# The Gray Mask/Chapter 7
### CHAPTER VII
#### NORA FEARS FOR GARTH

FROM the moment of his solution of the Elmford affair Garth was recognized at headquarters as the man for the big jobs—the city's most serviceable detective. For one who accepted his success so modestly it was difficult to breed jealous enemies. There was, to be sure, some speculation as to how long such a man would chain his abilities by the modest pay of the department, and a wish here and there that he would find it convenient to free himself for broader fields in the near future.
Garth realized that it was the inspector's attitude that had determined his new standing. Under other circumstances things might have progressed more slowly. The tie formed the night of the arrest of Slim and George was still strong.
Garth arranged, when he went to bear the news of his discovery to Dr. Randall in the Tombs, to catch a glimpse of the two. Their greeting sufficiently defined the threat he had always known existed. In their faces he read an intention from which he shrank, more for Nora's sake than for his own. He didn't stay to argue. He walked ​on to Randall's cell and told the stricken man that in a few minutes he would be free.
Garth had been a good prophet. Randall's first resentment gave way to a gratitude, expressed with difficulty but genuine.
"It—it was exceptionally fine of you to let Thompson destroy those things."
"I would want someone to do as much for me," he answered, "that is, if I ever had the nerve to do what you did. That was the fine thing, doctor."
And Garth went away, aware that he had made a staunch friend.
The inspector was troubled when he heard of Slim and George's open hatred. He saw the district attorney, and others whose ears he had. On his return he sent for Garth.
"The district attorney tells me," he said, "that there isn't a loophole. They'll be convicted and go to the chair as certain as that when the moon shines lovers kiss. If they don't escape. Without suggesting that every crook doesn't get the same attention, I've seen to it that those chair warmers will be watched closer than Fido watches the butcher."
So again Garth put the matter out of his mind, and was aided by an unexpected threat, apparently just as serious, that faced him a very short time after.
On that fall morning he paused on the threshold of the inspector's office, and, surprised and curious, ​glanced quickly within. It was not so much that Nora sat by the window, clothed in her habitual black, nor was his interest quickened by the fact that she knitted deftly on some heavy, gray garment. Rather his concern centered on the inspector who had left his desk and whose corpulent, lethargic figure moved about the room with an exceptional and eccentric animation.
At Garth's step Nora glanced up, smiling. The inspector retarded his heated walk. To ease the perceptible strain Garth spoke to Nora.
"Seems to me you knit no matter where you are."
"When one knits for the hospitals," she answered, "any place will do. I had hoped my example might quiet father. I only dropped in for a chat, and look at him. What a welcome! I'm afraid, Jim, he has something disagreeable for you."
The inspector paused and sat on the edge of his desk.
"Maybe so. Maybe not," he rumbled. "I don't like working through the dark, so I don't like to ask anybody else to do it. I've got to, though. Cheer up, Garth. I'm asking you."
He raised his paper cutter and jabbed at the desk with a massive petulance.
"Ever since I got down this morning," he went on, "I've been hounded by telegrams and long-distance calls. Well? Do you want a holiday? It's apt to be a hell of a holiday. Excuse me, Nora."
"I see," Garth said. "Something out of town."
​The inspector's manner warned him. After long experience he knew it veiled a grave distrust.
"Why," Nora asked, "don't you tell us what the case is?"
The inspector walked around the desk and with a sigh settled himself in his easy chair.
"That's the rumpus," he answered, and Garth saw that his eyes were not quite steady. "Don't know anything about it myself unless they'd like Garth to chase a few spooks. Here's the lay-out. It's a man who's done me a good many favors. There's no secret—political ones. I'm in his debt, and he's asked me for a good detective to go up to his place in New England—not as a detective, mind you, Garth. That's the queer side, the side I don't like. He insists on his man's showing up as a guest, knowing no more than a random guest would know. Sounds like tommy-rot, but he isn't sure himself there's anything out of the way. He wants you, if you take it up, to live quietly in the house, keeping your eyes peeled. He expects you to put him wise to the trouble or to stake your reputation that there isn't any trouble at all. Are you willing to jump into a chase blindly that way? He'd like the fellow that swung the Hennion job, but if you turned it down cold I couldn't help it, could I?"
"Nonsense, chief," Garth answered. "Never heard of such a thing, but it sounds interesting. I'll take a shot at it."
