 Chapter 20 of the Sheridan Road Mystery that Marsh escaped a similar fate later in the afternoon was due solely to his individual way of arming himself. For some years Marsh had carried a small automatic pistol, which unobtrusively rested in the side pocket of his coat. When he was outside in weather that required an overcoat, the automatic was temporarily transferred to the overcoat pocket. Marsh did this because a gun was seldom needed except in emergencies. At such times, a movement toward the hip pocket, where men usually carry their revolvers, frequently gave the other man an opportunity to act first. Marsh had even carried his precautions in this line a little further, for the automatic was always placed in the left hand pocket. A movement of the left hand does not receive the same suspicious attention from a criminal. In fact, as he had several times discovered, it was possible to distract the attention by a movement of the right hand while quickly drawing the gun with the left, and at close quarters a gun in the left hand was just as effective as in the right. When no word had come from Morgan by one o'clock, Marsh decided to look the detective up. He called Morgan's home on the telephone, then the detective bureau, and two nearby precinct stations that Morgan might have been likely to drop into while waiting to telephone him. Morgan's mother said he had left early, and the detective bureau informed Marsh that they had not heard from Morgan again after receiving a report from him early in the day. The stations did not remember having seen the detective for a long time. At each place Marsh left his name and a message for Morgan to ring up at once if he came in. Marsh was now in a quandary. He remembered that he had not asked Morgan to look anything up that morning, and therefore knew of no place where he might endeavor to obtain a trace of him. The case had now reached a point where immediate action was necessary, yet he could not act alone. Of course he could have called upon the Secret Service Division at the Federal Building, but he had special reasons for wanting Morgan's and Tearney's assistance at this time, rather than that of the Secret Service men. After long consideration, therefore, he came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do except stay by his telephone and wait. It never occurred to Marsh that anything of a serious nature could have happened to the detectives on the crowded city streets. The only plausible explanation of the delay might be that Morgan and Tearney had discovered some new clue which they thought of sufficient importance to follow up before keeping their appointment with him. Marsh accepted this explanation readily because he realized that there were still many loose ends to the case that would permit of new developments at any moment. When four o'clock came, however, and there was still no word from Morgan, Marsh decided that something must have happened to the two men. He had had ample evidence of the desperate and daring character of their opponents. To raise a hue and cry in the police department would utterly defeat his plans. Whatever he did must be carried out quietly. So far as he knew at this time there were only two possible sources of information. One the house on Oak Street, the other the closed house at Hubbard Woods. First he would get a report from the man on watch at Oak Street. If nothing had occurred there, he would then carry out his proposed raid on the Hubbard Woods house with some of his own men. Having reached this decision, Marsh put on his coat and hat and went down to the corner of Lawrence Avenue to wait for a bus. A stream of motorcars swept steadily by, and when one of these turned into the curve and stopped, Marsh paid little attention to it. He was astounded therefore when a man opened the door and addressing him said, Step in and be quick about it. Marsh gave the man a sharp glance, then noticing that one of the man's arms was extended toward him he dropped his eyes and saw that the coat sleeve was pulled down over the hand while the barrel of an automatic projected about an inch from the sleeve. Marsh looked about him quickly. The policeman in front of his house was too far away to be of any assistance, if in fact his attention could be attracted at all. In the other direction the nearest people were two women, one of whom was pushing a baby carriage. He then saw that another man had descended from the driver's seat and was approaching him. Marsh stepped back and his right hand shot toward his right hip pocket. Not that he had any intention of drawing a gun while so carefully covered by the other man, but he had a thought. Easy, easy, cried the man, you havin' a chance in the world, do you want to get bumped off right now? Marsh murmured something inaudible and withdrew his hand. The man with the gun signaled to his companion. This man came up and felt around Marsh's hip pockets. Ah, he's kiddin', the fellow exclaimed. He ain't got any gun at all. Marsh's thought had been correct. Ah, right, said the man with the gun smiling. Let's go. It had flashed through Marsh's mind that what was now happening to him might have also happened to Morgan and Tierney. If such was the case, it was more than likely that these men would take him to the same place, and that was just the information he wanted. As for getting him into that place, that was a different matter. To carry out his quickly formed plan, it was necessary for Marsh to sit with his left side away from this man, who would probably join him in the car. So without further hesitation, he climbed into the car and settled back in the far corner of the seat. The man followed and sat down at Marsh's right, pulling the door to after him. The other man climbed back to his seat at the wheel and started the car. They went down Sheridan Road and turning through the next street made the circuit of the block, returning again to Sheridan Road and moving swiftly north. After a time the man turned to Marsh and said, If you take things easy, you'll get out of this with a whole skin, but if you start anything, good night. Marsh smiled but said nothing. Oh, I know, you're a cool customer, the man appraised, but if you