The Heads of Cerberus | Page 9

turn to laugh. The picture of Terence Trenmore
suffering from nervous collapse, or caring two straws for all the crooks
and madmen in America, was too much for his friend. He laughed and
laughed, while the Irishman stared at him in a grieved surprise which
only added fuel to his hysterical mirth.
"And why," demanded Trenmore indignantly, "why wouldn't I be
thinking of you when I want a lad at my side? Jimmy, my host here, is
a fine man, but not the one to consult on such a Mysterious matter, life
meaning to him just business, with his club for diversion, heaven help
him! And were he not a distant cousin of my own mother on the
O'Shaughnessy side, Jimmy and me would have never become

acquainted. And wasn't I meaning to go clear to Cincinnati next week,
just to be asking your advice? And does that list of folk who have had
ill luck from the Cerberus--does that mean nothing at all? I tell you, I
need your help and counsel, Bobby, and it's glad I am that you are here
to give it."
Drayton suddenly perceived that the Irishman had been entirely serious
throughout. The tale was not, as he had believed, a mere excuse seized
on with intent to delude him, Drayton, into feeling that he might be of
value as an ally. Hidden away in one secret corner of his friend's giant
heart there dwelt a small, imaginative and quite credulous child. "Dust
from the Rocks of Purgatory!" It was that which had fascinated
Trenmore, and it was that more than any dread of midnight assassins
which had driven him to appeal to his lawyer friend. What he wished
was moral, not physical, backing.
"But, Terry," said Drayton, sobered and really touched by this
unexpected demand upon him, "if the thing bothers you so much why
not sell and be rid of it?"
Trenmore's mouth set in a straight, obstinate line. "No, I'll not," he
declared. "They cannot bully a Trenmore, and Viola says the same. But
if I could I'd lay hands on the old villain that's after it the way he'd
trouble us no more, so I would!"
"Have you tried the police?"
"To be sure."
"How about the auction rooms where you bought it? If this persecutor
of yours is a collector, they might know him there by description."
"That I tried myself before I troubled the police. One young fellow
remembered the old villain, and remembered him asking my name.
They keep a register at the salesrooms. But as for the villain's own
name, no one there seemed to know it."
"Well, then--" Drayton cast about in his mind somewhat vaguely. Then

an idea struck him. "By the way, Terry, have you opened the vial and
had the contents analyzed?"
Trenmore's blue eyes flashed wide. "I have not!" he exclaimed with
considerable energy. "For why would I be intruding on such a matter?
Surely, in the place where that Dust came from, they'd not be liking me
to meddle with it!"
Drayton firmly suppressed a smile. The price of friendship is tolerance,
and he was too grateful and too fond of his Irishman to express ridicule.
"I really believe," he said gravely, "that, admitting the Purgatory part of
the legend to be true, the Dust is too far separated from its origin, and
too many centuries have elapsed since it was placed in this vial for any
real danger to attach to it. And who knows? There may be diamonds, or
some other jewels, hidden in that close-packed dust. If there is a
question of the vial's authenticity as a Cellini it can't be the vial itself
that your mysterious collector is ready to pay ten thousand for. Why
not open it, anyway, and find out exactly where you are?"
The Irishman scratched his head with a curious expression of
indecision. Physical dread was a sensation of which he was happily
ignorant; but he possessed a strong disinclination to meddle with any
affair that touched on the super-natural. He had bought the vial for the
sake of its reputed creator, Cellini. Then his attention had become
focused on the "Dust" and the uncanny description accompanying it,
and while obstinacy forbade him to let the thing go by force, still it was
to him a very uneasy possession. Had no one arisen to dispute its
ownership, Trenmore would probably have rid himself of the Cerberus
before this.
"Well," he said at length, "if you think opening it is the wise way to be
doing, then let us do it and get it over. But myself, I dread it's a foolish
trifling with powers we know little of!"
"Nonsense!" laughed Drayton. "That Dante Purgatory stuff has got
your goat, Terry. Not," he added hastily, "that