“Middleton,” said the lawyer, “you’ve got to quiet yourself a bit. Your nerves are shattered. I’m with you, old fellow. I know that you have something important to say. Don’t worry. I’m safe, here in my own home—”
“You’re not safe anywhere — right now!” said Middleton earnestly. “I tell you, Blefken, this thing is unbelievable! You think that I’ve lost my senses. I have, in a way.
“I tried to be calm for a long while, but” — his voice became extremely low — “when I saw that I couldn’t stop it — after I tried to forget—”
“You tried to forget?” Blefken’s tone was kindly.
“Yes,” answered Middleton. “I’m taking it easier now, Blefken. You must make allowances. Let me talk generally — I can’t give you facts all at once.
“I knew there was danger. It was coming to me, too, unless I promised to play my part. I agreed — wrongly, of course. Then I broke away — and tried to forget. Do you understand?”
“I follow you, in a way,” said Blefken frankly. “Go on. I am interested.”
“I could forget, for a while, because — well, I was able to forget. Then I began thinking about my page — about the danger that would be mine some day. Just because I had gone away — sick of it all.
“I’m a criminal, Blefken; not by action, but in spirit. I stopped before it came to deed instead of wish. When I began to think about my own danger, I worried about others.
“One lightning shaft struck. I waited. Two more were in the making. I tried to stop them. I failed. That frightened me. Then I appealed to you.
“Why to me? You have many friends in New York,” the lawyer spoke.
“Friends? I had renounced them. I was ready to betray them — once. But I wanted to square myself. You had to be reached — at once. So I sent you the letter. Don’t you understand?”
“I understand.”
THE lawyer’s voice was not only reassuring to Jerry Middleton. It also relieved Cardona’s qualms. The detective was high in his admiration for Charles Blefken.
Middleton was going to open up; that was evident. The man was under a tremendous strain. He was rapidly becoming more coherent.
“I understand,” repeated Blefken. “I would not be here listening to you if I did not understand. I can assure you, Middleton, that I am quite safe. Take my word for that; I will take yours for whatever you have to say. Consider me as your attorney for the time.”
“I never placed much trust in lawyers,” declared Middleton suddenly, “but I know I can count on you, Blefken. What I have to say weighs very heavily on me. I’m beginning to feel better now, though. Give me a few moments.”
“Middleton,” said the lawyer, “I am not alone here tonight” — Joe Cardona repressed a gasp, fearing that the lawyer was about to commit the mistake of betraying his presence — “not alone. I have friends, in another room. They do not know that you are here. They think I am telephoning.”
“Friends?” quizzed Middleton. “A man has no friends!”
Joe Cardona felt relief because Blefken had not made the error which he feared. But he was also surprised by the bitterness of Middleton’s reply.
“I can trust these friends,” said the lawyer. “One of them is my family physician. Perhaps you would like to see him; he might be able to prescribe something that would make you feel more like yourself—”
“No! Nothing!” gasped Middleton. “Nothing can help me, except” — he hesitated — “except what I can never get! I have tried, Blefken. I took morphine down in Florida. It made me feel terribly. It only made matters worse. You’ll understand — after I talk. Let me rest — a few minutes.”
“All right.”
Blefken stood silent while Jerry Middleton placed his head in his hands and became quiet. The lawyer studied his visitor.
Middleton was a young man, but he appeared much older than he actually was. His face, pale and haggard, seemed ghastly when compared with his dark, roving eyes. Those eyes carried a haunted look. They were closed now.
“Middleton,” said Blefken quietly, “I’m going in the other room just long enough to tell my friends that I will be busy for a while. Wait a moment — ” He rang the bell and stood until Stokes entered.
The arrival of the servant made no impression upon Jerry Middleton. The young man was motionless, scarcely breathing. Blefken stopped his man, just within the door.
“Stokes,” said the lawyer, “go into the cardroom and tell them that my call has been interrupted. Tell them that we will have a recess of half an hour. Serve refreshments. I am coming there immediately.”
When Stokes had left, Blefken advanced and laid his hand upon Middleton’s shoulder. He cast a knowing glance at Cardona, signifying that the detective should remain hidden where he was.
“You’re all right here, aren’t you?” Blefken questioned Middleton. “All right for — say, five minutes? Not longer?”
“I can wait five minutes,” said Middleton.
“Good,” answered Blefken. “If you want, you can come in and meet my friends. It might do you good to chat a while; then we can talk later.”
“I’d rather talk now—”
“Very well. Sit here and rest.”
The lawyer opened the door and stepped into the hall. He closed the door behind him. It was an ideal arrangement.
Under any other circumstances, it would have been unwise for Blefken to leave Middleton alone. But with so capable a person as Joe Cardona for a hidden observer, matters could not be better.
The detective smiled at the caginess of Blefken’s action. He watched Middleton with alert eyes.
FOR a few minutes, Jerry Middleton did not stir. Then he groaned and sat bolt upright in his chair. He stared straight ahead as though trying to place his surroundings. Then he laughed — softly but nervously. He arose, and Cardona slipped back into his hiding place.
Middleton paced up and down the room, mumbling to himself, but Cardona could make nothing of his words. At length the young man said something that sounded like: “He ought to be back by now.”
With that, Cardona heard him go to the door and open it. The detective was on the point of emerging from behind the chair when he heard Middleton again pacing the room. At times the pacing ceased, and even the man’s breathing was soundless.
One of these pauses occurred. A full minute went by. Cardona moved upward. The room was empty. The half-opened door showed where Middleton had gone. Probably in search of Charles Blefken.
Cardona was surprised at the stealth which the man must have used. He knew that Middleton could not have been gone more than sixty seconds, and that perhaps he was already with Blefken.
But Cardona knew that every second was precious, when crime was in the offing. Middleton and his talk of danger savored of crime. Pushing the chair aside, the detective hurried into the hall.
He slipped into the shadow of the door, for he knew that Middleton might return, and the sight of a stranger would make him believe that he had been betrayed.
In another second, Cardona was standing before the little passage that led to the side door of the house. The detective was suspicious of that passage. He waited, while his eyes became accustomed to the darkness.
He wanted to investigate in that direction. He also thought of hiding there, should Middleton return.
Suddenly, Joe Cardona realized that something was lying in the passage — a bulky shape that appeared very much like the form of a man. It must be Middleton! Had the man started to leave the house and fallen? Or was he crouching there for some unknown purpose?
Cardona moved to the corner of the passage. He listened intently. He heard no sound of breathing; no one was approaching.
The detective’s flashlight clicked. Its rays revealed the form of a man — a body lying on its side. The form did not move.