CHAPTER X
ANTHONY TRENT SAVES A PIANO
FOR some months now Trent had been preparing a campaign against thecollection of precious stones belonging to Carr Faulkner whose whitestone mansion looked across the Park from his home. But whereas Trent'shouse faced east, the Faulkner abode looked west. And in matter ofresidence locality there is an appreciable difference in this outlook.
The Faulkner millions were in the main inherited. There was aconservative banking house on Broad Street bearing the Faulkner name butit did not look for new business and found its principal work inguarding the vast Faulkner fortune.
Faulkner's first wife had been a collector of pearls, those modeststones whose assembled value is always worth the criminal's attention.The second wife, a young woman of less aristocratic stock, eschewedpearls, holding the theory that each one was a tear. She wanted flashingstones which advertised their value more ostentatiously. Trent had seenher at the Opera and marked her down as a profitable client.
It was because Trent worked so carefully that he made so few mistakes.He had no friends to ask him leading questions and gossip about his modeof life. He had been half a year collecting information about the CarrFaulkners, the style in which they lived, the intimate friends they hadand a hundred little details which a careful professional must knowbefore he can hope to make a success.
The system of burglar alarm installed in the mansion was an elaborateone but he was not unskilled in matters of this sort. For three monthshe had worked in the shop where they were made and his general inbornmechanical skill had been aided by conscientious study. Attention todetail had saved him more than once, and is an aid to be counted on morethan luck.
Yet it was sheer blind, kindly, garrulous luck that finally took Trentunsuspected into the Carr Faulkner mansion. Riding up Madison avenue ina trolley car late one afternoon, he overheard one of the Faulkner'smaids discussing the family.
One of the girls had knocked over a vase of cut flowers which stood on agrand piano in Mrs. Carr Faulkner's boudoir and the water had leakedthrough onto the wire and wood, doing some little damage.
"She was madder'n a wet hen," said the girl.
"Them things cost a lot of money," her companion commented, "and thatwas inlaid like all the other things in her room. Gee! the way Mr.Faulkner spends the money on her is a crime."
"Second wives have a cinch," said the first girl, sneering. "From all Ihear the first was a perfect lady and kind to the maids, but this one isdown-right ordinary. You should have heard what she said about me overthe 'phone when she told the piano people to send a tuner up, and mestanding there. Said I was "clumsy" and "stupid" and "a love-sick fool."I could tell something about love-sick fools if I wanted to! And sheknows it."
Her friend cautioned her.
"Be careful," she whispered, "you may want to lose your job but I don't.Don't talk so loud."
It was hardly five o'clock. Anthony Trent left the car and started for atelephone booth. He went methodically through the lists of the betterknown piano makers. There was one firm whose high-priced instrument wasfrequently encased in rare woods for specially furnished rooms.
"This is Mr. Carr Faulkner's secretary speaking," he began when thenumber was given to him. "Have you been instructed to see about a pianohere?"
"We are sending a man right away," he was told.
"To-morrow morning will do," said the supposed secretary. "We are givinga small dance to-night and it will not be convenient."
"We should prefer to send now," came the answer. "A valuable instrumentmight be extensively damaged if not attended to right away."
Trent became confidential. He dropped his voice.
"It's nothing for Mr. Faulkner to buy a new instrument if it's needed,but it's a serious thing if a dance that Mrs. Faulkner gives isinterrupted. Money is no consideration here as you ought to know."
The piano man, remembering the price that was exacted for the specialcase, smiled to himself. It would be better for him to sell a newinstrument. It would not surprise him if this affable secretary calledin some fine morning and hinted at commission. Such things had been donebefore in the trade.
"It's just as you say," he returned. "At what hour shall our Mr. Jacksoncall?"
"As soon as he likes after ten," said the obliging Trent, and rang off.
Then he called up the Carr Faulkner house and told the answering manservant that Mr. Jackson of Stoneham's would call at half past six. Hewas switched on to the private wire of Mrs. Carr Faulkner.
"It's disgraceful that you can't come before," she stormed.
"Yours is specially made instrument," he reminded her, "and I needspecial tools."
Then he took the crosstown car to his home and changed into a neat darkbusiness suit. He also arrayed himself in a brand new shirt and collar.Mrs. Kinney always washed these, and many a criminal has had hisidentity proved by his laundry mark. Trent, like a wise man, admittedthe possibility that some day he might be caught but was determinednever to take the risks that lesser craftsmen hardly thought of.
Anthony Trent thought it most probable that the Faulkner's butler wouldbe of the imported species. He hoped so. He found that they were moreeasily impressed by good manners and dress than the domestic breed.
