“I’m Della Rangar,” she said. “No one knows me here, and no one knows I’m here. I recognized the picture of James Crandall which was published in the papers when his trial started. He... he’s my sweatheart. I knew him under another name, in another city.
“He’s been living there, and going straight. We were to be married. He won’t tell where he was, or what he was doing because he knows that will mix me into the mess. He hoped I’d never hear of this. I thought — thought that he’d just run away and left me. You see, I haven’t always been so straight myself. I’ve had my experiences with the seamy side of life, and I’ve even done time.
“Crandall knew that. And he knew that if the police found out about me they’d drag me in as an accomplice. He was going to take the rap, go to the chair in silence, just to protect me. When I saw his picture, I came on here. I thought I could break into the office of the county attorney and steal the file in the Crandall case. I’ve known of such things being done.”
She paused, staring defiantly at Sidney Zoom, as though expecting to hear his denunciation.
Sidney Zoom, however, merely nodded his head approvingly.
“Good girl,” he said. “Did you find anything?”
“No evidence. The file of the case was there. The letter wasn’t in the file. It’s that letter that will send Jim to the chair.”
Sidney Zoom pursed his lips.
“You haven’t answered one other question. Did you leave anything behind by which you can be identified?”
She shook her head. Then her head suddenly became motionless. The cheek blanched again.
“I made notations,” she said, “on a sheet of paper that I took from this rooming house. It had the address on it. The files were indexed, you know, and I first looked up the index numbers, and then wrote the numbers...”
Zoom interrupted.
“You left that paper behind?”
“I’m afraid I must have. I had it in my hand when... when he struck me.”
Sidney Zoom strode toward the door.
“Get your things together,” he said. “I’ll watch the corridor. Make it snappy. Get ’em on quickly.”
He jerked the door open, strode into the corridor, stood rigidly alert, the dog at his side. From the interior of the room came sounds of swift motion. Almost within a matter of seconds the door opened again and the girl, garbed for the street, stood at his side.
“Ready,” she said.
There was in her tone the implicit confidence of one who trusts. It was an emotion which Sidney Zoom inspired, particularly in the helpless, as well as in dogs, horses and children.
Zoom led the way.
They left by the front door, walked across to the other side of the street.
And, as they rounded the comer, the night silence was disrupted by the noise of a speeding motor. A light car, filled with men, came swiftly down the street, skidded to a stop before the entrance to the rooming house. The men jumped from the car, ran across the strip of sidewalk, and vanished within the dark doorway.
Sidney Zoom turned to the girl at his side and smiled.
“We weren’t any too soon,” he said.
There was no longer any fear in her voice.
“Somehow, I don’t feel afraid any more,” she said. “I have a feeling that justice is going to be done — real justice.”
Sidney Zoom took her elbow, assisted her down from the curb to the street, piloted her to the place where the shadows were the deepest. Keeping to those clinging shadows, he guided her to his yacht, slipped her aboard.
Vera Thurmond, the secretary, regarded the girl with eyes that were warm with sympathy. There was, in the secretary, a maternal affection for those strange outcasts of the night whom Sidney Zoom picked up from time to time and brought to safe sanctuary aboard the yacht.
“Keep her safe, and keep her out of sight,” said Sidney Zoom.
Vera Thurmond flung a protecting arm around the waist of Della Rangar.
“Come, my poor dear, you need sleep,” she said.
Taut nerves relaxed. The girl smiled.
“I’m commencing to believe that God’s in his heaven after all,” she said.
For Sidney Zoom’s character was such that no one could come in contact with him without feeling the strange influence of the man. He influenced the lives of those about him as a lodestone influences the needle of a magnet. The weak and the helpless found in him a haven of refuge, a gigantic wall of strength. The oppressor found in him a grim enemy, tireless, uncompromising, letting no man-made law stand between him and his prey.
Chapter VI
Rip Smells a Banker
The morning sun streamed through the long, narrow windows, reflected from the polished surface of the walnut desk, and made little splotches of uneven illumination upon the tinted wall.
Sam Gilvert sat in the swivel chair, a filing drawer of a card indexing system in front of him. Several of those cards represented past due obligations owing to the bank. These had red tabs on their margins. The tabs were a bright red, and the gnarled fingers of the banker went from red tab to red tab, pulling out the cards.
At his side, a secretary held an open notebook with a poised pencil. Occasionally the banker snapped an order and the secretary made a series of swift pothooks. Upon each such occasion the secretary would mutter a mechanical, “Yes, sir.”
Sam Gilvert chuckled.
“Not entirely an unpleasant task, Miller.”
“Yes, sir,” said the secretary, mechanically.
“Three years ago,” said the banker, “every one of these men used to look down on me. They were rich, gloatingly rich. Now we’re closing them out... Card number four thirty-five; Harrison, secured note for five hundred. Close out the security. Have our attorney get judgment for the deficiency. Attach his car.”
“Yes, sir,” said the secretary.
“Card number four fifty-three; secured note for fifteen hundred...”
There was a knock at the door.
The banker frowned.
“Open it, Miller. I left orders I wasn’t to be disturbed. See what...”
