Seven Keys to Baldpate

Prophetically Mr. Magee clutched in his pocket the package for which he had done battle.

"I may be too late." The girl's eyes grew wide. "That would be terribly unfortunate. I do not wish you to be injured serving me – " She lowered her voice. "But if there is any way in which you can help me in – in this difficulty – I can never be grateful enough. Down-stairs in the safe there is, I believe, a package containing a large sum of money."

Mr. Magee's hand closed convulsively in his pocket.

"If there is any way possible," said the girl, "I must obtain that package. I give you my word I have as much right to it as any one who will appear at the inn. The honor and happiness of one who is very dear to me is involved. I ask you – made bold as I am by my desperation and Hal Bentley's assurances – to aid me if you find you can."

With the eyes of a man in a dream Mr. Magee looked into the face of the latest comer to Baldpate.

"Hal Bentley is an old friend and a bully chap," he said. "It will be a great pleasure to serve a friend of his." He paused, congratulating himself that these were words, idle words. "When did you arrive, may I ask?"

"I believe you were having dinner when I came," she answered. "Mr. Bentley gave me a key to the kitchen door, and we found a back stairway. There seemed to be a company below – I wanted to see only you."

"I repeat," said Mr. Magee, "I shall be happy to help you, if I can." His word to another lady, he reflected, was binding. "I suggest that there is no harm in waiting until morning."

"But – I am afraid it was to-night – " she began.

"I understand," Magee replied. "The plans went wrong. You may safely let your worries rest until to-morrow." He was on the point of adding something about relying on him, but remembered in time which girl he was addressing. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

The girl drew the fur coat closer about her shoulders. She suggested to Magee a sheltered luxurious life – he could see her regaling young men with tea before a fireplace in a beautiful room – insipid tea in thimble-like cups.

"You are very kind," she said. "I hardly expected to be here the night through. It is rather cold, but I am sure we have rugs and coats enough."

Mr. Magee's duty was clear.

"I'll build you a fire," he announced. The girl seemed distressed at the thought.

"No, I couldn't let you," she said. "I am sure it isn't necessary. I will say good night now."

"Good night. If there is anything I can do – "

"I shall tell you," she finished, smiling. "I believe I forgot to give you my name. I am Myra Thornhill, of Reuton. Until to-morrow." She went in and closed the door.

Mr. Magee sat limply down on the cold stair. All the glory was gone from the scene he had pictured a moment ago. He had the money, yes, the money procured in valiant battle, but at the moment he bore the prize to his lady, another appeared from the dark to claim it. What should he do?

He got up and started for number seventeen. The girl who waited there was very charming and attractive – but what did he know about her? What did she want with this money? He paused This other girl came from Hal Bentley, a friend of friends. And she claimed to have every right to this precious package. What were her exact words?

Why not wait until morning? Perhaps, in the cold gray dawn, he would see more clearly his way through this preposterous tangle. Anyhow, it would be dangerous to give into any woman's keeping just then a package so earnestly sought by desperate men. Yes, he would wait until morning. That was the only reasonable course.

Reasonable? That was the word he used. A knight prating of the reasonable!

Mr. Magee unlocked the door of number seven and entered. Lighting his candles and prodding the fire, he composed a note to the waiting girl in seventeen:

"Everything all right. Sleep peacefully. I am on the job. Will see you to-morrow. Mr. – Billy."

Slipping this message under her door, the ex-knight hurried away to avoid an interview, and sat down in his chair before the fire.

"I must think," he muttered. "I must get this thing straight."

For an hour he pondered, threshing out as best he could this mysterious game in which he played a leading part unequipped with a book of rules. He went back to the very beginning – even to the station at Upper Asquewan Falls where the undeniable charm of the first of these girls had won him completely. He reviewed the arrival of Bland and his babble of haberdashery, of Professor Bolton and his weird tale of peroxide blondes and suffragettes, of Miss Norton and her impossible mother, of Cargan, hater of reformers, and Lou Max, foe of suspicion. He thought of the figure in the dark at the foot of the steps that had fought so savagely for the package now in his own pocket – of the girl who had pleaded so convincingly on the balcony for his help – of the colder, more sophisticated woman who came with Hal Bentley's authority to ask of him the same favor. Myra Thornhill? He had heard the name, surely. But where?