think you're going to pull anything over on us this time, you have made a bum guess. It's hardly likely, replied Marsh, that an unarmed man would try any tricks while you sit there with that automatic. The fact is, however, that you fellows are giving yourselves a lot of trouble for nothing. What do you mean, snapped the man? I mean that I have already offered you my services. All you had to do was to tip me the word. The man looked at Marsh suspiciously for a moment. Do you mean that, he said? I see no reason why you should doubt my word. All right, return the man. Hand over those papers you've got, and I'll drop you out at the next street. What papers do you mean, queried Marsh? There you go, stalling again. No use. The boss said to bring you up, and I guess he knows best. I don't know where you get that idea about any papers, said Marsh. I can show you quickly enough that the only papers I have on me are of a personal nature and of no use to anyone else. Maybe so, maybe so, but after we get you under lock and key we know damn well where we can find them. Thus the argument continued at intervals, until they were far up into the North Shore suburbs. Darkness had fallen, and the interior of the car was absolutely black, except when they passed an occasional street light or an automobile. As Marsh had told Morgan, if you can only make them talk long enough, they grow careless. Passing under the last street light, Marsh had observed that the automatic was no longer leveled in his direction. The car was of the limousine type, with a glass partition shutting off the driver so that unless he happened to look around he would not know what was going on within the car. Marsh figured that now darkness had fallen, the driver's attention would be directed entirely to the road ahead, for street lights along the suburban section of Sheridan Road were few and far between. It's getting warm in here, said Marsh. He raised his right hand and pushed his hat back on his head. At the same time his left hand withdrew the automatic from his coat pocket, and the next instant it was pressed into the ribs of the man beside him. One move and you're through, breathed Marsh in his ear. Give me that gun. His right hand came down with the hand closing over the man's automatic. The man started to swear, but stopped suddenly as Marsh warned. Shut up. This matter is in my hands now, and I mean business. Marsh slipped the man's automatic into his own pocket, and then brought out a pair of light steel handcuffs which he immediately snapped on his prisoner's wrists. When I get ready, Marsh informed him, I'm going to step out of this car, and I want you to sit perfectly still until I am gone. If you want to know how good a shot I am, just make a move. Marsh settled back into his corner and the car rolled on. At last, just as they made a sharp turn, Marsh caught a different sound from the wheels, and he knew they had passed into a driveway. With the last warning to the man, Marsh quietly opened the door on his side and stepped out of the car. In the distance he could hear his late captor's manical tans beating on the glass of the front windows to attract the driver's attention. There was no time to lose, for they would be after him in a minute. Marsh sped down the driveway, but before he reached the entrance gate he could hear the hum of the pursuing car, and as he sprang through the gate the car was only a few yards away. Then a most surprising thing happened. Weakened by its rotting fibers and the never ending battle with the winds, the dead pine which stood beside the gate swayed and cracked. The next minute it fell crashing across the driveway in a cloud of dying splinters and dust, effectually blocking pursuit by motor. Marsh dashed across the roadway and concealed himself in the underbrush. The falling pine had identified the place to Marsh as quickly as if the men had told him its name. He was facing the entrance to the house in Hubbard Woods. The driver of the pursuing car had switched on the powerful headlights to aid him in locating the fugitive. These lights warned him of the fallen pine blocking the road. Marsh could hear the grinding of the emergency brake, and the hum of the motor died away as the man killed his engine in an effort to make a quick stop. So swiftly had the car been moving, however, that it struck the log with a tremendous impact that echoed through the still woods. The front wheels scattered far and wide, and the body of the car climbed up and rested on the pine log. The two men, although probably well shaken up by the accident, jumped hastily from the car and rushed into the roadway. The headlights were shining directly on Marsh, and for a moment he thought the men might discover him among the bushes. Standing in the glare, however, they were partially blinded, and the manacled man, realizing this, turned to the other. Shut off those damn lights! You'll take a pot shot at us before we can see him. The driver leaped back to the car, shut off the lights, and then returned to his companion. Not much danger, he said. The guy's probably making a quick getaway. Hell, the manacled man exclaimed. The boss will skin us alive. The boss be damned, exclaimed the other. This guy'll have the bulls on us if we don't get him, and the boss won't be ready for the getaway until Thursday. We've got to get him, declared the manacled man. He can't run all the way to Chicago. I figure he made for either the electric line or the railroad station. You beat it up there quick and see if you can get him. All right, agreed the driver, and you run down the road. Where do you get that stuff? exclaimed the other, holding up his manacled hands. I'm no good with these bracelets on. It's all up to you now. You're wasting time. Beat it! The driver started up the road at a run, and Marsh listened to the rapid beat of his footfalls until they disappeared in the distance. Then he cautiously crept out of the bushes and approached the other man. It was so dark that Marsh could barely make out the man's form, as it was outlined against the gray of one of the gay posts. Consequently, the man did not discover him until Marsh's hand was on his arm. That you, Wagner! he gasped. Marsh