A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN
Naturally, a man facing prosecution on a murder charge is liable to be
nervous, whether he is innocent or not. If an attempt is being made to
gather evidence that will clear him, he wishes for frequent reports,
always hoping that there will be some ray of hope. And so it was with
Sidney Prale this morning, as he paced the floor in the living room of
his suite in the hotel.
Murk had done everything possible to make Sidney Prale comfortable. Now
he merely stood to one side and watched the man who had saved him from a
self-inflicted death, and tried to think of something that he could say
or do to make Prale easier in his mind.
They had not seen or heard from Jim Farland since the evening before,
when he had engaged the taxicab and had started in pursuit of the
limousine Kate Gilbert had entered. Prale wondered what Farland had been
doing, whether he had discovered anything concerning Kate Gilbert,
whether he had found a clew that would lead to an unraveling of the
mystery.
"Are you sure about that Farland man, Mr. Prale?" Murk asked, after a
time.
"What do you mean by that, Murk?"
"Well, he's a kind of cop, and I never had much faith in cops," said
Murk.
"Farland is an old friend of mine, Murk, and he is on the square--if
that is what you mean."
"He sure started out like a house afire, sir, but he seems to be fallin'
down now," Murk declared. "He sure did handle that barber and the
clothin' merchant, but he ain't showed us any speed since he left us
last night."
"He is busy somewhere--you may be sure of that," Sidney Prale declared.
"Well, boss, I ain't got any education, and I ain't an expert in any
particular line, but I've often been accused of havin' common sense, and
I'm strong for you!"
"Meaning what, Murk?"
"Nothin', boss, except that I'd like to be busy gettin' you out of this
mess. Seems to me I know just as much about it as you do, and if we'd
talk matters over, maybe I'd get some sort of an idea, or somethin' like
that."
Prale sat down before the window, lighted a cigar, and looked up at
Murk.
"Go ahead," he said. "It won't hurt anything, and it will serve to kill
time until we hear from Jim Farland. What do you want to talk about
first?"
"It seems to me," said Murk, clearing his throat and attempting to speak
in an impressive manner, "that this is a double-barreled affair."
"What do you mean?" Prale asked.
"Well, there's the murder thing, and then there's this thing about you
havin' some powerful and secret enemies that are tryin' to do you dirt
without even comin' out in the open about it. Maybe them two things are
mixed together, and maybe again they ain't. If they ain't, we've got two
jobs on our hands."
"And, if they are?" Prale asked.
"Then it looks to me, boss, like the gang that's after you is tryin' to
hang this murder on you after havin' had somebody croak that Shepley
guy."
"I've thought of that, Murk. But it doesn't look possible," Prale said.
"If my enemies merely wanted to hang a murder charge on me, as you have
suggested, I think they would have planned better and would have made
the evidence against me more conclusive. It would mean that there would
be a lot of persons in the secret; the men who plan murder do not like
to take the entire town into confidence about it."
"Well, that sounds reasonable," Murk admitted.
"And why Rufus Shepley?"
"Because you had that spat with him in the lobby of the hotel, and it
could be shown that you had a reason for knifin' him," Murk said, with
evident satisfaction.
"Nobody could have known I was going to have that quarrel with Shepley,
because I had no idea of it myself when I entered the hotel lobby,"
Prale said. "After I left the hotel, I met Farland and then walked down
to the river and met you--and you know the rest. How could they have
contemplated hanging that crime on me when they did not know but that I
had a perfect alibi? I think we're on the wrong track, Murk."
"Well, boss, how about your fountain pen?" Murk asked. "How come it was
found beside the body?"
"That is one of the biggest puzzles in the whole thing, Murk. I cannot
remember exactly when I had the pen last. I cannot imagine how it got
into Shepley's room and on the floor beside his body. That fountain pen
of mine is an important factor in this case, Murk, and it has me
worried."
"It seems to me," Murk said, "that if I had any powerful enemies after
my scalp, I'd know the birds and be watchin' out for them all the time,
to see that they didn't start anything when I was lookin' in the other
direction."
"But, Murk, I haven't the slightest idea who they are," Sidney Prale
declared. "I don't know why I should have enemies that amount to
anything, and that is what makes it so puzzling. How can I work this
thing out when I don't even know where to start? I wish Jim Farland
would come."
Jim Farland did, at that moment. Murk let him in, and the detective
tossed his hat on a chair, sat down in another, lighted one of his own
black cigars, and looked at Sidney Prale through narrowed eyes.
"Well, Jim?" Prale asked.
"I talk when I've really got something to say, but I'm not going to make
general conversation and muddle your brains with a lot of scattered
junk," Jim Farland replied. "I'll say this much--things are looking much
better for you."
"That sounds good, Jim. Can't you tell me anything?" Prale asked,
sitting forward on his chair.
"The barber and the clothing merchant have fixed up a part of your
alibi, Sid, as perhaps Murk has told you. That is the first point. It
makes it look impossible for you to have slain Rufus Shepley, and I
think Lawyer Coadley could get the charge against you dismissed on that
alone."
"But I want to be entirely cleared."
"Exactly. You don't want to leave the slightest doubt in the mind of a
single person. There is but one way to clear you absolutely, Sid. We've
got to show conclusively that you could not have killed Shepley, and the
best way to do that is to find the person who did."
"I understand, Jim."