Mr. Magee's thoughts went back to New York. He wondered what they would say if they could see him now, whirling about in a queer romance not of his own writing – he who had come to Baldpate Inn to get away from mere romancing and look into men's hearts, a philosopher. He laughed out loud.

"To-morrow is another day," he reflected. "I'll solve this whole thing then. They can't go on playing without me – I've got the ball."

He took the package from his pocket. Its seals had already been broken. Untying the strings, he began carefully to unwrap the paper – the thick yellow banking manila, and then the oiled inner wrapping. So finally he opened up the solid mass of – what? He looked closer. Crisp, beautiful, one thousand dollar bills. Whew! He had never seen a bill of this size before. And here were two hundred of them.

He wrapped the package up once more, and prepared for bed. Just as he was about to retire, he remembered Mr. Bland, bound and gagged below. He went into the hall with the idea of releasing the unlucky haberdasher, but from the office rose the voices of the mayor, Max, and Bland himself. Peace, evidently, had been declared between them. Mr. Magee returned to number seven, locked all the windows, placed the much-sought package beneath his pillow, and after a half-hour of puzzling and tossing, fell asleep.

It was still quite dark when he awoke with a start. In the blackness he could make out a figure standing by the side of his bed. He put his hand quickly beneath his pillow; the package was still there.

"What do you want?" he asked, sitting up in bed.

For answer, the intruder sprang through the door and disappeared in the darkness of the outer room. Mr. Magee followed. One of his windows slammed back and forth in the wind. Slipping on a dressing-gown and lighting a candle, he made an investigation. The glass above the lock had been broken. Outside, in the snow on the balcony, were recent footprints.

Sleepily Mr. Magee procured the precious package and put it in the pocket of his gown. Then drawing on his shoes, he added a greatcoat to his equipment, took a candle, and went out on to the balcony.

The storm had increased; the snow flurried and blustered; the windows of Baldpate Inn rattled wildly all about. It was difficult to keep the candle burning in that wind. Mr. Magee followed the footprints along the east side of the inn to the corner, then along the more sheltered rear, and finally to the west side. On the west was a rather unlovely annex to the main building, which increasing patronage had made necessary. It was connected with the inn by a covered passageway from the second floor balcony. At the entrance to this passageway the footprints stopped.

Entering the dark passageway, Mr. Magee made his way to the door of the annex. He tried it. It was locked. But as he turned away, he heard voices on the other side.

Mr. Magee had barely enough time to extinguish his candle and slip into the shadows of the corner. The door of the annex opened. A man stepped out into the passageway. He stood there The light from a candle held by some one in the doorway whom Mr. Magee could not see fell full upon his face – the bespectacled wise face of Professor Thaddeus Bolton.

"Better luck next time," said the professor.

"Keep an eye an him," said the voice from inside. "If he tries to leave the inn there'll be a big row. We must be in on it – and win."

"I imagine," said Professor Bolton, smiling his academic smile, "that the inmates of Baldpate will make to-morrow a rather interesting day for him."

"It will be an interesting day for every one," answered the voice.

"If I should manage to secure the package, by any chance," the professor went on, "I shall undoubtedly need your help in getting away with it. Let us arrange a signal. Should a window of my room be open at any time to-morrow, you will know the money is in my hands."

"Very good," replied the other. "Good night – and good luck."

"The same to you," answered Professor Bolton. The door was closed, and the old man moved off down the passageway.

After him crept Mr. Magee. He followed the professor to the east balcony, and saw him pause at the open window of number seven. There the old man looked slyly about, as though in doubt. He peered into the room, and one foot was across the sill when Mr. Magee came up and touched him on the arm.

Professor Bolton leaped in evident fright out upon the balcony.

"It's – it's a wonderful night," he said. "I was out for a little walk on the balcony, enjoying it. Seeing your open window, I was afraid – "

"The night you speak so highly of," replied Mr. Magee, "is at your left. You have lost your way. Good night, Professor."

He stepped inside and closed the window. Then he pulled down the curtains in both rooms of his suite, and spent some time exploring. Finally he paused before the fireplace, and with the aid of a knife unloosed a brick. Under this he placed the package of money, removing the traces of his act as best he could.

