 CHAPTER 11 THE TRAIL GROWS CLEARER I want to use your telephone for a minute," Morgan said to Marsh, as they went down the stairs. I want to have men put on duty here as soon as possible, and I think it would be well to send out that description you have of Atwood. We might catch him at one of the railway stations trying to leave the city. Marsh unlocked the door of his apartment, and Morgan immediately went to the telephone. He gave the detective bureau a description of Atwood, added that the man would probably be carrying a suitcase, and suggested that all outgoing trains be watched. Then he got the captain of the precinct on the telephone, and after explaining the attacks that had taken place, was assured that two men would be placed on duty to watch the house within a few minutes. Good Lord! I'm starving to death! cried Tierney. As Morgan left the telephone. What time is it, anyway? Morgan glanced at his watch. Three-thirty, he replied. Now you speak of it, Tierney. I feel kind of hungry myself. How about you, Marsh? It was on my mind to suggest a little luncheon. Returned Marsh. Suppose we run down to Sally's waffle-shop. It's only a block south, and it would be a quiet place to talk things over while we are eating. It is a good place to eat, too. I've had nearly all of my meals there since I took this apartment. The others agreeing, the three men then walked down to the little restaurant. As it was an off-hour, they were able to get a table in a secluded corner where their conversation could not be overheard. I think this lunch should be on me, said Morgan, as he looked at Marsh with a twinkle in his eye. No, objected Marsh, I should hardly call you a loser. Your work has really disclosed a lot. Anyway, headquarters will think you're doing something, Morgan, broken Tierney. All those descriptions you shot over the phone today looked as if you were getting the dope on somebody. I suggest, said Marsh, that as you fellows have been my guests most of the day, you now be my guests for luncheon. Order what you like. You can get anything here from waffles to a full meal. A big fat juicy steak for me! cried Tierney. Yes, you are an invalid, aren't you? scoffed Morgan. Tierney rubbed the bump on his head and grinned. They gave their orders to the waitress, and while waiting, Morgan explained Marsh's participation in the work in reply to an anxious reminder from Tierney. The startling shattering of the net which they believed they had drawn around Marsh for once stunned Tierney into silence. When their hunger had been partly satisfied, Morgan reminded Marsh that they had not yet analyzed the peculiar situation discovered in the Atwood apartment. I hurried you fellows out so that we could talk over that suitcase, Morgan explained. Of course, I've got some ideas of my own, but I'd like to know what you think, Marsh. Well, replied Marsh, if you and Tierney will tell me exactly what you discovered, I'll tell you what I think. My part's easy to tell, said Tierney. I didn't find anything suspicious. I spent most of the time turning over a lot of pink, silk and lace things that almost made me blush. There were no letters or photographs, and as far as I could see, none of the things had been disturbed, until I turned them over myself. And I, said Morgan, found that mess that you saw in the maid's room. I also discovered that the back door was unlocked. I had a theory, explained Marsh. And what you say about the back door clinches it. Now suppose you were a crook, and had committed a crime that, through careless management, had brought the police right next door to your headquarters, the place you had hoped to reserve for emergencies, as a matter of fact. Suppose you had reason to believe that they would begin to suspect you. You have long had a plan ready to throw the police off the scent, if anything should ever happen, by pretending to make a way with yourself. You put the first step of this plan into execution, by sending a letter stating that you are now as good as dead. Then you suddenly remember that at your refuge you have left some important evidence, something that, if discovered, might offset your well-aid plans. What would you do? You tried to get that evidence, wouldn't you? That is precisely what happened. Atwood, accompanied by one of his men, who was to stand guard, returned to his apartment to secure that almost forgotten evidence. Now the man he left on guard heard some familiar voices, or perhaps a name he recognized. He overlooked his duty for the moment, and tried to listen. He was discovered. Naturally, his first thought was of himself, and he made his escape. Up in his apartment, Atwood, who had secured what he sought, is ready to go, but is delayed by this disturbance in the hall. He doesn't know exactly what it is, so he sticks close. Then he thinks of making his escape down the back stairs, but unfortunately some of his feminine neighbors are gossiping on the stairs below. He could not go down that way without attracting attention that might prove awkward later. Suddenly he hears the door of his apartment open, and some person enter. He watches, and discovers that his daughter has come home alone. Now if she should see him, his well-laid plan is ruined. Its greatest success lies in her honest conviction that he is really dead. He is trapped, front, rear, and on the premises. He is desperate. Something must be done quickly. In a favorable moment he springs upon the girl from behind, and renders her unconscious with chloroform. He finds the back stairs still close to him, and in his haste forgets to lock the door as he closes it. He finds a man keeping guard on the front stairs. He decides quickly that he can deal better with this man than with the woman of the back. He watches and waits, leaving the door open for a quick retreat. His opportunity comes when this man's attention is directed to the lighting of a pipe. In a flash he is down the stairs, knocks the man unconscious, and goes out the front door. The next minute he is lost in the crowds on the street, and is free. That gentleman is my explanation of what happened in the house today. Of course it is largely theory. But I believe it fits the case uncommonly well. I'll say you're there! Griterney. Yes, Morgan agreed. You talk as if you had been a spectator of the whole occurrence. I doubt if a clearer explanation could be made, and I think you came pretty near the truth when you said a little while ago that we actually had uncovered something today. There is still a mystery of some kind, but thanks to you we are now in a position to take some definite steps towards solving it. Still there is one illogical point in your surmise. The letter from St. Louis arrived sometime this morning. If Atwood was in Chicago Tuesday morning, how did he get that letter off so quickly? The trouble with an analysis based chiefly on speculation, Morgan, is that many points may seem illogical and unexplained. We can only rely definitely upon the outstanding features. However, I never adopt any explanation unless it has a basis in possibility. You remember that a while ago I told you, I thought that shot was a mistake, that it was never intended a shot should be fired. Whoever was engaged in that occurrence knew that the shot would lead to a police investigation, and once the police start there is no telling where that matter may end. To head them off quickly, is it not possible that someone left immediately for St. Louis to post that letter? Morgan nodded. It's a straining point, but it's quite possible, Marsh. At least we have no better explanation. They had finished their meal, and after Marsh settled the bill, parted on the sidewalk, Marsh to return to his apartment and await developments there, while Morgan and Tierney undertook some investigations which Morgan had in mind. On his return to the house, Marsh noted with satisfaction that a policeman in uniform was already on duty. However, he wanted to make sure that the girl was all right, so instead of going directly to his apartment he continued on up the stairs to the Atwood apartment and rang the bell. After a slight pause, Miss Atwood opened the door. Her eyes were red with weeping, and she held her handkerchief so as to partly conceal her face. I called to see if everything was all right, explained Marsh. Why, what has happened? He knew perfectly well the cause of the girl's trouble, and he had to struggle hard to assume an air of ignorance. It tore his heart to see this girl, from whom he felt a growing affection in such distress, knowing that all the time he possessed the knowledge to sweep away her grief. And yet, would it, was it not probable that a girl like her would feel even greater grief at the knowledge that her father was a hunted criminal instead of merely dead? She presented a most pitiable figure standing there, absolutely alone in the world. She had gone through experiences that day which would have made the average woman collapse, and to cap it all she had received the final blow in the news of her father's death. Marsh's heart went out to her. He longed to take her into his arms and ask her to allow him to henceforward be her protector. It was hard to hold himself in check, yet he knew that it was no time for this disclosure of his own feelings. Instead he stepped quietly through the door and sat down in the living-room where the girl joined him. She wept silently for a few moments, while Marsh sat and waited. At last she spoke, "'My father is dead, Mr. Marsh.' "'What a shock!' he exclaimed. "'I am so sorry. How did it happen?' "'You know I received a letter from him this morning. It said that his health had failed, that he could no longer work, and that by the time the letter reached me, he would have committed suicide.'" Marsh's life had been devoted to running down criminals. He had had very little to do with women, except those of the criminal type. He was at a loss, therefore, for words to comfort this delicate girl. He was further embarrassed by the knowledge of facts which he dared not divulge. Everything he said sounded crude and rough in his ears, but somehow his words seemed to have a soothing effect on the girl, and eventually her weeping ceased. He's a wonder, thought Marsh, the bravest little woman I ever knew. Then addressing her, he said, "'Miss Adwood, after all that has happened, it is not possible for you to stay here alone tonight. You should go to an hotel, where you will feel protected and secure, and at least know that, even though they are not your friends, you have people all about you.'" He hesitated a moment, then added, "'I hope you will receive my offer in the spirit in which it is intended. If you are in any way financially embarrassed at the moment, I would be glad to take care of your hotel expenses, until you can straighten out your affairs.'" "'Thank you, Mr. Marsh,' she returned, "'I appreciate your offer and the spirit in which you make it, but I am well provided with funds. Father was always generous with me, and even in this last letter he said that he had left me well provided for. Then pack up a bag at once, Miss Adwood, and let me escort you to some hotel. I suggest the Monmouth. It is only a couple of blocks away, and I know it to be a nice quiet family hotel, where the people would be congenial. In this time of trouble, you would find it a comfort to have a few women friends. I think you have made a mistake in devoting so much time to your musical studies, while neglecting social opportunities. The girl considered a moment, then, springing up, said, "'I will follow your suggestion. It would be dreadful to stay here alone tonight. In fact, now that I have no one to make a home for, it would probably be better for me to stay permanently at an hotel.'" She went to her room and prepared to leave the house. She soon reappeared with the bag, which Marsh took from her. A few minutes later they parted at the desk of the Monmouth Hotel, and Marsh returned to his apartment. It was strange how lonely the place seemed, now that he knew the girl was no longer under the same roof with him. CHAPTER XII. Two days had passed without any word from Morgan, and Marsh himself had made little progress on the case, for a large part of those two days had been taken up in assisting Jane Atwood to pack her personal things and remove them to her new home in the hotel. They had been pleasant days for Marsh, because he had derived considerable happiness from the little services he had been able to render the girl, and also because it was the first time in all the months he had been watching over her that he was actually in her company. During this time Marsh had made one discovery of a peculiar nature, but its working out appeared to have no particular effect on the developments of the case. The morning after he escorted Jane Atwood to the hotel, she had returned to the apartment to begin her packing. While assisting in this, Marsh had suggested that she notify the man from whom her father had rented the apartment, so that he could take steps to secure another tenant. He was amazed to learn that she knew nothing whatever about the matter, not even the name of the man from whom they rented. So during the morning Marsh called at the office of the agent of the building and explained the situation. The agent was surprised, saying that he had always supposed a Mr. Crocker, whose name appeared on the lease, occupied the apartment himself. The man's name not appearing in the telephone directory, the agent had suggested that he would write to the man's former St. Louis address. Marsh thought this a good idea, and owing to the odd situation which had developed, left his telephone number, suggesting that the agent let him know what he heard in the matter. The next afternoon the real estate agent telephoned him that a telegram had just arrived from the man in St. Louis, stating that he had never rented any such apartment in Chicago, had never signed any lease, and did not know anything about the matter. To Marsh the situation was obvious. In renting the apartment Atwood had used the name of a well-known St. Louis man so as to have good references and close the deal quietly without in any way bringing his own name and personality into the matter. There was nothing in this information to help the case in any way, yet it created a strange situation. Here was an apartment full of furniture that rightfully belonged to the girl, and yet he could in no way convince her of that fact without also disclosing the other circumstances connected with the case. All that they could do was to walk out and close the door behind them, leaving the problem to the real estate agent to solve. This they did on Friday afternoon, and so far as Marsh was concerned the Atwood apartment was of no further interest, for it was obvious, now that Atwood was supposed to be dead, no one connected with him would be likely to ever again visit the apartment. He decided however to remain in his own apartment for the present, the lease he had signed had still nearly a year to run. He was comfortable and free to come and go as he pleased without anyone noticing his movements. Then there was no telling how long he would have to remain in Chicago, for he felt that the solution of this case still rested somewhere