what hurt me when I--er--heard that you had gone with Murtha to that
dinner of Dorgan's. I couldn't help trying to warn you of it. I know
Martin neglects you. But I was mad--mad clean through when I saw you
playing with Carton a few months ago. I don't know anything about
it--don't want to. Maybe he was innocent and you were tempting him. I
don't care. It angered me--angered me worse than ever when I saw later
that he was winning with Margaret Ashton. Everywhere, he seemed to be
crossing my trail, to be my nemesis. I--I wish I was Dorgan--I wish I
could fight."
Langhorne checked himself before he said too much. As it was I saw that
it had been he who had told Mrs. Ogleby that the Black Book existed. He
had not told her that he had made it, if in fact he had, and she had
let the thing out, never thinking Langhorne had been the eavesdropper,
but supposing it must be Carton.
"Why--why did you go to that dinner with Murtha?" he asked finally,
with a trace of reproach in his tone.
"Why? Why not?" she answered defiantly. "What do I care about Martin?
Why should I not have my--my freedom, too? I went because it was wild,
unconventional, perhaps wrong. I felt that way. If--if I had felt that
you cared--perhaps--I could have been--more discreet."
"I do care," he blurted out. "I--I only wish I had known you as well as
I do now--before you married--that's all."
"Is there no way to correct the mistake?" she asked softly. "Must
marriage end all--all happiness?"
Langhorne said nothing, but I could almost hear his breathing over the
vocaphone, which picked up and magnified even whispers.
"Mary," he said in a deep, passionate voice, "I--I will defend
you--from this Murtha thing--if it ever gets out. I know it is always
on your mind--that you couldn't keep away from that trial for fear that
Carton, or Murtha, or SOMEBODY might say something by chance or drop
some hint about it. Trust me."
"Then we can be--friends?"
"Lovers!" he cried fiercely.
There was a half-smothered exclamation over the faithful little
vocaphone, a little flurried rustle of silk and a long, passionate sigh.
"Hartley," she whispered.
"What is it, Mary?" he asked tensely.
"We must be careful. Carton MUST be defeated. He must not have the
power--to use that--record."
"No," ground out Langhorne. "Wait--he shall not. By the way, aren't
those orchids gorgeous?"
The encore had ceased and over the vocaphone we could hear gaily
chatting couples wandering into the conservatory. The two conspirators
rose and parted silently, without exciting suspicion.
For several minutes we listened to snatches of the usual vapid chatter
that dancing seems to induce. Then the orchestra blared forth with
another of the seductive popular pieces.
Kennedy and I looked at each other, amazed. From the underworld up to
the smart set, the trail of graft was the same, debauching and blunting
all that it touched. Here we saw the making of a full-fledged scandal
in one of the highest circles.
We had scarcely recovered from our surprise at the startling
disclosures of the vocaphone, when we heard two voices again above the
music, two men this time.
"What--you here?" inquired a voice which we recognized immediately as
that of Langhorne.
"Yes," replied the other voice, evidently of a young man. "I came in
with the swells to keep my eye peeled on what was going on."
The voice itself was unfamiliar, yet it had a tough accent which
denoted infallibly the section of the city where it was acquired. It
was one of the gangsters.
"What's up, Ike?" demanded Langhorne suspiciously.
Craig looked at me significantly. It was Ike the Dropper!
The other lowered his voice. "I don't mind telling you, Mr. Langhorne.
You're in the organization and we ain't got no grudge against you. It's
Carton."
"Carton?" repeated Langhorne, and one could feel the expectant catch in
his breath, as he added quickly: "You mean you fellows are going to try
to get him right?"
"Bet your life," swaggered Ike, believing himself safe. "How?"
The gangster hesitated, then reassured by Langhorne, said: "He's
ordered a taxicab. We got it for him--a driver who is a right guy
and'll drive him down where there's a bunch of the fellows. They ain't
goner do nothing serious--but--well, he won't campaign much from a
hospital cot," he added sagely. "Say--here he comes now with that girl.
I better beat it."
Langhorne also managed to get away apparently, or else Carton and Miss
Ashton were too engrossed in one another to notice him, for we heard no
word of greeting.
A moment later Carton's and Miss Ashton's voices were audible.
"Must you go?" she was saying.
