THE FALLEN PINE
That Marsh escaped a similar fate later in the afternoon was due
solely to his individual way of arming himself. For some years Marsh
had carried a small automatic pistol, which unobtrusively rested in
the side pocket of his coat. When he was outside in weather that
required an overcoat, the automatic was temporarily transferred to
the overcoat pocket. Marsh did this because a gun was seldom needed
except in emergencies. At such times a movement toward the hip
pocket, where men usually carry their revolvers, frequently gave the
other man an opportunity to act first. Marsh had even carried his
precautions in this line a little further, for the automatic was
always placed in the left-hand pocket. A movement of the left hand
does not receive the same suspicious attention from a criminal. In
fact, as he had several times discovered, it was possible to
distract the attention by a movement of the right hand while quickly
drawing the gun with the left, and at close quarters a gun in the
left hand was just as effective as in the right.
When no word had come from Morgan by one o'clock, Marsh decided to
look the detective up. He called Morgan's home on the telephone,
then the detective bureau, and two nearby precinct stations that
Morgan might have been likely to drop into while waiting to
telephone him. Morgan's mother said he had left early, and the
detective bureau informed Marsh that they had not heard from Morgan
again after receiving a report from him early in the day. The
stations did not remember having seen the detective for a long time.
At each place Marsh left his name, and a message for Morgan to ring
up at once if he came in.
Marsh was now in a quandary. He remembered that he had not asked
Morgan to look anything up that morning and therefore knew of no
place where he might endeavor to obtain a trace of him. The case had
now reached a point where immediate action was necessary, yet he
could not act alone. Of course, he could have called upon the Secret
Service Division at the Federal Building, but he had special reasons
for wanting Morgan's and Tierney's assistance at this time rather
than that of Secret Service men. After long consideration,
therefore, he came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could
do except stay by his telephone and wait. It never occurred to Marsh
that anything of a serious nature could have happened to the
detectives on the crowded city streets. The only plausible
explanation of the delay might be that Morgan and Tierney had
discovered some new clue which they thought of sufficient importance
to follow up before keeping their appointment with him. Marsh
accepted this explanation readily, because he realized that there
were still many loose ends to the case that would permit of new
developments at any moment.
When four o'clock came, however, and there was still no word from
Morgan, Marsh decided that something must have happened to the two
men. He had had ample evidence of the desperate and daring character
of their opponents. To raise a hue and cry in the Police Department
would utterly defeat his plans. Whatever he did must be carried out
quietly. So far as he knew, at this time, there were only two
possible sources of information--one, the house on Oak Street; the
other, the closed house at Hubbard Woods. First he would get a
report from the man on watch at Oak Street. If nothing had occurred
there, he would then carry out his proposed raid on the Hubbard
Woods house with some of his own men.
Having reached this decision Marsh put on his coat and hat and went
down to the corner of Lawrence Avenue to wait for a bus. A stream of
motor cars swept steadily by and when one of these turned into the
curb and stopped, Marsh paid little attention to it. He was
astounded, therefore, when a man opened the door, and addressing
him, said, "Step in and be quick about it!" Marsh gave the man a
sharp glance, then noticing that one of the man's arms was extended
toward him, he dropped his eyes and saw that the coat sleeve was
pulled down over the hand, while the barrel of an automatic
projected about an inch from the sleeve. Marsh looked about him
quickly. The policeman in front of his house was too far away to be
of any assistance, if, in fact, his attention could be attracted at
all. In the other direction, the nearest people were two women, one
of whom was pushing a baby carriage. He then saw that another man
had descended from the driver's seat and was approaching him. Marsh
stepped back and his right hand shot toward his right hip pocket.
Not that he had any intention of drawing a gun while so carefully
covered by the other man, but he had a thought.
"Easy, easy!" cried the man. "You haven't a chance in the world! Do
you want to get bumped off right now?"
