We had no proof that would stand in any court--even if we should have been given the chance to adopt that course.And without absolute, irrefutable proof, it was all so cleverly woven, stretched over so many years, that our charge must have been held to be too visionary and fantastic to have any basis in fact.
"All Travers would have been able to advance was the statement that the supposed Henry LaSalle had admitted being an impostor and a murderer to him! Who would believe it! On the face of it, it appeared to be an absurdity.And even granted that we were given an opportunity to bring the charge, they would be able to prove by a hundred influential and well-known men in New Zealand that the impostor was really Henry LaSalle; and were we able to find any of my uncle's old acquaintances in Australia, it would be necessary to get them here--and not one of them would have reached America alive.
"But there was not a chance, not a chance, Jimmie, of doing that--they would have killed Travers the moment he showed himself in the open.The only thing we could do that night was to try and save our own lives; the only thing we could look forward to was acquiring in some way, unknown to them, the proof, fully established, with which we could crush them in a single stroke, and before they would have time to strike back.
"The vital thing was proof of my uncle's death.That, if it could be obtained at all, could only be obtained in Australia.Travers was obliged to go somewhere, to disappear from that moment if he wanted to save his life, and he volunteered to go out there.He left the house that night by the back entrance in an old servant's suit, which I found for him--and I never heard from him again until a month ago in the 'personal' column of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, through which we had agreed to communicate.
"As for myself, I left the house the next morning, telling my pseudo uncle that I was going to spend a few days with a friend.And this I actually did; but in those few days I managed to turn all my own securities, that had been left me by my mother and which amounted to a considerable sum, into cash.And then, Jimmie, I came to--this, Ihave lived like this and in different disguises, as a settlement worker, as a widow of means in a fashionable uptown apartment, but mostly as you see me now--for five years.For five years I have watched my supposed uncle, hoping, praying that through him I could get to know the others associated with him; hoping, praying that Travers would succeed; hoping, praying that we would get them all--and watching day after day, and year after year the 'personal'
column of the paper, until at last I began to be afraid that it was all useless.And there was nothing, Jimmie, nothing anywhere, and Ihad no success"--her voice choked a little."Nothing! Even Clarke never went again to the house.You can understand now how I came to know the strange things that I wrote to the Gray Seal, how the life that I have led, how this life here in the underworld, how the constant search for some clew on my own account brought them to my knowledge; and you can understand now, too, why I never dared to let you meet me, for I knew well enough that, while I worked to undermine my father's and my uncle's murderers, they were moving heaven and earth to find me.
"That is all, Jimmie.The day before yesterday, a month after Travers' first message to let me know that he was coming, there was another 'personal' giving me an hour and a telephone number.He was back! He had everything--everything! We dared not meet; he was afraid, suspicious that they had got track of him again.You know the rest.That package contained the proof that, with Travers'
death, can probably never be obtained again.Do you understand why THEY want it--why it is life and death to me? Do you understand why my supposed uncle offered huge rewards for me, why secretly every resource of that hideous organisation has been employed to find me--that it is only by my DEATH the estate can pass into their hands, and now--"She flung out her hands suddenly toward Jimmie Dale."Oh, Jimmie, Jimmie, I've--I've fought so long alone! Jimmie, what are we to do?"He came slowly to his feet.She had fought so long--alone.But now--now it was his turn to fight--for her.But how? She had not told him all--surely she had not told him all, for everything depended upon that package.There had been so much to tell that she had not thought of all, and she had not told him the details about that.
"That box--No.428!" he cried quickly."What is that? What does it mean?"She shook her head.
"I do not know," she answered.
"Then who is this John Johansson?"
"I do not know," she said again.
"Nor where the Crime Club is?"
"No"--dully.
He stared at her for a moment in a dazed way.
"My God!" Jimmie Dale murmured.
And then she turned away her head.
"It's--it's pretty bad, isn't it, Jimmie? I--I told you that we did not hold many trumps."
