STARTLING DISCLOSURES
"Why is it that business men, who pride themselves on their
astuteness, almost invariably slip up somewhere?" thought Marsh, as
he left the La Salle Trust Building and walked north on La Salle
Street. This thought was occasioned by the fact that Hunt had
neglected to ask Marsh for his address and telephone number. It
might be, of course, that the man had taken it for granted that his
name and address would be readily found in the telephone directory.
Though this explanation passed through his mind, he was more
inclined to believe that Hunt's intense interest in the matter, or
possibly a newly aroused fear, created by Marsh's reference to the
peculiar attitude in which he was placed, had driven the subject of
details, out of Hunt's mind.
Marsh had come downtown with the intention of giving his present
address, but as the interview progressed, a feeling grew upon him
that it might be just as well, at this time, to give some downtown
business address. The fact that no inquiry had been made on this
point relieved him of the necessity of giving a fictitious address
on the spur of the moment. His next step, however, must be the
securing of such an address, for it was beyond question that during
his next interview with Hunt this information would have to be
given.
Marsh glanced over his shoulder at the great clock in the Board of
Trade Building, which keeps guard over La Salle Street. It was just
twelve o'clock, and he reasoned that the people he contemplated
questioning would probably be going to lunch. He decided to spend
the next hour, therefore, in securing some sort of office address.
By this time he had reached Madison Street, and turning east, looked
over the buildings as he passed along, with the idea of selecting
one in which a temporary office might be secured. At the corner of
Madison Street and Wabash Avenue, he stopped and looked around him.
On one corner was the building of a great department store. On the
other three corners, big office buildings towered above him. At this
corner also here was one of the Madison Street stations of the
elevated railroad system. Certainly, it was a most logical location
for a man in his supposed line of work, so he entered one of the
buildings, approached the starter in front of the elevators, and
inquired if he knew anyone who would rent desk room. The starter
furnished him with the names and room numbers of two places where he
might inquire. The first of these which he visited proved
satisfactory. He arranged with the young woman in charge to receive
all mail and telephone calls for him and forward these to his
regular address. Making a note of the telephone number, he paid two
month's rent in advance so as to get the matter off his mind, and
returned to the street. The details of this arrangement had taken
but a short time, so Marsh went up to the men's grill maintained by
a nearby department store, intending to eat a leisurely luncheon in
one of the secluded booths.
As he sat studying the menu, a small finger suddenly began to direct
his attention to certain items, while a soft voice whispered in his
ear, "How do you do, Mr. Marsh?"
In work such as his, startling things were apt to occur at any
moment, so Marsh gave no outward indication of his surprise.
"How do you do," he returned, without looking up, but his mind was
working rapidly to place the voice.
"What are you doing here?" the voice asked.
"You know better than to ask that question, Miss Allen." Marsh now
glanced up with a smile.
The waitress stood up, and to anyone across the room it would have
appeared as if they were merely discussing his order, which she was
writing on a pad.
"If you are still engaged in counterfeiting work," she said, "I may
be able to give you a valuable tip."
"All right," said Marsh, "bring me one of those oyster pies and a
cup of coffee. We'll have a chat when you come back."
In a few minutes she was back with his order and talked rapidly in a
guarded voice as she placed the silver on the table and arranged his
dishes.
"About this time yesterday I had four men at this table and caught
snatches of their conversation. I put the facts together about like
this: There is a house in the suburbs, near Chicago, where a
counterfeiting plant has been in operation. In some way the
attention of the police has been attracted, and the whole outfit is
to be cleaned out as soon as they think they can get away safely. I
have no idea regarding the location, but if you are looking anything
up this may be a hint for you."
"Thanks, Miss Allen. It is a hint."
Without further words, she hurried away to attend to another table.
Marsh knew that the girl who had just given him this information was
a Government operative, like himself. He would have liked to learn
more, if possible, especially descriptions of the men, but he did
not know the nature of the work she was engaged in, and feared that
any further contact between them might be unwise. For a moment he
thought of slipping her his telephone number, but the cautiousness
bred by years of experience warned him that telephones, like walls,
sometimes have ears. However, he realized that she had told him
something worth while. It was unlikely that there was more than one
counterfeiting band in Chicago at this time. She had given him a
clue, which, like the cuff button, might tie up at any moment with
some other developments. Moreover, he now knew that his men were
planning to get away and that something must be done in a hurry.
After finishing his luncheon he wrote his newly acquired downtown
address on a slip of paper, wrapped it in a bill, and then signaled
to the girl that he desired his check. He handed her the bill
carelessly, and said in a low voice, without looking up, "Something
inside for you." She returned in a moment with his change, and as
she laid it on the table, said simply, "I understand." Marsh then
started out on his search for information regarding Merton.
