NYPL RESEARCH LIBRARIES ||||| 17 8 * |-|-|- |-|- |- |- |-| -|- |- · - -|-， ，|- |- |-|-|-|- |-|-|-|-， · |-·|- |-|-|-|- |-|-|-|- - （~~.|- → ·|- |- |-|-|-|- .· · |-|-|× - |-|-·|-|- ----|- |- |- |- |-|- |- |- ·|- |×|-| - |- ·|-|- |-|- ·|- ·…- |-|- |-|-|- ·|-|-- - |-|-|- |-， ，|-： |-·- - ·|-|- |-· |-|-|- ·|-|-！ - |- |-|-----|- |-|-|- - - -|- |-|- ·， ， ，|× |-|- |-|-|- |- |- º --~~~~ ~~~~） ！ ± - - -|--------- -----+----- *|-- *|- |-|-|-|-|- |-- -|- |-|- ·|-|-----|- |-|-* -|-|-|- * | |-|- |-|-·· ·|- |-|-|- |-●|-|-|- *！---- * •|- |- |-|-|-|- * ·|-| * …|- |-^ • |-|- +---- |- · |- *|- |-|-|- |-|-· |- |- * ---- ，|- |-|- |-|- |-|- |- * |-|-|- ！|-|- |- |-|-|-， ！ ！！…………· · · · · · · · - :·º·：·º·:·º·: ， ， ， **，*******）:::::::::::: - -|- |-|-|- --- -------- ---- · · · · · · *， ， ， ， ， ， , |-· · · · · · · → -------------------~------ |-→→→→→→→→- - - - - - - - - - -------------------------------- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - * . - THE EYE WITNESS THE EYE WITNESS THE EYE WITNESS By ERIC LEVISON ! • Author of HIDDEN EYES, Etc. INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS- MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS \ \ q + CopyRIGHT 1921 .º The Bosss-MERRILL Company Printed in the United States of America. PREBs of -RAunworth & Co. sook Manufacturers Brooklyn, N. Y. § To OCTAVUS ROY COHEN A writer of outstanding ability, an even better friend and a man who, without this acknowledgment, would disclaim the debt owed to him for his unflagging interest and his never-failing aid and encouragement CONTENTS CHAPTER I CHESS - II A MATTER of DETAIL . III A DISAPPEARANCE AND AN INVITATION IV MASKs . . . . . . V THE DOCTOR IS VISITED . VI MoRE CountERFEIT VII Codes - VIII A THEFT . . . IX A PLAN Is MADE . X AND FAILs - XI Doctor LESTER DEMonstrates XII MoonLIGHT XIII ANOTHER PLAN XIV NUMBER 1209 XV THE MAN WHO SAW. XVI ALL THE EvDENCE . . - XVII THE Doctor TAKES CHARGE . XVIII Norton ARRIVEs . . . . . XIX Doctor LESTER PLAYS CHESS XX AN UNDERSTANDING XXI CRoss-PURPoses . . . XXII THE INSPECTOR LISTENS . XXIII THE Doctor REHEARSEs . . . XXIV THE END OF THE VIGIL . . . XXV CHECKMATE . . . . . . PAGE 15 28 45 76 101 111 123 136 153 170 181 196 209 225 239 254 270 287 302 312 323 341 THE EYE WITNESS THE EYE WITNESS CHAPTER I CHESS UCKED away obscurely in the columns of the Florida Metropolis was the simple announce- ment that there had arrived, at the Hotel Mason, one Mr. Courtney Gillian of Washington, D. C. This fact interested but few of the casual, careless read- ers of Jacksonville's afternoon paper, nor did a further explanation of Mr. Gillian's arrival cause more than a slight ripple of interest; and that only among those few directly concerned. There was nothing startling in the reason that brought Mr. Courtney Gillian to the city; for, as the Metropolis account advised, he had come to participate in a chess tournament at the local Chess, Checker and Whist Club. The only actual bit of information in the article was the fact that Mr. Gillian had been a runner-up in the last tourney for the Amateur Chess Championship of America. I 2 THE EYE WITNESS But when, in due course, a marked copy of the Florida daily found its way to a mahogany desk in an office high up in a building in the city of Wash- ington, the cryptic comments of an iron-gray man seated before the desk would have been of exceed- ingly great interest to several people at various points of the compass. The man, on whose broad shoulders rested the final responsibility for grave affairs, first among them the safety of the person of the president of the United States, seemed greatly concerned in the an- nouncement and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he noted the almost entirely hidden mark that called his direct attention to the notice. He read it through twice, then turned to his assistant. “So Gillian undertook it, did he?” The assistant nodded. “Wasn't sure when he left here that he would, but that”—he indicated the paper with a broad sweep of the arm—“would seem to indicate that he did undertake it after all.” And, a little further along in the morning's mail, the iron-gray man found confirmation of his as- sistant's answer to the question regarding Gillian; this confirmation being in the form of a note bear- ing a Jacksonville, Florida, date-line; a note seem- ingly innocuous in tone and commenting at great CHESS 3 length on the possibility of the Florida orange crop and the advisability of investing in certain proper- ties on the Ocklawaha River. Without a word the man passed the note over his shoulder to his assistant, whose brows rese behind their steel bowed glasses and who chuckled pleas- antly as he recognized the handwriting. “Well, Chief, all there's to do now is to sit back and wait.” For answer the chief drummed a moment on the desk before him with his finger-tips. “Who did you send to Birmingham P” The assistant answered immediately: “Kilgore and Hendricks.” This seemed to meet with the older man's ap- proval. He thought a minute; then: “Get me that Pillman file, will you, please?” With the heavy manila folder before him on the desk he seemed lost in speculation, for his eyes strayed out over the city unseeingly. Then, a mo- ment later, he turned to the file before him to run through the rather large sheaf of papers. “Mm—” his thin lips came together as he closed the folder. “This Norton chap,” he queried, “anything else on him?” 4. THE EYE WITNESS “Only what is there, Chief. You think Norton The chief smiled slightly. “I don’t think, Carl— not unless it is absolutely necessary. No, I’m not afraid of Norton—it is Pillman that bothers me. He's an old man and an old hand, but Norton's con- nection with him is significant. They met in At- lanta, it seems?” There was only a half-question is in his words. The assistant nodded and grinned. “Yes—in the penitentiary.” “An admirable place,” smiled the older man in 99. response, “quite an admirable place for With a gesture he seemed to dismiss the subject from his mind. “Give Gillian his head,” he di- rected, “and pass the word that any report from him is to come to me. From his beginning I’m not afraid that 99. “Pretty neat; pretty neat indeed,” interrupted the assistant. “How he works it only the Lord knows, but, say—was there ever a prettier way of getting in?” He tapped the copy of the newspaper which he still held in his hands, and his enthusiasm would have run to greater lengths, had not a glance at his chief's half-averted face told him that the incident was already nearly forgotten—to be brought to CHESS 5 memory only with the final report from Courtney Gillian that would, inevitably, find its way to the mahogany desk at which he sat. But, even before the newspaper that seemed of such interest had left the city of Jacksonville, a young man, lounging in the lobby of the Hotel Mason, paged thoughtfully through the leaves of a telephone directory. When his finger came to a line, midway down the final column of T’s, a light of anticipation rose to his blue eyes and he turned to the small telephone booths near him. A few minutes later found Mr. Courtney Gillian in his room on the fourth floor of the hotel, ap- parently deeply absorbed in the complications of an intricate chess problem set out on a board before him. This contemplation was interrupted by the entrance of an extraordinarily awkward and in- transigently black young gentleman clad in a uni- form that proclaimed him as of the staff of the hotel. “’Scusin’ the interruption, suh,” began the darky, saluting smartly and eying the chessmen on the “’scusin' that, board with no little astonishment; there's a gentleman what's askin' for your here- abouts.” t 6 THE EYE WITNESS Courtney Gillian looked up with a smile. “That so, Sam P What's his name? Did he say?” Again the salute to the tiny blue cap that was set jauntily over one large black ear: “He did, suh; name of Tyndall, suh. An’ my own name, 'scusin' the interruption, ain't Sam—it's Hero, suh, Hero Landers at yo' entire an' pussonal service.” “All right, Hero,” laughed Gillian. “Ask Mr. Tyndall to come up, will you? And here's for your personal service.” A coin spun in the air and seemed literally drawn by magnetic force into the large outstretched palm of Hero Landers. “Yassuh !” A flash of teeth acknowledged the order, and the bell-boy faded silently through the open door on his mission. A minute later a laugh of genuine pleasure and a greeting that was boisterously cheerful came from the doorway: “Well, Courtney Gillian! So you did come!” And a young man of somewhere near Gillian's own age strode across the room, hand extended. Gillian, who had turned at the first sound of the man's voice, met him midway. Their hands met and clasped, and the brown eyes of the visitor held those of the man before him. “Lord, man, but it looks like old times to see you CHESS 7 again. And the same old Gill—not changed a bit. Let's see—how long was it?” Gillian waved an arm to indicate a chair. “Sit down, Hal,” he smiled. “And you haven’t changed either. I’d swear it hasn’t been a week since I saw you last, if I didn't know better. How's the law?” Hal Tyndall gestured broadly. “The law is all right,” he replied, smiling widely, “the trouble seems to be with the criminals.” “A dearth of them?” “Dearth? A positive famine.” “Come off;” Gillian laughed skeptically. “You mean to say that a young and learned criminal law- yer, just two years from his alma mater's shaded campus can't scare up a criminal practise in a hus- tling town like this?” “Fact,” asserted Tyndall, running a hand through the shock of brown hair that gave him the appear- ance of a man of several years less than his very youthful age of twenty-four. “This place is deado —right. Not the town; that's a bird; always was. But”—he shrugged and reached for a cigarette— “it’s just a matter of too many scintillating legal lights.” Gillian shook his head as though to disagree with 8 THE EYE WITNESS his friend, but was not given an opportunity to voice his thoughts, for Tyndall continued: “Glad I got you here, though, Gill. Mighty glad. And man, oh man! I've got her all picked out for you—a dream! Beautiful, talented, wealthy— everything! And second only to my own particular Heaven-born. But—say! what sort of a near chess champion is this you’ve developed into? Now that you're here I don’t mind telling you that I had the devil's own time getting the bid for you to come down at all. They’re scared green of you right now.” Gillian's smile broke out again. “Mighty good of you to work it, Hal. I felt somewhat like a pup asking you to get the invitation for me—especially after my long silence.” “Oh, that—” Tyndall gestured with his cigar- ette. “I’m not a co-ed, Gill. The fact that I hadn't a word from you in a couple of years didn't make any difference in our old friendship.” “Thanks, old man;” Courtney Gillian extended his hand impulsively, and the other gripped it hard. The action, however, seemed—somehow—embar- rassing, for Tyndall commenced to speak again immediately, little puffs of smoke issuing from his mouth with each word. CHESS 9 “’Course you're going to have lunch with me. Won't hear of anything else; and you'll move your 33 duds out to my shake-down “Oh, no. That's too much, Hal,” expostulated Gillian quickly. “I’m satisfied right here. I’ll go you on the lunch, but I couldn't impose on you like 33 “Imposition your venerable grandmother!” Tyndall brushed the objection aside. “Come on to the dining-room and I’ll tell you all about her. They’ve got fairly decent chow here, too; somewhat better than the recent mess-lines I stood up in over there last ” He broke off and bit his lips em- barrassedly. “Get over, Gill?” he inquired with elaborate casualness, for no service pin decorated the young man's buttonhole. Gillian nodded as the two men turned to the door. “Oh, yes, I was on the job. Not any action, though. Had me stuck in Chaumont most of the time.” - “Oh, G. H. Q.-say, that's too bad. Didn't you get into anything at all?” Gillian eyed his friend a moment, shrugged slightly as though coming to a decision, and nodded as they stopped to await the elevator to take them to the dining-room on the roof. CHESS II Of course I'll meet the lady and I'll try not to disap- point you, but, really, I am going to be busy here.” A glance about showed him that the table at which they were sitting was isolated from the other diners, and his hand played absently a moment with his cigarette-case. Then he leaned forward, accepting a light from his friend. “I won't ask you to keep this to yourself, Hal,” he began slowly, “for I know you will, and I’m tell- ing you because you worked it to get me here on this chess business; also, I may want to call on you again. But this chess tournament isn’t exactly what engrosses my interest just at the moment.” His listener's eyes opened wide in naive aston- ishment. “Yeh—what's up?” Then an expression of awe began to dawn on Hal Tyndall's youthful face. “You’re not still in"—his voice dropped to a ludicrous whisper—“the Secret Service?” Gillian smiled at the tone, but nodded. “I was a little lucky overseas, Hal, and something turned up recently—a rather puzzling sort of case. The De- partment thought enough of my ability to ask me to undertake it. And here I am.” “Holy grief! You mean it's here—here in Jack- sonville?” “Well, it's hereabouts—as the bell-boy says,” I2 THE EYE WITNESS smiled Gillian. “That's why I asked you to have me invited here, and the tourney furnished a good excuse, although it is very unlikely that any one would know me around this part of the country.” Tyndall remained almost painfully silent as the waiter deposited the hors-d'oeuvre and departed. But he was bursting with impatience. “Then you're here on a case?” “Maybe,” Gillian nodded. “By the way, do you happen to know John Ulmstead here in xx “Great mackerel! That's Vera's father—the girl I was telling you about. He's president of the St. John's National. Sure, I know him. You're not after him?” Scandalized amazement was in the young lawyer's voice. Gillian shook his head. “No, I'm not. I’ve some letters for him, though, and he's one of the men I shall have to take into my confidence. You're the other.” “Want to make it a third?” “What? Certainly not. Be serious, Hal.” “Serious as the Sphinx,” assured Tyndall. “But you'll meet him. Doctor Lester—Edward Lester— general practitioner, and some little detective. Past grand master of the art of thinking—as he calls it.” CHESS I3 “Good lord, Hal—detectives are the last people on earth I want anything to do with right now.” “All right, all right; just thought I’d suggest it. You'll meet the doc, though. Great friend of Ruth and Vera. He’s not a detective, but he's the man who was really responsible for landing the guy who committed the series of bank robberies here a couple of years ago; and some neat job, too, although that slob of an inspector—Herndon—got the credit.” Gillian was interested. He knew something of the case mentioned. “Where’ll I find the St. John's National?” he inquired. “I’ll see your friend the doctor one of these days soon. Does he play chess P” “Say, he invented it. What that fat man doesn't but wait till you hear know about everything Ruth start to talk about him, or Vera.” “Ruth?” Tyndall flushed suddenly. “That's the Heaven- born,” he admitted a bit sheepishly. “But you wanted to know where the bank is, didn't you? Corner Laura and Forsythe Streets: turn down to the first block on your left as you come out of the hotel—that's Forsythe, then walk down a couple of blocks and you'll see it.” “Thanks.” Gillian waved aside the fish course, I4 THE EYE WITNESS and looked about him. “You know most of the people around here, don't you, Hal?” “Know everybody.” Tyndall's statement was all embracing. “Everybody in town. But—say, Gill? Can you let out just what's brought you here? I'll be silent as the tomb of Sennacherib. And, maybe I can help some. I’m not an absolute ass, you know.” “You bet I know,” laughed Gillian. “And you can help by introducing me to people I want to know. As to what brought me here—” he stopped as the waiter placed on the table the small cups of coffee and the check. Then he reached into an inner pocket drawing out a large flat wallet. This he opened casually and extracted two bills which he passed across the table. The young lawyer picked them up. They were two ten-dollar Federal Reserve notes, nearly new. He eyed them a moment over his cigarette smoke, then turned an absolutely blank stare on his friend. “This a retainer, Gill?” Gillian lighted his own cigarette and dropped the burnt match into an ash-tray before replying: “Why, no, Hal; it's—counterfeit!” CHAPTER II A MATTER OF DETAIL HERE is, in the atmosphere of the city of Jacksonville, Florida, something that sets it apart from its sister-cities of the Southland; some- thing that intrigues the interest of the northern visitor, and causes him, if he is blessed with that rare gift of the gods—imagination—to follow the broad winding sweep of the St. John's River, past the squat spraddling warehouses and the docks of the steamship companies, past the vast estates and broad sweep of green lawns that dot the suburbs of Ortega and Riverside; past even the sandy headland known, locally, as Black Point, and up through the semi- tropical growth that lines the sloping banks, into the heart of Florida. And over the city itself, bustling and alive, grow- ing and prospering, there hovers a spirit as old as Ponce de Leon but as modern as the spirit of prog- ress. The tall white sky-scrapers, towering over the thronged streets, the crash and clang and roar I5 I6 THE EYE WITNESS of traffic, and that subtle air of aliveness all dis- tinguish this Florida metropolis as a city of the cen- tury—a city keenly aware of its own importance— a city striving toward the goal of the ultimate. Perhaps in no other man or group of men was this spirit of olden charm and keen modernity more manifested than in John Ulmstead. He typified and made concrete the phrase that is forever on the tongues of biographers: a self-made man. More, his was a personality that is fast becoming rare: one of those men who faced the rigors of poverty and triumphed over obstacles, who forged their way for- ward and upward as inevitably as the smoke ascends from a camp-fire. A definitiveness of purpose marked every action of John Ulmstead: a certain sureness and certainty, a mental state that is be- gotten of reason plus imagination plus ability. As the head of the St. John's National Bank of Florida with a voice in many of the large affairs of the city and of the state, John Ulmstead had reached the zenith of his career. The St. John's National was an institution as dear to him as was his own daughter—and for the same reason. It was he who had founded the bank; had seen it grow slowly and imperceptibly; had tended and watched and worked while the new financial venture gained a foothold in A MATTER OF DETAIL 17 the firm ground of stability while the night-fires of the Seminoles still dotted the banks of the St. John's River. It was John Ulmstead who had rejoiced in the successes of the ventures financed by the St. John's National and who had mourned the panics, the lean years and the sudden shifting financial winds that blew ill for the state of Florida. And John Ulmstead had succeeded. The ten-story, thoroughly modern structure that housed the St. John's National was invariably pointed out to tour- ists as an example of the stability and worth of the city of Jacksonville, and the newspapers of the city never failed to make copy—when copy was scarce— of the career of the bank's president and of his boast that never once, in the long and honorable life of the institution, had the slightest blot appeared on its scutcheon; nor had there ever been circulated the faintest rumor of any dealing that was not clear, open and aboveboard concerning the bank or its maker. John Ulmstead had builded well. His success was founded on the sure rock of good will and friendship. Men there were who had been known to differ with the old financier on points of bank- ing practise and financial methods, but no one ever pointed a finger at John Ulmstead—save to praise. His clients, even in this bustling day, were I8 THE EYE WITNESS his friends, and he was never too busy to listen per- sonally to the plaint of a harassed creditor who needed an extension on his paper. His office stood open at all times, and more than one citizen, taking advantage of the shrewdness of the man who had grown from infancy with the city itself, came to him for advice and suggestion. There was something that inspired confidence in the very face of the man—which one admirer had likened to the face of the poet, Longfellow. And there was a noticeable similarity of feature; to- gether with the same heavy growth of white hair and beard; the same serenity of expression and broad white forehead, from under which a pair of keen eyes looked steadily and pleasantly. On occa- sion John Ulmstead wore heavy steel-rimmed glasses, and these he was removing from his eyes as he turned to greet his caller. “Mr. Courtney Gillian?” His voice was mildly inquiring as he tapped his glasses against the caller's card. “Of Washington, yes, sir.” Gillian handed his hat to a uniformed attendant who hung it on a clothes-tree near the door and left the two men to- gether. “I have these letters for you, Mr. Ulm- stead.” Gillian crossed to the desk as he spoke. 2O THE EYE WITNESS Mr. Ulmstead's heavy white eyebrows rose in- terrogatively. “Oh, so that is the Department that Senator Reynolds referred to.” A slight smile dawned in the depths of the man's eyes. “Aren't you a little young, Mr. Gillian, for the rôle of inves- tigator? Other gentlemen of your Department with whom I have come into contact have been, I believe, more of the shall we say, “square-toed' type?” The kindliness in the face of the man pro- hibited the words from being the least offensive, and Gillian smiled in answer. “I really know very little of the other members of the Department, Mr. Ulmstead. As for my age”— he shrugged—“I’ve been rather extraordinarily lucky,” he explained. But the banker seemed to be paying small heed. “About the bills,” he began in a low voice. “They were brought to me from the Bay Street National by one of that bank's officers, and my opinion was requested as to their genuineness....” “You gave it?” interrupted Gillian. John Ulmstead shook his head. “I did not;” he replied. “I was, to be honest, young man,” the ad- mission seemed to cost the old man some of his poise, “quite unable to do so. The bills looked per- fectly good to me—so good, in fact, that I risked, A MATTER OF DETAIL 2I privately, a few dollars and exchanged them for my friend of the Bay Street National. But I sent them to Washington for examination, and learned only in this morning's mail that they were counterfeit.” Gillian nodded. “Do you happen to know, Mr. Ulmstead, how the gentlemen of the Bay Street National chanced to suspect the genuineness of the bills? There is nothing in their appearance, as you 33 will agree, to indicate The bank president raised his hand in a slight gesture. “I do know. These two particular notes were in the middle of a new stack just received from the Federal Reserve. The new stack of bills had been sent to the Bay Street Bank by us. We are entirely at loss to comprehend how these two notes were included in the package, for, on the count, both seemed extra.” “It was taken up at the time with Atlanta?” “Yes.” “And what was the reply?” “Simply that the Reserve Bank there is positive— beyond a doubt—that the two notes we mentioned were not in the package when it left there.” Gillian brought out his flat wallet, from which he once more extracted the two ten-dollar notes. These he placed before Ulmstead on the flat desk. 22 THE EYE WITNESS “The same two?” he questioned. A glance at the serial numbers sufficed. “The same,” answered the banker picking up one of the notes and holding it to the light interestedly. He replaced his glasses on his nose and peered through the lenses at the note, then returned it to the table. “I must admit, Mr. Gillian,” he said, after a short study of the notes, “that I can not yet—" he broke off and produced his own wallet, from which he extracted a ten-dollar note. This he held to the light together with the counterfeit. As he gazed he shook his head, and a smile came to his face when he turned his eyes again to the young man. “I’m stumped,” he admitted. “They are as alike as—as-well, as two Reserve notes. Just where is the difference?” He passed both the note from his wallet and the counterfeit to Gillian who received them with a laugh. “It is difficult, until one knows,” he admitted; “but just on this side you will see, on the genuine—” He broke off abruptly; stared from one note to the other and then raised his eyes. “Do you happen to know where you got this, Mr. Ulmstead?” “What's that?” John Ulmstead leaned forward. “Where I got that note—” indicating the one he had removed from his own bill-fold. “Why—why, A MATTER OF DETAIL 23 from the bank here, I suppose, but I can not be certain.” Gillian leaned back in his chair toying with the two bills. “I wish you could,” he said quietly, rais- ing his eyes to meet Ulmstead’s. “I certainly do, for the note you have just handed me is another of the same lot!” “What!” The old financier was visibly startled. He reached out again for the two notes and scrutin- ized them closely. But he shook his head slowly as he gazed. “Are you sure, Mr. Gillian?” There was no questioning the utter amazement in his voice. “It is hardly possible.” For answer Gillian turned again to his own wallet and extracted a Reserve note of ten dollars denomi- nation. With this in his hand he leaned over the banker's desk, indicating the upper left-hand side of the bill. “You see these words, Mr. Ulmstead?” He indicated the engraving: “Authorized by Fed- eral Reserve Act of December 23, 1913.” The banker nodded. “And now look at the counterfeit,” Gillian suggested. “What do you see?” The banker looked earnestly. Finally he raised his head. “Nothing;” he admitted blankly. “Noth- ing that isn't on the genuine note.” “Sure?” There was a twinkle in Gillian's eye as 24 THE EYE WITNESS he put the question, and the old man again leaned intently over the bill. “Absolutely sure,” he muttered to himself. “There is no difference, Mr. Gillian.” Gillian smiled and recalled the banker's comment that youthful appearance seemed inconsistent with the duties of a federal investigator. “‘The dif- quoted Gillian, chuckling inwardly, “‘is their power of observation 3 25 ference between men and men, 9 33 and discernment. He waited an instant for this to sink in; then continued contritely as he noted the older man's embarrassed flush: “Suppose you look at the dates of the Act, Mr. Ulmstead. Perhaps you will then >> “Well “Exactly;” Gillian cut in; “the specific date is >> if they aren't missing; the counterfeit reading ‘December, 1913' instead of ‘December 23, 1913”; a very careless er- ror; don’t you think so?” John Ulmstead removed his glasses. “Another example of watching the little things;” he com- mented, and Gillian nodded. “Outside of that error, Mr. Ulmstead, these bills are as nearly perfect as counterfeit can be. I, who am supposed to know quite a little concerning the engraving of currency, could not tell where the A MATTER OF DETAIL 25 counterfeit differs from the genuine save in that one fact.” “And that date is the only difference?” “Oh, no;” Gillian hastened to assure the banker. “There are a number of men in the Treasury De- partment who can tell, with scarcely more than a glance, that the bills are not genuine...” “But, how?” The banker was gravely interested. Gillian shrugged. Perhaps it would not be en- tirely wise to tell too much, even to this man. “In- stinct?” he suggested, and laughed. “But the fact remains: no less than three of them assured me these bills were counterfeit, almost on sight; even before we had discovered the error in dating.” “It sounds almost unbelievable,” admitted the banker. Then, as he realized the portentousness of the younger man's remarks: “Why, the man who is making these can safely flood the country with them.” “Almost,” agreed Gillian. “And he is probably doing it. That is why I am here.” “And your plans?” “None yet;” Gillian shrugged. “What I hope to do is not so much find the counterfeiter—-that can safely be left to others who are engaged on the work—as to find the manner in which the bills are 26 THE EYE WITNESS peing circulated; the ‘shoving' of them, to speak in the vernacular.” “But no Treasury alarm—” began the banker again. “Not yet,” Gillian interrupted. “The alarm was withheld on urgent request from my own chief, so I understand. He believes—and I, too, that it is best in this particular case to let the counterfeiter and his confederates go on in the belief that they are secure and unsuspected; at any rate for a few days while I am working.” The venerable banker shook his head. “It isn’t right;" he said slowly. “It destroys the confidence of the people—if it becomes known; a confidence that has been painstakingly acquired by the banks of the country. The alarm should have been given im- mediately on discovery of the counterfeit.” Gillian did not press the point. “Can you imagine all your tellers scrutinizing each bill for the very small print of the dates?” The question was a poser and he knew it, for he continued: “What I wish to know, Mr. Ulmstead, is just exactly what happened to the package of Atlanta currency when it reached you and before it left your hands.” John Ulmstead nodded his understanding of the A MATTER OF DETAIL 27 question. “I investigated personally,” he replied, “and in a manner that made my inquiries seem casual.” He stopped a moment and shook his head. “And I have come to the conclusion—lamentably and regretfully—that, if the money was tampered with, it could only have been after it left this building.” “And on what do you base that conclusion, Mr. Ulmstead?” “Because,” the banker replied, and a sudden frown appeared on his forehead as he realized the meaning of his own words, “because, Mr. Gillian, I, myself, opened the package from Atlanta and checked over the portion of it that was intended for the Bay Street Bank.” CHAPTER III A DISAPPEARANCE AND AN INVITATION HERE was a sudden silence immediately fol- lowing the banker's remark, and, for an in- stant the eyes of Courtney Gillian studied the face of the man before him. For that instant Courtney Gillian wondered whether this seemingly damning admission did not mask a desire to shield some one who might, in the course of events, be suspected of complicity in the matter. Gillian recalled suddenly what had been told him of the character of John Ulmstead, and of the St. John's National Bank. Was it not possible, under the circumstances, that Ulmstead would make an admission of this kind to avoid any chance discovery that some member of the staff of the St. John's National was capable of pass- ing counterfeit money? Was this an instinctive effort on the old man's part to shield his bank from criticism and suspicion, even at the risk of himself? A gesture of the young man's hand seemed to dis- miss the idea. “And who else in the bank knows of 28 A DISAPPEARANCE 29 this, Mr. Ulmstead?” The answer to this question would, he felt, clear his thoughts. The banker slowly shook his head. It seemed that he, too, was realizing fully the position in which he was placed by his own admission, and he did not . reply immediately. There was little doubt in his mind that this young man before him, sent to Florida for the express pur- pose of tracing, if possible, the origin of the counter- feit, would fail to report each step of his investiga- tion; and John Ulmstead could not but see that his own words would be construed against him by the sharp minds of the men who would check carefully over each bit of evidence collected by Courtney Gillian. “Why—why,” he passed a hand over his broad forehead and raised troubled eyes to the young in- vestigator. “Why — no one.” He knew that he was making matters worse. “That is; after check- ing the currency I passed it through to our cashier— to Mr. Wilshire—who, in turn, handed it to the waiting messenger from the Bay Street Bank, after sealing the parcel.” “And the messenger; what of him?” John Ulmstead shook his head heavily. “I wish that I could tell you,” he admitted. “But the mes- 30 THE EYE WITNESS senger has not arrived at the bank to-day; he has —disappeared.” “Disappeared?” Gillian sat forward in his chair. “Yes.” The monosyllable was the only answer from the banker whose eyes had grown thoughtful as he pondered the possibilities opened by his own admissions. Then he continued: “That is the news I had this morning from the Bay Street Bank; a very few minutes before you came in.” “Were there any details?” The new develop- ment so early in the chase was more than a bit startling, and Gillian felt that there was something amiss—although he could not actually put his finger on the reason for his thought. In his mind was the vaguest hint of an idea—something not quite grasped: a nebulous, unformulated suspicion that was evident in his tone. John Ulmstead leaned back in his chair. “No one seems to know, Mr. Gillian. Early this morning— only a few minutes after eight o'clock—my friends at the Bay Street called me up to ask if I had any in- formation concerning the two notes I sent to Wash- ington. Gillings—over at the Bay Street—is going to rub it in a bit, I'm afraid; he was somewhat amused that I should have purchased the notes from him. As the letter from the Treasury had but just A DISAPPEARANCE 3I been opened by me, I told him then that I had been advised the notes were counterfeit. We talked of other things for a moment before we rang off.” “And the messenger?” “The messenger had not yet arrived at the bank when Gillings called me; that is, he wasn't men- tioned in our conversation, but when he did not ar- rive at his usual time—nine o'clock I believe it is— inquiries were made at his house and it developed that he had left there, as usual, ostensibly to go to his work some two hours before. The inquiries were made, I believe, about ten o'clock.” Gillian was watching the speaker closely, but there was nothing in his demeanor other than a sincere concern for the missing bank messenger. “And Mr.-er-Gillings, I believe you said? Yes? Thank you. Mr. Gillings of the Bay Street Bank attached sufficient importance to the tardiness of his messenger to advise you of the fact?” John Ulmstead toyed with a penholder on the desk while Gillian was speaking, and, when the young man finished, he looked up sharply: “Why, no. What led you to think that Gillings told me of the messenger's absence? I doubt that he knows of it himself. It is hardly a matter for the president of the bank to concern himself about.” 