_ CHAPTER XIX. OWEN OFFERS A REWARD
Cries of delight coming, in the voice of Pauline, from the direction of the garage made Harry lay down his newspaper and go forth to investigate.
As he approached he saw Bemis and Lucille's coachman lifting a crate from a carriage. From within the crate came the whimpering barks of an imprisoned bull terrier.
"Oh, isn't he dear?" cried Pauline turning to Harry.
"I don't know, I haven't yet made his acquaintance. Where did he come from?"
"Lucille sent him to me. Johnson just brought him over. Hurry, Bemis, and let him out. The poor darling!"
"Is that what is called puppy love?" inquired Harry.
"Hush," commanded Pauline. "And Bemis, run and tell Martha to cook something for him--a beefsteak and potatoes."
"And oysters on the half shell," suggested Harry.
"Love me," announced Pauline sternly, "love my dog."
The coachman had ripped of the last top bar of the crate and a splendid terrier sprang out with a suddenness that made Pauline retreat a little. But, as if he had been trained to his part, he bent his head, and, with wagging tail, approached her. In an instant she was kneeling beside him rewarding his homage with enthusiastic pats and fantastic encomiums.
"Why, he likes me already--isn't he charming?" she demanded.
Harry threw up his hands-- "And this for a dog--a new dog--possibly a mad dog!"
"You are a brute."
The dog was making rapid acquaintance with his new home, investigating the garage and, more profoundly, the kitchen, door.
"Here, Cyrus, come Cyrus," called Pauline, and started towards the house. Owen, in his motorcycle togs, was lighting a cigar on the veranda when they came up the steps. Without even pretending to enter into Pauline's enthusiasm over the terrier, he excused himself and walked off briskly in the direction of the garage. A few minutes later they saw him on the motorcycle speeding down the drive.
"I wonder what the impressive business is today," remarked Harry sarcastically.
"Let poor Owen alone. He is good and kind even if he doesn't care for Cyrus."
"Look here! Why don't you ever say any of these nice things to me-- the things, you say to dogs--and secretaries?"
"Because I've promised to marry you--some day--and it is fatal to let a husband--even a futurity husband--know that you admire him."
"Well, as long as you do, it is all right."
A half mile down the main road to Westbury a runabout was drawn up, and a converted gypsy was alternately pretending to repair an imaginary break and relieving his nerve-strain by pacing the road. Balthazar's fantastic garments had given way to a plain sack suit and motor duster, but the profit of his employment by Raymond Owen was worth the discomfort of becoming "civilized."
The muttering of a distant motor made him fall to his knees and, wrench in hand, wiggle hastily under the machine.
To all appearance he was bitterly pre-occupied with the woes of a stalled tourist when a motorcycle chugged to a stop beside the runabout and Owen called him.
"I thought you had failed of our appointment, master," he said eagerly as he crawled out. "I have waited for more than half an hour."
"It is sad that you should be inconvenienced, old friend," answered Owen.
"I have done what you commanded me, master," Balthazar said with an ingratiating smile. "I have found them."
"Found whom?"
"The friends I spoke about at our last meeting--the little band that earns money by--making it."
"Oh, yes--your counterfeiters. Are they to be trusted?"
"Master, all guilty men are to be trusted. There is always protection in knowing the sins of others."
"Sometimes, Balthazar, I almost suspect you of possessing a brain. But, remember, I have told you that I shall soon be through--unless you accomplish something."
"Master, it is because I dare not risk your freedom--your life. For myself I care nothing. I live to serve you, who have been my benefactor."
"You lie, of course," remarked Owen casually. "But what of the new plan?"
"They are in Bantersville, only twelve miles from Castle Marvin. A house that has been long occupied and with no houses near."
"And they are still manufacturing coins there?"
"Yes; but they are becoming frightened. Two of the distributors have been arrested. They would be glad of a safer, a swifter method of making money."
"Come along, then."
Owen mounted the motorcycle while Balthazar sprang to the seat and started the runabout. They sped briskly over the roads, turning at last into an old weed-grown wagon path fringed copse-like by the branches of ever-hanging trees. The machine swished through the barrier leaves and came out upon a small clearing where there stood a gaunt house, evidently long deserted.
Balthazar drove on along the road for almost a quarter of a mile before he stopped the machine, Owen following without question. They left the runabout and the motorcycle and walked back to the house.
"It is an excellent location," commented Owen, as Balthazar lead the way into a basement entrance. "Who did you say was the man in charge of the--concern?"
"Rupert Wallace. He is a world-traveler like yourself, though no match for you in mind, master."
Balthazar, as he spoke, was rapping lightly on a wall, which had no sign of a door. It was pitch dark where they stood. But suddenly with hardly a sound, two sliding doors opened to the Gypsy's signal and a faint light from a gas jet on the wall gleamed on an inner passage. Balthazar, closely followed by Owen, walked quickly down the secret hall, and, without signal this time, another set of silent doors opened upon a brightly lighted room.
A crabbed, withered woman admitted them.
The room was overheated because of the presence of a gas forge on which a cauldron of metal was being melted. On one side there was a stamping press, and on the other a set of molds.
Wallace noted Owen's curiosity, and stepping to the table in the middle of the room, picked up a handful of half-dollar pieces.
"You are interested in our work--the work of supplying the poor with sufficient funds to meet the increased cost of living," he said, smiling. "These are some of our product. We are proud of them. The weight is exactly that of the true fifty-cent piece. And only one man in fifty could tell the difference in the ring of the metal."
