I, Spy - 6 Espionage & Detective Books in One Edition. Frederic Arnold Kummer
you?"
"Yes—if we had to. But what's the idea?"
Duvall took a bit of paper from his pocket and handed it to Baker.
"I want you to make a picture of this, and have it inserted in the film at any convenient point—say at the beginning of the second part. And you had better have the cutting and pasting-in done by some trusted person, under your personal supervision."
"But," said Baker, gazing in amazement at the bit of paper Duvall had handed him. "What's the idea of putting this in our picture? It wouldn't do at all."
"Look at that telegram Mr. Edwards just gave you. The writer says in it, 'I shall be there.' Now if the person who is causing all this trouble is going to be in the audience at the Grand Theater to-night, it is our business to find her. I say her, because I am convinced the guilty person is a woman."
A look of comprehension began to dawn upon Mr. Baker's face.
"By George!" he exclaimed. "You figure out that this will cause her to disclose herself—make some sign?"
"I feel certain of it."
"Then we will put it in." He laid the square of paper on his desk. "I will have the section of film made privately, and at once. I shall not tell even the other officers of the company about it. I suppose they will give me the devil, until after they know the reasons for it, but then, of course, it will be all right."
Duvall rose and put out his hand.
"You will be there to-night, of course?"
"Of course. And you?"
"Oh, I'll be on hand all right, although you may not recognize me. Good day." With a quick hand-shake he left the room, and went to look for Ruth and her mother. He found them in the girl's dressing-room, ready to depart. Ruth was pale and terrified, showing the most intense nervousness in every word and movement. Mrs. Morton, scarcely less affected, strove with all her power to remain calm, in order that her daughter might not break down completely. Duvall did his best to cheer them up.
"You must not let this thing prey on your mind, Miss Morton," he said. "We are going to put a stop to it, and that very soon."
"I hope so, Mr. Duvall," the girl replied. "If you don't, I'm afraid I shall break down completely."
"I think we had better go home at once," Mrs. Morton said. "Ruth is in no condition to do any more work to-day."
"I quite agree with you about going, Mrs. Morton, but not home." He lowered his voice, as though fearing that even at that moment some tool of the woman who was sending the letters might be within earshot. "I suggest that you let me take your daughter to some quiet hotel. You can follow, with her maid and the necessary baggage, later on. But we must be certain to make the change in such a way that our enemies, who are undoubtedly watching us, will not know of it. We will all leave here in your car, giving out that we are going to your home. No one will suspect anything to the contrary. On our arrival in the city, your daughter and I will leave the car, and drive to the hotel in a taxicab. When, later on, you follow with the baggage, take a taxi, sending your own car to the garage. I know your confidence in your chauffeur, but in this affair we can afford to trust no one. Your daughter and yourself can remain quietly in the hotel, under an assumed name, for a few days, until she recovers her strength. Meanwhile, I have every expectation that the persons at the bottom of this shameful affair will have been caught."
The plan appealed to Mrs. Morton at once, and she told the detective so.
"But where shall we go to—what hotel?" she asked.
Duvall leaned over and whispered in her ear the name of an exclusive and very quiet hotel in the upper part of the city.
"Do not mention the name to anyone," he said, "not even to the taxicab driver, when you leave the house. Tell him to put you down at the corner, a block away, and do not proceed to the hotel until you see that he has driven off. And keep your eyes on your maid. I do not suspect her, I admit, but there seems to be a leak somewhere, and we must stop it."
Mrs. Morton nodded, and rose.
"We had better start, then," she said. "I understand perfectly. Have Ruth register in the name of Bradley. And I think, Mr. Duvall, if you can do so, you had better arrange to stop there as well."
"I had intended to do so," the detective replied.
"That will be better." Mrs. Morton led the way to the street.
"You did not intend to go to the showing of your new film at the Grand to-night, did you?" Duvall asked Ruth, after they had started away from the studio.
"Yes, I had intended to go," she replied. "I always go to my first releases. But to-night I do not feel able to do so."
"I think it is just as well. What you need most now is rest."
The girl looked at herself in a small mirror affixed to the side of the car.
"Oh," she exclaimed. "I look terrible. These people are right, it seems. Three more weeks of this persecution and my looks would be quite gone. Mr. Edwards told me only this morning that he had never seen me look so bad." There were tears in her eyes.
Duvall realized that she spoke the truth. The effect of the strain upon her nervous system, the brutal shocks of the past two days, the horror of the experience of the night before, had wrought havoc with the girl's beauty. Her face, gray, lined, haggard, her eyes, heavy and drawn, made her the very opposite of the radiant creature that had created such a furore in motion picture circles. The methods of her persecutors, if unchecked, would beyond doubt wreck her strength and health in a short time, and in addition, there was the danger that at any moment a physical attack, a swiftly thrown acid bomb, an explosive mixture concealed in an innocent-looking package, might destroy both her beauty and her reason in one blinding flash. With the fear in her great brown eyes constantly before him, Duvall determined more than ever to free her from this terrible persecution.
They separated in the neighborhood of 30th Street, Duvall and Miss Morton taking a taxicab that stood before one of the smaller Fifth Avenue hotels. He made a pretense of entering the hotel, and did not summon the taxi until Mrs. Morton's car was well out of sight up the Avenue. Then he instructed the driver to proceed first to his hotel.
Their stop here was but momentary. Duvall went to his room, threw a few articles of clothing into his grip, left a note for Grace, telling her that he would be absent for several days, then rejoined his companion and drove uptown to the hotel opposite the park, the name of which he had mentioned to Mrs. Morton. He felt perfectly certain that they had not been followed.
Upon arriving at the hotel, he entered their names, including that of Mrs. Morton, upon the register, using the pseudonym which that latter had suggested. Then, sending Ruth to her room, he asked to see the manager, and had a brief conference with him in private. Immediately thereafter, he went up to his own apartment.
As he had arranged, it adjoined the suite selected for the Mortons. He tapped lightly on the communicating door.
"Are you all right, Miss Morton?" he called.
"Yes," came the girl's voice from the opposite side. "All right, thank you."
Chapter 3
Grace Duvall said good-by to her husband that morning with very little enthusiasm. She was not jealous of him, she was too sensible a woman, and trusted him too fully for that. But his sudden interest in Ruth Morton, the charming motion picture star, seemed rather incomprehensible to her. Of course she suspected he was working on a case which concerned the girl although Duvall had neither affirmed nor denied it. But she felt lonely, and perhaps a trifle out of sorts, and found her solitary breakfasts, luncheons, dinners, a little trying. So often before, she and Richard had worked together. Why, she wondered, did he so pointedly exclude her from this case? She would have liked to talk it over with him.
She