The secretary opened the door.
The tall form of Sidney Zoom stood in the doorway. Behind him an apologetic clerk was endeavoring to explain.
“I’m busy,” rasped the banker. “I left orders...”
Sidney Zoom made a surreptitious motion with his wrist.
The police dog, keen eyes seeing that motion, trained as he was to take orders from his master by a mere flip of the fingers or a slight movement of the hand, walked deliberately into that room and sniffed at the banker, then sniffed at the secretary.
Sidney Zoom smiled sardonically.
“Pardon the intrusion,” he said. “The dog is engaged in certain police work. I wanted him to get your odors. That is all. Come, Rip.”
The dog trotted to him. Sidney Zoom turned away. The banker jumped to his feet instantly, his face flushed.
“Here, what’s the meaning of this unwarranted intrusion? You can’t get away with that. I shall call the police. You walked in back of the counters of this bank without permission. You...”
The banker broke off, sputtering in rage.
“Exactly,” said Sidney Zoom, pausing mid-stride to look back at the banker. “I assure you, Mr. Culvert, that had the information not been most vital, I would not have resorted to this means to get it.”
His voice was formal, well modulated, yet it had something in it akin to the tolling of a bell.
“I am investigating,” he went on, “the murder of Frank Strome. You are probably aware that, coincident with that death, certain papers disappeared. You may or may not be aware of the contents of that file. Thank you for having given the dog the information.”
And Sidney Zoom resumed his progress toward the street.
But, over his shoulder, he could see the banker. That individual was reaching for the telephone. And the color of his face was whiter by several shades than when he had bee
n showing his rage at an unwarranted interruption.
Sidney Zoom strolled down the main street of Dellboro. He was conscious of eyes that turned to him in swift curiosity, of whispered comments that were made as he passed. News travels fast in a country community and word had passed about as to the identity of the owner of the strange craft that had slipped so quietly to a mooring.
Sidney Zoom walked directly to the stairway which led to the offices of the county attorney. Those offices had been taken over by Carl Purcell when he had succeeded to the office upon the death of his superior. They were the same offices into which Sidney Zoom had entered during the dark hours of the early morning, following the trail of the mysterious young woman.
Now Sidney Zoom surveyed those offices, looked about the street at the various store buildings, craned his neck upward at the cloudless blue of the sky.
Then he slowly walked out into the middle of the street, paused, stared about him.
A motorist paused to hurl some sarcastic comment. Another driver applied the brakes with sufficient force to skid the tires. But Sidney Zoom seemed entirely oblivious of them. He was engaged in looking up and down the street, carefully scanning the buildings upon either side.
At length he crossed to the opposite side, walked down the sidewalk for some fifty yards, and turned into an entranceway which led to a flight of stairs, stairs which were musty and dark with the grime of years. They showed no sign of paint or care. Cobwebs were in the comers. They led up to a dark and gloomy hallway.
Sidney Zoom, the police dog at his side, ascended those stairs with an unhurried gait. His entrance to the building was not unnoticed.
The building had once contained offices of the cheaper sort. Some of the doors still bore signs which indicated the occupations of the previous tenants. One and all they were the sort of occupations which required plenty of space at a very low rental.
The offices were now vacant. Some of the doors stood open, disclosing rooms which were littered with refuse. Some of the doors were closed. One was locked.
Sidney Zoom gave some attention to that locked door. He produced a skeleton key from his pocket and opened the door. He went into the room.
The litter in this room was not as bad as the litter in the other rooms. There was even a chair in the room. It was rather a run-down chair, to be sure, but a chair, nevertheless, and it was faced in such a position that a person sitting in it would be facing the window of the room on an angle.
The window of that room was grimy with dust, dirt and cobwebs. The sash had once been varnished, but the varnish had deteriorated into dirty lumps which showed only a faint trace of gloss. Dust had settled upon sash and sill.
Sidney Zoom left the door open behind him. He deposited himself in the rickety chair, took a cigarette from a pocket case, lit it, sat smoking, apparently without a single thing to do other than to enter the deserted offices of vacant buildings and while away the morning hours.
The police dog, sniffing around him at the litter of the room, regarded his master with curious, attentive eyes, then flung himself upon the bare floor, and settled his head upon his paws.
For several minutes they remained in this position, the man on the chair, smoking, the dog on the floor sleeping.
Then the keen ears of the dog caught some sound. He raised his head and cocked his ears. He glanced at his master with yellow eyes that were suddenly hard and alert. Then he gave a low growl.
Sidney Zoom heard that warning signal. He got to his feet.
“Steady, Rip,” he said. “Don’t move. Keep quiet. It’s all right.”
Sidney Zoom went to the dust-covered sash of the window. He took his fingers and pressed them into the dust of the sash, put the tips down on the sill. The fingers left very plain prints in the dust. He pressed a finger against the glass of the window. Then he took a small box from his pocket, opened the lid, and disclosed a yellow powder, a chrome which is particularly efficacious in bringing out the distinguishing marks of latent finger-prints.
The police dog growled once more, ominously.