"Now," he said, standing up, "I'm a regular hermit with a buried treasure, as per all hermit specifications. To-morrow I'm going to hand my treasure to somebody – it's too much for a man who came up here to escape the excitement and melodrama of the world."

He looked at his watch. It was past three o'clock. Entering the inner room, for the second time that night he sought to sleep. "They can't play without me – I've got the ball," he repeated with a smile. And, safe in this thought, he closed his eyes, and slumbered.

CHAPTER X

THE COLD GRAY DAWN

The gayest knight must have a morning after. Mr. Magee awakened to his to find suite seven wrapped again in its favorite polar atmosphere. Filling the door leading to the outer room, he beheld the cause of his awakening – the mayor of Reuton. Mr. Cargan regarded him with the cold steely eye of a Disraeli in action, but when he spoke he opened the jaws of a cocktail mixer.

"Well, young fellow," he remarked, "it seems to me it was time you got up and faced the responsibilities of the day. First of which, I may mention, is a little talk with me."

He stepped into the room, and through the doorway he vacated Mr. Max came slinking. The unlovely face of the foe of suspicion was badly bruised, and he looked upon the world with no cheerful eye. Pushing aside one of the frail bedroom chairs as untrustworthy, the mayor sat down on the edge of Mr. Magee's bed. It creaked in protest.

"You used us pretty rough last night in the snow," Cargan went on. "That's why I ain't disposed to go in for kid gloves and diplomacy this morning. It's my experience that when you're dealing with a man who's got the good old Irish name of Magee, it's best to hit first and debate afterward."

"I – I used you roughly, Mr. Cargan?" said Magee.

"No debate, mind you," protested the mayor. "Lou and me are making this morning call to inquire after a little package that went astray somewhere last night. There's two courses open to you – hand over the package or let us take it. I'll give you a tip – the first is the best. If we have to take it, we might get real rough in our actions."

Mr. Max slipped closer to the bed, an ugly look on his face. The mayor glared fixedly into Magee's eyes. The knight who fought for fair ladies in the snow lay on his pillow and considered briefly.

"I get what I go after," remarked Cargan emphatically.

"Yes," sparred Magee, "but the real point is keeping what you get after you've gone after it. You didn't make much of an impression on me last night in that line, Mr. Cargan."

"I never cared much for humor," replied the mayor, "especially at this early hour of the morning."

"And I hate a fresh guy," put in Max, "like poison."

"I'm not fresh," Mr. Magee smiled, "I'm stating facts. You say you've come for that package. All right – but you've come to the wrong room. I haven't got it."

"The hell you haven't," roared the mayor. "Lou, look about a bit."

"Look about all you like," agreed Magee. "You won't find it. Mr. Cargan, I admit that I laid for you last night. I saw you open the safe according to the latest approved methods, and I saw you come forth with a package of money. But I wasn't rough with you. I might have been, to be frank, but somebody beat me to it."

"Who?"

"The man with the seventh key, I suppose. The man Bland heard walking about last night when we were at dinner. Don't tell me you didn't see him in that mix-up at the foot of the steps?"

"Well – I did think there was another guy," the mayor answered, "but Lou said I was crazy."

"Lou does you an injustice. There was another guy, and if you are anxious to recover your precious package, I advise you to wake him up to the responsibilities of the day, not me."

The mayor considered. Mr. Max, who had hastily made the rounds of the three rooms, came back with empty hands.

"Well," said the mayor, "I might as well admit it. I'm up in the air. I don't know just at this minute where to get off. But that state of affairs don't last long with me, young fellow. I'll go to the bottom of this before the day is out, believe me. And if I can't do anything else, I'll take you back to Reuton myself and throw you in jail for robbery."

"I wouldn't do that," smiled Magee. "Think of the awful job of explaining to the white necktie crowd how you happened to be dynamiting a safe on Baldpate Mountain at midnight."

"Oh, I guess I can get around that," said the mayor. "That money belongs to a friend of mine – Andy Rutter. I happen to go to the inn for a little rest, and I grab you dynamiting the safe. I'll keep an eye on you to-day, Mr. Magee. And let me tell you now that if I catch you or any of the bunch that's with you trying to make a getaway from Baldpate, there's going to be a war break out."

