cause he had not lost his old affection for Miss Lila, who was so intimately connected with the case. Perhaps his motive was to make her happy, even though he knew he had to give her up to his rival if he ever succeeded in finding Brian; or perhaps some deeper suspicion drove him on through those long, discouraging weeks. A number of other good men on the force spent a great deal of effort in going over the problem; but no light was shed on Brian’s disappearance.
Then one day a young Frenchman was admitted to my office.
“I would wish that you speak French,” he said politely.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“You desire to know where is the Monsieur Brian?” he asked, speaking slowly, and finding each word with evident effort.
“There’s a big reward out, and it’s yours if you tell us,” I said shortly.
“I have hopes, uncle, old dear,” he said, with an astonishing change in voice and manner, breaking out into Richard’s well known grin. With a hat on and a change in expression, it was really Richard.
“You old rascal!” I shouted. “You certainly fooled me!”
“It wasn’t easy, uncle, I dye the hair and mustache twice a week, and practice French all night. But, it has fooled all my friends.
Well, I need it. I am Dr. Fleckinger’s laboratory assistant now, and we talk French most of the time.You can see that I’ve learned something about him, because you all thought he was German. Now I am cataloguing his collection of sculptures, too.”
“You’re actually in that house?” I demanded in alarm. Some nameless fear for the boy’s safety possessed me. Yet, my reason could not tell me what I feared.
“I’m learning all the time,” he replied jocularly. Then he gritted his teeth and his face took on a grim look. “Uncle, someone’s got to take Lila out of that devil’s clutches. Of course he’s her father, but—”
“What’s the matter?”
“She’s wasting away under my very eyes. Every day she is thinner. She goes about and trembles at every shadow; and every now and then bursts into a fit of weeping without any provocation. Something is driving her distracted, and I can see the terrible effort she makes to conceal it. It isn’t sorrow that I see in her face; it’s horror!”
“What has that to do with Brian’s disappearance?”
“I don’t know. In order to find out, I’ve been trying to learn from Lila and the servants what his motive is for refusing to let her have suitors. Apparently there is no real reason for it; it is rather a monomania, a form of insanity on his part.”
“One would think you suspected him of having made away with Brian,” I hinted.
“Easy to conjecture, hard to prove,” he answered enigmatically. “But if you want to see the wind-up, wait until I run a couple of errands, and I’ll take you along with me. I think I’ve figured the thing out.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. Here was a man’s job worked out by this boy who still seemed a child to me. He came for me at seven o’clock, carrying some packages. Unwrapping them, he slipped a photograph into an inside pocket, and a couple of live frogs into the pocket of his coat. I stared in astonishment.
“Take your thirty-two automatic along,” he suggested. I patted the pocket where it reposed.
We drove to Fleckinger’s house in a car with three officers from the station, and stopped at some distance from the house. We walked separately into the yard, and Richard signalled to the officers to wait outside. I was surprised to see him pull out a latchkey and open the door, until I remembered that he was a member of the household.
On the stair-landing in the lower hall stood a statue. Richard pointed to it.
“The one you were invited to see and refused,” he commented. “Oh, he’s a cool customer!”
He switched on the light in front of it, and asked me to regard it closely. It was of some dull, black, rough material, and represented a young man, almost nude, seated, with his chin leaning against one hand in deep meditation. The face was suggestive of profound concentration like that of a hypnotized man. The statue looked a little larger than life-size. It was set back in a niche so that the light fell on it obliquely, heightening the furrowed effect of the face. There was something about the appearance of it that I did not like, as it stood there with the shadows of the balusters falling on it. It gave me the same sort of creeps that the stone cat had imparted.
“It is really exactly life-size,” Richard informed me. “I have measured it.”
I gave him an impatient glare, for I did not see what that had to do with Brian’s disappearance. “Then,” he continued, “look at the features closely!” And he jerked the photograph out of his pocket and held it before me. It was a portrait of Brian, done very dark by the photographer; a duplicate of which I had at the office.
I looked from the picture to the face of the statue and back again, and an icy chill shot through me. But, Richard started suddenly, for the bobbing figure of Doctor Fleckinger appeared at the head of the stairs above us. Obviously that was not on the program.
“Put it away,” he whispered. Then he went on slowly and loudly: “He is in the laboratoire. I am certain it will make him much pleasure if you come above——ah, there is Monsieur the doctor now.”
Doctor Fleckinger came down and greeted me pleasantly, and shook my hand. My head hummed and whirled; I could scarcely gather my senses enough to answer the platitudes addressed to me as we walked upstairs at the doctor’s invitation to the laboratory, where he usually received me.
Up in the laboratory we began a rather lame conversation, and the incongruity of the situation jarred my nerves. The doctor knew that something suspicious was up, and did not trust me. I knew that his cordiality was feigned, and yet I was cordial in response. If I had known Richard’s plans, I might
(Continued on page 608)
