoccupation, trying to discover some reasonable explanation of the astonishing events of the day.
Once he had an impression, a feeling, that he was being followed, but when he turned around, there was no one in sight but a slightly tipsy man, and a couple of young girls, far down the street. He dismissed the thought from his mind, and proceeded to his hotel.
It was not yet eleven o'clock, and Grace was waiting for him in the little parlor of their suite.
"Well, Richard," she remarked, as he came in, "you've had quite a day of it."
"Yes, quite," he replied, throwing himself into a chair. "What have you been doing with yourself?"
"Shopping, mostly. I found it rather dull. I went to a moving picture this afternoon. Saw your friend Ruth Morton. She certainly is a very beautiful girl."
"Yes—very," Duvall replied, absently.
"Have you seen her to-day?" Grace went on, with a smile.
"Yes. Why?"
"Oh—nothing. I was just thinking."
Duvall burst into a laugh, and rising, went over to his wife and kissed her.
"For heaven's sake, Grace," he said, "don't be silly. I'm not interested in motion picture actresses."
"You weren't, I'll admit, nor in motion pictures either, until recently, but perhaps you have changed. I could understand any man being fascinated by a girl like Ruth Morton."
Duvall did not pursue the question. It was a hard and fast rule between them not to discuss his professional work. And Mrs. Morton had made it a point that he should confide in no one, not even his wife.
"Well," he said, picking up an evening paper, "I'm not fascinated yet. No letters for me to-day, I suppose."
"None." Grace went on with her sewing.
They sat for a while in silence. Presently there came a knock on the door, and a boy appeared, bearing a telegram, Duvall opened it carelessly, thinking it some word from the overseer of his farm. He sat up with sudden astonishment as he read the contents of the message.
"Keep out," the telegram read, "or you will find that we can strike back."
Duvall placed the telegram in his pocket with a frown. So it appeared that in spite of all his care, his connection with the case was known. How this was possible he could not imagine. His first visit to the Morton apartment that day had been in the guise of a workman. His subsequent appearance at the studio, and later, at the apartment, had been in the character of a newspaper man. There was only one explanation. Someone had watched him while he was making his examination of Ruth Morton's room, and, subsequently, had followed him from the apartment to his hotel. He began to realize that he was dealing with a shrewd brain, and one that acted with almost uncanny quickness and precision. He determined that, if Mrs. Morton and her daughter changed their place of residence the following day, he would do the same. He said nothing of his intentions to Grace, however. It was more than ever necessary that he preserve secrecy in this case.
"No bad news, I hope, Richard," Grace remarked, glancing up from her sewing.
"No. Nothing serious. Have you heard anything from home?"
"Yes. Everything is going along quite smoothly. The boy is well and happy, and Mrs. Preston says to stay as long as we want to."
"Well," said Duvall, rising and throwing down his newspaper, "if things don't go better than they have been going to-day, I may have to be here some time. I've got a queer case on, Grace. I'd like to tell you about it, but I can't. But it is quite unusual. Some features to it that I have never met before."
"Oh—I wish I might help you," Grace exclaimed. "You know how often I have done so in the past."
"I know, dear. But I am bound to secrecy, for the present at least. Suppose we turn in now. I've got to get up early."
"All right," Grace said. "But if you need my help, don't hesitate to ask me. To tell you the truth, I'm having an awfully slow time."
Chapter 2
Duvall made his appearance at the Morton apartment the following morning in his ordinary guise. It was his intention, when the time came, to disappear from the case in his normal person, to reappear in it, later, in a complete disguise. But that time, he felt, had not yet arrived.
Mrs. Morton received him in fairly good spirits. Her daughter, she said, had had a restful night, in spite of her terrible experience. When Ruth rose from the breakfast table to greet him, he was gratified to find that she showed no great traces of the fright of the evening before.
"I'm feeling almost myself again, Mr. Duvall," she said. "I've made up my mind not to let these people frighten me again."
"Nothing further occurred last night, of course," Duvall asked.
"Nothing," replied Mrs. Morton. "I could almost believe the whole thing a horrible dream." They did not touch on the question of going to a hotel, during the short interval that elapsed before they set out for the studio. Duvall was anxious to see Mr. Baker. He hoped sincerely that by means of the photograph which had been in the company's files, some trace of the persons responsible for the threats might be obtained.
The