CHAPTER X
KABOFF'S WILD HORSE
For several months after old Mr. Marvin's death, Owen had kept to hiscubby-hole room adjoining the financier's small, plain-furnished,workaday office. But recently he had got the habit of doing his workin the library, where the tall, pure statues looked down upon hisskulking head and the grand old books that had borne their messages ofgood from generation to generation, held their high thoughts in statelycontrast to his skilled and cruel plots.
Above the bowed bald head that was planning the death of a young girlto gain her fortune stood a figure of Persephone-child of innocence andsunlight shadowed by black robes of Dis. Upon the coward who fearedall but the darkest and most devious passages of crime shone high,clear brows of Caesar and Aurelius. Gray folios of Shakespeare held upto the ambitious ingrate the warning titles of "Lear" and "Hamlet" and"Macbeth." And by his side brooded ever that mystic relic of thefarther past--the Mummy, from whose case had stepped a daughter ofthe Pharaohs in the likeness of Pauline.
But Owen thought little of contrasts.
He was opening his mail on a morning in early May when he came acrossan envelope addressed in the awkward scrawl of Hicks. He tore it apartnervously, for if Hicks could be moved to write, it must be a matter ofconcern.
"Dear Owen, No doubt he suspects you of foul play. He has seen hisattorneys and is about to take steps to have you removed from thetrustee-ship."
The paper crackled in Owen's trembling hand. So the Baskinelliincident had gone a little too far. Harry Marvin had sense enough toknow that he would not have to fight three murderous Italians and arabble of Chinese unless there had been a plot behind Pauline's peril.It might be best to go directly after Harry--to put him out of theway first. And yet, Owen pondered, there was no proof of anythingwrong. Pauline was admittedly plunging into these adventures of herown free will. Nothing could be proved against him or Hicks.
He resumed his work. Among the letters lay an advertising dodger whichhad been dropped through the door. Owen glanced at it carelessly atfirst, then with keen interest. He read it over:
"BALLOON ASCENSION FROM PALISADES
"Signor Panatella, the famous Italian Aeronaut, will make parachute dropfrom height never before attempted."
The ascension was to be made that afternoon from one of the amusementparks on the New Jersey shore of the Hudson.
"This is Providence," he muttered to himself, catching up the dodger.Slipping through the door and up the stairs, he tapped at the door ofPauline's room. When there came no answer he entered swiftly, laid apaper on the table and glided back to the hall, back to the library.
From there he called up Hicks.
Hicks' domiciles were so many and suddenly changeable that he claimednothing so dignified as a regular telephone number. But he hadscribbled on the bottom of his note the number of a saloon on the lowerWest Side.
He was there when Owen rang.
"Hello, Hello, . . . Is that you, Hicks? . . . I want to see you. . . .What? . . . No, right away. . . . Broke? . . . you always are ....you'll get the cash all right. . . . What's that? .... Come here? ....Not on your life. I'll come to you .... Not half that time ....I'll take the motorcycle. All right .... Good-by."
He hung up the receiver, went up to his room and got into cycling kit.As he came down stairs he met Pauline, who was returning from ashopping trip.
"Good morning, Owen," she said brightly. "Do you know, I believe thereis more peril in a dry goods store than on a pirate yacht. What partsof my new hat are left?"
"Only the becoming ones."
She sped on up the stairs. After her first imperative inquiries of themirror concerning what she considered her wild appearance, she pickedup the letters on her dressing table and began to run through them.
The large black type of an advertising dodger loomed among theletters.
Pauline tripped down the stairs. To Harry, seated on the stepsenjoying the Spring sunshine and puffing a leisurely cigarette,appeared a mysterious vision.
He knew by the elaborate way in which she took her seat beside him andhid the piece of paper in her hand that she had some new whim infermentation--something to ask him that she knew he wouldn't want todo.
"Yes," he said, moving along the step away from her. "I know you'vejust bought me the loveliest cravat, that I'm the nicest brother in theworld, that I look so handsome in Springy things and--well, what itis?"
Pauline pouted at the other end of the step.
"I'm going up in a balloon and jump down," she announced, "from aheight never before attempted."
"Polly I You are going to do nothing of the--"
"No, I wasn't going to, until you grew so great and grand. I justwanted to go over and see him fly."
She tossed the dodger over to him. He glanced at it.
"Well, if you promise you aren't plotting any more pranks, I'll takeyou."
"That's a worth-while brother. It's a pink one."
"Pink one?"
"Cravat, of course."
Harry groaned. "Give it to the cook," he pleaded. "He wears 'emalive. If that fellow goes up at 2:30, you'd better hurry."
"I'll be ready before you are."
She rose quickly, but Owen, looking, listening, had time to close thedoor unseen, unheard.
At the rear of a little West Side saloon, he signaled with his horn,and Hicks came out. He was a bit shabbier than usual, and he had beendrinking, but he was not intoxicated.
Owen locked his machine and taking his arm walked him rapidly up theavenue.
"What do you mean by writing to me?" demanded Owen. "Haven't I toldyou never to put words on paper?"