"I don't know about the other hermits," laughed Magee, "but personally, I expect to be here for several weeks to come. Whew! It's cold in here. Where's the hermit? Why hasn't he been up to fix my fire?"

"Yes, where is he?" repeated Mr. Cargan. "That's what everybody'd like to know. He hasn't showed up. Not a sign of breakfast, and me as hollow as a reformer's victory."

"He's backslid," cried Magee.

"The quitter," sneered Max. "It's only a quitter would live on the mountain in a shack, anyhow."

"You're rather hard on poor old Peters," remarked Magee, "but when I think that I have to get up and dress in a refrigerating plant – I can't say I blame you. If only the fire were lighted – "

He smiled his most ingratiating smile on his companion.

"By the way, Mr. Cargan, you're up and dressed. I've read a lot of magazine articles about you, and they one and all agree that you're a good fellow. You'll find kindling and paper beside the hearth."

"What!" The mayor's roar seemed to shake the windows. "Young man, with a nerve like yours, you could wheedle the price of a battleship from Carnegie. I – I – " He stood for a moment gazing almost in awe at Magee. Then he burst forth into a whole-souled laugh. "I am a good fellow," he said. "I'll show you."

He went into the other room, and despite the horrified protests of Lou Max, busied himself amid the ashes of the fireplace. When he had a blaze under way, Mr. Magee came shivering from the other room and held out his hand.

"Mr. Cargan," he laughed, "you're a prince." He noted with interest that the mayor's broad shoes were mighty near two hundred thousand, dollars.

While Mr. Magee drew on his clothes, the mayor and Max sat thoughtfully before the fire, the former with his pudgy hands folded over the vast expanse where no breakfast reposed. Mr. Magee explained to them that the holder of the sixth key had arrived.

"A handsome young lady," he remarked; "her name is Myra Thornhill."

"Old Henry Thornhill's daughter," reflected the mayor. "Well, seems I've sort of lost the habit of being surprised now. I tell you, Lou, we're breaking into the orchid division up here."

While Mr. Magee shaved – in ice-cold water, another black mark against the Hermit of Baldpate – he turned over in his mind the events of the night before. The vigil in the office, the pleading of the fair girl on the balcony, the battle by the steps, the sudden appearance of Miss Thornhill, the figure in his room, the conversation by the annex door – like a moving picture film the story of that weird night unrolled itself. The film was not yet at an end. He had given himself the night to think. Soon he would stand before the girl of the station; soon he must answer her questions. What was he to do with the fortune that lay beneath the feet of the mayor of Reuton at this minute? He hardly knew.

He was ready to descend at last, and came into the parlor of his suite with greatcoat and hat. In reply to Mr. Cargan's unasked question, he said:

"I'm going up the mountain presently to reason with our striking cook."

"You ain't going to leave this inn, Magee," said the mayor.

"Not even to bring back a cook. Come, Mr. Cargan, be reasonable. You may go with me, if you suspect my motives."

They went out into the hall, and Mr. Magee passed down the corridor to the farther end, where he rapped on the door of Miss Thornhill's room. She appeared almost immediately, buried beneath furs and wraps.

"You must be nearly frozen," remarked Mr. Magee pityingly. "You and your maid come down to the office. I want you to meet the other guests."

"I'll come," she replied. "Mr. Magee, I've a confession to make. I invented the maid. It seemed so horribly unconventional and shocking – I couldn't admit that I was alone. That was why I wouldn't let you build a fire for me."

"Don't worry," smiled Magee. "You'll find we have all the conveniences up here. I'll present you to a chaperon shortly – a Mrs. Norton, who is here with her daughter. Allow me to introduce Mr. Cargan and Mr. Max."

The girl bowed with a rather startled air, and Mr. Cargan mumbled something that had "pleasure" in it. In the office they found Professor Bolton and Mr. Bland sitting gloomily before the fireplace.

"Got the news, Magee?" asked the haberdasher. "Peters has done a disappearing act."

It was evident to Magee that everybody looked upon Peters as his creature, and laid the hermit's sins at his door. He laughed.

"I'm going to head a search party shortly," he said. "Don't I detect the odor of coffee in the distance?"

"Mrs. Norton," remarked Professor Bolton dolefully, "has kindly consented to do what she can."