32 THE EYE WITNESS Gillian smiled. “Naturally not; I merely sup- posed that, in connection with your conversation, and Mr. Gillings' newly acquired information con- cerning the counterfeit, it was possible that he should have been thinking of the circumstances con- nected with it, and that he would have naturally associated the missing messenger with it. But, of course, as you say, it is unlikely that he knows of the messenger's absence.” John Ulmstead leaned forward in his chair. “I don't mind telling you, Mr. Gillian, that what you suggested is exactly what happened in my own mind. I learned, quite by accident, that the mes- senger had not arrived at the bank to-day, and I immediately associated his absence with the dis- covery of the counterfeit. But—why did he not disappear four days ago when the money was first discovered?” “As a matter of fact,” Gillian was thinking rapidly, “did the messenger know anything of the money?” This seemed a new thought to the banker. “By jove!” he ejaculated. “No! I am positive that he did not, for I, myself, asked Gillings to remain si- lent about it until I had heard from Atlanta and from Washington.” A DISAPPEARANCE 33 “Then only you and Mr. Gillings, to the best of your knowledge, are actually aware of the fact that the package of currency sent the Bay Street con- tained the extra notes?” John Ulmstead nodded slowly, the sudden lines in his forehead telling of his great mental excite- ment as he strove fully to grasp the fact that, so far as this young man before him was concerned, the responsibility for the two counterfeit notes being in the package of currency rested entirely between John Ulmstead himself and the president of the Bay Street National Bank. “And would you mind telling me just how you did learn that the messenger was absent?” Ulmstead smiled embarrassedly. “Why, yes. Shortly after phoning Gillings a messenger from his bank—who had come here in the regular course of his calls—brought me a note from Gillings; a rather joking invitation to lunch to-day, to which I scribbled a reply. When I gave it to the man I sº- that he was not the same one who usually brought me messages from Gillings, and I asked him if he was replacing the regular messenger. It was he—a man from the Bay Street's bookkeeping department, it developed—who told me of the fact that the mes- senger had not reported for duty and why.” 34 THE EYE WITNESS “But when the note was given to the messenger by Mr. Gillings did he not also notice the fact that it was not the regular messenger?” “That I do not know, Mr. Gillian,” Ulmstead re- plied immediately. “I have not spoken to Gillings since, although it is nearly time for our luncheon engagement.” Gillian wondered if this was a hint to him, but, from the old man's evident interest in the conversa- tion, he realized that it was not. He allowed his eyes to drift from the man to the telephone instru- ment on his desk, and his eyes casually followed the wires to the opening in the wall through which they passed. When he turned again to the financier his question was indicative of a new train of thought. “You have a central switchboard in the bank?” For a moment John Ulmstead did not follow the question; then his face cleared as he understood the young man's inference, and that the question had to do with the fact that Ulmstead had spoken to the Bay Street National Bank that morning. “Oh, yes; but when Gillings called this morning the operator had not yet begun on her duties, and I answered the phone myself.” “Your telephone rings in here, then, when the operator is not at the board?” * * A DISAPPEARANCE 35 > The banker nodded. “All three phones in this suite are equipped with buzzers, and all three ring when the switchboard is plugged in at night.” “And the other two phones?” questioned Gillian. “One is Wilshire's, next to me. You will meet him; he is the cashier; and the other is Hadley's— the vice-president, though Hadley has been away from the city for several days and his office is va- cant at present.” “And no outside phones ring?” “Yes; one. The janitor's. That is placed near the vault, and is also near the bookkeeping depart- ment so that any one there can answer if necessary.” “And who was in the bank?” “You mean at the time of the telephone conver- sation between Gillings and myself this morning?” It was evident that Ulmstead was doing his best to recall every incident. “Let’s see: several men in the bookkeeping department, I think, and Mr. Wil- shire—no—he was in here until I began to speak; then he went out; and—I believe that's all, Mr. Gillian.” “And could you say how long it was from the time that you spoke with the Bay Street Bank until the time that the messenger left his house?” It seemed that John Ulmstead did not quite catch 36 THE EYE WITNESS the meaning of the question, for he turned puzzled eyes to the speaker. “I mean,” the young man continued, “was it pos- sible”—and again an expression of suspicion clouded his frank eyes—“was it possible for some one to have overheard your conversation and acted on it? Say that some one overheard your conver- sation, and knew that the messenger was guilty of having placed the money » “But, my dear young man,” interrupted Ulmstead hurriedly. “He couldn't have been. That package was delivered to him sealed, and it was still sealed when he turned it over to his own bank a few min- utes later.” Gillian appeared thoughtful. It was fairly obvi- ous that the messenger was scarcely implicated. There could have been no reason for a man's delib- erately courting detection by tampering with the seal of a package of currency for the purpose of inserting into the parcel two counterfeit notes. On the other hand—was it possible that some one had overheard the conversation between the two bank presidents? Some one who was really implicated, and had that some one hit upon the idea of making it appear that the messenger was guilty? The prob- lem began to grow, mushroom-like. A DISAPPEARANCE 37 “Probably something entirely aside from our case, Mr. Gillian,” continued the banker after a moment's silence. “It is very likely that the messenger will 32 turn up, and He was interrupted by the entrance into the office of a young girl, who drew up on the threshold with a murmur of apology as she saw that the office was occupied by two men. 39 “Please excuse me, dad, I “Come in, Vera; come in.” The old man rose from his chair and turned to Gillian. “My daughter, sir. Vera, this is Mr. Courtney Gillian of Washington—a very good friend of Sen- ator Reynolds.” The sight of the girl seemed to startle Gillian for an instant. He stared at her wide-eyed as his brain registered the charming picture. What was there that was so familiar in the almost boyishly slender figure and the piquant, intriguing face? Some memory eluded him as his eyes met hers, but his smile was more than necessarily pleasing as he bowed his acknowledgments. “The senator has already warned me of Miss Ulmstead,” he smiled. “Warned you? I like that!” The girl flushed 38 THE EYE WITNESS prettily. “Just what did he warn you of, Mr. Gil- lian P” She came a step closer to the young man. “Well, he advised me,” began the young man laughingly, “that there were many distractions in Jacksonville that would put me off my game and » give the chess players “Heavens! Another one?” The girl's hands went up in a little gesture of mock dismay. “Is everybody chess crazy?” Then: “And did the sen- ator call me a-a distraction?” Gillian nodded slowly and emphatically, wonder- ing why that mental feeling of familiarity persisted so clearly, and just where—if ever—he had seen that exact shade of old gold that seemed to reflect from her hair. “He did—most certainly.” “The mean old thing;” the girl pouted. “At least, I want to be classed a little higher in the scale than just a-a distraction. That was really horrid of him.” “I’m quite sure it was,” agreed Gillian quickly, “most awfully horrid.” The girl dropped him a mock courtesy. “That's real nice of you, Mr. Courtney Gillian from Wash- ington,” she laughed. “I wonder if we aren't going to be real good friends?” She extended her hand impulsively, and there was something entirely south- A DISAPPEARANCE 39 ern and entirely charming about the intimate gesture. “I’m sure we will.” Gillian was unnecessarily earnest, and John Ulmstead smiling at his daugh- ter's vivacity hastened to break into the conversation. “Now just what is it that's troubling you, Vera P Another tire or a squeak in the generator?” The girl shook her head brightly. “Nothing. I just wanted to come in and talk about Ruth's party, and to ask whether you didn't think it was all right if I invited Hal to it. It's half mine, you know.” The banker shook his head and raised a finger. “I wouldn’t, dear, not unless Ruth ” He turned to Gillian. “You must pardon us, Mr. Gil- lian, but it seems that the discussion of such trifling affairs as business must wait on the pleasure of —” He left the sentence unended and Gillian smiled and nodded. “I think I understand,” he acknowl- edged, “and if the Hal you speak of,” he turned to the girl, “happens to be Hal Tyndall, then 35 “Oh, do you know Hal?” She seemed surprised. “But of course; I’m such a stupid. Ruth told me that he was expecting a friend. Wasn't it silly that . I should have forgotten your name?” Gillian shook his head. “Surely not silly—you see, you didn't know me from Adam.” 40 THE EYE WITNESS “Still,” the girl was charmingly serious, “still I ought to have remembered, oughtn't I, dad?” She gave her father no occasion to answer, however, but continued rapidly: “Then you're another victim, Mr. Gillian, and your name has been on Ruth's list for ages and ages—ever since Hal first said you would be here. It's a masked ball, you know, to- morrow night at Ruth's—do you know Ruth, too? But, of course you don’t, or she would have told me. She tells me absolutely everything. Everything. But you'll love her when you do know her. So; that's settled. Dad will introduce you to Mr. Wil- shire and I’ll introduce you to Ruth. Heavens! What a responsibility!” “Why, that's mighty good of you,” began Gil- lian, slightly embarrassed by the girl's matter-of- fact manner in disposing of him. “But—I'm afraid that I that 99 “Oh, bother. Why be afraid? If you haven't a mask tie a handkerchief over your chin. There; that’s all settled.” She turned to the door. “Now, finish your busi- ness, dad, and I'll tell you all about it when you come home this afternoon. Remember, Mr. Gillian to-morrow night, nine o'clock..... You'll tell him where to come, dad?” A DISAPPEARANCE 4I “Oh, am I coming for you?” Gillian's eyes grew brighter and a smile crinkled about the corners of his eyes. “Of course—” laughed the girl from the door- way. “Don’t forget that the senator has a wife and that she writes letters too. Maybe you're not the only one who's been warned.” When the door closed behind her there was a si- lence in the room; both men remaining standing. The girl's leaving had seemed to take something vital out of the air, and Gillian's eyes remained fixed on the door through which she had passed. Ulmstead was the first to speak. “You must over- look Vera's enthusiasms, Mr. Gillian; she's just a little—flighty.” “Oh, I’m sure I don’t think 23. But the banker cut short his words with a gesture. “It isn't necessary to say it,” he smiled. “I’ve known my own daughter for a long time.” “I was just wondering,” Gillian admitted, “I’m almost positive that I’ve seen her before.” “Very likely,” replied Ulmstead. “She visits Mrs. Reynolds in Washington quite frequently.” But Gillian knew that it was not in Washington that he had seen Vera Ulmstead. “About our—conversation, Mr. Gillian;” the 42 THE EYE WITNESS" banker glanced at a small clock over his desk. I'm afraid “Won't you come to lunch with me I'm a little late already. I have an engagement, as I told you, with Mr. Gillings.” “I lunched before I came here,” Gillian answered, “and — if you don't mind, I should not care to have my—my—er—occupation here go any further.” “Of course not.” Mr. Ulmstead understood im- mediately. “But come with us anyway. I want to talk about the matter of the messenger; I'm anxious to know what Gillings will have to say about it. Excuse me a moment, please.” He pushed a button on his desk, and, to the at- tendant who answered: “Will you ask Mr. Wil- shire to step in a moment, please?” He turned to Gillian. “Wilshire is our cashier; has been for years. He's the father of Ruth, of whom my daughter was speaking. You will find him a man of — ah, come in, Ralph.” Ralph Wilshire, a man nearly as old as the presi- dent of the St. John's National Bank, entered, cast- ing a look of mild inquiry in Gillian's direction. “My friend, Mr. Courtney Gillian,” introduced the banker. “Mr. Gillian—Mr. Wilshire.” The two men shook hands briefly. “I’m going to take Mr. Gillian to lunch with me, Ralph. You'll see A DISAPPEARANCE 43 more of him. That madcap Vera has just taken it on herself to invite him to Ruth's affair at your house to-morrow.” Mr. Wilshire bowed somewhat coldly. “Quite delighted;” but his words belied their meaning, for there was a brittle something in his tone that ex- pressed an entire unconcern in the doings of Mr. Courtney Gillian; a tone that, had Gillian known the man longer, he would have recognized as habitual. Ralph Wilshire was the very antithesis of his su- perior. His was not the type that makes friends with ease and carelessness. As a matter of fact, there was scarcely a man in the whole city of Jack- sonville who could lay claim to–or who especially wanted to lay claim to–being the friend of Ralph Wilshire. He seemed engrossed in the task of money-making, and it was whispered here and there that his wealth was greater than that of even John Ulmstead, the bank's president. The two officials spoke a minute together; then Ulmstead turned to Gillian. “Ready, young man? Let's go then. We'll pick up Mr. Gillings at the club.” The two men left the building and made their way to the Metropole Club. In the dining-room they were met by the president of the Bay Street Bank, 44 THE EYE WITNESS and within a few moments all three were seated about a luncheon table in the quiet dining-room. From the conversation Courtney Gillian gleaned only the salient facts that the bank messenger of the Bay Street Bank had not been heard of that fore- noon; that the messenger had left his home for the purpose of going to the bank, as usual, about eight thirty in the morning, and that he had not since been Seen. Nor did Gillian fail to make mental note of the fact that the telephone call from Gillings to Ulm- stead at the St. John's National had taken place a few minutes past eight that morning. The inference was fairly obvious. If the messenger's disappear- ance was in any way connected with the discovery of the counterfeit bills, then one of the men before him was responsible for that disappearance. w * * * * ------------- - \ * * CHAPTER IV MASKS 66" THE extravagantly beautiful mask ball,” to quote the society scribe of the Florida Times-Union, “given by those delightful hostesses, Miss Ruth Wilshire and Miss Vera Ulmstead, marks the beginning of what promises to be the gayest of winter seasons in local society....” The Times-Union's account was liberally inter- larded with superlative adjectives descriptive of the scene, but, to the mind of Courtney Gillian even these superlatives did small justice to the evening. The large white house of the Wilshires, towering in splendid isolation in the midst of an undulating lawn of green, unbroken save for giant ancient sycamores, was a riot of life and color. Hundreds of lights stabbed through the semi-darkness and il- luminated the wide sweep of lawn, the broad cool veranda that encircled the house, and reflected their radiance even as far as the bank of the curving St. John's River that bounds the suburb of Ortega. 45 46 THE EYE WITNESS Here and there, on that portion of the veranda facing the river, sprightly figures pirouetted and bowed gallantly. A tall Pierrot wooed fervently a buxom maid who might have stepped from the Nibelungenlied, while a Columbine, fresh and gracefully young, languished in the smiles of a Mephistopheles. A knight in clanking harness hob- nobbed with a Seminole chieftain, and a Cinderella sought anxiously for the really missing slipper which was safely hidden beneath the dun robe of a tremendously huge, cowled monk. A realistic Fa- ther Time, the inevitable papier-mâché scythe across his shoulder and the hour-glass in his hand, dis- coursed in slangily modern English with a petite mademoiselle of the court of Henry XIV, while the ubiquitous tramp, dirty and unshaven, made violent protestations of undying affections to a haughty Cleopatra. A charming Scheherezade nar- rated the interminable stories of The Thousand Nights to a lean and hungry Cassius, and a bold giant of a Viking warrior protested his innocence of having stolen a glass of punch from Mother Hubbard. In the ballroom the maze of costumes, the glitter- ing lights and the airy banter of the masks brought a feeling of embarrassment to Courtney Gillian; a 48 THE EYE WITNESS But Pierette had other interests, for she avoided quickly a new incarnation of the doughty Captain Kidd, and left her friend the Goose Girl to surren- der to the importunities of the monk who puffed . laboriously to her side at the same moment. “For th’ love of Pete, Vera—” protested the Gar- gantuan cowl, “let’s sit down somewhere. I’m be- ing squashed to a jelly.” The girl's laugh rang out. “Heavens, Doctor! I’d never have recognized you;” she fibbed. He led the way to the conservatory which opened on the ballroom. “Never recognized me—humph! Tell it to—to the devil over there; he's gullible. Imagine a hippopotamus masquerading as the Graces—all three of them at the same time.” He chuckled hugely at his own joke as he dropped heavily to a bench and raised his cowl, revealing a large round face with an enormous double chin and small clever eyes peering from behind puffy lids. “Doctor Edward Lester—do you want to ruin everything?” The girl reached over and jerked the hiding cowl over the man's protesting voice. “But, demne, Vera! I'm suffocating. The next time I come to a crazy thing like this,” he puffed heavily, “the very next time—demne!—if I don't come as a bathing beauty!” MASKS - 49 He joined in the laugh of the girl. The doctor's sense of humor was his saving grace, and the mental picture of his two hundred and odd pounds clad in an abbreviated bathing costume roused his risibilities. “Who's the Gloomy Gus in evening clothes hold- ing up that pillar over there?” His heavy head rolled sidewise: “What's the costume: gentleman, or a head waiter?” He gesticulated with one short arm in Gillian's direction. By chance Gillian caught the gesture and made his way through the throng to the door of the conservatory. “Huh !” greeted the doctor heavily. “What's the idea, young man? I was just asking this fair tender of the invisible geese who yon stranger was. That chin and mouth of yours aren't in my catalogue.” The girl beckoned Gillian. “This,” she intro- duced, “is the world's famous Doctor Edward Les- ter—the largest physician on earth, wild or tamed. Doctor, this is Mr. Courtney Gillian—a friend of Hal and dad and the senator.” The doctor extended a huge paw. “Mighty fine credentials, Mr. Gillian.” Gillian turned to the girl. “Didn't we agree on » the way over that 50 THE EYE WITNESS “All right, Mr. Man,” laughed the girl, “–and a friend of mine,” she finished. The doctor grunted. “She hasn't said yet that you are the coming chess champion also.” “Going;” corrected Gillian, raising his mask a moment and smiling. “Hal must have been press- agenting me.” “He has,” acknowledged the doctor. “And— say—as an expert: tell me what your play is in a Ruy Lopez, after the opening, when black moves 25 his King's Bishop's pawn to “Will you stop?” The girl stamped her foot im- patiently, and made room for Gillian beside her. “Sit here, sir, and do anything on earth but talk chess.” Gillian took the seat obediently and the doctor rose to his feet. “Youth before beauty;” he chuckled. “See you later, Mr. Gillian. I’ve been so filled up with tales of your prowess that I honestly believe—by the way, Goose”—he turned to the girl—“where's Hal? Did he come anyway?” Gillian was surprised to note the embarrassment in the girl's manner, and wondered at the reason. His astonishment grew as the girl walked across the conservatory, opened a door and peeped into the darkness of a small room before she replied. MASKS 5.I “Yes. He's the devil.” She laughed a little. “I mean he's masked that way. There he is—over there with Ruth; she's Pierette.” As she spoke Pierette began to signal frantically from across the room and His Eminence the Devil looked up, noted the three in the conservatory and saluted smartly with his property pitchfork. Vera turned to the two men. “Now talk chess;” she challenged. “I’ve got to see what Ruth wants.” She hurried into the adjoining room, threatening off with a wave of her curved staff another of Cap- tain Kidd's redoubtable pirate crew. “Have a cigarette?” Gillian extended a case to the doctor who shook his head. “Not in here,” he grumbled, “old Wilshire's got some nutty ideas about ferns. It'd kill him if any- body blew cigarette smoke around. Let's get out of this—I’m suffocating.” The heavy man heaved himself to his feet with an effort and led the way, as though entirely familiar with his surroundings, through the conservatory and out upon the veranda at the back of the house, from which a short flight of concrete steps led to the path below. Some hundred yards from the house, the St. John's River was dimly visible through the branches of the intervening trees, and 52 THE EYE WITNESS the doctor turned down the walk that led to the river. Here he stopped and raised his headpiece again, blowing, porpoise-like, his relief. “Now I'll take that cigarette.” Gillian studied the heavy face of the man before him in the moonlight, and decided that he was going to like this huge Brobdingnagian physician. “I hear that you're quite a detective,” he began casually. “Who-me? Naw;” replied the doctor between puffs at the cigarette. “I can make mint juleps, though.” “Which is more of an accomplishment,” laughed Gillian, “particularly if one is possessed of the very necessary ingredients. Still, I've heard that you have had a hand in several rather important hap- penings in these parts.” “Just luck;” denied the doctor. “Just pure bull luck and a little use of this.” He tapped his head significantly. “Surprising, isn't it,” he went on, “how much this detecting game is like chess? Just guess one jump ahead of the other man—just think a little bit more clearly than he does—and you've got him mated.” Gillian agreed. “Then maybe you can guess,” he MASKS 53 hazarded, “why there seems to be something embar- rassing between Vera—Miss Ulmstead, I mean, and Miss Wilshire and our friend Hal Tyndall?” The doctor's little eyes turned squarely on Gil- lian. “Humph; Hal can tell you the story better than I can—but—” He flipped his smoldering cigar- ette in a wide arc into the river and turned again to the house. “Come along,” he offered, “and I’ll tell you the story. There's not much in it that isn't public property, and it will save you some needless speculation—which is almost certain to be wrong, anyway.” “Why wrong?” Gillian smiled as he followed the big man up the path toward the house. “Don’t forget that I'm a tolerably decent experimenter at the game myself.” “Detecting or chess?” The doctor flung the question over his shoulder casually, and Gillian's laugh was a little forced, as he answered. “Why, chess—of course. I can't claim to rival Lecoq yet a while.” “Mm—got aspirations?” “Hardly.” “A great game;” grunted the doctor. “Detecting He stopped at 3 x I mean. Take me for instance— the foot of the steps leading to the veranda. “Here 54 THE EYE WITNESS I was, soft and satisfied, and then I had to mess up in something that wasn't any of my business, really. It just peeved me to see these thick-skulled simple- tons blundering along when a little clear thinking was all that was necessary.” “Well?” Gillian met the doctor's disgusted stare. “That's just it—it ain't well. The first thing I knew they were shoving a coroner's job off on me. Now, I ask you, ain't I a hell of a looking object to be a coroner? Can't you just see me in the rôle?” Gillian laughed. “Resign;” he suggested. “Sure;” grunted the doctor; “that's what I’m go- ing to do just as soon as they'll give me a chance.” They mounted to the veranda and passed again into the conservatory. When they were settled comfortably in the bench that permitted a view of the ballroom, the doctor crossed his short fat legs, and lowered his voice from its customary elephantine rumble. “Met old Wilshire yet?” Gillian nodded. “Just for a minute—at the bank to-day. Why?” “Oh, it's apropos of the reason for that embar- rassment you think exists between Hal and the young ladies. It begins pretty far back—at the time Hal was a kid. His dad—Hal's I mean—was tied MASKS 55 up with Wilshire in a proposition that was going to drain the Everglades. Some fool scheme that sounded good until work started.” Gillian nodded interestedly. “Yes?” “Wilshire got out with a whole skin and a whole pocketbook;” added the doctor shortly. “And Tyndall's father?” “Tyndall's father got it where the proverbial chicken got the ax.” The doctor glowered through the holes in the cowl that once again covered his face. “I ain't say- ing it wasn't all on the level—nobody ever said that, but it was—well—damned peculiar.” “And what about Hal?” “Oh, Hal. He'll never grow up. He's just a kid yet—you know him. He's head over in love with Ruth—and she with him—and Hal's doing his darnedest to make the old man—old man Wilshire— see that there's no hard feelings from what's left of the Tyndall family.” “And Wilshire won't see it, eh?” “Exactly.” The doctor nodded his head. “After old Tyndall died, some years ago, and the nasty talk was still floating around, Tyndall's folks just naturally dropped the Wilshires. But when only Hal was left and old Wilshire had become MASKS 57 a cue, a gruff voice was heard. The voice emanated from some one behind the partly open door through which Vera Ulmstead had looked into the room be- yond; but now a soft shaded light was visible in the room that had been dark. Both men immediately recognized the voice of Wilshire. Apparently he was addressing a servant. “You admitted them?” “Yes, sir.” The servant's voice was shaky. “You know Mr.—Mr. Tyndall?” “No, sir, not personally.” “You know him when you see him?” “Yes, sir.” The servant, furnished by the ca- terer, was manifestly nervous. “And Mr. Tyndall is here?” “Yes, sir.” There was a moment's silence; then Wilshire's abrupt order: “Send Miss Ruth to me.” The doctor leaned over toward Gillian. “There go the fireworks. I’m going to get rid of that young fool, Hal.” He rose heavily to his feet and motioned Gillian to remain seated. “You tell Ruth when you see her;” and he lumbered into the crowd in the ballroom just as the orchestra began the latest dance hit. Gillian walked to the far end of the conservatory 58 THE EYE WITNESS to avoid hearing the hard voice of Ralph Wilshire as he spoke to his daughter who had answered his StimmonS. Courtney Gillian was young enough to appreciate his friend's position, and a feeling of violent dislike arose almost unconsciously in his mind; a feeling directed against Ralph Wilshire, and which grew in intensity when he saw the door of the room open more widely, and a wet-eyed Pierette, maskless, making her way toward him through the ferns, and avoiding the doorway that led to the ballroom. He stepped forward and the girl drew back startled. “Oh–I ” Then her eyes grew dark. “Who are you?” Gillian removed his mask. “I beg your pardon. Miss Wilshire. I'm Courtney Gillian. I came with Vera—er—Miss Ulmstead, and I wanted to tell you that Doctor Lester has gone to-to find our—my— your—we-er—Mr. Tyndall.” The girl held out her hand. “I–I—hope you 32 won’t think she began hesitatingly, and Gil- lian broke in kindly: “Of course not, Miss Wilshire. Hal is too old a friend of mine, and I hope you, too, will allow IIle- “Will you?” A smile broke through the girl's MASKS 59 woebegone expression, and Gillian smiled in return, mentally finding his friend Tyndall's choice far from bad. “Will you give him a note for me?” the girl went on, “will you?” “Why, surely. I’ll find him the moment I leave.” “Wonderful!” The girl had already forgotten her tears in the new excitement of corresponding, clandestinely, with her lover. “Come on;” she beckoned and led the way into the room from which she had come. The door, closing behind them on the conservatory, shut out the music from the ballroom. “Sit there a minute, Mr. Gillian;” and Gillian dropped obediently into a large leather armchair gazing interestedly about the room. It was not a library, as he had thought, but a well- equipped office with a broad mahogany desk—its pigeon-holes crammed with papers—a large desk chair; a table and several armchairs. The girl dropped into the chair before the desk but rose again almost immediately. With the air of a conspirator she carefully locked both the door leading to what Gillian correctly supposed was a hallway and the one to the conservatory, then, with a charming gesture for silence and secrecy, she slipped again into the desk chair and began to fuss about in search of stationery. MASKS 61 In the conservatory he looked about him for the doctor, but, failing to see him, turned to the ve- randa and the steps leading to the lawn, resolved to smoke quietly until the time for unmasking, and then, after escorting Vera Ulmstead to her home, look up Hal Tyndall. He strolled up the bank of the river smiling at the girl's inadvertent confidence of what Vera Ulm- stead had said, and he laughed aloud as he recalled the wide-eyed expression of regret that had followed immediately upon her words. The doctor was right; both of them—both Ruth and Hal—were a pair of irresponsible kids, and Gillian felt himself hoping that they would outwit Ralph Wilshire in his efforts to keep them apart. Searching his pockets for a match, his hand en- countered the note the girl had given him for Hal Tyndall, and he pulled it out. He smiled a little whimsically as he contemplated the folded bit of paper in the moonlight, then an expression of puz- zled interest crossed his eyes as he saw, typed on the folded side of the paper: nvtuuibwffc22upnpssparro4999a CHAPTER V THE DOCTOR IS VISITED 66 DUNK and poppycock!” snorted Doctor Les- ter heavily. “Pure and unadulterated bunk! The only specific in the world for malaria is pure gin and quinine; just that!” If anything, Doctor Edward Lester looked more grotesque in his own office than he did at the cos- tume ball. His clothes were worn slouchily and carelessly; certainly for no vain purpose of adorn- ment, but simply and solely to cover his nakedness. They seemed to have been flung haphazard on his large person, and the loose pockets of the coat bulged out: one with several crushed packages of cigarettes; the other with a much battered stethescope. A modern Rabelais would have cast the big man immediately for a new version of Pantagruel or Gargantua, for he seemed literally to overflow the chair in which he sat before his battered desk, ham- mering his convictions on its scarred surface with 62 THE DOCTOR IS VISITED 63 a mighty fist as he addressed Courtney Gillian who sat in the chair—usually reserved for patients— next to the doctor's desk. Gillian had made an inadvertent remark concern- ing the efficacy of a certain patent medicine for malarial sufferers, and the doctor's outburst had been sudden and vehement. “Remember that,” grumbled the big man more quietly, “and when you feel a touch of it, you run for the quinine and gin—if you can get the gin.” He chuckled a moment over a sudden thought. “Remember Kipling's soldier? Well, he was right —it tastes like the dead sea, but it gets results.” Gillian hastened to assure the big man that he would unquestionably investigate the virtues of the quinine and gin remedy so highly recommended by the doctor. “Doing anything special this morning, Mr. Gil- lian?” The doctor dropped the matter of the malaria remedy. Gillian shrugged. “Not exactly. I want to run out to see our little friend of last evening, after I deliver a note from her to Hal. By the way, what did you do with him? I tried to get him on the phone last night but couldn't.” The doctor snorted. “You ought to 've seen him. - 64 THE EYE WITNESS Acted like a lunatic. Swore he wasn’t going to be hustled from anybody's house like that.” The doc- tor frowned reminiscently over the memory, then shifted the subject with an abruptness that was char- acteristic. The big man's mind exhausted rapidly the possibilities of any topic of conversation, nor did he linger on a subject when once the last word had been said. , “Know anything about criminals, Mr.—er—Gil- lian?” “Criminals?” Gillian was puzzled. Then he saw that the doctor's bland face contained no guile, and that the little clever eyes were regarding him unsuspiciously. “A little, Doctor; but not a great deal. Why the question?” The doctor hunched his heavy shoulders. “Thought you might—you asked me about detec- tives last night, and you seemed interested. Besides you're a coming chess champion...so they tell me.” “Does it necessarily follow,” smiled Gillian, “that chess players make good detectives.” “Oh, no—not by any means;” the doctor hastened to correct the impression, “but the chances are that a good detective—if there is such an animal– THE DOCTOR IS VISITED 65 would make an excellent player. Same old guessing game I told you about last night.” Gillian smiled more broadly. “I don't recall that any of the really great investigators were good chess players.” “Great?” Snorted the doctor. “What do we know about great investigators—I mean real men? Not the fiction kind.” Gillian shook his head. “Very little,” he ad- mitted, “and isn't it a fact that they are really able to do good work because we don't know them?” “Not by a jugful.” The doctor scorned the idea. “It doesn't affect the caliber of a man's mentality how many crooks know him—and, in the last analy- sis, detection of crime isn't a matter of snooping around with a magnifying-glass and a wise look. Not by a whole heap. It's right behind the eyes that most of the best detecting is done—all but the gum- shoe kind.” Gillian pulled a paper from his pocket. Across the front sheet was spread a wild account of the dis- appearance of the bank messenger of the Bay Street National Bank, and the scribes had made up for their lack of positive information by drawing lib- erally on their various imaginations. “See this in the paper this morning about the 66 THE EYE WITNESS missing bank messenger?” Gillian questioned absently. The doctor nodded uninterestedly. “Sure. Just bunk. The paper hasn't got half the facts.” Gillian was startled. How this big, sloppy man in the chair before him hit straight at the heart of things was a bit disconcerting. Gillian admitted to himself that he was at sea in the matter, and yet he had something definite—some fixed point—to begin to think from; whereas this huge pulpy man—a casual reader of newspapers—with nothing but his own ability to think clearly, dismissed the newspaper story for exactly what it was worth. The facts were not there. An interview with the family of the missing mes- senger had developed nothing. The messenger had left his house on Laura Street in Springfield—just below First Street—and had started, as usual, to the bank; that is, had started to the street-car line that led to the city, Springfield being a northern suburb of the city itself. His duties at the bank did not be- gin until nine o'clock and he had left the house at about eight thirty—his usual time. A brother of the missing man had seen him stop on the corner of Laura and First Streets and engage in a moment's conversation with a man who was a THE DOCTOR IS VISITED 67 stranger to the brother; then the messenger and the stranger had turned down First Street in the di- rection of the Main Street street-car line. Accord- ing to the newspaper story, there was nothing to arouse the brother's suspicion in the meeting he had witnessed between the messenger and the stranger. Gillian had long since concluded that the bank man's disappearance bore directly on his own case, and on the revelation made by John Ulmstead over the telephone that the notes so puzzlingly present in the bundle of currency were counterfeit. But fur- ther than this conclusion it was impossible to go. He had telegraphed his associates in Birmingham asking for certain information that might throw a light on the mystery, but, until an answer to the wire was received, there was nothing he could do. He eyed the doctor a moment, wondering whether it would be wise to take the man into his confidence as Hal Tyndall had suggested, but decided, tempo- rarily, against such a course. He realized that little could be gained by doing this at the present moment, and he nodded across at the big man who was smok- ing silently. - “I guess you're right. The tale does sound some- what flimsy. Make anything of it?” “Huh?” The doctor's thoughts had evidently 68 THE EYE WITNESS been wandering. “Oh, you're talking about the bank runner. No. I haven't thought about it any. Interest you?” Gillian denied with a shake of his head. “Not es- pecially. But—we were talking about criminals..., a hobby of yours, I understand.” “Hal's been talking,” guessed the doctor. “Yes —in a way. The psychology of 'em, anyway. You can always count on them to do exactly the obvious thing, you know.” Gillian disagreed with the doctor's conclusion and answered the rhetorical question literally. “No, I didn't know. How do you figure that?” “Simple,” replied the doctor; “and I’ve seen a few practical demonstrations in my time. Remem- ber the bank-robbing case we had here—or, didn't Hal tell you about it? Well, it was just a clear case of sitting down to think it out. I’d almost venture to assert that there's not a criminal case on record that couldn't be solved by sheer thought.” Courtney Gillian smiled over the idea. He won- dered what the doctor would say if he brought his own problem to the man's attention and challenged him to work it out by his vaunted method of sheer thought. He resolved to approach it, but with proper camouflage. THE DOCTOR IS VISITED 69 “Ever hear of Joseph Pillman?” “Pillman?” The doctor scratched his head. “Pillman?” He thought a moment. “Oh, yes; counterfeiter, wasn’t he? Man who bragged that he could make 'em so good nobody could tell them from the real stuff. Died about ten years ago—or went to the pen or something, didn't he? How’d they get on to him that time?” Gillian smiled at the doctor's familiarity with the name of the notorious counterfeiter. It was evident that the doctor's knowledge of criminals was not a vain boast. “Yes, he went to the penitentiary, and they got him simply because a pal of his squealed. Counter- feiting isn't a one-man job, you know. Well, what 25 if I were to tell you that Pillman's out again The doctor shrugged. “I’d say look out for the fake stuff.” « and that the fake stuff had already begun to appear?” finished Gillian. “Then I’d say grab Pillman again,” grumbled the doctor. “That's fairly clear. Anybody know where he is P” “Oh, yes;” Gillian nodded. “He’s living in Bir- mingham as I understand it, together with another crook named Norton—Ed Norton—and they’re 7o THE EYE WITNESS both being watched. Pillman is pretty near the rag- ged edge: consumption, I’ve heard.” “Well, they've got him then, eh?” The doctor was only mildly interested. “Why, no,” admitted Gillian. “That's the inter- esting point. I was talking to-er—a friend in Washington a few days ago. It seems that this queer stuff has appeared in bills of several denomi- nations—all Federal Reserve notes—and, though the government immediately started watching Pillman 25. “Hadn't they been watching him since he got out?” questioned the doctor. “Now, say: ain't that just like them. What the whole Secret Service needs is a primer lesson in criminal psychology.” Gillian flushed somewhat but nodded as though in agreement. “As a matter of fact, it was some time before they could locate him;” he continued, “and, also, they are as interested in tracing the manner in which he disposes of the notes as they are in proving the fact that he makes them.” “Then they're certain this Pillman is making them?” Again Gillian nodded. “There's but little doubt that he is—the work has all the earmarks of his methods.” THE DOCTOR IS VISITED 71 \ “Then the stuff is bound to stop coming,” con- cluded the doctor. “Have they searched his place?” Gillian answered in the affirmative. “But, so far as I’ve heard, they found nothing. Pillman lives there, and never leaves the house, you see. I un- derstand one of our—one of the Secret Service men went over the place once, but failed to locate any- thing definite.” The doctor again hunched his huge shoulders. 39 “Well, all I can say is The opening of the door interrupted his remark, and Hal Tyndall entered. “Hello, Gill; glad you found the old doc. How's everything?” He sailed his straw hat across the office and dropped easily into a chair by the door as though quite at home. “Been talking chess?” “No,” grumbled the doctor, “been talking crooks.” “Hah! The incalcuable value of thought!” mocked Tyndall. “Bet a dollar, blind, Gill—he's been reading you a lesson on the mental shortcom- ings of all sleuths from Sherlock the First on down. What's that ” he extended his hand for the note passed him by Gillian. “Looked for you this morning, Hal,” Gillian com- mented, “but you hadn't arrived.” 