"Oh, I guess you got that house wired so nobody'll catch you," gruntedHicks. "Live wires, too-clever butlers, footmen, maids, chauffeurs,cooks; you're safe enough."
"You forget those are your wires. They don't know they're working forme. Hicks, are you out of your head? Have you told Bemis that you andI are working together?"
"Sure not; but that butler is no fool, Mr. Owen."
"Was it from him you found out that Harry had the lawyers after us?"
"No--queer thing that, that--it wasn't."
"Who, then?"
"The little Espinosa."
"Espinosa--in New York?"
"Yes--met her at the Trocadero a week ago. She'd seen old Calderwoodalready. I guess she blackmails him--the old reprobate, and him thenoble counselor at law for Mr. Harry Marvin!"
"So you put her on the scent--for us?"
"Why not? The young fellow's been acting suspicious for a long time."
"You did very well."
"How about some money--I haven't seen the color of a roll since youput that fool Baskinelli into the game. Ain't you coming across?"
"Certainly; here," said Owen, handing over enough to sate even thepredatory greed of Hicks. "Now, what I want you to do is to find mesome one among your horse racing friends who is down and out enough totake a little cash job--at certain slight risks?"
"Yes--what?"
"I want a good rider on a wild horse. He could make a thousand dollarsin an afternoon if the horse should happen to get wild at the righttime and do the right thing."
"Hm'm," mused Hicks. "I wonder if Eddie Kaboff has still got hislivery stable down on Tenth avenue. We might go see."
After ten minutes' walk Hicks brought up in front of a bill-plastereddoor in a fence. He held it open for Owen and they passed across avacant lot to a large dilapidated-looking stable at the further end.
The short, dark man who sat in a tilted chair against the doorway andpuffed lazily at a pipe, seemed to embody the spirit of the buildingand the business done there.
He was a man who had once--in the days of racing--been called a"sport." He might still be called "horsey" and would consider the terma compliment. But Eddie Kaboff's fame and fortune had both dwindledsince the good old betting days when little swindling games larded thesolid profits of crooked races. One by
one his thoroughbreds had givenup their stalls to truck horses, just as Eddie's diamond studs hadgiven place to plain buttons.
His beady black eyes watched the two newcomers on their way across thelot, but he gave no sign of recognition until Hicks and Owen reachedthe door.
"Hello, Eddie," said Hicks.
Kaboff got up slowly and extended a flabby hand to his acquaintance.He was introduced to Owen, who let Hicks do the talking.
"What's new, Eddie?"
"Nuthin'."
"Still got that wild horse you never was able to sell?"
"Yep."
"Can you still manage him yourself?"
"I guess I could, but he ain't safe to take among traffic."
Hicks stepped close to Kaboff, talking in rapid whispers. The littleman turned white.
"No, no; I'm too old for that kind of game," he said.
Owen drew from his pocket a roll of yellowbacks--the biggest rollEddie Kaboff had seen since the days of "easy money."
"This much to try it," said Owen, "and as much again if you make good."
Kaboff's glance wavered a moment between the penetrating eyes of Owenand the money in his hand.
"Take it; it's yours."
The flabby hand closed almost caressingly around the roll. "We'll goin and have a look at the brute," he said.
They followed him through a line of stalls to a large padded box at thefar end of the barn. A beautiful bay saddle horse occupied the box.Kaboff entered and called the animal, which answered by flying into aseeming fury, plunging about the box, kicking, rearing and snapping.
"Same old devil," muttered Hicks. "He'll do."
The sight of an apple in Kaboff's hand calmed the animal. It came tohim and ate docilely while he slipped a bridle over its head. Onceoutside the stall, however, it began another rampage.
Hicks held a last whispered conversation with Kaboff, giving him minuteinstructions.
"I can just try it, you know," said Kaboff. "I can't guarantee to getaway with it."
"As much again if you do, you know," said Owen as he started brisklyaway with Hicks.
The place that Panatella had chosen for the start of his balloonascension was a field upon the crest of the Palisades above theamusement park.
Panatella had brought with him from abroad a reputation for dare-deviladventures in the air. And he had proved his reckless courage in theseveral brief ascensions that he had already made on this side.
Today, with his promise of the longest parachute drop on record, peopleflocked to the field from New York and all adjacent New Jersey.
"I wish you wouldn't always invite that velvet-pawed servant on ourtrips," grumbled Harry to Pauline, as Owen went for his dustcoat.
"Owen is my trustee and guardian. You have no right to speak of him asa servant. Besides, when he's along he keeps you from being silly."
Harry stamped out to the garage, swung a new touring car around to thedoor, and soon, with Owen and Pauline, was speeding for the ferry.
Signor Panatella was superintending the filling of the great gas bag.He was a tall, lithe man in pink tights beneath which his musclesbulged angularly like the gas filling the balloon bag.
A Latin rapidity of speech and motion added to the pink tights made himcomically frog-like, and even the abattis of medals on his breast couldnot save his dignity.
He bustled about giving orders to the workmen who were preparing to cutthe ropes, then flitting back to the crowd to answer the questions ofimpromptu admirers.
Pauline had left the car and was standing between Owen and Harry nearthe rapidly filling bag.
