COLE RECEIVES A WARNING
He left the physician’s office a poorer, but a wiser, man. The half
hour had been well spent even though the interview had yielded little
in the way of tangible results. Cole had met an interesting personality
and come in contact with a fine-edged mind. The doctor, with his
subtleties and his evasions, had proven a fascinating character. His
depth and elusiveness carried a teasing appeal to Cole’s imagination.
Cole was not yet through with Doctor Latham.
He walked to the corner, turned into a tobacconist’s shop, and bought
a package of cigarettes, then stood at the curb and smoked one, while
he glanced now and then at the physician’s house. The drab brownstone
façade seemed as mocking and tantalizing as the man who dwelt within.
It was as baffling and impenetrable as the doctor himself. Cole tried
to analyze his impressions, but it was a hard task. The physician had
admitted nothing except by implication. He had thrown out certain bold
hints, and then he had practically challenged Cole to make the most of
them.
Cole did not like to draw hasty conclusions, but, after he had sifted
down his impressions, there remained in his mind a picture of a
polished and very artful rogue who performed his machinations with an
adroit touch and a high degree of finesse. The picture was blurred
in spots, and he had to use his imagination to touch up the obscure
parts. It was significant, however, that the surgeon’s make-up should
have exerted such a startling effect on Malcolm Reeves the night
before. Beyond doubt Reeves had thought that he recognized the man who
was responsible for his pitiful state. This proved inferentially Doctor
Latham was the man who——
But Cole did not like to deal in inferences. They were treacherous
things, as he had observed on numerous occasions. He must have more
facts before he began building up theories on the flimsy foundation
which Doctor Latham’s oily innuendos had created in his mind. Meanwhile
it was interesting to note that the clew which he had brought with him
from the circular table appeared to be a substantial one. He had not
convinced himself of Doctor Latham’s guilt, but he had at least found
a promising lead. Reluctantly, for his experience of the night before
still rankled, he was forced to admit that there was a modicum of truth
in what the spokesman had told him.
He finished his cigarette and was about to turn away, but just then a
figure, rounding the opposite corner, claimed his attention. With a
little start he recognized Professor Carmody. Bending over a stout cane
the professor walked with a jerky gait and the plopping sound of shoes
several sizes too large. He wore a sun-bleached silk hat and, despite
the balmy autumn weather, a long overcoat covered his gaunt form.
Cole nodded in a knowing way as he saw the professor turn into Doctor
Latham’s house.
Thoughtfully he walked away. His suspicions and speculations were
assuming tangible form. Professor Carmody’s visit to Latham’s house
in broad daylight suggested several things. Viewed in connection with
certain other circumstances, it hinted strongly at a bond of interest
between the two men. In view of what Cole already knew it seemed not
so very far-fetched to suppose that they were associates in some
enterprise that was more or less closely related to Malcolm Reeves’
fate. That Carmody should openly call on the doctor seemed to indicate
that the conspirators felt that they had covered their tracks so
carefully that ordinary precautions could be thrown to the wind.
Cole cut through a corner of the park, and gradually his perplexities
dissipated themselves in the soft autumnal haze that hung over the
greenery. He knew how to loaf as well as to work, and he possessed the
happy knack of forgetting his problems in contemplation of rippling
waters, or an azure sky. It was thus he conserved his energies and kept
in touch with the softer aspects of life.
He rested for half an hour, and then he remembered he had a duty to
perform. It was not a pleasant task, but it must be done. Now that
he had learned something definite about Malcolm Reeves’ fate, it was
necessary that he should report progress to his clients. As he retraced
his steps across the park and turned north on Fifth Avenue he wondered
how much it would be advisable to tell. To go into details in regard
to his adventures of the previous night would be impossible, for Cole
himself did not know what they meant.
Ascending the steps of a square-cornered house of gloomy aspect he rang
the doorbell. There was a tomblike air about the residence of Hector
Englebreth that gave Cole a chill each time he visited the house. Out
of deference to the whims of the invalid who occupied it the window
shades were nearly always lowered. Doors turned without the faintest
sound on well-oiled hinges. Heavy carpets muffled the footfalls of
inmates and visitors. The heavily shaded lamps threw a subdued light on
massive and somberly upholstered furniture that seemed to belong to a
remote past.
A tight-lipped manservant ushered Cole into the library. Englebreth
was seated in a wheel chair before a desk of black walnut. Despite the
infirmity, which an acute case of inflammatory rheumatism had brought
him, his long and triangular face gave an impression of wiry strength.
His shoulders, as he sat hunched in the wheel chair, seemed uncommonly
broad. His face was bloodless; his short-cropped, upstanding hair was
almost white. Except when he spoke, the long, thin lips were tightly
compressed, making him look as though he were constantly exerting his
will power to hide the signs of his suffering.
“Any news, Mr. Cole?” he inquired in a low, toneless voice.
“I have made some progress,” replied Cole, also speaking in subdued
tones. In that dim, somber room it seemed natural to speak softly. “I
have reason to believe that your brother-in-law is still alive.”
Englebreth had been tapping the desk with a pencil. Suddenly the
tapping stopped. He gazed fixedly at the detective. “How much reason?”
he asked.
“I know it to be a fact,” said Cole, weighing his words, “that Mr.
Reeves was alive last night.”
“So,” mumbled the other in tones scarcely above a whisper. “Professor
Carmody hasn’t done away with him, then. I feared that he might——” He
broke off, then raised his voice a little. “How do you know this, Mr.
Cole? How can you be so positive that my brother-in-law was alive last
night? You don’t mean to say that you have seen him?”
