This in itself at once attracted Duvall's attention, owing to the fact that the various letters received by Ruth Morton had also all been typewritten. If the name, Norman, was an assumed one, as Duvall concluded it to be, what more natural than that it should be typewritten on a blank card, especially when a regular printed or engraved card was not available; when to have it written in long hand would have been a disclosure of identity, and when, above all, the woman in question possessed, and knew how to operate, a typewriter.
There was more than this, however, about the name on the card, to convince Duvall that E. W. Norman was the woman he sought. He recalled with distinctness the two salient features of the typewriting in all the letters sent to Miss Morton, the misplaced "a," and the broken lower right-hand corner of the capital "W." He looked closely at the two letters in the name before him. The "a" was misplaced, the "W" minus its lower right-hand corner. The evidence seemed to be complete.
The next thing to be considered was, how could he first obtain entrance to the apartment building, and, subsequently, to the flat of the woman posing as E. W. Norman? Were he to ring the latter's bell, he felt quite sure she would not respond by unfastening the front door, but she would on the contrary be warned, and even if unable to escape, might destroy the evidence he hoped to find in her possession.
On the other hand, to ring the bell of one of the other apartments might result in the unlatching of the front door, but might involve explanations, difficult, in the circumstances, to make. There was no help for it, however. Duvall pressed the bell belonging to the family named Scully.
It was a long time before there was any response. Duvall had almost begun to despair of getting one, when he heard the clicking of the electric latch, and found that he could turn the knob and enter the hallway.
He had barely done so, when at big, burly-looking man, who might have been a bartender, or a head waiter, appeared in the door of one of the ground floor apartments, clad only in his night clothes.
"Well – whatcha want?" he growled.
Duvall stepped up to him quickly, and spoke in a pleasant voice.
"I'm mighty sorry," he said. "I rang your bell by mistake. Pardon me."
The man glared at him, suspicion blazing from his eyes.
"That's an old one," he retorted. "How do I know you ain't a burglar?"
"Do I look like one?" Duvall asked.
The man ignored this question.
"Rang my bell by mistake, did you? Who do you want to see?"
"I have some business with a lady on the fourth floor." He went closer to the man, and lowered his voice. "I'm a detective, my friend," he whispered confidentially. "I'm here on a very important case."
The big man's eyes widened.
"Th' hell you are!" he exclaimed. "Central office?"
"No. Private."
"H – m." The man nodded slowly. "All right. But I guess I'll keep my eye on you, just the same." He leaned against the door jamb and watched Duvall as he ascended the stairs.
The detective reached the fourth floor at top speed. He was panting, when he arrived opposite the door of the apartment he sought. Once there, he paused for a moment, listening intently. Not a sound came from the interior of the flat.
The problem of obtaining access to the place now confronted him. The door was of oak of stout construction. He doubted his ability to break it in, nor did he wish to attempt to do so, if it could be avoided. Breaking into private apartments, without a warrant, was a serious matter. There was a chance that this might not be the right place, after all. He hesitated. Yet Grace might be within, in danger, perhaps, of her life. It was imperative that he should find out the truth at once.
Stepping up to the door, he knocked sharply upon it, then waited for a reply. He scarcely expected one, but felt that he should at least give the persons within a chance.
A long silence ensued. Duvall was about to rap again, when, to his amazement, the door slowly and noiselessly swung inward, as though impelled by some unseen hand.
The room beyond was shrouded in darkness. Duvall could see no one. Whoever had opened the door must now be concealed behind it. No one either greeted or challenged him. The door swung three-quarters open, and stood still. Not a sound was to be heard. The room was as silent as a tomb.
Duvall stood on the threshold for a few seconds, listening intently. He was greatly astonished by what had occurred. Why had the door been so silently opened? Was someone waiting within, ready to attack him the moment he made a step forward?
Whether this was the case or not, nothing, he reflected, was to be gained by remaining where he was. Drawing an automatic pistol from his pocket, he held it in readiness in his right hand, then, raising his left arm, he flung his entire weight against the partly opened door.
