It was rather too early to call on Miss Guerney. Considering the late hour at which she had retired it was quite possible that she had not yet arisen. So Johnny left the house, bent on walking to the little uptown hotel.
The sun had chased the fog back to the river reaches, and it was delicious in the open after breathing the death-ridden atmosphere of the Guerney house. Suggs threw back his shoulders, and strode along at a good pace, keenly enjoying the exercise.
He received something of a shock when he inquired at Mildred's hotel, only to find that she had left an hour before.
"You Mister Suggs?" asked the clerk, after volunteering the information.
"Yes."
"Well, she left a message for you. Prob'ly thought you'd be here pretty soon. 'Tell 'im,' she said, 'to come to 2738 Phillips Street right away.' I guess it's most goshalmighty important. Oh, thanks."
Johnny sprinted out into the street, hailed a taxi, and ordered the mahout to drive at top speed to the Phillips Street address. There was no use trying to figure out in advance what this sudden change of base meant — except trouble for Mildred.
They arrived at their destination in extraordinarily quick time. Suggs paid off the chauffeur, and reached the front door in approximately three seconds. It was open, and he went in.
From the upper floor he heard Mildred's voice sound in fright and protest. Johnny went flying up, with the speed of a ten-second man. When he reached the landing he saw her struggling in the arms of a tall, black-bearded man. At the sight a flood of anger and passion welled up in the reporter. He had only seen her once, but that was enough. Her beauty and courage had captivated his heart, in spite of the black shadow that hung over her,
The girl saw him, called his name, as her assailant tossed her back and faced the door.
Johnny flung himself forward with the silent ferocity of a beast. Though far smaller than the other man, the desperation of his attack more than made up the difference. His fists lashed against Black-beard, who was broad and thick and solid on the ground. They drove the latter's head against the wall panelling with a force that would have stunned a weaker man.
Instead, it seemed to spur Black-beard into action. He clenched Johnny around the middle and buried his bushy face against that young gentleman's chest. But the reporter blocked him off with sharp elbows and drumming fists. He realized that he would have small chance at close quarters. His only salvation lay in keeping clear of those ape-like arms.
The big man drew back, panting heavily, then lowered his head into the shelter of his left shoulder and rushed again. Johnny leaped nimbly aside, but slipped out a lagging foot, and Black-beard went over it with a crash that stunned him. The reporter was atop him instantly, his thumbs sinking into the great muscles at the side of the neck. The paralyzing pressure stopped the fellow's breath — made him choke and beat the air feebly.
Mildred ran to his side. "Come, come," she whispered. "Oh, quickly. We must get away from here—"
He looked up at her, the old irrepressible light dancing in his eyes. The touch of her hand on his shoulder thrilled him.
"I think we'll turn this fellow over to the police first," he said gaily. "These few punches have not been punishment enough for him."
"No, no. It is impossible. Come."
So Johnny rose, and with a contemptuous glance at Black-beard, walked downstairs with Mildred.
Once again out in the clear sunshine the wonder of this affair grew on him. He felt just the reverse of Wilkie Collins' famous detective. That gentleman was so used to doing big things that the little ones escaped him — like a senior wrangler, who has forgotten how to do quadratics, and has to solve problems of the second degree by the calculus. Johnny felt like a youngster who has never learned mathematics and has been ordered to do a most intricate problem. The twists and turns of this Guerney case he knew would make him gray-haired before his time.
"Will you please tell me the meaning of this, Miss Guerney?" he implored. "Every step becomes.more difficult. We found J. Sylvester Jones dead in your father's study at one o'clock this morning. At three-thirty the officer on the beat heard a shot, entered the house, and found the room wrecked, and a big Dayak lying dead on the floor. Jones' body had been crammed up the chimney. Do you know this Dayak? What were you doing in this vacant Tiouse? Who was that bearded man? I think at times that I see a light, and then matters become more foggy than ever."
The girl considered. "The Dayak was probably Tama Aping, who swore to revenge himself some day on my father. He was different from most of his people — sullen, vicious to the core. Yes, he is the only one I can recall who would spend these years in a search for an enemy."
"It really doesn't help us much. Granting that he killed Mr. Guerney the problem of his own death and Jones' is just as puzzling. But what were you doing in this house, Mil — Miss Guerney?"
"The house belonged to my mother, Mr. Suggs. The black-bearded man had been watching me. I wanted to get away from him, and I came here, thinking I had shaken him off. Instead, he was close on my heels, forced his way in and seized me."
"Why?"
"He — he said he was a detective, and wanted to arrest me for the murder of Strickland Guerney!"
Chapter V
Johnny's heart jumped with a sudden throb of fear. How had the police secured intelligence of Strickland Guerney's daughter? If they had, and knew what cause she had for hating him her arrest was only a matter of a few hours. Now, this detective — the reporter closed his eyes for an instant, trying to place those features in the gallery of his mind. Detective? Why, the man was Black Allen, a gunman of more than local renown! Undoubtedly some one was interested in having Mildred Guerney put out of the way, and that person, Suggs believed, was the murderer he sought.
With a word to Mildred, the reporter ran back to the house. If the thumb-screws were put on Black Allen he might tell who had hired him, which would save a lot of time and trouble, Johnny had left him in the house because he believed, as the girl had, that the fellow was a detective. Now he was anxious to find him. But Allen, having enough of Suggs' punching ability, had disappeared.
The reporter explained the situation to the girl, and together they returned to Mildred's hotel. Johnny waited in the lobby while she packed her things. Then he chartered a taxi, and had them taken to another hostelry in an entirely different section of the city. This would throw the Allen contingent off the track for awhile at least.
Once more back on the job, Johnny's mind harked to the supposed cipher message Bradley had sent him. What necessity was there for it? The butler could just as easily have sent for him and told whatever he wanted. There was no need for mystic flub-dubbery.
The reporter's anxiety to unravel the tangle, and find out who had killed Guerney, Jones and the Dayak chief increased with every passing moment. Though he had no very high respect for the — gentlemen m the municipal detective office, he admitted that they sometimes stumbled on the truth through sheer persistence. And he was very much afraid that in their blind fumbling around they would lay hands on Mildred Guerney. Though Johnny was sure that she had not committed the crime, he knew that the police would be harder to convince. Besides, if he could lay hands on the murderer of Strickland Guerney these attacks oh Mildred would cease.
The reporter stopped at Fifteenth Street to wait for a car that would carry him downtown to the prison where Bradley was held in durance. While he waited a glittering Rolls-Royce limousine purred up to the curb. Hawker, chauffeur for the late J. Sylvester Jones, turned his little bloodshot eyes on Suggs.