COLE’S RUSE
Cole’s conviction that he had found the building occupied by The
Unknown Seven was a matter of instinct rather than reason. He felt that
once before, and not so long ago, his feet had trod the squares of
stone that composed the floor. The surroundings had a remotely familiar
appearance; perhaps he had subconsciously caught a glimpse of them as
he rushed out in pursuit of the hunchback. Along the wall opposite the
elevators was a row of small shops, a cigar store, a haberdashery, a
news stand, and, on the corner, the office of a broker. Cole glanced at
the signs, and they stirred hazy recollections in the back of his mind.
There could be no doubt of it; chance and Mr. Englebreth had led him to
the very place he had been most anxious to find.
On the wall in the back was a directory of the tenants. “Security
Building” it said at the top, and the very name smacked of
conservatism, stability, and decorum. It spelled efficiency and prose
and left the imagination untouched. It hinted of things far removed
from the secret activities of the group of strange men who occupied
the top floor. He ran his eyes down the names of corporations and
individuals, but there was none that interested him. Among the former
were probably several in which members of The Unknown Seven were
concerned, but he had no means of identifying them.
He turned away and grinned sheepishly, as he noticed that the elevator
starter was squinting at him in a suspicious way. There were five
elevators, but, after he had seen them all come up and down, he knew
that none of them was the automatic one used privately by the members
of the organization. For a time he was puzzled. At the farther side
of the shaft was a door marked “Private,” and beyond this a flight of
stairs. No doubt they were the same stairs he had rushed down the night
before, after stopping his dizzy descent at the second floor.
But it was the door between the stairs and the shaft that claimed his
interest. The single word, “Private,” stenciled in black letters on a
golden-brown surface, piqued his curiosity. It was plainly a hint to
strangers to keep out. Signs of that kind had held a strong fascination
for Cole ever since he was a boy. It was just as if some one had dared
him to pass through the forbidden door. He tried it furtively, though
well aware of the starter’s oblique scrutiny. It was locked, as he
had expected, but the word, “Private,” continued to tantalize him.
What could be on the other side of the locked door? The office of the
superintendent of the building, perhaps. Or, maybe, the establishment
of a mail-order concern that did not care for personal relations with
its customers. On the other hand it might be only a storeroom where the
scrub women kept their mops and brooms and buckets. All these guesses
seemed plausible enough, but Cole strongly suspected something entirely
different. Unless he were greatly mistaken, the door was the entrance
to the private elevator.
Wishing to verify his surmise, he walked up to the starter and, in a
tone which might have signified that he was an agent for the building
department or the inspector of an insurance company, inquired by whom
the private door was being used.
“A bunch of nuts,” said the starter, moved to loquacity by Cole’s
official air. “They come an’ go at all hours. They’s some big bugs
among ’em, too. Guess they belong to wunna them secret societies.”
Cole tried to learn more, but the man became suddenly tight-lipped
and referred him to the superintendent of the building for further
information. “It’s agin’ my orders to talk about the tenants,” he added.
Cole nodded understandingly and stepped aside. The locked door seemed
to bar further progress for the present. Just then he remembered his
original errand. He had almost forgotten Englebreth. The cage into
which he had seen the invalid carried had just reached the ground
floor and was disgorging passengers. Cole waited till it was ready to
make another trip, then stepped in and slipped a small bill into the
operator’s hand.
“You carried up a crippled person some ten or fifteen minutes ago,” he
said in an undertone. “Where did he go?”
“Oh, him!” The operator grinned as he stuffed the bill into a pocket.
“He comes here every now and then. You’ll find him in 2512, sir. It’s
the top floor.”
Cole got out on the twenty-fifth floor. To all outward appearances
it was, indeed, the top floor of the building. The elevator shaft
terminated in a blank ceiling, and the stairs in the back extended no
higher. It was somewhat tantalizing to know that directly above him,
and yet completely out of reach, was the rendezvous of The Unknown
Seven.
Cole paused outside the door numbered 2512, but he did not knock.
He could think of no pretext for seeking another interview with
Englebreth. The office, as was indicated by the sign on the frosted
glass, was occupied by the Bureau of Civil Research, and he made a
mental note of the fact. He could see no particular significance in
Englebreth’s visit to a place of that kind. No doubt the Bureau of
Civic Research was one of the numerous activities that his former
client cultivated as a hobby. As far as his original purpose was
concerned it looked as though Cole had wasted his time, but there was
consolation in the fact that he had incidentally found the headquarters
of The Unknown Seven. For the moment, however, he did not see how he
was to profit by his discovery.