within the city limits. At the present moment he was facing a blank wall, but any day or hour might furnish a new clue that would set things moving again. In fact he was inclined to feel that when he again heard from Morgan the detective would probably have valuable information for him. It was Saturday morning, and Marsh on his way back from breakfast at the Little Waffle Shop purchased a copy of the Tribune and went back to his apartment to look over the day's news. No sooner had he opened the paper than this headline met his eyes. Prominent broker missing. Marsh dropped the paper on his knees and thought for a moment. Since Tuesday morning, when the trouble had occurred, he had carefully scanned the papers for reports of any missing people who might in any way be connected with this occurrence. Here at last was an announcement that looked promising. He began to read the article. Richard Townsend Merton, the well-known LaSalle Street broker, has been missing for ten days it was learned yesterday. Gilbert Hunt, the general manager of the Merton business, notified the police that Mr. Merton had not appeared at his office, his clubs, or his hotel for some days. A telegraphed inquiry to his wife, who resides with an invalid son in Arizona, brought the reply that Mr. Merton had not been there. The manager is inclined to believe that Mr. Merton has either wandered away during a lapse of memory or may have met with an accident. The article then continued with the usual outline of what the police were doing and a description of the broker's life and habits. Marsh learned from this that Merton had closed his country home in Hubbard Woods when his wife moved to Arizona with their son. He had lived for the past two years at a downtown hotel and spent most of his evenings at his clubs. After reading the entire article carefully, Marsh cut out the accompanying photographs of Merton and the absent wife and son. Here was something worth investigating, he thought, for he remembered the cuff button with the initial M, which Morgan had discovered. For upwards of an hour Marsh sat in deep deliberation, wondering how he could get in close touch with the situation without in any way disclosing his official connection or real interest in the matter. At last he decided to follow a plan which he had used successfully in connection with two previous cases. He looked up the address of the Merton offices and putting on his coat and hat took the Sheridan Road motor bus downtown. Marsh located the Merton offices on the fifteenth floor of the LaSalle Trust Building and paused a moment inside the door to look the place over. He found himself in a large room which contained several stenographers and clerks. To his left was a grill-work with a window-marked cashier and beyond this several men who were evidently bookkeepers. In front of him was a railing, behind which sat a girl at a telephone switchboard. At the other side of the room doors opened into what were evidently three private offices. On the first door he saw the name Mr. Merton. On the second Mr. Hunt. The third door was blank. Seeing the girl, Marsh inquired if Mr. Hunt was in. Yes, she replied, looking him over, have you a card? Marsh handed her a card and she went into Mr. Hunt's office. In a moment she returned and said, please step in. Marsh entered Hunt's office and closed the door behind him. It was the usual private office, with a large flat-top desk in the center. This was so arranged that Hunt's back was to the light, which fell full upon any visitor's face. Some files, a bookcase, and a small table littered with papers stood against the wall. Hunt motioned to a chair and said, sit down, please. Marsh's card laid before him on the desk. He picked it up and read, Gordon Marsh, Private Investigator. Then looking at Marsh as he laid the card down he said, What can I do for you? As you see on my card, replied Marsh, my business consists of conducting special private investigations. I read in the morning paper that Mr. Merton is missing, and I came in to see if you would care to use my services. I have placed the entire matter in the hands of the police, returned Hunt. You probably know as well as I do, Mr. Hunt, that that is the next thing to burying the matter. They will be very busy for a couple of days and then forget it. That is about what I thought, Mr. Marsh, admitted Hunt. But isn't it important for business reasons that you ascertain definitely and as quickly as possible just what has happened to Mr. Merton, Marsh asked? To a certain extent, yes. But Mr. Merton has left the business entirely in my hands for some time, and things will continue satisfactorily in his absence. Then I presume you wouldn't care to have me conduct a private investigation on your behalf, Mr. Hunt? Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Marsh, said Hunt, until you presented your card to me this morning, the thought of doing anything beside notifying the police had not occurred to me. Let me think for a minute. With that, Hunt swung his chair around so that his back was toward Marsh and gazed thoughtfully out of the window for a few minutes. In your work, he said at length, swinging around toward Marsh once more, you'd probably come into more or less contact with the police. I mean by that, that you would work with them more or less on a case of this kind? Certainly, replied Marsh. I follow up every likely clue, including everything which may be unearthed by the police. After thinking it over, it may be that we can come to some arrangement, Mr. Marsh, said Hunt. What are your terms? My charges are twenty-five dollars a day and expenses, said Marsh. Phew! Whistled Hunt. That's pretty steep. I could hire all the private detectives I wanted for ten dollars a day. But I'm not a regular detective, protested Marsh. I'm an investigator. You make a distinction, do you? smiled Hunt. Absolutely, asserted Marsh. I merely dig up the facts and turn them over to you for any action you see fit. My investigative work could hardly be classed with the ordinary work of the detective. Hunt clasped his hands before him on the desk. After a moment's thought, he said, All right, Marsh, I'm going to engage you. See what you can discover and report to me whenever you think you are making progress. Incidentally, keep your eye on the police and see what they are doing. As long as you are working on this job for me, it will be curious to see how effective our police really are. Now, I suppose you want to ask some questions? Yes, said Marsh, one or two, although as a rule I prefer to start with my mind as free as possible. Mr. Merton has been living at the LaSalle Hotel, I understand? Yes. How long has he been living there? Two years. I suppose I can find out something of his habits there? I think I get your drift, Marsh, said Hunt with a smile. I can assure you, from my personal knowledge, that Mr. Merton led a very quiet and most exemplary life. Practically all his evenings have been passed at the university and Chicago athletic clubs, and I believe that occasionally he dropped into the Hamilton Club, of which he is a member. Why did his wife go to Arizona, inquired Marsh? The boy has weak lungs and the doctor said his life could be saved only by several years' residence in the Arizona climate. Mrs. Merton worships the boy and insisted upon going with him. They have been there two years. When do you expect them back? asked Marsh. I understand the boy is not much better. It might be years before they return, unless the boy should die. Marsh thought a moment, then said, You mentioned before that the business could go on without Mr. Merton. I presume he has given you power of attorney. Yes, said Hunt. In case of his death, Mr. Hunt, who would be his executors? I cannot see that that has any bearing on the case. Perhaps not, said Marsh, but I am following a line of thought. Well, returned Hunt, if it's of any use to you, I may say that I will be the sole executor. It was a very wise move on your part to employ me in this matter, Mr. Hunt, in view of that fact. How so? inquired Hunt. As to the outsider, it might appear that you had some personal interest in Mr. Merton's disappearance. You know, sometimes the police are stupidly suspicious. Hunt sat up with a start. You have given me food for thought, Marsh, he said. I hadn't looked at the matter in that light before. Well, returned Marsh, you can now see that my investigations and reports will be of the utmost value to you. Furthermore, as you have already suggested, I can keep my ear to the ground where the police are concerned, and keep you advised of what is going on. Mr. Marsh, said Hunt, rising, I am very glad you came in to see me. You can count upon my keeping you on this job until everything is settled. One more question, said Marsh, also rising, I noticed a mention of Mr. Merton's country house. Has anyone looked to see if Mr. Merton could by any chance have gone there because of illness, or for some other reason? I know positively he is not there, Hunt replied. I keep a caretaker on the premises, and occasionally look over the place myself to make sure that everything is all right. The caretaker assures me that Mr. Merton has not been near the place since he closed the house two years ago. One more thing, Mr. Hunt, before I go. People sometimes question my right to investigate. Will you give me a line stating that I am authorized to represent you in this matter? Certainly. Hunt sat down at his desk and hastily penned a few lines on a sheet of letter paper which he then handed to Marsh. Marsh carefully folded the paper, placed it in his pocketbook, and bidding Hunt good day went out. CHAPTER XIII Why is it that businessmen who pride themselves on their astuteness almost invariably slip up somewhere, thought Marsh, as he left the LaSalle Trust Building and walked north on LaSalle Street. This thought was occasioned by the fact that Hunt had neglected to ask Marsh for his address and telephone number. It might be, of course, that the man had taken it for granted that his name and address would be readily found in the telephone directory. Though this explanation passed through his mind, he was more inclined to believe that Hunt's intense interest in the matter, or possibly a newly aroused fear created by Marsh's reference to the peculiar attitude in which he was placed, had driven the subject of details out of Hunt's mind. Marsh had come downtown with the intention of giving his present address, but as the interview progressed a feeling grew upon him that it might be just as well at this time to give some downtown business address. The fact that no inquiry had been made on this point relieved him of the necessity of giving a fictitious address on the spur of the moment. His next step, however, must be the securing of such an address, for it was beyond question that during his next interview with Hunt this information would have to be given. Marsh glanced over his shoulder at the great clock in the Board of Trade Building, which keeps guard over LaSalle Street. It was just twelve o'clock, and he reasoned that the people he contemplated questioning would probably be going to lunch. He decided to spend the next hour, therefore, in securing some sort of office address. By this time he had reached Madison Street, and turning east, looked over the buildings as he passed along, with the idea of selecting one in which a temporary office might be secured. At the corner of Madison Street in Wabash Avenue, he stopped and looked around him. On one corner was the building of a great department store. On the other three corners, big office buildings towered above him. At this corner also, here was one of the Madison Street stations of the elevated railroad system. Certainly, it was the most logical location for a man in his supposed line of work. So he entered one of the buildings, approached the starter in front of the elevators, and inquired if he knew anyone who would rent desk room. The starter furnished him with the names and room numbers of two places where he might inquire. The first of these which he visited proved satisfactory. He arranged with the young woman in charge to receive all mail and telephone calls for him and forward these to his regular address. Making a note of the telephone number, he paid two months' rent in advance, so as to get the matter off his mind and return to the street. The details of this arrangement had taken but a short time, so Marsh went up to the men's grill maintained by a nearby department store, intending to eat a leisurely lunch in one of the secluded booths. As he sat studying the menu, a small finger suddenly began to direct his attention to certain items, while a soft voice whispered in his ear, "'How do you do, Mr. Marsh?' In such work as his, startling things were apt to occur at any moment, so Marsh gave no outward indication of his surprise. How do you do?' he returned, without looking up, but his mind was working rapidly to place the voice. "'What are you doing here?' the voice asked. "'You know better than to ask that question, Miss Allen.' Marsh now glanced up with a smile. The waitress stood up, and to any one across the room it would have appeared as if they were merely discussing his order, which she was writing on a pad. "'If you are still engaged in counterfeiting work,' the girl said, "'I may be able to give you a valuable tip.' "'All right,' said Marsh. "'Bring me one of those oyster pies and a cup of coffee. We'll have a chat when you come back.' In a few minutes she was back with his order, and talked rapidly in a guarded voice as she placed the silver on the table and arranged his dishes. "'About this time yesterday I had four men at this table, and caught snatches of their conversation. I put the facts together about like this. There is a house in the suburbs near Chicago, where a counterfeiting plant has been in operation. In some way the attention of the police has been attracted, and the whole outfit is to be cleaned out as soon as they think they can get away safely. I have no idea regarding the location, but if you are looking anything up this may be a hint for you. Thanks, Miss Allen, it is a hint. Without further words she hurried away to attend to another table. Marsh knew that the girl who had just given him this information was a government operative, like himself. He would have liked to learn more, if possible, especially the descriptions of the men, but he did not know the nature of the work she was engaged in, and feared that any further contact between them might be unwise. For a moment he thought of slipping her his telephone number, but the cautiousness bred by years of experience warned him that telephones, like walls, sometimes have ears. However he realized that she had told him something worthwhile. It was unlikely that there was more than one counterfeiting band in Chicago at this time. She had given him a clue, which, like the cuff button, might tie up at any moment with other developments. Moreover he now knew that his men were planning to get away, and that something must be done in a hurry. After finishing his luncheon he wrote his newly acquired downtown address on a slip of paper, wrapped it in a bill, and then signaled to the girl that he desired his check. He