II
THE YEGGMAN
"Hello! Yes, this is Professor Kennedy. I didn't catch the name--oh,yes--President Blake of the Standard Burglary Insurance Company.What--really? The Branford pearls--stolen? Maid chloroformed? Yes, I'lltake the case. You'll be up in half an hour? All right, I'll be here.Goodbye."
It was through this brief and businesslike conversation over thetelephone that Kennedy became involved in what proved to be one of themost dangerous cases he had ever handled.
At the mention of the Branford pearls I involuntarily stopped reading,and listened, not because I wanted to pry into Craig's affairs, butbecause I simply couldn't help it. This was news that had not yet beengiven out to the papers, and my instinct told me that there must besomething more to it than the bare statement of the robbery.
"Some one has made a rich haul," I commented. "It was reported, Iremember, when the Branford pearls were bought in Paris last year thatMrs. Branford paid upward of a million francs for the collection."
"Blake is bringing up his shrewdest detective to co-operate with me inthe case," added Kennedy. "Blake, I understand, is the head of theBurglary Insurance Underwriters' Association, too. This will be a bigthing, Walter, if we can carry it through."
It was the longest half-hour that I ever put in, waiting for Blake toarrive. When he did come, it was quite evident that my surmise had beencorrect.
Blake was one of those young old men who are increasingly common inbusiness today. There was an air of dignity and keenness about hismanner that showed clearly how important he regarded the case. Soanxious was he to get down to business that he barely introducedhimself and his companion, Special Officer Maloney, a typical privatedetective.
"Of course you haven't heard anything except what I have told you overthe wire," he began, going right to the point. "We were notified of itonly this noon ourselves, and we haven't given it out to the papersyet, though the local police in Jersey are now on the scene. The NewYork police must be notified tonight, so that whatever we do must bedone before they muss things up. We've got a clue that we want tofollow up secretly. These are the facts."
In the terse, straightforward language of the up-to-date man ofefficiency, he sketched the situation for us.
"The Branford estate, you know, consists of several acres on themountain back of Montclair, overlooking the valley, and surrounded byeven larger estates. Branford, I understand, is in the West with aparty of capitalists, inspecting a reported find of potash salts. Mrs.Branford closed up the house a few days ago and left for a short stayat Palm Beach. Of course they ought to have put their valuables in asafe deposit vault. But they didn't. They relied on a safe that wasreally one of the best in the market--a splendid safe, I may say. Well,it seems that while the master and mistress were both away the servantsdecided on having a good time in New York. They locked up the housesecurely--there's no doubt of that--and just went. That is, they allwent except Mrs. Branford's maid, who refused to go for some reason orother. We've got all the servants, but there's not a clue to be hadfrom any of them. They just went off on a bust, that's clear. Theyadmit it.
"Now, when they got back early this morning they found the maid inbed--dead. There was still a strong odor of chloroform about the room.The bed was disarranged as if there had been a struggle. A towel hadbeen wrapped up in a sort of cone, saturated with chloroform, andforcibly held over the girl's nose. The next thing they discovered wasthe safe--blown open in a most peculiar manner. I won't dwell on that.We're going to take you out there and show it to you after I've toldyou the whole story.
"Here's the real point. It looks all right, so far. The local policesay that the thief or thieves, whoever they were, apparently gainedaccess by breaking a back window. That's mistake number one. Tell Mr.Kennedy about the window, Maloney."
"It's just simply this," responded the detective. "When I came to lookat the broken window I found that the glass had fallen outside in sucha way as it could not have fallen if the window had been broken fromthe outside. The thing was a blind. Whoever did it got into the housein some other way and then broke the glass later to give a false clue."
"And," concluded Blake, taking his cigar between his thumb andforefinger and shaking it to give all possible emphasis to his words,"we have had our agent at Palm Beach on long-distance 'phone twice thisafternoon. Mrs. Branford did NOT go to Palm Beach. She did NOT engagerooms in any hotel there. And furthermore she never had any intentionof going there. By a fortunate circumstance Maloney picked up a hintfrom one of the servants, and he has located her at the Grattan Inn inthis city. In other words, Mrs. Branford has stolen her own jewels fromherself in order to collect the burglary insurance--a common-enoughthing in itself, but never to my knowledge done on such a large scalebefore."
The insurance man sank back in his chair and surveyed us sharply.
"But," interrupted Kennedy slowly, "how about--"
"I know--the maid," continued Blake. "I do not mean that Mrs. Branforddid the actual stealing. Oh, no. That was done by a yeggman ofexperience. He must have been above the average, but everything pointsto the work of a yeggman. She hired him. But he overstepped the markwhen he chloroformed the maid."
