BATTERED KEYS
Farland started moving slowly toward them, making his way through the
crowd in such fashion that he did not attract too much attention to
himself. He was feeling a sudden interest in this case. There were great
possibilities in the fact that two persons connected with it from
different angles were in conversation.
As he made his way toward the show window, he remembered how this George
Lerton had tried to induce Sidney Prale to leave the city and remain
away, and how, afterward, he had denied that he had seen Prale on Fifth
Avenue and had spoken to him.
"He's connected with this thing in some way," Farland told himself.
"It's my job to discover exactly how."
But he was doomed to be disappointed. Before he could get near enough to
make an attempt to overhear what they were saying, they suddenly parted.
Kate Gilbert went into the shop, and George Lerton crossed the street
and hurried down the Avenue.
It was no use wasting time on Kate Gilbert. Farland knew where to find
her if he wanted her, and he knew there would be no use in shadowing her
now, since she probably had gone into the shop to purchase a hat. But
George Lerton was quite another matter.
The detective did not hesitate. He swung off down Fifth Avenue in the
wake of George Lerton.
Farland was a rough and ready man, and he had little liking for male
humans of the George Lerton type. Lerton always dressed in the acme of
fashion, running considerably to fads in clothes, appearing almost
effeminate at times. And yet it was said in financial circles that
Lerton was far from being effeminate when it came to a business deal.
There had been whispers about his dark methods, and it was well known
that a business foe got small sympathy or consideration from him. He was
a fashionable cut-throat without any of the milk of human kindness in
his system.
It was a surprise to Jim Farland to see Lerton walking. He was the sort
of man who likes to advertise his success, and he had a couple of
imposing motor cars that he generally used. But he was walking this
morning, and the fact gave Farland food for thought.
Lerton continued down the Avenue, and Jim Farland followed him closely.
He expected to see Lerton meet some one else and engage in another
whispered conversation, but Lerton did not.
"That boy is worried," Farland told himself. "He's one of those birds
who like to walk when they want to think something out. If I could only
know what was going on in that mind of his----"
Lerton had reached Madison Square, and there he did something foreign to
his nature. He crossed the Square, proceeded to Fourth Avenue, and
descended into the subway.
Farland was a few feet behind him, and got into the same car when Lerton
caught a downtown train. He followed when Lerton got off and went up to
the street level again, and now the broker made his way through the
throngs and along the narrow streets until he finally came to the
financial district. After a time he turned into the entrance of an
office building--the building where his own offices were located.
The detective watched him go up in the elevator, and then he turned back
to the cigar stand in the lobby and purchased more of the black cigars
he loved. For a time he stood out at the curb, puffing and thinking. He
watched the building entrance closely, but George Lerton did not come
down again.
As a matter of fact, Farland scarcely had expected that he would. He
believed that Lerton had kept an appointment with Kate Gilbert, and then
had continued to his office to take up the work of the day. Farland
decided that he would give Lerton a chance to attend to the morning mail
and pressing matters of business, before seeking an interview.
Finally, Farland threw the stub of the cigar away, turned into the
entrance of the building once more, and walked briskly to the elevator.
He shot up to the tenth floor, went down the hall, and entered the
reception room of the Lerton offices. An imp of an office boy took in
his card.
"Mr. Lerton will see you in ten minutes, sir," the returning boy
announced.
Farland touched match to another cigar. He was a little surprised that
Lerton had sent out that message. Lerton knew Farland, as Sidney Prale
had known him in the old days. He knew Farland's business, and he knew
that the detective and Prale were firm friends. He could guess that
Prale had engaged Jim Farland to work on this case and clear him of the
charge of having murdered Rufus Shepley.
After a time the boy ushered him into the private office. George Lerton
was sitting behind a gigantic mahogany desk, looking very much the
prosperous man of business.
"Well, Farland, this is a pleasure!" Lerton exclaimed. "Haven't seen you
for ages. How's business?"
"It could be better," Jim Farland replied, "and it could be a lot worse.
I'm making a good living, and so have no kick coming."
"If I ever need a man in your line, I'll call you in," George Lerton
said. "And the pay will be all right, too."
"Don't doubt it," Farland replied.
"Want to see me about something special this morning?"
"Yes, if you can give me a few minutes."
"All the time you like," Lerton replied.
That was not like the man, Jim Farland knew. Lerton was the sort to try
to make himself important, the always-busy man who had no time for
anybody less than a millionaire.
Farland smiled and sat down in a chair at one end of the desk. He
twisted his hat in his hands, looked across at George Lerton, cleared
his throat, and spoke.
"You know about Sidney Prale being in a bit of trouble, of course?"
"Yes. Can't understand it," Lerton replied, frowning. "Sidney always had
a temper, of course, but I never thought he would resort to murder
during a fit of it. You know, I never got along with him any too well.
He had a quarrel with his sweetheart in the old days and left for
Honduras twenty-four hours later and remained there for ten years."
"I know all about that, of course," Farland said. "You perhaps have
guessed that he sent for me--engaged me to get him out of this little
scrape."
"Murder, a little scrape?" Lerton gasped. "I should call it a very
serious matter."
"Let us hope that it will not be a serious matter for Sid," Farland said
with feeling. "I believe that the boy is innocent, and I hope to be able
to clear him. Will you help me?"