"There seems to be some sort of a mysterious alliance against you, Sid.
You say that you can't understand why you should have enemies that hate
you so, and I know you're telling the truth. Whether that business has
anything to do with the murder, or not, I am not prepared to say now.
But we want to find out about this enemy business, too, don't we?"
"Certainly," Prale said.
"I followed Kate Gilbert. I know where she lives. She does not belong to
a rich family and does not live in splendor. But she wears expensive
gowns and has plenty of spending money, and has mysterious dealings with
a distinguished-looking man. Her father is mixed up in it in some way,
too. I went through their apartment, Sid. Somebody in that apartment
wrote the anonymous notes you received."
"What?" Prale gasped.
"I found a tablet of the same sort of paper, and scraps of writing in
the wastebasket that were in the same hand. Think, Sid! On the ship----"
"By George!" Prale exclaimed. "She could have slipped into my stateroom
and pinned that note to my pillow, and she could have stuck the second
one on my suit case as I walked past her on the deck."
"And could have sent the others," Farland added.
"But, why?" Prale demanded. "I never saw the woman until I met her at a
social affair in Honduras. What could she or any of her people have
against me?"
"Perhaps it was the maid," Farland said.
"She could have done it, of course, the same as Kate Gilbert," Prale
said. "But the same difficulty holds good--why? Kate Gilbert did seem to
avoid me, and I caught her big maid glaring at me once or twice as if
she hated the sight of me. But why on earth----"
Farland cleared his throat. "Here is another thought for you to digest,"
he said. "This Kate Gilbert knows your cousin, George Lerton."
Sidney Prale suddenly sat up straight in his chair again, his eyes
blinking rapidly.
"Doesn't that open up possibilities?" Jim Farland asked him. "The woman
seems to be working against you for some reason, and we know that George
Lerton lied about meeting you on Fifth Avenue that night. It appears
that he is working against you, too, for some mysterious motive."
A dangerous gleam came into Sidney Prale's eyes. "That simplifies
matters," he said. "I'll watch for Kate Gilbert, and when I see her I'll
ask why she sent me those notes. Then I'll get George Lerton alone and
choke out of him why he lied about meeting me on the Avenue. I've
trimmed worse men than George Lerton."
"You'll be a good little boy and do nothing of the sort," Farland told
him. "We are playing a double game, remember--trying to solve this enemy
business, and at the same time trying to clear you of a murder charge.
If any of those persons get the idea that we are unduly interested in
them, we may not have such an easy time of it."
"I understand that, of course."
"Let me tell you a few more things, Sid. I saw Lerton talking to Miss
Gilbert on the street. They were speaking in very low tones. When they
parted, I followed Lerton to his office, and went in and talked to him.
I did it just to size him up. He still declares that he never met you on
Fifth Avenue. He acts like a man afraid of something; and I discovered
an interesting thing, Sid. He has a typewriter in his private office,
one for his personal use. I managed to type a short note on it."
"What of that?"
"That typewriter has a few bad keys, Sid. And I discovered this--that
the notes sent to the barber and merchant, that caused them to lie and
try to smash your alibi, were written on the typewriter in George
Lerton's office!"
Prale sprang to his feet. "Then Lerton has something to do with this!"
he cried. "He tried to get me to leave town, and he tried to break down
my alibi. How did he know I was going to make an alibi like that?"
"My guess is that your cousin has been having you watched since you got
off the ship."
"But, why?" Prale cried. "It is true that he married the girl who had
jilted me a few years before, but I do not hold that against him. I know
of no reason why he should work against me so."
"Know anything about him that might cause him serious trouble if you
talked?"
"No," Prale replied. "As much as I dislike him, as much as I suspect
that he is crooked in business, all that I really could say would be
that he had a mean disposition and was not to be trusted too far."
"I thought maybe you had something on him, and he was trying to get you
out of the way so you'd not talk," Farland said. "That would explain a
lot, of course."
"It can't be that."
"Then we are up in the air again."
"Why not ask him?" Prale demanded. "Believe me, I'll wait for him to
come from his office--and he'll answer me, and tell the truth!"
"Put that hot head of yours under the nearest cold-water faucet!"
Farland commanded. "You make a move that I don't sanction, and I'll quit
the case! You'll spoil things, Sid, if you're not careful. Just digest
what I have told you."
"You're in command, Jim!"
"Very well. You leave George Lerton to me, Sid. There are many angles to
this case, and I can't attend to all of them at once. I don't want to
call in other detectives, because they may be in the pay of these
mysterious enemies of yours, and I haven't an assistant with an ounce of
brains. Sid, you've got to turn detective yourself--you and Murk."
"I was just wonderin' if I was goin' to get a chance to do anything,"
Murk said.
"Plenty of chances," Farland replied. "Sid, you pick up this Kate
Gilbert, if you can. Act as if you did not suspect a thing. Try to talk
to her--you were introduced to her in Honduras, and all that. Don't let
her get nervous about you, but watch her as much as you can, and let me
know everything you see and hear. Take a look at that big maid, Marie,
when you get a chance. If you can do so, and think it advisable, put
Murk on Marie's trail. I'll want to use Murk later myself."
Sidney Prale was quick to agree. And thus, without being aware of it, he
started on a short career of adventure and romance.
Had Murk been a crystal gazer or something of the sort, and could he
have looked into the future in that manner, he would have said that the
crystal lied.