For a moment Kennedy said nothing. Then he remarked: "Let us go out andsee the safe. There must be some clue. After that I want to have a talkwith Mrs. Branford. By the way," he added, as we all rose to go down toBlake's car, "I once handled a life insurance case for the GreatEastern. I made the condition that I was to handle it in my own way,whether it went for or against the company. That's understood, is it,before I undertake the case?"
"Yes, yes," agreed Blake. "Get at the truth. We're not seeking tosquirm out of meeting an honest liability. Only we want to make asignal example if it is as we have every reason to believe. There hasbeen altogether too much of this sort of fake burglary to collectinsurance, and as president of the underwriters it is my duty andintention to put a stop to it. Come on."
Maloney nodded his head vigorously in assent with his chief. "Neverfear," he murmured. "The truth is what will benefit the company, allright. She did it."
The Branford estate lay some distance back from the railroad station,so that, although it took longer to go by automobile than by train, thecar made us independent of the rather fitful night train service andthe local cabmen.
We found the house not deserted by the servants, but subdued. The bodyof the maid had been removed to a local morgue, and a police officerwas patrolling the grounds, though of what use that could be I was at aloss to understand.
Kennedy was chiefly interested in the safe. It was of the so-called"burglar-proof" variety, spherical in shape, and looking for all theworld like a miniature piece of electrical machinery.
"I doubt if anything could have withstood such savage treatment as hasbeen given to this safe," remarked Craig as he concluded a cursoryexamination of it. "It shows great resistance to high explosives,chiefly, I believe, as a result of its rounded shape. But nothing couldstand up against such continued assaults."
He continued to examine the safe while we stood idly by. "I like toreconstruct my cases in my own mind," explained Kennedy, as he took histime in the examination. "Now, this fellow must have stripped the safeof all the outer trimmings. His next move was to make a dent in themanganese surface across the joint where the door fits the body. Thatmust have taken a good many minutes of husky work. In fact, I don't seehow he could have done it without a sledge-hammer and a hot chisel.Still, he did it and then--"
"But the maid," interposed Maloney. "She was in the house. She wouldhave heard and given an alarm."
For answer, Craig simply went to a bay-window and raised the curtain.Pointing to the lights of the next house, far down the road, he said,"I'll buy the best cigars in the state if you can make them hear you ona blustery night like last night. No, she probably did scream. Eitherat this point, or at the very start, the burglar must have chloroformedher. I don't see any other way to explain it. I doubt if he expectedsuch a tough propositi
on as he found in this safe, but he was evidentlyprepared to carry it through, now that he was here and had such anunexpectedly clear field, except for the maid. He simply got her out ofthe way, or his confederates did--in the easiest possible way, poorgirl."
Returning to the safe, he continued: "Well, anyhow, he made a furrowperhaps an inch and a half long and a quarter of an inch wide and, Ishould say, not over an eighth of an inch deep. Then he commenced toburgle in earnest. Under the dent he made a sort of little cup of redclay and poured in the 'soup'--the nitroglycerin--so that it would runinto the depression. Then he exploded it in the regular way with abattery and a fulminate cap. I doubt if it did much more than discolourthe metal at first. Still, with the true persistency of his kind, heprobably repeated the dose, using more and more of the 'soup' until thejoint was stretched a little, and more of an opening made so that the'soup' could run in.
"Again and again he must have repeated and increased the charges.Perhaps he used two or three cups at a time. By this time the outerdoor must have been stretched so as to make it easy to introduce theexplosive. No doubt he was able to use ten or twelve ounces of thestuff at a charge. It must have been more like target-practice thansafe-blowing. But the chance doesn't often come--an empty house andplenty of time. Finally the door must have bulged a fraction of an inchor so, and then a good big charge and the outer portion was ripped offand the safe turned over. There was still two or three inches ofmanganese steel protecting the contents, wedged in so tight that itmust have seemed that nothing could budge it. But he must have kept atit until we have the wreck that we see here," and Kennedy kicked thesafe with his foot as he finished.
Blake was all attention by this time, while Maloney gasped, "If I wasin the safe-cracking business, I'd make you the head of the firm."
"And now," said Craig, "let us go back to New York and see if we canfind Mrs. Branford."
"Of course you understand," explained Blake as we were speeding back,"that most of these cases of fake robberies are among small people,many of them on the East Side among little jewellers or othertradesmen. Still, they are not limited to any one class. Indeed, it iseasier to foil the insurance companies when you sit in the midst offinery and wealth, protected by a self-assuring halo of moralrectitude, than under less fortunate circumstances. Too often, I'mafraid, we have good-naturedly admitted the unsolved burglary and paidthe insurance claim. That has got to stop. Here's a case where weconsidered the moral hazard a safe one, and we are mistaken. It's thelast straw."
