Deuces Wild/Chapter 11

AGGERTY had chewed his cigar till it had lost its shape and most of its wrapper. He had counted the mummies and their cases, the stilted paintings on broken squares of plaster or stucco or whatever it was, and the strings of beads and scarabs hung picture-wise, under glass. Ten minutes to one. The detective was growing dangerously sleepy. He shook off the drowsiness and suggested that a fresh log be put on. It was getting too dark to be pleasant Besides, he liked to see the valet move about as long as he made no attempt to leave the room. It amused Haggerty to be ignored completely, to have his existence acknowledged only when he spoke or asked a question. An out and outer of a gentleman's gentleman.

The valet put on the log and resumed his chair, staring into the crumbling embers of the old logs or seriously studying the sap-flames of the fresh as they toward the spark-screen.

From out of his corner Haggerty would suddenly shoot a question or an observation, just to remind the other of his presence. Invariably the valet would come out of his dreams startled.

“Has your master a private secretary?”

“No, sir. Sometimes I help him in his work.”

“Ah! So you are interested in these dead ones, too?”

The valet's smile flickered. “I have been ten years with Mr. Crawford. Naturally I take an interest in all he does.”

“Uh-huh. Interested in curios, too?”

“You spoke of a collection. What kind?”

“When your master comes. But I'll tell you this much; I've a sneaking hope he ain't got what I want”

For the first time the valet became interested in the detective. “I don't quite understand you.”

“Time enough for that when your master comes.”

Conversation lagged again. From the wall the buttons of the six pairs of shoes twinkled like the beady eyes of rats. No matter where his glance roved, Haggerty found it always returning to the shoes. They made him laugh inwardly. A millionaire, having his shoes tapped and heeled, just like one of those thrifty old Wall Street sharks of another day. A swell who thought more of comfort than of style. It was all novel to Haggerty.

“You've traveled with your master?”

“Everywhere.”

“You're not a Britisher?”

“No; I was born in this state.”

"Any danger over there, hunting for them?”—with a gesture toward the cases.

“Sometimes. The wild Mohammedans do not always understand why we dig holes in the ground. But Mr. Crawford is quick and strong, and a dead shot.”

Haggerty nodded. It was something to have learned this. With great determination he resisted the craving to smoke, for he had a purpose in not surrendering. “Now, Mr. Mason, listen t' me attentively. When your master comes, you an' me'll slip int' that room there behind those curtains. I want t' see him come inf th' room naturally. Get me?

“The police can not be wanting Mr. Crawford”—emphatically.

“What! a millionaire an' a philanthropist! Shoo-fly!... Hark! There he comes now. I have a gun in my pocket, Mr. Mason. Th' least suspicious movement on your part t' warn your master, an' I'm liable t' break your arm. Go on!”

Behind the curtains he grasped the valet's arm ... and pursed his lips into a silent whistle. The arm was not big but it was iron-hard.

“This is a damnable outrage!” breathed the valet.

“Be still!” Haggerty jabbed the valet in the small of the back. It hurt, for the man gasped.

They heard Crawford close the doors, and come up in bounds, eagerly. He came into the study quickly and sought his desk upon which he laid a leather box. He contemplated it thoughtfully. Haggerty almost sighed. He had never hated duty before. A woman's jewel-box. More loot He couldn't get head nor tail of it Oddly, he sensed a tension in the arm of the valet. Evidently he too was surprised at what he saw. Haggerty was never going to forget this night.

Crawford threw back the lid and took out some faded flowers, a necklace of scarabs and two packets of letters, each tied neatly with blue ribbon. He crushed the smaller packet to his lips.

Having fancied himself upon firm ground, Haggerty felt like one whom a hurricane had whirled into mid-ocean. A faded bouquet and a bundle of letters! He saw seven thousand dollars take wings after the manner of butterflies he was wont to pursue when a boy. Then he saw Crawford sit down and lay his head upon his arms.



A bell rang. The arms in Haggerty's grasp jumped instinctively. Crawford rose and stood waiting. The bell rang again, violently.

“Who the devil can that be?” said Crawford aloud. His valet had two sets of keys and never rang a bell. He reached for the speaking-tube which hung at the side of the desk. “Hello! What's wanted?... Forbes? Why, come up!” He dropped the tube and pressed a button, an electrical contrivance that unlocked both the hall doors.

A minute passed. Haggerty gnawed his stubby mustache. Through the doorway came a young man and a beautiful girl.

“Jim!” she cried.

Haggerty's hand slipped from the valet's arm which had become suddenly limp. Why?