The Mystery of the Four FingersWhite, Fred M. (Fred Merrick)
General
The Mystery of the Four Fingers
White, Fred M. (Fred Merrick)
Detective and mystery stories
"I would not stay with your brother," he went on. "I went off
immediately to an old friend of mine, to whom I told a portion of my
story. He supplied me with money and clothing, and advised me that the
best thing I could do was to go quietly away into the country and give
myself an entire rest. I followed his advice, and I drifted down here, I
suppose, in the same way that an animal finds his way home. I did not
know my father was away, and you can imagine my surprise when I
discovered to whom he had left the house. I feel pretty much myself now;
there is no danger of my showing the white feather again. If you are in
any trouble or distress, a line to the address on this card will bring me
to you at any time. In this house there are certain hiding-places where I
could secrete myself without anybody being the wiser; but we need not go
into that. Now perhaps you had better return to the house, or you may be
missed. Good-night, Vera. You cannot tell how wonderfully helpful your
sympathy has been to me."
He was gone a moment later, and Vera returned slowly and thoughtfully to
the house. The place was perfectly quiet now; the billiard-room door was
open, and Vera could see that the apartment was deserted. Apparently the
household had retired to rest, though it seemed to be nobody's business
to fasten up the doors. Most of the lights were out, for it was getting
very late now, so that there was nothing for it but for Vera to go up
the stairs to her own room. She had hardly reached the landing when a
door halfway down burst open, and Fenwick stood there shouting at the top
of his voice for such of his men as he mentioned by name. He seemed to be
almost beside himself with passion, though at the same time his face was
pallid with a terrible fear. He held a small object in his hand, which he
appeared to regard with disgust and loathing.
"Why don't some of you come out?" he yelled. "You drunken dogs, where
have you all gone to? Let the man come out who has played this trick on
me, and I'll break every bone in his body."
One or two heads emerged, and presently a little group stood around the
enraged and affrighted Fenwick. Standing in a doorway, Vera could hear
every word that passed.
"I locked my door after dinner," Fenwick said. "It is a patent lock, no
key but mine will fit it. When I go to bed I find this thing lying on the
dressing table."
"Another of the fingers," a voice cried. "The third finger. Are you quite
sure that you locked your door?"
"I'll swear it," Fenwick yelled. "And if one of you--but, of course, it
can't be one of you. There is no getting rid of this accursed thing. And
when the last one comes--"
Fenwick stopped as if something choked him.
CHAPTER XXII
"THE TIME WILL COME"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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