CHAPTER XVIII
THE BURGLAR'S MICROPHONE
That night I was sitting, brooding over the case, while Craig wasstudying a photograph which he made of the smudge on the glass doordown at Schloss'. He paused in his scrutiny of the print to answer thetelephone.
"Something has happened to Schloss," he exclaimed seizing his hat andcoat. "Winters has been watching him. He didn't go to the Recherche.Winters wants me to meet him at a place several blocks below it Comeon. He wouldn't say over the wire what it was. Hurry."
We met Winters in less than ten minutes at the address he had given, abachelor apartment in the neighborhood of the Recherche.
"Schloss kept rooms here," explained Winters, hurrying us quicklyupstairs. "I wanted you to see before anyone else."
As we entered the large and luxuriously furnished living room of thejeweler's suite, a gruesome sight greeted us.
There lay Schloss on the floor, face down, in a horribly contortedposition. In one hand, clenched under him partly, the torn sleeve of awoman's dress was grasped convulsively. The room bore unmistakabletraces of a violent struggle, but except for the hideous object on thefloor was vacant.
Kennedy bent down over him. Schloss was dead. In a corner, by the door,stood a pile of grips, stacked up, packed, and undisturbed.
Winters who had been studying the room while we got our bearings pickedup a queer-looking revolver from the floor. As he held it up I couldsee that along the top of the barrel was a long cylinder with a ratchetor catch at the butt end. He turned it over and over carefully.
"By George," he muttered, "it has been fired off."
Kennedy glanced more minutely at the body. There was not a mark on it.I stared about vacantly at the place where Winters had picked the thingup.
"Look," I cried, my eye catching a little hole in the baseboard of thewoodwork near it.
"It must have fallen and exploded on the floor," remarked Kennedy. "Letme see it, Winters."
Craig held it at arm's length and pulled the catch. Instead of anexplosion, there came a cone of light from the top of the gun. AsKennedy moved it over the wall, I saw in the center of the circle oflight a dark spot.
"A new invention," Craig explained. "All you need to do is to move itso that little dark spot falls directly on an object. Pull thetrigger--the bullet strikes the dark spot. Even a nervous and unskilledmarksman becomes a good shot in the dark. He can even shoot from behindthe protection of something--and hit accurately."
It was too much for me. I could only stand and watch Kennedy as hedeftly bent over Schloss again and placed a piece of chemicallyprepared paper flat on the forehead of the dead man.
When he withdrew it, I could see that it bore marks of the lines on hishead. Without a word, Kennedy drew from his pocket a print of thephotograph of the smudge on Schloss' door.
"It is possible," he said, half to himself, "to identify a person bymeans of the arrangement of the sweat glands or pores. Poroscopy, Dr.Edmond Locard, director of the Police Laboratory at Lyons, calls it.The shape, arrangement, number per square centimeter, all vary indifferent individuals. Besides, here we have added the lines of theforehead."
He was studying the two impressions intensely. When he looked up fromhis examination, his face wore a peculiar expression.
"This is not the head which was placed so close to the glass of thedoor of Schloss' office, peering through, on the night of the robbery,in order to see before picking the lock whether the office was emptyand everything ready for the hasty attack on the safe."
"That disposes of my theory that Schloss robbed himself," remarkedWinters reluctantly. "But the struggle here, the sleeve of the dress,the pistol--could he have been shot?"
"No, I think not," considered Kennedy. "It looks to me more like a caseof apoplexy."
"What shall we do?" asked Winters. "Far from clearing anything up, thiscomplicates it."
"Where's Muller?" asked Kennedy. "Does he know? Perhaps he can shedsome light on it."
The clang of an ambulance bell outside told that the aid summoned byWinters had arrived.
We left the body in charge of the surgeon and of a policeman whoarrived about the same time, and followed Winters.
Muller lived in a cheap boarding house in a shabbily respectable streetdowntown, and without announcing ourselves we climbed the stairs to hisroom. He looked up surprised but not disconcerted as we entered.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Muller," shot out Winters, "we have just found Mr. Schloss dead!"
"D-dead!" he stammered.
The man seemed speechless with horror.
"Yes, and with his grips packed as if to run away."
Muller looked dazedly from one of us to the other, but shut up like aclam.
"I think you had better come along with us as a material witness,"burst out Winters roughly.
Kennedy said nothing, leaving that sort of third degree work to thedetective. But he was not idle, as Winters tried to extract more thanthe monosyllables, "I don't know," in answer to every inquiry of Mullerabout his employer's life and business.