"I'm afraid so," he apologized. "I've a speech to prepare for to-morrow
and I've had several hard days. It's been a splendid evening, Miss
Ashton--splendid. I've enjoyed it ever so much and I think it has
accomplished more than a hundred meetings--besides the publicity it
will get for the cause. Shall I see you to-morrow at headquarters?"
"I shall make it a point to drop in," she answered in a tone as
unmistakable.
"Mr. Carton--your cab is waiting, sir," announced a servant with an
apology for intruding. "At the side entrance, sir, so that you can get
away quietly, sir."
Carton thanked him.
I looked at Kennedy anxiously. If Carton slipped away in this fashion
before we could warn him, what might not happen? We could hardly expect
to get around and through the press of the dancers in time.
"I hate to go, Miss Ashton," he was adding. "I'd stay--if I saw any
prospect of the others going. But--you see--this is the first time
to-night--that I've had a word with you--alone."
It was not only an emergency, but there were limits to Kennedy's
eavesdropping propensities, and spying on Carton's love affairs was
quite another thing from Langhorne's.
Quickly Craig turned the lever all the way over.
"Carton--Miss Ashton--this is Kennedy," he called. "Back of the big
palm you'll find a vocaphone. Don't take that cab! They are going to
stick you up. Wait--I'll explain all in a moment!"
XVIII
THE WALL STREET WOLF
It was a startled couple that we found when we reached the
conservatory. As we made our hasty explanation, Carton overwhelmed us
with thanks for the prompt and effective manner in which Kennedy had
saved him from the machinations of the defeated gangsters.
Miss Ashton, who would have kept her nerves under control throughout
any emergency, actually turned pale as she learned of the danger that
had been so narrowly averted. I am sure that her feelings, which she
made no effort to conceal, must have been such as to reassure Carton if
he had still any doubt on that score.
The delay in his coming out, however, had been just enough to arouse
suspicion, and by the time that we reached the side entrance to the
house both Ike and the night-hawk taxicab which had evidently been
drafted into service had disappeared, leaving no clue.
The result of the discovery over the vocaphone was that none of us left
Miss Ashton's until much later than we had expected.
Langhorne, apparently, had gone shortly after he left the conservatory
the last time, and Mrs. Ogleby had preceded him. When at last we
managed to convince Miss Ashton that it was perfectly safe for Carton
to go, nothing would suffice except that we should accompany him as a
sort of bodyguard to his home. We did so, without encountering any
adventure more thrilling than seeing an argument between a policeman
and a late reveller.
"I can't thank you fellows too much," complimented Carton as we left
him. "I was hunting around for you, but I thought you had found a
suffrage meeting too slow and had gone."
"On the contrary," returned Kennedy, equivocally, "we found it far from
slow."
Carton did not appreciate the tenor of the remark and Craig was not
disposed to enlighten him.
"What do you suppose Mrs. Ogleby meant in her references to Carton?"
mused Kennedy when we reached our own apartment.
"I can't say," I replied, "unless before he came to really know Miss
Ashton, they were intimate."
Kennedy shook his head. "Why will men in a public capacity get mixed up
with women of the adventuress type like that, even innocently?" he
ruminated. "Mark my words, she or someone else will make trouble for
him before we get through."
It was a thought that had lately been in my own mind, for we had had
several hints of that nature.
Kennedy said no more, but he had started my mind on a train of
speculative thought. I could not imagine that a woman of Mrs. Ogleby's
type could ever have really appealed to Carton, but that did not
preclude the possibility that some unscrupulous person might make use
of the intimacy for base purposes. Then, too, there was the threat that
I had heard agreed on by both Langhorne and herself over the vocaphone.
What would be the next step of the organization now in its sworn
warfare on Carton, I could not imagine. But we did not have long to
wait. Early the following forenoon an urgent message came to Kennedy
from Carton to meet him at his office.
"Kennedy," he said, "I don't know how to thank you for the many times
you have pulled me through, and I'm almost ashamed to keep on calling
on you."
"It's a big fight," hastened Craig. "You have opponents who know the
game in its every crooked turn. If I can be only a small cog on a wheel
that crushes them, I shall be only too glad. Your face tells me that
something particularly unpleasant has happened."