Some day he determined to write an essay on butlers. There was ConingtonWarren's bishop-like Austin, cold, severe, aloof. There was Guestwick'sman, the jovial sportsman type molding himself no doubt on some admiredemployer of earlier days.
Faulkner's butler was an amiable creature and inclined to associate witha piano tuner on equal terms. He had rather fine features and wasadmired of the female domestics. His dignity forbade him to indulge inmuch familiarity with the men beneath him and he welcomed thepseudo-tuner as an opportunity to converse.
"I knew you by your voice," said the butler cordially. "Come in."
There was little chance that the maid servants behind whom he had sat onthe car would recognize him. Or if they did there was no reason why theyshould be suspicious.
Mrs. Carr Faulkner's boudoir was a delightful room on the third floor. Alittle electric, self-operated elevator leading to it was pointed out bythe butler.
"Not for the likes of you or me," said the man. "We can walk."
Mrs. Carr Faulkner was a dissatisfied looking blonde woman. In her operabox surrounded by friends and displaying her famous jewels she hadseemed a vision of loveliness to the gazing far-away Trent. Here in herown home and dealing with those whom she considered her inferiors, shemade no effort to be even civil.
"Who is this person?" she demanded of the butler.
"The man come to look at the piano, ma'am," he returned.
"You're not Mr. Jackson," she said with abruptness.
It was plain Jackson was known. Trent blamed himself for not thinking ofthis possibility.
"I am the head tuner," he said with dignity, "we understood it was acase where the highest skill was needed."
She looked at him coldly.
"I don't know that it demands much of what you call skill," sheretorted acidly. "You have come at a singularly inconvenient hour.Please get to work at once."
With this she left the room. The butler gazed after her scowling.
"Do you have to put up with that all day?" Trent asked him.
"How the boss stands it I don't know," said the butler.
"Why take it out on a mere piano tuner?" Trent asked.
The butler winked knowingly. He dug Trent in the ribs with a fine, freeand friendly gesture.
"Speaking as one man of the world to another," he observed, "I guess youspoiled a little _tete-a-tete_ as we say in gay Paree. Mr. Carr Faulknerleaves the Union Club at seven and walks up the Avenue in time to dressfor his dinner at eight. There's another gentleman leaves another clubon the same Avenue and gets here as a rule at six and leaves in time toavoid the master." The butler leaned forward and whispered in thetuner's ear, "She's crazy about him. The only man who doesn't know isthe boss. It's always the way,"
added the self-confessed man of theworld, "I wouldn't trust any woman living. The more they have the worsethey are. If ever I marry I'll take a job as lighthouse keeper and takemy wife along."
"Will they come in here?" Trent asked anxiously. He wanted theopportunity to do his own work while the family dined and he did notwant to be seen by an unnecessary person. He disliked taking even amillion to one shot.
The cynical butler interpreted his interest differently.
"You won't understand a word of what they're saying. They talk inFrench. She was at school in Lausanne and he's a French count, or sayshe is. I've made a mistake in scorning foreign languages," the butleradmitted, "I'd give a lot to know what they talk about." He was not toknow that Trent knew French moderately well.
Left to himself Trent called to mind the actions of a piano tuner. Hehad often watched his own grand being tuned. When Mrs. Carr Faulknercame into the room she beheld an earnest young man delving among thepiano's depths. She was interested in no man but Jules d'Aucquier whofilled her heart and emptied her purse.
"Is the thing much damaged?" she asked presently.
"I think not," he replied.
"Then you need not stay long?"
"I shall go as soon as possible," he said.
She sank into a deep chair and thought of Jules. And there came to herface a softer, happier look. The butler's talk Trent dismissed as mereservants' gossip. Of Carr Faulkner he knew nothing except that he wasyears older than his wife. He was, probably, a wealthy roue who hadcoveted this beautiful woman and bought her in marriage. In high societyit was often that way, he mused. Family coercion, perhaps, or the needto aid impoverished parents. It was being done every day. This man ofwhom the butler spoke was probably her own age. Since the stone age thisdomestic intrigue must have been going on.
He touched the keyboard--pianissimo at first and then growing bolderplunged into the glorious _Liebestod_. It was not the sort of thing Mr.Jackson would have done but then Anthony Trent was a head tuner as hehad explained. He watched the woman's face to see into what mood themusic would lead her. He was speedily to find out.
"Stop," she commanded and rising to her feet came to his side. "Why doyou do that?"
"I must try it," he answered, a little sheepishly, "we always have totest an instrument."
"But to play the _Liebestod_" she said severely. "I have heard them allplay it, Bauer, Borwick, Grainger, d'Albert and Hoffman and you dare totry! It was impertinent of you. Of course if you must play just playthose chords tuners always use."
