"DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES"
Up to this time the case had seemed one of the most mysterious with
which Marsh had ever had to deal. Now, however, while elements of
mystery still remained, he had certain definite clues upon which to
work. The little notebook in his pocket might prove to be a key that
would unlock the final barrier. The most important thing before him
now, therefore, was to secure a solution to the cipher. It was of
too important a nature to trust to the mails so Marsh decided to put
it directly into official hands. He glanced at his watch. It was
after six, and being Saturday, it was likely that these men had left
their offices in the Federal Building. At the same time, this was a
very busy branch of the Government and it was just possible that
someone might be lingering late. Marsh decided to take a chance.
It had been clearly impressed upon him by this time that he was no
longer free to come and go unnoticed. At this very moment there
might be a pair of eyes somewhere in that hurrying throng on La
Salle Street ready to follow his every move. However much they might
suspect him, his exact status in the case was probably still a
puzzle to them. He did not believe it safe as yet to betray his
connection with the Government. The problem then was to reach the
Federal Building without being followed.
Marsh called a taxi, and loudly giving an address on the South Side,
was whirled away. Taking out a bill, he laid it on the seat. In a
couple of blocks the taxi was held up for a moment by traffic and
Marsh stepped hastily out and softly closed the door. He dashed up
the street, turned down an alleyway, and half way down the block
turned again through another alley that brought him to a different
street. In these dark, deserted byways he could have instantly
detected any attempt to follow him. A few minutes later he entered
the Federal Building, quite sure that any possible pursuers had been
thrown off the trail.
He found a hard working official still in his office, and showing
his credentials and explaining the object of his visit, Marsh turned
over the notebook. Then he slipped out of the Federal Building, and
went to a nearby restaurant to get his dinner. After dinner he
proceeded by devious routes to keep his appointment with Morgan.
Climbing to Morgan's apartment, Marsh gave three raps, the signal
agreed upon.
Tierney opened the door, but after an exchange of greetings, put on
his cap and passed out into the hall to stand guard.
"Both of us must have important information," said Morgan. "Which of
us, shall tell it first?"
"Let me hear your story first," returned Marsh.
"All right," agreed Morgan. "Here goes. My chief information lies in
the fact that we now have two men who are undoubtedly connected with
Atwood. Both of these men are known to the police, and once we get
our eyes on them they will probably lead us to the men we want. It
is only a question of hours, perhaps, because every man on the force
now has their descriptions and will keep his eyes open. The first of
these is Wagner, the man you saw in the hotel lobby. The other is
the man who attacked Miss Atwood. With her description in mind,
Tierney and I looked over the photographs at Headquarters. We picked
out a man known as 'Baldy' Newman as best answering the description.
I took a copy of the photograph to Miss Atwood at her hotel, and
while she was not sure, she said it was enough like the man she saw
to be the same person. Now, this 'Baldy' Newman is a well known West
Side gunman, and we know his usual hangouts. He's a little bit of a
shrimp, but an expert with his gun, and therefore a dangerous
customer to handle, so Tierney and I were mighty vigilant. We found,
however, that for nearly two years he has shown up only twice at his
old hangouts. That time ties up in a significant way with your
story, Marsh. The last time was early on Monday night, when he
showed a roll of money and boasted that he was going to pull off a
real job that night. We got this from the bartender, who was mighty
sore at 'Baldy.' It seems that our friend had slipped a five dollar
bill off his roll to pay for drinks for the crowd, and the bartender
still has this bill as a souvenir. IT WAS A COUNTERFEIT. Of course,
there's enough in all that to positively tie 'Baldy' up with our
case, even if Miss Atwood had not been fairly confident of her
identification."
"Now," continued Morgan. "Here's some stuff I brought for you.
Sooner or later I believe you can make use of it." Morgan handed
some photographs to Marsh, which he explained as Marsh looked them
over.
"The first," he said, "is a photograph of 'Baldy' Newman. He's a
good man for you to keep your eye out for, because if he ever shot
first it would be all day with you. The second photograph is of
Wagner. You have already seen him, but this picture will fix him
more firmly in your mind. The next photograph is the one our man
made of Atwood's letter. Of course, the letter doesn't tell us much,
but the handwriting may. That last photograph is of the hand marks
on the dining room table in the Ames apartment. Ordinarily, marks of
that kind would tell very little. Our finger print expert, however,
called my attention to the fact that there is a scar on the right
hand. Of course, a scar in that position might be found on many
hands, but if you look carefully at that photograph you will see
that the scar forms a sort of acute angle. It is, therefore, not an
ordinary scar. The man whose hand we find it on is pretty sure to be
one of the men who was in the Ames apartment that night."
