WIDENER
HN 8870 W


க நடக்ககத்தHA
பங்க பட்டாபட்.
பட க கபங்காக





Books by
ISABEL OSTRANDER
ASHES TO Ashes
How Many CARDS?
THE ISLAND OF INTRIGUE
SUSPENSE


THE CRIMSON
BLOTTER
BY
ISABEL OSTRANDER
NEW YORK
ROBERT M. MCBRIDE & COMPANY
1921


Copyright, 1921, by
ROBERT M. McBRIDE & Co.
VARD COLLEC
JUN 28 1922)
LIBRARY
By ex homem
Printed in the
United States of America
Published, 192 1


CONTENTS
PAGE
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CHAPTER
I THE WARNING . . . . . . . . .
II PETER STEALS A BASE . . . . . . .
III AMONG WHISPERING TREES. .
IV THE BRONZE SWORD : . . . .
V THE LETTER . . . . . . .
VI THE SISTERS . . . . . . . . .
VII MONTIE Sends A WIRE ..
VIII THE LADY IN BLACK..
IX FLORA . . . . . . . . 116
X THE ALIBI . . . . . . . . . 131
XI ONE MILLION IN Cash . . . . 144
XII THE RED DOG . . . . . . . . . 156
XIII “FOR HIMSELF ALONE" . . . . . . 167
XIV The PRIDE OF Miss JAFFRAY . . . . 180
XV THE CAR WITHOUT A NUMBER . . . . 193
XVI The GIFTS OF THE GREEKS ...
207
XVII THE FIFTY-FIFTY Chance . . . . . 216
XVIII “SCATTERED TO THE FOUR WINDS".
229
XIX THE SHRINE . . . . . . .
244
XX "He Who CAME FIRST" . . .
XXI MONTIE RUSSELL, MATADOR . . . . . 265
XXII SURPRISES . . . . . . . . . 276
XXIII The LEGACY . . . . . . . . . . 286
XXIV WITHOUT CLEW . . . . . . . 295
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257
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THE CRIMSON BLOTTER





THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
CHAPTER I
THE WARNING
CT TELL you, Jim, everything's been too quiet in this
1 town! The whole summer has gone by without a
single crime being pulled off that was worth two sticks.
on the front page; not a murder that would raise the hair
of my maiden aunt, not a case of robbery or kidnaping
or even arson, nothing but a few insignificant killings in
what is known in polite circles as the underworld, and
the usual suicides. Something is bound to break soon
and break big." Peter Sayre, star criminal reporter on
the city's most sensational of newspapers, threw down his
serviette in disgust and gazed across the table challeng-
ingly at his companion. “You know yourself that Head-
quarters has been like a morgue for weeks !"
Sergeant James McNulty of the homicide bureau
placidly finished his melon and reached for the coffee
pot.
"Things have been pretty quiet,” he admitted.
“That's no reason, though, why any particularly heinous
crime should be committed just to furnish grist for your
print mill, Pete. I'm satisfied to let all bets lie.”
"You're not, you fraud! I saw the cards spread out


10
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
on the table last night when I came in and you never play
Canfield except when you're trying to work out a problem
or impatient for something to start. This man's town
has come to a pretty pass for two crime hounds like you
and me, when your chief has to put you on a wop knifing
just to keep your hand in and my old man gives me an
assignment to that two-for-five Hoboken cigar-bomb
case!” Peter pushed back his chair and lighted a ciga-
· rette. “Besides, I feel it in my bones that something
is liable to drop any minute and you know my
hunches "
"That's not a hunch, it's the change in the weather !”
the other laughed. “There must have been a touch of
frost last night for I noticed from my window that the
trees were commencing to turn in the Square. You are
going across the river, then? I'll look in at Head-
quarters to see if anything has turned up during the night
and meet you for lunch at Joe's, if you say so.”
Pete nodded, and, picking up his hat, he strolled out,
while McNulty, familiarly and affectionately known as
“Nutty" to the Department, because of his original and
sometimes eccentric methods of conducting a case,
finished his breakfast, welcomed the arrival of the scrub
woman, who came each day to put their modest apart-
ment in order, and started southeast across the Square
toward Center Street.
He was tall and thin and ungainly, with straw-colored
hair, mild blue eyes and the lugubrious, lantern-jawed
face of a professional comedian. Peter Sayre, on the
contrary, was below the average height and inclined to


THE WARNING
a rotundity which he worked with frantic loathing to
keep down. He was the son of a country editor and a
graduate of a freshwater college, while most of Jim
McNulty's earlier education had been picked up in the
streets of the lower East Side. Their friendship, begun
five years before, when, each in his separate capacity,
they had met on a certain notorious murder case, was one
of those mutual and instantaneous attractions which, in-
explicable to outsiders, had been built upon the firmest
of foundations.
No professional limitations bounded the confidence be-
tween them, for by an unspoken code Peter never used
the data which his friend brought from headquarters
until the latter gave the word; in consequence they fre-
quently worked out cases together in a harmonious
partnership.
Sergeant McNulty smiled now at the thought of the
other's "hunch" as he boarded a surface car. There
was an autumnal tang in the air that set his blood racing, .
but the sun was shining as brightly as in midsummer,
and an atmosphere of peace and well-being seemed to
brood over the city. It was true that there had been
an unprecedented dearth of crimes important enough to
warrant the attention of the higher authorities and he
had found himself growing restive in enforced idleness,
but no premonition assailed him such as Pete had voiced.
Arriving at headquarters, he made his way to the homi-
icide bureau at the end of the long corridor and opened
the door to find the huge room empty except for the
presence of two men who sat at a desk with their heads
*
P.


12
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
close together : Inspector Corbin and the Chief himself.
They glanced up at the sound of the opening door and
the Chief emitted a grunt of satisfaction.
"Just the man !Come over here, Nutty, and take a
squint at this! If it isn't the work of a crank or a prac-
tical joker it ought to be right in your line. I've seen
a lot of queer things happen in my time, but to be oblig-
ingly warned in advance when a murder is going to be
pulled off is a new one on me!"
Jim dropped his hat on his own desk as he passed it,
and, crossing to his superior's side, he took the sheet of
paper held out to him. The message it bore, scrawled in
rough, printed characters such as a child might have
penciled, was unaddressed, but the few lines were terse
and to the point.
"Seward Keene Moberley is in danger of his life. You cannot
stay the hand, but act and you may seize it when its work is done."
"Humph!” Jim commented. “Not very complimen-
tary to the Department, is it, Chief? How and when did
you receive this?”
"Through the early mail this morning. Here's the
envelope.” As he spoke the captain of the homicide
bureau, affectionately called “Chief" by his subordinates,
handed it over. “What do you think of it? Is it a
hoax?”
Jim pursed up his lips reflectively as he examined the
postmark.
"We-ell, the phrasing is as vague as that of the ordi-
nary crank, but although the letters are printed no at-


THE WARNING
13
tempt has been made to purposely misspell any of the
words, as the crank usually does. This was mailed at
City Hall at seven o'clock last evening, the paper used is
of the cheapest quality without watermark and the pencil
a number two lead; all of which gives us just exactly
nothing, not a single clew.” He paused and then added :
"If any other man in the city as prominent as Seward
Moberley had been mentioned as the prospective victim
I should be inclined to look into this, I think; it will be
as well to do so, anyway, and to warn him personally,
but it seems absurd on the face of it, even in these times
of social upheaval, that any one would want to take his
life."
The Chief nodded slowly and Inspector Corbin stirred
in his chair. Seward Moberley was a power in Wall
Street with a fortune running into many millions, yet he
was at the same time the most practical of philan-
thropists, whose far-reaching charities had brought crea-
ture comforts to thousands upon thousands of starved
bodies, rather than intellectual opportunities to minds too
stultified by generations of physical hardship to grasp
them.
"Feed the people first! Clothe them! Give them a
chance to work and a fair deal when they do, and offer
them your book learning afterwards !”
This had been his cry and his precept for forty of his
sixty years and his name was a beloved household word
in every slum in the city, where his presence was as fre-
quently known. Even the most muck-raking of news-
papers mentioned him only with a respect bordering on


14
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
reverence, and the almost Spartan simplicity of his soli-
tary everyday existence had been cited as in marked con-
trast to the orgy of extravagance in which his con-
temporaries had indulged during the first years of peace.
It seemed inconceivable, as Jim McNulty had said, that
any brain, no matter how diseased, could consider him a
menace to society whose removal would benefit any liv-
ing being.
Equally inconceivable was it that he could have any
enemies in his private life, and yet the Chief voiced just
the possibility of this in a vague generalization.
"No one is perfect and our experience down here has
shown us time and again that an established reputation
for a life like an open book often conceals a few dark
pages. I'm talking like a book now myself, but you
know it is true, both of you. Then, too, it is easy enough
to incur a personal grudge, over, perhaps, a fancied
grievance, without being even conscious of it, which,
magnified by a brooding mind, might become a very real
menace. Yes, Nutty, I think Mr. Moberley must be
interviewed and warned, and with or without his consent,
I'll put a guard about his property from now on. You're
the man to talk to him; go to it and then come back here
and report."
"But-but I'm attached to your bureau, Chief !” Jim
protested. “No crime has been committed yet!”
“You mean that the matter of this letter does not
properly belong in the hands of the homicide bureau ?
You are right, but the Commissioner himself put it in
my charge." Chief Hardy refolded the sheet of paper


THE WARNING
15
and, returning it to its envelope, held it once more toward
the sergeant. "Show this to Moberley if you like. You
won't have any difficulty in seeing him at his office; he
has the reputation of never turning any one down who
seeks a personal interview. Find out if he knows of
any active enemies and we'll trail them for the next few
days, or weeks if necessary. I don't care if they are the
· biggest men on the Street! We can't afford to take a
chance on Seward Moberley's life!"
A quarter of an hour later, Jim was seated in the
outer office of Seward K. Moberley & Company, at the
end of a long row of chairs which contained as hetero-
geneous a collection of people as he had ever seen
gathered together. Prosperous looking brokers in im-
maculate garb rubbed elbows not only with the shabbily
clad but respectable poor, both men and women, but also
with one or two forlorn wrecks of society who had evi-
dently ventured there in desperation as to a last resort be-
fore self-sought oblivion.
The detective sergeant had at first anticipated a long
wait, but he marveled at the quickness and despatch with
which, one after another, the ill-assorted company dis-
appeared behind a plain mahogany door at the farther
end of the big room, at the summons of a cheerful-faced
secretary, whose manner was courteously deferential to
each and all of them. None reappeared again, and the
detective inferred that they must have been dismissed
through some other door which opened directly upon the
main corridor.
When his turn came, another queue had formed behind


16
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
him very like the first, and he entered a sunny office fur-
nished more like a gentleman's library than a business
sanctum in the heart of the financial district. Behind
a long writing-table in the center of the room sat a slender
but virile looking man with gray hair worn slightly longer
than the prevailing fashion and a smooth-shaven, sensi-
tive face that belied the sixty years with which the Blue
Book credited him.
There was nothing mechanical in the smile of welcome
that curved his mobile lips and lighted his fine eyes, but
a little puzzled look crept into the latter as he obviously
tried to place the type of his visitor.
“Sit down, Mr. McNulty.” A slim, long-fingered
hand waved the younger man to a chair. “Tell me what
I can do for you."
"I am not ‘Mr.' McNulty, although that is the way I
described myself when I desired an interview with you,
sir, but Detective-Sergeant McNulty of the homicide
bureau at headquarters,” Jim responded gravely as he
took the proffered seat. “I have been sent by the com-
missioner himself to see you on a confidential and very
serious matter."
A look of genuine concern and distress passed over the
expressive features.
"I sincerely hope, Sergeant, that you have not come to
tell me that one of my friends is in trouble, especially
one of those in the more humble walks of life, but I
stand ready to coöperate with your commissioner and do
anything I can."
Jim McNulty shook his head.


THE WARNING
17
"It's nothing like that, sir; at least not yet. Your
reputation of a lifetime spent in benefiting others is as
well known to the Department as it is to the world at
large, but I am here to ask you a very personal question
and upon your candid reply may rest your safety from
harm, even your life itself.” He bent forward earnestly.
“Mr. Moberley, have you to your knowledge an enemy
in this world ?"
Seward Moberley sat back in his chair and regarded
his visitor with a steady, frank gaze. Then he smiled as
he shook his head.
"No, Sergeant McNulty. I don't know of any one
who could have any harmful intentions against me. If
it has been put within my power to benefit others, as you
say, I have been in turn benefited a thousand-fold by that
which they have given me in return-friendship. It is
the only thing that I value, the only thing that I can
carry down to the grave with me, and those who have
little else to give have granted it to me in overflowing
measure. I fear no enemies.”
“You will forgive me for my seeming insistence, but
I was speaking not only of those to whom you have
rendered material aid.” McNulty clung doggedly to the
point. "Your financial competitors or those who are
nearest to you in your social or even family life; these
must all be considered as well in the light of the informa-
tion which has come to us.”
He drew the letter of warning from his pocket and
laid it upon the desk before the other man.
The latter read it and for some minutes thereafter sat


18
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
regarding it thoughtfully, but with neither resentment
nor alarm visible upon his calm countenance. Then with
a sigh he shook his silvery head once more.
"Poor misguided fellow!” he exclaimed. “This is
either the work of a distraught mind or some one is try-
ing to play a so-called practical joke on your commis-
sioner, and in either case it is simply to be disregarded.
I appreciate the solicitude of your department but it will
be unnecessary to take any steps in the affair. I have
financial colleagues but no competitors, my servants have
all been with me for more than a generation and they are
to be trusted implicitly. I reside alone and have no living
relatives except a nephew, a splendid young fellow whom
I love like a son. Please extend my thanks to the com-
missioner and tell him that there are no grounds for ap-
prehension.”
"You do not, then, desire that we give you police pro-
tection for a time at least about the grounds of your resi-
dence at night?” McNulty asked as he accepted the letter
extended to him in polite dismissal and rose. “I do not
mind telling you, sir, that in spite of your confidence we
would all rest easier in our minds if we felt that you were
securely guarded."
"My friend,” Seward Moberley rose also and laid a
fatherly hand upon the young detective's shoulder, “if
such a step were taken, if the possible need of it were
even seriously entertained, I should feel that my long life
had been a complete failure. When I need protection
against my fellow men I will have merited destruction
at their hands. Looking back, I can see many mistakes,


THE WARNING
19
but I have never to my knowledge injured any one and
I must positively forbid that any such step as you propose
be taken on my behalf.”
McNulty shrugged slightly.
"It may be a hoax, as you say, sir, and a crank would
scarcely announce his intention beforehand if he meant
to attempt your assassination, but suppose some member
of a gang had decided to snitch and had written in this
anonymous, guarded fashion to warn us without reveal-
ing his own identity, perhaps in personal fear. If you
will not authorize us to protect you, will you not at least
go to some hotel or even leave the city for a time until
we can locate the sender of this letter?"
Moberley drew himself up almost angrily, but when he
spoke, although it was with an air of finality, his tone
was still gentle.
"I have never run away, Sergeant, and I shall not do
so now. If the writer of this letter, or some other per-
son to whom he may allude, call upon me at any time he
will find me here or in my home as usual, unarmed, and
with no bodyguard about. I should be unworthy of my
lifelong principles, if I feared harm from any one.”
This time the dismissal in his tone was unmistakable
and as a young stenographer appeared in the second door-
way to usher him out the detective took leave of the
philanthropist. As he departed he heard a sudden ex-
clamation of delighted surprise from Seward Moberley
and turned to see him rise from his chair and greet with
extended hands a young woman whom the secretary was
just ushering in. She appeared to be in her late twenties,


20
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
with hair as black and glossy as a bird's wing and skin
like delicate, blue-veined white marble. McNulty caught
this impression before the door closed behind him, and
he returned to Headquarters with a maze of complicating
thoughts crowding his brain.
"One thing is certain, Chief !” he remarked to Captain
Hardy and Inspector Corliss. “The old boy may be
cracked on the subject of the natural born goodness of
sinful humanity but he's sincere about it. Nothing doing
with his permission on the question of giving him protec-
tion. He simply won't believe that any one in the world
would harm a hair of his head.”
"And if by any chance he should be bumped off, in
spite of his ideals, the press would let out a roar that
would lift us all out of our jobs here and maybe the com-
missioner as well!” the Chief retorted grimly. “That
settles it: we're running no such risk, hoax or no hoax.
You know that wonderful old place of his that has been
in his family for generations, away up above Riverside
Drive proper? The grounds are thickly wooded and ex-
tend for a whole city block or more on the side toward
the river. I'll have a squad of men up there as soon as
it's dusk and not another living soul will enter or leave
the property without giving an account of themselves
for the next few days. Did you learn anything more
about him than we already know, Nutty?”
"One or two facts,” Jim replied. "He's got a nephew
he seems crazy about, but the young man doesn't live with
him although he is his only living relative."
The Chief nodded impatiently.


CHAPTER II
PETER STEALS A BASE
REFORE he started for “Joe's,” the little Italian
restaurant near Park Row where a select coterie of
newspaper men repaired at noon, Sergeant McNulty
spent a long hour in that grim photographic hall known
as the rogues' gallery. It was one of his idiosyncrasies
not to mention to his superiors in the homicide bureau
any fact upon which he had not absolutely decided in his
own mind, unless he felt that it was of immediate impor-
tance, and the vague idea which had come to him as the
result of two fleeting glances in the offices of Seward ..
Moberley must be substantiated to his own satisfaction or
finally rejected.
When he at length started for the restaurant, however,
his brow was still knotted in a puzzled frown which re-
mained as he seated himself at their accustomed table and
waited for Pete to put in an appearance. His search
among the portraits of evildoers who had fallen foul of
the law had been narrowed to two types: a tall, alert-ap-
pearing young man and a demure girl, several years his
22


PETER STEALS A BASE 23
junior, with a delicate, aquiline nose and the merest shade
of a cast in her left eye.
The young man he had in mind had been dark and the
girl fair, but Jim McNulty paid no heed to this as he
scanned the rows of faces, for he well knew the miracles
of make-up and practical disguise at the disposal of the
experienced criminal. Had he found what he sought
he would have communicated once more without delay
with his chief, but his efforts had failed to satisfy him
and he sat reflectively staring at the none too clean table-
cloth until a hearty clap on the shoulder roused him and
Pete Sayre dropped into the vacant chair opposite.
"How goes it? Anything doing at the shop?” the
latter demanded cheerily, adding, before the other could
speak: “I drew a blank in Hoboken, of course; desper-
ate bomb-maker turns out to be poor but honest inventor
trying to perfect harmlessly exploding cigar-shaped fire
crackers for the next Fourth of July market. But you
look rather as though you had swallowed one of them,
Jim. Was that feeling in my bones prophetic this morn-
ing?"
"A little premature but possibly it was correct.” Jim
McNulty smiled, gave his order to the waiter and then
turned again to his friend. “Pete, if you were going to
croak one of the biggest men in town would you an-
nounce your intention to the police or put it in the power
of any one else to do so ?”
"I would not !” replied the reporter with decision.
"Not if it meant the whole front page with leaders a
foot high for a week, and a city editorship besides, when


24
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
my handpicked jury acquitted me!-But who is the
obliging gentleman who tipped you off about his program,
and what big gun is he going to put the skids under?"
McNulty recounted the affair to the other and produced
the letter, carefully concealed behind a newspaper, for
his edification.
“Rummest thing I ever heard of,” commented Pete,
when he had finished. “I suppose your chief hasn't taken
the lid off yet as far as I am concerned, has he? At that,
I think I'll give myself a half holiday and run up and
give the old Moberley place a look over with you this
afternoon."
“Look here, Pete.” Jim laid down his knife and fork,
and leaning forward spoke in a still more confidential
tone. “You're as much of a human directory on city
crooks of recent years, even the petty ones, as the chief
himself. Do you happen to know whether or not Seward
Moberley ever interested himself in prison reform or the
welfare of ex-convicts?”
“Not that I ever heard of, although he has given large
sums to associations that do that sort of work among
other things.” Pete stared. “Have you any particular
crook in mind ?”
Jim laughed.
"I don't know. Do you recall any little blonde in her
early twenties with a high nose that's going to hook over
when she is old and a slight cast in one of her eyes which
are of a peculiar, streaked blue? Her manner is quite
too unsophisticated for the most carefully brought-up
of girls who go out into the business world to earn their


PETER STEALS A BASE
25
livelihood, and she favored me with an odd, furtive
glance which belied it.”
Pete reflected and then shook his head.
"Can't place her," he said. "If it weren't for the
Roman nose effect and the cast she might be 'Rubber-
joint' Rose Paley, that freak kid who victimized all the
accident insurance people. You remember about her,
don't you? She was a born contortionist and could
throw her limbs out of joint by a mere twist; it all came
out at her trial and the doctors wrote her up at great
length under the influence of the baby stare that was her
chief asset with adjusters formerly, but she went to a re-
formatory for all that. It seems that her family knew
from her childhood of this strange ability of hers—it is
not a condition unknown to the medical fraternity, al-
though rare—and they used to take out accident policies
for her. Then, after a discreet interval, she would be
found some fine evening lying along the street car tracks
or in the gutter on roads frequented by motorists, with
a dislocated arm or thigh. She grew too confident,
worked the trick once too often, and a new company had
her trailed and watched the stunt.”
"I do recall suinething about it, but I was working
night and day myself on the Randolph murder then;
three years ago, wasn't it?” Jim asked.
"Yes.” Pete nodded. “It is not as impossible a stunt
as you might imagine. Out in the country where I come
from there was a man with no surgical knowledge who
could set dislocated legs and arms by a simple jerk better
than any graduate physician I ever saw; a natural bone-


26
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
setter, the people called him. Of course nobody could re-
peatedly stand such an ordeal as the Paley girl put her-
self through and I fancy she must be pretty well crippled
by now if she is out.”
Jim made no immediate reply, but all his detective in-
- stincts awakened. Noses could be changed in contour by
the injection of paraffin, he knew, and a cast made in an
eyes by the simple cutting of a muscular cord. Moreover,
the demure young stenographer who had ushered him out
of Seward Moberley's private office had limped slightly
and held her arms with noticeable stiffness. He forced
his thoughts temporarily from her to the cheerfully cour-
teous secretary in the outer office of the magnate, whose
face had also seemed vaguely familiar and described him
as well as he was able to Pete, but the mental picture he
drew was so lacking in individual points as to have fitted
the majority of the youthful male populace, and the re-
porter was unable to help him.
"When it comes to a good sensational murder," that
young man observed with gruesome relish as they left
the restaurant, "give me the corpse and the weapon and
plenty of clews scattered about. I don't care how baffling
they are, it's enough to keep the old Despatch from dying
of this innocuous desuetude thing for a few weeks any-
way. But when you have no stiff, no weapon, no clews
but a crazy letter that isn't a clew at all, only a hint that
something is going to happen, Hardy can be as mysteri-
ous about it as he pleases for all I care! I'm going to
hang around Seward Moberley for the next few days
and if there's a scoop in it your Uncle Peter gets it.


PETER STEALS A BASE
27
That's fair enough for your chief not to kick, isn't it?"
Jim agreed, somewhat reluctantly.
"How are you going to do it?” he demanded.
“Easy enough, if you haven't given my old brown suit
to the janitor," replied Pete. “The subway en route to
Van Cortlandt runs within a few blocks of the Moberley
estate. If you are going up there to reconnoiter, I
should advise your using it. I'll run into you somewhere
about the neighborhood later."
“But I thought you were going with me!” Jim ob-
jected.
"Not I! You're holding out on me about the little
blonde and the young man whose description you couldn't
give me beyond what might have applied to almost any
one." Pete laughed good-naturedly. “That's your
pigeon, of course, and there may be nothing in that letter
but an attempt at silly notoriety, but supposing-just sup-
posing, mind, old man,—that it really means business,
the old Despatch, thanks to us both, may take on a new
lease of life.”
“And if we fail to succeed in acting upon the warning,
providing it proves to be a real one, I can see where I go
back to pounding my beat in the tall grass !" retorted Jim,
adding: “Is Bradley still in charge of the morgue in the
Despatch offices?"
"Sure. Go up and he'll give you what dope you want
on Seward Moberley.” Pete waved his hand in farewell
and then called back over his shoulder: "See you be-
fore dark."
The "morgue" at the newspaper office was the depart-


28
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
ment where the life history and deeds of people promi-
nent in all phases of the city's existence were kept tabu-
lated and strictly up to date in readiness for their demise
and promptly subsequent obituaries, and there Sergeant
McNulty spent another fruitless hour; fruitless because
it taught him little that he did not already know about
Seward Keene Moberley, and nothing that could point
to a potential enemy.
A large part of Moberley's fortune had been inherited
from his mother's people, who had amassed it slowly and
honestly, generation by generation, from the soil of the
fertile Middle West when that region was new. No
taint of injustice or rapacity had marred its acquisition
and when it passed from the last of the Keenes to the
present hands, Moberley had used it to his everlasting
honor as the world could testify.
Leaving the Despatch office, McNulty returned to the
rooms which he and Pete shared together to find no signs
either of that enterprising young journalist or of the
latter's disreputable old brown suit which he still donned
occasionally when out for information from the rougher
element of society and in which he took unfeigned com-
fort and satisfaction.
The sergeant wondered how, in the possible locality in
which that suit would pass muster, Pete hoped to learn
anything, but he had no time for idle speculation. Him-
self changing into old but neat and serviceably warm
clothing, for the coming evening promised to be sharp
with the aftermath of the touch of frost, and pocketing
his revolver and electric torch, McNulty journeyed in the


PETER STEALS A BASE
29
subway to a station within half a mile of the Moberley
estate. Thence he strolled over to the winding driveway
which skirted the river along the ridge of a steep declivity
and turned north.
On his left was nothing but the wooded descent,
guarded only by a low concrete wall with gaps here and
there which showed that it was still in process of con-
struction; on his right the ground rose sharply, topped
with squatters' shacks, behind which occasional tower-
ing apartments could be seen. A motor car or two,
bound northward with its burden of pleasure seekers,
overtook and passed him on his walk, but for the most
part nothing disturbed the almost bucolic serenity of the
autumnal afternoon.
At length McNulty reached a rise in the road, where
the broken concrete wall gave place to a higher one of
plain but solid granite. Winding paths and driveways
spread with crushed bluestone disappeared between the
well-kept trees and clumps of shrubbery, and among them
in the distance, on the highest point above the river, rose
the square, shining, white outlines of a great Colonial
house. A lodge in the same style of architecture stood
at the right of the main gates, but the detective gave it a
wide berth and made for the stables and garage with
their clustering out-buildings at the northern end of the
estate.
A man in shirtsleeves was exercising a blooded trotter
on the main road, and another was harnessing a team
of thoroughbreds to an old-fashioned victoria before the
open carriage house door just within the grounds. Save


30
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
that the latter was hatless, he wore the almost obsolete
garb of a coachman, and it was to him that McNulty ad-
dressed himself, as he paused deferentially at the stable
gate.
"Excuse me, but this is Mr. Seward Moberley's place,
isn't it?"
The coachman glanced up, displaying a broad, friendly
countenance with a pair of twinkling blue eyes.
"It is,” he replied briefly and turned his attention again
to his task.
"You don't need an extra hand, do you?” McNulty
threw just the right note of wistfulness into his voice.
"I'm used to horses; brought up with them all my life, as
you might say, but what with the automobiles crowding
them out it's hard for a decent stableman to earn a liv-
ing wage in the city now. . I don't drink even when it's
to be had, nor smoke anywhere near the barns and I'm
steady, if I do say it."
The coachman looked up again and saw only a respect-
ably if shabbily clad individual with mild blue eyes and
the awkward, ungainly bearing of one lately come from
the country.
"We do need a stableman," he remarked more
cordially. “Did Mr. Moberley send you up here?"
McNulty shook his head.
"I never saw him but I've heard of him; how good
he is to folks. I thought maybe he'd give me a job if
- he could use me, for I'm almost at the end of my rope."
As he spoke the doors of the garage on the opposite
side of the driveway opened and a smart town car with


PETER STEALS A BASE
a chauffeur in conservative livery shot out between the
gates, turning south. The coachman pointed in its di-
rection as he responded.
"You see? That's gone down to Mr. Moberley's office
now to get him, and when he comes home maybe you
can have a word with him before I take him out for his
drive. He hires everybody personally who works on the
place here. Until just lately he used to take the subway
uptown and then horses was good enough for him; I
reckon they are now, in his heart, for Mr. Moberley's
a quiet, simple gentleman for all his money, but he's try-
ing to get up to date. I shouldn't wonder if I lost my
own job here before long, along with Prince and
Princess!” He passed a caressing hand down the mare's
sleekly glistening neck. "Mr. Moberley pensions every-
body, man or beast, who has ever worked for him,
though, so I'm safe for my old age anyway."
Sergeant McNulty tried a daring shot in the dark.
"Maybe it's because he's thinking of getting married,
and folks usually kind of spruce up then."
His tone was idly speculative, but the coachman's
friendly countenance changed.
“Where did you hear all this?” he demanded gruffly.
McNulty smiled, but his heart gave a sudden leap.
Could that shot have found a mark?
"I've had to turn my hand to a lot of odd jobs to
make my living since I came to town and one of them
was running an elevator, or trying to!” he replied with
mild ingenuousness. “I've no knack for mechanics, but
before I was fired the fellow who ran the next elevator


32
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
to mine got real friendly. It was him who told me about
Mr. Moberley and how good he was to everybody. He
used to work in one of the great millionaires' hotels, and
Mr. Moberley called on a lady who stopped there for a
little while. My pal said she was beautiful, a regular
swell.”
"If anybody likes black hair and skin like white plaster,
with a mouth that looks as if some one had crushed a
handful of ripe strawberries against it- !” The
coachman checked himself, flushing darkly, and after a
pause he added: “I've heard nothing about Mr. Mober-
ley getting married, but if you want a job here, village
gossip don't go! When he comes I'll put in a word for
you-
Again he paused, this time glancing over McNulty's
shoulder and, turning, the latter found himself gazing
into the bland, unrecognizing eyes of Peter Sayre.
The erstwhile journalist, clad in his disreputable brown
suit, stood diffidently holding out a note in a long envelope
and after reading it the coachman scrutinized him care-
fully.
"You don't look as if you understood much about
horses, my man, but Mr. Moberley's order goes, of
course, and I'll give you a trial.” He turned to McNulty.
"Sorry, but that place you wanted is filled. Just you
call at Mr. Moberley's office to-morrow morning, though,
and he'll get you something else to do. He never was
known to turn a deserving man down."
The detective murmured his thanks with a dejected air
and moving off without deigning a second glance at Pete,


PETER STEALS A BASE
33
he went down the drive, cut across the main road and
started in the direction of the subway near which he had
observed a small lunchroom.
His shot in the dark had been pure invention, with no
particular woman in mind. It had been the result of the
detective instinct and long training and almost mechani-
cally he had inquired for the possible woman in the case
but the coachman's response and laconic description left
him with a graphic, swiftly imprinted picture on his mem-
ory; the vision of the woman who had entered Seward
Moberley's private office that morning as he himself de-
parted. The aged financier's exclamation of delighted,
almost fatuous surprise rang once more in his ears.
Who could this woman be? Had she anything, however
innocent, to do with the menace which threatened the
great man?
Dusk was already falling, the air was chill, and, al-
though the sky was clear, a cold wind had sprung up
which made him grateful for the warmth of his
rough overcoat. He found the humble little restaurant,
ordered a beef stew and had consumed half of the greasy
contents of the bowl when some one entered and the chair
opposite his was pulled out without ceremony.
"Hello, you old left-hander !" Pete's exasperatingly
cheerful voice hailed him. “I stole a base on you that
time, didn't I?"


AMONG WHISPERING TREES 35
McNulty shook his head and Pete went on:
"Oh, I forgot! You were out West then after the
driver of the Hale death car. Quinn was the cashier
who was supposed to have wrecked the Alien Investors'
Bank, but there was such popular doubt of his guilt that
he was given an indeterminate sentence and pardoned a
short time after. Moberley took him on to give him a
frest start, I guess. He's a fine old chap, my new boss,
and if that letter wasn't a hoax you'll find a homicidal
maniac on your hands to-night or I'll never make another
prediction !"
"You are wasting your time, Pete!”
"Not I!” his companion retorted. “I'll be in at the
death, if there is any, to-night! Don't forget that!
Girlie, bring me a cup of coffee and any dish you've got
that's hot and ready."
He added the last to the languid waitress who had ap-
proached and after finishing their meal they strolled back
to the Moberley place. Darkness had fallen but they
separated a block from the great gates after planning a
point of meeting inside the grounds when Pete should
have explained to the coachman the hastily concocted
reason for his failure to produce the bag of personal be-
longings he had ostensibly gone for, and had been as-
signed to sleeping quarters.
McNulty, meanwhile, secreted himself behind a tree
on the public road and timed the perfunctory patrol of
the private watchmen attached to the estate. Once the
precinct policeman passed on his beat and once the detec-
tive caught a glimpse of one of the plainclothes men de-


36
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
tailed from headquarters for special duty beginning that
night and he grinned to himself. It was no part of his
plan to make his presence known to the latter, and wait-
ing until he had disappeared and the coast was clear
McNulty scaled the broad, low wall, dropped into a clump
of thickly massed shrubs and remained motionless for
some minutes.
There was no moon but the stars were shining with a
radiance undimmed by clouds, and now and then the
searchlight from some steamer on the river far below
sent up a long sweeping finger of light. The chill night
wind stirred the branches of the trees about him until
they shivered and whispered eeriely and in spite of him-
self a sensation of awe and suspense stole over McNulty's
steady nerves as, taking advantage of the deeper shadows,
he crept nearer and ever nearer to the great, ghostlike
outlines of the house silhouetted against the sky.
“Seward Moberley will be killed. You cannot stay
the hand ..." The words returned to ring with a por-
tentous note in McNulty's ears and no longer did the
terse, positive statement seem the message of an idle
crank. Rather did it now appear as a solemn warning
of doom inevitable, the forerunning shadow of the hand
of fate which could neither be stayed nor turned aside
from its grim purpose by a mere handful of the law's
guardians. For the first time in his career as street
urchin, ex-pug—an ingloriously terminated interlude-
flatfoot, precinct detective and finally member of the
homicide squad with a brilliant record of man-hunting
behind him, Jim McNulty felt a thrill of something akin


AMONG WHISPERING TREES 37
to superstitious fear; not for himself but for that blindly
trusting man who, fanatically secure in his faith in his
fellow beings, sat alone, behind the shrouded windows
through which a faint light gleamed, on the ground floor
of that silent house.
As noiselessly as a cat McNulty circled it, mechanically
noting the great entrance with its sweeping driveway and
white-pillared porch and the side and back doors with
their pergola and porte-cochère. Once he heard a man's
heavy breathing and slipped back behind a stout tree just
in time to avoid the circling light of an electric bull's-eye
which revealed to him the thickset features of Donlin,
another of the headquarters' men.
Donlin had followed him intrepidly into more than one
haunt of desperate crooks in the past, and they had
weathered a crisis or two together where a single false
move would have meant instant extermination, and yet
to-night McNulty read upon the other's face an open
expression of the same vague and formless dread which
had obsessed himself. It was as though terror stalked
beside them, premonition before, and death for another
skulked behind.
In vain McNulty strove to shake off the mood which
had descended upon him; in vain he reminded himself of
the efficiency of the force of which he was proud to be
a member, and held up in derision before his own mental
vision the futile .psychology of the crank letter writers
whom he had helped to track down. The nameless sus-
pense still hung over him and could not be exorcised.
With it, too, he was suddenly conscious of a craving


38
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
for human companionship. The chief had left it to his
own discretion to make himself known to the squad sent
up to guard the threatened financier and there was no
reason why he should not have signaled to Donlin-
McNulty pulled himself up abruptly. Was he turning
coward that he could not patrol a gentleman's estate at
night without a guardian himself ? He had made up his
mind that he would play a lone hand so far as the special
guard was concerned unless the need for concerted ac-
tion arose; and besides, there was Pete already probably
waiting for him in the cluster of sumac behind the
garage.
Methodically he forced himself to count the windows
of the old mansion, measuring with a practiced eye their
width and distance from the ground, and, as he did so,
the shrouded light in what he took to be either the din-
ing-room or library was extinguished and another sprang
up in a row of tiny-paned windows on the second floor.
And still there was no sound from within, no footfall or
voice penetrated those solidly built, century-old walls.
Retreating beneath the low-hung, rustling branches of
a maple tree, McNulty pulled out his watch and glanced
quickly at the illuminated dial. It seemed to him that
ages had passed and yet the hands pointed only to half-
past nine. Still, Pete might be waiting; there couldn't
be much for the stable hands on duty to do to amuse
themselves at night, and, being a new man, the latest
employee might very well plead off from a game of cards
or some kindred diversion and go to bed early, providing
his sleeping quarters were over one of the stables.