72 THE EYE WITNESS “Hello!” Hal examined the note. “Who’s been using a typewriter?” Then he unfolded the paper and read quickly. “Bless her heart;” he grinned. “Ain’t she a ribbon-winner, eh?” He turned the note over again in his hands and eyed the typed line of meaningless letters. “Huh—wonder when the Orge got civilized and bought a typewriter; thought he was ag'in' 'em.” He tore the sheet into four parts, looking up with a smile: “Orders to destroy it;” he grinned as he tossed the pieces into the doc- tor's waste-basket. The doctor humphed his opinion of Tyndall and His love-affair. “Why in heaven's name don't you pull a noble Lochinvar act and run off with the lady?” “Boy, oh, boy!” Tyndall grinned widely at Gil- 1ian. “That is rather a noble idea, oh, most worthy Gargantua. Not that I haven’t thought of it before. Lochinvar and his trusty flivver—that's me. Seri- ously, though: Ruth has scruples. How she can have with that insufferable beast of a ” A frown came to the young man's face and he kicked viciously at the unoffending waste-basket. The doctor raised his head as though to speak, but, instead, turned his eyes to the ground-glass panel in the door, against which a shadow fell. THE DOCTOR IS VISITED 73 “Something for me, Mae?” The girl who received patients in the outer office entered and closed the door. “A gentleman to see you. Mr. Wilshire.” “Huh?” The doctor looked surprised. “Good night!” Tyndall slid down in his chair un- til he rested on the back of his neck. “Me for the dim fade-out. Come on, Hal.” He rose to his feet, but the doctor stopped him with a gesture. “Tell him just a minute, Mae, and let him in here in a couple of minutes.” Then, as the girl turned again to go into the outer reception-room, the doctor turned to Gillian. “Stay if you like, Mr. Gillian, but I’m not going to have any of that leave-my- daughter-alone-you-villain stuff pulled in here. You get into the laboratory, Hal—I won't have you running across him as you go out, and keep the door shut. Understand?” “Oui, m'sieur.” Tyndall was irrepressible. “I’d better do the same,” suggested Gillian. “Good enough;” grunted the doctor. “Maybe you can keep that young ass from acting like one.” He closed the small white door with its ground- glass panel that opened into the small tiled labora- tory, and turned again into his office. By the time the door opened to admit Ralph Wilshire the doctor 74 THE EYE WITNESS was seemingly engrossed in a huge tome with many highly colored plates displaying various portions of the human anatomy. The greeting between the two men was limited to nods, and an ungracious wave of the doctor's arm to indicate the chair by the desk. The newcomer, however, remained standing. “I am looking for Hal Tyndall, Doctor,” began Ralph Wilshire gratingly. “Have you seen him?” A suspicious gurgle came from behind the labora- tory door and the nickeled handle began to turn slowly. “Not lately,” lied the doctor promptly. “His of fice is on the next floor.” “I’ve been there;” snapped Wilshire. “Or, per- haps you can tell me where I can find that young— the-er—Mr. Gillian—Courtney Gillian, I believe.” “Gillian?” The doctor repeated the name thoughtfully as though endeavoring to associate it definitely with a certain individual. “Ah, yes; I met him last night, I believe. Surely—I remem- x- ber—he lives at the Mason and Again the office girl interrupted. “I beg your pardon, Doctor: the telephone; the automatic phone out here.” The doctor heaved himself heavily to his feet and THE DOCTOR IS VISITED 75 lumbered to the door, with a muttered word, leaving Wilshire standing in the center of the small consul- tation room. The door leading to the laboratory creaked the least bit on its hinges as the irrepressi- ble Hal Tyndall endeavored to look into the outer office to account for the sudden silence. As he stared through the crack of the door he saw the figure of Ralph Wilshire stiffen suddenly; then bend down—straighten again—and saw the man stuff something hurriedly into his pocket. Tyn- dall's eye, pressed to the crack in the door, grew large with amazement for what the banker had reached for were the pieces of the note from Ruth Wilshire which the watcher had, but a moment before, thrown carelessly into the waste-basket. CHAPTER VI MORE COUNTERFEIT OURTNEY GILLIAN walked slowly up the broad, tree-lined gravel path that led to the Wilshire residence in Ortega. In the bright sun- shine of the late morning the house, which the night before had seemed a fairy-land, was metamorphosed into an almost grim stateliness, and the broad sweep of green unbroken lawn lent an air of cold grandeur to the scene that was not without its subtle, psycho- logic effect. At night the spirit of the house seemed dominated by Ruth Wilshire, but the revealing light of day made it speak rather of the spirit of its master; Ralph Wilshire. There was even an air of regularity and certain order in the squat, carefully tended evergreen that bordered the house below the veranda, and the tall unyielding sycamores appeared like silent sentinels. But the young man was too deeply engrossed in his own thoughts to give heed to the vast theatrical 76 MORE COUNTERFEIT 77 display of nature: far down toward the river, lines of weeping-willows stood magnificently on the bank, their drooping, moss covered branches leaning far down as though in an effort to touch the swift- flowing water. To the right, beyond the house, broad splotches of riotous color, contrasting against the shimmering green of the lawn, indicated the carefully tended gardens. No tiny bit of gravel seemed misplaced from the walks, and the house itself gleamed in its pristine whiteness. It was impossible not to asso- ciate Ralph Wilshire with his home: straight, tall, austere yet with a certain hard attractiveness. A squirrel scurried in fright across the gravel path before Gillian, and from the river came the soft put-put of a motor-boat hurrying cityward. Gillian turned to the wide stone steps and mounted to the veranda. A colored maid answered his ring: a maid whose face glistened like old polished ebony, and who displayed many white, tombstone-like teeth in an- swer to Gillian's greetings. “Miss Ruth? Yassuh—I 'spects she's here. Leastwise she ain't said she ain't.” Gillian extended a small white card and made his way past the maid into a living-room, while the col- 78 THE EYE WITNESS ored girl disappeared into the vast cool recesses of the deep hall. The room in which Gillian found himself was ex- traordinary: a large low-vaulted chamber with massive oak beams for ceiling, and paneled oak walls extending almost unbrokenly to the heavy beams. One wall—the north—was broken by a series of huge windows, extending to the floor and giving upon the veranda before the house. The south wall also was broken—a few feet from the ceil- ing—by several small square, sashless windows, cov- ered by attractive cretonne drapes through which a glimpse could be obtained of the beams of the ceil- ing of the room beyond. . There was no door, save the one leading into the hall, although the windows of the north wall served as doors to the veranda. A large table stood in the center of the room, scat- tered with a miscellany of periodicals, while the east and west walls showed solid bookcases built into the heavy paneling, and broken here and there by the paneling itself on which hung a series of small pic- tures depicting the days of the Caesars. The color scheme was dark tan; a soothing restful tan, and Gil- lian dropped into the cushions of a huge davenport as he eyed, appreciatively, the massive ebony chair —intricately carved—that stood by the table. MORE COUNTERFEIT 79 The room gave ample evidence of taste and un- ostentatious wealth, and it was hard to reconcile with the character of Ralph Wilshire as Gillian knew it. From out the wide north windows he could see, beyond the veranda, the sweep of lawn that ex- tended to the boulevard on which the house fronted. There were no windows save these in the room— except the small series of square sashless ones, that gave into the room beyond, high in the opposite wall. A voice from the door interrupted Gillian's musings. “It was nice of you to call, Mr. Gillian; I did so want to see you.” Gillian came to his feet. “Well, here I am, lady. The messenger desires to report the proper delivery of that with which he was entrusted.” The smile with which the girl greeted this was obviously forced. “Oh—thank you—” she began hurriedly; then, with a glance about the large room: “but won't you come where it's more comfortable?” She led the way into the small office in which they had been the previous evening, and preempted the large leather chair; signaling to Gillian to take the chair at the desk. 8O THE EYE WITNESS “Have you seen Mr.—my father?” began the girl anxiously the moment the young man was comfort- ably settled in his chair. Gillian shook his head. “Not exactly,” he smiled, “but I heard him.” “Oh—where?” The girl made no attempt to hide her anxiety. “Why, in Doctor Lester's office. I was there with Hal and 93. “Did father see Hal?” The girl's hands clasped tightly in her lap, and an expression that was almost of fear came into her eyes. Gillian shook his head. “No, he didn't. I had just given him your note when your father was an- nounced and the doctor seemed to think it best that 22 Hal should not meet him, so “Oh, I’m glad!” The girl's voice spoke her re- lief. “It would have been awful—awful.” Gillian leaned forward sympathetically. “Won't you tell me about it? I heard your father ask the doctor if he had seen Hal—or me, and, frankly, I'm curious to know if he wanted to see either of us about last night?” The girl nodded miserably, and twisted her tiny handkerchief between her fingers. “This—this morning,” she began slowly, “father MORE COUNTERFEIT 8I was in here. And suddenly he came out and— and—” “Yes?” “I was in the breakfast room,” she continued, “and he asked if any one had been in his office—in this room last night.” w Gillian's face clouded, but he only nodded for her to continue, and, in a moment she did. “I had—had to tell him that you were with me.” “Yes?” “I—I told him I wrote—wrote to Hal and that you were going to-to give him my—my note.” “Well?” Gillian smiled encouragingly. “That isn't exactly criminal, you know.” “Oh, but he was so angry;” the girl paled at recollection of the scene. “He made me come in here and show him where I sat when I wrote the note—where you were, and what paper I used and “But do you know why?” Gillian was trying vainly to fit together the pieces of a puzzle that seemed to be related definitely. The girl nodded. “I think he lost a memoran- dum of some sort—some note he had made, and be- 1ieved that oh, you will excuse it, won't you?— you had, perhaps, taken it.” 39 82 THE EYE WITNESS “That I had taken it?” The girl nodded again. “Yes—he said—” tears began to appear in her eyes and she continued wretchedly: “he said that you—you took it or that I used his paper to write to-to Hal. I told him that you didn't—you didn't ” She began to cry openly, and Gillian, always embarrassed at the sign of feminine tears, squirmed in his chair. “Of course I didn't,” he assured her. “And of course you didn't.” He smiled at the way he put it. “If you had,” he concluded positively, “Hal would certainly have noted the memorandum on the note, and ” He suddenly broke off short as he re- membered the note he had handed that morning to his friend, and his mind flew back to the evening before as he stood on the river bank. Was it possible that the jumbled, typewritten line on the back of the paper was the missing memoran- dum? It seemed incredible, but the idea held in his mind. - “Have you looked for it—the memorandum I mean?” he asked. The girl dabbed her eyes with the tiny bit of hand- kerchief and shook her head. “No—he looked. He said it was on the desk there—” she gestured to the desk at which Gillian sat, and that young man MORE COUNTERFEIT 83 turned his eyes to the broad mahogany surface be- fore him. Almost immediately he noted a sheaf of letters in the center of the desk, and noticed that the letter-head was that of the St. John's National. It was obvious that Ralph Wilshire's work did not end when he left the offices of the bank on Forsythe Street, and, as his eyes searched here and there on the desk for a stray paper that might have been the missing memorandum, Gillian reached for the bundle of letters and turned them over. On the back of the bottom sheet, exposed by this movement, he saw—at the very top of the sheet— one single line of type: sfgwiffuppdpnqmega A quick frown drew his brow together. Then he realized that the seeming familiarity of the letters was due, perhaps, to the meaningless array of type ending in a final a. He became more certain now that the missing memorandum, on which Wil- shire set such great store, was at that moment repos- ing in the doctor's waste-basket. He turned from the desk, remembering Hal Tyn- dall's remark when that young man had first seen the typing on the back of his letter-head, and his 84 THE EYE WITNESS eyes traveled casually about the room. In one cor- ner was a small flat table, and a straight chair beside it. But his glance did not encounter what he sought and he questioned the girl: “Does your father work here?” The girl's nod was affirmative answer. “Very often; this is as much a part of the bank as his office down-town.” “Have a stenographer here?” Gillian questioned with seeming aimlessness. “A stenographer? Why, no. Father doesn’t like ” She smiled the least bit although the tears still hung threateningly in her eyes. “Hasn’t any one told you? Father hates the sound of a type- writer. He's very old-fashioned in some things 3 y and Gillian's eyes strayed again to the series of typ- ing. He felt certain that something was amiss, but he was unable to think clearly or consecutively. With careless fingers he turned over the letter on the back of which the typed line appeared and noted that it was addressed to: “Mr. Ben Staggard, No. ” and was 1209 Laura Street, Jacksonville, Florida, ready for the bank cashier’s signature. Long columns of figures were neatly tabulated on the sheet, and his glance told him that the subject of : MORE COUNTERFEIT 85 the letter was a new issue of Everglade Drainage Bonds, issued by The Florida Reclamation Com- pany. In the lower left-hand corner of the sheet appeared the initials: “RW-v,” which, he assumed, indicated that the letter had been dictated by Ralph Wilshire to a stenographer at the bank. - Probably the stenographer had used the back of the letter-head for He shook his head. It was not likely that a stenographer, however careless, would write on a sheet that had been previously used for typewriter practise. Gillian again glanced at the address and at its subject-matter before he re- placed the letters in their original position. “I don't know what father might do if he sees Hal,” the girl continued. “Won't you please go to Hal again and tell him—tell him not to let father see him? I’ve tried to phone and tried—but Hal never seems to be in his office.” “I certainly will tell him,” assured Gillian. “Don’t bother about it, little lady. The memoran- dum will doubtlessly turn up sooner or later.” Mentally Gillian had already determined to rescue the torn note from the doctor's waste-basket. The girl smiled wistfully. “It's—it's awfully cheeky, Mr. Gillian, to—to drag you into our diffi- culties, but Vera said 33 86 THE EYE WITNESS “Yes? What did Miss Ulmstead say?” The hint of a smile played about the corners of the girl's lips. “You won't tell?” She was ador- ably serious. “Cross my heart and all the rest of it.” Gillian's vanity was not proof against temptation. He really wanted to know. “She said that you were quite the greatest dis- traction she had encountered since the war— there!” The girl smiled openly. “I wonder what she meant by that?” Gillian laughed. “Yes, I wonder. But, just the same, for telling me that I owe you a great deal of service. And I wish you would believe that I'm yy more than anxious to help you and Hal to The door opened and the polished countenance of the maid obtruded. “’Scusin’ the interruption, Miss Ruth,” began the maid, eying Gillian, “’scu- sin’ that 33 Gillian smiled and turned to the girl who stopped the maid with a gesture. “Just a minute, Jessamine —what is it, Mr. Gillian, that's so very amusing? Mayn't I know?” Gillian grew momentarily serious; then laughed again. “Oh, nothing. I was merely thinking of-" The girl smiled archly. “Thinking of what?” MORE COUNTERFEIT 87 Gillian grinned at Jessamine in the doorway. “That's exactly the manner—and the very same words—with which a certain very dark young gen- tleman at the Mason interrupts me several times a day.” “How do you mean?” The girl was puzzled. Then to the maid: “Money for the grocer, isn't it, it's in Jessamine....if you will bring my purse the library on the table.” Gillian felt for his cigarettes. “That expression y —‘’scusin' the interruption,’” he explained. “There's a bell-hop at the Mason who says it con- tinually. A certain very colored gentleman with the too delightful name of Hero—Hero Landers.” “Hero? Why, that's Jessamine's husband;” laughed the girl. “Isn't that queer?” Jessamine returned with the purse. “Mr. Gillian here knows Hero, Jessamine,” smiled the girl as she opened the bag. Jessamine turned large eyes on Gillian. “Then you knows a good-f'r-nothin', crap-shootin’ lazy runt;” she ejaculated suddenly, but with no change of facial expression to accompany the remarks. The temperament of the dusky ladies and gentle- men of the South was entirely beyond Gillian's ken, and he was a bit startled at the outburst. 88 THE EYE WITNESS “But he works, doesn't he?” Somehow Gillian felt called upon to defend the absent Hero. “Wuk? Dat nigger? Nossuh–he don’ wuk none a-tall. He's the loafin'es’ man what is. Wuk an’ Hero ain’t never met up wid each other; 'cause why? 'Cause when wuk gets 'roun’ to where Hero is at, why, he jes' nachelly ain't there. Him wuk— huh !” “How much, Jessamine?” The girl raised her eyes from the purse in her lap and tried to hide her smile. “Fo’ dolla's an’ eighty-two cents; yes'm.” The girl counted out the money, and, with an- other grunt expressive of her opinion of her spouse, Jessamine turned from the room. Gillian laughed aloud. “Discord in the Landers family?” The girl nodded. “Always is. We had Hero here for a while as gardener, and it almost ruined both of them, so Hero just had to go.” She rose to her feet, the purse falling from her lap and cascading a small shower of silver and paper to the floor. “Oh—how stupid!” The girl dropped to her knees and Gillian hurried to assist her in collecting the money. MORE COUNTERFEIT 89 He picked up a bill and glanced at it curiously. Then, from recently acquired habit, he scrutinized it more carefully. It was a five-dollar note. When the damage had been repaired Gillian still held the note in his hand. “Will you exchange with me?” he smiled, reach- ing into his own pocket and producing a five-dollar bill. “Why—yes. But, why?” The girl held out her hand. “Just a superstition;” Gillian shook his head. “And yours is so nice and new. Where did you get it?” The girl tucked away the bill she had received from Gillian. “Where I get it all,” she smiled. “I always get new money at the bank.” Gillian's eyes gleamed a brief instant. “Your fa- ther's bank?” “Of course,” replied the girl, “where else should I go but to the St. John's National?” CHAPTER VII CODES N leaving the house Gillian walked slowly up the boulevard to where the tracks of the trac- tion company gleamed in the distance. He stood on the corner awaiting the arrival of a belated car that would take him to the city, and contemplated the long stretch of avenue, lined with palm trees and shimmering in the bright noonday sunlight. When the car arrived he clambered aboard and dropped into a front seat. Here, pencil and note- book in hand, he endeavored to recollect the series of letters that had formed the typed line he had read a few minutes before. Further than “sfgwt—” however, he could not progress; the rest of the let- ters having been crowded from his mind by the more recent discovery of the counterfeit five-dollar note in the possession of Ruth Wilshire. He did remember, however, the name and address of the man to whom the letter was written, and this he copied into his note-book: “Ben Staggard; 1209 Laura Street.” 90 CODES 9I He thought the matter over from the beginning: his arrival in the city; his conversation with the bank president, John Ulmstead; the disappearance of the messenger of the Bay Street National Bank; Ralph Wilshire's entrance into the scene; the dance of the previous evening and Wilshire's enmity to- ward Hal Tyndall. Gillian knew of old the disadvantage of leaping to conclusions not soundly based in fact. With a wrong premise he would be more than apt to go so far astray of the real truth that it would take many valuable days to unravel the skein of error in which his thoughts would be wound. Wilshire's peculiarly vital interest in the lost memorandum—probably that on the back of the girl's note to Tyndall of the night before—was the stumbling block upon which his thoughts hesitated. Was it possible that the typed lines were a code? The conclusion seemed reasonable—more reason- able than the supposition that the only two pieces of paper he had seen from Wilshire's desk should both have been used for the purpose of typewriter prac- tise. It would not be difficult to ascertain from the bank’s stenographer whether she had typed the lines at Wilshire's suggestion. This thought, however, gave him pause. It was more than unlikely—if the CODEs * 93 the truth when she said that she had received the money—the counterfeit bill—from the St. John's National Bank, but, on the other hand, Gillian did not fail to realize that the young girl's word could not be—in a matter of this nature—implicitly relied upon. He had seen her in too many varying and suddenly shifting moods.... from utter wretched- ness to the gay irresponsibility that most often char- acterized her, and he knew that it would be very easy for her to be mistaken. The disappearance of the bank messenger worried him most. If this disappearance was to be attri- buted to the news received from Washington by John Ulmstead: that the two ten-dollar notes were counterfeit; then the reasonable assumption to work on would be that John Ulmstead or Gillings of the Bay Street National were directly implicated in the man's disappearance. This disappearance was ob- Gillian felt positive that the mes- viously a ruse senger himself was in no way implicated in the Imatter. Knowing that suspicion would inevitably fall on those men who had handled the shipment of cur- rency from Atlanta, had these men—or one of them —taken this method of attempting to divert suspi- cion to the messenger? 94 THE EYE WITNESS The car rolled over the viaduct of Riverside Ave- nue and turned into the traffic-thronged crush of Bay Street, while Gillian's thoughts veered suddenly to more pleasing channels, and he smiled to himself quietly. So Vera Ulmstead had found him, first charming, and then a distraction. His smile grew fatuous, and was finally replaced by a musing frown. He was certain that, somewhere, he had seen the girl before. But where? He rose slowly from his seat, pocketed his note- book and pencil and signaled the conductor. First, he made his way to the hotel, and, after as- certaining that there was no message of any kind in his box, he turned again in the direction of the St. John's National Bank. His card gained for him almost immediate ad- mission to the office of the president, and as the old banker rose to his feet to greet his caller Gillian felt, somehow, ashamed for even remotely connect- ing this grand old man with the disappearance of the bank messenger, or for suspecting him of any crimi- nal knowledge of the counterfeiting. It was no small portion of John Ulmstead's success that his personality radiated a certain robust honesty—an. uprightness and a firmness that went a long way to establish his reputation for integrity and square dealing. CODES 95 “Enjoy the ball, Mr. Gillian?” Gillian nodded. “Very much indeed; thanks to your charming daughter, Mr. Ulmstead.” “Mighty glad, young man; we want to make you feel at home with us—for your own sake, primarily, and for the senator's. By the way—I had a note from him this morning. He speaks rather highly of your abilities.” The banker reached into a basket on his desk and passed a sheet of paper to Gillian. The young man took it, read the note, and John Ulmstead, watching him, noted that he had the grace to flush. “The senator is a little bit given to being over- enthusiastic, I think.” Gillian passed back the flat- tering letter and smiled at the twinkle in the eye of the old man. “M-m! I’ve never heard that it was one of his shortcomings. Besides, young man, you seem to inspire a certain enthusiasm.” He grew more se- rious: “Believe me, it is a valuable asset for a young man to have: the ability to inspire confidence and friendship.” “Thanks. I'm mighty glad.” “Well, let's make it dinner to-night, then;” John Ulmstead replaced the letter in his basket. “You see for yourself that the senator asks me to treat you just as though you were his son—or my own.” 96 THE EYE WITNESS “Oh, but really—” expostulated Gillian. “I 35 couldn't think of imposin “You’ll have to make your excuses to Vera, I'm afraid,” smiled the banker. “I’m merely repeating orders.” Gillian smiled at the idea. “Thanks then—im- mensely. Of course I shall be glad to come.” The matter of dinner settled, the banker turned to the more important business in hand. “It is too soon, of course,” he began, “to ask if you have any idea >> Gillian did not allow him to finish. Instead he placed before him on the desk the five-dollar note he had received by exchange with Ruth Wilshire. “Another one?” Ulmstead made an impatient gesture. “And where did you find this? Ah—a different denomination too.” Gillian nodded. “It came from your bank, sir;” he said quietly, but watched the effect of his words. The banker's reaction was the most natural un- der the circumstances. It was plain that John Ulm- stead was beginning to grow angry; not with the young man before him, but over the baffling ap- pearance of the counterfeit and the thought that it should be connected with his bank. “May I ask if you use—in your correspondence— CODES 97 Mr. Ulmstead—any sort of private code?” Gillian did not wait for the banker to remark on the counterfeit. “Code?” The financier was plainly at sea. “Why—why, certainly. We use several: some of the standard ones and some of our own.” “A private code?” “Yes.” Gillian frowned. “You have a regular code man, or is your code book in possession of one of the bank’s officers?” “Invariably one of the officers,” replied the banker immediately. “As a matter of fact Mr. Had- ley, our vice-president, has entire charge of all code wires and letters.” “And he does it all?” “Every bit.” “But when he is away—as at present?” “Then Cooper, the assistant vice-president, han- dles the work; and if Cooper, too, is absent, then Mr. Wilshire undertakes it.” “And Mr. Cooper is here now?” The banker nodded. “But certainly. It is only on very rare occasions that both Mr. Hadley and Mr. Cooper are absent at the same time.” “And if you wanted a message sent—or a portion 98 THE EYE WITNESS of a letter written in code you would pass your let- ter to Mr. Hadley.” “Certainly.” “But the final letter—after it was coded—would come to your for signature, wouldn't it?” The banker shook his head. “Not often, al- though, in rare cases, where I am corresponding with a personal friend as well as a business associate it is possible. The code would be written by Had- ley and signed by him. His department—the vice- president's—signs all communications for the bank. You see”—he explained the system—“the original letter or telegram or memorandum, whatever it might be, would be signed by me or by Wilshire— by whatever officer originated it—and that signa- ture is Hadley's authority for affixing the regular signature of the bank. For instance ” John Ulmstead reached into a wire basket that reposed on the top of his desk and passed over a series of letters. “These I have by me for reference,” he explained. “You will see that they are carbon copies.” He in- dicated the signature line which, in each instance, was blank. “In every case this is signed by Mr. Hadley or Mr. Cooper just: “The St. John's Na- tional Bank.’” Gillian nodded, apparently satisfied. “Is your bank, or are you, Mr. Ulmstead, interested particu- CODES 99 f larly in the recent bond issue of the Florida Recla- mation Company? I mean in the so-called Ever- glade Drainage Bonds.” “Absolutely not!” The banker's answer was positive. “It is a proposition that we have reso- lutely refused to touch; and, as long as my influence is of any weight with the board, we never will touch it. Fundamentally, the issue is unsound, as you can readily see from Excuse me, Mr. Gillian, but this is a pet abomination of mine and the pet abomi- nation of nearly every conservative banking house in the state. Why do you ask?” Gillian shrugged a denial of any specific reason for his query. “I thought, perhaps, that you, or some of the other officers of the bank, might be interested.” “Well, you must give us credit for a little more— shall I say ‘financial acumen?'—really you must, Mr. Gillian. I can assure you that neither I nor the bank, nor any one in any manner connected with it would touch that bond issue with a ten-foot pole.” Gillian laughed at the vehemence of the old banker. “Well, that certainly settles my opinion of the Reclamation Company.” The banker smiled and nodded. “If it doesn’t; just ask Wilshire about it. He was interested in the company something like twenty years ago.” 898.63% IOO THE EYE WITNESS “And he isn't interested any longer?” John Ulmstead shook his white head. “Most cer- tainly not; Ralph learned his lesson many years ago, and the adage of a burnt child applies very forcibly to the world of finance.” Gillian hesitated a moment. “You said, I believe, Mr. Ulmstead, that Mr. Wilshire was with you on the morning that you telephoned—or that the Bay Street National telephoned—to ask you about the notes you had sent to Washington?” “Why, yes; so he was.” John Ulmstead raised his brows interrogatively. “But, as I recall it, I had scarcely begun to speak when he left the office.” “And you did not later speak to him about it?” “I have spoken to no one save Gillings and your- self concerning the matter;” assured the banker. Gillian was again eying the telephone, and tracing the course of the green wires with his eyes. “I’ll drop in a moment on Mr. Wilshire,” he sug- gested, rising to his feet. “And, thanks—mightily, for the invitation to dinner, Mr. Ulmstead. Please tell Miss Vera for me—” “Tell her yourself, young man.” The banker added a paternal pat on the younger man's shoulder as he held open the door. “You’ll find Ralph right next door there; that's it, to your right.” CHAPTER VIII A THEFT HERE was an expression that could not, by any stretch of the imagination, have been construed to mean welcome on the face of the cashier of the St. John's National Bank, as Court- ney Gillian entered his office. The man did not rise from the chair before his desk, nor did he give any sign to acknowledge that he was aware of his visitor's entrance. Gillian did not fail to notice these silent signs of animosity, and he attributed them, correctly, to what Ruth Wilshire had told him of her father's anger in the matter of the note that Gillian had carried to Tyndall; the note that was, in all probability, the memorandum lost by Wilshire. Gillian remained standing in the doorway. “You wanted to see me, for some reason, I believe, Mr. Wilshire?” His voice held just the proper nuance of curiosity, as though he was wondering slightly what matter the banker could have to discuss with him. IOI IO2 THE EYE WITNESS “It was unnecessary.” The brittle voice of the bank cashier snapped the phrase. “Quite unneces- sary, Mr.—er—” “Gillian—Courtney Gillian.” “—Mr. Gillian. As a matter of fact, I did not want to see you.” “But—” Gillian hesitated, then continued: “but our friend, Doctor Lester, assured me that you were seeking me.” The bank cashier's lips tightened the least bit. “If I was,” he admitted, “I no longer feel the nec- essity of troubling you.” He was elaborately sarcastic. “Then you have recovered your memorandum?” Gillian put the question amiably. “I don't know what you are talking about, young man.” Ralph Wilshire looked up to meet Gillian's gaze; then as he realized that the young man had, most probably, been speaking to his daughter, his voice grew just a slight bit more conciliatory: “My daughter is quite a little given to exaggerating the importance of trifles,” he said. Gillian's eyes were following the telephone cord that connected Wilshire's desk phone and he noted that they seemed to lead into the bank president's of. A THEFT IO3 fice. It was evident that both phones, and probably the third one of the suite, were on one line. “Is that all, Mr. Gillian?” Ralph Wilshire turned from the young man and pulled a letter forward on his desk. From his position near the door Gillian could not fail to see the top of the letter-head, and he caught his breath sharply. Although he could not distin- guish clearly, it was plain that Wilshire was printing out the same general series of letters that Gillian had already twice seen, except, in this instance, the mes- sage seemed a long one. The man at the desk paid no further attention to the younger man in the doorway, and the opening of this door, followed by the entrance of the uniformed attendant saved Gillian from the necessity of mak- ing his adieux as best he might. “Mr. Haily from Tampa to see you, Mr. Wil- shire; also a gentleman who says you will know his name: a Mr. Staggard.” The attendant stood in the door awaiting instructions, and Gillian noted the sharply defined frown that came for a moment to the face of the bank cashier, and the furtive drawing forward of a blotting pad to cover the paper on which he had been writing. But whether this mani- festation was due to the name of Haily or Staggard, IO4 THE EYE WITNESS Gillian could not determine, although he was fairly certain that Staggard’s name was the cause of it; and as he passed through the door on his way out he heard the attendant speaking in the railed-off re- ception space: “All right, Mr. Staggard—Mr. Wil- 35 shire is at leisure Gillian stood by the door leading into John Ulm- stead's office and watched the man addressed as Mr. Staggard enter the adjoining office of the cashier. On the stranger's face was an irritating smile that seemed to say to the uniformed attendant: “I told you he'd see me,” and the attendant's facial expression left no doubt of his opinion of Mr. Staggard. The door closed behind the man and Gillian walked over to the uniformed bank employee. “Know Mr. Staggard?” he questioned. The bank man, recognizing Gillian as the visitor so cordially received by the bank's president, shook his head: “He’s been here once before, and Mr. Wilshire refused to see him. Got peeved with me for bring- ing in his name.” Gillian produced a cigarette case; then a cigar which he passed casually to the attendant. “Rather a queer sort, Mr. Wilshire, eh?” A THEFT - IO5 The man pocketed the cigar. “Thanks. Oh, I don’t know. He's right enough, I guess. Not much like the old man though. Mr. Ulmstead has a smile for everybody anytime, but no one ever saw old Wilshire grin unless it was at a funeral.” Gillian laughed and crossed the banking floor to one of the paying teller's windows. He passed a twenty-dollar note across the grille and asked for four fives. The obliging teller slid them across the marble with a smile and nod, and Gillian turned from the window. He walked to one of the central check stands and examined the notes carefully. They were quite genuine and he smiled a little ruefully as he slid them into his wallet. It was not that he had expected to receive counterfeit money in exchange for his twenty, but he felt a vague sense of disappointment as he strolled about the banking floor scrutinizing the tellers in their various cages and commenting complimentary commonplaces to the garrulous floor man who wan- dered importantly about the bank. When he turned again to the railed visitor's en- closure it was just in time to see the door of the cashier's office open and Wilshire, accompanied by Staggard, come out. A THEFT Io.7 had made an additional effort to cover the paper with a blotter. He held his breath with sharp expectancy as he stepped once more into the railed enclosure outside; then, seeing that he had gone unnoticed, he turned past the attendant and the door of the president's of fice, and, as Wilshire, returning across the bank floor, entered through the swinging gates in the low railing, Gillian turned sharply and made his way rapidly toward the street. Obviously he had not been seen, and he was con- gratulating himself on his exploit when he caught sight of Hal Tyndall scowling at the vanishing back of Ralph Wilshire. “Hello—Gill—” Tyndall was plainly embar- rassed. “What are you doing here?” Gillian flushed; then regained his composure. If Hal had seen him enter and leave Wilshire's office there was nothing that could be done about it now. “Oh, I came in to have a chat with your friend, Wil- shire,” he mocked. “What brings you?” - “I just got here,” Tyndall advised, “and I’m go- ing to see him, too. I’m going to have it out with him once and for all.” “Don’t be an ass, Hal.” Gillian took his friend by the arm and turned to the door while the uni- Io& THE EYE WITNESS formed attendant inside the railing who knew Tyn- dall by sight, smiled openly. It was, indeed, quite generally known that there was no love lost between the young lawyer and the crabbed cashier of the St. John's National Bank. “I just came from Wilshire's house,” Gillian be- gan, piloting Tyndall up Forsythe Street. “I know it;” grumbled Tyndall, shaking loose his friend's hold. “Don’t hold on to me as though I were an escaped convict!” He walked a few steps in silence. Then: “Excuse me, Gill;” he turned contritely to his friend. “But you don't know how this whole thing has got on my nerves. I talked with Ruth over the phone. She told me that you'd been there.” The two men entered the lobby of the Mason Hotel, and Gillian was on the point of speaking when “’Scusin’ the interruption, Mist' Gil-yun > > Hero Landers met the two men face to face as they entered the hotel. “This heah tel'gr’m arrive jes' this vey same minute.” He handed a yellow envel- ope to Gillian, who nodded. “Thanks. And, - just a minute, Hero—” Gillian was tearing open the wire. “Your wife sends you her love.” I IO THE EYE WITNESS “An answer to a wire of mine,” he replied, “but a little more than that.” The telegram was dated Birmingham, Alabama, and the contents seemed to be very pleasing to Gillian for, much to the mystifi- cation of Hal Tyndall he muttered as he read: “No one came or left, eh? But a letter inter- cepted. Well, that's good. And to him. Hml What do you know about that?” “Huh? About what?” Tyndall's question aroused Gillian. ~ “Oh, nothing—nothing much, except—well, I'll be mighty interested in a certain letter that ought to reach me in the morning's mail from Birmingham, and which I shall read very carefully before I de- cide to send it to the person to whom it is addressed: a certain Mr. Ben Staggard of No. 1209 Laura Street.” II2. THE EYE WITNESS “Huh ! A lot you know about it. How would you feel if you were plumb crazy about Vera and old |Ulmstead wouldn't 33 The blush that rose to Courtney Gillian's face brought a look of utter astonishment into the eyes of Hal Tyndall. Then after a moment's silence he dropped his bouillon spoon and began to laugh uproariously. “Demne!—as Doc Lester says—if I don't believe I've blundered on something;” he roared. “For heaven's sake, Hal;” snapped Gillian in em- barrassment, “don’t shout!” “And in two days;” continued Tyndall, still chuckling; “two and a half days!” Gillian tapped the table impatiently. “Don’t go off half-cocked, Hal;” he advised shortly, “and, for Pete's sake, try not to be an ass.” yy “Yes-sir; yes-sir-" mocked Tyndall, still grin- ning. “But whoever would have suspected you, of all people * > “What's the matter with me?” challenged Gillian. “I’d like to know what »y “Oh, all right; all right;" Tyndall re-commenced to laugh aloud. “Don’t shoot—I’m not saying you're deformed or anything. But just think of it! O tempora! O mores! O momma!” 114 THE EYE WITNESS Gillian shrugged. “I have more than a bare sus- picion that I can pick up his trail when I want to.” “And you aren't doing it?” Tyndall was aston- ished. “Why, man alive; there's no telling what they’re liable to do to the poor chap.” Gillian shook his head. “Wrong, Hal. If any- thing was to be done to him, it was done long before we heard of his disappearance. At least, that is the way it appears to me. It is very unlikely that he was abducted—if he was abducted—for any reason save to divert suspicion from the man really respon- sible for the counterfeit....but I’d better tell you the whole thing from the beginning.” Tyndall's eyes grew large as he listened to the de- tailed account of the happenings of the last two days and the suspicions of his friend Gillian. “Now the telephone over which Ulmstead spoke” —Gillian was drawing aimlessly on the table with a forefinger—“is an extension phone, and, if he wanted to, it was very easy for Ralph Wilshire to have overheard the conversation from his office. You will remember that Ulmstead says Wilshire left the office just as he was beginning to speak.” “But, good lord, Gill, you don't think Wilshire—” “Just wait a minute, Hal; let me get it all straight first. Where was Wilshire when Ulmstead was ac- A PLAN IS MADE II5 tually speaking? That's one question I should like to have answered, and another is this: why is Ralph Wilshire—and I know that he is—in correspondence with a man concerning bonds which Ulmstead as- sured me neither he nor Wilshire nor any one con- nected with the bank are interested in? And why is Wilshire corresponding in code, when the bank's code messages are transmitted by another officer who is specifically charged with that duty? And why this unaddressed—” he pulled from his pocket the sheet of paper he had abstracted from the office of the bank cashier. “Perhaps this will help. The trouble is it may take some time to work out. I’d want to do it myself, of course. If I sent it North there is no question but that it could be de- ciphered there—we learned too much about codes and ciphers during the war to be easily fooled by a home-made product like this—but it would take time to get the message there and the answer back.” “And you know Wilshire wrote that?” Tyndall gestured to the paper that Gillian was replacing in his pocket. Gillian smiled slightly. He did not think it nec- essary to confide to Hal Tyndall how he had come by the paper in his possession, but his assurance that Wilshire was the writer of it was very positive. 