The last sentence was spoken in tense and vibrant tones, so unlike
Englebreth’s usually colorless voice.
“Before I answer that question,” said Cole, “I want to ask you one.
What makes you so positive that Professor Carmody has had a hand in
your brother-in-law’s disappearance?”
“Have you learned something that has brought you to a contrary view?”
“Please answer my question.”
A scowl darkened Englebreth’s face. He resumed his slow tapping with
the pencil. “We know that my brother-in-law had frequent and secret
meetings with Carmody. We have established definitely that he had an
appointment with the professor on the night of his disappearance.
One of the servants in his house heard him make the appointment over
the telephone. You yourself learned, from the delicatessen keeper
across the street from Carmody’s place, that a man answering Malcolm’s
description entered the house on that particular night. Fairly
conclusive, I should say.”
Cole eyed him levelly. “You are holding something back, Mr. Englebreth.
You have not stated your principal reason for suspecting Carmody in
connection with Mr. Reeves’ disappearance.”
The tapping became a furious tattoo. “Why do you say that, sir?”
Cole fumbled for words, then laughed. “I’ll be hanged if I know! It’s
nothing but a hunch. From the first I had a feeling that you were not
telling me all, but I admit I had no sound reason for thinking so.”
Englebreth, seemingly mollified, smiled. “You detectives are suspicious
of everybody. I suppose that’s a part of your stock in trade. However,
I don’t mind admitting that, in this instance, you were partly right.
I have told you everything that can be of any help to you in your
search for Malcolm; yet there are certain trifling details that, for
private reasons and out of regard for the family, I have not confided
to you. You would not be interested in them, and they couldn’t be of
any possible use to you. It was because of these private and delicate
matters that I took the case to you instead of the police. Now will you
answer my question? Have you seen Malcolm?”
“I have, Mr. Englebreth. I saw him last night.”
“Where?” The invalid strained forward in his chair. “In Professor
Carmody’s house?”
“No; I have not yet seen the inside of the professor’s residence.”
“Then where did you see him?” The tapping had ceased again, and
Englebreth was waiting breathlessly for the answer.
“That’s the queer part of it.” Cole gave a little baffled laugh. “I
have seen your brother-in-law, but I can’t tell you where.”
“You can’t?”
“Because I don’t know.”
A threatening look crossed Englebreth’s face. “This is no occasion
for jests, Mr. Cole. Even if you have no feelings of your own in the
matter, you ought to respect the sentiments of other people. My wife is
deeply shocked over the uncertainty regarding her brother’s fate.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Englebreth. I laughed, but it was only out of sheer
bewilderment. I had an experience last night that was so unbelievable
that I shan’t try to describe it. I feel dazed whenever I look back
upon it. All I can tell you is that I saw Mr. Reeves alive.”
“And well?” questioned Englebreth sharply.
“He seemed to have been through a trying experience.”
“You are quibbling. I want the truth.”
“Perhaps I shall be able to give it to you some time within the next
twenty-four hours. For the present I fear you will have to be satisfied
with what I have told you. My impressions of what I saw and heard last
night are not very clear. You will understand the reason when I give
you a full report.”
“This is strange talk, Mr. Cole.”
“Not half so strange as some of the things that happened to me last
night.”
Englebreth sat erect in his chair, regarding the detective with a
piercing gaze. Evidently he was far from satisfied, and Cole could not
blame him. Silence fell between them; then a soft tinkling was heard.
Even the telephone seemed to utter its summons in whispers in that
house of subdued sounds.
The invalid wheeled his chair a little closer to the desk and put the
receiver to his ear. A conversation ensued, and gradually Englebreth’s
face underwent a transformation. Cole could not interpret the new look
that came into his countenance, but he watched it in wonder. In a few
minutes the invalid hung up, and the puzzling expression left his face
as suddenly as it had come. He was smiling when he turned to Cole.
“On the whole I find your report quite satisfactory,” he said in
conciliating tones. “I appreciate the difficulties you have to deal
with. Don’t mind me if I seem impatient. May I expect to hear from you
soon again?”
“To-morrow, I hope.” Cole was still marveling at the change he had
witnessed in his client. He wondered whether the telephone conversation
had brought it about. From Englebreth’s part in it he had been unable
to make out its nature, but he imagined that his client had received
news of a startling kind. After an exchange of a few casual remarks he
got up and moved toward the door.
“Just one thing more, Mr. Cole,” said Englebreth as he placed his hand
on the knob. “Please be careful.”
“What?” Cole turned and looked back at the invalid. The tone, rather
than the words, had given him an odd sensation. Englebreth’s white face
was wreathed in smiles, but Cole sensed a hidden barb somewhere.
“Just be careful,” said the invalid. “That’s all, Mr. Cole.”
Cole went out, but echoes of Englebreth’s voice pursued him through
the door and out on the street. The words had sounded as though they
contained a veiled threat of some kind. What could he have meant? He
turned the question over in his mind, time and again. Was it possible
that Englebreth, in some strange and devious way, had learned of the
attempt that had been made to persuade Cole to betray his client?
The theory seemed grossly improbable, but, as he walked along, he
could think of no other solution. The more he thought of it the more
likely it seemed that his client had, in some mysterious manner, got
an inkling of last night’s happenings. He remembered the agitation he
had shown at the telephone. And later, when he gave Cole that peculiar
warning, his voice had sounded as though he meant to convey a threat of
terrible punishment if the detective should go back on his duty.
Cole had not walked far when his step began to lag. He paused at a
corner and glanced at his watch. He pursed his lips, then he scowled a
little, and a look of weighty responsibility came into his face.
It was time to go home and feed Toots.