Marsh murmured something inaudible and withdrew his hand. The man
with the gun signaled to his companion. This man came up and felt
around Marsh's hip pockets.
"Aw, he's kiddin'," the fellow exclaimed. "He ain't got any gun at
all."
Marsh's thought had been correct.
"All right," said the man with the gun, smiling. "Let's go."
It had flashed through Marsh's mind that what was now happening to
him might have also happened to Morgan and Tierney. If such was the
case it was more than likely that these men would take him to the
same place, and that was just the information he wanted. As for
getting him into that place, that was a different matter. To carry
out his quickly formed plan, it was necessary for Marsh to sit with
his left side away from this man, who would probably join him in the
car, so without further hesitation he climbed into the car and
settled back in the far corner of the seat. The man followed and sat
down at Marsh's right, pulling the door to after him. The other man
climbed back to his seat at the wheel and started the car. They went
down Sheridan Road, and turning through the next street, made the
circuit of the block, returning again to Sheridan Road and moving
swiftly north.
After a time the man turned to Marsh, and said, "If you take things
easy you'll get out of this with a whole skin, but if you start
anything--GOOD night!"
Marsh smiled but said nothing.
"Oh, I know you're a cool customer," the man appraised, "but if you
think you're going to put anything over on us this time, you've made
a bum guess."
"It's hardly likely," replied Marsh, "that an unarmed man would try
any tricks while you sit there with that automatic. The fact is,
however, that you fellows are giving yourselves a lot of trouble for
nothing."
"What do you mean?" snapped the man.
"I mean that I have already offered you my services. All you had to
do was to tip me the word."
The man looked at Marsh suspiciously for a moment. "Do you mean
that?" he said.
"I see no reason why you should doubt my word."
"All right," returned the man. "Hand over those papers you've got
and I'll drop you out at the next street."
"What papers do you mean?" queried Marsh.
"There you go--stalling again. No use; the boss said to bring you
up, and I guess he knows best."
"I don't know where you get that idea about any papers," said Marsh.
"I can show you quickly enough that the only papers I have on me are
of a personal nature and of no use to anyone else."
"Maybe so--maybe so. But after we get you under lock and key, we
know damn well where we can find them."
Thus the argument continued at intervals until they were far up into
the North Shore suburbs. Darkness had fallen and the interior of the
car was absolutely black except when they passed an occasional
street light or an automobile. As Marsh had told Morgan, if you can
only make them talk long enough, they grow careless. Passing under
the last street light, Marsh had observed that the automatic was no
longer leveled in his direction.
The car was of the limousine type, with a glass partition shutting
off the driver so that unless he happened to look around he would
not know what was going on within the car. Marsh figured that now
darkness had fallen, the driver's attention would be directed
entirely to the road ahead, for street lights along the suburban
section of Sheridan Road were few and far between.
"It's getting warm in here," said Marsh. He raised his right hand
and pushed his hat back on his head. At the same time his left hand
withdrew the automatic from his coat pocket and the next instant it
was pressed into the ribs of the man beside him.
"One move and you're through!" breathed Marsh in his ear. "Give me
that gun!" His right arm came down with the hand closing over the
man's automatic. The man started to swear, but stopped suddenly as
Marsh warned, "Shut up. This matter is in my hands now, and I mean
business!" Marsh slipped the man's automatic into his own pocket,
and then brought out a pair of light, steel handcuffs which he
immediately snapped on his prisoner's wrists.
"When I get ready," Marsh informed him, "I'm going to step out of
this car, and I want you to sit perfectly still until I am gone. If
you want to know how good a shot I am, just make a move." Marsh
settled back into his corner and the car rolled on.
At last, just as they made a sharp turn, Marsh caught a different
sound from the wheels, and he knew they had passed into a driveway.
With a last warning to the man, Marsh quietly opened the door on his
side and stepped out of the car. In the distance he could hear his
late captor's manacled hands beating on the glass of the front
windows to attract the driver's attention. There was no time to
lose, for they would be after him in a minute.