The door yielded to his attack. Then there came a dull thud, as though some heavy body had fallen to the floor, and immediately after the hallway resounded with a series of unearthly screams. Duvall still moved forward. Then, to his utter surprise, there appeared in the darkness a grotesque figure, which immediately hurled itself upon him and began to clutch frantically at his throat.
CHAPTER XVIII
It would be difficult to describe the feelings of Grace Duvall when, after having traced the mysterious woman who had attacked Ruth Morton, to the flat at Columbus Avenue and Ninety-sixth Street, she had foolishly entered the place, and allowed herself to be attacked.
The woman's onslaught had been so sudden, so unexpected, that Grace was entirely unable to offer any defense.
Her cries for help had been smothered at once and with the woman's thin but muscular fingers clutching at her throat, she found herself forced violently back upon a low couch that stood immediately behind her.
For a few moments she struggled violently, striving with both her hands to break her assailant's hold upon her, but her efforts were in vain. Slowly she realized that she was being choked into unconsciousness. The objects in the room, the woman's set face, whirled dimly before her eyes, and then everything became blank.
When she once more recovered consciousness, she found herself still lying upon the couch. Her throat ached fearfully, and there was a dull roaring in her head.
She opened her eyes and looked about. The room was quite dark. Only a very faint glow came through the windows at its further end – the dim reflection of the lights in the street. So far as she could determine, she was alone.
She tried to move her arms, her feet, but found them bound fast. A moment later she realized that a piece of cloth of some sort, tightly rolled, had been forced into her mouth. She could not utter a sound.
There was no one in the room, but from the one which adjoined it in the rear came the murmur of voices.
By twisting her head about she was able to learn that the door connecting the two was ajar, and through the narrow opening came a thin ribbon of light.
As her senses became clearer, she realized that two persons were in the room beyond her, and from the sounds they made, the words which from time to time came to her ears, it appeared that they were engaged in the operation of packing.
At first the words that filtered through the partly open doorway were mere fragments of conversation – words spoken here and there in a slightly higher key, and therefore distinguishable to her. She made out that her captors supposed her to be still unconscious – that they were preparing to leave the place.
"There's no hurry," she presently heard one of the women say, in a somewhat louder voice. "If she had had friends waiting outside for her, they would have come to her rescue long ago. I'm sure nobody knows where she is."
"And her husband had gone, long before I left the house. I was watching, and he first went to a saloon on the corner, and then drove off in a taxicab. So I couldn't have been followed here."
"No. But I think we ought to get away as soon as possible. When does that train go?"
"Not until half past five."
"We'll have to wait in the station, then."
"Why not here?"
"Because that woman's husband, when she fails to return to-night, is certain to look for her. She probably came in a cab, and he might trace her that way. My advice is to leave here as soon as possible. Have you finished packing that suit case?"
"No, not quite. What do you propose to do with Jack?"
"I was going to take him with me."
"I don't see how you can do that."
"Why not?"
"Because, if any attempt is made to follow us, he would be a certain means of identification."
There was silence for a time. Grace heard the sounds of drawers being opened and shut, as the two women hurried through their task. Who was Jack, she wondered? There had been no sounds to indicate the presence of a third person in the next room.
Presently she heard the voices again.
"I think the whole affair has been a mistake, anyway," one of them said petulantly. "I don't see what you have gained by it."
"I've gotten my revenge on that baby-faced Morton girl. The stuck-up thing. I'll bet she won't act again in a hurry. What right has she to be getting a thousand a week, when they wouldn't give me a chance at any price? I may not be as good-looking as she is, but I'm a better actress. I hate her. I believe she told the director I wouldn't do – that's why I didn't get the job. And after running down to the studio every day for three weeks, too. I hate her, I tell you. I hope she's never able to act again." The woman spoke with an intensity, a violence that made Grace shudder.
"How do you ever suppose they came to connect me with the matter?" the other woman said after a time. "They didn't know my address, at the studio. And even if they had, I have never been seen with you. I don't see why they ever suspected me."
"I don't know. That man Duvall is pretty shrewd, though. I did manage to get away from him, the other night. I'd like to have seen his face, when he got back to the cab and found me gone."
"His wife followed you here, from the hotel, I suppose. You took an awful chance."