AMONG WHISPERING TREES 89
Getting out again might be another matter, particularly
if he had to share his room with some one else, but
McNulty had no fears for Pete's ingenuity on that score;
he had seen his friend wriggle out of tighter situations
than the present one.
Cautiously he made his way to the garage and around
its vine-clad wall to the back. A slight movement in the
sumac bushes, too steady and long sustained to have been
caused by a gust of the fitful wind, came to his ears, and,
stooping, McNulty picked up two dry sticks and rubbed
them softly together, in a scraping rhythm with pauses
between.
It was the signal agreed upon between them and al-
most at once Pete's head appeared from among the lower
branches and he crawled out on his hands and knees.
When at last he stood upright he laid a warning finger
across his lips and led the way around the bushes to one
of the smaller outbuildings where a jutting shed con-
cealed them from view.
"Where the deuce have you been?" he demanded in a
resentful whisper as they halted. "I've been waiting for
hours under those confounded bushes and some ancient
bones that the watchdog must have hidden there waited
with me! I feel as if I'd been in a graveyard after an
earthquake !-Have you seen anything suspicious? I'm
hanged if I know why, but my nerves are all on edge."
"You've nothing on me!” McNulty laughed shortly
under his breath. “It's that letter and the waiting and
the stillness "
“ 'Stillness !” the other ejaculated, interrupting him.


40 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
"I wish to heavens it was still! It's the eternal rustling
of the dry leaves on the trees in this breeze that sets a
fellow's teeth on edge when he's waiting for he doesn't
know what !-But I got a lot of dope on Moberley from
that coachman, Parker, who isn't a bad sort and loyal
as they come, just as you said he was. The old gentle-
man is as methodical in his daily life as a machine; goes
to his office in his car every morning precisely at half-
past eight, home at four except on Mondays, Tuesdays
and Thursdays, when after office hours he calls personally
on the poor, whom he visits on foot or in public convey-
ances. He is always home for dinner at seven and un-
til lately spent all his evenings at home. On Thursdays
and Sundays his nephew, Charles Moberley, dines with
him and sometimes brings a friend named Russell,
whom Parker disapproves of; considers him a bit of a
scapegrace as far as I could gather. Every afternoon
that he returns before the dinner hour Mr. Moberley
drives out in that old victoria you saw this afternoon."
"You say he has spent all his evenings at home 'until
lately,'” McNulty repeated. “What did Parker mean
by that?"
"Well, within the last month or so I couldn't get him
to be more explicit than that without arousing his sus-
picions concerning my curiosity-he says that Mr.
Moberley has been going out on Wednesday and Satur-
day evenings, on foot, and returning about eleven
o'clock.”
"And while we're gabbing under this shed he may be
murdered !" McNulty ejaculated. “If you haven't got


AMONG WHISPERING TREES 41
any more important dope than that we'd better be move
ing.”
He led the way this time and his companion followed,
creeping under the shrubbery and darting from one wide-
branching tree to another. They came upon three of the
cordon of police which were drawn up about the grounds
and although the detective could have eluded them with
the ease of his long training in evading the notice of less
desirable citizens, his journalistic friend fell foul of the
first they encountered and McNulty was compelled to
reveal his presence and explain that of the disgusted
Peter. The same scene was enacted with the second, and
as they left him the reporter remarked in chagrin:
"The whole force must be up here! It would be a
fine night for a murder anywhere else on Manhattan
Island !"
"Well, if you must tramp like an elephant rampaging
through the jungle !” McNulty was beginning, but
the other interrupted him with a snort:
“Elephant nothing! I won't get any beat here to-night
for it's a pipe that old Moberley is as safe as a church!
I'd like to see even a stray cat get through these grounds
without one of those confounded flatfeet stopping
them!—What's that moving in the trees there?”
A shadow had detached itself from the greater one
formed by a group of Japanese maples beside the porch
and Donlin's gruff voice demanded:
"Hands up, you murdering devils, before I plug you
full of holes !"
There was the ugly glint of a pistol in the starlight


42 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
and one hand flew to his lips with the police whistle, but
McNulty whispered hurriedly:
"Easy there, Donlin! Look before you start any-
thing!"
"Lord, it's you. Sergeant!” The policeman saluted
sheepishly and pocketed his pistol. “I don't want to
flash my lamp so close to the house, but who's that with
you? The captain gave me strict orders ”
"It's my friend Sayre, of the Despatch, and he's here
by Captain Hardy's special permission,” McNulty ex-
plained coolly. “You were not so sharp on the job a
while back when you flashed your bull's-eye within an
inch of my face and never spotted me. Moreover you
were breathing so hard that any crook a block off could
have side-stepped you !"
“ 'Twas you!" Donlin ejaculated in a hoarse whisper.
“I might have known it, for the captain told me to expect
• you up here, but I hadn't seen hide nor hair of you,
Sergeant, and well we know that you have your own way
of going about a thing! It was early in the evening and
I'm not looking for any trouble till along about mid-
night, anyway, but I'm used to the city streets with a
good solid pavement under my feet and a lamp post here
and there and straight rows of houses on each side of
the way. These woods have got me going !"
“What time is it now?" Pete asked under his breath.
"It seems as if it ought to be nearly morning!”
"Just ten,” McNulty announced as the great clock over
the stable door boomed out the strokes. “Anything
stirring about the house, Donlin?”


AMONG WHISPERING TREES 43
through a se sitting 111 he got up,
"No, sir. I went up on the porch and looked in
through a gap in the window shade at the old gentleman
and he was sitting in his library as calm as you please,
reading. A little later he got up, put his book on the table
and went out of the room. I guess he went to bed, for
a light shone out over the porch roof from above. I was
turning away when an old chap dressed in rusty black
as though he was going to a funeral came doddering in,
put the book away in the case against the wall, wheeled
the chair back from the table—it's a big, upholstered one
and I thought to myself that he'd maybe fall over into it,
he seemed that feeble !—and turned out the light. I
watched real careful so that I could hand in a detailed
report later if any trouble should come, but that's all
I saw. There's not been a sound or a move from the
house since, but the light's still going upstairs as you can
see for yourself, Sergeant."
Donlin paused, breathless from the length of his ac-
count and McNulty glanced up at the second floor of the
house. Its front was softly illuminated at the corner
near which they stood and several windows at the side
gave forth a shrouded glow, while on the third floor at
the back a single light gleamed through the shade.
"All right, Donlin. You've got men at the back and
side doors?"
• “I have, sir, and at every window that a man could
reach from the ground," the policeman responded grimly.
“There's not a soul that'll get in or out of the house this
night without our nabbing him!”
"Well, don't nab us if we should come near you again


44
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
and don't shoot on sight or blow that whistle till you're
sure it isn't one of your own boys !” laughed McNulty in
cautiously low tones. “You might scare off the guy
you're after and then we'd have another night's work."
"I hope not!" Donlin declared fervently. "Put me in
the railroad yards or on the wharfs or up the darkest
alley that ever was made for the convenience of thieves
and it's just my meat, but I never was on park duty and
waiting around here gets my goat for fair. I'll look out.
for you if you and Mr. Sayre show up again, Sergeant,
and make no more mistakes."
McNulty and Pete withdrew into the trees once more
and the policeman resumed his cautious but heavy-footed
patrol. The light still glowed from the second floor of
the great house, but that at the rear of the third was ex-
tinguished after about half an hour and dead silence
reigned, broken only by the soughing of the wind.
The detective and his friend had stationed themselves
at a point of vantage from which they commanded a
view of those lighted windows and yet would not be
directly in the path of those who were guarding the
house. Occasionally a gleam like that of a firefly,
flashing out about the wider expanse of the grounds
even as far as the gates and the stretch of low wall
which separated the estate from the main road, showed
that the chief's cordon was indeed far-flung and on the
alert. Surely, as Pete had said, not even a stray cat
could gain entrance unmolested that night! Yet, curi-
ously, that sensation of suspense, of waiting for he knew


AMONG WHISPERING TREES 45
not what, remained with Jim McNulty, and, as the hours
dragged slowly by, the nameless, almost superstitious
dread increased rather than diminished.
The stable clock sounded eleven and then twelve, but
still there was no snapping of the tension which held
them. During the last hour there had been little talk
between the two, but as midnight rang out Pete stirred
restlessly.
"I'm beginning to feel like Donlin!” he muttered.
"You and I have weathered many a vigil together, Jim,
but there's something about this one that makes me feel
like a kid lost in the dark. I had an idea that if any-
thing was going to happen to-night it would come be-
fore midnight; wonder what old Moberley is doing be-
hind those lighted windows until this hour, anyway!
Parker says he always goes to bed early the evenings he
stays at home.”
“Look here!” McNulty exclaimed abruptly. “Didn't
you tell me Parker said that Mr. Moberley was in the
habit lately of going out on Wednesday and Saturday
evenings? This is Wednesday-or was until a few
minutes ago. I wonder why he changed his routine this
of all nights?”
"By Jove, yes! That never occurred to me!" Pete,
who had been leaning against a tree straightened all at
once. “Do you suppose he had more than an inkling
as to the identity of that letter writer, or at least the
person referred to in it? Could he have remained at
home purposely to meet him face to face?”


46 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
But that hypothetical question was destined not to
be answered that night. It came at last, that for which
they had long waited; a quavering, high-pitched scream
in an elderly, masculine falsetto of mingled horror and
fear rang out suddenly upon the stillness of the air, to
fall and rise again, echoing among the whispering trees!


CHAPTER IV
THE BRONZE SWORD
W ITH the first note of that horror-stricken cry
V from the house, the two watchers under the
clump of maples started as though electrified and set off
at a dead run for the house. Lights from bull's-eye
torches were springing up now all over the grounds, and
shouts and the crashing of feet through the shrubbery
came to their ears.
On the porch they encountered Donlin vainly pound-
ing at the great entrance door, but McNulty, with no
scruples such as beset his subordinate, summarily kicked
in one of the windows which reached to the level of the
floor and entered with Pete and the policeman at his
heels.
The room in which they found themselves was in
darkness, but the faint light that streamed down the hall
stairs revealed its huge dimensions and the massive, old-
fashioned furniture scattered about. Even as he made
for the door leading into the hall, McNulty noted the
great chair wheeled back from the table and the book-
cases which lined the walls; it was evident that this was


THE BRONZE SWORD
49
glance and then moved quietly across to the still figure
in the chair, over which Pete was already bending.
"He's not dead yet," the latter murmured. “Don't
touch that dagger or whatever it is, though; when it is
withdrawn it'll be all over with him! Perhaps we can
get some sort of a statement from him first.”
His reportorial instincts were uppermost now that the
grueling strain of suspense was at an end and the blow
had fallen, but McNulty cried sharply to Donlin:
“A doctor, quick! Make that old focl tell you where
the telephone is !”
The butler, however, was too dazed with horror and
grief to realize what was being said to him, and a
broken feminine voice replied instead from the doorway.
“There's an extension to the house telephone in Mr.
Moberley's bedroom in there, sir, but it would be quicker
if Bennett went with the car for him, if Mr. Moberley's
been took sick. Oh, whatever is the matter with him,
please, sir, and why is George carrying on so?"
They turned to see a stout elderly woman, her shape-
less form clad in a bathrobe and wisps of gray hair
straying from an aureole of crimpers about her round
face, peering in at them with an expression of curiosity
mingled with affectionate concern. It changed to
horror as she caught a glimpse of that which lay in the
great chair, and she started forward, but Pete held her
back while McNulty dashed for the connecting door
leading into the room she had indicated, just as the
tramp of many heavy feet sounded upon the stairs.
The detective called up headquarters, acquainted the


50
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
anxious Captain Hardy briefly with the facts of the
tragic affair as they were then known and rang off with-
out waiting to listen to his superior's explosive wrath.
He was burning with the fires of humiliation and
failure, for although that fine old gentleman dying in the
next room had declined his protection he had neverthe-
less been sent to guard him from a specific menace, and
even then he and Donlin and the whole cordon of police
had not succeeded in "staying the hand.”
The words of that mysterious letter came to him again
as he reëntered the lounging-room and he hurriedly ap-
proached Donlin, who was conferring with a group of
his men in the doorway. The woman, herself crying
silently, had drawn the aged butler aside and was en-
deavoring to quiet his moans, and Parker, the coachman,
in an ulster hastily donned over his night clothing, stood
guard over his employer like a faithful dog over a fallen
master.
"Look here, Donlin, I don't know how much the chief
told you, but when we were tipped off about the pos-
sibility of just what has happened we were warned that
if we acted quickly enough we might catch the guilty
party. I hope all the boys haven't trouped up to the
house instead of keeping a lookout in the grounds for
some one who might be trying to escape !” McNulty
was beginning, but the other cut him short.
“There's a whole squad left out in the grounds and
along the Drive beyond the walls, with orders not to
come to the house whatever happens, and they're beat-
ing up every bush and tree, and routing out the stables


THE BRONZE SWORD
51
and garage and outbuildings this minute, Sergeant !
I've sent Bennett—that's the chauffeur-off with the
car for the family doctor. Did you find the 'phone,
sir?"
“Yes; I talked to Captain Hardy and he'll be up him-
self to take personal charge if-when- " McNulty
hesitated, glancing toward the great chair, and as if in
answer Seward Moberley stirred and opened his eyes
with a faint fluttering of their sunken lids...
Peter Sayre, who had been strolling about the room
as silently as a cat, reached the wounded man's side as
quickly as McNulty himself and the coachman stepped
back a pace. Donlin, too, had approached but before
either he or the detective could speak the butler broke
from the stout woman's grasp and flung himself on his
knees at the foot of the chair.
"Oh, sir, who did it?" he wailed. “Who—who hurt
you like this?”
The graying lips parted, but for a moment no words
came. Then after a visible effort the merest whisper
gasped out upon the electrified silence.
"It is you, George? Why have you put-lights
out ?”
The butler gazed about at the brilliantly illuminated
room and the circle of tense faces and a sob tore its way
from his throat, but he replied chokingly:
"They—they just went out, sir! Something wrong
-downstairs. Tell me, sir, tell me who has done this
to you! You've been stabbed, sir!"
Seward Moberley nodded slowly and one slim hand


52
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
fluttered toward his breast where the ugly bronze blade
protruded, but it fell inertly back once more to his side.
A faint gurgle came from his throat and his whole body
seemed to slump in his chair. Could it be that he would
die without speaking those vital words? Was he al-
ready gone?
McNulty took a desperate step forward, but at that
instant the man in the chair made a last supreme effort
and rallied.
"It was no one I ever saw before." His voice rang
out strongly, without a tremor. “A man-gray hair-
cap pulled down over eyes. Don't know how—got in.
Said just four words—I remember, perfectly conscious
now—said: 'One out of way!—and struck !" There
was a pause filled only with the sound of the stertorous
breathing and then he spoke once more. “George,
where are you? There is something torturing me
here!"
Before the butler could speak, before any of those
grouped about him could realize his intent or the power
which lay behind that last flicker of strength, Seward
Moberley raised his hand swiftly, unerringly to the
sword-shaped dagger and, drawing it from his breast,
he sank back in his chair for the last time, with that
little lingering smile still playing about his parted lips.
For a long minute no one stirred or spoke and it was
only gradually borne in upon them that the raucous
breathing had ceased, when the silence was broken by a
single subdued but deep-toned note from the stable
clock, as solemn as the tolling of a church bell.


THE BRONZE SWORD
53
Then, curiously enough, it was Donlin who made the
first move. Slowly, reverently, he removed his cap, and
that simple action broke the tension which had held them
all.
Peter looked a question at McNulty, who nodded
acquiescence, and then the former stepped forward and
laid a handkerchief lightly over the still face. Donlin,
too, turned to the detective.
"The case is yours now, of course, Sergeant.” His
voice was unusually gruff. “What are your orders ?”
“Take this man and woman into another room."
McNulty indicated the two servants who were now
sobbing unrestrainedly. "See that they are carefully
guarded as well as any other persons who may be found
in the house, until Captain Hardy arrives and their
depositions can be taken. Parker, go back to the stables
until you are needed. Donlin, send the rest of the boys
who are not required to guard the servants out to join
those in the grounds. Clear the room!"
"I might have known it was a frame-up when you
came to me this afternoon looking for work, sir,"
Parker remarked as he moved obediently to the door.
“I couldn't have figured that you were a police officer,
though, or that—that something threatened Mr. Mober-
ley. I wish I had !"
When all had left the room except Donlin, Peter
Sayre and himself, McNulty spoke once more to the
former.
“Go and notify headquarters that Mr. Moberley has
passed away. The chief is already on his way here but


54
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
the medical examiner or one of his assistants must fol-
low immediately. Then call up the Bracefield Apart-
ments and tell Mr. Charles Moberley that his uncle is
very ill and he must come as quickly as possible. Get
that? Don't say Mr. Moberley is dead, remember!
If young Moberley is out, leave the message for him.
You'll find the telephone on a stand beside the bed in
there."
“What do you think of the weapon ?" Pete asked,
when the two were alone save for the presence of the
body. “Unusual, to say the least, isn't it?”
It had fallen from the inert hand down into the side
of the chair and McNulty drew it carefully out and ex-
amined it. The end which had penetrated Seward
Moberley's breast was slender but rounded and the sides
of the eight-inch blade were blunt, while the tiny hilt
was the exact replica of that of a sword.
"It isn't sharp enough to have inflicted that wound
unless it had been driven in with more than average
strength behind the blow," the detective observed re-
flectively. “That would account for the amount of
blood, you know; a wound near the heart seldom bleeds
very much unless an artery has been severed, and in that
case the hemorrhage would have been far greater, even
in a man of Moberley's advanced years. This thing
looks like a toy, an ornament."
"That is just what it is !” Pete announced trium-
phantly. “While you were telephoning to the chief I
had a chance to look about this room a little, and I
found out where the thing came from, all right. See


THE BRONZE SWORD
55
those two bronze figures over there? They are replicas
of some famous old set or other called 'The Duel.' I've
seen several copies before. Notice anything odd about
them?”
He indicated two large male figures in ancient cos-
tumes cast in bronze, which stood one at each end of the
row of side windows, and McNulty walked over to
them. The first was poised with drawn sword as
though advancing upon his adversary; the mailed hand
of the second was resting upon his scabbard--but the
scabbard was empty.
“You score, Pete!” McNulty had wrapped the hilt of
the weapon carefully in his handkerchief to preserve for
further examination what finger marks might remain
beneath those superimposed by the dying man, and
now, without touching the scabbard, he measured the
sword against it. “Unless there are some marks on the
hilt which will help to identify the man who drew it
from its place we are still without a clew. I tell you,
Pete, I feel more badly about this than anything that
has happened since I've been connected with the force !"
"Buck up, old man!" Pete laid a consoling hand on
his friend's shoulder. "Your record in the department
is too clean and you have pulled off too many brilliant
stunts, when men who were higher up than you failed,
for the chief to reduce you to the ranks for this. If
he did, he'd have to send all the picked fellows he had
up here to-night out to the timbers or recommend them
for dismissal.”
"I'm not thinking of that." Jim McNulty groaned


56
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
“I feel just now as though I didn't care what became of
me or the rest of the boys, either! I'm thinking of
that fine old character lying back there. You know his
general reputation for benevolence and now and then
your work on the Despatch may have led your trail
across his and you've seen practical demonstrations of
the good that he has wrought in this town, but when
you were a clean, healthy country boy setting up type
in your father's newspaper office, remember, I was a
young tough in the worst section of the slums, and I-
I know of the lives and souls that he has saved, the
wrecks of which he has made useful citizens, as much by
his own personal sympathy and big-brotherhood as by
giving of his wealth !—I know I am talking like an
evangelist, but I feel like a traitor! I might as well
have killed him myself as to skulk out there while he
was being done to death!”
“That's morbid, Jim!” His friend shook him with
affectionate roughness. “There is one service left for
you to do for him now, and that is to find out who
killed him and bring the guilty man to the justice he de-
serves. You can do it; you've been up against more
puzzling propositions than this and won, hands down!
Get busy before the chief arrives and show him some
results, no matter how trivial.”
“You're right!" McNulty straightened himself and
threw back his shoulders. “I'm not banking on past
performances, but this has become a personal matter
·with me and, by the Lord, I'm going to find the mur-


THE BRONZE SWORD
57
derer of Seward Moberley if I have to resign from the
• department and go it alone as an amateur dick, and it
takes me the rest of my natural !"
He paused suddenly, with his whole body tense, and
Pete glanced at him in surprise to see that he stood star-
ing down at the writing desk and the drying blood
spattered there.
"What is it?” the reporter asked, but at that moment
Donlin reëntered from the bedroom.
“Young Mr. Moberley wasn't in, but I left the
message, Sergeant,” he announced. “The medical ex-
aminer's assistant is on his way now and Captain Hardy
ought to get here any minute."
"All right, Donlin. Go and find out how many serv-
ants are employed in the house and if they are all in
now; then run down to the stables and get a list of the
gardeners and all the outside men including those who
take care of the horses and motors." McNulty added :
"Don't ask any other questions or tell them anything.
We'll leave all that until the chief arrives.”
When the policeman had departed upon his errand
McNulty carefully drew upon the writing pad the posi-
tions of each article, placed them at one side, and, pick-
ing up the pad, he carried it over to a tall floor lamp
in the corner and scrutinized the blotter minutely under
the strong light.
Pete, watching him, saw, as he turned once more,
that he was his old self again and breathed a mighty
sigh of relief, for never before in their association had


58
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
he seen his coolly analytical friend so deeply moved as
during his outburst of regret and futile remorse a few
moments before.
"Look at this !" McNulty's eyes were sparkling and
his voice vibrated with controlled excitement. “Tell
me what you see, Pete!”
Pete eyed the pad critically.
“A few fine pen traces where a letter or two has been
blotted,” he replied at length. “They overlay each
other so, though, that you couldn't make out a word
even if one were completely imprinted. Then there are
those pencil lines you drew around the inkwell and the
stamp box and the rest of the things, and that's all ex-
cept for the drops of dried blood."
“Yes, that is all,” McNulty acquiesced but the buoy-
ant note in his tones had increased. “Do they suggest
anything to you beyond the mere obvious fact of their
presence? Further than that we know a murder has
been committed here, that the victim was seated before
his writing table but apparently not at work upon a
letter and that these are drops of his blood, does this
pad help you to reconstruct in any way what took place
in this room from the time when Seward Moberley
entered it a few hours ago?”.
Pete shook his head slowly.
"I'm a literal cuss, as you ought to know by this time,
Jim,” he remarked. “Blood and pen and pencil marks;
that is all I see! If you are not drawing upon your
imagination, what did take place here?"
“The strangest scene these old walls have ever wit-
magination, whe! If you w and pen an


CHAPTER V
THE LETTER
WTF you won't tell me, you won't !” mourned Pete,
I as McNulty replaced the pad upon the table and
arranged the articles which had stood on it in the exact
positions they had previously occupied. “I know the
way you work and why they've nicknamed you 'Nutty'
at headquarters, but I'll be eternally condemned if I can
see anything on that blotter to show what has happened
here beyond what we knew before! Blood is blood and
we know where that came from; I saw you draw those
pencil lines myself so they couldn't have anything to
do with your discovery and I particularly noticed that
desk set when I was looking about the room. There
was nothing unusual about its arrangement. You
didn't hold that blotter up before any mirror, therefore
you weren't even trying to read those faint pen strokes
--and what else is left? I don't pretend to be a detec-
tive, I'm just a penny-a-liner. Have a heart, Jimmie !"
"You saw all that I did, only you didn't use your wits
as well as your eyes.” The detective pointed to the fine
60


THE LETTER
61
tracings of ink. “I suppose those are merely the blots
from letters to you.”
"Well, they are certainly not Egyptian hiero
glyphics— !" Pete was beginning indignantly when
the other cut him short.
"Some of these lines are dark, some faded, and some
-a few—are a fresh bluish black. Does that suggest
nothing to your mind ?”
- "Only that the letters were written probably some
time apart and one or two of them just lately and com-
paratively freshly blotted.” Pete's tone was still mysti-
fied.
"All right; you're getting on.” McNulty moved his
finger toward the more sinister marks. “How about
the blood stains ?”
Pete looked closer, then uttered a startled exclamation
and pushed aside his friend's hand.
"Jumping Jupiter! Some of those drops are dried
brown and some still red and wet! But there's only one
wound !”
“Twice inflicted and hours apart!" McNulty's own
tones shook with excitement. “The first was a mere
scratch, for there are only a few dried stains, but the
second reached the heart. There were two intruders in
this room to-night, Pete; one would-be and one actual
murderer!"
At that moment a motor whizzed up the drive, the
front door opened and closed, and hasty footsteps
sounded on the stairs.
“That's not the chief, and the medical examiner


THE LETTER
63
but whether self-inflicted or not must be determined, al-
though he made an ante-mortem statement which points
to a murderous attack by a person unknown. I am
Sergeant McNulty of the homicide bureau and this is
Mr. Sayre, an authorized colleague of mine but uncon-
nected with the police department.”
The doctor who had listened attentively now nodded
an acknowledgment of the introduction, the while he
eyed both men keenly.
“May I ask with what weapon the wound was in-
flicted, Sergeant?”
"This bronze dagger or miniature sword taken from
that statuette over there.—Please do not touch it,
Doctor, it is evidence. When the manservant known
as George discovered his employer and gave the alarm
we found Mr. Moberley with the weapon still pro-
truding from the wound. He drew it out himself
after telling us what he could, and died almost in-
stantly."
"H'm!” The doctor had gingerly opened the dress-
ing-gown and shirt, and was examining the wound.
"Internal hemorrhage. For the size of the incision the
external bleeding was not profuse. Mr. Moberley, for a
man of his age and sedentary habits, was in an un-
usually healthy physical condition. I would have given
him ten or fifteen years more of active life and scarcely
impaired faculties, at the least. I have been his phy-
sician for twenty years—I am proud to admit that he
educated me and started me in my profession-and dur-


64
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
ing that period he has seldom required my services ex-
cept for colds and bronchitis contracted in his visits to
the tenements. I-I am deeply grieved that I shall
never be able to do anything more for him."
The long, slender hands of this doctor, who was
known by repute to Peter Sayre as a famous surgeon
whose masterly operations had made modern medical
history, were trembling uncontrollably now as he at-
tempted to fasten the shirt together when McNulty
stopped him.
"Isn't that slit made by the weapon in the dressing-
gown, and also the one in the shirt beneath, rather
longer than the incision in the breast of the body?”
“Yes, Sergeant. The weapon slipped, as you see,
making a slight incision and then a deeper one beside
it.—Can this be the medical examiner's assistant? I
am familiar with the siren of the police department's
cars.”
A weird, wailing cry ending in a shriek had cleaved
the air and a second car tore at breakneck speed up the
drive.
"It is Captain Hardy, the chief of the homicide
bureau,” McNulty announced as the voice of his superior
raised in denunciatory wrath was heard in the hall be-
low, with intermittent interruptions in Donlin's gruff
tones.
"I'm not deserting you under fire, old man!" Pete
said to his friend in a hasty undertone. “I think, how-
ever, that for your own sake I had better make myself
scarce until the chief cools down a bit and realizes that


THE LETTER
65
you and the boys did all that was humanly possible to
avert what has come to pass. I've really no official
sanction for my presence here and I don't want to get
you into any trouble; he won't be in the mood for a
while to forgive any excess of authority and as a
matter of fact I practically wished myself on you this
afternoon. Nevertheless, I'll stay here in this room if
you say the word.”
The doctor had walked over to the row of windows
between the two bronze figures and stood with his back
to them, but McNulty merely shook his head and the
reporter slipped into the bedroom just as the broad-
shouldered form of Captain Hardy filled the hall door-
way. It was evident at a first glance that the luckless
squad outside and then Donlin had borne the brunt of
his displeasure, but when he caught sight of his favorite
among the junior members of the bureau his anger and
chagrin flamed forth anew although his voice was
lowered.
"Fine work on your part, Nutty!—I don't think!" he
remarked sarcastically. “I suppose if I ever put you on
another murder case in this man's town, with the victim
specified beforehand, you'll sit down at headquarters and
wait for the guilty party to come and give himself up!
You knew !"
"Excuse me, Captain Hardy!" McNulty interrupted,
for the physician had turned and was obviously listen-
ing to the revelations. “This is Dr. Dalrymple, who
has attended Mr. Moberley for years and for whom we
sent immediately on finding that the victim still lived.


66
THE CRİMSON BLOTTER
He died, however, as you may have learned from Officer
Donlin, before the doctor's arrival."
The chief, who, in the excitement of the moment, had
not noted the presence of the stranger, grasped the hint
instantly and, controlling himself, advanced.
"I am glad you are here, Doctor. I shall be anxious
to have your opinion, in a medical way, on this case.
Sergeant McNulty, you'll find Officer Donlin downstairs
with a list of the employees of this establishment. In-
terview the house servants first and find out what they
know of this affair.”
Grateful for the fact that he was still retained on the
case, if only momentarily, McNulty hurried from the
room. At the head of the stairs he encountered the
ubiquitous Peter once more.
“I came out of the other bedroom door which leads
into the hall,” the latter explained in an undertone as
they descended the stairs. “You got off easy, Jim. By
the time the assistant medical examiner has removed the
body for the autopsy the chief will be so interested in
the case that he will have gotten all over his wrath that
you couldn't do the impossible! I heard the instruc-
tions he gave you; let us see if we can get anything out
of old George.”
"I would rather have searched the house first,"
McNulty observed. "I cannot understand how any one
got away from here after committing the crime.”
"Nor me, sir!" ejaculated Donlin, who had awaited
them by the newel post in the entrance hall. "If there'd


THE LETTER
67
been a sign of a whirring, rattling noise overhead I
would be willing to swear that they got off in an aero
plane! Here's the list, Sergeant, though it is precious
little you'll get from the house servants, I'm thinking!
I have them all herded at the back in their own sitting-
room. There are few people nowadays who think as
much of the comfort of their help as the poor dead old
gentleman upstairs did.”
"How many are there?” McNulty asked.
"Five that sleep in the house. There's a man to wash
windows and scrub paint but he sleeps over the garage.
George Knapp, that old man who gave the alarm, is a
sort of butler and valet combined, as far as I could make
out, and the rest are all women.” Donlin hunched his
shoulders expressively. “There ain't one of them that
looks to be under sixty-odd years old! The fat one you
saw upstairs is Susan Judson, the cook; then there's
Agnes Williams, the housemaid, and Henrietta, her sister,
who is the kitchenmaid, and a big old shrew named
Jane Green with a false front; she does the laundry
work. For a man with all his millions Mr. Moberley
lived plainer than many an upstart on my regular beat.
Do you want to see all the servants at once or one at
a time, Sergeant?”.
"Each one separately, of course, Donlin, and after
I've finished with each in turn don't let them go back
to the sitting-room where the others are, but send them
to their own rooms and see that they stay there," di-
rected McNulty. "Have you been all through the lower


THE LETTER
69
"Your name is George Knapp?” McNulty asked
gently.
The man nodded as though unable to speak and, lean-
ing his elbows on the table, he rested his forehead upon
his hands.
"This has been a terrible shock to you, I know, but
I want you to try to think back, George, and tell me
everything that happened this night as far as you
know,” McNulty continued, adding: "Then I'll get
Dr. Dalrymple to give you some medicine and let you
rest. Perhaps you would like a drop of spirits now, if
Mr. Moberley kept any reserve stock ?”
The butler raised his head and flung out his trembling
hands in a gesture of repulsion.
"Oh, no, sir! It was the drink that pulled me down
twenty years ago and more, and Mr. Moberley saved
me from it! Do you know where he found me, sir,
me who had been in service to some of the best families !
Down on the Bowery, cleaner in a saloon for the liquor
to keep me going from day to day!" He paused with a
convulsive gulp and then went on: “He took me into
his own home here, trusted me to serve him with his
fine old wines at Christmas and on Mr. Charles' birth-
day—the only times in the year that he took a glass
himself—and I've never touched a drop since."
"Mr. Charles'?” McNulty repeated. “You mean
Mr. Moberley's nephew?”.
“Yes, sir, and a mischievous limb he was as a boy
growing up here, though good hearted. But about last
night. I-I can't quite seem to think yet, sir, I can only


70
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
see Mr. Moberley sitting there in that chair, and hear
his voice asking me why the lights were out!"
"Take your time, George," the detective admonished
kindly. "I want every detail that you can remember."
There was silence for a space while the tall clock
which stood in the corner ticked off the minutes loudly.
At last old George straightened in his chair.
"Well, sir, I served dinner just as usual and Mr.
Moberley seemed the same as ever except that he didn't
talk much to me as he sometimes did when he dined
alone; he was quiet and thoughtful and once I saw him
shake his head as if he was sort of sad about something.
I've often seen him like that when he was disappointed
in anybody he'd tried to help and I didn't think anything
of it. After dinner he told me he wasn't going out-
he always did lately on Wednesday evenings—and for
me to bring his coffee to the library. The maids all
went to bed, but I was kind of uneasy, for I'd thought
I'd seen something creeping about in the grounds after
dark and once a light flashed out real sharp.
"About half-past nine I made up my mind to speak
to Mr. Moberley about it and I went to him in the
library but he wouldn't believe there was anything
wrong. He told me to put the lights out and go to bed,
that he had a letter to write and would do it in his own
sitting-room upstairs—the room where where you saw
him die, sir !"
The old man paused as though overcome by his emo-
tions and McNulty prompted him quickly.
“You obeyed him at once, George?”