"It has," admitted Carton, smoothing out some of the wrinkles at the
mere sight of Craig.
He paused a moment, as if he were himself in doubt as to just what the
trouble was.
"Someone has been impersonating me over the telephone," he began. "All
day long there have been reports coming into my office asking me
whether it was true that I had agreed to accept the offer of Dorgan
that Murtha made, you know,--that is, practically to let up on the
organization if they would let up on me."
"Yes," prompted Kennedy, "but, impersonation--what do you mean by that?"
"Why, early to-day someone called me up, said he was Dorgan, and asked
if I would have any objection to meeting him. I said I would meet
him--only it would do no good. Then, apparently, the same person called
up Dorgan and said he was myself, asking if he had any objection to
meeting me. Dorgan said he'd see. Whoever it was, he almost succeeded
in bringing about the fool thing--would have done it, if I hadn't got
wise to the fact that there was something funny about it. I called up
Dorgan. He said he'd meet me, as long as I had approached him first. I
said I hadn't. We swore a little and called the fake meeting off. But
it was too late. It got into the papers. Now, you'd think it wouldn't
make any difference to either of us. It doesn't to him. People will
think he tried to slip one over on ME. But it does make a difference to
me. People will think I'm trying to sell out."
Carton showed plainly his vexation at the affair.
"The old scheme!" exclaimed Kennedy. "That's the plan that has been
used by a man down in Wall Street that they call, 'the Wolf.' He is a
star impersonator--will call up two sworn enemies and put over
something on them that double-crosses both."
"Wall Street," mused Carton. "That reminds me of another batch of
rumours that have been flying around. They were that I had made a deal
with Langhorne by which I agreed to support him in his fight to get
something in the contracts of the new city planning scheme in return
for his support of the part of the organization he could swing to me in
the election,--another lie."
"It might have been Langhorne himself, playing the wolf," I suggested.
Kennedy had reached for the telephone book. "Also, it might have been
Kahn," he added. "I see he has an office in Wall Street, too. He has
been the legal beneficiary of several shady transactions down there."
"Oh," put in Carton, "it might have been any of them--they're all
capable of it from Dorgan down. If Murtha was only out, I'd be inclined
to suspect him."
He tossed over a typewritten sheet of paper. "That's the statement I
gave out to the press," he explained.
It read: "My attention has been called to the alleged activities of
some person or persons who through telephone calls and underground
methods are seeking to undermine confidence in my integrity. A more
despicable method of attempting to arouse distrust I cannot imagine. It
is criminal and if anyone can assist me in placing the responsibility
where it belongs I shall be glad to prosecute to the limit."
"That's all right," assented Kennedy, "but I don't think it will have
any effect. You see, this sort of thing is too easy for anyone to be
scared off from. All he has to do is to go to a pay station and call up
there. You couldn't very well trace that."
He stopped abruptly and his face puckered with thought.
"There ought to be some way, though," I murmured, without knowing just
what the way might be, "to tell whether it is Dorgan and the
organization crowd, or Langhorne and his pool, or Kahn and the other
shysters."
"There IS a way," cried Kennedy at last. "You fellows wait here while I
make a flying trip up to the laboratory. If anyone calls us, just put
him off--tell him to call up later."
Carton continued to direct the work of his office, of which there had
been no interruptions even during the stress of the campaign. Now and
then the telephone rang and each time Carton would motion to me, and
say, "You take it, Jameson. If it seems perfectly regular then pass it
over to me."
Several routine calls came in, this way, followed by one from Miss
Ashton, which Carton prolonged much beyond the mere time needed to
discuss a phase of the Reform League campaign.
He had scarcely hung up the receiver, when the bell tinkled
insistently, as though central had had an urgent call which the last
conversation had held up.
I took down the receiver, and almost before I could answer the inquiry,
a voice began, "This is the editor of the Wall Street Record, Mr.
Carton. Have you heard anything of the rumours about Hartley Langhorne
and his pool being insolvent? The Street has been flooded with
stories--"
"One moment," I managed to interrupt. "This is not Mr. Carton, although
this is his office. No--he's out. Yes, he'll certainly be back in half
an hour. Ring up then."
I repeated the scrap of gossip that had filtered through to me, which
Carton received in quite as much perplexity as I had.