Our interview with Mrs. Branford was about as awkward an undertaking asI have ever been concerned with. Imagine yourself forced to question aperfectly stunning woman, who was suspected of plotting so daring adeed and knew that you suspected her. Resentment was no name for herfeelings. She scorned us, loathed us. It was only by what must havebeen the utmost exercise of her remarkable will-power that sherestrained herself from calling the hotel porters and having us thrownout bodily. That would have put a bad face on it, so she tolerated ourpresence. Then, of course, the insurance company had reserved the rightto examine everybody in the household, under oath if necessary, beforepassing on the claim.
"This is an outrage," she exclaimed, her eyes flashing and her breastrising and falling with suppressed emotion, "an outrage. When myhusband returns I intend to have him place the whole matter in thehands of the best attorney in the city. Not only will I have the fullamount of the insurance, but I will have damages and costs andeverything the law allows. Spying on my every movement in this way--itis an outrage! One would think we were in St. Petersburg instead of NewYork."
"One moment, Mrs. Branford," put in Kennedy, as politely as he could."Suppose--"
"Suppose nothing," she cried angrily. "I shall explain nothing, saynothing. What if I do choose to close up that lonely big house in thesuburbs and come to the city to live for a few days--is it anybody'sbusiness except mine?"
"And your husband's?" added Kennedy, nettled at her treatment of him.
She shot him a scornful glance. "I suppose Mr. Branford went out toArizona for the express purpose of collecting insurance on my jewels,"she added sarcastically with eyes that snapped fire.
"I was about to say," remarked Kennedy as imperturbably as if he werean automaton, "that supposing some one took advantage of your absenceto rob your safe, don't you think the wisest course would be to beperfectly frank about it?"
"And give just one plausible reason why you wished so much to have itknown that you were going to Palm Beach when in reality you were in NewYork?" pursued Maloney, while Kennedy frowned at his tactless attemptat a third degree.
If she had resented Kennedy, she positively flew up in the air andcommenced to aviate at Maloney's questioning. Tossing her head, shesaid icily: "I do not know that you have been appointed my guardian,sir. Let us consider this interview at an end. Good-night," and withthat she swept out of the room, ignoring Maloney and bestowing onebiting glance on Blake, who actually winced, so little relish did hehave for this ticklish part of the proceedings.
I think we all felt like schoolboys who had been detected robbing amelon-patch or in some other heinous offence, as we slowly filed downthe hall to the elevator. A woman of Mrs. Branford's stamp so readilyand successfully puts one in the wrong that I could easily comprehendwhy Blake wanted to call on Kennedy for help in what otherwise seemed aplain case.
Blake and Maloney were some distance ahead of us, as Craig leaned overto me and whispered. "That Maloney is impossible. I'll have to shakehim loose in some way. Either we handle this case alone or we quit."
"Right-o," I agreed emphatically. "He's put his foot in it badly at thevery start. Only, be decent about it, Craig. The case is too big foryou to let it slip by."
"Trust me, Walter. I'll do it tactfully," he whispered, then to Blakehe added as we overtook them: "Maloney is right. The case is simpleenough, after all. But we must find out some way to fasten the thingmore closely on Mrs. Branford. Let me think out a scheme to-night. I'llsee you tomorrow."
As Blake and Maloney disappeared down the street in the car, Kennedywheeled about and walked deliberately back into the Grattan Inn again.It was quite late. People were coming in from the theatres, laughingand chatting gaily. Kennedy selected a table that commanded a view ofthe parlour as well as of the dining-room itself.
"She was dressed to receive some one--did you notice?" he remarked aswe sat down and cast our eyes over the dizzy array of inedibles on thecard before us. "I think it is worth waiting a while to see who it is."
Having ordered what I did not want, I glanced about until my eye restedon a large pier-glass at the other end of the dining-room.
"Craig," I whispered excitedly, "Mrs. B. is in the writing-room--I cansee her in that glass at the end of the room, behind you."
"Get up and change places with me as quietly as you can, Walter," hesaid quickly. "I want to see her when she can't see me."
Kennedy was staring in rapt attention at the mirror. "There's a manwith her, Walter," he said under his breath. "He came in while we werechanging places--a fine-looking chap. By Jove, I've seen him beforesomewhere. His face and his manner are familiar to me. But I simplycan't place him. Did you see her wraps in the chair? No? Well, he'shelping her on with them. They're going out. GARCON, L'ADDITION--VITE"
We were too late, however, for just as we reached the door we caught afleeting glimpse of a huge new limousine.
