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Updated: September 22, 2025
Marteen, her emotions responding where her mind was unreceptive. "I hated him I hated him!" "Of course you hated him. How could a lady help hating him?" murmured the questioner. "But would you have the courage to kill him that's what I want to know!" Under the inquisition Mrs. Marteen half roused to consciousness. She was in the semi-lucid state of a sleepwalker. "Kill him!"
Find out for me, if you can, if they have put anyone in the house. Find out what they're after. Anything at all that concerns this matter is of interest to me. Put a man to shadow Balling; have a watch put on anyone you think is acting for Mahr. I will take it upon myself to have the combination changed. I'll send a message to Mrs. Marteen." Brencherly shook his head.
Marteen continued to hesitate, and the hands of the clock to travel relentlessly. Suddenly drawing herself erect, she walked with no uncertain tread to the right-hand wall of the mantel and pushed back a double panel of the wainscoting, revealing the muzzle of a steel safe let into the masonry of the wall. A few deft twirls opened the combination, and the metal door swung outward.
You don't mind, do you?" "Mind! Come up at once or I'll send down for you." "No I'm coming now; thank you so much." The receiver clicked, and Gard, anxious and puzzled, pressed the desk button for his man. "Miss Marteen is coming. Show her in here." A moment later Dorothy entered. Her face was pale and her eyes seemed doubled in size.
Marteen's apartment, he climbed in beside the patient, and as the machine gathered headway, murmured a fervent "Thank God!" Mrs. Marteen lay back upon the cushioned seat inert and passive.
"Miss Dorothy has gone, Madam, with Madam's sister since yesterday. They left no address, and said nothing about when they might be expected. Mr. Gard had been with Miss Dorothy in the afternoon." Mrs. Marteen caught hold of the broad and solid back of a carved hall chair and stood motionless, leaning her full weight on its ancient oak for support. "That's all right, Stevens," she said at length.
As the tugs dragged out the unwilling vessel from her berth, he caught a glimpse of Brutgal, his coarse, heavy face set off by an enormous sealskin collar, join Mrs. Marteen at the rail and bid blatantly for her attention. Gard turned his back, took Dorothy by the arm, and, in spite of her protestations, left the wharf.
"I know," returned Brencherly; "there's got to be a victim for justice first, or else prove that nothing, not even the ends of justice, can be gained before you can get the wires pulled. But that's what I'm setting out to do. I don't believe, Mr. Gard, that Mrs. Marteen committed that murder not that there may not have been plenty of reason for it, but the way of it no! I've got an idea.
"There will be no sign of our camp at daybreak. The tent will be gone everything. If our luck holds and why should it not? no one need ever know that the Señor Marteen and his friend José Medina picnicked for three days upon that cape." "But the lighthouse-keepers! What of them?" objected Hillyard. In him, too, hope and excitement were leaping high.
Marteen was a blackmailer, an extortioner that was the truth, the truth that he would not let himself recognize. Her depredations probably had much wider scope than he guessed. He must save her from herself; he must somehow reach the submerged personality and awaken it to the hideousness of that other, the soulless, heartless automaton that schemed and executed crimes with mechanical exactitude.
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