"High class crooks like Atwood, while they work alone, are often
hard to get, but sooner or later they grow ambitious. They want to
be the brains of an organization. Then they call in second-rate
crooks like 'Baldy' and Wagner, to do the dirty work. These men are
never so clever, and some day, through them, the police get their
hands on the man higher up. I think, Marsh, that in this case that
is what we are going to do."
"You have done well, Morgan," praised Marsh. "I believe on the whole
that, while I have secured some valuable information, your work has
really brought us the nearest to the man we want."
"That was pretty sharp of you to tie up Merton with the case,"
commented Morgan. "Of course, when you mentioned it to me I saw its
possibilities. Before that I was thrown off the track by the fact
that Merton was reported to have been missing for ten days, whereas
this supposed crime occurred at two o'clock last Tuesday morning.
Why do you suppose that fellow Hunt threw us off like that?"
"Probably he did not do it intentionally," answered Marsh. "Hunt is
running the business for Merton, and very likely saw little of him
outside of the once. It may have been ten days since Merton had
appeared at his office, although only a few days since he was
missing from the hotel."
"What made you suspect it in the first place?" inquired Morgan.
"I'll tell you the whole story," said Marsh. "Naturally, I was
watching the papers for missing people. When I saw that announcement
this morning, and remembered the 'M' on the cuff button, it began to
look like a possibility. At any rate, it was worth looking up. To
get at the real facts, I knew that I would have to be on the inside,
so I presented myself to Hunt this morning as a private investigator
who was anxious to get the job of looking up Merton in the interest
of his office. I think I got closer to Hunt than any policeman ever
would. In fact, I was furnished with inside information that may or
may not be significant. This man Hunt holds a power of attorney from
Merton, and Merton's will names him as sole executor, Of course, to
a criminal investigator that sounds bad on its face. On the other
hand, if Hunt possessed such power with Merton there could be no
object in his wanting to get him out of the way. Certainly, a man in
Hunt's position would not have had dealings with a crook like
Atwood. Furthermore, if Hunt did want to make away with Merton, he
would more likely do it himself than take the risk of employing
others, and so place himself in a position to be blackmailed later.
Carrying the thought still further, would a clever man like Atwood
take a chance of upsetting his own plans by hiring himself out to
Hunt as a common thug?"
"I am positive that Atwood either killed or kidnapped Merton, for I
have discovered, through the telephone girl at the hotel, that
Merton received a telephone call at twelve o'clock Monday night,
summoning him out. That telephone call was supposed to come from the
Ames apartment. At two o'clock Tuesday morning the shot was fired in
that apartment and Merton has not been seen since. We know
definitely that Atwood occupies the apartment across the hall, but
at this time I cannot see any possible connection between the two
men. Hunt is evidently nervous, because it is my opinion that he
used undue influence over Merton, and this disappearance has placed
him in a peculiar position. I particularly called this phase of the
case to his attention this morning, and subtly suggested that my
work would be of value to him in preventing suspicion on the part of
the police. That feature was plainly what made him decide to employ
me, and I am relying upon it to eventually get further valuable
information."
"The little book, with notes in cipher, which we discovered in
Merton's room, is somewhat of a puzzle to me just now. It may
contain information that will be helpful, or it may prove just a
memoranda of business deals. We must not overlook the fact that a
man in Merton's line of work, and the men with whom he did business,
have many big plans which must be kept secret until they are
launched. That book may have contained data along such lines, and
Merton may have simply been referring to it when suddenly called
out. You will recall that we found a memorandum regarding business
transactions covering the book."
"But," protested Morgan, "there must have been some connection
between Merton and Atwood or else Atwood would not have taken such a
dangerous step against him. Even you will admit that Atwood was not
an ordinary crook. Doubtless, then, every step he took was the
result of a definite plan."
"Quite true," agreed Marsh, "but there was never a plan yet that
didn't have possibilities of failure. You remember what I have said
before; that I believed that shot to have been a mistake. If the
shot was a mistake, could not other mistakes have also crept in? Get
Atwood and I believe that many things will be cleared up."
"Now there is one thing more," went on Marsh. "I cannot tell you
where I got the tip, and the information is only general. Still it
helps. There are at least four men in the gang we seek, and their
headquarters is in some suburban house near Chicago. The most
important point, however, is this: they know positively that we are
after them, and have made arrangements to get out at the first
opportunity. That means WE must work fast."