laughed. Don't make me talk, he said. I'm all out of breath making that getaway your friend spoke of. Hell! the other man groaned expressively. It sure is for you, replied Marsh. Now just lie down on the road while I tie your feet. The man turned to run, probably hoping to escape in the darkness. Marsh's hand still gripped his arm, and with a quick movement of his foot Marsh threw the man down, then unbuckled the belt around the fellow's waist and proceeded to secure his feet with it. As Marsh rose to a standing position, a voice close at hand said, That'll be all for you. Throw up your hands. Marsh did not move. I said, put up your hands. Repeated the voice. They are up, replied Marsh, counting on the darkness. Don't kid me. The speaker suddenly flashed an electric pocket-lamp on Marsh. By its gleam Marsh saw the sparkle of a revolver and wisely put his hands over his head. The man was standing in front of thick shrubbery. At this moment Marsh saw, by the dim glow of the pocket-lamp, two hands slipped from the shrubbery and clothes about the man's throat. The lamp and the revolver felt to the ground, as the man instinctively raised his own hands to break the hold. But in the darkness Marsh heard his body drop with a wheezing sigh. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 of the Sheridan Road Mystery This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Sheridan Road Mystery by Paul and Mabel Thorn. Chapter 21 The Chimney That Wouldn't Draw Marsh stood for a moment in puzzled thought. Then he heard a cheerful voice say, I've been got him all right! And he recognized his rescuer. Hold him for a minute, ordered Marsh, and he leaped over the pine to the car, returning immediately with one of the robes. With Neil's assistance Marsh wound the robe around the upper part of the man's body, fastening his arms to his side as effectively as if he had been placed in a straitjacket. Then he took the man's belt and secured his feet in the same way he had tied up those of the other man. Marsh next took the man's handkerchiefs and two of his own. Stuffing one into each man's mouth and tying another around his head Marsh effectually gagged them into silence. Now he said to Neil's, We'll lay these two fellows out of sight in the underbrush. When this was accomplished he instructed Neil's to follow him, and they cautiously approached the house. As they crossed the lawn Marsh heard rapid footsteps ahead, followed by the opening of the house door. He immediately dashed in pursuit. In the hall he paused to listen for sounds that would indicate the direction the man had taken. He heard the clicking of a telephone receiver hook and a voice calling, Hello? Hello? Leaping through an arched curtain doorway at his left, Marsh discovered a dim light in a connecting room and darted to the doorway, drawing his automatic and transferring it to his right hand as he ran. He found himself in the library of the house, and in one corner he saw the driver of the car with a telephone in his hands. Drop that phone, called Marsh, leveling his automatic. Ignoring Marsh's command the man hastily gave a number to the operator. It was quite clear what was happening. This man, returning from his fruitless quest at the station, had witnessed the capture of his companions. He was now endeavouring to warn some person, probably the principal, who was the man Marsh particularly wanted. There was no time for argument, so Marsh fired. The man dropped the telephone and stumbled forward in a heap on the floor. Marsh dashed across the room and replaced the receiver on its hook, hoping that the connection had not been made in time for the man at the other end of the wire to hear the shot. Though the man had fallen, Marsh knew that he had nothing worse than a flesh wound in the arm, because he was sure of his aim. He tied the man's hands with a handkerchief and his feet with his belt and left him on the floor, turning quickly to Niels, who had followed him into the room, and now stood watching. He handed the suite the captured automatic, saying, Do you know how to use it? Yeah, I know, was the smiling reply. All right, said Marsh. I'm going to search the house. Follow me, and keep your eyes open. Marsh hurried back through the front room to the hall, with the suite at his heels, and he heard the man murmuring as he went, You bane fine man. As they climbed the stairs, feeling their way in the dark, they heard a distant hammering. It came from the back of the house, and Marsh and Niels speeded down the hall. The hammering ceased as they approached the door at the end of the hall. A thin strip of light showed beneath it, and Marsh heard familiar voices. I tell you, somebody's come after us, said one. Oh, hell! The man said nobody could hear a foghorn here, replied the other. What's the use? Marsh found the key in the lock, and turning it through the door open. There stood Morgan and Tierney, in the wreckage of what had once manifestly been a beautifully furnished bedroom. A black opening, through which a strong draft came when the door was open, showed where once had been a shuttered window. The remains of chairs littered the floor. Parts of the bed were scattered around the room, and in the center of the floor was a pile of felt that had once been the stuffing for the mattress. My God! cried Marsh. What has happened? The two men's faces lighted up at the sight of him, and Tierney shouted, Would I tell you, Morgan? I knew that guy would find us. He bane fine man, added a voice from the doorway. Hello, Svenska! Bellowed Tierney. Who are you? Niels grinned, as Marsh explained who he was. How did you get in? Where's the gang? Rapidly questioned Morgan. One wounded and tied downstairs, and two safely tied up by the gate. Explained Marsh. One of the two out there is your man Wagner. Now tell me how you got here. Morgan gave him a brief outline of their adventures. But how did the room get in this state? questioned Marsh. Well, you know Tierney, replied Morgan with a laugh. He's a mighty restless individual when you try to shut him up. He demolished all the chairs on the door. We found the window frame, and the shutters had been screwed tight to keep us in. So Tierney took the better part