The girl of the station came through the dining-room door. It was evident she had no share in the general gloom that the hermit's absence cast over Baldpate. Her eyes were bright with the glories of morning on a mountain; in their depths there was no room for petty annoyances.

"Good morning," she said to Mr. Magee. "Isn't it bracing? Have you been outside? Oh, I – "

"Miss Norton – Miss Thornhill," explained Magee. "Miss Thornhill has the sixth key, you know. She came last night without any of us knowing."

With lukewarm smiles the two girls shook hands. Outwardly the glances they exchanged were nonchalant and casual, but somehow Mr. Magee felt that among the matters they established were social position, wit, cunning, guile, and taste in dress.

"May I help with the coffee?" asked Miss Thornhill.

"Only to drink it," replied the girl of the station. "It's all made now, you see."

As if in proof of this, Mrs. Norton appeared in the dining-room door with a tray, and simultaneously opened an endless monologue:

"I don't know what you men will say to this, I'm sure – nothing in the house but some coffee and a few crackers – not even any canned soup, and I thought from the way things went yesterday he had ten thousand cans of it at the very least – but men are all alike – what name did you say? – oh yes, Miss Thornhill, pleased to meet you, I'm sure – excuse my not shaking hands – as I was saying, men are all alike – Norton thought if he brought home a roast on Saturday night it ought to last the week out – "

She rattled on. Unheeding her flow of talk, the hermits of Baldpate Inn swallowed the coffee she offered. When the rather unsatisfactory substitute for breakfast was consumed, Mr. Magee rose briskly.

"Now," he said, "I'm going to run up to the hermit's shack and reason with him as best I can. I shall paint in touching colors our sad plight. If the man has an atom of decency – "

"A walk on the mountain in the morning," said Miss Thornhill quickly. "Splendid. I – "

"Wonderful," put in Miss Norton. "I, for one, can't resist. Even though I haven't been invited, I'm going along." She smiled sweetly. She had beaten the other girl by the breadth of a hair, and she knew it. New glories shone in her eyes.

"Good for you!" said Magee. The evil hour of explanations was at hand, surely. "Run up and get your things."

While Miss Norton was gone, Mr. Cargan and Lou Max engaged in earnest converse near a window. After which Mr. Max pulled on his overcoat.

"I ain't been invited either," he said, "but I reckon I'll go along. I always wanted to see what a hermit lived like when he's really buckled down to the hermit business. And then a walk in the morning has always been my first rule for health. You don't mind, do you?"

"Who am I," asked Magee, "that I should stand between you and health? Come along, by all means."

With the blue corduroy suit again complete, and the saucy hat perched on her blond head, Miss Norton ran down the stairs and received the news that Mr. Max also was enthralled by the possibilities of a walk up Baldpate. The three went out through the front door, and found under the snow a hint of the path that led to the shack of the post-card merchant.

"Will you go ahead?" asked Magee of Max.

"Sorry," grinned Max, "but I guess I'll bring up the rear."

"Suspicion," said Mr. Magee, shaking his head, "has caused a lot of trouble in the world. Remember the cruelty practised on Pueblo Sam."

"I do," replied Mr. Max, "and it nearly breaks my heart. But there's a little matter I forgot to mention last night. Suspicion is all right in its place."

"Where's that?" asked Mr. Magee.

Mr. Max tapped his narrow chest. "Here," he said. So the three began the climb, Mr. Magee and the girl ahead, Mr. Max leering at their heels.

The snow still fell, and the picture of the world was painted in grays and whites. At some points along the way to the hermit's abode it had drifted deep; at others the foot-path was swept almost bare by the wind. For a time Mr. Max kept so close that the conversation of the two in the lead was necessarily of the commonplaces of the wind and sky and mountain.

Covertly Mr. Magee glanced at the girl striding along by his side. The red flamed in her cheeks; her long lashes were flecked with the white of the snow; her face was such a one as middle-aged men dream of while their fat wives read the evening paper's beauty hints at their side. Far beyond the ordinary woman was she desirable and pleasing. Mr. Magee told himself he had been a fool. For he who had fought so valiantly for her heart's desire at the foot of the steps had faltered when the time came to hand her the prize. Why? What place had caution in the wild scheme of the night before? None, surely. And yet he, dolt, idiot, coward, had in the moment of triumph turned cautious. Full confession, he decided, was the only way out.