handed her the bill carelessly, and said in a low voice without looking up, something inside for you. She returned in a moment with his change, and as she laid it on the table said simply, I understand. Marsh then started out on his search for information regarding Merton. While Marsh was confident that he would get the most important part of his information at the hotel where Merton had lived, he decided to work up to that point rather than start there. One reason for this decision lay in the fact that night employees of the hotel could probably give him more valuable information regarding Merton's movements than those on duty during the day. He was only a block from Michigan Avenue, where the clubs at which Merton spent most of his time were located. At these places he secured little information that would further his quest. Merton had impressed the employees of the clubs simply as a quiet man who had dropped in to read his newspapers or a book, or have quiet chats with other members with whom he was acquainted. Occasionally he was known to engage in a game of billiards or cards. It was hardly the life of a man who could have such close associations with a gang of counterfeiters as to draw upon himself an act of revenge or the necessity of removing him as a matter of protection. So far as Marsh could discover, Merton had never presented a questionable bill to the clubs. In fact, so far as anyone connected with them could recollect, all payments of any character had been made by check. Marsh had pursued inquiries along this line because, while almost anyone is liable at one time or another to be in possession of counterfeit money, such a happening in Merton's case might have possessed unusual significance. It was Marsh's desire to ascertain, so far as possible, if there had been any connection of even a remote character between Merton and the counterfeiters. Unless some connection were established it would be hard to believe that Merton had been the Sheraton Road victim, yet the coincidences of this disappearance, the evidences of a crime, and the cuff button initialed M possessed too strong a significance to be entirely disregarded. At the third club Marsh secured practically no information. Merton had been an infrequent visitor and had made little or no impression upon the employees. Walking north on Dearborn Street and across Madison Street on his way from this club to Merton's Hotel, Marsh thought quickly, if he could not at this time establish a connection, then at least he would try to ascertain the nature of the bait which had been held out to take this man of quiet habits to the north side at two o'clock in the morning. On reaching the hotel he found that it was still too early to interview the people he wished to see, so he sat down in one of the big chairs in the lobby to pass the time studying the aspects of the case. Even when his mind was busy Marsh's eyes were on the alert, and faces met under the most trivial circumstances photographed themselves upon his memory. His eyes rested casually upon a man who sat opposite him looking over an evening paper. Gradually Marsh began to feel that the face was familiar. With this realization came the recollection that the man had seated himself very quickly after Marsh had selected his chair. Perhaps his recognition of the face was something that came out of the past, but Marsh always endeavored to connect every noticeable incident with the problem of the moment. It was not long, therefore, before he had placed the man. On coming out of the office building where he had made his temporary address arrangements he had passed this man standing near the door and also remembered seeing the same man in the grill room where he had lunched. The fact that the man was now seated near him in the hotel lobby was more than a coincidence. Marsh's eyes roved about the lobby with apparently careless interest, and not even the man across from him could have guessed that he had noted anything or become more watchful than before. However he was planning action. If this man was watching him there could be but one reason, his connection with the present case. If he was connected with this case then he was evidently one of the men they wanted, Marsh intended to be sure. To change the situation from watch to watcher would involve some quick and clever work, Marsh pondered. As the bell-boy passed Marsh called to him, slipping a coin into the boy's hand he said, I had an appointment here with a Mr. Morgan. See if you can locate him. As the boy started off calling the name, Marsh watched the man opposite out of the corner of his eye. The man threw down his newspaper, stretched and yawned, while his eyes wandered about the lobby. His movements were of a very casual sort, but to Marsh's watchful eye it was noticeable that his glances were actually following the bell-boy seeking Morgan. Marsh was now convinced that his actions were under surveillance, and he next planned how to throw the man off. As he sat intent on this problem he was startled to hear the bell-boy say, Here's the gentleman, sir! And looking up Marsh saw Morgan standing in front of him. The training of both men forbade any indication of the astonishment both felt, but looking into the other's eyes, each read the question there. Marsh jumped up, and holding out his hand, exclaimed boisterously, Where have you been hiding yourself, I'd about giving you up? I'm sorry I'm late! apologized Morgan in an equally loud voice, taking the cue. He pulled an adjoining chair close to Marsh and sat down. Now, said Marsh in a low voice, it is probably needless to tell you not to make your observation too obvious, but I want to call your attention to the man sitting opposite. Morgan nodded. He has been following me all afternoon, continued Marsh, in the same guarded voice. As long as I sit here I surmise that he will stay where he is. That will give you time to slip out, pick up one of your men, and get him on the job. I suspect it will be worthwhile getting a line on him. That's easy! returned Morgan. I'll have him locked up inside of the next ten minutes. No, said Marsh, that would be taking too big a chance. On the contrary, said Morgan, it would be taking no chance at all. That man has been wanted for a year for pulling over a confidence game. I wouldn't mention any names, because lips sometimes tell stories to watchful eyes. You just sit here, and you'll see something in a few minutes. With that, Morgan went out. A few minutes later, a man strolled through the lobby and approached the stranger. He leaned over and whispered to him, and the two went out together. Marsh was congratulating himself that when this man got to headquarters he might be made to talk to some effect when Morgan and another man, whom Marsh easily recognized as a detective, approached. Where in the blazes did your man go? exclaimed Morgan. Marsh stared for a moment. Why, I thought your man got him, he said. Somebody came in and quietly took him out. Good night! exclaimed Morgan. Somebody must have tipped him off. He turned to the man with him. No use hanging around now, our birds flown. As the man left them, Morgan sat down again beside Marsh. How the deuce did you know I was here? he asked. I didn't, returned Marsh. I had that bell-boy paid you to test the man across from me. I never had such a surprise in my life as when you turned up. What were you doing here? he added. The chief asked me to look into this Merton case. What were you doing here? The same thing, replied Marsh. Looking up Merton? Yes. Well, that's funny, what for? Because I strongly suspect he is the murdered man in our case. Morgan gasped. End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of the Sheridan Road Mystery. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Sheridan Road Mystery by Paul and Mabel Thorn. Chapter 14 The Night Call. As Morgan recovered from his astonishment Marsh anticipated some leading questions. He headed these off at this time by saying, in this case conditions seem to be somewhat reversed. For up to this time we have found practically no one who could be put under surveillance. Yet we have every evidence that we are being carefully watched by others. Several incidents have occurred, including the present little drama, which convinces us of that fact. There is no question that we should again compare notes as soon as possible. But this is a dangerous place to discuss the case. I came here to question certain people. As they will not be on duty until later, there is nothing I can do along that line for a little while. In the meantime, we ought to look over Merton's rooms upstairs. I could not make an attempt to do this because I do not possess the proper authority without explaining my real connections. You however, as a city detective, engaged on the case, will have no difficulty in making arrangements to inspect his room. That is just what I dropped in to do! replied Morgan. Then go ahead and make your arrangements, said Marsh, and when you are ready let me go up with you. If we meet anyone, remember that I am working under the special authorization of Mr. Hunt, and you and I have just become acquainted. Morgan went to the hotel office. In a few minutes he returned with a bell-boy and nodded to Marsh. Guided by the bell-boy, they took an elevator and ascended to Merton's rooms, which they found consisted of a sitting-room, bedroom, and bath. Obeying instructions, the bell-boy at once retired and closed the door after him. They first inspected the bedroom, giving special attention to the dresser. This contained nothing save the usual supply of clothing, which served no other purpose than to indicate the wealth and conservative taste of the owner. Marsh particularly sought some jewelry that might help to identify the cuff button as the property of the lost man. He found nothing, however, and considered it probable that whatever jewelry Merton owned was on his person. From the bedroom the two men went to the sitting-room, which they hoped would hold greater possibilities, for a desk stood in one corner near a window, a framed photograph of Merton's wife and son standing on top of the desk, of course, had no significance. They then began a search of the drawers and the interior of the desk. "'Probably you have noticed,' said Marsh after a moment, the disordered condition of this desk. "'Now that you speak of it,' agreed Morgan, I think it is pretty well must-up.' "'I should say,' commented Marsh, that either Merton is very careless, or else we are not the first people to examine this desk. "'Probably the desk has been gone over, Marsh,' acceded Morgan. But you must remember that Merton has been known to be missing for several days, and hotel employees, even under ordinary circumstances, are apt to be curious. The point is worth remembering, but I doubt if it is of any importance.' One by one they examined various letters and papers. A few touched on business subjects, but the majority were of a personal nature. Most of these were from Merton's wife, the others from businessmen whose well-known names placed them beyond suspicion. In one corner of the desk, Morgan picked up a sheet containing some notations regarding bond purchases. Beneath this he found a black, leather-covered notebook of a size which would conveniently fit into a vest pocket. One glance into this, and Morgan gave an exclamation. "'See here,' he cried, calling Marsh's attention to the book. This notebook has been kept in cipher. These combinations of letters and figures mean absolutely nothing as they stand.' The two men slowly turned the pages, but as Morgan had stated, the matter which the book contained conveyed nothing to them. "'That looks as if Merton had something to conceal, Marsh.' On the face of it, yes,' returned Marsh, but just glanced at this sheet which covered the notebook. From its subject matter I would be inclined to believe that it represented Merton's handwriting. Morgan nodded, and Marsh went on. "'Now, when you come to look at this notebook, even a hasty glance shows a difference in the handwriting. In fact, now that my attention has been drawn to it, there is really a mark difference.' "'Well?' queried Morgan. Offhand,' returned Marsh, I would say that somebody has been keeping a secret record. That person sat at this desk making additional notes. In a moment of forgetfulness, or perhaps the necessity of hasty concealment, the notebook was placed under this sheet, and later overlooked. There is a possibility that this notebook was left by the person who preceded us at this desk.' Morgan took the notebook and examined it carefully for a few minutes. "'In my work,' he said, I have several times run up against ciphers of various kinds. This is unlike anything I ever saw before, and looks as if it would be mighty hard to unravel.' Marsh again took the book, and after carefully examining it, said, "'I don't pretend to be a cipher expert. In fact, I never waste time on it. We have men both here and at Washington, who can read this sort of stuff backward. I'll send this book to them, and we'll soon get a key to the cipher.' At this moment, both men became silent and alert. Someone was slipping a key into the lock of the door. Marsh quickly dropped the notebook into the side pocket of his coat. A moment later the door swung open and Gilbert Hunt entered. He stopped with a start of surprise, but quickly recovered himself. "'You gentlemen gave me a shock,' he exclaimed. "'I didn't expect to find anyone here.' "'Already on the job, Mr. Marsh?' he added. "'Yes,' returned Marsh easily. "'I never lose any time, and this room naturally should be looked over.' "'And this gentleman with you?' questioned Hunt. Detective Sergeant Morgan, Mr. Hunt, introduced Marsh. Morgan is conducting the police investigation. Then he added, with a wink, at Hunt. We met downstairs, and I thought we might as well look things over at the same time. "'I see,' said Hunt, smiling. "'Have you discovered anything?' "'Nothing to which I can attach any great importance at this time,' replied Marsh. "'I thought I would come up and look things over,' explained Hunt, as he strolled over to the desk and ran his fingers through the papers. The two men watched him with keen attention. "'Seems to be nothing here outside of personal correspondence,' said Hunt, turning around. "'Yes,' Morgan answered. "'Those letters appear to be of a very ordinary character. As far as I can see, there is nothing there that would help us.' "'I presume you are working along other lines also?' inquired Hunt. "'Surely,' said Morgan. "'We have several men on the case now.' "'And what have you found, Mr. Marsh?' inquired Hunt. "'Nothing that gives me a lead so far. "'I will report to you as soon as anything comes to light. "'Better come to my home some evening,' Hunt suggested. We can talk in greater privacy than at the office. You will find my address in the telephone directory. "'By the way, I believe you neglected to give me your address this morning, and I do not find your name in the telephone book.' "'That's right,' exclaimed Marsh. "'I believe I did neglect to do that.' Marsh went over to the desk, tore off the corner of a sheet of paper, and wrote down his new address and telephone number. "'It is,' he said, handing the