Steps sounded in the outer corridor of the vacant office building. The steps were audible, yet cautious, the sort of steps a man would make who was of heavy build, yet was trying to walk cautiously.
Sidney Zoom quieted the dog once more, ordered him to stay where he was, no matter what happened. Then he turned his attention to the finger-print on the window. He opened a little book, and started sketching.
A figure bulked in the doorway.
A booming voice suddenly cut the silence.
“If that dog attacks me I’ll shoot him!”
Chapter VII
The Vanishing Shell
Sidney Zoom gave a convulsive start, the start of a man who is absorbed in work and fancies that he is alone, yet who is suddenly surprised by the sound of a human voice.
He turned and stared at the big man in the doorway.
The man had a gun in his right hand, a wide-brimmed black hat on his head, a gold shield on his vest, and a left eye which was almost closed, and which had turned a very deep shade of black. The gun he held was a heavy automatic.
“The dog,” said Sidney Zoom, “will not bother you unless you bother him. And may I ask what you’re doing here with a drawn gun?”
The man held Zoom with his eyes, the one steady, granite hard and baleful, the other bloodshot, rimmed by flesh of greenish black.
“I’m here,” growled the man, “to find out what the devil you’re doing here. This building has been condemned. You’ve no business here. What’s more, this door was locked. You’ve evidently picked that lock. That’s breaking and entering, and that’s a penal offense.”
Sidney Zoom raised his eyebrows.
“But there was nothing in here, and I haven’t any felonious intent.”
The heavy-set man rumbled his answer.
“That’s got nothing to do with it. Technically, you’re guilty. You broke and entered.”
Zoom pursed his lips, thinking over the man’s words.
“You’re an officer?” he asked.
“Yes. Frink, head of the county attorney’s investigation squad. Now you tell me what you’re doing here.”
Sidney Zoom spoke rapidly.
“I was figuring on renting an office here.”
“What’s your business?”
“I haven’t any. But I was contemplating opening up an office as a private investigator.”
Frink scowled, moved purposefully forward.
“All right. Now we’ll get down to brass tacks. You ain’t going to open up any office here. You ain’t going to do any private investigating here. You ain’t even going to stay here. You’re going right back to that nice little boat of yours and cast off the mooring lines and get out of here and stay out of here.”
Sidney Zoom stared about him in a bewildered manner.
“Why... why, I never was talked to like that in my life. Why can’t I stay here?” The head of the investigators was now sure of his ground. He moved forward in a bullying manner.
“Because you’re a confounded nuisance. That’s why. You busted in on Sam Gilvert an hour or so ago and insulted him by having your dog go over and smell him. You were prowling around the streets last night... and somebody broke into the county attorney’s office and tried to steal some papers. It was a woman. I cornered her, and somebody smashed me with a club and knocked me out. I don’t know who it was.”
Sidney Zoom raised his eyebrows.
“But what’s that got to do with me? Why should I leave town? You don’t suspect that I hit you with a club, do you?”
The eye of George Frink which was not discolored hardened into an icy stare.
“If I did think that you did it,” he growled, “I’d...”
He didn’t finish his threat.
His eyes slithered away from Sidney Zoom’s, came to rest on the finger-print, colored with the yellow stain.
“What you doing here?” he asked.
�
��Just looking out of the window,” said Sidney Zoom.
And, as though to give some atmosphere of truth to his statement, he turned, and peered through the dusty, cobwebby glass of the window.
The main street showed below him, across the street, some forty yards up, were the entrances to the county attorney’s office, the windows of the room in which Strome had been killed.
As Sidney Zoom watched, a compact group of men, carrying brief cases, emerged from the entrance to the office building. Carl Purcell, the new county attorney, and his assistants were about to go to the courthouse to carry on the trial of James Crandall, charged with the crime of murder in the first degree.
Frink’s voice was sneering.
“Yeah, you was lookin’ out of the window all right! And I suppose you smeared that yellow chrome over that finger-print to help you see out! What’s a finger-print on a window down in this building got to do with the murder of Frank Strome?”
Sidney Zoom suddenly became confidential.
“If I should tell you, would you keep it a secret? And if it sounds plausible, could I continue to remain here and carry on my investigations?”
Frink poised the gun in his hand, stole a glance at the police dog.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll listen to anything you’ve got to say, but I won’t make any promises.”
Sidney Zoom spoke rapidly, and in a low tone.
“Very well. The account of the shooting, as we have it, is impossible. No one heard the sound of the fatal shot. That’s out of the question. The theory of the prosecution is that the noise made by the exploding bomb of the publicity car on the unemployment drive drowned out the noise of the shot.
“That’s foolish. People who were in the next office would have heard that shot as being distinct from the explosion of the bomb. Moreover, there wasn’t any exploded shell found in the office of the murdered man. Now the gun that was found in there was an automatic. The automatic mechanism would have ejected the empty shell as soon as the weapon was fired. Yet that shell wasn’t found. Of course, the murderer might have crawled around on the floor, picking up the empty shell, but there was no reason for him to do so.
The Casebook of Sidney Zoom Page 24