116 THE EYE WITNESS Tyndall nodded his head, although he was scarcely listening. He had suddenly realized what a confirmation of Gillian's suspicions would mean to Ruth Wilshire. “You remember the note Ruth wrote to you, Hal?” continued Gillian. “Well, on the back of that was a line of type in apparently the same code. That is why Wilshire raised such a hullabaloo about losing it, and what is it?” Tyndall's mouth had dropped open suddenly as he recalled the scene he had witnessed in the doctor's office. “Nothing—nothing, Gill; go on—I’m lis- 35 tening But young irresponsible Hal Tyndall was thinking faster and harder than he had ever thought in his twenty-four years of life. “Then there's that five-dollar note I got from Ruth—which she says came from the St. John's Na- tional—and the bill from Ulmstead that I received the first day—it is more than likely that also came from the bank, though Ulmstead did not say so.” “Why not go to the paying tellers and cash a check?” suggested Tyndall hurriedly. Gillian only shrugged. “Tried it,” he admitted. “Got some change....” His second shrug was ex- pressive. “Nothing doing.” The men were silent a moment. A PLAN IS MADE 117 - “And now,” continued Gillian after a moment, “here is the final thread.” He drew the yellow tele- gram from his pocket. “When I learned of the missing messenger I im- mediately thought that—if there was anything to our suspicions concerning a certain ex-convict in Birmingham, it was not at all unlikely that the mes- senger would eventually turn up there. This wire tells me that he hasn't—at least not yet.” “Birmingham?” Tyndall questioned, for Gil- lian had not mentioned the city in his narrative. “Who is in Birmingham, and what has it to do with —with Wilshire?” “The wire,” Gillian explained, “is from a man who is watching a certain gentleman there; the cer- tain gentleman being a recently discharged prisoner from the Federal Penitentiary in Atlanta, and prob- ably the best counterfeiter this country has ever seen. He is living in Birmingham, together with another crook whose pedigree we have—a man named Ed Norton.” “Yes?” Tyndall strove to grasp the entire situation. “The counterfeit notes have been pronounced, by men who know, as probably the work of this same counterfeiter—Pillman is his name.” ZA PLAN IS MADE II9 closeted for about ten minutes with a Mr. Staggard at the St. John's National Bank, nor was Wilshire especially pleased to see his caller.” Gillian stopped long enough to light a cigarette and drop the burnt match into the tray before him. “It is more than likely that the letter itself—the matter of Drainage Bonds is some sort of a code... those bonds could mean very easily the counterfeit Gillian suddenly stopped. 3.5 notes, and The thought was a new one, and he remembered the columns of figures on the letter he had seen, and tried, vainly, to recall some specific sentence of the letter. He did not see the sudden expression that crossed Hal Tyndall's youthful face; his thoughts were busy racing ahead on the new idea. The letter from Bir- mingham would, perhaps, contain valuable informa- tion. If it, too, spoke of the Drainage Bonds, then his sudden suspicion was well founded. But he would have to wait until morning for the letter. To Hal Tyndall, who sat silent in his chair, came a full realization of the position of Ruth Wilshire. Even the success of his friend in running to earth the case he was engaged on was of less—infinitely less—importance to Hal Tyndall than the protection of Ruth Wilshire, and, while he was not one deliber- I2O THE EYE WITNESS ately to block Gillian—even if that were possible— that one moment decided in Tyndall's mind the fact that he would remain silent concerning his knowl- edge of what he had witnessed through the slightly opened door of the doctor's laboratory. “How soon do you think, Gillian,” he began slowly, “that you will have something definite on— On ” He didn't finish the query, nor was it necessary, for Gillian understood. “I don’t know, Hal. It depends on what I can get from that piece of paper in my pocket. There may be considerable definite information for me there; also I want to see the letter that is to reach me to- morrow from Birmingham.” “But isn't it possible that you may be entirely mis- taken and that—that Wilshire is merely engaged on some personal speculation? Something that he doesn't want generally known about the bank?” Gillian eyed his friend. “It is just possible, Hal; but doesn't it strike you as rather unlikely? Does it seem reasonable that it should just happen that Wil- shire was acquainted, and in evident correspondence with the same man to whom this Birmingham letter is addressed?” For a few minutes there was a silence between the two men; then Gillian turned again to his friend. A PLAN IS MADE I21] “I wonder if you know why I'm foolish enough to be telling you all this, Hal?” Tyndall's jaw fell. “Foolish?” he queried in- anely. “Why, I–I thought you—you said you wanted to think it out—and—and—that's 33 Gillian smiled whimsically. “Well, listen, Hal— and remember this, old chap: if you even hint that you know what I suspect it's all up with me.” His smile drifted from his face. “I mean that, Hal; in all seriousness. I’m taking very grave risks— greater risks than I should take, and 25 “I know it, old man; and please don’t think, Gill, 25 that I'm an unmitigated ass, but Gillian waved aside the protestation. “If you were, Hal, I should never have said a word. Even in spite of our old friendship and my keenness to see you get what you want.” “What I want?” Gillian nodded. “Now, don't try to be stupid, PHal smiled again at his friend's bewilderment. “Get that girl away from here;” he shot out suddenly. “Get her away from Jacksonville; take her away by you aren't so naturally, you know.” He force if necessary, but get her away—and, keep her away. Don't interrupt”—he waved aside a gesture from Tyndall and continued rapidly—“it may be 12. - THE EYE WITNESS that I'm the ass, Hal, but I don't want to see you lose her, and I don't want to see her lose you. She is the kind that—once anything happened—would never be the same. You know that. A week from to-day and, in all probability, she wouldn’t even see you. She wouldn't think she had the right—poor kid! So get her away, for something is going to break loose, and when it does .... the Lord help Ralph Wilshire.” Gillian rose to his feet and approached Tyndall, still in his chair. “That's why I'm telling you these things,” he finished, “and that's why I'm advising you to take the doctor's advice.” Tyndall, also, rose slowly to his feet and faced his friend. There seemed a new dignity in the young man's bearing; something indefinable, but certain. He extended his hand simply: “Thanks, Gill. I'm not going to forget that. And—and—I’ll see you—later.” CHAPTER X AND FAILS A FTER the departure of Hal Tyndall, Gillian sauntered casually into the lobby of the hotel and dropped into a chair by the window. For some time he smoked quietly, gazing out across the street before him. Two courses were open to him: One was to take the huge doctor, with his uncannily shrewd mind, into his confidence, and the other was to work alone in the hope that his suspicions concerning the code message would be confirmed. He realized the ad- vantage of having the huge medico working with him on the problem, particularly in the matter of deciphering the code, which would leave him free to follow his second trail; the man who called on the bank cashier and to whom the letter, which had been intercepted in Birmingham, was addressed. On the other hand, he realized the inadvisability of taking the doctor into his confidence, for, if on read- ing, the code message contained certain facts that I23 I24 THE EYE WITNESS Gillian hoped it might contain, there would arise the immediate necessity of explaining the whole sit- uation to Doctor Lester. After all, he knew very little about the doctor, save the fact that the man had impressed him greatly on first acquaintance, and that this favor- able impression had been subsequently confirmed and strengthened. The doctor's position as between Hal and Ralph Wilshire was an open partizanship of Tyndall's cause, but what his position would be as between the comparatively strange Courtney Gil- lian and Ralph Wilshire, the young man could not know. That Doctor Lester had done valuable and difficult work in criminal investigation was not to be doubted. Gillian had heard of that from other sources than from his friend Hal Tyndall, and a half-hour's browsing through the morgue of the of fice of the Jacksonville morning paper had given him the details of the cases in which the doctor had been engaged. The reasoning and shrewdness displayed in the solving of these cases, although they had been attrib- uted to Inspector Herndon, were the doctor’s. That much was certain, and Gillian was quick to re- alize the assistance that could be furnished by the doctor. AND FAILS 125 He puzzled over the matter as he retired to his own room and sat down before the small writing desk, spreading flat before him the uncompleted message he had taken from the office of the cashier of the St. John's National Bank. The code did not appear difficult, yet a few ex- periments with letters demonstrated immediately that it was not one with which the young man was familiar, nor was it one of the more or less standard transposition nor substitution ciphers. How long it would take him to make the sheet of paper give up its secret he did not know. And time was a valuable commodity just at the present. He wanted to be watching the movements of Mr. Ben Staggard and to familiarize himself with the appearance of No. 1209 Laura Street. He also wanted to return imme- diately to the doctor's office in search of the memo- randum that he had seen Hal Tyndall throw into the doctor's basket. Already he more than half regretted having made a confidant of Hal Tyndall. Had he not done so; Tyndall might have been available to shadow and watch the actions of Staggard. As it was, however, Tyndall's mind would be occupied with the girl. He remembered his own promise to Ruth Wil- shire; to be of assistance if possible. After all, he 126 THE EYE WITNESS speculated, there were personal relationships that counted: the good will of friends, gained through an ability to serve them, and the lending of aid where aid was needed. He liked Tyndall—had always liked him genuinely and honestly, despite that young man's sometimes too obvious boyishness, and he re- alized that—were the circumstances reversed—Tyn- dall would have unhesitatingly done as much and more for him. Gillian contemplated the series of letters before him with a frown. And there was his dinner en- gagement with the Ulmsteads. Although he did not admit it to himself, he was far from inclined to pass by this additional opportunity of being in the society of Vera Ulmstead. And if the paper before him proved, after all, valueless, then the time it took to work out the problem of the code was just that much time wasted. Finally he decided. He resolved to copy the code message and take his copy to Doctor Lester, asking the big man to take a hand in aiding him to read the riddle, but without explaining his reasons for the request. If the code was new to the doctor, Gillian felt that he would be interested; simply for the mental exercise the working of it afforded, and, if the note 'AND, FAILS 127 did contain some specific mention of the counter- feiters Doctor Lester would ask no questions—of this Gillian was certain, although he knew, also, that, by piecing together a number of small, seem- ingly insignificant remarks—and the code message —the doctor would soon hit upon the reason for Courtney Gillian's presence in Jacksonville. It was not likely, as Gillian knew, that—if the doctor had given any thought to the matter at all—the big man would be taken in with the expressed purpose of Gil- lian's visit to the city. He lifted his portable typewriter from its small case, and placed it on the table before him. Then, taking a blank sheet of paper from a compartment of the writing desk, he copied the characters care- fully from the paper. Typed they looked even more cryptic, if that was possible, than when printed with pen and ink. Gillian studied the copy a moment before he pulled it from the typewriter: Uijttjttuiffmbtuuapseejjtibmmºn a'sjuffupp2pwvajjbnnuispwhiia juit wiffcwtjofttiajggjjifbssgspnn apvvbhbjoojjtibmmmopuuift.jubuff uppbewjtffdfsubjoobvuipsjujfti Then he folded the paper carefully and stowed it into an inner pocket of his coat. I28 THE EYE WITNESS He wondered, as he made his way to the street, what was transpiring in the affairs of Hal Tyndall, but, could he have seen how his friend was, at that moment, occupied, he would not have smiled in the same half-indulgent manner at his thought. Tyndall had left the hotel and made his way to the side street in which he had parked his roadster be- fore going to the bank where he had encountered Gillian. He stepped into the car, let in the gears, and swung into the traffic, his mind busy with the words of Courtney Gillian and with a variety of grotesque, half-formulated plans, which contem- plated everything from an elopement with a willing girl, to an abduction—should she prove unwilling. Mechanically he obeyed the signals of the traffic policemen as he passed them, but no conscious thought guided his hands as they shifted gears for- ward and back in the press of the traffic, nor was he aware of the fact that he was driving. Once clear of the traffic of the streets of the city, and swinging into the open boulevards, he depressed his accelerator mechanically, and the roadster bounded ahead. He had no eyes for the beauty of the road down which he sped: the broad, tree-lined avenue, with its dwarfed palms lining the sidewalk, and long level sweeps of perfect paving. His AND FAILS I29 thoughts raced ahead to the proper manner in which to approach Ruth Wilshire. He felt somehow that if he could keep from the girl the knowledge of her father's probable guilt, the end, when it came, would not be so difficult. Tyndall made no effort to blind his reason to the fact that Ralph Wilshire was probably guilty. He knew Ralph Wilshire very well—better than he seemed to know him—and Hal Tyndall was not the son of his father without reason. And, though it may have appeared to his friends and acquaintances that Tyndall was ignorantly in- different of the reason for the enmity that had existed between Ralph Wilshire and the elder Tyn- dall; this seeming was far from the truth. No one knew better than Hal Tyndall himself—and, except Wilshire, it was probable that he alone possessed this knowledge—just exactly how criminally liable Wilshire had been on that occasion of the joint deal in which Tyndall's father had lost the larger part of his fortune, and from which Wilshire had emerged, not only with a whole skin, but with a full pocketbook. But what young Tyndall most dreaded was the girl’s position in the eyes of her friends and in the eyes of the city should it actually be proved that her 130 THE EYE WITNESS father was guilty of being an accomplice of the coun- terfeiters, and should the matter come to a public ar- rest of Ralph Wilshire. Ruth Wilshire would be left alone, with no one to turn to, and Hal Tyndall, despite his care-free and easy-going nature, realized the truth of Courtney Gillian's words: that after the catastrophe eventu- ated Ruth Wilshire would be an infinitely more dif- ficult conquest than under present conditions. She would feel, he knew, that his attentions and desires had in them more than a tinge of pity, and his jaws came together tightly at the thought. A feeling of resentment against Ralph Wilshire began to grow in him; more intense in scope than any he had ever felt against the man, even when he had personal reason for feeling it. It was not the average honest man's resentment against a criminal and criminal practise of whatsoever degree, but a resentment against the man personally; the man who could so endanger the position of his daughter by his own wilful actions. Tyndall did not, for a moment, consider Ralph Wilshire's own position, nor did he waste an in- stant's pity on the man himself. Had he encoun- tered Wilshire personally at that moment, it is very doubtful that he would have been able to keep his N AND FAILS 131 Thands off the man. He felt that he could cheer- fully do physical violence to the bank cashier; that this would, in a measure, relieve his feelings, and, the nearer he approached to the Wilshire house, the angrier he became. And before he turned into the tree-lined stretch of gravel drive that led to the broad white veranda of the house, his state of mind was such that he would have welcomed a physical encounter with the man. The sight of the girl who met him on the broad steps of the veranda sent a queer lump chokingly into his throat, and, as he caught both her hands, he held them tight and close to him in his sudden great earnestness. And Ruth Wilshire was an attractive picture as she smiled, somewhat frightenedly, at her lover. The slanting sunlight cast strange depths into her eyes, and lighted her hair with a thousand flashing dots of gold. The suggestion of fear in her eyes seemed to lend additional enchantment to the glance she bent on the bowed head of Tyndall, and it was with pretty re- luctance that she withdrew her hand from his. “Why—oh, why did you come?” She placed one hand on the sleeve of his coat, and Tyndall struggled with a sudden desire to blurt the whole truth. 132 THE EYE WITNESS Instead he laughed a bit unsteadily. “Because— oh, simply because I couldn't stay away, little lady. I wanted to hear from you yourself what he said.” It was not necessary for the man to tell the girl that he referred to her father. She led the way into the house and into the large library in which, that morning, Courtney Gillian had sat contemplating the bookcases and paneled walls, and the small, exquisitely finished Roman scenes that decorated the open spaces. There was a dim, soothing coolness—a suggestion of remoteness in the large room—that affected Tyn- dall strangely, and, as the girl once more dropped her hand on his arm, he seated himself on the broad davenport and drew her down beside him. “Ruth, dear,” he began slowly, “I-I can't bear this much—much longer.” The pathos in his voice moved the girl strangely. She drew closer to the man and touched his hair lightly with her fingers. “I’m sorry, Hal,” she murmured, “but—but what can we do, boy?” He nodded as though to himself. “Nothing— I'm afraid, dear—unless—unless you could, for just one tiny moment, little lady, really understand what my love for you means—really means.” AND FAILS I33 The girl's eyes clouded. “I–I think I do under- stand, Hal,” she whispered. The man turned his face to her for the first time during the low conversation, and the sincerity in his eyes came home sharply to the girl. “You can’t, Ruth;” he spoke very low as though afraid of the emotion in his voice. “You can't un- derstand and—and let me go on like this—you could not be so—so"—he cast about for a word that would not be too harsh—“so thoughtless;” he fin- ished lamely. The girl's clouded eyes avoided his, and her hands dropped into her lap where the slender fingers closed tightly. “What—what would you have me do, Hal?” “What would I have you do, little lady?” His own hand closed on the restless fingers in her lap, and his voice grew suddenly vibrant: “I would have you marry me, Ruth, dear—now—at once!” The girl bit her lip sharply to hold back the sob that rose so suddenly, but the restless fingers be- neath the man's larger hand grew suddenly still. “Will you—will you take me away, Hal?” The question was barely a whisper, and the boy's answer was to catch the girl suddenly tight in his arms and to hold her stiflingly close with a fierce pressure. I34 THE EYE WITNESS “Ruth—” he whispered into her hair. “Ruth, dear—you will? Now?” The girl raised her face from his coat and he could see the tears in her eyes as she nodded her head. “Now—Hal.” For an instant he bent his head to her lips; then she released herself gently, only to hold him tight in the next moment with all her strength. “Oh, be good to me, Hal; be good to me;” she sobbed suddenly. The wave of tenderness that passed over the man made his tense emotion of a moment before seem but trivial and hopeless. “I will, my dear—I will. Always and always.” The tax on the girl's strength had been too great. With a little hysterical laugh—half tears, half joy— she pulled away from him and ran to the door. “Give me ten minutes, Hal,” she called to him, “just ten minutes.” The door opened and closed. Tyndall sank back on the davenport and lighted a cigarette with fingers that trembled from the reaction. He held the lighted match dancing before the glowing tip of the cigarette, then The hand that held the cigarette descended slowly from his mouth; his eyes grew large with sudden AND FAILS I35 amazement, and his breath seemed held suspended as he stared. The muscles of his jaws tightened with sudden sharpness, while his eyes narrowed as he rose slowly to his feet to face, in the open door- way, the menacing figure of Ralph Wilshire. CHAPTER XI DOCTOR LESTER DEMONSTRATES 666" OING to give me that chess lesson this afternoon, young man?” Doctor Lester raised his eyes from the book he was reading in his consultation-room as Courtney Gillian entered. “You’ve not yet explained to me how to get out of that trap in the Ruy Lopez.” Gillian dropped into the chair the big man indi- cated. “Later on, perhaps, Doctor. You wouldn't have me give away all the tricks of my trade, would you?” The doctor humphed unintelligibly as he lighted a fresh cigarette from the stump of an old one, and his little clever eyes twinkled as they caught Gil- lian's glance. “You ain't exactly telling all you know, are you?” The doctor put the question with a chuckle, but it brought the young man up with a start. “Mind-reader?” Gillian tried to make the query sound jokingly. 136 DOCTOR LESTER DEMONSTRATES 137 “Umph. Don't take a mind-reader to know that a young chap of your evident brain isn’t wasting his time loafing from one end of the country to another for the purpose of playing amateur chess.” Gillian laughed. “But maybe I’m taking a vaca- tion from-well, what is it? Plumbing?” The doctor shrugged. “Haven’t thought about it. Want me to try to guess?” Gillian nodded his head. “Try it on,” he invited, “just what am I here for?” The doctor's heavy head rolled on his shoulders as he laughed aloud; his huge bellow seeming to fill the small office with the sound of reverberating thunder. “So you are here for something, eh?” Gillian bit his lip impatiently. His challenge had not been very happily phrased. “Admitted;” he an- swered, “and now what is it? I give you warn- ing, though, that I'm a fair stenographer, a toler- able telegrapher; I've shoveled coal on a tramp steamer all the way from Punta Arenas to Galves- ton, Texas, and I’ve been dignified by the title cook's helper on a Lamport and Holt liner from New York to Buenos Aires.” “And,” mused the doctor, “and you're almightily interested in money.” 138 THE EYE WITNESS Gillian deliberately chose to misunderstand. “Money? Of course. Isn't every one?” “Not me;” denied the big man. “It doesn't mean a thing in my young life.” Nor was the doctor's denial wide of the truth. His practise was largely among the very poor, but, even when his patients could afford to pay for his professional services it was rare indeed that he troubled to send bills. A small income—inher- ited—sufficed the man for his small needs, and he spent no effort to accumulate more than he needed. “Still, it's an interesting occupation—the making of money.” Gillian dropped the remark casually, watching shrewdly the effect of his words. The doctor heaved himself laboriously from the chair in which he was sitting and waddled across the small office to a bookcase. From the top of the case he took a volume bound in red cloth and, this in hand, he turned to Gillian. “Catch,” he admonished, tossing the book across the room. “Ought to interest you.” Gillian opened the volume and read the title, stamped in gold across the back: Counterfeiting and Counterfeiters. Then he raised his eyes to meet the doctor's shrew glance. “Touche!” he admitted. “Where'd you get the DOCTOR LESTER DEMONSTRATES 139 book?” He turned again to the volume. “I am a rather interested student of counterfeiting.” The doctor gestured with his cigarette. “Oh, dug it up out of my criminology shelf after our conver- sation. It's got a chapter on that Pillman chap you're so interested in.” “But I'm not specifically interested in Pillman,” denied Gillian. “No?” The doctor chuckled again heavily. “Excuse me; I thought you were. What did you say about that chess game—want to tackle a dub like me?” Gillian shook his head negatively. “Not now, thanks. I've got something else I think would in- terest you more.” He pulled out the sheet of typewriting and passed it over to the doctor. The big man had returned to his chair, and, taking the paper from the young man's hand, he spread it on the desk before him, leaning far over. “Humph;” he commented—“looks like some- body's been practising on a typewriter.” Gillian who, while the doctor's attention had been engaged with the paper, had turned to the waste- basket beside the desk had noted immediately that the paper thrown there that morning by Hal Tyn- I4O THE EYE WITNESS dall had disappeared. The basket was entirely empty, and, after one suspicious glance at the obliv- ious physician in the chair, Gillian decided that the basket had been emptied in the regular course of office cleaning at noon. “Code;” he explained tersely, in answer to the doctor's remark. “Ever see any of it?” The doctor turned to the speaker, holding the paper in his hand. “Don’t believe so,” he admit- ted—“at least not this particular one. Simple, though—or ought to be. Tried the regular formulas?” “Yes, and a few irregular ones of my own,” Gil- lian admitted. “Do you think you can make any- thing of it?” The big man eyed the typed lines again. “What's the time limit?” he asked, plainly skeptical of Gil- lian's sincerity. “Oh, it's genuine enough.” Gillian hastened to disabuse the mind of the big man of his misappre- hension. “I haven't an idea what it actually is. There's no trick to it.” “No?” The doctor seemed more interested. “Complete message?” “Why, no—it's unfinished.” The big man passed the paper back. “Thought DOCTOR LESTER DEMONSTRATES 141 you didn't know what it was?” he boomed, and laughed at the expression on the younger man's face. Gillian waved aside the proffered paper. “Don’t jump too hastily, Lester. I happen to know that the message is unfinished, for I got hold of it while the man who was doing the writing stepped out of the room.” “Hm—” The doctor was still skeptical, but he eyed the paper. “Hotel Mason, eh?” “Hotel Mason?” Gillian was startled, for the paper was absolutely blank of address. “Stationery,” commented the big man briefly. “I’ve used it—written prescriptions when I hadn’t a pad there. You'll find the same kind in every room in the hotel to be used for scratch paper. Right?” Gillian admitted that the big man's guess was cor- rect. “And a Corona typewriter,” he added. “Oh, I know that.” The doctor's assurance was blandly careless, but his eyes narrowed as he gazed at the message. “Give me an hour on it?” he queried. “An hour ! Good lord, man!” There was no 3 * doubt that Gillian was staggered. “If you The doctor looked his surprise. “Too long? It looks simple enough to me.” I42 THE EYE WITNESS “Looks simple!” Courtney Gillian repeated, >> staring at the big man. “Seriously, Lester “All right, then,” rumbled the doctor, “say thirty minutes.” He turned to his desk and picked up a pencil. “Hm,” he muttured, “kid stuff—kindergarten poppycock—or nearly.” Gillian rose and crossed to the big man at the desk. “You know codes pretty well, Doctor?” The doctor shrugged his shoulders. . “Alphabet codes—yes. There's nothing to 'em. Used to in- vent 'em when I was a kid.” He tapped the pencil against the desk a moment, then dropped it and fished mechanically in his pocket for a cigarette. This he lighted, still staring thoughtfully and absorbedly at the paper. “Too many double letters;” he decided aloud, “and some triples. That settles it.” “What?” The doctor looked up. “Well, look—” he di- rected pointing out the letters in the first row of typing. “See the frequently doubled letters? and see there at the end—three m's in a row—and, by golly, there are the same three mº's in the fourth line again.” DOCTOR LESTER DEMONSTRATES 143 Gillian nodded eagerly. “What do you get from that?” The doctor grunted, and his pencil began to work on the paper. He marked out the second of each of the double letters as they occurred. “Doubled the letters at the end of each word,” he grumbled heav- ily. The three m's give it away. There ain’t three anything in a word. What's the answer? Word ended in a double letter and the third was slapped on for camouflage and to serve as the ending; just like the second letter in the other words. Not a bad idea, but fundamental.” A moment's work sufficed to follow out the big man's plan, and where the message had read: UIJTTJTTUIFFMBTUUxPSEEJJTIBMMM xsjurFUPPzPVVAJJBNNUISPVHIIx JUII UIFFCVTJoFTTTAJGGJJIFBSSGSPNN ZPVVBHBJOOJJTIBMMMOPUUIFTJUBUFF UPPBEWJTFFDFSUBJOOBVUIPSJUJFTT it now was: UIJT JT UIF MBTU XPSE J TIBMM XSJUF UP zPV AJ BN UISPVHI XJUI UIF CVTJOFTT AJG J IFBS GSPN ZPV BHBJo J TIBMM GPU IFTJUBUF UP BEWJTF DFSUBJO BVUIPSJUJFT- “Hm;” the doctor thought aloud, “that j all by itself looks suspicious. Let's see; how many are I44 THE EYE WITNESS there?” He counted the single letters: “Three of 'em, eh?” He frowned a minute. “And only two a's in the whole business. All right then; what are we going arbitrarily to call that j?” Gillian looked up. “An e?” he questioned, re- calling the oft-recurring letter. “’Course not;” the doctor grunted. “Ever see an e standing all by his lonesome? Of course you haven't. Make it an i–that's a word by itself. Now to hunt up the rest of the j’s.” It did not take long to write the letter i in pencil over each j in the code. “By George; I believe you're right!” Gillian was leaning forward exceedingly interested, but the doc- torpuffed imperturbably on his cigarette. “Of course I’m right. This is kindergarten stuff, 55 like I said in the first place. Let's see He smoked silently a moment, then drew a circle about the second series of isolated letters—the jt, after having written the letter i carefully over the j. “A two-letter word,” he thought aloud, “begin- ning with i-what?” “It;” suggested Gillian quickly, “i-t—it.” The doctor shook his head. “Go slow;” he ad- vised; that's a t next to it in the code, so it isn't 146 THE EYE WITNESS . puzzled fashion. “Not yet,” he admitted ruefully, “can you?” “Plain as a microbe under the 'scope.” The doc- tor drew out a fresh sheet of paper and printed the alphabet in large, straggling capitals. But in the middle he paused with a grunt of surprise. “No; that's not it—exactly.” Then he laughed again. “Of course not—here you are.” He began to scrawl the alphabet again under his original print- ing, but backward, beginning with the letter b under the letter a. “See it now,” he laughed. “Fooled me for a sec- ond until I remembered those two lonesome a 's. The a is the 2 and is used to end a sentence instead of a period. Not a bad idea—not bad at all.” He nodded his heavy head. “Sounds like a nursery rhyme: a equals b, b equals c, c equals d, d equals e —and on down the line.” Gillian was amazed. He had listened to the doc- tor's remarks on thinking and on the capabilities of the human brain much in the manner that a careless student of anatomy listens to the lectures of a pro- fessor. But here was a concrete example of sheer, applied thought; aided only by a natural aptitude for puzzles. “Now let's see what the answer is.” And, almost DOCTORLESTER DEMONSTRATES 147 as fast as he could write the doctor printed out the message: This is the last word I shall write to you. I am through with the business. If I hear from jou again I shall not hesitate to advise certain authorities He passed the paper to Gillian. “Twenty-two minutes;” he commented; “that ain't bad for an amateur-now is it?” * The telephone cut into |whatever answer Gillian had intended to make, and the doctor lumbered into the reception-room to answer: “Huh? Yeh. That you, Hal? Yeh-he's here —we've been exercising our ingenuity. Want him? Say, what's the matter with you? Where'd you get it?” He chuckled and turned to the door. “Hal's blowing up to tell you something,” he ad- vised Gillian. “Sounds like he's full of something alcoholic.” Gillian took the instrument. “You’re at the hotel? Why—yes—if it's important. All right, I'll come immediately.” He hung up the receiver and turned to the doctor. “Excuse me for chasing, Lester, but Hal wants me I48 THE EYE WITNESS at the hotel. I’ll see you to-morrow; I've got a din- ner engagement to-night, but I'd like to talk over something really important with you in the morning, if you don't mind?” “Not at all;” the doctor waved a huge hand. “Glad to help-and-thanks for the puzzle.” Gillian hurried across the few blocks that sepa- rated the building in which the doctor had his of fices from the Hotel Mason, and, as he stepped into the hotel lobby he was met by the smiling face of the unspeakably black Hero Landers: “’Scusin' the interruption, Mist' Gil-yun; Mist' Tyndall's in yo’ room, suh;” he advised with a sa- lute. “’E's pow'ful unpatient, suh.” Gillian nodded and hurried to the elevators, won- dering what had gone wrong with his friend's plans, and fearful that, through some carelessness on the part of Tyndall, some of the facts that Hal Tyndall knew might have leaked out. Before Gillian reached the door of his room he was mentally kick- ing himself for his soft-heartedness in confiding in his friend, but when he saw Tyndall's face, as he opened the door of his room, all thought of censure vanished. “What's wrong, Hal?” “Everything!” Tyndall shot the word out hope- DOCTOR LESTER DEMONSTRATES 149 * lessly. “Everything's wrong, but one of these days I’m going everlastingly to kill that infernal cad—” “Hold on a minute, old man,” urged Gillian. “Sit down. That's it. Now light a cigarette. So. Well—now tell me.” And Hal Tyndall told him: told of his plans with Ruth Wilshire; of his visit to the house and of the girl's willingness to elope with him; of his own happiness and “—And then, while I was waiting, in he walked; damn him.” “Well?” “It was anything but well,” continued Tyndall breathlessly. “He jumped on me with more damned insults than I’ve ever had to put up with in my whole life. A thief was the least thing he called me.” “A thief?” Gillian was puzzled. “Yes—damn him. Said I was seen in the bank this morning, and I asked him what that was to him. He said I’d sneaked into his office and stolen a let- ter from his desk. Why, the dirty crook! If he wasn't Ruth's father, I'd have—” “And what did you say?” “Denied it, of course;” flamed Tyndall. “And then he called me a liar—among other things. I5O THE EYE WITNESS Swore I’d stolen his infernal letter and that the next time he saw me around his house anywhere he'd take a shot at me just as he would at any ordinary thief. Why, damn his crooked soul—for two cents I’d—” “Whoa, boy! Just hold on a minute, Hal. Did you come straight here afterward?” “After he kicked me out—yes.” “And you didn't see Ruth again?” “No-worse luck! Now I suppose it's all “No, it isn't. I stole that paper he was talking about. Took it off his desk this morning.” “You did! What in the name of all that's holy did you do that for?” Gillian smiled a little. “All in the game, Hal. It proved to be what I thought it was, that's all.” “That message in code you showed me at lunch P” “Yes.” “And it fixes things on Wilshire?” “Well—not exactly. You see the note wasn't ad- dressed to any one. And it wasn't finished—more's the pity. But I believe—what's up now?” He stopped at the expression that crossed Tyndall’s face. “I want to ask your pardon, Gill, for not having told you something,” began Tyndall suddenly. “I—I-I sort of thought I wouldn't until—well— DOCTOR LESTER DEMONSTRATES 151 you know how it is, old chap—I wanted to get Ruth out of the way first, and * > “Well, what is it?” Gillian did not try to hide his impatience. “That note you brought me—remember? From Ruth? With the typing on the back.” Gillian nodded. “Well, I saw Wilshire get it.” “You saw him get it? When?” “In the doctor's office. When Lester went out— remember? I was looking through the crack in the door and I saw Wilshire stoop and pick the pieces out of the waste-basket.” Gillian frowned thoughtfully. “So that's where it went, eh? Thanks, Hal. I’m glad you decided to tell me.” “It didn't hurt any, did it, Gill—I mean my not telling you.” Gillian shook his head. “No, not especially. I thought that the whole basket had been emptied and the note with it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn't have done anything about it anyway, even if you had told me immediately.” “Then you're not sore at me, Gill?” Tyndall was pitifully penitent. I52 THE EYE WITNESS “Of course not;” Gillian laughed. “I know how you felt about it, Hal.” “And I can still count on you to help me—with— with Ruth P” “You bet you can;” smiled Gillian, “and, between us, I believe we can beat Mr. Ralph Wilshire every way from the ace!” CHAPTER XII MOONLIGHT HILE dressing for his dinner engagement - with the Ulmsteads, Courtney Gillian kept up a running fire of conversation and comment with his friend Tyndall, doing all in his power to cheer up the gloomy young lawyer and make him forget the temporary miscarriage of his plans. He harked back to their college days, and finally Tyndall recovered his good spirits sufficiently to take up the tag end of the conversation. “Remember, Gill,” he grinned, “you were mighty positive that you were going to South America on your honeymoon.” He laughed a little. “Buenos Aires, wasn’t it?” Gillian grinned ruefully. “Yes—I'm afraid we made a lot of plans in those days, Hal, that aren't destined to be carried out.” “Why not?” demanded Tyndall. “I’ve often