and used the sides to clean out the whole business. When we discovered it was too far to drop from the window, we tried to make a rope with the ticking of the mattress. But when we tested it, the stuff proved to be too rotten to hold us. And the worst of it, added Morgan, it was cold enough in here before Tierney broke out the window. Since then we've been freezing. If there's a fire in the house, lead us to it. I don't think there is, replied Marsh. Now that you speak of it, I noticed a damp chill in the place, the minute I came in. Niels, he added, turning to the Swede. You're a good fellow. I saw a big open fireplace in the library. Build a wood fire there, and we'll warm my friends up. Niels nodded and started off. We haven't any time to lose, announced Marsh, turning back to Morgan. I expect to find my final evidence in this house, and we've got to get back to town pretty soon. You fellows can warm up a bit, and then we'll start a systematic search from the garret to the cellar. All three went down to the library, where Niels was building the fire. Tierney loudly voiced his approval, as the red and yellow flames began to creep over the wood. A minute later, however, he was choking and swearing, as the acrid wood smoke rolled out into the room, instead of up the chimney. I'll fix him, explained Niels. Chimney covered to keep out draft, maybe. He hurried out of the room. A few minutes later he returned with a white face and staring eyes. You, come! he half-whispered from the doorway. I see something. What is it? questioned Marsh. I don't know. I own a tank. Come, quick! Go ahead, said Marsh. We'll follow. And with Niels leading the way, they all climbed the stairs. Niels had turned on the electric lights in the halls. They could now see their way clearly as he guided them to the attic, and across it to an open window, which opened on a wide gutter. They crawled out after him and worked their way along a short distance to the big, old-fashioned, outside-stone chimney from the library fireplace. Just put your hand in, so directed Niels, making a motion with his arm. Marsh reached up and followed the suggestion. Just below the top of the chimney, his fingers came into contact with a human head. My God! he cried. Here's our man. Holy saints! gasped Tierney. Then Morgan asked, What do you mean? I think we have found Merton's body, replied Marsh. You'll have to help me get him out. With considerable effort and hindered by the blackness of the night, Marsh and Morgan climbed the slanting, slate-covered roof, and perched themselves on the broad capstone of the chimney. Slowly they loosened the wedged-in body, gradually drew it out through the top of the chimney, and passed it down to Tierney and Niels, who crept with it along the gutter, and passed it through the attic window. Marsh and Morgan followed them, and under the glow of the one dim electric light, the two men made a hasty examination of the body. It was in a fair state of preservation, due probably to the cold air, which had been made especially effective by the draft through the chimney. The identification was made certain when Marsh extracted a card case from the man's coat, in which they found the business and personal cards of Richard Townsend Merton, and Morgan located the duplicate of the cuff button he had discovered in the empty apartment. The examination completed. Marsh turned to Morgan. Did you notice that this man was stabbed, not shot? He asked. Yes, returned Morgan. That was one of the things I looked to make certain of. Now, said Marsh, addressing the two detectives, I guess this job has warmed you fellows up. We can't lose another minute. You, Tierney, make a careful examination of this attic. It should not take you long, and then you can join Morgan, who will start now to make an examination of the second and third floors. Niels and I will look over the first floor in the basement. You join us as soon as you get through. If you find anything worthwhile, bring it down. Leaving Tierney in the attic and dropping Morgan off at the third floor, Marsh and Niels passed on down to the first floor of the house. A careful inspection of this floor brought nothing of a special interest to light, except that there were no signs of its having been used. The kitchen and the pantry were bare of food, and Marsh could see that neither of the sinks in the pantry and the kitchen nor the kitchen stove had been used for a long time. I thought you said those men were living in the house, he queried, turning to Niels. So I tank, Niels assured him. Queer, murmured Marsh. No fire, no food, and no signs of cooking. Maybe in basement, suggested Niels. Well, we're going there now, said Marsh. Do you know the way, Niels? I guess, replied the Swede, leading the way into a long hall that led from the pantry along one side of the house. A short distance up this hall, Niels opened a door, and they discovered a stairway leading into the basement. Marsh lit a match, and located an electric switch. When he turned this, a light flashed on below, and they descended the stairs. Here they found a hall leading across the house, with a doorway at the far end, and one on either side. I tank, said Niels, pointing down the hall. That door go outside, this one to laundry, that one I don't know. Marsh opened the last door indicated by Niels, and lighting another match, found it a rough basement containing the heating plant, coal bins, and general storage space. He found the electric light and turned it on, but little coal was left in the bins, and the thick mantle of dust over the other things in this part of the basement showed that it had been a long time, since anything had been touched. The last thing, Marsh looked into the firebox under the heating plant. This was well filled with an ash that had resulted from the burning of papers, but after poking around with a long stick, he found nothing remained, which could in any way be used as evidence. Turning out the light, they crossed the hall and opened the other door. With a match, Marsh found a wall switch close to the door, and snapping this, the room was flooded with brilliant light from several electric lamps, pendant from the ceiling, each covered with