He descended, cast a mildly baffled glance at the private door, and
went out to lunch. It seemed as if there was nothing for him to do but
loiter in the vicinity of the building and wait for one of the members
to appear. Idleness irked him, however, and he disliked the thought
that such a small thing as a locked door was standing in his way. He
cudgeled his brain for an idea, as he strolled out of the restaurant.
Suddenly he found one, and he walked two blocks and ducked into a
subway entrance. Soon he was aboard an uptown train, bound for Doctor
Latham’s residence. He suspected that in the pockets of the hunchback
he would find a key that would unlock the door. If his guess had been
correct, and the door opened into the elevator used by The Unknown
Seven, then the hunchback must have passed through that very door the
previous night. He could not have done so unless he had a duplicate
key. He might have thrown it away, of course, but the chances were that
it was still in his possession.
Cole looked sharply about him as he walked down the block in which the
doctor resided. He knew Tony was lurking somewhere in the neighborhood,
but the youngster had a surprising knack at making himself
inconspicuous when the occasion demanded it. He rang the doctor’s
doorbell and was told by the white-capped attendant who admitted him
that the physician was engaged with a patient. Cole waited in the
reception room. Evidently Latham did not permit his other enterprises
to interfere with his practice, for several patients were waiting to
consult him.
Presently the door opened, and the doctor arched his brows as he saw
Cole in the waiting group. After a moment’s hesitancy he motioned him
to enter the consulting room.
“How is the patient, doctor?” inquired Cole briskly, glancing at the
door in the rear.
Latham stroked his glossy beard. “As well as can be expected,
considering the awkward position you left him in. He has difficulty
getting about.”
“Then you have not yet succeeded in extricating him from his
embarrassing predicament?”
“Oh, no!” said the doctor with a dry laugh. “I haven’t even tried. I
just removed him to one of the spare bedrooms upstairs. He was in the
way down here. You wish to have a talk with him, I suppose? I fear it
is impossible. He grew hysterical a while ago, and I had to give him a
sedative.”
“It doesn’t matter. I just want to look at him.”
Latham gave him a queer glance, then he smiled knowingly. “I see,” he
murmured. “You wish to make sure that he hasn’t escaped, despite the
handicap you imposed on him. This way.”
He opened a door and preceded Cole up a flight of stairs. They entered
a room, and Cole saw the hunchback stretched out on the operating table
and sound asleep. The physician watched him narrowly as Cole stepped
up to the recumbent man and began to explore his pockets. A blank look
came into the doctor’s eyes when Cole, with a murmur of satisfaction,
extracted a key.
“As I observed once before,” said Latham, “you are a most astounding
person. I wonder what the significance of that key might be.”
“Every key has a mission, doctor, and that is to unlock some door.”
The physician regarded him thoughtfully. “I don’t understand you at
all. You do such unexpected things. I am still wondering what your
intentions are with respect to my patient.”
“For the present my only concern is that he shan’t get away.”
The doctor pondered for a few moments longer, then he shrugged his
shoulders, and the two men walked down the stairs in silence. As they
reached the consultation office and were about to pass into the outer
room, Latham paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Would it surprise
you very much,” he asked in slow, incisive accents, “if I were to tell
you that I am just as anxious as you can possibly be that the fellow
upstairs shan’t get away?”
Cole’s eyes opened wide. “No, it wouldn’t surprise me. I would simply
be unable to follow you. You are a deep one, doctor; nothing that you
could say or do would startle me.”
Latham’s face relaxed in a smile. “I construe that as a compliment.
Please appease my curiosity on one point. You have taken extraordinary
precautions against my patient escaping, but what about myself? Aren’t
you afraid that I might run away?”
“I am not,” said Cole emphatically. “You are not the kind that runs
away. You work by subtler means than that. Where men of coarser
mentality would kill an undesirable person, you merely render him
harmless. If, later on, it should prove absolutely necessary to remove
him, you hire another man to perform the nasty job. Your sensitive soul
shrinks from vulgar tactics and sordid actions. For the same reason you
don’t run away from danger. Instead, you plan your moves so carefully
in advance that the risk is reduced to the lowest possible minimum, and
flight becomes unnecessary.”
It was a rather blunt speech, and Cole had spoken so plainly only
because he wished to watch the effect on the doctor. In the end he
was disappointed. The expansive beard concealed all outward signs of
emotion; the face was no more expressive than a wooden image. For just
a moment the eyes shone with a cold gleam, but that was all. When Cole
had finished, the bearded lips parted in a pleased smile.