heard Vera say she would like to see the southern continent.” And the flush the remark drew from I53 I54 THE EYE WITNESS Gillian was evidence enough of the fact that he, too, had thought of the plans for a honeymoon since his college days. * “Tell you what,” continued Tyndall amiably, “We'll make it a party of four—what?” He laughed at the idea, but suddenly sobered. “I’ve got your promise, Gill, that you'll try to hold off on that old reprobate until I can get Ruth away.” Gillian nodded absently. “We’ll settle that to- morrow, Hal, after I receive the letter from Bir- mingham. I’ll give you my word I'll do everything I can, and there's no reason why your plans can't be carried out to-morrow as well as to-day—say, to- morrow night.” Tyndall's smile was not exactly pleasant. I’ll do it to-morrow, or 9, “Or nothing;” finished Gillian as he tied his tie with particular attention. “You can make your re- servations in the morning for the Seminole Limited. Then New York and the Lamport and Holt line to Buenos Aires. That's your best bet—and it means a month with nothing but wireless news—and very little of that after you pass Bahia.” The idea struck Tyndall's fancy. “A whole month—” he whispered; “a whole month. . . .” And once again there came into his eyes that light 156 THE EYE WITNESS “Have you told Lester what you're doing here?” “Not yet,” admitted Gillian, “although he's no doubt guessed a great deal, and I don't doubt but that his conclusions are pretty near the truth.” “Well, one thing,” nodded Tyndall as the two men turned down the hall to the elevator, “you can just bet he'll keep them to himself. There isn't an- other one like him. He's the only man I ever knew who does exactly the right thing at the right time, and says exactly the right thing or keeps silent.” The two men descended to the ground floor, passed through the lobby, into the street and stepped into Tyndall's roadster. They began their journey in silence, save for the soft purr of the motor. The car turned into Bay Street, expertly threaded the traffic, then swung over the broad viaduct and into the long stretch of Riverside Avenue. Tyndall turned to his friend: “Want me to say anything to Lester?” he queried. “I’d rather you didn't, Hal,” Gillian replied. “Not just yet. I’m a little bit afraid of that man,” he admitted grudgingly. “It was a bit startling to watch him wade into that code message I took him.” “Told you he was a wonder, didn't I?” Tyndall MOONLIGHT 157 boasted. “And you'd better not take him on at chess,” he warned. “I’ve seen him make mighty small mince-meat out of some good players—and a professional or two among them.” “Is he in the tournament?” questioned Gillian carelessly. Tyndall slowed the roadster deftly to one side of a slower moving car before he answered. “Nope. Never goes into anything like that. Says he hasn't time. That's the remarkable part of the man. He could excel at a dozen things, but passes 'em up. He's an exceptionally efficient surgeon, too, but won't operate. Says he's too busy with internal medicine to bother with a mechanical thing like op- eration. But I’ve seen him work.” Gillian remained silent. It was queer that this city, far in the South, should harbor such a genius for mental accomplishments. “What's the matter with the man,” he asked finally, “hasin't he any ambition?” “Ambition?” Tyndall slowed his car somewhat. “Oh, I suppose he has, although he doesn't talk about it. Ever read Artzibashef's Breaking Point?” he questioned suddenly. Gillian was puzzled for a moment, then remem- bered the Russian author. “Oh, I see. Yes, he 158 THE EYE WITNESS does remind one of Doctor Arnoldi,” he admitted. “Queer, it hadn't occurred to me before; the like- ness, I mean.” “Better watch out for distractions,” warned his friend. “The ladies play hob with a fellow's think box now and then, don’t they, Gill?” Gillian did not have time to answer, for the car slewed in toward the curb and brought up with complaining brakes before a house set far back on a high lawn. “Here's the castle of the princess;” Tyndall pushed the gear shift lever to neutral. “Lester is just a little way down the street. Want me to come back for you?” “No, thanks.” Gillian descended to the curb. “But I wish you'd drop up to the hotel fairly early in the morning.” “Sure thing.” The car began to move slowly for- ward, and Gillian called: “And don't forget to have your trunk packed;” he warned. He watched the car out of sight down the long street, then turned to climb the series of stone steps that led to the lawn. From there a cement walk stretched to the house that lay some fifty feet before him, and he stopped for a moment to admire the pic- ture of the white stucco front gleaming in the early MOONLIGHT I59 moonlight; the palm trees that surrounded it casting short deformed shadows on the heavy grass. The front door of the house stood invitingly open, and Gillian entered. A maid relieved him of his hat, and he glanced interestedly about him. On the previous evening the girl had been awaiting him on the lawn, and his eyes had been entirely for her. Directly before him a wide carpeted staircase led to an upper story of the house, and, even before the maid could announce his arrival a pleasant voice hailed him. “Coming right down, Mr. Gillian.” And Vera Ulmstead descended the staircase with the same air of reckless abandon that characterized her every mo- tion. She came forward to Gillian, both hands ex- tended. “I am glad that dad persuaded you to come.” “Persuaded is hardly the word,” he denied. “I didn’t need much urging, Miss Ulmstead.” She led the way into the living-room where the white-haired banker rose to greet his visitor. “Mighty glad to have you with us, Mr. Gillian;” he greeted, and Gillian felt that the welcome was sincere. The girl indicated a tapestried davenport and Gil- lian obediently leaned against a cushioned arm. I6o THE EYE WITNESS He found himself enjoying the small common- places that held the conversation for a time, and he flushed twice in embarrassment as he was caught by the girl gazing at her raptly. The dinner came and progressed satisfactorily. The Ulmstead home, like that of the Wilshires', was presided over by an invisible housekeeper, and, from a word here and there, Gillian gathered that the old banker had been widowed for several years. With the coffee the girl arose from the table and motioned Gillian to remain seated. “I hate coffee,” she explained, “and I daren't smoke cigarettes be- fore dad. So you two talk. I’ll give you fifteen minutes, and then I'll show you the most wonderful thing in all Florida—which means in the world: the St. John's River by moonlight.” Gillian had it on the tip of his tongue to deny that the St. John's, even by moonlight, ranked first among the beauties of the state, but the compliment would have been too obvious. The banker pushed forward a humidor of cigars and soon clouds of fragrant smoke rose to the in- verted electric lighting fixtures above the dining table. “Have you any news, Mr. Gillian?” Gillian puffed enjoyably a moment; then in a MOONLIGHT 16I sudden access of some untoward feeling, he turned his eyes on the white-haired man before him. “Mind calling me Courtney, Mr. Ulmstead,” he asked, “or just Gill?” The old man's eyes smiled his pleasure. “Not at all, son. I’m rather glad you like us so well.” “Thanks.” Gillian could not have told why he had made this request, but it seemed incongruous that this venerable old man should address him as “Mister.” “No,” he continued after a moment, “nothing particularly interesting, although I expect a letter to-morrow that should clear up a number of things.” Gillian wondered how Ulmstead would take the blow when it fell. What the personal relations be- tween Ulmstead and his cashier were he did not know, but the old man's passionate love for his bank and for its good name was a byword. “I expect to uncover some pretty rotten things,” he suggested. “And—well, it is even possible that the things I discover may be personally unpleasant.” “To me, son?” There was mild astonishment in the soft voice of the speaker. Gillian nodded. “I’m not sure, of course,” he hastened to assure Ulmstead, “but I have some fairly definite suspicions.” I62 THE EYE WITNESS John Ulmstead tapped the ashes of his cigar on a tray. “One thing I wish you would remember, Courtney,” he advised slowly, “not only now but all through your life—and that is—there may always be extenuating circumstances; even for the greatest of evils. Remember that, will you?” Gillian did not smile at this expression of altru- istic philosophy. He knew that the man before him felt what he spoke; that he would always be the last to see evil; the first to forgive and the last to CenSure. “I know—I know you are right,” Gillian an- swered slowly, “but sometimes—” He left the sen- tence unfinished. “Now there's Wilshire—” commented the banker thoughtfully, eying the smoke from his cigar, “Yes, there's Wilshire.” He did not notice the startled look that was quickly veiled in Gillian's eyes. “You’ve no doubt heard some pretty hard things against the old man,” continued Ulmstead slowly. “Some pretty nasty things. The case of Wilshire and Tyndall's father, for example, haven't you?” Gillian inclined his head. He did not feel that he cared to make any comments. “There are some things in that matter that MOONLIGHT 163 troubled me considerably,” admitted the old man. “Very much, indeed. Wilshire was undoubtedly culpable—undoubtedly.” He stopped a moment. “And yet, see how thoroughly a little kindness, a little human consideration and thoughtfulness have helped. Wilshire for twenty years has been an ex- emplary man—and official. What would have been gained by uncovering his careless blame in the Tyn- dall matter and bringing it home to him as criminal negligence?” Gillian was listening interestedly. It had never before been his good fortune to meet that type of individual represented by John Ulmstead. “When the thing happened, Wilshire was a much younger man than he is now—less seasoned in judg- ment; less settled—more—you will not misunder- stand me, Courtney—more grasping. Perhaps he was guilty even of sharp practise, but who of us aren't at some time in our lives? Not that I con- done his actions; don't misunderstand, but I per- suaded Tyndall—Tyndall senior—at the time to see it my way. Criminal action against Wilshire might have been possible, although I am convinced that he was never wilfully criminal. He was merely guilty of a desire to force his way to the top, and his desire overmastered even his old friendship for I64 THE EYE WITNESS Tyndall. Criminal action would have ruined Wil- shire and benefited no one. And there was Ruth to be considered, also. She was an infant then, and ” The voice broke off as the old man thought of those days of twenty years before. “And now,” Gillian began to speak slowly, “now the virus of money-getting is in his blood and he can not let up. Isn't that so?” “Ah, you've noticed that, have you?” The old man seemed pleased at this evidence of Gillian's perspicuity. “I’m afraid that you are right—very much afraid. Wilshire spends his days and nights in the one thought of making money. Well 35 he waved his cigar to indicate that it was, after all, rather hopeless to discuss the matter, and Courtney Gillian smiled at the man and his simple, honest philosophy of life. When the two men passed again into the living- room, the old banker's hand rested on Gillian's shoulder, and they were chatting of the coming chess tournament. The girl rose to greet them; and a quick look of pleasure came into her eyes as she noted this marked friendship between her father and Gillian. “You’re five minutes late,” she chided, “but I guess he kept you talking chess, didn't he, dad?” MOONLIGHT 165 “I’m rather afraid I kept him, little girl. But now chase—and let Courtney see our own private bend in the St. John's River.” The broad lawn behind the house held a moonlit promise as the young couple strolled slowly toward the river's bank, and, in the silence, a sudden clamor arose from a school of frogs in the bushes near the river. The girl took the man’s arm. “I love to hear them,” she said softly. “There's something about it—oh, I can’t tell. It’s just Florida, that's all. But of course, you're such a very blasé, traveled 39 young man that “Who’s been telling tales?” demanded Gillian. “No one;” denied the girl. “But you've been 2x everywhere—everywhere I want to go and “Everywhere?” “Well—you've been to South America; you've seen Buenos Aires and Valparaiso—and to 3. France y “By jove! Now I've got it!” Gillian stopped suddenly in his tracks and faced the girl. “You were on the pier in Charleston, weren't you—nearly two years ago—when the detachment of aviators sailed for France. I know you were!” The girl was smiling her amazement. “Why— I66 THE EYE WITNESS why—I don't know. But I was there very fre- quently when the troop-ships were leaving.” “I knew I’d seen you;” Gillian continued fatu- ously. “You were wearing a blue sweater and a blue knitted tam-o'-shanter, and you were waving your gloves well, by jove!” “Isn't it queer? And did you really remember me?” “Remember you? Lord, girl; you were the last person I saw before I went below and I swore a big oath that I’d come back one of these days and find out who you were.” “And you forgot it.” He laughed. “No, I didn't, either. But could I go about the staid old city of Charleston making in- quiries for a wonderful little girl in a blue sweater and tam-o'-shanter?” They laughed together at the picture. Then the girl continued: “You’ve been to places,” she said, “that the very sound of just makes me want to fly to.” “And why not?” “Fly there?” “Well—by steamer, anyway.” The girl shook her head. “Some day, maybe,” 93 she smiled. “Some day when MOONLIGHT 167 “When what—lady?” She looked at him sidewise without turning her head, but he was gazing straight ahead to where the broad, swift-flowing river cut a path of silver through the night. - “Oh, just when—” she laughed. “That's all. Tell me, Mr. Gillian, have you seen Hal to-day?” “Most all day,” he assured her, “and your friend the wonderful doctor also.” “Isn't he—just!” she demanded. “But tell me about Hal—was he very much—cut up? Ruth called me and said that her father had been posi- tively awful. Poor child!” They found seats on a bench beneath a low branch of a weeping willow near the water's edge, and for a moment only the suddenly reawakened croaking of the frogs broke the stillness. Then Gillian turned to the girl. “I wonder, lady, if you can keep a secret?” “Oh yes—please.” The girl dropped a hand on his arm. “Please try me.” And, to many exclamations of astonishment and pleasure, Gillian narrated a suddenly conceived plan for Hal Tyndall and Ruth Wilshire. “And they’re going to do it to-morrow night! I68 THE EYE WITNESS Wonderful!” The girl's eyes were bright. “But— why wait until night?” Gillian shrugged. “Mustn't everybody elope at night?” “I don't know; you see I—I never have.” Gillian smiled; then added more seriously: “Be- cause that will be the best chance for them. Now remember, Ruth is to say that she is coming to see you. I will bring her here, and then—” “Then?” “That's all, I guess,” he finished. “They will leave for New York on the Seminole Limited and from there for South America for their honey- moon.” There was something wistfully envious in the girl's voice as she replied. “So Ruth is to go to South America—” A sigh finished her sentence. “What is it, lady?” Gillian bent over the girl. She looked up at him smilingly. “Just foolish things;” she answered. “When we were little Ruth and I would pore over the maps in our geography and then we decided—promise you won't laugh?— we decided that we would go to Buenos Aires on our honeymoons, and now Ruth is going and— You promised not to laugh!” Gillian leaned back against the bench. “Not over MOONLIGHT 169 the idea, lady; honestly I wasn't laughing at that. But it is so queer that—that it's almost silly.” “What is?” “Oh,” Gillian grinned, embarrassed in turn, “ at college both Hal and I had planned exactly the same thing for our honeymoons.” He was silent a mo- ment. “But I went—alone.” The girl studied his face a moment in the moon- light. “I know,” she said innocently, “but maybe > y sometime you will go again and A sudden cloud obscured the moon, and Gillian turned his face to her. “And what—little lady?” “And maybe-” the girl rose to her feet, “and maybe you'll have company.” CHAPTER XIII ZANOTHER PLAN T was late when Courtney Gillian regretfully left the homey atmosphere of the Ulmstead home in Riverside, and, scorning such prosaic necessities as street-cars, strode up Riverside Avenue, breathing deeply the keen aromatic fragrance of the Florida night; his thoughts lingering over the picture of Vera Ulmstead as she had stood before him on the river bank, the moonlight lending her face a fairy radiance and spreading about her all the subtle, in- triguing glamour of the tropic night. “Now I wonder if she meant speculating aloud, and laughed suddenly at his own ” Gillian was fancy. He nodded to a somnolent policeman sta- tioned at the now silent corner of Bay and State Streets where usually the city's traffic swirled and eddied, and resolutely turned his mind from the girl. He made his way thoughtfully to his hotel, through the deserted lobby and to his room. As he looked at his reflection in the glass, his 17o ANOTHER PLAN 171 thoughts again veered to Vera Ulmstead and he smiled foolishly. Then the memory of Wilshire ob- truded itself, and his mind became occupied with all the puzzling angles of his search. Thoughtfully serious again he once more examined the unfinished message that the bank cashier had written in code. , Was the message intended for Pillman, he won- dered. Or was it possible, after all, that he was go- ing astray? Perhaps it was on some private affair of the bank cashier; some affair that was kept secret even from his nearest associates. The memory of the missing bank messenger and the thought of the counterfeit money in his pocket restrained his further speculation in that direction. And Ruth Wilshire had told him, in all innocence, that she had secured the money at the bank—the five-dollar note which he had exchanged from her. Was it possible that she had meant that she had re- ceived the money from her father? Gillian dis- missed the idea. No matter how much he had come personally to dislike Ralph Wilshire the man would not, he was certain, subject his own daughter to the risk of handling counterfeit. How had it come into her possession then from the bank? In the usual manner—from a paying teller? He puzzled over the idea. It would be ingenious 172 THE EYE WITNESS ......to have a bank pay to its clients counterfeit money. That suggestion pointed to more and more complications. If his guess was correct—then were the tellers entirely innocent in the matter? And how could Wilshire be managing it? And how did he get his money—the counterfeit? When he darkened the lights in his room he was still puzzling thoughtfully, wondering whether an accusation brought suddenly and publicly against Wilshire would not clear the atmosphere. But in a public accusation that the St. John's National was responsible for the circulation of counterfeit reserve notes there was also the reputation of the bank itself to consider—and John Ulmstead. Gillian decided against the idea. The chances of failure were ob- viously too great, for there was, as yet, nothing tan- gible against the bank cashier—nothing that a shrewd mind could not explain away. Before he fell asleep Courtney Gillian's thoughts had again completed the circle, and there was a smile on his lips—a smile hidden by the darkness of the room—as finally his regular breathing betokened slumber. And if the slumber was dreamless it was the more refreshing, for he awoke in the morning definitely . determined on a course of action. First of all he ANOTHER PLAN I73 would make another attempt to ascertain whether the tellers of the St. John's National Bank were ac- tually giving counterfeit to the bank’s customers. He realized the difficulty to be encountered here. If they were—and if they were doing it wittingly— it was certain that the bills were given only to old well-established customers of the bank—men whose standing in the community was such as not to be carelessly questioned should discovery ever eventuate. The more he thought of the idea—granting the premise of the criminal collaboration of one or more of the bank’s tellers—the more he realized its almost masterly ingenuity. The money came from the bank—from a bank whose reputation was of the highest—and if ever the discovery was made that it was counterfeit that the bank was issuing, who was there to say that the bank was cognizant of the fact that it was issuing bad notes? And how trace them any further? At breakfast in the hotel Gillian turned carelessly to the morning paper. He smiled somewhat as he saw the space that was given to the coming chess tournament and his smile deepened at the prominence that was given his own name among the COnteStants. w 174 THE EYE WITNESS He drank his coffee slowly, and, as he glanced up from the paper casually to survey the room his glance encountered a pair of large, white eyeballs, set in polished ebony: the features of Hero Landers, and that worthy's mouth broke into a truly African grin as he caught sight of Gillian. The colored boy threaded his way between the tables and deposited a letter by Gillian's plate. “’Scusin' the interruption, Mist' Gil-yun; dis here e-pistle done arrive here by special d'livery, suh, an' I took the lib’ty of intrudin' on yo' breakfast.” With the expected tip clutched tightly in one large hand, Hero made his exit from the dining-room, leaving Gillian to finish his coffee. This he did, slipping the letter into his pocket after a glance at the postmark to assure himself that it was the ex- pected letter from Birmingham. Then he made his way to his room, stopping a moment to chat casually with the clerk in the lobby. Once the door of the room closed behind him, how- ever, he brought the letter out eagerly and opened it. Inside was another envelope, addressed in a scrawling hand: “Mr. Ben Staggard—No. 1209 Laura Street—Jacksonville, Florida,” and a note from Gillian's colleague in Birmingham. The second envelope gave evidence of having ANOTHER PLAN I75 been carefully steamed open, and Gillian's eager fingers withdrew the single folded sheet of paper it contained. He unfolded the paper quickly to read: Mr. Ben Staggard, Jacksonville, Florida. Dear Sir: The discount which our friend desires on the Drainage Bonds is too great, in my opinion. I have just had a very unsatisfactory letter from him re- garding these bonds, and you can tell him for me that his proposition can not be considered for a Innonment. Neither do I like the way he is treating us in this matter, and you can advise him to this effect. He now has in his possession fifteen thousand dollars' worth of these bonds. Please tell him that these are to be exchanged for us on the old schedule, and that I shall send him more at the same rate. But we will positively not listen to his suggestions concerning a raise in the rate of discount—and our first agreement must be carried out to the letter. The signature was, plainly, added merely for com- pleteness. “John Smith,” and Gillian puzzled a mo- ment over the sheet. In tone the letter seemed in- nocuous enough, merely breathing a dislike of some investor toward a man who was engaged—evidently as the investor's agent—in the matter of exchanging or disposing of some bonds of a rather questionable issue. 176 THE EYE WITNESS But slowly Gillian began to see more in the letter. There was without doubt a menace hidden in the words, and, reading “counterfeit bills” for “bonds” and “discount” for the unnamed friend’s “share” of an exchange made out a different case against the writer. He turned the paper over, and his eyes lighted suddenly. On the reverse side of the paper, typed across the page he read: XBUDIIXJMTIJSFFIFFJTTzFMMPXXA UFMFHSBQIIBDLOPXMFEHNFOUU º PGGUIJTTA ZA very few minutes sufficed to apply the doctor's version of the code to the message, and Gillian's staring eyes read: WATCH WILSHIRE HE IS YELLOW. TELEGRAPH ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THIS. His first thought was of Tyndall, for here was evidence that would, undoubtedly, go a long way toward convicting Wilshire of some definite con- nection with the counterfeiter Pillman, and the evi- dent go-between Ben Staggard. He glanced at his watch and noted that it was not yet nine. Scribbling a note for Tyndall, he de- ANOTHER PLAN 177 scended to the lobby and handed it to the omnipres- ent darky. “Give this to Mr. Tyndall when you see him,” he directed, “and ask him to wait until I return.” “Yassuh—I heahs you!” Hero saluted snappily and pocketed both note and the coin that accom- panied it. “Mistuh Hal Tyndall—yassuh ! I is well acquainted with the gentleman.” Tyndall took a taxi from the stand at the hotel entrance. “Fifteen twenty-five Laura Street,” he directed, and was whirled away. When he alighted from the cab and paid the driver, Gillian stood a moment on the corner somewhat more than a block north of the house to which the letter he had received was addressed, and, when the taxi had gone, he walked slowly and with apparent aimlessness down the street. As he neared number 1209 he saw the front door open and Ben Staggard descend the steps to the walk. Gillian crossed the street to where the broad ex- panse of Springfield Park stretched beyond the sluggish little creek that twists its odorous way be- tween the weeping willows, and displayed great in- terest in the greenish water. His movements, how- ever, did not go entirely unnoticed, for Staggard 178 THE EYE WITNESS threw a sharp, suspicious glance at the man before he turned down First Street, bound, patently, for the street-car line a block distant. Gillian found a bench in the park and dropped into it. He waited a full, impatient half-hour, but there was no sign of Staggard’s returning. Then the young man turned down First Street. Midway in the block he paused before an alley- way that seemed to run straight through the square. A casual glance about assured him that he was un- observed, and he ducked hurriedly into the alley. Arrived at the back of the house that he knew was number 1209, he vaulted the low fence and entered the back yard boldly. But in a moment his recon- noitering was brought to a sudden end by the shrill ringing of the door-bell of the house be- fore him. In a moment he was back in the alleyway, and, in another minute, again in the street. He passed once more in front of the house, but saw no one. Whoever had been at the door had either been admitted or had taken his departure. A shadow moving across a lower window told him that the house was not unoccupied, although he had, before, seen no signs of life about the place since Staggard’s leaving. Reluctantly, Gillian turned away. ANOTHER PLAN 179 He had had no definite idea of entering Stag- gard's house, yet the fact that he now definitely knew that the man was intimately associated with the counterfeiter Pillman, and, having seen the man leave, caused the idea to take hold of him. He began to walk faster, turning over in his mind the possibility of making an entrance into the house that night. It would be necessary, he remembered, to telephone Ruth Wilshire so that she would not expect him to come for her as he had planned, and as Vera Ulmstead had promised him the night before she would advise Ruth. But this could be arranged: Vera herself could call for Ruth. Gillian did not want to fail his friend Tyndall; but neither did he want to pass any opportunity that promised some definite results in his search. Entering the house would be a risky undertaking. He admitted that instantly, but a search of the house—provided he could make it—might lead to important revelations and discoveries. In the case of a chance encounter with Staggard while he was in the house, Gillian realized that—if Staggard was what he believed him to be—there was small danger that the man would call the police. If, on the other hand, Staggard even remotely suspected Gillian of his actual connections, there was little CHAPTER XIV NUMBER 1209 EVEN o'clock that evening, however, found a harassed young man pacing the lobby of the Hotel Mason, and receiving for the fortieth time the assurance of the colored Hero: “Yassuh; he done tol’ me def’nit. Said he'd be here at seben-fifteen sharply to de minute. Yas- suh, Mist' Tyndall. Dat's a fac'!” But if Hal Tyndall could, at that moment, have seen his friend, the anxiety that he now felt would have been many times multiplied, for Courtney Gil- lian was standing in the black darkness close against the side of a house on Laura Street numbered 1209. The deep shadow of the house hid him completely from the sputtering glare of an arc light on the corner. One hand was feeling tentatively the weight of a closed window which resisted his ef- forts. For a moment the hand vanished, to reappear with a small steel instrument. A little push and a sharp cracking sound resulted from the leverage I81 NUMBER 1209 183 exactly unaccustomed to such a situation, Gillian smiled in the darkness to find himself at the ma- rauder's end of the adventure, whereas before he had invariably represented the law. Near his left hand a dark aperture—darker than the gloomy hall—bespoke a room, and into this he moved noiselessly. A small pocket electric light lamp played for a moment from his hand, outlining in its circle of light, various bits of furniture— enough to tell him that the room in which he stood was a library. Dust lay heavy on the furniture— the table and bookcases. Plainly the room was one infrequently used by the occupant of the house. He turned slowly, careful that his light should not shine through the open door, and once again made his way into the hall. Here he extinguished the light, his left hand trailing against the wall at his side until it encountered another door, midway down the hall. Once again the narrow beam of light played about a room and stopped, finally, on a small black safe set into the wall, reflecting little brilliant gleams from the nickeled surface of the combination knob and dial. “Don’t turn it out, buddy!” warned a voice be- hind him suddenly but softly. “I’m in the door- 184 THE EYE WITNESS way right behind you, and—if you make a break I'll xx Gillian's thumb jerked from the button of his elec- tric lamp as he leaped sharply to one side to avoid the expected bullet. Instead a heavy hand de- scended on his arm and a quick jerk dropped him prone upon the floor. He lay utterly still while swift hands went over his clothes; then the owner of the hands, satisfied that Gillian was weaponless, stepped quickly into the darkness. In a moment electric light streamed from the chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, and Gillian struggled to his feet, rubbing his aching arm. The man near the light button at the side of the door that led into the hall peered sharply as Gillian turned about to gaze into the steady barrel of a re- volver: a heavy thirty-eight. “Howdy.” A nasty grin lighted the face of Ben Staggard as he eyed his captive. Gillian inclined his head in greeting and continued to rub his arm. Then his eyes moved about the lighted room, seeking a means of exit. “Don’t try it,” warned the man with the gun. “The windows are locked behind those shades and the door's the only way out. I'd have you a dozen times before you took a step. Where's your gun?” NUMBER 1209 185 “Haven't any.” Gillian's tone was surly. If his theory regarding Staggard’s connection with the counterfeiter Pillman and the suspected bank cash- ier was correct, then he had little to fear from the man before him. The gravest danger was past: the danger that Staggard would shoot. Had he in- tended to do this he could have done it best as he had spoken from the doorway in the darkness. “Turn around—back up to me—with hands up!” Gillian obeyed slowly, and he again felt the hands searching his clothing—more carefully. this time. For an instant he contemplated a sudden struggle and tensed his muscles for the effort, but a warning jab reminded him that the muzzle of the revolver was pressed against the small of his back. “Now sit down.” The man with the gun indi- cated a chair, into which Gillian dropped heavily. “What's the lay, buddy?” queried Staggard, draw- ing a chair opposite his captive. “Come clean.” Gillian turned his eyes to the safe and jerked his head. “That.” Staggard chuckled. “Thought so,” he grunted. “Saw you snooping around this morning,” he vol- unteered gratuitously. “Next time, buddy,” he grinned, “I advise you to-" he broke off suddenly. * I86 THE EYE WITNESS “Where's your kit?” Sudden suspicion rose in his eyes. “Don’t move your hands,” he warned sharply. “Got soup on you?” Gillian shook his head. “No-don’t carry it. Don’t have to.” There was a tinge of something new—it might have been respect, in Staggard’s next remark: “Touch P” Gillian nodded and again cast a glance at the " small safe in the wall. The man, still fingering the heavy revolver, rose to his feet. He waved the muzzle of the weapon to indicate the safe. “Let’s see you work.” There was an ominous threat in the words. Gillian's eyes met his sharp gaze. “You—mean —” He was sparring aimlessly. “I mean, Mister Jimmy Valentine,” replied Stag- gard sharply, “that I want to see just how good you are. There's the safe. You came to get into it—let's see you make good.” Gillian rose slowly to his feet and turned to the safe. In a moment he was on his knees beside it, his fingers toying with the nickeled dial of the com- bination. Mentally he was jubilant; jubilant at the opportunity of meeting Staggard on what he be- lieved was Staggard’s own level, and because the NUMBER 1209 187 safe before which he kneeled was of sufficiently ancient vintage, and not of a more modern type that might puzzle even his sensitive fingers and keen ear. Gillian blessed the wisdom of the chief who had included—in the young man's curriculum—the ex- haustive studies of safe and vault construction. In that queer laboratory in Paris he had more than once pitted his sense of touch and hearing against the solid impassable steel of barring doors. He pressed his ear against the cold surface of the door and moved the dial slightly. For perhaps five minutes there was no sound in the room. Then to the ears of the man kneeling before the safe came the soft unmistakable click of a tumbler dropping into place. Another five minutes and he swung open the small steel door. “Get back into that chair. There was less harshness now in the voice of Staggard as he strode to the safe, closed it, and again turned the combina- tion knobs. Then he returned to face Gillian. “What's your monniker, buddy?” he demanded. “Gillian—Courtney Gillian.” “New York P” “No. Philly.” “On your own?” “Lone—yes.” I88 THE EYE WITNESS __- Staggard was chuckling. “Wise to the bulls, are you?” It seemed that he, too, knew the detective by sight. “Some of them,” agreed Gillian, pressing the but- ton to signal the elevator. It was no part of Courtney Gillian's plan to leave the hotel with Staggard, but the risk of the man's escaping in the hotel lobby was too great to chance by a sudden, physical encounter. The elevator carried them to Gillian's floor, and in a moment they were in the young man's room. “Well,” grunted the man with the gun, “you needn't worry much about that guy down there— he ain't got the brains of a rabbit.” Thus Mr. Stag- gard dismissed the abilities of Detective Harry V. Jackson. Gillian pressed a button for the bell-boy, carefully watched by Staggard. The boy who answered the bell received brief or- ders: “Tell Hero to get my bill and bring it up;” directed Gillian. Inwardly he was praying that Staggard would not notice the name of the negro bell-hop, nor did he seem to do so. While he packed a suit-case under the eyes of Staggard, Gillian was thinking rapidly. When he asked for Hero he had a definite reason for doing NUMBER 1209 191 so, and now his thoughts leaped ahead on the plan he would pursue to outwit the man before him. Staggard, however, although seemingly negligent did not fail to watch Gillian sharply. Under like circumstances Mr. Staggard did not fail to realize that it was very likely that—were he in Gillian's shoes—he would suddenly produce a gun from some hidden corner and turn the tables. Thus Mr. Staggard, measuring by the yardstick of his own understanding, looked for violence rather than sub- terfuge or subtlety. A knock on the door interrupted the packing, and Staggard called “Come in.” In response to the order a large-eyed, large- mouthed and very black negro entered. “’Scusin' the interruption Mist' Gil-yun-heah's yo’ bill, an’ Mist' Tyndall been pow'fly anxious to see you, suh.” “All right; wait a minute.” Gillian crossed to the writing desk and drew out a check-book while Hero eyed Staggard suspiciously. Gillian scribbled rapidly a moment, then folded the check which he handed with the bill to the negro. “Give this to Mr. Tyndall,” he directed, “and tell him I’m sorry, but I must leave at once.” “Immejit; yassuh;” Hero backed from the room 192 THE EYE WITNESS and Gillian turned to Staggard. “He means the clerk,” he explained, “had a date to do the town with him.” “Shovin' a few checks, too?” queried Staggard, referring to the check Gillian had given the bell-boy. “I kept shut for I thought that was your game— pretty dangerous, if you're going to hang around, ain’t it?” - - Gillian was startled for a moment, but almost im- mediately caught the drift of the man's remarks and mentally thanked his stars that Staggard had formed his own conclusion. “Oh, no,” he denied, “I’ve got an account at a bank here. Always have one.” Staggard nodded, apparently indifferent to the matter, and lighted a cigarette. Almost immedi- ately, however, he dropped his hand back into his coat pocket. Had he been able to follow, mentally, the foot- steps of Hero Landers, however, and the workings of that colored gentleman's mind, he would not have watched Gillian so casually as he began to strap up his suit-case. “Gi' this to Mist' Tyndall, huh...” Hero specu- lated half aloud as he stepped into the empty eleva- tor. “Make speed,” he advised the elevator boy, NUMBER 1209 195 back; dragging the hand from his pocket. A re- volver clattered to the tiled floor, and Hero—gro- tesque in his uniform—crouched low before the startled eyes of Ben Staggard, one black hand clutching tightly a keen razor which he waved men- acingly before his victim's eyes. CHAPTER XV the was who saw ETECTIVE HARRY V. JACKSON of Headquarters stood in the carpeted hall thoughtfully scratching that portion of his head just over his right ear, which was evidence of the unusual fact that Detective Jackson was engaged on the oc- cupation that passed with him for thinking. The blank look of surprise in his eyes was ludicrous, and he fixed a very vacant stare on the grinning face of Hero Landers whose wide smile threatened momen- tarily to disrupt the proper anatomical placing of his ears. Hero Landers' broad grin was due to the fact that he contemplated, in the hand that had some minutes before swung the threatening razor, a bright, new twenty-dollar bill: this as a reward for having wielded the keen-edged implement of the barber's trade in the face of certain “po' white trash.” Detective Jackson's closed fist held two bills of 196 THE MAN WHO SAW 197 identical denomination with Hero's, and the sleuth's brain was busy trying to grasp the explanation of a very cheerful young man, an explanation that had to do with much laughter, on the young man's part, and the oft repeated assurance that it was all done “on a bet.” Mr. Jackson did not quite understand, and his eyes drifted from the closed door behind him to the elevator and back again; then to the tiny green cor- ners of the notes that were clutched in his fist. Whereupon his giant intellect accomplished the men- tal counterpart of a physical shrug, and Mr. Jackson made his way to the inviting elevators. But in the lobby he once more paused reflectively. Instinctively he felt that all was not as it should have been. In the careers of his favorite detectives of fiction there had never been a similar happening, and, lacking precedent, Mr. Jackson pondered. His ponderings might have seemed somewhat chaotic and childish if set on paper, but they did not lead him in a circle. Rather they brought him to a real- ization of the fact that it behooved an officer and representative of the majesty of the law to delve deeper into practical jokes—or bets—that included businesslike revolvers and gleaming razor blades, and that ended in tips of large amounts. 