a green metal shade. Here was the solution of the deserted condition of the upper part of the house. That part of the house had been left intentionally deserted, for all the men's activities had been centered in this room. It was a large square room that had been the laundry of the house. Four cots standing along one wall indicated where the men had slept, and several pots on the gas stove showed where they had obtained their heat and done their cooking. Through the glass door of a cupboard in one corner, he saw cans and packages of food. The table in the center of the room was littered with soil dishes and the remains of a meal. Large patches of black cloth on two sides of the room marked the probable location of windows which had been carefully covered to keep any light from showing on the outside. But what interested Marsh most was the complete counterfeiting equipment in one corner of the room. A small trunk also stood in this corner, and raising the lid, Marsh discovered a large quantity of the five dollar bills he had been tracing over the country for the last two years. What he really sought, however, were the plates, and these were apparently missing. At this moment Neil spoke. You like, see this? He asked. Turning Marsh found that Neil's had the cupboard door open, and was pointing to a suitcase which lay on the floor. It had been previously concealed by the lower part of the door. You bet I would! exclaimed Marsh, and hurried across to the cupboard. He pulled out the suitcase, which was fairly heavy, and tried to open it. It was locked. Neil's pulled out a big knife with a long blade, and began to cut through the leather at the edges. He presently laid back one side of the suitcase, exposing some clothing to view. It was only a thin layer, however, which Marsh threw quickly aside. Under the clothing he found a carefully wrapped package. Tearing off the covering he saw what he sought, the plates, for the five dollar bills. Beneath the package, laid out in a carefully arranged row, were bundles of stocks and bonds. Here at last was the evidence Marsh had sought, and the confirmation of the theory he had carefully worked out. End of Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two of the Sheridan Road Mystery This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Sheridan Road Mystery by Paul and Mabel Thorn Chapter Twenty-Two, Cornered Marsh replaced everything in the suitcase, put it back in the cupboard, and closed the door. We're through here for the present, Neil's, he said, shutting off the lights the two men returned to the main floor. As they entered the library, Morgan and Tierney appeared, having completed their search of the upper part of the house. Any luck? asked Marsh. Nothing at all with bearing on the case, answered Morgan. How about you? I found all the evidence we need, most of it in a suitcase, which is probably the one Atwood removed from his apartment. There goes one of your theories, Marsh, laughed Morgan. Which one? inquired Marsh. That Clark Atwood and this man Hunt were not in cahoots. Marsh smiled. What is the proverb, he said, to his wisdom sometimes to seem a fool? Now then, Morgan, he continued briskly. There's the telephone. You make arrangements to have your men come out and take care of the evidence in the basement, and the prisoners. While you're doing that, the rest of us will bring in those fellows we left out by the road. Morgan went to the telephone as directed, and Marsh led the others down the drive to the gate. Everything was just as they had left it, and they found the two men where they had placed them behind the bushes. If I'm any example, said Tierney, these guys must be near frozen to death. That'll cool off their ambition for a fight, replied Marsh. Marsh placed Wagner, who was the smaller of the two men, over his shoulder, and Tierney and Niels, carrying the other man between them, followed Marsh back to the house. They put the two men in chairs in the library, and lifting the other man from the floor, placed him in a chair near them. Marsh then turned to Morgan. Have you fixed everything up? Yes, they ought to be here inside of an hour and a half. Fine, commented Marsh. Then, turning to Niels, he pulled out a bill and presented it. Niels, he said, we've all got to go into the city. Somebody must watch this place while we're gone. You have a good gun there, so you can stick around until the police come. Sure, I vouch. Come on, Marsh called, and the three men started out. The last thing Marsh heard as he went down the steps was a voice murmuring, he bane fine man. Oak Street lay shadowy and deserted, as Marsh, accompanied by Morgan and Tierney, turned into it from Rush Street. Wait here for a minute, requested Marsh, as they stopped in front of the entrance to Hunt's building, and he moved toward the dark tradesman's entrance. As he neared it, a man appeared from the shadows. They held a low voice conversation, and Marsh then returned to the others. When the door was opened in answer to their ring, the three detectives climbed the stairs. Hunt's manservant stood at the door. Mr. Hunt in? Asked Marsh. Yes, sir, replied the man. I think you were here before, sir. Yes, a Sunday night. Walk right in, sir. Mr. Hunt's in the living-room. Hunt had evidently been reading, but had risen at the sound of voices. For on entering the living-room they found him standing by the Davenport, with his finger between the pages of a book. Good evening, said Marsh. There was a look of surprise on Hunt's face, but he quickly mastered it. I hardly expected to see you here. He observed significantly. And who are your friends? Detective Sergeant Morgan, whom you have met before, and his partner, Detective Sergeant Tierney, again that astonished expression passed over Hunt's face. He spoke quite calmly, however. May I ask the reason for this late call? It's really a continuation of the visit I made here Sunday night, answered Marsh. My story has had another and more interesting chapter added to it, and I thought you might like to hear it. Naturally I am interested, returned Hunt smiling. Will you gentlemen take chairs? Hunt's man, who had followed them into the room, now offered to assist them in taking