"Who was that man who just went out with the lady?" asked Craig of thenegro who turned the revolving-door at the carriage entrance.
"Jack Delarue, sah--in 'The Grass Widower,' sah," replied the doorman."Yes, sah, he stays here once in a while. Thank you, sah," as Kennedydropped a quarter into the man's hand.
"That complicates things considerably," he mused as we walked slowlydown to the subway station. "Jack Delarue--I wonder if he is mixed upin this thing also."
"I've heard that 'The Grass Widower' isn't such a howling success as amoney-maker," I volunteered. "Delarue has a host of creditors, nodou
bt. By the way, Craig," I exclaimed, "don't you think it would be agood plan to drop down and see O'Connor? The police will have to beinformed in a few hours now, anyhow. Maybe Delarue has a criminalrecord."
"A good idea, Walter," agreed Craig, turning into a drug-store whichhad a telephone booth. "I'll just call O'Connor up, and we'll see if hedoes know anything about it."
O'Connor was not at headquarters, but we finally found him at his home,and it was well into the small hours when we arrived there. Trusting tothe first deputy's honour, which had stood many a test, Craig began tounfold the story. He had scarcely got as far as describing the work ofthe suspected hired yeggman, when O'Connor raised both hands andbrought them down hard on the arms of his chair.
"Say," he ejaculated, "that explains it!"
"What?" we asked in chorus.
"Why, one of my best stool-pigeons told me to-day that there wassomething doing at a house in the Chatham Square district that we havebeen watching for a long time. It's full of crooks, and to-day they'veall been as drunk as lords, a sure sign some one has made a haul andbeen generous with the rest, And one or two of the professional'fences' have been acting suspiciously, too. Oh, that explains it allright."
I looked at Craig as much as to say, "I told you so," but he wasengrossed in what O'Connor was saying.
"You know," continued the police officer, "there is one particular'fence' who runs his business under the guise of a loan-shark's office.He probably has a wider acquaintance among the big criminals than anyother man in the city. From him crooks can obtain anything from a jimmyto a safe-cracking outfit. I know that this man has been trying todispose of some unmounted pearls to-day among jewellers in Maiden Lane.I'll bet he has been disposing of some of the Branford pearls, one byone. I'll follow that up. I'll arrest this 'fence' and hold him till hetells me what yeggman came to him with the pearls."
"And if you find out, will you go with me to that house near ChathamSquare, providing it was some one in that gang?" asked Craig eagerly.
O'Connor shook his head. "I'd better keep out of it. They know me toowell. Go alone. I'll get that stool-pigeon--the Gay Cat is his name--togo with you. I'll help you in any way. I'll have any number ofplain-clothes men you want ready to raid the place the moment you getthe evidence. But you'll never get any evidence if they know I'm in theneighbourhood."
The next morning Craig scarcely ate any breakfast himself and made mebolt my food most unceremoniously. We were out in Montclair againbefore the commuters had started to go to New York, and that in spiteof the fact that we had stopped at his laboratory on the way and hadgot a package which he carried carefully.
Kennedy instituted a most thorough search of the house from cellar toattic in daylight. What he expected to find, I did not know, but I amquite sure nothing escaped him.
"Now, Walter," he said after he had ransacked the house, "there remainsjust one place. Here is this little wall safe in Mrs. Branford's room.We must open it."
For an hour if not longer he worked over the combination, listening tothe fall of the tumblers in the lock. It was a simple little thing andone of the old-timers in the industry would no doubt have opened it inshort order. The perspiration stood out on his forehead, so intent washe in working the thing. At last it yielded. Except for some of thefamily silver, the safe was empty.
Carefully noting how the light shone on the wall safe, Craig unwrappedthe package he had brought and disclosed a camera. He placed it on awriting-desk opposite the safe, in such a way that it was not at allconspicuous, and focused it on the safe.
"This is a camera with a newly-invented between-lens shutter of greatillumination and efficiency," he explained. "It has always beenpractically impossible to get such pictures, but this new shutter hasso much greater speed than anything ever invented before that it ispossible to use it in detective work. I'll just run these fine wireslike a burglar alarm, only instead of having an alarm I'll attach themto the camera so that we can get a picture. I've proved its speed up toone two-thousandth of a second. It may or it may not work. If it doeswe'll catch somebody, right in the act."
About noon we went down to Liberty Street, home of burglary insurance.I don't think Blake liked it very much because Kennedy insisted onplaying the lone hand, but he said nothing, for it was part of theagreement. Maloney seemed rather glad than otherwise. He had beencombing out some tangled clues of his own about Mrs. Branford. Still,Kennedy smoothed things over by complimenting the detective on hisactivity, and indeed he had shown remarkable ability in the first placein locating Mrs. Branford.