While Marsh was confident that he would get, the most important part
of his information at the hotel where Merton had lived, he decided
to work up to that point rather than start there. One reason for
this decision lay in the fact that night employees of the hotel
could probably give him more valuable information regarding Merton's
movements than those on duty during the day. He was only a block
from Michigan Avenue, where the clubs at which Merton spent most of
his time were located. At these places he secured little information
that would further his quest. Merton had impressed the employees of
the clubs simply as a quiet man who had dropped in to read his
newspaper or book, or have quiet chats with other members with whom
he was acquainted. Occasionally he was known to engage in a game of
billiards or cards. It was hardly the life of a man who could have
such close associations with a gang of counterfeiters as to draw
upon himself an act of revenge or the necessity of removing him as a
matter of protection. So far as Marsh could discover, Merton had
never presented a questionable bill to the clubs. In fact, so far as
anyone connected with them could recollect, all payments of any
character had been made by check. Marsh had pursued inquiries along
this line, because, while almost anyone is liable at one time or
another, to be in possession of counterfeit money, such a happening
in Merton's case might have possessed unusual significance. It was
Marsh's desire to ascertain, so far as possible, if there had been
any connection of even a remote character, between Merton and the
counterfeiters. Unless some such connection were established, it
would be hard to believe that Merton had been the Sheridan Road
victim. Yet the coincidences of this disappearance, the evidences of
a crime, and the cuff button initialed "M," possessed too strong a
significance to be entirely disregarded.
At the third club Marsh secured practically no information. Merton
had been an infrequent visitor and had made little or no impression
upon the employees.
Walking north on Dearborn Street and across Madison Street, on his
way from this club to Merton's hotel, Marsh thought quickly. If he
could not at this time establish a connection, then at least he
would try to ascertain the nature of the bait which had been held
out to take this man of quiet habits to the North Side at two
o'clock in the morning.
On reaching the hotel he found that it was still too early to
interview the people he wished to see, so he sat down in one of the
big chair in the lobby to pass the time studying the aspects of the
case.
Even when his mind was busy, Marsh's eyes were on the alert, and
faces met under the most trivial circumstances, photographed
themselves upon his memory. His eyes rested casually upon a man who
sat opposite him, looking over an evening paper. Gradually Marsh
began to feel that the face was familiar. With this realization came
the recollection that the man had seated himself very quickly after
Marsh had selected his chair. Perhaps his recognition of the face
was something that came out of the past, but Marsh always endeavored
to connect every noticeable incident with the problem of the moment.
It was not long, therefore, before he had placed the man. On coming
out of the office building where he had made his temporary address
arrangements, he had passed this man standing near the door and also
remembered seeing the same man in the grill room where he had
lunched. The fact that the man was now seated near him in the hotel
lobby was more than a coincidence. Marsh's eyes roved about the
lobby with apparently careless interest, and not even the man across
from him could have guessed that he had noted anything or become
more watchful than before. However, he was planning action. If this
man was watching him there could be but one reason--his connection
with the present case. If he was connected with this case then he
was evidently one of the men they wanted. Marsh intended to be sure.
To change the situation from watched to watcher would involve some
quick and clever work. Marsh pondered.
As the bell boy passed Marsh called to him, Slipping a coin into the
boy's hand, he said, "I had an appointment here with a Mr. Morgan.
See if you can locate him." As the boy started off, calling the
name, Marsh watched the man opposite out of the corner of his eye.
The man threw down his newspaper, stretched and yawned, while his
eyes wandered about the lobby. His movements were of a very casual
sort, but to Marsh's watchful eye it was noticeable that his glances
were actually following the bell boy seeking Morgan. Marsh was now
convinced that his actions were under surveillance, and he next
planned how to throw the man off. As he sat intent on this problem,
he was startled to heap the bell boy say, "Here's the gentleman,
sir," and looking up, Marsh saw Morgan standing in front of him.
The training of both men forbade any indication of the astonishment
both felt, but looking into the other's eyes, each read the question
there. Marsh jumped up, and holding out his hand, exclaimed
boisterously, "Where have you been hiding yourself? I'd about given
you up."
"I'm sorry I am late," apologized Morgan, in an equally loud voice,
taking the cue. He pulled an adjoining chair close to Marsh and sat
down.
"Now," said Marsh, in a low voice, "it is probably needless to tell
you not to make your observation too obvious, but I want to call
your attention to the man sitting opposite."
Morgan nodded.
"He has been following me all the afternoon," continued Marsh, in
the same guarded voice. "As long as I sit here I surmise that he
will stay where he is. That will give you time to slip out, pick up
one of your men, and get him on the job. I suspect it will be worth
while getting a line on him."
"That's easy," returned Morgan. "I'll have him locked up inside of
the next ten minutes."
"No," said Marsh, "that would be taking too big a chance."
"On. the contrary," said Morgan, "it would be taking no chance at
all. That man has been wanted for a year for putting over a
confidence game. I won't mention any names because lips sometimes
tell stories to watchful eyes. You just sit here and you'll see
something in a few minutes." With that, Morgan went out.
A few minutes later a man strolled through the lobby and approached
the stranger. He leaned over and whispered to him and the two went
out together. Marsh was congratulating himself that when this man
got to Headquarters he might be made to talk to some effect, when
Morgan and another man, whom Marsh easily recognized as a detective,
approached.
"Where in blazes did your man go?" exclaimed Morgan.
Marsh stared for a moment. "Why I thought your man got him," he
said. "Somebody came in and quietly took him out."
"Good-night!" exclaimed Morgan. "Somebody must have tipped him off."
He turned to the man with him. "No use hanging around now. Our
bird's flown."
As the man left them Morgan sat down again beside Marsh. "How the
deuce did you know I was here?" he asked.
"I didn't," returned Marsh. "I had that bell boy page you to test
the man across from me. I never had such a surprise in my life as
when you turned up. What were you doing here?" he added.
"The Chief asked me to look into this Merton case. What were YOU
doing here?"
"The same thing," replied Marsh.
"Looking up Merton?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's funny. What for?"
"Because I strongly suspect he is the murdered man in our case."
Morgan gasped.