“Thanks,” murmured Latham. “Too bad we appear to be enemies. I like you
immensely—I really do.”
He held the door open and Cole went out. As he walked toward the subway
he was almost inclined to share the doctor’s regret that they were
enemies. There was something at once attractive and repellent about
Latham. His subtleties, his cool audacity, and his flashing wits made
him a charming personality, and there was a certain fascination even
about his cold cynicism and conscienceless manner. Cole came away from
the doctor’s house with a spell hanging over him. But, aside from these
things, there were phases of Latham’s character that he could not
understand. Stray remarks, which the doctor had dropped, and certain
telltale gestures and mannerisms lingered in his memory while he rode
downtown.
“A fascinating riddle and a highly accomplished villain,” was his way
of summing up the doctor’s many-sided personality, as he got out of the
subway and turned toward the Security Building.
He entered and, key in hand, walked direct to the private door. The
elevator starter gave him an astonished glance, but did not interfere.
The key fitted easily. Cole opened the door and stepped in, then
quickly closed it behind him. He was in a narrow cage, with a small
electric bulb at the top. He looked about him in bewilderment, for
there was no sign of any apparatus by which the elevator could be
started. Carlin had told him that there was a peculiar mechanism that
could be operated only by the initiated, but all Cole saw was a dial
with figures along the rim and a knob in the center. It looked like the
combination lock of a safe.
He twirled the knob back and forth, but without result. He tried
several different combinations on the dial, but the elevator refused
to budge. With ingrained stubbornness he persisted in his efforts, but
in the end he was forced to confess that the task was beyond him. He
was on the point of getting out when a key grated in the lock. A moment
later the door came open, and Miss Brown entered the cage.
She started slightly as she saw him. Cole looked at her, and his frown
melted. She was simply, but charmingly, attired in a tailor-made suit
of some soft, gray material the name of which was not included in
Cole’s vocabulary.
“Oh, you came!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, but I didn’t get very far.” Cole regarded her with a half
humorous, half reproachful glance. Her plain little hat set off
to perfection the lily-white complexion and the hair like ruffled
sunshine. “How did you expect me to manipulate the contraption?”
“I didn’t really expect you to,” she told him, while she whirled the
knob back and forth a number of times. “In fact, I was sure it would
stump you, but the others had their doubts on that point.”
“I see,” said Cole dryly, as the cage rocketed upward. “If I had
shown that I knew how to operate the mechanism I would have convicted
myself of duplicity, and the suspicions of the others would have been
confirmed. But don’t you see that a man who is clever enough to ferret
out secrets while blindfolded would not betray himself so flagrantly?”
There was a twinkle of mirth in her deep-blue eyes. “Clever men are
often vain. You might have construed my note as a challenge to your
dexterity. It wasn’t that, of course. It was only a test of your
honesty.”
“And now you are convinced?”
“I was practically convinced before, but the others needed proof.”
“What convinced you?”
The blue eyes regarded him shrewdly, almost impersonally. Cole was
reminded of a biologist watching a controlled experiment.
“I am seldom mistaken in matters of that kind,” she said simply.
The cage stopped. As they got out, Cole abruptly asked the question
that had been uppermost in his mind all the time. “What about Reeves?”
“Dead, stabbed through the heart. He was breathing his last when we
found him.”
Cole nodded grimly. Miss Brown’s words had merely confirmed something
of which he had been practically certain. They had gone through the
hidden door in the wall by this time and were now in the corridor. They
passed several men who bowed respectfully to Miss Brown and cast hard
glances at Cole. The woman opened a door, and they entered the large
room with the filing cabinets and the glass globe, the room in which
Cole had been the night before.
At a desk, with iron-gray head bent over a stack of papers, sat Grover
Carlin. The lawyer looked up as they entered, and a faint smile flitted
across his rugged face and tempered the cold gleam in his eyes. “Glad
to see you, Mr. Cole,” he said in measured tones. “I am also pleasantly
surprised. Your abrupt departure, just after the murder last night,
looked pretty bad.”
“I was rather surprised that you didn’t try to stop me.”
Carlin grinned apologetically. “No one thought of doing so until it was
too late. Everybody, including myself, were stricken senseless by the
murder. We couldn’t realize that such a thing had happened right here
in our midst. It seemed unbelievable. All we could think was that you
were——”
“In cahoots with the murderer,” suggested Cole when the lawyer paused.