"I started out with the assumption that the Branfords must have neededmoney for some reason or other," said Maloney. "So I went to thecommercial agencies to-day and looked up Branford. I can't say he hasbeen prosperous; nobody has been in Wall Street these days, and that'sjust the thing that causes an increase in fake burglaries. Then thereis another possibility," he continued triumphantly. "I had a man up atthe Grattan Inn, and he reports to me that Mrs. Stanford was seen withthe actor Jack Delarue last night, I imagine they quarrelled, for shereturned alone, much agitated, in a taxi-cab. Any way you look at it,the clues are promising--whether she needed money for Branford'sspeculations or for the financing of that rake Delarue."
Maloney regarded Craig with the air of an expert who could afford topatronise a good amateur--but after all an amateur. Kennedy saidnothing, and of course I took the cue.
"Yes," agreed Blake, "you see, our original hypothesis was a prettygood one. Meanwhile, of course, the police are floundering around in abog of false scents."
"It would make our case a good deal stronger," remarked Kennedyquietly, "if we could discover some of the stolen jewellery hiddensomewhere by Mrs. Branford herself." He said nothing of his ownunsuccessful search through the house, but continued: "What do yousuppose she has done with the jewels? She must have put them somewherebefore she got the yeggman to break the safe. She'd hardly trust themin his hands. But she might have been foolish enough for that. Ofcourse it's another possibility that he really got away with them. Idoubt if she has them at Grattan Inn, or even if she would personallyput them in a safe deposit vault. Perhaps Delarue figures in that endof it. We must let no stone go unturned."
"That's right," meditated Maloney, apparently turning something over inhis mind as if it were a new idea. "If we only had some evidence, evenpart of the jewels that she had hidden, it would clinch the case.That's a good idea, Kennedy."
Craig said nothing, but I could see, or fancied I saw, that he wasgratified at the thought that he had started Maloney off on anothertrail, leaving us to follow ours unhampered. The interview with Blakewas soon over, and as we left I looked inquiringly at Craig.
"I want to see Mrs. Branford again," he said. "I think we can do betteralone today than we did last night."
I must say I half expected that she would refuse to see us and wasquite surprised when the page returned with the request that we go upto her suite. It was evident that her attitude toward us was verydifferent from that of the first interview. Whether she was ruffled bythe official presence of Blake or the officious presence of Maloney,she was at least politely tolerant of us. Or was it that she at lastbegan to realise that the toils were closing about her and that thingsbegan to look unmistakably black?
Kennedy was quick to see his advantage. "Mrs. Branford," he began,"since last night I have come into the possession of some facts thatare very important. I have heard that several loose pearls which may ormay not be yours have been offered for sale by a man on the Bowery whois what the yeggmen call a 'fence.'"
"Yeggmen--'fence'?" she repeated. "Mr. Kennedy, really I do not care todiscuss the pearls any longer. It is immaterial to me what becomes ofthem. My first desire is to collect the insurance. If anything isrecovered I am quite willing to deduct that amount from the total. ButI must insist on the full insurance or the return of the pearls. Assoon as Mr. Branford arrives I shall take other steps to secureredress."
A boy rapped at the door and brought in a tel
egram which she tore opennervously. "He will be here in four days," she said, tearing thetelegram petulantly, and not at all as if she were glad to receive it."Is there anything else that you wish to say?"
She was tapping her foot on the rug as if anxious to conclude theinterview. Kennedy leaned forward earnestly and played his trump cardboldly.
"Do you remember that scene in 'The Grass Widower,'" he said slowly,"where Jack Delarue meets his runaway wife at the masquerade ball?"
She coloured slightly, but instantly regained her composure. "Vaguely,"she murmured, toying with the flowers in her dress.
"In real life," said Kennedy, his voice purposely betraying that hemeant it to have a personal application, "husbands do not forgive evenrumours of--ah--shall we say affinities?--much less the fact."
"In real life," she replied, "wives do not have affinities as often assome newspapers and plays would have us believe."
"I saw Delarue after the performance last night," went on Kennedyinexorably. "I was not seen, but I saw, and he was with----"
She was pacing the room now in unsuppressed excitement. "Will you neverstop spying on me?" she cried. "Must my every act be watched andmisrepresented? I suppose a distorted version of the facts will begiven to my husband. Have you no chivalry, or justice, or--or mercy?"she pleaded, stopping in front of Kennedy.
