She has been here before, and you know it. I've a good mind to have you
held for being in charge of this place. If I do, all the Marie Margots
and Ike the Droppers can't get you out again."
The negress seemed to understand that this was no ordinary raid.
"Who is she?" demanded Craig.
"I dunno, sah. She come from next door."
"I know she did. She's the girl in the office of the Montmartre. Now,
you know her. What is her name?"
The negress seemed to consider a moment, then quickly answered, "Dey
always calls her Miss Sybil here, sah, Sybil Seymour, sah."
"Thank you. I knew you had some name for her. Come, Walter. This is
over for the present. A raid without arrests, too! It will be all over
town in half an hour. If we are going to do anything it must be done
quickly."
We called on Carton and lost no time in having the men he could spare
placed in watching the railroads and steamship lines to prevent if we
could any of the gang from getting out of the city that way. It was a
night of hard work with no results. I began to wonder whether they
might not have escaped finally after all. There seemed to be no trace.
Harris had disappeared, there was no clue to Marie Margot, no trace of
the new blonde woman, not a syllable yet about Betty Blackwell.
XVI
THE SANITARIUM
"It seems as if the forces of Dorgan are demoralized," I remarked the
afternoon after the raid on Margot's.
"We have them on the run--that's true," agreed Kennedy, "but there's
plenty of fight in them, yet. We're not through, by any means."
Still, the lightning swiftness of Carton's attack had taken their
breath away, temporarily, at least. Already he had started proceedings
to disbar Kahn, as well as to prosecute him in the courts. According to
the reports that came to us Murtha himself seemed dazed at the blow
that had fallen. Some of our informants asserted that he was drinking
heavily; others denied it. Whatever it was, however, Murtha was changed.
As for Dorgan, he was never much in the limelight anyhow and was less
so now than ever. He preferred to work through others, while he himself
kept in the background. He had never held any but a minor office, and
that in the beginning of his career. Interviews and photographs he
eschewed as if forbidden by his political religion. Since the discovery
of the detectaphone in his suite at Gastron's he had had his rooms
thoroughly overhauled, lest by any chance there might be another of the
magic little instruments concealed in the very walls, and having
satisfied himself that there was not, he instituted a watch of private
detectives to prevent a repetition of the unfortunate incident.
Whoever it was who had obtained the Black Book was keeping very quiet
about it, and I imagined that it was being held up as a sort of sword
of Damocles, dangling over his head, until such time as its possessor
chose to strike the final blow. Of course, we did not and could not
know what was going on behind the scenes with the Silent Boss, what
drama was being enacted between Dorgan and the Wall Street group,
headed by Langhorne. Langhorne himself was inscrutable. I had heard
that Dorgan had once in an unguarded moment expressed a derogatory
opinion of the social leanings of Langhorne. But that was in the days
before Dorgan had acquired a country place on Long Island and a taste
for golf and expensive motors. Now, in his way, Dorgan was quite as
fastidious as any of those he had once affected to despise. It amused
Langhorne. But it had not furthered his ambitions of being taken into
the inner circle of Dorgan's confidence. Hence, I inferred, this bitter
internecine strife within the organization itself.
Whatever was brewing inside the organization, I felt that we should
soon know, for this was the day on which Justice Pomeroy had announced
he would sentence Dopey Jack.
It was a very different sort of crowd that overflowed the courtroom
that morning from that which had so boldly flocked to the trial as if
it were to make a Roman holiday of justice.
The very tone was different. There was a tense look on many a face, as
if the owner were asking himself the question, "What are we coming to?
If this can happen to Dopey Jack, what might not happen to me?"
Even the lawyers were changed. Kahn, as a result of the proceedings
that Carton had instituted, had yielded the case to another, perhaps no
better than himself, but wiser, after the fact. Instead of demanding
anything, as a sort of prescriptive right, the new attorney actually
adopted the unheard of measure of appealing to the clemency of the
court. The shades of all the previous bosses and gangsters must have
turned in disgust at the unwonted sight. But certain it was that no one
could see the relaxation of a muscle on the face of Justice Pomeroy as
the lawyer proceeded with his specious plea. He heard Carton, also, in
the same impassive manner, as in a few brief and pointed sentences he
ripped apart the sophistries of his opponent.
