The Blue Lights: A Detective Story. Kummer Frederic Arnold
say!"
"It's someone coming in," said Grace, uneasily. "In a machine. I wonder who it can be?"
"Possibly Hudson, the veterinary. He was coming today, to look at that heifer."
"He hasn't a machine like that. This is a big touring car." She turned to her husband. "Hadn't you better go in and fix up a bit, Dick? It may be company."
Duvall laughed. "If it is, they'll have to take me as I am," he said; then again called to the dog.
A moment later the servant, who had interviewed the caller at the front door, came out to the side porch. "Gentleman to see you, Mr. Duvall," she said. "Seems to be in a powerful hurry, too."
"All right, Aunt Lucy," said Duvall as he made his way to the front of the house.
"Is this Richard Duvall?" the visitor asked, in a quick, almost peremptory tone, as the detective joined him.
"Yes. That is my name. What can I do for you?"
The newcomer rose nervously from his chair and began chewing upon his half-smoked cigar. "Had the devil of a time to find you, Mr. Duvall."
"You came out from Washington, I suppose," remarked the detective, wondering what his visitor could want with him.
"Yes. Got your address from Hicks, of the Treasury Department. He said you were about twelve miles out. I seem to have come about twenty."
"Perhaps you went around by way of Laurel. It's much further, that way. What can I do for you, Mr. – " He paused interrogatively.
The man looked up at him quickly. "My name's Hodgman – Thomas Hodgman – of New York. I represent John Stapleton."
"John Stapleton, the banker?" asked Duvall, surprised.
"Yes. You know him, don't you?"
"Yes. Quite well. I handled a case for him once – some years ago. Why?" Duvall's face became grave. He began to realize that the interview was likely to become suddenly important. John Stapleton, the multi-millionaire banker, was not in the habit of sending messengers to anyone, without good reason.
"So he said," went on Mr. Hodgman, resuming his chair. "That's why I'm here. He wants you to take another – "
"Another?"
"Yes. Another case. Quick."
"It's quite out of the question."
"Nonsense! This is important. Money's no object; name your own terms."
"It isn't a question of terms, Mr. Hodgman. I have withdrawn, for the time being at least, from active professional work."
"I know." The visitor flicked the ashes impatiently from his cigar and sought nervously in his pockets for a match. "That's what they told me at your office, in New York. Said you were on your honeymoon, and didn't want to be bothered."
"That's true. I don't."
"I told Mr. Stapleton that. He sent me to see you; said you might change your mind, when you heard about the case."
"It is quite impossible. I do not care to take up any detective work at present."
Mr. Hodgman fidgeted nervously in his chair. "You must listen to what I have to say, Mr. Duvall, at any rate. Mr. Stapleton would not hear to my returning, after seeing you, without having explained to you the nature of the case."
Duvall leaned back, and began to fondle the long moist nose of the collie which sat beside his chair. "If you insist, Mr. Hodgman, I will listen, of course; but I assure you it will be quite useless."
"I hope not. The case is most distressing. Mr. Stapleton's only child has been kidnapped!"
"Kidnapped!" Duvall sat up with a start, every line of his face tense with professional interest. "When? Where?"
"In Paris. The cablegram arrived this morning. I don't know the details. Mrs. Stapleton has been spending the winter abroad. Mr. Stapleton was to join her this month. She is living at their house in the Avenue Kleber, Paris. The child was out walking with a nurse. It has been stolen. That's all I know."
"When did it happen?"
"Yesterday morning. Mrs. Stapleton did not cable at first, believing that the boy would be found during the course of the day. Naturally she did not wish to alarm her husband needlessly, and the Prefect of Police, it seems, had assured her that the child would undoubtedly be recovered before night. It wasn't. This morning Mr. Stapleton got a long cablegram from his wife, telling him of the boy's disappearance. He's half crazy over the thing."
"What is he going to do?"
"I don't know. He sent me to see you at once. I'm his secretary, you know. When I couldn't find you in New York, he told me to come here. I arrived in Washington an hour ago, and came right out. Mr. Stapleton said if any man on earth could find his boy for him, you could."
"I suppose the thing is a matter of blackmail – ransom – "
"Very likely. They will probably demand a huge sum. No requests have been made, as yet, so far as I know. These fellows usually wait a week or two, before showing their hand, to give the unfortunate parents a chance to worry themselves half to death. I suppose they figure that then they'll be more likely to come across with the money."
"Yes. That's the scheme. A rotten business, too. Hanging is too good for such wretches!"
"That's what I say. Of course you can understand how Mr. Stapleton feels."
"Of course. He will sail at once, I suppose."
"That's the worst of it. He can't go till Saturday. Tomorrow's Thursday – that's three days off. There's a deal on here involving millions – something he's been working to put through for months. Of course he doesn't consider anything like that, when it comes to his child; but he's got to think of his associates – men who have intrusted their money to him. He can't possibly sail before Saturday. He wants you to go ahead of him. There's a fast boat leaving in the morning. You could take that. We can have a conference tonight. It will mean mighty quick work, though." He glanced at his watch. "After six now. There's no train till midnight – the sleeper. But Mr. Stapleton told me to charter a special. We can be in New York by one o'clock in the morning, if we start right now." He looked at Duvall in eager expectancy.
The latter frowned, his gaze wandering off to the distant fields, where the newly plowed earth reminded him of his plans for the morrow. Yet here was a man, a friend, who had helped him much, in the earlier days of his career, begging him to come to his assistance in a matter almost of life or death. It was a difficult decision that he was called upon to make. The thought of leaving Grace hurt him deeply; yet she would prefer to stay behind, in case he should go, to look after the affairs of the place. With the assistance of the overseer and the hands, he knew that she could manage everything during a brief absence on his part – it seemed unlikely that the matter would require more than three or four weeks, at the outside.
Mr. Hodgman broke in upon his thoughts. "You'll go, Mr. Duvall? Mr. Stapleton is depending on you. He has the utmost faith in your abilities. He knows your familiarity with Paris – the work you have done there, in the past. He believes that, by intrusting the matter to a fellow countryman, he will get his boy back again. He hasn't much faith in foreign detectives. He's set his heart on having you start for Paris at once. I can't go back and tell him that you have refused." Mr. Hodgman spoke in a loud and earnest voice, due to his very evident excitement. Neither he nor Duvall noticed that Grace had approached them, and was standing in the open doorway of the house.
Before the detective had an opportunity to reply, Grace spoke. "What is it, Richard?" she inquired, quietly.
Duvall rose, presented Mr. Hodgman to his wife, and bade her sit down. Then, in a few words, he acquainted her with the circumstances which led to the latter's visit.
"Think of that poor mother, alone there in Paris," Hodgman supplemented. "Think of her suffering, her anxiety. I realize how much we are asking, to take Mr. Duvall away from you, especially at this time; but, it is Mr. Stapleton's only child – a boy of six. You can understand how he must feel."
Grace nodded. "Yes, I can understand," she said, slowly, then turned to her