Trent admitted afterwards he had never been more angry or felt moreinsulted in his life. He had not for a moment supposed this butterflywoman even knew the name of what he played.
"I won't offend again," he said with what he hoped was a sarcasticinflection. She answered never a word. She seemed to be listening. Trentheard a sound that might have been the opening of the elevator door.Then came hurried steps along the hall and Jules d'Aucquier entered.
He was dark to the point of swarthiness, tall and graceful. His rathersmall head reminded Trent of a snake's. As a man who knew men Trentdetermined that the newcomer was dangerous. The look that he threwacross the room to the intruder was not pleasant.
He spoke very quickly in French.
"Who is this?" he demanded.
"No one who matters," she answered in the same tongue.
"But what is the pig doing here at this hour?" he asked.
"Repairing the piano," she told him, "a poor tuner I imagine for thereason that he plays so well. I had to stop him when he began the_Liebestod_. It affects me too much. That was being played when youfirst looked into my eyes, dear one."
"Send him away," the man commanded.
"But that would look suspicious," she declared.
Trent noticed that Jules did not respond to the affection which was inthe woman's tone.
"You should not telephone to me at the club," he said as he took a seatat her side. "I am only a temporary member and do not want to embarrassmy sponsor."
"But you were so cruel to me yesterday," she murmured.
"Cruel?" he repeated and turned his cold, snake eyes on her, eyes thatcould, when he willed it, glow with fire and passion. "Who is thecrueler, you or I?"
"What do you mean?" she cried almost tearfully. "You know I love you."
"And yet when I ask you to do a favor which is easily within your powerto perform you refuse. I must have money; that you know."
"It is always money now," she complained. "You no longer say that youlove me."
"How can I when my creditors bark at my heels like hungry dogs? UnlessI pay by to-morrow it is finished. You and I see one another no more,that is certain."
He looked at her in annoyed surprise when she suddenly smiled. Hewatched her with an even greater interest than the man gazing frombehind the piano. From an escritoire she took a package wrapped inlavender paper. This she placed in the pocket of the coat that he hadthrown across a chair.
"What good are cigarettes to me now?" he demanded. "I have told you thatunless I have fifteen thousand dollars by noon to-morrow, I am done."
"When you get to your rooms," she said, smiling, "open your cigarettesand see if I do not love you."
Trent admitted this Jules was undeniably handsome now that the dark facewas wreathed in smiles. Jules gathered her in his arms.
"My soul," he whispered, and covered her face with kisses. When heattempted to rise and go to the coat his eyes were staring at, she heldhim tight.
"I got twenty thousand from him," she said. "You will find the twentybills each wrapped in the cigarette papers. I pushed the tobacco out andthey fitted in."
"Wasteful one," he said in tender reproach and sought again to retrievehis coat.
Unfortunately for the debonair Jules d'Aucquier this was not immediatelypossible. The click of the little elevator was heard. The two looked atone another in alarm.
"It must be Carr," she whispered. "Nobody else could possibly use thatelevator now. Somebody has told him." She looked about her in despair."You must hide. Quick, behind the piano there until I get him away."
Trent working industriously amid the wreckage of what had been a grandpiano looked up with polite surprise at the tall man who flung himselfalmost at his feet and tried to conceal himself behind part of theinstrument.
"Hide me, quickly," Jules whispered, "do you hear. I will give youmoney. Quick, fool, don't gape at me."
For the second time that evening Anthony Trent smothered his anger andsmiled when rage was in his heart. And he did so for the second time notbecause he was conscious of fear but because he saw himself suitablyrewarded for his efforts. He felt a note thrust into his hand but thiswas not the reward he looked for. He was arranging the piano debrisaround the prostrate Jules when there was a knock on the door and CarrFaulkner entered.
The millionaire's eye fell first of all upon the coat over the chair.
"Who's is this?" he demanded.
The pause was hardly perceptible before she answered.
"I suppose it belongs to the piano man."
Faulkner looked across at the instrument and beheld the busy Trenttaking what else was possible from the Stoneman. All the king's horsesand all the king's men could not put that instrument together againeasily. Trent went about his business with quiet persistence.
Carr Faulkner's voice was very courteous and kind as he addressed thetuner.
"I'm afraid I must ask you to wait outside in the hall for a few minutesuntil I have had a little private talk with my wife."
"Is that necessary," she said quickly. "I'm just going to dress fordinner. We have people coming, remember."
"There is time," he said meaningly. "I left my club half an hour earlierto-day. Did the change incommode you?"
"Why should it?" she said lightly.
Faulkner was a man of middle age with a fine thoughtful face. It was aface that made an instant appeal to Trent. It mirrored kindliness andgood breeding, and reminded him in a subtle way
of his own father, acountry physician who had died a dozen years before his only son leftthe way of honest men.