The spectators fairly held their breath as the prisoner now stood
before the tribune of justice.
"Jack Rubano," he began impressively, "you have been convicted by
twelve of your peers--so the law looks on them, although the fact is
that any honest man is immeasurably your superior. Even before that,
Rubano, the District Attorney having looked into all the facts
surrounding this charge had come to the conclusion that the evidence
was sufficiently strong to convict you. You were convicted in his mind.
In my mind, of course, there could be no prejudgment. But now that a
jury has found you guilty, I may say that you have a record that is
more than enough to disgrace a man twice your age. True, you have never
been punished. But this is not the time or place for me to criticise my
colleagues on the bench for letting you off. Others of your associates
have served terms in prison for things no whit worse than you have done
repeatedly. I shall be glad to meet some of them at this bar in the
near future."
The justice paused, then extended a long, lean accusatory finger out
from the rostrum at the gangster. "Rubano," he concluded, "your crime
is particularly heinous--debauching the very foundations of the
state--the elections. I sentence you to not less than three nor more
than five years in State's prison, at hard labour."
There was an audible gasp in the big courtroom, as the judge snapped
shut his square jaw, bull-dog fashion. It was as though he had snapped
the backbone of the System.
The prisoner was hurried from the room before there was a chance for a
demonstration. It was unnecessary, however. It seemed as if all the
jaunty bravado of the underworld was gone out of it. Slowly the crowd
filed out, whispering.
Dopey Jack, Murtha's right-hand man, had been sentenced to State's
prison!
Outside the courtroom Carton received an ovation. As quickly as he
could, he escaped from the newspapermen, and Kennedy was the first to
grasp his hand.
But the most pleasing congratulation came from Miss Ashton, who had
dropped in with two or three friends from the Reform League.
"I'm so glad, Mr. Carton--for your sake," she added very prettily, with
just a trace of heightened colour in her cheeks and eyes that showed
her sincere pleasure at the outcome of the case. "And then, too," she
went on, "it may have some bearing on the case of that girl who has
disappeared. So far, no one seems to have been able to find a trace of
her. She just seems to have dropped out as if she had been spirited
away."
"We must find her," returned Carton, thanking her for her good wishes
in a manner which he had done to none of the rest of us, and in fact
forgetful now that any of us were about. "I shall start right in on
Dopey Jack to see if I can get anything out of him, although I don't
think he is one that will prove a squealer in any way. I hope we can
have something to report soon."
Others were pressing around him and Miss Ashton moved away, although I
thought his handshakes were perhaps a little less cordial after she had
gone.
I turned once to survey the crowd and down the gallery, near a pillar I
saw Langhorne, his eyes turned fixedly in our direction, and a deep
scowl on his face. Evidently he had no relish for the proceedings, at
least that part in which Carton had just figured, whatever his personal
feelings may have been toward the culprit. A moment later he saw me
looking at him, turned abruptly and walked toward the stone staircase
that led down to the main floor. But I could not get that scowl out of
my mind as I watched his tall, erect figure stalking away.
Neither Murtha, nor, of course, Dorgan, were there, though I knew that
they had many emissaries present who would report to them every detail
of what had happened, down perhaps to the congratulations of Miss
Ashton. Somehow, I could not get out of my head a feeling that she
would afford them, in some way, a point of attack on Carton and that
the unscrupulous organization would stop at nothing in order to save
its own life and ruin his.
Carton had not only his work at the District Attorney's office to
direct, but some things to clear up at the Reform League headquarters,
as well as a campaign speech to make.
"I'm afraid I shan't be able to see much of you, to-day," he apologized
to Kennedy, "but you're going to Miss Ashton's suffrage evening and
dance, aren't you?"
"I should like to go," temporized Kennedy.
Carton glanced about to see whether there was anyone in earshot. "I
think you had better go," he added. "She has secured a promise from
Langhorne to be there, as well as several of the organization leaders.
