“As you will, Mr. Martin,” the man answered coolly.
“Well,” snapped the reporter. “Begin.”
Glepen shrugged. “What do you wish me to say, sir?”
“You started this trouble by volunteering the information that you were Monte’s chauffeur. Why did you do that?”
“Because, having learned who you were by listening to your conversation with this lady, I knew you had not robbed the casino. After you mentioned the name of Dr. Dax, I knew positively that I would not take you to the police station.
“Fortunately, you directed me to drive here. I did so. Knowing what I know, and not knowing how much about this case that you knew, I dropped the remark that I would not go to the police as a preparatory remark to argue you out of pursuing such a course later.
“I did not know at that moment whether you were working on this case as a merely energetic newspaper reporter or as a collaborator with Mr. MacCray. Thus, I let drop the remark about that gentleman. You snapped it up in a fashion that I knew you had heard of him.
“You refused to let me ask any questions of you by firing them at me. If you will now be so good as to tell me exactly who and what MacCray is, I will tell you all I know.
“If, on the other hand, you cannot satisfy me that you know all about him — and I heard him say nothing about you — I must refuse to talk.”
Chapter XLV
A “Fixer”
Martin considered this amazing proposition. He thought it over carefully. Then, deciding that he was safe in speaking of MacCray, as this man had already done so first, he nodded shortly.
“Agreed. Philip MacCray is an eminent detective from Chicago who started in on the Hollisworth case and is now on the Dax mystery. Does that satisfy you?”
“You wrote in to-day’s paper that Palmer Hollisworth died without making a statement,” accused Glepen. “Do you or don’t you know better than that?”
“It was his statement that took me to the Palace Nocturne. And if you’ve merely tricked me into giving you information that you did not know you are going to leave this house on an undertaker’s stretcher.”
“I believe you,” nodded Glepen as he encountered the other’s fierce gaze. “However, I know much that you have not learned. I must pledge you to secrecy until you compare notes with Mr. MacCray. Will you do this?”
“Certainly.”
“And how about the lady here?”
“I pledge Miss Debara to secrecy, also.”
“Very well. This is what I know, sir.”
Glepen proceeded to relate the details of MacCray’s visit to Andrew Peterman and the amazing exchange of information which took place.
“Hence, you understand that we are now working with Mr. MacCray,” he concluded. “Perhaps I have been indiscreet in telling you the secret of my employer, but I think not. In exchange I am asking you for the details of your experience tonight. Will you tell me, Mr. Martin, just what happened?”
The young man thought rapidly. The mystery was rapidly becoming too complicated for him to consider clearly. There was no doubt that Glepen had told the truth. He remembered now the details of the arrest of Andrew Peterman, which had taken place after that telephone conversation with Dr. Dax.
Of course, Peterman had been the first person MacCray had thought of when the Hollisworth mystery merged into that of the debonair broker and the unknown Dr. Dax.
While Martin had gone off on a hazardous expedition to the Palace Nocturne, MacCray had gone directly to Peterman and, without creating the havoc the reporter had done, had got the same information as Martin, and then a great deal more.
Martin began to feel decidedly like a blundering amateur. He had rushed in blindly, perhaps spoiling MacCray’s careful plans. If, through his impetuosity, the sinister Brazilian escaped he could never forgive himself.
MacCray had certainly known whereof he spoke when he had said that a good detective was not made in a day. This moment was uncomfortably like the zero hour to the abashed and remorseful reporter.
“Certainly, I’ll tell you about it, Glepen,” he made answer somewhat humbly. And he related the rather hectic events of the evening. “Tell me,” he finished anxiously, “was MacCray there to-night with Peterman?”
Glepen shook his head. “Mr. Peterman, as Carl Monte, went for the express purpose of seeing what he might learn of Dax. Mr. MacCray is trying to find the central base of the man. I have no idea where he went when he left early this evening.
“If you will now excuse me, I must hurry back to the Palace Nocturne for Mr. Peterman. We must not be suspected by Dr. Dax. It will never do for him to think that I willingly aided in your escape.”
“What will you say if you should be questioned by him — providing he is still there?”
“So far I have been ignored by the man. However, it is not unlikely that such a cross-examination may follow. I am glad you mentioned the possibility. Did Dr. Dax see you clearly? Does he know you, do you think?”
“I would say no to both questions,” answered Martin slowly.
“In that case, I was forced, at the point of your gun, to drive you and the lady down into Rock Creek Park where you got out and bade me drive on.
“While I did not recognize you, I think you were a certain jewelry thief who must have stumbled into that private chamber in search of loot. Distinctly not a man who would carry his strange tale to the police about that interview — even if he attached any significance to it.”
“I suppose that will work, Glepen.”
“It will have to, sir. Of course, it is unfortunate that you chose my car in which to make a get-away. However, it may turn out for the best, after all. Good night, sir — and madam.”
After he had gone Celia Debara turned to Martin. She held out her hands in an appealing gesture.
“It is most unfortunate that I cried out,” she murmured sorrowfully as he took her hands. “Had I not done so there would have been no chance of this Dr. Dax suspecting anything. None of this would have happened.”
“It might have,” he consoled her. “Remember, we had not yet got out of the room without him being aware that he was spied on. He was on the verge of discovering us while you were slipping those bolts, before Mr. Rookes entered the room. As it is, perhaps no damage has been done.”
“I... I am afraid,” she answered soberly. “You might have learned something about his plans. And I... I spoiled it all.”
“I had no business taking you in there with me. It is all my fault. You are the gamest little lady in the world — you’re simply splendid,” he defended stoutly. “I only wish I had met you before that other fel — I mean, before — before—” He ended lamely.
“Before what, señor?” she inquired, looking up into his eyes in honest perplexity.
“I don’t know,” he admitted helplessly.
And he did not. It was impossible to name that unknown lover she had taken him to be for a precious moment. In fact, he could never reveal to her that glimpse he had had into her heart and about which she knew nothing. It was an unsurmountable contretemps.
Chapter XLVI
The Zero Hour
The minute hand of the clock circled its weary path from twelve to twelve. At one o’clock there was no sign of the absent Professor Debara. Señora Inez had returned to the room and now sat quietly in one corner.
Twice Martin had suggested that both women go to bed, but Celia would not listen to the suggestion. She could not sleep, she declared, and she did not wish to be left alone with no other company than that of her dour duenna. Hence. Martin remained, becoming more nervous with each passing moment.