2OO THE EYE WITNESS essary to take into our confidence the quite worthy Mr. Jackson of whom you spoke so flatteringly.” Staggard maintained silence, and for a few min- utes Gillian allowed him to meditate upon the va- gary of fortune. “Perhaps if I told you,” began the young man suggestively, “that I, first of all, might make it a point to notify a certain—mm—acquaintance of ours that you are—shall we say, being detained?— it might—er—interest you.” Staggard’s eyes narrowed. “Not that I know of;” he grunted. “But if the acquaintance happened to be—well, 1et's say, just for the sake of argument, Mr. Joseph Pillman of Birmingham, Alabama—would that in- terest you?” Staggard’s face turned slowly pale. “Say— what’s your game, anyway? What kind of a crook are you?” “Game?” Gillian did not comprehend. “Why, none that I know of. Did you think I was playing, Mr. Staggard? As for your other remark; I take it that I have given you ocular proof of certain of my—er—abilities.” “I don't know what you're talking about.” Stag- gard had recovered from the shock of hearing the 2O2 THE EYE WITNESS exactly puzzling. By the way—Staggard—whose idea was it? The reversible alphabet, I mean. Not bad—not half-bad; especially the little twist of mak- ing the a do double duty, both as a period and as the letter g. Gave a friend of mine a moment's trou- ble—that little trick.” He studied the paper in his hand and did not look up to see the effect of his words on Staggard. “Of course, we've got Wilshire,” he finished quietly. The prisoner's start was not less violent than young Hal Tyndall's. Into the momentary silence broke the sudden clamor of the telephone. Gillian raised his head and walked to the door. He locked it and dropped the key into his pocket. Then he turned to Tyndall. “You answer, Hal.” Tyndall picked up the tele- phone from its small stand near the bed. “Hello—hello. Yes. This is Mr. Tyndall speak- ing. Yes. All right.” He turned from the instru- ment. “Some one wants me,” he explained. “Hello—yes—yes—Ruth! Yes—yes, of course. He does? All right. Hello—hello—” He jangled the hook suddenly, then turned a white face to his friend. “She-she had to cut off;” his lips were almost as pale as his face. “And yy 2O4 THE EYE WITNESS fumbled with the lock. His anxiety caused his fin- gers to bungle clumsily, and Gillian walked to the door and opened it for him. “Buck up, Hal;” he slapped the young man's shoulder. “You’ve got my word that we'll have Ruth out of the way before He dropped his voice: “But if Wilshire is at the house, don’t make a scene. Stay away from him and wait for me to see him first. Understand?” But he was talking to empty space, for Tyndall had rushed down the 33 corridor, and, unable to contain himself while the elevator ascended leisurely from the ground floor, was taking the steps to the lobby two at a time. He hurried through the lobby of the hotel and to where his roadster was parked across the street, and Mr. Harry V. Jackson of Headquarters—lounging against the awning support of the store of “Levy's —Clothiers and Haberdashers”— straightened his slouching frame, pulled down his vest, felt carefully of his hip pocket, gave a preliminary glance about and—followed. It puzzled Mr. Jackson somewhat that Hal Tyn- dall had appeared from the hotel alone and unaccom- panied, but his deductive mind told him that one man in sight was worth two in a hotel room, and as he bumped against the cushions of the taxi-cab, THE MAN WEHO SAW 205 which he had commandeered, he strained his eyes to follow the car in front. When engaged on the plain and uncomplicated occupation of following a man Mr. Jackson did not falter, and, when Tyndall's roadster slewed into the curb in Ortega, Jackson's taxi chugged carelessly by, to stop short, however, some hundred yards away. Mr. Jackson emerged from the vehicle and gave brief orders to the driver; then, blowing somewhat with his efforts, he slowed down as he caught sight of the figure of Hal Tyndall moving up the broad gravel walk that led to the Wilshire home. A broad patch of brilliance—a white square on the wide porch, told that the library of the Wilshire house was occupied, for the broad path of light streamed through the open window, checked only by the light screenwork in the frame. - Tyndall mounted stealthily to the steps of the veranda and hesitated. It was necessary to pass immediately across the square lighted space in order to reach the door, and, as Tyndall moved forward again on the veranda, Mr. Jackson—treading as lightly as his weight permitted—was but a few yards behind him. The rest of the big house was in darkness; and an THE MAN WHO SAW 207 his side bumped the weight of the revolver he had dropped into his pocket at Gillian's suggestion in the hotel room, and he put his hand into his pocket to hold the weapon, which made him nervous with its weight and its feel against his side. Detective Jackson peered intently into the dark- ness. Then his eyes, growing accustomed to the gloom, made out the figure of his quarry. Jackson took up a position that hid him from sight should Tyndall suddenly wheel about, but that did not pre- vent him from following every move of the young lawyer. Tyndall neared the square of light before the window, debating the advisability of suddenly step- ping into the lighted space, or first endeavoring to peer carefully in at one side to ascertain if the room was occupied. There was no sound from the room, and, finally, he stepped boldly into the light. Almost at the same instant he shrank back sud- denly. “Don't!” His voice broke as he shrieked the word; then, with the sudden speed of lightning his hand whipped from his coat pocket.... there was a flash of nickeled steel and reverberating thun- der of the discharge of a pistol. Simultaneously a tiny hole appeared in the screenwork before him, and his eyes dropped to the smoking pistol in his 208 THE EYE WITNESS hand, as an exultant voice broke behind him, speak- ing the majesty of the law and the presence of De- tective Harry V. Jackson: “Throw 'em up. I've got you!” 2IO THE EYE WITNESS book, did not immediately raise his eyes. He read to the end of the paragraph slowly, deliberately marked the place with a short square finger and turned his head upon his heavy neck to see who had come to disturb his enjoyment of a quiet evening. Then his heels dropped thuddingly to the floor, and a truly comical expression came into his eyes while his bushy brows rose interrogatively. Just inside the door a strange young man was nonchalantly unlocking a steel handcuff, the other end of which encircled the wrist of an equally strange, but somewhat older individual. The handcuff stowed safely into a pocket, the "younger man gestured with his head and his pris- oner obediently moved farther from the doorway, the inspector noting, with almost subconscious ap- proval, that the young stranger apparently knew his business. “Inspector Herndon?” The young man turned for the first time to the desk, and the inspector came heavily and slowly to his feet. “My name's Gillian —Courtney Gillian.” “Pleased t'meetcher. What's the idea?” The inspector reserved the ceremony of shaking hands. “Brought you a boarder for a few days,” the young man continued pleasantly. “He’ll not bother ALL THE EVIDENCE . 2 II you much. Just tuck him away, if you don't mind, until I call for him again.” The inspector slowly removed his finger from the book page and placed the book carefully on his desk, with a lingering glance of regret at the gaudy cover. “That all?” he queried. “That's all;” agreed Gillian. “Oh, of course—” He laughed. “I forgot that you didn't know me from Adam. You see I’ve heard a great deal of 35 you “Yeh P” The inspector was non-committal. Gillian placed on the desk before him a small leather case, face up. The inspector eyed the card beneath the protecting isinglass covering of the case, his face expressing a sudden interest. “Oh—glad to know you, Mr. Gillian. Mighty glad.” The two men shook hands gravely and Gillian pocketed the identification case, handing the inspec- tor, instead, an unsealed envelope. As he read the note the envelope contained, and took in the signa- ture, the inspector straightened somewhat. Then he blinked interestedly at Gillian as he returned the note. He had had experience before with govern- ment agents, but never with one who carried, cas- ually, such credentials. 2 I2 THE EYE WITNESS “Just a minute—” The inspector glowered at Staggard who stood silently in one corner of the office, and jabbed a button on his desk. A door opened, and an officer appeared. “Lock that up somewhere;” grunted the inspec- tor, jerking a thumb to indicate Staggard. “What did you say his name was P’’ He turned to Gillian. “Staggard,” replied Gillian, “Ben Staggard.” The uniform moved suddenly and Staggard once more found a circle of steel about his wrist. “What goes on the blotter?” The inspector ges- tured to a seat. “Oh, make it”—Gillian dropped into the indi- cated chair and shot a shrewd glance at the expect- ant prisoner—“make it carrying concealed weapons.” The inspector waved a shirt-sleeved arm, and the officer departed with his prisoner. “Local stuff?” queried the inspector, delving into his desk for a box of his very special cigars. Gillian nodded. “Partly,” he advised. “I’ll have more of them by morning, I hope. Then I'll be able to explain things.” “Not at all—don't bother;” the inspector's ges- ture indicated that explanations were unnecessary. “You guys from up there”—he indicated the gen- ALL THE EVIDENCE 213 eral direction of the northern point of the compass— “know your business, or you wouldn't be there. And that mighty interesting letter you carry about with you is enough for me.” Gillian, smiled his acknowledgment of the words. “And you fellows down here, Mr. Inspector, aren't exactly asleep.” The inspector grunted pleasurably. “Not ex- actly;” he admitted, puffing his cigar; “now and then we do a little something on our own account.” Gillian smoked a moment in silence. “Mighty good work last year, Mr. Inspector, on that bank robbery case—” he congratulated, and the inspector swelled visibly. “Oh, so-so;” he deprecated, leaning back com- fortably in his chair. “Nothing much since though.” “You might take down this address,” suggested Gillian casually. “Number 1209 Laura Street; and Send a man out there sometime soon.” The inspector scribbled on his pad before he asked questions. “Something for you?” “Oh, no;” Gillian denied, “just a little tip for your own department. I believe you'll find your missing bank messenger in the cellar there.” And, though Herndon's mouth dropped open in 2I4 THE EYE WITNESS an expression of ludicrous amazement, Gillian rose slowly to his feet. “I’ve another little appointment to-night, Mr. Inspector, and I’ll have to hurry on. Many thanks for taking care of Staggard for me. I'll drop in on you in the morning, if you've no objections.” “Don’t mention it—glad to help;” nodded the inspector. “And many thanks to you for—this.” He indicated the scribbled address. “Anything we can do for you right now?” “N-no, thanks. I think not, Mr. Inspector. Thanks just the same though, and I’ll not forget to mention your extreme willingness to—” The inspector's telephone summoned his atten- tion, and, with a nod of apology, he picked up the instrument. “Yeh. This is it. Herndon talking. Yep. Jackson? All right—shoot! Say, you talk like you had a mouthful of mush. What? Say that again. Wilshire? And you've got the man? The hell you say! Saw him, eh? Yeh–stay there—I’m coming.” Gillian had turned sharply in the doorway at the mention of Wilshire's name, and now, as the inspec- tor wiggled into his coat, he listened to the jerky explanation thrown out by the official: ALL THE EVIDENCE 215 29 “One of my men,” he explained. “Old guy named Wilshire just bumped off in his home in Or- tega. Got the guy who did it. Saw him shoot. ” he broke off as he turned and caught the expression on Fellow named Tyndall say, what the Gillian's face. “You weren't after this Tyndall guy, were you?” - Gillian shook his head negatively. What he had just heard had not yet fully been comprehended. Wilshire dead Tyndall.... “Say, did you know him?” The inspector was searching for his hat. “Cashier of the St. John's National—grouchy old party. Want to come along?” and “Why—yes—thanks.” Gillian was thinking rapidly as the two men descended to where the in- spector's official car—which he drove himself— waited at the curb before the building. Had Hal Tyndall really killed Wilshire? Gillian felt a sudden pang at having allowed his excitable friend to go alone in search of Ruth Wilshire. The inspector was garrulously commenting on the life and character of Ralph Wilshire as he steered his car through the streets. “Don’t know this Tyndall guy, do you?” Gillian nodded. “Young lawyer,” he commented 216 THE EYE WITNESS briefly. “Know him quite well—was with him a while to-night.” “Yeh? You'll be glad to be in on this, then.” The inspector evidently had some curious ideas con- cerning the things that could be expected to give pleasure to a federal investigator. The car hurried over the glistening asphalt pa- ving, speeding toward the suburb, and finally the in- spector began to scan the houses by which he sped. 33 “Let’s see—it's along here somewher “Farther down; about half a block;” Gillian com- mented shortly. “Knew old Wilshire, did you?” The inspector was interested. “I was at a ball here a few nights ago,” explained Gillian briefly. The recollection of that evening flooded over him. His meeting with Ruth Wilshire and their conver- sation; the doctor and Vera Ulmstead and himself in the conservatory, and the doctor's explanation of the enmity between Wilshire and Tyndall. His thoughts sought for possibilities: Had there been an encounter between the two men? He recalled Wilshire's accusation against young Tyndall; that the young man had stolen the paper from the bank which the young man, himself, had removed. And ALL THE EVIDENCE 217 Wilshire had threatened to shoot Tyndall. Was it possible that the banker had imagined that Tyndall was becoming suspicious of him? The inspector turned the car into the driveway, and continued up the broad gravel path, bringing up directly before the steps of the house. The two men ran rapidly up the steps and into the open door. In the wide reception hall they found Jackson with his prisoner. Tyndall was sit- ting, handcuffed, his whole figure slumped forward, his face hidden in his manacled hands. With the entrance of the two men Jackson took a step forward. “And here's another one of 'em—” He approached Gillian belligerently, but the inspec- tor waved him aside. “What's the idea?” demanded the official, “gone nuts P” Jackson sputtered wrathfully. “Naw, but this guy is a pal of that one;” he jerked his bullet-head to indicate the figure of Tyndall, who raised his head slowly at the words. “Gill?” Tyndall extended his manacled hands, and Gillian approached him quickly. “Take it easy, old man,” he said kindly, grasping both of Tyndall's hands in his. “We just heard about it. It " 218 THE EYE WITNESS 35 “God, Gill—I didn't mean to do it. I was Tyndall broke down and once more buried his face in his hands. *--- “See 'em?” challenged Jackson, again starting forward truculently. “Where's the third one, eh?” He eyed Gillian who motioned him aside impatiently. - “The third one,” Gillian explained rapidly to the inspector, “is the man you just locked up for me.” Jackson's eyes grew large. “Say, Chief—let me tell you what these birds pulled »y “All right; after a while;” the inspector inter- rupted. “Excuse him, Mr. Gillian; he's probably got you mixed.” He turned again to Jackson. “This is Mr. Gillian—Mr. Gillian of Washington,” he explained, “and he's here on government busi- ness. Get that?” – Jackson got it but was still unsatisfied. He knew what he knew, and his hand went searchingly to his hair where he scratched industriously while he di- gested his chief's information. “All right,” continued the inspector rapidly. “Now, where's the body?” Jackson indicated the door of the library and the inspector moved toward it. “Bring him along;” he said, and Jackson shook Tyndall's shoulder. ALL THE EVIDENCE 2I9 In a moment the four men stood in the room; Tyndall, his head averted from the sight, shrinking in the grasp of the detective. “Haven’t touched a thing, Chief;” Jackson be- gan. “It’s just as it was when this guy took a pot shot at him from that window there”—he indicated the large window leading to the veranda—“and I was right behind him. He pulled a little too quick >> or I’d have The inspector waved an arm to shut off Jackson's voluble explanation. These details he could learn later. At the moment his attention was engrossed by the figure of Ralph Wilshire sitting at a table, facing the window. Wilshire's right hand was stretched out before him on the table, his fingers wound loosely about the handle of an automatic pistol which glinted on the table's polished surface. The revolver was pointed straight for the large window, and the whole attitude of the figure was as though Wilshire had been sitting in the room, the revolver pointed toward the window as though expecting the approach of some one from that direction. The inspector straightened the form of the man and eyed the splotch of red on his left breast. He turned to Gillian. “That's plain enough, anyway.” 22O THE EYE WITNESS Both men turned to the detective, and Gillian questioned: “Now—just what did you see?” Jackson scowled. “Say, who gave you any right ” he began grumblingly, and again the inspec- tor broke into his objections. “Dammit all!” The inspector's voice rose to a bellow. “Ain’t I told you once who Mr. Gillian is? Well, hereafter you listen to him like you'd listen to me. Get that?” And again Detective Harry V. Jackson got it. “This bird here,” the bullet-head jerked once more in Tyndall's direction, “left the Mason Hotel and I was trailin’ him. I sorter suspected after—” “Never mind the suspicions,” suggested Gillian sharply; “you were following him—what then? You can explain later to the inspector. Go on from there.” The inspector nodded his approval and Jackson continued his narrative: “Well, this bird hopped into a car and I followed him in a taxi. He came straight here and stopped outside on the street. I trailed him in. He was acting suspiciously all right. He sneaked across the grass and up the porch steps to get a look in the window there, and 52 ALL THE EVIDENCE 22, “Was the room lighted?” Again Gillian's voice snapped a question, and, this time, Jackson an- swered promptly enough. “Yeh—just like it is now. All I did was to light up the hall;” he explained. “The light from here was shining out on the porch, and this bird was sneaking against the wall of the house as he came near the window. The window was open like it is now. Then I saw him put a hand in his coat pocket and step into the light. He let out a screech—he yelled ‘Don’t'—and before I could get to him he yanked out this”—Jackson displayed a revolver— “and potted him through the window. Then I grabbed him.” He passed the revolver to the inspector, who, in turn, passed it to Gillian. The younger man imme- diately recognized the revolver as the one taken from Staggard, and he broke the weapon mechan- ically, staring at the brass ends of the shells it con- tained, one of which held the deep indentation of the hammer. “Anything to suggest, Mr. Gillian, before I send him out?” The inspector turned to Gillian who still fingered the revolver absently. At the inspector's question, however, he raised his head: “Oh—nothing; no, Mr. Inspector. Not just 222 THE EYE WITNESS 11OW ” he turned to Tyndall. “Keep up your spirits, Hal,” he urged, “and keep your mouth shut. And remember, I'm working for you.” Tyndall only nodded his head miserably and Gil- lian again addressed the inspector. “Is Jackson go- ing to take him?” The inspector nodded. “Anything you want him to do for you on the way down?” “Not for me; no. But you might have him run out to that Laura Street address,” Gillian reminded, “and release that bank man from the cellar of the house. Here's the door-key”—he passed the key to the inspector, together with a smaller one—“and here's the key to the cellar lock.” Jackson stared pop-eyed at Gillian, but the in- spector turned to the detective immediately. “Get that? Twelve-o-nine Laura Street. The missing man from the Bay Street National. He's locked up in the cellar. Let him out.” “I’ll explain the whole mess—by morning, any- way;” Gillian turned again to the inspector. “Meanwhile ” he indicated the figure of Wil- shire, and Jackson, his curiosity unsatisfied, turned with his prisoner Hal Tyndall and disappeared through the door. “Phone the doctor,” the inspector called after the ALL THE EVIDENCE 223 departing detective, “and tell him to get out here on the run.... the coroner, I mean.” Jackson's reply to this order was unintelligible, and Gillian approached the table at which Wilshire Sat. From the limp stiffening fingers he removed the automatic and examined it, while the inspector moved to the window to look at the punctured SCTeell. Gillian released the magazine of the pistol, drop- ping it from the handle, and snapped out the cart- ridge from the chamber. Then he locked back the breech and peered into the end of the barrel, holding the pistol against the light. “Been shot?” queried the inspector turning. Gillian nodded. “Not sure, though there's one bullet missing;” he counted over the remaining shells in the magazine, and passed the gun to the & 4 inspector barrel's dirty, too.” The inspector examined the automatic carelessly, picked up the magazine and shoved it back into the handle. “His gun;” he explained, indicating the figure in the chair. “Guess he didn't know enough to keep it clean.” He bent again over the figure of Wilshire. “Some shot, that guy,” he nodded. “A clean bull's- __ 224. THE EYE WITNESS eye.” The inspector turned again to Gillian who was examining the room. “Looking for something?” Gillian shook his head. Then: “Both thirty- eights, aren't they?” he questioned. The inspector produced both the revolver that had been taken by the detective from Hal Tyndall and the automatic found in Wilshire's hand and exam- ined them. “Yep—both thirty-eights. Evidently gunning for each other. Guess we'll uncover mo- tive enough at the trial, eh? Anyway, it's an open and shut case with Jackson's evidence. Beats the devil, don't it, how some flat-foot like Jackson blunders on to an idea? Just look what a time we’d 'a' had if he hadn't happened to follow this Tyndall guy.” Gillian only nodded absently. He was staring at the window through which Hal Tyndall had shot, and the inspector's eyes grew shrewd as he watched the young man. “This affect your investigation any?” he queried, shooting wild. And an utterly flabbergasted ex- pression crossed his face when Gillian answered: “Wilshire is the man I was after!” CHAPTER XVII THE DOCTOR TAKES CHARGE OCTOR EDWARD LESTER’S arrival on the scene of the crime was followed almost immediately by the arrival of reporters from both the Jacksonville newspapers. Detective Jackson had, it seemed, been talking. As a matter of fact, after leaving Hal Tyndall at the city jail, and while en route to the Laura Street address for the purpose of releasing the bank mes- senger, Jackson had picked up no less than three re- porters: the two night men at the jail and a third of the fraternity; all three of whom had been en- gaged in whiling away the time with a small-limit poker game, assisted by two members of the Detec- tive Department. The game had been in progress in one of the back rooms on the first floor of the build- ing, and it never occurred to Jackson, as he turned over his prisoner to the sergeant, to mention the matter to the reporters covering headquarters. It did occur to him, however, desiring company 225 226 THE EYE WITNESS —to let them in on the matter of the bank messen- ger, and the whole party, piling into one of the De- partment's automobiles, had visited the Laura Street house. The story told by the released bank messenger was brief, but furnished possibilities. He had met Staggard on the corner of First and Laura Streets, so he told the reporters and the open-mouthed Jack- son, had been held up by him at the point of a gun; —the gun being concealed in Staggard’s pocket— had been marched down First Street and into the alley which passed behind Staggard’s house, and had been kept in close confinement in the cellar since that time. Staggard had not talked, and the bewildered bank runner could give no further ex- planation, nor could he even guess at the reason for his abduction. He had never before seen Staggard, and very fervently hoped he never would again. His impression was that he had been mistaken for some one else. The newspaper men scented a sensation, and, when informed by Jackson of the details of the “joke” at the Hotel Mason they immediately leaped to the correct conclusion that the same hold-up that had been so successful with the bank messenger had been attempted on Courtney Gillian. THE DOCTOR TAKES CHARGE 227 Staggard, they learned, was then in the city jail, and thither the reporters hastened, accompanied by Jackson, leaving the entirely astonished and bewil- dered bank messenger to return to his home. It was only when they had nearly arrived at their destination that it occurred to Detective Harry V. Jackson to spring upon them the bombshell of the murder of Ralph Wilshire by Hal Tyndall. The events of the night, coming in such rapid succession led to the wildest speculation, and the Times-Union feature man, always mentally one jump ahead of his fellows, saw the connection be- tween the apparently unrelated cases of Staggard and the bank messenger and Hal Tyndall's killing of Ralph Wilshire. Tyndall had participated in what Jackson had termed the “joke” at the Hotel Mason and from there had gone immediately to the home of Wilshire. Like a hound on a new scent the reporter was off on his own trail. He was not entirely unknown to Hal Tyndall, and some rumor of Tyndall's infatuation with Wil- shire's daughter had already come to him. The en- mity between the houses of Tyndall and Wilshire was public property, and the feature writer would have been but a poor specimen of his kind had he not immediately seen what he considered the indu- 228 THE EYE WITNESS bitable motive for the crime. Wilshire against Tyn- dall, and Tyndall had been hot-headed. But this led him away from his first idea of the connection of Staggard with the crime. What had Staggard to do with Tyndall and what had Tyndall to do with Gillian? The reporter hurried to the hotel, but here his hopes were dashed. Mr. Court- ney Gillian had come to Jacksonville to participate in a chess tourney to be held the following week. Information and knowledge of Mr. Gillian ended there. The Chess and Checker Club—next in order— gave him a poser: Mr. Courtney Gillian had been invited to participate in the tournament at the ear- nest solicitation of Mr. Hal Tyndall. The puzzling element was Gillian. Who was Courtney Gillian, and why was he tangled in the skein to such an extent as to warrant the attempt at abduction that had been made by Staggard. The reporters were but a step behind the huge doctor as he entered the big house in Ortega in an- swer to the somewhat incoherent message finally telephoned him by Jackson. At the door of the library, however, the represen- tatives of the press were temporarily halted by the arm of Inspector Herndon. THE DOCTOR TAKES CHARGE 229 “All right, boys;” rumbled the inspector, “I ain't Reeping you. Just as soon as the doc gets through you can go to it.” So they contained themselves as best they could while listening to the inspector's story which consisted merely of the facts that they had already learned from Jackson. “And who is this Courtney Gillian?” The Metropolis reporter put the question, and the inspec- tor stroked his heavy chin. He jerked his head to indicate the closed door. “He’s in there,” he volunteered, “and that's something you’ll have to ask him.” “But where did he come from? How did he get mixed up with Staggard and the bank messenger? And why did Staggard try to hold him up?” “Heh? Hold him up? Hold who up?” The inspector was patently sincere. “I don’t know what the hell you're talking about.” They hastened to tell him—all together—of the episode that Jackson had termed the “joke” at the hotel, and the inspector listened with keen interest, while, inside the room, Doctor Lester gazed down with expressionless eyes at the figure of the man in the chair. The huge man appeared unmoved and almost uninterested as he fingered the two guns on the table. THE DOCTOR TAKES CHARGE 231 “Well, how are we going to get him out of it?” Gillian drew up sharply at the question. The doc- tor's voice had been merely conversational as he voiced the startling query. “Get him out of it?” Gillian repeated. The doctor appeared surprised. “Why—yes, That's what you were thinking about, wasn't it?” Gillian turned a deep red. The mental workings of the fat man before him were uncanny. He had been thinking of just that. “Of course,” rumbled the doctor, “as coroner I've got my work to do. After that's finished”—he puffed again on his cigarette before he ended the -- sentence, and Gillian waited impatiently after that, you can count on me.” Gillian moved forward again. The huge man's voice had not been raised for a moment above the conversational tone in which he had begun to speak, but there was an underlying something—some nuance of earnestness—that struck and struck hard. And Gillian knew that the big man meant what he said. “Of course,” he began slowly, “suicide is ** “—out of the question,” finished the doctor. “No powder stains—no reason—well ?” “I think I can furnish the reason.” Gillian eyed 232 THE EYE WITNESS ** the doctor, wondering just how much it would be necessary to tell him. But the big man shook his head. “Not that;” he warned. “Wilshire wasn’t built that way. No mat- ter what you think you had on him—he wasn’t the Rind that would scare.” There was a silence in the room; the doctor smok- ing quietly and Gillian's eyes fixed on a small land- scape that hung on a panel in the wall—a landscape showing a broad plain beyond an ancient ruin. The doctor, after a moment, followed the younger man's gaze. Then a light of interest seemed to dawn in his eyes. “Yes,” he nodded, “I think there's something behind it, too.” 'Again Gillian started suddenly as he realized that once more the doctor had correctly guessed his thought, and he approached the square framed painting on the wall. It was only necessary to move the picture slightly aside to see that it covered the small steel door of a safe let into the wall. The po- sition of the sunken handle in the door of the minia- ture vault indicated that the safe was unlocked, and Gillian, without hesitation, pulled on the handle. As he did so he knew what he would find, and, even before he looked he could have described the con- tents of the safe with fair accuracy. THE DOCTOR TAKES CHARGE 233 The small vault contained several stacks of cur- rency, the wrappers of all of it marked with the name of the St. John's National Bank, and......l Gillian slowly closed the door and replaced the pic- ture... several stacks of currency that was unques- tionably counterfeit. The doctor's eyes were questioning as Gillian again turned to him, and a nod was all that was necessary to convey to the physician that his sus- picions were correct. But he wanted to make sure. “Wilshire is the man you were after in the first place, wasn't he?” Gillian nodded. “One of them. One I have locked up now: the one who hid the bank messenger away, and the other is Pillman, in Birmingham— and his associate.” The doctor pursed his lips. “Damned bad—too damned bad that Hal had to step into it,” he said slowly as though speaking of some slight inconse- quential accident. Then his eyes grew thoughtful and he picked up the automatic from the desk and squinted into the dark barrel. “How much did Hal know?” he demanded suddenly. “Pretty nearly everything,” Gillian admitted. “He managed it to get me invited here for the chess 234 THE EYE WITNESS tournament, and I told him quite a great deal. Be- sides, there was Ruth -- The doctor was, however, not listening, and his inattention was plainly evident. “Intended to-night to elope with Ruth, didn't he?” Again the big man hit squarely to the point. “Yes.” “Why did he come here?” Gillian explained briefly the telephone message that Tyndall had received while in Gillian's room at the hotel, and this explanation necessitated telling the doctor of Ben Staggard. Gillian narrated the story briefly. “Then he expected to find him?” The doctor's head motioned to the silent man at the table. “Yes.” Gillian now explained in a very few words that Tyndall had hoped to be able to get Ruth away that same night for the reason that the follow- ing day would, doubtless, have seen the end of Gil- lian's case. “Funny—” commented the doctor, but he did not explain further. “And that's the way Wilshire was found?” “Yes—nothing has been moved. Except”—Gil- lian approached the table—“except the automatic was in his hand, evidently pointed at the window as THE DOCTOR TAKES CHARGE 235 he was sitting in the chair. He must have been watching for Hal, knowing that he would come.” “You think that?” The doctor did not attempt to hide his amazement. “Why, yes—I 33 “Rather queer Hal should have been packing a gun, isn't it?” continued the doctor. “It was Staggard’s gun—the one I had given him in the hotel room;” Gillian explained, adding further information concerning Staggard, and giv- ing the doctor an account of the letter Gillian had re- ceived that morning from Birmingham and which had been addressed to Staggard. Gillian realized that, knowing this much about the case, there was no reason why anything should be kept back from the doctor, and he explained each detail. When he finished the doctor's question tes- tified that, although he had listened intently, other things still occupied his mind. “This room lit up—like this? I mean when Hal got here?” Gillian nodded. “According to the detective; yes.” “And all the rest of the house was dark?” “Yes.” “And that letter you received this morning,” the 236 THE EYE WITNESS doctor shifted abruptly to what Gillian had been tell- ing him, “that letter sounded really threatening, eh?” “It certainly did.” Gillian quoted the exact words. When he finished the doctor reached again for his cigarettes and lighted a fresh one. “Too- damned—bad,” he commented again slowly. “They would have saved Hal the trouble in a few days.” A new thought had come to Courtney Gillian. He, too, nervously lighted a cigarette, again study- ing the doctor's heavy expressionless face and won- dering what was going on behind the dull little eyes. “I could say,” he began slowly, and the doctor turned to face him; “that I had Hal deputized to 3-y work with me on this case and The doctor was nodding his head, and tiny crow's feet appeared suddenly about his eyes. “ And that he had come here to arrest Wilshire—had seen him with the gun pointed at the window and had fired.” Gillian nodded eagerly. Unquestionably this was the way out for Hal Tyndall, and, as he thought of what it might mean to Ruth Wilshire, and all that Tyndall could do with his new freedom, Gillian's eyes clouded as he turned them from the doctor's heavy gaze. THE DOCTOR TAKES CHARGE 237 The big man crossed the room. “It wouldn't work, boy,” the doctor spoke slowly. “But— dammit all!” The heavy voice was no longer cold but filled with emotion: “Anyway, I'm damned glad Hal Tyndall has another friend besides me.” The two men shook hands silently; a queer cere- mony in that room of death; then the big doctor's emotion seemed to leave him as suddenly as it came. “Where’s Ruth P” Gillian spread his hands. “I’ve been over the house,” he said, “and there’s no one here. It seems that no one even heard the shot.” The doctor frowned. “Then she got to Vera's house after all,” he said definitely. “After she called Hal she left here; probably while Hal was on the way.” He looked again at the silent man in the chair by the table. “And you were sitting there with a gun in your hand ” The doctor seemed to be ad- dressing Wilshire, but his voice did not end the Sentence. A sob came from the door leading into the hall, and the unmistakable voice of Vera Ulmstead told the men in the room that the girl and Ruth Wilshire had finally arrived. The murmur of voices was al- most indistinguishable, and Gillian turned toward the door. 238 THE EYE WITNESS “I guess you were right;" he addressed the doc- g y s 55 tor; “she must have slipped away, after al The doctor nodded, and his frown was evidence of the fact that, for once, he was thinking with a conscious and concentrated effort. “I’ll go out, I think ” Gillian began again, and the doctor raised his head. “All right; yes; of course.” He stopped a min- ute: “There can only be one verdict from the coro- ner's jury;” he finished heavily, “especially when the Headquarters man gives his testimony, but Ralph Wilshire wasn't waiting for anybody when he was killed...least of all Hal Tyndall.” “Not waiting for Hal?” Gillian stopped with his hand on the door. “A man who's laying to kill another man with a gun,” commented the doctor thoughtfully and defi- nitely, “doesn't sit in the middle of a lighted room, nor squarely in front of a window!” * CHAPTER XVIII NORTON ARRIVES POMMELING on the door of his room the following morning aroused Courtney Gillian to a sudden full consciousness of the happenings of the night before. He slid from the bed and opened the door which admitted the colored bell-boy. - Hero's face expressed varied emotions as he gazed at the young, pajama-clad man as though to reproach him for sleeping when the night before had held things of such tremendous import. “’Scusin' the interruption, Mist' Gil-yun-" began the darky embarrassedly, “but is they got Mist' Tyndall in the jail house?” Gillian, drawing a dressing-gown over his pa- jamas, only nodded and Hero continued: “The papers done say this mo'nin', Mist' Gil-yun, that there ain't no doubt but what Mist' Tyndall done shot Mist’ Wilshire. They says this here po- liceman what don't wear no uniform, an’ which 239 NORTON ARRIVES 24I Mist’ Wilshire done eat supper early so’s the cook cu'd get away.” - “About an hour before—before—” The young man ground the cigarette into a tray on the night-stand and turned to the bathroom. “Thanks, Hero, and—oh, yes—has Jassamine gone to the house? I mean back to the Wilshire house?” “Nossuh, she ain’t;” Hero was very positive, “she jes' nachelly ain't goin’ there no mo' ag’in, an’ nei- ther ain’t the cook.” “Where can I find her when I want her? I shall probably want to ask her some questions.” “Jes’ let me know Mist' Gil-yun, an’ I’ll see to it. But you won't have to ask her no questions; nossuh. Jes’ let Jess'mine loose, da's all; jes' give her lief an’ she'll answer without no askin’. She's the talkin'es’ woman what is.” Gillian smiled at Hero's summary of his wife's volubility, and the negro hurried to continue: “But-scusin' the interruption, Mist' Gil-yun, what I done come up here to wake you up fo' is to 'nounce that they's a white man name Kilgore waitin’ in the lobby.” “Kilgore?” Gillian stopped in his tracks. “Send him up right away.” While he waited Gillian wondered what had 242 THE EYE WITNESS brought Kilgore to Jacksonville. He was one of the men detailed in Birmingham to keep track of every movement made by the counterfeiter Joseph Pillman and his prison friend Ed Norton, and Kil- gore's presence in Jacksonville meant something that could be trusted neither to the mails nor the telegraph. The greeting between the two men was brief. “Well?” Gillian's tone expressed his keen anxiety. Kilgore deposited a cheap suit-case from each hand in one corner of the room. “Came over last night, Chief. This guy Norton —you know him, don't you?”