THE LETTER
71
“Yes, sir. I went to bed but I couldn't sleep for
thinking that maybe some one was prowling around out-
side. My room is on the third floor at the back, on the
same side of the house as Mr. Moberley's own rooms
below, and I kept my light burning in case there were
thieves about, so that they would know we weren't to
be taken by surprise. I tried to read but my eyesight
isn't as good as it used to be, and I began to think I
heard noises in the house, too."
“What sort of noises?" asked the detective.
"In the walls like rats, only not gnawing or scurrying;
slow and shuffling. I got up and opened my window
and saw that it was just one of the top branches of a
great old oak outside, blown against the sill by the wind.
The stable clock struck twelve and then I took notice
of something else that gave me a start! The light was
shining out of the windows of Mr. Moberley's sitting-
room on the floor below! He was never up as late as
midnight when he spent the evenings at home alone, in
all the years I've been here, and right then I knew that
something was wrong!
"I put on my dressing-gown and slippers as quick as
I could and went down and knocked at the door but no-
body answered. I knocked and knocked, and finally I
asked him through the door if he rang or did he want
anything. I know my place but I was so worried that
at last I opened the door and--and saw him sitting there
in his chair. I thought he had fallen asleep till I got
close up to him and saw the blood and that terrible thing
sticking out of his breast! I must have gone mad then,


72
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
sir! I don't remember anything except that the room
seemed to fill up with strange men, until Mr. Moberley
opened his eyes !—You know the rest, sir! I can't go
on!"
He buried his face in his hands and the bent shoulders
shook, but McNulty spoke in a changed tone, with a note
of authority which the old butler recognized and to
which he instinctively responded.
"George, for how long past has it been Mr. Mober-
ley's habit to go out every Wednesday evening?"
"For more than a month, sir; nearer two-Wednes-
day and Saturday nights, regular."
"Did he dress on these occasions ?”
"Evening clothes, you mean, sir?” George looked up
in surprise at the question. “Mr. Moberley always put
on a dinner coat, sir, even when he was alone. He said
many a time that a gentleman should have as much re-
spect for his own company as for that of others and
when he went out he dressed the same."
"Do you know where he went on those evenings?”
McNulty leaned suddenly across the table and looked
straight into the faded eyes confronting him. “Don't
be afraid to speak if you do know. You won't be
violating any confidence of his, and you can only help
him now by helping us to find out who killed him.”
"No, sir." George returned the searching gaze defer-
entially but steadily. "He never mentioned it and of
course I did not ask.”
"Had he any intimate friends whom he might have
been in the habit of visiting ?” persisted McNulty with


THE LETTER
73
a side glance at the astonished Pete. “Did he entertain
here frequently ?”
"Everybody was his friend," responded the old man
simply. “Everybody but the blackhearted wretch who
—who killed him! I did not think until to-night that
Mr. Moberley had an enemy in the world and I am sure
he didn't think so, either. He did not care for society,
sir, and never was what you might call intimate with
anybody since his two old friends, Mr. Geoffrey Hol-
lingsworth and Professor Tilford died. Mr. Charles
and his classmate at college, Mr. Montgomery Russell,
dined here often and sometimes Mr. Moberley's attor-
ney, Mr. Bankhead.”
Once more the detective's eyes met the blank stare of
Pete. Geoffrey J. Hollingsworth himself had been a
noted philanthropist in his time and the late Professor
Tilford was still remembered for his broad-visioned lec-
tures on altruism. Theodore Bankhead was equally
celebrated but in quite another fashion. Shrewdest of
corporation lawyers, he had more than once been desig-
nated openly in court as a soulless machine and although
it was conceivable that he should have been in charge
of Seward Moberley's huge financial interests, his great-
hearted but eccentric client's prodigal generosity must
have tried him almost beyond endurance.
McNulty could see from his friend's expression that
a kindred thought was passing through his mind also
now but there was no time for idle speculation and the
detective turned again to George.
"Who takes the mail from the house here?"


THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
"I took charge of any letters Mr. Moberley wrote,
sir, and put them in the post bag with any that the
servants might have wanted to send. Then I gave the
bag to Bennett in the morning when he brought the car
up to take Mr. Moberley to his office and Bennett left
it with Parker, who always waited at the main gates for
it and put the letters in the box at the corner of the
next block himself.”
“George,” McNulty leaned impressively forward once
more. “Did you by accident notice the names and ad-
dresses on any letters which Mr. Moberley wrote within
the last month or two?”
The old butler drew himself erect again in his chair
and for the first time his voice rang out with a strong,
vibrant timbre of indignation.
"I am not given to such 'accidents,' sir!” he exclaimed.
“I would as soon listen at keyholes or telephone exten-
sions to conversations not meant for my ears !"
He essayed to rise but the detective halted him sternly.
"A crime has been committed in this house and I am
an officer of the law, my man! You will answer my
questions whether you like them or not !-Have you
within the last few months seen the photograph or por-
trait of any woman in the possession of your em-
ployer?”
"A woman!" Mingled with the unfeigned astonish-
ment in George's tone was a note of outrage, as though
the very question were a sacrilege. “The only picture
of a woman that I have ever seen in this house is the


THE LETTER
75
portrait of Mr. Moberley's mother which hangs in the
drawing-room !”
Abruptly McNulty changed the trend of his ques-
tioning.
"I understand that Mr. Charles Moberley is as yet
unmarried. Why did he not continue to make his home
here where he was brought up?"
The butler hesitated for a moment.
"Well, sir,” he said, “Mr. Charles was sent to board-
ing school when he was fourteen and then to college, and
he took to spending his vacations in the summer with
his classmates, Mr. Montie—Mr. Russell, I should say,
-in particular. We're nearly all old folks about the
place here, sir, and young people ought to be with those
near their own age; at least, that is what Mr. Moberley
said when he gave Mr. Charles an allowance and ar-
ranged for him to have bachelor quarters of his own
downtown. Mr. Charles is reading law in Mr. Bank-
head's office.”
He added the last as though in extenuation and the
detective reverted to a former topic.
"Did Mr. Moberley frequently write letters in his
sitting-room at night?”
"Occasionally, sir. His secretary at the office at-
tended to most of his correspondence, I believe."
“What did Mr. Moberley do with the letters he wrote
at home? Did he put them in any especial place for
you to gather up for the post bag or give them to you
personally?"


76
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
"He brought them down himself when he came to
breakfast and left them on the table in the hall.” The
butler's tones had sunk lower and lower until now he
spoke in the merest whisper and it was evident that he
was at the end of his strength. Realizing that nothing
further could be gotten from him in his present condi-
tion, McNulty turned to Pete.
“Call Donlin, will you ?” he asked in an undertone.
Then to the old man he added: “That's all now,
George. You must try to rest, for there'll be work for
you to do. This officer will help you to your room.”
Donlin had appeared promptly at the door in answer
to the summons and as the aged butler was led away
Pete remarked to the detective:
"Now I see what you were driving at about those
faded and fresh ink tracings on that blotter upstairs !
According to George, the old gentleman said he had a
letter to write. Did he write it and put it away some-
where till morning? There was no letter on that writ-
ing table when we entered the room, I am sure of that.
If he wrote it and did not put it away there is only one
person who could have carried it off.”
McNulty nodded.
"The murderer," he said.


CHAPTER VI
THE SISTERS
SCEND the cook in next,” McNulty ordered, when
Donlin returned. Peter had slipped from the
room.
“Yes, Sergeant.” Donlin hesitated uncertainly, and
then volunteered: “Those two Williams sisters, the
housemaid and the kitchenmaid, are having hysterics
and if they ain't got out of the way the laundress will
start up, too. Cook's all right; she's got a sensible head
on her shoulders.”
"I get you.” McNulty nodded. “It doesn't matter;
send in the Williams sisters, one at a time.”
An angular, sandy-haired woman, well over fifty
years of age, presented herself before him. She was
clad in a blanket robe of a particularly hideous design
and her sharp features were bloated and reddened from
the tears which she still shed to an accompaniment of
sobs which now and then broke into a wail.
“Stop that now!” admonished Donlin as he pushed
her into the chair which George had occupied. “If you
77


78
THE CRIMSON B.LOTTER
don't brace up and answer questions that's put to you
here, you'll answer them at police headquarters, ma'am.”
The threat evidently produced an effect, for the
woman, by a convulsive effort, stifled her sobs and
thrust back the damp wisps of hair which had strayed
down into her eyes.
“That will do, Donlin,” McNulty remarked, and,
when the former had withdrawn, he asked: "What is
your name and occupation in this household ?”
"Ag-agnes W-williams, sir. I've been housemaid here.
f-for twenty-four years, ever since I was thirty and dear
Mr. Moberley found my sister and me s-starving in a
wretched room on Tenth Avenue. We couldn't get
work for we were both consumptive, but he sent us to
the country and cured us and then gave us positions
here. To think we c-could be sleeping in our beds while
he was being m-murdered! It will be the death of both
of us!"
“You heard or saw nothing, then, during the night?"
Agnes' drenched eyes widened in horror.
“Oh, no, sir! I should have died of fright if I had!
I finished my cleaning work at three in the afternoon
and then mended the household linen until dinner time.
After dinner I helped my sister Henrietta in the kitchen
and then we went directly up to bed, for the wind was
rising and I thought we should have a storm. Henri-
etta has the room next to mine with a connecting door
between, on the top floor at the other side of the house,
and she fell asleep almost at once. I heard Sarah come
upstairs and then I must have dropped off, too, for the


THE SISTERS
79
first thing I knew a terrible cry just split my ears! It
was George's voice but I never heard him scream out
like that before and I was sure it must mean that there
were burglars in the house! My sister came to me, as
white as a sheet, and wewe both hid in the closet un-
til that police officer came and pounded on the door of
my room. He wouldn't tell us a thing except just who
he was, and he ordered us to go downstairs by the back
way at once, without even time to dress properly." She
paused and for an instant a look of quiet satisfaction
crept over her face. “Of course we obeyed, but he was
having a time with Jane when we passed her door !"
"Never mind Jane," McNulty remarked. “You came
down to the sitting-room- ?”
“Yes, sir. We found Sarah there already and
George, too, almost beside himself! It was Sarah who
told us what had happened to Mr. Moberley."
Agnes' flat bosom heaved and she showed signs of
returning emotion but the detective checked them hastily.
"You clean the entire house, including Mr. Moberley's
bedroom and private sitting-room, do you not ?"
"Y-yes, sir, all but the rough work; the houseman
does that.”
“Which rooms do you set to rights first in the morn-
ing?” McNulty pursued. "I want to know how you
arrange your work for the day.”
“Well, sir, we have our breakfast at six, and then
unless the drawing-room has been used—which hasn't
happened six times a year-I put the library in order
and then the dining-room and entrance hall. Mr.


80
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
Moberley breakfasted at eight and from then until after
he had left for the office I made the beds and dusted
all our rooms on the third floor. Then I did the stairs
until I got down to the second floor. That would be
about a little after nine o'clock usually, and I went in
to Mr. Moberley's own rooms. I never had much to
do there except on my regular cleaning days, for he
was the pink of neatness, and George always attended
to his clothes. I'd just dust and brush up around and
make the bed, and clean the bathroom and empty the
waste paper basket. If it was winter Mr. Moberley
liked a wood fire in the open hearth in the sitting-room,
but the houseman always cleaned the ashes out and
polished the andirons."
McNulty regarded the woman reflectively for a mo-
ment as she sat drying her eyes on a soaked string of
a handkerchief. Was it his fancy or had there been a
peculiar note in her voice when she spoke of the waste
paper basket? She had most certainly paused for the
fraction of a second after mentioning it and then
hurried on with the first thought which presented itself
to her mind; a thought which was abviously a relative
one, but connected by what link? The basket suggested
torn papers. Might not the reference to the fireplace
have been related to it in her mind, unconsciously per-
haps, with burned ones?
There could be no question but that she shared the
devotion of the other servants to their late employer,
yet her sharp features indicated curiosity, her small,
close-set eyes jealousy, and the thin lips and prominent


THE SISTERS
81
chin gave the impression of acrimony and determina-
tion. The condescension with which she spoke of all
the other servants except her sister revealed her belief
in her own superiority.
Evidently she considered herself the housekeeper and
real head of the staff. What if she had gleaned from
torn papers in the waste basket, perhaps, or half burned
ones in the fireplace that Mr. Moberley had contem-
plated matrimony? She was of the type which would
have regarded with bitter rebelliousness of spirit any
change that threatened her authority after all these
years, and have looked upon a real mistress of the es-
tablishment as an interloper to be kept out at all costs.
It was a mere guess, but the detective resolved upon
a chance shot in the dark.
"I understand that Mr. Moberley has provided liber-
ally for everyone in his employ in the event of his
death.” His tone was idly speculative. “You and
your sister as well as the rest will be comfortably situ-
ated now."
"We could never be more comfortably situated than
we were before this night!" Agnes cried. “We are not
gad-abouts, and the work was light; we could arrange
it to suit ourselves with never a word of direction or
complaint from Mr. Moberley. Not that there was oc-
casion for any, for I saw to it that everything was done
right, as you can see for yourself, sir. If I do say it,
there isn't a house of its size in the city that could have
been run any better with twice the number in help!”.
“Yet you were all here, after all, just to look out for


82 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
the comfort of one old gentleman of singularly quiet,
regular habits.” McNulty's eyes narrowed. “Mr.
Moberley seldom had company and there were no enter-
tainments to arrange for and clean up after, such as is
usual in houses of this size. How many guest rooms
are there?”
“Six, sir.” Agnes eyed him in surprise at the ques-
tion. "Two, with a bath between, back of the rooms
Mr. Moberley himself occupied and four across the hall,
including Mr. Charles' room, which was always kept
ready and waiting for him, though he hardly ever stayed
here since he got his own apartment.”
“Quite a house party could be entertained here, then."
McNulty's tone was still musing. “You've all been
spared a lot of extra work and trouble. If Mr. Mober-
ley had married, now, things would have been very
different, especially if his wife were young and fond
of life and company."
Agnes' thin lips tightened, but she showed no surprise
at the suggestion.
"Yes, things would have been different!” A hard
gleam shone for an instant in her eyes. Was it one of
exultation? The next moment it had faded and she
spoke slowly as though choosing her words with studied
effect. “Mr. Moberley always seemed contented and
happy as he was, sir. We none of us ever thought of
his marrying, not even years ago when he was in the
prime of life.--Is there anything more that you would
like to know, sir? My sister is real upset and I want to
get back to her as soon as you will let me."


THE SISTERS
83
So that was it! McNulty's pulse quickened as the
conviction came to him. Trivial or important as it
might prove to be, there was something that this woman
wished to caution her sister not to reveal when the
latter's turn came to be questioned. Why had that im-
pulse come to her only after his suggestion of Mr.
Moberley's possible marriage?"
"I am afraid that is impossible just now, but your
sister will come to you presently," he replied smoothly.
Then raising his voice, he called: “Donlin!”
“ 'Impossible'?” Agnes repeated in visible agitation.
"My sister and I know nothing of this terrible affair,
sir! I have told you of everything that happened this
night - !"
“I'm here, Sergeant,” Donlin interrupted her as he
opened the door.
"Take Agnes to one of the guest rooms on the second
floor at the rear, on the opposite side of the hall from
Mr. Moberley's apartments. Let one of the boys re-
main with her until I send her sister to her.” McNulty
made a significant gesture and the officer winked
broadly in understanding as the woman rose to her feet.
"But I must go to Henrietta! I must!" she cried.
"You have no right to keep me from her!”
“Come along now, ma'am," Donlin advised. "No one
has any rights in this house for a while but the police,
as you'll very soon see if you try to interfere with the
sergeant's orders. No one's going to hurt your sister
and nobody's accusing either of you of anything.
You'll mind now and come with me!”


84
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
Wildly protesting, she was led from the room and
McNulty rose and paced the floor. Whatever it was
that she wanted to warn her sister not to reveal, it could
not have concerned the actual murder of their employer
and benefactor, any more than they themselves could
have had any foreknowledge of the crime. The detec-
tive did not for a moment doubt the truth of the
woman's statement that she had slept through those
tragic early hours of the night unconscious of the
hideous deed that was being perpetrated beneath the
same roof. Could it be, however, that Agnes knew or
suspected the author of the crime and was attempting
to shield him? Did she fear that her sister might in-
advertently give to McNulty himself a clew to the truth?
"Do you want the other one now, Sergeant?" Donlin
asked as he reappeared.
McNulty nodded.
“Yes, but first go up and lock the doors of the rooms
those two sisters occupy. Put one of the boys on guard
to see that no one even tries to enter them and bring me
the keys," he replied. “Don't say anything to Captain
Hardy about it; I want to have a look around in there
first."
"That one you just talked to, sir, is the strongest
minded of the two and at that they were both as scared
as mice when I went up for them," Donlin remarked.
"Wait till I bring the other one!"
As he left the room once more there came the sound
of another car winding its way up from the main gates
and evidently taking the curves of the driveway on two


THE SISTERS
85
wheels, although no horn was sounded. Surely the as-
sistant medical examiner must have arrived long ago!
The hands of the tall clock in the corner pointed to ten
minutes before two. The car stopped and after a mo
ment McNulty heard the subdued thud of the front door
closing just as Donlin ushered in a woman obviously
several years younger than the one he had just inter-
viewed, a trifle shorter, a trifle more rounded, with hair
a shade or two lighter and a weak, indeterminate face,
and yet there was an indefinable, unmistakable resem-
blance between them.
“You are Henrietta Williams, the kitchenmaid ?” he
asked. “Sit down, please."
The officer came to his side and beneath the edge of
the table top handed him two keys. When he had de-
parted, and the woman with a nervous nod had seated
herself McNulty went on:
"I want you to tell me everything you know of what
has happened in this house since dinner time last night."
"But—but I thought my sister had told you." She
spoke in a timid, quavering voice and made futile dabs
at her puffed eyelids. “You've been talking to her,
haven't you, sir? We were together every minute un-
til we went to bed and after George's cries woke us up
when he found !"
"Never mind your sister!" the detective interrupted
bruskly. “I want your own story.”
She told it in a hesitant, fluttering manner, but it
proved to be substantially the same as the account which
Agnes had given and McNulty did not force her to dwell


86
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
upon it. Instead when she had finished he asked sud-
denly:
"Henrietta, would you have remained in service here
if Mr. Moberley had married ?”
Her eyes shifted and a bright spot of color appeared
in each tear-streaked cheek.
"I—I don't know what you mean, sir!" she faltered.
“Mr. Moberley was so kind as to give us a home when
we were sick and in want and we have been here a good
many years, as Agnes may have told you. If he had
been married and his wife wasn't good to us I am sure
he would have found us another position together or
set us up in some sort of little business of our own.
I've said that to Agnes over and over !"
She checked herself suddenly with a look of fright,
but McNulty asked quickly:
"And what did Agnes say?"
“That she wouldn't stay one minute under this roof,
no matter how grateful she was to Mr. Moberley or
if we lost our chance for a pension in our old age!
I wouldn't have cared what his wife was like but
Agnes would not even have waited to see. She's
different from me because she has had her own way so
long."
"I see. Then you thought, if Mr. Moberley had
lived, that he intended to marry?” McNulty kept his
voice studiously indifferent.
"Y-yes, sir.—At least we've talked over the possi-
bility of it!" Henrietta added hurriedly as though con-


THE SISTERS
87
scious of her slip. “Mr. Moberley was a fine looking
gentleman, sir, and young for his years although he was
always so quiet and dignified.”
"Who did you think he contemplated marrying?”
"Why—why, nobody in particular, sir !—That is, we
didn't know, of course, but when a gentleman of his
age, who's always stayed home evenings for years and
years, takes to going out twice a week regular it looks
as though he was calling on somebody," she floundered
helplessly. "We didn't know of any lady, but Agnes
was afraid. Poor Mr. Moberley! If only he was alive
again nothing else in the world would matter! Have
they caught the burglars yet, sir?".
"What burglars?”.
"Why, the ones that broke in and killed Mr. Mober-
ley, sir! It was burglars, wasn't it? Agnes said it
was!"
McNulty studied her face keenly before he replied.
Her tone had been naïvely ingenuous, but again that
look of fright had crept into her eyes and her breath
came in a sobbing gasp. It was evident, as Donlin had
intimated, that she had been for so long under the domi-
nation of the older, stronger sister as completely to have
lost the faculty of thinking for herself and had become
a mere echo of the other. Yet why was she so anxious
to have that sister's theory of the identity of their em-
ployer's murderers confirmed ? Could there be an alter-
native and dreaded idea in her own mind of the manner
of his death?


88
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
Before the detective could satisfy himself on that
score, however, the door opened and Peter appeared on
the threshold with Donlin at his heels.
"The chief wants you to drop this line of investiga-
tion for a few minutes, Jim, and go and talk to Mr.
Charles Moberley; he's in the drawing-room." There
was a peculiar expression about Peter's mouth. “You'd
better get on the job.”
The woman was already out of her chair, in uncon-
cealed relief that her ordeal was over or at least
temporarily postponed, and McNulty rose, directing
Donlin to take her to her sister. When they were alone
Peter remarked:
"The chief's an ace! He is wild, of course, about
this thing coming to pass in spite of the place being sur-
rounded and all, but he admitted to me just now that
he didn't see how he could have prevented it himself
under the circumstances, and that is a devil of a lot for
the head of a department at headquarters to confess to
a man he knows is a reporter !".
"He knows from experience that he can trust you,
too, Pete. Don't forget that. How did he take it
when he found you here?”
"He didn't find me; I walked in on him and the as-
sistant medical examiner when I left you here, to see
if we had possibly overlooked any letter which the old
gentleman might have written." Peter grinned. “He
said he had supposed I'd be somewhere around as long
as you were on the case, and he had practically let me in


THE SISTERS
89
on it, too, when he told you to find out if I could help
you discover who might have written that anonymous
warning which was sent in to Headquarters. He even
gave me a deleted version of the affair to phone in to
the shop for the early edition, so I've got my beat, after
all !—He wants you to tackle young Moberley now.
Not a word about that anonymous letter, remember;
you and I happened to be passing by on the Drive when
we heard the cry of alarm and investigated. Under-
stand?"
"No, I've never worked on a case before !" McNulty
responded in good-natured sarcasm. Then he added
firmly: “You're not going to be in on this interview,
though, old scout! I want you to find out what room on
the second floor Donlin has put those Williams sisters in
and contrive some way to listen to their conversation.
I'll join you as soon as I can. I think you may hear
something interesting about a lady—a lady who but for
to-night's event might have become Mrs. Seward
Moberley."
"What the !" Peter began in astonishment, but
McNulty had turned and was already making his way
toward the front of the house, to the room opposite the
library.
Just outside the door he paused. A masculine voice,
unmistakably youthful but broken with strong emotion,
exclaimed:
"But why won't that ass Dalrymple let me see him,
Montie? What's that cop doing in the house, and why


90
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
are there two other cars beside Dalrymple's parked out-
side ? I saw a lot of strange men poking about the
grounds, too; that was why I turned on my searchlight,
to be sure. I tell you I'm going to see Uncle Seward if
I have to fight my way to him!”
"Steady there, Charlie!” A second male voice, agi-
tated but not as markedly so as the first, reached the de-
tective's ears. “The dear old boy may have been hurt
somehow but I don't see, myself, why they've planted us
here. I've no business in it, of course, but you're his
only relative —- !"
The voice broke off abruptly as McNulty turned the
knob of the door and entered. A dark, slender, good-
looking young man, evidently the last speaker, was
standing by one of the windows and another masculine
figure rose hastily from a chair by the cold hearth.
It was to the latter that the detective addressed him-
self.
"You are Mr. Charles Moberley?”
"I am. Who in hell are you?”
McNulty saw before him a blond young giant
with masses of red-gold, rumpled hair and blue eyes,
ringed and sunken, staring at him out of a very white
face.
"I am a sergeant connected with the homicide squad
at police headquarters, sir," he replied slowly.
Charles Moberley rocked upon his heels and gripped
the back of the chair in which he had been seated as
though for support, while his eyes seemed fairly to burn
into those of McNulty.


THE SISTERS
91
“ 'Homicide!” he repeated in a toneless whisper.
“Good God, you don't mean !
“Your uncle, Mr. Seward Moberley, has been the
victim of a murderous assault, I regret to inform you."
The detective spoke quietly but with grave intensity.
“He died a little more than an hour ago."


CHAPTER VII
MONTIE SENDS A WIRE
THERE was silence for a moment after Ser-
1 geant McNulty made his announcement. Charles
Moberley still stared at him but he had ceased swaying
and the knuckles of the hand which gripped the chair
back showed white. It was the other young man who
broke the tension.
“Dead!” he exclaimed. “Lord, what a frightful
thing! I did think some accident had occurred but
nothing as horrible as this !—Charlie, old man! Don't
stare like that!"
He sprang to his friend's side and laid his hand upon
the latter's shoulder and at the touch Charles Moberley
shuddered from head to foot.
"It's impossible!” His lips moved mechanically.
“An assault! Murder! Who—who did it?”
'That is what we are here to determine,” McNulty
responded. "He was discovered in a dying condition
by the butler, George Knapp."
In the soft glow of the lamps the detective could see
the glisten of great beads of perspiration which sprang
92


MONTIE SENDS A WIRE 93
out on Charles Moberley's brow, in spite of the chill
of the long closed room.
"Perhaps,” he paused and moistened his stiffened lips,
"perhaps he hurt himself in some way, and—and his
heart went back on him. Dalrymple doesn't know
everything! Was there any sound of a disturbance?"
"None that the butler heard but we have not yet con-
cluded our examination of the other servants,” McNulty
replied cautiously. "When you last saw your uncle, did
he seem in his usual health and spirits?”
“Of course," the young man answered, then added
quickly: “But in a man of his age, you know, anything
is likely to happen. A stroke, or a touch of vertigo
I cannot believe that any one would want to-to harm
him.”
His voice broke and, relaxing his grip upon the chair,
he sank into it and buried his face in his hands.
“It must have been thieves, of course!" the other
man, whom Charles had called Montie, volunteered.
“How many times have I told you that you ought to
get your uncle to leave this lonely old house, or at least
employ able-bodied watchmen about it instead of sur-
rounding himself with antediluvian retainers?”
"There were no signs of disorder and nothing has
been stolen as far as we have been able to discover."
McNulty moved slightly so as to face the bowed figure
in the chair. “It was not a touch of vertigo that killed
your uncle, but a touch of cold steel-or rather, bronze
-near the heart which caused his death.”
“ 'Bronze!” Charles sprang to his feet. "What do


94 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
you mean? God, man, don't keep me in suspense !"
Tears stood out unashamed upon his cheeks but his
eyes were suddenly hard and bright.
"Your uncle was stabbed with a miniature sword
taken from one of the bronze dueling figures which
stand by the windows in his sitting-room.”
“That thing !" There was immeasurable contempt in
his tones. “Why, I used to play with that as a child!
It's so blunt it wouldn't cut paper! If old George told
you that — !"
"It was protruding from your uncle's breast when my
colleague and I reached his side in response to the
alarm,” the detective interrupted him. “Mr. Moberley
rallied sufficiently in our presence to pluck it from the
wound himself but he died before his physician arrived.
Dr. Dalrymple is now in consultation with the assistant
medical examiner; that is why you have been requested
to wait for a few minutes. When did you last see your
uncle?"
But Charles Moberley seemed not to have heard the
question. McNulty's tone had at last carried conviction
to his dazed brain and he staggered back aghast, reeling
against the mantel above the fireplace. The next mo
ment he recovered himself and sprang for the door but
the detective caught his arm.
"Where are you going? You have not answered my
question."
"To see him!" Charles turned upon the detective
with the ferocity of a man goaded to frenzy. "I want
to see him with my own eyes! There's been devil's


MONTIE SENDS A WIRE 95
work here! I've got to know the truth !—Let me go,-
you!"
“Here, this won't do, you know, Charlie !" His
friend came to McNulty's assistance and together they
forced him back into his chair. “You've got to pull
yourself together and wait until the authorities give you
permission to see the—the body. They're in charge
now. The truth is, Sergeant, that we've both been-er
-investigating some private stock of a friend of ours
all evening and this shock coming on top of it-well,
you know how it is!"
After a futile struggle Charles' muscles relaxed save
for the hands which clung to the arms of his chair, and
he sank back with his lack-luster eyes staring straight
but unseeingly before him as the detective turned to the
other.
"You are Montgomery Russell ?”
“Yes. How the deuce did you know?” the young
man demanded in surprise.
"You have been mentioned as Charles Moberley's
closest friend,” McNulty explained. “You and he were
together all last evening?”
“Since five in the afternoon. We played squash at
the club and had a swim in the pool. Then we dined
at the Palatine and went on to our friend's house. We
remained there until a little before one o'clock when
Char—Mr. Moberley here, got a notion that he wanted
to take a little run in his car before turning in and of
course I went with him. We took it from the garage
and he drove it to the Bracefield where he lives, in order


96
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
to get a heavier coat. There he found the message that
his uncle was ill and we raced up here." Montie
Russell paused for breath and then as an idea dawned
upon him he added indignantly: “I say, what did you
mean by that question, Sergeant? You're not trying
to make him establish an alibi, or anything of that sort,
are you? Do you mean to insinuate !"
"I mean to find out where every one associated or
connected in any way with the late Seward Moberley
spent the hours of last evening!” McNulty interrupted
firmly. Then he turned to the other young man. “Mr.
Moberley, I must ask you again; when did you last
see your uncle?”
“Eh?" Charles roused himself and looked up dazedly.
The detective repeated the question for the third time
but in a less stern tone, for it was evident that the young
man was making a supreme effort to collect himself.
"It was on Sunday, I think.Yes, Sunday, when I
dined here, for I have not called at his office this week.”
The words came slowly, gropingly.
“Do you recall anything in the conversation on that
occasion which would lead you to suspect that your
uncle anticipated the possibility of an attack upon him?
Did he mention having received any threatening letters
or that sort of thing?”
“No! I-I don't believe he ever thought that he had
an enemy in the world !” Again his voice broke but he
controlled himself and went on: “He seemed in his
happiest mood and full of plans for the future."
"What sort of plans?" McNulty asked quickly.


MONTIE SENDS A WIRE
97
"Some new benevolent project of his. I–I cannot
think !"
"That's all right, Charlie! The sergeant under-
stands," put in the irrepressible Montie. “I told him,
you know, that we'd been-er-dallying a bit with some
relics of a past era. Your head will clear in a little
while."
"At what time did you leave the Palatine restaurant?"
The detective ignored the interruption.
"I—I don't know." Charles raised his hand to his
head. “We waited over our coffee to see the revue.--
God! How long ago it seems!"
"Well, I know," Montie announced. “The show
there ends at nine o'clock sharp and we stayed for the
finale."
“You went directly to your friend's house?” McNulty
pursued and at Charles' nod he asked: “Who is this
friend?”
Charles darted a swift glance at the detective and then
looked straight before him as though attempting to
concentrate, but once more it was Montie who stepped
into the breech.
"It was a friend of mine, Sergeant. My brother-in-
law, in fact." He coughed nervously. “I hope you
won't drag him into this. You see, my sister is away
and it was strictly a stag affair; she'd raise ructions if
she knew. If you are a married man yourself - ?"
"Who is your brother-in-law and where does he
live?" McNulty again interrupted his loquacious in-
formant.


