"I'll be cursed if I don't think I ought to hire a real detective and
put him onto the inside affairs in this office," was Chief Mern's ireful
opinion after he had listened to Crowley and Miss Elsham when they
reported in from the north country. They were voluble in their own
behalf, but their talk was slippery, so the chief felt. They were also
voluble in regard to Lida Kennard, but Mern found himself more than ever
enmeshed in his guesswork about that mysterious young lady.
Crowley kept shifting off the topic onto his own prowess, patting
himself on the breast and claiming all the credit for getting Latisan
off his job.
Miss Elsham, on her part, kept lighting fresh cigarettes and was
convincing on only one point: "No more wild men of the woods for me.
Never again in the tall timber. I'll do night and day shifts in the
cafes if you ask me to. And I've got a knickerbocker suit that's for
sale!"
Mern had several interviews with the two, trying to understand.
When the blustering Crowley was present Miss Elsham allowed him to claim
all the credit and made no protest.
Alone with Mern, she declared that Buck was a big bluff, but she was not
especially clear in her reports on his methods.
"But what has become of Kennard?"
"I don't know. Lynched, maybe. They were threatening to do it to Buck
and me before we got away."
One thing seemed to be true--Mern had a wire from Brophy in reply to an
inquiry: Ward Latisan had gone away and was staying away.
And Rufus Craig, arriving in the city, telephoned the same information
to the chief and promised to call around and settle.
Crowley was informed of that confirmation, and grinned and again patted
his breast and claimed the credit.
"All right," allowed the chief, "you're in for your slice of the fee.
But if you're lying about Kennard I'll make you suffer for deserting
her."
"I stand by what I have said. She was double-crossing us."
Later, Crowley began to inquire casually from time to time whether Miss
Kennard had sent in any word. He was not good at concealing his
thoughts, and he was manifestly worried by the prospect of possible
developments, but Mern was not able to pin him down to anything
specific. As a matter of fact, Crowley had not fathomed the mystery of
Miss Kennard's actions in Adonia and was not in a way to do so by any
processes of his limited intelligence; he admitted as much to himself.
He was clumsy in his efforts to extract from the chief something in
regard to the report which supposedly had been sent in by Miss Kennard,
and Mern's suspicions were stirred afresh. He gave Crowley no
information on that point; one excellent reason why he did not do so
was this: Miss Kennard had not sent in any report. Mern was still
waiting to hear from her as to certain details; he wanted to talk with
her. Crowley ventured to state that she had left Adonia, and he
suggested that she was on the trail of Latisan. The operative, pressed
for reasons why she was still pursuing Latisan, if the drive master had
been separated from his job by Crowley, averred that, according to his
best judgment, the girl had gone crazy. That statement did not satisfy
Mern, but it enabled Crowley to avoid tripping too often over
inconsistencies.
Under those circumstances the uneasy feeling persisted in Chief Mern
that the Latisan case was not finished, in spite of Craig's compliments
and Crowley's boasts and Miss Elsham's bland agreement as to facts as
stated, though with avoidance of details.
Mern usually shut down the cover on a case as soon as the point had been
won; he had found in too many instances that memory nagged; he had
assured Craig that having to do what a detective chief was called on to
do in his business had not given him the spirit of a buccaneer.
But in this case the lack of candor in his operatives disturbed him,
though he did not presume to arraign them; he could not do that
consistently; in the interests of his peace of mind he had always
assured his workers that they need not trouble him with details after a
job had been done.
Crowley, mystified, had said nothing about the amazing love affair. It
occurred to him that the protestations of Miss Kennard might have been a
part of her campaign of subtlety, interrupted by his smashing in; he
was more than ever convinced that his was not the kind of mind that
could deal with subtlety.
Miss Elsham never mentioned Latisan's apparent infatuation; she had been
sent north in the role of a charmer and did not propose to confess to
Mern that she had failed utterly to interest the woodsman.
Undoubtedly the reticence of both of them was merciful; to heap this
crowning burden upon Chief Mern's bewilderment in regard to the actions
of a trusted employee would have disqualified him mentally for other
cases which were coming along.
Crowley loafed diligently at the Vose-Mern offices when he was not out
on duty; there was no knowing when he might be able to turn a trick for
the good of the concern by being on hand, he told himself, and for one
of his bovine nature all waiting around was easy and all stalls were
alike.
Therefore, one day he was on hand to rush a quick tip to the chief.
