Then I struck my crutch into a patch of rain-sodden earth, and used it to help me vault over the wall. Just as I bestrode the top, a dog gave out a bell-toned note. I saw his dark shape, and threw the meat I had brought from the inn. He was greedily silent, and I descended, to pat his head as he ate. Luckily he was an English bull, and perhaps recognised me as a fellow-countryman. At all events, he gave his sanction to my presence.

The neglected garden, which I could dimly see, was mysterious in the night hush. There was no sound except the whisper of water on the sh.o.r.e outside. The substantial building with its rows of closed blinds looked common place and comfortable enough. Lights showed faintly in two or three windows. Not all the household had gone to bed. As I stood staring at a low balcony not far above the ground, which somehow attracted and called my eyes, the blinds of a long French window looking out upon it were opened. I saw Maida herself, and a tall woman in grey, wearing a short veil. They stood together, talking. Then with an affectionate touch on the girl's shoulder, the Head Sister--I knew it must be she--bade her newest recruit good night.

The window was left open, but dark curtains were drawn across, no doubt by Maida. Presently the long strip of golden light between these draperies vanished. No scene could be more peaceful than the quiet garden and the sleeping house. Still, something held me bound. How long I stood there, I don't know: an hour, maybe; perhaps less, perhaps more. But suddenly a white figure flashed out upon the balcony. So dim was it in the darkness, I might have taken it for one of the famous ghosts, but Maida's voice cried out: "_The face--the face_! G.o.d send me help!"

"He has sent help. I've come, to take you away," I called, and held up my arms.

Five minutes later she was with me in my car, rushing towards New York and her brother's house.

"A gilded amateur detective," Roger Odell once called me in a joke.

But I knew he would listen to theories I'd formed concerning this mystery which, like an evil spirit, had haunted his sister since childhood. All night I spent in elaborating these theories and dove-tailing them together. The girl had had a fright in the theatre.

I had seen a man with strange eyes and a scar, looking at her; and through certain happenings at my hotel, I believed that a link between him and Maida's "Head Sister" might be found. That, of course, would free the girl from the promise she thought sacred.

By eight-thirty in the morning I was in touch with Pemberton's Private Detective Agency, and I had just been a.s.sured that a good man, Paul Teano, would be with me in ten minutes, when my telephone bell rang shrilly. It was the voice of Grace Odell which answered my "h.e.l.lo!"

"Oh, Lord John," she called distressfully, "isn't it dreadful? Maida's going back to the Sisterhood House! The Head Sister has written her a letter. Maida's answering it. She doesn't blame the woman for _anything_. She thinks she herself was a coward to take fright at a bad dream. Do come and argue with her. The child wants to start this morning. That woman seems to have her hypnotised."

My answer goes without saying. I determined to put off the detective, but he arrived as I finished talking to Grace, and as his looks appealed to me I spared him a quarter of an hour. His eyes were as Italian as his name--with the shadow of tragedy in them.

"Temperamental looking fellow," I said to myself.

My business with Teano had nothing to do directly with Maida. What I had to tell him was the invasion of my rooms two nights before, but out it came that I had been helping a woman, and that success in this case might mean her safety.

"I, too, work for a woman, my lord," the detective said. Though he had spent years in America, I noticed how little slang of the country he'd chosen to pick up. He spoke, perhaps in the wish to impress me, with singular correctness. "Now you have told me this, I shall be the more anxious to serve you. I turned detective to find her. I've been five years trying. But every morning I think, 'Perhaps it will be to-day.'"

There was no time then to draw him out as he would have liked to be drawn out. I showed him what there was to work upon, in my rooms as well as the two others, and then dashed off to Maida.

As my car stopped in front of Roger Odell's home, out of the house bounced a small boy--a very small boy indeed, with the eyes of an imp, and the clothes of a Sunday-school scholar. He looked at me as he flashed past, and it was as if he said, "So it's _you_, is it?"

I had never seen the boy before, but I thought of the collapsible box; and leaving a flabbergasted footman at the door, my crutch and I went after the small legs that twinkled around the corner. The elf was too quick, however. By the time I had got where he ought to have been, he had made himself invisible. Whether a taxi had swallowed him, or a door had opened to receive him, it was useless to wonder. All I could do was to question the footman. The child had brought a letter to Miss Odell, and had taken one away. "Meanwhile," the servant added, seeing my interest, "he has entertained below stairs, making faces and turning handsprings. Quite a acrobat, your lordship," remarked the man, who hailed from my country; "and that _sharp_, though dumb as a fish! We gave 'im cake and jam, but money seemed to please 'im most, an' his pockets was full of it already. 'E's got enough to go on a most glorious bust, beggin' your lordship's pardon."

