AN ORDER TO RAMON
From the hasty perusal of the flash story in the paper, Nat Ridley
gained an idea of how Lemberg had met his death--that is, he knew all
the police had found out in the short time between the discovery of the
body in the cab and the issuing of the evening extra.
"Look after matters here until I get back, Berry," called Nat to his
assistant. "I'm going to have a look in that taxi."
"Right!" Berry assented. "If you need any help 'phone in."
"I will. And, Berry--" Nat spoke in a lower tone, though there was no
one else in his office, "just keep your eyes open."
"For anything special, Chief?"
"For a sight of any men who look as if they might be Mexicans or
Spaniards," was Nat's reply. "I'm off!" and he hurried to catch one of
the descending elevators in the corridor.
The story of the murder of Lemberg, as set out briefly in the paper,
was to the effect that the chauffeur of the cab drove his fare to the
address given him, which was a German club where the detective made
it a habit to dine several times a week. The driver, finding that his
passenger did not alight on arrival, looked around to see what caused
the delay.
"I saw the gentleman sort of slumped over like, in his seat," the
taxi man told the police. "I thought maybe he had been hitting up the
bootleg. But when I shook him, I saw he was covered with blood. There
was a lot of it on his vest and there was a hole, right over his heart.
I called a cop from the next corner and he got the ambulance. That's
all I know."
The story went on to say that Lemberg was dead when taken to Bellevue
Hospital, and the surgeon who examined the detective said he had died
instantly from a stab wound in the heart.
There was no weapon found in the cab, and the first theory of suicide
was passed over when the surgeon said no man could have given himself
such a deadly wound.
"The question is," said Nat to himself as he made his way to the
nearest police station where, so the paper said, the taxi and driver
had been taken for examination after the body was removed, "when was
Lemberg stabbed? Obviously, some time between getting into the cab near
his office and where it drew up at the curb in front of his club. I
must have a talk with Carter, the taxi man."
Nat had no difficulty getting all the information he wanted from the
New York police. Though a private detective, Nat had more than once
given the regular force valuable clews on cases other than his own.
"Whatever in reason Nat Ridley wants, let him have," had been the
standing orders of Inspector Rossberg of the metropolitan force.
"Hello, Kelly!" called Nat on entering the station house and nodding to
the lieutenant behind the desk. Then, not to make it appear that he had
come around especially to find out more about the strange murder, Nat
went on: "You haven't seen Baldy around this afternoon, have you?"
"No, Mr. Ridley, I haven't," was the answer. "Is he in this
neighborhood?"
"He might be," was Nat's noncommittal answer.
Baldy Stoler was well known to Lieutenant Kelly and to others of the
regular New York police, since he had been on the force before leaving
to join Nat's agency.
"Working on a case, I suppose?" went on Kelly.
"That's it. I thought maybe he might have dropped in here as this would
be on his way. But I guess it's too late now. Anything new?"
It was a stereotyped question, such as Nat often asked, but this time
he knew what the answer would be.
"Well, yes," Kelly replied slowly. "We have a bit of a case here--it
might be in your line, too."
"A case?" questioned Nat, as though he had no idea in the world what
was coming next. "What sort?"
"Murder."
"Oh, they're common enough," and the sleuth spoke with an air of
indifference. "I hardly think it will interest me, unless it is out of
the ordinary."
"That's just it!" declared Kelly, with a chuckle. "It's very
extraordinary, or I wouldn't have mentioned it to you. And it concerns
a friend of yours--or rather, a rival."
"What's the joke?" asked Nat, as he lighted one of his strong, black
cigars and passed one like it to the appreciative officer.
"No joke at all, Mr. Ridley. There's been a mysterious murder done
in the last hour and the man killed is Carl Lemberg, the private
detective. You know him, don't you?"
"Sure! You don't mean to tell me he's dead!" and Nat was sufficiently
startled to throw Kelly off the track. Whereupon the lieutenant
proceeded to give details, adding that the taxi was even then in the
garage of the police station and the driver was in Captain Flood's room
being questioned.
"You don't tell me!" and Nat continued to be astonished. "Do they
suspect the driver?"
"Oh, no! He's out of it. Here he comes now," and, as Kelly spoke, the
precinct commander emerged from his private office, followed by a
typical New York taxi driver. The fellow looked anxious and worried,
but his face cleared as the captain, after nodding to Nat, said:
"It's all right, Kelly. This man can go. I know where to get him when I
want him. He hasn't the least bit of evidence. Report here once a day
until this affair is over, Carter," said the captain crisply.
"Yes, sir. And can I take my cab along?"
"Well, no, not just yet," was the answer. But as the man's face fell,
the captain said: "I'll arrange with the taxi company to let you have
another machine. We may need this for evidence."
"Oh, all right," and Carter's face cleared again. He left the station
house and Nat talked with the captain, mentioning what Kelly had told
him about Lemberg.
"A queer case," said the commander. "In broad daylight, on one of the
busiest streets in the world, a man is stabbed in a taxi and the
murderer gets away. Fierce, I call it! The papers will pound us again."
"You've got to expect that," answered Nat Ridley, with a grim smile.