​The inspector wrote hurriedly on a piece of paper.
"Here's his name and address. Catch the ten o'clock from the Grand Central and you'll get up there to-night."
Garth took the slip. Before placing it in his pocket he glanced it over.
"Andrew Alden," he saw. "Leave Boston from North Station on four o'clock train and get off at Deacon's Bay."
"I've heard of Mr.—" Garth began.
The inspector's quick, angry shake of the head in Nora's direction brought him to an abrupt pause. He walked to Nora and took her hand.
"Then I won't see you until after my holiday," he said with a smile.
Her eyes were vaguely uneasy.
"I agree with father," she said. "It isn't safe to walk through the dark. Won't you tell me where you're going?"
Garth's laugh was uncomfortable. He didn't pretend to understand, but his course had been clearly enough indicated.
"I'll leave that for the inspector," he answered. "I have to rush to pick up my things on the way to the train."
The uneasiness in her eyes increased.
"You know, Jim, as father says, you can turn it down. It might be wiser."
His heart responded to her anxiety. In view of her fear it was a trifle absurd that their farewell should project nothing more impulsive than a ​{{hwe|clasp|hand-clasp||. Its only compensation, indeed, was the reluctance with which she let his fingers go.
When Garth had left, Nora arose and faced her father.
"What's all this mystery?" she demanded. "It's easy enough to guess there's danger for Jim, and you know a lot more than you pretend."
"See here, Nora," the inspector grumbled, "I usually give the third degree myself in this place."
She rested her hands on the desk, studying his uncertain eyes.
"Why," she asked, "wouldn't you let Jim tell me the man's name?"
His bluster was too apparently simulated.
"What did you come down for this morning anyway? No sense in your getting upset. A detective bureau isn't a nursery."
She straightened slowly, her face recording an unwelcome assurance.
"Politics!" she cried. "And Jim's leaving from the Grand Central. I know. He's going to Mr. Alden's at Deacon's Bay. I see why you wouldn't let him tell me."
"Place is all right," the inspector said stubbornly. "You've seen it. You were there with me two summers ago. What's the matter with the place?"
"No use trying to pull the wool over my eyes," Nora answered. "It's the loneliest place I've ever seen, and you ought to know I'd remember Mr. Alden's big furnaces and machine-shop. I read the ​papers, father. He's staying up so late this year on account of the enormous war orders he's taken. You know as well as I do that that may mean real danger for Jim. What did Mr. Alden tell you?"
The inspector spread his hands helplessly.
"I sometimes think, Nora, you'd make a better detective than any of us. Alden's sick and nervous. I guess that's all it amounts to. He's probably scared some German sympathizer may take a pot shot at him for filling these contracts. And he's worried about his wife. She won't leave him there alone, and it seems all their servants, except old John, have cleared out."
"You said something to Jim about spooks," Nora prompted.
"Thought you'd come to that," the inspector said. "You're like your mother was, Nora—always on the look-out for the supernatural."
"So, I gather, were the servants," she answered drily.
"Silly talk, Alden says, about the woods back of his house. You remember. There was some kind of a fight there during the Revolution—a lot of men ambushed and massacred. I guess you saw the bayonets and gun-locks Alden had dug up. Servants got talking—said they saw things there on foggy nights."
The inspector lowered his voice to a more serious key.
"The angle I don't like is that Alden's valet was found dead in those woods yesterday morning. Not ​a mark on him. Coroner, I believe, says apoplexy, but Alden's nervous, and the rest of the help cleared out. I suppose they'll get somebody else up as soon as they can. Meantime Alden and his wife are alone with old John. Confound it, Nora, I had to send him somebody."
"But without a word of this!"
"I tell you I don't like it. I didn't want to do it. It was Alden's idea — would have it that way. Frankly I don't make it out, but maybe, being on the spot, he knows best."
"There's something here," she said, "that we can't understand — maybe something big. It isn't fair to Jim."
The inspector looked up slyly.
"Jim," he said, "can take care of himself if anybody can. Seems to me you're pretty anxious. Sure you haven't anything to tell me about you and him? If you had, I might make a place for him watching these ten-cent lunch joints to see that customers didn't carry away the hardware and crockery. Then all the danger you'd have to worry about would be that he might eat the food."
But Nora failed to smile. She glanced away, shaking her head.