I gave it--and something else as well. Then I asked him for the plate from which the child had eaten. It was to be wrapped in paper, and put into my car--for Teano. (It has never mattered that a footman should think his master, or his master's friends, insane!)

If the child messenger from the Sisterhood, and the child-thief in the collapsible box were one, the dumbness was an obstacle. Nevertheless Teano might catch him, I thought, little dreaming how my desire and his, working into one, were to be brought about.

I was shown into Roger's den, and confessed the theft of the doc.u.ment he had given me--luckily useless, without the plan. I told him also the history of the night. "Two and two generally make four," I said, "and though this affair is irritating, it may help eventually. The man who frightened Miss Odell had the look of an Egyptian. Now, isn't it more likely that a mummy should be wanted by an Egyptian than another?

Miss Odell's treasure is a mummy, in a painted mummy-case. You know that several attempts have been made to break into the 'shrine,' as Miss Odell calls it. With what other object than to get the mummy?

You've had its case protected with an ingenious system of electric wiring. Now, you are going away with your wife. You give me the secret of the mechanism. The same night somebody tries to steal it; also he rubs off my shirt-cuff the number of the Egyptian-looking fellow's car. Then, there's the directress of the Sisterhood. She fascinates Miss Odell. She revives the glory of a dying order. She takes an old ghost-ridden house by the seash.o.r.e--where anything might happen. And something _does_ happen. A dream--so vivid, that I venture to believe it wasn't a dream but a trick. The woman tries to induce a girl to bring all her possessions with her into seclusion.

'_All_ her possessions,' mind! That would have included the mummy-case, if you hadn't put your foot down. Have I your leave to repeat these ramblings to her?"

"She has heard them, Lord John!" I turned, and sprang to my feet.

Maida was at the door, with Grace.

"You were talking so fast, we didn't interrupt. And I _wanted_ to hear. I thought you'd wish me to. You have a wonderful theory, but it's _all_ a mistake so far as the Sisterhood is concerned. The Head Sister is the _best_ woman I ever knew. I'm breaking my heart with shame because I deserted my post. Oh, don't think I blame _you_ for bringing me away, Lord John. I blame only myself. You were splendid.

And I'm grateful for everything. To convince you of that, I promise if you can prove anything against the Sisterhood, I'll consider myself free from my bond--even before the twelve months are up. That's a _safe_ promise. You can't think what a beautiful letter the Head Sister has sent me this morning. I'm eager to go back and earn her forgiveness by helping in the work she'll give me to do. In justice to her I _must_ tell you a secret. That mask you saw--which prejudiced you--is to hide burns she got in saving a slum-child from death in a great fife. The Sister wears it to spare others pain. As for the _dream_--I have it everywhere, and often. Don't be anxious. I'll write, and--_you_ can write if you will. Dear Roger, is the car ready?"

"No," said Roger bluntly. "I hoped John would make you see reason."

"I do see it," the girl answered. "I didn't last night."

"How I wish you weren't over twenty-one!" her adopted brother growled.

Maida laughed, almost gaily. "As it is, I'm an old maid, and must be allowed to go my own way."

"May I motor you and Roger to Pine Cliff, if you must go?" I begged.

She gave me a long look before answering. Then she said, "Yes."

I shall never forget that run from New York to Long Island. I made the most of every moment; but my heart turned to ice whenever a voice seemed to mutter in my ear, "You're going to lose her. You've failed, John Hasle, in the big crisis of her life and yours."

But I wouldn't believe the voice. So far as my own story was concerned, I thought this chapter of it had come to a close with the closing of the gate at the Sisterhood House between me and Maida Odell.

Yet after all it hadn't, quite. There was more to come.

A little veiled woman had opened the gate at the sound of the motor-horn, evidently expecting Miss Odell. And the same little woman shut us out when the new sister had gone in. I noticed her particularly, because she shrank from our eyes, though her face was covered with the conventional mist of gauze. And it seemed that she was glad to get rid of us. Not rudely, but with eagerness, she pushed the gate to; and as she did so I noticed her hand. The left hand it was--small, daintily shaped, with delicate, tapering fingers; but the third finger was missing.