It is a thoroughly non-partisan affair--and she can get them all
together. You know the organization is being educated. When people of
the prominence of the Ashtons take up suffrage and make special
requests to have certain persons come to a thing like that, they can
hardly refuse. In fact, no one commits himself to anything by being
present, whereas, absence might mean hostility, and there are lots of
the women in the organization that believe in suffrage, now. Yes, we'd
better go. It will be a chance to observe some people we want to watch."
"We'll go," agreed Kennedy. "Can't we all go together?"
"Surely," replied Carton, gratified, I could see, by having succeeded
in swelling the crowd that would be present and thus adding to the
success of Miss Ashton's affair. "Drop into the office here, and I'll
be ready. Good-bye--and thanks for your aid, both of you."
We left the Criminal Courts Building with the crowd that was slowly
dispersing, still talking over the unexpected and unprecedented end of
the trial.
As we paused on the broad flight of steps that led down to the street
on this side, Kennedy jogged my elbow, and, following his eyes, I saw a
woman, apparently alone, just stepping into a town car at the curb.
There was something familiar about her, but her face was turned from me
and I could not quite place her.
"Mrs. Ogleby," Kennedy remarked. "I didn't see her in the courtroom.
She must have been there, though, or perhaps outside in the corridor.
Evidently she felt some interest in the outcome of the case."
He had caught just a glimpse of her face and now that he pronounced her
name I recognized her, though I should not have otherwise.
The car drove off with the rattle of the changing gears into high
speed, before we had a chance to determine whether it was otherwise
empty or not.
"Why was she here?" I asked.
Kennedy shook his head, but did not venture a reply to the question
that was in his own mind. I felt that it must have something to do with
her fears regarding the Black Book. Had she, too, surmised that Murtha
had employed his henchman, Dopey Jack, to recover the book from
Langhorne? Had she feared that Dopey Jack might in some moment of heat,
for revenge, drop some hint of the robbery--whether it had been really
successful or not?
It was my turn to call Kennedy's attention to something, now, for
standing sidewise as I was, I could see the angles of the building back
of him.
"Don't turn--yet," I cautioned, "but just around the corner back of
you, Langhorne is standing. Evidently he has been watching Mrs. Ogleby,
too."
Kennedy drew a cigarette from his case, tried to light it, let the
match go out, and then as if to shield himself from the wind, stepped
back and turned.
Langhorne, however, had seen us, and an instant later had disappeared.
Without a word further Kennedy led the way around the corner to the
subway and we started uptown, I knew this time, for the laboratory.
He made no comment on the case, but I knew he had in mind some plan or
other for the next move and that it would probably involve something at
the suffrage meeting at Miss Ashton's that evening.
During the rest of the day, Craig was busy testing and re-testing a
peculiar piece of apparatus, while now and then he would despatch me on
various errands which I knew were more as an outlet for my excitement
than of any practical importance.
The apparatus, as far as I could make it out, consisted of a simple
little oaken box, oblong in shape, in the face of which were two square
little holes with side walls of cedar, converging pyramid-like in the
interior of the box and ending in what looked to be little round black
discs.
I had just returned with a hundred feet or so of the best silk-covered
flexible wire, when he had evidently completed his work. Two of the
boxes were already wrapped up. I started to show him the wire, but
after a glance he accepted it as exactly what he had wanted and made it
into a smaller package, which he handed to me.
"I think we might be journeying down to Carton's office," he added,
looking impatiently at his watch.
It was still early and we did not hurry.
Carton, however, was waiting for us anxiously. "I've called you at the
laboratory and the apartment--all over," he cried. "Where have you
been?"
"Just on the way down," returned Kennedy. "Why, what has happened?"
"Then you haven't heard it?" asked Carton excitedly, without waiting
for Craig's answer. "Murtha has been committed to a sanitarium."
Kennedy and I stared at him.
"Pat Murtha," ejaculated Craig, "in a sanitarium?"
"Exactly. Paresis--they say--absolutely irresponsible."
Coming as it did as a climax to the quick and unexpected succession of
events of the past few days, it was no wonder that it seemed impossible.
What did it mean? Was it merely a sham? Or was it a result of his
excesses? Or had Carton's relentless pursuit, the raid of Margot's, and
the conviction of Dopey Jack, driven the Smiling Boss really insane?