paper to Hunt. "'My name would not be in the telephone book, as my work necessitates frequent changes of address. One month I am liable to be in California and the next in Europe. For the present, however, you will be able to get word to me at the address I have given you. Naturally I will seldom be there, but you can always leave word for me to get in touch with you.' Then Marsh turned to Morgan. "'We'd better be moving along,' he said. "'Yes,' agreed Morgan. "'There's nothing more to be gained here.' After exchanging a few commonplace words with Hunt, the two detectives went out, leaving Hunt in the room. Downstairs in the lobby, Marsh said, I strongly suspect that Hunt wanted to be left alone in that room. That's why I hurried you away. The sooner he gets through up there, the quicker he will leave the hotel. I don't want him around while I am looking up the rest of my information. Now you watch the Madison Street entrance while I stand across the street on LaSalle. When he leaves, the one that sees him will let the other one know. The two men then separated and took up their watch. Hunt must have made a careful examination of Merton's rooms, because it was not until a half an hour later that Morgan rejoined Marsh and informed him that he had seen Hunt enter his automobile on Madison Street and drive away. "'Morgan,' said Marsh, I want to have a talk with you after I get through here. "'Suppose I come to your apartment tonight?' "'Fine,' agreed Morgan. "'I have some information to give you. I'll run up to headquarters now, make a report, and go right home. I will find me there whenever you are ready.' And here is a suggestion, Morgan. When either of us calls on the other, the signal will be three knocks on the door instead of pushing the electric bell. I have the suspicion that answering a bell these days will have to be conducted with caution. "'Perhaps you are right,' said Morgan. I'll remember.' Morgan then walked up LaSalle Street while Marsh crossed over and entered the hotel once more. There was now only one person who might give him a really definite lead, the night telephone operator, and he went straight to her switchboard. Marsh knew that this young woman was probably overfed with smooth talk, so he counted upon getting better results by going straight to the point. "'Good evening,' he said. "'You are the night operator here, are you not?' The young woman, who was arranging things before her in a way that indicated she had but recently come on duty, replied in the affirmative. "'Do you remember Mr. Merton, who has been reported missing?' asked Marsh. "'You should say I do,' exclaimed the girl. An awfully nice man. He appreciated good service. Every Saturday night he gave me a box of candy.' "'Read this,' said Marsh, handing her his authorization from Hunt. "'Oh, I do hope you find out something,' said the girl, as she returned the paper to Marsh. "'I just hate to think anything serious had happened to Mr. Merton.' "'All right,' answered Marsh, "'then you'll be willing to help me.' "'What can I do?' she inquired. "'Mr. Merton's kindness to you made an impression upon you. Did it not?' Marsh asked. The girl nodded. Then you would naturally recollect anything of an unusual nature which might have taken place during the last few days. Would you not?' "'Yes, I think so,' returned the girl, somewhat guardedly. A telephone call, late at night, suggested Marsh. The girl was busy with her switchboard for a time. Then she leaned back and looked at Marsh. "'See here,' she said, "'I do almost anything to help find that man, but I can't take a chance on losing my job.' Marsh now knew that he was going to get important information if he handled the matter diplomatically. "'Remember,' he added confidentially, "'I am not a regular detective. I have nothing to do with the city police department. There will be no publicity attached to anything I learn. I am merely looking up confidential information for Mr. Hunt, who, as you know, has charge of Mr. Merton's business.' The girl was again busy at the switchboard, and when at last there came a pause, she looked carefully around to see that no one else was with an earshot. Then she leaned toward Marsh. "'He got a telephone message at twelve o'clock on Monday night,' she whispered. "'You mean last Monday?' questioned Marsh. He recollected that Merton had been reported missing for ten days. The girl nodded. "'Of course, at that hour,' suggested Marsh. "'You were not very busy, and would therefore be likely to listen in on the wire.' "'The very idea!' she exclaimed indignantly. "'Look here,' said Marsh. "'If I can rescue Merton from the predicament he is probably in, someone will be handsomely rewarded. Is it not a safe bet that the person who gives me the correct information to put me on the right track will be pretty well taken care of?' The girl sat in thoughtful silence. And if Mr. Merton should happen to be dead, Mrs. Merton would be very grateful indeed to anyone who had helped her to learn the truth.' Marsh added. Again the girl looked cautiously about. The hint of an ample reward was having its effect. "'If I lose my job,' she warned, and then again leaned towards Marsh. "'I listened in all right. It was a man who said his name was Nolan. From what I heard I think he used to be the chauffeur for Mr. Merton. He said he was in an awful hole, and that he was unjustly accused of theft, and that they were about to lock him up. He asked Mr. Merton if he could do anything to keep him out of this disgrace. Mr. Merton said he would try, and asked where he was. Nolan said he was being detained in the apartment of a man named Ames. At some place on Sheridan Road, I forget the exact number.' "'Did Mr. Merton go there, then? Do you know?' "'I couldn't tell you that.' He simply said, All right, and hung up the receiver. "'You have given me just the information I needed,' said Marsh. "'Your job is in no danger if you let this matter rest just between us two. If anyone else should question you, you don't know anything. And above all, forget about me. You get the idea?' "'You bet!' replied the girl, as she turned again to her switchboard. Marsh left the hotel, well satisfied with his progress. It was now fairly well established that Richard Townsend Merton was the victim of Clark Atwood. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of the Sheridan Road Mystery. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Sheridan Road Mystery by Paul and Mabel Thorn. Chapter 15 Dead Men Tell No Tales Up to this time the case had seemed one of the most mysterious with which Marsh had ever had to deal. Now, however, while elements of mystery still remained, he had certain definite clues upon which to work. The little notebook in his pocket might prove to be a key which would unlock the final barrier. The most important thing before him now, therefore, was to secure a solution to the cipher. It was of too important a nature to trust the males, so Marsh decided to put it directly into official hands. He glanced at his watch. It was after six, and being Saturday, it was likely that these men had left their offices in the Federal Building. At the same time, this was a very busy branch of the government, and it was just possible that someone might be lingering late. Marsh decided to take a chance. It had been clearly impressed upon him by this time that he was no longer free to come and go unnoticed. At this very moment there might be a pair of eyes somewhere in that hurrying throng on LaSalle Street ready to follow his every move. However much they might suspect him, his exact status in the case was probably still a puzzle to them. He did not believe it safe as yet to betray his connection with the government. The problem, then, was to reach the Federal Building without being followed. Marsh called a taxi, and loudly giving an address on the south side was whirled away. Taking out a bill, he laid it on the seat. In a couple of blocks the taxi was held up for a moment by traffic, and Marsh stepped hastily out and softly closed the door. He dashed up the street, turned out an alleyway, and halfway down the block turned again through another alley that brought him to a different street. In these dark, deserted byways, he could have instantly detected any attempt to follow him. A few minutes later he entered the Federal Building, quite sure that any possible pursuers had been thrown off the trail. He found a hardworking official still in his office, and showing his credentials and explaining the object of his visit, Marsh turned over the notebook. Then he slipped out of the Federal Building, and went to a nearby restaurant to get his dinner. After dinner he proceeded by devious routes to keep his appointment with Morgan. Climbing to Morgan's apartment, Marsh gave three wraps, the signal agreed upon. Tierney opened the door, but after an exchange of greetings, he looked on his cap and passed out into the hall to stand guard. Both of us must have important information, said Morgan. Which of us shall tell it first? Let me hear your story first. Returned Marsh. All right, agreed Morgan. Here goes. My chief information lies in the fact that we now have two men who are undoubtedly connected with Atwood. Both of these men are known to the police, and once we get our eyes on them, they will probably lead us to the men we want. It is only a question of hours, perhaps, because every man on the force now has their descriptions, and will keep his eyes open. The first of these is Wagner, the man you saw in the hotel lobby. The other is the man who attacked Miss Atwood. With her description in mind, Tierney and I looked over the photographs at headquarters. We picked out a man known as Baldi Newman as best answering the description. I took a copy of the photograph to Miss Atwood at her hotel, and while she was not sure, she said it was enough like the man she saw to be the same person. Now this Baldi Newman is a well-known Westside gunman, and we know his usual hangouts. He's a little bit of a shrimp, but an expert with his gun, and therefore a dangerous customer to handle. So Tierney and I were mighty vigilant. We found, however, that for nearly two years, he has shown up only twice at his old hangouts. That time ties up in a significant way with your story, Marsh. The last time was early on Monday night when he showed a roll of money and boasted that he was going to pull off a real job that night. We got this from the bartender, who was mighty sore at Baldi. It seems that our friend had slipped a five-dollar bill off his roll to pay for drinks for the crowd, and the bartender still has this bill as a souvenir. It was a counterfeit. Of course there's enough in all that to positively tie Baldi up with our case, even if Miss Atwood had not been fairly confident of her identification. Now, continued Morgan, here's some stuff I brought for you. Sooner or later I believe you can make use of it. Morgan handed some photographs to Marsh, which he explained as Marsh looked them over. The first, he said, is a photograph of Baldi Newman. He's a good man for you to keep your eye out for, because if he ever shot first it would be all day with you. The second photograph is of Wagner. You have already seen him, but this picture will fix him more firmly in your mind. The next photograph is the one our man made of Atwood's letter. Of course, the letter doesn't tell us much, but the handwriting may. That last photograph is of the handmarks on the dining room table in the Ames apartment. Ordinarily, marks of that kind would tell very little. Our fingerprint expert, however, called my attention to the fact that there was a scar on the right hand. Of course, a scar in that position may be found on many hands, but if you look carefully at that photograph, you will see that the scar forms a sort of acute angle. It is therefore not an ordinary scar. The man whose hand we find it on is pretty sure to be one of the men who was in the Ames apartment that night. High class crooks like Atwood, while they work alone, are often hard to get, but sooner or later they grow ambitious. They want to be the brains of an organization. Then they call in second-rate crooks like Baldi and Wagner to do the dirty work. These men are never so clever, and some day, through them, the police get their hands on the man higher up. I think, Marsh, that in this case that is what we are going to do. You've done well, Morgan, praised Marsh. I believe on the whole that, while I have secured some valuable information, your work has really brought us the nearest to the man we want. That was pretty sharp of you to tie up Burton with the case, commented Morgan. Of course, when you mentioned it to me, I saw its possibilities. Before that, I was thrown off the track by the fact that Merton was reported to have been missing for ten days, whereas this supposed crime occurred at two o'clock last Tuesday morning. Why do you suppose that fellow Hunt threw us off like that? Probably he did not do it intentionally, answered Marsh. Hunt is running the business for Merton, and very likely saw little of him outside of the office. It may have been ten days since Merton had appeared at his office, although only a few days since he was missing from the hotel. What made you suspect it in the first place? inquired Morgan. I'll tell you the whole story, said Marsh. Naturally, I was watching the papers for missing people. When I saw that announcement this morning and remembered the M on the cuff button, it began to look like a possibility. At any rate, it was worth looking up. To get at the real facts, I knew that I would have to be on the inside, so I presented myself to Hunt this morning as a private investigator who was anxious to get the job of looking up Merton in the interest of his office. I think I got closer to Hunt than any policeman ever would. Merton was furnished with inside information that may or may not be significant. This man Hunt holds a power of attorney for Merton, and Merton's will names him as the sole executor. Of course, to a criminal investigator, that sounds bad on its face. On the other hand, if Hunt possessed such power with Merton, there could be no object in his wanting to get him out of the way. Certainly, a man in Hunt's position would not have had dealings with a crook like Atwood. Furthermore, if Hunt did want to make away with Merton, he would more likely do it himself than take the risk of employing others, and so place himself in a position to be blackmailed later. Carrying the thought still further, would a clever man like Atwood take a chance of upsetting his own plans by hiring himself out to Hunt as a common thug? I am positive that Atwood either killed or kidnapped Merton, for I have discovered, through the telephone girl at the hotel, that Merton received a telephone call at twelve o'clock Monday night summoning him out. That telephone call was supposed to come from the Ames apartment. At two o'clock Tuesday morning, the shot was fired in that apartment, and Merton has not been seen since. We know definitely that Atwood occupies the apartment across the hall, but at this time I cannot see any possible connection between the two men. Hunt is evidently nervous, because it is my opinion that he used undue influence over