"Mrs. Branford," he replied coldly, "I cannot promise what I shall do.My duty is simply to get at the truth about the pearls. If it involvessome other person, it is still my duty to get at the truth. Why nottell me all that you really know about the pearls and trust me to bringit out all right?"
She faced him, pale and haggard. "I have told," she repeated steadily."I cannot tell any more--I know nothing more."
Was she lying? I was not expert enough in feminine psychology to judge,but down in my heart I knew that the woman was hiding something behindthat forced steadiness. What was it she was battling for? We hadreached an impasse.
It was after dinner when I met Craig at the laboratory. He had made atrip to Montclair again, where his stay had been protracted becauseMaloney was there and he wished to avoid him. He had brought back thecamera, and had had another talk with O'Connor, at which he had mappedout a plan of battle.
"We are to meet the Gay Cat at the City Hall at nine o'clock,"explained Craig laconically. "We are going to visit a haunt of yeggmen,Walter, that few outsiders have ever seen. Are you game? O'Connor andhis men will be close by--hiding, of course."
"I suppose so," I replied slowly. "But what excuse are you going tohave for getting into this yegg-resort?"
"Simply that we are two newspaper men looking for an article, withoutnames, dates, or places--just a good story of yeggmen and tramps. I'vegot a little--well, we'll call it a little camera outfit that I'm goingto sling over my shoulder. You are the reporter, remember, and I'm thenewspaper photographer. They won't pose for us, of course, but thatwill be all right. Speaking about photographs, I got one out atMontclair that is interesting. I'll show it to you later in theevening--and in case anything should happen to me, Walter, you'll findthe original plate locked here in the top drawer of my desk. I guesswe'd better be getting downtown."
The house to which we were guided by the Gay Cat was on a cross streetwithin a block or two of Chatham Square. If we had passed it casuallyin the daytime there would have been nothing to distinguish it abovethe other ramshackle buildings on the street, except that the otherhouses were cluttered with children and baby-carriages, while this onewas vacant, the front door closed, and the blinds tightly drawn. As weapproached, a furtive figure shambled from the basement areaway andslunk off into the crowd for the night's business of pocket-picking orsecond-story work.
I had had misgivings as to whether we would be admitted at all--I mightalmost say hopes--but the Gay Cat succeeded in getting a ready responseat the basement door. The house itself was the dilapidated ruin of whathad once been a fashionable residence in the days when society lived inthe then suburban Bowery. The iron handrail on the steps was stillgraceful, though rusted and insecure. The stones of the steps weredecayed and eaten away by time, and the front door was never opened.
As we entered the low basement door, I felt that those who entered heredid indeed abandon hope. Inside, the evidences of the past grandeurwere still more striking. What had once been a drawing-room was now thegeneral assembly room of the resort. Broken-down chairs lined thewalls, and the floor was generously sprinkled with sawdust. A hugepot-bellied stove occupied the centre of the room, and by it stood abox of sawdust plentifully discoloured with tobacco-juice.
Three or four of the "guests"--there was no "register" in thisyeggman's hotel--were seated about the stove discussing something in alanguage that was English, to be sure, but of a variation that only ayegg could understand. I noted the once handsome white marble mantel,now stained by age, standing above the unused grate. Doublefolding-doors led to what, I imagine, was once a library. Dirt andgrime indescribable were everywhere. There was the smell of old clothesand old cooking, the race odours of every nationality known to themetropolis. I recalled a night I once spent in a Bowery lodging-housefor "local colour." Only this was infinitely worse. No law regulatedthis house. There was an atmosphere of cheerlessness that ahalf-blackened Welsbach mantle turned into positive ghastliness.
Our guide introduced us. There was a dead silence as eight eyes werecraftily fixed on us, sizing us up. What should I say? Craig came tothe rescue. To him the adventure was a lark. It was novel, and that wasmerit enough.
"Ask about the slang," he suggested. "That makes a picturesque story."
It seemed to me innocuous enough, so I engaged in conversation with aman whom the Gay Cat had introduced as the proprietor. Much of theslang I already knew by hearsay, such as "bulls" for policemen, a"mouthpiece" for a lawyer to defend one when he is "ditched" orarrested; in fact, as I busily scribbled away I must have collected alexicon of a hundred words or so for future reference.
"And names?" I queried. "You have some queer nicknames."
"Oh, yes," replied the man. "Now here's the Gay Cat--that's what wecall a fellow who is the finder, who enters a town ahead of the gang.Then there's Chi Fat--that means he's from Chicago and fat. And PittsSlim--he's from Pittsburgh and--"
"Aw, cut it," broke in one of the others. "Pitts Slim'll be hereto-night. He'll give you the devil if he hears you talking to reportersabout him."