XVII
THE SOCIETY SCANDAL
Nothing else was talked about at the suffrage reception at Miss
Ashton's that evening, not even suffrage, as much as the strange fate
that seemed to have befallen Murtha.
And, as usual with an event like that, stories of all sorts, even the
wildest improbabilities, were current. Some even went so far as to
insinuate that Dorgan had purposely quickened the pace of life for
Murtha by the dinners at Gastron's in order to get him out of the way,
fearing that with his power within the organization Murtha might become
a serious rival to himself.
Whether there was any truth in the rumour or not, it was certain that
Dorgan was of the stamp that could brook no rivals. In fact, that had
been at the bottom of the warfare between himself and Langhorne.
Certain also was it that the dinners and conferences at the now famous
suite of the Silent Boss were reputed to have been often verging on, if
not actually crossing, the line of the scandalous.
Miss Ashton's guests assembled in force, coming from all classes of
society, all parties in politics, and all religions. Her object had
been to show that, although she personally was working with the Reform
League, suffrage itself was a broad general issue. The two or three
hundred guests of the evening surely demonstrated it and testified to
the popularity of Miss Ashton personally, as well.
She had planned to hold the meeting in the big drawing-room of the
Ashton mansion, but the audience overflowed into the library and other
rooms. As the people assembled, it was interesting to see how for the
moment at least they threw off the bitterness of the political campaign
and met each other on what might be called neutral ground. Dorgan
himself had been invited, but, in accordance with his custom of never
appearing in public if he could help it, did not come. Langhorne was
present, however, and I saw him once talking to a group of labour union
leaders and later to Justice Pomeroy, an evidence of how successful the
meeting was in hiding, if not burying, the hatchet.
Carton, naturally, was the lion of the evening, though he tried hard to
keep in the background. I was amused to see his efforts. In fleeing
from the congratulations of some of his own and Miss Ashton's society
friends, he would run into a group of newspaper men and women who were
lying in wait for him. Shaking himself loose from them would result in
finding himself the centre of an enthusiastic crowd of Reform Leaguers.
Mrs. Ogleby was there, also, and both Kennedy and I watched her
curiously. I wondered whether she might not feel just a little relieved
to think that Murtha was seemingly out of the way for the present. Her
knowledge of the Black Book which had first given the tip to Carton had
always been a mystery to Kennedy and was one of the problems which I
knew he would like to solve to-night. She was keenly observant of
Carton, which led us to suppose that she had not yet got out of her
mind the idea that somehow it was he who had been responsible for the
detectaphone record which so many of those present were struggling to
obtain. Though Langhorne studiously avoided her, I noticed that each
kept an eye on the other, and I felt that there was something common to
both of them.
It was with an unexpressed air of relief to several members of the
party that Miss Ashton at last rapped for order and after a short,
pithy, pointed speech of introduction presented the several speakers of
the evening. It was, like the audience, a well-balanced programme,
which showed the tactfulness and political acumen of Miss Ashton. I
shall pass over the speeches, however, as they had no direct bearing on
the mystery which Kennedy and I found so engrossing.
The meeting had been cleverly planned so that in spite of its
accomplishing much for the propaganda work of the "cause," it did not
become tiresome and the speaking was followed by the entrance of one of
the best little orchestras for dance music in the city.
Instantly, the scene transformed itself from a suffrage meeting to a
social function that was unique. Leaders of the smart set rubbed
elbows, and seemed to enjoy it, with working girls and agitators.
Conservative and radical, millionaire and muckraker succumbed to the
spell of the Ashton hospitality and the lure of the new dances. It was
a novel experience for all, a levelling-up of society, as contrasted to
some of the levelling-down that we had recently seen.
Kennedy and I, having no mood as things stood for the festivities, drew
aside and watched the kaleidoscopic whirl of the dancers. Across from
us was a wide doorway that opened into a spacious conservatory, a nook
of tropical and temperate beauty. Several couples had wandered in there
to rest and, as the orchestra struck up something new that seemed to
have the "punch" to its timeful measures, they gradually rejoined the
dancers.