Merton, and this disappearance has placed him in a peculiar position. I particularly called this phase of the case to his attention this morning, and subtly suggested that my work would be of value to him in preventing suspicion on the part of the police. That feature was plainly what made him decide to employ me, and I am relying upon it to eventually get further valuable information. The little book with notes in cipher, which we discovered in Merton's room, is somewhat of a puzzle to me just now. It may contain information that will be helpful, or it may prove just a memoranda of business deals. We must not overlook the fact that a man in Merton's line of work, and the men with whom he did business, have many big plans which must be kept secret until they are launched. That book may have contained data along such lines, and Merton may have simply been referring to it when suddenly called out. You will recall that we found a memorandum regarding business transactions covering the book. But, protested Morgan, there must have been some connection between Merton and Atwood, or else Atwood would not have taken such a dangerous step against him. Even you will admit that Atwood was not an ordinary crook. Doubtless then, every step he took was the result of a definite plan. Quite true, agreed Marsh. But there was never a plan yet that didn't have possibilities of failure. You remember what I have said before, that I believed that shot to have been a mistake. If the shot was a mistake, could not other mistakes have also crept in? Get Atwood, and I believe that many things will be cleared up. Now, there is one more thing, went on Marsh. I cannot tell you where I got the tip, and the information is only general. Still it helps. There are at least four men in the gang we seek, and their headquarters is in some suburban house near Chicago. The most important point, however, is this. They know positively that we are after them, and have made arrangements to get out at the first opportunity. That means we must work fast. Morgan was sitting in his favorite chair by the table. Marsh was seated at the front of the room with his back to the window. At this moment the window glass above his head cracked, and a dull thud sounded on the wall across the room, and bits of paper and plaster dropped to the floor. Finally Marsh slipped down in his chair, so that his head came below its back, while Morgan's hand shut out and snapped off the electric lamp on the table, throwing the room into darkness. Aside from the slight cracking of the window glass and the dull crash as the missile struck the plastered wall, there had been no other sound. Morgan left his chair, and felt his way through the darkened room. Opening the hall door, he cautiously peered out. Tierney, with his hands in his trouser pockets, was leaning with his back against the wall. He glanced up quickly as the door opened. "'Everything all right, Tierney?' inquired Morgan. "'Sure thing.' "'Haven't seen or heard anybody?' "'Nope.' Morgan closed the door and moved back into the room. "'Dead men tell no tales,' said Marsh lightly. "'Was it that, or just a warning?' questioned Morgan. "'People do not go to all that trouble just to deliver a warning, Morgan. They want it to get me.' "'Why you?' protested Morgan. "'I was here, too. They couldn't possibly have seen you where you sat, Morgan. And my head, sticking above the back of this chair, and showing against the lamp-light, made an excellent target. Marsh now rose and examined the window. "'A nice, clean hole,' he commented, and not more than two inches above my head. A mighty good marksman, with a high-powered rifle, evidently. "'Rifle!' exclaimed Morgan. "'We didn't hear a sound.' "'Come here,' Marsh called. Morgan joined him at the window. From here you can see the grandstand in the ballpark. The upper tiers are on a line with this window. "'But,' objected Morgan, "'that is too far away for any man to get a good sight. And remember, we heard no shot. Don't forget,' Marsh reminded him, that we live in scientific times. With a telescopic sight and a maxim silencer on his rifle, a good marksman could steady it on the back of one of those seats and pick us off at twice the distance without a sound. "'It is very discouraging,' groaned Morgan, to think that we may have been picked off before we even began to get near our man. On the contrary,' returned Marsh, "'it is very encouraging. When a criminal gets as desperate as that, you are not very far away from him.' Marsh then pulled down the shades and instructed Morgan to light the lamp once more. "'Seems kind of dangerous under the circumstances,' remonstrated Morgan. On the contrary, the man who fired that shot is probably miles away by this time. He is doubtless laughing to think of fat policemen crawling around all over the benches up there right now. "'They would have been,' admitted Morgan, "'if I had been alone. As it was, I left it to you to do what you thought best. I have a special reason, however, for lighting the lamp and pulling down the shades,' explained Marsh. "'It is just possible that another member of the gang is watching out there for me to leave. Pulling down the shades and lighting up will lead him to think I am still here. In the meantime, I am about to slip down your back stairs.' "'Where are you going to stay tonight?' inquired Morgan. "'Home, of course.' "'I admire your nerve,' exclaimed Morgan, sleeping up in that place all alone with these fellows hot on your trail. Marsh laughed. "'Seems to me they're pretty close to your house, too, Morgan. Aren't you going to sleep at home?' "'Yes,' said Morgan grinning, but somehow or other that big, half-furnished place of yours seems more dismal and open to the enemy than my little home here, with the police station only a couple of blocks away. You forget that I have two policemen unguard up there. They have not been ordered off yet. If I were to let my imagination scare me to death, Morgan, I would have been out of the government service long ago. This experience is no worse than some of the things I went through during the war. Now, before I go, there are two matters I should like you and Tierney to look up for me. First, locate a man named Nolan, who was formerly Mr. Merton's chauffeur. Find out what he has been doing for the last week or two, particularly where he was last Monday night. Nolan is the man who is supposed to have telephoned Merton. Then, try to get along on Gilbert Hunt, how long he has been with Merton, and things of that sort. I will look for you at my apartment Monday evening. If anything important should happen in the meantime, try to get me on the telephone. Now, I'm going. As they passed through the apartment, Morgan said, I'm sorry you didn't meet my mother. She never interrupts conferences and has gone to bed by this time. There will be many other opportunities, I hope," returned Marsh. By this time they had reached the back door, and after a silent handshake Marsh slipped quickly down the rear stairs, then through the alley to Addison Street, where he boarded an elevated train and went home. He was reassured by the careful way in which the officer on duty in front of his house scrutinized him as he passed, and went up stairs and straight to bed. It had been a busy day, and Marsh had many half-formed plans for the morrow. CHAPTER XVI Sunday morning was gray and dark, with low-hanging clouds and a frosty snap in the air that gave the city its first touch of real autumn weather. Returning from breakfast Marsh lit the gas logs in his fireplace and sat down before their cheery blaze to smoke and think. Step by step he analyzed and strove to connect the developments of the last few days. The case was strange in many ways. With numerous clues, suspicious circumstances, and half-identified people on every hand, there was no one feature upon which definite action could be taken. Atwood was the most elusive criminal he had ever pursued. Never at any time had the man become an actual personality. Like a will of the wisp he was ever in sight, yet just beyond reach, while the detective struggled along tangled paths that led nowhere, Atwood's long arm continually reached out to strike back. As he thought along these lines, an explanation slowly took form in Marsh's mind. In some of its features it seemed weird and unreal. This perhaps was due to the fact that the few definite pieces of information in his possession had to be largely supported and connected by theories and deductions. Dangerous the explanation might seem, it nevertheless gave birth to a well-defined plan of action. In this way the morning slipped by, and Marsh was surprised, unlooking at his watch, to find that it was nearly noon. He went to his telephone, called the Monmouth Hotel, and asked to speak to Miss Atwood. When the girl answered the telephone, Marsh inquired if she would care to have dinner with him. The invitation was accepted with quite evident pleasure on the girl's part, and Marsh soon left to keep his appointment with her. On his way to the hotel Marsh stepped into a cigar store, looked up Gilbert Hunt's telephone number, and made an appointment for the evening. Marsh took this precaution of telephoning Hunt from a pay station, because a telephone call is easily traced, and he had not yet decided to advise Hunt of his real address. Jane Atwood joined Marsh in the lobby of the hotel, and the friendliness of her greeting made him glad of his decision to take her on the trip he had planned for the afternoon. They had dinner at the Edgewood Beach Hotel. It was the girl's first visit to this show-place of the Northside, and Marsh was delighted with her animated interest in everything about her. In fact, he found it hard to believe that this girl, whose bright chatter, sunny smile, and sparkling eyes now held him fascinated, had so recently been through such trying experiences. Marsh felt that it was a natural reaction brought about by this diversion, and he longed afterward remembered it as one of the happiest hours in a life that had been replete with professional adventure, but barren in the companionship of women of her sort. As they sat sipping their coffee, Marsh said, I imagine you have seen very little of Chicago, Miss Atwood? Yes, she admitted, one takes less interest in things when sight seeing trips must be made alone. You know I have not seemed to make any friends in Chicago. When I can spare the time I want to take you around a little. I am sure that you would enjoy the art museum, for art is akin to music, and from what you have told me I know that you are deeply interested in that. Yes, she replied, music has always been my chief companion, the dreams that other girls confide in chums I have told to my piano. Marsh lit a cigarette and smoked for a moment in silence. How would you like to take a little trip with me out to one of the North Shore suburbs this afternoon? He inquired. I should enjoy it very much, she said. Well, Marsh went on, there is a house out at Hubbard Woods that I want to look over this afternoon for a friend. This is just the day for a stroll along the autumn-leafed roads. I thought perhaps you would like to go with me. Marsh aided her with her wraps and they walked across to the elevated railroad. At Evanston, a few miles north of the city, they changed to the suburban electric line. The girl took a lively interest in the pretty suburban towns through which they passed, and it seemed to Marsh as if they had just boarded the train when the conductor called out their station and they alighted. The place was well named, a lonely little station set down in the midst of thick woods, and a road that wound slightly downhill and away among the trees were all that met the eye. They strolled down this road, passing occasional homes. These were usually well back from the road and almost concealed among the trees. In fact, in some places the house itself was not visible, the only indication of a residence being an ornamental gateway or sometimes a simple driveway disappearing into the woods. Everyone leased rustled about their feet, but much of the foliage remained on the trees. Some of this was still green, setting off the masses of autumn colors that ranged from a somber brown to vivid reds and many shades of yellow. And a great city only a few miles away mused Marsh, giving voice to both their thoughts. It is beautiful, admitted the girl, but so lonely and quiet. Somehow one feels so far, far away from everything. Perhaps the gloomy day affects me, but it seems as if the air were full of some solemn mystery. At this point Marsh saw a young couple strolling on the other side of the road. He surmised that they were local residents and excusing himself to Miss Atwood, crossed over and inquired of the man if he knew where the Merton estate was located. Yes, was the reply, just keep on south along Sheridan Road. It won't take you five minutes to get there. The place is on the left hand side of the road. You can't miss it, a gateway with gray stone posts and there are two big pines inside the entrance to the driveway. Thanking him Marsh rejoined Miss Atwood. I wanted to find out how to locate the place I was looking for," he explained. You will pardon my leaving you alone, but it seemed unnecessary to make you cross the street. Oh, I didn't mind," she replied. Marsh's real reason, however, in thus leaving Miss Atwood, was to prevent her hearing mention of the name of Merton. Unquestionably the girl had read of the case in the papers, and after her own recent experiences might feel a certain timidity in approaching the missing broker's home, especially after her recent mention of how the surroundings affected her. A slight turn in the road brought them to the driveway which the young men had described. There was no mistaking the two great pines that stood like sentinels at either side, just back of the imposing stone gateway. One of these trees was evidently dead, for it was gaunt and bare, in marked contrast to its companion, and as they posed a moment before the entrance the wind broke off a rotting branch which fell at their feet. The gates of iron grill-work were standing open, and they turned in and started up the driveway, which was covered with crushed gray stone. The house was farther from the road than Marsh had expected, for it was several minutes before they reached it. As he stood before the great pile of stone and wood, with its drawn shades and general appearance of desertion, Marsh thought of the long winding road through the woods behind them, and half regretted that he had brought Miss Atwood with him. His desire had been to attract as little attention as possible in his inspection of the house. One man scouting around this lonely place would have been a suspicious object. On the other hand, it had seemed to him that a man and woman, out for an afternoon stroll, might exhibit an interest in a large country house without attracting suspicious attention. But now, as he stood there in the gray autumn light, with the wind sighing through the trees about them and a fine snow beginning to drift down, the place seemed to take on an uncanny atmosphere that, even though nothing worse could happen, would have a depressing effect on the girl. It was too late to back out, however. It