The Best Man. Grace Livingston Hill
napkin, paper, and all in his hand, holding it against his coat most naturally, as if he had forgotten that he had it, and made his way into the front hall, where in an alcove was an telephone. As he passed the hat-rack he swept his coat and hat off with his free hand, and bore them with him, devoutly hoping that he was not being watched from the dining room. Could he possibly get from the telephone out the front door without being seen? Hastily he hid the cipher message in an inner pocket. The napkin he dropped on the little telephone table, and taking up the receiver he spoke: “Hello! Yes! Oh, good evening! You don’t say so! How did that happen?” He made his voice purposely clear, that it might be heard in the dining-room if anyone was listening. Then glancing in that direction saw, to his horror, his host lean over and lift the cipher paper he had left on the table and hand it to the guest on his right.
The messenger at the other end had given his sentence agreed upon and he had replied according to the sentences laid down by the chief in his instructions; the other end hand said good-bye and hung up, but Gordon’s voice spoke, cool and clear in the little alcove, despite his excitement. “All right. Certainly. I can take time to write it down. Wait until I get my pencil. Now, I’m ready. Have you it there? I’ll wait a minute until you get it.” His heart beat wildly. The blood surged through his ears like rushing waters. Would they look for the little red mark? The soft clink of spoons and dishes and the murmur of conversation was still going on, but there was no doubt but it was a matter of few seconds before his theft would be discovered. He must make an instant dash for liberty while he yet could. Cautiously, stealthily, like a shadow from the alcove, one eye on the dining-room, he stole to the door and turned the knob. Yet even as he did so he saw his recent host rise excitedly from his seat and fairly snatch the paper from the man who held it. His last glimpse of the room where he had but three minutes before been enjoying the hospitality of the house was a vision of the entire company starting up and pointing to himself even as he slid from sight. There was no longer need for silence. He had been discovered and must fight for his life. He shut the door quickly, his nerves so tense that seemed as if something must break soon; opened and slammed the outer door, and was out in the great whirling city under the flare of electric lamps with only the chance of a second of time before his pursuers would be upon him.
He came down the steps with the air of one who could scarcely take time to touch his feet to the ground, but must fly.
CHAPTER III
Almost in front of the house stood a closed carriage with two fine horses, but the coachman was looking up anxiously toward the next building. The sound of the closing door drew the man’s attention, and, catching Gordon’s eye, he made as if to jump down and throw open the door of the carriage. Quick as a flash, Gordon saw he had been mistaken for the man the carriage awaited, and he determined to make use of the circumstance.
“Don’t get down,” he called to the man, taking chances. “It’s very late already. I’ll open the door. Drive for all you’re worth.” He jumped in and slammed the carriage door behind him, and in a second more the horses were flying down the street. A glance from the back window showed an excited group of his fellow-guests standing at the open door and wildly gesticulating. He surmised that his host was already at the telephone calling for his own private detective.
Gordon could scarcely believe his sense that he had accomplished his mission and flight so far, and yet he knew his situation was most precarious. Where he was going he neither knew nor cared. When he was sure he was far enough from the house he would call to the driver and give him directions, but first he must make sure that the precious paper was safely stowed away, in case he should be caught and searched. They might be coming after him with motorcycles in a minute or two.
Carefully rolling the paper into a tiny compass, he slipped it into a hollow gold case which was among the things in the envelope the chief had given him. There was a fine chain attached to the case, and the whole looked innocently like a gold pencil. The chain he slipped about his neck, dropping the case down inside his collar. That done he breathed more freely. Only from his dead body should they take that away. Then he hastily put on the false eyebrows, mustache, and goatee which had been provided for his disguise, and pulling on a pair of light gloves he felt more fit to evade detection.
He was just beginning to think what he should say to the driver about taking him to the station, for it was important that he get out of the city at once, when, glancing out of the window to see what part of the city he was being taken through he became aware of an auto close beside the carriage keeping pace with it, and two men stretching their necks as if to look into the carriage window at him. He withdrew to the shadow instantly so that they could not see him, but the one quick glance he had made him sure that one of his pursuers was the short thick-set man with cruel jaw who had sat across from him at the dinner table a few minutes before. If this were so he had practically no chance at all of escape, for what was a carriage against a swift moving car and what was he against a whole city full of strangers and enemies? If he attempted to drop from the carriage on the other side and escape into the darkness he had but a chance of a thousand at not being seen, and he could not hope to hide and get away in this unknown part of the city. Yet he must take his chance somehow, for the carriage must sooner or later get somewhere and he be obliged to face his pursuers.
To make matters worse, just at the instant when he had decided to jump at the next dark place and was measuring the distance with his eye, his hand even being outstretched to grasp the door handle, a blustering, boisterous motorcycle burst into full bloom just where he intended to jump, and the man who rode it was in uniform. He dodged back into the darkness of the carriage again that he might not be seen, and the motor-cycle came so near that its rider turned a white face and looked in. He felt that his time has come, and his cause was lost. It had not yet occurred to him that the men who were pursuing him would hardly be likely to call in municipal aid in their search, lest their own duplicity would be discovered. He reasoned that he was dealing with desperate men who would stop at nothing to get back the original cipher paper, and stop his mouth. He was well aware that only death would be considered a sufficient silencer for him after what he had seen at Mr. Holman’s dinner table, for the evidence he could give would involve the honor of every man who had sat there. He saw in a flash that the two henchmen whom he was sure were even now riding in the car on his right had been at the table for the purpose of silencing him if he showed any signs of giving trouble. The wonder of such grave import which meant ruin to them all if they were found out, but probably they had reasoned that every man had his price and had intended to offer him a share of the booty. It was likely that the chief had caused it to be understood by them that he was the right kind of man for their purpose. Yet, of course, they had taken precautions, and now they had him well caught, an auto on one side, a motor-cycle on the other and no telling how many more behind! He had been a fool to get into this carriage. He might have known no chance for escape now – yet he must fight to the last. He put his hand on his revolver to make sure it was easy to get at, tried to think whether it would not be better to chew up and swallow that cipher message rather than to run the risk of its falling again into the hands of the enemy; decided that he must carry it intact to his chief if possible; and finally that he must make a dash for safety at once, when just then the carriage turned briskly into a wide driveway, and the attendant auto and motor-cycle dropped behind as if puzzled at the move. The carriage stopped short and a bright light from a open doorway was flung into his face. There seemed to be high stone walls on one side and the lighted doorway on the other hand evidently led into a great stone building. He could hear the puffing of the car and cycle just behind. A wild notion that the carriage had been placed in front of the house to trap him in case he tried to escape, and that he had been brought to prison, flitted through his mind.
His hand was on his revolver as the coachman jumped down to fling open the carriage door, for he intended to fight for his liberty to the last.
He glanced back through the carriage window, and the lights of the auto glared in his face. The short, thick-set man was getting out of the car, and the motor-cyclist had stood his machine up against the wall and was coming toward the carriage. Escape was going to be