off their coats. Never mind, said Marsh, we shall only be here a few minutes. And the man left the room. Marsh now seated himself in the chair he had occupied on the occasion of his previous visit, and Morgan and Tierney took chairs on the opposite side of the fireplace. Hunt laid aside his book and offered them cigars from a humidor. Marsh refused, calling attention to the fact that he was lighting a cigarette, but Morgan and Tierney accepted, and Hunt, selecting a cigar for himself, then settled down among the cushions in the corner of the Davenport. My story really begins two years ago, Mr. Hunt, said Marsh, but I will pass briefly over the early part of it by merely saying that at that time I took up the trail of a counterfeiter, known as Clark Atwood. Why should you take up the trail of a counterfeiter, inquired Hunt? Because, declared Marsh, throwing back his coat and exposing his badge, I belong to the Secret Service Division of the United States Treasury Department. Hunt remained silent, and Marsh continued. Upon the death of his wife in St. Louis a few months ago, this man Atwood brought his daughter to Chicago, and placed her in an apartment on Sheridan Road. Posing as a traveling man, Atwood was busy in other places and made only occasional visits to his daughter. To maintain a place of safety and refuge in time of trouble, this man Atwood kept his daughter in ignorance of his real occupation. I may say, at this point, that Atwood had made his living by criminal means for many years, and the venture into counterfeiting was simply the latest of his many ways of gaining a livelihood. In the course of time it became necessary for Atwood to get a certain man out of the way. The plans were carefully laid, and the stage set. His daughter believed him to be traveling on the road, but after he was sure that she had retired for the night, he quietly entered his apartment, went to her bedroom, and by means of a hypodermic needle, charged with morphine, rendered her unconscious while she slept, so that there would be no chance of her awakening and spoiling his plans. Then Atwood, and a well-known police character known as Baldi Newman, entered an empty apartment across the hall by means of a duplicate key. At twelve o'clock this man Baldi telephoned the victim at his hotel. Newman represented himself as the man's former chauffeur, and appealed for immediate assistance to get out of some trouble he was in. Atwood and his confederate then waited in the dining room of this apartment until the victim rang the bell. Newman admitted him and led him into the dining room. There the two men confronted him with revolvers, and on the threat of taking his life forced him to sign a paper. After that the victim made an attempt to escape. He fled to the front of the apartment, closely pursued by the two men. They attempted to make away with him silently, as originally planned, by knifing him to death. The victim brought a hitch into their plans by drawing a revolver and firing one shot before he died. Had this not occurred, it is probable that the murderer's plans would not have been discovered until long after they had made a safe getaway. As it was, the shot merely hastened their actions at the time. The lights in the apartment were turned out. The dead man was carried across the hall, through Atwood's apartment, and down the rear stairs, where he was thrown into awaiting automobile. When the police arrived a few minutes later, the men believed that they had gotten safely away without leaving a trace. They did leave traces, however, and from that minute the police never left the trail until they closed in on the men to-day. Marsh took a photograph from his pocket. Among the traces left in that apartment, he went on, were the imprints of a man's hands on the dining room table. I have here a photograph of those imprints, and among the many identifying marks, there is a scar of a peculiar shape. Marsh returned the photograph to his pocket. I am very glad to learn that you have cleared up the murder of my employer, Mr. Marsh, said Hunt. What seems curious to me, however, is why you should think this man Atwood would want to kill Mr. Merton. Surely Mr. Merton could never have had any dealings with a criminal, such as you describe Atwood to be. On the contrary, Mr. Hunt returned Marsh. Merton had extensive business dealings with Atwood. In fact, he went so far as to place Atwood in a position where he could rob Merton of several hundred thousand dollars worth of stocks and bonds. The transfer of these securities had been taking place for a year or more, and it had reached the point where the greater part of Merton's fortune was now in Atwood's hands. It is evident that Atwood's original intention was to step quietly out of sight with this fortune, but subsequent events led him to believe that he could go on in quiet security if Merton were out of the way. That was the reason why Merton was murdered. Hunt threw the remains of his cigar into the fireplace and slipped the hand that held it down into the pillows of the Davenport. And you think you have at last located this man Atwood, do you, Mr. Marsh? Yes, returned Marsh calmly, because I have absolute proof that Clark Atwood and Gilbert Hunt are one and the same man. Instantly Hunt's hand whipped out from behind the sofa cushions, and the three detectives found themselves covered by an automatic as Hunt stood up. Clever work, gentlemen, he said, smiling, but after a leading man of your type around by the nose for many years you can hardly expect me to stay here and calmly accept defeat now. Oh, no, answered Marsh. We fully expected you to put up a good fight. He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and crossing his legs leaned back, smiling up at Hunt. Go ahead. What's your next move? My next move, cried Hunt sharply, is to leave you damn fool sitting right there. When I didn't hear from my men this afternoon, I knew that something was wrong, and my way of escape is ready. He backed slowly toward the door, keeping the detectives covered with his automatic. When he reached the door of the room, he called, Everything ready, George? Yes, sir. A voice replied from the distance. Hunt again