“Well, I admit it looked strange. That murder was about as nervy a
piece of rascality as I ever heard of. The fellow came here determined
to carry out his purpose or die in the attempt. Doesn’t his reckless
audacity and the ease with which he got into your establishment suggest
something to your mind, Mr. Carlin?”
“Oh, yes a number of things. It suggests that he had powerful
influences behind him. The motive isn’t far to seek. The men
responsible for the murder feared that Reeves might recover from the
effects of the operation and divulge certain facts which would be to
their detriment. They decided to prevent that by silencing him forever.”
“What else?” asked Cole, eying the lawyer steadily.
Carlin gave him a quizzical glance.
“How do you suppose the fellow got in?” Cole went on. “Where did he
get the duplicate key to the elevator door? How did he get hold of
the combination that controls the mechanism? Who told him how to get
through the wall? How do you explain that, after entering, he walked
straight to the room where Reeves was? As you probably remember, we
heard the cry only a few moments after the green light had flashed,
showing that the murderer knew his way thoroughly.”
Carlin gazed at him hard and long. “Well?” he asked at length.
“Perhaps you still suspect me?” asked Cole lightly.
“No.” The word came a little uncertainly. “I never really suspected
you. I only had certain doubts about you, doubts which were natural
under the circumstances. Your return here this afternoon speaks
volumes. You would scarcely have come back if you had been playing us
false. I feel I owe you an apology.”
“It’s accepted,” said Cole with a laugh. “But apologies aren’t going to
remedy matters. Mr. Carlin, there’s a traitor among you.”
Miss Brown, seated near by, caught her breath. The lawyer thrust his
head forward a little. “Impossible,” he said. “There was a traitor
among us, as I explained to you, but we got rid of him. For all I know
he may be dead by this time. I am ready to swear to the reliability of
every man on our staff.”
Cole seemed inclined to argue the point, but he desisted. His eyes
twinkled a little, and he looked as though he were content to let
developments prove the truth of what he had said.
“There is one thing you haven’t explained, Mr. Cole,” said Miss Brown.
“I am curious to know how you got into the elevator a little while ago.
Where did you get the key?”
“Oh, the key,” said Cole lightly. “Why, I found it in the murderer’s
pocket.”
Carlin and Miss Brown looked at him in speechless astonishment.
“I seem to be telling things backward,” Cole went on. “After I left
here early this morning I gave the fellow a chase and caught him. He’s
a hunchbacked, dried-up wisp of a man, and as evil looking a specimen
of humanity as I ever saw.”
Carlin blinked his eyes bewilderedly and looked at Cole, as if he had
just discovered some new quality in him.
“And you—you caught him?” asked Miss Brown. “Where—how?”
Cole explained, but only very briefly. There was a gleam of sly humor
in his eye. Toward the end of his recital he did a strange thing. He
finished it off with an embellishing touch that was not in strict
accordance with the truth.
“The best part of it all,” he said in casual tones, “is that I have
the fellow’s confession in black and white. Like most of his kind he
showed the yellow streak when he saw the game was up. Just how complete
the confession is I can’t say, but it contains several interesting
facts.”
“Where is it?” said Carlin excitedly. “Have you got it with you?” He
half rose from his chair, then sat down again.
“No; it isn’t wise to carry such things on one’s person. No telling
when you’re going to get knocked down and have your pockets picked. The
confession is in a safe place. In due time I shall show it to you.”
Carlin seemed inclined to ask questions, but Cole’s face showed plainly
that he had said all that he intended to say for the present. The
lawyer got up, walked around the desk and gave the other’s shoulder
a vigorous slap. “You belong here with us,” he declared with blunt
emphasis. “You’re just the man for the job. I was sure of it before;
now I’m doubly certain. You’ve proven your fitness in forty different
ways. Will you accept?”
Cole’s eyes gleamed wistfully. His smile showed that the proposition
appealed to him. “You aren’t offering me the position just because I
wormed a confession out of the hunchback?” he asked guardedly.
“By no means. We were ready to offer you the place a week ago, while
you were sniffing around the edges of what you called the Carmody case.
We need you, Cole. Think it over carefully. Consider the opportunities.”
“I have considered them. I am strongly tempted to accept, especially
since I am out of a job.” Cole gave a whimsical little laugh. “I
forgot to tell you that Englebreth gave me my walking papers this
morning. Do you care to take on a man who was fired by his last
employer?”