"A few minutes only," he said and Trent passed out into the hall takingcare to leave the door opened an inch or so. It was necessary for hispeace of mind that he should know what it was Mr. Faulkner had to say tohis wife. It might concern him vitally. It was possible that inquiry atStoneman's might have informed Faulkner of his trickery. While this wasimprobable Trent was not minded to be careless. This kindly aspect ofthe millionaire might be assumed to put him off his guard; even now menmight be stationed at the exits to arrest him. Very quietly he stoleback to the door and listened.
"I have found out for certain what I have long suspected," Faulkner wassaying to his wife. "It is always the husband who learns last. Don'tprotest," he added. "I know too much. I know for example that you havesold many of your jewels to provide funds for a gambler and a rascal."
"I don't know what you mean," she cried white-faced.
"You do," he said, and there was a trace of deep sadness in his voice."You know too well. This man Jules d'Aucquier is not of a noble Frenchfamily at all. He is a French-Canadian and was formerly a valet to anEnglish officer of title at Ottawa. It was there he picked up thissmattering of knowledge which has made it easy to fool theunsuspecting."
"I don't believe it," she cried vehemently.
He looked at her sadly. The whole scene was crucifixion for him.
"I shall prove it," he said quietly.
"I don't care if you do," she flung back at him.
"You would care for him just the same?" he asked.
"I have not said that I care for him at all," she said, a trace ofcaution creeping into her manner.
"I shall give you the opportunity to prove it one way or another withina few minutes. We have come to the parting of the ways."
It was at this moment Anthony Trent knocked timidly upon the door. Thestage was set to his liking. When he was bidden to enter his quick eyetook in everything. There, out of sight d'Aucquier skulked while heprepared to hear his despicable history told to the woman who was hisvictim. As for the woman she was defiant. She would probably elect tofollow a scoundrel who had fascinated her and leave a man behind whosegood name she had trailed in the dust. The situation was not a new onebut Trent was moved by it. Carr Faulkner had all his sympathy. Heregistered a vow if ever he met d'Aucquier, or whatever his name mightbe, to exact a punishment.
"Excuse me," said Anthony Trent, stepping into the room, "but my trainleaves in twenty minutes--I live out in Long Island--and I've got tocatch it or else the missus will be worrying."
Mrs. Faulkner looked at him frowning. She wanted to get this scene over.He was a good looking piano tuner, she decided, and now his tragedy wasplain. He who had no doubt once aimed at the concert stage tuned pianosto support a wife and home in Long Island!
"I'll finish the job to-morrow morning."
She waved him toward the door imperiously. Every moment she and herhusband spent in this room added to the chance of the hiding man'sdiscovery.
"Why don't you go?" she cried.
Anthony Trent permitted himself to smile faintly.
"I've come for my coat, Ma'am," he said, and glanced at the raimentd'Aucquier had thrown carelessly over a chair, the coat now laden withsuch precious cigarettes.
Carr Faulkner was growing impatient at this interruption. He could notunderstand the look of anger on his wife's face.
"Don't you understand," he exclaimed, "that the man merely wants to gohome and take his coat with him?"
He turned to the deferential Trent.
"All right, all right," Trent moved to the chair and took the garment.At the door he turned about and bowed profoundly.
In the lower hall he found the cynical butler whose ideas on matrimonywere so decided. He startled that functionary by thrusting into his handthe ten dollars d'Aucquier had forced upon him.
"What's this for?" demanded the butler. When piano tuners came withgifts in their hands he was suspicious. "I don't understand this." Heobserved that the affability which had made the tuner seem kin tohimself was vanished. A different man now looked at him.
"It's for you," said Trent. "I'm not a piano tuner. I'm a detective andI came here after that ex-valet who pretends to be a French nobleman."
The butler breathed hard.
"I 'ate that man, sir," he said simply. "I'd like to dot him one."
"You'll be able to and that within five minutes," Trent assured him. "Heis concealed behind the lid of the grand piano I was supposed to repair.Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner are both in the room but _he_ doesn't know Julesis there. You take two footmen and yank him out and then if you want to'dot him one' or two, there's your chance."
The muscles of the butler's big shoulders swelled with anticipation."Where are you going?" he asked of Trent, now making for the front door.
"To get the patrol wagon," said Anthony Trent.
"How long will you be?" asked the man.
"I shall be back in no time," Trent answered cryptically.
Arrived in his quiet rooms he undid the box of cigarettes. At first hethought he had been fooled for the top layer of cigarettes weretobacco-filled and normal.
But it was on the next row that Mrs. Carr Faulkner had expended hertrouble. Each one contained a new thousand dollar bill and their tintenthralled him.