Teano was not in my rooms when I arrived once more at my hotel; but opening the door of 212 I found him at the telephone. So absorbed was he that he did not hear me enter, and I stood still in order not to disturb him. I supposed that he had called up the Agency, and was talking of my business.

"If I could get out of the job, I would," he almost groaned. "But they'd put another man on, and that would be worse for Jenny. Everyone heard of 'Three-Fingered Jenny' at the time of the gang's getaway. The only thing I can do is to keep her out of the business at any cost, and go along on other lines. I'll call you up again, Nella, if I get anything on my _own_, about Jenny."

"Who, pray, are Nella and Jenny, Mr. Teano?" I asked, realising that he meant to play me false.

He jumped as if I had shot him, and dropped the receiver. "I--thought I'd locked the door," he stammered.

"It's a good thing you didn't," I said. "I've heard enough to guess you came on some clue you didn't expect. That's why you forgot to lock the door, before you called up 'Nella.'"

"Nella's my sister," Teano blurted out. "She's employed in the Priscilla Alden, the hotel where only ladies stay. She's the telephone girl on the thirteenth floor."

"Thanks for the explanation," I replied with more coolness than I felt.

"As for 'Jenny'--well, before I ask more questions I'll tell you what I think. 'Jenny' is the woman for whose sake you took up your profession. You'd lost, and wanted to find her. Now, you have found her--or rather, her fingerprints--unmistakable, because they happen to be those of her left hand. Rather than get her into trouble, you'd sacrifice my interests."

Teano remained dumb as the impish child, when I finished and waited for him to speak; so I went on. "I don't want to hurt a woman; yet you see I know so much I can carry on this case without you. Suppose we work together? I'll begin by laying my cards on the table. I can save you the trouble of a search if I choose. I know where 'Jenny' is, and can take you to her."

"You--you're bluffing!" Teano stammered.

"I swear I'm not. Luckily you're a _private_ detective. The police needn't get an inkling of this case, unless you fail me, and I turn to them. All I want is to find out who instigated the affair of night before last. Who carried it out isn't so important to me, though it may be to you. And by the by, has 'Jenny' any personal interest in a little boy of four or five who is dumb?"

"My G.o.d!" broke out the detective.

"Don't you think I can be as useful to you as you can to me?" I insinuated. "Why not be frank about 'Jenny'? I promise to hold every word in confidence. Hang up that receiver. You'd better sit down or you'll fall! Now, let's have this out."

The man was at my mercy; yet I knew he was no traitor. "Probably," I reflected, "I'd have done the same in his place."

We sat facing each other, across the bare little table; and Teano began the story of Jenny. There was drama in it, and tragedy, though as yet the story had no end. The sad music was broken; but I began to see, as he went on, that he and I might find a way of ending it, on a different key.

Paul Teano and his sister had come to relatives in New York when he was nineteen and she twelve. That was ten years ago. Paul was now a naturalised American citizen, but at the time of the Italian war in Tripoli he hadn't taken out his papers. There had been other things to think of--such as falling in love. In those days Paul was a budding newspaper reporter. He had gone to "get" a fire, and incidentally had saved a girl's life. Her name was Jenny Trent. It was a case of love at first sight with both. The mother took lodgers, and Teano became one. In a fortnight, Jenny and he were engaged in spite of a rival with money and "position"--that of a bank clerk.

Mrs. Trent wanted Jenny to marry Richard Mayne, and Jenny had vaguely entertained the idea before she met Teano. There was something mysterious and different from the men she had known, about Mayne, which piqued her interest. But the mystery ceased to attract her after the Italian's appearance. Teano, afraid of Mrs. Trent's weakness for Mayne--or his presents, would have married Jenny at once, and trusted to luck for a living; but the girl's mother fell ill, and while Jenny was nursing her, Italy's war broke out. Paul was called to the colours, and sailed for "home" with thousands of other reservists. It was hard luck, and harder still to be wounded and taken prisoner in his first battle. Teano's adventures with his Arab captors would make a separate story, as exciting as Slatin's though not so long, for he suffered only a year and six months' imprisonment. At the end of that time he escaped, made his way to Sicily, and thence back to America as stoker in an Italian ship. His first thought was to see Jenny; but at Mrs. Trent's he found himself taken for a ghost. The report had come that he was dead; and Mrs. Trent had "thought it best" for Jenny to accept d.i.c.k Mayne. "For Heaven's sake, keep away," pleaded her mother.