would be hard to explain a sudden retreat to the girl. And there was no time to be lost in trying to get the information which he sought. Marsh glanced at his companion. She was looking around with evident interest, and he was glad to note that as yet she exhibited no signs of nervousness. I understand there is a caretaker here. Will you come up with me while I ring the bell? The girl assented, and they climbed the wide steps over which the autumn leaves were thickly scattered. Whether or not the bell rang, Marsh could not tell. But certainly no sound came to them. He decided to knock and struck the door with the knuckles of his clenched hand. At the first blow the door moved and swung inward. A large hall stretched dimly before them. At one side Marsh saw a stairway, and at the other a high curtain doorway, which probably led to the drawing-room. At the back of the hall seemed to be another smaller doorway, but Marsh could not be sure in the dim light. He was in a quandary. So far as he could see the house was deserted. Possibly the caretaker was spending his Sunday afternoon with friends, and the door had been closed carelessly so that the latch had not caught. Had Marsh been alone he would have welcomed this opportunity to carefully inspect the house. The girl now blocked such an attempt, for it was obviously unwise, for many reasons, to ask her to accompany him into the house, and he could not consider the idea of leaving her alone even for a few minutes. There was no alternative but to postpone his visit until the next day. Marsh stepped through the doorway, pulled the door closed, and tried the doorknob to see that the door had latched securely. As he turned away he glanced toward the shrubbery that bordered the adjoining woods. Although he turned instantly to the girl and started to assist her down the steps, Marsh's quick eyes had noted a man crouching half-concealed in the shrubbery. As they retraced their steps down the driveway Marsh kept a firm grasp on the automatic in his pocket, while his eyes, without apparent interest, continually watched the trees and shrubbery on either side. They reached the main road without incident and turned north toward the station. Not a word had been spoken as they passed along the driveway, for Marsh had been too intent upon keeping a keen watch to think of words, and the depressing atmosphere of the place had evidently begun to affect Miss Atwood. In fact, Marsh thought that she seemed to brighten as soon as they passed through the gateway. Are you in the real estate business, Mr. Marsh? She asked. No, he replied. What made you think that? You never told me what your business was, she answered, and your coming out here to look at that house today gave me the idea that you might be interested in real estate. No, he said, I'm not interested in real estate. Then added evasively, but not quite untruthily, I am planning, however, to go into some sort of business in Chicago. The fact was that since meeting this girl Marsh had began to take an entirely different view of life. He looked back upon his wanderings and realized the emptiness of the passing years. It seemed to him now that a man could ask for nothing more than to settle down to some regular employment in such a wonderful city and go home every night to find this girl waiting for him. Marsh stepped up the motor bus at Oak Street to keep his appointment with Hunt. He reflected that he had never seen a street so representative of Chicago and its rapid growth. At his back was the great new Drake Hotel, and the whole neighborhood was one of wealth and fashion. Yet as he passed along the street he noticed tiny frame or brick dwellings nestling shoulder to shoulder with obviously wealthy homes, and here and there the dark towering structures of old and new apartment buildings. He found Hunt's apartment in one of the new buildings and paused for a moment on the curb to look it over, though handsome architecturally and modern in every respect there was a peculiar somberness about the building and the bright lamps that gleamed at the entrance but served to exaggerate the dim interior of the hallway. Not realizing exactly why he did so, but probably responding to an instinct for caution, Marsh strolled back and forth before entering the building. He noted two dark and narrow alleyways on either side. One of these reached through a dim deep recess in the front wall was evidently the tradesman's entrance. Marsh then entered the vestibule and pushed the bell under Hunt's name. This was immediately answered by the clicking of the electric door opener. Hunt's manservant stood at the apartment door, and after closing it behind him ushered Marsh down a short hall and into the living room. Marsh's quick eye took in the luxuriousness of the furnishings and something more. He surmised that Hunt was a bachelor. Hunt advanced to meet him with extended hand. Good evening, Mr. Marsh, Hunt greeted him affably. I hope you bring me some important information. I think it will be at least interesting, returned Marsh, as he handed his hat and coat to Hunt's man. A log fire blazed in a large open fireplace. Before this was a deeply upholstered Davenport, plentifully supplied with extra cushions, and at either side of the fireplace were large lounging chairs. Hunt called Marsh's attention to these and told him to make himself comfortable. As Hunt seated himself on the Davenport, Marsh decided to take one of the chairs near the fire. This gave him the advantage of having the firelight on Hunt's face, while his own was more or less in the shadow, for the heavily shaded lamps about the room furnished only a soft glow that made details indistinct. Hunt clasped his hands and, leaning forward, rested his elbows on his knees. Tell me what you found in Merton's rooms yesterday, he said. I found absolutely nothing of importance, replied Marsh. It might be splitting hairs, he thought, but it was Morgan who had actually discovered the notebook. I looked carefully through his dresser, he went on, and also examined all the papers in the desk. And you found nothing of importance, Mr. Marsh? Nothing, replied Marsh, putting as strong a note of positiveness into his voice as possible, for he now began to suspect to whom the notebook had belonged. The desk contained only personal and a little business correspondence. Morgan and I examined all the signatures. If you looked at correspondence over, as I presume you did, you will acknowledge that no suspicion could be directed at the men whose names appeared there. Hunt nodded in an absent-minded way, and again asked, Perhaps this man, Morgan, found something? I would have known if he had, said Marsh again evasively. I entered the room with him, and as you know we left together. Hunt now seemed satisfied that Marsh had no special information to give him about the contents of Merton's rooms. Well, tell me just what you have discovered, he said, settling back into a corner of the Davenport. For one thing Marsh began, I know that Mr. Merton is dead. He leisurely took out his cigarette case, carefully selected a cigarette, and touched a match to it. It was evident that this act on Marsh's part was intended to give Hunt time in which to think and pass some comment if he cared to. The man remained silent. All right, my friend, thought Marsh, we'll tell you a little more, just enough to make you think, and perhaps act. Then he continued aloud, I work along somewhat different lines than those followed by the police. For example, I frequently get better results by sitting down quietly in my room, laying certain obvious circumstances before me, and through what you might call a method of addition, derive an answer to my problem. Quite interesting, murmured Hunt. And that is the way I have worked out this problem. Tell me the details, said Hunt. While you reported to the police that Mr. Merton has been missing for ten days, I discovered by inquiries at his hotel that he was in his room as late as last Monday night. In fact, he was seen to leave the hotel at midnight. So I have heard, Hunt broke in hastily. At the time I notified the police, I had not seen Mr. Merton at the office, for about ten days. Marsh nodded and inquired. I suppose you follow the papers carefully every day? Naturally, was the reply. Then, said Marsh, you probably read about the murder on Sheridan Road last Tuesday morning. The Sheridan Road mystery, the papers called it? Yes, I read about that affair. Didn't it make you think? Asked Marsh. I don't understand. I'll explain, said Marsh. Mr. Merton left his hotel at midnight Monday. Two hours later a man was murdered in the Sheridan Road apartment. Mr. Merton has not been seen since. Well... queried Hunt. I have just been wondering, that's all, answered Marsh, throwing the remains of his cigarette into the fireplace. There was a slight pause, as he selected another from his case and lit it. Mr. Marsh, said Hunt, you are driving at something, what is it? Just this, answered Marsh, leaning forward and looking Hunt in the eye, you hold a power of attorney from Mr. Merton. You are to be the sole executor of his estate. Mrs. Merton may not return for years. That's an easy way to get a business, Mr. Hunt. Hunt adjusted a couple of pillows and settled back again. Do I gather from your remarks, Mr. Marsh, that you mean to imply something? No, returned Marsh. I am just stating an obvious situation. Hunt now leaned toward Marsh. Have the police arrived at the same conclusions? Have you ever noticed, countered Marsh, that what the police know usually appears in the papers? You mean by that, that the police have not formed the same connection which you have? I inferred as much, returned Marsh. Are you thinking of bringing your theories to their attention? Asked Hunt, as he again settled himself back against the cushions. That depends. On what? inquired Hunt. Yourself. Hunt remained silent for a moment. Then said, do I understand that you are making me a proposition? I am not laying myself open to a charge of blackmail, Mr. Hunt. No, jeered Hunt, I see you are a clever rogue. I might have guessed as much when you offer to investigate this matter for me. A man must make a living, returned Marsh. This is a cheap way to do it. I haven't had your opportunities, snapped Marsh. Damn you! cried Hunt, leaping to his feet and shaking his fist in Marsh's face. I'll hand you over to the police. And lose a good lieutenant, Mr. Hunt? You're a dirty, blackered Marsh, stormed Hunt. You've worked your way into my confidence and now attempt to use your knowledge to hold me up. I admit that you've got me by the throat. A man placed in the position which you have made only too clear to me, has only one way out. Of course, I could clear myself, but the stigma and suspicion would remain. All right, what's your price?" Marsh stared in puzzled silence for a moment, as Hunt glared down at him. In some ways the outcome of the conversation was not exactly what he had expected. Mr. Hunt, he said rising, I'm in this thing for a bigger game than a few hundred dollars. I told you to name your price, replied Hunt. As I told you before, returned Marsh, I am not laying myself open to a charge of blackmail. You think the matter over for a day or two. And in the meantime, I'll take my coat and hat. Hunt hesitated for a moment, then struck a bell which stood on a small table by the Davenport. A moment later his man appeared with Marsh's coat and hat and assisted him to put on his coat. Good night, Mr. Hunt, said Marsh, smiling, and holding out his hand. Good night," said Hunt shortly, turning away and ignoring the proffered hand. The servant opened the door and Marsh passed out. He hurried over to Rush Street and into the telephone booth in a nearby drugstore. He talked for a few minutes over the telephone and then took a street-car for home. A half hour later an observant person might have noticed a man lingering in the shadows of Oak Street. End of CHAPTER XVI. Early Monday morning Marsh started for Hubbard Woods to carry out his investigations regarding the Merton House. These investigations must be conducted along different lines from those he had contemplated on Sunday, for his last interview with Hunt had considerably changed his position in the matter. Hunt now regarded him with suspicion and it might be considered probable that he had even gone so far as to warn the caretaker he had said was in charge against admitting Marsh. Marsh intended to have another look at the place, but only a surreptitious one from the cover of the woods. His chief object now was to discover if neighbors knew anything about the place. As he came down the road he recognized the turn which the day before had brought him directly in front of the gate, so he stepped to the side of the road and approached the turn with caution, for he did not want anyone who might be coming from the house to find him near it at this time. As Marsh walked slowly around the bend in the road he saw the rear of a closed car just disappearing between the gate posts. Only the guarded way in which he had approached had prevented the occupants of the car from seeing him. Marsh hurried to the shelter of one of the big stone gate posts and peered around it in time to note that the car was a large black one of the limousine type. The next minute it was lost to view around a curve in the driveway and Marsh paused for a moment to reflect. This might be Hunt's car, bringing him up for one of the visits which he had said he was accustomed to make. On the other hand it seemed to early an hour for a man of Hunt's habits. Moreover Marsh had reason to believe that Hunt's car would be followed and certainly there was no one else in sight now. Marsh decided that the matter was worth investigating and turned into the concealing shadow of the woods. He made his way with difficulty through the tangled underbrush in what he believed to be the general direction of the house. His guess was correct, for the house was before him when he emerged a few minutes later from the woods. He was protected from the sight of anyone in the house by a screen of heavy shrubbery which divided the lawn from the woods. He found that in his unguided advance through the woods he had approached the house to the south so that he saw not only the house itself, but also a good view of the garage at the back. The car had evidently just been run into the garage, for a man was closing the doors, while another stood nearby. A moment later the two men approached the house and passed out of sight. Marsh presumed that they had used the back door which was out of his line of vision. While the distance was too great for him to see the men's features distinctly, he knew that neither of them was Hunt, for he was now sufficiently familiar with Hunt's figure to have easily recognized it. To have seen one man or woman around the premises would not have surprised Marsh as he was prepared to find a caretaker in charge. That two men should drive up in an expensive automobile, however, store it in the garage and enter the house as if perfectly at home was a peculiar incident. Caretakers do not usually have automobiles, certainly not expensive limousines. If the family had been away for a few days it would be natural for the chauffeur or some of