Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 36, No. 4, October 20, 1928

“Then I’ll expect you and Dr. Hislop at seven o’clock to-night, doctor?” said Stephen, in a loud voice. “We’ll dine and go to the theatre afterwards. And, by the bye, I wish you’d bring me another bottle of that medicine you gave me last time — I’ve had a touch of the old complaint again this morning.”

“I will,” replied the third man. “But if you’ve felt any symptom of that sort, let me advise you to keep quiet this afternoon. You’d better lie down for a while after lunch.”

Stephen Barr nodded and smiled, and the stranger left, as Mason, in the correct attire of a prosperous-looking clergyman, entered the room. He and Archer Dawe greeted each other in a manner befitting their respective parts, and were soon in apparently genial and friendly conversation.

The two Barrs had retired to their corner again; in the center of the room three young gentlemen in very loud clothes were discussing in equally loud voices the merits of certain race horses. Otherwise the room was empty.

Archer Dawe gave Mason a brief outline of the case as it had so far been revealed to him. His notion, he said, was that some plot was afoot by which Stephen Barr was to get clear away without exciting suspicion, and that that plot was to be worked there, in the hotel.

“And that’s why l sent for you,” he concluded. “I can’t work the thing alone. I want you to find men who can keep a steady watch on every exit from this place and can be trusted to follow Stephen Barr wherever he goes, whether it’s day or night. I’ve a strong notion that some coup is in brewing for to-night.”

“That’s done easily enough,” answered Mason. “If we can keep a watch on him for the next two hours I’ll engage that he won’t move a yard without being followed. Here, I’ll go round to the nearest station and telephone at once, and then come back to lunch with you.”

Two hours later the pseudo-clergyman and the pseudo-doctor having lunched together and afterwards taken their ease over coffee and cigars, the former again absented himself for a while, and came back smiling.

“That’s all right, Mr. Dawe,” he said. “He can’t move a foot out of this place without being shadowed — night or day. Make yourself easy. And now I must be off — let me know if you want anything further, and let’s hear how it goes on.”

Then the two separated, and Archer Dawe, knowing that his man was under the strictest surveillance, went out for a constitutional.

Returning to the hotel just after six o’clock, he was met on the corner by a plainly dressed man who first smiled, then winked, and as he passed him, whispered his name.

“One of Mr. Mason’s men, sir,” he said, as Archer Dawe came to a standstill. “The man has been out this afternoon — he and the younger man drove first to an office in Madison Avenue, stayed there a quarter of an hour, and then drove to the Bank of Argentina. They were there half an hour; then came back here. They’re safe inside, sir. We’re keeping a strict watch — there’s plenty of us on the job.”

Archer Dawe had a table all to himself that night at dinner. Mr. Stephen Barr’s party occupied one close by. There were five of them — Stephen himself, his nephew, the man Archer Dawe had seen with them that morning, another man whom he conjectured to be the Dr. Hislop he had heard mentioned, and a lady of about thirty whom he soon put down as the nephew’s wife. There was a good deal of laughing and talking amongst this party, and Stephen Barr himself seemed to be its life and soul.

Dinner was nearly over, and Archer Dawe, straining his ears for all they were worth, and using his eyes when he dared, had neither seen nor heard anything that gave him assistance. But there was suddenly a slight commotion at the next table. Looking round, he saw that Stephen Barr had fallen back in his chair, and was pressing one hand over the region of his heart — the other was crushing his eyes and forehead, whereon a frown as of deep pain had gathered. He groaned.

The men at Stephen Barr’s table sprang to their feet. One of them beckoned to a waiter. Ere the rest of the people in the room had grasped the situation the three men and the waiter were carrying Stephen Barr away. The lady, obviously much distressed, followed in their wake.

Archer Dawe beckoned to the head-waiter, who was standing near.

“I’m afraid that gentleman’s very ill,” he said.

“Yes, sir. I’ve seen him like that before, sir. It’s his heart, sir. Well-known customer here, sir. Those two medical gentlemen have attended him here before, sir, often — Dr. Hislop and Dr. Brownson. Very weak heart, I should say, sir. Carry him off some day — sudden.”

Archer Dawe finished his dinner hurriedly and slipped upstairs to his own room, slipped into it unobserved by any one. And once inside, he drew out the plug from the hole in the door, and settled himself for what might be a long and wearying vigil.