Crowley turned his back on a caller who entered the main office; the
bulletin bearer hurried into Mern's presence.
"It's the big boy from the bush--Latisan!"
"Ugly?"
"I didn't wait to see."
"You have told me straight, have you, about his being a bad actor when
he's riled?"
"That's the real dope on him, Chief. Don't let him in to see you--that's
my advice."
Mern took a little time for thought, inspecting his operative narrowly.
"I ain't intending to butt in, you understand," apologized Crowley,
reddening.
"I think that's good advice, speaking from the standpoint of prudence."
"There's no good in hashing the thing over with him; he's off the job
and I claim the credit and----"
"But from the standpoint of curiosity," broke in Mern, relentlessly,
"I'll be almighty glad to have a talk with him. I'll probably get some
facts now. Shut up! If you have come back and told me all the truth I
wouldn't be taking a chance with this man. You're to blame! Remember
that another time. Beat it!" He jabbed his thumb in the direction of a
door which enabled clients to leave without going back through the main
office.
"A man named Latisan," reported the door boy.
"Tell him to come in."
Crowley turned the knob of the catch lock and dodged out into the
corridor.
Mern stood up to receive the caller.
He was not inspired by politeness. He was putting himself in an attitude
of defense and was depending on the brawn of a man who had been a tough
proposition when he swung his police club on a New York beat. He even
moved a chair which might get underfoot in a rough-and-tumble. But his
muscles relaxed when he looked at the man who entered.
Latisan was deprecatory, if his manners were revealing his feelings. He
was apologetic in his mien before he spoke; he gave Mern the impression
of a man whose spirit was broken and whose estimate of himself had gone
far toward condemnation. And Mern read aright! The bitter dregs of days
and nights of doleful meditation were in Latisan--the memory of aimless
venturings into this or that corner where he could hide away, the
latest memory of the stale little room in a cheap New York hotel
persisting most vividly in his shamed thoughts because he had penned
himself there day after day, trying to make up his mind to do this or
that--and, especially at the nadir of what he felt was his utter
degradation, had he dwelt on the plan of ending it all, and from time to
time had turned on a gas jet and sniffed at the evil fumes, wondering of
what sort would be death by that means. To think that he would descend
to that depth of cowardice! Nevertheless, he was not especially
surprised by this weakness, even while he hated himself for entertaining
such a base resolve. One after the other, right and left, the blows in
his business affairs had crashed down on him. He understood those
attacks, and he was still able to fight on. But the enemy that had
ambuscaded him behind the guise of the first honest love of his
experience had killed faith and pride and every tender emotion that
enables a man to fight the ordinary battles of life.
Therefore, he ventured into the presence of Mern with down-hunched
shoulders under the sagging folds of a ready-made coat, bought from the
pile in an up-country village.
"Well, what can I do for you, sir?" demanded Mern, relieved of
apprehension, seeing his advantage and more coldly curt than usual in
his dealings with men whom he could bully.
"I had this address," faltered Latisan; he pulled from his pocket a
sheet of paper which had been crumpled into a mass and then folded back
into its original creases. "I was thinking--I've been sort of
planning--I thought I'd come around and ask you----" It was one of the
things, this errand, for which he had been trying to summon resolution
while he sat in the stuffy room, glancing up at the gas jet.
Mern jerked away the paper, noting that its letterhead was his own. It
was his epistle to one "Miss Patsy Jones, Adonia," demanding from her
information as to just what she was doing as an operative for the
Vose-Mern agency.
"It's about Miss Jones. I thought I'd step in----"
"Well?" demanded Mern when Latisan paused.
"That's her real name, is it? I know how detectives----"
"It's her real name," stated Mern, of a mind to protect her until he was
convinced that she did not deserve protection by him.
"She works for you?"
"She does."
"Could I see her for a few minutes--for a few words----"
"I don't think so," hedged the chief. "Just why do you want to see Miss
Jones?"
"I've been thinking matters over. I did a terrible thing when I was sort
of out of my mind. She had something to say to me and I didn't wait to
hear it. Perhaps I have made a mistake. Now I'd like to talk with her
and find out about something."
"Just what?" probed Mern.
"I can't say right now. It's between us two, Miss Jones and myself--at
least I thought it was. I'm going to have a talk with her before I tell
anything to anybody else." He declared that stubbornly.
"How do I know what your scheme is? You're probably holding a grudge
against one of my operatives. I can't turn her over to you to be
harmed."