Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 51, No. 2, June 28, 1930

“I’ve brought you the sort of banquet my daughter enjoyed for eighteen years,” explained Wallace evenly. “You were whipped to-night as she was whipped. She is dying, so Nimbo took toll of revenge for her. The debt is a heavy one and will take some time to pay, Evans.”

“It won’t take long on this sort of food,” said Hal. “Who else have you been torturing just now?”

“I told you that my daughter Gloria is dying. It is only a matter of hours. I think Papaniotis has satisfied himself of her approaching dissolution and therefore of his own, because when she dies I will kill him. Though Nimbo has beaten him almost every day, he seems to cling to life. But Gloria does not. He has not made life attractive to her.”

Again Hal sensed an abyss of suffering beneath the pitiless voice. Despite his own wrongs, he felt a certain respect for this broken-hearted madman with his iron self-control.

“That’s — pretty tough,” he admitted. “Even if my visit here hasn’t been particularly entertaining, I’m glad my father had no hand in your troubles.”

Wallace lifted one eyebrow in ironical disbelief as he glanced about the room.

Suddenly his regard grew fixed, then flashed back upon his prisoner. Hal guessed that he had seen the cellar window hanging open a little from the top. Hal returned his stare blankly, but Wallace was not deceived.

He drew a revolver and laid it across his knees, at the same time motioning toward the window.

“That should have been nailed up,” he rasped. “Our guest is not as weak as he looks. See to it!”

Grinning anxiously, the Nubian rolled his eyes at the revolver and hurried out of the cell. Soon he was back again with a hammer and a dozen long nails which he drove in the sash.

Lacking leverage from the inside, it would be impossible now to open the window, even if the glass was broken. The panes were too narrow for the passage of a man’s body through the space they occupied.

And Wallace had two prisoners instead of one, though he did not know it.

Nimbo returned to his master’s side. To attack Wallace during the black’s absence had been out of the question because of that ready revolver.

“You complain of your entertainment,” observed Hal’s captor. “Would you like to hear how my revenge was accomplished? It was difficult and intricate, but successful.”

Hal nodded shortly. He hoped that both Nimbo and the revolver might disappear during the narrative, giving him a chance at Wallace.

“I planned the work long in advance,” began his captor. “My position at the dam was important for its contact with Hearn, but more important to avert suspicion.

“In order to use it as an alibi it was necessary to be in two places at once, so far as the usual methods of transportation are concerned.

“I bought a seaplane and learned to fly. In the wild country above the site of the dam there is a little lake. I hid the plane there before I became ‘McHenry.’

“In this way I was able to carry Nimbo from above the dam to the inlet near your home last Saturday night and arrive early in the evening. There was the symbol to leave and we had to make other preparations.

“After the house had been fired we went back to the plane and reached our little lake before daylight. So far as the workmen knew, I had never left the dam.”

Hal’s grief and rage returned full flood. It cost him a violent effort to hold his tongue.

“Sunday night we blew up the dam. Monday evening we removed Hearn. After his death, the police permitted me to leave for Buffalo to visit my ‘sick wife.’ I made for the plane instead. Nimbo had reached it ahead of me—”

“How did he get away from the dogs?”

“He walked in the stream for a few yards and then took to the trees. His arms are strong, as you may remember.”

“Sort of missing link,” said Hal with a savage glance at the Nubian.

Nimbo stared back at him blankly.

“We came down on the Hudson that night, not far from here. The next day I drove into town for your mother. That was Tuesday—”

“How did you know where to find her?”

“One of my agents met me at your home Saturday night and followed you into town Sunday morning.”

“Don’t see why the police let you leave the dam Monday night — right after you murdered Hearn.”

“I had another agent in Buffalo, Evans. He wired me to hurry to the bedside of my mythical invalid wife. I had only to show that wire to the police.”

“And the same man wired from Buffalo asking for quiet rooms for you in New York!” Hal exclaimed.

“Almost obvious — now that you know,” replied Wallace with a faint sneer. “To continue. We drove your mother to a place of safety. Later we returned to New York to get Dorothy Hearn’s jewels. I found them myself, just before she woke. But I slipped out of the window while she was staring at Nimbo’s luminous skull.

“It was touch and go that night. We had to work fast. But I got back to the plane in time to reach the lake, the dam and the inquest in Barton the following morning. I left Nimbo behind to prepare for his part on Wednesday afternoon. It was all play to him. He does not know what fear means.”