addressed the detectives. I advise you, gentlemen, to stay quietly where you are for a few minutes. I am going out the back door of this apartment, and you will find it difficult to find your way through the dark, especially as you may meet a shot at any moment. I bid you good evening, gentlemen. With that, Hunt backed out of sight through the doorway and all was silent. Immediately, Morgan and Tierney leaped to their feet and dashed toward the door. Hold on, exclaimed Marsh, still sitting quietly in his chair. Where are you going? The two detectives stopped in astonishment. We're going to get him! shouted Tierney. No need of taking all that trouble. Returned Marsh. My men are ready for him. Long ago, a secret serviceman even replaced his driver at the wheel of his car. As if in answer to this statement from Marsh, there was a distant fuselad of shots. They've got him, said Marsh, rising. Now we can go. If there's no hurry now, said Morgan, I wish you would tell us the rest of the story. What do you mean, inquired Marsh? How did you come to connect these two men? And how did you get that inside dope on the stealing? You know all the incidents, returned Marsh. And you ought to be able to connect them, as I did. The only information I had about which you did not know was that notebook. The book contained memoranda in Hunt's handwriting, which, by the way, closely resembled the writing in Atwood's last letter. Among these were the names, addresses, and telephone numbers of the men who worked with him, and showing their different locations during the past year or two. He also made notations of the different stocks and bonds, which he took out of Merton's vaults at various times. Atwood, you know, took a suitcase at the last moment from his apartment. This afternoon I located a suitcase in the Merton house, containing the counterfeit plates and the stocks and bonds which I had found noted in Hunt's memorandum book. Naturally, a large part of the story I told tonight was merely surmise on my part, but you can see how near I came to the truth, from the way Hunt acted. Another interesting point, due to your foresight, Morgan, was that matter of the scar. I studied very carefully the photograph you had taken. Sunday night, when I was calling here on Hunt, I goaded him into a rage, so that he shook his right fist in my face. I had a good view of the scar, then, and my last doubt vanished. Another point that isn't clear, queried Morgan, is that paper Merton signed. What was it? I don't know, said Marsh. That was a wild guess on my part, that he had signed any paper at all. It seemed odd, however, that an experienced financier like Merton would make an employee, sole executor, so I decided that before his death Merton was forced to sign either a new will or a codicil to his old will, which was dated back some months, so as to offset any suspicion. And what do you suppose Hunt expected to gain by kidnapping all of us? Again questioned Morgan. Don't you see, explained Marsh, that we were getting too close, and might be expected to spring the trap at any minute. Our disappearance would divert the police into a search for us, instead of for them. In the meantime, they could get quietly away and vanish. And besides, I was supposed to have that notebook, the most incriminating evidence we possessed at that time. But see here, now broken tyranny. Why did you let that guy think he had a chance to get away, when you had the goods on him? The three of us could have nabbed him the minute we came in. Tyranny, replied Marsh, there's a little girl up north that I hope to marry some day. You know her. She's Atwood's daughter. If that girl knew that her father was a crook, it would break her heart. I didn't intend that she should ever know. I told Hunt that story tonight, so as to show him the hopelessness of his position, and thus drive him out to a finished battle with my men. Sooner or later he had to pay the penalty of being a murderer, and I did not think he would allow himself to be taken alive, so I gave him his chance. His death prevents a personal trial, and the presenting of all the evidence. The name of Atwood need not now appear in the reports of the case, and the girl will never connect the references that may be made to Gilbert Hunt with her father. One week, exclaimed Morgan, Marsh, you complimented me on twenty-four hours bum work. It's my turn now to hand it to you for one week's real work. I appreciate your good intentions, Morgan, laughed Marsh, but you forget that I have actually been two years on this job. The last week was simply the wind-up. It was not my superior work. Simply a slip in the man's plans that gave me a clue. Hell! cried Tierney. Cut that modest stuff! A man who could turn the biggest mystery the department ever had into a clue is some guy. End of Chapter Twenty-Two One of the sudden changes characteristic of the Chicago climate had taken place. The wintry chill had left the air before the advance of a soft warm breeze that blew out of the west. It might have been early spring instead of late fall. Marsh waited outside the music school on Michigan Avenue for Jane Atwood. Presently she appeared, and Marsh was conscious of a quickened beating of the heart as he watched the slender, graceful figure approach. He noticed the becoming flush which spread over her features as she recognized him, and he was certain that no woman ever before had such sparkling eyes and so sweet a smile. This is a pleasant surprise, she greeted him. I knew you had a lesson today, explained Marsh, and the weather was so fine that I thought you might enjoy a walk before you went home. I should love it, she exclaimed. I was just dreading the thought of going straight home to that plain little room in the hotel. Hotel rooms never do seem home-like, do they? Most of my life has been spent in hotels, returned Marsh, as they strolled toward the curb. My parents died before I was twenty, and since then I have led a roving life. He signaled a passing taxi, and directed the chauffeur to take them to Lincoln Park. Marsh glanced down Oak Street as the car flashed by. The mysterious shadows that hung over the street at night, and the recent tragic incident which had