—Gillian nodded af- firmatively—“beat it out of Birmingham yester- day. I didn't want to grab him for he had two suit-cases that he treated mighty carefully, and I wanted to know where they were going. I left Bill on the job watching the old guy.” Gillian nodded for the man to continue. “Norton came through by way of Montgomery and then over here. I was right with him all the time although I didn't have a chance in the Pullman at his suit-cases. He landed in town here, grabbed a taxi and beat it to a house on Laura Street— number 1209—know the place?” Kilgore had caught the look of surprise that crossed Gillian's NORTON ARRIVES 243 face. “You got the letter we sent you, didn't you? It was addressed to the same place.” Again Gillian nodded. “I got it—yes. Go on. What became of Norton P” “The house was dark and Norton let himself in with a key. It was about five-thirty yesterday afternoon. When it got dark a few minutes later I saw some lights snap on, and, about a half- hour later, they went out. Then a window on one side of the house was raised, and that room was lighted. I figured that Norton was there waiting, so I stuck around. But nothing happened for a long time, and it was about three hours later, when I was wondering whether I’d better look you up first, that I saw some one that looked like a plain- clothes guy—you know the kind I ..mean; a regular 32 “Jackson—go ahead;” interpolated Gillian interestedly. “Well, this plain-clothes chap had about three more with him. They hung around the house a few minutes, pointing to the lights, then all of them went in. Must have had a key too, just like Norton. In a few minutes the whole house was lit up, and, about ten minutes after that the whole gang of them piled out again the front way, only there was one 244. THE EYE WITNESS more in the crowd—a little fellow who wasn't Nor- ton. I wasn’t exactly sure what to do, and didn't know whether Norton was in the house or not, so I decided to lay low and wait. They'd turned out all the lights, even the one that had been burning in the room.” Gillian listened thoughtfully. So far he had un- derstood perfectly. Jackson, accompanied by the newspaper reporters, had gone to the house and had come out with the bank messenger. These were the men that Kilgore had seen. Gillian had learned from Jackson the night previously, after returning to the inspector's office, that the release of the bank messenger had been effected. No mention had been made, however, by Jackson or any of the reporters that any one had been seen, either in the house or about it, although Jackson had admitted that he had made no investigation. “About an hour later,” Kilgore was speaking again, “I took a chance and drifted in. The door wasn't locked and I sneaked into the dark. It took about fifteen minutes to make sure that there wasn't any one in the house at all, and I went over every inch of it from cellar to garret. An open back win- dow looked suspicious, and Norton may have got out that way. There's an alley behind the house. NORTON ARRIVES 245 It's possible that he was there when that bunch came in or maybe that he’d sneaked out before they got there. I don't think he spotted me though, for here's what I got out of one of the bedroom closets I broke into—” • * He crossed the room and opened one of the suit- cases, the lock of which had been previously broken. Neatly stacked in the case and hidden only by one folded suit of clothes, lay a row of packages, wrapped in brown paper. One that Kilgore had opened bulged its contents on to the floor. “Mighty pretty stuff, eh?” Kilgore picked up one of the counterfeit notes. “Did you stay there all night?” Gillian asked. . Kilgore grinned sheepishly. “Yes;” he admitted. “I closed up the house; took these suit-cases into the attic with me and stuck there. The truth is, Chief.” —he grinned a little—“I went to sleep up there, and, while I didn't hear a thing, I don't know whether Norton came back or not. The house this morning was as empty as it was when I got into it last night.” Gillian began to dress hurriedly. “You hop back to Birmingham, Kilgore. Get Bill and the two of you land Pillman. Then watch out for Norton if he comes back. I’ll put out lines for him here. And go over that house with a fine tooth comb—stay 246 THE EYE WITNESS with it until you find out where he prints the stuff. It's in Pillman's house somewhere. I've already landed the man who lives on Laura Street—a harm- less sort named Staggard, and he's going to spill something if we promise to go easy with him.” “Did this Staggard chap shove it over here?” “Not alone; no. There was another one.” “Yes?” “But he was killed last night.” Kilgore stopped his work of repacking the suit- case and whistled. “Say, Chief—this bank man Wilshire—the pa- per's got the story this morning.... that him?” Gillian nodded and Kilgore snapped the suit-case shut. “The other one's full, too;” he commented, replacing the closed suit-case in the corner with its fellow. “But—how about the newspaper story, Chief? Won't it get back to Birmingham on the wire before I get there?” “What does it say?” Gillian bent over his shoe laces, as his subordinate detailed the Times-Union account of the murder. The story had been played for all that it was worth; the motive given being the enmity between Wilshire and Tyndall, and Wil- shire's refusal to permit the attentions of Hal Tyn- dall to his daughter Ruth. NORTON ARRIVES 247 There was no word about the proposed elope- ment, and no mention of Tyndall's connection with Staggard or of the “joke” in the hotel. The Staggard story was a different one, and Gil- lian learned that his name did not appear in any of the accounts; credit for the capture of Staggard be- ing given to Inspector Herndon of the local force. Gillian smiled at this evidence of Inspector Hern- don's work. He had asked the inspector to have the story of the “joke” killed, temporarily, if possible and had promised to take the matter up personally with the papers later. There was a tentative un- derstanding between Gillian and the inspector: the inspector was requested to keep Gillian's name out of the stories at any cost, and the inspector had taken full advantage of the situation, and had al- lowed the reporters to speculate at length concern- ing the possible motive of Staggard in abducting the bank messenger. The inspector, it appeared from the papers, was holding Ben Staggard incommunicado, pending fur- ther developments, which, to quote the Times-Union story, “... promise to be startling, and which In- spector Herndon with his usual thoroughness is pushing vigorously. Further developments can be looked for to-day.” 248 THE EYE WITNESS Gillian had nearly finished dressing when Kilgore ended the accounts in the paper. “Anything else, Chief?” “Nothing, Kilgore. Get Pillman now, and re- port to me by wire. But don't stop until you locate his plant. It's somewhere in that house, despite the fact that you've already searched. Now find it. And keep a sharp lookout for Norton. I’m more than half convinced that he finished his errand here by leaving the money and is already on his way back. That's all now. Good luck to you!” Gillian completed dressing and gulped a hasty cup of coffee by way of breakfast. Thereafter, his first visit was to the offices of the newspapers, and some delay was occasioned at the Times-Union plant when he made his request to the editorial department that nothing further in the case of Staggard and the bank messenger be printed until the copy had been shown first to Gillian. The editor looked at Gillian in mild amusement. “When did they let you out, buddy? Or was it shell-shock?” Gillian realized that his request must have sounded a bit crazy to the newspaper man, but he flushed at the sarcastic tone. “My request,” he replied, “was put as a request 250 THE EYE WITNESS “By all means. I'll send the copy over to you to read. I can find you ?” “At the office of Doctor Edward Lester in the St. James Building.” Gillian made his adieux, and a puzzled newspaper editor whistled softly to him- self and rejoiced in the fact that none of his humor- ous reporters had been within ear-shot. From the office of the newspaper Gillian hurried across the now familiar streets. At the St. John's National Bank there was little evidence of the tragedy of the night before. A mod- est bit of crêpe hung on the door of the office that had been Wilshire's, and curious clients glanced sidewise at this sole symbol of death, as they trans- acted their business. But the face of John Ulmstead seemed to contain new and deeper lines as he rose to greet Gillian who entered the small private office unannounced. In the silence that followed immediately upon his entrance Gillian realized that it would be diffi- cult to make the old man understand what he had come to tell him, and he wished that there was some manner in which he could avoid doing so. But John Ulmstead would learn the truth sooner or later, and Gillian preferred that he learn it now rather than from some sharp inquisitorial bank examiner. NORTON ARRIVES 251 “You know why I came here, Mr. Ulmstead?” Gillian found it difficult to begin. “Why I came to Jacksonville, I mean.” Ulmstead inclined his head gravely. “I do, Courtney; and have you unfinished. Gillian's foot traced aimless patterns on the car- ” he left the question pet as he avoided the old man's steady sorrowful gaze. He did not know—he could not have known that Ulmstead's sorrow was less for his associate than for the young man who was confined in the city jail on the grave charge of murder. “The man—the man I was after, Mr. Ulmstead— the man who was responsible for—for the circula- tion of the counterfeit has already been punished. It was—” “Wilshire?” The banker's voice was a startled whisper. Gillian nodded in silence. “But—Courtney—how could—how could he have ” The man's tone was one of utter shocked amazement, and Gillian explained rapidly; anxious, now that he was over the most dreaded part of his announcement, to have it finished. “He received the counterfeit from a confederate, and brought it here, exchanging it in the bank's NORTON ARRIVES 253 story in the paper. The whole thing frightened Wilshire—he was anxious to quit.” “And the two notes in the package of currency I sent to—” “It was Wilshire who was responsible there also. You gave him the notes for the messenger who was waiting in his office. As nearly as it is now possi- ble to determine, Wilshire was going to exchange these notes for counterfeit to send to the Bay Street National, but, either the presence of the messenger or something else disturbed him, and, in his haste to tie up the package, the two counterfeit notes were inadvertently included.” The old banker passed his hand across his eyes. “I—think,” he began slowly and evenly, and there was a harshness in voice that Gillian had never heard before, “I think that had I known this I, my- self, would have killed Ralph Wilshire!” CHAPTER XIX DOCTOR LESTER PLAYS CHESS HEN Courtney Gillian left the office of the t president of the St. John's National Bank of Jacksonville, the old man sat for a long time si- lently before his desk, before he called into confer- ence the officers of the organization, and as these assembled about the long, mahogany, directors' table—all of them well beyond middle age, serious and thoughtful—they knew that something of great moment was about to transpire. The conference had various effects on the four men who, with John Ulmstead, had sat about the long table. But the effects were not visible in the voices or faces of the men as they went about a careful examination of the currency then in the bank's vaults and in the tellers' cages. By the time the examination had ended, John Ulmstead was himself again—soft spoken, benign and indulgently mild. Inwardly, however, the result of his recently acquired knowledge had not yet quieted. 254 256 THE EYE WITNESS sistently recurring to his mind. He envisioned the picture of the girl alone in her grief, ignorant of her father's culpability and heartbroken for the loss of her lover; and he pictured his own daughter Vera— Vera who, he knew, would, despite any words of his, remain loyal and true to her friend. No Ulmstead had ever deserted a friend in need, and a feeling of shame rose in the breast of the old banker as he began to realize what his action would mean to the girl who could in no way be held accountable for her father's crimes. And it was without surprise that the officers of the bank later in the morning gathered again in the large room and listened to the old man's words: “It-it would not be punishment of Ralph Wil- shire, gentlemen,” he said, “but punishment of Wil- shire's daughter, where, heaven knows, it is unde- served. It was through her, through her connection with young Hal Tyndall, that we are to-day spared a public announcement of our cashier's criminality, and I think—” he stopped speaking and surveyed the serious faces of the men before him. “We will conduct ourselves,” he began again slowly, “as though we knew nothing of Wilshire's actions—as though he were still to us what he had been for years—a—a—friend and—and comrade.” And, as DOCTOR LESTER PLAYS CHESS 257 the men who listened nodded in agreement, the old man rose slowly to his feet at the head of the table. “But one thing more, gentlemen: I, myself, and this institution will make every possible human ef- fort to aid in the defense of Hal Tyndall not the defense of a murderer, gentleman, but the defense of the young man who has saved to us unimpeached the name of our organization.” The old man seemed entirely unaware of the sophistry of his own thoughts, and could Courtney Gillian have been present at the gathering he would, perhaps, have approached the offices of Doctor Ed- ward Lester with a lighter step and a more hopeful feeling for his friend Tyndall. The doctor had but just returned from the inquest and sat slumped in the chair before his desk, smok- ing interminably and staring at the small, framed motto that shouted its one word from out the frame before his eyes: “THINK." On Gillian's entrance he only raised his eyes an instant, then returned to his contemplation of the framed word, and it was Gillian's question that fi- nally broke the silence. “The verdict was—” 258 THE EYE WITNESS The doctor did not move. He only nodded his head heavily and shifted his eyes to watch the curl of smoke that mounted ceilingward from his cigarette. Gillian, not yet understanding that, with Doctor Lester, physical quiescence meant that the mind of the man was intent on a problem—and anything but idle—grew restless under the silence. N. “Did the examination of witnesses bring out any- thing?” he questioned. “Nothing except what was bad for Hal.” The doctor seemed to come regretfully out of his trance. “The maid—Jessamine—and the cook left the house somewhere around seven o'clock. They had heard Wilshire threatening his daughter with all sorts of things if she should continue to see Hal Tyndall. He seemed to have the idea that Tyndall had stolen something from him—some letter 53 Gillian interrupted. “The letter you worked out. The coded one. I took it.” The doctor nodded. “I rather suspected that was it,” he said slowly. “Then Ruth 3 y “Did you examine Ruth, too?” Gillian voiced his surprise. He knew that the doctor would spare the girl as much as he could and he had not expected, in view of the damning evidence already against Tyn- 26o THE EYE WITNESS really through with him. He knew that Pillman was not the kind just to let things drop—or to allow Wilshire to drop things—and he expected 22 “He expected that some one would make an at- tempt to make certain of his silence. Exactly.” The doctor agreed with Gillian. “That may be why he had that automatic ready in the library; not for Hal, as poor Hal thought, but for some one else. If he did have it ready for somebody?” “What do you mean by that?” Gillian knew that the doctor was not given to useless, meaningless *- remarks. “What I said before. Wilshire wasn't anybody's damned fool, no matter how scared he was. And he didn't pick out a gun to lay for somebody and then flood a room with light and sit in the very cen- ter of it.” Gillian agreed silently. Then: “And if I hadn't got Staggard when I did”—his tone was regretful —“if only I had let him have his head, he’d—” “Probably be where he is right now, but charged with the murder of Wilshire, and Hal would be somewhere on the way to South America with Ruth.” The doctor ground his cigarette stump into a tray and came to his feet. “Keeping quiet about this other business?” DOCTOR LESTER PLAYS CHESS 261 Gillian rose also. “God knows, I’d like to—if for no other reason than for Ruth's sake—and old man Ulmstead’s. I’m in communication with my chief now, and, meanwhile, I’ve taken it on myself that nothing of the counterfeiting story is made public through the newspapers. If they land Pillman with the goods in Birmingham, I’m sure that will end the matter as far as publicity is concerned.” The doctor seemed to be pondering. “Be wise to go over Wilshire's house to clean up anything that may be lying around, wouldn't it?” “I’ve already thought of that,” Gillian admitted. “Will you come along?” The doctor did not reply immediately, but re- sumed his seat. “Not now, thanks;” he grumbled. “I think I’ll tackle that problem of the Ruy Lopez move—” he pulled out a chess-board and began methodically to set the chessmen in position. “I want to think;” he explained heavily. “There's some other element in this thing”—he waved a short arm to indicate that he meant more than the chess- board before him—“that we haven’t got straight yet.” Gillian hesitated a moment. “Pillman's assistant -a fellow named Norton—got in town last night.” The doctor's little eyes closed slightly, but he con- 262 THE EYE WITNESS tinued to arrange the chessmen. “Yeh? Mind tell- ing me something about it? Just generally—not the details.” And Gillian briefly outlined the report he had re- ceived concerning Norton's movement from his sub- ordinate from Birmingham. When he finished the doctor had completed the placing of the chessmen and now advanced both the white and black king's pawns. Then he brought out a white bishop. He seemed intent on setting up a certain portion of the Ruy Lopez game. “Got that letter to Staggard?” he questioned, his eyes on the chess-board. For a minute Gillian did not follow the question; then he remembered and took from his pocket the letter he had received from Birmingham and which had been addressed to Ben Staggard. The doctor allowed his eyes to drift over it care- lessly. “Hmm—” he muttered; “just what does the code say?” Gillian repeated the lines from memory: “Watch Wilshire he is yellow. Telegraph acknowledg- ment of this.” The doctor was thoughtfully fingering the black bishop on the king's side, but removed his hand and allowed it to hover a moment over a queen's pawn. 264 THE EYE WITNESS “If I had only kept Hal with me!” The sentence rose to his lips despite himself, and the doctor nod- ded over his chess-board. “Yes—a few hours later Hal could have safely married and gone from here with Ruth. For— the doctor seemed from the way it looks to me” to have determined exactly what to do with his black bishop, for he moved it diagonally across the board—“the way it looks to me,” he continued, “Wilshire would either have come through, or he'd have been ” the doctor shrugged his heavy shoulders. Gillian watched the man as he played the chess game before him, but the doctor already seemed ob- livious to the younger man's presence, for he began to mutter unintelligibly beneath his breath, and, as Gillian turned through the door, he caught a word or two that seemed indicative of the doctor's intense interest in the game before him. But, as the door closed, the doctor nodded silently, and his muttering became more clear: “So there you are ” he ad- xy vanced a pawn; “and here comes Mr. Norton A knight was moved rapidly. “And this is—what's his name?— Oh, yes—Kilgore... get him—that’s » Gillian's feeling as he left the office was one that DOCTOR LESTER PLAYS CHESS 265 might have been construed as a sudden dislike against this huge physician who, one moment, vowed eternal friendship to a man accused of mur- der and who, the next instant, instead of endeavor- ing to do all he could for his friend, sat absorbed in the contemplation of a game of chess. This feeling persisted on the trip out to Ortega in a street-car, and until he stopped before the door of the Wilshire house. Here a uniformed officer stopped him for an instant, then, recognizing the man who had been in the company of Inspector Herndon, the officer saluted, accepted the cigar Gillian proffered and stepped aside. “Any one been here?” Gillian questioned. “No one, sir; not since the inquest. All the news- paper crowd left immediately after that. Doctor Lester—the coroner—hung around a while; he was the last to go and I haven't seen a soul since.” “You’re alone here?” “Yes, sir. My relief comes at three o'clock.” Gillian entered the house and made his way first into the library. Here, after the removal of the body, nothing had been disturbed, and the young man stood for a moment in the doorway, then moved to the large window, opened the screen and stepped on to the veranda. 268 THE EYE WITNESS He waited only a moment to make certain that the intruder had descended the stairs. Then he followed. - The large reception hall on the first floor was unoccupied, but the half-open door leading to the library told where the silent visitor had gone. Mo- mentarily afraid that a squeaking floor or inadvert- ent noise would betray his presence, Gillian made his way to the half-open door. In the room that had witnessed the death of Ralph Wilshire a man moved noiselessly. His eyes roved about the room and his gestures were furtive and fearful. It seemed that he was seeking something. Gillian, watching tensely, saw the man approach the window; then vanish from his line of vision. For a long time there came no sound from the empty room, and Gillian, fearful of losing the man, contemplated moving to the front door at the end of the hall for the purpose of seeking the assistance of the officer on duty. If he could make the uni- formed man understand without words to take up his position by the library window, Gillian himself could return to the door leading to the hall, and the intruder would be trapped in the room. In Gillian's hand glistened the barrel of a tiny vest-pocket automatic—a dangerous and effective CHAPTER XX AN UNDERSTANDING : TELEPHONE message to Inspector Hern- don brought Detective Jackson and an assist- ant to the Ortega house and Norton was passed into their custody. “The charge will be breaking and entering;” Gil- lian answered Jackson's unspoken query, and turned to the policeman who had been on duty at the front door. “Caught him inside,” Gillian explained. “He got in from the back, and went up-stairs by the servants’ entrance. That’s where I first heard him. Didn't you?”. Gillian turned to the sullen Norton as he put the question, but elicited no answer. Jackson was scratching his head in his peculiar fashion as he eyed Gillian. He had learned since the night before that Gillian was a representative of the Government Secret Service Department, and this, to Jackson, placed the young man in a class but one-half degree removed from those detectives of 27O AN UNDERSTANDING 271 fiction who were, to Mr. Harry V. Jackson, the me plus ultra of the craft; and to be respected ac- cordingly. The inspector had told Jackson the busi- ness Gillian was engaged on, and the detective had acquired a sudden, profound respect for the young man. He waited until his assistant had removed Norton from the room, and the door had closed be- hind them. Then he turned his bullet-head to Gillian: “Mind tellin' me what that guy was after?” he questioned. “Not at all.” Gillian realized the advantage of having Jackson's good will. He led the way into the library. “There's a safe behind that picture;” he indicated the paneled wall, “and there's consid- erable money in it—both good and counterfeit. This fellow Norton was sent over from Birming- ham—that's where the counterfeit has been coming from. I knew he was in town and was wondering just where I was going to locate him. I happened into him here just by chance. He's after the same thing I am.” “The money?” Gillian nodded. “That and any other loose evi- dence there may be lying around that would connect 272 THE EYE WITNESS Wilshire with any certain gang. You understand,” Gillian continued with a confidential nod, “that this is all strictly between ourselves. If the inspector >> hasn't already “Sure—sure.” Gillian received the eager assur- ance of the detective. “The chief has told me to keep shut—and when he passes the word, I keep shut.” Gillian approached the wall, removed the land- scape and exposed the door of the miniature vault. He began to turn the combination dial slowly, watched by the detective. “Say—where'd you get the combination?” Jack- son's voice held a tinge of what might have been construed as suspicion. It was all very well that this young man was a federal agent—though he didn't look the part—but even that hardly gave him the combination of a private safe. Gillian smiled. “I don't know it, Sergeant,” he admitted. The mollifying effect of the “sergeant” was evi- dent in Jackson's facial expression, but he was still skeptical: “Goin' to pull a Jimmy Valentine stunt On it?” Gillian nodded and continued to turn the combi- nation knob slowly. “It isn't very difficult,” he ad- AN UNDERSTANDING 273 mitted. “I’ve opened harder ones—the one in Stag- gard’s house, for instance.” “Say,”—it seemed that Jackson prefaced most of his remarks in that fashion—“did you get into that P” Gillian turned from the wall. “Yes. Why? Been trying it yourself?” Jackson flushed as he nodded. “Couldn't do it,” he admitted, eying his own square fingers in dis- gust. “I just naturally ain't got the feel in ‘em.” Gillian recommenced operations on the wall safe. “It’s rather a knack, after all,” he said conversation- ally. “When we get this thing settled I don't mind showing you what little I know about it.” “Say—will you?” Jackson's tone was eager. He already envisioned himself nonchalantly opening safes and vaults at the special request of Inspector Herndon after the bungling efforts of the less skilled sleuths of the force had failed. Gillian pressed his ear over the door of the safe and continued to work slowly, his every move and facial expression carefully noted by the waiting Jackson. A few minutes more sufficed, and the small steel door swung open on its hinges. During the business of bundling up the currency Jackson cast longing glances at the open door of 274 THE EYE WITNESS the vault. Nothing would have pleased the detec- tive better than to have had his first lesson immediately. But Gillian had other things in mind. The pack- age tied and sealed, Gillian passed it to the detective. “If you don't mind handing that to the inspector, Sergeant, I’d be obliged to you. And, please say nothing on the way in I’d rather that the pris– oner remain in the dark for a little while as to just how much I really know about him.” Jackson accepted the package and nodded his un- derstanding of the directions. “You goin' to stay here?” he asked interestedly. Gillian shook his head. “Not just now. I want to have a little talk with the colored maid who worked here.” “Say,” Jackson was incredulous. “You ain’t thinking that she can tell you anything, are you? That nigger nearly talked the arm off the coroner's jury this morning and she didn't say a thing. Be- sides, it's open and shut on that fellow Tyndall; there ain't a thing missing.” Having seen Gillian's expert work on the vault, and having heard the young man's praises sung by Inspector Herndon, Jackson was earnestly anxious that Gillian should not interest himself too seriously 276 THE EYE WITNESS “You can;” Gillian assured him instantly. “I’ll be mighty glad of your assistance, Sergeant, and I'll not fail to call on you for help.” “That's right;" Jackson bobbed his bullet-head industriously: “I’ll be glad to do it.” He passed through the door and Gillian, with an- other glance about the room, turned reluctantly through the window, closing the screen carefully be- hind him. As he crossed the broad lawn and turned into the boulevard he could see the automobile which carried Jackson, his assistant and Ed Norton on the way to the city, and he turned his steps slowly toward the street-car line. When he neared the waiting car, however, he re- solved to stop at the house of John Ulmstead in Riverside to speak for a moment with Ruth Wil- shire or with Vera Ulmstead. Gillian's feelings were not at all pleasant. With the capture of Norton his own case had been con- cluded with signal success, but there was none of the old feeling of elation: of having pitted his brains against the brains of lawbreakers and won. The death of Wilshire in no way affected his victory; if anything, it cleared the atmosphere, for he had real- ized the unpleasantness that would have attended 278 THE EYE WITNESS of dreams and ideals and high aspirations, and the bantering words of his friend Hal Tyndall regard- ing his feeling for Vera Ulmstead had made clear to him how constantly the girl occupied his thoughts. And there seemed, really, some hand of destiny in his again meeting with the girl of the sweater and tam-o'-shanter who had waved that good-by to him —though unconscious of his existence—from the dock in Charleston that day so long ago. He turned uncertainly to the long flight of ce- ment steps that led to the home of Vera Ulmstead, and arrived finally before the open door of the house. Here he was surprised to see the colored maid, Jessamine, in a dust cloth and apron, evidently very much at home and very busy. She looked up as his shadow fell across the door- way and her greeting was cryptic: - “You-all was sho' a long time a”-comin’;” with which remark she disappeared between the portières that masked the doorway of an adjoining room. When Vera Ulmstead entered the room in which Gillian was waiting, her greeting was not free of a certain embarrassed restraint. “I'm—we're glad you came, Mr. Gillian;” she spoke softly. “I–Ruth has been hoping you would come to see her. She ” The girl turned her AN UNDERSTANDING 281 There was no longer any pretense between these two. The spirit of unselfishness—the spirit of the desire to serve her friend had stripped from the girl that make-believe and pretense that had marked her. And the man knew it. Her eyes admitted frankly what she felt, and Gillian, though eager to hear in words the thing he saw, fought back his own desires. He, too, spoke slowly and sincerely, assuming that this new silent understanding be- , tween them was a thing of permanence. “We have an idea, Vera—Lester and I–’’ he began, tiny lines creeping about his eyes. “It-it may work, 32 The girl's face was radiant. “Tell me, Court- ney; and let me tell Ruth! It will » He shook his head slightly, and the girl's face dropped despondently. Then she took one of his idle hands in her own. “Will you tell me what it is, Courtney?” “I thought I could say that Hal was working with me and that he had gone to-to arrest Wilshire, and that Wilshire's position indicated that he-he was going to resist arrest and that Hal 33 A little gasp of fright came from the girl as she understood. “But that would mean the whole story of Mr.—Mr. Wilshire would be told. Oh, no!” 282 THE EYE WITNESS She held out both hands in quick alarm. “Not that—please don't—Ruth couldn't bear it, and I know Hal wouldn't dream of letting you ” She grew silent again. Then, very softly: “I know what that suggestion cost you, Courtney,” she said, “and it must be wonderful for Hal to have such a 5 x friend as For a moment she felt his arms tighten suddenly about her; then fall. Strainedly they both rose to their feet. Gillian's face was pale; the girl's crimson. “I– I mustn't forget Hal—” he spoke slowly, “and you must take care of Ruth. Later, dear,” he hesi- tated but an instant on the endearing word, “later yy We Can The girl's eyes met his. “Good-by, Courtney.” She extended her hand. “Good-by for a little— dear.” He turned shortly from the picture of the girl be- fore him, and, as the portières fell behind him the girl sank again to the davenport staring ahead of her with wide bright eyes. In the outer room Gillian hesitated a moment to regain his composure, and grinned sheepishly at the knowing smile that decorated the face of the appar- ently unconscious Jessamine. AN UNDERSTANDING 283 The colored girl followed him to the door. “Mist' Gilyun—dat wuthless Hero done tol’ me you is gwine git Mist' Hal out fom the jail house; but I’m astin' you 'cause you cyant believe no mo'n one word outen a hund’ed that lyin’ nigger says.” Gillian paused on the steps. “I’m trying, Jessa- mine;” he admitted, “and I want you to help.” The negress’ hands went immediately to her head to remove the dust cloth, preparatory to accompany- ing Gillian forthwith. “I don't mean that—” he stopped her with a ges- ture. “I mean that you must take good care of Miss Ruth and—and 35 “Yassuh;” the girl nodded. “There ain't no use o’ sayin' no names, Mist' Gilyun. I un'erstan's tho'ough.” Gillian flushed. “And would you mind telling me, Jessamine, just what time it was when you left y the house on the evening of y The negress bobbed her covered head. “Jes’ lak I don tol’ that whole passel o' white men what ast me that: it was about seben o'clock.” “You’re sure it wasn't—well, six-thirty?” “Yassuh, I’m sure it wa'n't. You see, me 'n' Mary —which was doin’ the cookin'—had to went to th’ meetin' of the Cullud Ma'ied Ladies Uplift Yo' 284 THE EYE WITNESS Lowly Sisteren Society of which us is members, an the las' time I went to see what time it was, there it was jes' six-thirty then, an’ them white folks jes' startin' they dessert. 'Bout fifteen minutes after that, suh, we lef’.” “And you saw nothing—no one when you left?” “Ain’t seed nary a soul, nossuh. Le’s see: Mist' Wilshire he say he was goin’ in the lib'ry, an' I opened the windows an' pushed the screen open, y 3.x an “You mean you opened the screen of the window?” “Yassuh—like I always does. Mist’ Wilshire he walks aroun’ pow'ful, an' he steps right outen the window on to the po’ch, so I keeps the screen open all the time. Yassuh.” “You didn't tell that this morning, did you, Jessamine?” “Di'n't I? I ain’t remember. I done tol’ so much. But I open the screen, sure positive. Then me 'n' Mary went out the front way so’s we cu'd get to the street-car quicker. Yassuh—I 'member ’zactly. The seben 'clock car was waitin' on the corner an' we had to run to git it.” “And you saw no one and heard nothing?” “Nothin', nossuh, 'ceptin' right when we AN UNDERSTANDING 285 started runnin’ fo’ the car,” Jessamine was making strenuous visible efforts to recall details—“right then we heard a pow’ful noise up the street—like a automobile done 'sploded or somethin'.” “A loud noise?” Gillian grew interested. Then he frowned. “You didn't mention that either, Jessamine.” The negress shook her head. “Di'n't I? Well, we sho’ hyeard it—it was a loud boom fºr the con- ductor done say, “There goes another tire.’” “Did you see an automobile?” “Uh-huh—yassuh. 'Bout a block up the street past the house. It was by the curbstone, but they wa’n’t nobody 'roun’’s I could see. “An’ if'n you wants my opinion”—Jessamine looked behind her carefully—“that ol' man di'n't git no mor'n what he deserved. An’ what's more—” But Gillian turned slowly down the steps, realiz- ing how little importance could be attached to the colored girl's words. She called after him. “If'n you sees that triflin' no-'count nigger husban’ o' mine, Mist' Gilyun, I'd sho’ be beholden to you if'n you would tell him to fetch me home fom out here tº-night.” Gillian nodded and descended the steps into the street. His mind already had dismissed what the CROSS-PURPOSES - 289 went on slowly, “try to work out a chess problem? Just any kind at all. Try 'em easy at first—for mine are rather complicated. You'll find yourself working out your own riddle” he heaved his heavy shoulders “it’s a sort of subconscious giving the effort, if there can be such a thing keenest part of your brain a chance at the problem.” “And you've been working on Hal's case that way?” Gillian was incredulous. The idea seemed startling—absurd. “Why, yes;” the doctor's tone was matter-of-fact. “Right now I’m trying to piece your story to— gether,” he admitted. “The two things of conse- quence—or call it three—that are in the morning's happenings.” “You mean the capture of Norton. That was 99 luck for me; but how it helps The doctor shrugged an interruption. “Then there's the matter of the open screen and the sound of the blow-out, I think you said, wasn't it?” Gillian studied the doctor a moment. “You don't think that any reliability is to be placed on the col- ored girl's statements, do you?” he questioned. “Remember she didn’t say a thing to you this morn- ing at the inquest regarding the window screen—Or the noise. It seems—as Hero says” Gillian 290 THE EYE WITNESS grinned despite his very seriousness as he thought of the words of the colored bell-boy “that Jes- samine is merely talkative.” The doctor agreed with a chuckle. “Talkative; yes,” he agreed, “but she hasn't an ounce of imagi- nation in that kinky head. I know Jessamine and her kind: she can make mountains out of mole-hills and rivers out of creeks, but she hasn't the brain ac- tually to construct either a mole-hill or imagine a creek. In other words, Jessamine must have some- thing to begin on, and if she said she opened that screen window, you can put it down in your book that she at least opened the sash.” “And why didn't she mention it before?” Gillian asked. “Think it over,” suggested the doctor. “She said, didn't she, that she usually did just this—that it was somewhat of a matter of routine?” And, as Gillian nodded, the doctor finished: “There's the reason. It wasn't outstanding—not at all unusual, and it just simply didn’t occur to her at the time.” Gillian frowned. “And the noise?” “Oh, she heard the noise;” assured the doctor positively. “That's another point of Jessamine's psychology that long acquaintance has familiarized me with: she'll never tell you anything but the CROSS-PURPOSES 291 straight fact when it is subject to confirmation. And, in this case, remember the cook was with her.” “But it gets nowhere,” persisted Gillian. “Even if she did leave the window open—the screen, I mean—it isn't at all unlikely that Wilshire closed it himself and it would be impossible to prove the contrary.” The doctor looked uninterested. “Remember this, too,” he grumbled as though impatient of Gil- lian's lack of knowledge of the people with whom the case dealt, “remember that Wilshire, ordinarily, was a methodical man, and that if he had given or- ders to open the screen it isn't very likely that he, himself, closed it. But”—the doctor fished for a cigarette in his bulging pocket—“as you say, it isn't exactly susceptible of proof.” “And the noise,” continued Gillian, “the noise she says she heard was a good half-hour before Hal even left the hotel where he was with me.” “Yeh;” agreed the doctor, eying Gillian over the lighted match he held to his cigarette. “I know that's the only part of it that makes it at all interesting.” The men smoked in silence, and when the doctor did speak again, his thoughts had, characteristically, drifted away from the immediate point. 