Barton Wood Currie

“ During Gladwin’s brief absence that supernaturally composed individual had cut the Rembrandt from the frame and laid it on one of the sheets of wrapping paper he had spread out on the chest. He had also cut out a Manet, a Corot and a Vegas––all small canvases––and hung them over the back of a chair.
As the owner of these masterpieces skidded into the room the thief was taking down a Meissonier, frame and all, fondling it tenderly and feasting his eyes on the superb wealth of detail and the rich crimson and scarlet pigments in the tiny oblong within the heavy gilt mounting. ”

“ Fearing that some harm had come to his master the little Jap had left the Ritz and sprinted all the way to the Gladwin mansion. He was breathless and wild-eyed, yet he had entered the house as silently as a breath of air.
Peeking into the room Bateato noted the ripped-down portières and devastated picture frames. His Oriental mind told him but one thing––robbery. Seized with a violent spasm of loyalty to his master he brushed into the room and exclaimed:
“Whatz thees? Oh, hell––damn!”
Helen was in too good training by this time to swoon, though she wanted to. ”

“ It was Watkins, the thieving butler he had discharged in London. His attention did not linger on this familiar soft-shuffling tool of the master thief, however, but snapped back to the big, good looking young man with the branching shoulders and erect, confident carriage.
Used as he was to immaculate exteriors, Travers Gladwin had never seen a better groomed man. He had never seen a man with a quicker eye and more unconscious grace of movement. ”

“ Having disposed of the girl for the moment, Travers Gladwin decided it was time to call Michael Phelan to his assistance. There was no telling what this amazing crook might do now. He was too much for him. That a thief and impostor could possess such superhuman nerve had never occurred to his untutored mind. He was a perfect dub to have let the situation reach such a stage of complexity, though the one thought uppermost in his mind was to save Helen from public ridicule and contempt. ”

“ Joshua Barnes was bent over his desk writing, as the door opened noiselessly and the four young people entered. When he looked up his son, Travers Gladwin and Helen were lined up beside his chair, the two young men smiling sheepishly and the girls blushing crimson and looking down at the floor.
“Hello, Pater,” opened Whitney Barnes, “you remember Travers Gladwin. This is Mrs. Gladwin, a bride of sixty-seven minutes!”
Old Grim Barnes was on his feet in an instant with a gallant bow to Helen and a hearty handshake for the bridegroom. ”

“ He turned in time to meet the brisk entrance of Travers Gladwin, alias Thomas Smith of the Ritz.
The two shook hands warmly and looked into each other’s faces with quizzical smiles. They were about of an age, both unusually good looking and bearing themselves with that breezy, confident manner that is characteristic of young men who have been coddled in swan’s-down all their lives. ”

“ It was a vastly more solemn Whitney Barnes who strolled out of the office of the mustard magnate and dragged his feet through the anteroom where sat Marietta Featherington and Teddie O’Toole. The comely Miss Featherington could scarcely believe what she saw from under her jutting puffs.
This good looking, dandified young man, with his perpetual smile and sparkling gray eyes had long been her conception of all that was noble and cultured and aristocratic. ”

“ One lightning glance at the thickness of the patrolman’s neck and the general contour of his rubicund countenance had translated to him the sort of man he had to deal with.
“Here––here––put down that trunk,” spluttered Phelan, brandishing his club at Watkins. Watkins dropped the trunk and at a signal from his companion was gone. Swiftly and silently as he vanished, he could not have been half way to the door before the thief urged Phelan:
“Quick––go after that man––he’s a thief!”
“Stop Phelan!” cried Gladwin, who had begun to see through the pantomime. “They’re both thieves!” ”

“ As Travers Gladwin’s features passed through a series of vacant and bewildered expressions and as the attention of Whitney Barnes seemed to be focussed with strange intensity upon the prettiness of the shy and silent Sadie, anger flashed in Helen’s expressive eyes as she again addressed the young man, who felt as if some mysterious force had just robbed him of his identity. ”

“ Whitney Barnes blinked for a moment, and then started as his gaze was directed to the walls hung with masterpieces.
The work of Rubens, Rembrandt, Coret, Meissonier, Lely, Cazzin, Vegas, Fragonard, Reynolds and a score others of the world’s greatest masters leaped across his vision as he turned from wall to wall, revolving on his heel.
“Whew!” he ejaculated. “I didn’t know that Travers went in for this sort of thing. He certainly is the secretive little oyster when he wants to be.”
Still studying the portraits and landscapes and allegorical groups, he voiced to Bateato a sudden thought. ”

“ He had heard on two occasions what he divined as a manifest sob, first when the emotional Sadie gave way to tears and again when Helen was aggravated to a petulant outburst of grief.
Later when he heard bright laughter and gay exclamations he could hardly believe his ears. He was profoundly troubled and completely bewildered––a dangerous state of mind for a man who has the power of seventy horses under the pressure of his thumb. ”

“ Mrs. Burton looked at the ribbon and then at Helen’s dress. There was accusation in the glance. Her eyes studied the orchids. They were of a peculiar rich golden brown, matching the splendor of Miss Burton’s hair. There was conviction in the second glance. She turned the bouquet over several times, looking for a card.
There was none.
Now, here was a mystery! Could Miss Helen explain? Mrs. Burton inhaled a deep breath, then said with exaggerated sweetness:
“Helen, dear, who could have sent you these beautiful 19 flowers? They are positively superb. He must certainly be an artist.” ”

