The Paternoster Ruby | Page 7

the coming of Mr. Maillot upset his plans?"
"I can't imagine what else caused him to change his mind at the last

minute; the journey must have been unusually important to take him
away from the city at this time."
Then Maillot's mission could not have been without exceptional weight,
I reflected. And unless I was much mistaken, the deferred journey had
seriously disarranged some material plan for Mr. Burke. I had nothing
more to say, however, for the present.
I sent Burke back to the custody of Callahan and O'Brien, to await the
completion of my investigation; for, until I became reasonably sure that
I held in my hand all the available facts, it would be rank carelessness
on my part to send the whilom secretary about his business.
I would have been hard put to it to interpret the impression which
Alexander Burke had made upon my mind, if Stodger had demanded
my opinion at that moment. As his round, cherubic face emerged
between the curtains, I turned to him with considerable curiosity.
"Told it word for word as he did to me," was my companion's comment.
"Could n't have told it better if it had been a piece learnt by heart."
"Oh, he could n't, eh?" observed I, thoughtfully, leading the way to the
landing.
But I could not permit myself to theorize at this stage--an indulgence
which, when premature, inevitably colors one's opinions, and
prejudices all attempts at clear, logical reasoning.
CHAPTER III
SOME DISCOVERIES
But I was not yet permitted to begin my examination of the body and
its immediate surroundings. I had no sooner arrived at the landing than
I heard a man's voice, somewhere above in the second story, speaking
with a note of determination that demanded some sort of recognition
from the person addressed. The clear, ringing, resolute tone made me
involuntarily pause and listen.

"Where 's your headquarters man?" the voice was irately demanding. "I
want to see him, d' ye hear? You blithering idiot, I 'm going down those
stairs; if you want to rough it, just try to stop me."
Another voice was raised in expostulation. Stodger, at my elbow,
suddenly chuckled.
"That's him!" he whispered, with an unaccountable excitement. "That's
Maillot!"
"He must be a tartar," I observed.
At that instant a stalwart young man, very angry and with one
discolored eye that lent him an uncommonly truculent appearance,
looked down on us from the upper hall; then he deliberately ignored the
arguing policeman, strode to the head of the stairs and descended to the
landing.
"It's all right, Callahan," said Stodger to the discomfited blue-coat.
The young man halted before us.
"Ass!" he growled, staring hard at me.
Stodger made the epithet exclusively mine with a bow and a broad grin.
Instantly the young fellow flushed and stammered an apology.
"I didn't mean either of you chaps," he explained, in embarrassment.
"It's that chuckle-headed hod-carrier in a blue uniform. If he gives me
any more of his cheek, I 'll take his club from him and hand him a
wallop over the head with it--dashed if I don't."
He looked eminently capable of doing it, too. He paused, his look
resting upon me with an interrogation.
"Are you in authority here?" he bluntly demanded.
"I suppose so. Are you Mr. Maillot?"

"I am. And I 'd like to know how much longer I 'll have to stay in this
beastly cold-storage warehouse. I 'm plenty tired of it right now, if you
want to know."
I smiled at the resolute young fellow; there was something decidedly
likable in his frank and handsome countenance, and his blunt, intense
manner.
"It all depends, Mr. Maillot. You and Mr. Burke are the only ones who
can help me to some sort of solution of this crime--if crime it is; I take
it for granted that you are willing to do what you can."
He favored me with another stare, then stood thoughtfully pulling at his
lips and gazing at the body.
"Poor chap!" he muttered at length, in a hushed voice. "A ghastly way
to die; I 'd give a lot to know how it happened." Then he looked
brightly at me, and asked with an almost boyish impulsiveness:
"Are you a detective--like Stodger here?"
"I 'm a detective," I told him; "though I don't know how closely I
resemble Stodger." A sound came from that worthy that made me think
he was strangling. "Swift is my name."
Maillot suddenly thrust out his right hand.
"Glad to know you, Swift," he said heartily. "You look like a sensible
chap. I 'm willing to do all I can to help you--of course I am. It won't be
much, I 'm afraid. But if any thick-headed cop says I can't do this or
can't do