"I don't understand how she traced me. I knew she was following me, and when she saw me go up in the elevator, at the hotel, I expected her to come, too. I was afraid they might prevent me from coming down, while they were coming up, so I walked down. I watched, from the stairs, and saw her and the clerk get out of the elevator on the floor where that girl's apartment was. Then I came down the stairs and went out the side entrance. I knew she was upstairs, when I left, and I don't see how she traced me."
"Perhaps she had her taxi driver do it."
"That's just about it. And if he did, like as not he's waiting for her yet."
The other woman laughed.
"Nice wait he'll have," she said.
"That's all very well, but won't he see us going out?"
"Suppose he does. Anyway, it's dark, and we'll wear veils. And we won't go out together. But I don't think he'll wait so long."
"If he doesn't, he'll go back to the hotel and report, and then the woman's husband will be up here in no time. I think we'd better get out now. You'll have to leave the trunk. There's nothing much in it."
Again there was a long silence. Then Grace heard the door open, and the two women came into the room, carrying their suitcases. She closed her eyes and pretended to be still unconscious. One of the women paused beside her.
"If they don't find out where she is," she whispered to her companion, "she's likely to stay here and starve to death."
"I shouldn't be sorry," the other snarled. "But if you feel badly about it, it's easy enough to telephone to-morrow and tell the janitor to let her out. No chance of a cab, I guess."
"No. Not at this hour. We'll take the car down to Forty-second Street, and cross over. Are you ready?"
"Yes. I'd better put out the light, though."
"All right." The first woman moved to the door, while the second returned to the bedroom and snapped off the light. A moment later Grace saw her ghostly figure pass the couch, and then the snapping of the door catch told her that she was alone.
The thought was anything but a pleasant one. If Richard did not happen to remember Leary – she knew she had mentioned him in connection with the address on the torn card he had given her – it was by no means impossible that she might lie where she was, helpless, for days. And in that event, starvation, or what was worse, thirst, might very readily serve to fulfill the woman's predictions. She shivered at the thought of spending hours, days, in this place alone.
But was she alone? Until now, she had supposed so, in spite of the woman's remarks about "Jack," for she had heard not the slightest sound. Presently she became aware of a slow, regular scraping sound, that seemed to come from one of the rear rooms. It suggested something alive, something moving about with stealthy footsteps. Then, all of a sudden, there came a loud crash.
Grace gave an involuntary cry, or what would have been a cry, had she not been so effectually gagged. The knowledge that she lay helpless, unable to protect herself from attack, frightened her. She turned her head, straining her eyes into the semi-darkness. Something, some figure, was moving toward her from the bedroom, gliding along with swaying, noiseless steps. What it was, she could not determine; from its appearance against the darkness of the doorway it looked like a crawling figure in black.
Presently she heard the sound of breathing, and with it a mumbling noise, as though the apparition were talking to itself. Two eyes seemed to gleam through the darkness. There was a hissing yet guttural sound, human in quality, yet horrible to her ears.
And then, without warning, the figure sprang toward her, and flung its arms about her neck.
With a gasp of fear, Grace turned and buried her face in the pillows. Fingers seemed clutching at her hair. An arm, wearing a silken sleeve, brushed her cheek, lay across her throat. A low voice muttered unintelligibly in her ear, filling her with horror. She felt her senses reeling. She thought herself about to faint.
Then, in a moment, the creature was gone, and she heard it moving noisily about the further end of the room.
From time to time there came a crash, as though in the darkness it had upset something. Then would follow long, uncanny periods of stillness, broken only by the horrible muttering. She lay with her head buried in the pillows, wondering at what instant the figure would again appear at her side.
For a long time she remained thus, straining her ears to keep track of the creature's movements. And as the moments passed, she began to take courage, to hope that since no harm had as yet been offered her, the thing in the room, whatever it was, might not come near her again.
It appeared to have crept to the door, and from it came a low, quite human whimpering, as though it were in great grief. Perhaps, Grace thought, this was caused by the absence of the two women. She lay quite still, trying vainly to free her hands from their encircling bands, praying silently that Richard would come to her assistance. Her nerves were badly shaken. She contemplated hours, even days of such a situation with terror. At least, however, the coming of the dawn would bring one relief. She would be able to see what this uncanny thing was that shared her captivity.