"Seems as if everybody was getting knocked," he commented.
"That may be a blind, though," I suggested.
He nodded. I think we both realized how helpless we were when Kennedy
was away. In fact we made even our guesses with a sort of lack of
confidence.
It was therefore with a sense of relief that we welcomed him a few
minutes later as he hurried into the office, almost breathless from his
trip uptown and back.
"Has anyone called up?" he inquired unceremoniously, unwrapping a small
parcel which he carried.
I told him as briefly as I could what had happened. He nodded, without
making any audible comment, but in a manner that seemed to show no
surprise.
"I want to get this thing installed before anyone else calls," he
explained, setting to work immediately.
"What is it?" I asked, regarding the affair, which included something
that looked like a phonograph cylinder.
"An invention that has just been perfected," he replied without
delaying his preparations, "by which it is possible for messages to be
sent over the telephone and automatically registered, even in the
absence of anyone at the receiving end. Up to the present it has been
practicable to take phonograph records only by the direct action of the
human voice upon the diaphragm of the instrument. Not long ago there
was submitted to the French Academy of Sciences an apparatus by which
the receiver of the telephone can be put into communication with a
phonograph and a perfect record obtained of the voice of the speaker at
the other end of the wire, his message being reproduced at will by
merely pressing a button."
"Wouldn't the telegraphone do?" I asked, remembering our use of that
instrument in other cases.
"It would record," he replied, "but I want a phonograph record. Nothing
else will do in this case. You'll see why, before I get through.
Besides, this apparatus isn't complicated. Between the diaphragm of the
telephone receiver and that of the phonographic microphone is fitted an
air chamber of adjustable size, open to the outer atmosphere by a small
hole to prevent compression. I think," he added with a smile, "it will
afford a pretty good means of collecting souvenirs of friends by
preserving the sound of their voices through the telephone." For
several minutes we waited.
"I don't think I ever heard of such effrontery, such open, bare-faced
chicanery," fumed Carton impatiently.
"We'll catch the fellow yet," replied Kennedy confidently. "And I think
we'll find him a bad lot."
XIX
THE ESCAPE
At last the telephone rang and Carton answered it eagerly. As he did
so, he quickly motioned to us to go to the outside office where we,
too, could listen on extensions.
"Yes, this is Mr. Carton," we heard him say.
"This is the editor of the Wall Street Record," came back the reply in
a tone that showed no hesitation or compunction if it was lying. "I
suppose you have heard the rumours that are current downtown that
Hartley Langhorne and the people associated with him have gone broke in
the pool they formed to get control of the public utilities that would
put them in a position to capture the city betterment contracts?"
"No--I hadn't heard it," answered Carton, with difficulty restraining
himself from quizzing the informant about himself. Kennedy was
motioning to him that that was enough. "I'm sure I can't express any
opinion at all for publication on the subject," he concluded brusquely,
jamming down the receiver on the hook before his interlocutor had a
chance to ask another question.
The bell continued to ring, but Craig seized the receiver off its hook
again and called back, "Mr. Carton has gone for the day," hanging it up
again with a bang.
"Call up the Record now," advised Craig, disconnecting the recording
instrument he had brought. "See what the editor has to say."
"This is the District Attorney's office," said Carton a moment later
when he got the number. "You just called me."
"I called you?" asked the editor, non-plussed.
"About a rumour current in Wall Street."
"Rumour? No, sir. It must be some mistake."
"I guess so. Sorry to have troubled you. Good-bye."
Carton looked from one to the other of us. "You see," he said in
disgust, "there it is again. That's the sort of thing that has been
going on all day. How do I know what that fellow is doing now--perhaps
using my name?"
I had no answer to his implied query as to who was the "wolf" and what
he might be up to. As for Kennedy, while he showed plainly that he had
his suspicions which he expected to confirm absolutely, he did not care
to say anything about them yet.
"Two can play at 'wolf,'" he said quietly, calling up the headquarters
of Dorgan's organization.
I wondered what he would say, but was disappointed to find that it was
a merely trivial conversation about some inconsequential thing, as
though Kennedy had merely wished to get in touch with the "Silent
Boss." Next he called up the sanitarium to which Murtha had been
committed, and after posing as Murtha's personal physician managed to
have the rules relaxed to the extent of exchanging a few sentences with
him.