It had evidently suggested an idea to Kennedy, for a moment later he
led me toward the coat room and uncovered the package which he had
brought consisting of the two oaken boxes I had seen him adjusting in
the laboratory.
We managed to reach the conservatory and found in a corner a veritable
bower with a wide rustic seat under some palms. Quickly Kennedy
deposited in the shadow of one of them an oaken box, sticking into it
the plugs on the ends of the wires that I had brought. It was an easy
matter here in the dim half light to conceal the wire behind the plants
and a moment later he tossed the end through a swinging window in the
glass and closed the window.
Casually we edged our way out among the dancers and around to the room
into which he had thrown the wire. It was a breakfast room, I think,
but at any rate we could not remain there for it was quite easy to see
into it through the crystal walls of the conservatory. There was,
however, what seemed to be a little pantry at the other end, and to
this Kennedy deftly led the wires and then plugged them in on the other
oaken box.
He turned a lever. Instantly from the wizard-like little box issued
forth the strains of the dance music of the orchestra and the rhythmic
shuffle of feet. Now and then a merry laugh or a snatch of gay
conversation floated in to us. Though we were effectually cut off from
both sight and hearing in the pantry, it was as though we had been
sitting on the rustic bench in the conservatory.
"What is it?" I asked in amazement, gazing at the wonderful little
instrument before us.
"A vocaphone," he explained, moving the switch and cutting off the
sound instantly, "an improved detectaphone--something that can be used
both in practical business, professional, and home affairs as a loud
speaking telephone, and, as I expect to use it here, for special cases
of detective work. You remember the detectaphone instruments which we
have used?"
Indeed I did. It had helped us out of several very tight
situations--and seemed now to have been used to get the organization
into a very tight political place.
"Well, the vocaphone," went on Kennedy, "does even more than the
detectaphone. You see, it talks right out. Those little apertures in
the face act like megaphone horns increasing the volume of sound." He
indicated the switch with his finger and then another point to which it
could be moved. "Besides," he went on enthusiastically, "this machine
talks both ways. I have only to turn the switch to that point and a
voice will speak out in the conservatory just as if we were there
instead of talking here."
He turned the switch so that it carried the sounds only in our
direction. The last strains of the dance music were being followed by
the hearty applause of the dancers.
As the encore struck up again, a voice, almost as if it were in the
little room alongside us, said, "Why, hello, Maty, why aren't you
dancing?"
There was an unmistakable air of familiarity about it and about the
reply, "Why aren't you, Hartley?"
"Because I've been looking for a chance to have a quiet word with you,"
the man rejoined.
"Langhorne and Mrs. Ogleby," cried Craig excitedly.
"Sh!" I cautioned, "they might hear us."
He laughed. "Not unless I turn the switch further."
"I saw you down at the Criminal Courts Building this morning," went on
the man, "but you didn't see me. What did you think of Carton?"
I fancied there was a trace of sarcasm or jealousy in his tone. At any
rate, woman-like, she did not answer that question, but went on to the
one which it implied.
"I didn't go to see Carton. He is nothing to me, has not been for
months. I was only amusing myself when I knew him--leading him on,
playing with him, then." She paused, then turned the attack on him.
"What did you think of Miss Ashton? You thought I didn't see you, but
you hardly took your eyes off her while I was in the hallway waiting to
hear the verdict."
It was Langhorne's turn to defend himself. "It wasn't so much Margaret
Ashton as that fellow Carton I was watching," he answered hastily.
"Then you--you haven't forgotten poor little me?" she inquired with a
sincere plaintiveness in her voice.
"Mary," he said, lowering his voice, "I have tried to forget
you--tried, because I had no right to remember you in the old way--not
while you and Martin remained together. Margaret and I had always been
friends--but I think Carton and this sort of thing,"--he waved his hand
I imagined at the suffrage dancers--"have brought us to the parting of
the ways. Perhaps it is better. I'm not so sure that it isn't best."
"And yet," she said slowly, "you are piqued--piqued that another should
have won where you failed--even if the prize isn't just what you might
wish."
Langhorne assented by silence. "Hartley," she went on at length, "you
said a moment ago you had tried to forget me--"