Suddenly she became aware that some one was ascending the stairs in the hall outside. Could it be Richard coming to her assistance? She strained her ears, fearing that it might be only one of the tenants of the apartment above, returning home at a late hour.
The creature at the door had apparently also heard the approaching sound, for its whimperings ceased. Grace could tell by its movements that it had risen. There was a faint sound of fingers sliding over the polished surface of the door. The steps outside came to a halt.
With all her force Grace tried to cry out, but the gag prevented her from uttering a sound. Then there came a sharp knocking at the door.
The figure before it seemed to be fumbling noiselessly with the catch. In a moment Grace felt, rather than saw, that the door had been opened. Another interval of silence came, and then the person outside flung himself heavily forward.
The silence of the room was broken by a fall, a succession of unearthly screams. Grace saw a dark body go hurtling through the air, and then came the sharp, vicious crack of a pistol. The next thing she saw was her husband, bending over her, flashing an electric torch in her face. With frightened eyes she looked up at him and tried to smile.
CHAPTER XIX
The first thing that Duvall did, after releasing Grace from her bonds, was to take her in his arms and kiss her. Then he found the electric switch upon the wall and turned on the lights.
"What – what was it?" Grace asked, staring before her in horror.
"What was what?" he questioned.
"That – that thing that was locked in here with me."
"Poor creature. A monkey. I'm sorry I had to shoot it." He pointed to a crumpled figure on the floor dressed in a gay costume of red silk.
"But – what was a monkey doing here?"
"I'll explain all that later. Where is the woman?" He glanced toward the silent bedroom.
"They have gone?"
"They?"
"Yes. There were two."
"Ah! The Ford girl. I might have known. Where did they go?"
"I – I don't know. To the station, I think. They said something about waiting there for a train."
"What station?"
"They didn't say. But they spoke of taking a car to 42nd Street, and crossing over. It must have been the Grand Central."
"Or possibly the West Shore. We'll have to try both. Are you able to leave now?"
Grace straightened out her stiffened limbs.
"Yes – I – guess so."
"Then come along."
As they started to leave the place, two men confronted them at the door. One was Mr. Scully, he of the ground-floor apartment, the other a short, thickset man, who at once announced himself as the janitor of the building.
"What's going on up here?" he questioned. "I heard a shot."
Duvall pointed to the crumpled heap on the floor.
"I had to shoot it, though I'm sorry now that I did. It attacked me in the dark. I couldn't afford to take any chances. My wife was locked in here, and was, so far as I knew, in grave danger."
"Your wife?" The man glanced at Grace.
"Yes."
"But – where is Miss Norman? And how did that monkey get in here?"
"Miss Norman left here some time ago. Another woman, by the name of Ford, was with her. She brought the monkey."
"What for?"
"I imagine she didn't want to leave it at her rooms. She did not expect to return there."
"And Miss Norman's gone, you say?"
"Yes."
"Where to?"
"I don't just know, but I mean to find out at once. She has been guilty of a grave offense, on account of which I have been trying to lay my hands on her for several days. My wife tells me she took most of her belongings with her in her flight."
"Flight, eh?" the man growled. "And she owes us a month's rent. I hope you find her."
"I think I shall. Meanwhile, suppose you wait here in the apartment, in case, for any reason, she comes back. If I find her I shall bring her here at once, and unless the place is open I couldn't very well get in."
"All right." The man glanced about the disordered room. "That damned monkey has smashed a lamp and a lot of ornaments that somebody's got to pay for. Miss Norman rented this place furnished."
Duvall made no reply, but nodding to Grace, led the way to the hall.
"I'll be back soon, whether I find the woman or not," he said. "I've got some investigations to make here."
Accompanied by Grace, he descended to the cab. Leary seemed overjoyed to realize that Grace was safe, and began a long apology for his carelessness in not waiting for her earlier in the evening, but Duvall cut him short.