"I wish I could talk to him, too--he's so cute and hippety-hoppy,"she said.
Owen stepped to Panatella's side.
"Would you permit the young lady to see the balloon basket?" he asked.
"With pleasure," said the airman after a glance at Pauline. He led theway to the basket, and helped Pauline up so that she could look at theequipment, the anchor with its long coil of rope, the sand bags andwater bottles.
She was plainly fascinated as Panatella explained the manner of hisflight and his drop through the air. As she saw them attach the basketto the tugging bag she was thrilled.
At this moment there was a flurry of excitement on the outskirts of thecrowd. A horseman on a beautiful bay mount, that was evidentlyunmanageable, came plunging and swerving down the field.
The crowd broke and scattered in front of the menacing hoofs that flewin the air as the vicious animal reared.
The horseman, clad in a somewhat threadbare riding suit, was a smallman with beady black eyes that turned from side to side as he swayed inhis saddle. He seemed to be afraid of his mount and to be looking forhelp. But it was remarkable that apparently so poor a rider held hisseat and actually managed to bring the beast to a nervous stand somefifty yards from the balloon.
The little man looked around over the heads of the crowd. He caughtsight of Owen beside Pauline near the balloon basket. The lifting ofhis riding cap might or might not have been a salute and signal.
"Oh, I wish I hadn't promised Harry not to go up. I know SignorPanatella would take me," sighed Pauline.
Harry had turned away to watch the actions of the strange horseman.
"You might scare him a little," Owen suggested.
Those words were the greatest risk he had taken in all his deeply laidplots.
Pauline caught at the suggestion eagerly. She sprang lightly from thelittle platform into the balloon car.
A murmur of mingled astonishment, applause and alarm rose from thecrowd. Two of the workmen were cutting the last ropes that held thebasket to earth. Ten others were holding it with their hands awaitingthe airman.
Panatella purposely delayed the moment of mounting the basket. Thetugging of the huge balloon against the strength of a dozen men gaveimpress to his feat, and he liked the state of suspense.
But the sound from the surprised throng called his attention now to ascene that made him forget affectation and effect. He started to runtoward the basket, shouting peremptory orders:
"Out of the car; out of the car instantly, madame! You are riskingyour life."
His excitement infected the crowd. Surging, it seemed to sweep with itthe rider on the restive horse. For, as a hand was suddenly lifted inthe midst of the crowd the horse apparently overcame the legs braced tospring, it shot forward directly at the balloon basket.
The hand that had been raised was the hand of Raymond Owen.
All was happening so swiftly that neither Harry nor Panatella reachedthe basket before the maddened animal.
The crowd had given way in panic before it. Cries of fright weremingled with cries of pain as the beast charged straight upon the menholding the basket, felling and crushing them with shoulder and hoof.
For an instant a few desperate hands held to the wrenching car.Panatella had all but reached the platform; Harry was within arm'slength of it, when, with a writhing twist the bag jerked the basketsideways and upward, knocking to the ground the last two men who hadheld it and whirling forth into the deathly emptiness of space acowering, stunned girl, whose white face peered and white hands pleadedover the basket rim--peered down upon the upturned faces of thousandswho would have risked their lives to aid, but who stood helpless intheir pity, hushed in fear.
For a moment Harry had stood dazed. It was as if the twanging taut ofthe ropes, as the bag tore almost from his grasp the most preciousbeing in the world, had snapped the fibers of action in him.
The daze passed quickly, but in the moment of its passing. Theballoon, risen now five hundred feet in the air, had swept its waywestward over a mile of ground.
Harry turned to look for his motor car. Standing as he was at the spotfrom which the balloon had ascended, he now faced a human barricade.With a shout of warning he charged at what seemed to be a vulnerablepoint in the files of wedged shoulders. The wall resisted. The throngwas lost to all but the dimming view of the balloon. Harry swung righ
tand left with his broad shoulders. He tore his way through.
The car was standing where he had left it on the outskirts of thefield. As he approached it he saw Owen emerge from the crowd and hurrytoward a runabout that had just been driven upon the field.
"What's the matter?" yelled a man in the machine, and Harry recognizedthe voice of Hicks.
"Miss Marvin--carried away in the balloon!" cried Owen in a tone ofexcitement that was not all feigned. He joined Hicks beside therunabout.
Harry sprang to the seat of his touring car. It seemed to leapforward. He shot past the two conspirators and heard Owen's voicecalling after him:
"Wait! Where are you going? I'll go with you."
"You're too late," shouted Harry bitterly, over his shoulder. Anenvelope of dust sealed itself around the spinning wheels of the bigmachine as he took the road after the balloon.
Steadfast but hopeless he fixed his eyes upon the unconquerable thingin its unassailable element--a thing that seemed to be fleeing fromhim as if inspired by a human will. Death rode beside him at hisbreakneck speed, but he did not know it. He knew only that he mustfollow that black beacon in the sky--that he must be there when itsflight was over--when the end came.
He did not know that Owen and Hicks, in the runabout, were alsofollowing--that they, too, watched with an interest as deep as his,with a hope as poignant as his hopelessness, the dizzy voyage ofPauline.