Marsh sped down the driveway, but before he reached the entrance
gate he could hear the hum of the pursuing car, and as he sprang
through the gate the car was only a few yards away. Then a most
surprising thing happened. Weakened by its rotting fibres and the
never-ending battle with the winds, the dead pine, which stood
beside the gate, swayed and cracked. The next minute it fell
crashing across the driveway in a cloud of dying splinters and dust,
effectually blocking pursuit by motor.
Marsh dashed across the roadway and concealed himself in the
underbrush. The falling pine had identified the place to Marsh as
quickly as if the men had told him its name. He was facing the
entrance to the house in Hubbard Woods.
The driver of the pursuing car had switched on the powerful
headlights to aid him in locating the fugitive. These lights warned
him of the fallen pine blocking the road. Marsh could hear the
grinding of the emergency brake; and the hum of the motor died away
as the man "killed" his engine in his effort to make a quick stop.
So swiftly had the car been moving, however, that it struck the log
with a tremendous impact which echoed through the still woods. The
front wheels scattered far and wide, and the body of the car climbed
up and rested on the pine log.
The two men, although probably well shaken up by the accident,
jumped hastily from the car and rushed into the roadway. The
headlights were shining directly on Marsh and for a moment he
thought the men might discover him among the bushes. Standing in the
glare, however, they were partially blinded and the manacled man,
realizing this, turned to the other.
"Shut off those damn lights. He'll take a pot-shot at us before we
can see him."
The driver leaped back to the car, shut off the lights, and then
returned to his companion.
"Not much danger," he said. "The guy's probably making a quick
getaway."
"Hell!" the manacled man exclaimed, "the boss'll skin us alive."
"The boss be damned!" exclaimed the other. "This guy'll have the
bulls on us if we don't get him, and the boss won't be ready for the
getaway until Thursday."
"We've got to get him!" declared the manacled man. "He can't run all
the way to Chicago. I figure he made for either the electric line or
the railroad station. You beat it up there quick and see if you can
get him."
"All right," agreed the driver. "And you run down the road."
"Where do you get that stuff?" exclaimed the other, holding up his
manacled hands. "I'm no good with these bracelets on. It's all up to
you now. You're wasting time. Beat it!"
The driver started up the road at a run and Marsh listened to the
rapid beat of his footfalls until they disappeared in the distance.
Then he cautiously crept out of the bushes and approached the other
man. It was so dark that Marsh could barely make out the man's form
as it was outlined against the gray of one of the gateposts.
Consequently, the man did not discover him until Marsh's hand was on
his arm.
"That you, Wagner?" he gasped.
Marsh laughed. "Don't make me talk," he said. "I'm all out of breath
making that getaway your friend spoke of."
"Hell!" the other man groaned, expressively.
"It sure is--for you," replied Marsh. "Now, just lie down in the
road while I tie your feet."
The man turned to run, probably hoping to escape in the darkness.
Marsh's hand still gripped his arm and with a quick movement of his
foot, Marsh threw the man down; then unbuckled the belt around the
fellow's waist and proceeded to secure his feet with it. As Marsh
rose to a standing position a voice close at hand, said, "That'll be
all for you. Throw up your hands!"
Marsh did not move.
"I said, put up your hands," repeated the voice.
"They are up," replied Marsh, counting on the darkness.
"Don't kid me!" The speaker suddenly, flashed an electric pocket
lamp on Marsh. By its gleam Marsh saw the sparkle of a revolver and
wisely put his hands over his head.
The man was standing in front of thick shrubbery. At this moment,
Marsh saw, by the dim glow of the pocket lamp, two hands slip from
the shrubbery and close about the man's throat. The lamp and the
revolver fell to the ground as the man instinctively raised his own
hands to break the hold. But in the darkness Marsh heard his body
drop with a wheezing sigh.