98
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
"Why, he's Kim Van Nostrand; lives down on Gram-
ercy Park. Deuced bad form to accept the hospitality
even of relatives and then betray it, especially as my
sister- ”
"Thank you, Mr. Russell,” McNulty said pointedly
and turned again to Charles, who was regarding his
friend with a dazed air. “Mr. Moberley, did not your
uncle refer on Sunday to other plans of his for the
future, of a more personal nature?”
"I don't think I understand your question, Sergeant."
The young man straightened himself in his chair. “We
never discussed finances here at the house-family
finances, I mean—and looking back now it seems as
though all my uncle's plans have been for others."
"Mr. Moberley intended to marry shortly. You
knew that, of course,” McNulty remarked smoothly.
"I thought you might have discussed the coming change
in his life "
"Married ?" Charles raised his eyes and stared into
those of the detective once more. “Some one has
grossly misinformed you, Sergeant! To my knowledge
my uncle has never been personally interested in any
woman, and I was as close to him as a son could have
been. He would have told me had he contemplated
such a step."
"He had not mentioned it to you, then?”
"Certainly not! I can assure you that you are mis-
taken. My uncle was interested only in his philan-
thropic projects and the vast financial operations which
made them possible." There was a trace of indignation


MONTIE SENDS A WIRE
99
in the young man's tones. "I suppose whenever a
notable man dies canards of various sorts are started
about him, but it is a little early for rumor to have at-
tacked my uncle !"
“Nevertheless we have it on the best authority," the
detective persisted. “If you have been as close to him
as you say, surely you must know the ladies of his ac-
quaintance, even though you may not have been aware
that he was paying marked attention to one of them.”
"I do not know what authority you consider the best
but I can only assure you once more that you have been
misinformed." Charles' raised voice told of nerves
strained to the breaking point. “My uncle cared noth-
ing for society, I tell you, and to suggest that he would
have installed under this roof a person of another sort
is almost sacrilege now !—I refuse to answer any more
of your infernal questions! I demand to see my uncle's
body!"
He lurched forward in his chair as though to rise,
but Montie laid a restraining hand upon him again.
“See here, Charlie, whether your uncle had any idea
of matrimony or not is beside the point now. The
thing is to find out who got in here last night and killed
him, and it's up to you to help the authorities all you
can, and get angry at their methods afterwards if you
like."
"You're right, of course.—I-I scarcely know what
I'm saying!" Charles covered his eyes for a moment
and then looked up as a sudden thought came to him.
"Has Mr. Bankhead been notified, Sergeant? I should


100
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
have remembered that before. If my uncle had planned
such an incredible thing as marriage and for some
reason kept it from me, Bankhead is the only other per-
son in the world who would know about it, for he was
Uncle Seward's attorney and had charge of all his busi-
ness affairs. I'm preparing briefs in his office-a:
twenty-five dollar a week clerk could do as well, I sup-
pose, yet it was my uncle's wish that I should have a
thorough working knowledge of corporation law-but
old Bankhead wouldn't have betrayed my uncle's confi-
dence to me any more than he would to a total stranger.
Hadn't I better send him a wire? He still motors out
every afternoon to his country place at Briarmead.”
"I'll do it," offered Montie. "I can phone it from
here to the nearest telegraph office. What shall I say,
Sergeant? It ought to be worded in a veiled sort of
way, don't you think? We don't want a pack of re-
porters baying about the house before dawn!"
His naïve inclusion of himself in the proceedings in
spite of repeated snubbing was irresistible, and McNulty,
thinking of Peter and his “beat,” realized the value of
the suggestion.
"I would merely state that his presence here was im-
peratively needed at the earliest possible moment, and
sign Charles Moberley's name," the detective advised.
"It would be better to telephone to him directly instead
of wiring- "
"Can't be done,” Charles said slowly. “I tried to get
him yesterday after he had gone home and they told me
his phone was out of order,"


MONTIE SENDS A WIRE
101
“ 'Imperatively needed-earliest possible moment,'"
repeated Montie, his good-looking but rather vacant
countenance contorted with the effort to memorize the
message. “I'll add that he had better motor down at
once if he can't get a train; that ought to show him that
it's urgent!"
"Use the telephone extension in the library," Charles
suggested and when the door had closed behind his
friend he added: “What's your theory, Sergeant? I
can't realize it yet! My uncle was the noblest character
I ever knew; no one in all the world can appreciate that
fact as I can! Surely it must have been a madman
who killed him!”
"I have no theory, Mr. Moberley; at headquarters we
deal only with facts and in this case we have as yet very
few to go upon. Was your uncle in the habit of keep-
ing any valuables in the house?-heirlooms, jewelry,
money, negotiable securities? We have not had time
to give the house more than a superficial search.”
Charles Moberley shook his head.
“Our heirlooms are of little value intrinsically, except
my grandmother's jewels and the family silver and they
are all in a vault downtown. My uncle never brought
negotiable securities or a large amount of money home
with him and even the pictures in the music room just
back of this—it used to be the ball room in my grand-
mother's day—would be hardly worth cutting from
their frames, for neither my uncle nor our ancestors
were art connoisseurs; they bought paintings because
they liked them or wanted to help some poor devil of


102
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
a dabster, and the result is that we have a collection of
mid-Victorian atrocities. There could have been noth-
ing here to tempt a thief.”
“Then we must look for another motive. The lives
of men in the public eye are frequently threatened by
madmen, cranks, fanatics, call them what you will, but
not five per cent of those threats are followed by even
attempts at action.”
Charles stirred impatiently in his chair.
“But my uncle's life was never threatened !” he ex-
claimed. "If, as you say, the room in which you found
him was not in disorder, and there were no signs of a
struggle, how do you account for it? Do you think he
knew his assailant?”
The younger man's blue eyes, feverishly dark now,
were staring again into those of the detective and the
latter shrugged evasively, but before he could frame a
response the door opened and revealed the dignified
form of Dr. Dalrymple.
“My dear boy!" He held out his hand to Charles
Moberley. “The assistant medical examiner is prepar-
ing to remove the body of your uncle for a-er-neces-
sary formality, but Captain Hardy, who is in charge of
the investigation into his death, has given permission for
you to come upstairs for a moment if you wish."
"I have been waiting, Doctor!" Charles sprang
eagerly to his feet and started across the room to the
door but paused, reeling slightly, midway. "Are you
coming, Sergeant?”
"No, Mr. Moberley. I have work to do down here."


MONTIE SENDS A WIRE
103
McNulty's tone was absent, as though with the ap
pearance of the physician he had fallen into a train of
thought far removed from the matter at hand, but once
alone his expression changed to one of alert tenseness.
Following them to the door, he waited until they had
vanished up the stairs, and then crossing the hall
silently he stepped behind the heavy velvet portières
which hung at the side of the library doorway and
listened.
"I can't tell you!” Montie's voice was raised slightly
in the anguish of remonstrance. “You'll know soon
enough, and I'm taking a chance now in warning you.
I've taken a chance already for you and if it doesn't go
through we'll all be in Dutch, so you'd better get under
cover!"


THE LADY IN BLACK
105
tone was indifferent, as though he were only making
small talk until the return of the murdered man's
nephew. “The butler tells me that part of this house
dates back to pre-Revolutionary days and the architec-
ture of old places has always interested me."
“It never seemed to me that there was much archi-
tecture to a four-square Colonial mansion with a one-
story wing at the back, but of course Charlie and I
rambled all over the place and explored every nook and
corner of the house when we were kids. I don't know
how old it is; never inquired.” Montie eyed the de-
tective somewhat askance. “It doesn't seem to matter
much now, with that splendid old chap who owned it
lying done to death upstairs.”
"Sometimes the architecture of a house in which a
murder takes place is of a great deal of importance in
solving the crime.” McNulty smiled. “It is in con-
nection with my profession that architecture interests
me; one must familiarize one's self with the means by
which a miscreant might enter and leave a house with-
out being observed. I don't mean anything so romantic
as a haunted or secret passage- "
“But there is supposed to be just such a passageway!"
Montie interrupted. “Not haunted or secret, now, I
don't mean, but simply fallen into disuse for the last
half century. Old Mr. Moberley would never talk
about it, and it must have been walled up long ago if it
ever existed, for Charlie and I hunted high and low for
signs of it when we were boys but we could not find it.
It was supposed to have been used in Revolutionary


106
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
times by Continental troops—this house was a sort of
temporary headquarters for some general or other—and
later, during the time previous to the Civil War, there
are tales that runaway slaves from the South were con-
cealed here temporarily with the connivance of Mr.
Seward Moberley's father and conducted in and out
through that tunnel, or whatever it was."
“Then I presume it was supposed to lead to the
river," the detective remarked.
"Obviously.” Montie yawned with elaborate pre-
tense. “Silly rot, I call the whole story. You hear idle
tales of that sort about nearly every historic old place
like this.” He rose as footsteps sounded coming down
the staircase. "I wonder if that's Charlie? I've got to
be getting on; I live with mother and a kid sister, you
know, over on East Sixty-fourth Street, near the Ave-
nue, and they can't realize yet that I'm out of leading
strings."
Charles Moberley entered the room and came slowly
forward. In contrast to his former agitation and grief
his face seemed strangely set and composed although
there were signs of more recent emotion upon it, and
certain grim lines had settled about his finely chiseled
mouth. Despite his blue eyes and Saxon blond hair
his clear-cut, aquiline features gave one the impression
of those of an ancient Roman warrior which the new
sternness of his attitude emphasized.
"I'm going to stay here, at least until Bankhead ar-
rives,” he announced. “Captain Hardy thinks it would
be best, and although I don't want to seem to be taking


THE LADY IN BLACK
107
possession, some one should remain in charge, and as
far as I know I was my uncle's only living relative.”
"The place is yours, now, anyway, Charlie,” inter-
jected Montie tactlessly.
Charles Moberley winced.
"It was Uncle Seward's, to do with as he pleased,” he
replied quietly. "He may have willed it to some insti-
tution or other. I'm not thinking of any inheritance
now. I intend to find out who did this horrible thing
and make him suffer for it; I shall not rest until I do."
“We'll do our best to bring him to justice,”
McNulty assured him.
“I am sure that you will, but you can understand that
this is a personal matter with me.” Charles smiled but
a sudden ferocity leaped from his eyes, turning their
blue to a sinister greenish glow. "No one can avenge
his death as I can when I find the man!—You'll stay
with me at least for to-night, Montie?"
"Not I!" the latter reached precipitately for his coat
and hat which lay across a chair near the door. “Of
course I'd like to, old chap, but you know how mother
is if I don't come home, and you forget that I've got to
see a man on particular business as early as possible.
I'll take the subway down to where I can pick up a taxi,
and I won't bother to phone in the morning; I'll come
right along back as soon as the business is finished.”
He favored his friend with a meaning glance which
sat almost comically upon his dapper, insignificant fea-
tures and Charles appeared to understand, for he
shrugged.


THE LADY IN BLACK
109
.
of that cryptic message he had overheard Montie deliver-
ing at the phone? He had not been at all deceived by
that young man's guileless countenance and lackadaisical
air. Charles Moberley was impulsive, fiery and labor-
ing under strong emotion but his companion, in spite of
his sangfroid, had assumed the real command of the
situation, and the detective was not certain that Montie's
constant interruptions in the inquiry had not been cal-
culatingly made.
Whom had he warned to get "under cover"? What
chance had he already taken for this unknown person
which, if it did not succeed, might get them all “in
Dutch”? Could they have known, before they ap-
peared, the nature of the tragic news which awaited
them on arrival? It did not seem possible that Charles
himself could have known unless he were a supreme
actor, but his companion was of different caliber, and,
notwithstanding the weakness of his features, McNulty
felt sure that his was the stronger, cooler, better con-
trolled nature of the two.
The entrance of the cook put an end for a time to
his cogitations. The woman had tightened her bath-
robe about her and arranged her hair, but the shocked
expression still lingered upon her broad, normally placid
face and her honest eyes were clouded by recent tears.
"I attended to that little matter, sir,” Donlin an-
nounced as he withdrew. "Mr. Sayre is asking for you,
and they're removing the body now, Sergeant."
“Tell Mr. Sayre that he may join me here if he
wishes," responded the detective. “I shall not need to


110
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
see the medical examiner: I can get the details of his
preliminary report at headquarters later.—You are
Sarah Judson?”
He added the last to the cook who stood respectfully
waiting
“Yes, sir. I have been here thirty years, since two
years before Mr. Seward Moberley's mother died. I
have watched great changes come to this house, sir, but
none so sudden, so terrible as that which has come to
night."
"When did you first know that anything had hap
pened?"
“When I heard George scream out, sir! I wrote a
letter or two in here after dinner and went up to bed
after the housemaid and kitchenmaid. I went to sleep
almost at once and awakened only when that cry of
alarm sounded in my ears.” She paused and added:
“I did not wait to dress as you know, sir, but just put
on this robe and slippers. You were there when I got
to the door of Mr. Moberley's sitting-room and I heard
you ask about the telephone."
“You heard Mr. Moberley's dying statement, didn't
you, Sarah?”
"About the man who had stabbed him? I shall never
forget it, sir!" For a minute her voice trembled but
she conquered her emotion. “He said it was a man
with his cap pulled down over his eyes and gray hair,
didn't he? The man said something about there being
‘one out of the way if I heard Mr. Moberley right.


112
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
given here, and though the old friends kept on calling
for a year or two they gradually dropped off when they
saw that Mr. Moberley didn't intend to keep up the
traditions of the house."
"Mr. Charles Moberley is his nephew? Where is the
young gentleman's father?”.
"Dead long ago and his wife with him. He was
younger than Mr. Seward Moberley and cared only for
music. He lived abroad for years and married a lovely
foreign lady, but both of them died over there before
they were thirty.” Sarah twisted the rope of her bath-
robe between her hands as she spoke. “I don't want to
be gossiping and repeating family history, sir."
“It isn't gossip, Sarah; go on,” McNulty said en-
couragingly. “I could get it from Mr. Bankhead when
he arrives but he will have a great deal of important
work to do and we don't want to bother him with de-
tails any more than will be necessary, while Mr. Charles
Moberley may not know as much about the family
affairs as one who has practically been a member of it
as long as you have."
Her good-natured face flushed at the artful flattery
and unconsciously she drew herself up.
“Mr. Moberley always made us feel that we
were friends rather than servants, sir,” she responded.
"Kind as he was to every one and generous to those in
need, he didn't have any sympathy with his brother's
wish to be a great violinist. To make money, much
money, and devote it to those who were in actual want
was the great aim of Mr. Seward Moberley's life, and


THE LADY IN BLACK
113
he didn't think a musician could be of real benefit to
people who were cold, and ragged, and starving, and
oppressed; at least I heard him say so to his mother in
the years long past. However he and his brother cor-
responded with each other after a fashion and when the
news came of the death of Mr. Louis Moberley I know
he offered the widow and her little boy a home here with
him, for he talked over with me the preparations for
receiving them and making them comfortable.
“Mrs. Louis Moberley wouldn't come to this country,
though, and she died within a year, when Mr. Seward
Moberley sent for Mr. Charles. He was a queer, lonely
little boy at first, but his uncle took to him at once and
gave him more affection than I had thought he could
give to any one person. Not that Mr. Moberley was
cold, but he was so calm and kind of self-contained that
we didn't any of us think he could show the feeling he
did. Mr. Charles repaid him, though; he is a splendid
young man, a credit to anybody, and he worshiped his
uncle like a father!”
“Sarah, have you ever heard of anybody who might
have had a grudge against Mr. Moberley or thought he
had? Were any of the outside men-gardeners or
stable hands—turned off the place recently and did they
consider their dismissal unjust? Did you know of any
threats having been made against Mr. Moberley by any-
body employed on the place?”.
Sarah smiled wanly and shook her head.
“No, sir. Mr. Moberley never turned any one away.
If he found them dishonest or unreliable he always sent


114
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
them to a farm that he runs up-state as a sort of vaca-
tion place for sick people who were down and out, so
to speak, and he put whatever man he sent from here at
higher wages and sort of on his honor to teach the city
poor who were there how to do gardening and farming
and care for horses. The man would take it as a com-
pliment and I don't think there was one of them,
there've not been more than five or six in all these years
- but was shamed into making good when he thought
he was really trusted. That was Mr. Moberley's
way.”
“Very well, Sarah. You may go to your room now
and try to sleep, for I am sure that Mr. Charles Mober-
ley will depend on you to help him keep things running
smoothly for the next few days.” McNulty rose. "By
the way, Mr. Seward Moberley never married, did he?”
"No, sir. I don't believe he even thought of it,
though I used to hope that he would years ago, even if
it meant a mistress that wouldn't have been as light-
hearted and kind as his mother.” Sarah prepared to
depart. “I've no doubt that when Mr. Charles brings
home a wife there'll be changes here again. Thank
you, sir. If you have need of me please have me called
any time.”
She had scarcely left the room when Peter appeared
in a state of ill-suppressed excitement.
"Did you manage to overhear what the housemaid
and the kitchenmaid said to each other?” McNulty de-
manded.
"I'll say I did !" Peter exclaimed. “Whatever gave


THE LADY IN BLACK
115
you that hunch, Jim? Did Moberley's nephew know
who the old gentleman's fiancée was?"
"He denied the possibility of there being any such
person,” replied the detective.
"Well, if Moberley kept it from him and even from
his attorney there's still a chance that we can find out
for ourselves, providing that the lady doesn't come for-
ward of her own accord. Those old dames upstairs
were on to a romance some way—at least the thin, old,
raw-boned one was !and she didn't approve, to say the
least. Maybe I can help you, if you want to locate the
lady!"
“What do you mean, Pete? Who is she?”
"Don't know her name but she's young, wears mourn-
ing, and lives alone in some apartment house near Cen-
tral Park. I don't believe you could get anything out
of those two women upstairs by the third degree, but
I've got enough to go on. I'm going to get leave from
the city editor on the strength of that beat and then me
for the lady in black !”


CHAPTER IX
FLORA
OTELL me exactly what you heard and how you
managed it!" demanded McNulty. “Of course
the engagement may be straight enough and the attorney
can give us all the details, but in the event that he knows
nothing about it, the testimony of this unknown fiancée
may be of importance.”
"Well, I'm not so proud of the figure I must have cut
if any one had seen me!" Peter responded. “Donlin had
put those two Williams sisters in the rear corner room
across the hall from where we found Moberley dying.
There's a bathroom which connects it with the guest
chamber in front of it but the doors of both leading
into the hall were locked and I didn't want the chief to
catch me doing any funny busihess. I collared the cop
Donlin had left on guard before the room where the
two women were, made him go outside with me and
explain to the others who were patrolling around the
house who I was so that they wouldn't take a pot-shot
at me in the dark, and then I climbed up to the roof of
the kitchen extension here. One of the back windows
116


FLORA
117
of that room looks right out on it and I crouched under
the sill.
"The window was closed and the shade drawn, and
at first I couldn't hear a thing except an indistinguish-
able murmur, but there was a light in the room and I
saw the shadow of the dumpy sister sitting huddled up
in a chair and the long, angular one walking up and
down as though she were in a rage. Her profile looked
like some sharp-billed bird's, and she waved her sticks
of arms so excitedly I figured that she was giving the
other a piece of her mind. I wasn't getting anywhere,
though, so at last I took a chance on their not noticing
me, and standing up I tried the window. It wasn't
even fastened so I pushed the sash up slowly until I
could get my hand inside over the sill and raised the
shade an inch or two.
“'I did not tell him anything, Agnes!' the dumpy
one in the chair was sobbing in a wheezy kind of way.
'Besides how could I know what you had said when
you talked to him before me? You never tell me any-
thing, you just order me around as though I was a child !
I'm forty-nine years old and I'm tired of being bossed! Sa
I've never spoken my mind before, but poor Mr. Mober-
ley's death is going to make a change all around !
"She sat up straight and dried her eyes on her sleeve
and the other sister she had called 'Agnes' stood stock-
still and stared at her. They were both too busy
quarreling to notice me peeping in at the window.
“'Well, I never! Agnes said. “You think you're
pretty independent now, don't you, with a pension of


118
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
your own and an old fool running after you, but there
may be some changes you don't expect! You'd come
down off your high horse soon enough, Henrietta, if
you suspected what I do!
“'You're always suspecting things! Henrietta re-
torted, as well as I can remember. What if I did tell
that detective officer, or whoever he is, that you were
afraid Mr. Moberley was going to get married to some-
body you couldn't run the way you've run every one of
us except Sarah all these years?'
“ 'And what else did you tell him, you fool?' There
was a kind of cold fury in Agnes' thin tones, Jim, that
sent a shiver down my back, and the Lord knows I'm
case-hardened !-Henrietta sniffed, but she was the
worm that had turned, all right.
“ 'I told him you wouldn't stay a minute under this
roof if Mr. Moberley had married, and I don't care!
You've said so yourself a million times since the even-
ing you followed him over to that apartment house
facing Central Park, and saw him come out with that
young lady in black.'
“Agnes interrupted her there.--'Hold your tongue!'
she cried, and her voice was actually venomous, hissing
like a snake. “I suppose you told him that, too!
“ 'No, I didn't! I wasn't going to have him tell Mr.
Charles what sneaks we'd been, and have us both dis-
missed !-Henrietta was still defiant. 'We haven't
done any real harm, though; anybody would know that
we would not have harmed a hair of poor dear Mr.


FLORA
119
Moberley's head, and we had nothing to do with his-
his murder.'
“ 'I didn't say we had, but I tell you that unless you
keep your mouth shut after this you'll get us into more
trouble than we were ever in before! That fresh young
detective suspects something already or he wouldn't have
put us in here or kept me from seeing you before he
had talked to you,' Agnes said.
“ 'There's nothing to suspect, as far as I'm con-
cerned, or Parker either. Henrietta got up then, too.
'I haven't spied on poor Mr. Moberley, and I don't see
why he hadn't a right to get married if he wanted to.
You're dead set against that lady because you found
out somehow that she lives all alone and you think it
isn't respectable, but lots of perfectly nice young ladies
live by themselves these days and if Mr. Moberley
wanted a little happiness after all that he has done for
us and for hundreds of other people you had no busi-
ness to grudge it to him. That is all you did, and any-
way the poor gentleman's dead and gone, so it's finished
and done with.'
"Agnes went close to her and shook her finger in her
sister's face.
“'No, it isn't!' she cried. 'Not for us! If you tell
a mortal soul that I followed Mr. Moberley last
Wednesday evening, it will get to Mr. Charles' ears and
we'll both lose our pensions and get turned out, for I'll.
swear you were with me, too, and you can't deny it;
you have no proof that you went to see Addie Smiley
table, but these days wil that he had no b


120
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
in Brooklyn, for you told me yourself that she was out *
• and nobody answered the bell. You don't suppose that
Parker cares for you or what you've got left from your
savings after buying all those silly clothes to catch him!
He wouldn't look at you without either your wages or
your pension. .
“Henrietta began to cry and the rest of it was just
a lot of catty recrimination, but she didn't deny the
truth of what her sister had said. I gathered that the
coachman, Parker, was her last matrimonial bet and
she was playing him across the board while that human
flagpole of a sister of hers was jealous that he hadn't
picked her Romance below stairs!” Peter shrugged.
“Anyway, the younger one weakened after her flare-up
and I don't believe either of them would admit under
oath that Agnes followed old Moberley that night;
they're too much afraid of losing the legacies that mean
marriage for one of them and a competence in her old
age for the other."
McNulty shook his head.
“There's more in it than that, I think,” he observed.
“Did you overhear any more about Mr. Moberley or the
lady or his nephew?”
"No, though I waited a good twenty minutes longer.
Agnes made it plain that she would carry out her threat
and when she had Henrietta thoroughly cowed again
she folded herself up like a tripod on the couch at the
foot of the bed and said that one of them would have
to have her wits about her in the morning and she was
going to get 'forty winks' if she could. Henrietta


FLORA
121
started right toward the window where I was listening
outside, and I ducked quick and scrambled down off
that roof.--I've been talking to the chief since; he says
that the assistant medical examiner's opinion coincides
exactly with that of Dr. Dalrymple.”
“I'll tell you something more about the young lady
in mourning, Pete!” McNulty grinned. “Unless I'm
very much mistaken, she has 'black hair and skin like
white plaster, with a mouth that looks as though some-
body had crushed a handful of ripe strawberries against
it.' As I told you, our friend Parker knows something
about her, but just before you butted in at the stable
yesterday afternoon and took my prospective job away
from me, he swore that he had not heard anything about
Mr. Moberley thinking of getting married. As I say,
Bankhead may know all about it, and even if he doesn't
that is no proof that the lady in mourning isn't abso-
lutely all right. We haven't a single real clew yet ex-
cept that blood-stained blotter.”
"I remember you said that you would need the corrob-
oration of one other person if it became necessary for
you to prove your contention without further evidence,"
Peter remarked reflectively.
““Corroboration?' Oh, I've had it already!" Mc-
Nulty retorted airily. “Meanwhile, we'll see what the
laundress has to say."
Ushered in by Donlin, Jane Green proved to have a
great deal to say, but most of it was of a personal na-
ture and none of it had any bearing on the investigation,
save as it disclosed the attitude of the servants toward


FLORA
123
day finishing up my ironing. Besides, if I had heard
old George I'd have thought it was nothing but a bur-
glar scare from one of his nightmares. As for them two
sheep that sleeps across the hall from me, they'd scuttle
around at a word from anybody and it's long since I've
paid any attention to them and their nerves! Cook's
sensible enough and it was from her that I got the story
of what happened. I hope you catch the wretch that
did it, but I don't mind telling you that I've small use
for the police. I had a watch took off me once !"
“That will do! Have you ever heard that Mr.
Moberley's life was threatened? Do you know of any
one who had a grudge against him?”
"I do not! Nobody but a lunatic would want !!
She halted abruptly and her heavy face reddened.
“What's that about a lunatic?” McNulty asked
sharply.
"Nothing!" she snapped. "Heaven forgive me if I
should help the likes of you to make a scapegoat of a
poor harmless fool that don't know enough to come in
out of the rain, as I've yelled at him many's the time
when he has been cleaning the windows right in the
midst of a downpour just because he's been told to do
it that day- "
"You mean the houseman?” The detective darted a
swift glance at Peter. "What is his name? How long
has he been here and where does he come from?”
"His name is Ben Duncan.” The woman's belliger-
ency was gone and her tone hastily subdued. "He has
been here for a matter of eighteen years, ever since


124
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
some judge or other brought Mr. Moberley's attention
to him. Ben was only a lad then and brought up for
what they call moral delinquency, but it was so easy to
see that he was just a harmless half-wit in the hands of
a bad brother who ran with a gang which used Ben for
their own dirty work, that Mr. Moberley took him off
the court's hands and brought him here. He wouldn't
hurt a fly, Ben wouldn't, but he'll do anything he's told
and ask no questions, like a loon. When I said the
word 'lunatic' just now he naturally came into my mind
but not in connection with Mr. Moberley's death! I've
seen the poor fool cry like a baby when Parker drowned
the kittens that was born in the stable! Mr. Moberley
always saw to it that he had everything he needed and
banked money for his keep in case he himself died, for
Ben has never been outside the grounds since he came
and he don't know what money is for, but he has learned
to be a right smart cleaner. I hope you won't take it
amiss that I spoke of him and begin hectoring him, for
he's shy with strangers and once he gets scared he shuts
up like a clam. He follows Agnes Williams around be-
cause she is the one that bosses him, mostly, and the
amount of work that she puts on his shoulders which
by rights she ought to do herself is something scandal-
ous, but it has never come into that big shock head of
his to kick.”
"We won't frighten him,” McNulty assured her.
“How old is he?".
: "Nobody knows; in the thirties somewhere, I guess.”
She added earnestly: "He'd not have harmed Mr.


FLORA
125
Moberley, sir; he got it into his head long years past
that 'twas Mr. Moberley saved him from the judge and
the cops who'd scared away what miserable wits he had
left, and he loved him like a dog does his master. I've
seen him take hold of his coat and look up into his face
in a way that was pitiful to see, sir !"
There was a pause and then the detective observed in-
differently:
"I guess he's out of it then, Jane. If you've nothing
more to tell us we'll excuse you now. You're quite sure
you heard nothing during the night?”
"As sure as that I'm standing on my two feet this
minute!” Her voice rose as she spoke. "I could have
told that to the cop hours ago but he wouldn't listen.
It's plain to be seen that Mr. Moberley's gone or we'd
not be treated this way under his roof! I'm willing and
ready to do anything I can, but you tell that flatfoot to
show me the respect due a lady! I know my rights !"
Her indignation had returned and, still muttering, she
was escorted from the room with sarcastic courtesy by
Donlin.
"Phew!" whistled Peter. “Some virago, isn't she?-
What do you think about that houseman, Jim? Some
of these sly, dog-like semi-idiots are more dangerous
than violent maniacs.”
"You forget Moberley's ante-mortem statement,” the
other responded. "He said that he had never seen his
assailant before, but a half-witted fool is easily in-
fluenced and frequently they are more cunning than a
normal person. Jane said just now, if you remember,


126
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
that he would do anything he was told and ask no ques-
tions. He'll have to be handled with gloves, but there
is a chance that he might give us a lead in the right
direction.”
“That's the worst and last of them, Sergeant!" Don-
lin mopped his forehead as he reëntered. "Anything
else, sir? Captain Hardy is talking with young Mr.
Moberley now.”
“Yes. Go down to the stables, find out where the
houseman, Ben Duncan, sleeps and bring him here.
Talk kindly to him for he is a little bit cracked and he
may be frightened.” McNulty added: "If he hasn't
heard about what's happened don't tell him; just say he
is wanted here and keep him quiet till we come.”
“An idiot, is it?" Donlin shrugged. “After the time
I've had with that female I guess I can chaperone a
lunatic or two! I'll get him, Sergeant."
"What's the idea now?" Peter murmured as he fol-
lowed the detective out into the hall and toward the
back stairs. “Going to search the house? I thought
the boys had done that pretty thoroughly already."
"Only two rooms of it,” McNulty replied as he drew
from his pocket the keys which Donlin had given to
him. “The two rooms on the third floor ordinarily
occupied by the Williams sisters. It is just a chance,
but it is worth taking in view of what you overheard.”
The two bedchambers' were small but immaculately
neat, except for the tumbled beds and a few scattered
garments which told of their occupants' hurried obedi-


FLORA
127
OS
en
ence to the summons of the policeman. In the clothes
closet of the first room they entered gingham dresses
and aprons were interspersed with cheap, frilly silk
gowns and blouses, while two or three hats of an incon-
gruously youthful fashion reposed on the shelf.
- "Henrietta's belongings, evidently." Peter pointed
to them. “You remember, Jim, what I heard her sister
say about spending her savings on a lot of silly clothes
to fascinate Parker?"
"Then we won't waste much time here." McNulty
opened the drawers of the bureau one after another and,
giving them a cursory glance, closed them again and led
the way to the door connecting that room with the other.
“Agnes is the one who may have preserved something
• of interest to us.”
• A search of her wardrobe, however, revealed only
staid black garments, most of them neatly and frugally
mended, and the drawers of her dresser and wash
stand contained plain toilet articles and intimate wear-
ing apparel of the coarsest, most austere grade. Be-
neath the bed the gleam of a brass lock caught the de-
tective's keen eye, and, kneeling, he pulled out a metal-
bound box of red teakwood fashioned like a small sea-
chest.
"Looks like a relic, all right,” he remarked. “Agnes
must have resurrected this from the attic. Look at
that lock! Not a key made nowadays would fit it; we'll
have to break it, I'm afraid."
He produced a business-like looking jimmy and after


128
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
a few minutes' work the hard wood yielded and the brass
lock, corroded by time, fell away twisted and awry. As
he lifted the lid Peter whistled softly once more.
“Daguerreotypes and old letters, by gum!" the latter
remarked. “Who would have thought that old shrew
had any sentiment left in her! There isn't a thing in
there that is less than a quarter of a century old at the
very least, Jim.”
"Isn't there?” McNulty cried triumphantly. He had
cast aside the yellowed packets of letters and delving
to the very bottom of the box he pulled out a crisp white
envelope sealed with a blob of wax.
"By jingo! I noticed some red sealing wax like that
on the writing table in Moberley's sitting-room!” Peter
exclaimed. “Turn the envelope over, Jim; is anything
written on it?"
"Nothing, but we'll soon see what is inside." Mc-
Nulty unceremoniously ripped the flap and shook the
contents of the envelope out upon the bed.
Two folded slips of paper met their gaze, one charred
about the edges and the other a mere torn fragment.
Both were of the best grade of linen bond and com-
paratively fresh.
"The waste basket and the fireplace; I thought so,"
murmured the detective as he opened them and spread
them out flat. Both contained writing in the same
hand, neat and finely drawn without flourishes but char-
acteristically firm and precise. The torn scrap was evi-
dently the beginning of a letter which had been inter-
rupted or discarded before completion, for it was dated


FLORA
129
“September twenty-third,” and a space remained clear
below the half finished sentence.
“ 'Dearly beloved Flora,'” McNulty read aloud in a
curiously hushed tone. “‘All is arranged according to
your desires, although I confess that I would prefer to
do you the open homage which a bride of my house and
your dear self most of all merits, to say nothing of the
joy it would give me to have the presence of my nephew
Charles- '"
"Is that all?" Peter craned his neck over his friend's
shoulder. “I suppose the old gentleman thought that
sounded too much like a complaint or reprimand to send
it, for it is in Seward Moberley's handwriting, all right;
it is the same as that note he gave me personally yester-
day afternoon in his office, directing Parker to give me
a job!—So is this other paper, too!"
He had picked up the half burned fragment and now
in turn he read in low tones :
“-fairest and most wondrous of women, your
promise last night has made me feel like a youth again
and I realize that we have years ahead of us of mutual
happiness and usefulness toward others. The miracle
is that one so young and lovely, so unspoiled by contact
with the world, could have given her heart to a man
who has reached the edge of the shadows
“The rest has been burned away." McNulty took
the charred paper from his friend, and, folding the first
one with it, he placed them both carefully in his pocket.
"That was evidently the inner page of an earlier letter,
and we can guess to whom both of them were originally


130
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
intended. These explain how Agnes first got wind of
her employer's matrimonial plans, but it isn't clear to
me why she kept them.”
"I'm not figuring on Agnes now," Peter declared.
“Any woman who could get an astute financier and life-
long philanthropist like Seward Moberley going to the
extent that these scraps of letters indicate interests me
more. I confess I'm anxious to see 'Flora,' the lady
who by to-night's work has lost not only those years
of happiness and usefulness to others, but a colossal
fortune besides !"


