The Voice in the Fog

"All right. I'm Mason. I knew the game was up the moment I saw you.

Any one but you, Mr. Crawford, would pay for this interruption, pistol

or no pistol. An hour. So be it. You might tell that fool

down-stairs and give him the papers you find in my grip. Miss

Killigrew's sapphires, I regret to say, are no more. The mistake I

made in London was in returning the Nana Sahib's ruby."

"There is always one mistake," replied Crawford sternly. He felt sad,

too.

"Off with you, Tibbets! We can make the train for New York if we

hustle."

The man-servant's brilliant eyes flashed evilly.

"Will you make it an hour and a half, sir?" asked Mason, as his valet

slid over the window-sill.

It sounded strange to Forbes. Mason had unconsciously fallen into the

old tone and mode of address, and he himself recognized him now.

"Till nine-thirty, then. At that time I shall notify Haggerty."

"The boat?"

"Oh, no. I'm giving you that chance without conditions. It's up to

Haggerty to find you. There's one question I should like to ask you.

Were you in this sort of business while you were serving me?"

Mason laughed. The real man shone in his eyes and smile. "I was. It

was very exciting. It was very amusing, too. I valeted you during the

day-time and went about my own peculiar business at night. I entered

your service to rob you and remained to serve you; ten years. I want

you always to remember this: to you I was loyal, that I stood between

you and death because you were the only being I was fond of. You are

the one bit of sentiment that ever entered my life. Well, I must be

off. But I've had a jolly time of it, masquerading as a titled

gentleman. What a comedy! How the fools kotowed and simpered while I

looked over their jewels and speculated upon how much I could get for

them! But I had my code. I never pilfered in the houses of my hosts.

I set a fine trap for that simple young man down-stairs, and he fell

into it, head-first. Trust an Englishman of his sort to see nothing

beyond his nose. I'm off. Good-by, Mr. Crawford. I'm grateful." The

man stepped out of the window and vanished into the night.

Crawford glanced at his watch; it was eight-ten.

"Do you hope he'll get away?" asked Forbes breathlessly.

"I don't know what I hope, Mort. I'm rather dazed with the

unexpectedness of all this. Let's see what you took from their

pockets."