Owen looked at the coins in sincere admiration.
"It is very remarkable," he said. "But Balthazar tells me--"
"I know. You have a little business of secrecy for myself and my friends. You may speak here in perfect safety, Mr. Owen. Gossip is not a fault--or a possibility--of our profession."
"I do not believe there is anything to say but what Balthazar has already told you, except--"
Owen hesitated.
"Except what, master? Is there a change in the plan?" asked Balthazar.
"I think there might be. Something occurred today that might give us a favorable lead. Miss Pauline received as a gift a terrier dog. I believe it could be made use of."
"In what way?" asked the counterfeiter.
"By stealing it and bringing it here."
"I don't understand--ah, yes; indeed I do."
"Excellent, master," exclaimed Balthazar. "It could be done today. Can I have two of your men, Rupert?"
"Yes; take Gaston and Firenzi. They are always to be trusted."
At his words two men, stepped forward. One of them had been working at the metal pots. But in response to a hurried word from Rupert he quickly threw off his cap and apron, and caught up a hat and coat.
Rupert Wallace stepped to the side of the room where a pair of upright levers stood out of the floor like the levers of an automobile.
He pulled the one nearest him and the sliding doors parted softly. Owen and Balthazar, with their new escort, stepped through. For a moment, Wallace waited. Then he drew back the other lever, and the departing guests found as they reached the end of the secret passage, that their path opened, almost magically before them, in the hushed unfolding of the second door.
"Goodbye, Cyrus," said, Harry as Pauline strolling down the garden with him, tossed to her new pet a dainty from the box of bon-bons she carried.
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.
"That the oysters on the half shell would be better for his health."
"I didn't give him oysters on the half shell."
"No; but you gave him everything else in the house. He is stuffed like the fatted calf--or like the prodigal son--I don't care which--"
"If he likes candy he shall have candy," declared Pauline, sitting down on an arbor bench and extending another sugar-plum to the dog.
The gratitude of Cyrus was expressed in a leap to the side of his mistress. As Harry sat down, he discovered that Cyrus had occupied the favored place beside Pauline. Next instant there was a yowl of dismay and the adored gift of Lucille fell several feet away from the bench.
"Harry! I think that is dreadful!" exclaimed Pauline, springing to her feet.
"I do, too," he answered. "That was why I threw it off the bench."
"To treat a poor innocent dumb creature like that!"
"Polly! You don't mean it, do you? You think I hurt him?"
"You've-hurt-his-feelings."
"That doesn't matter, but if I've hurt yours--it does. I apologize."
"You are always joking. You don't understand how sweet and dear animals are. You will probably treat me the same way after we are married."
She ran to the spot where the wary Cyrus was munching the last piece of candy. But he accepted her caresses without enthusiasm, keeping a careful eye on Harry.
She called to the dog and walked briskly toward the house.
But Cyrus did not follow. The box of candy was still on the garden bench, and Cyrus was not immune to temptation.
Owen followed on his motorcycle the runabout in which Balthazar and the two chosen members of Rupert Wallace's band made their swift journey toward Castle Marvin.
A quarter of a mile from the grounds Owen drew alongside.
"This would be a good place to stop. The car can be hidden in the lane."
"Yes; master," said Balthazar.
He wheeled the machine upon a narrow roadway into the cover of the woods, and, with his companions, got out. Owen rode on ahead and was waiting for them as they neared the little foot path gate to the Marvin grounds.
"Look through the hedge there," he directed.
Balthazar crawled on his hands and knees to the box wall that surrounded the grounds. He thrust his shoulders through the bush and gazed for a moment at the dog devouring Pauline's bon-bons on the bench.
"I should say it would be well to act now--instantly, master," he cried, returning.
"Go on. I will be at the house, and will try to hold them back if there is any noise."
As Owen began to wheel his cycle up the drive to Castle Marvin, Balthazar and his two aides wriggled through the hedge-row, crossed a strip of sward and reached the bench. Balthazar caught the dog's head in his powerful hands. There was not a sound. The animal's muzzle was shut fast and in a minute it had been tied, leg and body. They ran to the gate, to the runabout, and were away.
"Why Harry, I can't find him anywhere. What could have happened to him?" cried Pauline, rushing into the library.
"Owen lost? Thank Heaven!" he exclaimed fervently.
"No; Cyrus. Harry it's your fault. He was angry because you pushed him off the bench and he ran away."
"Polly," he said, wheeling in his chair, "I am not worried. I decline to be worried. And I am going away from here."
"Not before you help me find Cyrus."
"Yes--long before."
She turned and whisked crossly out of the room.
Harry picked up his hat and coat, and in a few minutes was being driven away by Farrell on an urgent call to town.
Pauline stood on the veranda and watched his departure with silent wrath.
"I wonder if he is really cruel--or--if he is just a man and doesn't know any better," she pondered audibly.
Then, as she saw Owen approaching from the side path, "Oh, Owen, won't you help me? I've lost Cyrus!"
"Cyrus? Am I sure whom you mean? Ah, yes; the new member of our family circle."
"Yes; he's gone."
"The only thing to do, I should say, is to advertise. I will call up the newspapers immediately, Miss Pauline."
"You are dear! I must have him back. Think what Lucille would say if I lost him on the first day!"
"I'll offer a generous reward and he'll soon be back."
"Thank you, Owen." _