CHAPTER X
THE ALIBI
CLOSING the box and thrusting it once more be-
neath the bed, McNulty and Peter returned again to
the servants' sitting-room, where they found Donlin
standing over a grotesque figure which was huddled
on the couch.
"Forget it, now!” the big policeman was saying in a
rough attempt at condolence. “They were just fooling,
out there at the stable. Try to get it through your head
that Mr. Moberley is only sleeping, like I've told you.
He'll wake up soon and you can see him.”
A low moan, like that of a hurt animal, was his only
answer and he turned in plainly revealed relief at the
entrance of the others.
"I was too late, Sergeant,” he announced. “This
here is Ben Duncan, who you sent me after. He sleeps
over the feed barn, but he woke up and heard the men
talking below, and not a thing have I been able to get
out of him except that keening. Maybe you'll have
better luck.”
He stepped aside and the detective and his friend be-
131


132 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
You know dded furtively:cas curiously
held a man in a rough shirt and trousers, with long,
huge-muscled arms and an abnormally large head
covered with a shock of tow-colored hair. His face
was puckered with a sort of childishly bewildered grief
and when he saw the two newcomers he shrank back
as though terrified.
"It's all right, Ben. There is nothing to be afraid
of,” McNulty said reassuringly. “No one is going to
hurt you; we just want to ask you a few questions.
Mr. Moberley wants you to answer them, do you hear,
and Agnes, too. You know Agnes, don't you?”
The man looked up and nodded furtively.
"Agnes ?—Where's Agnes?" His voice was curiously
high-pitched. Then his loose lips quivered and a wail-
ing cry escaped from them. "He's gone dead! They
told me so and they know! He's gone dead and they'll
take him away and Ben won't see him any more! Not
any more, ever!"
"Look here, Ben.” McNulty sat down on the couch
beside the cowed figure. “Agnes says you didn't do
your work properly yesterday. What was it you had
to do?”
"Why, clean the brasses !” Ben looked up with a
gleam of intelligence, his wandering mind quickly di-
verted. “I cleaned the brasses good all over the house,
door knobs and andirons and all. Agnes, she said I did
them fine, that I was a good boy! Where's Agnes?”
“She'll be here in a minute." McNulty had mo-
tioned for Donlin to leave the room and Peter withdrew


THE ALIBI
133
out of range of that dazed vision. “When did you get
through cleaning the brasses, Ben? Dinner time?”.
“Dinner?" An avid look crept into Ben's 'vacant
eyes. “It's night; I know because it's dark outside.
Ben wants his breakfast!”
"Soon. You'll have it soon,” the detective assured
him patiently. “What did you do after you had your
dinner last night? Agnes wants to know!"
A change came over the man's face and his shoulders
heaved in a soundless chuckle. Then a sly gleam came
into his eyes, like those of a child caught in mischief.
"Henrietta told me to clean the copper pots, but I
ran away! Ben ran away out into the garden and they
couldn't find him!”
“What did you do in the garden?”
Ben stared at his questioner and gradually the vacant
look came back as though he were struggling to recall
something. At last he shook his head.
• “ 'Garden?' he repeated vacuously. Then suddenly
he sprang to his feet. “Mr. Moberley wants Ben!
He's calling! Don't you hear?”
McNulty laid a powerful hand upon his arm but he
shook it off with a mere twist of his body and it re-
quired Peter's aid to force him back upon the couch, In
the brief struggle something fell from the man's pocket
and rolled ringingly across the floor and at the sound
his muscles relaxed.
“Give it back to me!” he cried. “It's mine!"
He stretched forth groping hands and Peter went to


134
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
the corner where a tiny bright disk lay gleaming. Pick-
ing it up, he handed it to McNulty.
"A ten-dollar gold piece!" the latter ejaculated.
"Ben, where did you get this?”
“It's mine!” Ben repeated doggedly.
"Did Mr. Moberley give this to you?”
The question was unfortunate. Even as Ben's hairy,
prehensile hands clutched the coin his face clouded and
once more his lips quivered and curled outward in grief.
"Mr. Moberley's dead!” he moaned. “They said so,
I heard them! Mr. Moberley's dead!"
It was in vain that the detective and finally Peter
plied him with further questions, alternately threatening
and cajoling him. The moment had passed and in ex-
asperation they were at length compelled to send him
back to his sleeping quarters in Donlin's charge, still
clasping his precious gold piece and wailing inco-
herently.
"It is nearly four o'clock," Peter observed. "I'm
game to stick it out until the attorney gets here if you
are, but you look all in, Jim. What's got hold of you?
I've seen you work seventy-two hours on a stretch when
you were on more than one case that had as puzzling
features as this, and come out at the end of it fresher
than you are this minute."
McNulty shook his head.
"I've never struck such a puzzler as this and I don't
mind admitting that I'm stumped, Pete. When there
are one or two suspicious leads, it is usually easy enough
to run them to earth and get rid of those which don't


THE ALIBI
135
count, but in this case I'm hanged if it doesn't look as
though every one had something to hide !"
He told his friend of the warning which he had over-
heard Montie giving to an unknown at the other end of
the wire, and added :
“Young Moberley's attitude wasn't normal, either.
Have you had a look at him yet? The cook says his
mother was a foreigner and there is a Continental air
about him in spite of his American up-bringing "
“Good Lord, don't you know?” Peter interrupted.
"It's ancient history now, but a scandal in a family as
prominent as Moberley's doesn't die in a generation.
There are references to it in the press whenever an
international misalliance occurs. Young Charles' father
was a born musician and a vagabond, according to the
family, in his rebellion against conventionality. He
broke away from them, went abroad to study the violin,
and wandered down into Sicily on one of his roving
spells, where he fell in love with a fisherman's daughter
who had a marvelous voice. Her name was Teresa
something; it is all in the back files at the shop. The
old traditions must have held Louis Moberley, for he
married his Teresa in orthodox fashion, after settling
a little private vendetta her brothers had started by
killing two of them. They were an ignorant, primitive
crowd but they had the makings of snobbishness in them
for they had wanted her to marry the master of a fish-
ing fleet who was after her, rather than the strolling
fiddler they took the younger son of the Moberleys
to be.


THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
“Louis carried her off to Rome, educated her and had
her well started toward the operatic career, which was
his dream for her, when the fever got him, and she didn't
long survive. I shouldn't wonder if the hot blood of
those Sicilian relations of his woke up in young Charles
now."
"Perhaps that accounts for it,” McNulty said slowly.
"He swore that he would avenge his uncle, but he had
been drinking and was laboring under strong emotion
besides, so I didn't give it as much thought as I might.
I've heard the frenzied declarations of the relatives of
victims before. Know anything about this young
Charles, Pete? The chief said he had looked up his
record and that it was as clean as a whip but you never
can tell."
“The only record I know of in connection with him
is the one he made on the gridiron at Harnell, and it
will be remembered for a decade,” Peter replied. “Where
are you going?”
"To see the chief." McNulty paused at the door.
“Wait here for me; I shall not be long."
He found Captain Hardy in the room where Seward
Moberley had died, reflectively pacing the floor.
"This is the very devil of a case, Nutty!" the chief
exclaimed. “Did you get any dope from the servants ?"
“Nothing significant," McNulty replied deliberately.
“The houseman, who is a mental defective, is sporting
a ten-dollar gold piece, and he cannot or won't tell where
he got it. This may or may not have any bearing on
the case, but according to the cook he hasn't been out-


THE ALIBI
137
side the gates of the estate for eighteen years and never
handled any money or knew the use of it. I couldn't
get anything out of him to-night, for he learned of Mr.
Moberley's death before I got to him and it has tem-
porarily addled what brains he has, but I'll tackle him
again when he calms down.”
"He may have picked it up around the house some-
where.” The chief smote the corner of the mantel be-
fore which he stood. “That's not going to get us any-
where! I tell you, Nutty, we've got to show some re-
sults before the public find out about that anonymous
warning or the whole bureau might as well resign in a
body! Young Moberley isn't going to be any help; he
doesn't know as much about his uncle as we do, and his
own alibi is perfect, even if we could show as a motive
against him that he had expected to be the old man's
sole heir and needed the money now. He spent all last
evening at the home of a relative of that pal of his,
Montie Russell. All we've got to go on is Seward
Moberley's statement that his assailant was gray-haired
and a stranger to him. If he hadn't a confederate in-
side, he must have been familiar with the lie of the land,
all right, to get in and out without you or any of the
boys nabbing him, and we know from the force of the
blow that he was as strong as an ox. That would be a
lot to hand the newspapers as the sum total of our prog-
ress, wouldn't it?”.
He added the last in bitter sarcasm, and his subor-
dinate noted the lines of worry which the night had
graven on his face.


138
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
"Are you going to take personal charge of the case,
Chief?” McNulty asked, after a pause.
"I am not!” Captain Hardy retorted with emphasis.
“I'm going to take another chance on you, Nutty. I
ought to put one of the inspectors on it, but you've
pulled off some good stuff in the past, and besides I'll
have enough work for them with what this opens up.
I've got the largest order I ever tackled in my life.”
"I'll do my best, sir,” McNulty promised. Then he
added with a puzzled frown: “I don't quite understand,
though, Chief, what this case has opened up. What is
the large order, other than to find Seward Moberley's
murderer?" .
"To prevent the murder of the other men in his class
in this town; the millionaires who practically control the
money market. The fellow who stabbed Moberley said:
'One of them out of the way! Have you forgotten
that?” The chief stared. “He may be one of a secret
brotherhood or playing a lone hand, but while he is at
large it is my opinion that none of the prominent finan-
ciers are safe. If he or his crowd picked on the great-
est philanthropist of his time as their first victim, what
will they do to the men whom the newspapers revile aş!
the oppressors of the poor? I'm not going into the
ethics of the thing, Nutty; the Police Department is for
the protection of law-abiding citizens, and I'm going
back to headquarters and lay this whole proposition be-
fore the Big Chief! There are at least a dozen mag-
nates in this town who have got to be guarded night
and day till Moberley's assassin is laid by the heels, and .


THE ALIBI
139
it will take the most experienced men we have to do it.
That is no reflection on you. This one affair is impor-
tant enough to make the future of the man who solves
it, and I'm putting it in your hands."
"Thanks, sir,” McNulty said dryly. “I can go at it
in my own way, then?”
"Sure!" the chief assented heartily. "I'm taking all
the boys back with me except Donlin and one or two
more to see that no one leaves the grounds without per-
mission. There's one thing certain—the fellow, who-
ever he was, has got clean away. Tell Sayre not to
print anything unless I see it first, and when Mr. Bank-
head comes, ask him to drop in at headquarters later.
'Phone in if you want any extra help and when you
have anything to report let me have it. This is your
big chance now, Nutty. Make the most of it!"
After the departure of his superior McNulty went
slowly back to the servants' sitting-room and related to
Peter the gist of the conversation.
"He passed the buck to you, didn't he, just as I.
thought!” the latter commented. “So he is afraid of an
epidemic of murders? He'll have a fine job guarding
all the big bugs in town, especially as he can't, for the
sake of his own official head, tell them about that
anonymous warning! They may take the hint, though,
from what happened to Moberley, and if they do there
will be a general exodus to Aiken and points south!
Can you picture the panic on the Street ?”.
"I'm not picturing anything !" retorted McNulty.
"I'm going down to the stables now and rout out the


140 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
men; not that I expect to learn much from them, but I
want to get rid of Donlin and the rest of the boys from
headquarters and the precinct, and I cannot do that un-
til I've gone through the usual routine."
The stars had paled and the wind died down before
the coming of dawn as they made their way toward the
stables, and on their arrival they found that there was
no need of routing out the employees. The latter were
gathered in little groups, talking over the tragedy in
shocked, sobered tones, and were eager, to a man, to ad-
vance their individual theories, but none had any real
information to impart except Parker.
Questioned by the detective, he admitted in a matter-
of-fact way that he was engaged to be married to
Henrietta Williams and added :
"She isn't such a fool as you might think, sir. It's
only that her sister has kept her under her thumb all
these years. I'll get her away from that Agnes for
good, now, and let her find out that she's got a mind of
her own.”
"Parker, when I mentioned yesterday afternoon that
Mr. Moberley thought of getting married himself you
described the lady pretty accurately,” McNulty re-
marked. “Where did you see her?”.
Parker's honest face darkened.
"I didn't," he protested. “I never laid eyes on her,
but Agnes did some way and told Henrietta and me.
She was fair crazy, Agnes was, at the thought of hav-
ing a mistress over her where she'd lorded it for so long!
I've got an idea she's keeping company herself or she


CHAPTER XI
ONE MILLION IN CASH
FOR a moment the detective and Peter stared across
1 the table at each other and then the latter ex-
claimed:
"Then that must explain the telephone call you over-
heard! That's the chance young Russell had taken for
somebody, don't you see? You told me that he said
if it didn't go through they would all be 'in Dutch,' and
that meant if he couldn't square it with his brother-in-
law, Kim Van Nostrand. But where could they have
spent the evening? Who was it that had to get under
cover before exposure came?"
"We'll very soon find out !” McNulty rose and the
smile had faded from his face. “Charles Moberley will
come through now with the truth or I'll take him down-
town!”
He led the way upstairs to the room which had been
indicated as that always reserved for the nephew of
the murdered man, but there another surprise awaited,
him. Repeated knocking upon the door failed to arouse
the supposed sleeper within and at length he tried the
knob, only to have the door swing promptly inward,
144


ONE MILLION IN CASH 145
revealing an empty room and a bed which had not been
disturbed.
"Gone!" ejaculated Peter. “This is the darnedest
house I ever got into! Put a whole regiment of police
on guard around it and people walk in and out just as
they please, with no one the wiser.--He didn't go out
with his friend, did he?"
“With Montie Russell? No. Donlin said the chief
talked with him afterward, if you remember.” Mc-
Nulty turned abruptly. “Wait here for a minute, Pete.”
He dashed across the hall to the bedroom of the mur-
dered man and talked briefly into the telephone. The
reply which came to him over the wire was evidently
not a reassuring one, for he returned to his friend with
an expression of added sternness upon his lantern-jawed
countenance.
“When I had that little conversation with the chief
just before he left for headquarters, he remarked that
young Moberley's alibi was perfect; he doesn't think
so now. He declares that he gave Moberley a glass
containing a sleeping draught which Dr. Dalrymple left
for him, and Moberley took it in his room with him-
this room—and he heard a key turn in the lock from
the inside. There is no key here now at all.”
Without comment the reporter crossed to the door
leading into the adjoining bathroom and a moment later
called out:
"Here is the medicine, untouched. Evidently our
young friend hasn't much faith in Dalrymple's prescrip-
tions !"


ONE MILLION IN CASH
147
Bankhead. I-I do not know, sir, whether you have
been told ?"
“Nothing, George, but I bought a copy of the
Despatch just now. I am inexpressibly shocked !-You
are in official charge here, Sergeant? I came as soon as
Mr. Charles Moberley's wire reached me.” His tones
were resonant and well rounded, but his hand trembled
slightly as he held out his hat and stick to George and
then permitted the latter to divest him of his coat. "I
am Mr. Bankhead, the late Mr. Moberley's attorney."
"I know, sir. I have been waiting for you,” Mc-
Nulty responded. “Will you come into the library? I
will not detain you long."
"But where is Mr. Charles Moberley? His name
was signed to the telegram that summoned me here.”
"He was here, Mr. Bankhead, but as a matter of fact
it was his friend, Montgomery Russell, who wired you,
for young Moberley was in no condition to do so. The
shock of his uncle's tragic death had unnerved him.”
McNulty closed the itbrary door, shutting out Peter and
George. "My superior, the chief of the homicide
squad, directed young Mr. Moberley to remain here un-
til you came, but I regret to say that I have only just
discovered his absence. He must have gone sometime
during the early hours of the morning, failing to realize
the very serious position in which his departure has
placed him."
The attorney raised his heavy brows.
"I fail to understand you, Sergeant. Of course I
do not know any details of the crime of which my client


148
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
was the victim, other than the meager ones given in this
paper, but surely the authorities have not made so
heinous a mistake as to place Charles Moberley tacitly
under arrest!"
“Not yet, but he may be in short order if he does
not come forward with the truth as to where he was
during the evening!” McNulty responded firmly. "He
and his friend, Russell, arrived about two hours after
Mr. Seward Moberley was found dying, and Russell
told a specious story of where they had passed the hours
between nine o'clock last night and one this morning;
a story in which Charles Moberley silently concurred
and which was afterward proved to be false. Fortu-
nately Mr. Seward Moberley made an ante-mortem
statement which, if true, automatically exonerates his
nephew from the actual charge of murder, but there are
other points upon which the authorities are anxious to
question the young man.”
“'An ante-mortem statement !” repeated the attor-
ney. “Indeed! This newspaper account does not men-
tion it."
“For obvious reasons, Mr. Bankhead. I have told
you this in confidence; a guard has been placed about
the estate to prevent representatives of the press from
getting into communication with the servants who heard
Mr. Moberley's statement, as the murderer must be led
to believe that his victim died instantly, or at least with-
out recovering consciousness.”
"Mr. Moberley described his assailant, then ?"
“Too vaguely to be of material aid in establishing his


ONE MILLION IN CASH
149
identity, yet sufficiently specific to eliminate any one he
remembered seeing before,” McNulty replied. “Seward
Moberley evidently caught merely a glimpse of a man
with gray hair and a cap pulled down over his eyes, who
uttered four words and then struck!".
“What were those four words?” Theodore Bank-
head's inquisitorial calm deserted him for an instant
and he spoke with unconcealed eagerness.
“ 'One out of way,'” McNulty quoted slowly.
"But Great Heavens! That points to a series of con-
templated murders, of which Mr. Moberley was only
the first victim!” The attorney rose and clasping his
hands behind his back he commenced to pace the floor
with long, measured strides.
"That is the opinion held also by Captain Hardy, the
head of the homicide bureau," responded McNulty.
"He is conferring with the commissioner and taking
steps now to insure adequate protection to other capital-
ists whom he believes may be menaced.”
Even as he spoke the detective smiled bitterly to him-
self as he remembered the inadequacy of the protection
which he and a picked squad had been able to give to
Seward Moberley, but Mr. Bankhead's back was turned
and he did not observe the other's expression. All at
once the attorney wheeled.
"You were present when Mr. Moberley made this
ante-mortem statement?”
"I was."
“This newspaper account says that the butler dis-
covered the 'body' a few minutes after midnight.”


150
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
There was a note of cold suspicion in Bankhead's tones.
“May I ask when you arrived upon the scene ?"
"Almost immediately. Mr. Moberley rallied suffi-
ciently to make the statement I have repeated and then
died within fifteen minutes after the butler came upon
him."
“H'm! Your proximity to the scene of the crime
was-er-fortuitous, to say the least,” the attorney re-
marked with satirical significance.
“I would not so consider it, since I was unable to save
Mr. Moberley's life,” McNulty said gravely. “I must
refer you to my superior, Captain Hardy, for further
details of the affair; he directed me to request you to
stop in at headquarters at the earliest possible moment
after you leave here. But there are one or two ques-
tions which I have been authorized to ask you in the
interests of this investigation. I may add that it has
been placed unreservedly into my hands."
"I cannot divulge the contents of my late client's will,
but it may be read, of course, as soon as the formalities
have been complied with " Bankhead was beginning
when a gesture from the detective halted him.
"I do not refer to that. Will you give me the name
and address, please, of Seward Moberley's fiancée?”
The quietly uttered request had all the effect of a
bombshell. The attorney's aplomb left him and he took
a hasty step or two backward.
"Mr. Seward Moberley's !" His voice failed
him.
“Yes, Mr. Bankhead,” McNulty reiterated firmly.


ONE MILLION IN CASH 151
"I cannot believe it!" Bankhead exclaimed. “You
will pardon me, Sergeant, but I was in Mr. Moberley's
absolute confidence and he never intimated to me that he
thought of taking such a step!"
"I anticipated this,” McNulty remarked. "Neverthe-
less, I have evidence in my possession-in Mr. Mober-
ley's own handwriting, in fact—that he was deeply in
love, or at least infatuated, with a lady whose first
name is ‘Flora,' and reluctantly but at her express desire
he had made arrangements, as long ago as the twenty-
third of September, for a quiet marriage. He had not
even taken his nephew into his confidence.”
“You have astounded me!" Bankhead seated him-
self once more and brought his clenched fist downºupon
the arm of his chair. “I know of no such person! He
cared nothing for society and came in contact with
women only through his charitable enterprises. A man
of his caliber would scarcely have become infatuated
with a denizen of the slums, and all his contributions to
institutions headed by either men or women passed
through my hands. It is incredible !
He caught himself up suddenly and sat for a long
minute buried in thought while the detective watched
him intently, making no move to break the silence. At
length the attorney raised his head and looked straight
into the younger man's eyes.
"You say that you are in unreserved charge of the in-
vestigation into the murder of my late client, Sergeant.
I have never before violated what I considered a pro
fessional confidence, but in this case no secrecy was im-


152
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
posed upon me." He weighed each word carefully.
"Mr. Moberley is dead, and I have decided that in the
interests of justice I should speak. On the first day of
last September Mr. Moberley held a conference with me
in which he requested me to unload through various
brokers with whom he had no connection certain stocks
during the following fortnight aggregating in value half
a million dollars. At the same time he put into my
hands negotiable securities and bonds for an equal
amount, the whole to be converted into cash gradually
during that period,-cash, Sergeant !-and conveyed in
banknotes of one thousand dollars denomination to one
of his safe deposit vaults. I had known him for years
as the most astute financier in the game and it never
occurred to me to question his sanity, even though his
request was unique in my experience. I did question
his object in my own mind, but concluded he was
planning some gigantic coup in which not even a check
must appear.”
"But didn't I understand you to say that you were in
Mr. Moberley's absolute confidence?” McNulty asked.
“Did you not think it strange that he should not have
revealed to you the nature of this coup?”.
"By no means !" the other retorted. “Mr. Moberley
frequently engineered deals through what are known as
'dummies,' and when they were consummated he would
come and tell me that he was the moving spirit in the
transaction, amusing himself at my surprise. I sup-
posed this to be an enterprise of a like nature but on a
larger scale, and I have wondered of late, I must con-


154 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
brought your man back to you, you see; quite enjoyed
his society and we've grown to be really pals, haven't
we, Tully, old chap? Where is Char—Mr. Moberley?”
"Tully, wait in the sitting-room at the rear of the
house until I send for you,” McNulty directed, then
turning to Montie, he remarked significantly: "I am
glad you have returned, Mr. Russell. I would like to
ask you a few further questions concerning the stag
party at the home of your brother-in-law, Mr. Kimber-
ton Van Nostrand, last evening."
Montie grinned cheerfully, no whit abashed.
“I was out of luck, wasn't I, when I picked on Kim?”
he acknowledged. "I might have known that he would
go and let that beastly house of his burn down on the
one night when it could be of the slightest use to me?
It was good business, all right, for the place was filled
with ghastly examples of his ancestor's ideas of art, but
he showed poor judgment in the date and time he chose
to be careless with a cigar lighter!"
“Russell, this is no time for flippancy, as you will very
soon learn!” the detective said sternly. “Where were
you and Charles Moberley last evening ?”.
The young man's face sobered instantly and his jaw
set in a manner which lent unexpected strength to his
heretofore insignificant features.
"I may remind you, Sergeant, that I was not under
oath last night. I cannot tell you where we were until
I have had an opportunity to speak to Mr. Moberley."
"He disappeared during the early hours of the morn-
ing,” McNulty replied. “You can understand now,


ONE MILLION IN CASH 155
Russell, in what an equivocal position your falsehood
and present evasion places him.”
Montie Russell shook his head.
"I cannot help that,” he retorted doggedly. “He will
return shortly; I am positive of that. I shall not speak
until he does, except to assure you on my word of honor
that Charles Moberley and I were together from five
o'clock yesterday afternoon until I left him here after
two this morning, and until we drove up to that door
there in response to your summons neither of us were
within five miles of the house."


CHAPTER XII
THE RED DOG
VONULTY'S earlier years, when he had battled for
IV very existence as a waif of the streets, no less
than his training on the Force had taught him to read
human nature and he realized now that beneath the
seeming amiable weakness of Montgomery Russell's
character there lay a sub-stratum of will-power which
would prove to be wellnigh unbreakable.
For a moment longer the two young men stood eye
to eye and then the detective shrugged.
"You will wish to remain here, then, until the return
of Mr. Moberley, of which you are so confident?” he
asked.
"As hostage?” Montie smiled. "I fancy you wouldn't
give me much choice, Sergeant, but as a matter of fact
I am more than anxious to wait for him here. May I
have Tully when you are through with him? He got
into me for eight dollars at African golf and I want a
chance to win my money back!”
He added the last with a return of his old whimsical
manner, but McNulty was not deceived.
156


THE RED DOG
157
"If you will go into the drawing-room, Mr.
Russell- ?” He gestured formally toward the door
of that apartment. “When Mr. Moberley returns he
will be informed that you are awaiting him.”
Montie shrugged in his turn and obeyed and the de-
tective reëntered the library, to find Mr. Bankhead pac-
ing back and forth once more.
“You have no clew to the actual murderer other than
the late Mr. Moberley's description, Sergeant?” he
asked. “After all, that million in cash may still be in
the vaults of the International Surety Trust Company
or employed as I supposed in some financial deal. As
to his proposed marriage that was his own affair. If I
were placed upon the witness stand to-morrow I should
be compelled to swear that in my opinion Seward Mober-
ley was absolutely sane; his operations in Wall Street
during the past two months alone of which I have knowl-
edge would prove conclusively that his mentality was as
acute as ever. Therefore we must return to the main
issue, the identity of his assassin.”
“I have no clew, Mr. Bankhead,” responded McNulty
quietly. .
"In that case I will go down and interview your cap-
tain at headquarters and then proceed directly to my
office, where you may reach me at any time before five
o'clock this afternoon, Sergeant. I shall remain in
town, for the next few days at any rate, at the Hotel
Vertemont and I am quite at your disposal.” The at-
torney pressed the bell beside the door which summoned
George. “Please do not hesitate to call upon me if I


158
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
can be of the slightest service to you in your investiga-
tion.”
When he had taken his departure McNulty proceeded
to the servants' sitting-room, where he found Tully
waiting with a decidedly sheepish expression upon his
sharp-featured countenance.
"That fellow was the slickest proposition I ever
tackled, Sergeant!” he began defensively. “I got my
first good look at him in the subway station and I
thought to myself it would be child's play to trail him,
but he led me a dance all over town without stopping
anywhere or appearing to notice me; taxis and buses and
night hawk cabs !”
"You're not new at the game, Tully; you should have
known from that chase he was leading you that he was
on.”
"What else could I do, sir, but to obey orders?” the
plainclothes man asked in protest. "He took his time
about changing vehicles but at that I thought he was
just trying to throw off a possible shadow without being
sure that one was trailing him and that he didn't know
how to go about it. He didn't speak to anybody but
just kept on riding till five o'clock in the morning when
he got out of an uptown Fifth Avenue bus at Sixty-
fourth Street. He had been inside and I on top, but
when I saw him stop and wait for me I realized that he
had just been making a fool of me the night long!
“ 'Let's go home, old chap!' he says to me as though
we'd been bosom friends out on a lark together. 'I can
put you up and you'll be a lot more comfortable than


THE RED DOG
159
hanging around outside.'-And I'll be hanged, Sergeant,
if he didn't lead me straight to a swell house on the side
street, let us both in with a latch key and take me up to
his own room where he offered me the couch to sleep on!"
"And instead you rolled dice with him,” McNulty
commented severely.
Tully's face flushed.
“I only did it to humor him, sir; my orders were to
keep my eye on him till he returned to this house and
I did. I guess the family must be used to his nutty
ways and having him bring strangers home with him,
for the butler didn't show any surprise at seeing me
in the morning. Mr. Russell had him serve me a fine
breakfast, too, and after he had taken a cold shower-
there was no phone in the bathroom, as I'd made sure,
and no door but the one leading into the bedroom where
I was waiting—he called a taxi and we came straight
up here. There were only two things that had me
guessing."
"Go on,” McNulty prompted as the other hesitated.
"Well, Sergeant, you may not think anything of
them.” Tully's tone was deprecating. "A newspaper
-the Morning Recorder-came up on his breakfast
tray and when he had read an article on the front page
he started to swear to himself and then he roared laugh-
ing and says to me: "Tully, I wonder what odds a
fellow would get in a lottery if he picked out one num-
ber among as many as there are houses in this city?'—
While he was taking his shower I had a look at that
paper but there was nothing on the front page except


160 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
a divorce, and a fire, and a kidnaping, and a Wall
Street failure, and what the election candidates were
saying about each other! There wasn't a word about
the murder."
“I think I know what he was referring to; I saw the
Recorder myself,” McNulty observed. "What else hap-
pened that puzzled you?”
"Something he said to the butler as that bird was
handing him his hat and stick at the front door when
we left to come up here.—‘By the way, Robert,' he says,
'tell Doctor Hillis to chloroform the red dog; it's too
late to save him. Call him up and give him just that
message, do you hear? Tell him I won't have a big
bill for that worthless hound.'- That was all, sir."
McNulty pondered for a moment and then a light
broke suddenly over his face.
"All right, Tully! You've hit it!” he exclaimed.
"I'm not going to report you for crap shooting on duty,
after all! Go and turn in your own report and then
get a few hours' sleep. I may need you later."
Making his way back to the drawing-room, the de-
tective found Montie seated in a big arm-chair appar-
ently deep in slumber and, without attempting to arouse
the self-styled "hostage," he gave a few directions to
old George, whom he found in the hall, and then as-
cended to the room in which the Williams sisters were
still confined.
Unlocking the door, he entered to find Henrietta
huddled abjectly in a heap upon the foot of the bed and
Agnes standing by the window. The latter turned


THE RED DOG
161
swiftly at his entrance and he saw at a glance that her
spirit was breaking under the strain of suspense, but
she spat venomously out at him:
"How dare you keep us here like this? I don't care
if you are a police officer, you can't accuse us of any.
thing! I shall tell Mr. Charles how we have been
treated and Mr. Bankhead, too!”
"Oh, Agnes !” moaned Henrietta.
“There are other things which Mr. Bankhead may
know at the same time,” McNulty observed significantly,
as he drew from his pocket the two fragments of letters
and held them before her eyes. “You took these from
the waste basket and fireplace in Mr. Seward Mober-
ley's room, you spied upon him, followed him to a cer-
tain lady's home and saw him come out with her.
What did you intend to do to stop his marriage so that
you would have no mistress to interfere with you here?”
A low cry broke from Henrietta's lips.
“How dare you?” Agnes gasped in defiance, but a
look of fear leaped from her eyes.
"Every word of your conversation with your sister
after she joined you in this room last night was over-
heard and you know where I found these pieces of
paper." McNulty suddenly raised his voice in bluster-
ing menace and advanced upon her. "Agnes Williams,
what part had you in your employer's death?”
The implied accusation, combined with the abruptly
assumed ferocity of his manner, produced the result he
had hoped for. Agnes swayed and reeled back against
the wall, her face buried in her hands.


162
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
“None, I-I swear it! I would never have harmed a
hair of his head !” she sobbed, while the tears com-
menced to trickle between her thin fingers. “It's true
that I took those scraps of letters and f-followed him
last week, but I only wanted to see what k-kind of a
lady was going to be his wife. I never thought any-
body would know! Mr. Moberley was so child-like in
his trust in everybody's goodness that I thought maybe
he was being taken in by some deceitful creature who
was only marrying him for his money, at his age, and
I wouldn't have stayed here and worked under such a
person! I couldn't have stood it to be around and
watch him wake up to the mistake he'd made if-if
she was that kind! He'd been too good to us for me
to see him suffer and I'd rather have gone away before
she came. I only wanted to see for myself, sir, but I
hadn't any notion of-of trying to stop things! How
could I, just a servant here?”
The words had rushed from her lips in a hysterical
outburst, but now with an effort at self-control she
wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe and tottering
to a chair, sank into it.
“Whoever told you such a wicked thing lied, sir!"
she added.
“How did you find out that the lady lived all alone
in that apartment house near Central Park?" McNulty's
tones were still gruff.
"After I'd seen Mr. Moberley go out with her I went
in and asked the hall-boy if that was Miss Flora Smith,
and said I wanted to see her mother. I guess he


THE RED DOG
163
thought I was crazy but he said 'no' that it was a Miss
Florence Jaffray and she lived by herself. You know
where I got the name 'Flora' from, sir, and now that
poor Mr. Moberley is dead I could kill myself for shame
at spying on him and his affairs! I'd give anything in
the world if I hadn't found those lines he'd written, nor
followed him to the Boylston Apartment House!"
McNulty felt his heart miss a beat and then go rac-
ing on while the blood pounded in his temples, but his
voice was steady and still stern when he announced :
"You and your sister may go to your rooms now. I
will look further into this matter and if I find that you
have not told me the whole truth, Agnes, I warn you
that it will go hard with you!"
"I have told the whole truth, sir, I have !" she cried.
"I don't know anything about the terrible thing that
happened here last night, and I never made any trouble
for the gentleman who had been so kind to us all these
years. I wouldn't have interfered in his business if I
could, and the worst thing that could happen to me
would be to have Mr. Charles or even Mr. Bankhead
know how I'd spied upon him. I think the shame of it
would kill me, sir! Poor Mr. Moberley is gone now
and it's all over; you won't tell them, will you, sir?”
“Not if you have been honest with me,” McNulty con-
ceded. “Go and dress yourselves now, have your break-
..fast and attend to your usual work, but remember no
one must leave the grounds. They are under guard
and any one who attempts it will be subject to arrest."
Without waiting to hear the flood of gratitude which


THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
poured from the woman's lips McNulty hurried down
the stairs, snatched up his hat and coat and made for
the stables and garage.
“Where is Bennett ?” he demanded of a mechanician
who was tinkering with Charles Moberley's high-
powered roadster.
"Around behind the garage, sir, talking to the other
detective,” the man replied.
"The other detective!” Had Tully, then, not obeyed
orders ? McNulty hastened around the corner of the
concrete building and came upon Peter Sayre in earnest
conversation with the chauffeur. Since the arrival of
Bankhead, McNulty had temporarily forgotten his
friend, but now he hailed him eagerly.
"Pete! You can drive a car; come here just a
minute.”
"What's up?" the reporter demanded as he followed
his friend out of earshot of the chauffeur. "What did
you get out of Bankhead? I saw your friend Montie
get out of that taxi with Tully in tow, but I wasn't
butting in until you gave me the word so I made my-
self scarce. Then a little while ago Tully left !"
"Never mind that now; haven't time to tell you. I'm
going to borrow Charles' car and you are to drive it.
It looks to be as fast as a police motor and anyway, I
don't want to bother the chief until I can show him
some results, while a taxi or a public car are both equally
out of the question, for no one must be wise to this little
call we're going to make except just you and me." The
detective hastened back to where Bennett stood regard-


THE RED DOG
165
ing them in open curiosity. "I want to borrow Mr.
Charles Moberley's car for a while; commandeer it if
necessary. Is it in good running order, with plenty of
.
gas?”
“Yes, sir.” Bennett touched his cap, and started
toward the front of the garage, calling back over his
shoulder: "Harry's just tuning her up a little, for Mr.
Charles himself 'phoned in a few minutes ago to have
her ready "
“What's that!” McNulty halted him sharply. "Mr.
Moberley telephoned to the garage?”.
Bennett nodded.
“We've a direct wire, you know, sir. He said he
would be back in an hour and wanted the car in shape
for a good long run, but I can take him wherever he is
going in the sedan.—I'll have his own car ready for you
in a jiffy, sir!"
"Pete!” McNulty exclaimed in hurried undertones
when the chauffeur had disappeared. “Call that pre-
cinct dick, quick !-the one who's walking up and down
there just outside the gates. It's Barney Franck: he's
worked with me before."
Peter obeyed without loss of time and when the plain-
clothes man stood before him McNulty directed :
"Barney, call up the precinct and have a man relieve
you at once on this outside work; you'll find a phone in
the garage. When Charles Moberley comes, in an hour
or less, tell him Mr. Montgomery Russell wants to see
him up at the house and when you get him there don't
leave either of the two young men alone for an instant


166
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
until I return. Understand ? Keep them together and
don't allow them out of your sight in any room under
that roof! If they try to use force put them under ar-
rest and blow your whistle for one of the outside boys
to come in and help you. They must be detained here
at all costs.”
"I get you, Sergeant !" Officer Franck smiled with
grim promise. “They won't pull a getaway on me!"
“Car's ready, sir!" Bennett announced and in another
minute the detective and Peter Sayre were skimming
out of the gate.
"She runs like a breeze !" the latter remarked approv-
ingly as McNulty by a gesture directed him to turn
south. “Where are we headed for, anyway?”.
"For a little call on Miss Florence Jaffray at the
Boylston Apartments on Central Park West,” replied
the other.
The wheel jerked suddenly beneath Peter's hand and
he ejaculated :
"Heavenly Mike! Not 'Flora'!Not the old gentle-
man's fiancée !"
"If she's at home,” McNulty qualified, adding: “It
looks as though you might get in a second beat on this
case, Peter, after all !"


