MR. MARSH
Morgan had hardly expected such an early reply when he sent his
inquiry to Mr. Ames regarding his acquaintance with Marsh. It was
possible, however, that Mr. Ames had made an early morning call on
his London bankers, and had immediately dispatched his reply. Morgan
was glad that it had arrived at this opportune moment. With Murphy
to testify that Marsh had claimed Ames as a friend, and with this
cablegram to prove the falsity of the claim, he had at least one
unanswerable piece of evidence of a suspicious nature to warrant his
proposed action against the man.
Bidding his mother good-bye, Morgan hurried around to the elevated
station. He purchased a package of cigarettes at the news stand, and
climbed the steps two at a time to catch a train he heard
approaching. A few minutes later he got off at the Wilson Avenue
station, crossed Wilson Avenue to Sheridan Road, and turning north
soon spotted Tierney at the corner of Lawrence Avenue.
"Hello," Morgan greeted him. "Any news?"
"No," replied Tierney. "I relieved Murphy at six o'clock this
morning, and another man has taken up the watch in the alleyway.
Murphy saw nothing of Marsh, and he said the light went out in his
flat about 10:30. The man who watched the alleyway didn't see a soul
except the milkman. Marsh came out a little while ago and I followed
him. He had a quick breakfast in the waffle shop just below here,
and I trailed him back again."
"I guess I'll find my man in, all right," said Morgan. "I'll go up
now. You tell the man in the alleyway to keep his eyes open while
I'm inside. In about ten minutes, if he doesn't hear anything from
me, he can come up and wait outside Marsh's door. We'll leave him
there that long in case Marsh should try to slip out the back way
when he hears me at the door. If he doesn't hear from me in ten
minutes he can be sure that I got in. He will then probably be more
useful close at hand in the event that anything should slip up.
After you tell him what to do, you can go ahead with the
photographs."
Tierney nodded in acknowledgment of these instructions and started
back to the alleyway. Morgan entered the apartment house, climbed
the stairs to Marsh's door, and rang the bell. Marsh immediately
opened the door. It seemed to Morgan as if Marsh must have been
standing there awaiting his ring, yet how could the man have
suspected Morgan's intention to call on him at this time? It looked
strangely like the man had been on watch at the door.
"Good morning," said Marsh.
"Good morning," returned Morgan. "I want to have a little talk with
you."
Marsh invited him in with a pleasant ring in his voice, and
indicated the living room with a motion of his hand. Morgan entered
and sat down on a chair close to the entrance, laying his hat on the
floor by the chair. Marsh watched Morgan sit down in this
strategical location, and then, with a slight smile, strolled across
and seated himself in a big chair near the fireplace. Resting his
elbows on the arms of the chair, and interlacing his fingers in
front of him, he looked at Morgan.
"Well?" he said.
Morgan unbuttoned his coat and exhibited his badge. "I am Detective
Sergeant Morgan of the Chicago Police Department."
"Oh, yes--Dave Morgan."
Morgan looked at Marsh sharply. "You've heard of me before, have
you?" he said.
"Not until early Tuesday morning," smiled Marsh. "Then I heard one
of the policemen refer to the fact that this would be a job for Dave
Morgan. Evidently you have quite a reputation here in Chicago, Mr.
Morgan."
"Among crooks--yes," snapped Morgan. The easy attitude of the other
man was just a little puzzling. Morgan, however, was inclined to
attribute it to his confidence that they were not in a position to
actually fasten any guilt upon him. He suspected that the man was
playing a game, and this not only nettled him, but served to
strengthen his suspicions. Morgan went on.
"I have been assigned to this murder case upstairs, Mr. Marsh. After
considerable investigation I find it will be necessary to ask you a
few questions."
Marsh nodded but said nothing.
Morgan sat silent for a moment, as if considering how to begin.
Then, without apparently looking at Marsh, he suddenly said, "It's a
long jump from Mexico to Chicago."
Marsh unclasped his fingers for a moment and looked hard at Morgan.
Morgan caught what he believed to be a start, but gave no indication
that it had made an impression upon him.
"I was wondering," he continued, slowly, "what had brought you such
a long way."
"Obviously, Mr. Morgan, if you know that much about me, you must
also know that I came here on business."
"When do you attend to your business, Mr. Marsh?" asked Morgan, now
looking him in the eye.
"At various times of the day," replied Marsh. "Whenever I can get
appointments with the people I am negotiating with. I don't quite
understand the trend of these questions, but I might say that I was
downtown on business the greater part of yesterday afternoon."
"Does standing on a Michigan Avenue curb constitute the principal
part of your business, Mr. Marsh?"
"Well, I sometimes fill in my time like that until I am sure the
people who are interested in my movements have gone on about their
own business."
It was Morgan's turn to look disconcerted. Evidently he had a clever
man to deal with, and he began to wonder if his present step had not
been too precipitate. He felt sure that it was going to be difficult
to fasten anything on this man. He decided, however, that he had
gone too far to draw back now, and he went on with his questions.