the servants to use the car. But this house had been closed for two years, and Marsh was under the impression that Merton had not been using a private car. If he had been using a car it was hardly likely that he would have let his old chauffeur go. The telephone conversation which the girl at the hotel had overheard between Merton and the supposed Nolan indicated that Merton had more than a casual regard for his ex- chauffeur or the men would not have appealed to him. Marsh's suspicions now being definitely aroused he decided not to take a chance by showing himself in the open. This might very probably be the house in the suburbs, and he was not prepared to battle alone with four or more desperate men. Though he lingered for some time in his place of concealment there were no further signs of life, so Marsh, deciding that he was wasting valuable time, crept cautiously into the woods and worked his way back through the undergrowth to the main road. The next step was to find a close neighbor. Having twice approached the house from the north, Marsh knew that there was no residence near it on that side. He turned south therefore, and after going only a few hundred feet, approached a gateway that was similar in many respects to that at the entrance to the driveway of the Merton house. It lacked the tall, distinctive pines, however, and a short distance inside the gate he could see a cozy little gardener's cottage or lodge. Marsh was pleased at this discovery, for he had hoped to locate something of the kind. Servants are more easily questioned, more talkative, and usually in the possession of a larger amount of neighborhood gossip than their employers. He approached the door and knocked. Come in, called a feminine voice, unquestionably Swedish in its accent. Marsh opened the door and found himself in a room that appeared to be kitchen, sitting, and dining room. A small round table was set for two, and a woman stood near the stove, preparing lunch or a midday dinner. Marsh had not realized how quickly the morning was passing. The woman's occupation reminded him that he was hungry, and also gave him a sudden inspiration. He would offer to buy his lunch here, for people always grow more friendly and communicative over a meal. You want my husband? He bent calm in a minute, the woman said, when she saw Marsh. No, replied Marsh, I wasn't looking for your husband. I've been walking around the neighborhood, and thought perhaps I could get lunch here. I'll pay you well for your trouble. The woman smiled broadly, dear bane enough, one more, just sit down one, two minute. Marsh laid his hat and coat on an old-fashioned couch that stood against the wall, and was about to sit down beside them when the door opened again and a stocky man entered. His tanned face was expressionless, and the eyes looked dully at Marsh. A lock of light brown hair drooped over his forehead from under a cap, which he wore well back on his head. The cap seemed to be a fixture, for it was not removed while Marsh remained, and the detective had the humorous thought that it might also serve as a nightcap. I gave this gentleman lunch, explained the woman. The man grunted, took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and sat down at the table. Not very talkative, thought Marsh. Then the woman told him to sit down at the place she had prepared for him. She heaped the three plates with a stew-like mixture. Marsh did not recognize it, but he liked the flavor. With this and the fresh homemade bread, a cup of strong coffee, and urged on by a healthy appetite, which his morning in the frosty country air had made keener, he enjoyed his lunch. To these people, eating was just a part of their day's work, and beyond the satisfying of a natural appetite, evidently produced no special feeling of enjoyment. Contrary to his expectations, therefore, Marsh did not find an opportunity to open a conversation. One or two remarks were greeted merely with grunts, so he decided to wait until the business of eating had been completed. The man's food disappeared rapidly, including a second helping, and Marsh was pleased to see him at last take out an old cob pipe and fill it with an evil-looking, strong spelling tobacco from a dirty paper package. Marsh lit a cigarette, chiefly as a matter of protection. "'Have you lived here long?' inquired Marsh, addressing the man. "'Tree-year!' answered the woman. The man rolled his eyes in her direction. "'I'm thinking of buying a place around here,' continued Marsh. "'This house next door seems to be a nice place.' He nodded his head in the direction of the Merton home. The man and his wife exchanged glances. She laughed, but the man's face looked as solemn as his expressionist lines would permit. "'At bane a bad place!' he muttered. "'Niels, hey, been crazy!' snapped the woman. "'Crazy with the moonshine!' "'Moonshine!' repeated Marsh. "'Hooch!' she explained. "'Alles, hooch!' Marsh laughed, and Niels grinned, his features for the first time showing an awakened interest. Marsh thought quickly. The woman was evidently the boss, but she would not talk about something in which she had no faith. On the other hand, the man undoubtedly had some knowledge of things which Marsh desired to know. He decided to side with the man. "'You don't approve of Hooch?' Marsh asked her. "'No, no,' she exclaimed vehemently. "'But it makes a strong man work harder, keeps up his health.' Marsh glanced at Niels, who showed appreciation of this defence of homemade strong drink, by grinning at Marsh. The secret serviceman decided they would soon be friends, and quietly slipping his hand into his pocket began to detach a bill. The woman snorted in protest. "'It make a needle, see into things. No good it for him,' she said sharply. Then she rose and began clearing the table. While her back was turned, Marsh quickly slipped a bill over to Niels, winked hard at him, and nodded toward the door. Dull as the man seemed, he apparently understood Marsh's suggestion. He winked back and grinned. But as the woman returned to the table, his face instantly resumed its blank expression. "'Well,' said Marsh, rising, I must be going. He drew out some bills and presented one to the woman. "'I thank you for the lunch. It was fine. You are a good cook.' After taking his leave, Marsh put special emphasis on his parking with Niels. After closing the door behind him, however, he strolled in a very leisurely way toward the gate, and instead of keeping on along the road, he leaned against the outside of one of the post, where he was not visible from the cottage. He had not waited long when footsteps sounded on the crushed stone driveway, and Niels appeared. Marsh beckoned to him, and they walked down the roadway until out of sight of the gate. "'Niels,' said Marsh, stopping and facing the Swede, you don't think I ought to buy that house next door, eh?' Niels shrugged his shoulders. "'That tabay in a Yorah business,' he said. "'But I don't want to buy a place that has a bad name. Will you tell me what you think is the matter with it?' Niels glanced about him, and standing a little closer to Marsh, said in a lowered voice, I thank a bad man, Levedere. But,' protested Marsh, I thought the house was closed and had only a caretaker or someone like that. "'No caretaker,' answered Niels. "'Three, four, five men. House looked closed, but men inside.' Then he added, shaking his head, "'Foney, foney, how do you know all this, Niels? I watch. I see you yesterday, vidyong lady.' Marsh smiled. This was evidently the man he had seen crouching in the bushes, and who had caused him to hurry Miss Atwood away from the house. "'Yes,' said Marsh. "'I was going to look over the house, but there seemed to be nobody home.' "'Men inside,' answered Niels, giving Marsh a shock. "'Tell me about it, Niels,' said Marsh, patting the man on the shoulder, and I'll give you some more money. House closed a two-year. Since then I see funny men. Most in night-time. Big black a car. No light. House stay close, all dark, phony. So I watch.' "'Is that all?' inquired Marsh. "'I tell my wife. She say I drink too much hooch,' grinned Niels. "'So I don't tell her about the other night.' "'What night was that?' "'I tank last Monday night. I go to see all. He have some new stuff. Good, good. I stay late. Don't you see Val coming home? I tank I turn in my own gate, and walk, walk, walk, but no home. I hear auto coming. Get out of the road. It pass me. Stop.' Niels lowered his voice to a whisper. "'I then nowhere near home. In front bad place. Men turn on lights. Carry dead man in house.' "'How do you know he was dead?' exclaimed Marsh. "'He all loose, so.' And Niels endeavored to illustrate, by allowing his body to droop limply. Then what? "'Car put in garage. All quiet. I get scared. I see clear now. I run like hell.' "'That's all you know, is it, Niels?' asked Marsh. "'All now. But I watch.' "'You're a good man, Niels. Real smart,' said Marsh. "'Here's some more money for you. Maybe I'll come see you again.' "'You bane fine man!' grinned Niels, as he pocketed the additional bill. "'Goodbye, Niels,' said Marsh. "'Better not tell anybody about our talk. Your wife might hear about it.' Niels winked knowingly, and they parted, Marsh going directly to the station of the electric line and returning to Chicago. As he approached his apartment, Marsh saw a heavily built man lounging on the steps and chatting with the policeman on duty. Marsh paid no attention to this man, merely nodding to the policeman as he passed, and climbed the stairs to his apartment. But after he had unlocked the door, he stood in the hall instead of entering. Presently, the man came up the stairs, and they entered the apartment together. As soon as the door closed, the man said, "'I've got that dope for you.' He pulled out a long envelope and handed it to Marsh. "'Thanks,' said Marsh as he took the envelope. "'Things are shaping themselves fine.' "'Anything I can do,' said the man. "'Nothing now,' answered Marsh. "'But you had better have several men where we can reach them in a hurry. How is Oak Street?' "'No change,' was the reply. "'Has it left the house all day?' With that the man opened the door and left. Marsh opened the envelope. It contained the black leather notebook, a letter, and some typewritten sheets. He sat down and read the letter. The solution of the cipher code used in the notebook submitted was comparatively simple and we were able to work it out here. This code was evidently not intended for the transmission of secret messages. It was very probably used exclusively to make notations in this book with the sole idea of maintaining privacy for these memoranda. Due to the simplicity of the code, it could be easily memorized and therefore used for making carried notes for quick reference. To the inexpert person, the combination of letters and figures give a bewildering appearance to the notes, but it did not actually make the cipher any more intricate. You can readily make up your own key to this cipher by writing out the letters of the alphabet from A to Z. Under these letters, you again write the letters of the alphabet, placing the letter A under the letter Z and working backward. By this arrangement, A would stand for Z and Z for A. Below this, you again write out the letters of the alphabet and under these, beginning at Z and working backward, write the numbers 1 to 10, which brings you to the letter Q. From P to J, you write the figures 20 to 26 and from I to A, you write the figures 30 to 38. The person using this cipher probably memorized these two arrangements. In writing a word of, say, six letters, he would use four letters and two figures. To anyone glancing at his notes in a casual way, the system looked intricate, but to him, these notes could be read almost as easily as if written in plain English. Attached to the letter were several pages containing the decoded notations from the book. After carefully reading these, Marsh folded the sheets and started to place them in his pocket. Then he paused, glancing about the room thoughtfully. A moment later, he smoothed the sheets out flat and lifting up the corner of the rug, slipped them under it well toward the center. Walking back and forth over the spot several times, he seemed satisfied. Then he turned up one of the chairs, placed the notebook inside of the bottom lining, and, putting on his hat and coat, went out. End of Chapter 17. Chapter 18 of the Sheridan Road Mystery, this LibriVox recording, is in the public domain. The Sheridan Road Mystery by Paul and Mabel Thorn. Chapter 18, The Enemy Shows His Hand. After returning from supper, Marsh sat down to look over the evening paper. The merton case, which had replaced the Sheridan Road Mystery in editorial esteem, was now retired to an inner page. He read the usual short notice that the police expected to have the guilty parties in custody within the next twenty-four hours, accompanied by an announcement of some of their plans, so that the people sought could have timely warning of what to expect. Then he turned to other news of the day and the time slipped by. About nine o'clock Marsh raised his head and listened. He had distinctly heard two sharp reports, like pistol shots. Motors continued to hum past on Sheridan Road, and he could detect none of the unusual sounds which accompany a disturbance of any kind. As a result of having hundreds of cars past his windows daily, he was used to the crack of bursting motor-tires, or the backfire in mufflers. Marsh's trained ear had seemed to catch something different in the two reports, but perhaps it was only imagination. He resumed his reading. Three soft knocks sounded on the hall door. It was the usual signal, and Morgan was expected. Marsh laid down the paper, and going to the door threw it open. Instantly a small figure leaped into the entrance hall, and stood facing him with its back to the living-room door. A big army automatic held in a long, thin hand covered Marsh menacingly. SHUT THE DOOR, QUICK!" snarled the visitor. Marsh towered over the diminutive figure, and he thought with satisfaction that with his bare hands he could crush it like an eggshell. But it has been said that the invention of the pistol made all men equal. Certainly at this moment the automatic in the small man's steady hand more than offset Marsh's physical superiority. So though he smiled in contempt, he also diplomatically gave the door a sharp push, and it slammed closed. SHUT THE DOOR, QUICK!" SHUT THE DOOR, QUICK!" SHUT THE DOOR, QUICK!" Now I'll go in and have a little talk!" His visitor informed Marsh, and slowly backed into the living-room. Marsh followed. A hasty glance showed the man the location of the big Davenport. Backing to this he sat down, looking smaller than ever, and motioned Marsh to a chair across the room. While Marsh seated himself, the little man turned down his coat-collar, and pulled his cap up from his face. Marsh immediately recognized Baldi Newman. "'Now,' said Newman, "'you and me is going to have an important conference on serious matters.'" Marsh did not reply. He seemed quite at his ease, and not at all interested. After the last, both his eyes and his brain were actively taking stock of the situation, watching for some slip that might enable him to change