292 THE EYE WITNESS “Nice girl, Vera;” he remarked abruptly, apropos of nothing, and, as Gillian flushed embarrassedly, the big man continued: “the finest sort; healthy, in- telligent, keen and—with a family history behind her that isn't often found these days. I know 'em 22 and the strain “But—but—” Gillian's embarrassment took on the nature of a mental rout. To say the least, the doctor's casual comments were indelicate. But the big man's laugh seemed one of genuine amusement as he puffed smoke into the air and leaned his huge bulk against the creakingly protest- ing chair. “This Norton chap”—he ruminated aloud, giving Gillian no time to speak—“finishes the job as far as you're concerned, doesn't he?” Gillian nodded absently; then the telephone seemed to bring him to a realization of his immedi- ate duty. “May I phone a wire from here?” he questioned. “I want to tell Birmingham that I’ve got Norton and to ask what they are doing about Pillman.” The doctor nodded and Gillian dictated the tele- gram to the telegraph company. “Tyndall was a rotten pistol shot,” grumbled the doctor when Gillian had again placed the receiver on CROSS-PURPOSES 293 its hook. “Out at my place a while ago,” continued the doctor, “he did pretty well with a rifle, but he was a mess with a revolver.” “Well?” Gillian was beginning to understand that the doctor's casual remarks usually had some- thing solid behind them. “That was a mighty difficult shot that killed Wil- shire....maybe we'd better suggest that to Hal's lawyers.” “But, good lord, Lester—what's the good of that? It isn't a question of evidence. It's all against him—motive included, and if Hal had never fired a gun before in his life the testimony of the eye witness would hang him.” The doctor shrugged. “Funny ain’t it? When I think about a thing like this all sorts of nutty things come to mind. Mentally I seem to dig out every I can’t help it.” Gillian moved impatiently in his chair. If the tiny bit of contrary evidence “ doctor was thinking along lines that he hoped would raise a doubt of Tyndall's guilt in the mind of a jury, Gillian knew that, no matter how brilliant the doctor's conclusions were, they would amount to very little. The coroner's jury—over which the doctor had, himself, presided—had already given the only possible verdict. 296 THE EYE WITNESS - “And just what have you got against Norton ex- cept what you yourself know? I mean actual, phys- ical proof?” Gillian eyed the doctor in surprise. “Why—” Then he paused to consider. It would be difficult to prove that the suit-cases found in Staggard's house were the same brought there by Norton from Birmingham. The fact that they actually were the same made no difference: their appearance was like a thousand others and Norton could deny that they were his. As for his association with Pillman: there was no crime in that fact alone, and, if Pillman chose to shield his confederate, or chose to offer his word against the testimony of Staggard, there re- mained little against Norton. Again Gillian won- dered what the doctor was driving at. “Very little;” he finally admitted. “And this fellow—Norton, I mean—probably knows that Pillman will try to help him out, doesn’t he P Particularly as Norton was caught while try- ing to get hold of evidence inimical to Pillman, with the idea—let's grant that—of destroying such evi- dence. You didn’t by any chance give away the fact that you suspected what Norton was there for, did you?” “Of course not p: Gillian replied quickly. 298 THE EYE WITNESS preak for it. He had managed to shuffle a piece of iron—an automobile jack-handle the chief said— between his feet from the floor of the car, and he laid out one of the detectives with it.” “Not our friend Jackson?” “No-the other one.” “And he made it all right—got clean away?” The doctor seemed almost pleased. Gillian nodded. “Yes—worse luck.” “How's the detective—did the inspector say?” “Oh, he's all right; or will be.” Gillian dismissed all interest in the wounded detective. “Would have served the idiot right if he'd been killed.” The doctor seemed to agree silently. Then: “Pretty shrewd guy, this Norton?” “Mighty shrewd;” Gillian answered unhesitat- ingly. “He wouldn't be with Pillman if he wasn't. And now he's given us—oh, damn it!” The doctor made no effort to check Gillian's pro- fane remarks concerning the Detective Department of the city. He sat in his chair, listening judiciously as though enjoying the flow of Billingsgate, and when Gillian finally stopped, remarked: “Strike you as at all funny that a real shrewd crook should take a chance on killing a man to get 300 THE EYE WITNESS you?” The big man seemed to enjoy Gillian's ex- pression of sudden surprise. To the doctor, who had been thinking of exactly what Ed Norton might attempt, there seemed but one thing for the escaped man to do. “There's something at Wilshire's house,” explained the doctor, “that this chap is mighty anxious to get his hands on—anxious enough to take a chance of killing a man to get it. He must either think a whole hell of a heap of his how much did you say was in pal Pillman, or that vault?” Gillian caught the drift of the doctor's remarks. The thing to do was to go immediately to Wilshire's house in the hope that the big doctor's reasoning was correct and that, under cover of the dark—or, per- haps, boldly—Norton would make another attempt to secure the money which, as far as the escaped man could know, was still in Wilshire's house. “About ten thousand dollars;” replied Gillian to the doctor's question. “Quite a pile,” commented the big physician. “Quite a nice little pile. Going out there?” Gillian nodded. “Yes, and—thanks for the tip. I doubt that it would have occurred to me.” “Oh, yes it would,” assured the doctor. “You'd have seen it after a little thought. A crook like this CROSS-PURPOSES 3or isn't taking any long chances unless there is some- thing in it for him....and you'd have hit on it. Whoever would think, anyway,” the doctor chuckled, “of looking for him there? I'll bet you this much:” the doctor's chuckle changed to a wide grin; “that he'll be one surprised gentleman when when you get him again.” Gillian rose and moved to the doorway. “I hope you're right. Damn it all; I’d hoped that my end of the thing was finished and to see Hal.” “All right,” nodded the doctor, “I’ll see him. He probably needs cheering up, so I’ll tell him we’ll have Him out in forty-eight hours. That ought to help.” The doctor rose to accompany Gillian through the reception-room and to the door of his suite. “You think, with Ulmstead's help, we might be able to get bail?” Gillian's voice held a new note of . hope. The doctor's form blocked the small doorway, I did want to go and he appeared more gigantic than ever as he eyed Gillian reflectively: “Well—if we can't—we can always try a jail de- livery;” and Gillian departed without being quite certain whether the big man really spoke seriously or not. CHAPTER XXII THE INSPECTOR LISTENS T was long past the lunch hour, but the happen- ings of the morning had driven all desire for food from Courtney Gillian's mind as he left the offices of Doctor Lester in the St. James Building. In the street he paused irresolutely a moment, then decided to see Hal Tyndall after all, to tell the young man of the effort that would be made to have him released on bail. Arrived before the Headquarters building, Gil- lian made his way to the office of the inspector where he found an apoplectically angry gentleman haranguing such of the city's detective department as was available for immediate audience. Gillian listened, unobserved, to Inspector Hern- don's unconcealed opinion of the collective intellect of the force, winding up finally with a blanket com- mand that the town be scoured for the capture of Ed Norton. When the men had grumblingly dispersed Gillian made his way into the office to have a word with the 3O2 THE INSPECTOR LISTENS 303 irate official. It was extremely unlikely that Nor- ton would be able to return to the Wilshire house before evening, and the two officers now stationed there would make it impossible for the man to ef- fect an entrance from the rear of the house as he had evidently done that morning. It was Gillian's intention to see that this force of watchmen was removed entirely at nightfall, the house being left unguarded. The inspector listened to the suggestion glumly. “All right if you say so, Mr. Gillian, but what's to prevent any cheap crook in the city from breaking in for the soft pickings?” “I will;” Gillian assured the speaker. “I intend to camp there myself. I’ve some work to get through with out there and it wouldn't surprise me If 33 “Yeh?” The inspector was recovering from the effects of the fiasco of his officers in the matter of allowing the prisoner to escape. “You’ve no trace of Norton, have you?” Gillian dropped what he had been about to say and put the new question. The inspector growled. “Yes, we have. He beat it around Bay Street and down to the Clyde Line docks; that's where we lost him.” 3O4 THE EYE WITNESS “Hid about the docks somewhere?” Gillian queried. - “Well, there are a thousand likely places about the warehouses,” the inspector admitted, “and the hell of it is that he can get away during the night— if he can swim or pinch any one of the dozen small craft that's always hanging around there.” Gillian was mentally reviewing his picture of the Wilshire house. From the inspector's information he became fairly confident that Norton—if the doc- tor's reasoning was correct—would approach the house from the rear, coming down the river and taking no chances on the streets. The doctor's remark that it seemed a long chance for Norton to take, the chance of killing the detec- tive, rankled in the young man's mind. He found it difficult to reconcile this behavior, with what he knew of Norton's record. There must be other things at stake, he felt certain, than the very large amount of money that Norton knew Wilshire must have in the house. Was it possible, after all, that there was some twist in the counterfeiting skein that he had not yet become aware of? Was there some- thing that Norton knew that had so far eluded the attention of the men working on the case? Gillian began to wonder. The whole case had seemed clear THE INSPECTOR LISTENS 309 The inspector frowned: “Then this Tyndall chap saved ’em a job;” he growled. “Too damned bad, ain’t it?” Gillian remained silent while the inspector pon- dered the whole story. Then: “Why did you say it was a pretty good thing that Norton got away?” Gillian looked up quickly. “That's why I want you to remove the guards from Wilshire's house be- fore night. There's something in that house that Norton wants bad enough to make him take a chance at killing a man to get to, and I want to see what it is!” For a minute the inspector did not quite grasp the idea. Then, as it dawned on him that Gillian ex- pected Norton to return to the house, his hand de- scended with a crash to the desk. “By the lord!” he ejaculated. “There’s an idea for you. If you need any help 33 Gillian shook his head. “I don't mind telling you, Mr. Inspector, that I’ve had quite enough experi- ence with some of your men for a little while. I’d 32 like to have some one with me of course, but The inspector grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear you say. I'm going along with you myself on that little party.” Gillian extended his hand. “Good enough. You 3I4 THE EYE WITNESS -- he continued heavily, again slapping the shoulder of the sitting man affectionately, “I’m going to see you off on the Seminole Limited with a certain little lady.” He grinned broadly, and dropped his voice to a mock confidential tone: “And, demne, Hal; I'll never play another game of chess if I don't believe that “One o' these fine mornings, honeymoon is going to be a foursome!” Tyndall glanced up quickly at Gillian and half rose to his feet. Then he dropped again wearily into his seat, his hands covering his face. When the two men were again alone in the corri- dor, Gillian turned to the doctor. “Don’t you think it unwise, Lester, to-" “Huh!” The doctor grunted his scorn. “When a man is in Hal's fix—mentally—there's nothing unwise.” His face cleared somewhat as he canne into the sunlight of Forsythe Street. “And let me tell you something, Gillian—” the doctor stopped squarely in his tracks, his short, heavy legs out- spread and one hand indicating his broad chest: “I may be fat but may I be eternally smothered if I don't believe that I'm a better detective than you » are; and, what's more Gillian hastened to agree. “I don’t doubt it, Les- ter. You've got a few years on me, anyway.” 318 THE EYE WITNESS The doctor started up the path and it was with difficulty that Gillian repressed a grin of amusement as he watched the big man waddle gravely toward the house. “Right there;” Jackson barked suddenly. “Right by that there what-you-may-call-it tree.” The doctor stopped obediently, and Jackson turned into the walk. “Now go ahead,” called out the detective, and the doctor followed the trail which, according to Jackson's testimony, Tyndall had taken in approaching the house. They reached the veranda of the house and the doctor marched ponderously up the stairs at the side, where, according to Jackson, Tyndall had mounted to the veranda. Once there the doctor stopped a minute, his eyes seeking Gillian and the detective. Jackson, however, grinning his enjoyment, was crouched in the bushes at the foot of the steps, and Gillian was out of the doctor's range of vision watching the detective. The doctor shrugged and moved across the ve- randa to the window that led into the library. When he neared the window, he moved over against the side of the house and hesitated a moment before he stepped into full view of the window. “Right there;” Jackson bellowed from his posi- THE DOCTOR REHEARSES 32I brightened and he smiled a little as he turned his back, deliberately staring long and with apparently keen interest at the cretonne-draped openings in the wall above his head. Then he strolled, hands still pushed deep into his pockets, into the hallway and so into the dining-room beyond the library, from which room the sound of cheerful whistling began to come to the ears of Gillian who sat thoughtfully at the table in the library. When the doctor returned he stood in the door- way gazing quizzically at the young man in the chair. Gillian remained unconscious of the physi- cian’s scrutiny, and finally the doctor fished a pack- age of notoriously cheap cigarettes from his pocket, lighted one, then deliberately moved across the room holding the blackened end of the match in his fingers. Gillian did not move as the doctor crossed his line of vision, and the big man, as though intent on his own affairs, calmly stopped by the screen, deliberately turned sidewise so that his movements could be plainly followed by Gillian, and then pushed the match end through the bullet-hole in the screen- work before him. As the burnt bit of wood fell to the veranda outside an expression of wonder and amazement began to dawn on Gillian's face, and the doctor turned to him, still smiling quizzically. 322 THE EYE WITNESS “Yeh?” The doctor's voice held a question. Gillian drew a long breath as he approached the window. His eyes were fixed on the bullet-hole through which the match had fallen. Then his glance roved to the table and chair in which he had been sitting; then back to the window and, finally, to the doctor's heavy face. “Well—I’ll—be—” “Damned—exactly.” The doctor finished the slow sentence and grinned at the younger man's amazement. Then he pushed open the screen and stepped to the porch, followed by Gillian who, once outside, turned again for a final wondering look through the window. f 326 THE EYE WITNESS would have given a great deal to have been able to know just what had been going on behind the doc- tor's expressionless face. And that hole in the screen now puzzled him. Was it possible, after all, that it had not been made by Hal's revolver? One second's clear thought showed him the futility of such a thought. That the perforated screen was due to the shot fired by Hal Tyndall had been established beyond peradventure of doubt. He turned abruptly and encountered Jackson on the lawn of the house. A moment's conversation with that gentleman cleared the way slightly. Jack- son was positive that the screen was closed when Tyndall approached the house, and that there had been no movement in the room from the time the lighted window first became visible to Tyndall and to the detective. Gillian arrived at the house as the two policemen on duty were preparing to leave in accordance with the inspector's telephoned instructions through the Police Department. Gillian watched the men depart absently, Jackson with them, and then turned and entered the house through the front door, closing it carefully behind him. As he stood for a moment in the hall the jan- gle of the telephone bell cut into his musings, and THE END OF THE VIGIL 327 he moved to answer the summons. As he picked up the receiver it struck him that it would, perhaps, be unwise to answer: that the call might be in the na- ture of an attempt on the part of Norton, or some associate of Norton's, to ascertain whether there was any one in the house. He smiled to himself at the obvious childishness of such a thought, and placed the receiver to his ear. The voice from the other end of the wire immediately reassured the young man. There was no mistaking the heavy rumble that characterized Doctor Edward Lester: “That you, Gillian? Well, I stopped at a drug store on the way in to tell you to telephone me if anything breaks to-night...I’ll be playing chess up at my office for a while if you want to get me.” “All right—” Gillian answered. “I only hope that we get him. I'm mighty anxious to get my own business settled up and get busy on Hal's case where 23 “Well,” the doctor interrupted, “I guess it wouldn't be bad, in that event, to remind you that the automatic was a thirty-eight also.” “But I don't quite—” Gillian suddenly re- alized that the doctor had hung up the receiver and a frown of impatience came to his face. Then slowly the wrinkles of his forehead smoothed them- 330 THE EYE WITNESS Gillian felt grateful to the huge physician and his thoughtfulness. “Oh, the doc you mean...” The inspector nod- ded. “Yep—there isn't much that gets by him, but one of these days he's going to slip and slip bad— he's always too damned right!” Gillian laughed. “I think we had better move toward the rear of the house,” he suggested. “It 22 isn't The inspector's hand fell on his arm, and both men listened intently. But no sound came from the silent house. The darkness deepened—imperceptibly at first, then more rapidly as the two men stood in the high- ceilinged hall where it was now becoming difficult to distinguish the articles of furniture in the gloom. Gillian led the way through the hall and up the broad staircase to the floor above. The inspector's voice, when he spoke, had dropped to a raucous attempt at a whisper. “Think he'll come from the front?” Gillian shrugged in the darkness of the stairway. “He'll look around quite a bit, I imagine,” he said, “and the absence of the officers will puzzle him a little at first. He knows quite well that I’m not go- ing to give up the chase this early in the game, but THE END OF THE VIGIL 33 I what he doesn't know is that I'm morally certain there's something here that he wants and wants bad.” “Huh.” The inspector's ejaculation clearly indi- cated doubt. “If I was in his shoes I’d figure you to watch the railroad station and the roads out of town as well as the telegraph office. He'd naturally guess that you'd figure him to try to correspond with this Pillman guy in Birmingham.” - Gillian smiled. “You don't know Norton,” he reminded. “He isn’t worried about Pillman, and it's pretty certain that he knows who I am. Know- ing this—or guessing it—he will realize immedi- ately that I wouldn't leave any opening in Birmingham.” - The two men entered a room in the front part of the house and took up their position at a window that gave on to the broad lawn. “I’ll stick in the hall,” grunted the inspector in his hoarse whisper as he shifted something osten- tatiously from his back pocket. In the silence that followed Gillian watched the street lights, far beyond the edge of the lawn, flicker and come to life. They seemed to deepen the darkness that surrounded them. A half-hour passed and Gillian's thoughts were on anything save the business in hand. THE END OF THE VIGIL 335 if he entered through the library window as Norton would be almost certain to do. But the inspector was not visible in the dark room and the moonlight which streamed in at the window stopped abruptly half-way to the library table. The line of demarkation between light and utter Stygian darkness was sharply drawn and Gillian strove vainly to see into the gloom. Then his eyes were drawn again to the window, for, with abrupt suddenness, a figure appeared out- lined on the screen. Only the square back of the man was visible, for he faced the lawn. Then the figure dropped to what seemed a crouching position and moved slowly away from the window and to- ward the balustrade. To the inspector, watching from a corner of the room, it seemed that the man - had sighted the approach of some one across the lawn, but to Gillian the crouching posture of the figure was more significant. Then again the man vanished. He had dropped over the balustrade and the crackling that came from beneath the veranda indicated that he was moving in the rose-bushes that bordered the house. For a few minutes only the sound of a heavy body moving in the bushes came to the listeners, then this ceased. Gillian stood tense in the doorway, ready to move 336 THE EYE WITNESS back instantly, while the inspector—crouching be- hind a leather chair in the darkest corner of the room—breathed heavily as he waited. Above the edge of the balustrade appeared two gripping hands; these grasped the upper railing firmly; then a head appeared, and Gillian drew back into the dark hall as Ed Norton swung his figure over the railing and to the veranda. The intruder now seemed to feel safe from ob- servation. There was less stealth in his movements, and he seemed satisfied that the officers that had been on guard before the house were no longer on duty. He neared the window and pushed his way into the room, the screen catch having been left care- fully unfastened by Gillian—standing for an in- stant clearly revealed in the moonlight. Then he closed the screen behind him, and to the ears of the listeners came the sound of what might have been a chuckle as the marauder, his back again turned on the room, contemplated the ominously suggestive bullet-hole in the screen made by the passage of the bullet from Hal Tyndall's revolver. A tiny beam of light stabbed into the dark- ness beyond the illuminated portion of the room and played upon the wall behind the table. Then Nor- THE END OF THE VIGIL 337 ton strode quickly across the room and removed the concealing landscape from before the door of the wall-safe. He seemed entirely familiar with his surroundings, for the playing beam of light from his electric torch did not wander again about the room but remained fixed on the safe door. The inspector, cowering behind the broad pro- tecting back of the chair, remained invisible. A sudden exclamation came from the darkness, and a hand shot out into the beam of light. The hand grasped the handle of the vault door and tugged sharply a moment; then dropped back. At the same instant the heavy leather chair be- hind which the inspector was crouched, seemed to rise straight into the air. The sudden noise that fol- lowed the inspector's move was almost simultaneous with the vanishing of the gleam of the lamp. Then the inspector's raucous bellow; followed by the crash of the descending chair as it struck the floor. But Norton was not caught unawares. With the first noise of the inspector's move he had released the button of his flash-light and leaped back sud- denly. As the chair crashed to the floor two sud- den bursts of flame stabbed the darkness, pointing in the direction of the floor by the wall-safe, and the twin crash of two shots reverberated in the THE END OF THE VIGIL 339 scowling man closed his own eyes tightly, while a supercilious smile appeared about his lips. It was evident that Mr. Ed Norton had been searched be- fore now and he did not propose to allow any invol- untary gleam of his eyes give information to the man before him. “I’ll phone,” volunteered the inspector. Before his eyes danced visions of the seven-column stream- ers in the newspapers that would announce the wounding of the intrepid inspector of the local De- tective Department while engaged on the discharge of his duties. He would see to it that the story lost nothing by repetition: “Gallant Inspector Refuses to Risk Lives of His Men!” “Inspector Takes Chances! Faces Dangers Which He Would Not Permit His Officers to Risk!” He grinned inwardly, as he turned his head to make sure of the blood stain on his shoulder. “And phone Doctor Lester, too, will you?” Gil- lian was busy looking through a handful of letters he had removed from the prisoner's coat. “Tell the doc we’ve got our man, and ask him to come up to your office, will you?” The inspector nodded and worked his left arm backward and forward to make sure that his shoul- der was really as little hurt as it seemed. Then he CHAPTER XXV CHECKMATE OURTNEY GILLIAN, seated opposite In- spector Herndon, was drawing apparently aimless diagrams on a sheet of paper before him on the desk, while the inspector, chewing his black cigar, contemplated the ruin of his shirt, casting an occasional baleful glance in the direction of Ed Nor- ton who sat in one corner of the inspector's office, hands manacled before him. “Say, I’d better get some iodine put on this shoul- der, or something—” grumbled the inspector, be- coming impatient. “What are we waitin’ for, anyway?” he questioned, turning to Gillian. By way of answer came the sound of heavy shuf- fling footsteps in the hall, the opening and closing of a door, a muttered word or two; then the unmis- takable voice of Doctor Edward Lester. Immedi- ately the door of the inspector's office swung open and the huge physician lumbered into the room. His shrewd little eyes took in the three men at a 34I 342 THE EYE WITNESS * * * * glance and he deposited his small surgical case on the desk as he nodded his greetings. In a minute the big man was muttering heavily as he cut away the sleeve and shoulder of the inspector's shirt, much to the grief of the police official. “Say, ain't it just my bloomin' luck?” complained the inspector. “Ain’t it? The best silk shirt 32 “Huh.” The doctor grunted. “Another inch or so and it would have been a fairly decent shoulder knocked cockwise. You've got no kick coming. Hand me that case there, Gillian.” He turned for a moment to the young man, who complied by push- ing the case across the table. The doctor washed and bandaged the shoulder with sure hands that spoke of long experience, and, when he carefully wiped his hands after completing the bandage and helped the inspector into his coat, the police officer volunteered his thanks. “Don’t mention it;” grumbled the doctor. “I like to keep in practise.” He jerked his head in the di- rection of Norton. “That the desperado?” The inspector nodded, then spoke—and Gillian hurried to break into his profane dissertation on crooks in general and gunmen in particular. “Can we have Tyndall in here a minute?” he asked. 344 THE EYE WITNESS man's face was haggard, and his eyes were large and questioning, and, as he listened to the doctor's hur- ried, guttural whispers his hands nervously gripped the arms of his chair. Gillian nodded to Staggard while the detective who had accompanied the man, at a nod from the inspector, left the room. “A friend of yours over there.” Staggard raised his eyes to meet Norton's. The men gazed at each other unflinchingly for a moment, and Gillian, who was positive that they knew each other intimately, marveled at Norton's self- control. Ben Staggard merely shrugged his shoul- ders and took the chair indicated by a jerk of the inspector's thumb. Jackson took up his position against the door as the doctor's voice rose above his whisper: “Dammit all, Hal; where's your sense? Ain't I told you we know what we're doing?” The inspector was not quite certain whether he should interfere in the confidences that were being exchanged between the doctor and Hal Tyndall, but Courtney Gillian gave him no time to decide. “I want to ask you gentlemen to listen a moment to an outline of a very interesting case ” he be- gan slowly, and the doctor straightened from his po- CHECKMATE 345 sition above Tyndall and grinned openly, while the inspector commenced to chew his cigar again, and Detective Jackson, standing by the door, leaned for- ward in order to miss nothing. Only Norton and Staggard seemed uninterested and did not move from their positions: Norton scowling at the floor and Staggard gazing straight ahead of him. “In the first place,” Gillian continued, “the man who killed Ralph Wilshire”—he was looking at Tyndall who raised a tense face—but Gillian was smiling—“made two or three mistakes that, to a mind like Doctor Edward Lester’s 93. “Aw, shut up,” grumbled the doctor embarrass- edly, “or say something.” Gillian grinned and the inspector removed the cigar from his mouth. He had before this experi- enced some of the very practical results that came of the doctor's theorizing. “You will remember,” Gillian addressed himself to the inspector, “that we found the body of Ralph Wilshire seated at the table. Such evidence as we had—including the evidence of an eye witness— tended to show that Wilshire was shot as he sat there.” The inspector nodded and Jackson began to grin condescendingly. CHECKMATE 347 Gillian continued to speak more rapidly: “By actual measurement the hole in the screen before the window through which the bullet you fired passed is sixty-two inches from the floor of the ve- randa. Do you understand what that means? It means that you, firing your revolver when it was drawn from your pocket—waist-high—as Detec- tive Jackson testifies—had the muzzle of your gun pointed upward!” Jackson's mouth dropped open, and his eyes drifted from the speaker, taking in, in turn, the pic- ture of the still grinning physician, the amazed in- spector, the suddenly pallid features of Hal Tyndall, the frightened stare in the eyes of Ben Staggard and the Scowling face of Ed Norton. “And even had your bullet struck Wilshire; you could not have been guilty of killing him, for—as Doctor Lester knew even before I did—Ralph Wil- shire was dead before you ever approached that house!” For an instant it seemed that Detective Harry V. Jackson of Headquarters was going to topple to the floor, so absolute was the astonishment. The in- spector, however, began to paw thoughtfully at his square chin as he eyed Gillian. “When Ralph Wilshire was shot,” continued Gil- 348 THE EYE WITNESS lian quickly, “he was standing in or near the win- dow; the screen was open, and the bullet that killed him came from a man standing on the veranda, near the railing.” He turned for a moment to the doctor. “You remember the maid's remark about an auto tire blow-out?” The doctor chuckled. “Demne if I don’t believe you worked it out yourself;” he chortled. Gillian Smiled. “We know from the maid at Wil- shire's house that the screen of that window was open an hour before Tyndall reached the house. The maid left at that time, and as she made her way to a street-car she heard the sound of the shot that killed Wilshire, only shot. Miss Wilshire left the house at the same time as the maid, or a moment before, but, going she did not know it was a by launch up the river, she heard nothing.” Gillian stopped to array the facts before him for a moment. “And now for the mistakes of the man who killed Wilshire. When he became certain that the shot had gone unnoticed, this man knew that sus- picion would, inevitably, fasten on him or on one of his colleagues; for an investigation into the affairs of Ralph Wilshire would have led to some startling disclosures. So he resolved to make it appear as suicide. The body of the man was placed in the CHECKMATE 349 chair before the desk, and the murderer carefully erased all evidence of the fact that it had been moved from where it fell. Into the dead man's hand he placed the gun with which he had killed him. And then he became too careful: He closed the window- screen which had been open; and he overlooked this: the gun with which he wanted it to appear that Wilshire had shot himself was an automatic, but the murderer forgot that somewhere near Wilshire's chair there should have been the empty cartridge automatically ejected from the gun?” The inspector drew a deep breath; and Jackson, mouth agape, was striving to take in every word of Gillian. Tyndall had fallen forward in his chair and was being supported by an arm thrown over his shoulders by the doctor. Staggard’s face had grown black and Norton continued to scowl at the floor. “You will find,” Gillian spoke directly to the in- spector, “that the bullet fired by Hal Tyndall en- tered the house, traveling at a sharp angle, passed through the square openings in the wall behind Wil- shire's library table—cutting a hole in the cretonne drapings—and buried itself in a beam—which I have carefully marked with chalk—in the ceiling of the dining-room.” CHECKMATE 35I randa I happened to discover.” He dropped an empty thirty-eight cartridge on the inspector's desk in silence. Norton said not a word. “And there is more;” Gillian continued rapidly: “When you left Bir- mingham you were trailed—ah, that's news, isn't . it? You were followed to Staggard's house on º Laura Street where you left those two very inter- Gillian watched his man carefully, for now the young investigator esting suit-cases. And then” & & was guessing you went out through the alley, came to Wilshire's house; found him alone and talked with him. He told you that he was through with Pillman and with shoving Pillman's counter- feit, and he threatened to give the whole game away.” The doctor was nodding in agreement with Gil- lian's outline, but the young man's next words showed the physician that even he had overlooked something: “Wilshire's safe was open when you entered the house, and you saw him push the door of it closed without turning the handle. Then you turned to leave and he followed you to the window and you jerked about and killed him.” It was Ben Staggard on whom the words seemed 352 THE EYE WITNESS to have the greatest effect, for he turned a fright- ened face to Gillian. “I didn't know a thing 92 he began to expostulate eagerly and Norton raised his head to eye him sneeringly. “You weren't sure, Norton,” Gillian continued more lightly, now certain of what he spoke, “whether you should then empty the safe, but you decided against doing it, for—as I said—you wanted the suicide theory to hold, and you knew that an open safe, full of money, untouched, was an argument for it. But you did replace the picture over the safe door, for there was the chance that the safe would go unnoticed in the excitement and you could return for the money. You were afraid to stay in the house much longer, but you determined to return to clear it of any evidence there might be against you and Pillman.” The inspector was now studying the crushed end of his cigar, striving to follow the young man's reasoning. “Then you did a foolish thing;” Gillian continued harshly, “for you killed a man to get away from a charge that—for all you knew—was made only to keep you in custody. But it was worth a great deal to you to get that empty cartridge shell, and you killed another man to do it. When I caught you in CHECKMATE 353 that house you more than half suspected who I was and that I was wise to Wilshire, but you also knew that Pillman would stick by you and that there was nothing that I had on you that could be made to stick. If you had let it go at that, you might have got away with it. But you gave yourself away by killing the detective, and you gave yourself away again to-night when you saw that the safe behind that picture was locked. You knew then that I had you and had Pillman on the counterfeiting, for what you feared was exactly true; there was enough coun- terfeit in that safe—and other things—to finish you. But when the inspector jumped you didn't stop to think you didn't know that you had already killed the detective, and yet you deliberately at- tempted to kill another man.” Norton raised his head. “You got me for croakin' the bull,” he admitted, “and one more or less don't matter now.” He sneered at the fright- ened Staggard, and continued callously: “I croaked the old goat, and he got all that was comin’ to him; and if that young fool hadn't butted in xy Gillian shook his head. “No, I think you're wrong. The doctor here would have got you any- way, I believe. And—oh, yes—” Gillian turned to the inspector: “Excuse me for killing an officer of CHECKMATE 355 street. Parked against the opposite curb he saw a small electric, the tiny light in the top of the car il- luminating the small interior, and shining softly on the face of a girl who seemed waiting—on the face of Vera Ulmstead. Gillian turned to the door. “You’ll—er—you'll 99 excuse me, if I–er The doctor's booming laugh cut short his stut- tered words, and the Gargantuan bellow of the man followed Courtney Gillian down the stairway: “Remember,” shouted the doctor jovially, “remem- ber I said it was going to be a foursome!” THE END ---- THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY reference Department This book is under no circumstances to be taken from the Building | | | | -