"In the preliminary report which was given me," he said, "I noticed
that you made a statement to the patrolman you called in that the
noise in the flat above aroused both you and your wife."
"Yes," admitted Marsh. "I believe I did say something like that."
"But," added Morgan, "we have not been able to get an interview with
your wife."
"Such an interview would be quite useless. As a matter of fact, she
knows no more, and probably not so much as I do about what took
place."
"You're probably right about that," smiled Morgan, and there was a
sarcastic ring in his voice. "Just the same, I'd like to have a few
words with her."
"You know as well as I do, Mr. Morgan, that that would be
impossible."
Morgan raised his eyebrows. "I don't get you," he said.
"Well, to be more explicit, then, you know that my wife does not
live here."
"Here's a new game," thought Morgan. There was no doubt that Marsh
was openly fencing with him. In fact, the man seemed to know every
move which had been made. At last the super-criminal of literature
seemed to have stepped into actual life. Morgan was certain that
some crime had been committed, and the circumstantial evidence
against this man had been accumulating rapidly. Yet, as he faced him
and thought it over, he realized how intangible was their hold upon
Marsh. Of course, when they got this man down to Headquarters they
might force him to give more explicit details regarding his past and
present actions, but a man so clever as this had probably left
little behind him that would convict him of anything; certainly not
of his connection with whatever had taken place in the apartment
above. The cuff button, even, seemed to be growing doubtful in
value.
These reflections on Morgan's part flashed through his mind so
quickly that there was only the slightest pause between Marsh's last
statement and the next question.
"What would give you that impression?" asked Morgan.
"Your man went through my apartment yesterday, and I'm sure he found
no evidence of a lady occupying it with me."
Morgan found it difficult to conceal his astonishment, not only at
the statement, but the man's intimate knowledge of things of which
he was supposed to be in ignorance. Then he remembered the
clandestine listener at his door, and his doubts of a moment before
took flight.
"It is quite evident," declared Morgan, "that you, or someone
connected with you, have taken an unusual interest in the movements
of the Chicago Police Department. Why?"
"I have taken no special interest in what you have been doing," said
Marsh. "It was not difficult to note that almost from the time I
called the attention of your man on the beat to the occurrence, your
men have been regarding me with suspicion. I cannot possibly
understand why this should be so, but you will admit that it is a
fact, won't you?"
Morgan remained silent.
"I could not help noticing," continued Marsh, "that the man who had
been conducting an investigation in this house was keeping watch
across the street. Happening to glance back after entering a taxicab
yesterday, I observed this man entering another taxi, which followed
mine downtown. It was obvious to the most ordinary intelligence that
he was following me. After I reached the 'loop' district I was
absolutely sure of it. Then, when I returned and found footmarks in
my apartment, it was quite evident that someone had been
investigating."
Morgan was stunned. "Footmarks!" he thought. "Had Tierney been so
clumsy and careless as to enter the flat with muddy shoes?"
Something had to be done to cover an awkward pause, and give him a
chance to gather his wits, so Morgan took out the package of
cigarettes. After helping himself to one, he tossed the package to
Marsh. Morgan noted with satisfaction that the man took one before
handing the package back. Marsh smoked cigarettes!
"Why did you follow Miss Atwood?" Morgan suddenly shot at him.
Marsh's face expressed surprise. "Follow Miss Atwood!" he exclaimed.
"That's what it looked like," asserted Morgan.
"Well, that WAS a strange coincidence," commented Marsh.
Morgan found it hard to determine whether this was a reply or an
evasion. He decided, however, that matters had gone far enough, and
that Marsh must either prove himself innocent, or stay in jail until
they could definitely fasten his guilt upon him. To bring matters to
a head, he reached into his pocket for the cablegram.
"You said that Mr. Ames, the man who rents the flat upstairs, was a
friend of yours."
"I believe I did," admitted Marsh.
"Well, I have a cablegram here from Mr. Ames," stated Morgan, as he
brought out the paper. "Read it."
Marsh leaned forward, took the cablegram, read it gravely, and
returned it to Morgan.
"You have certainly got me tied up," he said.
"Tight as a drum!" agreed Morgan. "The game's up, Marsh. You're
coming with me to Headquarters."
"I'm afraid you have sort of spilled the beans, Morgan," laughed
Marsh, rising.
Morgan, however, was used to the last minute plays of cornered
criminals. Leaning back in his chair, and smiling encouragingly, his
hands, without seeming purpose, were slipped into the side pockets
of his coat. The right hand quickly gripped a revolver in readiness.
"Yes," continued Marsh, "I had hoped to work quietly, but this
incident has upset my plans. Yet, after all, perhaps we can work
together with greater success."
"Now we come to the 'divvy' proposition," thought Morgan. He
remained expectantly silent, however, and his face still wore its
encouraging smile.
Marsh came closer and the end of the concealed revolver barrel moved
upward just a trifle. The next moment the smile on Morgan's face
faded out and his eyes filled with an astonished stare.
Marsh had thrown back his coat, revealing the badge of the United
States Secret Service!