"But how does this taxi man account for not hearing anything?"
"The only way he says it might have happened was when he was caught in
a traffic jam soon after picking up his fare. There was some blasting
being done, to put down a foundation for a new building, and the street
was blocked off a minute or two. The driver thinks that Lemberg was
stabbed just at the blast went off, which would have prevented his
cries being heard or any noise of the struggle coming out of the cab."
"The murderer picked a good time," commented Nat. "But how did he get
into the cab?"
"That's something Carter doesn't know. Lemberg may have been followed
up by someone who had a grudge against him. You know he has shown up
some pretty big bootleggers and dope peddlers. Well, one of them may
have been laying in wait and hopped into the cab just as, or soon
after, Lemberg got in. He could have chloroformed the German, or maybe
kept him quiet by a threat, and, when the blast came, he might have
driven the knife in. It is also possible that when the cab stopped, on
account of the traffic jam, that then the murderer opened the door and
did the trick, the blast covering Lemberg's call for help."
"That sounds more reasonable than the other," said Nat. "Well, it isn't
any of my affair."
"I'm going out to look in the cab," said the captain. "Some of my men
have given it the once over, but I always like to take a peep for
myself. Want to come?"
"I might, since I can't locate Baldy," stated Nat, as if it was of no
moment.
A little later he was standing in a quiet street at the rear of the
police station and garage. The taxicab had been driven out into the
open and was standing there.
"He bloodied it up a bit," commented the captain as he opened the
door. "They'll have to put new leather on before they can run this
out again," and he indicated several dark red stains. "But there
doesn't seem to be much else," he added as he looked carefully over
the interior of the vehicle. "Guess we'll have to get the finger-print
experts down here. Yes, Duffy, what is it?" he asked as a patrolman,
whom Nat knew slightly, came out and stood waiting for his superior.
"You're wanted on the 'phone, sir," Duffy reported. "It's Inspector
Rossberg about that bond robbery."
"Oh, I'll be right in. See you later, Ridley. This isn't your case,
but look around if you like."
"Thanks," rejoined Nat, and he peered into the cab. Almost at once a
fleck of something white between the back and the seat cushions caught
the detective's eyes. He looked around and noted that Duffy was engaged
in lighting a cigar, and then, with a quick motion, Nat put his hand
between the cushions and pulled out the white object.
He could hardly restrain an exclamation of surprise when he saw that it
was a card, and scrawled on it was the device of the double dagger!
"I might have known it would be here!" thought Nat. "The Mexicans were
on Lemberg's trail, and they got him. Bold devils they are! Knifing him
in a taxi in broad daylight in the heart of New York!"
He shot another glance at Duffy, but the patrolman, who was on reserve
duty, was taking advantage of the chance to get some fresh air and was
strolling about in the neighborhood of the taxi.
With a quick motion Nat Ridley slipped the card into his pocket and
was about to walk away when he noticed three men strolling along the
street and curiously observing the vehicle. The men had dark, swarthy
complexions, their hair was black, sleek, and shiny and their dark eyes
were shifty.
"Mexicans or Spaniards, if I'm any judge!" mused Nat. "And it wouldn't
surprise me in the least to learn that they came along to find out just
what the police are going to do in this murder case. I wish I knew more
about them. I will, soon. Meanwhile----"
Just then Duffy strolled over toward Nat and did exactly what the
detective wished should not happen. For the patrolman greeted the
sleuth loudly by name, and added:
"You working on this taxicab murder?"
"No, Duffy, I'm not!" said Nat decidedly. "I have other fish to fry.
I'm as busy as all get-out on another case. I have no time to look into
this. Besides, I think it's a case of suicide."
"No! Do you now?" asked the policeman. "Well, maybe 'twas. Thim Germans
are great for suicidin'. I wouldn't put it past this fellow, though I
didn't know him. So you're not on it?"
"No, Duffy. I just stopped in out of idle curiosity. It doesn't
interest me in the least."
"Well, I guess the regular police detectives will find out about it,"
went on Duffy with the ordinary policeman's faith in the wisdom of the
sleuths. "Comin' in?" he asked.
"No, I'm off," Nat answered.
The talk, on his part, had been purposely loud. He had noted with some
alarm the lingering walk of the three dark-skinned men. They seemed to
want to remain in the vicinity of the taxicab to hear what was being
said.
"If they can make anything out of what I said they're welcome,"
muttered Nat to himself as he prepared to walk along.
But he caught a glimpse of the face of one of the trio, and on
that face was a sneer. It was as though the dark fellow had been
laughing--as though he was not in the least deceived by the effort Nat
Ridley had made to throw off suspicion. If the strangers knew the name
Ridley, they could not have failed to have heard Duffy's loud use of it.
Then the sneering man spoke, giving a sharp order to his righthand
companion. Though he may have been speaking of someone else, Nat Ridley
had a strong suspicion that he himself was the one referred to when the
sneerer said:
"Ramon, you shall watch that pig! I do not trust him nor any of them!
Watch him!"
"He shall be watched, Señor," was the low-voiced reply as Ramon
received his orders. And Nat Ridley caught Ramon flash a look at him
that boded no good.