CHAPTER XIII
"FOR HIMSELF ALONE"
THE Boylston Apartment house proved to be plain
1 and solidly built, evidently of an earlier period than
the towering, elaborately constructed ones on either side,
and its staunch brownstone façade stood out as though
sentiently resenting the ornate upstarts which flanked it.
A.white-haired doorman ushered them with dignity
into the lobby where a prim, middle-aged woman pre-
sided at the switchboard and a fat, pompous-looking
negro in conservative livery stood beside the idle ele-
vator.
"No, Mr. Cayard,” the woman at the switchboard
was saying in precise accents. “Miss Jaffray is still out
of town.—Yes, with Mrs. Wilmette Henshaw. I will
connect you with Miss Jaffray's apartment if you wish.”
It became evident that “Mr. Cayard" did not so de-
sire, for in another moment the woman rang off and
gazed at the newcomers in respectful inquiry.
"I think I heard you mention a Miss Jaffray just
now.” McNulty assumed his most candid manner. "If
you were speaking of Miss Florence Jaffray will you
please announce Mr. Neal and Mr. Sayles?!!
167


108
168
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
"Miss Jaffray is out of town,” the woman repeated
mechanically. "Shall I call her apartment? You may
wish to leave a message with her maid.”
"I should like to deliver a personal message to the
maid,” McNulty replied. “Our business is of the most
urgent importance."
The woman slipped a plug into its socket, spoke
briefly in the transmitter and then gestured to the ele-
vator man.
"Show these gentleman to Three-B,” she said.
The detective and his friend forbore a word or a
glance at each other as the elevator made its slow, digni-
fied progress upward to the second floor, and the at-
tendant with a flourish indicated the opened door of an
apartment at the front, where an elderly maid in a staid
black gown and stiffly starched white apron stood await-
ing them.
“What can I do for you, sirs?” Her spectacled eyes
turned from one to another of the visitors, but she made
no move to step aside and permit them to enter.
It was Peter who replied unexpectedly before his
companion could open his lips.
"We have come to New York to see Miss Jaffray on
important business. You may possibly have heard our
names mentioned, as she has been in frequent communi-
cation with us lately. Mr. Cayard has informed us
that Miss Jaffray is staying with Mrs. Wilmette Hen-
shaw, but he neglected to say whether she was at her.
town or country house."
"At Westbrook, the Henshaws' country place, sir,


"FOR HIMSELF ALONE” 171
“Charles Moberley and Montie Russell can wait; I've
got a hunch that I know where they were last night
and why Montie faked that brilliant alibi. Do you
know the roads out to Cold Spring?"
"It's in Putnam County, on the river; that's enough
for me. We'll run up through Westchester," Peter re-
sponded. “Let's go!"
On the way McNulty told the reporter of his inter-
views with Bankhead, Montie, Tully and finally with
Agnes Williams, and when he had finished Peter re-
marked:
"Good work, Jim, but I don't see anything in all that
to tell you where Montie and young Charles spent the
evening and why they lied about it. What makes you
so sure regarding that hunch of yours?”.
"The fact that I keep in with the boys in the various
bureaus down at headquarters." McNulty chuckled.
"I may not be up in the annals of high society, Pete, but
I get a tip or two now and then which doesn't reach the
press until it's all over but the shouting. Did you ever
hear of a-well, we'll call him a veterinary doctor
named 'Hillis,' who makes a specialty of raising red
dogs?”
“I never did !" retorted Pete. “The longer I know
you the more I appreciate the appropriateness of the
name they've given you at headquarters! You're nutty
enough to provoke a saint when you've made up your
mind to keep anything to yourself.”.
"I should not call you a saint, exactly, Pete!” the
other laughed. “But this morning Montie told his butler


172
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
to 'phone Doc. Hillis and tell him to kill the red dog.
The only ‘red dog I know is the swiftest game ever!
played with a deck of cards and as a certain slick grafter
named Hillis is running an exclusive gambling resort
for young swells of Montie's caliber I concluded that he
and Charles had spent the evening there, and he was
slipping him a quiet tip to close down until this case
was over.—Lord, but this little boat can burn up the
miles, can't she?"
They stopped at a sleepy, semi-deserted little inn near
Ossining for lunch and, keeping as close to the shore of
the Hudson as the better roads permitted, reached Cold
Spring before three o'clock in the afternoon. Discreet
inquiries brought them to the iron gates of a large es-
tate, with rolling lawns and a rambling red house in the
nondescript architecture of two generations before visible
through the vista of trees on the broad, straight avenue.
“Who are we and what is our business?" demanded
Peter suddenly. "I've never interviewed Henshaw or
his wife, but servants are so confoundedly migratory
these days that one of them at the house may spot me."
“We'll have to chance that,” replied the detective.
"I'm McNulty, of the homicide squad, all right; I'm not
going to make any bones about it, but of course they'll
shy at any mention of the press. You had better be a
special deputy detailed by the chief. If Miss Florence
Jaffray is in that house I'm going to see her!"
To the butler, a sleek young man with a foreign air,
McNulty gave his name and requested an interview with
Mrs. Henshaw and Miss Jaffray.


"FOR HIMSELF ALONE” 173
“But Mees Jaffray is ill, sir,—what you call 'indis-
pose,'—and Madame is weeth her," the butler protested.
"I do not know- "
"If you will say that we have come from police
headquarters in New York, and that any attempt to
evade an interview will unfortunately cause publicity I
am sure that Mrs. Henshaw, at least, will give me a few
moments,” McNulty insisted smoothly.
The butler stiffened and his prominent, beady black
eyes seemed to bore through them for a minute. Then
he turned and, throwing open the door of a small recep
tion room, he bowed slightly.
"If you will wait in here ?”
"I know that face,” the detective mused when the man
had gone to deliver his message. “I wonder where I've
seen it before?"
"I would say the Rogues' Gallery, probably, if I
didn't know the character of this house." Peter
laughed. “I won't get much of a sensational beat out
of this but it will be an exclusive interview if the chief
lets me send it in to the shop before some ingenious fel-
low scribe of mine finds out about the late Mr. Mober-
ley's connection with the lady here and manages to see
her first! As a guest in this house she must be all right,
Jim; there's no question about that, but why the
mystery?”
At that moment the door was thrown open once more
and a woman entered and stood regarding them gravely.
In her plain, dark gown, with her gray hair in smooth
plaits about her head and her strong-featured, homely


174
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
face innocent of cosmetic she might have been taken at
a first glance for the housekeeper, but a discerning eye
would have noted the richness of the simple gown, the
highly bred intelligence of her expression and the per-
fect poise of her bearing.
"Mrs. Henshaw?" McNulty bowed. “I am sorry to
have been compelled to intrude upon you and your guest
but I think you can already surmise the nature of the
errand upon which I have come. I am a sergeant from
the homicide bureau at police headquarters and this is
a special deputy whom the commissioner has appointed
to act as my associate in the-er-matter we are in-
vestigating.”
The lady bowed in response and, seating herself, mo-
tioned toward two chairs.
"I am afraid I must ask you to be more explicit,
gentlemen." Her voice was low and clear. “My
butler mentioned something about a threat of pub-
licity— ?"
She deliberately left the sentence open and McNulty
corrected her courteously.
“Not a threat, Mrs. Henshaw; merely an unavoidable
consequence of any refusal on Miss Jaffray's part to
give us the simple personal statement which we require
and which we will endeavor to keep from the press as
long as possible. You have learned of the murder of
Mr. Seward Moberley, which took place last night?”
Mrs. Henshaw bowed her head and when she looked
up again her clear eyes were misty.
"We read the Despatch, and I have just telephoned to


"FOR HIMSELF ALONE”
175
the office of Mr. Bankhead, Mr. Moberley's attorney,"
she said. “The world has lost the greatest benefactor
of his times but I have lost one whom, though I met
him but seldom, has through his splendid generosity
toward my own small charitable efforts seemed like a
warm, personal friend."
“You knew that your guest Miss Jaffray was engaged
to marry him?” McNulty asked.
“Strange as it may seem to you, I did not know of it
until to-day,” Mrs. Henshaw replied frankly. "I knew
that they were slightly acquainted through their mutual
interest in settlement work but it was not until the glar-
ing headlines in the newspaper told us of Mr. Mober-
ley's tragic end that Miss Jaffray confided to me the
story of her romance, I understood that the engage-
ment was absolutely secret and I cannot conceive, gentle-
men, how you discovered it, but I will not attempt to
dissemble. Miss Jaffray is prostrated, naturally, and
she is almost crazed with anxiety to have the murderer
brought to justice, but she dreads publicity and since her
happiness has been so cruelly shattered she hoped that it
would never become known.”
"Miss Jaffray is an intimate friend of yours, Mrs.
Henshaw ?”
"I have known her only for a comparatively short
time—about a year, in fact—but I have become greatly
attached to her. She is absolutely alone in the world
and since her return from reconstruction work in
France has devoted herself to charity. We met when
she learned of one of my temporary shelters for the


176
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
destitute and came to beg me to take in a family in truly
distressing circumstances. I complied, of course, and
since then our mutual interests have drawn us very
closely together.” Mrs. Henshaw rose. "I will go
and bring her to you now, but I trust that you will be
as considerate as you can, gentlemen; she is suffering
greatly from the terrific shock which she has sustained.”
They rose and after their hostess had left the room
Peter sauntered over to his companion and with a wary
eye upon the open door he asked in lowered tones:
"How does the whole thing sound to you, Jim? If
this Miss Jaffray is alone in the world, who is this man
Cayard who 'phoned her home to-day? The operator
seemed to take the mere mention of his name as suffi-
cient warrant to tell him where Miss Jaffray was.”
"Suppose we see how much on the level the lady her-
self is before we jump to conclusions?” McNulty re-
plied cautiously. “I believe that you and Miss Percy
Gotham are right, though; Mrs. Henshaw seems to be
absolutely the real thing."
The rustle of silken skirts came to their ears and
Peter hastily resumed his position before his own chair
as Mrs. Henshaw reëntered slowly, leading a slender
young woman almost as tall as herself, whom she placed
tenderly in a deep-cushioned armchair.
"Gentlemen, you will be as brief as possible ?" the
older woman was beginning, but with a little gesture
of almost frenzied dissent the girl in the chair inter-
rupted her.
"No, no! I want to know all that you can tell me!"


"FOR HIMSELF ALONE”
177
she cried. “At first I shrank from the publicity, the
horror of having something that was sacred to me
dragged into the limelight, like the exposure of an open
wound, but it does not matter now! Nothing matters
except to find out the truth!”
“We are bending every effort to that end, and it is in
the hope that you may be able to aid us that we are
here,” McNulty replied in a tone of quiet deference.
“You are Miss Florence Jaffray ?”
She nodded and as the detective looked at her,
Parker's description came to his mind. A mouth that
looked as if someone had crushed a handful of ripe
strawberries against it.' That had been the simile the
coachman had repeated and which evidently originated
in Agnes' fiercely resentful brain, but the lips were
bloodless now, although the dark eyes burned feverishly.
She was not a beautiful woman, but even in those first
few moments the detective was conscious of a com-
pelling quality about her, a sort of hidden, inner flame
like the consuming zeal of one inspired.
"I am Miss Jaffray. I will gladly tell you anything,
do anything that I can to help the authorities, of course,
but first I beg that you will let me know what clews
you have found! The newspaper report means nothing
to me beyond the awful fact itself and that I cannot
grasp, somehow. I know that it must be true and yet
I cannot feel it !”
"It is the shock, my dear," Mrs. Henshaw said
gently, adding: “I will leave you now, for these gentle
men may wish to talk with you alone."


178 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
Miss Jaffray seemed scarcely to have heard. Her
eyes were fastened on McNulty's face appealingly and
her slim hands, ringless save for one splendid diamond
gleaming from an old-fashioned setting, were twisted as
though she were in physical agony.
When her tactful hostess had closed the door behind
her Miss Jaffray bent forward in her chair.
"Won't you tell me?" she reiterated. “You know
that I was his promised wife, you must realize the
hideous torment of this suspense! Mrs. Henshaw could
learn nothing from Mr. Bankhead's office and I have
been unable to get into communication with Mr.
Cayard !"
“'Mr. Cayard?'” the detective repeated quickly.
"He is my attorney and has been my confidential
legal adviser ever since his guardianship over me ex-
pired when I became of age. I was his ward, you
know.” She spoke as though the explanation were
superfluous. “I had believed until you came that he
was the only person who knew of my engagement to
Mr. Moberley. I had wished to keep it a secret until
our marriage but now I am glad that all the world shall
know it, no matter what that world may say! I am
proud that such a man as Mr. Moberley chose me to
have been his wife!"
“But why did you wish to keep your engagement
secret, Miss Jaffray? What is it that the world can
say?"
She made a little helpless gesture.
“I am not cynical, but I am twenty-eight years old


"FOR HIMSELF ALONE” 179
and for the past six of those years I have seen so much
of the sordidness of life, so much of the brutality of
mankind to man that it was impossible for me to close
my eyes to the truth. Mr. Moberley was an idealist and
simple as all great souls; he could not comprehend my
attitude and I regret bitterly now that I permitted my
wretched pride to cause him a moment of pain, but you
who must in your work have come into contact with
even greater depths of sordidness and hypocrisy than
I-surely you can understand!” The words fell from
her lips with all the vehement intensity of long pent-up
reserve. "If the engagement had been announced of a
young woman of moderate means and no social impor-
tance to a man of Mr. Moberley's age and prominence
and vast wealth, would the world have believed any-
thing but the worst of her? Could you yourself be-
lieve that she cared as a wife should ? For I did care
for Mr. Moberley—for himself alone.”
A


THE PRIDE OF MISS JAFFRAY 181
friend in whose judgment I had perfect confidence un-
til this last year.” She had dropped her hands and
straightened in her chair. "I was seventeen when I be-
came his ward and for the next year he sent me to
boarding school. I should have been compelled to re-
main there another year, for he is a bachelor and had no
home to take me to, but a long drawn out legal case
called him abroad and he took me with him, procuring
a chaperone for me on the other side.—Poor Baroness
de Woest! She died of a broken heart in Belgium in
the first year of the invasion. For the previous four
years she and I had traveled almost constantly, while
Mr. Cayard practised law in Paris, but after her death
I became a nurse, later a worker in the devastated re-
gions of France and Belgium.
"When Mr. Cayard returned to America a year ago
he insisted on bringing me with him, for I was utterly
broken in health, but the habit of living and working
among the destitute and suffering people engendered by
those six years was too strong to be overcome. I had
no friends here and desired no social life, so I gravitated
naturally into settlement work, through which I met
Mrs. Henshaw and later Mr. Moberley."
"How long have you known him?"
"Only since last spring, and yet it seems now as
though I had known him all my life! I cannot think of
a future !” she broke off with a shrinking move-
ment, and after a moment went on: “Mr. Cayard ob-
jected to my work here; he said it was foolish, quixotic,
that I had done enough. When I wanted to use some


184
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
to be his uncle's dearest wish, and I was sure that I
could win him over if I met him first when I was Mr.
Moberley's wife. I would then be in a position to con-
vince him that I-I had no ulterior motive, that his
uncle's marriage would in no way change his inheri-
tance:
"But would it not have done so?” McNulty asked
with a side glance at Peter. “In the event that your
marriage had taken place and Mr. Seward Moberley
died before you, surely you would have been the princi-
pal legatee ?"
"Only to the stewardship of the charitable institu-
tions which Mr. Moberley had established and for the
maintenance of which he had, he told me, made ample
provision in a will executed before we met. That and
a comparatively modest income to permit me to keep up
his home, as he had done.” Miss Jaffray spoke in a clear,
ringing tone. “I insisted upon that, it was the one con-
dition which I imposed when I promised to be his wife.
I know that sounds incredible to you, that it will seem
preposterous to the world at large, but it is the truth.
Mr. Cayard will tell you how, little I care for money,
oh, I really must refer you to him! I cannot talk of this
any more! It does not matter now what people think
or say! Mr. Moberley knew what was in my heart,
and as soon as his—his murderer is found and punished,
I shall hide myself away somewhere and be forgotten.
I have told you all that I can, but you have not answered
my question! Have you no clew?"
“The authorities have none which they can discuss


THE PRIDE OF MISS JAFFRAY 185
now, even with you, Miss Jaffray," the detective re-
sponded gravely. “I am afraid that I must ask you one
or two more questions upon this subject, painful as it is
to you. Was the date set for your marriage?".
The hand wearing the old-fashioned ring flew to her
throat, but after a slight pause she replied:
“Yes. It was to have taken place on the twentieth of
this month; next Wednesday. He chose that date be-
cause it was his birthday.”
, “To your knowledge, Miss Jaffray, has Mr. Moberley
made arrangements for any ante-nuptial settlement upon
you?”
"He has not, sir! When he insisted upon discussing
the possible contingencies of the future and learned of
my determination not to permit him to change his orig-
inal will, he was anxious to make such a settlement as
you mention, but I refused !”
Miss Jaffray made a move as though to rise from her
chair, but McNulty stopped her by a gesture.
"One moment more, please! Did Mr. Moberley men-
tion the sum he proposed to settle upon you?”
“No. I tell you that I would not listen!”
“Still, it would undoubtedly have been a large fortune,
probably several millions.” The detective added ingra-
tiatingly: "You have dedicated your life to the amelio-
ration of the sufferings of the poor, Miss Jaffray. Did
it not occur to you what a great amount of suffering
you could relieve with, say, a million in cash?”
She shook her head slowly and a faint smile, infinitely
patient but weary, lifted the corners of her pale lips.


186
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
“You cannot understand! My efforts were individual,
impulsive and sometimes misplaced, while those of Mr.
Moberley were based upon more than a generation of
experience. We had planned to work together, and he
was to have taught me how to give wisely and for the
most lasting good. How could this fearful tragedy
have been foreseen? He had not an enemy in the world;
those who knew him loved him and those who did not,
revered his name! Surely a madman must have done
this unspeakable thing, or— "
“Or what?" demanded McNulty.
“Nothing. I-I scarcely know what I am saying!”
She rose hastily and crossed to the window as the pur-
ring of a motor reached their ears and increased to a
humming roar. “Oh, it is Mr. Cayard! He has come !"
Before the detective could stop her, even if he had so
wished, she had moved quickly to the door and vanished,
leaving it open behind her. A moment later McNulty
and Peter heard a muffled ringing and almost simulta-
neously with it the opening of the entrance door.
"My dear child !” A man's voice, dominant yet gen-
tle, came to their ears. “Ah, I see that you know! I
could not break it to you over the telephone and hoped
that the news would not reach Mrs. Henshaw before I
could get here, but I had tire trouble on the road. My
poor Flora !"
“We read it in the Despatch.” Her voice had risen
tremulously. "I tried to get you on the telephone, but
I couldn't, and now there are two men here who say
they are from the police. They won't tell me anything,


THE PRIDE OF MISS JAFFRAY 187
Uncle Andrew, and I am nearly mad! Who who could
have killed Seward !”
"Where are these men ?” The masculine voice had
become crisp. "Have they learned of your engage-
ment- ?”
"Oh, yes! I don't know how, I don't care! Uncle
Andrew, make them find the fiend who did this awful
thing !"
"My dear!” Mrs. Henshaw's calm tones broke in
upon the younger woman's mounting hysteria. “You
must control yourself and not break down now !-Mr.
Cayard, I am glad that you have come. You will find
two visitors from police headquarters in the reception
room. Please ask them to excuse Miss Jaffray until she
has had a little time to recover herself.”
McNulty and his companion had listened in silence to
the hurried phrases which reached their ears and now
there came the sound of light but virile footsteps down
the hall and a tall, broad-shouldered man appeared in the
doorway. His smooth-shaven face bore unmistakable
lines of middle age, yet his dark hair held no thread of
gray and his keen eyes studied them for a moment with
the alert, vigilant gleam of youth in their depths before
he spoke.
"You are from the New York Police Department? I
am Miss Jaffray's attorney, Andrew Cayard. Miss
Jaffray is totally unnerved and requests that you will not
add further to the distress which she is naturally under-
going. I am fully conversant with the situation. Is
there any way in which I can be of service to you?”


THE PRIDE OF MISS JAFFRAY 189
told you of the absurd condition she made when Seward
Moberley asked her to marry him?"
"Miss Jaffray mentioned something about a disin-
clination to have him alter his original will,” McNulty
admitted. “She appeared to be sensitive on the point of
the difference in their respective financial positions.”
“It was a case of false pride carried to the point of
idiocy !" retorted the attorney with a shrug. “Mr.
Moberley was greatly distressed by her attitude and sent
for me to see if I could not persuade her to change her
mind and at least permit him to make a suitable settlement
upon her, but my efforts to alter her decision were as
futile as his had been.”
"Was this occasion when he sent for you the first upon
which you had met Mr. Moberley?" the detective asked.
"Can you recall the date?"
"Definitely, for it was only a little over a fortnight
ago; on the twenty-seventh of September, to be exact.
Miss Jaffray had told me of her engagement two or three
days previously and I was of course delighted, not only
that my ward had found happiness but that she had been
so honored by one of the greatest men of his time.” Mr.
Cayard sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, the
poor little woman's dream of happiness is shattered now
and a splendid character cut down at the moment when
the world most needs such men as he, by the hand of an
assassin! That is what will make her suffering almost
unendurable. Had death come to Seward Moberley
through natural causes she would grieve deeply, of course,


THE PRIDE OF MISS JAFFRAY 191
is not too prostrated to endure the trip," the attorney
replied. “She motored out with Mrs. Henshaw on Sun-
day and was to have returned last night; I supposed that
she had done so until I telephoned to her apartment in
the Boylston this morning. I am afraid it is too much
to expect now that the fact of her engagement to Mr.
Moberley can be kept from the press, but I shall do
my utmost to protect her from being besieged by re-
parters. I trust that you will spare her all you can,
Sergeant; call upon me at my offce, or my rooms in the
Monastery at any time. I shall be more than glad to
give you any assistance that lies in my power.”
He rang for the sleek, silent-footed butler and spoke
b to him in lowered tones.
"Yes, sir, in Madame's own sitting-room," the latter
responded. "Madame desires that you will ascend as
soon as you are disengaged.”
With a parting word and nod Mr. Cayard hurried up
the stairs and McNulty and Peter departed.
They were well down the avenue toward the gates
before either spoke, and then as usual it was Peter who
broke the silence.
“She's either a mighty good actress or the darnedest
fool woman the world has ever known, I'll say !” he de-
clared. “I never heard of Cayard, but he must be
rather well fixed to live at the Monastery; it is one of
the most exclusive—and likewise expensive bachelor
apartment houses in town. What do you think of them
both, Jim?"
"I think that Miss Jaffray would be a very attractive


192
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
woman under ordinary circumstances, and Mr. Cayard
ought to prove an interesting study in a courtroom,”
McNulty remarked, smiling at his companion's discom-
fiture.' Then he added in a change of tone: "I want
to send a telegram or two from Ossining; step on the
gas, Pete!”


194 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
send a wire!” Peter mumbled to himself, his reportorial
instincts stirring through the fatigue which was fast en-
compassing him. He glanced again at the car so close
behind and then settled into his seat, muttering a highly
disparaging opinion of a fellow who would almost ram
another's car without looking where he was going.
He finished his cigarette and lighted a second from its
stub, but it went out unheeded and when McNulty finally
emerged he found Peter slumbering peacefully.
"Here, wake up, old man!" He shook the latter
vigorously. "We've got to make the big town in record
time.”
m
"Eh, what?” Peter roused himself with an effort,
and, glancing swiftly about, he exclaimed disgustedly:
“Asleep at the switch! Climb in, Jim; say, how many
telegrams did you send, anyway?"
"Only two."
"Well, they must have been wonders, to take you all
that time,” the reporter commented.
McNulty smiled to himself in the darkness as the
car shot ahead, but he did not mention the fact that in
addition to the telegrams he had despatched a night
letter in code to the southward and another in terse
English, in quite another direction.
"Did you get a flash at that fellow who rushed in the
office while you were there, as though his rich maiden
aunt were dying and he was wiring for a lawyer to draw
up her will?” Peter broke in upon his reflections. “He
almost rammed our car—Charles Moberley's, I mean
with a measly little cockroach of a runabout."


196
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
a habitation in sight. The car bumped and swerved,
and Peter remarked:
"Bad bit of road here; what is more, I think the tire
on one of the rear wheels is lying down on us. I'd
better !"
But the rest of the sentence was drowned in a sharp
report like that of a revolver; the car jerked, skidded
half-way about with a rending, tearing sound, and came
to a sliding stop in the ditch.
"You said it! We'll get to town in record time to
night, all right, but it'll be a record on the wrong side
of the slate !" Peter climbed down and started for the
rear of the car to investigate the extent of the damage.
McNulty, without waiting for the verdict, was already
opening the tool chest.
There was a moment of silence while an electric flash
light played about first one rear wheel and then the
other. A late cricket chirped impudently from some-
where in the woods which bordered the ditch and the
trees rustled and murmured, but there was no other
sound until Peter gave vent to a long, low whistle and
then began to curse with whole-hearted vigor.
“What is it?” McNulty spoke for the first time since
the mishap. “I heard a tire burst, but there's a spare
wheel "
“ 'Burst!'” Peter echoed. “Both rear tires have been
slashed with a knife! One of that bunch of rowdies
hanging about the lunchroom who were so solicitous
as to give us the fool directions which sent us off the main
road came over to look at the car and moseyed around


THE CAR WITHOUT A NUMBER 197
back of it, but I didn't think anything at the time; I
wasn't fully awake, I guess. If he is one of a gang,
and fixed the tires so that they could come after us and
steal the car, they must have timed these slashes to give
way at the psychological moment for this is the most
deserted stretch I've seen within miles of town.”
"Don't be an ass, Pete!” McNulty retorted. "It may.
have been that young tough, all right, but if so he was
hired by some one who is on to us; some one who prob-
ably trailed us from town for just this opportunity,
thinking that we know too much about the Moberley
affair. Whoever the man who planned this thing is,
he has preceded us on the homeward way and made as-
surance doubly sure that if we fell for that dope and
took the wrong road we'd break down here, if not be
fore.—Look at this, and flash your light over the
ground!”
He held out his hand and something glittered in its
palm as his companion turned the ray of the torch upon
it.
"Broken glass!" Peter whistled once more, “Might
be mere coincidence, though; joy-riders throwing bottles
out of a car-
"Look at the road!" the detective commanded again
and the other obeyed.
"Tacks and nails, by gum, and more glass !” ex-
claimed Peter. “They've over-reached themselves,
though, for if we sit here long enough some other car
is bound to come along and get a puncture, too, and
when it's fixed they can tow us in !".


200
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
take one of the lamps and put it up as a signal forward.
Anybody ought to be glad to give us a lift around a
detour to the nearest village if we save them a punc-
ture.”
When the warning lights had been set in place
McNulty and the reporter returned to the ignominiously
ditched car and made themselves as comfortable as they
could for the vigil. All at once Peter remarked:
“Lord, I'm thirsty! You didn't think to bring along
a can of coffee or anything when you got those sand-
wiches? I could drink the water out of the radiator !"
"Nothing stirring,” responded the detective. "I
don't suppose it would have been possible for us to
bump along on flat tires to the nearest house? It doesn't
matter what damage we do to Charles' car compared to
what may be happening in that house on the Drive!”
"Not over this rotten stretch of road, even without the
frosting of nails and glass.” Peter shook his head.
"We'd only break the axle and lose a wheel before we
had gone a quarter of a mile, and then we'd be worse
off than ever.-Holy Mike! Can you see my Big Boss
and your chief if they knew where we were at this mo
ment? Star reporter and celebrated sleuth stalled by the
road like a couple of kids with a bu'sted pushmobile !"
"Shut up!” admonished his companion and for a brief
space silence clothed them save for the cricket's chirp
and the occasional distant hoot of an owl.
"Are you awake, Jim?" Pete asked suddenly.
“Awake?" echoed the indignant McNulty. "I could
go to sleep right now with the elevated road rattling in


THE CAR WITHOUT A NUMBER 201
my ears and a couple of foundries going full blast, but
that infernal beetle, or whatever it is cheeping away, and
that bird hooting sure do give me the jumps! You've
been drilling high-brow language into me for the last
five years so that I could handle the kid glove cases, and
it has helped a lot, old man, but when we're by ourselves,
and stumped by our own carelessness at that, I can lay
off that stuff and be natural. You were raised in the
country and I suppose this sort of scenery suits you, but
give me Gas House Block any time !"
Peter recognized the mood into which his friend had
drifted and wisely brought the subject back to the main
issue.
"Jim, I've been thinking. You know that half-witted
houseman, Ben Duncan ?-Well, when you excluded me
from the council chamber this morning in your con-
ference with Bankhead I strolled down to the stables
and garage where you afterward found me, and had
another talk with the man, and you can take it from
me that he is not half the fool he seems to be. He was
calmer and I wasn't exactly a stranger because he had
seen me a few hours before; then, too, he was not afraid
with all the stable hands whom he knew in reach of his
voice. I don't know how much of that drooling idiocy
he displayed when you interviewed him was bluff and
how much sheer hysteria from shock, but he is as
crafty as the devil.”
"I gathered that,” McNulty responded shortly.
“What about him?”
"One thing is sure; he's crazy about Agnes in a child-


202 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
ish sort of adoration, and I wondered why she should
go out of her way to spoil and pamper a poor fool like
that as she must have done. It certainly can't have been
from pity or tender-heartedness! What was her motive
in seeking to gain his allegiance? What could he do
for her? He would undoubtedly obey her blindly in
anything she directed him to do."
"What's all this leading up to?" the detective de
manded impatiently. “Come to the point, Pete!"
"Where did he get that ten dollar gold piece?" Peter
pursued the trend of his thought undisturbed. "Not
from her! She might steal sweets from the kitchen for
him—and if you remember the only spark of enthusiasm
he showed except for the coin was for his stomach!
but she wouldn't part with a nickel uselessly and you
have the laundress' word for it that Ben doesn't know
money from a hole in the ground. Do you remember
the huge muscles on those tremendously long arms of
his and that shock of tow-colored hair? It's lighter
even than yours, Jim, and has almost a silvery shimmer.
If he had a cap pulled down over his eyes might
not the bit of hair which showed have looked gray,
and might he not also be unrecognizable to a startled
old man who awakened to find him standing over him
with his face distorted and a sort of dagger in his
hand?"
“I've considered that too, Pete,” responded McNulty
soberly. “But Agnes would never have stooped to mur-
der, as vindictive as she is, and you saw how wild with
grief Ben was just after he had learned of Moberley's


THE CAR WITHOUT A NUMBER 203
death. Besides you don't suppose he managed to fol-
low us up here and slash the tires, do you?”
"No, but his employer might have done so; don't for-
get that gold piece. That grief might have been re-
morse and Ben just a tool in stronger hands."
“Good heavens! The man by the hydrangeas !" Mc-
Nulty straightened in his seat. “Ben might well have
been used by Agnes and she herself been the dupe of
some one else!"
“What on earth are you talking about?” Peter de-
manded in his turn, but the detective did not hear. In-
stead he had turned his head sharply and was listening
to a sound which came from back of them, from the
direction in which they had but lately come.
"A car!” he exclaimed. "Hear it, Pete? It's wheez-
ing as though it had the croup but traveling right toward
us. Jump out and run back to where you hung that
lantern. Stop whoever it is and explain the situation.”
"All right!” Peter scrambled out, but paused. “The
situation may be clear to this party, however, if it hap-
pens to be the fellow who cut our tires and is coming
to do his dirty work. In that event I may remind you
that I am armed solely with a fountain pen and the only
explanaticns in order will be those you'll have to make
to the coroner, if you are in a position to do so your-
self !”
"Hurry, you big stiff !” growled McNulty as he him-
self sprang from the car and drew his revolver. “I'll
cover him from behind you. He's nearly reached the
lantern!"


204
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
The approaching motorist did indeed reach the warn-
ing signal before them for they heard the car stop
abruptly and an exclamation of surprise and annoyance
in a high-pitched, nasal, masculine voice.
As they drew near they saw in the rays of the lan-
tern a ramshackle, nondescript little two-passenger ma-
chine with a lone occupant and the seat beside him piled
high with boxes and packages, topped by a bushel basket.
"Hey, what in time's that there lantern doing on that
stump?" the newcomer demanded irascibly. "Road was
all right when I went over it to market this morning !"
He was a stockily built, grizzled farmer and his small
eyes gleamed at them with sudden suspicion, although
at his first words McNulty had replaced his revolver.
"Get out and look at the road now, neighbor, if you
like!" Peter took the initiative. “It is covered for a
space of about fifty feet with broken glass and nails.
Our own car is stalled in the ditch a little way back with
two flat rear tires."
"It's them pesky boys of Lem Deacon's! I'll get the
law on them this time, sure!" the irate farmer declared.
“They've done it afore, drat 'em!”
"We hung our lantern there to warn anybody who
might come along, and we've put one of our lamps at
the other end of the dangerous stretch," Peter observed.
"We thought if we saved anybody the trouble of a punc-
ture they might be willing to give us a lift to the nearest
village, or even to a house where there is a telephone,
but I see you are pretty well loaded up."
"I'm mighty thankful to you, but I ain't got a speck


THE CAR WITHOUT A NUMBER 205
of room that a cat could hang on to.-Tell you what,
though!" the farmer added with sudden inspiration.
"I live just over that there hill and I can turn and go
around the back road. It won't take me more'n twenty
minutes and I've got a telephone; I can call up Henry
Karp's garage in Hilton and get him to send help out
to you. He can be here in less'n an hour, all told."
Peter glanced at McNulty and then putting his hand
in his pocket suggestively he replied:
“That would be real kind of you, neighbor, and I'd
like to pay for the phone call !
“No, by jinks! Not after you saved me a puncture!"
The farmer dived suddenly into the mass of merchan-
dise and groceries heaped beside him and from beneath
it drew forth an earthenware jug. “I s'pose you two
ain't had a bite of supper but the only thing I've got that
you can eat as is, is a box of crackers. Take a good
drink of this, if you're thirsty; it's nothing only rasp
b'ry juice, but Ma puts it up herself and I always take
it along when I go to market. Ain't nothing like it
when you're dry."
They declined the crackers but drank deeply of the
fruit juice. It was warm and slightly bitter, but grate-
ful to their parched throats and when they returned the
jug Peter murmured apologetically:
“I'm afraid we almost emptied it, neighbor."
The farmer chuckled as he grasped the wheel and pre-
pared to start the wheezy little car once more.
"Don't matter a mite!” he asserted heartily. "I'll be
home in no time and I won't forget to phone Henry for


206
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
you. I'm more'n obliged to you both for putting up
that there lantern."
They watched him as the ungainly little machine
backed and filled, and turning at last, started off in the
direction from which it had come. As it passed out of
the radius of light cast by the lantern Peter laughed.
“That old skeezicks must have a pull around here, or
else everybody knows that car of his. Did you notice,
Jim, that it hadn't any number?”


