But to that gentleman himself it seemed a childishly simple feat-particularly when compared to the one which he had suspected MacClellan.
He had meant to make the whole of last night's doings known to the complacent detective, but now he hated to do it. Somehow MacClellan would arrogate to himself as much credit as if he had captured a desperate criminal in the red act of assassination. Besides, there was the bungalow. After waiting six weeks for that visit, it had come in earnest during his one night of absence!
'So the place was pulled down?' he asked slowly, scanning the headlines.
'Oh, no. That was Walker's exaggeration. But it was pretty well wrecked up all right-worse than the first time. And Walker said that when he got up there, there was a horrible smell about the place. Some sort of chemical, I guess, though that may have been some more of his imagination. It didn't look to me like there'd been any explosion.'
'I smelled something queer myself when we went inside.' This from Forester, an intelligent-looking but very young man. 'Don't you remember I called your attention to it?'
'Yes, and I said you was dreamin',' snapped his superior. 'If there was any smell it got out the windows before we reached there.'
Forester shrugged and subsided. But to O'Hara this talk of a mysterious odor called up a memory. The scene was a large, bare, dusty interior, illuminated by one leaping white ray. Faith, and it was a most unpleasant stench the place had been filled with! The front and the back door of that storehouse had stood open-open! And it was from Reed's place that Genghis Khan had wandered all the way to Carpentier-and tried to strangle him! Had Khan 'wandered'?
'I'll be returning to the bungalow,' he announced.
'Oh, no!' To Cliona, Carpentier and its vicinity were by this time doubly enhanced with terror. 'Colin, darling, promise me you'll never go near there again!'
'I'll have to. Sure, every stitch of clothes I have but these are out there. You'd not have me sacrifice my entire wardrobe, Cliona?'
'You can send for them-besides, that's not your reason!' she added suspiciously.
'And what if it's not? In broad daylight! For shame, little sister, 'tis not like yourself to be so unreasonable!'
'I don't mean to be,' Cliona considered, while MacClellan turned away to examine a picture-and grin. He disliked this domineering Irishman as instinctively as O'Hara despised him, and it was highly amusing to hear him plead against petticoat rule as meekly as the least of his fellows. 'You may go,' decreed Cliona at last, 'if you'll take these gentlemen with you.'
Rhodes laughed. 'I'm going myself, so you'll have quite a bodyguard, Colin.'
Somewhat to his surprise Cliona offered no objection to that. Perhaps she felt there was safety in numbers, and anyway, on reflection, a daylight expedition to the bungalow could rouse little dread. There must be people all over the place, too, as she had been told there were while first she lay there unconscious.
'Where's the-the-Miss Reed?'
It was Rhodes who asked. All the time they talked, the girl had stood close to Cliona, partly in shadow and so motionlessly silent as to be practically forgotten by all save Colin. He never quite forgot her, but she had been pushed to the back of his mind by these more pressing matters.
'I think-perhaps she went back in the breakfast room. Shall I look for her?' Cliona made a motion toward the door, but her brother checked her, drawing her somewhat aside from the rest.
''Tis as well,' he said in a guarded tone, 'that MacClellan does not see her just now. Who knows what the day may bring? I'll not bid her farewell, either, for the poor lass might not understand. Just tell her I've gone and will return soon, and do you try and get at the truth of this business of her father. I'd not be surprised if there was real truth behind that. Be good to her and gentle-ah, I know there's no need to say that! Were you ever aught else in your life, little sister? But indeed, I'm that troubled — '
'Colin, MacClellan says he has only another hour or so to spare. If we're going we'd better start.' This from Rhodes.
'I'll take care of her, Colin.' Cliona gave his arm a reassuring pat as he turned to obey Rhodes' summons. But she looked after him with a sadness in her eyes.
Though so much younger, she understood Colin, as a mother understands a beloved son, and she knew that it was not only shame or despair for his deed at Undine that had taken all the buoyancy from his step, all the happiness from his face. She had seen him look at the girl he had brought here, heard his voice when he spoke of her-and the girl was so lovely-so hopelessly, pitifully lovely!
CHAPTER XX. The Fourth Visitation
O'HARA stood on the macadamized drive beneath the same tree from which Genghis Khan had reached for his throat two nights ago. MacClellan alone was with him, for at the last moment Rhodes had received a telephone call from his partner-that line was in working order, after all-begging that he come in town at once on a matter of considerable business importance.
O'Hara urged him to go, and in the end he did, but with a promise to join them later if possible. So they had run down to the city in Rhodes' car, dropped its owner at his office, set Forester down at city hall-his superior having denied any need of the young man loafing away any more time on this job-and proceeded straight to Carpentier.
O'Hara was his own chauffeur, and he had MacClellan in the tonneau, so at least he was spared any converse with him during the trip. Once at the bungalow, however, the detective gave his tongue and his opinions a loose rein.
As he had told them, this fresh bit of apparently objectless destruction bore a broad resemblance to the earlier attempt, save that this time its perpetrators had left no visible trace of themselves save their work.
Every room in the house had been visited, as if by a small invading whirlwind. An indiscriminating whirlwind, too, that had scattered and smashed with no regard for relative values.
A finely carved and heavily constructed sideboard which had escaped the first visitation had been broken to bits in the most difficult and painstaking manner. But equally the cheap deal table, at which Colin had taken supper the night before, lay about the kitchen in well-nigh unidentifiable fragments. In the bedroom that had been first Cliona's and then Colin's, nothing had been touched except the bed, and that was irrevocably smashed, even to the twisted mass of wire which had been the springs.
So everywhere things common and valuable were broken or left intact with the whimsicality of choice that distinguishes those three insentient destroyers-fire, storm, and concussion.
Yet there were no signs of an explosion, no fire had raged here, and, though a storm there had been, it must have been a strange one to have shattered windows and doors, ravaged inner rooms, and left roof and walls uninjured.
The milkman's statement that he 'came up to leave the milk and found no place to leave it' was not entirely unfounded. His custom had been to put O'Hara's quart bottle of the healthful fluid on the front steps, but these steps, which were wooden, had been torn away and lay some distance off. Every one of the veranda windows was broken, sash and all, and the door was flat and in two pieces.
Having gloomily inspected the remains of his premises, Colin stood in the dining-room and listened with acute boredom to MacClellan's views. Something small and bright-colored caught his eye, and stooping, he plucked it from amidst the sideboard's
Colin stared grimly down at the still patiently smiling face.
'So they got you at last, little man,' he muttered, half-abstractedly.
The face smiled on-patient forever with the
'What's that?' demanded MacClellan.
'Nothing.' Colin tossed the fragment aside, and led the way toward the door. 'Just a bit of pottery that was worth a few thousand before we began receiving midnight callers. There's no luck to this house-no luck all. I shall