A low exclamation from Craig attracted my attention from Winters. In acorner he had discovered a small box and had opened it. Inside was adry battery and a most peculiar instrument, something like a littleflat telephone transmitter yet attached by wires to earpieces thatfitted over the head after the manner of those of a wireless detector.
"What's this?" asked Kennedy, dangling it before Muller.
He looked at it phlegmatically. "A deaf instrument I have been workingon," replied the jeweler. "My hearing is getting poor."
Kennedy looked hastily from the instrument to the man.
"I think I'll take it along with us," he said quietly.
Winters, true to his instincts, had been searching Muller in themeantime. Besides the various assortment that a man carries in hispockets usually, including pens, pencils, notebooks, a watch, ahandkerchief, a bunch of keys, one of which was large enough to open acastle, there was a bunch of blank and unissued pawn-tickets bearingthe name, "Stein's One Per Cent. a Month Loans," and an address on theBowery.
Was Muller the "fence" we were seeking, or only a tool for the "fence"higher up? Who was this Stein?
What it all meant I could only guess. It was a far cry from the wealthof Diamond Lane to a dingy Bowery pawnshop, even though pawnbroking atone per cent. a month--and more, on the side--pays. I knew, too, thatdiamonds are hoarded on the East Side as nowhere else in the world,outside of India. It was no uncommon thing, I had heard, for apawnbroker whose shop seemed dirty and greasy to the casual visitor tohave stored away in his vault gems running into the hundreds ofthousands of dollars.
"Mrs. Moulton must know of this," remarked Kennedy. "Winters, you andJameson bring Muller along. I am going up to the Deluxe."
I must say that I was surprised at finding Mrs. Moulton there. Outsidethe suite Winters and I waited with the unresisting Muller, whileKennedy entered. But through the door which he left ajar I could hearwhat passed.
"Mrs. Moulton," he began, "something terrible has happened--"
He broke off, and I gathered that her pale face and agitated mannertold him that she knew already.
"Where is Mr. Moulton?" he went on, changing his question.
"Mr. Moulton is at his office," she answered tremulously. "Hetelephoned while I was out that he had to work to-night. Oh, Mr.Kennedy--he knows--he knows. I know it. He has avoided me ever since Imissed the replica from-"
"Sh!" cautioned Craig. He had risen and gone to the door.
"Winters," he whispered, "I want you to go down to Lynn Moulton'soffice. Meanwhile Jameson can take care of Muller. I am going over tothat place of Stein's presently. Bring Moulton up there. You will waithere, Walter, for the present," he nodded.
He returned to the room where I could hear her crying softly.
"Now, Mrs. Moulton," he said gently, "I'm afraid I must trouble you togo with me. I am going over to a pawnbroker's on the Bowery."
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br /> "The Bowery?" she repeated, with a genuinely surprised shudder. "Oh,no, Mr. Kennedy. Don't ask me to go anywhere to-night. I am--I am in nocondition to go anywhere--to do anything--I--"
"But you must," said Kennedy in a low voice.
"I can't. Oh--have mercy on me. I am terribly upset. You--"
"It is your duty to go, Mrs. Moulton," he repeated.
"I don't understand." she murmured. "A pawnbroker's?"
"Come," urged Kennedy, not harshly but firmly, then, as she held back,added, playing a trump card, "We must work quickly. In his hands wefound the fragments of a torn dress. When the police--"
She uttered a shriek. A glance had told her, if she had deceivedherself before, that Kennedy knew her secret.
Antoinette Moulton was standing before him, talking rapidly.
"Some one has told Lynn. I know it. There is nothing now that I canconceal. If you had come half an hour later you would not have foundme. He had written to Mr. Schloss, threatening him that if he did notleave the country he would shoot him at sight. Mr. Schloss showed methe letter.
"It had come to this. I must either elope with Schloss, or lose hisaid. The thought of either was unendurable. I hated him--yet wasdependent on him.
"To-night I met him, in his empty apartment, alone. I knew that he hadwhat was left of his money with him, that everything was packed up. Iwent prepared. I would not elope. My plan was no less than to make himpay the balance on the necklace that he had lost--or to murder him.
"I carried a new pistol in my muff, one which Lynn had just bought. Idon't know how I did it. I was desperate.
"He told me he loved me, that Lynn did not, never had--that Lynn hadmarried me only to show off his wealth and diamonds, to give him asocial! position--that I was merely a--a piece of property--a dummy.
"He tried to kiss me. It was revolting. I struggled away from him.
"And in the struggle, the revolver fell from my muff and exploded onthe floor.
"At once he was aflame with suspicion.
"'So--it's murder you want!' he shouted. 'Well, murder it shall be!'