CHAPTER XVI
THE GIFTS OF THE GREEKS
STT was a funny looking arrangement, anyway,” Mc-
I Nulty remarked, as they made their way gingerly
back to their own machine. “I don't know much about
cars but that one looked as though he had picked it up
bit by bit from different derelicts of the road. The
wheels were too small for the body and the top was off
some kind of an old wagon.”
"A buggy.” Peter nodded. “I saw that, too. Hope
he 'phones to that garage. His voice sounded like that
of an old skinflint who wouldn't even waste his breath,
but he treated us pretty civilly, didn't he? He's our
only chance, anyway, and I'm going to curl up and
snooze until that repair outfit gets here."
"The old lady he called 'Ma' either put a kick in that
raspberry juice or else it fermented,” McNulty declared
as they settled themselves. “I swear I can feel it, can't
you, Pete?"
"I could feel a good soft bed after about a gallon of
hot coffee and a steak a yard long !" responded his friend
emphatically. “I wish we'd thrown that old hick out
and his bundles after liim, and commandeered his car.
207


208 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
You could have done it, Jimmy; why didn't you think
of it?"
"I don't know," McNulty admitted with candor.
“That old fellow puzzled me. I'm not often fooled on
voices, and I've heard one somewhere exactly like his a
little while ago, only without that dialect. I didn't
think any one talked that way nowadays except actors in
Down East plays! He was as odd a figure in appear-
ance as his car, too, if you noticed it. I thought most
old farmers were gaunt and bent, but he looked as
strong and well-built as a young man although his voice
was cracked and his hair gray. Wonder why he sat all
huddled up in that greatcoat as though he were afraid
of the cold and yet left his head bare?"
"Look here!” Pete yawned. “You can go back and
look for his hat if it is worrying you! We've got an
hour to kill and I want to go to sleep!”
He curled up his rotund form as well as he was able
in his cramped position behind the wheel, but McNulty
stretched out his long legs and surveyed them reflectively
in the dim light from the lamp. The owl was silent, the
cricket no longer annoyed him and a warm, pleasant
lethargy was stealing through his tired frame, but his
mind was as alert as ever.
"Pete,” he spoke after a lengthy interval, ignoring
his companion's ungracious grunt, “I've been thinking
this case over from the very beginning, and to-morrow
morning I've got a job for you. I'll look into that
matter of Ben Duncan, and Agnes, and the man Parker
saw her talking to beside the hydrangeas


THE GIFTS OF THE GREEKS 209
ro
“What man?” Peter asked thickly. Nevertheless he
roused himself. “Gee! I don't know when I ever felt
so dopy! You were going to tell me about that man
when that hick came along in his misfit car."
"I wasn't going to tell you at all until I'd satisfied
myself about his identity by another talk with Agnes; it
is only servants' gossip, anyway, but you may as well
hear it."
He explained briefly and the reporter commented:
"Servants' gossip may be mighty valuable in a case
like this. I don't see how you can afford to overlook
any bets when you haven't a real clew.”
“I'm not going to do so; hence your job to-morrow,"
McNulty chuckled.
"What is it?" demanded Peter suspiciously. "The
last time you gave me an unofficial assignment on one
of your cases all alone by myself and without any cre-
dentials one of your infernal flatfoot dicks mistook me
for the crook, and when I 'phoned for bail none of the
boys at the shop would come across. You couldn't be
reached and they thought it was a fine joke to come
down en masse and hear me say 'good morning, Judge'
the next day!"
"I remember.” The detective grinned to himself.
“This will be nothing like that, though. Do you re-
member when I called on Mr. Moberley yesterday morn-
ing at his office and met you later I asked you about that
little blonde stenographer of his with the funny eyes
and furtive manner? I was right about his secretary,
Quinn, being an ex-convict, as you told me after you


210 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
called there yourself and saw him, but you weren't sure
about the girl. Did you learn what name she was us-
ing there?"
“Ernestine Grey. Her eyes are the same streaked
blue as Rose Paley's, but she had a cast, and the limp
would clench it if it were not for the shape of her nose.
What do you want me to do?"
“Go down to Bankhead with a note from me; he'll
put you in Seward Moberley's office in some fake ca-
pacity connected with settling up the old gentleman's
papers and you will have a chance to study that girl.
Make up to her if you get an opportunity,—you know
how you wormed an exclusive story of the real reason
for the Westervelt divorce out of the maid of the woman
in the case and discount that nose and the cast in her
eye. Both can be faked, you know.”
"I don't want any grocery clerk trying to punch me in
the face !" Peter retorted with obvious distaste. “Never
saw a meek little blonde like that who didn't have some
husk chasing her that wasn't ready to fight at the drop
of the hat, and if I get pinched in a street brawl this
time and you don't get me out of it pronto I warn you
I'll squeal !-Ho! Hum! You were right about that
raspberry juice, Jim; it is surely on its way to becom-
ing a drink that belongs to prehistoric times! If the
old boy takes another jug of it to town next market
day, he will be likely not to get home at all!—Isn't it
about time for that garage man to reach here?"
"I don't know. I'm getting confoundedly sleepy my-
self. Funny, my mind was as clear as a bell a minute


THE GIFTS OF THE GREEKS 213
which had predicted the crime they had been unable to
forestall. What if he could not fight off the effects of
whatever drug he had taken and should fall unconscious
into the hands of this unknown enemy?
His whole body felt leaden and his feet seemed miles
away and beyond his control, but with a last effort of will
he lurched from the car, tore the letter from his pocket
and folding it into a long, narrow wedge of paper he
thrust it into one of the huge rents in the nearest rear tire,
between the outer casing and the inner tube. Then, reach-
ing again for the flash light which he had dropped when
that sudden thought came to him, he too turned and
plunged drunkenly into the underbrush which skirted
the woods, in the direction which Peter had taken.
It seemed to him that invisible weights were hanging
upon him, dragging him back, but he lurched desper-
ately on until he came into violent contact with a tree.
For a moment he clung to it and listened, not daring to
shout or flash his torch, but he heard no sound before
him; no sound anywhere in the world but his own
labored, stertorous breath.
Where was Peter? His dazed mind pictured his
friend sinking helpless into the ooze of some marsh, or
lying prone with his head shattered against a rock. He
must find him, he must get to him, if he crawled upon
his hands and knees! Blindly, with one groping hand
outstretched before him and the other still clutching
the torch, McNulty staggered further into the strip of
woodland, tearing his way through patches of brjers


214 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
and dodging the stumps of long dead trees as by a
miracle.
He never afterward knew just how far he traveled on
that circuitous journey which seemed to be unending.
Twice he tripped over upstanding roots which brought
him to his knees, but each time he struggled painfully
to his feet, dragging with him those weights which grew
heavier and heavier with each step.
At last, shaking in every limb and with an icy per-
spiration pouring down his drawn face, he halted and a
thin, wavering finger of light gleamed from the torch
in his tremulous hand, described an irregular half-circle,
and then pointed straight down at a figure almost at his
feet.
It was Peter, comfortably curled up on a soft bed of
moss with his head resting against a fallen tree. As
McNulty gazed upon him a snore which ended in a
gurgle issued from his parted lips.
He must get him up; McNulty knew that. They
must go on until they had left these infernal woods
behind them and emerged upon another road, where
there would be lights and human habitations and a tele-
phone! He couldn't remember just why å telephone
was of importance, but doubtless he would when he
reached one, and the first step to that end was to awaken
Peter!
He bent over his friend, but the torch dropped from
his nerveless hand and in stooping to recover it he found
himself somehow lying flat upon something that was


THE GIFTS OF THE GREEKS 215
heavenly soft and silky. His outflung fingers touched a
rough sleeve and he smiled contentedly to himself.
After all, he had found Peter and what was the use of
going any further? He sighed luxuriously, his heavy
lids drooped and in another moment he was lost in pro-
found slumber.


THE FIFTY-FIFTY CHANCE 217
which hovered there. He opened his eyes, wincing as a
sharp pain stabbed through his head.
Could he be at sea ? Everything about him seemed
to be undulating and he was gazing into a round aper-
ture, like a port-hole, except that it was heavily barred,
through which the broad light of day streamed. Yet
surely there were the waving green branches of trees
just beyond, with here and there the gold and crimson
touch of frost!
Then, slowly, deliberately he forced his eyes to travel
around the small box-like room in which he lay. It was
walled with unpainted board partitions, gray with age,
the uneven floor heaped with straw and beside him in a
limp huddle lay the companion of his adventures.
"Pete!” McNulty sat up suddenly with one hand
clapped to his aching forehead and the other grasping
his friend's shoulder. "Pete, come out of it! We've
been trapped, do you hear! We're locked up in some
musty old bam, Heaven knows where, when we ought
to be back in town on the job-Pete!” .
Peter rolled over, opened his eyes, groaned, and lay
blinking dazedly up at the other.
"Whass matter?” he demanded. “Lemme 'lone, Jim.
No 'signment 's morning."
“Assignment !” McNulty gathered strength as his
vision cleared and the floor ceased gradually to rise in
waves beneath him. “You blithering idiot, can't you
remember that we were framed by an old gink in a car
and doped with raspberry juice? Do you realize that
you arc sleeping away the time when you might be
McNulty safe...on of his adventud aim in a


218
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
getting the biggest beat of your career? We left that
car of ours stalled with slashed tires in a ditch and the
last I recall is finding you asleep with your head against
a fallen tree. I tried to wake you but I guess I must
have gone to sleep, too. How the devil did we get
here?"
"Holy Mike! It's coming back to me!" Peter
struggled to a sitting posture and promptly took hold of
his head with both hands. “Ouch! I feel as though
somebody had hit me with a club! Let's beat it! Is
there anybody around ?”
"I haven't heard anything except a drove of rats over-
head,” McNulty replied grimly, in cautiously lowered
tones. “You don't suppose that whoever drugged us
brought us in here to keep us from catching cold, though,
do you? We are in what looks like a box stall to me,
and although I haven't tried it yet that sliding door over
there has a pretty solid appearance. There isn't any
other opening except that little round window, and alto-
gether I should say that we were in about as bad a mess
as a cub reporter and an amateur dick could let them-
selves in for."
Peter groaned.
"Don't rub it in!” he exclaimed. “The whole thing
was my fault in the first place for falling asleep in front
of that telegraph office and giving that scoundrel a
chance to slash our tires !"
"That was only an extra precaution which he took,"
McNulty observed consolingly. “He would have got us,
anyway, with punctured tires on that glass strewn


THE FIFTY-FIFTY CHANCE 219
stretch of roadway for he knew we would take the ad-
vice of his confederate in good faith. I didn't notice
him particularly in the telegraph office because he didn't
attempt to come near enough to me to read the messages
I was sending. I just got a general impression of a
man with gray hair and his cap pulled down over his
eyes, but it was his voice that I remembered.”
"Jim!” Peter's round face sagged and his own voice
shook with a sort of horror. “Do you realize what you
have just said ?—'A man with gray hair and his cap pulled
down low over his eyes!' I know that might apply to
a million other people right at this minute, but where did
you last hear that description given? By whom?"
"By Seward Moberley!"
There was a lengthy pause while the two gazed at
each other in startled speculation. Then McNulty rose
determinedly and reeled over to the door, but only to
fall against it and slump once more to the floor.
“Gad !” exclaimed Peter who, still holding his head,
had watched his friend's progress helplessly but with
eagerness. “It's a wonder you didn't knock that sliding
door clean out of its groove and put that old gink or
his pals wise to it that we've regained consciousness, if
they happen to be on guard outside! Better wait till
you are a bit steadier on your pins.”
"The door didn't even give!" McNulty whispered
back after a moment of strained listening. “It's fase
tened more securely than with just a padlock, in my
opinion, and there isn't even a sound from outside. I
believe we've been left here alone, for a time at least,


220
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
and just as soon as you're able I want you to help me to
try to force the door. We haven't even a minute to
lose in getting away from here!—What are you doing?”.
"I'm going to see what is in that newspaper package
over there by the feed box if I can make it, but my own
legs are confoundedly wobbly!” Peter replied, and,
bracing himself against the wall, he made his way around
the confined space to the bundle and opened it. “Evi-
dently they don't mean to starve us, at any rate! A
bunch of stale sandwiches and dairy lunch pie! Ugh!"
"Not for me, either.” McNulty eyed the mess with
shuddering distaste and then added longingly: "I'd
give something for a long, cold drink of water, though;
that would pull us together quicker than anything else.-
Say! Isn't that rusty thing in the wall over there a
spigot?"
Peter turned eagerly, crawled to the object indicated
and with some difficulty turned the handle. A small
stream of brackish water spurted out and speedily turned
to a clear, steady flow. With a low exclamation Mc-
Nulty staggered to his feet and over to his friend, and
both men drank avidly, laving their heads and hands,
heedless of the pool which collected on the floor about
their knees.
At length when they had satisfied their thirst McNulty
turned off the spigot and both rose to take renewed
stock of their surroundings.
"Gad, I feel like a new man!" the former remarked.
“Now we've got to get out of this hole somehow and
all-fired quick, too! Let's have a go at that door!"


THE FIFTY-FIFTY CHANCE 221
Peter joined him, though still somewhat unsteadily,
and the captives tried with all their strength to slide the
door back or force it outward, but it resisted their ut-
most efforts.
"Just as I thought!" McNulty leaned pantingly
against the wall and wiped his streaming forehead.
“They've got battens nailed across it on the other side,
curse them !"
“Never mind!” Peter's face had turned a sickly
green but a glow of inspiration lighted his eyes. “Jim,
if we can tear that iron feed box out of that rotten old
partition and use it as a sort of battering ram we may
break down the door, battens and all !”
They made a rush for the feed box and tugged at it
desperately. It was already loosened but for a time it
held stoutly. Then suddenly there was a sharp, rending
report of snapping staples and cracking boards and Peter
sat down unexpectedly with the feed box on his lap.
For a moment he collapsed, gasping; then, as Mc-
Nulty lifted the weight which had pinned him down,
he rose and together they made another assault upon the
door. Again and again they drove at it, the heavy iron
causing resounding blows which echoed through the
silent spaces without, but the door held and at last they
were forced to desist through sheer exhaustion.
"I–I feel sick!" Peter grunted, as they lowered the
feed box to the floor in final defeat.
"Sit down on that pile of straw there for a minute,
then, but don't you dare to go to sleep again, Pete!"
McNulty warned and, crossing to the round, barred win-


222
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
dow, he stood gazing out with his back to his companion.
“That's it! Take up all the air!" Peter exclaimed
indignantly. “I looked out there before and there isn't
a thing to be seen except an old tumble-down well and
trees everywhere! As for that blamed door, we couldn't
cut through it in a day, even if we had the tools.”
"If it were only just padlocked and I had my revolver
I'd shoot it away, but of course they've frisked us."
McNulty spoke in an absent tone, without turning.
"I didn't have my gat to be relieved of.” Peter sat
up and commenced searching his pockets rapidly as he
spoke. "What do you know about this? They've taken
my papers and press badge but left my money and watch
-oh, and my cigarettes and matches, too!"
“Very considerate of them!” ·McNulty retorted ironi-
cally. “They've left my watch and money, but a fat lot
of good the last will do us, cooped up in here!"
"It's my opinion that this is some deserted farm, and
we could stay till Doomsday without anybody coming
to let us out!" returned the other. “I'm getting more
sick every minute but I've got one satisfaction; you
engineered this little expedition, Jimmy! You thought
a little run in the country would do us both good, if
you remember! Yah!”
"Pete, you are right.” McNulty turned with a very
grave face. “Whoever that gray-haired man is, or the
people he's working in with, they could keep us shut up
here for days or even weeks if they felt like it, and I
don't believe that any one else would be likely to come


THE FIFTY-FIFTY CHANCE 223
near this place. We can submit to it, of course, or we
can take one desperate chance.”
"What do you mean?" Peter glanced up in surprise.
"With a padlocked and nailed-up door and a round hole
of a window, barred at that, I don't see any alternative
but to fight our way out when they come to question us
or bring us more food. I'd take a chance on one man
even though he were armed, but if a bunch come and
have us covered while we haven't even a club to break
a few heads with, what's the use?”
"I don't think that any one will come until night, but
if we wait till they do, we'll be lost,” McNulty said
slowly. “There is just one possible way that we might
be able to break out, but it means taking your life in
your hands, Pete. It's a fifty-fifty chance whether we
would be out there free in a little while or never get out
alive. Are you game?”.
"That is a question you've never asked me before,
Jim.” A look of quiet dignity came into Peter's chubby
face. “I've followed you through hell more than once
and I don't think you have ever had an opportunity to
call me a quitter even if you had wanted to.”
"I know, old man, but this will be the narrowest
squeak we will ever have had and I don't feel justified
in risking your life," the other said apologetically.
“I've risked it myself for a good story many a time,
and usually the boss cut it down to half a column or
killed it altogether, so if that is all that's worrying you,
you may fire when ready." Peter added: "I will ad-


224
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
mit, though, that I would like to know how you propose
to set about getting us out.”
"You said it!" McNulty smiled grimly. "I never
thought before that you were telepathic, Pete. Why
did you mention 'fire' just now?"
"Why, Gridley—Manila," Peter explained vaguely
and then a startled look came into his eyes. “What are
you driving at, Jim?”
"Just that. I propose to burn our way out! There
is plenty of straw here and you have matches,
"But Great Heavens! It's just plain suicide!” Peter
gasped.
“Not necessarily, the way I suggest working it,” Mc-
Nulty went on rapidly. "We can brush all the straw
away from around that window and wet it thoroughly
with the water from the spigot. There isn't any wind,
not even a breath stirring; that's why I stood in the
window when you were yelling for air. I was watch-
ing the branches of the trees and not a leaf moved. I
propose to burn a rim around the window and straight
down to the floor, a little at a time, tamping it with
water, until we are able to wrench loose those bars and
crawl through the aperture. There's the risk, of course,
of the fire getting beyond our control and with the
haymow above us and all this rotting old timber !
Well, that's the fifty-fifty chance, Pete.”
There was a pause and then Peter said soberly:
“We can't cut or fight our way out, and I'm with you,
old man. Let's get it over with, one way or the other!"
Forgetting his illness, he set to work with a will to


THE FIFTY-FIFTY CHANCE 225
drag the straw away from the window and pile it against
the farthest wall. McNulty took off his coat and used
it as a broom to sweep away any lingering bits which
clung to the splinters of the rough board flooring.
When as large a space as was possible had been cleared
before the window, the detective turned on the spigot
and with his hands deflected the small stream of water
to the floor and the pile of straw. When the latter was
thoroughly saturated, he held his coat beneath the
stream until it was a mere sodden mass.
"What's that for?” asked Peter. His face was a
trifle white but his eyes were round and shining with
excitement.
"To put over our heads and possibly save us from a
scorching when we dive through the hole we are going
to make,” responded McNulty. “Do the same with
your coat, and soak yourself, too, as well as you can,
but first give me your matches. I'm going to get to
work now.”
While Peter watched with fascinated eyes, he took
up a handful of straw which had remained dry, lighted
it and held it to the wooden rim of the window. The
old timber refused to catch fire at first and when the
fiercely blazing straw scorched his fingers McNulty
dropped it on the wet floor and stamped it carefully out.
With the second handful the wood caught and Peter,
with his own soaking coat, helped to keep the flames
from creeping too far out of their prescribed course.
Both men worked feverishly, desperately, while the fire
ate deeper and deeper into the seasoned old wood, steal-


226
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
ing in a crimson circle about the window. The heat
grew more and more intense and the acrid smoke made
them gasp and choke, their eyes streaming, their lungs
seeming to be upon the point of bursting with their
labored, agonized breath.
“My God, Jim! The other side! She's creeping up
higher than I can reach!” Pete sobbed suddenly.
McNulty sprang up, caught the treacherous tongue of
flame that was shooting up the wall and then turning
cried to his friend :
"Wet your coat again! It'll catch in a minute.
Then slop it around the edge of the window while I wet
mine. The hole's big enough now, if we can put the
fire out and start it again from the floor so that we can
wrench the bars loose. Hurry!"
Frantically Peter obeyed, but it required fast work
and several renewed wettings of the rough woolen gar-
ments which they were using as mops before the last of
the red sparks were extinguished from the charred,
blackened wood, which still smoked sullenly as the de-
tective ignited the wall at the foot of the widened aper-
ture.
Then, indeed, they were compelled to work furiously
as the flames shot up toward the window. Their coats
were of no avail, and, casting them momentarily aside,
they dashed water from their cupped hands on the smok-
ing walls on either side of that leaping dart of fire.
All at once McNulty turned and splashed water upon
his legs and body. Picking up the feed box, he de
liberately leaned over the blaze and with the heavy iron


228
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
what we've started; I don't think I'll go back for my
coat!”
sky.
· Peter rose to his feet and obeyed. Garish and
theatric in the broad sunlight, the flames were leaping up
hungrily to the very roof of the barn and dense clouds
of black smoke billowed up to melt in a gray haze against
the blue of the sky.
Fascinated anew, he would have stood there drinking
in the scene, but his companion seized him and dragged
him splashing through the brook and up the opposite
bank into the sheltering woodland once more.
“Gee!” remarked McNulty, gazing about him with a
bloodshot but beaming eye as they halted, breathless.
“I take back all I said last night. These woods cer-
tainly look good to me now !"


230 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
Ought it; everte road
have me jailed-perhaps by swearing that he saw me
fire that barn- !"
"You won't run into him, never fear. He's far away
by now and it is my opinion that he is as much of a
stranger in this neighborhood as we are. That's why I
told you back there that I didn't believe anybody would
come near us until night. Of course he or his accom-
plices knew of that deserted barn, and it can't be far
from where they sprinkled the road with nails and glass.
I wish we could find it; every minute is precious."
"Well, that ought not to be difficult,” Peter observed.
“This can't be a very large tract of woods, for the vil-
lages are strung out pretty close together, if you remem-
ber. There's a break through the trees in this direction
which looks as though a road might be cut through.
What time is it? My watch has stopped, confound it,
but the sun isn't very high.”
"Half-past nine. If I can find what I'm looking for
quickly, do you think we could make town by one
o'clock?"
“Depends on how soon I can locate a garage and the
kind of a car I can get,” returned Peter. “Come on."
But the clearing in the trees proved to mark only an
old, disused lane and it was more than an hour before
they came out on the farther edge of the woods and the
reporter pointed triumphantly to the broad, deeply rutted
road, the surface of which glistened like frost in the sun-
light.
"Here we are at last, but the car's gone!” he ex-
claimed. “This is the very spot where it skidded into


“SCATTERED TO FOUR WINDS” 231
the ditch; there are the marks. Some one has put up a
temporary barrier at each end of the dangerous stretch,
too!”
McNulty gave no heed to the last words. After one
glance at the place where their car had rested he began
ranging back and forth in the underbrush between the
ditch and the line of trees, much as a hunting dog who
had lost the scent might have done. Peter watched him
in silence, knowing better than to ask questions.
At last with a little exclamation the detective dived
into a patch of briers and brought forth two limp loops
of rubber.
"Our rear tires!” Peter could not refrain from the
comment. “What in the world do you want with them,
Jim?"
McNulty did not reply, but, seating himself upon a
stump behind a screening clump of bushes, he tore
desperately at the tires.
"I wonder why whoever took the car away put on two
new tires instead of using the spare wheel? It would
have been quicker," the reporter mused aloud.
"Because it was out of business, too. I noticed that
when we were first ditched. Our friend made a pretty
thorough job of it while you were asleep in front of that
telegraph office.” McNulty threw one tire aside and
took up the second, but his fingers had scarcely pene-
trated one of the rents in it than a smile broke over his
face and he drew out a folded oblong of paper. “Got
it !” he announced. "I had a suspicion that we might
be found and frisked, and before I followed you into


232
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
the woods last night I hid that anonymous letter that
came to headquarters in the torn tire. I knew our cap-
tors wouldn't leave the car here and I hoped they would
do just what they have done. If you will look at the
tracks in the road you will see that they ripped off these
tires and threw them aside and then pushed the car
backward to the good stretch of road which we had
marked by our lantern before they attempted any re-
pairs.”
“Both the lantern and lamp are gone now," Peter an-
nounced, after he had paced from one end to the other
of the space enclosed in the barriers. "I remember this
locality now that I see it in the daylight for I've driven
over it more than once, and I think that there is a big
white garage in a village about a mile or so nearer
town.”
“I know you feel rocky but get there as fast as you
can, Pete. Hire a car and drive slowly back along this
road. I'll follow you, keeping to the woods right at the
edge of the ditch until the trees end or I get too near a
house, or a second road branches off. You can't miss me.
While they are getting a car ready for you, 'phone to the
Moberley house and find out what the developments there
have been."
It was almost noon when Peter, driving a rickety Tri-
plex, rumbled to a stop, turned the car about and opened
the door of the tonneau. A scorched, sooty figure darted
from the trees at the roadside, dived into the car and,
pulling a robe from the rail and covering himself with
it, sat crouched upon the floor.


“SCATTERED TO FOUR WINDS” 233
For half an hour or more thereafter they burned up the
road, for the shabby machine could travel fast. Then,
for the first time, McNulty raised himself to the seat
and spoke:
"What's doing at the Moberley house? Who did you
get on the wire?”
"Barney Franck," replied Peter over his shoulder.
“The old butler George has collapsed, Montie Russell is
alternately raging and teasing Franck, and Charles
Moberley never showed up at all. That's all except that
your chief is having a fit!”
“ 'Moberley never showed up!'” repeated McNulty.
"Get all the speed out of this old car that you can,
Pete. I've said all along that we were without a clew
in this case, but I've got a hunch that I'm on the right
track at last.”
So it was that, about three o'clock that afternoon, a
battered but still powerful car pounded up the driveway
and stopped before the veranda of the Moberley house.
Two hollow-eyed, famished young men abandoned it
there and, rushing up the steps, the taller of them
stretched out his hand to the bell. The door was sud-
denly opened from within and the harassed face of
Barney Franck appeared.
"I've been watching for you, Sergeant. The situa-
tion hasn't changed since Mr. Sayre 'phoned and Agnes
has baths drawn for you while the cook is ready to serve
your lunch— !" He paused as he took in the aspect
of the figure before him. “Wha—what has happened !
Mr. Sayre didn't say that anything had "


234
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
"We've been in a little fire; nothing serious," Mc-
Nulty responded briefly. “Baths, now, and then you
can give me your report while we eat."
In twenty minutes they were seated in the dining-room
while Barney poured out his woes.
“I've handled every sort in my time, from gentlemen
embezzlers to rum-crazed longshoremen, but I never put
in such a time as I've had with that young Mr. Russell!"
he exclaimed. “You told me not to leave him out of
my sight, Sergeant, and I haven't until now, but he's
fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion after keeping me up
all night long with his foolishness and the laundress,
who hates him, is watching him for me.”
"You are sure there has been no word of any sort
received either here at the house or over the separate
wire at the garage from Mr. Moberley?”.
“Sure, sir, and the newspaper men who have been
flocking around have got wind of his absence some way.
It's bound to come out if he doesn't return pretty quick."
McNulty pushed back his chair and rose.
“Mr. Sayre and I are going into the library to tele-
phone. See that the other extensions from the main
switch in the house are closed and bring Russell to me
in twenty minutes.”
When in the allotted space of time the operative entered
the library with his sleepy and indignant charge in tow
he found Sergeant McNulty alone.
"Here's Mr. Russell, sir," Barney announced. "I'll
have to change my report. He wasn't asleep at all; I


“SCATTERED TO FOUR WINDS” 235
found him trying to teach the laundress stud poker and
telling her that it was a new kind of euchre "
“All right, Barney. Go and get a little rest, I'll ring
for you when I need you.” When the operative had
withdrawn McNulty turned blandly to the young man
who was regarding him with amazed eyes. “Sit down,
Mr. Russell.”
"What the devil has happened to your eyebrows,
Sergeant?" Montie demanded as he obeyed. "If I
didn't know better I could swear that you had been in
the fire which burned Kim's house down on the one
night when I had any use for it! I've been mad clear
through at being kept here like this but you look done
up and I swear I won't give any more trouble if you
want to rest awhile."
“Thanks, but I've had all the sleep I want," McNulty
replied grimly, ignoring the question. “Stud poker is
a pretty good game, Russell, but red dog is about the
swiftest one I know. Some people call it ‘red Indian.'
You play it, of course ?”
"I—I have.” Montie's jaw dropped.
“You may be interested in knowing that I have just
had the captain of the vice squad at headquarters on
the wire. He's been watching Rundell's old place for
some time on a private tip that it was going full blast
once more with Doc Hillis in charge, and yesterday I
advised the captain to close in on him. They pulled off
a raid last night and the doc is down at headquarters
now, swearing to an affidavit that you were playing in


236
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
the establishment from shortly after nine o'clock on
Wednesday evening until a quarter to one the following
—yesterday-morning."
“That's very good of him, I'm sure," Montie com-
mented ironically. “Since my own alibi has been
proven by so reputable a witness I presume that I am no
longer detained here?”
"I'm afraid so, Russell. Either here or in the Tombs
as a material witness.” McNulty's tone was very grave.
“Doc Hillis was not the only witness to your own alibi,
for the haul last night was a big one and most of the
employees as well as gentlemen in your crowd who are
habitués of the place were caught in the net. All are
agreed upon the fact that Charles Moberley accom-
panied you to the establishment and left with you, but
there is an interim between of more than an hour and a
half during which he seems to have disappeared.”
"That is an abominable lie!” Montie exclaimed, his
face suddenly white. “We separated and I joined a
crowd who were playing red dog with the doc himself
while Charlie went over to play roulette at a table
toward the other end of the room. I could see him
the whole evening from where I sat.”
“But you did not. The croupier has testified that he
watched the game for only a few minutes and then
strolled away, while the cashier is positive that he did
not buy checks until a couple of hours later. You lost
during the early part of the evening, I understand, but
recouped later and came out eighteen hundred dollars
ahead of the game.”


238
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
McNulty said quietly. "You told me that you left
Rundell's place at a little before one, went to the garage
with Moberley to get his car, then to the Bracefield
where he found the message concerning his uncle and
that you raced up here. It was exactly ten minutes be-
fore two o'clock when you arrived and I know the
speed which can be got out of that little machine; you
could have made it quicker than you did. What caused
the delay?”
"When we reached the garage Mr. Moberley's car
wasn't ready.” Montie clipped his words short in digni-
fied resentment.
“Why? Isn't it always kept in condition?" asked Mc-
Nulty. “When had he been out in it last?"
Montie shrugged.
"I'm sure I don't know," he said. “I might suggest
that you ask the manager of the garage!"
"One of our operatives has done so," responded Mc-
Nulty. “Mr. Moberley used his car on Wednesday
afternoon and had to have it towed back to the garage.
He left instructions there that it was to be repaired and
ready for him by nine o'clock that night. The manager
and two mechanics are prepared to swear that he called
for it alone at a quarter to ten."
"Let them swear!” Montie retorted doggedly. "I'll
do a little swearing myself, and under oath I guess my
word is as good as theirs !"
"You intend to adhere to that assertion, Mr. Russell ?”
"It is a statement of fact, Sergeant." Montie rose.
"I shall not utter another word on the subject until you


“SCATTERED TO FOUR WINDS” 239
or your chief wish me to put it in the form of an affi-
davit. Meanwhile, I am of course in your hands."
McNulty rang, and, when the obstinate witness had
accompanied Franck from the room, the detective pro
ceeded to the servants' sitting-room at the rear of the
house where he had previously held his inquiries.
As he had expected, he found Agnes there alone,
mending kitchen towels. She made as if to rise, but he
stopped her.
“Keep your seat, Agnes. I want to talk to you,” he
said. “Your sister is going to marry Parker, I under-
stand; are you not also thinking of getting married ?”
"Me, sir!” she exclaimed. “Indeed, no. If Mr.
Charles doesn't want me to stay on, or I find it too
awful here on account of always thinking of what hap-
pened to his uncle, I'm going to a little town up-state
where I know a woman who wants to open a fancy store
and I'll go partners with her. Whatever made you
think I-I was going to get married, sir?”
"You have no male relatives ?”
"No, sir. I haven't any relations at all except my
sister."
"Then who is the man you have been meeting lately
and talking with at the corner of the wall where the
hydrangeas are?” McNulty shot the question suddenly
at her, and the linen which she had been hemming
dropped to the floor.
“Who told you that I had been meeting anybody,
sir!" A sharp touch of color outlined her cheek bones.
"That is beside the point,” the detective retorted with


240
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
a note of sternness in his tones. “I have proof that you
have been meeting such a person; that you met him
late on Wednesday afternoon at the place I have named.
What is his name?”
"Ralph Conklin, sir.” Her own tones were very low.
“He's a plumber who came here to fix the pipes in the
cellar. That's how I met him first. He's been very
nice and friendly and once or twice I went out to the
motion pictures with him. I like him but I'm not the
fool that Henrietta is, and I know that no man is going
to make up to me at my age except for what little I've
got laid by. Mr. Conklin is just a friend, sir.”
"Where does he work?"
"Nowhere now, sir. He told me he was going to
open a little plumbers' supply place in Brooklyn where
he lives."
"What is his address?" McNulty persisted.
"I don't know, sir. He did tell me, but I forgot. I
believe he lives with a married sister.” Agnes returned
the detective's gaze steadily. "He was going to take me
to the pictures on Wednesday evening, but he had to see
some man on business. That's why he came late in the
afternoon—to tell me.”
“Why didn't he come to the house?”'
Her flush deepened.
"Because I wouldn't let him, sir! I wasn't going to
have all the other servants poking fun at me and the
stable hands snickering. I liked to go out with him but
it was my own business and nobody else's, so I met him


“SCATTERED TO FOUR WINDS” 243
a list of the dates for you, but as yet he has not been
able to trace a penny of the money. Moberley didn't
use it in any business or charitable enterprise that has
been unearthed so far and for all any one knows it might
have been scattered to the four winds !”