taken place there, seemed almost like a dream to Marsh, as he saw the street stretch peacefully toward the west in the light of the late afternoon sun. Marsh's attention was quickly diverted, however, for at this point the tall buildings, the smoky streets, and the crowds were left behind. At one side began the long line of palatial residences that has brought to this section of Chicago the sobriquet of the Gold Coast. On the other side lay a strip of park, and beyond that stretched the rolling waters of Lake Michigan as far as the eye could see. This is what I like about Chicago, exclaimed Marsh. After a day in the hurry and bustle and grind of the business district, you are swept in a few minutes into a region of trees, grass, and spreading motors. At one stroke you seem to leave the seething city behind and enter into the wide spaces of the earth. You speak like a poet, declared the girl, rather than a plain businessman. Perhaps, returned Marsh in a low voice, it is because of something new that has come into my life. The girl's eyes looked into his for a moment, and seemed to read something there, for she turned with heightened color to look out over the lake. They sat in silence for the next few minutes, then Marsh leaned forward and opened the door of the taxi. We'll stop here, he called to the driver. Have you been in Lincoln Park before, he inquired as they strolled north? Only to pass through in the bus, returned Jane. I think, commented Marsh, that this is one of the prettiest parks. I presume that those rolling hills are artificial, but they are certainly a relief, after the monotonous flatness of the rest of the city. There is one, just ahead of us, that is the highest in the park. I want to take you there, for it is a place where I have often sat during the last few months, when I wanted to be alone and think. I believe, said Jane, that this is the first time you have really told me anything about yourself. Frankly, replied Marsh, that is one of the reasons why I suggested this walk today. This favorite spot of mine appealed to me as just the place to tell you something of my story. There it is, he added, pointing across the driveway to a little tree-clad hill. He guided her across the drive, up the winding path through the trees, to an open space on the hilltop, where they found a bench and sat down. It is beautiful, agreed the girl. Several miles of the shoreline lay stretched before them, and beyond it, miles and miles of blue-green water rolled in to break into miniature waves against the embankment. The sun had nearly touched the treetops behind them, and the gray of evening already lay out over the lake. The distant horizon changed from a deep, purplish tint where it met the water through many shades until it reached a rich gold, with the light of the setting sun fell full upon the fleecy clouds that drifted slowly, far up in the air. You asked me a few days ago, began Marsh, about the nature of my business. I did not feel free to talk to you at that time, because I was engaged in working out one of my most important cases. That case is completed, and so is my work along that line. I am a detective, Miss Atwood, for the last ten years in the Secret Service Division of the United States Government. How interesting, she exclaimed. No, you are wrong, returned Marsh. I thought it was interesting, but I have found out my mistake. It was a wandering, unnatural life, full of nervous days and sleepless nights. No home life, no family, no friends. Lacking all the things that really make life worth living. Miss Atwood, the men who work down there in those great buildings during the day, and go to a little home at night to be greeted by a cheery wife and romping children, are the most fortunate men in the world. Some of them grow restless at times, and may long for what they think is the glamour and excitement of a life like mine. Work such as mine is necessary to the peace, happiness, and progress of the world, but I have come to the conclusion that I would rather let the other fellow do it. What do you plan to do, then? The girl asked softly. Unfortunately, my training has been along one line only, and I must stick to that. But I intend to follow it in a way that will permit me to have a home and some of the things in life which other men enjoy. I have already sent in my resignation to the Secret Service. As soon as it is accepted, I plan to open an office in Chicago to do private investigative work. There is an immense opportunity for this among the thousands of great business houses here. Then I am going to have a home. And, he added, leaning toward her, and gazing straight into her eyes, I want you to help me start that home. Jane flushed. What do you mean? she murmured. That I love you, replied Marsh, as he took her small, soft hand in his. But you have known me such a short time, protested Jane. Jane, he said, I have watched over you for nearly two years, when you walked along St. Louis streets and entered shops. When you passed back and forth to your music school in Chicago, I was many times close at hand. She gazed at him and startled surprise. I don't understand, she said. My work took me to St. Louis, Marsh explained. There I saw you and fell in love. The same work brought me to Chicago, soon after you arrived here, and though you did not know me, probably not even by sight, I was there, watching over you, and worshiping, day by day. Perhaps a week is too short a time for you to begin to care, but I had hoped that you would. I do care, she half whispered, but I did not know that you thought so much of me. I have often longed for a real home myself. You know my own home was never really a happy one. For years my mother was sickly and nervous, and it was I, who incurred all the household responsibilities. It has been years since I had the care and companionship that most girls receive from a mother. My father always provided liberally for us, but he was seldom at home. Then we will start a real home together, he pleaded. Yes, she whispered. The sun sank out of sight, and the twilight folded them in friendly seclusion as Marsh took her in his arms. End of Chapter 23 End of The Sheridan Road Mystery by Paul and Mabel Thorn