their relative positions. Newman was leaning comfortably back on the Davenport, his legs crossed and his feet a long way from the floor. Marsh surmised that there would be some delay in getting the latter into action again. The automatic, however, was still ready. Held firmly in one hand, the weight of the barrel was supported in the palm of the other, the back of which rested on Newman's knee. Marsh realized that when he looked at this gun he was staring directly into its muzzle. Obviously, this was a time for watchful waiting only. "'We can't figure out where you fit into this here game,' Newman began. "'You ain't a bull. You don't work, and you don't steal.'" Marsh laughed at this quaint appraisal of him. "'Well, what are you trying to pull off?' questioned Newman, his bright, piercing eyes studying Marsh's face. "'You have me at a disadvantage,' returned Marsh. "'I do not know what game you refer to in the first place. In the second, I cannot see why the pursuit of my private business should interest you.' "'Come on, come on,' remonstrated Newman. "'I ain't got any time to waste kiddin' around with you.'" "'Get to the point, then,' advised Marsh. "'All right, I will,' said Newman. "'We don't mind these bulls. They're boneheads. I can run circles around any of them. But you're gettin' too damn close, and we want to know what you're after.' "'Thanks for the tip,' replied Marsh. "'If I were really interested in you, the information you have just given me would be of great value.' Newman eyed Marsh suspiciously for a moment. "'Don't worry,' he said. "'You're not gonna bother us much. We've arranged to take care of you. If you won't listen to reason, if you're crooked, just lay off for a while, that's all. And we'll see you get what's right, Leda. If you really are a bull, or are helpin' these other bulls, then I'm warnin' yet to back out gracefully before it's too late. I came here with a flag of truce to give you a chance, and you can save yourself a lot of trouble by bein' on the square with me.'" Bargaining with a known crook was not to Marsh's taste. If they were in the darkest to his intentions and his status, let them remain so. He guessed now that the gun in Newman's hands would not be used except as a last resort to avoid personal capture. The man's idea was to have his say and then go as quietly as he had come, if possible. Marsh's tense watching relaxed somewhat. There was no immediate danger, and the future could adjust itself. He would like to get this fellow now, but if not, then he would get him later. "'It's none of your business what work I am engaged in,' said Marsh. Moreover, you can tell your gang for me to go straight to hell. Now take my advice, and get out quick before you lose the opportunity.' Newman's lips parted in a vicious grin. "'You've got nerve, I'll say that for ya,' he commented, but you don't know what a hole you're in. We've got more than one string to our bow. If you won't listen to one kind of reason, perhaps you'll listen to another. Now you're stuck on Jane Atwood.' Marsh sprang to his feet with an oath. "'Leave that girl out of this,' he cried, or I'll beat you to a pulp. "'Steady, mister, steady,' exclaimed Newman. You ain't bulletproof. Handling a gun is part of my business, and you won't get two feet from that chair if you make a false move. Sit down and listen to me.' Newman quickly replaced the unthinking rage of the moment, and Marsh sat down as the other directed. But his mind was made up to one thing. Newman would not leave that room now except as a prisoner or a dead man. "'That's the idea,' said Newman. "'You're helpless as a babe, and you might as well acknowledge it. Now, listen to this. You're crazy about Jane Atwood. Are all signs fail? In fact, you'll probably hope to marry her. She's a classy, refined girl with a big purpose in life. What's more? She's got peculiar notions of what's right and what's wrong. If she knew her father was a crook, and that he died to escape you, where do you think you'd get off? She'd never have anything more to do with you, that girl, wouldn't she? She'd devote her life to something or other, to make up for her father's slip. That's what she'd do.' Newman paused, and Marsh ground his teeth and waited. "'Now, my man,' continued Newman, another false move on your part, and the facts will be given to that girl, with absolute convincing proof. There'll be no way of talking her out of it. You'll be through. That's all.' While Newman talked, he had gradually leaned forward, deeply absorbed in the driving home of this final threat. The muzzle of the automatic had also slowly turned, until a bullet would now strike several feet to the right. Marsh had carefully watched for this approaching opportunity, and now he acted. Like a flash, he jumped to his feet, swinging his right arm upward and forward, as if hurling something at Newman. Instinct was stronger than training. The man's arms were quickly raised to ward off the expected missile. Then, realizing that Marsh was upon him, he endeavored to escape. But the powerful hands had already closed on him. He was swung upward into the air, while bullets from the automatic crashed into the walls, the ceiling, and the floor, as he tried to direct its fire at his opponent. For a matter of a second Newman was poised in mid-air. Then Marsh, swept by a fierce and uncontrollable rage, dashed the helpless bundle across the room, and it struck with a smashing thud. End of Chapter 18 CHAPTER 19 KIDNAPPED Marsh slowly regained control of himself, as he stood staring at the crumpled figure. Striding across the room, he bent over Newman. The man was breathing heavily, and his eyes had a dazed glare. Although he was not unconscious in the full sense of the word, it seemed probable that it would be some time before Newman could start any more trouble. Marsh decided, however, that it would be safer to provide against future possibilities, so he drew Newman's hands together and snapped on a pair of handcuffs. Suddenly Marsh realized that his doorbell was ringing furiously. This time he took no chances, and his automatic was in his hand, ready for instant use when he opened the door. He found Morgan and Tierney in the hall. For God's sake, what's the matter?" cried Morgan. By this time Marsh had recovered his calm and easy manner. I had a visitor, he said, smiling and slipping his automatic back into his pocket. Come in." The two men passed through to the living-room, and Marsh closed the door and followed. Where did he go? asked Morgan as Marsh entered the room. There it is, said Marsh contemptuously, nodding toward Newman. Morgan and Tierney hurried to the man and straightened him out on his back. Newman was still two days to do more than roll his eyes at them. Baldi Newman exclaimed Morgan, looking up at Marsh. How did you get him? Marsh briefly explained the incident, and what beats me, he concluded, is how he got by the policeman at the door. By a well-aid plan, Marsh, we were talking about it to the patrolman when the shooting began. That was the first we realized what the scheme had been. What was it? inquired Marsh. I thought I heard a couple of shots some time ago, but as nothing seemed to happen afterward, I concluded it was just somebody's tire. You heard shots all right, returned Morgan. It seems that an auto stopped on Lawrence Avenue in front of the alleyway. Someone in the car fired two shots at the policeman on guard there. He immediately started for the car, and the man in front, who had also heard the shots, joined him. Naturally, the car was out of sight before they had run half a block, and so they returned to their posts. They didn't even get the number of the license, although I suppose it would have been of little use if they had. When you look those things up, you generally find that the car has been stolen from some respectable citizen. Tierney and I arrived just after the patrolman got back to the building, and the man in front told us about it. I was puzzled over just what the game was, until we heard the shooting up here. Then I guessed that they had only drawn off the policeman so as to let someone get in, so Tierney and I beat it up the stairs as fast as we could. When you took so long to answer the door, we thought you were gone, sure. Well, the little rat did have me wondering for a few minutes, admitted Marsh. If he had really come to kill me, I think he could have got me, all right. But the fact was, he just came to warn me, and intended to use his gun only as a last resort. Under such circumstances, if you can only keep them talking long enough, they get careless. You can see what happened to Baldi because he stayed too long. He'll have a long stay somewhere else now, commented Tierney cheerfully, and we'll make him talk some more before we get through with him, declared Morgan. There is one thing I want to ask of you, Morgan, said Marsh. Get him out of here as quietly as you can, and don't let the news get into the papers. We don't want the people who sent him to know exactly what has happened. Just let them wonder for a day or two." I get your point," answered Morgan. He then went to the telephone and called the patrol wagon, impressing upon the man at the other end of the wire the need for secrecy, and instructing him to have the patrol drive up the alley back of the house. Now, said Morgan as he turned from the telephone, I suppose you want to hear about the information I was to get for you. Yes," replied Marsh. Were you able to get it? All that's worth knowing, returned Morgan. I turned Tierney loose on this man Nolan and looked to punt myself. You can dismiss Nolan from the case at once. He has a job as chauffeur with a big businessman in Milwaukee, and hasn't been in Chicago for a month. At one o'clock last Tuesday morning he was bringing this man and his wife home from an affair at the man's club, somebody simply impersonated Nolan. Now about Hunt. I found that he started to work for Merton as his confidential secretary about five years ago. Merton apparently thought a good deal of him, and gradually put more and more of his business into his hands. About a year ago he made Hunt his general manager, and Hunt has practically been running the entire business ever since. People in the financial district seem to consider Hunt a fine fellow. What he was doing before he went with Merton, I have been unable to find out in such a short time. I cannot say that this information helps us out very much, said Marsh. Your news about Nolan simply confirms the idea I already had, that the Nolan message was a trick. I dug up some information today, which looks like the best clue we have had so far. I think that by tomorrow afternoon we'll close in on the men we want. Telephone me at twelve o'clock tomorrow, Morgan, and I will tell you just what to do. At this moment they heard pounding on Marsh's back door. I guess that's the wagon, Tierney, said Morgan. Let them in. Tierney went back through the flat and returned immediately with two policemen, who gathered up Baldi Newman and his gun and carried them quietly out and down the rear stairs. I'd like to tell the world, said Morgan, that the West Side's most famous gunman has been captured with a man's bare hands, but we'll keep it quiet if you insist on it, Marsh. After tomorrow, Morgan, you will have more than Baldi Newman to your credit. Until then, our success depends on secrecy. Now remember, telephone me at twelve sharp tomorrow. With that the men parted for the night, and Marsh, after making sure that all his doors and windows were securely fastened, went to bed. But twelve o'clock on Tuesday passed without Marsh receiving his expected message, for the very good reason that Morgan and Tierney could not get to a telephone. These two men spent the greater part of the morning in the financial district in a feudal attempt to get further information regarding Hunt. About eleven o'clock Morgan suggested that they go to the North Side and get their lunch so that after telephoning Marsh they would be close at hand in case he wanted them quickly. They took the elevated to Wilson Avenue and after leaving the train turned east toward Broadway. At the corner stood a big black limousine. The door was open and the chauffeur turned to them and said, Say, friends, will you help me get this guy out of the car? He's too drunk to move. Morgan saw that a man was lying back in a corner with his eyes shut, and nodding to Tierney went over to the car. I've been driving him for two hours, said the chauffeur, and I don't think there's any chance of getting my money. I want to throw him out. He's too heavy for me to lift. You two guys look husky and like good fellows, I thought maybe you'd lift him out for me. As this sort of thing frequently came to the attention of the detectives, they did not suspect anything out of the ordinary when they climbed into the car and started to pull the man out of the seat. Suddenly, the chauffeur slammed the door and sprang to the wheel. The man in the seat, who but a moment before had apparently been in a drunken stupor, now sat up and drawing his right arm from behind his back covered the two detectives with an automatic. Sit down, he commanded, and be quiet. In the meantime, the car was moving swiftly across Wilson Avenue. Turning north on Sheridan Road, its speed increased to a terrific pace. Morgan noticed this and hoped that it would attract the attention of the motorcycle police. But they met none of these men, and the car soon left the city limits and passed through Evanston. From here on the road was quiet and they passed only an occasional car. The man with the automatic now instructed them to hand over their revolvers. After he had these in his possession, he felt Morgan and Tierney over carefully to see that they had no other concealed weapon. Then keeping them covered with the automatic, he reached out and drew down all the shades in the car so that they sat in a semi-darkness and were unable to see where they were going. Morgan judged that they had been riding about an hour when the car suddenly stopped. The door was opened and a man stuck in his head. The man was Wagner. Turn the tables on you, didn't we? he jeered. Then he stepped back and they saw that he also held an automatic in his hand. Come on, he said step lively, you're welcome to our happy home. Tierney began to swear, but Morgan jabbed him with his elbow. It would be like committing suicide to show any fight now. These bulls ought to travel in regiments for self-protection, taunted the man who had been in the car with them. But Morgan noticed as he stepped out of the car that the chauffeur had left his seat and was also standing ready with an automatic. These men might have their little joke, but they were taking no chances. The three men escorted Morgan and Tierney up the steps and into the house. Wagner directed them to proceed him up the stairs. They passed down a long hall and into a big room. Make yourselves comfortable, sneered Wagner, and I might as well tell you that you can make all the noise you want because the nearest house is so far away they couldn't hear a foghorn. Just try to be nice, good little boys, and maybe we'll let you go some time. He backed out of the door and they heard him turn the key. End of chapter 19