The proprietor began to talk of less dangerous subjects. Craigsucceeded in drawing out from him the yegg recipe for making "soup.""It's here in this cipher," said the man, drawing out a dirty piece ofpaper. "It's well known, and you can have this. Here's the key. It waswritten by 'Deafy' Smith, and the police pinched it."
Craig busily translated the curious document:
Take ten or a dozen sticks of dynamite, crumble it up fine, and put itin a pan or washbowl, then pour over it enough alcohol, wood or pure,to cover it well. Stir it up well with your hands, being careful tobreak all the lumps. Leave it set for a few minutes. Then get a fewyards of cheesecloth and tear it up in pieces and strain the mixturethrough the cloth into another vessel. Wring the sawdust dry and throwit away. The remains will be the soup and alcohol mixed. Next take thesame amount of water as you used of alcohol and pour it in. Leave thewhole set for a few minutes.
"Very interesting," commented Craig. "Safeblowing in one lesson bycorrespondence school. The rest of this tells how to attack variousmakes, doesn't it?"
Just then a thin man in a huge, worn ulster came stamping upstairs fromthe basement, his collar up and his hat down over his eyes. There wassomething indefinably familiar about him, but as his face and figurewere so well concealed, I could not tell just why I thought so.
Catching a glimpse of us, he beat a retreat across the opposite end ofthe room, beckoning to the proprietor, who joined him outside the door.I thought I heard him ask: "Who are those men? Who let them in?" but Icould not catch the reply.
One by one the other occupants of the room rose and sidled
out, leavingus alone with the Gay Cat. Kennedy reached over to get a cigarette frommy case and light it from one that I was smoking.
"That's our man, I think," he whispered--"Pitts Slim."
I said nothing, but I would have been willing to part with a largesection of my bank-account to be up on the Chatham Square station ofthe Elevated just then.
There was a rush from the half-open door behind us. Suddenly everythingturned black before me; my eyes swam; I felt a stinging sensation on myhead and a weak feeling about the stomach; I sank half-conscious to thefloor. All was blank, but, dimly, I seemed to be dragged and droppeddown hard.
How long I lay there I don't know. Kennedy says it was not over fiveminutes. It may have been so, but to me it seemed an age. When I openedmy eyes I was lying on my back on a very dirty sofa in another room.Kennedy was bending over me with blood streaming from a long deep gashon his head. Another figure was groaning in the semi-darkness opposite;it was the Gay Cat.
"They blackjacked us," whispered Kennedy to me as I staggered to myfeet. "Then they dragged us through a secret passage into anotherhouse. How do you feel?"
"All right," I answered, bracing myself against a chair, for I was weakfrom the loss of blood, and dizzy. I was sore in every joint andmuscle. I looked about, only half comprehending. Then my recollectionflooded back with a rush. We had been locked in another room after theattack, and left to be dealt with later. I felt in my pocket. I hadleft my watch at the laboratory, but even the dollar watch I had takenand the small sum of money in my pocketbook were gone.
Kennedy still had his camera slung over his shoulder, where he hadfastened it securely.
Here we were, imprisoned, while Pitts Slim, the man we had come after,whoever he was, was making his escape. Somewhere across the street wasO'Connor, waiting in a room as we had agreed. There was only one windowin our room, and it opened on a miserable little dumbwaiter air-shaft.It would be hours yet before his suspicions would be aroused and hewould discover which of the houses we were held in. Meanwhile whatmight not happen to us?
Kennedy calmly set up his tripod. One leg had been broken in therough-house, but he tied it together with his handkerchief, now wetwith blood. I wondered how he could think of taking a picture. His verydeliberation set me fretting and fuming, and I swore at him under mybreath. Still, he worked calmly ahead. I saw him take the black box andset it on the tripod. It was indistinct in the darkness. It looked likea camera, and yet it had some attachment at the side that was queer,including a little lamp. Craig bent and attached some wires about thebox.
At last he seemed ready. "Walter," he whispered, "roll that sofaquietly over against the door. There, now the table and that bureau,and wedge the chairs in. Keep that door shut at any cost. It's now ornever--here goes."
He stopped a moment and tinkered with the box on the tripod. "Hello!Hello! Hello! Is that you, O'Connor?" he shouted.
I watched him in amazement. Was the man crazy? Had the blow affectedhis brain? Here he was, trying to talk into a camera. A littlesignalling-bell in the box commenced to ring, as if by spirit hands.
"Shut up in that room," growled a voice from outside the door. "By God,they've barricaded the door. Come on, pals, we'll kill the spies."