"I never had any particular love for Sidney, and neither did he for me,"
George Lerton said. "However, he is my cousin, and I hate to see him in
trouble. But how can I help you? I don't know anything about the
affair."
"An alibi is an important thing in a case like this," Farland said. "We
want to prove an alibi, if we can, of course. Sidney says that you met
him on Fifth Avenue----"
"And I cannot understand that," Lerton interrupted. "Why should he say
such a thing?"
"You didn't meet him?"
"I certainly did not! I cannot lie about such a thing, even to save my
cousin. Why, it would make me a sort of accessory, wouldn't it? I cannot
afford to be mixed up in anything of the sort. You must understand
that!"
"And you didn't urge him to leave New York and remain away for the rest
of his life?"
"I didn't see him at all," George Lerton persisted. "Why on earth should
I care whether he remains in New York or takes his million dollars
elsewhere?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," Farland said. "But it seems peculiar to me
that Sid would tell a rotten falsehood like that. Doesn't it look
peculiar to you?"
"I must confess that it does not," George Lerton replied. "I suppose it
was the first thing that came into his head. He was trying to establish
an alibi, of course, and he probably thought he would get a chance to
telephone to me and ask me to stand by the story he had told, thinking
that I would do it because of our relationship."
"I was hoping that you would tell me you had met him on Fifth Avenue,"
Farland said. "It would have made his alibi stronger, of course, and
every little bit helps."
"Stronger? You mean to say that he has any sort of an alibi at all?"
"A dandy!" Farland exclaimed. "In fact, we have an alibi that tells us
that Sid was quite a distance from Rufus Shepley's suite when Shepley
was slain."
"Why, how is that?"
"Sid picked up a bum and tried to make a man of him. He bought the
fellow some clothes and took him to a barber shop. The clothing merchant
and the barber furnish the alibi."
An expression of consternation was in George Lerton's face, and Jim
Farland was quick to notice it.
"Of course, I am glad for Sidney's sake," Lerton said. "But I had really
believed that he had killed Shepley. It caused me a bit of trouble,
too."
"How do you mean?" Farland asked.
"Shepley was a sort of client of mine," Lerton said. "I handled a deal
for him now and then. He has been traveling on business for some time,
as you perhaps know. I had hopes that he would give me a certain large
commission and that I would make a handsome profit. He was about
convinced, I am sure, that I was the man to handle it for him. His small
deals with me had always been to his profit and my credit."
"Oh, I understand!"
"And a possible good customer is removed," Lerton went on. "So you have
an alibi for Sidney, have you? In that case--if he did not kill Rufus
Shepley--he must have told that story about meeting me when he was in a
panic immediately following his arrest. Sid always was panicky, you
know."
"I didn't know that a panicky man could pick up a million dollars in ten
years."
"Oh, I suppose Sidney was fortunate. There are wonderful opportunities
at times in Central America, and I suppose he happened to just strike
one of them right. He was very fortunate, indeed. Not every man can have
good luck like that."
"Well, I'm sorry that I troubled you," Farland said. "And now, I'll get
out--if you'll do me a small favor."
"Anything, Farland."
"I see you have a typewriter in the corner, and I'd like to write a
short note to leave uptown."
"Just step outside and dictate it to one of my stenographers," said
George Lerton.
"That'd be too much trouble," Farland replied. "It's only a few lines,
and I can pound a typewriter pretty good. Besides, this is a little
confidential report that I would not care to have your stenographer know
anything about."
"Oh, I see! Help yourself!"
Farland got up and hurried over to the typewriter. He put a sheet of
paper in the machine, wrote a few lines, folded the sheet and put it
into his coat pocket.
"Well, I'm much obliged," he said. "I think we'll have Sid out of
trouble before long."
"Let us hope so!" George Lerton said.
There was something in the tone of his voice, however, that belied the
words he spoke. Farland gave him a single, rapid glance, but the
expression of Lerton's face told him nothing. Lerton was a broker and
used to big business deals. He was a master of the art of the blank
countenance, and Jim Farland knew it well.
Farland had said nothing concerning Kate Gilbert, for he was not ready
to let George Lerton know that he suspected any connection of Miss
Gilbert with the Rufus Shepley case. Farland was not certain himself
what that connection would be, and he knew it would be foolish to say
anything that would put Lerton on guard and make the mystery more
difficult of solution.
He thanked Lerton once more and departed. Out in the corridor and some
distance from the Lerton office, he took from his pocket the note he had
written on Lerton's private typewriter and glanced at it quickly.
Farland was merely verifying what he had noticed as he had typed the
note.
"That was a lucky hunch about that typewriter," he told himself. "This
case is going to be interesting, all right--and for several persons."
Farland had noticed particularly the typewritten notes that had been
received by the clothing merchant and the barber. There were two certain
keys that were battered in a peculiar manner, and another key that was
out of alignment.
He knew now, by glancing at the lines he had written himself, that those
other notes had been typed on the same machine. He guessed that it had
been George Lerton, the broker, who had sent those notes and the money
to the barber and the merchant.
Why had George Lerton been so eager to destroy his cousin's alibi?
Why was George Lerton trying to have Sidney Prale sent to the electric
chair for murder?