The House by the Lock/Chapter 23

had not much talk together. The few questions which I cautiously put evidently rendered him uncomfortable, and I on my part, having made sure of one all-potent fact, was anxious to get away and think the puzzle over.

I was at the last course of my dinner when the man entered, and having finished I rose.

"Are you stopping long in San Francisco?" I asked, with my best air of carelessness.

"A couple of days or so," he said. "See you again to-morrow, I daresay." It was plain that he was glad to get rid of me. Naturally he was afraid of all men, strangers to him, who claimed knowledge of him as Harvey Farnham. He was playing a bold and dangerous game, and no doubt he was aware that, unless he kept himself in hand, and never for an instant lost his presence of mind, any moment might find him beaten.

So dizzy was I with the fumes of my discovery that my brain would not answer to my command. I could not think. I could only say over and over again–"Not Harvey Farnham! The fellow is a mere decoy!"

Out in the open I knew that I should have a better chance of mastering myself. On the way to the door I stepped into the "office" again and glanced at the visitors' book. Harvey Farnham's name was written down opposite the number 249, and I knew, therefore, that his room must be near, and in the same wing in the back as mine.

The glorious salt wind soon restored me to myself, and I wandered through some of the streets I had known and forgotten, thinking busily. I could understand much now that had been dark to me, though even yet far too much for my peace of mind remained hidden.

It was no wonder that this counterfeit presentment of a dead man (for I was certain enough now that poor Farnham was dead) had cumbered himself with bandages, and simulated sprains, and thickened his voice with an alleged bronchitis. There was a wonderful family likeness between voices, when they only spoke in a rough whisper, and the green shade over the eyes had doubtless proved very advantageous in keeping up the optical illusion on which the man had courageously dared to count, even among Farnham's Denver friends. To be sure he had hurried away as soon as possible from every place where he had stayed since arriving at New York on the St. Paul. In each one he had accomplished an object vital to the interest of the plot. He had been able to refute the story of Harvey Farnham's murder, in person, and having evidently been well grounded in all prominent facts connected with Farnham's life, habits, and trip to England, had made a coup in his interview with the New York police.

Having done all that was necessary in the east, he had then taken the final and most hazardous step of going to Farnham's home. It was hardly remarkable, therefore, that he had seized the opportunity of escaping so trying an ordeal at once. It seemed to me impossible that he should intend returning to Denver, where, in the light of day, and among old business and domestic associates, he could not long hope to escape detection, perfect as the likeness seemed to be. What, then, would he do, I eagerly asked myself? He had so far been successful in establishing the fact all along his route that Harvey Farnham had not only returned in safety to America, but had shown himself at home. So much having been gained, Wildred must perforce be relieved of all suspicion of the crime which I had tried to fasten upon him, and this being the case, I assured myself that it was Wildred's hand only which had contrived this intricate and ingenious plot. This man, disguised as Farnham, was in Wildred's pay, there could be no doubt of that, and had in all probability been engaged for the purpose he was now carrying out before the murder had taken place.

I tried as I walked to put myself in the place of the schemers, and thus hew out, through an intimate mental process, some idea as to how the loose ends of the mystery were to be disposed of.

"If I were that fellow," I said to myself at last, "I should think it was about time to disappear. I should feel sure I'd come to the end of my tether, and that somehow or other Harvey Farnham, as represented by me, had got to be unostentatiously wiped out."

Farnham, however, was too rich and important a man in the western states of his own country to disappear conveniently and with impunity. There would be a hue and cry, and suspicious facts might somehow be brought to light. The only safe way, I decided, would be for the alleged Harvey Farnham to kill himself; but this it did not appear very likely that the most dazzling bribe could induce him to do. He meant to find some more comfortable way out of the hole into which he had so deliberately crept than the way of suicide, and it began to seem that the only method by which I could prove my case would be by finding out what that way was to be.

At present, unless I could have the fellow arrested, and such disguise as he might wear dragged off, I should have great difficulty in obtaining credence of my story. The incidents were all so remarkable that they must be certified with the best of evidence, and such evidence as I wanted could only be forthcoming from Bennett, or someone else in Denver who knew Farnham equally well.

What I must do, I thought, would be to keep on the man's track, and never for an hour lose sight of him. I must do this without arousing any suspicion on his part as to my motives until the last moment, when I should be prepared to accuse him.

This conclusion naturally reminded me that at the very moment it was reached I had virtually lost sight of my quarry, and that already I might have missed my chance. Accordingly, I hurried back to the Santa Anna Hotel, and though it was then too late to wire Bennett, I determined to do so early the next morning. I would request him to come on to San Francisco at once on a matter of extreme importance, and–his mind being already disturbed concerning his employer–he would lose no time in obeying. In Bennett, if I could fairly corner the bogus Farnham, I should have the most valuable witness in the world.

My first question was as to whether Mr. Farnham were in the hotel. He had not yet returned from a call which he had gone to make after dinner, and I sat down, therefore, in the corridor inside the front doors, through which he would have to pass on entering. I pretended to be absorbed in a local paper, but in reality my thoughts were a maelstrom. Suppose he had already escaped me!

At half-past eleven, however, he came in. I did not seem to lift my eyes from the pages before them. He would have to go directly by me on his way upstairs; time enough to appear to observe him then.

"Cablegram for you, Mr. Farnham," said the clerk of the hotel.

"Ah!" The exclamation was one of surprise. He had not, then, been expecting the message.

I could not resist looking up after all to watch him in the act of reading it, and as I did so my eyes caught a gleam from his, under the green shade, as they turned to my face with an expression that was like a hunted animal's. In the instant I was as positive as though he had told me in so many words that the cablegram he had received was from Carson Wildred, and intimately concerned me. Probably it said, "If a man named Noel Stanton turns up, he is an enemy–beware of him."

I regretted immediately that I had given him my real name when we met at dinner, for, warned now by Wildred, he would be ever on his guard. He was seized with a creditable fit of coughing as he passed me, and having growled out something about being "deuced tired, and sleeping like a log," he went upstairs.

I followed him in time to see him enter his own room, which was only half a dozen doors from mine, and to hear him noisily lock the door. It occurred to me that he was desirous to have me know that he had locked it, and I wondered if already he had begun to suspect my motive.