"Good thing you didn't," he said. "By coming back to the hotel and leaving the note for Mrs. Duvall, you made it possible for me to find her, and if I hadn't" – he paused and looked at Grace with a troubled face – "there's no knowing what might have happened. Tell the chauffeur to drive to the Grand Central Station."
It was three o'clock when the cab drew up at the curb. In spite of the lateness of the hour, there were a good many persons moving in and out of the station. Duvall got out and motioned to Grace and Leary to do the same.
"We will all go in by different doors," he explained, "and meet in the general waiting-room. If the women are not there, Mrs. Duvall will look through the women's room. If you see them, and they make no effort to escape, wait for me to join you. If they do try to get away, detain them until I come."
It was Duvall himself, however, who first caught sight of the objects of their pursuit. They sat, both apparently asleep, on a bench in one corner of the main waiting room. The detective was not certain of their identity, heavily veiled as they were, until he had gone quite close up to them. Then he saw that they were Miss Ford and the woman who had escaped from him while in the cab the night before.
He leaned over and tapped the Ford girl on the shoulder.
"Wake up, Miss Ford," he exclaimed.
The girl shivered, then struggled to her feet. Her companion appeared to be too dazed to move, although she opened her eyes and stared at him with a vague and terrified face.
"Will you come with me quietly," he said, "or shall I call a policeman and have you put under arrest for the attack upon my wife?" He addressed himself more particularly to the woman who was sitting.
She now rose and made a movement as though to attempt to escape. Duvall grasped her by the arm.
"It will be quite useless to attempt it, Miss Norman," he said. "I have help close at hand in case it is needed." He glanced toward Grace and Leary, who were now approaching. "I do not wish to use any violence, of course, but you and your friend are going back to the apartment on Ninety-sixth Street with me."
His voice, his manner, made it apparent to the two women that escape was hopeless. They seemed suddenly to realize it, to give up further ideas of resistance.
"Very well," Miss Norman said, "we will go."
"Good." Duvall turned to Leary. "Take those two suit cases, Leary, and get another cab." In silence the little party made its way to the street. The two women said nothing on the way back to the apartment, and Duvall did not question them. There was time enough for that, he reflected, after they reached their destination. Within less than an hour from the time of their departure, their entire party was back in the woman's apartment.
The janitor was still there on guard, but the body of the dead monkey had been removed. Duvall, requesting Leary to remain, closed the door. The janitor rose and came toward them.
"Look here, Miss Norman," he began, "who's going to pay for that broken lamp and them vases and ornaments?"
The woman regarded him with a stare, but said nothing.
"Never mind about those things now," Duvall said. "They can remain. I have some questions of much greater importance to ask these ladies. You need not wait. In fact, I should prefer that you did not. The matter is a private one." The janitor took his departure, grumbling to himself, and Duvall closed and bolted the door. Then he requested the two women to be seated. They obeyed without a word.
"Why did you send those threatening messages to Miss Morton?" he suddenly asked, addressing himself to Miss Norman.
She faced him defiantly.
"I'll answer no questions," she flung at him. "You can't prove I sent anybody any messages."
"Do you deny it, then?"
"Yes!"
Duvall turned to Grace.
"You saw this woman enter Miss Morton's hotel to-night and go up in the elevator, did you not?"
"Certainly!"
"Do you deny that?" The detective once more addressed Miss Norman.
"No. What of it? How do you know I went to Miss Morton's room?" Her defiance was in no way lessened. Duvall saw that she meant to deny her guilt utterly. He turned to Leary.
"This woman came to you, did she not, with a request that you spy on my wife's movements, and inform her concerning them?"
The chauffeur nodded.
"Yes, sir. She did."
Again Miss Norman spoke.
"Suppose I did. What then?"
"You will admit, I presume, that you fainted at the theatre the other night when the picture of the death's-head seal was thrown on the screen, and that later you escaped from the cab in which I had placed you?"
"Certainly I will admit it. The hideous thing startled me. As for escaping from the cab, I had every reason to do so. You had not only attempted to drug me, but after that you tried to steal the contents of my purse. You are the one who ought to be arrested, not I."
The woman's attitude began to annoy Duvall, especially as, so far, he realized fully that the evidence against her was entirely circumstantial and vague. He turned away, and began to search the rooms.
