George Clarendon remained impassive. False or true, the girl’s words were alluring.
If she were still loyal to Palermo, her suggestion was a snare. If she sincerely meant what she said — and there was no deceit in her voice — George Clarendon might find great happiness.
But the result would be the same. Should the man desert duty for love, Palermo would be freed of the menace which now enveloped him.
“I am willing to forget the past,” said the man. The girl seemed to thrill at his words. “Yes. I am willing to forget the past — later. At present I have work to do. Then, Thelda, we shall be free.”
“No, George!” exclaimed the girl. She met Clarendon’s gaze with eyes that were filled with apprehension.
“We must not wait! We cannot tell what may happen to prevent our love.”
“We must!”
“No.” The girl became suddenly sentimental. “We love each other. We must act. Now.”
She placed her hands upon Clarendon’s as she leaned across the narrow table. Clarendon, too, leaned forward. The girl’s arms were upon his shoulders. Their lips met in a long kiss.
The soft lights of the room; the distant melody of the orchestra; the gentle breeze from the archway — all were forgotten in the happiness of the moment.
The girl sank back in her chair, triumphant. She could see the rapturous glow in George Clarendon’s eyes. The man had yielded to her love. His expression was one of wonderment.
For a full minute he gazed steadily at the girl, and Thelda waited, confident that he would rise and seize her in his arms.
He rose slowly and came around beside Thelda. His right arm embraced her shoulders. The girl nestled snugly against his breast and gazed upward with a bewitching smile.
Clarendon lifted her chin with his left hand. He bent his head and again his lips met Thelda’s. There was tenderness in his kiss.
“Forget everything else,” whispered Thelda, as Clarendon raised his head and looked into her deep brown eyes. “Forget everything.”
“Everything,” replied Clarendon, in a low voice. “Everything except — “
“Our love—”
“Everything,” repeated Clarendon, “except—” he slowly turned his left hand palm down. His eyes left Thelda’s as they consulted the watch upon his wrist “- everything except a certain appointment—”
The girl gasped. Clarendon could not tell whether she was disturbed by disappointment or by chagrin. He bowed and formally extended his hand, inviting the girl to rise. Thelda bit her lips; then she smiled sweetly.
“You are right, George,” she said quietly. “We must wait. You are a busy man”—her tone indicated that she was trying to forget her defeat—”and you must give attention to your interests. But promise me that later—”
“I promise,” replied Clarendon,” provided that you really love me.”
“Always.”
The girl was smiling as they went down in the elevator. She seemed desirous of leaving her companion in a good mood.
“Since you will be busy,” she said, “I must find some other interest this evening. You are taking a cab?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose you drop me at the Alwyn Theater?”
They entered the taxi and stopped before the theater. Thelda blew a kiss to her companion as she alighted.
“Call me later, darling?” she questioned.
Clarendon was smiling as he nodded.
THE car rolled on as the girl entered the lobby. It entered a mass of evening traffic. The driver indulged in repartee with the man at the wheel of another cab. He did not hear the door of his vehicle as it opened and closed again.
Thelda Blanchet was standing at the end of a line at the box office. She glanced carelessly toward the street; then turned impatiently and left the line. She entered a drug store that adjoined the theater and went to a phone booth.
“Doctor Palermo’s apartment,” she said, after obtaining the number.
The physician’s voice came over the wire a moment later.
“This is Thelda,” announced the girl.
“You failed to hold Clarendon?”
“Yes. But I am progressing.”
There was a pause. Then Palermo spoke slowly.
“Take paper and pencil and write this down — everything I tell you.
“Residence of Doctor Brockbank, No. 711 Eastern Avenue.” Palermo continued. “Key is in letter addressed to you at Hotel Bargelle. Enter house. Room on second floor at head of stairs. Find key to desk in drawer of telephone table. Open desk. Lower drawer on right. Large manila envelope marked
‘P.’ Remove it. Bring here immediately. Do not act until midnight.”
There was a momentary pause.
“Repeat,” declared Palermo’s voice.
The girl read the message aloud.
“Now tear up what you have written. Make eight pieces of it. Drop them on the floor of the booth.”
The girl obeyed.
“I have finished,” she said.
“Then nullify.”
Palermo’s last words were uttered in a low tone. The receiver clicked immediately afterward.
THELDA BLANCHET left the telephone booth. She paid no attention to other persons standing there.
A man consulting a telephone directory sidled into the booth immediately, but the girl did not even glimpse his face. She entered the lobby of the Alwyn Theater and bought an orchestra ticket.
The man who had taken the girl’s place in the booth had evidently observed her while she had been talking. With a clever, sidewise motion, he picked up the torn pieces of paper. Failing to obtain his number, he left the booth.
In an obscure corner of a hotel lobby, the same man put the slips of paper together and read the message. He dropped the torn fragments in an ash receiver and touched them with a lighted match.
Then he smiled.
Only that smile, slight and momentary on the thin lips, would have reminded an observer of George Clarendon. For the face seemed entirely different.
The man drew a watch from his pocket. Even in that detail he differed from Clarendon. It was ten minutes after nine.
“Ten thirty will be soon enough,” the man murmured.
He remembered every detail of Palermo’s message. All that he lacked were the two words which the physician had given after Thelda had torn the paper. “Then nullify.”
That was one of Palermo’s individual orders. It had meant one thing to Thelda Blanchet — that she was not to follow the instructions given her. She was not to go to Doctor Brockbank’s home that evening.
The man in the hotel lobby had failed to learn the final verbal instructions. Without realizing it, he was about to enter the trap that Doctor Palermo had set for him.
CHAPTER XV. WANTED — THE SHADOW
THE home of Doctor Jeremiah Brockbank was an old residence that had withstood the inroads of newer buildings in that vicinity. It stood like an old curio amid a mass of tall apartment buildings — a reminder of New York in the late ‘90s.
The house was closed. Its windows were boarded. The massive oak door was a formidable barrier.
There was nothing of value in the house — a casual observer could surmise that fact. The owner had been away for many months, and there was no indication of his return.
A shadow appeared in front of the building. It was only visible for a moment. Then it vanished. It did not reappear.
Behind the old house, in the darkness of a delivery alley, the same fleeting shadow crossed a spot of light.
A board came loose from a back window of the house. It seemed to move of its own volition, soundlessly, without the contact of a human hand. Another board followed. The window was raised.