Morgan was sitting in his favorite chair by the table. Marsh was
seated at the front of the room with his back to the window. At this
moment the window glass above his head cracked, a dull thud sounded
on the wall across the room, and bits of paper and plaster dropped
to the floor.
Instantly Marsh slipped down in his chair, so that his head came
below its back, while Morgan's hand shot out and snapped off the
electric lamp on the table, throwing the room into darkness. Aside
from the slight cracking of the window glass, and the dull crash as
the missile struck the plastered wall, there had been no other
sound.
Morgan left his chair and felt his way through the darkened room.
Opening the hall door he cautiously peered out. Tierney, with his
hands in his trouser pockets, was leaning with his back against the
wall. He glanced up quickly as the door opened.
"Everything all right, Tierney?" inquired Morgan.
"Sure thing."
"Haven't seen or heard anybody?"
"Nope."
Morgan closed the door and moved back into the room.
"'Dead men tell no tales'," said Marsh, lightly.
"Was it that, or just a warning?" questioned Morgan.
"People do not go to all that trouble just to deliver a warning,
Morgan. They wanted to get me."
"Why you?" protested Morgan. "I was here, too."
"They couldn't possibly have seen you where you sat, Morgan. On the
other hand, my head, sticking above the back of this chair, and
showing against the lamp-light, made an excellent target."
Marsh now rose and examined the window. "A nice, clean hole," he
commented, "and not more than two inches above my head. A mighty
good marksman, with a high-powered rifle, evidently."
"Rifle!" exclaimed Morgan. "We didn't hear a sound!"
"Come here," Marsh called. Morgan joined him at the window. "From
here you can see the grand stand in the ball park. The upper tiers
are on a line with this window."
"But," objected Morgan, "that is too far away for any man to get a
good sight; and remember, we heard no shot."
"Don't forget," Marsh reminded him, "that we live in scientific
times. With a telescopic sight, and a Maxim Silencer on his rifle, a
good marksman could steady it on the back of one of those seats and
pick us off at twice the distance without a sound."
"It is very discouraging," groaned Morgan. "To think that we may be
picked off before we've even began to get near our man."
"On the contrary," returned Marsh, "it is very encouraging. When a
criminal gets as desperate as that you are not very far away from
him."
Marsh then pulled down the shades and instructed Morgan to light the
lamp once more.
"Seems kind of dangerous, under the circumstances," remonstrated
Morgan.
"On the contrary, the man who fired that shot is probably miles away
by this time. He is doubtless laughing to think of fat policemen
crawling around over the benches up there right now."
"They would have been," admitted Morgan, "if I had been alone. As it
was, I left it to you to do what you thought best."
"I have a special reason, however, for lighting the lamp and pulling
down the shades," explained Marsh. "It is just possible that another
member of the gang is watching out there for me to leave. Pulling
down the shades and lighting up will lead him to think I am still
here. In the meantime, I am about to slip down your back stairs."
"Where are you going to stay tonight?" inquired Morgan.
"Home, of course."
"I admire your nerve!" exclaimed Morgan. "Sleeping up in that place
all alone, with these fellows hot on your trail."
Marsh laughed. "Seems to me they're pretty close to your house, too,
Morgan. Aren't you going to sleep at home?"
"Yes," said Morgan, grinning, "but somehow or other that big,
half-furnished place of yours seems more dismal and open to the enemy
than my little home here with a police station only a couple of
blocks away."
"You forget that I have two policemen on guard up there. They've not
been ordered off yet. If I were to let my imagination scare me to
death, Morgan, I would have been out of the Government service long
ago. This experience is no worse than some of the things I went
through during the war."
"Now, before I go, there are two matters I should like you and
Tierney to look up for me. First, locate a man named Nolan, who was
formerly Mr. Merton's chauffeur. Find out what he has been doing for
the last week or two; particularly where he was last Monday night.
Nolan is the man who is supposed to have telephoned Merton."
"Then try to get a line on Gilbert Hunt; how long he has been with
Merton, and things of that sort. I will look for you at my apartment
Monday evening. If anything important should happen in the meantime,
try to get me on the telephone. Now, I'm going."
As they passed through the apartment, Morgan said, "I'm sorry you
didn't meet my mother. She never interrupts conferences, and has
gone to bed by this time."
"There will be many other opportunities, I hope," returned Marsh.
By this time they had reached the back door, and after a silent
handshake, Marsh slipped quietly down the rear stairs, then through
the alley to Addison Street, where he boarded an elevated train and
went home.
He was re-assured by the careful way in which the officer on duty in
front of his house scrutinized him as he passed, and went upstairs
and straight to bed. It had been a busy day and Marsh had many
half-formed plans for the morrow.