A smile of triumph lighted up Kennedy's pale face. "It works, itworks," he cried as the little bell continued to buzz. "This is awireless telephone you perhaps have seen announced recently--good forseveral hundred feet--through walls and everything. The inventor placedit in a box easily carried by a man, including a battery, and mountedon an ordinary camera tripod so that the user might well be taken for atravelling photographer. It is good in one direction only, but I have asignalling-bell here that can be rung from the other end by Hertzianwaves. Thank Heaven, it's compact and simple.
"O'Connor," he went on, "it is as I told you. It was Pitts Slim. Heleft here ten or fifteen minutes ago--I don't know by what exit, but Iheard them say they would meet at the Central freightyards at midnight.Start your plain-clothes men out and send some one here, quick, torelease us. We are locked in a room in the fourth or fifth house fromthe corner. There's a secret passage to the yegg-house. The Gay Cat isstill unconscious, Jameson is groggy, and I have a bad scalp wound.They are trying to beat in our barricade. Hurry."
I think I shall never get straight in my mind the fearful five minutesthat followed, the battering at the door, the oaths, the scuffleoutside, the crash as the sofa, bureau, table, and chairs all yieldedat once--and my relief when I saw the square-set, honest face ofO'Connor and half a dozen plainclothes men holding the yeggs who wouldcertainly have murdered us this time to protect their pal in hisgetaway. The fact is I didn't think straight until we were halfwayuptown, speeding toward the railroad freight-yards in O'Connor's car.The fresh air at last revived me, and I began to forget my cute andbruises in the renewed excitement.
We entered the yards carefully, accompanied by several of therailroad's detectives, who met us with a couple of police dogs.Skulking in the shadow under the high embankment that separated theyards with their interminable lines of full and empty cars on one sideand the San Juan Hill district of New York up on the bluff on the otherside, we came upon a party of three men who were waiting to catch themidnight "side-door Pullman"--the fast freight out of New York.
The fight was brief, for we outnumbered them more than three to one.O'Connor himself snapped a pair of steel bracelets on the thin man, whoseemed to be leader of the party.
"It's all up, Pitts Slim," he ground out from his set teeth.
One of our men flashed his bull's-eye on the three prisoners. I caughtmyself as in a dream.
Pitts Slim was Maloney, the detective.
An hour later, at headquarters, after the pedigrees had been taken, the"mugging" done, and the jewels found on the three yeggs checked offfrom the list of the Branford pearls, leaving a few thousand dollars'worth unaccounted for, O'Connor led the way into his private office.There were Mrs. Branford and Blake, waiting.
Maloney sullenly refused to look at his former employer, as Blakerushed over and grasped Kennedy's hand, asking eagerly: "How did you doit, Kennedy? This is the last thing I expected."
Craig said nothing, but slowly opened a now crumpled envelope, whichcontained an untoned print of a photograph. He laid it on the desk."There is your yeggman--at work," he said.
We bent over to look. It was a photograph of Maloney in the act ofputting something in the little wall safe in Mrs. Branford's room. In aflash it dawned on me--the quick-shutter camera, the wire connectedwith the wall safe, Craig's hint to Maloney that if some of the jewelswere found hidden in a likely place in the house, it would furnish thelast link in the chain against her, Maloney's eager acceptance of thesuggestion, and his visit to Montclair during which Craig had had hardwork to avoid him.
"Pitts Slim, alias Maloney," added Kennedy, turning to Blake, "yourshrewdest private detective, was posing in two characters at once verysuccessfully. He was your trusted agent in possession of the mostvaluable secrets of your clients, at the same time engineering all therobberies that you thought were fakes, and then working up the evidenceincriminating the victims themselves. He got into the Branford housewith a skeleton key, and killed the maid. The picture shows him puttingthis shield-shaped brooch in the safe this afternoon--here's thebrooch. And all this time he was the leader of the most dangerous bandof yeggmen in the country."
"Mrs. Branford," exclaimed Blake, advancing and bowing most profoundly,"I trust that you understand my awkward position? My apologies cannotbe too humble. It will give me great pleasure to hand you a certifiedcheck for the missing gems the first thing in the morning."
Mrs. Branford bit her lip nervously. The return of the pearls did notseem to interest her in the least.
"And I, too, must apologise for the false suspicion I had of youand--and--depend on me, it is already forgotten," said Kennedy,emphasising the "false" and looking her straight in the eyes.
She read his meaning and a look of relief crossed her face. "Th
ankyou," she murmured simply, then dropping her eyes she added in a lowertone which no one heard except Craig: "Mr. Kennedy, how can I everthank you? Another night, and it would have been too late to save mefrom myself."
The Poisoned Pen Page 2