"I saw death in his eye as he seized my arm. I was defenseless now. Theold passion came over him. Before he killed--he--would have his waywith me.
"I screamed. With a wild effort I twisted away from him.
"He raised his hand to strike me, I saw his eyes, glassy. Then he sankback--fell to the floor--dead of apoplexy--dead of his furious emotions.
"I fled.
"And now you have found me."
She had turned, hastily, to leave the room. Kennedy blocked the door.
"Mrs. Moulton," he said firmly, "listen to me. What was the firstquestion you asked me? 'Can I trust you?' And I told you you could.This is no time for--for suicide." He shot the word out bluntly. "Allmay not be lost. I have sent for your husband. Muller is outside."
"Muller?" she cried. "He made the replica."
"Very well. I am going to clear this thing up. Come. You MUST."
It was all confused to me, the dash in a car to the little pawnbroker'son the first floor of a five-story tenement, the quick entry into theplace by one of Muller's keys.
Over the safe in back was a framework like that which had coveredSchloss' safe. Kennedy tore it away, regardless of the alarm which itmust have sounded. In a moment he was down before it on his knees.
"This is how Schloss' safe was opened so quickly," he muttered, workingfeverishly. "Here is some of their own medicine."
He had placed the peculiar telephone-like transmitter close to thecombination lock and was turning the combination rapidly.
Suddenly he rose, gave the bolts a twist, and the ponderous doors swungopen.
"What is it?" I asked eagerly.
"A burglar's microphone," he answered, hastily looking over thecontents of the safe. "The microphone is now used by burglars forpicking combination locks. When you turn the lock, a slight sound ismade when the proper number comes opposite the working point. It can beheard sometimes by a sensitive ear, although it is imperceptible tomost persons. But by using a microphone it is an easy matter to hearthe sounds which allow of opening the lock."
He had taken a yellow chamois bag out of the safe and opened it.
Inside sparkled the famous Moulton diamonds. He held them up--in alltheir wicked brilliancy. No one spoke.
Then he took another yellow bag, more dirty and worn than the first. Ashe opened it, Mrs. Moulton could restrain herself no longer.
"The replica!" she cried. "The replica!"
Without a word, Craig handed the real necklace to her. Then he slippedthe paste jewels into the newer of the bags and restored both it andthe empty one to their places, banged shut the door of the safe, andreplaced the wooden screen.
"Quick!" he said to her, "you have still a minute to get away.Hurry--anywhere--away--only away!"
The look of gratitude that came over her face, as she understood thefull meaning of it was such as I had never seen before.
"Quick!" he repeated.
It was too late.
"For God's sake, Kennedy," shouted a voice at the street door, "whatare you doing here?"
It was McLear himself. He had come with the Hale patrol, on his mettlenow to take care of the epidemic of robberies.
Before Craig could reply a cab drew up with a rush at the curb and twomen, half fighting, half cursing, catapulted themselves into the shop.
They were Winters and Moulton.
Without a word, taking advantage of the first shock of surprise,Kennedy had clapped a piece of chemical paper on the foreheads of Mrs.Moulton, then of Moulton, and on Muller's. Oblivious to the rest of us,he studied the impressions in the full light of the counter.
Moulton was facing his wife with a scornful curl of the lip.
"I've been told of the paste replica--and I wrote Schloss that I'dshoot him down like the dog he is, you--you traitress," he hissed.
She drew herself up scornfully.
"And I have been told why you married me--to show off your wickedjewels and help you in your--"
"You lie!" he cried fiercely. "Muller--some one--open thissafe--whosever it is. If what I have been told is true, there is in itone new bag containing the necklace. It was stolen from Schloss to whomyou sold my jewels. The other old bag, stolen from me, contains thepaste replica you had made to deceive me."
It was all so confused that I do not know how it happened. I think itwas Muller who opened the safe.
"There is the new yellow bag," cried Moulton, "from Schloss' own safe.Open it."
McLear had taken it. He did so. There sparkled not the real gems, butthe replica.
"The devil!" Moulton exclaimed, breaking from Winters and seizing theold bag.
He tore it open and--it was empty.
"One moment," interrupted Kennedy, looking up quietly from the counter."Seal that safe again, McLear. In it are the Schloss jewels and theproducts of half a dozen other robberies which the dupe Muller--orStein, as you please--pulled off, some as a blind to conceal the realcriminal. You may have shown him how to leave no finger prints, but youyourself have left what is just as good--your own forehead print.McLear--you were right. There's your criminal--Lynn Moulton,professional fence, the brains of the thing."
The War Terror Page 18