"How did he seem--irrational?" asked Carton with interest, for I don't
think the District Attorney had complete confidence in the commonly
announced cause of Murtha's enforced retirement.
Kennedy shook his head doubtfully. "Sounded pretty far gone," was all
he said, turning over the pages of the telephone book as he looked for
another number.
This time it was Kahn whom he called up, and he had some difficulty
locating him, for Kahn had two offices and was busily engaged in
preparing a defence to the charges preferred against him for the jury
fixing episode.
Among others whom he called up was Langhorne, and the conversation with
him was as perfunctory as possible, consisting merely in repeating his
name, followed by an apology from Kennedy for "calling the wrong
number."
In each case, Craig was careful to have his little recording instrument
working, taking down every word that was uttered and when he had
finished he detached it, looking at the cylinder with unconcealed
satisfaction.
"I'm going up to the laboratory again," he announced, as Carton looked
at him inquiringly. "The investigation that I have in mind will take
time, but I shall hurry it along as fast as I possibly can. I don't
want any question about the accuracy of my conclusions."
We left Carton, who promised to meet us late in the afternoon at the
laboratory, and started uptown. Instead, however, of going up directly,
Craig telephoned first to Clare Kendall to shadow Mrs. Ogleby.
The rest of the day he spent in making microphotographs of the
phonograph cylinder and studying them very attentively under his
high-powered lens.
Toward the close of the afternoon the first report of Miss Kendall, who
had been "trailing" Mrs. Ogleby, came in. We were not surprised to
learn that she had met Langhorne in the Futurist Tea Room in the middle
of the afternoon and that they had talked long and earnestly. What did
surprise us, though, was her suspicion that she had crossed the trail
of someone else who was shadowing Mrs. Ogleby.
Kennedy made no comment, though I could see that he was vitally
interested. What was the significance of the added mystery? Someone
else had an interest in watching her movements. At once I thought of
Dorgan. Could he have known of the intimacy of his guest at the Gastron
dinner with Langhorne, rather than with Murtha, with whom she had gone?
Suddenly another explanation occurred to me. What was more likely than
that Martin Ogleby should have heard of his wife's escapade? He would
certainly learn now to his surprise of her meeting with Langhorne. What
would happen then?
Kennedy had about finished with his microphotographic work and was
checking it over to satisfy himself of the results, when Carton, as he
had promised, dropped in on us.
"What are you doing now?" he asked curiously, looking at the prints and
paraphernalia scattered about. "By the way, I've been inquiring into
the commitment of Murtha to that sanitarium for the insane. On the
surface it all seems perfectly regular. It appears that, unknown even
to many of his most intimate friends, he has been suffering from a
complication of diseases, the result of his high life, and they have at
last affected his brain, as they were bound to do in time. Still, I
don't like his 'next friends' in the case. One is his personal
physician--I don't know much about him. But Dorgan is one of the
others."
"We'll have to look into it," agreed Kennedy. "Meanwhile, would you
like to know who your 'wolf' is that has been spreading rumours about
broadcast?"
"I would indeed," exclaimed Carton eagerly. "You were right about the
statement I issued. It had no more effect than so many unspoken words.
The fellow has kept right on. He even had the nerve to call up Miss
Ashton in my name and try to find out whether she had any trace of the
missing Betty Blackwell. How do you suppose they found out that she was
interested?"
"Not a very difficult thing," replied Kennedy. "Miss Ashton must have
told several organizations, and the grafters always watch such
societies pretty closely. What did she say?"
"Nothing," answered Carton. "I had thought that they might try
something of the sort and fortunately I warned her to disregard any
telephone messages unless they came certainly from me. We agreed on a
little secret formula, a sort of password, to be used, and I flatter
myself that the 'wolf' won't be able to accomplish much in that
direction. You say you have discovered a clue? How did you get it?"
Kennedy picked up one of the microphotographs which showed an
enlargement of the marks on the phonograph cylinder. He showed it to us
and we gazed curiously at the enigmatic markings, greatly magnified. To
me, it looked like a collection of series of lines. By close scrutiny I
was able to make out that the lines were wavy and more or less
continuous, being made up of collections of finer lines,--lines within
lines, as it were.