“You just bet we do!” Carlin extended his hand, and Cole gripped it
vigorously. “This evening your appointment will be confirmed by the
full board, and afterward we’ll introduce you to the members of the
staff. There’s one matter that’s got to be settled immediately though.
You’ve got a ticklish problem to solve right at the start, Cole.
Something must be done about the body of Reeves.”
Cole had already thought of that. He realized what a delicate position
The Unknown Seven were in. The murder could not be reported to the
police without jeopardizing the secrecy that, to a great extent, had
been responsible for the organization’s success. Neither would it be
easy to turn the body over to the proper authorities without imperiling
the society’s seclusion. It was a knotty problem, and Cole considered
it from all angles, while Carlin and Miss Brown showed him over the
premises.
Cole’s eyes grew wider and wider as he was conducted from room to
room. On one side of the hall were the offices with their steel filing
cases, huge nickel-plated safes, desks, typewriters, and even a
rogues’ gallery, which Cole inspected with avid interest. One room was
devoted to finger prints and the Bertillon system of identification.
Adjoining it was a laboratory in which, as Carlin explained, the
latest scientific discoveries were adapted to the requirements of the
detective profession.
They crossed the hall, and it seemed to Cole that he was entering
a different world. This part of the establishment was given over to
clubrooms, but they were more magnificent than any Cole had ever seen.
There was a well-appointed gymnasium; a swimming pool in which clear
water gleamed invitingly in a huge tank of marble; a library containing
all the latest fiction and belles-lettres; a dining room, an art
gallery, a pool and billiard parlor, and various cozy little nooks for
the members.
“You see, Mr. Cole, we believe in combining pleasure and comfort with
work,” explained Carlin, when the tour of inspection was finished and
they were back in the office from which they had started. “By the way,
dinner will be served at six-thirty. You must stay and dine with us.”
Cole agreed after a moment’s hesitation. His glance fell on the
telephone at Carlin’s desk, and suddenly he seemed to remember
something.
“Perhaps you would like to use the telephone,” the lawyer suggested.
“The switchboard is in an office on the tenth floor, and all incoming
and outgoing calls are relayed through it. No chance of a call being
traced, you see.”
Cole picked up the telephone and gave the operator the number of his
landlady. Carlin and Miss Brown started to withdraw, but Cole assured
them there was nothing personal about the call and asked them to stay.
“That you, Mrs. Armstrong?” he asked when he had got his connection.
“Mr. Cole speaking. I may not be home till late this evening, and
I wonder if you’d mind running up and giving Toots her milk. Yes,
Toots—T-o-o-t-s. The cat, you know. Very good of you. Will you do it
right away, Mrs. Armstrong? I’ll hold the wire till you come back.
Toots wasn’t looking well this morning. Acted as if she had a headache
or something. I’m anxious to know how she is.”
With the receiver at his ear, Cole waited. Carlin stroked his chin
reflectively. From time to time he gazed in an odd way at the man who
was to direct the activities of The Unknown Seven, and whose sole
concern just now appeared to be an ailing cat. Miss Brown was amused
and took no pains to conceal it.
Cole was kept waiting a long time. At last he pricked up his ears in a
startled way, as if some surprising news was being told him. He uttered
a few short exclamations, then hung up the receiver and glanced at his
watch.
“Mr. Carlin,” he said gravely, in a tone so low that the other two
could scarcely hear, “two hours ago I sat in this chair and told you
a lie.” He made a silencing signal with his hand as Miss Brown and
Carlin started to interrupt. “Yes, a lie. What I said about having
wrung a confession from the hunchback wasn’t true, though all the
rest was in strict accordance with the facts. As you may remember, I
mentioned having put the confession in a safe place. From that you
might have inferred that I had hidden it at my home, or placed it in a
safe-deposit box.”
He was speaking in whispers, as if afraid that an eavesdropper might be
lurking somewhere in the room. The faces of his two listeners showed
stark bewilderment.
“That was two hours ago,” he went on, “and just now my landlady told me
that when she went up to my rooms to feed the cat she found everything
thrown topsy-turvy. The place looked as if a cyclone had struck it.”
Miss Brown gave a little gasp. Carlin’s pupils contracted in
astonishment. He stared hard at Cole, while a cloud overspread his
face. One arm was stretched out on the desk, and his fingers clenched
and unclenched spasmodically.
“They didn’t lose any time,” he muttered. “I don’t understand, but you
were right, Cole. There’s a traitor among us.”