The search, although he conducted it with the utmost minuteness, was quite unproductive of results. If the woman possessed a typewriter, she had apparently made away with it. The scrap basket contained nothing but a few torn bits of paper of no value. There was no stationery on the small desk in the living room, no black sealing wax, such as had been used to make the seals. Duvall began to realize that the case against his prisoner was far from complete. Returning from a fruitless search of the bedroom, Duvall's eye fell upon the two suitcases that the women had carried in their flight. He bent over to them at once, and proceeded to open them, one after the other.
"Search them, please." He nodded to Grace.
The latter did so with the utmost care, but found nothing of an incriminating nature. The two women sat in stony silence, showing little interest in the proceedings. Duvall went over to them.
"Show me your rings," he said to Miss Norman.
The woman held out her hand.
"Take them off."
She stripped from her finger three rings. One was a gold seal with a monogram upon it, another a cheap affair set with pearls, the third a twisted gold band. None of the rings contained the mysterious death's-head seal, or could in any way have concealed it.
An examination of Miss Ford's stock of jewelry produced no better results.
"Let me see the contents of your purse," Duvall said, indicating a leather bag the Norman woman carried on her wrist.
She handed the bag over with an almost imperceptible smile. Duvall examined it but without result. The seal was not inside. Nor did Miss Ford's purse, a silver one, contain anything worthy of his notice. He handed the two back.
"Anything else you would like to see?" Miss Norman asked with cutting irony.
Duvall walked over to the window and looked out. It was still quite dark. The woman's assurance puzzled him. It was quite clear now that unless he could find the typewriter, the letter paper, the missing seal, and could connect this woman with them, there remained but a single way in which she could be connected with the attacks upon Miss Morton, and that would be by the direct testimony of the motion-picture actress herself, concerning the woman's visit to her room. But suppose the visit had been made in disguise. It would have been simple enough to have put on a mask on entering the room and subsequently have thrown it away. And Miss Morton, frightened as she had been, might be totally unable to identify her assailant. She had covered her tracks well. Was she then to go free?
The matter of the typewriter Duvall put aside for the moment. The woman might readily have a friend who possessed one – a hotel stenographer, perhaps, who had permitted her to make use of her machine. But the seal was a matter of more importance. His examination of the several impressions had shown him that it was extremely well carved – a decidedly expensive piece of work. Of course, the woman might have thrown it away during her flight, but it seemed unlikely. What had she done with it? The question was one to which he felt he must find an answer.
Again, with Grace's assistance, he examined the articles in the women's suitcases, testing the backs of hairbrushes, the contents of powder boxes, the interior of a cake of soap, a bottle of shoe blackening, but the search was as unproductive of results as before. Duvall was forced, against his will, to the conclusion that the woman had made away with the seal, rather than run the risk of its being found upon her person.
"Is there anything more you want of us?" Miss Norman asked, when he had again closed the suitcases. "If not, my friend and I would like to go." She rose as though to take her departure.
"Yes. There is one thing more. You will have to go to Mrs. Morton's hotel with me, so that her daughter may have an opportunity to identify you. But it is far too early to start now. I will send out presently and have some breakfast brought in."
It was beginning to grow light now. Duvall suggested to Grace that she had better go out into the little kitchenette at the rear of the apartment and see if she couldn't find the materials for preparing some coffee. He himself sat down at the little writing desk, and proceeded once more to examine its varnished surface with the greatest care. He had thought, if the letters had been sealed here, there would in all probability be some tiny spots of the black sealing wax upon the desk top, but he could discover nothing. Presently he heard Grace calling to him from the kitchen.
Directing Leary to keep an eye on the two women, he joined her at once.
"What is it?" he asked. "Have you discovered anything?"
"No, not exactly. But – what does that mean?" She pointed to a candle which stood in a tin holder on the table. "Do you notice the spots of black wax on the candlestick?"
Duvall took the candlestick up and looked at it. There were large splashes of sealing wax all over the bottom of the tin tray, not minute spots, such as might have been made by the dropping of bits of the hot wax in making a seal, but circular splotches half an inch or more in diameter, as though a great quantity of the material had been melted.