“ In his seething gray matter there stirred the remembrance that Bateato had told him that women were robbing the house.
“You mean the women,” he said, ignoring Gladwin and addressing the thief. “I remember––when the little Japanaze called me oft me beat, he said there was women crooks here, too.”
“He’s lying to you, Phelan,” persisted Gladwin, though with less vehemence, a great feeling of relief having visited him in the belief that Helen had made her escape. “You can have the whole place searched just as soon as you’ve got this man where he can’t get away. There are no women here.” ”

“ Miss Featherington had half expected to walk into Joshua Barnes’s presence that morning and meet with a torrent of abuse. She had rehearsed a cold and haughty retort. But her employer had greeted her with a gruff, “Good-morning,” and an expression that was equivalent to a smile.
Alas! the prince had not spoken.
Marietta pounded out forty-two letters containing references to as many different kinds of assorted and selected mustard before she succeeded in dismissing the heir to the mustard millions from her romantic thoughts and creating a new hero in his stead. ”

“ Travers Gladwin reeled a little where he stood, met and turned from the beaming stare of Whitney Barnes. As he did so Helen came very close to him, laid her hand on his arm and said tremulously:
“You are his best friend. Tell me honestly, don’t you think I’m right in wanting to marry him?” ”

“ Her big doll eyes rolled a double circuit of coquetry and slanted off with a suggestive glance at the massive doorway of the Hawker-Sponge mansion, one of the most aristocratically mortgaged dwellings in America.
“It is rather late for a call,” she gushed suddenly, “but I know mamma”–––
“Impossible!” cried Barnes. “That is––I beg your pardon––I should be charmed, but the fact is I was looking for a friend––I mean a policeman. Er––you haven’t seen a good looking policeman going by, have you, Miss Sybil?”
All the coquetry in Miss Hawker-Sponge’s eyes went into stony eclipse. ”

“ The unfrocked policeman was anything but an imposing figure and the contortions of distress in his rubicund countenance were grotesque enough to kindle the sense of humor in a far less volatile mind than that of Whitney Barnes. His smile came to the surface and spread out in full blossom. But it failed to find reflection in the features of Mrs. Phelan’s son. ”

“ He had reasoned it out that just the uniform of Officer 666 would serve him almost as a magician’s wand. He had almost counted on the thief taking one craven look at his constabulary disguise and then leaping through the window––fleeing like a wolf in the night––he, Travers Gladwin, remaining a veritable hero of romance to sooth and console Helen and gently break the news to her that she had been the dupe of an unscrupulous criminal. Instead of which––he ground his teeth, went to the little panel door and shouted Phelan’s name. ”

“ Burton lost a good deal of breath in coming up the stairs. She came on into the room with tragic step, followed by Whitney Barnes and Sadie, the latter keeping very close to Barnes as if she feared that her cousin would cover her with reproaches for having revealed the secret of the projected elopement.
“Calm yourself, madam; calm yourself,” began Travers Gladwin, as he stepped between her and her niece. ”

“ One of Phelan’s boots had a bad creak in it, and he knew that the master 45 crook who would attempt such a robbery as this would have an acute sense of hearing.
It was dark as a pocket down the stretch of the heavily curtained foyer, save for a meagre shaft of light that came through a slightly parted pair of portières to the left and not a dozen feet from where he stood. He strained his ear toward this shaft of light until there came an unmistakable swish of sound, whereupon he moved forward in short, gliding steps. ”

“ Helen Burton stamped her foot and bit her lip. By this time the big touring car was gliding through the East Drive of Central Park with the swift, noiseless motion that denotes the highest development of the modern motor vehicle. Fully a mile of the curving roadway had slid under the wheels of the car before Helen resumed the conversation with the sudden outburst:
“You don’t doubt for an instant, Sadie, that he is a gentleman!”
Sadie made no reply.
“His knowledge of painting and art is simply wonderful. At that art sale, where we met, he knew every painting at a glance. ”

“ That’s what love does to yez––a plague on all women! If”–––
“Helen, Helen, where are you?” cried a shrill feminine voice that seemed to clutch the very heart of Michael Phelan with a grip of ice.
“Howly murther! What’s that?” he breathed, backing away from the door.
“Help! Murder! Police!” was borne in on him in even more agonized tones, and before he could move another step Mrs. Elvira Burton burst into the room––flushed and wild-eyed––in the throes of one of her famous fits of hysterics.
Phelan took a backward leap as she came toward him, and she yelled:
“Stop! stop! Where’s my niece?” ”

“ There was reverence and quick admiration in every feature as he bowed and exclaimed with a long sigh:
“Rembrandt! Rembrandt! God!––to paint like that!”
The emotions of this remarkable young man came and went with the quickness of his eye.
While still in the act of outpouring his admiration he whipped from the tail of his dress coat a flat fold of a dozen or more sheets of wrapping paper, shook them out and laid them on the lid of the chest. ”