246 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
would have been requested to give up his rooms at
once."
"Thank you. I won't need any further information
from you. By the way, when you get down to your
desk, please see if any one has telephoned to Mr. Mober-
ley during his absence, and send me up a list of those
who left their names and any messages, no matter how
confidential.”
The clerk's newly regained aplomb vanished.
“But, Sergeant, it is a rule of the house !” he be-
gan.
"It is a rule of the Police Department to have its
orders obeyed !” McNulty interrupted, and with a stam-
mered apology the clerk turned and fled.
The detective walked slowly through the rooms and
one fact struck him as being odd; nowhere was there a
woman's photograph visible, nor any of the impractical
but pretty gifts with which women are prone to deluge
the men of their choice. The chief had looked up
Charles' record; surely if there had been a romance or
even the rumor of one he would have known.
Systematically and thoroughly McNulty searched
every drawer and receptacle in the apartment, ruthlessly
forcing those which were locked and which would not
yield to the persuasions of his skeleton keys. Toilet
articles and clothing in the bedroom, playing cards, chips,
sheet music, old magazines, and photographs of college
athletics were all that rewarded him in the living-room
Even the desk yielded merely a neatly labeled assort-
ment of receipted bills, and scraps of notes of recent


THE SHRINE
247
date signed "Montie” and “Bill” and “Frank,” all refer-
ring to some engagement for a fishing or hunting trip,
or theater, or a “quiet little game.” It was evident that
Charles was no ladies' man, nor did he appear to have
debts or any secrets which the world might not have
shared.
Feeling sheepishly that he was perhaps wasting
valuable time after all, McNulty opened the lowest and
last drawer in the desk and ran his hands through the
collection of old theater programs it contained, when
his fingers came into contact with something sharp and
cold. Drawing it out, he beheld a stiletto of polished,
blue steel with an exquisitely carved handle.
Why had it been thrust so roughly in that drawer as
to rumple and tear the lower layer of programs? If it
were a mere thing of beauty, an heirloom, perhaps, from
the vendetta-loving Sicilian side of his house why had
Charles not placed it in the curio cabinet in the corner?
While he sat regarding it thoughtfully, the bell rang.
On a sudden impulse McNulty wrapped the blade in his
handkerchief and put the stiletto in one of his hip
pockets before he went to the door. A bell-boy stood
there with the list of telephone calls for which McNulty
had asked, and a hasty perusal of it showed only the
names of men, the messages being in general tenor iden-
tical with those in the notes found in the desk.
McNulty closed the door and returned once more to
the living-room, where, high up on the wall between two
torch brackets of antique design, he beheld something
which he had not before observed. It was a box-like


248
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
affair of heavily carved wood, dark with age and there
appeared to be a little door in the front.
The detective could not know that it was a wall shrine
with a history of several centuries behind it; he thought
it only a rather dingy affair to occupy the space where
a painting would have shown to far better advantage.
Nevertheless, it might contain something of significance
to him, and, climbing upon a chair, he tried the little
door. It was locked but yielded to the ministrations
of a slender steel wire in his practiced hands. As it
swung slowly outward McNulty stared with protruding
eyes at what it contained. For several moments he
stood motionless and then, with a curiously awe-stricken
expression, as of one who has gazed upon something
meant solely for the eyes of another, he closed the little
door, climbed down from the chair, and, replacing it in
its former position, went slowly from the apartment.
He returned to the Moberley house in time to dine
with Barney Franck and his charge. The latter had
completely recovered his whimsical spirits, which had
been somewhat dashed by his interview with McNulty
in the afternoon, and in spite of himself the detective
was forced to smile at some of his cheerfully audacious
sallies.
"It must be an interesting profession, that of you two
chaps," Montie observed during the course of the meal.
"I never realized until the last few days how exciting
it could be; for you, I mean, not for the other fellow!
I don't know why I wouldn't be good at it myself !


THE SHRINE
249
For instance, I deduced quite a lot of things about you
when you came in to-night, Sergeant."
“Did you, Mr. Russell ?" McNulty asked politely.
He had come to realize that beneath the apparent point-
lessness of this young man's wit there frequently lay
definite purpose.
"Yes. If you don't mind my being personal, I'll tell
you." Montie put aside his salad plate and extended his
cigarette case. "I didn't see your earlier arrival to-day,
but wherever you were I judged that you must have
left your coat and hat behind you. The ones you were
wearing to-night were a trifle small and I shrewdly
suspect you appropriated those of Officer Franck, here.
You were carrying a square box and I knew you had
been purchasing collars so I concluded you intended to
tarry with us awhile and make the old place cheer-
ful "
“You are wrong there, Mr. Russell. That box con-
tains. candy,” McNulty interrupted and then, as the
housemaid appeared in the doorway, he asked hurriedly:
"What is it, Agnes?”
"A telegram for you, sir. The boy wants to know
if there is an answer."
Excusing himself, McNulty went out into the hall and
there Peter found him on his arrival a few minutes
later.
"Let's go out and stroll around the grounds,” Mc-
Nulty invited. “We can talk there and I want another
look at the outside of the house, particularly that


THE SHRINE
251
McNulty demanded a trifle impatiently. "Most of 'em
like dancing and fun, especially when they've worked
all day— "
"It isn't that," interrupted Peter. "She earns thirty
dollars a week, her home is modest to the verge of
poverty and she dresses in the cheapest of clothing, and
yet Quinn discovered quite by accident that within the
last ten days she has bought nearly five thousand dol-
lars' worth of stocks in various small lots. Now, she
hasn't access to any funds in the office even if she would
steal, and Quinn thinks she is as honest as she is straight.
He doesn't believe her people ever saw five thousand
dollars together at one time in all their lives. Where
did she get the money?”
"If that's all — !
"It isn't. Since yesterday morning when the news
of Moberley's death reached them, Quinn says that she
has acted very strangely. She cried, of course, just as
all the rest of the girls employed in the office did, but
she seemed frightened half out of her wits, and dazed
too. She asked innumerable questions about circum-
stantial evidence and seemed to show so much morbid
interest in the crime itself that Quinn thinks she knows
something and is afraid to speak.”
“Well, you sound her to-morrow, Pete, and if you
agree with Quinn, get her address and I'll have a little
talk with her. I don't quite see where she fits in- "
"Nobody fits in !" Peter exclaimed as McNulty left
his sentence unfinished. “Neither this girl, nor the old
hick up the road, nor Ben Duncan, nor Miss Jaffray!


252
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
You said to-day when you fished the anonymous letter
out of that slashed tire where you had hidden it, that
you thought you were on the right track at last.”
"I was,” responded McNulty gravely. “I can see
daylight ahead now, Pete, but it is a hideous, red dawn!
I cannot reach it yet; I cannot even prove to others,
make them see it too, but I shall. I am almost at the
end of the journey, to carry the metaphor through.
Some motives and a lot of minor details aren't clear to
me yet, nor the identity of certain people, but I read a
part of the truth from that desk pad when Seward
Moberley's body was still warm, and now I can guess it
all.”
"Holy Mike! Have you told the chief?” demanded
Peter when he could find his voice.
McNulty shook his head.
"He told me to let him hear from me when I got
results and I have only communicated with him since
I needed some routine work done which I hadn't time
for," he replied. “I failed to protect Mr. Moberley
from his assassin, but I mean to hand that assassin over
to the chief wrapped up, tied and labeled.”
“I suppose you won't tell even me anything— !"
Peter was beginning in an aggrieved tone when a
raucous hoot close at his side made him jump. "Jim!
What the deuce was that!”
They had strolled around the side of the house upon
which the row of windows in Seward Moberley's sitting-
room looked out, as well as old George's single one on
the third floor and had paused beside the huge oak,


THE SHRINE
253
rimmed like the other trees with its sash of white lime
which made it loom ghostily in the darkness.
"I don't know!" McNulty answered. “It wasn't any
owl, like the one last night in those woods !”
“Hoo-oo!”
The cry came again and Peter strained his eyes up
ward.
"It's something in the branches of the tree !” he
hazarded, but McNulty's ear had been truer.
"No, it isn't!" he exclaimed. “It's some one in the
tree itself !”
He dashed around the trunk and Peter, following at
his heels, uttered a sharp ejaculation. The great oak
was hollow from its base to a height of six feet or more
and must have borne its last leaves that summer from
the sap still remaining in its sturdy upper body. A
great aperture appeared in its white-coated trunk and
something seemed to move within.
"Come out of that!” McNulty ordered, and, thrusting
his arm in the hollow, he dragged out a creature which
began to whimper and whine. “Great Scott! It's
Ben!"
The half-wit struggled and writhed, crying out when
he heard his name, but McNulty suddenly put an arm
about his shoulders and said soothingly:
“There's nothing to be afraid of! That was a
mighty smart trick you played on us just now, Ben.
See what I've brought you!"
Before Peter's staring eyes McNulty drew the box
from beneath his arm and, opening it, thrust a handful


254 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
of chocolates into the avidly outstretched palms of the
creature beside him.
A warm glow which still shone out from behind the
drawn shades of the kitchen windows enabled the de-
tective and Peter to watch the expression on Ben's face
change from greed to animal pleasure, and then to desire
once more as the candies disappeared and he held out his
hands again.
"Not now!" McNulty said. “You know the other
gentleman doesn't give you candy for nothing; the
gentleman who comes to the corner of the wall. What
does he give you candy for? Think, Ben!"
He held the box invitingly open, but just out of reach,
and Ben accepted the situation. Wrinkling his vacuous
face in an agony of concentration, he looked up at last
with a grimace of infinite cunning.
“You want Agnes ?” he asked. “Ben get Agnes?”
“Good boy!” The detective gave him a few more
candies, but sparingly. Then, reaching into his vest
pocket, he drew out a bright, new penny and held it so
that the light made it shine like gold. "What did the
nice gentleman give you something pretty like this for?”
"Because I show him this in the dark time!" Ben
pointed to the hollow in the tree. "Agnes tells him how
I hide and say 'Hoo-oo!' and scare Henny, and the man
wants to see where, so I show him. Agnes, she don't
know. Nobody knows!"
It had been a constrained mental effort for Ben, and
utterly meaningless to Peter, but McNulty smiled as he
let the coin slide into the clutching fingers.


CHAPTER XX
"HE WHO CAME FIRST"
"THAT thing is not an idiot, he's plain crazy!”
1 Peter observed disgustedly as Ben seized the
box of candy and scuttled away into the darkness, his
gurgling laughter echoing in their ears. “What's all
this nonsense about hiding in cupboards, anyway? I
don't blame young Charles for clearing out of this old
folks' home and insane asylum combined !”
"We'll see whether it is nonsense or not,” McNulty
replied. “I'm inclined to think that Ben is cleverer in
some ways than all the rest of us put together. Come
on!”
Reëntering the house by the side door which led into
the drawing-room, they crossed to the hall and thence
up the stairs. From the bedroom back of that which
Charles had occupied there came the subdued murmur of
Montie's voice and the slap of cards upon polished
wood.
"Two on the three. Red ten on the black jack 'ten
on the jack, an old friend back.' Did you ever know
that, Franck? Did you ever have your fortune told ?"
"No, sir. I can't say as I have," Barney Franck's
257


262
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
"If you, yourself, wish Mr. Russell to stay he will be
welcome as far as I am concerned, Mr. Moberley, but
it is only fair to tell you that I mean to reconstruct, with
some assistance from you, a certain scene which took
place here in this very room about forty-eight hours
ago."
“You will have all the assistance in my power, Ser-
geant," Charles replied. “Sit down over here, Montie.
Whatever revelations the sergeant has for us may as well
be known by you now as later."
With a puzzled, distressed countenance Montie took
the chair indicated and McNulty turned to the operative.
"Barney, we won't need you. It isn't even necessary
for you to remain within call. Mr. Sayre will summon
you when our conference is ended.”
Franck took the hint and withdrew, and when the
door had closed behind him Montie turned vehemently
to his friend.
"Charlie, don't you let them put anything over on
you! They're trying to claim you left Rundell's and
returned again Wednesday night, when I'm prepared to
swear that you were right with me all the evening — !”
“Wait!" Charles had been studying the detective's
face. “Let us hear what the sergeant has to say."
"Mr. Moberley,” McNulty began gravely, "on
Wednesday evening your uncle was seated there at that
table, almost in the position in which you are now,
writing a letter. The window in that row over there
nearest to the bronze figure which had the sheathed
sword was slightly open, and the wistaria vine that


MONTIE RUSSELL, MATADOR 269
"I did find your message, as you know, and brought
Mr. Russell along to corroborate my alibi if I were con-
strained to establish one. When he told that preposter-
ous story about our having spent the evening at Kim
Van Nostrand's I was frightened for a minute, think-
ing that he suspected the truth and was trying to shield
me, but I realized almost at once that he was protecting
Doc Hillis and Rundell instead.”
"Why in the world should I have suspected you?” de-
manded Montie. "What motive could you have had for
turning on that wonderful old man who had done every-
thing for you all your life!”
"That is a matter which lies between my uncle and
myself. I cannot imagine what motive could have actu-
ated the one who came after me and finished my work,
but it was not the same. My uncle and I alone knew
why I struck that blow.”
"And he protected you !" cried Montie. “With his
last breath he told of the other man but never mentioned
your name !Oh, I don't believe it! I can't !"
"Mr. Moberley, what weapon did you use?” Mc-
Nulty eyed him narrowly.
"A stiletto which had been in my mother's family for
generations,” the other replied without hesitation.
“Where is it now? Did you carry it away with
you?".
"Yes. I hid it beneath some papers in my desk at
the Bracefield when I went back there later with Mr.
Russell; that was why I discouraged his coming up-
stairs with me when I went to get my coat."


270
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
“Is this it?" The detective drew from his pocket the
stiletto which he had found in the place the other had
described and held it before his eyes.
For an instant Charles shrank back and a look of
horror darkened his face. Then he nodded coolly.
“Yes. My mother was a Sicilian, you know. That
is the type of Sicilian dagger used in the old vendetta
days."
He exhibited no curiosity as to how it came to be in
the detective's possession, but spoke as though he were
explaining the origin of a mere curio and Montie fairly
gasped at his sang-froid.
"This blade is very sharp, Mr. Moberley.” McNulty
regarded it critically as he spoke. "How is it that you
inflicted merely a scratch, if you meant to kill?”
The young man was evidently unprepared for the
question, for after a slight pause he said uncertainly:
“I don't know. I thought that I struck hard enough,
but my~my nerve failed, I suppose.”
"Now I know this whole story is a trumped-up lie!”
Montie sprang to his feet. “If you made up your mind
to get anybody, you'd get them, Charlie! Don't you be-
lieve a word he has told you, Sergeant! He's shielding
some one else, and I mean to make it my business to
find out who it is, in spite of him! Where have you
been, anyway, these last two days while I've stayed
cooped up here like a kid in a nursery?"
With the last question he turned again upon his friend
with a return of his old, unconstrained manner, and
McNulty saw that whatever his momentary vacillation


274
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
made just now you will find it very difficult to lose me!”
McNulty nodded comprehendingly and the young man
crossed to the fireplace and threw open the cupboard door
through which he had entered. The back wall had dis-
appeared leaving a narrow yawning space and as Peter
turned the wall switch which flooded the room with bril-
liant light they craned their heads into the aperture.
Steep, ladder-like stairs were visible leading downward
into utter darkness.
"Where does the passageway lead to?" asked Mc-
Nulty.
“A disused part of the cellar," replied Charles. "I'll
take you down and show you if you like. From there
a tunnel just big enough for one person to pass through
if they crouched low was drilled down to the river front.
It is a part of the history of the city that this house
was a sort of headquarters for runaway slaves in the
pre-Civil War days. They were landed from coast-
plying ships which brought them up the river and con-
ducted them through the tunnel to the cellar, where they
were housed until they could safely be passed along.
They never used this stairway, however, and there was
nothing secret about it. Before the kitchen wing was
added in my grandfather's time, this was the servants'
stairway and ended here because the house itself was
only two stories high, and this floor was all cut up into
much smaller rooms. When my grandfather had the
wing built on he added a third story and attic, and
changed all the interior as you see it now. You can tell
that this fireplace and mantel are comparatively modern..


CHAPTER XXII
SURPRISES
VHAT do you know about this?” Peter looked
V up from a perusal of the most bitter rival of
the Despatch and grinned across the breakfast table at
McNulty. "This old rag is hinting pretty broadly that
Charles Moberley has disappeared and there is a reason
for it; a rather sinister reason, too. Thank heaven,
none of them has got hold of the story of Seward
Moberley's engagement yet. Your chief forbade me to
use it for the present, when I dropped in on him at
headquarters late yesterday afternoon after I telephoned
to you, but he almost promised me an exclusive beat on
it. What do you think of Miss Jaffray, Jim? Can you
believe that any sane woman would have refused a mar-
riage settlement?”
"Certainly, if she were sufficiently unworldly, as that
attorney Mr. Cayard claims that Miss Jaffray is,” re-
sponded the detective. "His story and hers are both
true as far as I have investigated them."
"And what time have you had to do that?" demanded
Peter. “While we were lying dead to the world in that
barn?”
276


SURPRISES
277
“No. While you went obligingly to sleep in front
of that telegraph office and allowed the old scoundrel to
cut our tires.” McNulty chuckled. “I wired to the
authorities in Chicago about Miss Jaffray's antecedents
and the reply came last evening just after dinner. She
was the daughter of Paul Jaffray who failed and died,
appointing his friend Andrew Cayard as her guardian
in his will.—You'd better hurry if you are going to get
down to the Moberley office on time. I want you to
get from Quinn a list of all the people he can remember
who called to see Seward Moberley there between the
fifteenth of September and the first of October; their
names, the dates, and the nature of their various errands.
'Phone me if you make any headway with the Grey girl.”
“You don't want much, do you?” Peter asked with
withering scor. “If I do say it I'll certainly be able
to qualify as a protean artist when this case is over!
Since Wednesday I have been stable-hand, chauffeur,
and general interlocutor; now I am to be an accountant,
a he-vamp, and probably the goat! And I don't know
anything more about what is going on than a deaf man
at a concert! I'll 'phone you about noon and let you
know if I succeed in dating up the little blonde.”
The two had breakfasted alone together, for Montie
was served in his room as usual, and, after a conference
with the detective, which had lasted until nearly dawn,
Charles was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion and peace.
It was nearly eleven o'clock when he appeared, his
face still pale and drawn, but set as with a new purpose
and a new hope.


278
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
"You're going through with it, I see. Good!” Mc-
Nulty greeted him. "I'll 'phone the chief and he will
make it as easy for you as he can."
“I've got to take my medicine, Sergeant," Charles
responded as he started for the limousine which, with
drawn curtains, awaited him at the foot of the veranda
steps. “I cannot undo what I have done but I can at
least face the consequences. If you succeed in bring-
ing to justice the man who wielded that bronze sword
I shall perhaps feel that some part of my hideous burden
has been lifted from my shoulders, but most of it, I
know, I must carry until the end of my life!"
A telegraph messenger passed the limousine at the
gate and McNulty waited at the open door until the boy
approached. He bore a lengthy missive in code, and
the detective had scarcely deciphered it when a second
arrived. This one, however, could be plainly read by
any one and as the characteristically blunt, terse sen-
tences penetrated his understanding McNulty smiled to
himself.
The end was indeed in sight but the least slip now
would prove fatal. What if at the last moment his
quarry should slip through his fingers? The first breath
of suspicion would undo all that he had done and render
futile a plan which he had in mind.
His anxious thoughts were interrupted by a summons
to the telephone and the voice of the attorney, Theodore
Bankhead, sounded in his ears. It was not, however,
the calm, self-assured, slightly pompous voice of two


280
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
to me later and let me know if Miss Jaffray will consent
to be present, when I shall at once inform you.”
"Very well, Mr. Bankhead, but was Mr. Charles
Moberley not mentioned in the letter? Surely his uncle
would have wished him to be present, since he is his only
living relative !"
"Mr. Charles Moberley was not mentioned, Sergeant.
You will hear from me later."
The attorney rang off and almost simultaneously there
came the click of an extension being switched from
somewhere in the house. Who had been listening in?
McNulty pondered over the problem until Montie came
airily downstairs.
He was clad in a disreputable old dressing-gown that
was evidently the property of Charles and he greeted the
detective lugubriously
"What have you done with Officer Franck? I miss
his cheery little ways, now that Mr. Moberley has gone
out. I've grown so accustomed to congenial companion-
ship in the past few days—first Tully and then Franck-
that I feel quite lost without a bodyguard. Where has
Mr. Moberley gone?"
"Didn't he tell you?” McNulty parried blandly. "I
sent Franck away just after breakfast for it won't be
necessary for us to detain you any longer, Mr. Russell.
As you say, since Mr. Moberley himself has not been
placed under arrest we cannot hold you as a witness.”
"Oh, I told Charlie that I would wait for him here,”
Montie said quickly. "If you don't mind I think I'll
see if there is anything in the library that was written


282
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
I glanced over it. Jim, you never saw such a queer col-
lection of people in your life; from ambassadors to rag-
pickers all in the same day!"
“How about the trick you went down there to pull
off?” the detective demanded. “You're not lying down
on the job, are you?”
"I am not!” Peter returned gayly. “I flatter myself
that I am what you would call a nifty little worker, for
our blonde friend is going to cut a date with another
fellow and go to lunch with me! I don't envy you
when that extra appears if you still have Montie "
"I get you!” McNulty interrupted in haste. "You
had better be here yourself by six. Good-by."
He and Montie lunched together in a mood of mutual
unrest for there was a constraint between them which
neither sought to hide. After the uncomfortable meal
was over McNulty went out for a stroll about the
grounds. For the first time in his career on the force
he was playing a waiting game. The inaction at a cru-
cial time galled him, but the very nature of the work
precluded his taking a prominent part.
He was approaching the house once more when one
of the stable hands dashed by him on a run, clutching
a newspaper which seemed to be still limp and damp
from the press, and when McNulty entered the hall,
Montie fairly leaped at him.
"What does this mean?” he demanded, and his usually
merry eyes flashed fire. "Charles Moberley has been
arrested after all! It's a frame-up, that's what it is,
and I'm going to see what can be done about it! Bank-


284 THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
present when the will is read. Has Miss Jaffray con-
sented to come?"
“That is the question about which I have called you
up, Sergeant. Miss Jaffray has just learned of the ar-
rest of Mr. Moberley's nephew and it has distressed
her greatly. She does not wish to come into contact
with any of his friends who might regard her as an
interloper; she wishes to avoid even the household ser-
vants. It will naturally be very painful to her to enter
for the first and last time the home in which she had
looked forward to much happiness, and the tragedy will
be brought home to her most poignantly. If she con-
sents to come she would like to have the conference as
privately held as possible.”
"Mr. Moberley's affianced wife could never be re-
garded as an interloper in his home, especially when it is
by the expressed wish of the dead that she will be here,
Mr. Cayard,” McNulty replied. “Tell her, please, that
there will be no one present when she comes with Mr.
Bankhead and yourself, except my colleague whom you
met on Thursday and myself. The servants will be sent
to their own quarters. Of course this conference could
have taken place in Mr. Bankhead's office but he sup
posed that Miss Jaffray would find comfort in obeying
this last request of the late Mr. Moberley; that she hear
the will read beneath his roof. When he executed it he
must, of course, have been confident that she would be
his wife before it was opened, and under those circum-
stances this would have been the usual and proper place
for such a conference."


SURPRISES
285
"Assuredly. I think that I can promise Miss Jaffray
will consent to come.”
The receivers clicked in unison and McNulty turned
once more to the hall as a taxicab drew up on the drive-
way. A convulsion of some sort seemed to be taking
place within it and the door was violently wrenched open
to disgorge first the rotund figure of Peter and then a
second one, shorter and stockily built, who struggled
desperately in the hands of a huge policeman.
“Look at him!” howled Peter, fairly prancing with
excitement and triumph as McNulty opened the door.
“That Ernestine girl is Rose Paley, all right, and this is
her stepfather, Bill Grey. But take a good look at his
face! I may have been asleep on Thursday but I'm not
this afternoon!"
“Do you recognize the party, Sergeant?" the police-
man asked.
McNulty gazed into the curiously old-young face with
close-set, gimlet eyes and grizzled hair and a light
dawned upon him, but before he could do more than nod
Peter cried:
“Of course he does! It's the hick, Jim! The hick
who doped us with that doctored raspberry juice and
swiped the car!”


CHAPTER XXIII
THE LEGACY
REFORE eight o'clock that evening the dinner had
been served and cleared away, the servants sent up-
stairs and the lower part of the house was in darkness
save for a single lamp which glowed on the newel post
at the foot of the stairs.
Peter and McNulty were seated in the library await-
ing the arrival of Miss Jaffray and the two attorneys,
and the former was recounting for the sixth time the
story of his discovery of "the hick” in the person of
Rose Paley's stepfather.
"I tell you, Jim, that was an inspiration of mine, to
ask her to go for a run in a motor car out into the
country and to take her folks along! Of course what
I was looking for was to see for myself how she lived
and get in solid with her family in the least possible time.
I wanted, too, to get a flash at her mother, for I re-
membered vaguely what Mrs. Paley looked like in the
courtroom, but the girl was too clever for that. Her
father is dead, her name changed, and she has spent too
much money on having her face reconstructed after that
286


288
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
thought better of it, and they mounted the stairs in
silence.
"Come and sit here, my dear lady!" Mr. Bankhead
patted a huge armchair which he had drawn up close
to the hearth. “I know before we open the will that
you propose to refuse a legacy if one is bequeathed to
you, but you have not heard yet what we wish to tell
you.”
Miss Jaffray had thrown back her veil and now she
stretched out her slender hands to the blaze, and the
great diamond' on one finger flashed as red as blood.
“Nothing you can tell me, Mr. Bankhead, will make
any difference,” she said gently. “Even for the poor
I would not touch money that was tainted with such a
crime!"
"Ah, you mean that Mr. Moberley was killed by his
nephew?” McNulty stepped forward. “But he wasn't,
Miss Jaffray. He was murdered by a man who came
more than an hour after Charles' departure. You see,
Charles was madly infatuated with a young woman
whom he had met-Airted with, to be exact—in an art
gallery. She is one of the most clever adventuresses
of today and she has a most able tutor. I have her
record from the secret service department in Washing-
ton and a telegram from one of our most illustrious
generals who served overseas and who encountered her
there in the height of her war activities, which consisted
of preying on the profiteers and government swindlers
of the allied countries. Through Charles this woman


THE LEGACY
289
hoped to get in touch with his uncle and rob him as she
has a dozen others in the last few years."
"But why do you tell me all this?" Miss Jaffray asked.
“I do not wish to know anything about the affairs of
that miserable young man. I do not want to think of
him!”
“Surely you are interested in knowing how your
affianced husband came to his death?” McNulty did
not wait for a reply but went on: "I think that this
adventuress could have really cared for Charles in time,
but her evil genius, this tutor of whom I spoke, who has
stood back of her, advising her, protecting her and at
the same time making a cat's paw of her for all these ·
years he willed it otherwise. He kept urging her on
to the greater catch, and she listened. As no one knows
better than you, Miss Jaffray, Seward Moberley is noted
the world over for his great philanthropies, and when
this adventuress found that he was practically a recluse
and could not be reached through his nephew, she
promptly grew cold toward the latter, went in for settle-
ment work, presented herself to Seward Moberley on a
plausible excuse and fascinated him as she had his
younger relative.
"He proposed marriage to her and she, on the strength
of it, persuaded him to give her a million dollars in cash,
in lieu of an ante-nuptial settlement. This she did at
the instigation of her adviser, of whom I spoke, in fear
lest some slip might occur and Seward Moberley leam
before the actual ceremony just what sort of woman she


290
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
was. But she had been unable to rid herself of the
passionate, despairing attentions of Charles and knowing
that her only hope lay in permanently estranging the
two, for days, possibly weeks, she preyed upon the boy's
mind with a story of how even in her charitable work
she was being pursued by the insulting attentions of this
uncle of his, whom the world worshiped but whom she
made out to be a satyr at heart. Slowly, gradually,
she increased her power over him and made him believe
her foul lies, until he learned to hate the uncle who had
done everything in the world for him, as a loathsome
creature who should be wiped off the face of the earth.
So she incited him to the point of murder."
"No! No!” Flora Jaffray cried. “Not-murder !"
There was a sudden scurry at the door, a shuffling of
feet and muttered imprecations. The suave Mr. Cayard
had bolted, only to find his path barred by two men who
seemed to spring up from nowhere. Desperately he
turned to the windows but Donlin's head and one hand
holding a blunt-nosed pistol showed above the sill of
the nearest one, as he stood upon a stout ladder out-
side.
"Flo!” Cayard sprang toward her. “Flo! The
game is up, do you hear?”
But Flora Jaffray did not hear. She was watching
with fascinated eye the door of a cupboard beside the
fireplace as it swung slowly open and a young man
stepped from it into the room. Rising, the woman held
out her arms.
"Charles! I did lie to you and trick your uncle but


292
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
one, the man who came to the corner of the wall to see
Agnes, and who was kind to him.
“Hello!” he crowed. “You bring me any gold, any
candy?”
Cayard shrank away from the creature and the chief
motioned to the men on guard at the door to let the
maid and the idiot pass. Meanwhile, Donlin had raised
the window softly and climbed into the room where he
stood covering Cayard from behind. The woman had
sunk back into her chair once more and buried her face
in her hands to keep out the look in the eyes of Charles
Moberley.
“This man Cayard went then to Mr. Moberley's office,
induced him to make a new will leaving you, Flora
Jaffray, several millions in addition to the fortune in
cash which he had already given you, and it was during
these visits that Cayard met a stenographer whom he rec-
ognized as being a former petty swindler of insurance
companies. He met her stepfather and, finding him a
clever rogue as well as an actor, gave him five thousand
dollars to aid him if called upon, the money to be banked
by her in her name. To do the girl justice, she did not
know that murder was afoot, but that is the death your
confederate framed for the splendid old man who loved
you!”
Flora Jaffray moaned softly but gave no answer and
McNulty turned to where Cayard cowered under Don-
lin's grim eyes.
“On the night of the murder you, Cayard, gave that
half-witted Ben a gold piece to show you the hollow


THE LEGACY
293
in the old oak where you might hide yourself until your
moment came. It was sheer coincidence that Charles,
worked up almost to a madman's rage by your lies and
those of this woman, should have chosen the same night
to come and quarrel with, but not murder his uncle.
You stayed there until almost midnight, you saw Charles
enter but you did not see him leave, and at last you
could stand the suspense no longer.
"With lime from the tree powdering your hair white,
you climbed up to this room by means of that wistaria
vine outside the window, entered and saw that Seward
Moberley was already slightly wounded. A madness
must have seized you then, for you realized that he
might not die, Charles and he might have come to an
understanding and your schemes and this woman's be
exposed. They might discover that they had been dupes
and join together in unmasking you and this woman.
There was no corner of the globe where Moberley's
money could not reach out and find you and bring you
both to justice. In the fury of desperation you struck
with the first weapon which came to your hand—the
little bronze sword from that figure over there-and
then made good your escape. Charles was innocent of
his uncle's death; it was you, you who killed him!”
Cayard straightened all at once and smiled slightly,
with a lift of his upper lip like the snarl of a dog.
"Just as I should have killed Charles when I had the
chance!” he declared. “Of the two he was the more
dangerous, for he is young and good-looking and Flora
was getting to like him too well. By the way, Mr.


294
THE CRIMSON BLOTTER
Bankhead, there was a later will, you know. What has
become of it?"
"The one you persuaded Mr. Moberley to execute?
He destroyed it himself in this very room an hour be-
fore you killed him. You waited just an hour too long,
but he has left another legacy to you."
There was a sinister intonation in Bankhead's tones
that could not be mistaken and Cayard nodded slowly.
"You mean-death,” he said.
Flora Jaffray dropped her hands then and looked up
at him with a little shiver.
"Andrew!" she cried sharply. “What will become of
me?”
His smile grew suddenly set.
"I wish you were going the route with me, my dear,
the short route which ends just beyond the little green
door! I am sorry not to have it so. You are not
beautiful, Flora, and in spite of Sergeant McNulty's
compliments you are not especially clever, but you have
a capacity for driving men mad. I shall not care to
leave you behind me when I go."


CHAPTER XXIV
WITHOUT CLEW
THE Christmas holidays had come and gone in a
1 glow of unseasonable warmth, and as though to
make up for it a blinding snow storm was whirling
about the Square one January night of the following
year. Four young men were seated before the hearth
in the shabby, comfortable living-room of the apartment
which Jim McNulty shared with Peter; the two hosts
themselves, a blond young giant with blue eyes and a
grave, aquiline cast of countenance, and, beside him, a
smaller, dapper, dark-haired youth with a whimsical,
impudent smile.
The smile was somewhat subdued now and he glanced
almost fearfully up into the thin face of his friend, for
Charles himself had brought up a subject which the
others had elaborately evaded all the evening.
"Has anybody noticed the particulars in the paper of
how Andrew Cayard went to his death ?” he asked.
"I'm rather curious to know. He was an odd mixture
of cowardice and daring, and of all the men in Flora
Jaffray's life I think that perhaps he loved her more
than any of the rest.”
295


WITHOUT CLEW
297
desk pad were two kinds of blood; a few drops that
were dried and more that were wet and fresh. I made
up my mind that it had taken two people to kill Mr.
Moberley, one that gave him just a scratch and the other
that finished him.”
"It's mighty ingenious but what is more of a mystery
to me is how in the world you first got on to the fact
that I'd been playing red dog with Doc Hillis in Rundell's
place when I'd told you I was at the home of my
brother-in-law," Montie observed.
"From what you told your butler in Tully's hearing.
You have him well trained, haven't you? You told him
to call up Doctor Hillis and tell him to chloroform the
red dog. Our vice squad were watching Rundell's right
then, knew that Doc Hillis was managing it, and if your
message didn't mean for him to kill the game, or in
other words to close down until the flurry about Mober-
ley's alibi had died down, I couldn't figure anything
else.”
“I thought I was smart but I couldn't put it over,
could I, Sergeant?" Montie laughed sheepishly.
"Well, maybe you could, only I overheard you in the
library the night before when you were supposed to be
sending the wire to summon Mr. Bankhead. You were
warning some one that you had already taken a chance
for them and if it didn't go through you would all be
'in Dutch, and that they had better get under cover.
That helped to make the 'red dog message plain,” Mc-
Nulty replied with honest sincerity. Then he added :
"I could never have figured, though, that Moberley here


WITHOUT CLEW
299
brought back from Italy with me and which had always
lain on his writing table as a curio. I shall never be
able to forget while I live the look in his eyes! That's
the thing that makes it hardest for me to bear his for-
giveness, his wonderful magnanimity! He calmed me
just as he used to when I got in those black tempers of
mine as a boy, and, when we came to explanations, instead
of my insane accusations, and discovered we had both
been dupes it must have been as great a shock to him
as to me. He never gave way to it, though, his every
thought was for me! He got out the will which he had
drawn at Cayard's suggestion and destroyed it before
my eyes, and when I told him that the house was sur-
rounded by guards, he himself opened the cupboard door
and showed me the disused stairway by means of which
I reached the tunnel and then the river front. It is a
cross I've got to bear all by myself and I don't want to
make you fellows blue about it. It was all my criminal
folly.”
"No," Montie said loyally. “It was the devilish
machinations of that man Cayard with the woman just
a tool in his hands. It was he who got that Rose Paley
and her stepfather into his toils, and made him trail you
fellows from Westbrook, and slash your tires at Ossin-
ing. I never did understand, Sergeant, how they man-
aged to put the glass and nails in the road just ahead of
you and how they, strangers in the neighborhood,
should have known about that old barn being near.”
McNulty chuckled again.
"As soon as we'd left Westbrook Cayard started Bill





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